American fiction -- 20th century; Divorce -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction; Rich people -- Fiction
Wilson and the clergyman, informing them briefly what had occurred.
Just after the little girl had returned from putting these in the
letter-box, and Constance was musing over a cup of tea, a messenger
with a note arrived. It was from Gordon Perry, and read by Henrietta
it ran as follows: Might he not call that evening? He had the doctor's
permission to do so; and she was to send a simple "Yes" or "No" by the
bearer. Now for it, she thought; he was coming to overwhelm her with
his cunning schemes for continuing her salary. Her first impulse was
to protect herself by delay; to ask him to wait a day or two until she
felt stronger. But this would be a subterfuge, and, excepting that she
dreaded his philanthropy, she yearned to see him. He would put her in
touch with the world again, from which she had been shut off too long.
"No" trembled on her lips, but the fear of hurting his feelings
occurred to her in the nick of time as a counterbalance to her dread of
being pauperized by him, and her natural inclinations found utterance.
"Tell Mr. Perry, yes," she answered, and her spirits rose from that
moment, though she resolved to be as firm as a rock on the threatened
issue. She ascribed his coming in the evening rather than the
afternoon to his being busy at the office, and as she put the children
to bed she reflected that it would be pleasant to have an uninterrupted
visit. She made her toilette as best she could with Mrs. Harrity's
aid, and she inwardly rejoiced again that she had not broken her nose.
Gordon arrived about half-past eight. The cheer which his manner
expressed did not detract from its sympathy. It seemed to say that he
recognized and deplored her misfortune, but took for granted her
preference to face it smilingly, and not to waste time in superfluous
lamentation. At the same time, she could not but notice his eager
solicitude and the ardor of his bearing, which was slightly
disconcerting. Yet he made her tell him the details of the accident,
listening with the ear of a lawyer. At the close his brow clouded
slightly as though her story failed to coincide with his prepossessions.
"You see I haven't any case, have I?" she said, divining what was
passing in his mind. She cherished a half hope that his cleverness
might still extract a just cause of action from her delinquency.
"Not on your evidence."
"So I supposed. Those are the real facts. I jumped before the car
stopped, though the conductor warned me, and I heard the bell."
"That settles it; contributory negligence. But the trained nurse who
was with you tells a different story."
"Loretta has been to see you?"
"Yes. She came ostensibly for her pay night before last. But she
seemed very anxious to testify in court in your favor. She says the
conductor wasn't looking at first, and that he pushed you off the car
just as you were jumping."
Constance shook her head. "She is entirely mistaken as to the last
part."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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