Chapter V

Several days went by before Clarinda recovered from the shock she had sustained during the conversation with her father and with Peter.

Clarinda made it a point never to disagree with Peter. She wanted to submerge herself in his moods and thoughts, to absorb his point of view. It was true that she often found Peter bombastic and egotistical and even foolish, but that did not alter her determination. Her observation of combative women, and to what end they came, was sure, and it meant always mental separation, so she determined to avoid this condition at whatever cost it might be to her own individuality. As he should go, so would she go.

When she had thought the matter over, she saw that she had been small, and decided that when they went to inspect the house she would assent to anything he would suggest.

Clarinda knew the house, and had often envied the people who had lived in it. It stood upon one of the most fashionable streets of the city. Surrounded by large gardens it stood alone on the top of a hill, with a wall running around its borders that kept away the gaze of the public.

It had been built but a few years, by a man who had made progress in his undertakings. He built it after plans he had long thought of, and in it he had placed his hopes. Within its four walls he wanted to pass a wonderful life and a long existence.

The forces that control, however, took no interest in his plans, and he and his family moved in, and in only a short time he was smitten with an illness and all that he had hoped for was buried in a few feet of earth.

This man who built the house was filled with ambition. He imagined as he walked through the halls and its decorated rooms, with his wife, that they would live long and he would have the opportunity of showing those whom he knew what the proper condition of life should be. These two sat in the marvelous rooms and wandered in its gardens and made their futile plans.

Success had twisted their perspective; and the woman’s perspective was even more badly twisted than the man’s.

Fate stood back of them in the shadows and laughed at them and their vain imaginings.

The servants whom they hired to do their bidding, grinned at their stupidity. They worked with secret grudgings in their hearts and stole from them with perfect equanimity. The man knew these things, but felt it was part of the price he had to pay.

In the world he was bowed down to and people he knew pointed their fingers at him and envied him his wealth and his big house. But fate came and crushed him. When he was gone fate went out of the doors to look for others to come into the house, and the place he had made for himself, and swept into its walls and gardens Clarinda and Peter.

Peter and Clarinda went in the front doors of the house of sorrow. The servants bowed and grinned. The clocks struck the hours with indifference, but Peter gloated. The automobile he had bought stood on the paved way. As they entered he handed Clarinda a deed for the place, and Clarinda smiled and kissed him. All the anger she had felt went from her heart. The newness of the place, its size compared with the flat, gave her pride just as it had Peter.

Peter took her through the rooms, and they passed from the hall into the parlors, then up the stairs into Clarinda’s apartments. In the middle of the room stood Clarinda’s little maid who gave assurance that all had not been swept away, that there was something to hold to. Peter’s joy was great. He babbled on without hindrance, and with pleasure took her into a tiny room just off the one they were in. There he had placed a divan, with a tall lamp behind it. In front of which was a fireplace, and on the irons lay wood ready to be lit.

Clarinda was pleased and she turned to Peter.

“It is very nice. Only, Peter, I am afraid it is too large. I don’t think I am going to like it as much as I did the flat.”

“Then you are not pleased that I bought it? Or is it because I joked with you?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I hate jokes, and I hate people who try them on me.”

“I am sorry, but try to be happy if you can. Forgive me this time, for I only wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” she said slowly.

“All right, never again,” he said finally.

The little maid rushed about the place, for she liked the grandeur of the fittings, and the extent of the spaces.

Clarinda examined the arrangements with care. She went into the rooms Peter had fixed for himself, and found that they were quite far from her own. She could not decide whether she liked this or not. Peter had always occupied the same room she had and it had worked very nicely.

She feared that a hiatus had come, and it would grow into a tolerance. Something new was creeping into her life, but she did not know whether it appealed to her or not in view of the dangers it concealed.

It was true in her father’s house that her father and mother occupied separate rooms, and when she thought it over she remembered that it had worked well. They had managed to be very comfortable, physically and mentally. It might after all be much nicer. Probably with this arrangement she could collect about her things she liked and Peter could do likewise. Then it was conceded to be more civilized, and it would redound to her comfort in the mornings as she could have the maid help her to dress.

Peter kept her moving from one part of the house to the other, then he led her into the kitchen. It was as big as the rest of the place. There were all kinds of contrivances just as her mother had them. As she entered she was greeted by a big person in a white apron and a cap on his square ill-looking head, who announced he was the chef.

Clarinda smiled as he bowed low before her, but it chilled her, for she knew her one delight was gone. No more would she be allowed to supervise what Peter ate. Never would she be allowed to dictate to the vegetable man, or the meat man, or the man who brought the eggs and the butter. Then a large person loomed out of the distance. A queer hard-faced person, who carried command in her manner, just such a person as Peter had described, who announced that she was the housekeeper.

