According to the Pattern (10 page)

Mrs. Sylvester had given an order to the footman in a
low tone.

“Now Claude,” she said in her tête-à-tête tone of
voice, “I have kept you such an unconscionable time
that you will not get home in time for dinner before the
concert, so I have told Warner to have dinner served at
once and we will go right out to the dining room, and
you can talk while you eat. I am absolutely alone
to
night. Mr. Sylvester is in Chicago for a week, perhaps
longer, and Miss Page dines in
her room. She com
plained of sick headache this afternoon.” She did not add
that Miss Page had been informed, but three minutes
before, that
her dinner would be served to her in her
room.

Claude looked helplessly about him. It was late. There
seemed no way out of this
tangle into which he had
inadvertently strayed. He had a wild thought of flinging
the bracelet down and starting for the door, but instead
he bit his lips and followed his voluble hostess into the
brilliant dining room.

It was not a pleasant dinner. The guest was
distrait.
The hostess talked without interruption giving him de
tails of a small
scandal that had been enacted during his
stay abroad, about which neither cared a whit.

Claude ate hurriedly, hoping to hasten the courses,
and then waited impatiently for Mrs. Sylvester to finish.
She seemed to be in no haste now that they were seated,
and the courses came with unusual slowness for a well-
regulated house. He glanced in dismay at the great
carved clock
as the silver chimes rang half-past seven,
and shoved his chair back in alarm. What had he been
about? Not a word of his errand had
he spoken, and it
was already too late to reach home in time to take his
wife to the Academy at the time she had named.

He drew the bracelet out of his pocket and threw it
down on the fine deep linen between them, but before
he had time to explain Mrs. Sylvester had arisen and taken it quietly, as if she had expected it to be there.
Long afterward he wondered if she had dropped it on purpose. But now he did not think of that as she quickly
clasped it on her white arm. There was a determined
look in the red cupid’s line of her mouth and her eyes
burned a cold blue flame, as if she knew she had come
to a critical moment and meant to tide herself well over.

“Claude,” she said, and coming over to his side she
placed the white hand on his arm, “you need not look
so frightened. Just enjoy yourself. I have fixed it all right.
Your wife is not expecting you. I sent her word some
time ago that you were detained—you were, you
know—and that entirely against your will,” and she
laughed a silvery laugh of assurance.

Claude had grown white around his mouth.

“You sent my wife word—” he said hoarsely trying to rise and shake that hateful pretty hand from his arm. He suddenly saw his crime in all its enormity. It was as if he saw it through Miriam’s eyes.

“Yes, I did,” she answered laughing, “and you need
not look so frightened. It is all right and proper. You are
to meet her at the Academy. I sent her a charming escort,
who was delighted to be of service, and he has explained
it all. By this time they are starting and very soon we will
start too. Come, be a good boy, and talk to me while I finish my coffee.”

“And what you leave,” said Nell, “I’ll take,

And what you spurn, I’ll wear;

For he’s my lord for better or worse and worse,

And him I love, Maude Clare.

Yea, though you’re taller by the head,

More wise and much more fair;

I’ll love him ‘till he loves me best,

Me best of all, Maude Clare.”

—
Christina G. Rossetti

MIRIAM had awakened from her long sleep to accom
plish many things. The dinner which awaited her hus
band would have been much more enjoyable to him
than the one which he tried to choke down at Mrs.
Sylvester’s. His wife had remembered his every like and dislike and the appointments of the table were exquisite. She had resolved that he should find no pleasanter place than his own home in so far as it was in her power. Therefore she took as much pains about the setting and decoration of the dinner table as she had done the night
before when they were entertaining guests. It was hard
to have to treat one’s husband like a stranger, and she
sighed as she remembered the cozy little suppers taken
on the kitchen table on the girl’s “day off,” when she and
Claude had not taken time to eat in a regular way but
had brought the baby’s high-chair out to the kitchen and
she had ransacked the pantry and refrigerator for nice
little tidbits and sent a savory smell forth from the gas
stove while Claude quoted a verse of Riley’s poem, “
When mother gets the supper,” and the baby crowed
over the delightful informality of the occasion as she
drummed on a tin pan. But that was oh, so long ago! And
now she was putting touches to the fern dish that had
just come from the florist’s little shop around the corner exactly as if Claude were an outsider.

