That all Hugh Benton’s problems were not concerned with his own troublesome heart where the fair Geraldine DeLacy was concerned, or with his daughter whose willfulness he feared might lead her into a marriage less desirable than the one he hoped for with Paul Bronlee, came home to him in a cataclysmic rush a few days later when Howard, his son, appeared on the immediate horizon. Howard had been so long at college that Hugh had got into the habit of thinking of him as merely a financial annoyance, the personal equation of which was luckily distant. There was not much affection between the two. There could not have been, since Hugh Benton had seen his son so rarely during those portions of his vacation the young man chose to spend in his home. But Hugh Benton never forgot his fatherly duties. He remembered that Howard was his son. And how, indeed, was he to forget it after that blithe and dashing young man had been home from college for a few weeks.
It was shortly after the Thurston dance that Howard had been graduated. It had been rather as much of a surprise to Howard that this had been accomplished as it had to anyone else—nevertheless, it had been done. He had flunked in everything the beginning of the term, but mysteriously he had managed to get through by an amazingly close margin.
Marjorie was very proud of her son. Mother-like, she overlooked all of his faults—saw him only through eyes of love, and did not attempt to look beneath the surface. To his father, though, Howard was not a young god. He saw him as he was: egotistical, reckless, a selfish young spendthrift.
Hugh called him into the library one evening after he had had time to consider the young man’s case.
“I want to have a little talk with you, Howard,” he told his son with a firmness that presaged no casual talk.
“All right, Dad, see that it is a little talk, as I have a date in town.” Howard dropped lazily on the davenport, extracted a cigarette from his new platinum case and blew rings of smoke toward the ceiling.
The parent eyed his offspring critically. He was considering him from all angles. Handsome enough, he thought, and there was self-satisfaction in his recognition of his own features in those of his sprawling son. But another thought came to drive away pleasure in any personal appearance.
“And insolent, too,” was the further thought, and an ominous frown accompanied the mental comment. But when he spoke aloud, it was slowly and with the dignity he always used when addressing Howard. He indicated the sprawling attitude.
“I prefer to have you sit up while I talk,” he said with unmistakable reproof, “and as for your—er—date—it will have to wait.”
“I say—” Howard began, but as he caught sight of his father’s stern countenance, he slowly straightened out of his reclining position, and sat waiting.
“Howard,” Hugh went directly to the point, “I haven’t been at all satisfied with your conduct during your three years at college——”
“Why, what’s the matter?” Howard’s tone conveyed genuine surprise. “Didn’t I graduate?”
“You did. God only knows how. Neither Professor Anderson nor I have been able to fathom it.”
Howard flushed angrily: “Maybe you think I cheated?”
“I am so glad that you’re through I don’t believe I care how you managed it. You know without my having to tell you how you wasted your time; but I didn’t call you in here to discuss past performances or lecture you. I merely want to know what you intend doing now that you are a college graduate and have fully satisfied your mother’s ambitions?” Hugh himself did not realize the tinge of bitterness in his voice.
“Doing? Just what do you mean by that, Dad?”
“Do you care to come into the office with me,” Hugh answered, “or would you rather go to work for one of my friends?”
“Work!” Howard sat up like a shot. Amazement rang in his voice. “Surely, Dad, you don’t expect me to work!”
“Well, what do you expect to do, now that you can’t go to school any longer?” Hugh remembered his cherished dignity and sought to control himself, but with ill success.
“Why, you have so much money, Dad, I thought I’d just be a—a gentleman.”
Hugh turned fiercely. His anger had leapt bounds. “A gentleman?” he sneered. “You mean, you want to be a good-for-nothing idler. Well, I won’t stand for it—do you hear—I won’t stand for it!”
Howard languidly lighted a fresh smoke. “Any need to get so excited?”
All semblance of dignity gone by this goading of his nonchalant, indifferent heir, Hugh Benton towered over him, an apoplectic flush on his usually calm face.