Clarinda shrank back from all these, and a queer feeling went down her back. All these elaborate things that hung in festoons from the walls and hooks and this crowd of powerful servants scared her. She felt she had receded into the position of a marionette.

Quickly she drew Peter from the kitchen and went back by a hidden staircase to the little room with the tall lamp and the divan; for here Clarinda felt more at home.

Peter sat down in the corner of the divan and stretched his legs out in front of him. He was filled with a great complacency, as he pulled Clarinda down beside him. The tall lamp glowed behind them. The maid had lit the fire and the flames went up the chimney, just as they did in the flat.

“Well,” he asked, “how do you like the new nest I have got for you?”

Clarinda sat for a long time and made no answer. Her face was drawn into a knot. She was thinking seriously. However, she tucked herself into her place beside him and took his hand in hers and her eyes were half closed as she gazed steadily into the fire.

“Father is coming presently,” she said at last, without answering his question. “I want him to look the place over, for he knows so much more than we do.”

“You’ve great faith in the judgment of your father—and apparently little in your husband,” Peter replied with a peeved tone in his voice.

“No—not—exactly—that,” she hesitated. “Ring the bell for the maid, Peter.”

Peter rang the bell, and the maid came in and stood inquiringly at the door.

“I want to do something, Peter,” she said.

“All right,” he answered.

Clarinda turned to the maid. “Bring some coffee for Mr. Peter and me. Don’t make it, but bring hot water and just the coffee and some toast.”

The maid curtsied and went out.

“Why that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I am worried, Peter. I am all upset. I am trying to find out if I shall like this place. I feel as if something had given me a turn.”

Clarinda arose from the divan, and pulled a small table from the center of the room. When the maid came in she told her to go down and get some cups and saucers, then to fix the table as she used to have it.

The maid soon had the things as Clarinda wanted them, and Peter looked on in astonishment.

“Now, Peter, you sit down there at the end, and I shall sit here. Let’s pretend it is morning and you are having your breakfast and you are in a dreadful hurry.”

Peter sat down as he was told and waited for her to finish her preparations.

Clarinda was trying to drag herself back, but for some reason she could not. A new light had broken. Probably this was the rebirth her father had told her of.

As they sat opposite each other and she was making the coffee, the door to the room opened and her father came in smiling, seemingly happy over the new nest Peter had provided for his daughter.

Clarinda went over and kissed him. She helped him take off his coat and placed his cane in the corner, then she made a place for him at the table.

After he had sat down a desultory conversation began. They talked about the house and its arrangements, concerning the extent of the garden, the placing of the lake which Peter contemplated, the number of servants, and the effect the house made from the outside. Clarinda listened while she busied herself making the coffee, and the maid brought in the toast.

The men continued to speak of various stocks, the rise and fall in foreign exchange, the effect of the rise in the prices of steel, but Clarinda took no interest in these things.

Without warning she broke in upon their conversation.

“I—I—don’t believe in this place. It seems to me to be too large. I feel as if my happiness had gone out of the window.”

The men looked at her as if not hearing what she said. They waited for her to pass the coffee, and it was evident her father was pleased.

“I wish I were back,” she broke in again.

“Oh, Clarinda!” exclaimed Peter. “That’s the first mean remark I ever heard you make.”

“I mean it!” she replied slowly.

“After all this struggle?” said her father.

“I’ve been thinking,” answered Clarinda.

“What! Women should not think, for it is bad for them,” her father put in smilingly.

“I’ve been thinking of many things lately,” she replied.

“Name one of these things, Clarinda,” Peter said banteringly.

“Everything is all wrong,” said Clarinda, as she left the table. She walked about with a nervous step. “Do you remember, Father, when I was married, you said that I was not dying, but that it was a rebirth?”

“Yes, I remember, Clarinda,” answered her father. “What is the trouble? You know my method, I always believe that there is nothing so good as an out-and-out discussion, if anyone feels in a wrong situation. It clarifies things and leaves no room for misunderstanding,” he said looking into Clarinda’s eyes. “People who are married drift into situations just on this account, because they refuse to speak of them. Now, tell us what it is you are thinking.”

“You are talking at random, trying to conjure up something that doesn’t exist. I know of no difficulty. Everything seems to me to be as calm as a summer’s day,” broke in Peter.

“There is a rift,” answered her father. “Let’s find it.”

“You are a pessimist. Where can there be a rift when two people are satisfied and understand each other perfectly?”

“How do you know these people are satisfied?” asked Clarinda. “Because one of them is wrapped in his own complacency, it does not follow that the other person is in the same frame of mind.” Clarinda had a queer look in her eyes.

