the dwelling place of ligh-第42章
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learn。 I've told you that before。〃
〃What difference does that make？ You've got more sense than any woman I
ever saw；〃 he declared。
〃It makes a great deal of difference to me；〃 she insistedand the sound
of these words on her own lips was like a summons arousing her from a
dream。 The sordidness of her life； its cruel lack of opportunity in
contrast with the gifts she felt to be hers； and on which he had dwelt；
was swept back into her mind。 Self…pity； dignity； and inherent self…
respect struggled against her woman's desire to give； an inherited racial
pride whispered that she was worthy of the best； but because she had
lacked the chance； he refrained from offering her what he would have laid
at the feet of another woman。
〃I'll give you advantagesthere's nothing I wouldn't give you。 Why
won't you come to me？ I'll take care of you。〃
〃Do you think I want to be taken care of？〃 She wheeled on him so swiftly
that he started back。 〃Is that what you think I want？〃
〃No； no；〃 he protested； when he recovered his speech。
〃Do you think I'm afterwhat you can give me？〃 she shot at him。 〃 What
you can buy for me？〃
To tell the truth； he had not thought anything about it； that was the
trouble。 And her question； instead of enlightening him； only added to
his confusion and bewilderment。
〃I'm always getting in wrong with you；〃 he told her； pathetically。
〃There isn't anything I'd stop at to make you happy； Janet； that's what
I'm trying to say。 I'd go the limit。〃
〃Your limit！〃 she exclaimed。
〃What do you mean？〃 he demanded。 But she had become inarticulate
cryptic； to him。 He could get nothing more out of her。
〃You don't understand meyou never will！〃 she cried； and burst into
tearstears of rage she tried in vain to control。 The world was black
with his ignorance。 She hated herself； she hated him。 Her sobs shook
her convulsively； and she scarcely heard him as he walked beside her
along the empty road； pleading and clumsily seeking to comfort her。 Once
or twice she felt his hand on her shoulders。。。。 And then； unlooked for
and unbidden； pity began to invade her。 Absurd to pity him！ She fought
against it； but the thought of Ditmar reduced to abjectness gained
ground。 After all； he had tried to be generous； he had done his best； he
loved her； he needed herthe words rang in her heart。 After all； he did
not realize how could she expect him to realize？ and her imagination
conjured up the situation in a new perspective。 Her sobs gradually
ceased； and presently she stopped in the middle of the road and regarded
him。 He seemed utterly miserable； like a hurt child whom she longed to
comfort。 But what she said was：
〃I ought to be going home。〃
〃Not yet！〃 he begged。 〃It's early。 You say I don't understand you；
Janetmy God； I wish I did！ It breaks me all up to see you cry like
that。〃
〃I'm sorry；〃 she said； after a moment。 〃II can'tmmake you understand。
I guess I'm not like anybody else I'm queerI can't help it。 You must
let me go； I only make you unhappy。〃
〃Let you go！〃 he criedand then in utter self…forgetfulness she yielded
her lips to his。 A sound penetrated the night； she drew back from his
arms and stood silhouetted against the glare of the approaching headlight
of a trolley car； and as it came roaring down on them she hailed it。
Ditmar seized her arm。
〃You're not goingnow？〃 he said hoarsely。
〃I must；〃 she whispered。 〃I want to be aloneI want to think。 You must
let me。〃
〃I'll see you to…morrow？〃
〃I don't knowI want to think。 I'mI'm tired。〃
The brakes screamed as the car came joltingly to a stop。 She flew up the
steps； glancing around to see whether Ditmar had followed her； and saw
him still standing in the road。 The car was empty of passengers； but the
conductor must have seen her leaving a man in this lonely spot。 She
glanced at his face； white and pinched and apathetiche must have seen
hundreds of similar episodes in the course of his nightly duties。 He was
unmoved as he took her fare。 Nevertheless； at the thought that these
other episodes might resemble hers； her face flamedshe grew hot all
over。 What should she do now？ She could not think。 Confused with her
shame was the memory of a delirious joy； yet no sooner would she give
herself up； trembling； to this memory when in turn it was penetrated by
qualms of resentment； defiling its purity。 Was Ditmar ashamed of her？。。。
When she reached home and had got into bed she wept a little； but her
tears were neither of joy nor sorrow。 Her capacity for both was
exhausted。 In this strange mood she fell asleep nor did she waken when；
at midnight； Lise stealthily crept in beside her。
CHAPTER X
Ditmar stood staring after the trolley car that bore Janet away until it
became a tiny speck of light in the distance。 Then he started to walk
toward Hampton； in the unwonted exercise was an outlet for the pent…up
energy her departure had thwarted； and presently his body was warm with a
physical heat that found its counterpart in a delicious； emotional glow
of anticipation； of exultant satisfaction。 After all； he could not
expect to travel too fast with her。 Had he not at least gained a signal
victory？ When he remembered her lipswhich she had indubitably given
him！he increased his stride； and in what seemed an incredibly brief
time he had recrossed the bridge； covered the long residential blocks of
Warren Street； and gained his own door。
The house was quiet； the children having gone to bed； and he groped his
way through the dark parlour to his den； turning on the electric switch；
sinking into an armchair； and lighting a cigar。 He liked this room of
his； which still retained something of that flavour of a refuge and
sanctuary it had so eminently possessed in the now forgotten days of
matrimonial conflict。 One of the few elements of agreement he had held
in common with the late Mrs。 Ditmar was a similarity of taste in
household decoration； and they had gone together to a great emporium in
Boston to choose the furniture and fittings。 The lamp in the centre of
the table was a bronze column supporting a hemisphere of heavy red and
emerald glass； the colours woven into an intricate and bizarre design；
after the manner of the art nouveauso the zealous salesman had informed
them。 Cora Ditmar； when exhibiting this lamp to admiring visitors； had
remembered the phrase； though her pronunciation of it； according to the
standard of the Sorbonne； left something to be desired。 The table and
chairs； of heavy； shiny oak marvellously and precisely carved by
machines； matched the big panels of the wainscot。 The windows were high
in the wall； thus preventing any intrusion from the clothes…yard on which
they looked。 The bookcases； protected by leaded panes； held countless
volumes of the fiction from which Cora Ditmar had derived her knowledge
of the great world outside of Hampton； together with certain sets she had
bought； not only as ornaments； but with a praiseworthy view to future
culture；such as Whitmarsh's Library of the Best Literature。 These
volumes； alas； were still uncut； but some of the pages of the novelsif
one cared to open themwere stained with chocolate。 The steam radiator
was a decoration in itself； the fireplace set in the red and yellow tiles
that made the hearth。 Above the oak mantel； in a gold frame； was a large
coloured print of a Magdalen； doubled up in grief； with a glory of loose；
Titian hair； chosen by Ditmar himself as expressing the nearest possible
artistic representation of his ideal of the female form。 Cora Ditmar's
objections on the score of voluptuousness and of insufficient clothing
had been vain。 She had recognized no immorality of sentimentality in the
art itself； what she felt； and with some justice； was that this
particular Magdalen was unrepentant； and that Ditmar knew it。 And the
picture remained an offence to her as long as she lived。 Formerly he had
enjoyed the contemplation of this figure； reminding him； as it did； of
mellowed moments in conquests of the past； suggesting also possibilities
of the future。 For he had been quick to discount the attitude of bowed
despair； the sop flung by a
