The Flirt Read online

  “I did not! You said you HAD been. You laughed about it. You made me think it was something that had happened a long time ago. I thought of course you’d been divorced–-“

  “But I told you–-“

  “You told me after! And then you made me think you could easily get one—that it was only a matter of form and–-“

  “Cora,” he interrupted, “you’re the most elaborate little self-deceiver I ever knew. I don’t believe you’ve ever faced yourself for an honest moment in–-“

  “Honest! YOU talk about `honest’! You use that word and face ME?”

  He came closer, meeting her distraught eyes squarely. “You love to fool yourself, Cora, but the role of betrayed virtue doesn’t suit you very well. You’re young, but you’re a pretty experienced woman for all that, and you haven’t done anything you didn’t want to. You’ve had both eyes open every minute, and we both know it. You are just as wise as–-“

  “You’re lying and YOU know it! What did I want to make Richard go into your scheme for? You made a fool of me.”

  “I’m not speaking of the money now,” he returned quickly. “You’d better keep your mind on the subject. Are you coming away with me?”

  “What for?” she asked.

  “What FOR?” he echoed incredulously. “I want to know if you’re coming. I promise you I’ll get a divorce as soon as it’s possible–-“

  “Val,” she said, in a tone lower than she had used since he entered the room; “Val, do you want me to come?”

  “Yes.”

  “Much?” She looked at him eagerly.

  “Yes, I do.” His answer sounded quite genuine.

  “Will it hurt you if I don’t?”

  “Of course it will.”

  “Thank heaven for that,” she said quietly.

  “You honestly mean you won’t?”

  “It makes me sick with laughing just to imagine it! I’ve done some hard little thinking, lately, my friend—particularly last night, and still more particularly this morning since that man was here. I’d cut my throat before I’d go with you. If you had your divorce I wouldn’t marry you—not if you were the last man on earth!”

  “Cora,” he cried, aghast, “what’s the matter with you? You’re too many for me sometimes. I thought I understood a few kinds of women! Now listen: I’ve offered to take you, and you can’t say–-“

  “Offered!” It was she who came toward him now. She came swiftly, shaking with rage, and struck him upon the breast. “`Offered’! Do you think I want to go trailing around Europe with you while Dick Lindley’s money lasts? What kind of a life are you `offering’ me? Do you suppose I’m going to have everybody saying Cora Madison ran away with a jail-bird? Do you think I’m going to dodge decent people in hotels and steamers, and leave a name in this town that—Oh, get out! I don’t want any help from you! I can take care of myself, I tell you; and I don’t have to marry YOU! I’d kill you if I could—you made a fool of me!” Her voice rose shrilly. “You made a fool of me!”

  “Cora–-” he began, imploringly.

  “You made a fool of me!” She struck him again.

  “Strike me,” he said. “I love you

  “Actor!”

  “Cora, I want you. I want you more than I ever–-“

  She screamed with hysterical laughter. “Liar, liar, liar! The same old guff. Don’t you even see it’s too late for the old rotten tricks?”

  “Cora, I want you to come.”

  “You poor, conceited fool,” she cried, “do you think you’re the only man I can marry?”

  “Cora,” he gasped, “you wouldn’t do that!”

  “Oh, get out! Get out NOW! I’m tired of you. I never want to hear you speak again.”

  “Cora,“he begged. “For the last time–-“

  “NO! You made a fool of me!” She beat him upon the breast, striking again and again, with all her strength. “Get out, I tell you! I’m through with you!”

  He tried to make her listen, to hold her wrists: he could do neither.

  “Get out—get out!” she screamed. She pushed and dragged him toward the door, and threw it open. Her voice thickened; she choked and coughed, but kept on screaming: “Get out, I tell you! Get out, get out, damn you! Damn you, DAMN you! get out!”

  Still continuing to strike him with all her strength, she forced him out of the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Cora lost no time. Corliss had not closed the front door behind him before she was running up the stairs. Mrs. Madison, emerging from her husband’s room, did not see her daughter’s face; for Cora passed her quickly, looking the other way.

