Two Women & a Fool 
 
 by 
 
 H.CChatfield-Taylor
 
 Two Women & a Fool
 

 
 Two Women &f a Fool 
 
 BY 
 
 H. C. Chatfield -Taylor 
 
 WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY 
 
 C. D. Gibson 
 
 CHICAGO 
 STONE & KIMBALL 
 
 MDCCCXCVI
 
 f>s 
 
 35-05 
 
 -r? 
 
 COPYRIGHT, I 8 g 5 
 BY STONE * KIMBALI. 
 
 NINTH T H O U S A N !
 
 I. 
 
 " A fool s heart and a woman s eyes/ 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 JIGHTS gleam in the amber bub 
 bles as Moira raises her glass. 
 She smiles. Does she mean to pledge 
 me in a toast? No, her eyes grow 
 thoughtful. She places the glass on 
 the table and gazes at the blue-white 
 cloth. 
 
 I watch her intently. To my artist s 
 eye her delicate skin, with its enigma of 
 tints, and her wavy folds of reddish hair 
 form a perfect Titian harmony. But 
 her power lies in those dreamy brown 
 eyes with the curling lashes and arched 
 brows. Yes, a woman s eyes reveal the 
 ideality of her nature ; her lips its re 
 ality. Moira s eyes penetrate, insinuate, 
 mystify, but her lips are luxurious, im- 
 i
 
 2 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 pulsive, passionate. Her eyes allure; 
 her lips incite. 
 
 She looks up. A smile creeps stealth 
 ily across her face, then vanishes. She 
 lifts her glass again. I watch the flit 
 ting bubbles. 
 
 "Guy," she says, " Champagne is like 
 love, inspiring while the sparkle lasts, 
 sickening when the life is gone." 
 
 "Yes, and like love there is but one 
 remedy for it." 
 
 "What is that ? " she asks. 
 
 "Get a fresh bottle, find a new inspi 
 ration." 
 
 She throws herself back against the 
 cushions of the divan. Her white shoul 
 ders sink into the folds of silk. 
 
 "I see you are sampling a new vint 
 age, Guy. Come, tell me what she is 
 like." 
 
 She laughs as she says this; laughs so 
 that her musical voice echoes through 
 the room, but her eyes are mysterious 
 still.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 3 
 
 "Tell me what she s like," she re 
 peats. 
 
 "What who s like?" 
 
 " Why, the she. The one you would 
 like to love if you could make up your 
 mind to forget me." 
 
 I feel myself grow red. 
 
 " Dear old Guy, silly old Guy, as an 
 artist you are a tolerable success, but if 
 you should ever try to act you d be 
 hissed off the first night. I m a woman, 
 Guy." 
 
 " What has that to do with it? " 
 
 " Why for us women the mind of a 
 man is far easier to dissect than those 
 frog s brains we used to cut up at col 
 lege. You remember them, do n t you, 
 Guy ? A sombre room, rising tiers of 
 seats, a hundred students, each pair with 
 a board between them, half as many 
 frogs, a scowling prof., and Ugh ! 
 it s too terrible to think of. How 
 did I endure such a life even for a 
 term?"
 
 4 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 " I don t see yet what frog s brains 
 have to do with your absurd statement," 
 I interrupt. 
 
 " You are irrelevant ; " she says, 
 throwing a piece of bread across the 
 table, and, womanlike, missing my head 
 by a foot or two. " You must n t inter 
 rupt; I have the floor, and mean to talk." 
 
 " About frogs ? " 
 
 "No, about you." 
 
 " A far more interesting topic." 
 
 " To you perhaps, but it is time you 
 knew that man is the lowest form of 
 vertebrate. He has n t half as much 
 backbone as a as a oh, what do you 
 call it ? As an amphioxus. You see it 
 did me some good to go to college 
 after all." 
 
 " Of course, otherwise you would not 
 have met me." 
 
 " If you interrupt again, I 11 spill 
 candle grease on you. Now, let me see, 
 what was I saying? O yes, no wonder 
 I forgot. It was you. No, it was n t, it
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 5 
 
 was the She. You want me to tell how 
 I know about her?" 
 
 I glance at the table and play with 
 the stem of my glass. Her inscrutable 
 eyes are gazing at me, but I dare not 
 look up. 
 
 "Guy," she continues, seriously, "just 
 think back thirty-six hours. You came 
 into the train at Crestline, or some such 
 place. I thought you would come on 
 to New York. We played there six 
 weeks, you know. Perhaps you do n t. 
 Perhaps I did n t interest you sufficient 
 ly to find out. But that is neither here 
 nor there. You came into the car and 
 gave me a bunch of pink roses in a 
 sheepish sort of way, then you plunged 
 your hands in your pockets and sat and 
 looked out of the window. You had n t 
 spirit enough to take up our quarrel of 
 last spring ; you never looked me in the 
 eye once, and you did n t even flirt with 
 the chorus girls, though we ve got some 
 uncommonly pretty ones this season.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 Oh, Guy, I knew there was something 
 up directly I saw you ; if I needed fur 
 ther proof I had it. Do you remember 
 your dinner engagement last night? Of 
 three weeks standing, was n t it, though 
 from the awkward way you invented it 
 
 1 11 wager you have n t had a dinner 
 engagement since you left Brompton." 
 
 " I happen to have had that one. 
 Smart people, too ; that s why they in 
 vited me so far ahead. Mrs. Watterson 
 is coming to the studio to-morrow. I 
 wish I could sell her that cumbrous 
 "Schumann Sonata" of mine. Smart 
 people know nothing about pictures, 
 you know, but perhaps that is lucky for 
 us painters." 
 
 " That has nothing to do with the 
 dinner," Moira interrupts. " You d 
 like to change the subject, would n t 
 you ?" 
 
 "Do you know Moira, you re a sort 
 of love-phcenix, you would rise un 
 scathed from a thousand flames."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 7 
 
 " That s the first compliment you 
 have paid me since we parted in Lon 
 don last May. It s September now. 
 But you can t shunt me like that. We ve 
 only accounted for your behaviour up to 
 dinner last night; how about supper?" 
 
 " I told you to rest then, to-night be 
 ing a first night, you know." 
 
 " Were you ever so considerate of my 
 health before? How about the re 
 hearsal to-day ? You know you always 
 have the run of the theatre when I sing." 
 
 " I m working hard now. I had to 
 paint." 
 
 " Yes, I know all that, and so you 
 had to sit in the stalls to-night and look 
 as glum as a hired mourner when I 
 smiled my sweetest and shot my tender- 
 est glances at you, which of course I 
 did n t do, for that Frenchman, d Ar- 
 genteuil, was next you. He appreciates 
 them more than you do. By the way, 
 he has grown good looking since he left 
 London."
 
 8 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 "D Argenteuil good looking! Pic 
 turesque, yes; but good looking O, I 
 say, that s too ridiculous." 
 
 " Not nearly as ridiculous as you sit 
 ting there and trying to pretend there s 
 no She. I know all about her except 
 her name, and you will tell me that be 
 fore the evening is over." 
 
 "Not if I know it." 
 
 " Good. So you acknowledge there 
 is one?" 
 
 "No, I do n t." 
 
 Moira laughs. 
 
 I leave my chair and pace the floor. 
 
 "Hearts are. like chemical elements," 
 she says. " To a union of two add a 
 third and an explosion results." 
 
 I do not reply. Stopping before the 
 mantelpiece, I examine the pictures in 
 a long folding frame. Moira s apart 
 ment is in a quiet Michigan Avenue 
 hotel. I have seen such rooms before. 
 Gilded chairs with resplendent plush up 
 holstery, thick stuffy curtains, walls
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 9 
 
 papered in ill blending hues, a spongey 
 flower bedecked carpet, a general air of 
 ill assorted lavishness. But Moira can 
 make even such a place livable. A vase 
 of flowers, a bit of old stuff, a few orien 
 tal pillows, some screens or photo 
 graphs, give that cheerless lodging a 
 dash of cosiness. 
 
 Scanning the photographs in the 
 frame before me I recognize a few of 
 them. There are women in evening 
 dress, or tights, with frizzled hair and 
 wasp-like waists, with big celestial eyes 
 and little earthy mouths ; women whose 
 faces call forth memories of pretty St. 
 John s Wood villas, or sombre little 
 Kensington houses, where flowering 
 window boxes and delicate curtains give 
 the passer by the merest nibble at the 
 daintiness within. There are men, too; 
 some of them mere boys in man s attire, 
 clean cut, well groomed, with fresh 
 young faces, trustful eyes and pliant 
 mouths; some older with thinnish hair,
 
 IO TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 cruel eyes and callous features; and 
 others older still, with sleek bald spots 
 and unctuous jowls, bushy eye-brows 
 and turgid eyelids. I know most of 
 them. I have seen them blushing in 
 the stalls, standing in the wings, or wait 
 ing at the stage door of the Frivolity 
 Theatre, Strand. In a frame by itself 
 is my own picture. 
 
 "You honor me, Moira," I say, turn 
 ing towards her. 
 
 She is lighting a cigarette. Occa 
 sionally one meets a woman who has a 
 dainty, piquant way of holding a cigar 
 ette which disguises the vulgarity of the 
 action. Moira is one. She blows out 
 the match and drops it into an ash tray 
 with a fascinating little gesture. 
 
 " Guy," she says, sending a puff of 
 blue smoke upward, and motioning to 
 the seat beside her on the divan, "come 
 here." 
 
 She smiles. 
 
 The moment before I was angry be-
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL I I 
 
 cause she read my mind too clearly. 
 There may be a man whose resentment 
 her smile would aggravate, but I am 
 not he. 
 
 Reluctantly, ignomimously it seems 
 to me, I saunter towards the table. The 
 remnants of a supper are there. Rum 
 pled napkins, half burned candles, salad 
 stained plates, crumbs of bread, the car 
 cass of a bird. Usually the picturesque- 
 ness of such a disorder would appeal to 
 me, but to-night that phantom of a 
 feast nauseates me. I have experienced 
 the same feeling before, when the morn 
 ing after a carouse I throw back the 
 curtains in my studio and the glaring 
 sunlight bursting into the gloom, daz 
 zles my bloodshot eyes ; when my tem 
 ples throb and my lungs inhale the 
 close air of overnight with its vapid 
 odor of smoke and stale wine. 
 
 Why should I be so affected now, I 
 wonder. Is it because the ego is but a 
 jumble of nerve centres fed by the
 
 12 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 stomach; because our capacity for pleas 
 urable impression is controlled by the 
 state of the gastric juices? 
 
 I blow out the candles, push the table 
 away, and take the seat beside Moira. 
 
 " Have a Morris cigarette, Guy ?" she 
 says, reaching for a little silver case I 
 once gave her. " I do n t believe you 
 can get them here." 
 
 " No, thanks, I won t smoke," I an 
 swer almost gruffly. 
 
 Moira laughs. 
 
 " Dear, naughty, old boy," she says; 
 " if you keep on thinking about Her 
 you ll make me jealous, and then I may 
 love you." 
 
 She blows a puff of smoke into my 
 face. It makes me cough. She laughs 
 again. 
 
 " Moira," I say, "be serious." 
 
 "I can t be that. Nothing makes me 
 serious but a bad dinner. I am feeling 
 too well to-night. By the way, how do 
 you like my new crescent? Lord Kildale
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 13 
 
 gave it me when I was leaving London. 
 Look at the size of the stones. I won 
 der if his wife has any as big ? Oh, 
 these men, Guy, especially the married 
 ones." 
 
 " Oh, these women, Moira, especially 
 the ones like you." 
 
 She looks up into my face. A subtle 
 perfume rises from her hair. For a 
 moment I hold her in my arms and feel 
 the velvety warmth of her cheek on my 
 lips. For a moment only, for she 
 pushes me back and darts away, her 
 laughter rippling through the room. 
 
 " Guy ! Guy ! " she exclaims. " So 
 that s what you call being serious." 
 
 I rush after her. 
 
 " Moira, I m mad," I cry. " Mad 
 dened, intoxicated by you." 
 
 She turns and stands there with her 
 head thrown back imperatively, her lit 
 tle figure made commanding by its 
 authoritative pose. 
 
 " Do n t come a step nearer."
 
 14 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 The flash of her eyes enjoins obedi 
 ence. 
 
 "Oh, Guy! weak, fickle Guy," she 
 says, shaking her head reproachfully. 
 " You are forgetting that other woman. 
 Go to her ; tell her I fascinate you. 
 Flatter her into believing I am a pass 
 ing fancy which bewitches you ; tell her 
 I m a fury with topaz hair and gleam 
 ing eyes of adamant, whose glance trans 
 fixes you. Tell her that, or anything, 
 and if she loves you she 11 believe it." 
 
 " Moira," I cry. " You never loved 
 me as she does. She trusts me. She 
 knows about you, for I told her all. I 
 offered never to see you again, but she 
 sent me to you and told me that if I 
 loved you still I was free. I thought I 
 could be true to her. I am a coward. 
 Pity me, Moira, forgive me." 
 
 " Did she tell you to come back to 
 me ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Her big, mystical eyes grow cold.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. I 5 
 
 She is silent. I wait for her to speak, 
 and as I wait I see in fancy the trustful 
 eyes of the other looking into mine. 
 
 Moira takes my hat and coat from a 
 chair and comes toward me. 
 
 " Guy," she says, " you re going 
 now." 
 
 "Why?" I ask, hoarsely. 
 
 " Because I wish it." 
 
 I hesitate. 
 
 "Because I command it." 
 
 She holds my coat. Slowly I place 
 my arms in the sleeves and draw it over 
 my shoulders. I am partly conscious 
 of the deep-toned ticking of a clock. I 
 take my hat from her hand and sullenly 
 walk to the door, She follows. On the 
 threshold I turn to bid her good-night. 
 For a moment I stand there unable to 
 speak. Our glances meet. She throws 
 her arms about my neck and kisses me, 
 then tosses her head back. Her fathom 
 less eyes own me again. 
 
 " Guy, to-morrow you may come, but
 
 1 6 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 
 
 it must be for always; there must be no 
 other woman." 
 
 " Now ! " I cry. 
 
 She pushes me back. The door closes. 
 The lock clicks.
 
 II. 
 
 " There is a Frenchman his companion." 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 J ARGENTEUIL is waiting in the 
 studio. As I enter, I see his little 
 eyes sparkle behind the pages of a paper- 
 covered book. His stubbly hair, cut close 
 behind and showing the scar of a sabre 
 slash, rises above his ochre tinted fore 
 head in a bushy tuft like the crest of a 
 penguin. The book drops into his lap 
 disclosing a Valois beard, cropped like 
 a blackthorn hedge. His face is not of 
 to-day. It needs a pointed doublet and 
 plumed cap, long hose and doeskin 
 boots. As he glances up I fancy I see 
 the gleam of those eyes in a charge at 
 Moncontour, or their soft glances at 
 some fair Gabrielle d Estrees. His an 
 cestor fell fighting for the League. In 
 2 17
 
 1 8 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 d Argenteuil s veins flows the blood of 
 the Montmorency. 
 
 "Who let you in?" I ask. 
 
 "My dear Guy!" The points of 
 d Argenteuil s moustache vibrate gro 
 tesquely as he speaks. Long as I have 
 known him this always amuses me. 
 " My dear Guy ! The concierge ; how 
 you call him the janiteur. Ez it not so ? 
 He leive me in." 
 
 "Well, now you re here you may 
 stop on one condition : Do n t practice 
 English on me. Keep that for 
 
 " For the beasts you call servants in 
 your country. Where do you keep 
 your cigarettes ? " He asks in his Pari 
 sian vernacular. 
 
 He knows I keep them in an old 
 Gres de Flandres mug, almost at his 
 elbow, but he has a way of asking for 
 everything. 
 
 "You don t seem glad to see me;" 
 he continues, striking a match and hold 
 ing it so that his thin features grow
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 1 9 
 
 Mephistophelian in the glare of the 
 flames. I should like to paint him in 
 that role. "You do n t seem glad to see 
 me, and yet I have been waiting ever 
 since the opera. Though I confess I 
 did not expect to find you." 
 
 "Then why did you come ?" I say as 
 I drop between the bulging arms of my 
 favorite chair. 
 
 " To get as far away from Chicago as 
 I can. Fourteen stories nearer para 
 dise." 
 
 " Can you reach that pipe there ? " 
 I ask. " Not the meerschaum ; the lit 
 tle briar with the straight stem. Thanks. 
 There s tobacco in that powder flask. 
 Hand it me, won t you ? And a match 
 too. So the janitor let you in ?" I con 
 tinue, as the first whiff of a sublime 
 mixture, the secret of which I owe to 
 an old Indian officer, rushes through 
 my pipe stem. 
 
 " Yes, I have been lost for two hours 
 between these yellow covers. I quite
 
 20 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 forgot I was in your fourteenth story 
 paradox." 
 
 " Why that ? " 
 
 " Because perched at the very top of 
 this altar of utility I find one artistic 
 nook ; one breathing spot, where I can 
 inhale the pure air of art and purge my 
 nostrils of the fetid atmosphere one 
 breathes in this tumult you call Chicago. 
 Is it not a paradox ? " 
 
 I nod in acquiescence. 
 
 " It is absurd, my dear fellow, I do n t 
 understand it at all;" he says. "To 
 night it is quiet enough, but in the day 
 time I come to the door in one of those 
 clanging, jerking cable cars; I jump 
 off because the pig of a conductor won t 
 stop for me ; I splash mud all over my 
 boots ; I stumble over a heap of gar 
 bage ; I slip on a banana skin ; I am 
 jostled by a throng of embryo million 
 aires ; I rush into a vestibule where 
 glistening tiles and gilded arabesques 
 are jumbled into one glaring apotheosis
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 21 
 
 of bad taste, and after being jammed 
 into an iron cage where my toes are 
 trodden upon and my nose inflicted 
 with a dozen human smells, I am shot 
 up into space, and landed opposite the 
 door of this art-haven. It is absurd ; 
 it is irrational." 
 
 " It is neither, it is Chicago. A pre 
 judiced Parisian like yourself whose 
 ideas are bounded by the grass-covered 
 fortifications of Paris, can t understand 
 this vigorous city. Art and commerce 
 can struggle side by side, Raymond." 
 
 " Bah ! What do these savages know 
 about art?" 
 
 D Argenteuil talks to me that way 
 because I am an artist, because he 
 knew me in Paris. When he was 
 naval attach^ in London he talked 
 much the same way about the English. 
 Brutes, boors, canaille ; that was what 
 they were. Now he is one of the French 
 commission to the Exposition, and for 
 a year he has been eating the dinners of
 
 22 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 Chicagoans and laughing at them. He 
 amuses me, but sometimes he make me 
 lose my temper." 
 
 "I think you have said enough," I 
 say. " You forget I was born here." 
 
 Apparently unmindful of the snub he 
 gazes about the studio admiringly. 
 
 " I like your foothold anyway. If you 
 want to instill an appreciation for art 
 into the shrivelled souls of your com 
 patriots, you would better bring them 
 up here, one at a time, and feast their 
 eyes on the delights of this room." 
 
 " I m glad you appreciate something 
 besides yourself and Paris." 
 
 " Myself, Guy? I loath myself." 
 
 " You conceal the antipathy admira 
 bly," I suggest. 
 
 I wish he would go. He usually 
 amuses me ; to-night he bores me. 
 
 " I am the victim of heredity, Guy." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " Yes, I was born an artist, heredity 
 makes me a sailor."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 23 
 
 "Why not combine the two like 
 Pierre Loti?" 
 
 " Too late, too late," he sighs. 
 
 " If you were born an artist, what has 
 heredity to do with your love for the 
 sea?" 
 
 " Love for the sea ! I hate it." 
 
 I laugh, I can t help it. " You have 
 the Legion of Honor and a Tonquin 
 medal," I suggest. " You seem to do 
 pretty well in a profession you loathe." 
 
 " Pride, Guy. Again it is heredity. 
 By the way, I wish you d get some other 
 cigarettes. I shall send you some hand 
 made French Caporals just for myself 
 when I visit you." 
 
 "Send me anything you like, but tell 
 me why you are a sailor if you loathe 
 the sea?" 
 
 He swells his chest proudly. "My 
 great-grandfather was an admiral," he 
 says. 
 
 "What the devil has that to do with 
 it."
 
 24 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 "In our family the eldest son has 
 always been in the service of his coun 
 try. Unless killed, he retires at forty. 
 I have three years more of this loath 
 some life, then I will resign, go to Paris, 
 wear smart clothes, put a flower in my 
 button-hole, drive in the Bois, marry; 
 put Marquis de Bigny on my card ; in 
 short be a gentleman bien vu." 
 
 "So you hide your nobility under a 
 democratic bushel because you are in 
 the service of the Republic? " 
 
 "I am only a lieutenant de vaisseau ; 
 were I an admiral or even a captain it 
 would be different. My great-grand 
 father was an admiral." 
 
 "But your father was a soldier." 
 
 " Exactly. That s why I am a sailor. 
 It was my turn. Great-grandfather a 
 sailor, grandfather in the cavalry, father 
 in the infantry, hence Raymond d Ar- 
 genteuil spends twenty years of his life 
 in a service he detests." 
 
 "Noblesse oblige."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 25 
 
 He does not answer. There is a 
 sketch over in the corner which evi 
 dently interests him, for he gets up and 
 walks across the room. It is a woman s 
 head in profile ; the remnant of a fancy 
 which once flitted through my life, leav 
 ing no more durable impression than a 
 few strokes of my brush upon a bit of 
 canvas. I might have had her love had 
 I cared for it. How different other im 
 pressions have been. 
 
 The smoke gurgles through my pipe 
 stem. As I blow clouds up towards the 
 ceiling and watch the blue, wavy streaks, 
 the thought comes to me that a woman s 
 influence is a variable physical force. 
 There must be laws governing passion, 
 as there are laws of magnetism. A half 
 hour since, when Moira s face was 
 thrillingly near mine, she was irresisti 
 ble. Now she seems like a vague dan 
 ger which threatens me. Were I to 
 frame a law as mathematicians do, I 
 would say that love is a force acting in
 
 26 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 inverse ratio to the proximity of the at 
 tracting power. After every attraction 
 there is an equal and contrary repulsion. 
 The energy progresses geometrically. 
 The impulse is imparted by induction 
 by chance isn t it? So much for being 
 a philosopher so much for being a 
 fool. 
 
 " I say, Raymond, why do you look 
 at me like that?" 
 
 " I just paid your art a compliment, 
 Guy ; you did n t hear me ; you re in 
 love." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Get over it." 
 
 " Can one paint over a passion as one 
 does a bad picture ; can one trace a 
 new affection on an old blurred heart?" 
 
 He paces the floor with his hands 
 plunged in the pockets of his baggy 
 flannel trousers. There is more gene 
 rosity than smartness in the cut of that 
 blue serge coat, and the ends of his 
 crimson tie fall in careless bounteous
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 2? 
 
 folds from under the corners of his 
 broad Byron-like collar. How atro 
 ciously d Argenteuil dresses. He 
 doesn t even consider us Chicagoans 
 worthy of evening clothes. To dress 
 badly seems a passion with him. He 
 makes but one exception. He is too 
 proud of his little patrician feet to en 
 case them in anything but the daintiest 
 of patent leather boots. Stopping be 
 fore a portrait I am painting, he casts 
 his eye over the canvas critically. 
 
 " Not bad, not bad," he mutters. "A 
 dumpy bourgeoise idealized, a pug- 
 faced parvenue made tolerable and the 
 likeness retained. Miss McSweeney will 
 stick her little nose up higher than ever 
 and papa McSweeney ought to shower 
 you with dollars." 
 
 " I wish you would answer my ques 
 tion." 
 
 " A thousand pardons. You were 
 talking about love, and you want my 
 ppinion. Well, I give it cheerfully. The
 
 28 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 nativity of passion is the birth of imbe 
 cility. Be in love if you like, my dear 
 Guy. Be in love with your art, but 
 with a woman La ! La ! what stupid 
 ity!" 
 
 "Is not the intention of all art to 
 give pleasure? Cannot love become an 
 art?" 
 
 He stops and glares at me. Then a 
 glance of pity fills his eyes. 
 
 " Cherbuliez says a work of art is the 
 production of a fool and a sage. Love, 
 is ..hework of a fool and the devil." 
 
 Cynical d Argenteuil ! how he likes 
 to ramble on like that, tumbling down 
 glittering idols, piercing fond senti 
 ments with his shafts, and all the time, 
 he is as impulsive as a girl of sixteen, as 
 easily led by a glance as a boy of 
 twenty. Have I not seen him worship 
 at the shrine of more than one fair 
 Saxon goddess when he was an attach^ 
 in London? Only last week he was 
 pouring forth rapturous Gallic hyper-
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 2Q 
 
 bole about the charms of a little fawn- 
 eyed witch who sells chewing gum in 
 the Manufactures Building. 
 
 "Raymond!" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You say that in three years you in 
 tend to marry; will you be foolish 
 enough to marry without love?" 
 
