According to the Pattern (9 page)

Was she a maid, or an evil dream?

Her eyes began to glitter and gleam;

He would have gone, but he stayed instead; Green they gleamed as he looked in them: “Give me my fee,” she said.

—
Christina G. Rossetti

MIRIAM presided at the breakfast table the next morning in an elaborate little morning robe the like of which she had been wont to consider too fine for everyday use.
Now nothing was too good. All, all was put into her
venture. She would exchange it for a simpler one as soon
as her husband was out of the house, meantime it had its
use.

On one thing she had forgotten to reckon. The
children met her in the hall and began to exclaim
joyously on her appearance, but she hushed them before their father heard. She did not care to reveal any of the
machinery of her maneuver by having him suppose it
was unusual for her to be dressed in this way. If he noticed it, well and good, but better not wear it than to have it remarked upon.

She had managed to put on with the dress her fine
distant manner of the evening before. Her husband felt
that the moment he entered the breakfast room. It
seemed like a sweet, far-off mist that enveloped her, through which, try as he would, he could not break. She looked a little pale after her night’s vigil, but she had chosen her gown with regard to her pallor, and so it but made her the more interesting. A little while before she would have despised herself for such small subterfuges, now they seemed all important.

She smiled behind the coffee cups over her night of
watching and said she would be all right after a few
hours’ sleep, and then told her husband of a concert for which she had tickets that evening.

He looked surprised, but her manner was so assured, quite as if they had been going out in society for years together, that he said nothing, especially as the maid and
the children were present. He was more puzzled than
ever over the new order of things. Miriam mentioned
the hour of the concert, and suggested that he be sure to come home early to dress for it.

The bracelet in his pocket suddenly recalled to him his
half-engagement for the evening. He became somewhat
abstracted and fell to wondering if he could possibly have
the face to call at the Sylvester house and get rid of that annoying bit of jewelry as well as its owner before going to the concert. He tried to recall whether Mrs. Sylvester had said anything about afternoon tea. What day was it?
Yes, she was always at home on that afternoon. He could
call late, when others had gone, get the disagreeable
business out of the way forever and then he could
breathe freely and enjoy the concert with his wife.

He was so engrossed at these thoughts that he forgot
to feel aggrieved when Miriam left the table before he
was through on the excuse of going to Celia, and said as
she paused at the door that she would lie down in her
room for a couple of hours and she wished they would
try not to disturb her.

She vanished and he had the memory of a pretty vision
in the doorway. He had meant to see her alone for just
a moment anyway before going downtown, but she was gone now and perhaps it was just as well. He would get the Sylvester matter out of the way before he kissed her and then he would feel his conscience clear. Old scores would be wiped out. He would take good care to warn Miriam against that woman. She was not fit company for her. Whatever possessed her to invite her? How did she ever meet her? Pondering, he came to feel quite as if his friendship with Mrs. Sylvester had been through no fault
of his own, but wholly owing to her malign influence,
to which in some hour of mental aberration he had
weakly yielded, scarcely realizing what would be the
outcome and so was not so very much to blame after all.
He would make a clean breast of it to Miriam sometime
and that would show her that she must have nothing
further to do with Mrs. Sylvester.

He finally managed to cajole his conscience into the belief that all this sophistry was true and actually settled to his morning paper with something like a pleasant
anticipation of the evening. That Sylvester part would
be hard to get through with but he meant to do it, and
it was pleasant that he need not rebuke himself for keeping his promise to her. He was glad of that, for now he had a real reason for going, a legitimate one.

And Miriam doffed the pretty gown and crept to her couch in the darkened chamber with heavy sobs shaking her frame. She would not allow them to break into the outburst of tears that would have relieved the tension.

There would be traces of that on her face and she could not afford to show any such emotion now. The concert was a link in the chain. It was to be a great society affair, a brilliant performer and the last night. The tickets had been held high and she had paid dearly for the seats she
had secured among the high and mighty ones. She
would not have been able to compass such places at all, but for the opportune inability of some friends of the
Lymans who were called to a distant funeral unexpect
edly and could not use their own seats. Celia Lyman had
heard of it and eagerly offered to get her the seats two
days before. The concert was to be the next movement
in the plan of campaign, which now that it was started
seemed to grow of itself. Mrs. Sylvester would be sure
to be there. Miriam tried to think how she must do and what she should wear for that evening, but at last nature took her revenge and she fell asleep.

Claude Winthrop managed to get through a tolerable toilet at his club—he had borne the call in mind when he dressed that morning—and a little
before six o-clock, without having yet gone home, he rang the bell at the Sylvesters’.

Mrs. Sylvester’s footman had been accustomed to his
calling frequently, often at this hour. Without announc
ing him in the reception room, where Claude could hear several voices and the clink of late tea things, he led him to a small reception room to the right of the doorway
heavily hung with
portieres.
He sent word that he would
like to see Mrs. Sylvester immediately, if possible, for just
a moment. In a few minutes he heard the soft rustle of
her dress and her white hand drew back the heavy folds of drapery.