“Yes!” he shouted. “Yes! To hear you talk of being a ‘gentleman’—would you infer that I am not one? Have I been too good to work? To hand out money to you hand over fist to gratify your mother’s desire for you to be college-bred? And now what do I get! You sit there calmly and announce your intention of being a ‘gentleman!’ You, who have cost a small fortune to put through college, to say nothing of the escapades I’ve had to get you out of——”
Hugh’s explosion ended in a splutter. Howard coolly blew another exact smoke ring into the air. He almost yawned in his intense boredom as he answered:
“Haven’t I heard you say, Dad, that there is no use in going over past performances?”
“What else is there to do when you propose going on the same way?” Hugh calmed himself to better his argument. “I can’t help saying, too, that your lack of respect and air of impertinence surprise me,” he added coldly.
“I didn’t mean to be impertinent, Dad, honestly I didn’t—only this rôle of the stern parent is so foreign and unbecoming to you, that it strikes me as a sort of joke. You’ve always been such a good fellow, and regular pal. However, I’ll come into the office with you, if you wish,” he added condescendingly.
“Very well, report at nine o’clock Monday morning—I’ll have Bryson assign some work to you.” And it was Hugh who turned away abruptly, ending the argument.
“I’ll be there,” Howard assured, magnanimously. At the door, he turned suddenly: “Say, Dad, how about the roadster you promised me when I was through college. Can I have it?”
“Yes,” Hugh answered listlessly. “Order it whenever you please.”
“Thanks, Dad, you’re great!” And Howard ran upstairs, whistling the air of a popular song.
For a few moments Hugh paced about the room; then, coming to a sudden standstill, he threw back his head and laughed bitterly. “What is the use?” he murmured. “If I attempt to reason with my children, they become insufferably insolent, or else they endeavor to win me over with subtle flattery.”
The jangle of the telephone bell on his desk startled him.
“Is this Mr. Benton?” a sweetly low voice came over the wire.
“Yes.”
“This is Geraldine DeLacy, Mr. Benton.”
“How do you do, Mrs. DeLacy,” he replied, but he was not unconscious of the quickening of his heart.
“I fear you have forgotten me. Don’t you remember promising to arrange for me to call at your office?”
“Forgotten you, Mrs. DeLacy! You suggest an impossibility. On the contrary I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Do you happen to be at leisure to-morrow?”
“Why yes—I—” she began, but in his masterful way Hugh Benton took matters in his own hands.
“Well, then, suppose we say eleven-thirty, at my office, and after our little business conference, perhaps you will do me the honor to lunch with me?”
“I shall be delighted.”
“Thank you,” he murmured, as he hung up the receiver, Geraldine’s musical “good-by” singing in his ears.
When Hugh entered the breakfast room the next morning, he found all the members of his family at the table. This was an occurrence so unusual as to cause surprise. Of late years while the children were away at school, Marjorie and Hugh breakfasted together on an average of about once a month. Since Elinor’s return, she had ordered her tray sent up at least five mornings out of seven, and Howard had not shown himself one morning in the few days that he had been home. Therefore, Hugh’s inquiring glance was to be expected.
“Good morning,” he said, as he pulled out his watch. It was just 9:30. “What a lot of early birds!”
Marjorie laid aside the letter she was reading as she answered: “Good morning, Hugh. I don’t believe I am any earlier than usual. I breakfast every morning regularly at 9:15.”
“I wasn’t referring to you, Marjorie,” Hugh laughed good-naturedly. “I know your life is one long martyrdom of punctuality.”
“Your sarcasm isn’t especially appreciated, Hugh.” Marjorie flushed deeply, as she resumed the reading of her mail.
“I hadn’t the slightest intention of being sarcastic, my dear Marjorie,” he replied, seating himself at the table and reaching for his folded paper, “but as usual, you prefer to misconstrue my meaning.”
“Good morning, Dad,” Elinor interrupted, anxious to prevent a needless argument. “You’re looking fine, and you’re all dressed up. Is that a new suit?”
“Practically new. I’ve had it about a month, but this is the first time I’ve worn it.”
“Well, it is vastly becoming, and your shirt and tie harmonize beautifully.”
“Maybe Dad has a date,” Howard interposed mischievously.
