They returned to New York the end of March. Mrs. Sturgis had been in a flutter of excitement during the last ten days of their stay; she was madly anxious to get home to see Alice, who had written she was going to have another baby. Both her mother and sister were distressed at the news; they felt it was unfortunate she was going to have one so soon after her first. Little Etta was not a year old yet.
On Washington’s Birthday, which fell on a Friday that year, Martin Devlin had come all the way from New York to see Jeannette. He had brought with him in his pocket a flawless, claw-set diamond solitaire in a little plush jeweller’s box and had begged Jeannette to allow him to slip it on her finger. She had found herself missing him during the weeks of separation more than she had believed it possible she could miss anyone; she missed his big hands and his big voice, his indefatigable solicitude, his joyous laugh, his unwavering love for her. In the months,—it was close to a year,—that she had known him, she had grown dependent upon these; Martin was part of her life now; she could not imagine it without him; love had enriched the existence of both. But she was no nearer marrying him than she had ever been. During the weeks of sunshine, the hours of solitude and thinking she had enjoyed, it seemed to her that marriage would be a terrible mistake; she believed she saw her destiny lying straight ahead; she had chosen a vocation, and like a nun, who renounces marriage, she too must give up all thought of being a wife. She must pursue her life work unhampered by domesticity. Not forever would she be Mr. Corey’s secretary; there were heights beyond she planned to attain. She told herself she had the capacity of being a successful executive; some day she would hold a position like Miss Holland’s, have a department of her own. Walt Chase had charge of the Mail Order business; one of these days he would be promoted to something more responsible, and Jeannette intended then to ask Mr. Corey to give her his place. She knew she could do the work,—perhaps even better than Walt Chase. She had plans already to make it larger and to get out special literature designed to arouse women’s interest. Walt Chase was getting seventy-five dollars a week now. She would like to be earning that much. She knew what she would do with it: she’d begin to put by a hundred a month, and invest it in good securities; when she grew old or wanted to take a vacation, she would have something saved up. She had only commenced to think of these matters recently, but now the idea fired her. It would be wonderful to have a private income of one’s own. And perhaps she might take her mother with her on a little jaunt to Europe! ... But matrimony? No, marriage was too great a risk, too much of an experiment. She acknowledged she loved Martin Devlin as much as she could ever love any man. Of that she was sure. She was not equally sure she would always be happy with him, that she would like married life itself. Why risk something that might bring her untold sadness?
So Jeannette had argued before Martin arrived to see her and so she had planned to tell him. It was a familiar conclusion with her, but this time she determined that he should have the truth and she would convince him that she could never marry him. But when Martin put his big fingers around her arm and drew her strongly to him, crushing her in his embrace while he forced his lips against hers, she wanted to swoon in his arms and so die. The weakness was but momentary; she fled from him, won control of herself again, and the bars were up once more between them. But she had not been able to bring herself to enunciate her high resolve; she had refused the ring, yet Martin had returned to New York with the confident feeling that some day she would wear it.
Mr. Corey had entirely regained his old buoyancy during the six weeks’ rest. He came back to his desk with all the dynamic energy which had so impressed Jeannette when she first became his secretary. She, too, was glad to be home again, back in her own office, resuming her daily routine, gathering up the threads of activity and influence she loved to have within her grasp, and seeing Martin every day. Alice, with her round eyes reflecting in their depths that same curious light Jeannette had noticed when the first baby was coming, welcomed her mother and sister in the gayest of spirits. She was having not nearly the same degree of discomfort, she told them, that she had had while carrying Etta. She made them come to dinner the night they arrived in New York; she wanted them to see the baby, and to show them the sewing machine Roy was buying for her on the installment plan. Martin was included in the party. This troubled Jeannette a little, for it seemed to establish him in the family circle.
She had returned from White Sulphur Springs on Sunday. On Tuesday, Mr. Corey did not come to the office all day. Jeannette had expected him; he had said nothing to her about being absent; she had no idea where he was. On Wednesday, when he came in, in the middle of the morning, a strained white look upon his face told her at once that something had gone wrong. He rang for her almost immediately, and indicated a chair for her, while he instructed the operator at the telephone switch-board he was not to be disturbed.
“Miss Sturgis,” he began, working a troubled thumb and forefinger at the ends of his moustache, “I have some unhappy, news for you; it has been unhappy for me, and I fear it will be equally so for you. Mrs. Corey as you know is a high-strung, temperamental woman. You’ve no doubt observed she had a decidedly suspicious nature....”
Jeannette’s heart stood still. In a flash she saw what was coming. A gathering roar began mounting in her ears, every muscle grew tense. She could see Mr. Corey’s mouth moving, his lips forming words and she heard his voice, but what he was saying, was meaningless to her; she could get no sense out of it. Suddenly he came to the word “divorce.” Her whole nature seemed to have been waiting for him to say it; as he pronounced it, she sat bolt upright, and a quick convulsion passed through her. At once her mind was clear and she was able to follow everything he was saying.
“... wrote her a long letter from the hotel. I was loving and affectionate in it—as affectionate as I knew how to be, for I feared the unfortunate matter of the telegrams would anger her. I think I wrote some eight or nine pages, and I tried to explain that you had been merely actuated by your solicitude for me. In my anxiety to placate her, I spoke very harshly of you, told her that you realised you had overstepped your province, that I had given you a severe reprimand and that you were much chagrined. I explained to her carefully your mother was with us, but she knew that was to be before we left. I assured her of my devotion. I got no answer. I suspected before we reached New York that she was at outs with me, but there have been other occasions when this was so, and I had no doubt that I could soothe her injured feelings. She had always resented your being my secretary; of course, you’ve known that. I did not dream, however, that she was as angry with me as she evidently is. She has shut herself into her own apartment at home and declines to see me; she is preparing to file against me a suit for absolute divorce, accusing me of improper conduct with you at White Sulphur Springs, claiming that your mother was bribed into conniving——”
“Oh!” gasped Jeannette.
“I am telling you these unpleasant details, so that you can fully grasp the situation. You will have to know in any case, and I think it is only fair to you to give you the whole truth from the start. She has gone to Leonard and Harvester and persuaded them to represent her. I don’t know what Dick Leonard is thinking about; he has known me for twenty years. Winchell, whom I saw yesterday, has been to interview Leonard, and he informs me that a detective agency was employed to watch us while we were at the hotel, and that affidavits have been obtained from some of the hotel employees which substantiate Mrs. Corey’s allegations.”