 " Certainly not. Love is a habit like 
 smoking or absinthe. We try it out of 
 curiosity, and it becomes fixed upon us. 
 We know we are better without it, but 
 we go on letting the insidious poison 
 destroy our nerves and our happiness. 
 I acquired the love habit early in life ; 
 when I marry I shall keep it up, merely 
 changing the dose." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 He laughs cynically. " Why a bach 
 elor loves his friend s wife ; a married 
 man loves his wife s friend." 
 
 " Such love is devilish." 
 
 " Devilish nice, my dear, as you 
 ought to know. By the way, your old
 
 3Q TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 friend, Moira Marston, smiled at me, to 
 night. Fine woman that ! Have you 
 quarreled ? " 
 
 " No, we never quarrel." 
 
 "Yet you have known her for two 
 years to my certain knowledge." 
 
 " Longer than that. I knew her 
 when she was a co-ed. 
 
 " Co-ed, what is that, a coryphee ?" 
 
 " No, worse than that ; it is a female 
 student in a university. The name 
 is an abbreviation from co-educa 
 tion." 
 
 " What an absurd people you Ameri 
 cans are. No wonder the girls talk like 
 men ; but Moira Marston is pretty, 
 whatever she is, and that is sufficient. I 
 wish you had quarreled ; I would like to 
 step into your shoes." 
 
 " Judging by your sentiments, the 
 matter of a quarrel should not stand in 
 your way." 
 
 He glances at me reproachfully. 
 " My dear Guy, you misjudge me.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 31 
 
 There is one relationship a man oi 
 honor always respects." 
 
 " I m in no mood for your railleries, 
 Raymond, you would better go to bed." 
 
 Regardless of my hint he walks about 
 the studio humming a cafe chantant 
 air ; then he betrays an unusual interest 
 in the ceiling. There is a skylight over 
 head covered by a velarium of oriental 
 silk, woven in an intricate pattern. A 
 Persian warrior worked into the stuff, 
 he examines minutely; then he walks to 
 a wall cabinet where I keep a few de 
 canters of cordials. Helping himself to 
 a small glass of cognac, he turns toward 
 me. 
 
 " Your health, Guy, and do n t be so 
 foolish as to let a little red haired actress 
 disturb your peace of mind. Love her 
 if you like, but make a pleasure of your 
 love. Let it be exhilarating like a 
 morning ride in the park. Let it be a 
 pastime, not a purpose." 
 
 " Get out of here, you bore me."
 
 32 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 He drains his glass and puts it down. 
 "As you wish, my dear Guy, sorry you re 
 out of sorts ; " he says with a shrug of 
 the shoulders. "You will be in a better 
 mood to-morrow. Breakfast with me 
 at Old Vienna." 
 
 " I will think about it. Do n t wait 
 for me after twelve." 
 
 Those piercing black eyes glance at 
 me inquisitively. " Forget about her, 
 Guy. Love is a chimera with the head 
 of a siren, the belly of a cormorant, and 
 the tail of a sting-a-ree. He lures, he 
 devours, and as he dives back into the 
 depths of delusion he swishes his tail and 
 gives the heart a sting which seldom 
 heals. Now, I m going." 
 
 We walk together towards the door. 
 
 " Good night, Guy. To-morrow at 
 twelve." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He extends his hand. 
 
 "Are you put out with me, moncher?" 
 
 " No, we are friends."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 33 
 
 " Yes, at least until one of us is mar 
 ried." 
 
 " What has that to do with it ? " 
 
 " Why, a married man has onlj 
 acquaintances and enemies; the latter 
 class invariably includes his best friend." 
 
 Scoffing d Argenteuil ! I can hear 
 his cynical chuckle echo through the 
 hall, as his nervous step clacks on the 
 til*
 
 III. 
 
 "As due to love as thoughts and dreams." 
 
 Mid-Summer Nighfs Dream. 
 
 |Y nurse once lured me into the 
 Chamber of Horrors at Madame 
 Tussaud s. I shall never forget my 
 childish terror. The waxen images of 
 criminals, the bloated faces and bloody 
 necks, the mournful eyes of Charlotte 
 Corday peering through her prison bars; 
 to me they were real. 
 
 One s thoughts are sometimes a 
 chamber of horrors. 
 
 Damn it all ! the past is over. 
 
 "To-morrow you may come, but it 
 must be for always ; there must be no 
 other woman." 
 
 How those words follow me. I 
 thought that passion dead. It was only 
 slumbering. A glance awoke it, and 
 34
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 35 
 
 the pressure of two lips sent it bound 
 ing through me with the strength of a 
 maniac who had burst his chains. 
 
 Moira ! Moira ! why did you come 
 back into my life to torture me? 
 
 It is cold here ; is the window open? 
 No, it must have been the fear of to 
 morrow. 
 
 The night seems impenetrable the 
 earth far away. That double row of 
 twinkling lights converging into noth 
 ingness ; they are like as many lives. 
 They flare up, burn, and are extin 
 guished. We all sputter for a time, then 
 go out. I hate to look at the black, 
 infinite sky but a slice of the universe, 
 is n t it? It makes me realize I am noth 
 ing but an atom. That train flying 
 along there by the lake, with the lights 
 flickering in the car windows mysteri 
 ous, phantom-like, it looks in the dark 
 ness, yet it is only a few cells of atoms. 
 A broken rail, a misplaced switch may 
 resolve the living freight into into
 
 36 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 what? I never look down from a great 
 height like this without being tempted 
 to penetrate the awful mystery. One 
 plunge through space would solve it. 
 Would it hurt, I wonder ; or would one 
 lose consciousness before the crash? 
 
 My pipe is out. So much for impo 
 tent speculation. Where did d Argen- 
 teuil put that powder flask? Oh, there 
 it is on the ledge of that table. I re 
 member now, I had it in my hand. 
 Altogether too absent minded, old man. 
 You 11 be forgetting your name next. 
 
 It s curious how soothing a pipe is. 
 Cigarettes irritate, cigars mollify, but a 
 pipe consoles. Confound that match. 
 That s the second that would n t go. 
 
 Moira s picture. I thought I locked 
 it up, but here it is on the ledge of this 
 cabinet.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 37 
 
 And the other. 
 
 Am I forgetting her, or do I crowd 
 her from my mind because I am afraid 
 to meet her even in my thoughts? I 
 will open the cabinet and look at her 
 picture. 
 
 Reproachful eyes, are n t they? Wher 
 ever I turn they follow me. You have 
 a right to reproach me Dorothy, but 
 you should not have sent me to the 
 other. It were better to let her pass 
 out of my life. I was honest with you; 
 I told you the truth. I loved her. It 
 was a frenzied love, but it was inade 
 quate. You brought peace to me 
 inspiration even for you made me 
 work as I never worked before ; but did 
 you bring everything ? Answer me ! 
 You do not speak. Does doubt fill 
 your mind too ? How gracefully you 
 sit in that low-backed chair ; how erect. 
 There is a purpose in every line of your 
 face. You are sublime. I love you 
 my soul loves you. The devil owns my
 
 38 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 body -that devil with insinuating eyes 
 and glistening reddish hair. 
 
 Moira Marston Dorothy Temple, I 
 will put you side by side upon the table. 
 Now let me sit and look at you. 
 
 You were side by side when I first 
 saw you, leaning on the steamer s rail, 
 looking at the water, dreaming no 
 doubt, for you did not speak. Perhaps 
 your dreams were nightmares. Trigo 
 nometrical nightmares with the hideous 
 shapes of co-sines and tangents dancing 
 before your frightened freshman eyes. 
 You both seemed paradoxical when 
 viewed in the light of "co-eds" for you 
 were both good looking. I remember 
 leaning back in my deck chair and 
 studying you. My artist s eye, though 
 undeveloped then, appreciated that pic 
 ture. The white decked steamer with 
 her grinding paddles throbbing monot 
 onously, a hazy atmosphere, a stretch
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 39 
 
 of wooded shore near by, with the 
 broken shadows of the trees reflected in 
 the water, and beyond all a line of bluish 
 hills crowned by the familiar buildings 
 of Alma Mater, with their greyish out 
 lines, faintly etched against the sky. 
 
 But that was only a background, a 
 setting. I opened my sketch book 
 and began to draw them. One looked 
 up for a moment, then turned away. 
 Glancing round again she smiled, and 
 I tried in vain to catch her saucy 
 expression. The other gazed thought 
 fully at the lake. 
 
 Curious, was n t it, that they should 
 have been friends in those days ? Their 
 characters were as different then as now. 
 
 I wonder if Moira remembers that 
 incident in the geometry examination. 
 
 I can see it now ; see it clearer than 
 if the scene were painted on that canvas 
 yonder.
 
 4O TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 It is a dingy room with rising tiers of 
 seats. Two hundred excited faces scan 
 the scrawling on as many sheets of fool 
 scap. Crabbed proctors pace the floor 
 eyeing the terrified freshmen. Their 
 steps echo through the cheerless hall. 
 No other sound but the occasional rustle 
 of a paper, the measured grating of 
 pencils. The windows are open and the 
 sultry September air fans the heated faces. 
 Occasionally a sigh escapes parched lips 
 as anxious eyes vainly study angles. 
 The pencils scribble monotonously. 
 
 A privileged senior, I quietly scan the 
 faces of that incoming class. 
 
 In the front row of seats among the 
 score or so whom co-education has at 
 tracted to those halls, are Moira and 
 Dorothy side by side again. One writes 
 deliberately, the other scrawls carelessly, 
 then gazes round, then stops to sharpen 
 a pencil point. I wish I could forget 
 it, but Moira stealthily draws a little 
 scroll of paper from her sleeve; she
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 4! 
 
 glances up and catches my eye, blushes 
 and scribbles excitedly a moment, then 
 slyly her eyes rise to mine and do not 
 turn away. A daring, almost impudent 
 smile, trembles on her little mouth, but 
 her eyes grow soft and plead. 
 
 Why did I wince beneath that glance? 
 Why did my cheeks glow ? Why did I 
 not turn to the other ? She bends over 
 her paper and writes confidently; she 
 does not pause to glance up and smile ; 
 she does not cheat cruel, but true 
 word. No, her delicate face is sincere f 
 her dark eyes set wide apart, with arch 
 ing brows and curling lashes, are hon 
 est. But I did not stop to analyse that 
 face then. I paced the floor nervously, 
 then turned to look at Moira. She knew 
 it, though she pretended to write. 
 
 Ah beauty ! what are you to so dis 
 turb us? We fancy we meet you ready 
 made, but are you not created before
 
 42 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 us, or in us? Are you not an act 
 rather than an actuality ? You are as 
 illusive as happiness, as mysterious as 
 chance; you are not a type, for you 
 are an exception ; comparative too, 
 for to the next observer you may 
 be hideous. After all you are nothing 
 but a lie which dazzles, which insinu 
 ates. In the dark you are but a remi 
 niscence. 
 
 If I were not too lazy I would write 
 that down, and then find that I had 
 read most of it somewhere, or that it 
 was not worth reading. 
 
 But Moira s subtle beauty, whatever 
 it be, crept into my heart. It in 
 fused itself like a poison. That night, 
 after the examination, I felt it biting. 
 The boisterous songs at Metzger s could 
 not deaden it. 
 
 Careless hours, those spent there. I 
 can see the old place now that narrow 
 dingy room with German prints upon 
 the walls. The marble topped tables
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 4J 
 
 hacked by successive classes are placed 
 end to end; the animated faces of my 
 chums are girdled round them. Tumul 
 tuous laughter fills the room. The air 
 is dense with smoke. In the door 
 way Metzger appears, his fat, red face 
 beaming with smiles, his plump dimpled 
 arms bared to the elbow; his apron 
 spotless white. He bears a ponderous 
 crystal "Rubicon" foaming with trans 
 lucent Pilsener, and amid cheers and 
 jokes from lip to lip the frothy cup is 
 passed. The last man drains it, slams 
 it bottom upwards on the table. " The 
 Rubicon is crossed." More beer, Metz 
 ger. A song ! a song ! Then sixty 
 lusty throats swell forth in chorus. 
 Glorious hours; wasted perhaps, but 
 who regrets them? 
 
 When I look at this photograph of 
 Moira those college days seem incom 
 prehensible. Effective costume, is n t it? 
 
 I shall never forget the first night she 
 wore it ; the applause, her five recalls ;
 
 44 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 yes, she came on just as she is there, 
 with a dandified strut, and a swagger, a 
 quizzing glass in one hand, and in the 
 other a slender staff tied round with a 
 bow of satin ribbon. And her entrance 
 song with its quaint refrain. But Moira 
 made the song ; her personality ; the 
 dashing way she sang it. How proud 
 I felt. But it is hard to reconcile it all 
 with the Moira of eight years ago. 
 
 Yet that sly, laughing face, almost 
 smothered by the fluffy curls of the wig, 
 peeping impudently over the broad 
 neckcloth is surely the same face that 
 sent me covert glances in the examina 
 tion room. That easy pose, that stun 
 ning long tailed coat with the high roll 
 ing collar and ruffled cuffs, that cocked 
 hat pushed jauntily sidewise, those little 
 feet tipped into dainty buckled slippers 
 with high French heels; it is all studied 
 effective, fascinating, but is it not Moira 
 through and through. 
 
 Yes, the same Moira of those college
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 45. 
 
 days. The same Moira whom I met 
 with Dorothy that night when old bil 
 ious-eyed Professor Simpkins invited us 
 to tea. I shall never forget the glances 
 she sent me when the professor of 
 fered up thanks for the chipped beef 
 and the wafer-like slices of bread with a 
 tinge of butter here and there ; they 
 nearly lost me my degree. How bored 
 we were and how hungry ; but Doro 
 thy, the sweet girl, pretended to be in 
 terested in old Simpkin s stories. 
 
 The thought of that tea makes me 
 hungry. Curious effect the imagination 
 has on the appetite. I believe I will 
 make a sandwhich. 
 
 I wonder where I put those sardines? 
 Ah, there they are, and the can opener 
 too. That s luck. 
 
 I 11 take this stuff over to the table 
 and have a "spread," as we used to say 
 in college.
 
 46 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 By Jove, that cork comes hard. 
 
 At all events this is a slight improve 
 ment on Simpkins feast- fast is the 
 better word and that reminds me of 
 the supper I had with Moira and Doro 
 thy at Jameson s after we escaped from 
 the old boy s starvation party. 
 
 I am sure nothing but pity for those 
 famished girls or was it a pair of eyes ? 
 made me defy college opinion and 
 take two "co-eds" to Jameson s. 
 
 Luckily we had the place to our 
 selves. 
 
 Poor, hectic Jameson, I can see his 
 lean fingers picking caramels from the 
 long glass showcase ; I can hear his 
 hacking, consumptive cough. But the 
 gloom of his moribund presence did not 
 penetrate beyond the starched lace cur 
 tains and dingy green lambrequins 
 which separated his candy shop from 
 the " oyster parlor." 
 
 Yes, we were hungry that night. The 
 sin of gluttony be on your head, Simp-
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 47 
 
 kins, for we all repeated our orders. 
 But we became acquainted, and that was 
 a blessing or a curse. 
 
 Moira and Dorothy talked about 
 themselves or rather Dorothy talked 
 and Moira smiled and I looked, but 
 did not listen much. But I heard 
 enough to learn that they were both 
 Chicago girls, and that was something. 
 Moira s father was not unknown to me, 
 at least I had drunk his Eureka beer, 
 and passed his big green stone house in 
 Michigan Avenue ; but I thought that 
 Bracker was an impossible name for 
 such a girl as Moira. No wonder she 
 took Marston for a stage name. 
 
 Dorothy talked a great deal in her 
 quiet way. It was easy to see that she 
 came to college to study and Moira to 
 get away from home. 
 
 But I paid little attention to Doro 
 thy s earnest views of life, I tried to 
 listen, but my eyes were drawn else 
 where.
 
 48 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 Yes, Moira, girl though you were, you 
 owned me, even then. Do you remem 
 ber that short-cut to the town through 
 that old cemetery the "boneyard" we 
 fellows called it? Do you remember 
 that wintry day, too? The winding, icy 
 path glistens in the sunlight ; the wind 
 whirs through the naked trees, and a 
 snowy counterpane, rumpled by graves, 
 tented here and there by grim head 
 stones, spreads over the rolling earth to 
 the frozen lake. 
 
 Down the path you rush, slipping, 
 sliding ; your laughter peals clear on 
 the frosty air. 
 
 You 11 fall, I wager you do. There 
 you go. No, lucky escape. That s 
 right. Throw your arms round that 
 granite shaft for support, you re ex 
 hausted. 
 
 " I hate tombs, Guy!" you exclaim 
 between your gasps. " I hate death and 
 dead people. Why did you bring me
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 49 
 
 here? Let s sing, Guy ; let s wake up 
 these dry bones." 
 
 A rollicking song swells from your 
 lips ; over the snow-covered ground you 
 dance recklessly, dance until you stag 
 ger from dizziness. I would not be a 
 man did I not hold you in my arms and 
 kiss your glowing cheeks. 
 
 I see the glint of teeth between your 
 lips." 
 
 "Don t, Guy, don t." 
 
 You struggle and push me back and 
 laugh. Then you fly on down the path, 
 and I rush after you. 
 
 " Guy," you cry, panting at the bot 
 tom; "I hate life here. I am stifled in 
 these gloomy lecture rooms. I m get 
 ting desperate. I want to be free. I 
 shall do something reckless soon. Let s 
 elope, Guy ; I 11 support you; I 11 be a 
 circus queen or a ballet girl. Will you 
 come?" 
 
 " Yes, anywhere."
 
 $O TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 Thoughtless, reckless girl. She had 
 not learned then the dissimulation she 
 practices now as a fine art. No, I am 
 sure it was merely a heedless impulse 
 which induced her to put on men s 
 clothes and take another madcap girl to 
 the minstrel show at Argus Hall. No 
 wonder it got to the faculty. I suppose 
 she thought she could disguise herself, 
 but all the students recognized her im 
 mediately. Even the end- men saw 
 what was up and cracked jokes about it, 
 while Moira sat there and tried to brazen 
 it out. 
 
 How quickly the faculty hurried them 
 both out of town, and tried to hush the 
 matter up, but of course it got into the 
 papers with all the names and exagger 
 ated details. 
 
 As I think of that escapade now, I 
 can sympathize with Moira for refusing 
 to go home in disgrace. It was easy 
 for a pretty girl to get on the stage, es 
 pecially when she had natural talent,
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 5 I 
 
 and had created so much newspaper 
 talk; but I was keenly mortified at the 
 time. 
 
 Yet there is no use worrying over by 
 gones. She passed out of my life then. 
 
 I am tired of that portrait of Miss 
 McSweeney. I shall send it home to 
 morrow. Curious d Argenteuil should 
 have liked it. He seldom likes any 
 thing except his own cynical epi 
 grams and scoffs. But the picture 
 has some merit. I can see it myself. 
 If I were not so infernally lazy I might 
 do something really creditable again. 
 I am at a standstill in my work. I 
 ought to go on developing. A man has 
 no excuse for living on the reputation 
 of a few medals. 
 
 I wonder why I am myself, anyway ? 
 This I is loathsome. Why can t I 
 throw myself out of myself ? My per 
 sonality is one network of blemishes,
 
 52 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 and I made them. I hacked and 
 scratched, but when I try to erase I 
 find the marks as ineffaceable as the 
 flaws in an emerald. No wonder imper 
 sonality is the Buddhist s ideal, yet the 
 surest argument against Nirvana is the 
 slavery in which self binds us. Is it 
 not after all the slavery of a lover to his 
 mistress; to an inexorable mistress who 
 plagues and tantalizes, but who is loved 
 because her actions are uncontrollable, 
 her nature fathomless. 
 
 Guy Wharton, you are an artist 
 proof sufficient that you are not a phi 
 losopher. So there s an end to specula 
 tion. 
 
 I might find consolation in another 
 pipe. Well, here goes. 
 
 Moira, you tempter, keep out of my 
 thoughts. 
 
 Where are you, Dorothy? You seem 
 but a shimmer, faint and undefined.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 53 
 
 There you are. Take form and let us 
 wander through the gorge which flanks 
 the college ; let us scramble down the 
 scraggy fern-girt path, over the rustic 
 foot-bridge, past the glistening water 
 fall to that nook where the stream flows 
 deep and the willows trail in the water. 
 
 Now, you lean against a tree and 
 dabble your hand in a pool; the sun 
 light streaming through the leaves forms 
 weird shadows on your face. The cas 
 cade rumbles, the eddies gleam. No, 
 Dorothy, I did not love you then. Per 
 haps that is why the memory of that day 
 is indistinct. The grandeur of a nature 
 such as yours dawns slowly. 
 
 We were friends then because you 
 had been Moira s friend. I listened 
 eagerly because you talked of her. 
 
 " Her life is ruined," you said. " But 
 who was responsible? Impetuous Moira 
 whose heart has as many notes as an 
 organ, or her parents who played noth 
 ing but discords?"
 
 54 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 "And what of her future?" I asked. 
 
 "You men will pay the penalty of 
 her parents blindness. 
 
 " How so? " 
 
 "She will be a dangerous woman." 
 
 "Unless she meets the right man." 
 
 "Who must laugh when she laughs, 
 sympathize when she cries, and smile 
 when she pouts." 
 
 I did not answer. Picking up a stone 
 I shied it over the water, then watched 
 it skip from eddy to eddy. 
 
 "I suppose some day she will meet 
 that man," I said finally. 
 
 "She is far more likely to meet a fool 
 and make him miserable." 
 
 "You are bitter." 
 
 " No, but you men usually love the 
 women you cannot respect, and respect 
 the women you cannot love. You paint 
 your ideal in neutral tints. She is a cod 
 dled, silly creature in whom ignorance 
 is disguised as purity, and when you 
 meet her of course you cannot love her.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL 55 
 
 The true woman you pass unnoticed 
 because she is simply herself, and in the 
 end you are made miserable by uncon 
 scionable flesh and blood." 
 
 " You seem unduly wise for a girl," I 
 said, impatiently. " But is not your 
 ideal man neutral tinted also?" 
 
 " I suppose so, as he is unlike any 
 man I have ever known. But that 
 really matters little, as I never expect 
 to meet him." 
 
 " Yet men will love you." 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ; I am not the sort of 
 girl men fall in love with ; I am too 
 serious." 
 
 "That is because you take life too seri< 
 ously. You expect too much of love." 
 
 " Yes, I expect far more than most 
 men can give a woman." Then she 
 turned her head away thoughtfully. 
 
 " You are young, Guy, do n t be like 
 other men, then some day you may 
 realize how grandly a woman can love 
 the man she respects."
 
 56 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL 
 
 Curious conversation, was it not? It 
 was the last we had together before I 
 left old Alma Mater and went to Paris 
 to study under Viraut. I was young 
 then and thought it manly to lead a 
 man s life. I am like the rest now, bad 
 and irredeemable, I suppose. 
 
 And yet you love me, Dorothy, 
 though you must despise me. Could 
 your love redeem me? 
 
 I doubt it. 
 
 Love! What is it ? 
 
 A flame, they say. A capricious 
 flame one kindles to warm a shiver 
 ing heart. Anxiously the first sparks 
 are nursed, carefully the little blaze 
 is fanned in anticipation of warmth 
 and comfort; but a gust of ennui ex 
 tinguishes those fitful sparks, or a pas 
 sionate gale rouses them into a mighty 
 conflagration which consumes the heart. 
 How few ever kindle a cosy hearth 
 fire! 
 
 Bah! That sounds like d Argenteuil.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 57 
 
 How he likes to play the role of vol 
 unteer fireman! From a mind charged 
 with caustic cynicism he turns hot 
 streams of epigram upon the blazing 
 hearts of his friends. 
 
 Where is that book he had when I 
 came in? Perhaps reading would make 
 me sleepy. 
 
 Oh, there it is, with "A Rebours " 
 printed across its yellow cover. Appro 
 priate title. The author himself takes 
 life the wrong way. Appropriate book 
 for d Argenteuil to read, too. It ought 
 to give him the horrors. This char 
 acter, Des Esseintes is so like himself, 
 or like what he will be when one day he 
 tries in vain to re-ignite the passions 
 which have ceased to sizzle and fume in 
 that burnt clay retort which serves him 
 for a heart. 
 
 Yes, d Argenteuil is a typical decad 
 ent. He suffers from the maladie fin de 
 siecle. 
 
 But this "A Rebours " of Huysman s
 
 58 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 is a fascinating book, fascinating be 
 cause of its hectic tones, its mental de 
 bauches, its weird harmonies of passion. 
 It is a camera obscura of the senses, from 
 which the light of day is excluded, where 
 the ravings of a diseased brain flit before 
 one in fantastic forms and everything is, 
 as the title suggests, upside down. 
 
