The long way

by Mary Imlay Taylor

Belhaven stopped short and looked at him. His host smiled coolly, drawing the paper-knife through his fingers.

"Possibly you haven't looked for it diligently enough," he said courteously.

Belhaven threw back his head. "I'll settle with Billop to-night, given the opportunity."

"I'll see that you get it," Astry retorted. "Here they come now," he added, as the sound of arriving guests reached their ears.

As he spoke he turned and made his way into the drawing-room to greet them, and Belhaven, looking after him through the double arches of the long vista, saw the slender, small figure of Eva standing in the hall to welcome her guests. She was gowned in black, as she had been on that evening which seemed now so long ago, and he noticed the whiteness of her beautiful neck and arms and the soft gold of her lovely hair. He looked at her with strangely complex feelings, aware that she had never had sufficient power over the best that was in him to keep him long enslaved, yet recalling with keen misery the moments when her charm had seemed so irresistible that he had plunged on in the course that had led to his ruin, for however she might have saved herself and retained her hold upon her husband, she had wrecked his life. It seemed strange that a creature so small and so fragile and so apparently lovely had, after all, possessed so little genuine feeling that she had been willing, at any cost, to save herself. The life that he had led had hardened many of the finer instincts of his being and destroyed those delicate perceptions that lead to hair-splitting introspection, but he was still keenly aware that he was deeply to blame, that there had been something fundamentally wrong with him or he would never have played the cowardly rôle of accepting Rachel's sacrifice. The thought of her brought back the pang of disappointment with renewed anguish; to her he was apparently an abject being, and it seemed doubtful if any deed of his, however self-sacrificing, would rehabilitate him in her eyes.

Looking at Eva now, he realized how trivial had been the passion that had led to his downfall and it seemed as if even his soul must be darkly flushed with shame at the thought of Astry's scorn. He turned with an irresistible desire to escape and was making his way toward the long window that opened on the terrace when he heard his name spoken and found that Colonel Sedley and Massena were already in the room. There was no alternative, therefore, but to return to play his detestable rôle as a guest at the table of a man against whom he had once planned the deepest and most despicable of all injuries.

With an effort he recalled himself to the conventions of every-day life and in a moment was exchanging meaningless commonplaces with his fellow guests, while, a little later, he was able to respond with commendable grace to little Mrs. Prynne's fluttering greeting. She had a way that old Dr. Macclesfield described as "cheeping like a hen-sparrow," but which afforded the relief of nonentities to a man already overwhelmed with misery and aware that the men regarded him with an indifference that Charter, at least, was at no pains to conceal.

Charter had come in so late that dinner had to be put off for him, and he had scarcely apologized to his hostess before he took the opportunity to walk up to Belhaven and inform him that he had just been to his house. Belhaven received this information with a slight inclination of the head and a look that was fully as hostile as Charter's own, but neither of them had had the chance to say more, and now Charter found himself seated beside Eva at the dinner table. He regretted that he had yielded to Pamela's persuasions and made the engagement in the hope of meeting Rachel there; it was almost too much to have to break bread at the same table with her husband, but having got himself into what he would have called "a confounded muddle," he had nothing to do but to make the best of it, and he sat there quietly observing them all, while Eva talked in snatches to first one and then to another. He had never found her as appealing as other men did and he could scarcely look at her now without anger. He longed to tell her what he thought of her for permitting her sister to sacrifice herself, and, with this in his mind, he looked down the long table and encountered the eyes of his host. Something in the look, guarded, enigmatical, mocking, arrested Charter's thought; it seemed to him to interpret the man. Astry's personality was enigmatical to most people. It had passed through some strange transitions: five years ago he might have been a Christian, indeed he had been much nearer one than many of those who profess Christianity; now he might as well be a Shintoist or an Indian medicine-man. He was sardonic, cold, he even suggested cruelty. It is curious what a hardening effect some of these pretty, little, dimpled women have on a man. Astry had hardened; he was urbane but he was sarcastic, yet no one was more easily acceptable, for his polish was so fine that it took the edge off his ill humor; it fitted him into any social niche and left his companions chilled to the marrow.

Charter, angry at himself for being there at all, glanced from Astry to Belhaven with contempt and anger, but even he recognized the change there. Belhaven, too, had greatly altered, but, in his case, there was a fine air of restraint, the effect of a refining influence which Charter saw with a pang of jealousy and with a maddening thought of Rachel as he had left her beside Belhaven's hearth. Belhaven loved her; he bore the evidence of it on his brow and he was able to face his antagonist without blenching, to even ignore their meeting at the club and Charter's insult, with something akin to dignity and without betraying, at the moment, the almost overwhelming shame that he felt. He had traveled the long road, he had nearly found the end, and he had the brooding air of a man who was only half aware of his surroundings. He scarcely glanced at the others except when directly addressed and his preoccupation would have been observed by people less engrossed in their own affairs, but they, too, were looking on at the game, each with his own idea about the next throw. Paul, fair and stout and visibly enjoying his dinner, was talking to pretty little Mrs. Prynne, whose face showed no more change than that of a wax doll, while Pamela, bright and restless, bantered gayly with old Dr. Macclesfield, and Sidney Billop ate plover with the eagerness of a hungry man whose conversational powers are limited and who recognizes a chef. Massena, dark, graceful, easily fluent; Colonel Sedley, florid and comfortable, talking to his hostess when he could get her undivided attention. Eva had never looked more lovely; her delicate face had the freshness of a girl and her soft eyes looked up with an innocent appeal that gave no hint of the suffering through which she, too, had passed. Eva's nature was too shallow to feel all that Belhaven felt; she had suffered after her own fashion, but Astry had been so much more merciful than she had expected that she had experienced a feeling of relief. If she could only readjust it all on the old scale of comfort and luxury, all might yet be well! Astry required so little of her,—he seemed to require less and less; and she was trying bravely to do her best, for she was eager to hide it, to get back all she had lost.

She leaned over and threw a careless remark to Sidney very much as some throw a bone to a dog.