Dangerous Days

"That's what I came for."

And when she had telephoned; "I've had a letter from Chris, Audrey."

She read it slowly, and he was surprised, when she finally looked up, to

find tears in her eyes.

"Poor old Chris!" she said. "I've never told you the story, have I,

Clay? Of course I know perfectly well I haven't. There was another

woman. I think I could have understood it, perhaps, if she had been a

different sort of a woman. But--I suppose it hurt my pride. I didn't

love him. She was such a vulgar little thing. Not even pretty.

Just--woman."

He nodded.

"He was fastidious, too. I don't understand it. And he swears he never

cared for her. I don't believe he did, either. I suppose there's no

explanation for these things. They just happen. It's the life we live, I

dare say. When I look back--She's the girl I sent into the mill."

He was distinctly shocked.

"But, Audrey," he protested, "you are not seeing her, are you?"

"Now and then. She has fastened herself on me, in a way. Don't scowl

like that. She says she is straight now and that she only wants a chance

to work. She's off the stage for good. She--danced. That money I got

from you was for her. She was waiting, up-stairs. Chris was behind with

her rent, and she was going to lose her furniture."

"That you should have to do such a thing!" he protested. "It's--well,

it's infamous."

But she only smiled.

"Well, I've never been particularly shielded. It hasn't hurt me. I don't

even hate her. But I'm puzzled sometimes. Where there's love it might be

understandable. Most of us would hate to have to stand the test of real

love, I daresay. There's a time in every one's life, I suppose, when

love seems to be the only thing that matters."

That was what the poet in that idiotic book had said: "There is no other

joy."

"Even you, Clay," she reflected, smilingly. "You big, grave men go all

to pieces, sometimes."

"I never have," he retorted.

She returned Chris's letter to him.

"There," she said. "I've had my little whimper, and I feel better. Now

talk to me."

The little clock was striking six when at last he rose to go. The room

was dark, with only the glow of the wood fire on Audrey's face. He found

her very lovely, rather chastened and subdued, but much more appealing

than in her old days of sparkle and high spirits.