 Yes; this book expresses an epoch, a 
 decaying epoch ; but I wonder if it 
 really typifies this closing century. Are 
 we dry-rotting because the gardeners of 
 the age have forced the growth of our 
 intellects and exhausted our mental sap? 
 Is the glorious bloom of the nineteenth 
 century to be followed by withering 
 leaves and decaying branches? 
 
 If so, it is only history repeating it 
 self. Take this description of a book 
 in des Esseintes heteroclitic library: 
 "The Satyricon of Petronius," a story 
 of the declining period of Roman glory; 
 "unrolling the minute existence of the 
 people, their actions, their bestialities."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 59 
 
 "In the pages of that book Roman 
 society tramps through luxurious villas, 
 insolent with splendour, delirious with 
 riches; it slinks through pauper tene 
 ments with rumpled flea-infested beds 
 of sacking. Rascally, plunder search 
 ing sharpers, old paint-smeared hags 
 with plastered cheeks and tucked up 
 skirts, plump frizzled wenches of six 
 teen years ; hysterical women and for 
 tune hunting parents who pander their 
 offspring to the orgie loving rich ; all 
 these file through those pages, quarrel 
 ling in the streets, rubbing shoulders in 
 the baths, and pummelling one another 
 as in a pantomime." 
 
 That was Rome, but might it not be 
 glittering, seething Paris, city of bou 
 doirs and barricades? 
 
 Yes. But where are the hordes of 
 flat-nosed barbarians, with gashed 
 cheeks and hairy saffron faces, who 
 sit astride their wiry ponies, wrapped 
 \n rat skin cloaks, waiting by the
 
 6O TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 Danube s banks for the moment to 
 sweep down and crush out our puny 
 civilization? Perhaps they are among 
 us now. Wild eyed savages with un 
 kempt hair and greasy coats, slouched 
 hats and frowzy beards untamed beasts 
 in human guise, with bombs and gleam 
 ing daggers hidden beneath their 
 cloaks, who skulk through the by-ways 
 of civilization, biding the hour of anni 
 hilation. 
 
 In the meantime I must sleep and 
 eat, and die perhaps, so I might as well 
 read on. Yet I hate to read this book. 
 Too much of my own life is recalled, 
 too much of those student days in Paris, 
 when love was a matter of a moment, or 
 an hour. Moira did not own me then, 
 but was I any the better? I was lead 
 ing a manly life I thought, and paying 
 the penalty too. 
 
 This picture for instance : 
 
 "Through partly opened doors and 
 windows badly screened by panes of
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 6 1 
 
 colored glass or flimsy sash curtains he 
 remembered catching glimpses of wo 
 men waddling like geese, with out 
 stretched necks, or slumped on benches 
 musing, humming, with their elbows on 
 the marble tables, and their cheeks be 
 tween their hands. Some prinked be 
 fore the mirrors and fingered their friz 
 zled false hair, while others drawing 
 handfuls of silver and copper pieces 
 from weak springed reticules, ranged 
 them methodically in little piles. Most 
 of them had massive features, rasping 
 voices, soft necks and pencilled eyes, 
 and all seemed like wax figures, wound 
 up at the same time by the same key, to 
 launch the same solicitations in similar 
 tones, to detail the same whimsical 
 small talk and droll reflections." 
 
 It was in such a place I met Lioba. 
 
 I wonder if it was her fresh, young 
 face, so different from the rest, which 
 attracted me; or was it those flashing 
 Muscovite eyes which glowed like burn-
 
 62 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 ing coals one moment, and the next 
 threw glances full of tenderness? 
 
 I can see her sitting opposite me at a 
 little marble table, stirring the cherry- 
 colored sirup in her glass, her crimped 
 yellow hair falling from under a huge 
 hat, resplendent with barbaric colors; 
 her black, curling eyelashes drooping 
 sadly for the moment. 
 
 Lioba, you panther, stop purring. 
 Toss back your head. Let me see your 
 eyes gleam. 
 
 Curious! these memories of the past 
 which come to me to-night. Lioba has 
 not entered my thoughts for months 
 years perhaps, yet she played her quick, 
 active part in those student days in 
 Paris. She overwhelmed me like a 
 fierce blast from her native steppes, but 
 she left me as suddenly as she came; left 
 me for the Champs Elyse"es quarter and 
 a victoria.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 63 
 
 Back, Lioba, out of my thoughts. 
 You were only a passing fancy. 
 
 But a vivid fancy to-night. Now we 
 glide over the polished floor of the Bal- 
 Gerard. Round and round we whirl. 
 Sensuous strains roll from the Tzigan 
 cymballos the lights glare confusedly 
 the air is dense with smoke. Shouts! 
 laughter! echo through the room. On, 
 on we dance, your glowing cheeks next 
 mine, until we sink exhausted. 
 
 Ugh ! The next morning I had a 
 splitting headache. I painted in a list 
 less, dazed way, and Viraut lost his 
 tempef. 
 
 Dear old Viraut ! Many a time you 
 have found fault with my bad work, but 
 I love you in spite of everything. Yes, 
 I owe you for my slight success, for the 
 little art I have. That "Birth of Spring" 
 you made me paint without suggestions 
 a laughing nymph peeping through
 
 64 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 the apple blossoms as the snows of win 
 ter melt away it was refused at the 
 Salon. You made me paint it again, 
 half its former size, and with less detail. 
 It was accepted and skied. You patted 
 me on the back and called it good. 
 That fancy of the following year : The 
 slight nude figure of a girl with black 
 stockings, black gloves, and a black 
 mask before the eyes; it hung on the 
 line and attracted the crowd; but you 
 frowned and called it bad. It was 
 merely a trick to gain notoriety, you 
 said ; but when I finally won my third- 
 class medal by a piece of earnest, careful 
 work, I believe you were more pleased 
 than I. 
 
 Yes, Viraut, you told me to keep right 
 on putting my soul into my work, with 
 art for my mistress. I fear art has been 
 only my pastime since then, my solace 
 for a troubled heart. My work shows it. 
 
 I wish I were back again ; a student 
 in the atelier.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 65 
 
 I wish I could ring at the huge 
 weather-worn door and wait until I hear 
 the click of the bolt as it is jerked back 
 by a wire from the concierge s room. 
 The door swings partly open, a cold 
 blast rushes through the stone archway 
 leading to the courtyard, bearing with 
 it an odor of frying grease and garlic. 
 Completely filling her little doorway 
 stands Madame Michelet, her keen black 
 eyes almost hidden by rolls of ruddy 
 flesh, long straggling hairs growing in 
 patches on her quadrupled chin. An 
 apron string drawn tight about her 
 coarse blue gown gives her bulging form 
 the appearance of a meal sack. " Bon 
 jour M sieur Wharton," she gurgles in 
 rasping tones, then she turns to her lit 
 tle stove, where an iron stew pan is 
 steaming. Through the cold, vaulted 
 passage my steps resound, and then I 
 tramp across the cobble stones of the 
 courtyard, where the sunlight glistens 
 in the water of an old stone fountain
 
 66 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 a moss grown scollop-shell supported 
 by two smudge faced cupids with their 
 noses hacked away. A rusty iron pal 
 ing and a patch of vivid grass surround 
 the basin ; grimy white-washed walls 
 with mansard roofs frown down upon 
 me. 
 
 Across the courtyard is the low door 
 way, where a well worn stairway leads 
 upward to the atelier. A blue-bloused 
 ouvrier shuffles past me humming an 
 air of the people ; scarlet geraniums 
 bloom upon the window ledge of Pierre 
 Noir s little paint shop, and through a 
 neighboring window is echoed the 
 measured clicking of a tombstone sculp 
 tor s chisel. Now my steps creak as I 
 slowly mount those dingy stairs past 
 smoky walls with coarse caricatures 
 daubed on the plaster. An uproar of 
 laughter, shouts, cat calls, swells from 
 the atelier above, and then for deviltry 
 I imitate dear old Viraut s step. The 
 fellows hear me ; sudden silence reigns.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 67 
 
 I reach the landing of the second floor, 
 where some would be wag has scrawled 
 on both doors the words, " Open the 
 other door," then stealthily I enter and 
 hang my coat behind the screen in 
 Viraut s favorite place. I grunt and 
 cough, and laugh to myself, as I listen to 
 the measured grating of the crayons. But 
 alas, a curly headed little Marseillese dis 
 covers the fraud, and then what a chorus 
 of shouts and hisses, what a volley of 
 bread, charcoal, chalk and everything 
 "throwable." What does it matter? I 
 am there among my companions, the 
 friends whom I love and hate, some of 
 them, for there are all kinds. 
 
 But those are only memories. 
 
 I cannot wish myself back again. 
 
 Is my imagination keener than most, 
 I wonder? Perhaps an artistic temper 
 ament is over-sensitive, and that is why 
 memories, fancies, regrets hurtle through 
 my brain, surging, clashing, tormenting, 
 when I want to sleep. Yes, I worry too
 
 68 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 much. I analyze too much; but I sup 
 pose I shall continue this minute dis 
 section of my feelings until only a 
 grinning skeleton remains to terrify me. 
 
 Hallo! That was something like a 
 yawn. I think I 11 turn in. 
 
 One never can find a match. Where 
 are they, anyway? Idiot! You forgot 
 the electric light. Oh, well, I never 
 shall grow used to this new-fangled ex 
 istence. I am regulated entirely by an 
 electric key board. I fairly pine for a 
 tallow dip and a pair of rickety stairs 
 to climb. 
 
 How life here has changed since I 
 was a boy. 
 
 I suppose one living here continu 
 ously would not notice it so much, but 
 coming back as I do after years of 
 absence, nothing seems in its place. 
 Everything has expanded out and grown 
 upward. The city has shaken off its
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 69 
 
 simple chrysalis, it has pierced the 
 clouds with its lanky, towering tentacles, 
 and spread forth its suburb-mottled 
 wings. But grimy Chicago is scarcely 
 a butterfly ; it is more like a seething 
 ant-hill. 
 
 Why invent stupid metaphors and 
 similes? 
 
 I left a Chicago of wooden sidewalks 
 and picket fences, I find a Chicago of 
 cobble stones and cable cars. In the 
 place of lapping boards and green 
 blinds are granite and brick; instead of 
 tinkling bells on sleepy car horses, 
 noisy, clanging gongs. Quiet has given 
 place to uproar; simplicity to magni 
 tude. 
 
 There! I hope the thud of those 
 shoes will wake up that real estate man 
 on the floor below. 
 
 Lean, sallow-faced shark, how many 
 widows has he robbed, how many streets
 
 70 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 has he disfigured with sign boards? I 
 hate his vulgar personality. When I 
 meet him swaggering in the street with 
 hat on one side, I am tempted to knock 
 the long cigar out of his thin lips. 
 
 Where did that slavey put my paja 
 mas? Oh, there they are on the lounge. 
 She 11 be putting them on the shelf 
 next. 
 
 By Jove, I m tired. How good this 
 bed feels. I wish I felt sleepy. 
 
 Moira, I won t think about you. I 
 want to sleep. "To-morrow you may 
 come back." I won t go back. 
 
 Rub a dub, rub a dub dub ! Keep it 
 up you infernal steam-pipe. 
 
 How shall I pose Mrs. Driscoll? Of 
 course she wants to show her neck. It s 
 her only good point. Why do plain 
 women have their portraits painted? 
 Because they want to be flattered into 
 believing they look like their portraits. 
 Fancy painting a woman as plain as she 
 is. One would never get another order.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. Jl 
 
 Confound that steam pipe, it will 
 drive me mad. Dorothy, you dear, 
 brave girl, I know I am unworthy, but 
 do n t look at me so reproachfully. I 
 will come back. I won t see her again. 
 No, I do n t love her. She fascinates 
 me. She arouses the worst side of my 
 nature. 
 
 I won t breakfast with d Argenteuil. 
 I do n t want to see the Exposition 
 again. I want to keep the memory of 
 that night with Dorothy on the lagoons 
 as the last impression. 
 
 By Jove, I forgot to dine at the Morri 
 son s to-day, and I made the appoint 
 ment. What lie shall I tell her? 
 
 Is that fat man overhead walking to 
 reduce his flesh? That s right! drop 
 your boots on the floor. 
 
 Moira, with your fluttering skirts and 
 dazzling eyes, don t do that dance. 
 Muriel, you little witch, do n t lie on 
 the lounge and spread out your golden 
 curls. I know you re a good model
 
 72 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 and I intend to paint you, but I want to 
 sleep now. 
 
 You do n t know what lives we men 
 lead, Dorothy ; you d hate me if you 
 did. 
 
 Oh, damn it, I can t sleep ! I am 
 going to get up and read. 
 
 How wide awake I am. I do n t be 
 lieve I shall ever be sleepy again. 
 Where are those slippers? I hope that 
 bath gown is in the closet. Yes, for a 
 wonder, slavey put it in its place. 
 
 A whiskey and soda ! Brilliant 
 thought. 
 
 No drink wears like Scotch, yet I was 
 for years getting acquainted with it. So 
 many years wasted. 
 
 Another affinity with d Argenteuil, 
 we sampled the stuff together, made 
 wry faces, and ended by liking it. The 
 same evening we went by chance to the 
 Frivolity Theatre.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 73 
 
 So Scotch whiskey brought me back 
 to Moira. 
 
 I wonder which is the more insidious. 
 The one muddles me, the other makes 
 me maudlin. But this Highland stuff 
 is good nevertheless, so here s to 
 Moira s eyes.* Eyes which excruciate 
 and intoxicate. Ugly jaw-breaking 
 words. We ll try again. Here s to 
 Moira : delight of my eyes, torment of 
 my heart, poison of my soul and to 
 Dorothy, the antidote! That whiskey 
 must be going to my head. I am grow 
 ing foolish. 
 
 Well, if I had n t become chummy 
 with d Argenteuil in Paris I would not 
 have run over to London to visit him, 
 and if I had not gone to London I 
 could not have gone to the Frivolity 
 that night, and if I had not gone to the 
 Frivolity I would not be suffering 
 from insomnia now. Logical conclu 
 sion derived a priori from an if.
 
 74 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 Yes ; that night I took the first sip of 
 the poison. I had been tempted before 
 at college. 
 
 We dined together at the "Diplo 
 matic," and wandered out after dinner 
 because the Club seemed hot and stuffy. 
 Sauntering along Piccadilly, we gazed 
 idly at the shop windows until the 
 lights of the Frivolity attracted us. 
 "The Seneschal," a new comic opera 
 was on and we strolled in. It was the 
 first night, and a sign "Stalls Full," 
 was displayed before the door ; but 
 d Argenteuil knew the manager, who 
 gave us two seats he had been holding 
 for some swell. 
 
 An act was just over, so we sauntered 
 to the bar. Trim maids with dainty 
 caps and broad white collars were open 
 ing soda bottles. Why is it that a bar 
 maid, howsoever slight her waist, how 
 soever delicate her face, has big red 
 hands ? A trade mark, I suppose.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL 75 
 
 Repellant to me, but not to those sleek 
 youths who leered at the frizzled-haired 
 Hebes behind the bar. They were at 
 that puppy age which thinks it manly 
 to ogle anything in petticoats. 
 
 I preferred those portly men of 
 prominence with glossy heads and eye 
 glasses, who stood about in groups dis 
 cussing the piece. From the discordant 
 din of opinion which welled from their 
 lips, I gathered that the opera was "not 
 bad," and that the American had made 
 a hit. But the buzzing of an electric bell 
 produced a movement in the crowd, 
 and leaving the smoke-filled room we 
 sauntered up a tortuous flight of steps 
 to the theatre. 
 
 There diamonds glistened on patri 
 cian heads, a hum of modulated voices 
 mingled with the rustle of satins and 
 mellow lights fell softly on blanched 
 shirt fronts or delicate necks; fell too on 
 scrawny shoulders and shrivelled skins,
 
 76 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 grey hairs and bald spots ; but the full 
 effect was a well-bred, well-dressed har 
 mony. 
 
 We stumbled over a few knees to our 
 places. 
 
 Up from somewhere came a plump 
 little fellow, bustling with importance. 
 He mounted his throne and raised his 
 sceptre high in air. Thirty dutiful sub 
 jects responded to his call. His neck 
 grew red, his arms waved madly, fid 
 dles squeaked, cymbals clashed, my ears 
 throbbed for I was almost in the midst 
 of those screeching fiends then the 
 curtain rose and a troop of laughing 
 girls with fluffy curls and striped tights 
 rushed on dragging a loutish clown in 
 their wake. 
 
 A comic song and chorus with a 
 quaint droning accompaniment ; a rol 
 licking dance with fluttering skirts and 
 stamping feet ; then down from the 
 back, where real water gurgled over 
 painted rocks, and grassy, chalet-crested
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 77 
 
 hillocks rolled away to the snow-capped 
 Alps, a girl came tripping across a rus 
 tic bride. Back scurried the chorus 
 " Margot ! Margot ! " shouted the girls; 
 hands waved, heads flurried, the fiddles 
 crooned, the drums throbbed, down to 
 the footlights she dashed. 
 
 Reddish curls glistened under a 
 jaunty peasant cap, dimpled arms rested 
 akimbo on a slender velvet corselet, wee 
 feet in crimson stockings danced a cap 
 tivating side step, while the catchy 
 notes of a song flowed from pouting lips 
 and a little head swayed bewitchingly 
 to the music s rhythm. 
 
 Through the flare of the footlights I 
 met the glance of her lustrous eyes. 
 
 A quick numbing sensation darted 
 through me. My pulses throbbed : 
 wild fancies filled my brain. Anxiously 
 I glanced at the play bill. Part of the 
 name was unfamiliar, but Moira was 
 unchanged. 
 
 Curious, the power of a random
 
 78 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 glance like that. It conjured memories 
 of a wintry day, a winding icy path ; in 
 fancy I felt the soft glow of a cheek on 
 my lips. 
 
 The smile of a little red-haired ac 
 tress. That was all. I may philoso 
 phize now, but to-night? I thought 
 the fires of that passion were out. They 
 were only banked. I thought myself 
 strong, but those eyes owned me again 
 to-night. 
 
 Fool ! 
 
 Shall I never be free? 
 
 Why not surrender? To struggle 
 seems useless. 
 
 After all passion has its sweets even 
 if the dregs are bitter. Perhaps that is 
 the most one can realize from loving. 
 The contentment with which the thought 
 of Dorothy has filled my heart at times 
 seemed the realization of ideal love, but 
 it was momentary also. It was pleasant 
 in a dreamy way, but did it satisfy? 
 
 Oh, well, there I sat in the stalls that
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. /9 
 
 night watching each play of that little 
 face. Once our glances met. A look 
 of wonder, then of recognition, it 
 seemed, filled her eyes. Did she re 
 member me? Six years had altered 
 much. Soon the curtain fell. I heard 
 the applause. She bowed before the 
 footlights. It had seemed but a mo 
 ment. 
 
 D Argenteuil and I wandered into the 
 foyer. I was thinking. He asked me 
 a question, but I did not reply. 
 
 " You liked the little American?" he 
 repeated. 
 
 "Yes," I mumbled. 
 
 " Not bad, not bad. Ah, but Lillian 
 Vance! She has repose, she has chic." 
 
 I did not argue. One seldom de 
 fends a budding passion, one hides it. 
 One is more apt to hide than defend. 
 
 Ledger, the manager, stood in the 
 foyer oozing self-consequence. A jew 
 eler and a florist had marred the gentle 
 manly veneer of a clever tailor, while a
 
 SO TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 barber and perfumer had made him 
 positively obnoxious ; but d Argenteuil 
 cultivated this personage for ulterior 
 motives, so I was introduced and added 
 my modicum of compliment on the 
 new piece to the fulsome hyperbole of 
 my friend. 
 
 " It is n t the piece, gentlemen," said 
 Ledger. " It s the company which 
 goes with the public. This piece failed 
 in Paris. The Johnnies over there didn t 
 put it on properly. Now I take it and 
 have the book rewritten with plenty of 
 local gags. My conductor I pay him 
 thirty quid a week, but he s worth it 
 writes three songs, and a ballet for the 
 second act ; then I engage the best 
 company money can buy ; Charley 
 Willis stages it, and you would n t 
 know it for the same piece. This pro 
 duction cost me .3,000 before the cur 
 tain went up, but it s worth every bob 
 I ve put in. Good for three hundred 
 nights sure. I tell you, gentlemen,
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 8 1 
 
 it takes genius to put a piece on prop- 
 erly. 
 
 " I compliment you ;" said d Argen- 
 teuil. " And ze artistes ! Excellent 1 
 Vance she make a beautiful success," 
 
 " Oh, Vance is well enough, but she H 
 be out of the running soon. Novelty. 
 That s what the public wants. There s 
 that American, Moira Marston ; she 11 
 be the talk of the town to-morrow. 
 That s where genius comes in. I keep 
 an agent in New York. He wrote me 
 about her. I cabled an offer, accepted, 
 and here I am with a success before 
 these slow going duffers here knew she 
 existed. I lived in the States ten years, 
 and learned how to hustle there." 
 
 Then his little twitching eyes beamed, 
 and a triumphant smile crossed his 
 coarse lips. 
 
 "I knew her before she went on the 
 stage," I vouchsafed. 
 
 " Then you re the man I m looking 
 for, come with me, I m going back to 
 6
 
 82 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 encourage her. She s dreadfully ner 
 vous, London appearance means every 
 thing in the profession. She 11 be glad 
 to see some one she knows. And mon- 
 soor too; he s been there before ; can t 
 tell him much about London even if he 
 is a Frenchman, Eh, Monsoor !" 
 
 D Argenteuil smiled deprecatingly. 
 He found it an effort to endure Ledger s 
 familiarity. 
 
 "Going back on a first night aint 
 according to rules ; " said the manager, 
 " but we 11 have to make an exception 
 for monsoor. He s got a girl back 
 there. She s getting jealous of Mars- 
 ton, and monsoor may calm her down. 
 Come, on gentlemen, we have n t much 
 time." 
 
 Following Ledger we threaded our 
 way through the crowded foyer to a 
 little door back of the proscenium 
 boxes. Stumbling down a few steps 
 we groped through a darkened passage 
 and finally reached the stage.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 83 
 
 " Stop here tUl I find where Marston 
 dresses," said Ledger. 
 
 I glanced about me curiously. 
 
 Burly stage hands rushed past me 
 dragging great flapping pieces of scenery 
 into place. Fanned by chilly draughts 
 the huge curtain swayed gently to and 
 fro. The dust from a dozen brooms 
 filled my nostrils; scurrying steps, oaths, 
 the pounding of hammers, mingled dis 
 cordantly. Through gloomy recesses 
 grotesque figures groped weirdly, while 
 the flickering border lights above threw 
 a shadowy glare into dismal lofts, where 
 drops, flies and stage tackle were jumbled 
 in mazelike confusion. 
 
 In the centre of the stage a thick set 
 little man was swaggering. He had a 
 brutish cast of countenance ; his hands 
 were in his pockets and his hat was 
 sidewise. 
 
 "Look alive there Arry," he called 
 gruffly to a sweltering workman, who 
 was struggling under the weight of a
 
 84 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 tottering wing ; " There you bloomin 
 ass, you ve tore that sky border." 
 
 Tumbling up a rickety flight of steps 
 from the depths below came a troop of 
 girls. They brushed past me, and met 
 my glance with a brazen stare. Bold, 
 defiant faces, most of them had, with 
 blackened eyes and paint daubs on their 
 cheeks, bare necks caked with powder, 
 and coarse, curly yellow wigs. They 
 joked, giggled, huddled together, and 
 passed on into the gloom of the 
 wings. 
 
 Among them I noticed a face still 
 fresh, despite the make up and gaudy 
 tunic. Those eyes drooped beneath my 
 gaze. I fancied I detected a blush 
 under the paint and powder. Yes 
 and a year later I met that face again ; 
 it was like the rest. 
 
 "This way," called Ledger at my 
 elbow ; " Mind that bunch light." 
 
 D Argenteuil had stolen away. Under 
 Ae eaves of a canvas house he stood
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 8$ 
 
 talking in low tones with a plump, 
 blonde haired girl, in doublet and long 
 hose. 
 
 I followed Ledger. 
 
 He stopped near the complicated 
 array of handles by which the lights 
 were managed, and rapped at a low 
 battered door. 
 
 "Come in;" called a woman s voice. 
 
 He entered, and I followed hesitat 
 ingly, stopping for a moment on the 
 threshold. 
 
 The room was three cornered and 
 small, with white-washed walls and 
 plain carpeted floor. A gas jet guarded 
 by a cage of wire burned brilliantly near 
 the dressing table, where rouge pots 
 and powder puffs, brushes and crimp 
 ing irons were scattered in confusion. 
 Seated before the mirror was Moira. 
 She was adjusting a huge Gainsborough 
 hat, with bobbing plumes of fluffy 
 ostrich feathers. A trim maid was 
 hanging a dress against the whitened
 
 86 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 wall, where multicolored garments were 
 stretched on a row of hooks. Near the 
 door was a huge iron-bound trunk, 
 plastered over with numerous labels. 
 
 Moira glanced up. 
 
