"If ma could only see us now," she would jest; or,
"Do you suppose Bill and John would recognize you here if they
saw you?"
Once she said: "This is better than the engine room, isn't
it?"
"You're a bad lot, Carlotta," he would declare, and then would
come to her lips the enigmatic smile of Monna Lisa.
"You like bad lots, don't you? Strays make fine hunting."
In her own philosophy she was taking the cash and letting the
credit go.
Days like this could not go on forever. The seed of their
destruction was in their beginning. Eugene was sad. He used to show
his mood at times and if she asked him what was the matter, would
say: "We can't keep this thing up much longer. It must come to an
end soon."
"You're certainly a gloomy philosopher, Genie," she would say,
reproachfully, for she had hopes that it could be made to last a
long while under any circumstances. Eugene had the feeling that no
pretence would escape Angela's psychology. She was too sensitive to
his unspoken moods and feelings. She would come soon, willynilly,
and then all this would be ended. As a matter of fact several
things combined to bring about change and conclusion.
For one thing Mrs. Hibberdell had been more and more impressed
with the fact that Carlotta was not merely content to stay but that
once having come she was fairly determined to remain. She had her
own apartment in the city, ostensibly closed for the summer, for
she had protested that it was too hot to live in town when she
first proposed going to Narragansett. After seeing Eugene she
figured out a possible use for it, though that use was dangerous,
for Norman Wilson might return at any time. Nevertheless, they had
been there on occasions—this with the double effect of deceiving
her mother and entertaining Eugene. If she could remain away from
Riverwood a percentage of the time, she argued with Eugene, it
would make her stay less suspicious and would not jeopardize their
joy in companionship. So she did this. At the same time she could
not stay away from Riverwood entirely, for Eugene was there
necessarily morning and evening.
Nevertheless, toward the end of August Mrs. Hibberdell was
growing suspicious. She had seen an automobile entering Central
Park once when Carlotta had phoned her that she had a sick headache
and could not come up. It looked to Mrs. Hibberdell, who had gone
down town shopping on the strength of this ailment and who had
phoned Carlotta that she was going to call at her apartment in the
evening, as though Eugene and Carlotta were in it. Eugene had gone
to work that morning, which made it seem doubtful, but it certainly
looked very much like him. Still she did not feel sure it was he or
Carlotta either. When she came to the latter's apartment Carlotta
was there, feeling better, but stating that she had not been out.
Mrs. Hibberdell concluded thoughtfully that she must have been
mistaken.
Her own room was on the third floor, and several times after all
had retired and she had come down to the kitchen or dining room or
library for something, she had heard a peculiar noise as of someone
walking lightly. She thought it was fancy on her part, for
invariably when she reached the second floor all was dark and
still. Nevertheless she wondered whether Eugene and Carlotta could
be visiting. Twice, between breakfast and the time Eugene departed,
she thought she heard Eugene and Carlotta whispering on the second
floor, but there was no proof. Carlotta's readiness to rise for
breakfast at six-thirty in order to be at the same table with
Eugene was peculiar, and her giving up Narragansett for Riverwood
was most significant. It remained for one real discovery to resolve
all her suspicions into the substance of fact and convict Carlotta
of being the most conscienceless of deceivers.
It came about in this fashion. One Sunday morning Davis and Mrs.
Hibberdell had decided to go automobiling. Eugene and Carlotta were
invited but had refused, for Carlotta on hearing the discussion
several days before had warned Eugene and planned to have the day
for herself and her lover. She cautioned him to pretend the need of
making visits down town. As for herself she had said she would go,
but on the day in question did not feel well enough. Davis and Mrs.
Hibberdell departed, their destination being Long Island. It was an
all day tour. After an hour their machine broke, however, and after
sitting in it two hours waiting for repairs—long enough to spoil
their plans—they came back by trolley. Eugene had not gone down
town. He was not even dressed when the door opened on the ground
floor and Mrs. Hibberdell came in.
"Oh, Carlotta," she called, standing at the foot of the stairs
and expecting Carlotta to appear from her own room or a sort of
lounging and sewing room which occupied the front of the house on
the second floor and where she frequently stayed. Carlotta
unfortunately was with Eugene and the door to this room was
commanded from where Mrs. Hibberdell was standing. She did not dare
to answer.
