Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Novelists -- Fiction; Secretaries -- Fiction; Voyages and travels -- Fiction; West Indies -- Fiction
Where did Wesson get the jewelry? will be the next question in your
mind. All I know is that our mutual friend "Edgerly" pawned the lot at
Martinique for four hundred francs and afterwards sold the ticket for
125 more, like a dunce! to the proprietor of the Hotel des Bains. That
is an indication of where Wesson got hold of the swag. But why did he
let you take it from him without making the least resistance? This is
another riddle which you must discover for yourself. I can't fathom it.
If you are trying to find anything in my favor because I forgave your
insulting language at the time you bade me give up the clothing you had
bought, strike it out of your mind. I was merely doing the prudent thing
in keeping you quiet until you paid my expenses back to the United
States. As to the clothing I knew very well you would never ask for it,
in your senses, nor get it, if you did. I finished the work you asked
me to do, with the typewriter, to understand exactly how each item in
this account seemed to you at the time.
Now, once more, my dear Donald, where does this leave you and me? I
might remain in New York without the slightest fear you would molest me,
either in person or through the law. No man would like to have this
story printed, with his real name, in the daily newspapers; now, would
he? Neither is it likely that your fondness for your Marjorie (ha, ha!)
will long outlive the confessions she has so freely made. But I am not
going to remain in this city. The haunts that have known me will know me
no more. I am going far away, with my husband--my darling husband--and I
can promise that your eyes have gazed upon both of us for the very last
time.
Why, now, did I give up attacking your bank account when such a good
opportunity still remained? I will tell you, candidly. There are
sportsmen, many of them, I trust, who would not shoot a fawn that stood
still at their approach. I never supposed there was a man with whom a
woman could travel as I travelled with you, who would not give cause to
bleed him with a good conscience by the outrageousness of his conduct. I
thought, of course, you would be like the rest. In that case the
fountains of mercy would have dried up in my bosom and I would have
taken the last dollar I could wrench from you without the slightest
compunction. It was a game I believed infallible. I had found it, more
than once, to work like a charm.
There are usually only three moves: 1st, to convince the male animal
that I am pure and wish to remain so; 2d, to put myself where he
believes he can insult me with impunity; 3d, the insult.
I only wanted one move toward the third play on your part to pick you
financially to pieces. You did not make it, and I could go no farther.
If this leniency of mine is a deadly sin I can only pray that the
temptation to commit another like it will not come to me soon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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