 "Oh Mr. Ledger, I m so nervous, 
 tell me something encouraging. Is the 
 piece going well ? " 
 
 " I ve news, but I am not going to 
 tell you. It might spoil you." 
 
 "Do, please do;" she said excitedly. 
 
 "Well, the Prince sent his equerry to 
 inquire about you. Vance is tearing 
 mad." 
 
 " Oh, I m so glad ; then it is going." 
 
 "Three hundred quid in the house. 
 Two recalls for Miss Marston." 
 
 " They were so kind to me were n t 
 they? When they called me out, I wanted 
 to tell them all that I loved them 
 every one. Where s that pin, Parker? 
 The one with the amber knob." 
 
 Thinking I was forgotten, I coughed 
 slightly.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 87 
 
 Ledger was standing near Moira. He 
 rested his hand familiarly on her 
 shoulder. " I forgot, I have a surprise 
 for you, my dear, an old friend, Mr. 
 Mr." 
 
 "Guy Wharton!" Moira exclaimed. 
 "Of all people, you where did you 
 come from? I thought I saw you in 
 the stalls, but I wasn t sure." 
 
 " Well, you two know the ropes ;" 
 said Ledger. " Three is a crowd, so 
 I 11 go back in front. Can you find the 
 way, sir?" 
 
 "I ll look after him," said Moira. 
 " I m tremendously glad to see you. 
 Don t mind the muss here, Guy. Sit 
 down well anywhere; on the trunk 
 there. 
 
 " I was afraid you would not remem 
 ber me." 
 
 I wanted to say something else, but I 
 was in that state of excitement in which 
 the most trivial platitude was all my 
 tongue could master.
 
 88 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 Forget you, Guy ; how could I ? 
 You were my first love." 
 
 She laughed. I felt color in my cheek. 
 
 "Well," she said; "why do n t you 
 say something pretty after that?" 
 
 " I can say more than you, and say it 
 truthfully. You are my only love." 
 
 " Oh, Guy, you absurd, naughty boy, 
 keep such lies for some girl who will 
 believe them. I ve had six years ex 
 perience since you knew me." 
 
 " Which have made you six times 
 more fascinating." 
 
 " Then how dull I must have been 
 when you knew me. But no more non 
 sense. Come here, out of that dark 
 corner, you are too far away. I want to 
 look at you. Handsome as ever, Guy. 
 You are pretty enough to kiss." 
 
 "And willing enough also." 
 
 " Cheeky as ever; but tell me about 
 yourself. I have enough foolishness 
 from others. Living in London?" 
 
 "No, Paris; I am an artist."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 89 
 
 " So am I; but art covers a multitude 
 of sins; what kind?" 
 
 " Painter." 
 
 "So am I;" she laughed, as she gave 
 a final touch of rouge to her cheek. 
 
 " But I idealize nature;" I said, 
 "while nature has idealized you. 
 Your art is superfluous; it is false." 
 
 " Like my hair. Do n t be silly, Guy." 
 
 There was a sharp rap at the door. 
 
 " Oh, dear, that s my cue. I ve such a 
 lot to talk about. You must come and live 
 in London. You can be my big brother." 
 
 " Never that." 
 
 " Well, come and see me anyhow. 
 Where s that fan, Parker? Here, Guy, 
 is a rose for you. Good-bye." 
 
 For a moment I held her hand. She 
 smiled, then darted away. There was a 
 power in her eyes then which her girlish 
 glance had not. 
 
 She was out when I called. For
 
 90 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 once a sensible impulse seized me and I 
 went back to Paris. Yes, for ten days 
 I threw my soul into my work and tried 
 to forget a face with its chaplet of glint 
 ing curls. The result was a successful 
 picture, but for ten days I was miserable. 
 
 I remember the blue-grey eyes of 
 Jeanne, my model, gazing at me as I 
 worked. When she posed for me before 
 I was loquacious and she wondered at 
 my silence. 
 
 " You must be in love," she said with 
 candid directness. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because you say so little." 
 
 "What has that to do with it?" 
 
 " When a man is partially in love he 
 talks all the time, when he is completely 
 in love he does n t talk at all. Silence 
 like yours is serious." 
 
 " You seem to know a great deal 
 about love." 
 
 " Ah, that is something one learns 
 without going to school."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 9 1 
 
 " But not without a teacher." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Tell me about yours. 
 
 "I have had several, one for each 
 grade." 
 
 "The first. That is always the most 
 interesting." 
 
 She puckered her little mouth into an 
 expression of disgust. " The first was a 
 peasant." 
 
 "But you loved him?" 
 
 "I suppose I thought so then; but he 
 was poor and I had no dot." 
 
 " So the engagement was broken." 
 
 " Not exactly. You see I had an 
 aunt in Paris who was a dressmaker. 
 I came here to Work for her, and 
 earn a dot. That was three years 
 ago, but sewing is very tiresome. 
 I only stayed with her three months." 
 
 "And your fiance*?" 
 
 " He was a very stupid fellow. Pc 
 haps he is waiting for me still."
 
 92 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 " Why do n t you go back and marry 
 him?" 
 
 " Marry a peasant ! Never." 
 
 " Think of the poor fellow waiting 
 for you all these years. You ought to 
 love him." 
 
 " Love a peasant. Ugh ! I could 
 not." 
 
 "But you will grow old. There will 
 be an end to your beauty." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. "Why 
 talk of the end? Besides there is al 
 ways the Seine." 
 
 To me Jeanne s philosophy was com 
 fortless. My love was too thoroughly 
 hopeful to find consolation in turbid 
 waters. My work, Paris, my friends, 
 became positively obnoxious. I could 
 endure my surroundings no longer. So 
 I jumbled my clothes into a bag, locked 
 my studio door and started for London. 
 
 My love was in the yearning period,
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 93 
 
 which precedes despondency or satiety. 
 It quivered through my veins. Help 
 lessly I was borne on the crest of a tidal 
 wave of passion. 
 
 Dorothy, you are right in doubting. 
 What has my heart to give you but ster 
 ility? Moira s glance shrivelled the 
 fine spiritual bloom. Lioba merely 
 profaned the outer shell; she left the 
 sanctuary untouched. My love for 
 Moira has been more masculine than 
 spiritual, but can I say it leaves my soul 
 untainted? 
 
 But I did not stop to ask that ques 
 tion then. Moira s cold glance when 
 we met ; the unconcerned pressure of 
 her hand ; her unfeeling laughter, all 
 lashed me tormentingly. She used my 
 love as a diversion. Occasionally she 
 threw a sop to my famishing soul, and 
 when I lapped her hand in gratitude 
 bestowed a cuff for my impertinence. 
 But I went on gorging her with love, 
 until of necessity she became indisposed
 
 94 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 from over feeding, and all the while I 
 starved. 
 
 How long was it ? Six months, not 
 more, in which I languished before 
 growing wise. It seemed an age. 
 
 " Bah!" said d Argenteuil. "A woman 
 is won by indifference and lost by in 
 dulgence. Take my advice, pack up 
 and go to Paris, stay three months, 
 and if you love her still, come back to 
 London. Then try inconstancy and 
 insolence, and she 11 be yours in a 
 week." 
 
 For a wonder I took his advice, but 
 much to his surprise I stayed the three 
 months and came back. 
 
 His little eyes dilated somewhat on 
 seeing me. He twirled his mustache 
 thoughtfully a moment. " There are 
 but two classes of people," he said, in 
 his Gallic idiom. "Ceux gut sont betes et 
 ceux qui font des betises. My dear fellow
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 95 
 
 you are incomprehensible. You belong 
 to both." 
 
 "Yes, I am stupid enough to love 
 her still." 
 
 "A lover is often an imbecile, but 
 always a fool. It is evident that you 
 need a keeper. Take supper with me 
 to-night. Vance, I have n t seen her 
 for three weeks, she will be there. Per 
 haps she can hypnotise you. Who 
 knows?" 
 
 Of course Moira was there. I might 
 have seen through d Argenteuil s little 
 pleasantry, but perhaps he was right. I 
 was decidedly fatuous in those days. I 
 had, however, firmly resolved to adopt 
 new tactics. Servility was a failure, I 
 would try domineering. 
 
 Moira lolled in one of d Argenteuil s 
 big easy chairs as I entered. She was 
 looking over some photographs. D Ar- 
 genteuil, siempre galante, was turning 
 an extravagant compliment for the 
 edification of big, buxom Lilian Vance,
 
 96 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 who, laced several degrees beyond 
 the comfortable breathing point, was 
 standing near the window gasping for 
 air. 
 
 As I spoke to my host Moira glanced 
 up languidly. 
 
 "Hallo, Guy! Back again." 
 
 "Yes," I muttered without turning 
 my head. Moira said nothing, but I felt 
 she was looking at me. After a word or 
 two with Vance I wandered about the 
 room, pretending to examine d Argen- 
 teuil s collection of curios and bibelots. 
 Moira continued to glance at the pho 
 tographs. I came nearer to her and 
 began to hum a tune. 
 
 "Guy," she said finally, "I hope you 
 are amused." 
 
 " Tremendously." 
 
 "I m very glad." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Amateur theatricals are extremely 
 distressing to the spectators, but if the 
 performers are amused I suppose one
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 97 
 
 must occasionally be charitable and 
 endure them." 
 
 "I don t understand the inference." 
 
 "Why, Guy, your acting is positively 
 absurd. You are over- doing the part 
 and your stage business is simply ridic 
 ulous." 
 
 " I was not aware that I was an aspir 
 ant for histrionic honors." 
 
 " Oh, but you are, Guy. As a profes 
 sional you may pardon me if I give you 
 a few hints." 
 
 " I should be delighted," I said, 
 with a vain attempt at a sarcastic tone. 
 "One usually pays dearly for the advice 
 of such talent as yours." 
 
 "Sit down, Guy, and I will point out 
 your mistakes." 
 
 I took a chair and drew it near 
 hers. 
 
 "You have a new role," she said, 
 "Sarcastic indifference. It is better 
 chosen than the mawkish sentimentality 
 you tried on me before you went to 
 
 7
 
 98 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 Paris, but your conception of the part 
 is bad." 
 
 "You presume a great deal." 
 
 " I have a pair of eyes and a little 
 acumen, Guy. Now how much better 
 it would have been for you to have 
 entered the room with just a bit of 
 swagger, greet me rather cordially, turn 
 a pretty but meaningless compliment, 
 chaff me some; perhaps, say I was look 
 ing uncommonly well, find fault with 
 my gown, and then pass on to Vance in 
 the same careless way. That would 
 have puzzled me. I would have thought 
 you clever, and of course I should have 
 liked you. But what do you do ? 
 Treat me with studied contempt; avoid 
 me as a plague ; stare at the pictures ; 
 glower when I look at you, and make 
 an ass of yourself generally." 
 
 " When the Lord supplied you with 
 gifts, Moira, he was prodigal with per 
 spicuity, but miserly with manners." 
 
 " That s rather smart, Guy, even if it
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 99 
 
 is rude ; why do n t you say things like 
 that oftener ? " 
 
 " I do when it s worth while. v 
 
 " Then you d better make it worth 
 while. There are but two things women 
 care to hear." 
 
 "What are they ?" 
 
 "If a woman knows she is plain, she 
 likes to be told she is beautiful, and if 
 she knows she is good looking she 
 likes to be told she s clever. The mis 
 take men make is in always compliment 
 ing pretty women on their looks and 
 plain ones on their intellects." 
 
 " Will you take Miss Marston in to 
 supper, Guy ? " said d Argenteuil at my 
 elbow. 
 
 " Moira," I said, as we walked away, 
 "A face such as yours is like the 
 beautiful binding of a choice book ; 
 it merely attracts one to the clever 
 ness within," 
 
 " Guy, you are improving ; but let 
 me ask you how many people admire
 
 100 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 the binding and let the leaves remain 
 uncut ? " 
 
 " Such Philistines are incapable of 
 appreciating the rare treasures of your 
 heart ; that privilege should belong 
 to a true lover of the beautiful, such 
 as I." 
 
 " Guy you are positively fascinating." 
 
 Yes, a bold, vigorous spirit came over 
 me suddenly. Trenchant words flew 
 from my lips unprompted. What pleas 
 ure is there like the conscious power of 
 heart over heart ? A man s love may 
 beseech with cringing, famished gaze, 
 but even in a wretched heart like that a 
 rebellious spirit may be surging. Fi 
 nally it breaks forth, and the starveling 
 becomes a robust man conscious of his 
 power. Then for a brief hour he tastes 
 the sweets of mastery. 
 
 But if the mutinous slave have a 
 Moira for his mistress a subtlety far 
 stronger than his own rude vigor will 
 trap him back to servitude again.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 10 1 
 
 Let me enjoy the memory of that 
 hour of liberty. 
 
 I felt the wine tingle through me. 
 Its sparkle inspired my skillful onset, 
 yet I retained the mastery of myself. 
 As I leaned towards Moira her eyes 
 glistened provokingly in the mellow 
 candle-light ; then they softened and 
 met my glance tenderly. For a 
 moment she was sympathetic and 
 womanly, then the impulsive smile 
 came back to vex me, and her tantaliz 
 ing laughter filled the room. 
 
 "Moira," I said, "if you were not a 
 paradox you might be a paragon." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "You have every element of a per 
 fect woman except a heart." 
 
 " Guy, you malign me. I have an 
 organ of that description, I really 
 have, I assure you, but it is n t transpar 
 ent." 
 
 " Is it anything more than a pump 
 for your arteries?"
 
 102 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 "Wrong again, Guy; it is a furnace 
 of molten love." 
 
 "Then it must be surrounded like 
 most furnaces by a huge brick wall. I 
 suppose the most I can expect is to be 
 allowed to warm my hands against the 
 glowing outer surface." 
 
 "But somewhere there is a little door, 
 Guy, through which the inner fires 
 must be fed. Why have you never 
 found it?" 
 
 " Because the route lies through a 
 labyrinth. Each time I try to reach it, 
 I come against some obstruction. I 
 have about made up my mind that it is 
 like the maze at Hampton Court ; there 
 is nothing at the centre but an empty 
 cell." 
 
 She looked into my eyes. " Guy, 
 you are just a little nearer to-night 
 than you have ever been." 
 
 " Then is it worth my while to try 
 just a little harder and see if I can solve 
 the mystery?"
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 "That is for you to decide." 
 
 "And the route?" 
 
 "That is for you to discover." 
 
 " It must lie through your lips; your 
 eyes are altogether too mysterious." 
 
 " If you go on like that, I may love 
 you just a trifle." 
 
 "Truthful for once, Moira; nothing 
 could be more trifling than your love." 
 
 "That is insolent." 
 
 " No, it is merely inauspicious." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because the moment to call a wom 
 an s love a trifle is when you possess it." 
 
 " Then you would better call mine a 
 stern reality." 
 
 " A reality perhaps, but more inscru 
 table than stern. Indeed, I am not 
 quite sure if he who reaches your heart 
 will find a pageant or a paradise." 
 
 " That will do, Guy. I am going to 
 talk to d Argenteuil." 
 
 She turned her back with a petulant 
 toss of the head. I laughed.
 
 104 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 I felt the exultation of a pirate who 
 has thrown off all allegiance to civiliza 
 tion and hoisted the black flag. I was 
 my own master, free to conquer and 
 destroy. Alas; I sailed in a frail ship, 
 vulnerable to the first shotted broad 
 side from Moira s eyes. My demon 
 stration surprised her, undoubtedly, but 
 thinking a show of force sufficient 
 she amused herself by firing a few 
 blank shots across my bows. 
 
 As I did not surrender, she resolved 
 to clear for action. 
 
 Her eyes sparkled. She smiled, but 
 always at d Argenteuil. 
 
 I endeavored to retaliate by talking 
 to Vance. Somehow the other conver 
 sation was all I heard. 
 
 Occasionally one meets a woman like 
 Vance, who is aggressively vulgar. She 
 wears gowns so tight that they crackle 
 when she moves, and each time one 
 sees her she exhales some new scent a 
 trifle more nauseating than the last.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 10$ 
 
 She invariably talks shop. There is 
 some reference to the "profession" in 
 every sentence she speaks, and when 
 she has gulped a glass or two of cham 
 pagne, her rasping laughter rumbles 
 through the room continuously. Yet 
 she has had admirers, and diamonds 
 galore. I have never understood how 
 men accustomed to the society of well- 
 bred women become fascinated by vul 
 gar creatures who have no charm more 
 apparent than a repletion of feminine 
 plumpness. 
 
 When Moira leaves the theatre she 
 leaves the stage behind. She has the 
 manners if not the morals of a gentle 
 woman, and therein lies her danger. 
 
 Such were the thoughts which ab 
 sorbed me. 
 
 Finally, exasperated by my abstrac 
 tion, Vance hit my knuckles with her fan. 
 
 "Wake up, you silly," she said. 
 
 Moira saw the action and smiled. 
 D Argenteuil laughed outright.
 
 106 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 " I was n t asleep, I was only medita 
 ting on morals." 
 
 " La, la, what stupidity," said d Ar- 
 genteuil. 
 
 " Yet moral laws do exist." 
 
 "Yes," he replied; "they exist like 
 ze egg shells only to be broken." 
 
 " And when they are broken decay 
 ensues." 
 
 " A pleasant topic for a supper table," 
 interrupted Moira. 
 
 " I call morals bad form," said 
 Vance. 
 
 " That ez because you are a bad case, 
 ez it not so?" laughed d Argenteuil. 
 
 " How insulting ! " 
 
 " My dear, the insinuation is flatter 
 ing," said Moira. " Bad people are 
 dangerous." 
 
 "Well, d Argenteuil should be a 
 judge," I suggested; "he has known 
 enough of them." 
 
 " That ez true. I have never known 
 any other kind."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 107 
 
 " An implied insult to me," ex 
 claimed Moira. 
 
 " I thought you considered it a com 
 pliment, my dear," said Vance. 
 
 " It depends entirely upon the recipi 
 ent. One should be complimented for 
 one s chief charm, not one s chief de 
 fect." 
 
 Vance pondered a moment, but failed 
 quite to see what Moira intended. 
 
 " My neighbor considers morals bad 
 form ; what do you think of them, 
 Moira?" I asked. 
 
 " I fear I have but one rule in my 
 moral code, and I am sure it is not 
 golden." 
 
 "And that is?" 
 
 "Do unto others as they do unto you." 
 
 " If you obey that law you will love 
 me." 
 
 "Ah, but according to d Argenteuil, 
 moral laws are made to be broken." 
 
 " So they resemble hearts?" 
 
 " Yes, because like hearts they are
 
 108 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 merely impositions. To believe in eith 
 er is to become supremely wretched." 
 
 "Then you do n t believe in love?" 
 
 "Only with certain limitations." 
 
 " Explain, pray." 
 
 " Love should be a dissipation, not a 
 diet." 
 
 " It depends upon one s constitution. 
 To me love is a distemper, contracted 
 by contact with a pair of eyes." 
 
 " Then it is a pity you were not born 
 blind." 
 
 " I am blind to every one but you, 
 Moira." 
 
 " I am tremendously sorry ; can t I 
 lend you my dog and string ? " 
 
 " Is it a case of love you, love your 
 dog?" 
 
 " No, but Totsy has been with her 
 mistress so long that she would proba 
 bly know how to lead you into some 
 new folly within the week." 
 
 " You do not paint yourself in excul 
 patory colors."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 109 
 
 " No, I am not hypocritical. That is 
 one advantage we Bohemians have over 
 patrician women. We are supposed to 
 be bad, and we are seldom disobliging; 
 they are expected to be good and they 
 are always disappointing." 
 
 " Then fidelity finds no place in your 
 code of love." 
 
 She laughed. " Guy, a woman s love 
 is like her bonnet ; it changes with the 
 season. The one is selected to suit her 
 mood, the other to match her complex 
 ion. Extravagant women like me keep 
 a supply of both always on hand, lest 
 sameness become wearisome." 
 
 " Then let me be the old rainy day 
 bonnet, which is always thrown about, 
 but never thrown away." 
 
 Her eyes grew serious. "I think too 
 much of you for that, but not enough 
 to have you with me always. You knew 
 me before my career began, and I am 
 sure you think of me as I was then. 
 You do n t know all the steps by which
 
 110 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 I have risen. Throw me out of your 
 heart and trample on me. Do, that s a 
 good boy, Guy." 
 
 She turned and spoke to d Argenteuil. 
 
 I played with the stem of my glass. 
 
 " Wake up, Guy," said d Argenteuil, 
 finally. " La Belle Marston, she make 
 you serious. Believe not in her. Ze 
 women are like ze anarchists, always 
 plotting against man." 
 
 "Alas!" I exclaimed. "What terri 
 ble exterminatives they carry hidden in 
 their eyes." 
 
 "Guy, you are despondent," he said, 
 "Be joyful, be gay. Come, ve will 
 amuse you, make you merry. Ve will 
 sing. Vance, she will dance for you her 
 new dance, de papillon. Ez it not so, 
 Vance ? No, not if I touch the piano 
 myself ? Ah, I thought so, come every 
 body to ze salon, ve will all dance." 
 
 I suppose that to every lover of a
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. Ill 
 
 woman such as Moira an hour must 
 come when the image of purity which 
 the heart has treasured as a symbol of 
 ideal womanhood is overturned, and an 
 enticing idol of flesh and blood is 
 raised in its place. Then the soul be 
 comes stupefied by the mental debauches 
 into which one plunges, and through 
 excessive zeal for the new goddess, the 
 worship becomes a sort of moral fetich- 
 ism. 
 
 That night as I drove home with 
 Moira from d Argenteuil s my heart 
 was racked by the tormenting rites of 
 adoration. 
 
 A drizzling rain beat against the win 
 dows of the cab ; the hoofs fell monoto 
 nously on the pavement ; swiftly through 
 narrow, tortuous streets the hansom 
 rolled, and eagerly I watched for the 
 momentary gleam in Moira s eyes of 
 each passing street lamp. Countless 
 love phrases rose to my lips, yet each 
 seemed inadequate. Now that we were
 
 I 1 2 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 alone the very excess of my infatuation 
 made me speechless. 
 
 A lover is often a dumb drudge, but 
 a flirt is always garrulous and plausible. 
 Did women remember this the ravages 
 of deceivers might be curtailed. 
 
 But there will always be a horde of 
 love-fanatics of both sexes, anxious to 
 become martyrs to their own credulity. 
 
 I am one of them. 
 
 And Moira glories in the role of Tor- 
 quemada. 
 
 " Guy," she said, as we entered her 
 cosy little drawing-room, " You ought 
 to be a footman, you attend to one s 
 wants so delightfully, and never speak 
 except when spoken to. Do you know 
 you were absolutely silent all the way 
 from Half Moon street." 
 
 " I was afraid to speak." 
 
 Her eyes grew thoughtful. I removed 
 her long fleecy wrap and placed it over 
 a chair. She sank into the corner of a 
 low divan and threw her head back
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 113 
 
 against the cushions. The rays of a 
 lamp, mellowed by a crimson shade, fell 
 on her face, and, beyond, a tall palm 
 loomed through the gloom. She fing 
 ered the tassel of a cushion and smiled. 
 
 "Guy, you are nothing but a big over 
 grown boy," she said; "but I like you." 
 
 "You think of me as you knew me 
 before." 
 
 " I think of you as you are, a silly boy, 
 half in love." 
 
 " Rather a man completely, wholly, 
 entirely in love." 
 
 " Come here, Guy," she said impetu 
 ously. 
 
 Approaching her I leaned upon the 
 tall back of the divan and looked down 
 into her face. Suddenly she threw her 
 arms about my neck and kissed me. 
 Then she laughed. 
 
 " I love you to-night, Guy." 
 
 " I love you always." 
 
 "My love is merely a whim to-night; 
 to-morrow a regret, perhaps."
 
 114 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 Her eyes burnt through me. Her 
 kiss was no longer the fluttering kiss of 
 a timid girl, but in the pressure of her 
 lips I felt the impulsive love of a 
 woman. For a moment the suddenness 
 with which that love was given startled 
 me, then it seemed as though our souls 
 were stripped bare and we stood there 
 reckless, each knowing the secret of the 
 other s naked heart. 
 
 And so I was borne down into the 
 furious eddies. The pure image, if ever 
 my love for Moira was pure, was shat 
 tered, and my life became a feverish 
 clutch after the varied sensations of a 
 capricious woman s moods. 
 
 I wish I had faith in something. I 
 suppose that is cynical. Sometimes I 
 wonder whether a cynic s scoffs are ever 
 sincere. Whenever I scout at faith or 
 morality my sneers are but the reverber 
 ations of my own follies. My derision
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. I 1 5 
 
 of the faith of others is like the barking 
 of a dog at night. The sound of my 
 voice gives me courage. 
 
 Someone has said, I think it is the 
 younger Dumas, that "man s hope of 
 an immortal life comes from his despair 
 at finding this life mortal." Oh, the 
 despair I have felt while groping 
 through the darkness of agnosticism. 
 