The supper was perfectly cooked and was ready at the
appointed hour. After that it stayed in a continual state
of readiness until it had depreciated its value more than
half and finally the cook declared sulkily that it was “
intoirly spoiled.” Then the children were given their
dinner and sent off to bed, and Miriam took a few
mouthfuls, her mind in such a state of uneasiness that she
scarcely tasted what she ate. But she knew she must eat
if she would go through the evening. What could have happened to Claude? Would he not come at all? Had he forgotten?

For the hundredth time she walked to the mirror to
see that everything was right with her costume.

It was an exquisite creation of filmy black over clear white that she had chosen for the evening, which could not have been accomplished save by her skillful needle,
without a vast outlay of money. She knew this, and again
and again looked it over critically to be sure there was
no mark of “home-made” about it, and again felt sure
that no one would know it was not made by a master
hand.

She put up her hand to her throat to still the choking sensation that would keep rising as the minutes flew by
and her husband did not appear. She touched the string
of pearls, a wedding gift, from a maiden aunt. She half smiled as she remembered the laughing prophecies made
by her girl friends of a tear which she must shed for every
pearl the bride wore. How sure she had been that they would not come true, how little fear of the old superstition! And yet she had shed tears enough, and about such petty things. So many that she had not any left now wherewith to water her first, her only, her awful sorrow when it did come!

Ah! that clock! The hands were painfully near to
half-past seven. And Claude must eat his dinner, and the
distance to the Academy was not short, and she so
dreaded going late at this her first entrance into that
charmed circle.

But hark! There was a carriage! And steps! Had
Claude waited perhaps to get the carriage and come
home in it that he might not have to keep her waiting
so long! How good of him to think of it! She had not ventured a carriage. She had known the expense must be saved wherever possible if she would not run short in her venture into the world.

Why did he not come in quickly? She was so glad over
the carriage that she forgot for the instant all that had
gone before, and the reason for her cool demeanor
toward her husband. It was so hard to play this distant
unconcerned role toward one who had been a part of
herself for so long.

Why, there was the bell! Claude had forgotten his latch-key perhaps, or lost it. She rushed forward to the door. There was no time to waste now. She laid grip
upon her self-control and remembered she must not give
way to her feelings as she put her hand upon the knob
and then she opened the door to come face to face
with—not Claude as she had expected, but the smiling face of the silver-haired senator.

Her cheeks had grown pink during the last half-hour with excitement. She was really a beautiful woman and she struck the senator so as he greeted her deferentially.
He was glad he had come. The prospect before him was
a pleasant one.

Miriam stood speechless for an instant, so sure had she
been that it was Claude’s step she heard. Then she
recovered her self-possession and held out her hand in greeting. She was conscious of relief that the caller was
an old man and would not therefore see through the
disguise she would put over her uneasiness. But she liked
the senator. All women did when he chose to have them
do so. Her smile was genuine, though she wondered as
she explained her acting as door maid, whether he would
stay long, and whether Claude would not come soon.
Also she was conscious of a disappointment about the carriage and realized how near she had been to forgiving Claude all just because of a paltry carriage and a little supposed thought of her convenience.

And then she became aware that Senator Bradenberg was not corning in, that he was trying to explain some
thing to her.

“I have come in your husband’s place to take you to
the Academy,” he was saying, “and I do hope, my dear madam, that you will let me do all in my power to make up for his loss. It is certainly a privilege to be allowed—”

Miriam in quick alarm put her hand on her heart,
crushing as she did so some exquisite white rose buds
that rested there among the lace.

“Has anything happened?” she said in a frightened
voice. “Is Claude hurt?—or ill?”

The senator decided that she was a very beautiful
woman and that he would not object to seeing her color come and go on his account like that. It would be worth working for.

“Oh, no indeed, Mrs. Winthrop,” he said in his most
suave manner. “Nothing is the matter at all. He was
merely detained longer than—ah--he expected to be
and—ah—we made this little arrangement. He expects
to meet you, I believe, at the Academy, when I suppose
I shall unfortunately have to surrender in his favor. Meanwhile I am delighted to be so fortunate as to have your company, if you will permit, and the carriage is at the door.”

With beating heart and eyes bright with tears that seemed scorching to get out, Miriam hastened to be
ready. Her gloves and wraps were at hand. She had
expected to have to hurry. But somehow this new move made things so hard. Where was Claude, and what could be the matter? Oh, was there to be some new, terrible
revelation! Why had she started out on this fool’s attempt
to conquer what she did not know?