  “Was anything the matter?” asked the mother anxiously. “I thought I heard–-“

  “Nothing in the world,” Cora flung back over her shoulder. “Mr. Corliss said I couldn’t imitate Sara Bernhardt, and I showed him I could.” She began to hum; left a fragment of “rag-time” floating behind her as she entered her own room; and Mrs. Madison, relieved, returned to the invalid.

  Cora changed her clothes quickly. She put on a pale gray skirt and coat for the street, high shoes and a black velvet hat, very simple. The costume was almost startlingly becoming to her: never in her life had she looked prettier. She opened her small jewel-case, slipped all her rings upon her fingers; then put the diamond crescent, the pendant, her watch, and three or four other things into the flat, envelope-shaped bag of soft leather she carried when shopping. After that she brought from her clothes-pantry a small travelling-bag and packed it hurriedly.

  Laura, returning from errands downtown and glancing up at Cora’s window, perceived an urgently beckoning, gray-gloved hand, and came at once to her sister’s room.

  The packed bag upon the bed first caught her eye; then Cora’s attire, and the excited expression of Cora’s face, which was high-flushed and moist, glowing with a great resolve.

  “What’s happened?” asked Laura quickly. “You look exactly like a going-away bride. What–-“

  Cora spoke rapidly: “Laura, I want you to take this bag and keep it in your room till a messenger-boy comes for it. When the bell rings, go to the door yourself, and hand it to him. Don’t give Hedrick a chance to go to the door. Just give it to the boy;—and don’t say anything to mamma about it. I’m going downtown and I may not be back.”

  Laura began to be frightened.

  “What is it you want to do, Cora?” she asked, trembling.

  Cora was swift and businesslike. “See here, Laura, I’ve got to keep my head about me. You can do a great deal for me, if you won’t be emotional just now, and help me not to be. I can’t afford it, because I’ve got to do things, and I’m going to do them just as quickly as I can, and get it over. If I wait any longer I’ll go insane. I CAN’T wait! You’ve been a wonderful sister to me; I’ve always counted on you, and you’ve never once gone back on me. Right now, I need you to help me more than I ever have in my life. Will you–-“

  “But I must know–-“

  “No, you needn’t! I’ll tell you just this much: I’ve got myself in a devil of a mess–-“

  Laura threw her arms round her: “Oh, my dear, dear little sister!” she cried.

  But Cora drew away. “Now that’s just what you mustn’t do. I can’t stand it! You’ve got to be QUIET. I can’t–-“

  “Yes, yes,” Laura said hurriedly. “I will. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “It’s perfectly simple: all I want you to do is to take charge of my travelling-bag, and, when a messenger-boy comes, give it to him without letting anybody know anything about it.”

  “But I’ve got to know where you’re going—I can’t let you go and not–-“

  “Yes, you can! Besides, you’ve promised to. I’m not going to do anything foolish –-“

  “Then why not tell me?” Laura began. She went on, imploring Cora to confide in her, entreating her to see their mother—to do a dozen things altogether outside of Cora’s plans.

  “You’re wasting your breath, L
aura,” said the younger sister, interrupting, “and wasting my time. You’re in the dark: you think I’m going to run away with Val Corliss and you’re wrong. I sent him out of the house for good, a while ago–-“

  “Thank heaven for that!” cried Laura.

  “I’m going to take care of myself,” Cora went on rapidly. “I’m going to get out of the mess I’m in, and you’ve got to let me do it my own way. I’ll send you a note from downtown. You see that the messenger–-“

  She was at the door, but Laura caught her by the sleeve, protesting and beseeching.

  Cora turned desperately. “See here. I’ll come back in two hours and tell you all about it. If I promise that, will you promise to send me the bag by the–-“

  “But if you’re coming back you won’t need–-“

  Cora spoke very quietly. “I’ll go to pieces in a moment. Really, I do think I’d better jump out of the window and have it over.”

  “I’ll send the bag,” Laura quavered, “if you’ll promise to come back in two hours.”

  “I promise!”

  Cora gave her a quick embrace, a quick kiss, and, dry-eyed, ran out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the house.

