“You ought to crawl through the needle’s eye and come in with us,” Edwards added, after a moment. “I don’t believe you give a damn for your money.”
“You do, though,—you labor people,” Stacey returned coldly. “You’re out for all you can get, regardless. How do you expect me to take sides either for or against you? Greed on one hand, greed on the other. Everywhere.”
“Saw too much of it, Carroll,” Edwards repeated. “Years too much. ’Night. I turn down here.”
CHAPTER VIII
Marian was married at Saint Grace’s early in September, and Stacey was present at the wedding.
A number of people looked at him curiously, for it was known to some that he and the bride had formerly been engaged; but they found nothing in Stacey’s face or bearing to reward them. There was general interest in the wedding, since Ames Price and Marian Latimer were both prominent; there were no excited whispered comments. No gossip linked Stacey’s name with Marian’s. And, indeed, it is an odd fact that it was difficult for a man and still more difficult for a woman to get talked about adversely in Vernon. This was particularly true if they were socially prominent. In that case they must do something almost publicly scandalous, must literally be “asking for it.” Which unfortunately does not signify that morals were any higher in Vernon than elsewhere.
Stacey’s sensations were as mixed as ever. He was able to perceive the smooth elegance of the show, made up of the flowers, the soft light creeping through the stained glass windows of the handsome church, the rustling of costly dresses, the low murmur of fashionable voices, the smiles, the easy greetings, the ushers, and the discreet music of the organ. And he was even able to note that, though Marian was fetching enough to arouse at her appearance on her father’s arm a sudden hum of admiration before silence fell softly, she was not really at her best in that trailing lace-and-satin wedding gown. No, she was more beautiful in a plain tailor-made suit with a short skirt. She would have looked best of all with her fair hair drawn back simply and bound with a ribbon, bare armed, and with a kirtle falling only to her knees. But beneath the surface calm of Stacey’s mind fire smoldered. He was angrily stirred, angrily jealous; for he had not freed himself completely from desire of Marian. Had he, after all, been a fool to renounce her? he wondered. He might have stood there by her side in Ames’s place. But at this he caught himself up scornfully. What? he thought brutally. Deliberately chain himself and her to a life of hopeless incompatibility because he desired to possess this girl’s beautiful body? Was the craving of his whole soul for freedom less passionate than the mere craving of his senses for satisfaction?
Poor Stacey! Contradictory, stormy, inharmonious! Made up of dissonances. Repelled by Marian, yet desiring her; avid of freedom, but avid, too, of hate—an enslaving bond if ever there was one; more passionately and truly in love with beauty than ever before, yet destructive of it in himself; full of power with nowhere to direct it; hard and bitter, yet honestly anguished by the pain in the world.
The ceremony over, he made his way out of the church as quickly as possible, but paused for a moment on the sidewalk to glance at the interminable line of handsome waiting motor cars. The irony in their expensive patronage of one of Christ’s churches made him suddenly smile. Then he set off on foot for the Latimer house, where the reception would be held.
It was very well done, he thought,—adequate, handsome,—er—elegant, without being vulgarly lavish; roses enough, but not “bowers” of roses—though “bowers” was what the paper next morning would say there had been; champagne punch, but not tubs and pools of it; decent air of gaiety, but no riot. Well, you could count on Mr. Latimer to carry the thing off in the right way. It was what he was for. Fifty-odd years of careful training, with never a moment wasted, had fitted him for the task.