"Oh, Carlotta," called her mother again.
The latter's first thought was to go back in the kitchen and
look there, but on second thoughts she ascended the steps and
started for the sewing room. Carlotta thought she had entered. In
an instant she had seized the opportunity to step into the bath
which was next to Eugene's room but she was scarcely quick enough.
Her mother had not gone into the room—only opened the door and
looked in. She did not see Carlotta step out of Eugene's room, but
she did see her entering the bath, in negligee, and she could
scarcely have come from anywhere else. Her own door which was
between Eugene's room and the sewing room was ten feet away. It did
not seem possible that she could have come from there: she had not
had time enough, and anyhow why had she not answered?
The first impulse of Mrs. Hibberdell was to call to her. Her
second thought was to let the ruse seem successful. She was
convinced that Eugene was in his room, and a few moments later a
monitory cough on his part—coughed for a purpose—convinced her.
"Are you in the bath, Carlotta?" she called quietly, after
looking into Carlotta's room.
"Yes," came the reply, easily enough now. "Did your machine
break down?"
A few remarks were exchanged through the door and then Mrs.
Hibberdell went to her room. She thought over the situation
steadily for it greatly irritated her. It was not the same as the
discovered irregularity of a trusted and virtuous daughter.
Carlotta had not been led astray. She was a grown woman, married,
experienced. In every way she knew as much about life as her
mother—in some respects more. The difference between them was in
ethical standards and the policy that aligns itself with common
sense, decency, self preservation, as against its opposite.
Carlotta had so much to look out for. Her future was in her own
hands. Besides, Eugene's future, his wife's rights and interests,
her mother's home, her mother's standards, were things which she
ought to respect—ought to want to respect. To find her lying as she
had been this long time, pretending indifference, pretending
absence, and no doubt associating with Eugene all the while, was
disgusting. She was very angry, not so much at Eugene, though her
respect for him was greatly lowered, artist though he was, as at
Carlotta. She ought to do better. She ought to be ashamed not to
guard herself against a man like Eugene, instead of luring him on.
It was Carlotta's fault, and she determined to reproach her
bitterly and to break up this wretched alliance at once.
There was an intense and bitter quarrel the next morning, for
Mrs. Hibberdell decided to hold her peace until Eugene and Davis
should be out of the house. She wanted to have this out with
Carlotta alone, and the clash came shortly after breakfast when
both the others had left. Carlotta had already warned Eugene that
something might happen on account of this, but under no
circumstances was he to admit anything unless she told him to. The
maid was in the kitchen out of ear shot, and Mrs. Hibberdell and
Carlotta were in the library when the opening gun was fired. In a
way Carlotta was prepared, for she fancied her mother might have
seen other things—what or how much she could not guess. She was not
without the dignity of a Circe, for she had been through scenes
like this before. Her own husband had charged her with infidelity
more than once, and she had been threatened with physical violence
by him. Her face was pale but calm.
"Now, Carlotta," observed her mother vigorously, "I saw what was
going on yesterday morning when I came home. You were in Mr.
Witla's room with your clothes off. I saw you come out. Please
don't deny it. I saw you come out. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?
How can you treat me that way after your promise not to do anything
out of the way here?"
"You didn't see me come out of his room and I wasn't in there,"
said Carlotta brazenly. Her face was pale, but she was giving a
fair imitation of righteous surprise. "Why do you make any such
statement as that?"
"Why, Carlotta Hibberdell, how dare you contradict me; how dare
you lie! You came out of that room. You know you did. You know that
you were in there. You know that I saw you. I should think you
would be ashamed of yourself, slipping about this house like a
street girl and your own mother in it. Aren't you ashamed of
yourself? Have you no sense of decency left? Oh, Carlotta, I know
you are bad, but why will you come here to be so? Why couldn't you
let this man alone? He was doing well enough. It's a shame, the
thing you have done. It's an outrage. Mrs. Witla ought to come here
and whip you within an inch of your life."
