the conflict-第5章

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the　farm　and　of　the　livery　stablefor　the　deceased　Mrs。　Hastings　had　been　daughter　of　a　livery　stable　keeperin　fact；　had　caught　Martin　Hastings　by　the　way　she　rode　her　father's　horses　at　a　sale　at　a　county　fair。　　Said　Martha：

‘‘You　haven't　really　looked　at　my　clothes；　Jane。　　Why　DID　you　go　back　to　calling　yourself　Jane？''

‘‘Because　it's　my　name；''　replied　her　sister。

‘‘I　know　that。　　But　you　hated　it　and　changed　it　to　Jeanne；　which　is　so　much　prettier。''

‘‘I　don't　think　so　any　more；''　replied　Miss　Hastings。　　‘‘My　taste　has　improved。　　Don't　be　so　horribly　middle　class；　Marthaashamed　of　everything　simple　and　natural。''

‘‘You　think　you　know　it　alldon't　you？just　because　you've　lived　abroad；''　said　Martha　peevishly。

‘‘On　the　contrary；　I　don't　know　one…tenth　as　much　as　I　thought　I　did；　when　I　came　back　from　Wellesley　with　a　diploma。''

‘‘Do　you　like　my　costume？''　inquired　Martha；　eying　her　finery　with　the　fond　yet　dubious　expression　of　the　woman　who　likes　her　own　taste　but　is　not　sure　about　its　being　good　taste。

‘‘What　a　lazy；　worthless　pair　we　are！''　exclaimed　Jane；　hitting　her　boot　leg　a　tremendous　rap　with　her　little　cane。

Martha　startled。　　‘‘Good　GodJanewhat　is　it？''　she　cried。

‘‘On　the　way　here　I　passed　a　lot　of　factories；''　pursued　Jane。　　‘‘Why　should　those　people　have　to　work　likelike　the　devil；　while　we　sit　about　planning　ball　dresses？''

Martha　settled　back　comfortably。　　‘‘I　feel　so　sorry　for　those　poor　people；''　said　she；　absently　sympathetic。

‘‘But　why？''　demanded　Jane。　　‘‘WHY？　　Why　should　we　be　allowed　to　idle　while　they　have　to　slave？　　What　have　we　donewhat　are　we　doingto　entitle　us　to　ease？　　What　have　they　done　to　condemn　them　to　pain　and　toil？''

‘‘You　know　very　well；　Jane；　that　we　represent　the　finer　side　of　life。''

‘‘Slop！''　ejaculated　Jane。

‘‘For　pity's　sake；　don't　let's　talk　politics；''　wailed　Martha。　　‘‘I　know　nothing　about　politics。　　I　haven't　any　brains　for　that　sort　of　thing。''

‘‘Is　that　politics？''　inquired　Jane。　　‘‘I　thought　politics　meant　whether　the　Democrats　or　the　Republicans　or　the　reformers　were　to　get　the　offices　and　the　chance　to　steal。''

‘‘Everything's　politics；　nowadays；''　said　Martha；　comparing　the　color　of　the　material　of　her　dress　with　the　color　of　her　fat　white　arm。　　‘‘As　Hugo　says；　that　Victor　Dorn　is　dragging　everything　into　politicseven　our　private　business　of　how　we　make　and　spend　our　own　money。''

Jane　sat　down　abruptly。　　‘‘Victor　Dorn；''　she　said　in　a　strange　voice。　　‘‘WHO　is　Victor　Dorn？　　WHAT　is　Victor　Dorn？　　It　seems　that　I　can　hear　of　nothing　but　Victor　Dorn　to…day。''

‘‘He's　too　low　to　talk　about；''　said　Martha；　amiable　and　absent。

‘‘Why？''

‘‘Politics；''　replied　Martha。　　‘‘Really；　he　is　horrid；　Jane。''

‘‘To　look　at？''

‘‘Nonot　to　look　at。　　He's　handsome　in　a　way。　　Not　at　all　common　looking。　　You　might　take　him　for　a　gentleman；　if　you　didn't　know。

Stillhe　always　dresses　peculiarlyalways　wears　soft　hats。　　I　think　soft　hats　are　SO　vulgardon't　you？''

‘‘How　hopelessly　middle…class　you　are；　Martha；''　mocked　Jane。

‘‘Hugo　would　as　soon　think　of　going　in　the　street　in　ain　aI　don't　know　what。''

‘‘Hugo　is　the　finest　flower　of　American　gentleman。　　That　is；　he's　the　quintessence　of　everything　that's　nice　and　‘nasty。'　　I　wish　I　were　married　to　him　for　a　week。　　I　love　Hugo；　but　he　gives　me　the　creeps。''　　She　rose　and　tramped　restlessly　about　the　room。　　‘‘You　both　give　me　the　creeps。　　Everything　conventional　gives　me　the　creeps。　　If　I'm　not　careful　I'll　dress　myself　in　a　long　shirt；　let　down　my　hair　and　run　wild。''

