“Goodbye.” Still their fingers clung together. She felt a rush of tenderness toward him.
“Don’t look so worried, you dear!” Quickly, daringly, she leaned toward him and brushed a butterfly’s wing of a kiss upon his sleeve. Then, embarrassed, she ran up the steps.
“See you Saturday,” he called in a jubilant undertone. She watched his stocky figure until it turned the corner. Then she rang the bell. There was time for the momentary glow to depart, leaving her weak and chilly, before Mrs. Campbell opened the door. She said nothing. Her eyes, her tight lips, her manner of drawing her dressing-gown back from Helen’s approach, spoke her thoughts. Explanations would be met with scornful unbelief.
Helen held her head high and countered silence with silence. But before she reached her room she heard Mrs. Campbell’s voice, high-pitched and cutting, speaking to her husband.
“Brazen as you please! You’re right. The only thing to do’s to put her out of this house before we have a scandal on our hands. That’s what I get for taking her in, out of charity!”
Helen shut her door softly. She would leave the house that very day. The battered alarm clock pointed to half-past five. Three hours before she could do anything. She undressed mechanically, half-formed plans rushing through her mind. No money, next month’s wages spent for these crumpled clothes. She could telegraph her mother, but she must not alarm her. Why hadn’t she thought of borrowing something from Paul? There was Mr. Roberts, but she could never make up more money. Perhaps he would advance the raise he had promised. Her brain was working with hectic rapidity. She saw in flashes rooming-houses, the office, Mr. Roberts. She thought out every detail of long conversations, heard her own voice explaining, arguing, promising, thanking.
VII
She woke with a start at the sound of the alarm. Her sleep had not refreshed her. Her body felt wooden, and there was a gritty sensation behind her eyeballs. Dressing and hurrying to the office was like a nightmare in which a tremendous effort accomplishes nothing. The office routine steadied her. She booked the night messages, laying wet tissue paper over them, running them through the copying-machine, addressing their envelopes, sending out messenger-boys, settling their disputes over long routes. Everything was as usual; the sunshine streamed in through the plate-glass front of the office; customers came and went; the telephone rang; the instruments clicked. Her holiday was gone as if she had dreamed it. There remained only the recurring sting of Mrs. Campbell’s words, and a determination to leave her house.
She tried several times to talk to Mr. Roberts. But he was in a black mood. He walked past her without saying good morning, and over the question of a delayed message his voice snapped like a whiplash. She saw that some obscure fury was working in him and that he would grant no favors until it had worn itself out. Perhaps he would be in a better humor later. She must ask him for some money before night.
In the lull just before noon she sat at her table behind the screen, her head on her arms. She did not feel like working at the instrument. Mr. McCormick was lounging against the front counter, talking to Mr. Roberts, who sat at his desk. They would take care of any customers; for a moment she could rest and try to think.
“Miss Davies!”
“Yes, sir!” She leaped to her feet. Mr. Roberts’ tone was dangerous. Had she forgotten a message?
“I’d like to show you the batteries. Come with me.”
“Oh, thank you! I’d like to see them.” She tried by the cheerfulness of her voice to make his frown relax.
She followed him gingerly down the stairway to the basement. The batteries stood in great rows on racks of shelves, big glass jars rimmed with poisonous-looking green and yellow stains, filled with discolored water and pieces of rotting metal. A failing electric-light bulb illuminated their dusty ranks, and dimly showed black beams and cobwebs overhead.
“It’s awfully good of you to take so much trouble,” she began gratefully.
“Cut that out! How long’re you going to think you’re making a damn fool of me?” Mr. Roberts turned on her suddenly a face that terrified her. Words choked in his throat. He caught her wrist, and she felt his whole body shaking. “You—you—damned little—” The rows of glass jars spun around her. She hardly understood the words he flung at her. “Coming here with your big eyes, playing me for all you’re worth, acting innocence! D’you think you’ve fooled me a minute? D’you think I haven’t seen through your little game? How long d’you think I’m going to stand for it—say?”
“Let me go,” she said, panting.
She steadied herself against the end of a rack, where his furious gesture flung her. They faced each other in the close space, breathing hard. “I don’t know—what you mean,” she said. Her world was going to pieces under her feet.
“You know damn well what I mean. Don’t keep on lying to me. You can’t put it over. I know where you were last night.” His face was contorted again. “Yes, and all the other nights, all the time you’ve been kidding yourself you were making a fool of me. I know all about it. Get that? I know what you were before I ever gave you a job. What d’you suppose I gave it to you for? So you could run around on the outside, laughing at me?”
“Wait—oh, please—”
“I’ve done all the listening to you I’m going to do. You’re going to do something besides talk from now on. I’m not a boy you can twist around your finger. I don’t care how cute you are.”
“I don’t—want to. I only—want to get away,” she said. She still
