The great black shape stirred at last, drew swiftly away and curved into nothingness. It seemed to her all at once as though a door had closed on her life, even as the iron gate had slammed against her tears. She drifted out in a daze. The whole clanging tumultuous station was empty to her eyes. Energetic purposeful crowds buffeted her and unresisting she went with the current and feebly home to where she knew Massingale at least would be waiting for her. For with all her fancied daring, she had a consuming horror of being left alone. The twilight electric world of New York roared in her ears and weakly she felt that to stand against this merciless leap of contending thousands she had no strength but the strength of the men her instincts could draw about her.
Massingale had been waiting interminably for Doré. He had come in a little after five to take her off to dinner, as she had ordered. But hardly had he arrived when she had told him a story he did not believe: Ida Summers had quarreled with an admirer and had asked her to make it up for her; she would be only a moment below, half an hour at the most—would he mind waiting? He had assented heavily, with a new vexation, certain that this was but a new trial she was imposing on him, part and parcel with the misery of the wretched last weeks, and yet too proud to show the pain.
He sat down alone in the great vacant room—her room, in which every breath brought him some perfume of her, feeling her tantalizing presence in a hundred vanishing shapes twirling about him: in the alcove, a glimpse of pillow and counterpane, where she slept, unconscious of torture and craving; in the swung door of the closet, soft filmy fabrics that seemed yet warm from her body; in the ugly dressing-table, with its musty mirror which seemed reclaimed by the glamour of her reflection; in all the undisciplined touches, in all the poverty-conquering gaiety—her room, her world, into which she had drawn him as the Lorelei steals the fisherman from his boat. Outside, vacancy, a cold and colorless world, his world, the life he had chosen, believing it secure. He took up a magazine, gazed at a random page without turning and laid it down. Was it love or hatred?—the malignant, brute-to-brute passion for destruction of the male, tormented and defied! How she had made him suffer, wounded him in his pride, humiliated him before himself in all this blind clinging to something which had no answer! And here he was now, Judge Massingale, enduring new indignity, waiting supinely in her room, exposed to the ridicule of any chance entrance. He glanced at his watch: forty-five minutes had already elapsed. He started up angrily. No! he would endure no more! The time had come to revolt! He would humble himself no longer; now, at last, he would make an end—once and forever! He went down-stairs quietly, and into the parlor. It was as he had surmised—she was not there. Only one more lie! Then, resolved, with a feeling of liberation, he went up-stairs again, took out paper and envelope, and sat down at her desk, saying to himself:
"This is the end, thank God! She is making a fool of me; I am only ridiculous! Now to finish it!"
Without phrasing or hesitation, he wrote with rapid furious scratches:
"My Dear Girl:
"You have been very clever, and I have been nothing but a fool, but for once you have gone too far! Thanks; it has opened my eyes! It is not only that I do not believe one single word you tell me, but that I see what a ridiculous rôle you have made me play. Don't attempt to invent any new fiction—I warn you, I will not see you! I leave you without the slightest fear for your future. You are quite capable of taking care of yourself.
"M."
Prudently he affixed only his initial, sealed the envelope, and rose, again glancing at his watch. It had been fully an hour and a quarter.
"If she is not here in five minutes—" he began angrily.
The door flew open, and Dodo rushed into his arms. He crushed the envelope clumsily into his pocket, and caught her to him.
"Ah, hold me strongly!" she cried, quivering and breathless. "More—more! You are so kind—you are so patient with me, Your Honor! And I have been so cruel. How I must have plagued you! Forgive me! Forgive me! Forgive me!"