Upton Sinclair - The Metropolis

"My husband !" echoed Mrs. Winnie.

There was a hard tone in her voice, as she went on. "He will fix it up with them," she said, — "that's his way. There will be nothing more published, you can feel sure of that."

Montague sat in silence. That was not the reply he had expected, and it rather disconcerted him.

"If that were all —" he said, with hesitation. "But I could not know. I thought that the paragraph might disturb him for another reason — that it might be a cause of unhappiness between you and him —"

There was a pause. " You don't understand," said Mrs. Winnie, at last.

Without turning his head he could see her hands, as they lay upon her knees. She was moving them nervously. "You don't understand,' she repeated.

When she began to speak again, it was in a low, trembling voice. ' I must tell you," she said; " I have felt sure that you did not know."

There was another pause. She hesitated, and her hands trembled; then suddenly she hurried on. — "I wanted you to know. I do not

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love my husband. I am not bound to him. He has nothing to say in my affairs."

Montague sat rigid, turned to stone. He was half dazed by the words. He could feel Mrs. Winnie's gaze fixed upon him; and he could feel the hot flush that spread over her throat and cheeks.

"It — it was not fair for you not to know," she whispered. And her voice died away, and there was again a silence. Montague was dumb.

" Why don't you say something ? " she panted, at last; and he caught the note of anguisn in her voice. Then he turned and stared at her, and saw her tightly clenched hands, and the quivering of her lips.

He was shocked quite beyond speech. And he saw her bosom heaving quickly, and saw the tears start into her eyes. Suddenly she sank down, and covered her face with her hands and broke into frantic sobbing.

"Mrs. Winnie!" he cried; and started to his feet.

Her outburst continued. He saw that she was shuddering violently. "Then you don't love me!" she wailed.

He stood trembling and utterly bewildered. "I'm so sorry!" he whispered. "Oh, Mrs. Winnie — I had no idea —

"I know it! I know it!" she cried. "It's my fault! I was a fool! I knew it all the time. But I hoped — I thought you might, if you knew—"

And then again her tears choked her; she was convulsed with pain and grief.

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Montague stood watching her, helpless with distress. She caught hold of the arm of the chair, convulsively, and he put his hand upon hers.

" Mrs. Winnie —" ne began.

But she jerked her hand away and hid it. ■"No, no!" she cried, in terror. "Don't touch me!"

And suddenly she looked up at him, stretching out her arms. "Don't you understand that I love you?" she exclaimed. "You despise me for it, I know — but I can't help it. I will tell you, even so! It's the only satisfaction I can have. I have always loved you ! And I thought — I thought it was only that you didn't understand. I was ready to brave all the world — I didn't care who knew it, or what anybody said. I thought we could be happy — I thought I could be free at last. Oh, you've no idea how unhappy I am — and how lonely — and how I longed to escape! And I believed that you — that you might —"

And then the tears gushed into Mrs. Winnie's eyes again, and her voice became the voice of a little child. "Don't you think that you might come to love me?" she wailed.

Her voice shook Montague, so that he trembled to the depths of him. But his face only became the more grave.

"You despise me because I told you!" she exclaimed.

" No, no, Mrs. Winnie," he said. " I could not possibly do that —"

"Then — then why—" she whispered.— " Would it be so hard to love me ? "

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"It would be very easy," he said, "but I dare not let myself."

She looked at him piteously. "You are so cold—so merciless!" she cried.

He answered nothing, and she sat trembling. " Have you ever loved a woman ? " she asked.

There was a long pause. He sat in the chair again. "Listen, Mrs. Winnie"— he began at last.

"Don't call me that!" she exclaimed. "CaE me Evelyn—please."

"Very well,^' he said— "Evelyn. I did not intend to make you unhappy — if I had had any idea, I should never have seen you again. I will tell you—what I have never told anybody before. Then you will understand."

He sat for a few moments, in a sombre revery.

"Once," he said, "when I was young, I loved a woman — a quadroon girl. That was in New Orleans; it is a custom we have there. They have a world of their own, and we take care of them, and of the children; and everyone knows about it. I was very young, only about eighteen; and she was even younger. But I found out then what women are, and what love means to them. I saw how they could suffer. And then she died in childbirth — the child died, too."

Montague's voice was very low; and Mrs. Winnie sat with her hands clasped, and her eyes riveted upon his face. " I saw her die," he said. "And that was all. I have never forgotten it. I made up my mind then that I had done wrong; and that never again while I Uved would I offer my love to a woman, unless I could devote all my

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life to her. So you see, I am afraid of love. I do not wish to suffer so much, or to make others suffer. And when anyone speaks to me as you did, it brings it all back to me — it makes me shrink up and wither."

He paused, and the other caught her breath.

"Understand me," she said, her voice trem-bUng. "I would not ask any pledges of you. I would pay whatever price there was to pay — I am not afraid to suffer."

"I do not wish you to suffer," he said. "I do not wish to take advantage of any woman."

" But I have nothing in the world that I value !" she cried. "I would go away — I would give up everything, to be with a man like you. I have no ties — no duties —"

He interrupted her. "You have your husband —" he said.

And she cried out in sudden fury— "My husband!"

" Has no one ever told you about my husband ? " she asked, after a pause.

"No one," he said.

"Well, ask them!" she exclaimed. "Meantime, take my word for it — I owe nothing to my husband."

Montague sat staring into the fire. " But consider my own case," he said, "J have duties — my mother and my cousin —"

"Oh, don't say any more!" cried the woman, with a break in her voice. " Say that you don't love me — that is all there is to say! And you will never respect me again! I have been a fool

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— I have ruined everything! I have flung away your friendship, that I might have kept!

"No," he said. ^

But she rushed on, vehemently—"At least, I have been honest — give me credit for that! That is how all my troubles come — I say what is in my mind, and I pay the price for my blunders. It is not as if I were cold and calculating

— so don't despise me altogether."

" I couldn't despise you,' said Montague. " I am simply pained, because I have made you unhappy. And I did not mean to."

Mrs. Winnie sat staring ahead of her in a sombre revery. "Don't think any more about it," she said bitterly. "I will get over it. I am not worth troubling about. Don't you sup-j)ose I know how you feel about this world that I live in ? And I'm part of it — I beat my wings, and try to get out, but I can't. I'm in it, and I'll stay in till I die; I might as well give up. I thought that I could steal a little joy — you have no idea how hungry I am for a little joy! You have no idea how lonely I am ! And now empty my life is I You talk about your fear of making me unhappy; it's a grim jest — but I'll give you permission, if you can ! I'll ask nothing — no promises, no sacrifices! I'll take all the risks, and pay all the penalties!"