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An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

returned. And kissing her, he hurried out, feeling, perhaps,

that he was not acting as wisely as he should, but not

seeing clearly how otherwise he was to do. A man couldn’t

break off with a girl as he was trying to do, or at least might

want to, without exercising some little tact or diplomacy,

could he? There was no sense in that nor any real skill, was

there? There must be some other and better way than that,

surely. At the same time his thoughts were already running

forward to Sondra and New Year’s Eve. He was going with

her to Schenectady to a party and then he would have a

chance to judge whether she was caring for him as much

as she had seemed to the night before.

After he had gone, Roberta turned in a rather lorn and

weary way and looked out the window after him, wondering

as to what her future with him was to be, if at all?

Supposing now, for any reason, he should cease caring for

her. She had given him so much. And her future was now

dependent upon him, his continued regard. Was he going

to get tired of her now—not want to see her any more? Oh,

how terrible that would be. What would she—what could

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she do then? If only she had not given herself to him,

yielded so easily and so soon upon his demand.

She gazed out of her window at the bare snow-powdered

branches of the trees outside and sighed. The holidays!

And going away like this. Oh! Besides he was so high

placed in this local society. And there were so many things

brighter and better than she could offer calling him.

She shook her head dubiously, surveyed her face in the

mirror, put together the few presents and belongings which

she was taking with her to her home, and departed.

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Chapter 29

BILTZ and the fungoid farm land after Clyde and Lycurgus

was depressing enough to Roberta, for all there was too

closely identified with deprivations and repressions which

discolor the normal emotions centering about old scenes.

As she stepped down from the train at the drab and aged

chalet which did service for a station, she observed her

father in the same old winter overcoat he had worn for a

dozen years, waiting for her with the old family conveyance,

a decrepit but still whole buggy and a horse as bony and

weary as himself. He had, as she had always thought, the

look of a tired and defeated man. His face brightened when

he saw Roberta, for she had always been his favorite child,

and he chatted quite cheerfully as she climbed in alongside

of him and they turned around and started toward the road

that led to the farmhouse, a rough and winding affair of dirt

at a time when excellent automobile roads were a

commonplace elsewhere.

As they rode along Roberta found herself checking off

mentally every tree, curve, landmark with which she had

been familiar. But with no happy thoughts. It was all too

drab. The farm itself, coupled with the chronic illness and

inefficiency of Titus and the inability of the youngest boy

Tom or her mother to help much, was as big a burden as

ever. A mortgage of $2000 that had been placed on it years

before had never been paid off, the north chimney was still

impaired, the steps were sagging even more than ever and

the walls and fences and outlying buildings were no different

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—save to be made picturesque now by the snows of winter

covering them. Even the furniture remained the same

jumble that it had always been. And there were her mother

and younger sister and brother, who knew nothing of her

true relationship to Clyde—a mere name his here—and

assuming that she was wholeheartedly delighted to be back

with them once more. Yet because of what she knew of her

own life and Clyde’s uncertain attitude toward her, she was

now, if anything, more depressed than before.

Indeed, the fact that despite her seeming recent success

she had really compromised herself in such a way that

unless through marriage with Clyde she was able to

readjust herself to the moral level which her parents

understood and approved, she, instead of being the

emissary of a slowly and modestly improving social

condition for all, might be looked upon as one who had

reduced it to a lower level still—its destroyer—was sufficient

to depress and reduce her even more. A very depressing

and searing thought.

Worse and more painful still was the thought in connection

with all this that, by reason of the illusions which from the

first had dominated her in connection with Clyde, she had

not been able to make a confidant of her mother or any one

else in regard to him. For she was dubious as to whether

her mother would not consider that her aspirations were a

bit high. And she might ask questions in regard to him and

herself which might prove embarrassing. At the same time,

unless she had some confidant in whom she could truly

trust, all her troublesome doubts in regard to herself and

Clyde must remain a secret.

After talking for a few moments with Tom and Emily, she

went into the kitchen where her mother was busy with

various Christmas preparations. Her thought was to pave

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the way with some observations of her own in regard to the

farm here and her life at Lycurgus, but as she entered, her

mother looked up to say: “How does it feel, Bob, to come

back to the country? I suppose it all looks rather poor

compared to Lycurgus,” she added a little wistfully.

Roberta could tell from the tone of her mother’s voice and

the rather admiring look she cast upon her that she was

thinking of her as one who had vastly improved her state.

At once she went over to her and, putting her arms about

her affectionately, exclaimed: “Oh, Mamma, wherever you

are is just the nicest place. Don’t you know that?”

For answer her mother merely looked at her with

affectionate and well-wishing eyes and patted her on the

back. “Well, Bobbie,” she added, quietly, “you know how

you are about me.”

Something in her mother’s voice which epitomized the long

years of affectionate understanding between them—an

understanding based, not only on a mutual desire for each

other’s happiness, but a complete frankness in regard to all

emotions and moods which had hitherto dominated both—

touched her almost to the point of tears. Her throat

tightened and her eyes moistened, although she sought to

overcome any show of emotion whatsoever. She longed to

tell her everything. At the same time the compelling passion

she retained for Clyde, as well as the fact that she had

compromised herself as she had, now showed her that she

had erected a barrier which could not easily be torn down.

The conventions of this local world were much too strong—

even where her mother was concerned.

She hesitated a moment, wishing that she could quickly

and clearly present to her mother the problem that was

weighing upon her and receive her sympathy, if not help.

But instead she merely said: “Oh, I wish you could have

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been with me all the time in Lycurgus, Mamma. Maybe—”

She paused, realizing that she had been on the verge of

speaking without due caution. Her thought was that with her

mother near at hand she might have been able to have

resisted Clyde’s insistent desires.

“Yes, I suppose you do miss me,” her mother went on, “but

it’s better for you, don’t you think? You know how it is over

here, and you like your work. You do like your work, don’t

you?”

“Oh, the work is nice enough. I like that part of it. It’s been

so nice to be able to help here a little, but it’s not so nice

living all alone.”

“Why did you leave the Newtons, Bob? Was Grace so

disagreeable? I should have thought she would have been

company for you.”

“Oh, she was at first,” replied Roberta. “Only she didn’t have

any men friends of her own, and she was awfully jealous of

anybody that paid the least attention to me. I couldn’t go

anywhere but she had to go along, or if it wasn’t that then

she always wanted me to be with her, so I couldn’t go

anywhere by myself. You know how it is, Mamma. Two girls

can’t go with one young man.”

“Yes, I know how it is, Bob.” Her mother laughed a little,

then added: “Who is he?”

“It’s Mr. Griffiths, Mother,” she added, after a moment’s

hesitation, a sense of the exceptional nature of her contact

as contrasted with this very plain world here passing like a

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