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The Reincarnation of Smith
by
Mrs. Cutler stared at him a moment searchingly, and then turned wearily away. “Well,” she said, sinking into her chair again, “he said if I’d shut my mouth he’d shut his–and–I did. And this,” she added, throwing her hands from her lap, a gesture half of reproach and half of contempt,–“this is what I get for it.”
More frightened than touched by the woman’s desperation, James Smith stammered a vague apologetic disclaimer, even while he was loathing with a revulsion new to him her draggled finery, her still more faded beauty, and the half-distinct consciousness of guilt that linked her to him. But she waved it away, a weary gesture that again reminded him of the dead Scranton.
“Of course I ain’t what I was, but who’s to blame for it? When you left me alone without a cent, face to face with a lie, I had to do something. I wasn’t brought up to work; I like good clothes, and you know it better than anybody. I ain’t one of your stage heroines that go out as dependants and governesses and die of consumption, but I thought,” she went on with a shrill, hysterical laugh, more painful than the weariness which inevitably followed it, “I thought I might train myself to do it, ON THE STAGE! and I joined Barker’s Company. They said I had a face and figure for the stage; that face and figure wore out before I had anything more to show, and I wasn’t big enough to make better terms with the manager. They kept me nearly a year doing chambermaids and fairy queens the other side of the footlights, where I saw you today. Then I kicked! I suppose I might have married some fool for his money, but I was soft enough to think you might be sending for me when you were safe. You seem to be mighty comfortable here,” she continued, with a bitter glance around his handsomely furnished room, “as ‘Don Diego Smith.’ I reckon skedaddling pays better than staying behind.”
“I have only been here a few weeks,” he said hurriedly. “I never knew what had become of you, or that you were still here”–
“Or you wouldn’t have come,” she interrupted, with a bitter laugh. “Speak out, Jim.”
“If there–is anything–I can do–for you,” he stammered, “I’m sure”–
“Anything you can do?” she repeated, slowly and scornfully. “Anything you can do NOW? Yes!” she screamed, suddenly rising, crossing the room, and grasping his arms convulsively. “Yes! Take me away from here–anywhere–at once! Look, Jim,” she went on feverishly, “let bygones be bygones–I won’t peach! I won’t tell on you–though I had it in my heart when you gave me the go-by just now! I’ll do anything you say–go to your farthest hiding-place– work for you–only take me out of this cursed place.”
Her passionate pleading stung even through his selfishness and loathing. He thought of his wife’s indifference! Yes, he might be driven to this, and at least he must secure the only witness against his previous misconduct. “We will see,” he said soothingly, gently loosening her hands. “We must talk it over.” He stopped as his old suspiciousness returned. “But you must have some friends,” he said searchingly, “some one who has helped you.”
“None! Only one–he helped me at first,” she hesitated–“Duffy.”
“Duffy!” said James Smith, recoiling.
“Yes, when he had to tell me all,” she said in half-frightened tones, “he was sorry for me. Listen, Jim! He was a square man, for all he was devoted to his partner–and you can’t blame him for that. I think he helped me because I was alone; for nothing else, Jim. I swear it! He helped me from time to time. Maybe he might have wanted to marry me if he had not been waiting for another woman that he loved, a married woman that had been deserted years ago by her husband, just as you might have deserted me if we’d been married that day. He helped her and paid for her journey here to seek her husband, and set her up in business.”