Picture Play Magazine (Oct-Nov 1915)

22 PICTURE-PLAY WEEKLY other side of the room. He seemed very far away from her. Why was he not at her side? He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. Poor fellow ! He had probably been very much worried, and did not know that she was conscious again and would live. Live! Ah, yes, how she would live, now that the shadow had passed. "John !" Her voice was very weak, scarcely above a whisper, but he heard her and raised his head slowly. How changed he was! His face was haggard, and there were great lines under his eyes. How he must have suffered! She felt very tender for him. It was very pleasant to be loved so much. She smiled at him weakly, but it froze on her lips. There was no answer in his eyes. Nor did he spring to her side and smother her with his kisses as she had shyly expected him to do. Instead, he sat very still, looking sternly at her across the room, his eyes, full of reproach, fixed on hers. What did it mean ? She was too weak to think, and closing her eyes, she sobbed softly. But she knew when the old physician left her side, and went to her husband, although when they spoke their voices sounded very far away from her. "Catherwood, you are treating her like a brute!" growled the doctor. "Think! She has just come through the valley of the shadow of death !" "Doctor," replied Catherwood, in a cold, calm voice, "you are an old friend, and you know me as well as you know your own son. You know that I am a straight man, and have lived a pretty straight life. You know, too, how I have loved Grace. But this great wrong, that she has done me seems to have turned my heart to stone. She knew how I had hoped and hoped, and planned and planned for the future. And now she " "Ah, but think, Catherwood ! She is scarcely more than a child herself, without father or mother to advise, to comfort or to warn. She had no one to whom she could carry her secret fears — no one but those old tabby cats among her society friends, those women to whom the cry of an infant, or the touch of a baby hand is like a glass of ice water down their back. Come, come, Catherwood. Have a little sympathy with this poor child." "Sympathy ! Man, man, who would have felt deeper sympathy for her than the man who loved her as I did, had she come to me with her secret, instead of taking it to some old harridan without a mother instinct in her breast. No, doctor, my mind is made up. Nothing can alter my determination. The divorce shall be quietly arranged. I will see to that. She shall suffer from no scandal. When Grace is well enough to talk the matter over with me, I wish you would let me know. You say there is no longer any danger?'' "No, all danger is past." "Very well, then. Let me know when you think it wise for me to talk With her. You can reach me at the office, or at my club." "You — you are not going away — not going to leave her, Catherwood ?" Catherwood laughed harshly. "Yes, doctor," he said. "I am going away from here." The woman on the bed stirred a little. Catherwood turned instinctively. Their eyes met. Into his crept an expression of softness and love. Hers were darkened again by the shadows of anger and defiance. With a sigh he turned away. The moment was lost. And so, in time, the Catherwood divorce was ground slowly through the legal mill, and the former husband and wife took up the course of their new lives. Grace had a fortune of her own, but Catherwood made her a liberal allowance. Now entirely restored to health, the brilliant divorcee soon became the favorite of the gayest set. Neither maid nor widow, her position gave her peculiar liberty that enabled her to enjoy to the fullest that freedom for which she had sold love and happiness. For in this life that she had bought she was not happy. She was wildly gay, and drained the cup of pleasure to the very dregs. But in the midst of all her apparent enjoyment there was always a pain tugging at her heart. She had many suitors, for she was young and beautiful, and without any "encumbrance" with which so many young divorcees are afflicted. But she rejected one and all, for she would not again submit to the shackles of matrimony. And yet, deep down in her heart, she knew that she would have held out her hands gladly to John Catherwood, that he might forge again the fetters that she had struck off so lightly. The Catherwoods seldom saw one an other now, for he was not a society man, and when they did meet it was as mere casual acquaintances. Grace did not know how much she loved him, until one day when she accidentally overheard part of a conversation that was not intended for her ears. She was sitting idly at a table in a restaurant, waiting for a luncheon companion who was late. She could not avoid hearing much of what was said bytwo women who occupied a table directly behind her. There had come one of those strange stillnesses that so inexplicably fall upon public places, when, as if by some preconcerted signal the hum of conversation suddenly ceased. This silence was broken by one of the women behind her. The words, clear and distinct, cut through Grace like a knife. "Oh. I hear that John Catherwood is to be married again." "Yes, and I think they will be very happy together," replied the other. "Helen Saunders loves children, and I believe that was a point on which John Catherwood and his first wife did not agree." "No. She is nothing but a beautiful doll — a society butterfly. The solemn badge of motherhood does not appeal to her frivolous nature. Heigho, my dear, I wonder to how many of us it does appeal nowadays. Children really do tie one down so !" Grace Catherwood's face tingled with the hot blood that rushed to her cheeks. "A beautiful doll!" "A society butterfly!" "Frivolous nature!" She shrank under the arraignment, for its truth scorched her. But even as the hot blood rushed to her cheeks, a band of ice seemed to tighten around her heart. John Catherwood was to be married ! She had never imagined such a possibility. She knew, now, that somewhere within her there had burned a tiny spark of hope. And that spark had been extinguished, leaving her heart cold and dead! John Catherwood was to be married ! The words rang in her ears. John Catherwood was to have a wife — and children ! Hadn't the woman said that she — the one who was to be his wife; who was to take her place — loved children? When she reached home again Grace Catherwood threw herself on her bed and sobbed and moaned, much as she