The Letter of the Contract

ion. It was a kind of numbness. She could only feel that she didn't feel. In spite of her

that seemed abominable, though it was no more than a narrative of the facts. It added to her sense of degradation to learn that one of the cheaper dailies had published a snapshot of her taken as she was re-entering the motor to come away. But even the horror o

to that. She wanted only to make him understand. Hitherto he hadn't understood. She had seen that in all his letters, right up to the moment when, driven to despair by what seemed to her his moral obtuseness, she had implored him not to write again. It was to help him to

resuming the old life; there would be what people called a reconciliation. Chip would be coming and going and whistling tunelessly all over the house. And the awful thing about it would be that he had it in him to be as happy as if this horrible thing had neve

said nothing of the kind. His letters, beseeching though they were, only aggravated her complaint against him. "What else could I do?... The poor thing clung to me.... As far as it affected my devotion to you it might have happened in another phase of creation." That was the amazi

ip did no more than most men would do. He was no worse than the average. He might even be a little better. But, according to Aunt Emily, the man didn't live who was worthy of a really good woman's love. It was foolish for a really good w

an herself, she was even loved. She was far from lonely; she was far from having missed the best things in life. She was traveled, well-read, philanthropic, and broad-minded. She was likewise tall, stately, and dominant, with an early Victorian face to which a mid-Victorian wig, kept in

bringing to bear on the situation the interest every intelligent person takes in drama. For her participation Edith felt she couldn't be too grateful to a relative on whom she had no urgent claim beyond the fact that

t realize now; she didn't know; she probably would never know; it was perhaps the impossibility of knowing that left her still unsatisfied. So long as the thing had not yet been done she had enjoyed at least the relief of action. She was challenging Chip, she was defying him; he was making her some sort of response, even when it was made in silence. She was the one and he was the other, and there was an interplay of force

ntion of taking them, and returned with the father's consent. She was not bound to ask for this, but she considered it courteous to do so. If while she did it he chose to take the opportunity to recognize her continued existence by an inquiry or a word-well, then, she said to herself with a sob, it was there for him to make use of. But he didn't take it. He maintained the silence on which he h

unexpected relief to be away from Aunt Emily's bursts of triumph and felicitation. With a book she hardly looked at in her hand she could sit at her window or on the terrace, soothed incomprehensibly by the blue-green sweep of the immemorial sea beside which so many other sad hearts had watched before

was in a position oddly similar to her own. At school she had been Gertie Cottle. In New York she was Mrs. Harry Scadding. She was now Mrs. G. Cottle Scadding for purposes of exact identification. She also had "freed herself"; she also had had a snapshot in the cheaper dai

e and talked. It was talk in which Edith was chiefly a listener, but a listener who couldn't deny that she was entertained. She was uncomfortable only when discerning compatriots appeared, and with visible nods and

with her, championing the sisterhood of loneliness. There were moments when this association might not have been discreet; but they were also moments in which-so it seemed to Edith-discretion was not a part of valor. Once or twice she accompanied her friend to Nice; once or twice to Monte Carlo. On each of these occasions she found herself in a gathering of cosmopolitan odds and ends in which

ve for with the restlessness which characterized the social fag-ends whom she was now in the habit of meeting, she would have been glad to establish relations; but she never got beyond an occasional bow or smile, generally over some

itude. She hardly understood her gratitude unless it was for a hint of solicitude in a world where no one seemed to bother about her any more. He did bother about her. She grew s

scarcely less distinguished than himself. All three were serious men well into the forties. The valet was English, the secretary French, the master American. She would not, however, have taken the last-named for a fellow-countryman if she had not accidentally heard him speak. In regard to externals he was as nearly as possible denationa

pt free. Even so no great harm had been done, especially in the case of a woman with her knowledge of the world. None had been so much as threatened until the arrival on

tener than not his choice for clothes. Gertie flirted with him outrageously-there was no other phrase for it. It was the kind of flirting one was obliged to consider innocent, since the alternative would have been too appalling. Edith opted for the innocent construction, le

oof to Edith of the depth of need to which she had come down that she missed them. She missed their frivolity and inconsequentiali

