One morning at breakfast he stopped talking about himself long enough to ask carelessly:
"About you and Brent--he's gone away.What are you doing?""Nothing," said she.
"Going to take that business up again, when he comes back?""I don't know."
"I wouldn't count on it, if I were you....You're so sensitive that I've hesitated to say anything.But I think that chap was looking for trouble, and when he found you were already engaged, why, he made up his mind to drop it.""Do you think so?" said Susan indifferently."More coffee?""Yes--a little.If my play's as good as your coffee----That's enough, thanks....Do you still draw your--your----"His tone as he cast about for a fit word made her flush scarlet."No--I stopped it until we begin work again."He did not conceal his thorough satisfaction."That's right!"he cried."The only cloud on our happiness is gone.You know, a man doesn't like that sort of thing.""I know," said Susan drily.
And she understood why that very night he for the first time asked her to supper after the rehearsal with Sperry and Constance Francklyn, the leading lady, with whom he was having one of those affairs which as he declared to Sperry were "absolutely necessary to a man of genius to keep him freshened up--to keep the fire burning brightly." He had carefully coached Miss Francklyn to play the part of unsuspected "understudy"--Susan saw that before they had been seated in Jack's ten minutes.And she also saw that he was himself resolved to conduct himself "like a gentleman." But after he had taken two or three highballs, Susan was forced to engage deeply in conversation with the exasperated and alarmed Sperry to avoid seeing how madly Rod and Constance were flirting.
She, however, did contrive to see nothing--at least, the other three were convinced that she had not seen.When they were back in their rooms, Rod--whether through pretense or through sidetracked amorousness or from simple intoxication--became more demonstrative than he had been for a long time.
"No, there's nobody like you," he declared."Even if Iwandered I'd always come back to you."
"Really?" said Susan with careless irony."That's good.No, I can unhook my blouse.""I do believe you're growing cold."
"I don't feel like being messed with tonight.""Oh, very well," said he sulkily.Then, forgetting his ill humor after a few minutes of watching her graceful movements and gestures as she took off her dress and made her beautiful hair ready for the night, he burst out in a very different tone: "You don't know how glad I am that you're dependent on me again.You'll not be difficult any more."A moment's silence, then Susan, with a queer little laugh, "Men don't in the least mind--do they?""Mind what?"
"Being loved for money." There was a world of sarcasm in her accent on that word loved.
"Oh, nonsense.You don't understand yourself," declared he with large confidence."Women never grow up.They're like babies--and babies, you know, love the person that feeds them.""And dogs--and cats--and birds--and all the lower orders."She took a book and sat in a wrapper under the light.
"Come to bed--please, dear," pleaded he.
"No, I'll read a while."
And she held the book before her until he was asleep.Then she sat a long time, her elbows on her knees, her chin supported by her hands, her gaze fixed upon his face--the face of the man who was her master now.She must please him, must accept what treatment he saw fit to give, must rein in her ambitions to suit the uncertain gait and staying power of his ability to achieve.She could not leave him; he could leave her when he might feel so inclined.Her master--capricious, tyrannical, a drunkard.Her sole reliance--and the first condition of his protection was that she should not try to do for herself.A dependent, condemned to become even more dependent.
