imposed upon. So firmly rooted was the conception I had formed of this woman, a conception in which she appeared as a flatchested, sour-faced misanthrope, devoid of seductive feminine charms, that to find her in every respect the exact antithesis of all I had been led to believe, or permitted to believe, was at first a shock, and as this was assimilated, cause for rage which grew quickly to consuming proportions.
In some way, not yet clearly defined in my mind, I had been misled and hoodwinked. I had been permitted to assume, that I had a rival unworthy of serious consideration, much less to be jealous of. Once, impelled by some vague uneasiness, I had asked Monty whether she was pretty. His answer leaped into my memory. 'About as pretty, compared to you, as a moth is in comparison to a beautiful, exotic butterfly!' The recollection brought a new surge of anger, for it suggested that I had not only been deceived but likewise made the victim of my own ridiculous vanity. This woman was regal with a loveliness which made mine look like cheap tinsel, and I had the sense to realize it.
In the baffled, frustrated, angry grouping of my thoughts, I included her as well as Monty in my resentment. I had pitied her before, but I hated her now with all the bitter venom which jealousy can brew in the heart of a woman confronted by the superior and invincible charms of a rival. I could have sunk my fingernails in the soft bloom of her cheeks with vicious delight, I could have clawed the full, voluptuous breasts which swelled the dressing gown outward in twin globes with infinite satisfaction. I fairly suspired to hurl myself on her and disfigure every inch of her golden beauty.
Dimly, I was aware that Monty had lurched to his feet and was advancing toward her.
'Lishen! Thesh ladiesh are my guesh! Wosh the idea of inshulting my guesh? Wosh the idea calling my guesh dish… dish… reputable?'
She stood her ground, receding not an inch before the menacing gesture of an upraised hand. No emotion was visible in her face except that of cool disdain.
'Remove these people from here instantly,' she repeated. 'I will not tolerate their presence here.'
'Shay! Wosh housh ish thish? I refush to be embarrasshed in the presensh of my friensh!'
He made an unsteady lurch, and the sharp sound of a hand in contact with flesh was heard. He had slapped her in the face with considerable force.
A wave of cruel pleasure swept over me with the sound of the impact and the hot blood tingled in my cheeks. Across one of hers a dappled, reddish outline appeared to mar the white purity of her skin. But she did not flinch. With outward calm and dignity she remained motionless. There was a moment of deadly silence, and the low voice spoke again.
'Take your degenerate friends with you and leave this house or I will go myself.'
What followed can only be told in a summary fashion. My own emotions were so violent that I saw everything through a sort of red haze and the details were blended in a confused blur of movement and action.
Monty had seized her in his arms. They were tussling and swaying in the doorway, she trying to escape his grasp and he apparently intent on dragging her into the room. No words were spoken; there was no sound except the heavy breathing, the swish of garments, and the scuffle of moving feet deadened in part by the thick carpets.
The pallor of her face had given way to a vivid flush which burned in either cheek. One of her bronze slippers had been dislodged in the scuffle and she was panting audibly. With a violent effort she succeeded in wrestling an arm free from his clasp, and placing the palm of her hand against his chin she forced his head back. For a moment it seemed that she was about to free herself from his drunken embrace.
As she strained to loosen his grasp, the sound of ripping cloth was heard and the neck and upper part of her robe and nightgown were torn open. The folds sagged down over her shoulders and arms, and one white breast was exposed.
I can see it yet, that proud, round breast of alabaster whiteness protruding from the ravished garments, its rosy nipple standing out prominently.
The sudden yielding of the garment caused her to lose her balance and the temporary advantage she had gained. She tottered backward and before she could recover herself she was again helpless in his arms. But she did not cease to struggle as she was dragged toward the centre of the room.
The blood was singing in my head. I felt choked, suffocated, and was breathing in short, dry gasps. Zippy and Carlota sat stiffly erect, watching with bulging eyes, but I gave them hardly a thought.
Remembrance of his cynical admission of attempts to fuck her was simmering in my brain. Well, he would never lay hands on me again.
Let him fuck her if he could, and let her claw him to shreds while he was doing it if she wanted to. That was what he had on his mind now. I knew he was going to try to fuck her right there in our presence.
The sound of more ripping cloth bore out the supposition and testified to his lust for the woman who had spurned him as he tried drunkenly to disrobe her. The kaleidoscopic, shifting blur of movement now revealed her half-nude as the entire front of her dressing gown was ripped open and the torn fragments of the nightgown underneath tangled about her legs.
I clenched my fists and bit my lips. My face was burning hot and my head felt light and dizzy.
As the torn fragments fluttered about her shapely limbs, he lifted her up. She managed to slip from his arms and regained her feet, but as she did so what remained of the garments was stripped upward and for a moment, not only her legs, but her bottom as well was left naked. As she twisted about the light shone full on the patch of little bronze, ringlets of hair at the base of her stomach. Another violent movement and pieces of her torn garments again covered the erotic sight.
She was panting, choked, inarticulate, but as if aware of her halfnaked condition she gathered herself for a supreme effort and placing both hands against his chest she shoved with desperate strength.
Doubtless, divining what was in his mind, she put every ounce of her failing energies into a superhuman effort to escape the humiliation.
She succeeded in pushing him from her. He clutched at her in an effort to regain his balance, tottered uncertainly for a moment, and fell backward. His head struck the edge of the iron grating in front of the fireplace.. His body twisted once or twice, straightened out, and remained motionless.
There was a momentary silence, broken only by a faint, peculiar whistling sound from the lips of the fallen man, a sound which I, and probably both my companions, assumed to be more an indication of drunken stupor than anything more serious.
But the woman standing there panting beside him, looking down into his face, suddenly began to scream. In an instant the servants, who had probably been hovering around close at hand but loathe to interfere, rushed precipitately into the room.
'Call a physician! Call a physician! Call the police! Get these people out of here!' she screamed, repeating the words over and over.
While two servants lifted Monty from the floor to lay him upon a sofa, another scurried to telephone a doctor, and another addressed himself to us.
'I'd advise you to retire as quickly as possible. The Marster appears to be in a very bad condition. He's not responsible under the circumstances, and you'd better be off, seein' as the Mistress is quite 'isterical!'
It was a sober and quiet little procession that filed down the stairs and out into the night air. Monty's faithful chauffeur, aroused by the sudden movement and lights about the house, inquired anxiously:
'What's happened?'
'Oh, Monty staged a row with his wife. He fell down and hit his head on the fireplace grating,' Zippy answered gloomily.
'Is he hurt?'
'I don't think so. Get us away from here as quickly as you can.'
The uneasy chauffeur hesitated a moment but finally decided that the best course was to do as suggested. He put the motor into movement and the car slid off down the quiet street.
As my thoughts cleared I became aware that Carlota was putting on her clothes, and for the first time realized that she had left the house clad in nothing but a silken shift, though she had retained sufficient presence of mind to grab her clothes and bring them with her, which reminded me that my own panties were still decorating a chair back there in the house.
I was not tempted to return for them. The wild emotions of the past half-hour were passing and I felt weak and faint. A fit of trembling seized me and I began to cry.