 I struck out boldly enough to swim 
 with the current of enlightenment. 
 Swiftly, surely, I was borne onward. 
 One by one the parental tenets were 
 left behind, but now that I am weary, I 
 ask myself the question towards what 
 shore flows this stream of reason? I 
 feel too weak to turn back and stem the 
 tide ; but is the light which has guided 
 me the truth or only its parhelion? 
 
 When d Argenteuil scoffs, I invari 
 ably shudder. Is it merely the reflex 
 action of my childhood s credulity, or 
 is it the quivering of a conscience? 
 
 As a matter of fact I suppose I am no
 
 Il6 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 better than d Argenteuil, and yet I have 
 pitied him at times. 
 
 Perhaps that pity was anguish. 
 
 Or conceit. 
 
 There is nothing like a proper con 
 ception of one s own character, so I 
 will open another bottle of soda, and 
 drink to what I suppose I am that 
 worthless, flippant, counterfeit, a modern 
 young man. 
 
 In the privacy of these four walls I 
 can safely take off the disguise with 
 which my pretensions have clothed me, 
 but heaven grant that no one else shall 
 see the lean, miserable sham which 
 shivers before my heart s eye. 
 
 No, I shan t think over those two 
 years in London. 
 
 If Moira s love had ever been wholly 
 and completely mine I might have been 
 happy. 
 
 I was never more than a caprice. 
 
 Oh, the fatal error of letting a woman 
 supersede my art.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. I I / 
 
 London life ! what did it mean to 
 me ? 
 
 I made many acquaintances and few 
 pictures, and yet I had what the world 
 calls success. I was in evidence. And 
 why? Because I painted the countess 
 of Kildale, and the duchess of West- 
 hampton took me up. Then my affair 
 with Moira became known, and in con 
 sequence the women flocked to my 
 studio. They could not meet Moira, 
 oh, dear, no ; she was an actress ; but I 
 became in their eyes that most fascinat 
 ing of objects, a dangerous man. 
 
 I value some people, I tolerate others, 
 but I despise the canting society 
 women who gather up their skirts in 
 the presence of a Moira, and deceive 
 their husbands with a dexterity only 
 equalled by the readiness with which 
 they hoodwink their lovers. 
 
 But I was in love with Moira, so per 
 haps I have a fellow-feeling for those 
 husbands. At any rate I shall not
 
 Il8 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 brood over the hypocrisy of society. If 
 I did I should end by waving a red 
 flag in Trafalgar Square. 
 
 After all there is goodness in the 
 world, but its neck is seldom exposed, 
 and it owns few diamonds. 
 
 Curious, how suddenly a decision 
 which may affect one s whole life is 
 sometimes reached. 
 
 I remember the day as though it 
 were yesterday. But it was only six 
 months ago. 
 
 A sickly fire sputtered in my grate ; 
 occasionally it crackled, and then a 
 wind-blast hurled a little cloud of smoke 
 into the room, flecking the hearth with 
 soot. The air was grey with a chilling 
 fog which had penetrated through 
 crack and crevice, and hung in wreathy 
 clouds about the studio. From the sky 
 light a leaden light fell gloomily upon 
 a half finished portrait. With a palette
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 119 
 
 on my hand I stood shivering before 
 my easel trying to undo some academ 
 ical touches too readily copied from my 
 model. 
 
 What could one paint in such an 
 atmosphere ! 
 
 Disgusted, I put the palette down, 
 and plunging my hands in my pockets, 
 paced the room thoughtfully. 
 
 My London studio was always my 
 pride, but that morning it was loath 
 some. 
 
 The art objects, once so carefully 
 chosen, looked ill assorted. My Flor 
 entine marriage coffer seemed but a 
 tawdry chest of painted wood; the 
 Flemish cabinet too ungainly for the 
 room. I wondered how I ever chose 
 the hangings; nothing blended with 
 them; but the day before I had spoken 
 of them with pride to Lady Lester. 
 
 I paused before a tulip wood secre 
 taire with Sevres plaques and Ormolu 
 mountings. It was a gem, but it al-
 
 I2O TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 ways seemed out of place amid the more 
 sombre furniture of the studio. That 
 morning it positively annoyed me, and 
 I wished I had some other place to 
 put it. 
 
 On the ledge of this desk were a few 
 silver trinkets and a couple of minia 
 tures. Prompted rather by nervousness 
 than interest I examined the latter. 
 
 I once bought them at a sale at 
 Christies, and they were labeled thus in 
 the catalogue: 
 
 "1078, a lady in pink and blue robes, 
 temp. Queene Anne, oval, enamel, 
 Webb." 
 
 " 1079, a gentleman in blue coat, 
 Temp. Queene Anne, oval, enamel, 
 The same." 
 
 Perhaps this gentleman in a blue coat 
 was my ancestor, I thought. As well 
 he as any. I was once curious enough 
 about my family to look up the Whar- 
 tons in a colonial genealogy, and I 
 found two from either of whom I might
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 121 
 
 be descended. The one was a courtier, 
 in Queen Anne s time ruined at play, 
 and the other was deported for sheep 
 stealing. But what should ancestry 
 matter to an American ? Family is the 
 apology of mediocrity. The pride of a 
 genius should be himself, and when one 
 is not a genius humility is the more be 
 coming pose. Unless perchance one 
 forms part of that fortunate generation 
 which in America stands between shirt 
 sleeves and shirt sleeves. Then one 
 may swell one s chest complacently and 
 be laughed at by sensible people for the 
 absurdity of one s pretensions. 
 
 I fear it is only in my closet that I 
 talk like that, but of course I am not a 
 genius, therefore I must pose for some 
 thing in order to impose on somebody. 
 The grandeur of most of us lies in our 
 pretensions; without them we should be 
 drummed out of the social camp. 
 
 But that morning I wondered if Mr. 
 1079 ever tried to squeeze consolation
 
 122 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 from witless cynicism because he was in 
 love with Miss 1078 and knew he was 
 but a gewgaw with which she played 
 when the spirit moved her. 
 
 And did my fair lady in pink and 
 blue robes coquette with a dozen men 
 at once, and when angry words rose to 
 the lips of suffering Mr. 1079 did she 
 stifle them with a glance from those 
 lustrous eyes, and in her heart mock his 
 gullibility? 
 
 I presume so, for she looked capable 
 of it. 
 
 They both ate and drank and loved 
 and died. Was life to them a sapless 
 jumble of frivolities and sick headaches, 
 or did they find it worth the living ? 
 
 Perhaps they do n t know ; perhaps 
 they are sleeping, and will sleep on 
 through all eternity. 
 
 Perhaps. 
 
 Emile Wister once painted Moira s 
 miniature and mine. A century hence 
 we may be sold as a lady in green and
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 123 
 
 a gentleman in a black coat ; temp. 
 Victoria. 
 
 And what will it matter? 
 
 "Well, my dear friends," I said, as I 
 replaced the miniatures on the shelf, 
 "you cost me $, los. and the only 
 pleasure you have afforded me is a few- 
 moments senseless reflection. 
 
 " But you did not help me to forget 
 last night," I continued, abstractedly. I 
 might have expected it, I suppose, but 
 since our last quarrel I had actually be 
 gun to believe in Moira s sincerity. She 
 was so plausible; and I am so gullible. 
 But she could n t explain away that 
 night. Those glances into the wings, 
 the taunting way she smiled as she left 
 me standing on the sidewalk and drove 
 off to supper at the Cosmopolitan. 
 
 I felt like a miserable whipped puppy, 
 and that was the way she meant me to 
 feel. 
 
 She might have been less scandalous 
 about it, I thought but Lord Kildale,
 
 124 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 whose wife is one of ray best friends. 
 It s a confounded shame. 
 
 Oh the ignominy of being thrown over 
 by a woman. There is nothing to do 
 but swallow one s medicine. 
 
 I wish I did n t care; I do n t care; I 
 won t care. 
 
 " If you were a man, Guy Wharton," 
 I cried aloud, " you d shake clear of 
 the whole business and leave London. 
 There s nothing so pitiful as a discard 
 ed lover. But I won t give in. Kildale 
 is only a whim. I will win her back. 
 Then be tortured again in another 
 month. I might go out to Chicago to 
 the Exposition and cut loose from her 
 altogether. She is bound to admire in 
 dependence, if she cares at all. 
 
 " What do you say to it, you little 
 red-haired hussy in pink and blue?" I 
 said, angrily, as though addressing the 
 miniature of Miss 1078; "you look 
 enough like Moira to be her twin sister 
 in deception. So you laugh at me too.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 125 
 
 do you? And think I m a fool. I 
 won t have it, confound you. Into the 
 fireplace you go, to burn and sizzle as 
 you ought to. 
 
 " Broken in bits are you," I cried, as 
 the miniature fell into the grate. "I m 
 glad of it." 
 
 " Hallo, Guy ! " 
 
 I glanced up, startled. 
 
 Moira was standing in the door. Her 
 little figure was completely hidden by 
 the folds of a huge rain coat, and she 
 wore a smart sailor hat tipped jauntily 
 forwards. The damp air had brought a 
 glow to her cheeks, and her teeth glist 
 ened as she smiled. 
 
 For the moment I forgot my anger. 
 
 " What brought you here ! " I ex 
 claimed. 
 
 "A hansom." 
 
 " Inanity cannot masquerade as clev 
 erness." 
 
 " I am very amiable, Guy, so I will 
 let that pass; besides I am bored, and I
 
 126 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 could think of nothing more exciting 
 than seeing you, so that is why I am 
 here." 
 
 " Really ! You might have gone to 
 Berkeley Square, you would have found 
 that exciting enough." 
 
 " Yes, Guy, but you forget the hour. 
 Her ladyship would n t receive me so 
 early." 
 
 " No, nor at any hour, I fancy. That 
 pleasure is reserved for her husband." 
 
 " Hush up, Guy," she said, advanc 
 ing into the room and throwing aside 
 her raincoat. "I don t like to see you 
 make yourself ridiculous." 
 
 " You seem very solicitous about my 
 conduct ; were you half as concerned 
 about your own " 
 
 " I would not visit Mr. Wharton alone 
 in his studio and run the risk of losing 
 my reputation. Why don t you have at 
 least one comfortable chair, Guy ; and 
 by the way that Chinese god, or what 
 ever you call it, on the mantel annoys
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. \2f 
 
 me. He has a very impudent expres 
 sion, and his costume is positively im 
 modest. I wish you would remove 
 him." 
 
 Walking to the fire place I seized the 
 offending idol and threw him into the 
 coal box with an angry gesture ; I 
 slammed the lid down and glared at 
 Moira. 
 
 " Thanks awfully ! You re tremen 
 dously obliging to-day." 
 
 She hummed a tune and beat time 
 with her fingers on the arm of her chair. 
 
 " By the way, Guy," she said finally, 
 " Kildale remarked last night that he 
 thought you rather good looking. Do 
 you like compliments? " 
 
 I gazed at her wonderingly. 
 
 " Moira," I said, " I should honestly 
 like to know what you think of your 
 self? " 
 
 " Myself, Guy ! Me ! What I think?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, to be frank, when I think of
 
 128 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 the salary I am drawing, I am just a 
 little conceited ; and then you know my 
 pictures are selling better than those of 
 any woman in London. But when I 
 think that you admire me I feel deci< 
 dedly cheap." 
 
 " Your value of yourself can rise, so 
 far as I am concerned." 
 
 " Really, Guy," she replied with a 
 sigh of relief, " I am so glad. You have 
 been such a bother to me the past year 
 I could n t tell you that you bored me, 
 because I feared to hurt vour silly feel 
 ings. It s absurd to have a conscience, 
 isn t it?" 
 
 As I met her sneering glance the 
 cruel past came back, yet I longed to 
 see love in her eyes once more. Yes, 
 in spite of everything. 
 
 " Guy, why do n t you reply to my 
 question?" 
 
 "What did you ask?" 
 
 " If it is not absurd to have a con 
 science?"
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. I2Q 
 
 "Moira, I think a conscience is a sort 
 of alarm clock, to keep the soul from 
 sleeping too long. Some of us grow so 
 accustomed to its sound that we do not 
 heed it." 
 
 "And how fortunate we are. Just 
 think of the delightful dreams one 
 might lose if one minded the humming 
 of such a good-for-nothing pest." 
 
 " Yes, if one does n t awake suddenly 
 some day, and realize the precious op 
 portunities one has lost." 
 
 "Oh, Guy, your preaching is duller 
 than the fog outside, only the fog is n t 
 dry. By the way, we begin to rehearse 
 the new piece to-morrow." 
 
 "Indeed," I said vacantly. 
 
 "Well, you might show a little inter 
 est." 
 
 "I was thinking about my own 
 plans." 
 
 " You never plan anything but stupid 
 pictures. Look at that portrait. If I 
 were Lady Lester I should institute a 
 9
 
 I3O TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 libel suit. No woman ever had such 
 hands." 
 
 " Moira, what pleasure do you derive 
 from being nasty?" 
 
 " How peevish, Guy ; now, if I were 
 not above displays I might resent that." 
 
 "I wish you would. I should like to 
 quarrel. I feel in the mood for it." 
 
 " It s so bad form to get angry." 
 
 " That s the worst about you, Moira, 
 you won t even fight. You make me 
 think I am not worth quarreling with, 
 and I hate you for it." 
 
 "That evidence was unnecessary. 
 Other things beside hate convict a man 
 of being a fool." 
 
 "Such as loving a Circe." 
 
 " For your case, Guy, I should choose 
 another name for the lady; no charmer 
 could change you into a brute, you were 
 born one." 
 
 Without answering I gazed into the 
 the fire. I was conscious of a vague, 
 dull pain in my heart.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 13! 
 
 "Moira, my mind is made up," I 
 said; " I am going to leave London." 
 
 "Sea shore, Guy? Now I come to 
 think of it, you do look pale." 
 
 " I m going home." 
 
 "Home! I didn t know you had 
 one. I thought you were a vagabond 
 like myself." 
 
 "I am a vagabond. All my life I 
 have tramped about, living on cast-off 
 love, and occasionally stealing enough 
 happiness to keep my soul from starv 
 ing. I am going to begin over 
 again in America. There is a health 
 ier air over there than we breathe in 
 Europe." 
 
 "Guy, you re absurd." 
 
 "No, I firmly believe that the most 
 humdrum of the middle class existences 
 is better in the long run, than this mad 
 struggle for excitement, this craving for 
 the unattainable which has become the 
 passion of us moderns. Life is no 
 longer a duty, leading to salvation, it is
 
 132 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 merely a dissipation preceding dissolu 
 tion." 
 
 "What did you have for dinner last 
 night." 
 
 " I am in earnest, Moira; why can t 
 you be serious." 
 
 "When I become serious it will be 
 because I have exhausted pleasure. 
 Then I shall be ready to die, and I 
 hope the Lord will make quick work 
 of me. If he doesn t, I shall help 
 him." 
 
 I gazed at her curiously. I won 
 dered whether her inconsequence was 
 not a disguise for a baffled heart. If 
 only she would throw it aside and let 
 one know the woman underneath the 
 sham. 
 
 She met my earnest glance. 
 
 " To make an attempt at being seri 
 ous, Guy," she said. " I thoroughly ap 
 prove your plan. Six months in Amer- 
 ca will cure you of pat/iotism. I shall 
 be there on my tour just in time to find
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 133 
 
 you the most miserable of homesick 
 men." 
 
 "No, Moira, you will find that I have 
 discovered a new inspiration." 
 
 "In another pair of eyes, I suppose. 
 I m going now, good-bye." 
 
 "Do n t go, I have such a lot to say." 
 
 " Do n t say it, Guy. Your mind is 
 made up, you might change it. What 
 a calamity that would be." 
 
 She came towards me, and taking my 
 hand held it a moment. "Good-bye, 
 Guy. You may kiss me if you like. 
 No, on the cheek, I mean. You won t? 
 Very well, then take that instead," and 
 slapping my cheek with her glove she 
 rushed out of the room. 
 
 I stood there, unable for a moment to 
 realize my stupidity. Disarmed by her 
 subtility ; charmed by her personality, I 
 mildly repulsed her attack when I should 
 have been the accessor. And so it has
 
 134 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 ever been. Adamantine resolutions are 
 melted by her glance into the flabbiest 
 putty. Oh, the fatuity of a fool in love! 
 
 Yet, even then, as I paced the floor, 
 muttering imprecations against Moira, 
 and cursing my own weakness, my reso 
 lution to leave London became a pur 
 pose, and lest a pair of eyes should 
 suborn my reason, I decided to see 
 Moira no more. 
 
 Illusory decision. 
 
 I met her in Piccadilly the next 
 morning. 
 
 Fortunately d Argenteuil was with me, 
 else I might have weakened. 
 
 Thinking to surprise her, he told her 
 I had taken my passage. 
 
 " Yes, I know all about it," she said. 
 "Poor fellow, a change will do him 
 good. He looks awfully seedy. He s 
 been working so hard the past two 
 months. Only one portrait, I know, 
 but then he has put such a lot of thought 
 into it."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL 135 
 
 Then turning to me she said: " Bye, 
 bye, Guy, shall I see you again. Do n t 
 bother to call unless you feel inclined. 
 I m dreadfully busy rehearsing the new 
 piece, and besides Kildale is teaching 
 me piquet. I m tremendously fasci 
 nated with the game. Do you play 
 piquet, Guy ? You ought to learn." 
 
 Unintentionally I met her glance. 
 
 " Write me when you get to New 
 York," she added, as she turned to 
 leave. " I should like awfully to know 
 whether you were ill crossing. And, by 
 the way, if you run across Dorothy 
 Temple, give her my love. Poor dear, 
 how many sleepless nights she devoted 
 to me. Tell her I m as circumspect as 
 a gravestone now." 
 
 "And shall I add that you are as cold 
 and stony as one ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you desire to admit your 
 own feebleness." 
 
 Then she walked away abruptly and 
 was lost in the fashionable crowd.
 
 136 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 " By the way, Guy," said d Argen- 
 teuil, as I gazed after her, " I have 
 news for you, I have been appointed on 
 the Exposition commission a surprise, 
 Guy, eh ! " 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 " Wake up, Guy." 
 
 " Did you speak ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear Guy, I said you are 
 an ass." 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 The most truthful admission I ever 
 made. 
 
 No, I am worse than that, I am a 
 coward. 
 
 When I was away from Moira I almost 
 forgot her. I must throw her out of 
 my heart. I owe it to myself. 
 
 And to Dorothy. 
 
 Yes, here I have been dreaming over 
 the past and forgetting everything but 
 that provoking bit of vanity Moira.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL 137 
 
 Am I more ravenous than rational. 
 Are lips that tempt and eyes that burn 
 more to me than love in its purest 
 sense ? It must be so, else knowing 
 Moira through and through why did I 
 surrender unconditionally to-night ? 
 
 Out of charity for myself I will not 
 answer. 
 
 Suppose I were to tell Dorothy the 
 truth. 
 
 I know what her reply would be, she 
 would advise me to marry Moira. 
 
 Marry ! 
 
 There is humor in that suggestion. 
 Moira herself once said that marriages 
 are cages in which hearts snared by the 
 devil are left to languish in captivity. 
 
 But the thought of marrying Moira 
 never entered my mind. 
 
 Until I met Dorothy marriage seemed 
 a remote and respectable possibility 
 to be reached when my love for Moira 
 was burnt out. Some day I would give 
 my hand to an estimable young Miss,
 
 138 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 who would fawn indulgently upon a 
 husband who had seen life. The com 
 placent egotism of that thoroughly mas 
 culine point of view never occurred to 
 me. 
 
 The average man is content to offer 
 in exchange for the heart of a pure 
 woman a shapeless mass, charred by the 
 flames of unbridled love, and flatter 
 himself that his experience creates a 
 balance in his favor. 
 
 We men form a moral mean between 
 the extremes of womanhood. 
 
 But occasionally there must be a man 
 who could ask a Dorothy Temple to be 
 his wife without feeling ashamed of his 
 own feebleness. 
 
 After all it was a curious working of 
 chance which brought Dorothy into my 
 life again. 
 
 For two days after my arrival I 
 breathed the nervous Chicago air, then
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 139 
 
 I became restless. My ears throbbed 
 with the ceaseless hum of traffic ; the 
 crowds in the streets with their anxious 
 faces and twitching eyes made me im 
 patient, and I rushed forth in search of 
 a studio. I wanted to work like the 
 rest, but I wanted to be away from the 
 droning, toiling multitude, so I in 
 spected the highest buildings. 
 
 By accident I went to the Masonic 
 Temple. The rooms did not please 
 me and hurrying away I took the 
 elevator at the sixteenth floor. With 
 difficulty I squeezed myself into the 
 gilded cage, then nauseous and dizzy I 
 gripped my knuckles desperately as the 
 floor fell from under me and I sank 
 into fathomless space. 
 
 " Coin down ! " shrieked the con 
 ductor as he stopped the car with i 
 violent jar and threw back the iron 
 door. 
 
 I flattened myself against the wall, 
 and was conscious of the rustle of a wo-
 
 140 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 man s skirt. Closing my eyes I held my 
 breath as the car shot downward again. 
 
 "Chicago ! " shouted the man. 
 
 Thankful for the breath of life I 
 shook myself together and walked out 
 at the ground floor. 
 
 "You do n t seem to like elevators, 
 Mr. Wharton." 
 
 It was a woman s voice, deeper, more 
 modulated than those I heard in the 
 streets. 
 
 I glanced up startled. A well-dressed 
 girl stood at my elbow. Those keen 
 dark eyes, that wavy hair brushed care 
 lessly back from the temples ; it was a 
 face I could never forget. 
 
 " Dorothy ! Miss Temple ! " I ex 
 claimed. 
 
 "Yes, Guy," she laughed. "Now beg 
 pardon for treading on my toes." 
 
 "Don t hold me responsible for my 
 actions in an elevator. I am an Euro 
 pean of eight years standing. But did 
 I hurt you? "
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 14! 
 
 " No, but your blank stare hurt my 
 feelings. I must be looking a thousand 
 years older." 
 
 " But my eyes were shut. I was 
 lost to everything but sinking sensa 
 tions." 
 
 " Then I forgive you," she said ex 
 tending her hand. " I confess too that 
 I am thankful for being remembered on 
 any terms, but how do you do, and why 
 are you here? " 
 
 " I don t know; I seem to have just 
 awakened from a Rip Van Winkle 
 sleep. No one knows me now, even the 
 dogs eye me suspiciously. You don t 
 know how grateful I am for being re 
 membered by you." 
 
 " Why I saw your picture in the paper 
 only this morning, and read all about 
 your triumphs in art." 
 
 " And you recognized me ! Alas, I 
 flattered myself that picture would help 
 me keep my incognito." 
 
 "If you were not a portrait painter, I
 
 142 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 might pay you the compliment that 
 invites." 
 
 "And why does my trade deny me 
 that pleasure?" 
 
 " Because one whose profession is to 
 flatter with the brush might doubt the 
 sincerity of verbal compliment." 
 
 "You evidently don t know us 
 artists. We thrive on flattery and lan 
 guish on truth." 
 
 " Then I fear that for the moment 
 you must go hungry. I am completely 
 stopping this elevator door, and I have 
 a hundred errands to do this morning. 
 But perhaps I might persuade you to 
 walk with me as far as my dentist s 
 door. I will promise to protect Rip 
 Van Winkle from the street urchins." 
 
 " If you will tell me all about your 
 self." 
 
 " I can do that before we reach the 
 corner," she laughed. 
 
 As I stepped out beside her I meas-
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 143 
 
 ured her height against my shoulder. 
 She was taller than I remembered her 
 and more graceful. I took a second 
 glance at her face. Her eyes sparkled 
 in the sunshine. They were spirited 
 and full of light. I noticed a few 
 struggling curls of hair blown carelessly 
 across the temples, and the pale cheeks 
 were delicately flushed with color. As 
 we turned the lofty corner of the Ma 
 sonic Temple, she bent forward to make 
 headway against a sudden gust of wind, 
 and her superb figure was outlined 
 under the tense folds of her dress. 
 
 She looked up suddenly and caught 
 my glance. 
 
 "Well?" she said. 
 
 " How fast you walk," I muttered. 
 " Are you in a frantic hurry like the 
 other Chicagoans?" 
 
 " Life here is nothing but a scramble, 
 you must grow used to it." 
 
 " And to these dirty streets; to those
 
 144 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 grimy buildings which shut out the 
 light of heaven with their hideous forms 
 I can t." 
 
 She laughed. " You will grow to love 
 them in a year. Every one does. There 
 is an enthusiasm about Chicago life 
 which is resistless." 
 
 " Then a painter must be the excep 
 tion which proves the rule," I said, 
 shaking my head doubtfully. But she 
 was right, in far less than a year the 
 spirit of Chicago seized me, and though 
 alive to the city s faults, I am as jealous 
 of its fame as its most clamorous de 
 fender. 
 
 We walked a few steps in silence. 
 