‘‘What　nonsense　you　do　talk；''　said　Martha　composedly。

Jane　sat　down　abruptly。　　‘‘So　I　do！''　she　said。　　‘‘I'm　as　poor　a　creature　as　you　at　bottom。　　I　simply　like　to　beat　against　the　bars　of　my　cage　to　make　myself　think　I'm　a　wild；　free　bird　by　nature。　　If　you　opened　the　door；　I'd　not　fly　out；　but　would　hop　meekly　back　to　my　perch　and　fall　to　smoothing　my　feathers。　。　。　。　　Tell　me　some　more　about　Victor　Dorn。''

‘‘I　told　you　he　isn't　fit　to　talk　about；''　said　Martha。　　‘‘Do　you　know；　they　say　now　that　he　is　carrying　on　with　that　shameless；　brazen　thing　who　writes　for　his　paper；　that　Selma　Gordon？''

‘‘Selma　Gordon；''　echoed　Jane。　　Her　brows　came　down　in　a　gesture　reminiscent　of　her　father；　and　there　was　a　disagreeable　expression　about　her　mouth　and　in　her　light　brown　eyes。　　‘‘Who's　Selma　Gordon？''

‘‘She　makes　speechesand　writes　articles　against　rich　peopleandoh；　she's　horrid。''

‘‘Pretty？''

‘‘Noa　scrawny；　black　thing。　　The　mensome　of　themsay　she's　got　a　kind　of　uncanny　fascination。　　Some　even　insist　that　she's　beautiful。''　　Martha　laughed。　　‘‘Beautiful！　　How　could　a　woman　with　black　hair　and　a　dark　skin　and　no　flesh　on　her　bones　be　beautiful？''

‘‘It　has　been　known　to　happen；''　said　Jane　curtly。　　‘‘Is　she　one　of　THE　Gordons？''

‘‘Mercy；　no！''　cried　Martha　Galland。　　‘‘She　simply　took　the　name　of　Gordonthat　is；　her　father　did。　　He　was　a　Russian　peasanta　Jew。　　And　he　fell　in　love　with　a　girl　who　was　of　noble　familya　princess；　I　think。''

‘‘Princess　doesn't　mean　much　in　Russia；''　said　Jane　sourly。

‘‘Anyhow；　they　ran　away　to　this　country。　　And　he　worked　in　the　rolling　mill　hereand　they　both　died　and　Selma　became　a　factory　girland　then　took　to　writing　for　the　New　Daythat's　Victor　Dorn's　paper；　you　know。''

‘‘How　romantic；''　said　Jane　sarcastically。　　‘‘And　now　Victor　Dorn's　in　love　with　her？''

‘‘I　didn't　say　that；''　replied　Martha；　with　a　scandal…　smile。

Jane　Hastings　went　to　the　window　and　gazed　out　into　the　garden。　　Martha　resumed　her　habitual　warm　day　existencesat　rocking　gently　and　fanning　herself　and　looking　leisurely　about　the　room。　　Presently　she　said：

‘‘Jane；　why　don't　you　marry　Davy　Hull？''

No　answer。

‘‘He's　got　an　independent　incomeso　there's　no　question　of　his　marrying　for　money。　　And　there　isn't　any　family　anywhere　that's　better　than　hismighty　few　as　good。　　And　he's　DEAD　in　love　with　you；　Jen。''

With　her　back　still　turned　Jane　snapped；　‘‘I'd　rather　marry　Victor　Dorn。''

‘‘What　OUTRAGEOUS　things　you　do　say！''　cried　Martha。

‘‘I　envy　that　black　Jewessthatwhat's　her　name？　that　Selma　Gordon。''

‘‘You　don't　even　know　them；''　said　Martha。

Jane　wheeled　round　with　a　strange　laugh。　　‘‘Don't　I？''　cried　she。

‘‘I　don't　know　anyone　else。''

She　strode　to　her　sister　and　tapped　her　lightly　on　the　shoulder　with　the　riding　stick。

‘‘Be　careful；''　cautioned　Martha。　　‘‘You　know　how　easily　my　flesh　marsand　I'm　going　to　wear　my　low　neck　to…night。''

Jane　did　not　heed。　　‘‘David　Hull　is　a　boreand　a　fraud；''　she　said。　　‘‘I　tell　you　I'd　rather　marry　Victor　Dorn。''

‘‘Do　be　careful　about　my　skin；　dear；''　pleaded　Martha。　　‘‘Hugo'll　be　SO　put　out　if　there's　a　mark　on　it。　　He's　very　proud　of　my　skin。''

Jane　looked　at　her　quizzically。　　‘‘What　a　dear；　fat　old　rotter　of　a　respectability　it　is；　to　be　sure；''　said　she　and　strode　from　the　room；　and　from　the　house。

