|CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
STEPHEN did not see Benson again, and he confided to no one the purpose the lawyer had in mind when he sent for him. He had two reasons for this. He did not want his aunt to know of the sacrifice he had made; and after a time he came to feel that the whole incident had been discreditable to Benson himself. He would have made him his heir, not because he longer cared for him, but because it would have quieted Virginia. In the end he found he had carried away the impression that a bribe had been offered him.
As Wade had foreseen, the news of Virginia's demand speedily became public property; but there was nothing in Benson's attitude to indicate that he was conscious of the buzzing tongues of gossip that were everywhere. He carried his head a little higher, that was all. No man could say he feared to meet his glance; and there were those who said he was dead to all sense of shame. These were willing to think ill of him on general principles, and not because they had any reason to. There was another faction, however, all sympathy for him. They denounced Virginia's charge as the irresponsible attempt of a woman to levy blackmail. It was remembered as something not quite creditable to her that she had always been peculiar, and had held herself aloof from the town and its social life. But by far the bitterest denunciations were heaped upon Stephen. He was held to be a base ingrate, who had turned on his benefactor and had joined with Virginia to despoil him of at least a portion of his wealth.
Stephen felt the injustice of the position in which he was placed; and Virginia felt it for him and for herself. They would both have liked to run away from the consequence of her act had it been possible.
Yet few people took the case quite seriously in its ultimate aspect. There were even those who were disposed to chaff Ben Wade; but his air of quiet self-confidence, his smiling reticence, and his genial good nature in the face of ridicule had its effect, just as he intended it should. He prepared and filed his papers in the case, and it was whispered that they were models in their way.
Benson, although he had become an object of widespread and general interest, neither shunned nor avoided the public's gaze, its stare of covert inquiry. He went his way in undisturbed serenity, and with no sign of shame or fear. He was as impressive as ever. The same austerely kind, dignified, figure he had always been; and his air of pleasant patronage and courtesy suffered no eclipse; and the most bitter of his detractors yielded him what he by his very manner claimed for himself, and had claimed these many years.
It was only poor old Gibbs who showed shame and fear, and no one noticed him. He would gladly have hidden himself away somewhere if he could; but he could not; and so he slunk in and out of the office, looking no man in the face where he could avoid it. He had expected Benson to rise in the might of his spotless integrity and silence Virginia. But most of all he had looked for him to punish Ben Wade for the part he had played in the matter. But he either would not or could not do anything of the kind, and a cruel suspicion, the first he had known, began to obtrude itself upon him. What if it were true, what if Benson had defrauded Virginia! But this was so utterly inconceivable to him, that he never really believed it.
Each day he stole down to the office, choosing his way through alleys and by unfrequented side streets, expecting that something would be done. Surely Benson must decide who was to defend the suit for him; and Gibbs wanted to feel the excitement of those preparations. But each day he was doomed to disappointment. The subject was never even mentioned between them. He had hoped that Benson would make some denial to him, so that he might know of a certainty just how false Virginia's accusations were; but the denial was never made; and so far as he knew nothing was done. Apparently nothing would be done. Was it possible that Benson did not intend to contest the suit! His anguish, for it amounted to that, left deep lines on his splotched and bloated old face. The earth, the solid earth that had rested secure in the very shadow of Benson's greatness, seemed slipping out from beneath his feet.
In this stress, unrebuked, he took to drink. Night after night he carried a tall bottle home hidden under his coat, and his Julia was powerless to control him. She could hear him for half the night, as she lay on her bed in the room over the small parlour, stamping about in his stockinged feet, or lurching through the hall to the water-cooler that stood on the sideboard in the little dining-room, muttering to himself as he went, and his mutterings were querulous cursings of Wade and Virginia.