 " The corner is passed, and you have 
 told me nothing about yourself," I said 
 finally. 
 
 "Myself, Guy," she laughed. "Oh, 
 there is really nothing to tell. I would 
 much rather hear about you." 
 
 " How politic ! You evidently know 
 how fond a man is of talking about
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 145 
 
 himself. But most women are born 
 diplomats." 
 
 " Or dunces," she interrupted. "The 
 mistake we women make is in flattering 
 you men too much, we make you con 
 ceited, and a conceited man never 
 loves; he merely longs to be appreci 
 ated." 
 
 "We artists are conceited, but we 
 excel in loving." 
 
 "Opinion is usually experience. I 
 suppose yours is no exception to the 
 rule." 
 
 "Yes, I have loved, and I shall love 
 again." 
 
 She arched her brows doubtfully. 
 
 " But are you sure you loved flatter 
 ing lips? Was it not a lashing tongue?" 
 
 I looked into her face. 
 
 "You are very clever," I said. 
 
 "No, I have merely a few foolish 
 theories, but I fear they would be scat 
 tered to the four winds by the first love- 
 zephyr which chanced to blow my way.
 
 146 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 That is the worst of life. One s actions 
 are so unlike one s speculations." 
 
 She stopped before the doorway of a 
 smoke-dimmed building of an early 
 Chicago type, standing pygmy like be 
 tween two giant neighbors. 
 
 " I must leave you now, I fear," she 
 said. "You will come and see me, 
 won t you? but I forgot, you can 
 not." 
 
 "Cannot?" I interrupted. "What 
 crime have I committed in your sight?" 
 
 "I am leaving home to-morrow." 
 
 "Oh, you are going to the country?" 
 
 "No, I shall be in the city, but don t 
 ask me where I am going." 
 
 "You have aroused my curiosity, I 
 must know now." 
 
 "Oh, it is nothing that would interest 
 you. I am going to spend a month at 
 Hallim Hall. It is a place a lot of us 
 girls have started in the slums, where 
 we are trying to find amusement for the 
 working people and interest them in
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 147 
 
 improving things. There, that is all I 
 am going to tell you." 
 
 "But may I not come and see you 
 there?" 
 
 "It would bore you." 
 
 "I will chance it if you are there." 
 
 "If you come it is at your own risk. 
 Remember I have warned you. Good 
 bye," she added, extending her hand 
 cordially. 
 
 "Remember, I am coming," I said, 
 as she turned and left me. 
 
 For a moment I followed her with 
 my eyes. A strange girl I thought. 
 How very frank and alert she is. She is 
 attractive too, but she lacks the subtility 
 of Moira, lacks her challenging beauty. 
 
 Then as I sauntered back to my hotel 
 I believe I fell to thinking about Dor 
 othy as she was during her college days. 
 I used to think then that her heart was 
 too masculine ; but was not that opinion
 
 148 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 merely the reflection of my own views 
 on co-education? Was I not unwilling 
 to admit that a girl educated with men 
 could be feminine? 
 
 After all it is difficult to remove a 
 prejudice, and my opposition to co 
 education was of long standing. 
 
 But in college I was more or less in 
 love with Moira, so Dorothy was rather 
 an afterthought. An enigma too, for I 
 never understood how a girl in her 
 position could be there at all. 
 
 I did not understand Dorothy then, 
 else I should not have impugned her 
 motives. 
 
 Still I was curious enough about her 
 to go to Hallim Hall. 
 
 I hate being bored, and I love new 
 sensations. 
 
 The business jargon of the men at 
 the club bored me to excess. One 
 night I seized my hat in desperation, 
 and rushed out into the street. It was 
 then I thought of visiting Dorothy.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL 149 
 
 I turned into a great thoroughfare 
 leading southward from the city s heart, 
 a place where evil stalks bare faced 
 under the glare of electric lights. 
 
 At night the people of a great city 
 follow their natural impulses. The 
 crowds which swell the streets by day 
 are but a jumble of contradictory ingre 
 dients who mix but do not assimilate; 
 but at nightfall the human elements are 
 sorted out. It is the hour of recreation, 
 when the good are separated from the 
 bad and indifferent by affinity. It is 
 the hour to study human nature. 
 
 That thought came to me as I saun 
 tered along that street. 
 
 I wondered whether all those repul 
 sive creatures who slunk away into the 
 night had souls. And yet they were 
 human. 
 
 That girl who strolled past me decked 
 in flashy finery; in the pale glare of the 
 lights, her painted face was ghastly, 
 hideous; her lips drawn and hard, but
 
 150 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 in the stare of her glassy eyes there was 
 a pathetic plea for money ! money ! life ! 
 
 Did the divine spark still smolder in 
 her breast? 
 
 And that skulking pauper who 
 shambled by, with his lean hands 
 plunged in his pockets and the frayed 
 collar of his coat turned up about his 
 ears; hunger and despondency glared 
 from his sunken eyes. 
 
 Had he a heart; did he hope? 
 
 Yes, he had a thousand times more 
 heart than these low-browed ruffians 
 who huddled in the doorway of that 
 saloon. What evil eyes they had. 
 Within, the lights gleamed on the mir 
 rors and rows of bottles, and through 
 the open door came the clink of glasses 
 and the coarse gloating laugh of the 
 devil. 
 
 Those people who passed me, how 
 brutal their faces; how beast-like their 
 little eyes. But they were the repulsive 
 life of this great city. The character of
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 15! 
 
 the people one meets here has changed 
 since I was a boy. There is less vigor 
 and Yankee pluck in their faces, more 
 of the degradation of the European serf. 
 
 And those horrible signs I saw painted 
 in flaring colors. Dwarfs, giants, mon 
 sters, distorted horrors in spangled 
 hues. A crowd huddled round the 
 door, listening to a clanging band and 
 gaping at the pictured marvels to be 
 viewed within for a dime. 
 
 But man has only two cravings. The 
 one is for food, the other for the un 
 known, the unattainable. 
 
 The baby will drop his bottle to watch 
 a sunbeam dancing on the wall. It is 
 the dawn of his soul. For the moment 
 those paupers I saw that night forgot 
 their hunger in contemplation of the 
 mysterious, and to them those jangling 
 discords were music. It was the yearn 
 ing of gaunt, starved souls. 
 
 Yes, there is love for the inscrutable 
 in the heart of every creature. The
 
 152 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 savage bows to the painted idol, because 
 to his childish mind it represents the 
 occult. In our souls we artists feel the 
 nature we would idealize. We paint 
 and strive to reproduce the unattainable, 
 but how much grander the conception 
 than its painted likeness. 
 
 Those who see the work of a genius 
 marvel at its beauty, but they can never 
 know the ecstatic beauty of the creative 
 soul. That belongs to the genius alone. 
 It is within him, and even to him it is a 
 mystery. 
 
 But away with such thoughts. The 
 nauseous smells which oozed from the 
 basements stifled me that night. The 
 broad, straight street, stretching away 
 before me, with its solid blocks of tower 
 ing buildings, how unpicturesque it 
 was, how ugly? In the day time, with 
 the blue sky above and the sunlight to 
 soften the tones, such a street is endura 
 ble ; but at night, when the electric 
 lights glare on the ugly square forms of
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 153 
 
 the stores and the signs stand out 
 flaring and crude, it is unutterable. 
 
 I remember the arrangement of the 
 windows of a large store fantastic, but 
 unimaginative. A ship built of nap 
 kins, a pyramid of hats, a feudal castle 
 of soap bars, a forest of flaring cravats, 
 and a galaxy of multicolored lights 
 gleaming throughout that wilderness of 
 gaud. A profanation of taste. 
 
 That street belongs to the people, 
 and what do they care for the tenets of 
 pampered art ? 
 
 I turned a corner. The comparative 
 darkness of the side street was a relief 
 after the glare of those awful lights. 
 
 Ah, there was misery ! That saloon 
 with the misty lamps shining dim de- 
 hind the grimy windows, and that mis 
 erable drunkard staggering through the 
 door. A woman too ! Ragged, filthy, 
 with wild haggard eyes, and froAvsy 
 locks floating in the wind. Horrible ! 
 Horrible !
 
 154 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 I asked a bystander my way to Hal- 
 lim Hall. 
 
 " There," he grunted, pointing back 
 from the street towards the dark form 
 of an old-fashioned house with dull 
 brick walls and dingy pillared portico. 
 A shabby survivor of bygone splendor, 
 standing aloof from the surrounding 
 hovels like some reduced patrician 
 ashamed of his low-born neighbors. 
 
 Making my way across to the stone 
 pavement of a court-yard, I rang at the 
 weather-beaten door. 
 
 From the impressions gathered in my 
 walk through the streets, I had formed 
 a weird mental picture of slumming. 
 
 I expected to find a cheerless chapel, 
 with wooden benches and scriptural 
 mottoes on the walls, where sullen 
 paupers with hectic cheeks were singing 
 psalm tunes, and somewhere in the 
 midst of a lot of cant and nonsense 
 Dorothy rescuing sinners from the fiery 
 pit.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 155 
 
 Yes, several times as I waited before 
 the door, I was prompted to fly. 
 
 But a trim Alsatian girl with oval 
 eyes and braids of flaxen hair finally an 
 swered my summons. I was taken to 
 the library, and as I waited for Dorothy 
 I glanced about me curiously. The 
 apartment was lofty and square, with 
 tinted plaster ceiling, moulded elabor 
 ately in flowers and medallions. Tall 
 palms grew in the corners; a hardwood 
 floor ; some comfortable leather chairs, 
 and a scattering of Turkish rugs gave 
 that old-fashioned room a touch of 
 modernism; but what astonished me 
 most was the splendid photographs 
 hanging in large oak frames upon the 
 walls. Meissonier s " La Rixe," a Har 
 vest Field by Breton, Fortuny s Mando 
 lin Player, The Angelus of Millet, and 
 other master-pieces. 
 
 On the low cases of well-bound books 
 were some casts of famous bits of sculp-
 
 156 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 ture but where were my religious mot 
 toes ? 
 
 A few girls gathered about the table 
 were reading. Young, active faces, with 
 keen sparkling eyes. There was a dash 
 of smartness in their dress and the 
 hands that rested on the pages of the 
 books were white and delicate. 
 
 A step sounded on the hard floor. I 
 glanced up. Dorothy was entering the 
 room. 
 
 "I hope I have not kept you waiting," 
 she said; " I was finishing some entries 
 in my books." 
 
 " Your books? " 
 
 " Yes, I am the book-keeper here, 
 and I have dreadful times double en 
 tries, trial balances, and all kinds of 
 things I pretend to know about, but 
 do n t. Won t you come into my 
 den? We shall not disturb anyone 
 there." 
 
 I followed her across the room to an 
 alcove separated from the library by a
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 157 
 
 heavy curtain. An office desk, a letter 
 file, a few well selected photographs, a 
 huge map, and three chairs was the 
 furniture of this retreat. 
 
 " So this is your workshop," I said. 
 " It is delightful, but tell me what you 
 do here. I confess the whole place is 
 somewhat of a puzzle. Those attractive 
 girls in the other room, are they 
 your co-workers or merely rescued sin 
 ners?" 
 
 "They are residents," she laughed. 
 
 " And are you a resident or an in 
 mate?" 
 
 " This month I am sort of warden or 
 keeper, if you will persist in thinking us 
 lunatics." 
 
 " So you preside." 
 
 " In a way, yes. You see two of us 
 girls organized the work here four years 
 ago, just after I left college. It was 
 quite simple at first; we only had a flat 
 and did very little; but gradually others 
 joined us and then we got this house
 
 158 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 and fitted it up, and, really, we feel 
 quite proud of our quarters. I used to 
 live here all the time until my mother 
 died. Now, I spend every other month 
 with my father. 
 
 " But what do you do here? Read 
 books and look at pictures? I should n t 
 mind that, myself." 
 
 "Does such skepticism deserve an 
 answer?" 
 
 " I am not skeptical, I am merely 
 ignorant." 
 
 "And irreverent." 
 
 " No, plain ignorant. My ideas of 
 slumming are woefully vague. Tell me 
 what you do, won t you? I am most 
 reverential." 
 
 She hesitated a moment as though 
 doubtful of my sincerity. 
 
 "In the first place," she said, "We 
 call Hallim Hall a social settle 
 ment. We believe the working classes 
 should be improved by social inter 
 course and healthy amusement. Oh,
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 159 
 
 dear, that sounds just like a lecture. 
 Let me give you a pamphlet to read." 
 
 "I would much rather you told me. 
 Please go on." 
 
 " Well, from that idea the scheme 
 worked itself out. We got acquainted 
 with the people and then we tried to 
 interest them. We organized evening 
 classes in literature, ethics and lan 
 guages; we gave concerts and got up 
 theatricals; we started art classes and 
 formed women s clubs, creches, music 
 classes, kindergartens, co-operative as 
 sociations, and any number of other 
 schemes; but I am too enthusiastic about 
 the work, and I forget you do not sym 
 pathize." 
 
 " But I do, I assure you. I am 
 astonished too. I expected I dare not 
 say what I expected. And that map 
 there with the little squares of green, 
 blue and yellow, what is that?" 
 
 " Oh, that is a map of the slums with 
 the houses colored according to the
 
 I6O TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 nationality of the inhabitants. The 
 green are Irish, the blue, Italians, the 
 yellow, Bohemians, and so on." 
 
 " How interesting! But there is one 
 street nearly all white." 
 
 " The white are Americans, and that 
 street I am sorry to say contains the 
 lowest resorts." 
 
 " So you whitewash the natives." 
 
 " Yes, because they are whited sepul 
 chres. But you will understand our 
 work better if you let me show you 
 about or rather tote you, as we girls 
 say." 
 
 She walked before me with a quick, 
 earnest step. Her tall figure was set off 
 by the graceful folds of a bluish linen 
 gown, and her splendid hair was caught 
 together in a loose knot, just where the 
 delicate neck met the sloping shoulders. 
 I felt a thrill of admiration. 
 
 " This is the poetry class," she said, 
 stopping before a partly open door. 
 " Peep in, but do n t make a noise."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. l6l 
 
 I took a hurried glance at some 
 twenty girls and men who were seated 
 about a long table. The faces of the 
 girls were pale and weary looking, but 
 they had bright, intelligent eyes. The 
 men seemed older and more sullen, I 
 thought. Across the room was a cur 
 tained alcove where a piano stood on a 
 raised platform. A palm grew in a 
 large blue vase and a guitar rested 
 against a chair. Beyond were some has 
 reliefs in plaster. 
 
 " Now if you will promise not to 
 laugh," said Dorothy, " I will show you 
 the art room and studio." 
 
 " On the contrary, you arouse my 
 professional curiosity. But who teaches 
 art ? " 
 
 " All our teachers are volunteers, 
 most of them are girls, but a few men 
 help us in the teaching. There is no 
 art class to-night, so I can only show 
 you the rooms." 
 
 Leaving the house we crossed the 
 ii
 
 l62 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 courtyard to a quaint rambling struc 
 ture, with gabled roof and leaded win 
 dows, the gift of some well-wisher of 
 the cause. Passing a partly open door, 
 through which I caught a glimpse of 
 bookshelves and green topped tables, 
 where pallid working people were study 
 ing by the light of shaded lamps, we 
 climbed the winding stairs to the floor 
 above, and entered a long empty room 
 with bare red walls and a skylight over 
 head. 
 
 "This is where we have loan ex 
 hibits," said Dorothy, with a hurried 
 gesture. " There is nothing here now. 
 Come into the studio, won t you?" 
 
 I followed her to the next room. 
 
 On the walls hung a few sketches and 
 a plaster bas-relief of a Roman Tri 
 umph. Upon the narrow ledge of a 
 locker were casts of well-known heads, 
 color boxes and brushes, bits of crayon 
 and copies of Greek and Etruscan 
 vases. Scattered about the room on
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 163 
 
 working easels were perhaps a dozen 
 sketches in oil or charcoal. 
 
 I took up the canvas nearest me. 
 Dorothy caught my arm. "Do n t look 
 at that," she said. 
 
 "I must, my curiosity is aroused now." 
 
 It was a sketch in oils of a peasant 
 woman standing alone in a ploughed 
 field. There was a touch of sadness in 
 the pose and the face turned wistfully 
 away, glowed in the reddish light of the 
 setting sun. 
 
 I glanced up. There was an anxious, 
 expectant look in Dorothy s eyes. 
 
 "Did you do it?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes," she said, taking the picture 
 from me and replacing it with a disap 
 pointed gesture. 
 
 " There is real feeling for color in 
 that sketch; where did you study?" 
 
 "A few terms at the Art Institute; I 
 have n t time to do much." 
 
 " You should certainly go on. I wish 
 you would come to my studio and
 
 164 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 paint; I might help you with a hint or 
 two." 
 
 "Would you?" she said, glancing up 
 with radiant eyes. "A word from you 
 would mean so much. You do n t know 
 what pleasure I am given by even the 
 little I do." 
 
 "Dorothy," I said, eyeing her inquisi 
 tively, "You are very complex. I don t 
 understand you." 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "That is because you fail to see how 
 very simple I really am." 
 
 "You are too extraordinary to be 
 simple. You love art, you have talent, 
 too ; yet you deliberately bury yourself 
 in the slums." 
 
 "I would not give up this work for 
 all the art in the world." 
 
 "But there is enough drudgery on 
 this earth already, why create any more? 
 Mind, I admire your unselfishness, but 
 I can t help asking why you give up so 
 much for this work."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 1 65 
 
 She clasped her hands together 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Humanity is such a pitiful specta 
 cle. I can t look on quietly. I must 
 do something. If I can provoke an 
 occasional smile, I am satisfied." 
 
 "Am I to understand you aspire to 
 the role of low comedian in the drama 
 of life?" 
 
 "No, I am only a stage hand. I want 
 to help lower the curtain on a few lives 
 ending more happily than they began." 
 
 "But you can t remove evil from the 
 world. If you rescue some, others will 
 take their places." 
 
 "I am a thorough optimist, Guy. I 
 believe the general tendency of the 
 world is towards the good." 
 
 " But can the efforts of one girl, how 
 ever brave, accomplish much?" 
 
 "It is not the sudden blows of a giant 
 which weaken evil, it is the continuous 
 tapping of an army of dwarfs like me." 
 
 Dorothy s eyes sparkled. Her voice
 
 1 66 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 had an earnest ring. I could not help 
 sharing her enthusiasm. Turning away 
 thoughtfully, I examined the sketch 
 again. 
 
 "Perhaps you are right," I said; "but 
 the cleverness of this bit of work makes 
 me begrudge the time you give to phil 
 anthropy. You know I have but one 
 worship, the beautiful." 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 " Being a man, I suppose your creed 
 occasionally takes a feminine form." 
 
 " How could it be otherwise? The 
 apotheosis of the beautiful is woman." 
 
 "And how many women has your 
 fancy deified since pretty Moira Brack- 
 er?" 
 
 This sudden reference to Moira 
 startled me. I felt a blush tingle in 
 my cheek. 
 
 " By the way," I said awkwardly, 
 "she has made a great hit in London. 
 I met her in the street a few days be 
 fore I sailed. She wanted to be remem-
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 167 
 
 bered to you. Sent love and all that 
 sort of thing." 
 
 I felt the penetrating glance of Dor 
 othy s eyes. 
 
 "Aren t you going to tote me some 
 more?" I asked, hurriedly. "I haven t 
 seen the half yet." 
 
 A man is always in love with three 
 women so some Frenchman has said 
 The one he loved, the one he loves, 
 and the one he is going to love. 
 
 I should call the first a regret, the 
 second a rebound and the third a 
 recurrence. Or is n t it merely a 
 relapse? I wonder how those clever 
 fellows who write books turn out epi 
 grams. Do they flow out ready made, 
 or are they worked out with a diction 
 ary? If the latter is the truth they 
 would n t acknowledge it, I suppose. 
 
 Nor would I care to avow my fickle 
 ness to anyone but myself yet that
 
 1 68 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 night as I walked home from Hallim 
 Hall I began to think about Dorothy. 
 
 I owed nothing to Moira; I had 
 a perfect right to think about Dorothy. 
 And I did. 
 
 She was interesting because she was 
 incomprehensible. She seemed like 
 one of those mystic mazes where one 
 wanders about, delighted, startled, but 
 unable to find the way out. 
 
 I admired her beauty. I appreciated 
 her artistic tastes. I did not understand 
 her philanthropy, and, I am ashamed 
 to confess, I doubted her sincerity. 
 But, as Dorothy said that day in the 
 street, opinion is experience, and my 
 experience with women had made me 
 doubtful of them all. Dorothy was 
 merely frank and genuine, and because 
 she was, I fancied then, that it was a 
 clever trick to disguise something. 
 
 How little we men know about 
 women, and how cleverly they flatter us 
 into believing that we understand them.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 169 
 
 But Dorothy is not subtle like the 
 others. I scarcely know how I grew 
 fond of her. 
 
 Perhaps, like a famished beggar I was 
 glad to accept a few crumbs of friend 
 ship in lieu of a love feast. Starving 
 for Moira s love, I was driven to Dor 
 othy for solace. 
 
 But love is an appetite or an anes 
 thetic. It is a gnawing hunger which 
 must be gorged to be satisfied, or a 
 soothing draught for the weary heart. 
 
 After that night at Hallim Hall Dor 
 othy never referred to Moira and I 
 tried to forget her. I tried to reason 
 myself out of my infatuation ; but when 
 least expected my cheek flushed sud 
 denly at the thought of her, my pulses 
 quickened, a little paroxysm of desire 
 seized me. 
 
 My love for Moira was intermittent, 
 but it was a fever still, and delirious at 
 times. 
 
 I thought of her as I walked through
 
 I/O TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 the streets, as I worked in my studio, 
 or at night when I tried to sleep. But 
 I met Dorothy frequently, sometimes 
 by chance, often by intent, and her 
 presence was always soothing and satis 
 factory. 
 
 Yes, Dorothy has the instinct of an 
 artist. 
 
 It is a pleasure to have some one to 
 listen, to understand, to appreciate. 
 Her taste is marvelous ; she loves the 
 beautiful passionately and adores the 
 slums. I never can forget that absurd 
 contradiction. But she sympathizes with 
 my ambitions and understands my 
 work. 
 
 Moira never cared for my art. She 
 was wrapt up in her own success. 
 
 If only one might love a girl like 
 Dorothy. I used to say in those days 
 when she first came to the studio she 
 is such a thorough woman and Moira 
 so feminine. If that means anything.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 17! 
 
 What a solemn toned clock that is. 
 
 One, two, three, four. 
 
 Is it so late as that? How I have 
 been dreaming. And the decision as 
 unmade as ever. Well, I might as well 
 light this old pipe again and make a 
 night of it. 
 
 Moira once said, that a woman s hap 
 piness depends upon her waist measure, 
 and I remember Dorothy telling me 
 that she thought happiness was merely 
 the habit of good impulses. 
 
 Aren t one s views apt to be the true 
 valuation of oneself inadvertantly ex 
 pressed ? 
 
 I suppose when Moira told me that 
 good manners were merely a mask for 
 bad motives, she very nearly hit the 
 bull s eye of her own character. 
 
 But Moira s manners are half her 
 charm, and the other half is her looks. 
 
 AH of which is rather ungenerous
 
 172 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 for after all, Moira, with all your 
 faults I 
 
 Do I ? 
 
 She is sparkling, exhilarating, insidi 
 ous, but she always leaves a bad taste 
 the next day. 
 
 Yet she is a difficult habit to break off. 
 
 But how genuine Dorothy is. One 
 might take her three hundred and 
 sixty-five days in the year and never be 
 any the worse for it. I am glad I have 
 known her, even if nothing more comes 
 of it. A man is better for knowing 
 that such a girl exists. 
 
 I am glad too that I painted Dor 
 othy s portrait. 
 
 It brought us together and taught 
 me her character taught me to love, I 
 was on the point of saying. Well, the 
 portrait was a success, and I shall send 
 it to the Champ de Mars next year. 
 
 I wonder why she was so persistent in 
 refusing to let me do it ? Whatever her 
 faults be, vanity is not one. But even
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 173 
 
 she is vulnerable to compliment, for my 
 flattery about her Italian type of face 
 induced her to let me design that Flor 
 entine gown. 
 
 How stunning she was in it. 
 
 That night after she left Hallim Hall, 
 and I called in Prairie Avenue for the 
 first time, she was a revelation. 
 
 I see her now sitting in an old 
 Italian chair with high carved back and 
 lion s paws for arms. Her head, turned 
 slightly aside, rests against one hand ; 
 her delicate arms, bared to the elbow, 
 are lost in puffy velvet sleeves, and the 
 other hand with tapering fingers and 
 rosy tinted tips falls gracefully over an 
 arm of the chair. A broad Medici 
 collar of old lace sets off the clear white 
 neck, and the shadows of the face are 
 perfectly defined. The wavy hair 
 brushed away from the forehead is held 
 at the back by a gold comb. The dark 
 eyes, calm and soulful for the moment, 
 look at me dreamilv.
 
