“Well, divorces are not uncommon, you know. You girls seem to get rid of husbands quite as easily as you pick them up.”
“Lord bless you,” said Nellie, in no way offended, “I have never done anything to give Harvey cause for divorce, and I’m sure he’s never done the tiniest thing out of the way. He never treats me cruelly, he never beats me, he doesn’t get tight and break things up, and he never looks at other women. He’s the nicest little husband ever.” 39
She instructed Rachel to fill up Mr. Fairfax’s glass and pass the ripe olives. He was watching her, an odd expression in his eyes. A big, smooth-faced man of fifty was he, fat from high living, self-indulgence, and indolence, immaculately dressed to the tips of his toes.
“Speaking of divorce,” she went on, without looking at him, “your wife didn’t have much trouble getting hers, I’ve heard.”
It was a daring thing to say, but Nellie was from the West, where courage and freshness of vision are regarded as the antithesis of tact and diplomacy. Tact calls for tact. The diplomatist is powerless if you begin shooting at him. Nellie did not work this out for herself; she merely wanted to put him in a corner where he would have to stand and get it over with.
Fairfax was disconcerted. He showed it. No one ever presumed to discuss the matter with him. It was a very tender subject. His eyes wavered.
“I like your cheek,” he growled.
“Don’t you like to talk about it?” she inquired, innocently.
“No,” he replied, curtly. “It’s nobody’s business, Miss Duluth.” 40
“My, how touchy!” She shivered prettily. “I feel as if some one had thrown a pail of ice water over me.”
“We were speaking of your—this husband of yours,” he said, quietly. “Why have you never mentioned him to me? Is it quite fair?”
“It just slipped my mind,” she said, in the most casual way. “Besides, I thought you knew. My little girl is four—or is it five?”
“Where do you keep them?”
“I’ve got ’em in storage up at Tarrytown. That’s the Sleepy Hollow neighbourhood, isn’t it? I guess that’s why Harvey likes it so well.”
“What is his business?”
She looked up quickly. “What is that to you, Mr. Fairfax?”
“Nothing. I am in no way interested in Mr. Duluth.”
“His name isn’t Duluth,” she flashed, hotly. “If you are not interested in him, let’s drop the subject.”
“I retract what I said. I am always interested in curiosities. What’s he like?”
“Well, he’s like a gentleman, if you are really interested in curiosities,” she said.
He laughed. “By Jove, you’ve got a ready 41 wit, my dear.” He looked at her reflectively, speculatively. “It’s rather a facer to have you turn out to be a married woman.”
“Don’t you like married women?”
“Some of ’em,” he answered, coolly. “But I don’t like to think of you as married.”
“Pooh!” she said, and there was a world of meaning in the way she said it.
“Don’t you know that it means a great deal to me?” he demanded, leaning closer and speaking in a lowered voice, tense and eager.
“Pooh!” she repeated.
He flushed again. “I cannot bear the thought of you belonging––”
She interrupted him quickly. “I wouldn’t say it, if I were you.”
“But I must say it. I’m in love with you, Nellie, and you know it. Every drop of blood in my veins is crying out for you, and has been––”
Her face had clouded. “I’ve asked you not to say such things to me.”
He stared in amazement. “You are dreaming! I’ve never uttered a word of this sort to you. What are you thinking of? This is the first time I’ve said––” 42
Nellie was dismayed. It was the first time he had spoken to her in that way. She stammered something about “general principles,” but he was regarding her so fixedly that her attempt at dissembling was most unconvincing.
“Or perhaps,” said he, almost savagely, but guardedly, “you are confusing me with some one else.”
This was broad enough to demand instant resentment. She took refuge in the opportunity.
“Do you mean to insult me, Mr. Fairfax?” she demanded, coldly, drawing back in her chair.
He laughed harshly.
“Is there any one else?” he asked, gripping one of her small hands in his great fist.
She jerked the hand away. “I don’t like that, Mr. Fairfax. Please remember it. Don’t ever do it again. You have no right to ask such questions of me, either.”
“I’m a fool to have asked,” he said, gruffly. “You’d be a fool to answer. We’ll let it go at that. So that’s your wedding ring, eh? Odd that I shouldn’t have noticed it before.” 43
She was angry with herself, so she vented the displeasure on him.
“You never took much notice of your wife’s wedding ring, if tales are true.”
“Please, Miss Duluth, I––”
“Oh, I read all about the case,” she ran on. “You must have hated the notoriety. I suppose most of the things she charged you with were lies.”
He pulled his collar away from his throat.
“Is it too hot in the room?” she inquired, innocently.
His grin was a sickly one. “Do you always make it so hot?” he asked. “This is my first visit to your little paradise, you must remember. Don’t make it too hot for me.”
“It isn’t paradise when it gets too hot,” was her safe comment.
Fairfax’s wife had divorced him a year or two before. The referee was not long in deciding the case in her favour. As they were leaving Chambers, Fairfax’s lawyer had said to his client:—“Well, we’ve saved everything but honour.” And Fairfax had replied:—“You would have saved that, too, if I had given you a free rein.” From which it may be inferred 44 that Fairfax was something of a man despite his lawyer.
He was one of those typical New Yorkers who were Pittsburgers or Kansas Citians in the last incarnation—which dated back eight or ten years, at the most, and which doesn’t make any difference on Broadway—with more money than he was used to and a measureless capacity for spending.