“There you are,” her father said quickly. He placed upon the table the cup he had in his hand. “Let Clarinda say what she means.”

“I will,” she replied firmly. “You both shall be arraigned. I’ve decided to drag you both before yourselves and will appeal to you both—place you both in the light I think you ought to occupy.”

“Listen—listen—another Portia!” Peter carried deep mockery in his voice.

“Be quiet, Peter,” commanded her father.

Clarinda flushed and looked kindly at the old man.

“I have thought—” she began.

“The lady thinks,” laughed Peter.

“Yes, as queer as it may seem—the lady thinks,” Clarinda put in. Peter noticed the look upon her face and it did not please him.

“Hush, Peter,” said her father, laying his hand upon Peter’s arm.

“As queer as it may seem to you,” went on Clarinda. “The lady thinks, but she has thought for sometime past. The lady has come to know you two. She knows also that both of you think no woman should think. Nevertheless, they do think but at all times their thoughts are not pleasant.”

“What have you thought?” her father asked as if to encourage her.

“I’ve thought of my life and how extremely foolish it is. I’ve made a review of it, just while I was looking into the fire, and while I looked, it spread itself out before me, and made me ashamed. It is curious how rapidly one can think, and how a life that has covered years is gone over in a moment. I don’t like this big house. It comes to me just what my position will be.”

“The house is yours. You have the deed for it. I gave it to you,” said Peter.

“That’s true. I’ve a piece of paper that recites that fact, but it is of no value to me. The thing I want has gone out of the window.”

“I don’t follow you, Clarinda,” broke in her father.

“You will understand, Father.”

“Will I understand?” asked Peter.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“Why won’t we understand?” asked Peter.

“I don’t know.”

“Go on, Clarinda,” said her father.

“I’ve something to say. It will no doubt fill you both with astonishment. It has been on my mind for a long time. The other things have come to me only tonight. Listen, and get it carefully in your minds. Don’t think I am indelicate or that I regret. I know it is the allotted thing for women. It is the natural condition. As you have both said so often, the one and only reason for women being in the world. I am going to be a mother.”

“Clarinda!” exclaimed Peter. A curious wave went over him.

“I am not pleased,” said her father, slowly as if turning the thing over in his mind. “It is dangerous.”

“Irrespective of your ideas, it is true. I’ve said nothing about it before for many reasons,” she went on. “You must not think for a moment that I am afraid. Nature doesn’t allow me to be afraid. Many times since this thing has come upon me I have analyzed my sensations. I find my heart is filled with a curious kind of joy. I find my whole nature has undergone a change and that my outlook has expanded. It seems to me as if I’ve gone through a revolution. But there is something else, something that is closer to my heart than even that. It is supposed to be the closest thing that can come to a woman.”

“For the Lord’s sake! What else?” asked Peter with astonishment.

“There is much else. I have discovered that I am all wrong,” Clarinda went on quietly and slowly and her voice carried a peculiar tone of sadness. “My life is all wrong. My perspective is all wrong. I discover I’ve been submerged by you two. Still, I don’t believe it is exactly all your fault. A great deal of it arises from my own point of view. But, now, I’ve come to a point. I have revolted. This revolt may arise from my condition. This condition may create this revolt. It seems to me as if it were a physical awakening. I don’t know where to place the blame. It may be your fault, Peter. But it is more the fault of my mother and father. They laid down the lines, and Peter simply follows out these limits as they had placed them.”

Her father did not reply. To him it was wonderful to hear her speak. It interested him vitally, for as far as he was concerned it placed Clarinda in a new light. He had never thought it was in her to have an idea except such as was conveyed to her by either Peter or himself. It was a new concept. He could not judge if she were making a mistake or not. He waited for her to say more.

“All my life,” she began again, “I’ve been trained by people who tried to avoid for me any phase of life that might be difficult. As I see it, my existence has been made a bed of roses. Temptation has been kept from me. Existence as it is has been pushed aside. Luxury has been spread at my feet. Everything has been done to lead me to believe that in the world there was nothing but ease and comfort. I was allowed to look only upon the bright side. The lights were always lit, and yet I lived in a haze. Somehow I felt during all the years I lived that it was wrong. But I did not try to reason the thing out. I could not. What is the result? I am the result.” Clarinda stopped and then with a new tone in her voice went on:

“The result is that you’ve created a woman without force, a puny thing that can be argued into any position. Think of it! By two men who are as narrow in their point of view of women as the creases in their shirt fronts, by two men who have looked upon me as a toy, or a piece of Dresden china. Something that should give them pleasure, a puppet, walking about on two legs. Now, listen, I don’t blame either of you as I should. I blame much more the environment in which I was born. Here is the remarkable thing about it. Since this new condition has come upon me, as I told you—I have undergone a change. It is psychological as well as physical. It startles me and I feel as if something had been torn from me. I have revolted. Out of this revolution is created a new personality and the birth of this personality is causing me as much pain as I shall suffer with the birth of my child.”

“But, Clarinda,” interposed her father, “your premises are wrong. Your argument is poor. Why should you not have been protected and advised by older minds? Why should you not have the easiest way? I could afford it. I certainly thought it for the best. My love for you did this thing. Peter has lived with but one thought in his mind, which is you.”

“I, too, object to your statements, just as your father does, for I feel it a pleasure to give you all that you want. There is nothing else in life for me but that. I can’t see why you would deny me this one thing,” Peter broke in as her father finished speaking.

“You are both wrong,” Clarinda said quickly. “Look at the result of your misapplied consideration. What is the result? As I said, a puppet, a thing without color, or a mere toy. It is terrible to think of. It is so unjust, so unfair. If anybody knew me as I am they would laugh or weep. I don’t know which. But thank heavens that is done before it is too late and I am about to enter upon a second stage, a new development. I have shed this thing as a cloak, I have awakened to a change that has come—a vital change, so big that you in your little minds, I doubt if you can appreciate what it is. In the place of the toy and the puppet here stands a woman. I hope a force, an intellectual entity.”

“And—,” began Peter. But before he could formulate a sentence, Clarinda had raised her hand.

“Stop! As I told you, I am about to become a mother. It is curious how this condition has affected me. I should like to tell you, to describe the mental adjustment that has taken place, but I doubt whether I can.”

“Go on!” commanded her father. “What has happened? What has taken place? What do you feel?”

“I don’t know if I can,” Clarinda replied. “It is too great a revolution. You might not believe what I have thought. You might think my words were just words. You might think I was versed in psychosis. I will try, however. You ask me what has happened? A wonderful thing has happened. As I look at it. This is what has happened. Hitherto, I have lived as if behind an impenetrable veil. Of a sudden this thing has been torn apart and a dazzling light, almost more than I can face, has broken in upon me, and is leaving me dazed. The new situation is almost impossible for me to face, and this is what has happened. Then you ask me what has taken place? This—I am another person. In me has been raised a peculiar animal instinct. I have reverted to the field. There is no feeling of fear. It is more—one of preservation, not so much of myself, but rather of the life that is quickening in me. This is what has taken place. I want to fight, I don’t know what I want to fight. Then—you ask me, what do I feel? I feel joy. I have lost my lethargy. I am excited. Every movement in me is one of distinct anticipation. And I don’t know what I anticipate.”

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Peter.

“I am done,” she said finally. “There is only one request I have to make, and there is only one thing that I want. I am willing to go through this period. That is, I want to go back to the flat. For once I should be allowed to do as I please. Honestly, Peter,” and her voice was full of pleading. “I don’t like this place. It is too big. It is too much. I can ever occupy in it but a secondary position. I dislike the housekeeper, the chef, the maids, and the spaces. I’ve only a short time to pass through, and for that short time I want things as I wish to have them.”

“Yes, I would go back, Peter,” put in her father.

“No, for it is only a whim, probably aroused by her condition. I understand women often take these turns when they are as she is. It is foolish,” Peter answered with anger.

“We are going back,” replied Clarinda, with a fixity of purpose. “Why not? I may die. I may be ill for a long time. Why should I not have what I want? But remember I am not afraid of this thing.”

“When do you want to go back?” asked Peter.

“Now,” she answered shortly.

“It can’t be done.”

“I think Clarinda is reasonable,” her father said.

“But what of all these people?” asked Peter.

“They are certainly no more important than I am. Are they?” Clarinda asked.

Peter arose from the divan and shrugging his shoulders stepped over to the wall and touched a button. Presently the woman with the big jaw and the impenetrable face came in. Peter turned to her as she entered.

“Mrs. Caws, Mrs. Thorbald doesn’t like this place,” said Peter stupefied with anger. Clarinda stopped him.

“I shall tell Mrs. Caws, Peter,” she said quickly. “Please, Mrs. Caws, will you be kind enough to dismiss the servants. Mr. Thorbald and I have decided to go away for sometime. You will see to the closing of the house. That is all, Mrs. Caws.”

Mrs. Caws went out.

“It is done, Peter.”

“Do you think that settles it, Clarinda?”

“Yes, that settles it, Peter,” and Clarinda smiled wearily as she rose and left the room.

STAGE TWO