 174 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 " Do n t move," I cried suddenly ; 
 " Look ! " 
 
 I pointed to a mirror across the room. 
 
 " There ; that is the picture / would 
 paint. May I ?" She smiled. 
 
 "Yes, if you think it worth while." 
 
 How feeble are one s efforts to por 
 tray such an impression. I suppose it 
 is because the imagination is so vivid 
 that any touch of the brush is but an 
 impotent attempt to reproduce the feel 
 ings of the heart. 
 
 But what appears worst at the hour of 
 creation is often one s best work. Yes, 
 at moments the torturing pains of labor 
 seem unbearable, but when the child of 
 one s imagination is born the living 
 image of one s inner heart the suffer 
 ing is forgotten in the ecstacy of suc 
 cess. 
 
 How little a Philistine knows about 
 an artist s heart.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 1/5 
 
 We artists sympathize with all the 
 world. The simplest impressions give 
 us pleasure. It may be only the 
 shadow of a cloud on sheep-nibbled 
 turf, but some day it will come forth in 
 our work. Then others feel a part of 
 what we have felt ourselves. 
 
 But what is our art ? 
 
 Our admirers flatter themselves that 
 we painters offer them the true essence 
 of nature. They think we have ex 
 tracted the pith and thrown away the 
 chaff. But what of the subtle effects of 
 light, which no brush could produce? 
 What of our desperate struggles with 
 "the untranslatable in nature?" 
 
 I remember one day in particular, 
 when I was at work on Dorothy s por 
 trait. 
 
 I was alone, subduing here, intensify 
 ing there. The balmy air of a June 
 day floated softly through an open win-
 
 176 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 dow. A vase of roses at my side ex 
 haled a fragrant odor of spring. From 
 time to time a fleecy cloud passed 
 before the sun, and the warm light was 
 changed to shadow, while the distant 
 rumble of wheels upon the cobbles of 
 the street below, reminded me of the 
 grimy, surging city I longed to forget. 
 I stopped to gaze at my work. How 
 lifeless the picture seemed to me. I 
 had attempted to describe her features, 
 and had made nothing but a strained 
 and poorly colored academical draw 
 ing. The fear of not doing justice had 
 made me write down every detail of her 
 face with equal emotion. Why had I 
 not left untold some of those unneces 
 sary details, and why had I not striven 
 to express the delicate freshness of her 
 skin, the mobile expression of her lips 
 and eyes? Why had I not left some 
 nervous touches unsubdued? Shall I 
 never know when to stop, instead of 
 spoiling by finnicky touches all the
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 177 
 
 inspired modelling of my interpreta 
 tion? 
 
 How often have I caught a wonder 
 ful brilliancy an inexpressible bril 
 liancy of the eyes, and by attempting 
 to complete certain details, lost all life? 
 
 I saw, then, that the living portraits of 
 Sargent s dashing brush would lose all 
 quality if he added the dreamy touch 
 of Fantin-Latour. One cannot in one 
 picture be a Franz Hals and a Greuze. 
 Certainly I had not chosen the right 
 technical expression for a face like 
 Dorothy s; but where was my skill, 
 where were the daring touches with 
 which I paint men? 
 
 The social success of my portraits of 
 women had carried me away on the 
 smooth but vividless waves of Mievrerie. 
 
 In an hour Dorothy would come, I 
 must try to give form to my work try 
 to soften her eyes and subdue the hard 
 ness of the line of the lips and the nos 
 trils. 
 
 12
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 As I cannot make her live I must try 
 to make her dream. I will try I must 
 try. 
 
 Yes, I despised what I had done 
 despaired for what I could not do. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. 
 
 " Come in;" I cried gruffly, too out 
 of patience with myself to be polite. 
 
 I glanced up. 
 
 Dorothy was standing in the open 
 door. She was smiling, and her dark 
 spirited eyes glistened under the brim 
 of a large hat, with bobbing ostrich 
 plumes and glittering ornaments of 
 steel. 
 
 She wore a simple dress of crinkled 
 grey which hung in graceful folds. The 
 sleeves, with cuffs of lace, were full, and 
 there was a dash of something black 
 about the waist. Around the neck was 
 a pleated collar of heliotrope velvet, 
 which blended with the softness of the 
 grey. 
 
 No, I never forget a dress. If paint-
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 1 79 
 
 ing fails me I shall become a dress 
 maker. 
 
 " May I come in ? " asked Dorothy 
 hesitatingly. " I m an hour too early, 
 hut I was obliged to be down town, and 
 I thought you might n t object to a 
 longer sitting." 
 
 "Come in, if you don t mind beard 
 ing a very disagreeable brute in his den." 
 
 " You look docile enough," she re 
 plied. " I think I 11 risk it. But why 
 are you a brute ? " 
 
 "I m tremendously out of sorts. It s 
 one of my blue days, I suppose. My 
 work is hopelessly bad ; yards and yards 
 of canvas covered for the benefit of 
 nobody but the colorman." 
 
 "You don t deserve your success, 
 Guy," she said, advancing into the room. 
 
 " Success ! The greatest of us artists 
 are but pigmies beside our feelings. 
 We can never realize our highest con 
 ceptions. What is the use of working ?" 
 
 " For the satisfaction of doing some-
 
 ISO TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 thing," she replied, glancing over my 
 shoulder at the portrait. 
 
 " What do you think of it ?" I asked. 
 I was in a mood to accept any criticism. 
 
 " Are n t you finishing too much ? 
 Why do n t you aim more for color than 
 drawing ; why don t you leave your 
 brush marks ?" 
 
 I glanced up astonished. The keen 
 ness of her criticism startled me. In a 
 word this girl had pointed out the prin 
 cipal defect of my work. 
 
 " Too much detail," Viraut used to 
 say. "Put in more passion; remember 
 Franz Hals." 
 
 " Where did you learn so much ? " I 
 said in surprise. " Go on." 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 "There is something more; tell me." 
 
 "Oh, I don t know," she said; "I 
 only thought that your drawing used to 
 be looser and gave more life to some of 
 your former work. I thought that one 
 of your pictures showed a greater love
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. l8l 
 
 for color. In my portrait you seem to 
 be laboring too much with detail and 
 neglect the general effect." 
 
 " The idea of your being in the slums. 
 Don t you know you have the instinct 
 of a true colorist." 
 
 " A useless gift, when I can t paint 
 anything but miserable little sketches. 
 I have no confidence in myself. Be 
 sides, by going into the slums I rid 
 the world of another dejected artist. 
 While I create nothing, I have nothing 
 to despise." 
 
 " I shan t parry that shaft," I said. 
 " Its aim is too true. Come, let us begin 
 the sitting." 
 
 Dorothy seated herself on the model- 
 throne, and resting her head against 
 one hand, assumed the thoughtful 
 pose of the picture. The spirited light 
 faded from the eyes. Her glance be 
 came calm and soulful. I studied her 
 face carefully. 
 
 " It s no use," I exclaimed. " I
 
 1 82 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 should like to burn this wretched can 
 vas. I m in no mood for work." 
 
 " If only I could paint like you ;" she 
 said reproachfully. 
 
 " You are much better off. You feel 
 without the torment of failing." 
 
 "You ought to starve in a garret, 
 Guy. You are ungrateful." 
 
 " Merely because I am dissatisfied 
 with my work ; would you prefer to 
 have me complacent ? " 
 
 "No, but I wish you would accept 
 yourself at the world s value." 
 
 " What does that amount to ? The 
 world is nothing but a huge bargain 
 counter where the ignorant trade. If a 
 man wants to be taken up he has merely 
 to become an oddity, and mark himself 
 in glaring figures." 
 
 " Oddity in art is sometimes original 
 ity. If I were an artist I should not 
 object to being the fashion." 
 
 " Fashion to-day is oblivion to-mor 
 row."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 183 
 
 " Then work for posterity." 
 
 "A poor solace for lifetime failure." 
 
 She burst out laughing. " You first 
 abuse your fashionable success, and 
 then despise future appreciation. How 
 thoroughly inconsistent!" 
 
 " I know it. That is the trouble with 
 painters. We have a hundred hearts 
 instead of one; each with its separate 
 longing. Oh, well, the greater our 
 sympathy, the deeper our conception of 
 nature. Turn your head a little to the 
 left, please. There! Don t move for 
 a moment." 
 
 " If you always paint according to 
 your feelings, Guy," she laughed, "you 
 must be using lots of blue. Take care, 
 my stockings may be that color, but it 
 does n t extend to my nose." 
 
 " I am quite aware of that. You are 
 too intricate to be painted in one hue. 
 You are what we artists call a beautiful 
 disorder." 
 
 " What impertinence," she said
 
 1 84 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 resentfully. " An explanation is the 
 least apology you can offer." 
 
 " Please, I beg you again, do n t 
 move your head." 
 
 " I 11 be quiet myself, but I shan t 
 promise to keep my temper quiet. "A 
 beautiful disorder I like that!" 
 
 "You don t understand," I said 
 apologetically. " A well regulated girl 
 of position might discuss art and 
 poetry with the fluency of an attentive 
 parrot, and dress with the taste of a 
 Parisian dressmaker; she might even 
 dabble in the occult for the purpose 
 of adding a dash of mystery to her flir 
 tation, but she would know nothing 
 about dynamics or Greek roots, and 
 philanthropy would be merely a big 
 word in the dictionary." 
 
 I admired that quick play of indig 
 nation in her glance. Dorothy cannot 
 dissimulate. Her soul speaks through 
 her eyes. 
 
 " So you think I ought to be a lay
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 185 
 
 figure for French dressmakers to show 
 their wares upon. You wish I had a 
 rubber ball sort of heart, capable of 
 bounding back into shape after every 
 impression a plaything for men." 
 
 " I wish I could paint you with that 
 angry expression the fire in the eyes 
 the color in the cheeks. It is stun 
 ning." 
 
 " I won t be abused, Guy; I won t 
 have it." 
 
 "There! I ought to begin another 
 picture with an imperious pose, and 
 that indignant look." 
 
 She burst out laughing. " I never 
 know when I am being chaffed until it 
 is too late." 
 
 " How delightfully feminine you are 
 after all!" 
 
 "After all." 
 
 " Yes, you are not like other girls. 
 You never talk about your flirtations." 
 
 " It is a woman s duty to be amusing. 
 Shall I talk about yours ? "
 
 1 86 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 " Do n t misjudge me," I exclaimed 
 hastily. " I am ready to join battle 
 on any issue. Shall it be art, science 
 or religion? A Frenchman once said 
 that without those there would be 
 nothing in the world but appetites 
 and affairs." 
 
 " Did he mean love affairs ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 "No, love is not an affair; it is an 
 art." 
 
 " Men make it an artifice," she re 
 plied sharply. 
 
 " It all depends upon the lover. An 
 artist s love is the purest art, because it 
 is sincere and inspired." 
 
 "Nonsense! Men are all alike. Your 
 love is a dress up affair for moments of 
 leisure. You do n t let it bother you 
 during business hours, but keep it fold 
 ed up carefully like your evening clothes, 
 to be taken out when you wish to be 
 amused." 
 
 " You are fortunate in being able to
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 187 
 
 ticket man s love so readily. How 
 about a woman s?" 
 
 "Alas! The love of women! it is 
 known to be a lovely and a fearful 
 thing! " 
 
 " Given when least valued, denied 
 when most desired," I added. 
 
 She looked at me thoughtfully. "We 
 are both becoming cynical, Guy. Cyn 
 icism is only a cheap disguise for a bad 
 temper." 
 
 I smiled. " Rather say optimism is 
 merely a synonym for self-sufficiency." 
 
 " Guy, how dare you? You know I 
 have told you repeatedly that I am an 
 optimist." 
 
 " I should think the only reliable 
 partisan of that creed must be one who 
 having loved and lost had lived to win 
 and love another. The judgment of 
 such a one would at least be impartial." 
 
 "So you doubt my sincerity?" 
 
 " No, I am merely ignorant of your 
 experience."
 
 1 88 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 "As to that I can say frankly that I 
 have never been in love." 
 
 Her eyes met ray doubtful glance and 
 turned away slowly. She smiled nerv 
 ously, I thought. Did she speak the 
 truth? I asked myself. 
 
 " But you have theories about love," 
 I said finally. 
 
 " I suppose the inexperienced always 
 have," she replied. " For my part, I 
 believe love must be community of taste 
 and sentiment. Based on anything else 
 it would be merely infatuation." 
 
 "Yes," I said, feelingly. " Infatua 
 tion is a poison we all taste, but love is 
 the rare antidote few ever discover in 
 time." 
 
 She clasped her hands about her 
 knees and gazed at the floor thought 
 fully. The dark eyes, partly closed by 
 their white lids, were dreamy and spir 
 itual; there was a touch of sadness in 
 the delicate line of her lips. I felt that 
 as an artist I might idealize Dorothy s
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 189 
 
 face as my conception of the Madonna; 
 but as a lover 
 
 " Guy ! " she said, abruptly. " It just 
 occurred to me that one s heart is a sort 
 cf crucible where the qualities of one s 
 nature are continuously combining like 
 chemicals." 
 
 " What a material remark to make 
 with such an ideal expression. I thought 
 you were at least soaring on empyrean 
 clouds, yet, I suppose a woman s eyes 
 are always a mask for her emotions. 
 However, I wish you would explain your 
 chemistry of the heart." 
 
 "Why, when compassion, sympathy 
 and inclination blend, love is the result. 
 If resentment is added jealousy is the 
 reaction, and a few molecules of irri 
 tation turn the whole mixture into 
 fury." 
 
 "But who does the mixing ? " 
 "The other person, I suppose." 
 " I fear your ideas of love are not as 
 reliable as your knowledge of art."
 
 1 90 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 "You have instructed me in art," she 
 said maliciously. 
 
 " I am equally proficient in the other; 
 may I instruct you in that also? " 
 
 Our eyes met accidentally. 
 
 " It would be such a pity to spoil 
 friendship," she laughed. " After all it 
 is the only real solace in life." 
 
 " Friendship is not a solace," I said 
 bitterly ; " it is merely a sophistry ; it 
 only begs the question of love." 
 
 She did not answer. For a moment 
 it may have been an hour I painted 
 in silence. 
 
 "There!" I exclaimed suddenly; 
 "You have made me forget myself, and 
 I think I have saved the picture. 
 Please do n t let me touch it again." 
 
 In the wildest moments of my pas 
 sionate love for Moira, I was never free 
 from the thought of danger. I swam 
 with the torrent of my feelings, unable
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. IQI 
 
 to turn and stem the current, but cer 
 tain that I was borne on to destruction. 
 
 Then the gentle, satisfactory love for 
 Dorothy calmed my heart, and it 
 seemed that I had reached a cool, 
 delightful mere where I might float 
 dreamily to the end of time. There 
 were no hidden rocks and dangerous 
 eddies there. 
 
 But behind me were the rapids I had 
 passed, and before me I heard the 
 sullen roar of a cataract. 
 
 At moments I longed to feel the rush 
 of waters against my breast. 
 
 But I held back. Dorothy herself 
 sent me to danger. 
 
 To-night the perilous fascination 
 mounted to my brain ; it maddened 
 me. 
 
 Can I think clearly now ? Shall I 
 yield ? It means the end of everything. 
 
 I wish I could forget Moira s eyes. 
 There they are, tormenting, tantalizing. 
 
 And to-morrow
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 I cannot think about to-morrow. 
 Better the past. 
 
 Yes, that was a heavenly hour on the 
 lagoons an unforgettable hour. We 
 were alone together in the gondola, and 
 around us was that summer night. 
 The waves lapping the prow, rocked us 
 lazily, dreamily. Over the black water 
 darted the graceful craft, impelled 
 mysteriously, as though by a phantom 
 hand. A gleaming paper dragon flut 
 tered at the bow; along the dark stretch 
 of the lagoon myriad fairy lamps glis 
 tened at the water s edge, and every 
 where a flood of pallid light fell on the 
 miraculous forms of giant palaces, 
 standing white and marvelous against 
 the blackness of the night. Here a 
 dome etched in fire ; there a fountain 
 misty white ; then purple, orange, green, 
 spreading its hazy veil before the 
 gnome-like crowds which hovered on
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 193 
 
 the banks marvelling like ourselves. 
 Over the waters floated the dreamy 
 strains of music ; out of the night 
 glided spirit-ships, mellow with the 
 light of lanterns, mirthful . with the 
 songs of Venice. Then crimson fire 
 curled into the night, shedding its 
 eerie glow upon the magic city ; 
 and, hissing, squirming like a nest of 
 serpents, a flight of rockets shot up 
 wards from behind the peristyle, 
 spreading their fiery tails against the 
 sky, then bursting in a nebula of stars. 
 
 The gondolier ceased rowing; we 
 drifted slowly with the waves. Dorothy s 
 head fell listlessly against the high back 
 of the seat ; her hand, beryl-like in the 
 dim light of lanterns, rested on the 
 neck of a brazen sea horse. 
 
 I watched the faint play of lights in 
 her dark eyes, the deep defining shadows 
 of her face ; then as we floated on past 
 some mammoth portico where torches 
 flamed, her delicate profile, white 
 
 13
 
 194 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 against a vivid stretch of water, was 
 like inlaid silver in a mass of beaten 
 gold. 
 
 Her dreamy eyes looked into mine. 
 " I never understood the word heavenly 
 before ;" she said. 
 
 "Nor I, Love," I whispered half 
 under my breath. 
 
 She turned away slowly, as though she 
 had not understood. I did not mean to 
 speak. The quiet tone with which 
 those words passed my lips startled me. 
 I felt no anxious thrill as when I spoke 
 to Moira. Could this be love? 
 
 We drifted on in silence. My hand 
 touched hers. For a moment she 
 returned the pressure, then, with a 
 frightened movement drew her hand 
 away. Our eyes met. My lips opened 
 to speak. 
 
 "No, Guy," she said. "Let us 
 dream to-night. "
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 1 95 
 
 Then the weeks rolled by with the 
 tender sympathy of that moment un 
 broken. We met with the frequency of 
 lovers but never a word of love. Our 
 talk was of art and nature, and in our 
 common passion for the beautiful we 
 found the expression of our love. 
 
 Dreamy, enchanting love, it seemed 
 to me, for it lacked the reality of an 
 other passion. I missed the pulse beats. 
 
 And yet I loved. 
 
 Yes, a new sensation of strange and 
 subtile delicacy was in my heart, but 
 my soul was not stirred as by the touch 
 of Moira s lips. A thousand times I 
 asked myself the question : Is this 
 new-born love all satisfying? 
 
 After to-night I dare not answer. 
 
 How clearly Dorothy read my 
 thoughts. Perhaps she was right in not 
 trusting implicitly to time, but had she 
 remained at Hallim Hall I might not 
 have spoken at least not until I had 
 seen Moira. But that visit to Dorothy s
 
 196 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 Wisconsin country home was it only 
 last week? Time is unconscionable 
 we were alone with nature then. 
 
 That hour by the woodside, when the 
 shadows deepened on the turf and we 
 sat together watching the crimson sun- 
 disk fade behind the line of purple hills. 
 It was then that I saw love flutter in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Dare I tell her?" I asked myself. 
 
 But love cannot dream eternally ; 
 that very evening it awoke. 
 
 We left the stifling house and walked 
 alone into the night. Under the shad 
 owy trees we stood gazing at the sleep 
 ing lake. The winds were still, and 
 fleecy clouds hung motionless among 
 the trees; sweet country vapors scented 
 the air, and about our thoughts was 
 woven the mysterious spell of silence. 
 
 Then a night breeze fluttered over the 
 water, and the white fire of the moon 
 burning through the clouds shed its 
 light on the face beside me.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 197 
 
 Her eyes met mine, and the tender 
 ness of their glance thrilled me. It 
 was a thrill of pride, of possession. 
 
 I touched the softness of a dress. 
 
 "Dorothy !" I called impulsively. 
 
 She looked at me tremblingly. One 
 moment, and she was in my arms, obedi 
 ent to the summons of my soul to hers. 
 The soft fragrant hair touched my face, 
 and the tremor of " lips which never 
 knew to kiss before " told me the love 
 I had awakened. 
 
 " I love you, Dorothy, I love you." 
 
 She threw her arms about my neck. 
 "Oh, can I believe it!" she cried. 
 
 "My darling," I said ; "till to-night 
 I have never lived." 
 
 "And to-morrow?" 
 
 "There can be no to-morrow to my 
 love." 
 
 I saw doubt in her glance. Her eye 
 grew sad and thoughtful. I kissed hei 
 The lips were cold ; gently she dret 
 away
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 "Oh, Guy," she said, taking my 
 hands and holding them in a close 
 grasp ; " I wish I could forget your 
 voice that night at Hallim Hall, when 
 you spoke of her, that look in your 
 eyes. A woman who loves is never mis 
 taken. Have you ceased to care for 
 her?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And if you were to see her?" 
 
 "It is over dead." I trembled 
 as one trembles at the thought of 
 danger. 
 
 " Guy," she said sadly ; " if you 
 should meet her some day and find out 
 that you had made a terrible mistake it 
 would kill me. I must know; you must 
 go to her." 
 
 " It is over. Believe me." 
 
 " You must go to her. If you love 
 her you are free. Go to her and 
 and come back if you can." 
 
 Forgive me, Dorothy, I was a coward 
 beside you then. Your love was as
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. I-Q9 
 
 floating wreckage to a drowning sailor. 
 It meant salvation. 
 
 " I love you with my whole life," she 
 said ; " but I must have all your love 
 all." 
 
 Even then the vision of another face 
 was faintly in my thoughts, and, cow- 
 ardlike, I temporized. 
 
 " Do n t send me to her," I said ; 
 " that love is dead, believe me, it is. It 
 would be useless and painful to her, 
 perhaps." 
 
 She looked full into my eyes. 
 
 " Go," she answered ; " and remem 
 ber you are free to do as you will." 
 
 I kissed her. 
 
 " I will not go, " I cried. 
 
 " You must." 
 
 " Some time, somehow you will come 
 back, I believe it ;" she said. 
 
 What confidence was in her heart 
 that night. 
 
 And how unmerited. 
 
 Yet as I stood there in the moon-
 
 200 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 light with Dorothy, I had no fear. I 
 loved her with a purer love than I had 
 ever known. She was my ideal. 
 
 What hope is there now after to 
 night? 
 
 Oh Moira ! Moira ! dare I meet your 
 eyes again your lips? 
 
 And yet I do not love you. 
 
 No! a thousand times no! it is not 
 love. 
 
 But should your white arms coil 
 round my neck, should your soft hair 
 fall about my shoulders 
 
 My God ! am I a man? 
 
 I am free to choose. My duty is to 
 choose. 
 
 Is not the choice already made? Can 
 I go back to Dorothy after to-night? 
 What could I tell her? 
 
 That my reason loves her : that my 
 heart that my heart beat with mad 
 dening throbs beneath the gaze of 
 another s eyes. 
 
 Oh Dorothy ! how you would despise
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 2OI 
 
 me even while your heart was break 
 ing. 
 
 And yet 
 
 This room is stifling. I want air. 
 Here I have been sitting through the 
 sultry night with the windows closed. 
 
 How silent the sleeping city. 
 
 Beyond the shadowy park the first 
 ray of morning gleams on the water of 
 the harbor. White, then red, flash the 
 beacons ; the pigmy lights of the 
 anchored yachts glisten faintly, and be 
 yond the black line of breakwater 
 slumbering Michigan lies, calm and 
 silvery in the dawning light. Lake and 
 sky blend in a bank of purple mist ; 
 light, fleecy clouds float spirit -like 
 among the stars and across the faint 
 blue heavens is a glow of orange light. 
 Another day is breaking. 
 
 Another day to many the worst, to 
 some the last of life and to me?
 
 202 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 "To-morrow you may come back, 
 but it must be for always. There must 
 be no other woman." 
 
 Dorothy ! Dorothy ! 
 
 I cannot think of you I dare not. 
 
 How bright that morning star glistens 
 there above the bridge. 
 
 The dark clouds float across the 
 sky. Over the burnished water glance 
 rays of golden light: the sky is deeper 
 blue, and there a tinge of greenish yel 
 low blends with the reddish light which 
 glows above the fog bank. 
 
 What soft, exquisite harmony of color. 
 
 Ah, nature ! what are you? 
 
 A multiplication of things, that is all! 
 leaves, grass, trees, water, sky; yet I see 
 in you symbols of my thoughts. You 
 are no longer things but friends who 
 speak a language I alone can under 
 stand. 
 
 The shadowy grass grows mossy green, 
 patches of crimson light gleam upon the 
 placid lake, sharp and clear is the line
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 20$ 
 
 of the horizon against the purple cloud 
 of mist. The smoke from a chim 
 ney floats mournfully over the water, 
 half obscuring the distant forest of 
 masts. 
 
 Birds twitter beneath my window. 
 