  She walked briskly down Corliss Street. It was a clear day, bright noon, with an exhilarating tang in the air, and a sky so glorious that people outdoors were continually conscious of the blue overhead, and looked up at it often. An autumnal cheerfulness was abroad, and pedestrians showed it in their quickened steps, in their enlivened eyes, and frequent smiles, and in the colour of their faces. But none showed more colour or a gayer look than Cora. She encountered many whom she knew, for it was indeed a day to be stirring, and she nodded and smiled her way all down the long street, thinking of what these greeted people would say tomorrow. ”I saw her yesterday, walking down Corliss Street, about noon, in a gray suit and looking fairly radiant!” Some of those she met were enemies she had chastened; she prophesied their remarks with accuracy. Some were old suitors, men who had desired her; one or two had place upon her long list of boy-sweethearts: she gave the same gay, friendly nod to each of them, and foretold his morrow’s thoughts of her, in turn. Her greeting of Mary Kane was graver, as was aesthetically appropriate, Mr. Wattling’s engagement having been broken by that lady, immediately after his drive to the Country Club for tea. Cora received from the beautiful jilt a salutation even graver than her own, which did not confound her.

  Halfway down the street was a drug-store. She went in, and obtained appreciative permission to use the telephone. She came out well satisfied, and went swiftly on her way. Ten minutes later, she opened the door of Wade Trumble’s office.

  He was alone; her telephone had caught him in the act of departing for lunch. But he had been glad to wait—glad to the verge of agitation.

  “By George, Cora!” he exclaimed, as she came quickly in and closed the door, “but you CAN look stunning! Believe me, that’s some get-up. But let me tell you right here and now, before you begin, it’s no use your tackling me again on the oil proposition. If there was any chance of my going into it which there wasn’t, not one on earth—why, the very fact of your asking me would have stopped me. I’m no Dick Lindley, I beg to inform you: I don’t spend my money helping a girl that I want, myself, to make a hit with another man. You treated me like a dog about that, right in the street, and you needn’t try it again, because I won’t stand for it. You can’t play ME, Cora!”

  “Wade,” she said, coming closer, and looking at him mysteriously, “didn’t you tell me to come to you when I got through playing?”

  “What?” He grew very red, took a step back from her, staring at her distrustfully, incredulously.

  “I’ve got through playing”, she said in a low voice. “And I’ve come to you.”

  He was staggered. “You’ve come–-” he said, huskily.

  “Here I am, Wade.”

  He had flushed, but now the colour left his small face, and he grew very white. “I don’t believe you mean it.”

  “Listen,” she said. “I was rotten to you about that oil nonsense. It WAS nonsense, nothing on earth but nonsense. I tell you frankly I was a fool. I didn’t care the snap of my finger for Corliss, but—oh, what’s the use of pretending? You were always such a great `business man,’ always so absorbed in business, and put it before everything else in the world. You cared for me, but you cared for business more than for me. Well, no woman likes THAT, Wade. I’ve come to tell you the whole thing: I can’t stand it any longer. I suffered horribly because—because–-” She faltered. “Wade, that was no way to WIN a girl.”

  “Cora!” His incredulity was strong.

  “I thought I hated you for it, Wade. Yes, I did think that; I’m telling you everything, you see just blurting it out as it comes, Wade. Well, Corliss asked me to help him, and it struck me I’d show that I could understand a business deal, myself. Wade, this is pretty hard to say, I was such a little fool, but you ought to know it. You’ve got a right to know it, Wade: I thought if I put through a thing like that, it would make a tremendous hit with you, and that then I could say: `So this is the kind of thing you put ahead of ME, is it? Simple little things like this, that I can do, myself, by turning over my little finger!’ So I got Richard to go in—that was easy; and then it struck me that the crowning triumph of the whole thing would be to get you to come in yourself. That WOULD be showing you, I thought! But you wouldn’t: you put me in my place—and I was angry—I never was so angry in my life, and I showed it.” Tears came into her voice. “Oh, Wade,” she said, softly, “it was the very wildness of my anger that showed what I really felt.”