Her　mood　of　perversity　and　defiance　did　not　yield　to　a　ten　mile　gallop　over　the　gentle　hills　of　that　lovely　part　of　Indiana；　but　held　on　through　the　afternoon　and　controlled　her　toilet　for　the　ball。　　She　knew　that　every　girl　in　town　would　appear　at　that　most　fashionable　party　of　the　summer　season　in　the　best　clothing　she　could　get　together。　　As　she　had　several　dresses　from　Paris　which　she　not　without　reason　regarded　as　notable　works　of　art；　the　opportunity　to　outshine　was　hers　the　sort　of　opportunity　she　took　pleasure　in　using　to　the　uttermost；　as　a　rule。　　But　to　be　the　best　dressed　woman　at　Mrs。　Bertram's　party　was　too　easy　and　too　commonplace。　　To　be　the　worst　dressed　would　call　for　courage　of　just　the　sort　she　prided　herself　on　having。　　Also；　it　would　look　original；　would　cause　talkwould　give　her　the　coveted　sense　of　achievement。

When　she　descended　to　show　herself　to　her　father　and　say　good　night　to　him；　she　was　certainly　dressed　by　the　same　pattern　that　caused　him　to　be　talked　about　throughout　that　region。　　Her　gown　was　mussed；　had　been　mended　obviously　in　several　places；　had　not　been　in　its　best　day　becoming。　　But　this　was　not　all。　　Her　hair　looked　stringy　and　dishevelled。　　She　was　delighted　with　herself。　　Except　during　an　illness　two　years　before　never　had　she　come　so　near　to　being　downright　homely。　　‘‘Martha　will　die　of　shame；''　said　she　to　herself。　　‘‘And　Mrs。　Bertram　will　spend　the　evening　explaining　me　to　everybody。''　　She　did　not　definitely　formulate　the　thought；　‘‘And　I　shall　be　the　most　talked　about　person　of　the　evening''；　but　it　was　in　her　mind　none　the　less。

Her　father　always　smoked　his　after…dinner　cigar　in　a　little　room　just　off　the　library。　　It　was　filled　up　with　the　plain　cheap　furniture　and　the　chromos　and　mottoes　which　he　and　his　wife　had　bought　when　they　first　went　to　housekeepingin　their　early　days　of　poverty　and　struggle。　　On　the　south　wall　was　a　crude　and　cheap；　but　startlingly　large　enlargement　of　an　old　daguerreotype　of　Letitia　Hastings　at　twenty…fourthe　year　after　her　marriage　and　the　year　before　the　birth　of　the　oldest　child；　Robert；　called　Dock；　now　piling　up　a　fortune　as　an　insider　in　the　Chicago　‘‘brave''　game　of　wheat　and　pork；　which　it　is　absurd　to　call　gambling　because　gambling　involves　chance。　　To　smoke　the　one　cigar　the　doctor　allowed　him；　old　Martin　Hastings　always　seated　himself　before　this　picture。　　He　found　it　and　his　thoughts　the　best　company　in　the　world；　just　as　he　had　found　her　silent　self　and　her　thoughts　the　best　company　in　their　twenty…one　years　of　married　life。　　As　he　sat　there；　sometimes　he　thought　of　herof　what　they　had　been　through　together；　of　the　various　advances　in　his　fortunehow　this　one　had　been　made　near　such　and　such　anniversary；　and　that　one　between　two　other　anniversariesand　what　he　had　said　to　her　and　what　she　had　said　to　him。　　Againperhaps　oftenerhe　did　not　think　of　her　directly；　any　more　than　he　had　thought　of　her　when　they　sat　together　evening　after　evening；　year　in　and　year　out；　through　those　twenty…one　years　of　contented　and　prosperous　life。

As　Jane　entered　he；　seated　back　to　the　door；　said：

‘‘About　that　there　Dorn　damage　suit''

Jane　started；　caught　her　breath。　　Really；　it　was　uncanny；　this　continual　thrusting　of　Victor　Dorn　at　her。

‘‘It　wasn't　so　bad　as　it　looked；''　continued　her　father。　　He　was　speaking　in　the　quiet　voicequiet　and　old　and　sadhe　always　used　when　seated　before　the　picture。

‘‘You　see；　Jenny；　in　them　days''also；　in　presence　of　the　picture　he　lapsed　completely　into　the　dialect　of　his　youth‘‘in　them　days　the　railroad　was　teetering　and　I　couldn't　tell　which　way　things'd　jump。　　Every　cent　counted。''

‘‘I　understand　perfectly；　father；''　said　Jane；　her　hands　on　his　shoulders　from　behind。　　She　felt　immensely　relieved。　　She　did　not　realize　that　every　doer　of　a　mean　act　always　has　an　excellent　excuse　for　it。

‘‘Then　afterwards；''　the　old　man　went　on；　‘‘the　family　was　getting　along　so　wellthe　boy　was　working　steady　and　making　good　money　and　pushing　aheadand　I　was　afeared　I'd　do　harm　instead　of　good。　　It's　mighty　dangerous；　Jen；　to　give　money　sudden　to　folks　that　ain't　used　to　it。　　I've　seen　many　a　smash…up　come　that　way。　　And　your　mashe　thought　so；　tookind　of。''

The　‘‘kind　of''　was　advanced　hesitatingly；　with　an　apologetic　side　glance　at　the　big　crayon　portrait。　　But　Jane　was　entirely　convinced。　　She　was　average　human；　therefore；　she　beli