________________________________________________
_ In the Ormsby household father and daughter sat in the darkness on the
veranda. After Laura Ormsby's encounter with McGregor there had been
another talk between her and David. Now she had gone on a visit to her
home-town in Wisconsin and father and daughter sat together.
To his wife David had talked pointedly of Margaret's affair. "It is
not a matter of good sense," he had said; "one can not pretend there
is a prospect of happiness in such an affair. The man is no fool and
may some day be a big man but it will not be the kind of bigness that
will bring either happiness or contentment to a woman like Margaret.
He may end his life in jail."
* * * * *
McGregor and Edith walked up the gravel walk and stood by the front
door of the Ormsby house. From the darkness on the veranda came the
hearty voice of David. "Come and sit out here," he said.
McGregor stood silently waiting. Edith clung to his arm. Margaret got
up and coming forward stood looking at them. With a jump at her heart
she sensed the crisis suggested by the presence of these two people.
Her voice trembled with alarm. "Come in," she said, turning and
leading the way into the house.
The man and woman followed Margaret. At the door McGregor stopped and
called to David. "We want you in here with us," he said harshly.
In the drawing room the four people waited. The great chandelier threw
its light down upon them. In her chair Edith sat and looked at the
floor.
"I've made a mistake," said McGregor. "I've been going on and on
making a mistake." He turned to Margaret. "We didn't count on
something here. There is Edith. She isn't what we thought."
Edith said nothing. The weary stoop stayed in her shoulders. She felt
that if McGregor had brought her to the house and to this woman he
loved to seal their parting she would sit quietly until that was over
and then go on to the loneliness she believed must be her portion.
To Margaret the coming of the man and woman was a portent of evil. She
also was silent, expecting a shock. When her lover spoke she also
looked at the floor. To herself she was saying, "He is going to take
himself away and marry this other woman. I must be prepared to hear
him say that." In the doorway stood David. "He is going to give me
back Margaret," he thought, and his heart danced with happiness.
McGregor walked across the room and stood looking at the two women.
His blue eyes were cold and filled with intense curiosity concerning
them and himself. He wanted to test them and to test himself. "If I am
clear-headed now I shall go on with the dream," he thought. "If I fail
in this I shall fail in everything." Turning he took hold of the
sleeve of David's coat and pulled him across the room so that the two
men stood together. Then he looked hard at Margaret. As he talked to
her he continued to stand thus with his hand on her father's arm. The
action caught David's fancy and a thrill of admiration ran through
him. "Here is a man," he told himself.
"You thought Edith was ready to see us get married. Well she was. She
is now and you see what it has done to her," said McGregor.
The daughter of the ploughmaker started to speak. Her face was chalky
white. McGregor threw up his hands.
"Wait," he said, "a man and woman can't live together for years and
then part like two men friends. Something gets into them to prevent.
They find they love each other. I've found out that though I want you,
I love Edith. She loves me. Look at her."
Margaret half arose from her chair. McGregor went on. Into his voice
came the harsh quality that made men fear and follow him. "Oh, we'll
be married, Margaret and I," he said; "her beauty has won me. I follow
beauty. I want beautiful children. That is my right."
He turned to Edith and stood staring at her.
"You and I could never have the feeling Margaret and I had when we
looked into each other's eyes. We ached with it--each wanting the
other. You are made to endure. You would get over anything and be
cheerful after a while. You know that--don't you?"
The eyes of Edith came up level with his own.
"Yes I know," she said.
Margaret Ormsby jumped up from her chair, her eyes swimming.
"Stop," she cried. "I do not want you. I would never marry you now.
You belong to her. You are Edith's."
McGregor's voice became soft and quiet.
"Oh, I know," he said; "I know! I know! But I want children. Look at
Edith. Do you think she could bear children to me?"
A change came over Edith Carson. Her eyes hardened and her shoulders
straightened.
"That's for me to say," she cried, springing forward and clutching his
arm. "That is between me and God. If you intend to marry me come now
and do it. I was not afraid to give you up and I'm not afraid that I
shall die bearing children."
Dropping McGregor's arm Edith ran across the room and stood before
Margaret. "How do you know you are more beautiful or can bear more
beautiful children?" she demanded. "What do you mean by beauty anyway?
I deny your beauty." She turned to McGregor. "Look," she cried, "she
does not stand the test."
Pride swept over the woman that had come to life within the body of
the little milliner. With calm eyes she stared at the people in the
room and when she looked again toward Margaret there was a challenge
in her voice.
"Beauty has to endure," she said swiftly. "It has to be daring. It has
to outlive long years of life and many defeats." A hard look came into
her eyes as she challenged the daughter of wealth. "I had the courage
to be defeated and I have the courage to take what I want," she said.
"Have you that courage? If you have take this man. You want him and so
do I. Take his arm and walk away with him. Do it now, here before my
eyes."
Margaret shook her head. Her body trembled and her eyes looked wildly
about. She turned to David Ormsby. "I did not know that life could be
like this," she said. "Why didn't you tell me? She is right. I am
afraid."
A light came into McGregor's eyes and he turned quickly about. "I
see," he said, looking sharply at Edith, "you have also your purpose."
Turning again he looked into the eyes of David.
"There is something to be decided here. It is perhaps the supreme test
of a man's life. One struggles to keep a thought in mind, to be
impersonal, to see that life has a purpose outside his own purpose.
You have perhaps made that struggle. You see I'm making it now. I'm
going to take Edith and go back to work."
At the door McGregor stopped and put out his hand to David who took it
and looked at the big lawyer respectfully.
"I'm glad to see you go," said the ploughmaker briefly.
"I'm glad to be going," said McGregor, understanding that there was
nothing but relief and honest antagonism in the voice and in the mind
of David Ormsby. _
Read next: BOOK VI: CHAPTER I
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