"Oh, how you talk," said Carlotta, irritably. "You make me
tired. You didn't see me. It's the old story—suspicion. You're
always full of suspicion. You didn't see me and I wasn't in there.
Why do you start a fuss for nothing!"
"A fuss! A fuss for nothing—the idea, you evil woman. A fuss for
nothing. How can you talk that way! I can hardly believe my senses.
I can hardly believe you would dare to brazenly face me in this
way. I saw you and now you deny it."
Mrs. Hibberdell had not seen her, but she was convinced that
what she said was true.
Carlotta brazened it out. "You didn't," she insisted.
Mrs. Hibberdell stared. The effrontery of it took her breath
away.
"Carlotta," she exclaimed, "I honestly think you are the worst
woman in the world. I can't think of you as my daughter—you are too
brazen. You're the worst because you're calculating. You know what
you're doing, and you are deliberate in your method of doing it.
You're evil-minded. You know exactly what you want and you set out
deliberately to get it. You have done it in this case. You started
out to get this man and you have succeeded in doing it. You have no
sense of shame, no pride, no honesty, no honor, no respect for me
or anyone else. You do not love this man. You know you don't. If
you did you would never degrade him and yourself and me as you have
done. You've simply indulged in another vile relationship because
you wanted to, and now when you're caught you brazen it out. You're
evil, Carlotta. You're as low as a woman can be, even if you are my
daughter."
"It isn't true," said Carlotta. "You're just talking to hear
yourself talk."
"It is true and you know it," reproved her mother. "You talk
about Norman. He never did a thing worse in his life than you have
done. He may be a gambler and immoral and inconsiderate and
selfish. What are you? Can you stand there and tell me you're any
better? Pah! If you only had a sense of shame something could be
done for you, but you haven't any. You're just vile, that's
all."
"How you talk, ma," she observed, calmly; "how you carry on, and
that on a mere suspicion. You didn't see me. I might have been in
there but you didn't see me and I wasn't. You're making a storm
just because you want to. I like Mr. Witla. I think he's very nice,
but I'm not interested in him and I haven't done anything to harm
him. You can turn him out if you want to. That's none of my
affairs. You're simply raging about as usual without any facts to
go upon."
Carlotta stared at her mother, thinking. She was not greatly
disturbed. It was pretty bad, no doubt of that, but she was not
thinking so much of that as of the folly of being found out. Her
mother knew for certain, though she would not admit to her that she
knew. Now all this fine summer romance would end—the pleasant
convenience of it, anyhow. Eugene would be put to the trouble of
moving. Her mother might say something disagreeable to him.
Besides, she knew she was better than Norman because she did not
associate with the same evil type of people. She was not coarse,
she was not thick-witted, she was not cruel, she was not a user of
vile language or an expresser of vile ideas, and Norman was at
times. She might lie and she might be calculating, but not to
anyone's disadvantage—she was simply passion driven—boldly so and
only toward love or romance. "Am I evil?" she often asked herself.
Her mother said she was evil. Well, she was in one way; but her
mother was angry, that was all. She did not mean all she said. She
would come round. Still Carlotta did not propose to admit the truth
of her mother's charges or to go through this situation without
some argument. There were charges which her mother was making which
were untenable—points which were inexcusable.
"Carlotta Hibberdell, you're the most brazen creature I ever
knew! You're a terrible liar. How can you stand there and look me
in the eye and say that, when you know that I know? Why lie in
addition to everything else? Oh! Carlotta, the shame of it. If you
only had some sense of honor! How can you lie like that? How can
you?"
"I'm not lying," declared Carlotta, "and I wish you would quit
fussing. You didn't see me. You know you didn't. I came out of my
room and you were in the front room. Why do you say you weren't.
You didn't see me. Supposing I am a liar. I'm your daughter. I may
be vile. I didn't make myself so. Certainly I'm not in this
instance. Whatever I am I come by it honestly. My life hasn't been
a bed of roses. Why do you start a silly fight? You haven't a thing
to go on except suspicion and now you want to raise a row. I don't
care what you think of me. I'm not guilty in this case and you can
think what you please. You ought to be ashamed to charge me with
something of which you are not sure."