Part 10

“Does she leave the child locked in the room alone?” demanded the outraged grandmother.

“Well, what else can she do?” replied the landlady. “But she’s always home by quarter past ten.”

So they came again at that time. Maisie had brought in a sandwich and a piece of cake for her supper, and had spread them out on the table. The baby’s food was simmering over the gas jet, and the baby itself was propped up with pillows on the bed, jolly as a sandboy. Maisie had taken off her evening frock and put on a short, old-womanish sort of flannel dressing sack. Her short dark hair hung loose about her neck. She looked startled when she opened the door.

The senior Mrs. Tracy was an impressive woman, tall, slender, straight, with a high-bridged nose and pale, restless eyes. She had an arrogant spirit, but she came prepared to hold it in subjection, and to cajole, if necessary. She must and would have her grandchild.

Moreover, she fell in love with the baby at once. It was a vigorous, wild little thing, with rough dark hair and a glance farouche and bright. It was rather undersized, but perfectly formed and healthy.

“And she’s dressed it like a monkey!” she thought angrily. “The child is certainly ten months old, and still in those ridiculous long clothes, and that absurd jacket! And _why_ a bonnet in the house?”

Mrs. Tracy considered all this as evidence of Maisie’s lack of maternal feeling, and she was astounded when the girl refused to sell her baby.

“Oh, no, thank you!” she persisted. “Oh, thank you very much, but I’d rather not. Thanks, but really I can’t!”

The lawyer and Mrs. Tracy pointed out to her how grossly selfish she was, and told her that she thought only of her own pleasure, and not of the child’s advantage. Maisie kept to herself certain ideas she had about these advantages. She was terrified, but resolute. She would not give up the baby.

III

Several times, after that, Maisie was summoned to the lawyer’s office to be bullied and cajoled. She came as promptly and obediently as if a letter from him were an order from the Inquisition, but she would not abjure.

One evening, when she came home, the baby was gone. She might have protested against the illegality of her locked room being forcibly entered; but, as the lawyer well knew, those who are not aware of their rights are little better off than those who have none.

She came to his office early the next morning. He had expected her to come. He had also expected her to be somewhat lacking in self-control, but she was worse than he had imagined. He was very reasonable. He explained that the child was now in the custody of its father, and she would have to show cause why it should be removed therefrom. He hinted that she would not find that easy to do.

“Now, then, my dear young woman,” said he, “you mustn’t be selfish. Your child will be brought up with every possible advantage, and you shall see her whenever you wish. Compare what her grandparents have to offer her with the life that she would have with you. Your--er--young Mr. Tracy has no money of his own, you know, and there is no way to force any sort of--”

He saw with alarm that she was likely to become troublesome. She no longer wept, but her mouth twitched and her eyes burned.

“Then let them give me the money to take care of the baby, instead of their nurses!” she cried. “I’d do it all alone! The baby was always well with me, and so happy you can’t think!”

It would have been convenient to expel this naughty child from school, but it could not be done. She would not consent to write a letter refusing to return to her husband. On the contrary, the mention of such a thing caused her a most ludicrous hope. Perhaps Lester really wanted to ask her, and these people were trying to stop him. She had strangely little affection for him left. She was, in fact, perfectly indifferent in regard to him; but if she got him, she would get the baby. That was all she wanted.

Mrs. Tracy went to see her again.

“Now, my dear child,” she said, “you’re very young. For your own sake, you don’t want to go on like this, married and yet not married. You want to be free, so that you can make another choice, and, I hope, a happier one.”

She went on to explain that if Maisie would only do as she was told, she would soon have a dazzling freedom. She might marry again; she could do exactly as she pleased.

Maisie had an ignorant fancy that she already possessed about as much freedom as she was ever likely to get, and she said she didn’t want to marry any one else.

“But I’ll do anything you want, if you’ll give me my baby,” she said.

She held firmly to that. Lester could have everything there was--freedom, money, as many wives as a Turk; she wanted nothing but the baby.

Mrs. Tracy desired and intended that her son should have everything desirable, and the baby as well; and she felt sure that in time this would come about. She had observed that everything comes to those who can afford to wait. If poor people were simply let alone, their own poverty would drown them.

IV

Lester Tracy was alone in the house, technically speaking. To be sure, there were four servants drawing the breath of life on the premises, but even they would have admitted unanimously that Mr. Lester was alone. He was dressing to go out, moving about in his room, and whistling cheerfully.

He was a lean, blond young fellow, his face already marked by dissipation; yet it was not a coarse or an evil face, only a frivolous one. He was little more than a tragic buffoon, and sometimes the poor devil was aware of it. Not now, however. Now he was happy, with his unfailing infantile zest for facile pleasures. He stopped whistling for a moment, to examine his closely shaved jaw; and then he heard a stealthy footstep in the hall.