“Howard, flippancy is distasteful to me,” Marjorie again looked up from her letter to reprove coldly.
“Why all this discussion?” Hugh demanded. “I happen to wear a new suit, a thing I have done innumerable times without causing the slightest comment, and for some unknown reason the family proceed to hold a conference terminating in a general wrangle.”
“I’m sure I meant it all right, Dad. I don’t see why Howard had to interfere—I wish he’d mind his own business,” Elinor remarked peevishly.
“Oh, is that so?” Howard returned. “You think you’re mighty clever, don’t you? I’ve as much right to speak as you have, and I’ll tell you one——”
“Children—children!” Marjorie intervened.
“Well this a pleasant little party,” Hugh exploded, throwing down his paper in disgust. “If I had dreamt that things were going to be so agreeable, I’d have had my breakfast in town. You must have all stepped out on the wrong side of the bed. It evidently doesn’t agree with you to rise so early. Anyway, what happens to be the occasion?”
“I’m anxious to get into town to order my roadster,” Howard replied. “Will you give me a lift, as far as the Circle, Dad?”
Hugh nodded absent-mindedly. “And you, Elinor?” he asked.
“Oh, I have an early appointment—one of the girls I knew at Miss Grayson’s is visiting some friends in New York, and I am going to spend the day with her.”
“Who is she?” Marjorie inquired, coldly concerned. She had not yet accustomed herself to Elinor’s doing as she pleased without consulting her.
“You don’t know her, mother, so there wouldn’t be any use in my telling you.” Elinor tossed her head defiantly.
“Just the same,” Marjorie began, “I want to know.”
Hugh arose hastily. “Come on, Howard, if you want to ride into town with me,” he called. It was plain he was anxious to escape from listening to one of Marjorie’s catechisms.
“Righto, Dad,” answered the boy. “Try to improve your disposition, Sis,” he called back over his shoulder. “I’m going to get a swell roadster, and you may want to ride with me.”
“Howard,” Hugh began, as soon as they were seated in the car, and headed for town, “how is it that you and Elinor can’t be together half an hour without quarreling?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Howard sulked. “She always starts things.”
“You should remember that she is a woman, and women are nearly always difficult enigmas,” Hugh sighed rather deeply.
“You must be right, Dad,” Howard’s voice was full of sympathy. “I know you’re speaking from experience.”
“What do you mean by that?”
To which Howard replied, innocently enough: “Why Elinor and I were discussing you the other evening, and we agreed that you must have a pretty tough time of it, trying to hit it off with mother.”
Hugh fidgeted uneasily. “I don’t see what could have given you that impression,” he said.
“Oh everything. You’re such a real sport, Dad, and mother is,” Howard waxed confidential, “so very——”
“Stop!” Hugh commanded. “Your attempting to criticise your mother to me is very bad taste, Howard. I must refuse to listen to you.”
“All right, Dad. Here’s where I get out!” He called to the chauffeur to stop. “But,” and there was unmistakable meaning in the eyes of the son, “I’m all for you, and you know it.”
Hugh leaned back and closed his eyes as his car whirled toward his office.
“Even my children pity me,” he meditated resentfully. “What a mess Marjorie and I have made of things!” But it was a commentary on the changed Hugh Benton that only for one solitary moment did he blame himself. Surely, he reflected morosely, Marjorie was anything but a successful wife or mother.
At precisely 11:30 his clerk announced Mrs. DeLacy. She swept into the room gracefully, and extended her hand. “Good morning,” she said brightly. “I think you will find me exactly on time.”
Hugh glanced at the clock. “To the minute,” he answered, taking the offered hand. “You are one of earth’s rarities—a punctual woman.”
“You would consider me very unappreciative if I kept you waiting,” she smiled, as she sank languidly into the easy chair which Hugh had drawn up for her.
Sitting opposite her, his arms folded across his chest, Hugh stared at her approvingly. She seemed neither to notice nor resent the scrutiny as she chattered on for a few moments about commonplaces. She was bewitchingly charming to-day, he thought. Her dress, a symphony in brown from head to foot, was flattering in the extreme.
