Here Aunt Selina broke off, choked by a sudden gust of emotion. James said nothing, but sat staring straight in front of him. Presently his aunt, steadying her voice to its accustomed pitch, went on:

"Well, James, I told this to Beatrice, much as I've told it to you, though not at so great length, and I could see it made an impression on her. She came over and sat down by me and took my hand without speaking.

"'You lived through all that?' she said at last, 'and you never told any one?'

"'Why should I have told?' I answered. 'There was no one to tell. I've only told you because I thought it might have some bearing on your own case.'

"She caught her breath, gave a sort of little sigh. And that sigh said, as plainly as words, 'Dear me, I was so interested in your story I almost forgot I must get ready to go to New York to-morrow.' It was a setback; I saw I had overestimated the effect I had made. But I set my teeth and went on, determined not to give her up yet.

"'Beatrice,' I said, 'I haven't told you all this for the pleasure of telling it nor to amuse you. I've told it to you because I wanted to show you how such a course of action as you're about to take works out in real life. There is a strange madness that comes over women sometimes, especially over strong women; a sort of obsession that makes them think they are too good for the men they love. I know it, I've felt it--I've suffered under it, if ever woman did! It may seem irresistible while it lasts, but oh, the remorse that comes afterward! Beatrice, how many times do you suppose I've lived over each snubbing speech I made to Milton Leffert? How often do you suppose my laugh at him when he told me about the tax board has rung through my ears? Those are the memories that stab the soul, Beatrice; don't let there be any such in your life!'

"She didn't answer, but sat staring at the floor.

"'Beatrice,' I went on, 'there's no mortal suffering like discovering you've done wrong when it's too late. It's the curse of strong-willed people. It all seems so simple to us at first; it's so easy for us to force our wills on other people, to rule others and be free ourselves.

Then something happens, the true vision comes, and it's too late!

Beatrice, I've caught you in time--it's not too late for you yet. Do you know where you stand now, Beatrice? You're at the point where I was when I told Adrian to burn that telegram!'

"Still she said nothing, and the sight of her sitting there so beautiful and cold drove me almost wild. 'Oh, Beatrice,' I burst out, losing the last bit of my self-control, 'don't tell me I've got to live through it all again with you! Don't go and repeat my mistake before my very eyes, with my example before yours! It was hard enough to live through it once myself, but what will it be when I sit helplessly by and watch the people I love best go through it all! I can't bear it, I can't, I can't!

It takes all the meaning out of my own life!...'

"She was moved by my display of feeling, but not by my words. She said nothing for a time, but took my hand again and began stroking it gently, as if to quiet me. I said nothing more--I couldn't speak. At last she said, in a calm, gentle tone of voice, as if she were explaining something to a child:--

"'Aunt Selina, I don't think you quite understand about my marriage with James. It isn't like other marriages, exactly.'

"'It seems to me enough that it is a marriage,' I answered. 'Though I haven't spoken of that side of it, of course.'

"'Oh, you won't understand!' she said.

"'Beatrice,' said I, 'I couldn't understand if you kept telling me about it till to-morrow morning. No one ever will understand you, except your Creator--you might as well make up your mind to it. I don't doubt you've had many wrong things done to you. The point is, you're about to do one.

Don't do it.'

"Always back to the same old point, and nothing gained! I had the feeling of having fired my last shot and missed. I shut my eyes and leaned my head back and tried to think of some new way of putting it to her, but as a matter of fact I knew I had said all I had to say. And then, just as I was giving her up for lost, I heard her speaking again.

"'Aunt Selina,' she said, 'you have made me think of one thing.'

"'What's that, my dear?' I asked.

"'Well, I don't doubt but what I have done wrong things already, without suspecting it. Oh, yes, I've been too sure of myself!'

"'It's possible, my dear,' said I, 'but you haven't done anything that you can't still make up for, if you want.'

"'I think I know what you mean,' she said slowly; 'you mean I could go and tell him so. Tell him I had done wrong and was sorry--for I did sin, not in deed, but still in thought.... I never told him that, of course....' Then she shivered. 'Oh, but Aunt Selina, I can't do it, I can't! If you only knew how I've tried already, how I've humiliated myself!'

"'That never did any one any harm,' I told her.

"'And then,' she went on, 'even if I did do it, he'd never take me back--not on any terms! He'd only cast me away again--that's what would happen, you know! What would there be for me then but--Tommy?'

"Well, I knew I'd won a great point in making her even consider it.

