The Folly of Others/A Provident Woman/Part 1/Chapter 4
IV.
Tom was packing his trunk. He dropped a scanty armful of coats and trousers into the bottom, tilted the contents of two bureau drawers on top of these, threw in his other pair of shoes and a handful of photographs from the top of the bureau, and was setting in the trunk-tray when Bertha came to the half-open door, bringing his receipted bill. Tom tore the paper across and threw it on the floor, glaring at the girl, who stared back intensely. Tom was coatless, his face was flushed, and there was a little smear of blood on the corner of his mouth.
"Are you going now?" Bertha asked breathlessly.
"Yes."
"Where—are you going?"
"I don't know —don't care."
"Why, Tom, don't look like that! You aren't mad at me, are you?"
"Please go away."
"But—aren't you going to say good-by? Sha'n't I ever see you again?"
"I hope not."
"Oh, how can you say that?"
"I mean it. If it hadn't been for you, and the rest of you" He broke off, setting his teeth in his lip.
"What do you mean, Tom? Do you think if it hadn't been for us Cecilia would have"
"Never mind what I think."
"But she wouldn't! She told me she'd never marry a poor man unless she was rich."
"Go away, will you, please?"
Bertha's eyes suddenly expanded.
"Perhaps she will be, some day," she said slowly, sinking her voice to a whisper.
Tom twisted his shoulders angrily.
"Look here, I don't want to put you out," he said.
"Well, you better not. Listen, I'll tell you something. Suppose he should die, do you think she'd marry you?"
Tom only stared.
"Perhaps he will. He has heart disease."
"Well, you're—a nice young lady!"
"I don't care. I don't see why I shouldn't be cool about it, if Cecilia is. I should have the creeps, marrying a man that I knew was going to die. But she hasn't. She never worries about anything—except bills. I don't see why you make such a fuss over her. But if I were you, I'd just sit down and wait. She likes you."
Bertha's eyes were feverishly bright, and she twisted her hands together hysterically. Tom approached her slowly, took her by the shoulders, pushed her gently out of the room, and shut the door.
Twenty minutes later he turned out the gas and left his room for the last time. The hall and stairs were dark. A rattle of crockery at the back of the house indicated the whereabouts of Mrs. Clayber and Mabel. Tom had not appeared at dinner, and he had no mind now for farewells. He went quietly out of the front door. Cecilia in her pink dress was standing at the gate. She opened it for him as he approached.
"Bertha said you were going to-night. I wanted to say good-by to you."
She looked at him as he had never seen her before—almost appealingly. She was pale, and it struck him that her eyes looked strained. She put out her hand and took his.
"Are you going to be in New York now?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"I suppose—you won't care to come and see us?"
"Well, do you want me?"
Cecilia looked hurt and discomposed, plainly at a loss.
"I suppose you wouldn't care to come," she repeated.
"No," he said, gaining composure as she lost it, and standing very erect, his young shoulders thrown back nervously. "If I came to see you, it would mean that you were going to give me what I want. And you never can, can you?"
Cecilia suddenly flushed and clasped his hand in both hers.
"You'll forget all about me in six months, won't you? Yes, by that time you'll be making love to somebody else."
"I'll try. You don't object, do you? You haven't any use for me. You don't care what becomes of me."
"I do care!"
"Better not. Good-by, Cecilia."
"Tom"
"Why don't you let me go, Cecilia?"
"Oh, I don't know. I don't want you to go away—altogether."
"You think you might want me some day, is that it? You'd like to have me hanging around on the chance? Is that what you mean?"
"I don't know"
Tom bent close to her.
"If you should be free in a year, would you marry me?"
"Oh, if I could!"
Tom threw back his head and laughed. He turned his back on Cecilia, laid his arms on the gate-post, and put his face down. When finally he looked up his long black lashes were moist.
"Well, Cecilia," he said savagely, his lips trembling, "you're a good business woman, I'll say that for you. You don't like to lose anything, do you?—any old thing that might come handy sometime? You'll get on very well in this world—without me. And I'll try to get on—without you."
He opened the gate, went out, and closed it sharply after him. Cecilia laid a detaining hand on his arm and bent towards him impulsively, but Tom jerked away.
"No!" he cried with a last glance of pain and anger, and rushed on.
Cecilia looked after him, and the tears rolled down her cheeks when there was none to see.