With reluctance, the man forced himself to recall that Mrs. DeLacy’s visit was on business. There was so much more he would rather talk to her about. But then he remembered that it would be to her advantage—that it was in his power to aid her. He pulled a pad of paper toward him and dipped his pen into the wrought bronze ink-well on his shining desk.
“Let us get down to business,” he said abruptly. “Tell me just how much money you have, how it is invested, and all the particulars.”
“I have so little, I’m almost ashamed to mention it. It’s so good of you to bother with me at all,” she replied. She reached into her bag, extracted a number of papers and placed them upon his desk.
In short order he had made a note of everything. Placing the memorandum in his desk’s drawer, he said bluntly: “Leave it all to me, my dear Mrs. DeLacy. It won’t take long to double or triple your money for you.”
“How powerful you are,” she murmured admiringly, “and how wonderful to have found such a friend!”
“Thank you.” He found himself blushing. “And now, where shall we go for luncheon?”
“I don’t know,” Geraldine stammered confusedly. “We must be discreet—people are so unkind—especially to a widow. Can’t you suggest some place where we wouldn’t be apt to meet anyone who knows us?”
“If you don’t object to a little ride, I think I know the very place,” was the prompt reply. “It is an inn on the road to Jamaica. I have stopped there on my way to the races.”
“Splendid,” she enthused. “The ride will give us an appetite, and I adore inns.”
“You had better go down ahead of me,” he said. “I will join you in a few moments after I give my clerk some instructions for the afternoon. We will go out in a taxi—my chauffeur—you know——”
“I understand,” she saved him from further embarrassment. “You are more than considerate, and I appreciate your kind protection. I’ll wait below.”
But Hugh Benton could not see the exultation in her eyes, nor know her no less exultant thoughts as she rode down in the elevator.
At Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street, they were halted by congested traffic.
Fate, or the imp that has so much joy in arranging just such contretemps must have laughed with glee that day when Marjorie Benton had felt the urge to go into town shopping. And it was that same imp who must have led her out onto the sidewalk to her waiting limousine just at the moment that a taxi halted in front of her,—and in that taxi were Geraldine DeLacy and Hugh Benton—a different Hugh than she had known in a long time herself, a Hugh so raptly attentive to his handsome companion, so joyously laughing at her witty sallies, so light-hearted that his attention did not swerve for one single moment to the pathetic figure on the sidewalk, an unattractive figure at best in her gray gown of severe cut.
Marjorie Benton’s knees almost gave way under her at the sight. It was only her indomitable will power that helped her survive the shock. Realizing at once that they had not seen her, a thing for which she was truly grateful, she slipped back into the entrance of the store and from that concealed position, gazed with uncontrollable fascination at the two before her. Her eyes were blinded with tears she could not force back, but her cheeks burned with indignation.
The traffic officer flashed the signal and the taxi vanished from sight. Still Marjorie remained rooted to the spot. Strange as it may seem, through all the years of estrangement, she had never once associated Hugh with deception of any kind. Somehow, she had always believed he would remain the gentleman she had married.
Struggling to regain her composure, she summoned her car to be driven home. Lowering the shades, she sat wearily down upon the luxuriously upholstered seat. The mere rocking of the car caused her to place her hands to her wildly throbbing temples. A hot uprush of jealousy not unmingled with scorn overwhelmed her. How was she to bear it, was the one thought that run frantically through her head. An overburdening sense of inexpressible bitterness against the woman began to manifest itself within her. Could the sensation of dislike and mistrust with which she always encountered Geraldine DeLacy have been a presentiment? The all-important question was: What should she do? If she went to him and told him what she had seen, he would probably face her calmly and say: “I warned you, Marjorie, that I should seek my happiness wherever it presented itself.” She could not leave him. That would leave an indelible stain upon Elinor and Howard just as they were being launched forth into the sea of aristocracy. There was under the circumstances only one thing left for her to do, and that was willfully to close her eyes and stoically endure this, and presumably more insults to follow. It would not be so very difficult for her to disguise her feelings. She and Hugh had arrived at the point in their lives where they merely exchanged conventional civilities.