Because nothing had ever happened to him, he was afraid of nothing. He had a vague belief that his person was sacred, that any evildoer would fall back abashed before Lester Tracy. He hoped it was a burglar; that would be something to tell his friends. He turned out the light and pushed open his door without a sound, very much excited.

But it was only Maisie, stock still, with her hand at her heart, and a white face. She wore a scanty rain coat over her tawdry, bespangled frock, and one of the big, floppy hats that she fancied. She had somehow the look of a masquerader, in clothes that didn’t belong to her, and she certainly did not belong there in the Tracys’ hall.

A very unpleasant emotion came over Lester at the sight of that little figure. He had grown accustomed to thinking of Maisie--when he thought of her at all--as one of his follies of which some one else was disposing. He had forgotten that she was real; but now that he saw her, she seemed more real than any one he had ever seen or imagined.

She was pale and motionless, and yet she seemed as startling as a blaze of light. Her forlorn and betrayed loneliness was like a halo about her young head.

Recovering from her momentary alarm, she went on toward the nursery. Lester was miserably irresolute. He wanted to go out and tell her to go boldly to her baby, to go arrogantly, proudly. He couldn’t endure her furtiveness.

“After all, it’s her baby,” he thought. “My God, what an awful thing we’ve done!”

He imagined her in the dimly lit nursery, standing beside the crib, and looking into that chubby little face. It suddenly occurred to him that the nurse might be about, and might send Maisie away. He decided to stop that.

He had come out into the hall on that errand when Maisie, too, came out from the other room. She had the baby in her arms, huddled in a blanket.

They faced each other for the first time since their honeymoon. In spite of all that they had forgotten, in spite of the gulf of injustice and suffering between them, some little spark of honest and beautiful good will was in their hearts. It was not love--that had been murdered--but loyalty to their past love.

“Maisie!” he said. “Oh, Maisie! I’m sorry!”

She bent her head in an attitude of sublime and humble resignation.

“Just let me have my baby!” she entreated softly.

V

Mrs. Tracy turned the world upside down. Not a soul in that house could sleep, could rest, could eat, during her reign of terror. It was not only her personal grief at the loss of the child that distracted her, but the monstrous affront to her pride.

She was informed that Maisie had called to see her, and had been told to wait in the hall until she returned from the theater.

“And the treacherous, wicked creature must have crept up the stairs and _stolen_ the child!” she cried. “She must have taken the poor, helpless little thing while it slept! Didn’t you hear a _sound_, Lester?”

“Not a sound,” said he.

“If there is a law in the land, she shall be punished!” said Mrs. Tracy.

If she could have had her way, she would have made it a criminal offense for any one to harbor the treacherous Maisie, to give her a morsel of food or a roof to shelter her. Her haughty spirit brooded over the insult until she was ill from it. The lawyer dreaded the sight of her haggard face.

“It’s very difficult to trace so obscure and ordinary a person,” he protested.

“My grandchild is neither obscure nor ordinary,” she said. “Set your wits to work. The child _must_ be found!”

As Mrs. Tracy had large resources and Maisie none at all, this was accomplished. The girl was discovered acting as general servant in a lonely country house--a wretched, ill paid position, with work beyond her young strength; but she could have her baby with her, and she fancied herself safe. From the kitchen window she could see her small idol staggering about in the grass. She could lie at night in her attic room with the child in her arms. They had food to eat, clean air to breathe, and a roof overhead.

Mrs. Tracy’s idea was to go out there by motor and simply take the child away, but the lawyer dissuaded her.

“No,” said he. “I shouldn’t like that done again. It’s apt to create prejudice against you if the case comes to court.”

“I fancy I should only need to inform the judge how the child is living--sleeping in a servant’s room--”

He shook his head.

“No,” he said. “You never can tell how those things will go. I advise you to compromise with her--to leave the child in her custody six months--”

“With a servant? When she can have every possible advantage with her father? I will not do it. Let the case go to court. I fancy--”

“But you see,” he explained, “after all, the mother is supporting the child more or less decently; and as far as I can ascertain, there’s nothing against her character--no evidence to prove her an unfit guardian.”

“Something _could_ be found,” said Mrs. Tracy.

The lawyer understood her very well, but he did not care to go so far. That sort of thing was done, of course, but not by him.

“I’m going to save the child,” said she. “If you don’t care to help me, I’ll do it alone!”

He quite believed that she would, and he felt a small twinge of pity for Maisie.