But she was glad it was Senator Bradenberg and not some younger man her husband had sent. She could talk
politics to him and he would never notice how preoc
cupied she was. He was a good, kind man, old enough
to be her father. And thanks to the hint in her magazine she had read enough of the questions of the day not to
quake over the thought of a talk with
.
even this noted
man. There were subjects enough to talk about. She
would ask him questions thick and fast and let him do
the talking, that was the way to make people think you
a good conversationalist, just be a good listener. But
when would Claude appear, and how should she dis-
cover what had kept him? Would he tell her of his own free will? She must not forget again the manner she was
maintaining toward him. If she once let him see that she
was acting all would be lost.

How pleasant it was that she was to have the escort of
so distinguished a man as the senator if she could not
have Claude. It would surely give her prestige, for he
seemed to be spoken of as a talented man who stood high
in the political as well as social world, and could com
mand much influence.

Then she went down to her escort, ready, trying to
smile and thanking him for being so kind as to come. She
feared that she had not been so cordial as she might have
been at first, she had been so taken aback.

“Where did you say you met Mr. Winthrop?” she
asked as the carriage door slammed shut and they started on their way.

The senator cleared his throat and spoke with a pleas
ant unconcern. He was used to such situations. In fact he rather enjoyed them.

“At Mrs. Sylvester’s. He was, I believe, on for a little
dinner there and found it impossible to make both
engagements fit, hence I am here. I do hope you won’t
find me a very great bore!”

“At Mrs. Sylvester’s!” said Miriam and her voice
sounded like death, even to herself. The carriage was
passing a brilliantly lighted square and her white face was
lit up for the moment. She turned piteous eyes of
entreaty toward the senator as she spoke.

“You poor child!” said the senator in his graceful,
caressing tone. “It is terribly disappointing to have one’s
husband off with another woman while you have to take
up with any one that comes along, isn’t it? but it is the
way of the world, you know.”

A flood of crimson concealed the pallor on Miriam’s
cheeks. There might be anything or nothing in these
words, but instantly she was on the alert. Even an old
man, old enough to be her father, should not see and
pity. She had felt that he had meant pity for her, real pity
in that sentence, though he was too polite to really say
it, and had turned it off with pleasantry. But no one
should suspect the torture she was passing through.
Instantly summoning all her self-control she responded with a gayety that surprised herself:

“Not at all. I quite enjoy the prospect. I shall ask you
a hundred and one questions whose answers I have been
aching to know this long time, if you will not mind. Yes,
of course, Claude is at Sylvesters’. I ought to have
remembered—she is quite a friend of ours you know—
didn’t you see her at our house yesterday? I fear you
thought me quite ungrateful, but I assure you I am only too delighted to have this opportunity of talking with you.”

And then she summoned to her bidding all the reading
she had been doing lately, all the talk of the daily papers
about leagues and intrigues, all the confusing tangle of
subjects that have two sides to them, and sometimes
three sides, and began to ply her questions.

Senator Bradenberg watched her closely as well as he
could do for the dim lights that flashed past as they rode.
Here was certainly a marvelous woman, a woman worth
cultivating. She was evidently acting. He was too well
versed in the world not to know beyond a doubt the
meaning of that tone when she had first said, “At Mrs.
Sylvester’s!” But how quickly she had rallied, what a beautiful color she had summoned to her aid. That he
could detect beneath the mask of smiles a pain too deep
for utterance, only added zest to the occasion. His sated emotions would have a pleasant little treat. For many a day all pleasures had palled. Now there was something new to live for. He straightened up in the carriage and threw his whole magnetic self into his answers, that self that carried bills through the senate at all odds; that self

that had made the conquest of many hearts and mined many lives. It was not for nothing he had gained his
reputation. He knew how to talk. He knew how to
make one forget that time was flying. Miriam under
cover of the darkness had tried to listen and think at the
same time, but in the brilliancy of the Academy she drew
her breath and resolutely set herself to listen to all that
was said to her. Here she could be seen and she must not let the senator suspect, never, never, never, that she had
any trouble. And so she put her whole self into her
questions and listened with her eyes as well as with her ears, and more and more as he looked down into those clear, thoughtful eyes and saw the quick play of expression he was pleased that he had come.