Yet the rector of Christ Church would not have been able, had he tried, to dismiss her and her affairs from his mind. One reason for this was that the Bradley case had aroused public interest, and had excited general comment.
It had formed the basis for a new attack on the courts. Labor and socialistic organizations had passed resolutions concerning it. Sensational newspapers had criticized sharply the action of Judge Bosworth in giving binding instructions to the jury. Shallow-minded controversialists had argued hotly, pro and con, concerning the powers of the courts under the state and federal constitutions. Indeed the case bade fair to become a cause celebre, not only in professional circles, but throughout the entire community. Mary Bradley’s face and figure had not before been unknown in the streets of the city. She was too beautiful to pass unnoticed, even in the cheap and modest costume of a laborer’s wife. But in these days she seldom went beyond the confines of Factory Hill, the district in which she lived, that she did not become an object of notice and a subject of comment, both on account of her beauty and of her relation to the Bradley case.
Another reason why the woman had not passed out of the rector’s mind was that, since the trial, she had been twice to the services at Christ Church. She had occupied an inconspicuous seat, far in the rear, but, looking out over his congregation, his sharp eye had caught sight of her, and her presence there had brought him a peculiar sense of satisfaction. She had, on both occasions, escaped before he had had an opportunity to greet her, and he did not consider that the fact of her presence there warranted any intrusion on her by him at her home.
The Reverend Mr. Farrar was not the only one who had noticed Mrs. Bradley at church. Many in his congregation had noted her presence, and had commented on it. On one occasion one of the church-wardens, who had stationed himself in the vestibule, spoke to her pleasantly as she passed out; but she barely noticed him, and he did not repeat his effort to extend to her the church’s welcome. Barry Malleson was among those who had seen her at church, and who was interested in her presence there. Not that Barry was concerned about her religious welfare, nor in the fact that her attendance added one more to the already large congregations. Religion and the propaganda of the Church had for him, as he himself said, “only an academic interest.” He attended the morning services because it was the thing for a gentleman to do; because the members of his family were devout worshipers there; and because the best and most exclusive people in the city, the people with whom he associated, were regular attendants.
It was not only at the church that he saw Mrs. Bradley; he came upon her now and then on the street. And each additional time that he saw her the fact of her remarkable beauty became more deeply impressed upon his not unimpressionable mind. He could not forget her. She appeared to him frequently when she was not within the range of his physical vision. Her countenance, her figure, her bearing and expression, the look in her wonderful eyes, had become familiar to him, though he had seen her only casually, and less than a dozen times. It was not a case of romantic attraction, for, although Barry was five and thirty, unmarried and unattached, the woman had a husband, such as he was, and Barry, despite his weaknesses, was clean-minded and sincere. He had had many affairs of the heart in his time; he had flitted from flower to flower; he had, after a way peculiarly his own, suggested marriage to more than one of the belles of the city, but none of those to whom he had thus spoken had taken him seriously; and from each romantic mishap he had made rapid and complete recovery. Perhaps Ruth Tracy had been the one most desired by him. She was handsome, brilliant, sympathetic, of aristocratic family, fitted to grace any man’s home; moreover she was the superlative choice of his mother and sisters. But, whenever he approached the topic of matrimony, she parried his advances, complimented him on his good looks, his faultless attire, and his manly bearing. She never said anything about his mental capacity. And then, suddenly, along came Phil Westgate, and, out from under his very eyes, captured the prize and bound her in golden chains of betrothal.
So Barry was free, heart-whole, ready for the next romantic adventure. If Mrs. Bradley had also been free and heart-whole things might possibly have been different; but, as it was, he gave strict obedience to his father’s injunction, issued in the court-room on a memorable day, and “let Mrs. Bradley alone.” For, whatever else he was, Barry Malleson was a gentleman.
The Reverend Robert Farrar was seated at his breakfast-table one September morning, a month after the trial, reading his morning paper. His three young children had already breakfasted, and the two older of them had been bundled off to school. His wife, sitting opposite to him, was still nibbling at her toast and sipping her coffee. In an obscure corner of the newspaper his eye fell upon a notice of the death of John Bradley. He had died from heart-failure, at the age of thirty-eight years. “He will be remembered,” the article concluded, “as the unsuccessful litigant in the celebrated case of Bradley vs. The Malleson Manufacturing Company.”
“I must go to her!” exclaimed Mr. Farrar, laying down his paper.
“Go to whom?” was the not unnatural inquiry of his wife.