“You don’t know nothin’, and you ain’t heard nothin’,” he retorted, going out, pausing at the door long enough to point at the pumps which she still held in her hand. “You better take dem shoes to Miss Helen, er she’ll be tellin’ you somethin’,” he warned her.
Shortly after ten o’clock Mrs. George William Cutter appeared at the Shannon National Bank. She wanted to look at some papers in her safety deposit box, she told the cashier.
She remained a long time closeted with this box. When she came out she carried a sheaf of coupons in her hand; and she was very pale, not gratified as a woman should look under these circumstances. Beneath the coupons there was a check, drawn on a New York bank for ten thousand dollars and signed by her husband. This check lay on top when she opened the box; attached to it was a note stating with studied brevity that this sum, including interest, was the amount she inherited from her mother’s estate, which he “herewith returned.” It began, “Dear Helen,” and was signed, “George,” with no softening, affectionate prefix.
It was this note, not the clipping of her coupons, that had detained Helen so long in the little dark anteroom of the vault. There was no date, but from the date on the check, she perceived that it had been made on the tenth of July, when George had been in Shannon for a week. As early as that, then, he had contemplated this separation! He was planning this spurious honesty, paying back the money she had advanced him years ago for his first adventure in stocks while he cheated her of his love and her dignity as a wife. When you think about this, it is always some relatively insignificant thing that excites your most lasting contempt. So, now Cutter fell to the nadir of his wife’s regard. She was obliged to remain in this little closet of the vault after she had finished everything, endeavoring to compose herself before she dared meet the scrutiny of the eyes outside. We do this so often when really no one takes particular notice of us.
It was the merest accident that Arnold, the new president, was coming in and caught sight of her as she was leaving the wicket after depositing the check and the amount of the coupons to her account.
He greeted her effusively. “You are looking well,” he informed her.
She knew that she was not, but she told him, yes, she was very well.
“And how’s Cutter?” smiling as a man does when he thinks he has introduced an agreeable topic.
She said that she had not heard from Mr. Cutter since he returned to New York.
“Busy man! Busy man! Goes at everything like a house afire. You will have to take care of him, Mrs. Cutter, or he’ll break down, go smash one of these days.”