losing him. That is, she was losing him as an actuality; she was losing him as the pivot round which her life had swung, eve

t something else stirred in her that was not indignation, and to which she was afraid to give a name. Perhaps there was no name to give it. As far as she could analyze its elements, they lay in the twin

for future possibilities. That her life should have been blasted was bad enough; but that it should renew its vigor and put forth shoots for a second bloom was frightful. Yet there was the fact that such things happened. Women in

she were ever so inclined. Not that he asked her to do so. He had only reached the point of inviting her to dine with him at Monte Carlo and look in at th

eated for herself-that she should be invited in this way to Ciro's and that there might be similar incidents to follow. She certainly was not shocked. Deep down in her heart something-was it something feminine? or was it something broadly human?-was secretly shamefully flattered. She couldn't blame the young fellow. She couldn't blame Gertie-very much. She might blame herself for being drawn into Gertie's company, and yet what other course could she have taken? She had known G

raire Madame to dine to-night, let us say, at Ciro's, or the Hotel de

t be a warning. He was a warning that even if he failed to touch her heart it was by

distinguished stranger who continued to follow her with eyes of brooding concern. That is, what he said amounted to advice. It was, in

t there is in the way of town. She had never come abruptly face to face with him before. She knew she colored and betrayed a ridiculous self-

man Walker

ight inclination. He mentioned his

urs," he went on, calmly, "at Cannes. I'v

o matter what, to cover up her absurd confusion

le he continued: "The Misses Partridge asked me to say that they would be glad to see you, if you could ever make it convenient to go over. They wished me

that she would go at once, when he said

ant at Cannes-mo

ething about him-it might have been the tenderness of a man who himself knew what suff

oved from the atmosphere that comes up to us from-down there.

was less heavy because of his kindness, because of this indication that some one cared what became of her. She felt so forsaken that almost any

ed a vast circle of acquaintance, chiefly by a hearty, unaffected interest in each individual personality. No one, however unimportant, was ever forgotten by them. Miss Rosamond, who looked like a coachman, spent her time in correspondence, rounding up absent friends; Miss Gladys, who was thin and angular, coursed whatever n

en she did she got a perception of broad social inclusiveness which Chip could hardly appreciate. It was the only house she knew of in which there were no "sets," and where one met the most interesting people of all walks in lif

ng her. "My dear, there's the very hotel for you close beside us, where we could see you all the time. We stay there ourselves when we'

is. Miss Gladys accompanied her to the hotel in question, to bring her personal powers to bear on the proprietor, and to help in the selection of room

morganatic wife, the American wife of an English peer, two or three notable Russians, a French painter of international fame, togeth

children that he made his approaches, in as far as he made them intentionally. She judged that he didn't do that, that he was caught unawares, like herself. He had merely expressed a "liking for kids," and offered to take the youngsters for an outing in his motor-car on the following day. The kids were to go with their governess; but when he dro

ght, with a stoop he had probably acquired at Eton. She had understood from Miss Partridge that he was delicate; and he looked it. The circumstance had kept him from entering the army or going into diplomacy, sending him to the Riviera for his winters. He was blue-eyed

as far away as Mentone and the Gorges du Loup. Edith couldn't help liking the young man, first for his kindness to

on and away from England at the very moment of the hunting. He formed the habit of dropping in so frequently to tea with her, in the little sun-pavilion of the hotel, that she fanc

gave her the opportunity one afternoon in March by asking where she thought of going after she left Cannes. The children and the governess had had tea with them, but had

hinder me from going to Sweden, Switzerland, or Spain; and when that's the case you're indiffere

promptly. "I've kno

imply that as far as he was concerned the peculiarities in her situation were of no imp

I hoped Miss Partri

at was curiously, but characteristically, at var

married again

he blushed

ut you

ound of mere discussion. "I cou

hy

of reasons I ca

did you d

was a forced and feeble one. She

e to explain

he lifted his head to look at her with his rather pathetic blue eyes,

ld never look on the matte

it does,

for

or you, and yet might

hing I don't have to worry about, at any rate. I'

people in general-

ny other people

do. You

fingers so as to give him an idea of the enti

t the way

too young. I belong to another generation in point o

ld are

told

ing. My mother was four years older than my father-ne

ie tramping all over that flo

d her in the garden he accepted the diversion her ingenuity had found. In a short

ection that sooner or later she would accept it-from some one. If from any one, why not from this man? She liked him; she was sure of his goodness and kindness. He was already fond of the children, and the children of him. Moreover, she could be a mother to him, and he needed mothering, as any one could

ast to what he had forced her. He would have forced her to looking to another man for what she should have had from him-and then he would be repentant. Surely he would be repentant then! If he wasn't he would never be.