  “About—about ME?” His incredulity struggled with his hope. He stepped close to her.

  “What an awful fool I’ve been, she sighed.

  “Why, I thought I could show you I was your EQUAL! And look what it’s got me into, Wade!”

  “What has it got you into, Cora?”

  “One thing worth while: I can see what I really am when I try to meet you on your own ground.” She bent her head, humbly, then lifted it, and spoke rapidly. “All the rest is dreadful, Wade. I had a distrust of Corliss from the first; I didn’t like him, but I took him up because I thought he offered the chance to show YOU what I could do. Well, it’s got me into a most horrible mess. He’s a swindler, a rank–-“

  “By George!” Wade shouted. “Cora, you’re talking out now like a real woman.”

  “Listen. I got horribly tired of him after a week or so, but I’d promised to help him and I didn’t break with him; but yesterday I just couldn’t stand him any longer and I told him so, and sent him away. Then, this morning, an old man came to the house, a man named Pryor, who knew him and knew his record, and he told me all about him.” She narrated the interview.

  “But you had sent Corliss away first?” Wade asked, sharply.

  “Yesterday, I tell you.” She set her hand on the little man’s shoulder. “Wade, there’s bound to be a scandal over all this. Even if Corliss gets away without being arrested and tried, the whole thing’s bound to come OUT. I’ll be the laughing-stock of the town—and I deserve to be: it’s all through having been ridiculous idiot enough to try and impress you with my business brilliancy. Well, I can’t stand it!”

  “Cora, do you–-” He faltered.

  She leaned toward him, her hand still on his shoulder, her exquisite voice lowered, and thrilling in its sweetness. “Wade, I’m through playing. I’ve come to you at last because you’ve utterly conquered me. If you’ll take me away to-day, I’ll MARRY you to-day!”

  He gave a shout that rang again from the walls.

  “Do you want me?” she whispered; then smiled upon his rapture indulgently.

  Rapture it was. With the word “marry,” his incredulity sped forever. But for a time he was incoherent: he leaped and hopped, spoke broken bits of words, danced fragmentarily, ate her with his eyes, partially embraced her, and finally kissed her timidly.

  “Such a wedding we’ll have!�
� he shouted, after that.

  “No!” she said sharply. “We’ll be married by a Justice of the Peace and not a soul there but us, and it will be now, or it never will be! If you don’t–-“

  He swore she should have her way.

  “Then we’ll be out of this town on the three o’clock train this afternoon,” she said. She went on with her plans, while he, growing more accustomed to his privilege, caressed her as he would. “You shall have your way,” she said, “in everything except the wedding-journey. That’s got to be a long one—I won’t come back here till people have forgotten all about this Corliss mix-up. I’ve never been abroad, and I want you to take me. We can stay a long, long time. I’ve brought nothing—we’ll get whatever we want in New York before we sail.”

  He agreed to everything. He had never really hoped to win her; paradise had opened, dazing him with glory: he was astounded, mad with joy, and abjectly his lady’s servant.

  “Hadn’t you better run along and get the license?” she laughed. “We’ll have to be married on the way to the train.” “Cora!” he gasped. “You angel!”

  “I’ll wait here for you,” she smiled. “There won’t be too much time.”

  He obtained a moderate control of his voice and feet. “Enfield—that’s my cashier—he’ll be back from his lunch at one-thirty. Tell him about us, if I’m not here by then. Tell him he’s got to manage somehow. Good-bye till I come back Mrs. Trumble!”

  At the door he turned. “Oh, have you—you–-” He paused uncertainly. “Have you sent Richard Lindley any word about–-“

  “Wade!” She gave his inquiry an indulgent amusement. “If I’m not worrying about him, do you think you need to?”

  “I meant about–-“

  “You funny thing,” she said. “I never had any idea of really marrying him; it wasn’t anything but one of those silly half-engagements, and–-“

  “I didn’t mean that, “he said, apologetically. “I meant about letting him know what this Pryor told you about Corliss, so that Richard might do something toward getting his money back. We ought to{}

  “Oh, yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, that’s all right.”