第78章

``That's polite.Well, I've cleared 'em out.Not that I minded their unconventionality; I liked it.It was so different from the straight-jackets and the hypocrisy I'd been living among and hating.But I soon found out that--well, Miss Stevens, the average human being ought to be pretty conventional in his morals of a certain kind.If he--or SHE--isn't, they begin to get unconventional in every way--about paying their bills, for instance, and about drinking.I got sick and tired of those people.So, I put 'em all out--made a sweep.And now I've become quite as respectable as I care to be--or as is necessary.The couples in the house are married, and they're nice people of good families.It was Mrs.Dyckman--she's got the whole sec-ond floor front, she and her husband and the daughter --it was Mrs.Dyckman who interested me in the suffrage movement.You must hear her speak.And the daughter does well at it, too--and keeps a fashionable millinery-shop--and she's only twenty-four.Then there's Nora Blond.''

``The actress?''

``The actress.She's the quietest, hardest-working person here.She's got the whole first floor front.

Nobody ever comes to see her, except on Sunday afternoon.

She leads the queerest life.''

``Tell me about that,'' said Mildred.

``I don't know much about it,'' confessed Mrs.

Belloc.``She's regular as a clock--does everything on time, and at the same time.Two meals a day--one of them a dry little breakfast she gets herself.Walks, fencing, athletics, study.''

``What slavery!''

``She's the happiest person I ever saw,'' retorted Mrs.

Belloc.``Why, she's got her work, her career.You don't look at it right, Miss Stevens.You don't look happy.What's the matter? Isn't it because you haven't been working right--because you've been doing these alleged pleasant things that leave a bad taste in your mouth and weaken you? I'll bet, if you had been working hard, you'd not be unhappy now.Better come here to live.''

``Will you let me tell you about myself?''

``Go right ahead.May I ask questions, where Iwant to know more? I do hate to get things halfway.''

Mildred freely gave her leave, then proceeded to tell her whole story, omitting nothing that was essential to an understanding.In conclusion she said: ``I'd like to come.You see, I've very little money.When it's gone, I'll go, unless I make some more.''

``Yes, you must come.That Mrs.Brindley seems to be a nice woman, a mighty nice woman.But her house, and the people that come there--they aren't the right sort for a girl that's making a start.I can give you a room on the top floor--in front.The young lady next to you is a clerk in an architect's office, and a fine girl she is.''

``How much does she pay?'' said Mildred.

``Your room won't be quite as nice as hers.I put you at the top because you can sing up there, part of the mornings and part of the afternoons, without disturbing anybody.I don't have a general table any more.You can take your meals in your room or at the restaurant in the apartment-house next door.It's good and quite reasonable.''

``How much for the room?'' persisted Mildred, laughing.

``Seven dollars a week, and the use of the bath.''

Mildred finally wrung from her that the right price was twelve dollars a week, and insisted on paying that --``until my money gets low.''

``Don't worry about that,'' said Mrs.Belloc.

``You mustn't weaken me,'' cried Mildred.``You mustn't encourage me to be a coward and to shirk.

That's why I'm coming here.''

``I understand,'' said Mrs.Belloc.``I've got the New England streak of hardness in me, though Ibelieve that masseuse has almost ironed it out of my face.

Do I look like a New England schoolmarm?''

Mildred could truthfully answer that there wasn't a trace of it.

When she returned to Mrs.Brindley's--already she had ceased to think of it as home--she announced her new plans.Mrs.Brindley said nothing, but Mildred understood the quick tightening of the lines round her mouth and the shifting of the eyes.She hastened to explain that Mrs.Belloc was no longer the sort of woman or the sort of landlady she had been a few months before.Mrs.Brindley of the older New York, could neither understand nor believe in the people of the new and real New York whom it molds for better or for worse so rapidly--and even remolds again and again.But Mildred was able to satisfy her that the house was at least not suspicious.

``It doesn't matter where you're going,'' said Mrs.

Brindley.``It's that you are going.I can't bear giving you up.I had hoped that our lives would flow on and on together.'' She was with difficulty controlling her emotions.``It's these separations that age one, that take one's life.I almost wish I hadn't met you.''

Mildred was moved, herself.Not so much as Mrs.

Brindley because she had the necessities of her career gripping her and claiming the strongest feelings there were in her.Also, she was much the younger, not merely in years but in experience.And separations have no real poignancy in them for youth``Yes, I know you love me,'' said Cyrilla, ``but love doesn't mean to you what it means to me.I'm in that middle period of life where everything has its fullest meaning.In youth we're easily consoled and distracted because life seems so full of possibilities, and we can't believe friendship and love are rare, and still more rarely worth while.In old age, when the arteries harden and the blood flows slow and cold, we become indifferent.

But between thirty-five and fifty-five how the heart can ache!'' She smiled, with trembling lips.``And how it can rejoice!'' she cried bravely.``I must not forget to mention that.Ah, my dear, you must learn to live intensely.If I had had your chance!''

``Ridiculous!'' laughed Mildred.``You talk like an old woman.And I never think of you as older than myself.''