She might have scared him off. She hoped she had. That would be simpler. She was not so inexperienced as to be without the knowledge tha

she wasn't the happier for his absence, she was more at ease. She could be at ease till the time came for moving on in one direction or another, whe

in the sands or threw sticks or bruised flowers into the huge breakers to see them rolled shoreward. On her right the palms in the villa gardens bowed their heads eastward, while the mimosas tossed their yellow branches wildly. Before

ind her scarcely an in

Walker, I want

all her preparatory discussion with herself, she

'm awfully fond

r the look of rather wan beseeching in his thin, pinched face. In his golfing su

hought of beforehand. Her heart was so much with him that s

you see, dear friend,

I can,

empty for the moment, except for a tiny, bare-legged girl of three or four crooning over a big doll. Edith led the way. "Come over here." They sat down on a bench hacked

ors, mon enfant, dors; ta mère est au théatre.... Tais-toi; t

turned toward each other. "Tell me. If you married a divorced w

care anything

asking you if there wouldn't be way

pain. "I shouldn't be thinking about that

here ways in which it

it is now. It's pre

t control herself. "Yes; but it's in the way of the

y wouldn't be

e?" She sprang the que

all right

tab. She spoke proudly. "I'm a

well have to put up with what I decided to do. I've

t you can easily see what it would be to m

'd want you right enough, once they knew y

him out. "T

shed. "That they'd

laming them. I should do exac

ent sort, and so is Di. Aggie's a bit cattish. But then she'll soon be married. Fellow

another di

n it comes to a-a-" He stumbled at the word, but faced

. Aren't a divorced Englishwoman and a divor

wouldn't be. A divorced Englishwoman-well, she's in rather a h

, slowly. "It's not co

xpects an American woman to

so honest and ingenuous. She merely said, "So th

t go at that. Besides," he continued, earnestly

ed at all. Is that what

n the chap around-But whe

't believ

ut-well, they wouldn't t

ightly. "But you'd think

hy sho

him before I'd marrie

to that, you know. That wo

uld

would

girl with the bare legs continued to

oir.... Elle d?ne avec le beau monsieur que tu as vu.... E

married you-that your wife had had a life in which you possessed no share-a very living life,

h it, you know. It's what makes the difference between you and other women. It's like the difference between-" He sought for a s

I wonder if you have the leas

home and tend it, wouldn't you, till you'd put it to rights again? And the more you tended it the fonder of it you'd be. But you wouldn't

ow beneath her veil. "Is that re

n't think me an ass. I could have married two or three girls-oh, more than that!-if I'd wanted to. But I could see what they were after. It wasn't me-not by a long shot. It was the place-Foljambe-it's really quite a decent place, you know-right in the shir

ead musingly. "

a hectic spot in each cheek. "Life isn't all beer and skittles to me, don't you know-and you'd be t

n that we'd mutually t

t to say any more about my being so awfu

"Oh no; I'm not likely to forg

t that she should have time to think his proposal over, and also that he should let her return a

rmath of sadness. She could hardly tell what aftermath had been left by Noel Ordway's words; but as far as she could judge it had everything in it to touch her and appeal to her, except the possible. And yet so much that was impossible had happened to her already, who knew but that the next incredible thing would be th

, as she passed toward the hotel, she saw Miss Chesley with the children, but she couldn't stop and speak to them. She hurried. She wanted the prote

rough the sun-pavilion, which would bring her nearer to the stairs. But on throwin

ravity of his face. "I took the liberty of waiting for you. I couldn

embling under her; and yet, curiously enough, the little craft of her life seemed suddenly to find itself in quiet waters, ranged round by protecting hills. She was confused and s

. Won't you sit down, a