"'Several things,' I answered, taking no pains to conceal my delight.

'In the first place, it's by no means certain that he will refuse you.

But if he does--well, you'll never lack a home or a friend while I'm alive, my dear! And don't you go and pretend that I'm not more to you than that brainless, chinless, sniveling, driveling little fool of an Englishman, for I won't believe it!'

"She laughed at that and for a moment we both laughed together. Then it suddenly occurred to me that I couldn't do better than leave it at that, let that laugh end our talk.

"'Good night, my dear,' I said, kissing her. 'The time has come now when you've got to make up your mind for yourself. I've done all I can for you.' And with that I left her.

"But, oh, James, it wasn't as simple as all that! It was all very well to tell her that and go to bed, but if you knew what agonies of doubt and suspense I went through during the night, fearing, hoping, wondering, praying! Those things are so much more complicated in real life than they are when you read them or see them acted. What should have happened was that I should have one grand scene with her and make her promise at the end to do as I wanted. And I did my best, I went as far as it was in me to go, and knew no more of the result than before I began! And we parted laughing--laughing, from that talk!

"But almost the worst part of it was next morning when we met downstairs after breakfast, with the family about. I could scarcely say good morning to her, and I never dared catch her eye. And all the time that one great subject was burning in our minds. And we couldn't talk of it again, either; we couldn't have if we'd been alone together in a desert!

You can't go on having scenes with people.

"At last, after lunch, I was alone on the verandah with her, and managed to screw myself up to asking her whether she was going to New York or not.

"'Yes, I'm going,' she answered.

"'What do you mean by that?' I asked.

"'Oh, I don't know what I mean!' she said desperately. I knew she was as badly off as I was, or worse, and after that I simply couldn't say another word to her.

"But I saw her alone once again, just before she started. She kissed me good-by and smiled and whispered: 'Don't worry, Aunt Selina--it's all right,' and then the others came. Just that--nothing more!

"I didn't know what to think--what I dared to think. One moment I rushed and telegraphed you, because I was afraid she was going to the Englishman, after all. The next minute I was hurrying to catch the night boat to Boston, because I thought she was going to you and that I might have to deal with you. I wanted to be with her in any case. Oh, I was so mad with the uncertainty and suspense I didn't know what I did or what I thought! But the impression I took away finally from her last words to me were that she was going to you.... But I never knew, James, _I never knew_! And now I never shall!..."

CHAPTER XIV

A POTTER'S VESSEL

By a great effort Aunt Selina had kept a firm control over herself throughout her narrative, but now, the immediate need of composure being removed, she gave way completely to her natural grief. James, whose att.i.tude toward her had been somewhat as toward a divine visitation, an emissary of Nemesis, suddenly found he had to deal with an old woman suffering under an overwhelming sorrow. This put an end for the present to the possibility of expanding on the Nemesis suggestion. He fetched her some more whisky, reflecting that it must be not unpleasant to have reached the age where grief wore itself out even partially in physical symptoms, to which physical alleviations could be applied. For the first time he found himself considering Aunt Selina as an old woman.

He could not help remarking, however, that even in age and even in grief Aunt Selina was rather magnificent. There was about her tears a Sophoclean, almost a Niobesque quality. It struck him that she must have been extremely good-looking in her youth.

Of course Aunt Selina, even in that extremity, knew enough to refrain from pointing a moral already sufficiently obvious. She said little after finishing her account, and that little was expressive only of her immediate sense of loss.

"Oh, James," she moaned, "I had always thought my life went out in a little puff of red flame forty years ago and more, but it seemed to me that if I could use my experience to mend her life I should be well repaid for everything. And now...."

They sat silent for the most part, both laboring under the terrific hopelessness of the situation, which certainty and uncertainty, together with the impossibility of action, combined to make intolerable. For a while each found a certain comfort in the other's mute presence, but at last even that wore off.

"Well, my dear, you don't want to be bothered by a hysterical old woman at this time," said Aunt Selina finally, and James obediently telephoned, for a taxi. Nemesis must be met, sooner or later....

Only once, as they sat side by side in the dark cab, did Aunt Selina give utterance to the one idea that animated her thoughts of the future.

"Well, I've lost my own life and I've lost her, and now you're the only thing I have left. Oh, James, for Heaven's sake don't let me lose you!"

"No, Aunt Selina, no," he replied, laying his hand on hers and speaking with a promptness and a fervor that surprised himself.