“No, sir. Not that I wanted to marry her.”
“Well, well, all right!—and she—what did she say?”
“That she never would leave me,” replied Clyde, heavily
and fearsomely, thinking, as he did so, of Roberta’s last
cries and her eyes bent on him. And he took from his
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pocket a handkerchief and began to wipe his moist, cold
face and hands.
(“Well staged!” murmured Mason, softly and cynically.
“Pretty shrewd—pretty shrewd!” commented Redmond,
lightly.)
“But, tell me,” went on Jephson, softly and coldly, “feeling
as you did aboout Miss Alden, how was it that upon
meeting this Miss X, you could change so quickly? Are you
so fickle that you don’t know your own mind from day to
day?”
“Well, I didn’t think so up to that time—no, sir!”
“Had you ever had a strong and binding love affair at any
time in your life before you met Miss Alden?”
“No, sir.”
“But did you consider this one with Miss Alden strong and
binding—a true love affair—up to the time you met this Miss
X?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“And afterwards—then what?”
“Well—afterwards—it wasn’t quite like that any more.”
“You mean to say that on sight of Miss X, after encountering
her once or twice, you ceased to care for Miss Alden
entirely?”
“Well, no, sir. It wasn’t quite like that,” volunteered Clyde,
swiftly and earnestly. “I did continue to care for her some—
quite a lot, really. But before I knew it I had completely lost
my head over—over Miss—Miss——”
“Yes, this Miss X. We know. You fell madly and
unreasonably in love with her. Was that the way of it?”
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“Yes, sir.”
“And then?”
“Well—and then—I just couldn’t care for Miss Alden so
much any more.” A thin film of moisture covered Clyde’s
forehead and cheeks as he spoke.
“I see! I see!” went on Jephson, oratorically and loudly,
having the jury and audience in mind. “A case of the
Arabian Nights, of the enscorcelled and the enscorcellor.”
“I don’t think I know what you mean,” said Clyde.
“A case of being betwitched, my poor boy—by beauty, love,
wealth, by things that we sometimes think we want very,
very much, and cannot ever have—that is what I mean, and
that is what much of the love in the world amounts to.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Clyde, quite innocently, concluding rightly
that this was mere show of rhetoric on Jephson’s part.
“But what I want to know is—how was it that loving Miss
Alden as much as you say you did—and having reached
that relationship which should have been sanctified by
marriage—how was it that you could have felt so little
bound or obligated to her as to entertain the idea of casting
her over for this Miss X? Now just how was that? I would
like to know, and so would this jury, I am sure. Where was
your sense of gratitude? Your sense of moral obligation?
Do you mean to say that you have none? We want to
know.”
This was really cross-examination—an attack on his own
witness. Yet Jephson was within his rights and Mason did
not interfere.
“Well …” and here Clyde hesitated and stumbled, quite as if
he had not been instructed as to all this beforehand, and
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seemed to and did truly finger about in his own mind or
reason for some thought that would help him to explain all
this. For although it was true that he had memorized the
answer, now that he was confronted by the actual question
here in court, as well as the old problem that had so
confused and troubled him in Lycurgus, he could scarcely
think clearly of all he had been told to say, but instead
twisted and turned, and finally came out with:
“The fact is, I didn’t think about those things at all very
much. I couldn’t after I saw her. I tried to at times, but I
couldn’t. I only wanted her and I didn’t want Miss Alden any
more. I knew I wasn’t doing right—exactly—and I felt sorry
for Roberta—but just the same I didn’t seem able to do
anything much about it. I could only think of Miss X and I
couldn’t think of Roberta as I had before no matter how
hard I tried.”
“Do you mean to say that you didn’t suffer in your own
conscience on account of this?”
“Yes, sir, I suffered,” replied Clyde. “I knew I wasn’t doing
right, and it made me worry a lot about her and myself, but
just the same I didn’t seem to be able to do any better.” (He
was repeating words that Jephson had written out for him,
although at the time he first read them he felt them to be
fairly true. He had suffered some.)
“And then?”
“Well, then she began to complain because I didn’t go
round to see her as much as before.”
“In other words, you began to neglect her.”
“Yes, sir, some—but not entirely—no, sir.”
“Well, when you found you were so infatuated with this Miss
X, what did you do? Did you go and tell Miss Alden that you
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were no longer in love with her but in love with some one
else?”
“No, I didn’t. Not then.”
“Why not then? Did you think it fair and honorable to be
telling two girls at once that you cared for them?”
“No, sir, but it wasn’t quite like that either. You see at that
time I was just getting acquainted with Miss X, and I wasn’t
telling her anything. She wouldn’t let me. But I knew then,
just the same, that I couldn’t care for Miss Alden any more.”
“But what about the claim Miss Alden had on you? Didn’t
you feel that that was enough or should be, to prevent you
from running after another girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, why did you then?”
“I couldn’t resist her.”
“Miss X, you mean?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And so you continued to run after her until you had made
her care for you?”
“No, sir, that wasn’t the way at all.”
“Well then, what was the way?”
“I just met her here and there and got crazy about her.”
“I see. But still you didn’t go and tell Miss Alden that you
couldn’t care for her any longer?”
“No, sir. Not then.”
“And why not?”
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“Because I thought it would hurt her, and I didn’t want to do
that.”
“Oh, I see. You didn’t have the moral or mental courage to
do it then?”
“I don’t know about the moral or mental courage,” replied
Clyde, a little hurt and irritated by this description of himself,
“but I felt sorry for her just the same. She used to cry and I
didn’t have the heart to tell her anything.”
“I see. Well, let it stand that way, if you want to. But now
answer me one other thing. That relationship between you
two—what about that—after you knew that you didn’t care
for her any more. Did that continue?”
“Well, no, sir, not so very long, anyhow,” replied Clyde,
most nervously and shamefacedly. He was thinking of all
the people before him now—of his mother—Sondra—of all
the people throughout the entire United States—who would
read and so know. And on first being shown these
questions weeks and weeks before he had wanted to know
of Jephson what the use of all that was. And Jephson had
replied: “Educational effect. The quicker and harder we can
shock ’em with some of the real facts of life around here,
the easier it is going to be for you to get a little more sane
consideration of what your problem was. But don’t worry
your head over that now. When the time comes, just
answer ’em and leave the rest to us. We know what we’re
doing.” And so now Clyde added:
“You see, after meeting Miss X I couldn’t care for her so
much that way any more, and so I tried not to go around
her so much any more. But anyhow, it wasn’t so very long
after that before she got in trouble and then—well——”
“I see. And when was that—about?”
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“Along in the latter part of January last year.”
“And once that happened, then what? Did you or did you
not feel that it was your duty under the circumstances to
marry her?”
“Well, no—not the way things were then—that is, if I could
get her out of it, I mean.”
“And why not? What do you mean by ‘as things were then’?”
“Well, you see, it was just as I told you. I wasn’t caring for
her any more, and since I hadn’t promised to marry her,
and she knew it, I thought it would be fair enough if I helped
her out of it and then told her that I didn’t care for her as I