 Those ripples which dance across the 
 lake; the freshening breeze creates them; 
 they appear and disappear in the in 
 finite waste whence they came. A 
 moment, that is all. What else is life? 
 An illusion, a phantom, a dream of the 
 great God Pan, whose being is all 
 nature. 
 
 Now the sky glows vivid crimson, 
 and through the mist a flood of golden 
 light streams across the lake. The sun- 
 king is awake and, casting off his cover 
 let of royal purple, he glances in daz 
 zling splendor upon his realm of day. 
 
 In welcoming clamor the stormy ac 
 clamations of his subjects break forth. 
 An engine hisses, hoofs clatter on the 
 cobble stones, bells clang and piping
 
 204 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 shrill the voice of vagabond humanity 
 proclaims the spirit of the day. "Mor- 
 in paprees Morin paprees." 
 
 The city is awake. 
 
 "To-morrow you may come back, but 
 it must be for always." 
 
 That to-morrow has dawned. 
 
 " There must be no other woman."
 
 IV. 
 
 Who is it can read a woman? " 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 IHERE is a saloon at the corner 
 of the alley and colored lights 
 shine among the bottles in the window. 
 Down the dark passage a lantern burns 
 above a narrow battered door, where I 
 read the words "Stage Entrance." The 
 cobbles glisten at my feet; walls rise 
 into the night, and beyond is darkness, 
 gloomy, impenetrable. 
 
 A girl brushes past me. Her hands 
 are in the pockets of a light grey jacket; 
 she walks with a quick swing and dis 
 appears through the stage door. 
 
 I take a step into the alley then 
 hesitate. 
 
 Mechanically I turn and gaze into the 
 205
 
 2O6 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 window of the saloon. Above the rows 
 of bottles and demijohns is a mirror in 
 which my own face is reflected. How 
 startling one s face is at times. Those 
 dark lines under the eyes. Yes, I was 
 up all night thinking, thinking and to 
 what end? 
 
 Well, I cheated sleep, which is better 
 than cheating myself. 
 
 So that is the face with which I try to 
 impose upon the world. Yes, I, myself, 
 whatever I be, go about under that 
 mask, and I wonder how many other 
 fools see the fool behind it. Ah, well, 
 every fool thinks he is a philosopher, 
 and every philosopher must know he is 
 a fool, because the more he knows the 
 less he knows he knows; and the only 
 thing I know is that I am wretched and 
 hate that face in the glass yonder. 
 
 "By Jove! Moira s picture! Pythian 
 Theatre. Two weeks, commencing Mon 
 day, September 20th." 
 
 " Can I never get away from your
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 207 
 
 beautiful, wicked face? Ah, Moira, I 
 must see you again." 
 
 Yes, you are well placed among the 
 bottles and the demijohns. 
 
 The road to ruin. 
 
 You will make the running fast 
 enough, Moira; it will soon be over. 
 
 Do you care for that man Kildale, I 
 wonder or for anyone but yourself. 
 
 I won t look at you. 
 
 Bottles! bottles! rows of them. " Old 
 Cutter Whiskey," " Clark s Rye," " G. 
 H. Mumm & Co., Rheims," " Old Tom 
 Gin." I shall choose gin to end it all. 
 There is a drunken ring to the word 
 it would make a beast of one sooner. 
 
 I am restless, desperate. It is the 
 darkness and the lights. I should like 
 to do some evil thing it is the brute 
 in me. 
 
 How easy it would be to grab that old 
 fellow s watch and cut down the alley. 
 A hue and a cry, " Stop thief ! Police!" 
 a dash for liberty, and then well it
 
 208 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 would be exciting, and for the moment 
 I should forget. 
 
 God! how I hate myself. 
 
 Success, happiness, love all for the 
 glance of a woman s eyes. Imbecility, 
 gone mad and yet ever since last 
 night Oh, I can t help it, I must see 
 her again. 
 
 Will nothing stop me? Dorothy, 
 where are you to-night? Look at me; 
 save me. 
 
 No. 
 
 "You must go to her; if you love her 
 you are free." 
 
 I saw her last night, Dorothy and 
 is it not my duty to see her and know 
 the truth forever ? 
 
 Shall I go? 
 
 Of course I am going. The sooner it 
 is done the sooner it is over. 
 
 Why do I walk so stealthily and 
 tremble ? 
 
 "A card from the manager, all right; " 
 mumbles the stage doorkeeper.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 20Q 
 
 Why did n t he stop me? I wish he 
 had. 
 
 And so I stumble through this dark 
 passage, and up this flight of tortuous 
 steps to the stage. It is fate I suppose. 
 Kismet, the Turks would say; and yet I 
 might have changed it all. 
 
 There was a time when I was fasci 
 nated by such a scene as this. Mysteri 
 ous figures skulking through the gloom 
 in the wings; tawdry dressed chorus 
 people huddled under a flaring gas jet; 
 the leer of painted women it disgusts 
 me to-night. 
 
 Here in the right entrance I shall be 
 out of harm s way. 
 
 A street in Tunis I should call this 
 setting. Oriental houses with draperies 
 and hanging balconies a mosque, a 
 French cafe", and at the back the blue 
 Mediterranean with a fleet of warships 
 at anchor all painted with great ugly 
 iaubs of paint. 
 
 I am glad I am not a chorus girl to 
 14
 
 210 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 be pulled about and sworn at by that 
 ruffian of a stage manager. 
 
 Is Moira dressed yet, I wonder? 
 Shall I rap at her door? No, I will 
 wait. 
 
 What a cowardly fool I am. 
 
 By Jove ! that girl peeping through 
 the curtain is pretty. What dainty lit 
 tle hands and feet. That Turkish cos 
 tume is becoming too, with the gold 
 embroidered cap caught on her yellow 
 curls. 
 
 And there comes a big turbaned 
 brute, who lays his coarse, dirty hand 
 on her little waist, and they walk off 
 arm in arm. Well, I envy those chorus 
 people. Contrition is the penalty we 
 pay conventionality. When one is with 
 out the social pale, there is no fear to 
 masquerade as conscience. 
 
 " Hello Wharton ! where did you 
 come from?" 
 
 A French chasseur is at my elbow. 
 Under the grease-paint and dragoon
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 2 1 I 
 
 mustachios, I recognize Herbert Dar- 
 ington, tenor of the Frivolity Opera 
 Company. 
 
 " Why Darington, how are you," I 
 say, as I take his hand. 
 
 " So, so ; this touring the provinces 
 does n t agree with me the climate ; I 
 shall have pneumonia if I stay in Chi 
 cago a week." 
 
 " If a tenor could n t find fault he 
 would n t be a tenor." 
 
 " I 11 let that pass if you will follow 
 me. I ve got a pint bottle hid away to 
 give me a bracer before I go on." 
 
 " Very well, anything for a change." 
 
 "Just look at the stuff they have piled 
 in my room," he says, pointing to a 
 heap of theatrical rubbish stowed away 
 at one end of the three cornered apart 
 ment. " They might as well put me in 
 the property room and be done with it. 
 I ve only got one glass, such as it is; 
 you take it and I 11 drink out of the 
 bottle," and he draws the cork and
 
 212 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 pours the sparkling wine into an old 
 jelly tumbler. 
 
 " By the way," I say, as I take a seat 
 on an iron bound trunk, labelled "Friv 
 olity Opera Co., Theatre ; " "I hear 
 you are leaving at the end of the sea 
 son." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Doesn t the management treat you 
 well?" 
 
 " Yes but " 
 
 " You want to star? " 
 
 "No well, you won t mind my 
 speaking out now you ve quit her. But 
 Marston, well she thinks a tenor exists 
 merely for her to hang her voice on. 
 Temper a madhouse isn t in it with 
 her." 
 
 "You surprise me." 
 
 "You ought to know," he says with 
 an insinuating tone which irritates me. 
 
 "We never quarreled," I replied 
 sharply. 
 
 " Oh, you need n t get angry, old
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 213 
 
 man ; I m not the only sufferer, she 
 drove Vance out of the company six 
 months ago." 
 
 " I should think Ledger would put 
 the screws on." 
 
 "Ledger Why she owns him." 
 
 "Does she?" 
 
 "Where have you been?" he asks 
 with an incredulous smile. 
 
 I drain my glass in silence and put it 
 down among the sticks of grease-paint 
 and hare s feet. 
 
 " By Jove ! there goes the opening 
 chorus ;" says Darington. " I go on 
 directly, good bye." 
 
 I follow him as he swaggers off into 
 the wings ; his sabre clanking at his 
 heels ; his cap perched conceitedly on 
 his curly head. 
 
 A singer s conceit is in direct ratio to 
 the height of his voice. Bassos are 
 usually good fellows, and baritones of 
 ten endurable, but a tenor 
 
 Two little gloved hands close my
 
 214 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 eyes suddenly. There is an odor of 
 roses and a merry familiar laugh. 
 
 " Guy, you dear old reprobate, so you 
 are here, are you?" 
 
 " Moira," I cry, seizing both her 
 hands : "you knew I would come, you 
 knew it." 
 
 " Well, you need n t squeeze my 
 hands off." 
 
 " Oh, Moira." 
 
 " Let go, Guy, you re hurting me ; 
 there that s a dear." 
 
 " You bewitching creature ! " 
 
 She smiles. Her eyes are almost 
 tender. 
 
 I gaze into her face earnestly. 
 
 " Well, what do you think of me? 
 You ve looked at me long enough." 
 
 " You re almost perfect but well 
 you know I hate to see you in tights, it 
 cheapens you." 
 
 " Oh, no, it does n t. I get ten guin 
 eas a week more than I did in female 
 parts."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 215 
 
 "Well I don t like it." 
 
 " But the public does," she says with 
 an impudent toss of the head ; " and 
 I belong to the public." 
 
 " Moira, Moira, I do n t believe in 
 you, but I " 
 
 " Hush ! I must go on, that s my cue, 
 wait for me here." 
 
 There she goes. A thousand hands 
 applaud her. 
 
 Moira, you sorceress. You have them 
 spell bound too. But I adore you to 
 night. I adore you just as you are. 
 There s no one like you. Your little 
 feet with the glistening patent leather 
 boots, how daintily they keep time to 
 the music. How gracefully that white 
 cloak falls from the shoulders of that 
 blue chasseur coat; the little red cap and 
 the little gloved hands, and the flash 
 ing sabre and the clanking spurs, 
 and the grace and charm of it all ; who 
 could help being fascinated by such a 
 creature?
 
 2l6 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 But the paint and the powder, and 
 the vulgar chorus throng and the 
 publicity of it all. I hate it. 
 
 And that conceited beast Darington 
 holding her in his arms and pressing 
 his painted lips to hers. Yet I must 
 expect just that sort of thing night 
 after night. One pays dearly for a 
 certain kind of happiness. 
 
 " Marston is in great form to-night, 
 aint she ? " says Ledger, the vulgar 
 brute, at my elbow. 
 
 "Yes." I mutter. 
 
 "I tell you what it is, there s money 
 in legs. The receipts tumble twenty 
 quid a night when we put on a skirt 
 piece. But ta, ta; I must go in front." 
 
 That glance into the wings for Led 
 ger. How could she? " 
 
 There she comes at last. The 
 applause of countless hands ringing in 
 her ears. 
 
 "Three encores for my solo, Guy. 
 I never get less than two. That fool
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 21 7 
 
 Darington spoiled the duet. "Whew! 
 but my boot pinches. I must take it off. 
 Here, pull, Guy. There that s better. 
 
 She lays a hand on my shoulder to 
 steady herself, as she stands there hold 
 ing the wee bootless foot off the ground. 
 
 Our eyes meet. 
 
 " Guy, you re a dear to-night. Do 
 you love me a little ? " 
 
 " With all my heart and soul." 
 
 " My heart is too good for you, but 
 here s my soul," she laughs, slapping 
 my hand with the little boot. 
 
 " Be serious for once, Moira." 
 
 " I leave that for her. By the way, 
 did you see her to-day, did you tell her 
 here, give me that boot quick; I ve 
 got to go on steady me, you stupid; 
 there, my ! but it hurts. Good bye. 
 I m on till the end of the act. Meet 
 me on the other side ; I dress there." 
 
 She turns back and laughs: "Tell 
 me about her then," she whispers. 
 
 The little devil !
 
 21 8 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 One could endure unhappiness were 
 it not for the happiness of others. But 
 I have made my own bed and I must 
 lie in it. 
 
 I should like to walk boldly across 
 the stage. Imagine the consternation I 
 would create. On second thought I 
 will squeeze myself behind the blue 
 Mediterranean and the war ships. 
 
 I wonder if I can do it without agi 
 tating the waves unduly? 
 
 I ll risk it. 
 
 Lamps, carpets, divans, nargilehs 
 a mess of everything. It is too crowded 
 on this side. I can t stay here. That 
 entrance next the stage manager is the 
 best place for me. 
 
 "May I stand here, Mr. Hopkins?" 
 
 " Umph," he grunts without taking 
 his eyes from the stage. 
 
 Silently I watched the changing pic 
 ture on the stage. 
 
 Thirty painted women and not one 
 lovable face ; yet Moira is there.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 2IQ 
 
 "Watch Marston look at that new sou- 
 brette ; there s a devil of a row on be 
 tween them two," grunts the autocrat 
 at my side. 
 
 "What sup?" 
 
 "Jealousy. Marston s getting too 
 bloomin free with that tongue of hers. 
 If she aint careful I 11 give her such a 
 talking to as she never had." Then he 
 curses beneath his breath at some delin 
 quent chorus girl. 
 
 " Watch the new grouping in this 
 finale. It s immense. Took me a fort 
 night to work it up." 
 
 The fiddles screech ; a flood of light, 
 white, green, then red, changes the taw 
 dry dresses chameleon like ; and amid 
 swaying heads and waving arms the 
 great curtain slowly falls. A round of 
 applause, louder, louder it swells, an 
 other tableau, then when the act drop 
 thuds upon the boards the little satin 
 slippered feet of principals and chorus 
 girls scamper towards the dressing
 
 220 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 rooms, and stage hands scuffling, shout 
 ing, cursing, demolish the street of 
 Tunis. 
 
 Moira, flushed with another triumph, 
 hurries off the stage, bearing in her lit 
 tle arms a huge bouquet of roses. 
 
 " The piece is going splendidly, Guy. 
 The house was cold at first, but I woke 
 them up." 
 
 " As you always do." 
 
 "Yes, there is no life like it." 
 
 " But I wish you would leave the 
 stage, Moira." 
 
 "And marry you ?" she laughs. 
 
 " Yes/ 
 
 " Think of me sitting in a chimney 
 corner with a lot of sprawling brats, or 
 even playing tame cat in the studio 
 while you paint it s absurd, Guy." 
 
 " Isn t there something better in life 
 than excitement? " 
 
 " Excitement Guy ! I could n t live 
 without it. No, I love this life more 
 than I could love you, or any man.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 22 i 
 
 There, I must hurry. You can come in 
 and see me when it is proper how ab 
 surd : but I must keep up appearances. 
 Parker here will tell you when I am 
 ready. And by the way, Parker, did 
 you get that brandy? Good bye, Guy." 
 
 Love is the devil. Yes, the devil. If 
 I shut my teeth and say I won t why 
 can t I stick to it. There is not a sin 
 gle lovable thing about that girl ex 
 cept her eyes and they torture. I hate 
 her. 
 
 Why does that soubrette look at me 
 so triumphantly? Perhaps she realizes 
 how becoming her pink and blue cos 
 tume is. Muriel d Ancona ! She was 
 Jane Brown in the chorus last year. She 
 has pretty eyes though, and plenty of 
 go. I will trust her to get on. 
 
 " Please, Mr. Wharton, Miss Marston 
 says you may come in now." 
 
 " Very well, Parker." 
 
 In a dingy little room, amid powder 
 puffs and rouge pots, Moira is hooking
 
 222 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 the collar of her dress. The delicate 
 pink and baby blue bodice, with huge 
 puffy sleeves and pointed tails has a 
 dash which suits her figure. The gas 
 light flares on her painted face. She 
 looks older. 
 
 "Don t stand there like a duffer, 
 Guy ; say something." 
 
 " About you, I suppose. You look 
 charming, as you always do." 
 
 " You are too dull to pay compli 
 ments to-night. Tell me about the 
 confiding little creature who has been 
 silly enough to fall in love with you. I 
 suppose she is pretty and simpers de 
 lightfully, and looks up into your face 
 with big dreamy eyes fairly watering 
 with love." 
 
 "All women are not like you." 
 
 "You are cross enough to eat my 
 head off, Guy. Perhaps I wrong her. 
 Perhaps she does n t simper and cuddle; 
 perhaps she throws her arms around you 
 and hugs. Does she? "
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 223 
 
 " I won t answer that." 
 
 " Then go and talk to some other 
 woman that Jane Brown with the 
 French name will take up with anything 
 in trousers." 
 
 " You seem to admire her taste in 
 clothes at least." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " You have a pink and blue gown 
 like hers." 
 
 "Nonsense." 
 
 "I just saw her leaving her dressing 
 room. I should think her gown was 
 turned out of the same mould as 
 yours." 
 
 "The cat !" 
 
 " Send for Mr. Hopkins, Parker." 
 
 She stamps the floor with her little 
 foot. 
 
 " How dare she, the little viper! The 
 impudence, the conceit of the thing; 
 what is she? A creature from the 
 streets ; the chorus was too good for 
 her, and now she dares "
 
 224 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 "Moira." 
 
 "Don t speak to me." 
 
 She paces the floor muttering words I 
 thought no woman would dare to speak. 
 
 The door opens, and Hopkins, pale 
 and frightened, skulks into the room. 
 
 " I shall not go on, Mr. Hopkins," 
 says Moira, her eyes flashing fire. 
 
 "But, Miss Marston." 
 
 "That prote ge e of yours, that Jane 
 Brown, dares wear a dress like mine. 1 
 shall not go on." 
 
 " But the stage is waitin , think of the 
 public." 
 
 " That for the public ! " she cries, 
 snapping her fingers contemptuously. 
 " That hussy must change her gown and 
 apologize." 
 
 "Now, Miss Marston," the fellow 
 pleads. " There aint time for er to 
 change. She has the stage. The or 
 chestra is back, the curtain goes up di 
 rectly. Now, just to please me, there s 
 a dear."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 225 
 
 " Do n t dear me," she cries sud 
 denly, throwing a silver hair brush at 
 the offending manager. Hopkins 
 dodges the missile. It strikes the door 
 and falls to the floor. A sickly smile 
 fades from his lip. 
 
 " Miss Marston," he says with more 
 firmness ; " the stage is waitin , unless 
 you are ready to go on, your under 
 study takes the part." 
 
 "Very well," she answers, with a shrug 
 of her shoulders; " I leave the company 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "The stage is waitin ." 
 
 " Unless that creature changes her 
 gown, I do not go on." 
 
 " The stage is waitin . I will give 
 you just two minutes," he replies, pull 
 ing an enormous watch from his pocket 
 by its massive gold chain. 
 
 " Where is Mr. Ledger ? " 
 
 " I manage the stage, Miss Marston." 
 
 "Parker, go find Mr. Ledger." 
 
 The maid departs. Moira seats hei-
 
 226 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 self before the glass and calmly smoothes 
 her hair. Hopkins paces the floor. 
 Finally he approaches her. 
 
 " Now, look here," he says in con 
 ciliatory tones, " what s the use of this 
 rumpus anyhow ? Miss d Ancona is in 
 the wrong, and I know it, but it can t 
 be helped. Let her wear the gown to 
 night, and you change yours. You 
 do n t go on at first, you know. I 11 
 dock her a week s salary if you will. 
 Now, do be reasonable." 
 
 " I demand an immediate apology 
 from her." 
 
 " Well, she won t give it," he mut 
 ters. 
 
 " Why not accept Mr. Hopkins pro 
 posal, just for the sake of harmony?" I 
 suggest. 
 
 She turns and looks at me, her eyes 
 flashing. " Mind your own business, 
 Guy." 
 
 There is a rap at the door. 
 
 " Come in," calls Moira.
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL 22? 
 
 The door opens and Ledger enters. 
 His studs glisten and his linen shines 
 more than usual, while through the open 
 door is wafted a nauseous odor of scent 
 and hair oil. 
 
 Moira glances up indifferently. 
 
 " I sent for you to say that I have 
 been grossly insulted by a chorus girl 
 your stage manager has seen fit to put 
 in the caste. Unless she apologizes or 
 is discharged immediately, I leave the 
 company. That is all." 
 
 She takes up a hand-glass and exam 
 ines her back hair. 
 
 Ledger looks nervously at Moira, then 
 at the stage manager. 
 
 " Come with me, Hopkins," he says, 
 "and find the girl. I will settle her in 
 short order." 
 
 Hopkins jams his hat on the side of 
 his head, and plunging his hands into 
 his pockets, follows his chief from the 
 room. Moira hums a tune and gazes 
 at herself in the mirror. There is a de-
 
 228 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 termined self-satisfied look in her eyes. 
 I pace the floor. A thousand incoher 
 ent thoughts rush through my brain. I 
 feel like one stunned. I cannot think 
 clearly. No, my nerves are too shat 
 tered. As I stand and look at that 
 woman, a feeling of repulsion, yes, of 
 hate, enters my heart. 
 
 How long is it? Five minutes, an 
 hour, I do not know. Ledger has re 
 turned. Hopkins skulks in the door 
 way. 
 
 The manager lays his hand on Moira s 
 shoulder. "It s all right, my dear. She 
 is discharged. The understudy has her 
 part." 
 
 Moira looks up and smiles. 
 
 " You are a dear, Harry," she says, 
 patting his cheek with her fan. 
 
 Hopkins looks at me despondently. 
 
 "There aint any discipline," he 
 whispers, "since Marston mashed the 
 guv nor."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 22Q 
 
 The performance is finished. I am 
 waiting for Moira. She is always the 
 last to leave the theatre. 
 
 By the light of a single gas jet, flick 
 ering near the property room, a stage 
 hand is sprinkling the dusty boards. 
 Bare, whitewashed walls loom prison- 
 like about me; here and there a pile of 
 scenery rests aslant against the sombre 
 bricks. Occasionally some thin-faced 
 actor with shabby hat and well worn 
 ulster steals from the dressing-rooms 
 above, or a hungry chorus girl with 
 little high heeled boots steps quickly 
 across the stage and disappears. 
 
 And why do I wait? To be tortured? 
 No, she no longer has that power over 
 me. I begin to know her at last. 
 
 How my steps creak on the deserted 
 stage. There s an open wicket in the 
 iron fire curtain; it might amuse me to 
 look at the empty theatre. 
 
 How huge and desolate it seems. 
 Through a distant door streams a flood
 
 23O TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 of light. All else is gloom. The rows 
 and rows of empty seats, the galleries 
 with Holland coverings guarding the 
 paint and gilt work; the silence and the 
 vastness of the place it is deathlike as 
 my thoughts. 
 
 Oh Dorothy, Dorothy ! dare I ask 
 forgiveness? 
 
 I can feel the strange shock of your 
 kiss, your soft fragrant hair touches my 
 face; then your lips grow cold; your 
 eyes reproach me. 
 
 That was a sad sweet moment. 
 
 I have seen her, Dorothy. That love 
 is dead; believe me, it is dead. I know 
 her at last. 
 
 Wake up, Guy ; I pinched you twice. 
 Are you asleep?" 
 
 " Moira!" 
 
 " Why, I actually believe you were 
 thinking about her," she laughs, drag 
 ging me away. " It is positively rude, 
 Guy." 
 
 " Yes, I was thinking, Moira."
 
 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 231 
 
 " Oh, come along, you stupid, there 
 is a horrible draught here, and you have 
 no right to think, unless it be charming 
 things to say to me." 
 
 Sullenly I follow her. 
 
 And I thought I loved that woman. 
 
 We reach the dark and tortuous step 
 leading to the alley. 
 
 " Hold me tight, Guy ; I do n t want 
 to fall." 
 
 Yes, I can place my arm about her 
 waist without one thrill and yet this 
 very night. But who can analyze the 
 vagaries of passion. I hate her now, 
 her vanity, her selfishness. The touch 
 of her hand seems tainted. 
 
 At the stage door a horse stands 
 nervously champing his bit. A broug 
 ham is waiting in the alley. 
 
 Silently I open the door. Moira 
 enters. 
 
 " Shut the door, Guy ; what are you 
 waiting for ? " 
 
 "I am not going, Moira."
 
 232 TWO WOMEN AND A FOOL. 
 
 Her eyes meet mine. " Who asked 
 you to come ? " 
 
 I gaze at her in amazement, for there 
 is a man in the brougham. By the 
 faint light of the carriage lamp I recog 
 nize his features. 
 
 It is d Argenteuil. 
 
 Moira laughs. 
 
 " Good night, Guy ; give my love to 
 Dorothy Temple." 
 
 THE END.
 
 THE PRINTING WAS DONE AT 
 THE LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, 
 FOR STONE * KIMBALL, PUB 
 LISHERS.
 
 Date Due