ABOUT half an hour later the door into the bedroom opened and she appeared on the threshold of the sitting room, ready for the street. He stared at her in the dazed amazement of a man faced by the impossible, and uncertain whether it is sight or reason that is tricking him. She had gone into the bedroom not only homely but commonplace, not only commonplace but common, a dingy washed-out blonde girl whom it would be a humiliation to present as his wife. She was standing there, in the majesty of such proud pale beauty as poets delight to ascribe to a sorrowful princess. Her wonderful skin was clear and translucent, giving her an ethereal look. Her hair reminded him again of what marvels he had seen in the sunlight of Sunday afternoon. And looking at her form and the small head so gracefully capping it, he could think only of the simile that had always come to him in his moments of ecstasy--the lily on its tall stem.
And once more, like a torrent, the old infatuation sprang from its dried sources and came rushing and overwhelming through vein and nerve. "Am I mad now?--was I mad a few moments ago?--is it she or is it my own disordered senses?"
She was drawing on her gloves, was unconscious of his confusion. He controlled himself and said: "You have a most disconcerting way of changing your appearance."
She glanced down at her costume. "No, it's the same dress. I've only the one, you know."
He longed to take her in his arms, but could not trust himself. And this wonder-girl, his very own, was talking of leaving him! And he--not an hour before--he, apparently in his right senses had been tolerating such preposterous talk! Give her up? Never! He must see to it that the subject did not find excuse for intruding again. "I have frightened her--have disgusted her. I must restrain myself. I must be patient --and teach her slowly--and win her gradually."
They spent an interesting and even exciting afternoon, driving from shop to shop and selecting the first beginnings of her wardrobe. He had only about three hundred dollars. Some of the things they ordered were ready for delivery, and so had to be paid for at once.
When they returned to the hotel he had but fifty dollars left--and had contracted debts that made it necessary for him to raise at least a thousand dollars within a week.
He saw that his ******* with sums of money which terrified her filled her with awe and admiration--and that he was already more successful than he had expected to be, in increasing her hesitation about leaving him.
Among the things they had bought were a ****** black chiffon dress and a big plumed black hat to match.
These needed no alterations and were delivered soon after they returned. Some silk stockings came also and a pair of slippers bought for the dinner toilet.
"You can dress to-night," said he, "and I'll take you to Sherry's, and to the theater afterwards."
She was delighted. At last she was going to look like the women of whom she had been dreaming these last few months. She set about dressing herself, he waiting in the sitting room in a state of acute nervousness.
What would be the effect of such a toilet? Would she look like a lady--or like--what she had suggested that morning? She was so changeable, had such a wide range of variability that he dared not hope. When she finally appeared, he was ready to fall down and worship.
He was about to take her where his world would see her, where every inch of her would be subjected to the cruelest, most hostile criticism. One glance at her, and he knew a triumph awaited him. No man and no woman would wonder that he had lost his head over such beauty as hers. Hat and dress seemed just what had been needed to bring out the full glory of her charms.
"You are incredibly beautiful," he said in an awed tone. "I am proud of you."
A little color came into her cheeks. She looked at herself in the mirror with her quiet intense secret, yet not covert vanity. He laughed in boyish pleasure.
"This is only the small beginning," said he. "Wait a few months."
At dinner and in a box at the theater afterwards, he had the most exquisite pleasure of his life. She had been seen by many of his former friends, and he was certain they knew who she was. He felt that he would have no difficulty in putting her in the place his wife should occupy. A woman with such beauty as hers was a sensation, one fashionable society would not deny itself.
She had good manners, an admirable manner. With a little coaching she would be as much at home in grandeur as were those who had always had it.
The last fear of losing her left him. On the way back to the hotel he, in a delirium of pride and passion, crushed her in his arms and caressed her with the frenzy that had always terrified her. She resisted only faintly, was almost passive. "She is mine!" he said to himself, exultantly. "She is really mine!"
When he awoke in the morning she was still asleep--looked like a tired lovely child. Several times, while he was dressing, he went in to feast his eyes upon her beauty. How could he possibly have thought her homely, in whatever moment of less beauty or charm she might have had? The crowning charm of infinite variety! She had a delightfully sweet disposition. He was not sure how much or how little intelligence she had--probably more than most women. But what did that matter? It would be impossible ever to grow weary or to be anything but infatuated lover when she had such changeful beauty.
He kissed her lightly on her thick braids, as he was about to go. He left a note explaining that he did not wish to disturb her and that it was necessary for him to be at the office earlier. And that morning in all New York no man left his home for the day's struggle for dollars with a freer or happier heart, or readier to play the game boldly, skillfully, with success.
Certainly he needed all his courage and all his skill.
