Not that outwardly they had been otherwise than commonplace. It was going through them at all! The man was as nearly “off his chump”—the expression was hers—as a human being could be without laying himself open to arrest. After calling the taxi in Fifth Avenue he had walked up and down, compelling her to walk by his side, for a good fifteen minutes before making her get in and springing in beside her. At the house opposite he had stared and stared, as if hoping that some one would look out. During the drive to the place where they got the license, and later to the minister’s house, he spoke not a word. In the restaurant to which he took her afterward, the most glorious place she had ever been in, he ordered a feast suited to a queen, but she could hardly do more than taste it. She felt that the waiter was looking at them strangely, and she didn’t know the uses of the knives and forks. 54 The man she had married offered her no help, neither speaking to her nor giving her a glance. He himself ate but little, lost in some mental maze to which she had no clue.
After dinner he had proposed the theatre, but she had refused. She couldn’t go anywhere else with him. Wherever they moved, a thousand eyes were turned in amazement at the extraordinary pair. He saw nothing, but she was alive to it all—more conscious of her hat and suit than even in the street scene in “The Man with the Emerald Eye.” Once and for all she became aware that the first standard for human valuation is in clothes.
In the end they had got into another taxi, to be driven round and round the Park and out along the river bank, till he decided that they might go home. During all this time he hardly noticed her. Once he asked her if she was warm enough, and once if she would like to get out and take a walk along the parapet above the river, but otherwise he was withdrawn into a world which he kept shut and locked against her. That left her alone. She had never felt so much alone in her life, not even in the days which followed her mother’s death. It was as if she had been snatched away from everything with which she was familiar, to find herself stranded in a country of fantastic dreams.
Then there was the house and the little back room. By the use of his latchkey they had entered a palace huge and dark. Letty didn’t know that people lived with so much space around them. Only a hall light burned in a many-colored oriental lamp, and in the 55 half-gloom the rooms on each side of the entry were cavernous. There was not a servant, not a sound. The only living thing was a little dog which pattered out of the obscurity and, raising his paws against her skirt, adopted her instantaneously.
“He was my mother’s dog,” Allerton explained briefly. “He likes women, but not men, though he’s never taken to the women in the house. He’ll probably like you. His name is Beppo. I’ll show you up at once.”
The grandeur of the staircase was overpowering, and the little back spare-room of a magnificence beyond all her experience outside of movie-sets. The flowers on the chintz coverings were prettier than real ones, and there was a private bath. Letty had heard of private baths, but no picture she had ever painted equaled this dainty apartment in which everything was of spotless white except where a flight of blue-gray gulls skimmed over a blue summer sea.
The objects in the bedroom were too lovely to live with. On the toilet table were boxes and trays which Letty supposed must be priceless, and a set of brushes with silver backs. She couldn’t brush her hair with a brush with a silver back, because it would be journeying too far beyond real life into that of fairy princesses. On opening the closet to hang up her jacket the very hangers were puffed and covered with the “sweetest flowered silks,” so she hung her jacket on a peg.
But she wasn’t comfortable, she wasn’t happy. Alice had traveled too far into Wonderland, and too suddenly. Unwillingly she lay down in a bed too clean 56 and soft for the human form, but she couldn’t sleep in it. She could only tremble and toss and lie awake and wish for the morning. With the dawn she would be up and off, before any one caught sight of her.
For Allerton had used words which had terrified her more than anything that had yet happened or been said—“the other women in the house!” Not till then had she sufficiently visualized the life into which he was taking her to understand that there would be other women there. Now that she knew it, she couldn’t face them. She could have faced men. Men, after all, were simple creatures with only a rudimentary power of judgment. But women! God! She pulled the eiderdown about her head so as not to cry out so loudly that she would be heard. What mad thing had she done? What had she let herself in for? She didn’t ask what kind of women they would be—members of his family or servants. She didn’t care. All women were alike. The woman was not born who wouldn’t view a girl in her unconventional situation, “and especially in that rig”—once more the expression was her own—without a condemnation which Letty could not and would not submit herself to. So she would get up and steal away with the first gleam of light.
She got up with the first gleam of light, but she couldn’t steal away. Once more she was afraid. Unlocking the door, she dared not venture out. Who knew where, in that palace of cavernous apartments, she might meet a woman, or what the woman would say to her? When Nettie walked in later, humming a street air, Letty almost died from shame. For one 57 thing, she hadn’t yet put on her shirtwaist, which in itself was poor enough, and as she stood exposed without it, any other of her sex could see.... She had once been on the studio lot when a girl of about her own age, a “supe” like herself, was arrested for thieving in the women’s dressing-rooms. Letty had never forgotten the look in that girl’s face as she passed out through the crowd of her colleagues. In Nettie’s presence she felt like that girl’s look.