VI

Maisie accepted blessings as she did curses, patiently and incuriously. She was not startled when a young man came out to the country, told her that he had noticed her dancing at the Palace Academy, and made her an offer to be his dancing partner for two or three cabaret turns.

She was no analyst of character, either. She took people on their own valuation, which is generally a flattering one. She was pleased and a little touched by Mr. Denbigh’s friendly interest. It was a long time since she had talked freely with any one near her own age. She told him that she had studied stage dancing with her brother, and was sure she wouldn’t be shy in public. She told him how anxious she was to get on in the world, for the baby’s sake.

He offered her a loan as an advance, and she accepted it, agreeing to go back to the city at once and to sign the contracts he would bring her. She was so artless, so impersonal, so ignorant, that Mr. Denbigh went away a little disconcerted by the facility with which the first step had been accomplished.

“Mr. Ainsworth Denbigh,” his card read. That, however, was not his name, and though he spoke with the slurred, agreeable accent of the New Yorker, he was not one. He was a slender, supple young fellow, with the queer beauty of Heaven knows what mongrel blood. He had dark, narrow eyes, olive skin, high cheek bones, and a delicate jaw. He had sprung up from nowhere; he had no tradition, no background, no scruples, no country, no friends.

In the middle of the dancing craze he had come to the surface. With his adroitly acquired manner, he had some success as a professional dancer in hotels, because women liked him. Then, as his vogue fell off, his means of living became more and more unsavory. Through a new and unmentioned lawyer, Mrs. Tracy had got hold of him. It was to be his rôle to prove Maisie an unfit guardian for the baby, and the thing was to be done thoroughly. Mrs. Tracy intended it to appear natural, inevitable, without the faintest trace of her guiding hand. She couldn’t have found a better tool than Ainsworth Denbigh.

He had no trouble in teaching Maisie. She had a remarkable talent, a matchless grace, and she was docile. She learned the steps exactly as he wished. She was light in his arms as thistledown, but she was not passive. Her movement had a strange, exquisite quality; with all her supple body apparently at rest, she moved through space like a floating leaf, like a wind-blown flower.

She was utterly devoid of any sensuous allurement. Dancing to vulgar music, wearing the insolent dress he had advised her to buy, before gross eyes, the plaintive innocence of her beauty was unimpaired. Her gray eyes could meet any regard with the same clear wonder, her pale cheek never flushed.

Ainsworth Denbigh was decidedly overshadowed, but this didn’t trouble him. Maisie was welcome to all the credit provided he got the cash, and their partnership was very profitable. They were making a name for themselves in a second-rate sort of way--“Mr. Ainsworth Denbigh and Miss Maisie Kent in ballroom dances _de luxe_.” Better still, they were making money.

He often regretted that he had entered into an agreement to remove Maisie from the Tracys’ path--not because he was touched by her forlorn youth and sweetness, or had any scruples of honor, but because he was well satisfied with affairs as they were, and resented the effort required of him. He made no headway with Maisie, and he had the wit to see that he never would. She was polite enough, and very easily swindled out of her fair share of their profits. Apparently she had confidence in him: but that was not enough. She was expected to fall in love with him, and obviously she was not going to do so.

She had taken a small flat near Morningside Park, and had engaged a colored woman to look after the baby. When their last turn was over, she was so eager to get home that she couldn’t even attend to what Denbigh said to her. She refused to go out with him at any time, not from dislike or from caution, but because she had something so much better to do. She flew home to her baby as a white soul to heaven, and was divinely happy. She had no room for one thought of her dancing partner.

There used to be a proverb about the horse that was taken to the water and would not drink. Under modern conditions that horse would no doubt be forcibly watered and taught better. If Maisie refused to disgrace herself, then she must have disgrace forced upon her.

“See here, Maisie,” Denbigh said one evening. “Let me come home with you and see this wonderful kid.”

“Oh, I’d like you to!” she cried. “She’ll be asleep, but sometimes I think she’s prettier asleep than any other way. She gets a little paler, but that makes her lashes look so black!”

Mr. Denbigh was remarkably interested in her baby, but his entire behavior was remarkable that evening. He was terribly nervous, and seemed to be apprehensive about the time, consulting his wrist watch every few minutes.

VII

Lester Tracy was just leaving the house when he was called back to the telephone. He went petulantly. He wouldn’t have gone at all if it had not been an anonymous call, and therefore faintly interesting. The past six months had not improved him; he was jaded, irritable, restless.

Maisie’s quiet little voice had a singular effect upon him.

“Lester!” she said. “Will you please come? There’s a man here, and he won’t go away.”

It was the first time he had ever been directly appealed to, had ever been asked to play a man’s part. It steadied and fortified him miraculously.

“Of course I’ll come,” he answered. “What’s the trouble?”

