第293章

THEY met the next morning with no sign in the manner of either that there had been a drawn battle, that there was an armed truce.She knew that he, like herself, was thinking of nothing else.But until he had devised some way of certainly conquering her he would wait, and watch, and pretend that he was satisfied with matters as they were.The longer she reflected the less uneasy she became--as to immediate danger.

In Paris the methods of violence he might have been tempted to try in New York were out of the question.What remained? He must realize that threats to expose her would be futile; also, he must feel vulnerable, himself, to that kind of attack--a feeling that would act as a restraint, even though he might appreciate that she was the sort of person who could not in any circumstances resort to it.He had not upon her a single one of the holds a husband has upon a wife.True, he could break with her.But she must appreciate how easy it would now be for her in this capital of the idle rich to find some other man glad to "protect" a woman so expert at gratifying man's vanity of being known as the proprietor of a beautiful and fashionable woman.She had discovered how, in the aristocracy of European wealth, an admired mistress was as much a necessary part of the grandeur of great nobles, great financiers, great manufacturers, or merchants, as wife, as heir, as palace, as equipage, as chef, as train of secretaries and courtiers.She knew how deeply it would cut, to find himself without his show piece that made him the envied of men and the desired of women.Also, she knew that she had an even stronger hold upon him--that she appealed to him as no other woman ever had, that she had become for him a tenacious habit.

She was not afraid that he would break with her.But she could not feel secure; in former days she had seen too far into the mazes of that Italian mind of his, she knew too well how patient, how relentless, how unforgetting he was.She would have taken murder into account as more than a possibility but for his intense and intelligent selfishness;he would not risk his life or his liberty; he would not deprive himself of his keenest pleasure.He was resourceful;but in the circumstances what resources were there for him to draw upon?

When he began to press upon her more money than ever, and to buy her costly jewelry, she felt still further reassured.

Evidently he had been unable to think out any practicable scheme; evidently he was, for the time, taking the course of appeal to her generous instincts, of making her more and more dependent upon his liberality.

Well--was he not right? Love might fail; passion might wane;conscience, aiding self-interest with its usual servility, might overcome the instincts of gratitude.But what power could overcome the loyalty resting upon money interest? No power but that of a longer purse than his.As she was not in the mood to make pretenses about herself to herself, she smiled at this cynical self-measuring."But I shan't despise myself for being so material," said she to herself, "until Ifind a _genuine_ case of a woman, respectable or otherwise, who has known poverty and escaped from it, and has then voluntarily given up wealth to go back to it.I should not stay on with him if he were distasteful to me.And that's more than most women can honestly say.Perhaps even I should not stay on if it were not for a silly, weak feeling of obligation--but I can't be sure of that." She had seen too much of men and women preening upon noble disinterested motives when in fact their real motives were the most calculatingly selfish; she preferred doing herself less than justice rather than more.

She had fifty-five thousand francs on deposit at Munroe's--all her very own.She had almost two hundred thousand francs'

worth of jewels, which she would be justified in keeping--at least, she hoped she would think so--should there come a break with Freddie.Yet in spite of this substantial prosperity--or was it because of this prosperity?--she abruptly began again to be haunted by the old visions, by warnings of the dangers that beset any human being who has not that paying trade or profession which makes him or her independent--gives him or her the only unassailable independence.

The end with Freddie might be far away.But end, she saw, there would be the day when he would somehow get her in his power and so would drive her to leave him.For she could not again become a slave.Extreme youth, utter inexperience, no knowledge of real freedom--these had enabled her to endure in former days.But she was wholly different now.She could not sink back.Steadily she was growing less and less able to take orders from anyone.This full-grown passion for freedom, this intolerance of the least restraint--how dangerous, if she should find herself in a position where she would have to put up with the caprices of some man or drop down and down!

What real, secure support had she? None.Her building was without solid foundations.Her struggle with Freddie was a revelation and a warning.There were days when, driving about in her luxurious car, she could do nothing but search among the crowds in the streets for the lonely old women in rags, picking and peering along the refuse of the cafes--weazened, warped figures swathed in rags, creeping along, mumbling to themselves, lips folded in and in over toothless gums.

One day Brent saw again the look she often could not keep from her face when that vision of the dance hall in the slums was horrifying her.He said impulsively:

"What is it? Tell me--what is it, Susan?"

It was the first and the last time he ever called her by her only personal name.He flushed deeply.To cover his confusion--and her own--she said in her most frivolous way: