LOLA SHOCKS HER FATHER AND HIS FRIEND BY HER HEARTLESSNESS.
As she looked up at him shyly, yet confidently, it seemed to him that the last twenty years had been a dream, and that he was sitting beside that other young woman, so like her, and any trace of disappointment he had felt at her attitude fell away, and there was nothing but tenderness in his voice as he replied:
“It was more years ago than I can count that your mother came to me and looked up as you are looking now, and begged me not to side against her. She wanted to marry your father; and all were saying ‘no.’ I could not refuse her anything any more than I could you, although it hurt me to help bring about that marriage, for I loved her myself. So you see how helpless I am. I must fight your battles. I have no choice.”
“You’re a dear,” laughed Lola happily, “and if I had been mother—but there—I must not make you vain. I was sure that I could depend upon you. Now, let’s not talk about serious things any more. Come! Let me show you the view of the river from the windows. Isn’t it glorious here! Why, do you know, Doctor dear, that after Eighth Avenue this is like another world? Look!” She had dragged him to the window and with one hand on his shoulder, and her pretty, eager face flushed with an almost passionate enthusiasm, she stood pointing out to where the Drive curved majestically, flanked on one side by its stately buildings, on the other by the always beautiful Hudson and the distant Palisades.
“Look!” she repeated. “I was content once in that shabby, horrid flat. Perfectly content, and patient, and happy. Father said that I was content because I was good, but I know better; it was because I was ignorant; because the thing that was mine was the only thing I knew. He talks of going back! Threatens, because he is afraid, because he never spent money in his life, and is too old to learn now, to return to that squalid, shabby, dirty hole. I want you to talk to him,” and she turned him so that he faced her, and as he felt the nervous grasp on his arm he marvelled at her strength. “I want you to tell him what I have already told him, that, if he goes back there, he will go alone. I am out of it now, and there isn’t power enough in the world to drag me back.”
“My dear,” remonstrated the Doctor gravely, “you and John are to be married; he is young; surely while he is making his way in the world you will be willing to share whatever his fortune may be. Love is as sweet in poverty, Lola, as it is in a home like this.”
“That is a platitude, Doctor, a platitude invented by cowards who weren’t strong enough to win the good things of life, and who, because they couldn’t have them, were fools enough to try to blind themselves with stupid words. I am a woman! A woman’s only chance for all the beautiful things of life rests upon some man. When a man comes to me and says, ‘I want the only things you have, your youth, your love, your beauty,’ haven’t I the right to say, ‘What will you give me for them?’”
The Doctor drew back, deeply shocked. Her words, the deep earnestness of her voice, and the hard, selfish look in her eyes, surprised and hurt him. He was a sentimentalist and to him a woman’s whole existence should be in her love, and in the home her lover could provide for her. Modern as he was in his practice of medicine, advanced as he was in his psychological studies, at heart he was an old-fashioned man, with all of the old-fashioned man’s ideas of love and marriage. For a moment he felt a feeling of repulsion, almost of horror, and he looked coldly at this young girl, who seemed to be so greatly changed by a few short weeks of luxury, but as he looked he thought of the day, only so lately passed, when she had been brought to them, white and lifeless, and as he saw her now, defiant, rebellious, in all the vigor of her splendid health, he smiled at her tenderly. He knew, as few men know, the changes that some great nervous shock so often makes in a person’s character, and he resolved to devote himself to this girl until her nervous system fully recovered, to help her with gentle kindness until her old tranquil serenity was fully restored. It came into his mind that of all the many cases of hysteria which he had successfully treated here was one that would challenge his greatest skill, and he was glad of the fortune that had sent him to her, for his experienced eyes saw that she was to need his help, and in the confidence of a man to whom failure seldom came he felt secure in his ability to restore her to her old gentle self. He sat down beside her and talked quietly of her father and of the fame and fortune that was so sure to be his, and as he talked he watched her and saw just a young, happy, innocent girl, serene now, perfectly gentle, perfectly calm, and they laughed and talked merrily together until her father entered the room.