PAGE 6
The Cater-Cornered Sex
by
Through this the widow had not spoken, or offered to speak. Now that he had finished, she answered him from the half shadow in which she sat on the farther side of the sewing machine upon which the lamp burned. There was no bitterness, he thought, in her words; merely a sense of resignation to and acceptance of a state of things not of her own contriving, and not, conceivably, to be of her own undoing.
“Judge,” she said, “perhaps you know by hearsay at least that since my daughter’s marriage she has lived apart from us. Neither my husband nor I ever set foot in the house where she lives. It was her wish”–she caught herself here, and he, sensing that she was equivocating, nevertheless inwardly approved of the deceit–“I mean to say that it was not my wish to go among her friends, who are not my friends, or to embarrass her in any way. I am proud that in marrying she has done so well for herself. In thinking of her happiness I shall always try to find happiness for myself.
“But, judge, you must know this too: She did not come to the–the funeral. Well, there was a cause for that; she had a reason. But–but she had not been here for months before that. She–oh, you might as well hear it if you are to understand–she has never once been here since she married!
“And so, Judge Priest, I cannot go to her until I am sent for–not under any circumstances nor for any purpose. If she has her pride, I in my poor small way have my pride, too, my self-respect. When she needs me–if ever she does–I’ll go to her wherever she may be if I have to crawl there on my hands and knees. What has gone before will all be forgotten. But don’t you see, sir?–I can’t go until she sends for me. And so, Judge Priest, while I thank you with all my heart for your thoughtfulness and your kindness, and while I’d be glad, too, if Ellie saw fit or could be made to see that it would be a fine thing to give me this money in the way you have suggested, I say to you again that I cannot be the one to go to her. I will not even write to her on the subject. That, with me, is final.”
“But, ma’am,” he said, “ef somebody else went–some friend of yours and of hers–how about it then?”
She shook her head.
“Her friends–now–are not my friends. My friends are not hers any more; most of them never were her friends. Besides, the idea did not originate with me. Either the proposition must come from her direct or it must be presented to her by some third party. And I can think of no third party of my choosing that she would care to hear. No, Judge Priest, I have nobody to send.”
“All right then,” he stated, “since I set this here ball in motion I’ll keep it rollin’. Ma’am, I’ll take it on myself to speak to Mrs. Dallam Wybrant in your behalf.”
“But, Judge Priest,” she protested, “I couldn’t ask you to do that for me–I couldn’t!”
“Ma’am, you ain’t asked me and you don’t need to ask me. I’m askin’ myself–I’m doin’ this on my own hook, and ef you’ll excuse me I’ll start at it right away. When there’s a thing which needs to be done ez bad ez this thing needs to be done, there oughtn’t to be no time lost.” He stood up and looked about him for his hat. “Ma’am, I confidently expect to be back here inside of half an hour, or an hour at most, with some good news fur you.”
To one who had traveled about more and seen the homes of wealthy folk–to a professional decorator, say, or an expert in furnishing values–the drawing-room into which Judge Priest presently was being ushered might have seemed overdone, overly cluttered up with drapery and adornment. But to Judge Priest’s eye the room was all that a rich man’s best room should be. The thick stucco walls cut out the heat of the night; an electric fan whirred upon him as he sat in a deep chair of puffed red damask. A mulatto girl in neat uniform–this uniform itself an astonishing innovation–had answered his ring at the door and had ushered him into this wonderful parlor and had taken his name and had gone up the broad stairs with the word that he desired to see the lady of the house for a few minutes upon important business. He had asked first for Mr. and Mrs. Dallam Wybrant; but Mr. Wybrant, it seemed, was out of town; Mrs. Wybrant, then, would do. The maid, having delivered the message, had returned to say her mistress would be down presently and the caller was to wait, please. Waiting, he had had opportunity to contrast the present settings with those he had just quitted. Perhaps the contrast between them appeared all the greater by reason of the freshness of his recollection of the physical surroundings at the scene of his first visit of that evening.