“I don’t know. He said he wanted to see the baby, and when he got into the room he locked the door. He won’t open it. Maybe he’s been drinking. So I came here, to the telephone in the little dressing room--where I bathe the baby, you know,” she explained in her careful, patient way. “It hasn’t any door into the hall. I can’t get out. And--oh, I’m so afraid he might try to hurt the baby!”

Lester didn’t think that. He wrote down the address and ran headlong down the stairs and into the waiting car.

VIII

It was by this absolutely unexpected action of Maisie’s that Mrs. Tracy was defeated. Two detectives, who believed--because they had been so informed--that they were employed by Mr. Lester Tracy to collect evidence against his wife, arrived precisely at the time when they had been told to arrive, and entered the flat. They found Maisie there, with a man who brazenly insisted that he was Mr. Lester Tracy. He didn’t look it. He was disheveled, his coat was torn, he had a bad bruise on his cheek bone and a cut over one eyebrow, and he was incoherent with rage.

The detectives had reason to believe that the fellow was a Mr. Ainsworth Denbigh, and they said so. He told them that they would very likely find Mr. Denbigh in a hospital, although jail was where he belonged. He showed a marked inclination to make a row, which was not what they had been led to expect. In fact, he was so vigorous in his methods that the detectives were at a loss.

“Telephone to Mrs. Tracy,” said he. “She’ll come and identify me. Then you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing who it is that kicks you out!”

They agreed to this, and sat down to wait. It was an odd enough group--the two detectives, both burly and severe, their hats on their knees, while up and down the room walked the disordered and vehement young man. All three were somehow overshadowed by the quiet and downcast Maisie, sitting with her feet crossed, her hands clasped, in that patient, meek attitude of hers. The light of a shaded lamp fell upon her shining dark hair, untidy as always. Just once she raised her clear, honest eyes to the young man’s face, and he stopped short.

“Don’t worry, Maisie!” he said. “I’ll--I’ll look after you!”

Mrs. Tracy had had to be fetched from a bridge party, and she was in no good humor. She was astounded, too, by the maladroitness of that man Denbigh in thus dragging her into an affair which she had strongly desired to avoid.

“I suppose something went wrong,” she thought, “and he wants me to prove that he’s not Lester. It’s incredibly clumsy of him. Oh, I’ll be so thankful when the wretched anxiety of this thing is over, and I have the poor little baby again! If it wasn’t for the baby, I couldn’t go through with it, but I’d do anything in the world to save the child from that outrageous girl!”

She rang the bell of the apartment, and one of the detectives let her in. He was impressed by her frigid magnificence, her crown of white hair, her penetrating eye.

“Sorry to trouble you, ma’am,” he said. “Won’t take you a minute to clear this thing up. This fellow here claims he’s Mr. Tracy, and--”

She smiled scornfully. The detective stood aside, and she preceded him down the hall to the living room.

“Where is this--” she began, but stopped short.

Her face blanched. She flung out her hand in a curiously helpless gesture, and it rested upon the detective’s shoulder. She needed his support.

“Lester!” she said faintly. “Oh, Lester! It can’t be--”

He had been filled with a terrible anger against his mother for this brutal and shameful ruse. He had thought he could never bear to see her face again, could never speak to her with common humanity; but when he did see her, in the anguish of her defeat, all that passed.

“Tell these men who I am,” he said, “and send them away.”

Her dry lips could scarcely frame the words.

“It’s my son. Please go!”

With the resignation acquired in their profession, they went off, and the door closed behind them. Lester brought forward a chair, but Mrs. Tracy would not sit down. She had recovered something of her poise, and looked at him steadily.

“What does this mean?” she asked.

He did not find it easy to answer without reproaching her too cruelly.

“I’m glad it has happened,” he said aloud. “I needed something like this to show me where I was drifting. If I hadn’t known--if I hadn’t come here--this--this crime would have been done, and very likely I’d have taken it all for granted. I’ve let this thing go on, I’ve let little Maisie be tormented and persecuted, and I’ve never lifted a finger to help her. It has been no one’s fault but mine, because she’s my responsibility. It’s no use saying I didn’t realize; it was my business to realize. But it’s ended now. She’s going to keep her baby!”

“Lester! My son! You don’t know what you’re saying! Simply because you’ve seen this girl again, and perhaps felt a little of your old, tragic infatuation--”

“I don’t know whether it’s that,” he said slowly; “but whatever it was I felt for Maisie, there’s never been anything else half so fine in all my life. I always knew that, but I hadn’t the sense--or the manliness--to understand what it meant. I thought I’d get over it. I should have, in the course of time, and I should have been getting over the only thing in me that’s good!”