She came in with her most confidential air and a light of welcome in her eyes.

“So good of you to come the first possible minute,”
she said holding out both hands to greet him, “But let
me tell you, Claude, I knew you would!”

There was assurance in her tone and a favor that stirred
the lowest in him. He writhed inwardly. It was going to
be very hard to do what he had planned to do. He could
not broach the subject at once. He wished she would be
a little reserved as she knew well how to be.

“You mistake,” he said and tried to say it coldly, but
somehow his voice sounded strange to himself, “I
merely ran in on an errand. I cannot stay. I am due at
home now. I promised to take my wife to the concert at
the Academy.”

“Oh, what a pity!” She said it sweetly, but there was
a hardness under the surface tones and a sharp glitter
came into her steel eyes. Her mouth always wore a
determined look; the pretty curve of red set itself in thin
lines of compression now.

“I must excuse myself from the others, then, and
attend to you at once.” She said it and was gone before
he had time to demur. He was searching for that annoy
ing bracelet. It would help to open the way for the
further remarks he had to make, though now he was
ready for them he could not think for his life what he
had meant to say. Ah, there was the bracelet in his inner
breast pocket. How annoying!
She would think he had
placed it over his heart on purpose. It was a bad begin
ning, but—and then he looked up and realized what she
had said and that she was gone. He was angry and
relieved all in one, angry that he had not got the matter
done with while she was there without further delay,
glad that he had time to think what to say. He wanted
her to understand that he was sorry for his foolishness—
say that he had been but playing, how would that sound?

He could soften it by saying he knew she meant the
same, and then a vision of Miriam looking at him with
her clear eyes while he made his “clean breast” came and
made him tremble. His throat grew dry and hot. He
could hear Mrs. Sylvester’s voice in the distance in
farewells. He knew that sound, having waited for it more
than once in this same room. She knew how to dismiss
people in a way that sent them home thinking they had
made the move to go themselves. She would soon get
rid of them all. He heard the front door close and a
pause, and low voices for a few minutes and then steps
and the front door closed again. She did not come. He
looked impatiently at his watch and felt feebly in his
brain for suitable phrases to clothe his message.

At the farther end of Mrs. Sylvester’s long reception
room in the shelter of a window seat, sat Senator
Bradenberg and Mrs. Sylvester. There were talking in
low tones. There was about their manner a freedom as
of two who understood each other fully. Each recog
nized the power of the other in certain directions. Each
trusted the other because each was to a certain extent in
the power of that other and knew it. This made the basis
of a friendship that was not unpleasant, at times, when it
suited the convenience of the two concerned. Each had
about the same amount of unscrupulousness. They were
well suited.

“I will do it,”
she said looking him straight in the eye, “
if you will do something for me. It is about as pleasant
as the task you have given me, so we are even again. You
said a little while ago you would go to the concert
tonight with me. Now I want you to go instead with
Mrs. Winthrop. She is pretty and she is new. It will not
be hard work. Never mind what my object is. Just be on
hand a little before the appointed hour, and gracefully
as you well know how—make her understand that her
husband was detained, and that you have come in his
place. Stay. You may make it more complete. Say he will
meet her at the concert to take her home. I will see that
he is there. You understand how to do it perfectly. I need
not tell you.”

The silver head was bowed.

“Thank you,” he said, touching his heart suggestively
with his hand on which a rare diamond glittered, “and
in return?”

Her hand was on the bell.
She touched it and turned
with a satisfied smile.

“In return I will invite your awkward, clumsy con
gressman to my house and endeavor to charm him long
enough at least for you to get your precious vote taken.”

She turned and spoke a word of command to the
footman, and they rose and walked slowly up the length
of the parlor,
the white head bowed low once more, and
this time he touched her hand with his lips, and she
returned the salute with a playful little tap on his pink,
wicked old cheek.

It was just as they had reached the door that Claude
was ushered into the larger room by the footman. The
senator understood at once.
He shook hands graciously
and declared he was glad to see Mr. Winthrop at home
once more, that he was looking well, and he had enjoyed
the few minutes spent yesterday in their delightful little
home with his most charming wife for hostess.

Then he bowed himself out. He was a wise and wily
old serpent.

Claude drew himself up. He knew Senator
Bradenberg. All the men knew him. What was he doing
here with Mrs. Sylvester? And that bracelet!—were
those really his initials? Then he winced as he remem
bered that this was no concern of his now. He was not
jealous for
Mrs. Sylvester. What a contrary thing was
human nature. It was Miriam for whom he was jealous.
He did not want her pure name on lips so sullied—and
he felt a soothing qualm of righteous wrath pass over
him.