By the time the car reached home, she had her emotions under control. Going directly to her own room, she removed her wraps and methodically put everything where it belonged in her usual manner, hoping thereby to regain composure sufficient to enable her calmly to review the situation and reach a more logical decision.
It was late in the afternoon when she calmly walked to the telephone, called the Thurston home and asked to speak with Mrs. DeLacy.
“Yes, this is Mrs. DeLacy,” Geraldine drawled. “Who is this, please?”
“Mrs. DeLacy,” Marjorie answered, her voice distinct and serene, while her heart throbbed, “this is Mrs. Benton. I have a request to make of you.”
“Why—Mrs. Benton,” Geraldine with difficulty disguised her surprise. It was the first time Mrs. Benton had deigned to telephone her. “What can I do for you?”
“Will you call to see me to-morrow, and give me a few minutes of your time. There is something I wish to discuss with you. I would come to you only the matter is quite confidential, and I think we shall be freer from interruption here.”
“You fill me with curiosity, Mrs. Benton. I shall be glad to come, only to-morrow happens to be a very busy day for me. As long as it is to be a short interview, will it be convenient for you to see me at six o’clock, on my way home from a five o’clock tea at the Woodsons?”
“That will be all right. I shall expect you at six to-morrow. Good-by—and—thank you,” Marjorie added reluctantly.
Geraldine hung up the receiver in a marked state of disconcertion. What in the world could Marjorie Benton wish to see her about? She had never telephoned to her before. In fact, she had barely treated her with formal civility when they happened to meet. She couldn’t understand why she should be at all perturbed unless perhaps it was a twinge of conscience. At all events she would put it from her until to-morrow. No doubt it was something concerning Elinor—she knew that Marjorie strongly disapproved of their intimacy. Well, she——
The dinner gong interrupted any further soliloquy. She hurried down to the dining room. The Thurstons were having guests for dinner, one of whom she was most desirous of knowing, a wealthy, distinguished bachelor. True, she had had a remarkably interesting start with Hugh Benton, but after all, he was married, so it could do no harm to exert her affability in Mr. Tilmar’s direction. One could never tell just what might happen. She could not afford to allow a single opportunity to escape her.
Marjorie Benton was satisfied. She had carefully debated all afternoon, and had finally concluded that her only course lay in facing Geraldine DeLacy. She would be different from other women and come out into the open. Perhaps she could reach the DeLacy woman’s sense of honor. At all events, she would not permit her to imagine that she was a poor, deceived wife, the victim of a cheap and tawdry triangle. Those things were all very well on the stage—but in real life—Well, she would handle the situation differently.
All the next day, she rehearsed in her mind just what she would say, and at a few minutes past six, when Griggs announced Mrs. DeLacy she was calmly waiting for her.
Geraldine entered apologetically: “Am I a few minutes late, Mrs. Benton? My dressmaker detained me this afternoon, and consequently I was tardy with all my engagements.”
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. DeLacy.” Marjorie motioned to her to be seated. “I should have come to you, but as I told you, when I telephoned, I thought it would be easier to arrange a private interview here.”
“How interesting. Sounds as if it were to be quite confidential.” Geraldine sank languidly into a comfortable chair and extracted a cigarette from her case. “Have one? Oh—I forgot—you never indulge. No objections to my having a puff or two, I hope? It rests my nerves so—after I’ve been rushing about.”
Marjorie merely nodded. The insolence of the woman was almost unbearable.
“Well, now, Mrs. Benton, what is this secret? I am fairly consumed with curiosity. Is it about Elinor? I hope the dear child has not been,—well—let us say—indiscreet?”
“I am perfectly capable of managing my daughter myself, Mrs. DeLacy—and I would hardly send for you to advise me concerning her,” Marjorie answered freezingly.
“Why is it, Mrs. Benton, that you dislike me so?” Geraldine faced her squarely. “From the moment of our first meeting, you have shown me plainly just how you feel toward me.”
