She stood up from her seat and was about to leave the room when she heard the front door open, and in a second her husband’s step.
Eden drew the portiere aside and looked out in the hall. Usselex had his back to her. He was taking off his overcoat. She spoke to him and he turned at once, one arm still unreleased. At last he freed himself and came to her.
“You got my note, did you not?” he began. “I am sorry about this evening. Could you not go to Mrs. Manhattan’s without me? Something always seems to turn up at the last moment.”
“I hardly expected you so early,” Eden answered. “I sent word to Laura.” She was looking at her husband, but her husband was not looking at her. He seemed preoccupied and nodded his head abstractedly.
“Yes, yes,” he muttered, with singular inappositeness. “Yes, of course. But there,” he added and turned again to the door, “I must hurry.”
“Whom were you with this afternoon?” Eden asked.
It was as though she had checked him with a rein. He stopped at once and glanced at her.
“Did you see me?” he inquired; and accepting her silence for answer he continued at once: “It’s a long story; I have hardly time to tell it now.”
Eden put her hand on his sleeve. “Tell it me,” she pleaded.
For the moment he stood irresolute. “Tell me,” she repeated, and moved back, motioning him to a chair.
Usselex took out his watch. “I must hurry,” he said again. “But there,” he added tenderly, “since you wish it, a moment lost is small matter, after all.”
Again he glanced at her and hesitated as though expectant of a respite. Eden had her everyday air; outwardly she was calm, but something in her appearance, the twitch of an eyelid, the quiver of a nostril perhaps, revealed her impatience.
Usselex shrugged his shoulders, and for a second, with a gesture that was habitual to him, he plucked at his beard. “No,” he repeated, “a moment is small matter, after all. H’m. Eden, some years ago I went abroad. During my absence a cashier whom I trusted, and whom I would trust again, speculated with money that passed through his hands. It was not until my return that I learned of the affair. But meanwhile, as is usual in such cases, he was on the wrong side of the market. The money which he had taken had to be accounted for. I had a partner then, and the cashier confessed the defalcation to him; it was the only thing he could do, and he promised, I believe, that if time were given him he would make good the loss. The amount after all was not large—fifteen thousand perhaps, or twenty at the outside. But my partner was not lenient. He came of a line of New England divines, and had, if I remember rightly, at one time contemplated studying for the ministry. In any event he was then an elder in some uptown Presbyterian church. But virtue is not amiable. Without so much as communicating with me he put the matter in the hands of the authorities, and when I returned the cashier was in Sing Sing. Eden, you will hardly understand how sorry I was. He had a wife dependent on him—he had children. He had been with me longer than my partner had, and I liked him. Of the two I liked him the better. What he took I have never been able to view as a theft. It was what might be called a forced loan. Had I been here it would have been different; but my partner was obdurate. You see, the fault, if fault there were, was mine. The salary I gave him was small, and each day I allowed temptation to pass between his hands. People say that we should resist temptation. I agree with them; temptation should be resisted; but when a rich man preaches that sermon to the poor, he forgets that where temptation is vague to him it may be potent to his hearer. Oh, I don’t mean to uphold derelictions, but to my thinking Charity is the New Testament told in a word. I think that forgiveness is the essence of the teaching of every founder of an enduring creed. However, that is not to the point. The fact remained, the cashier was sent to Sing Sing, and since then I have done what I could to get him out. It was his wife that I was with today. Poor girl! I have been sorry for her; she is but little older than you, and she has had trials to bear such as might have sent another to worse than the grave.” He paused, and plucking again at his beard, he looked down at the rug. Eden needed no assurance to feel that his words were heart-whole and sincere. She moved to where he stood and touched him on the arm.
“Don’t tell me any more,” she said, and as she spoke there came to her voice a tremulousness that was as unusual as it was sweet. “You must let me help her, too.”
“Yes, Eden, that I will. It is good of you to speak that way. It is not only good, it is Edenesque. But let me tell you the rest. Governor Blanchford is in town. I went yesterday to the Buckingham, where he is stopping. He could only see me for a moment then, and this afternoon I