“You’re right,” Marjorie realized that without undue maneuvering, the cards were on the table, “I never liked you—you will pardon me for having to say this in my own house—indeed, I mistrusted and disliked you, but I never feared you, until yesterday—because I have always had faith in my husband.”
“Your husband?”
“I was shopping on the avenue yesterday, and I saw you and my husband in a cab. I immediately hailed another and—followed you!” Marjorie felt the blood mounting to her cheeks, and she turned her head in order to conceal her embarrassment as she brought this bit of strategy into play. “So you see there isn’t any use for you to deny it.”
“So that’s it.” Geraldine DeLacy threw away her cigarette and faced her accuser defiantly. “Well, there isn’t anything for me to deny. I called at Mr. Benton’s office on business. He is a broker and attending to some of my affairs—surely I have a right to employ his services. It happened to be lunch time and he invited me to go with him. I must confess that I am surprised to think that the honorable Mrs. Benton has stooped to spying.”
Marjorie was struggling for calmness.
“I’d do more than that, Mrs. DeLacy,” she said, with feverish meaning. “I’d fight to the bitter end for the man I love.”
“You love?” Geraldine’s laugh ended in a sneer. “Why, you don’t know what love means—you, with your haughty air of superiority—your repellent coldness. What can you mean to any man—particularly a man like Hugh Benton?”
Marjorie faced her proudly: “Something that no other woman in the world means—I am the mother of his children.”
Geraldine coolly lighted another cigarette. She seemed to be considering. “When two people reach the climax in their lives, when they mean as little to one another as you two,” she commented insultingly, “then even children do not count.”
“What do you know concerning our lives?”
Geraldine’s shrug was expressive, and she half yawned in a bored manner.
“What everybody else knows,” she enlightened, “that you are mismated—that you haven’t an idea in common—that your husband believes in living while you have stayed at home—and—well,—” She eyed her rival insolently from head to foot,—“have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror? When Hugh Benton told me he was four years your senior I wouldn’t believe it. You’re more like his mother. Why, you’re forty years old, Marjorie Benton, and I’m thirty-six—yes—I know I tell everybody I’m twenty-six (I’ve been taken for twenty-three) that’s the difference between us. I’m being brutally frank with you because I want to show you how impossible it is for you to hold your husband.”
Marjorie gulped as the stinging words flayed her.
“Perhaps all you say is true, Mrs. DeLacy,” she admitted slowly. “I may be as you say—decidedly unattractive,—but I do know that until you came into my husband’s life, I was the only woman in it.”
“How ridiculous,” Geraldine laughed. “You mean I am the only one you happen to think you know about.”
“It is useless for me to waste words with you.” Marjorie Benton, usually so calm, so cool, so complete mistress of herself, lost all control in this crisis. She spoke bitterly. “I can never bring you to see things from my viewpoint, and I could never stoop to your level to discuss them.”
“Stop!” Geraldine commanded angrily as she hurriedly rose. “You may go a bit too far—even with me, Mrs. Benton. I came here at your request, and have submitted calmly to your insults because, in my heart, I pity you! But I refuse to allow you to presume any further. Up to now your husband has simply been my friend and counselor. But he cares for me—I know he does—and I shall act accordingly!”
Marjorie eyed her disdainfully. “So it’s threats, now!”
“Merely fair warning.” Gaining confidence in herself each moment, Geraldine DeLacy was twisting the iron.
“Then you will deliberately step in between husband and wife?”
For her, Marjorie Benton was almost pleading, but her plea was made to a woman soulless, caring only for what might best further her own interests.
“I cannot come into Hugh Benton’s life,” answered that woman, weighing each word with cruel deliberation, “unless he is willing for me to do so—therefore, I think the matter rests entirely with him, and neither you nor I have a right to discuss it.”
Mrs. Hugh Benton, her self-control all miraculously returned, an unaccustomed red spot on either pale cheek, rose in all her dignity.
“Your impertinence, Mrs. DeLacy,” she commented dryly, “is beyond comprehension. I regret exceedingly having requested you to call, but having done so, I now request you to leave!”