An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

embrace.

Clyde sensed how deep was this sudden revolt. All the

more was he flagellated by the desire for possession of that

which now he half feared to be unobtainable. A dozen

seductive excuses sprang to his lips. “Oh, who would be

likely to see us anyhow, at this time of night? There isn’t

any one around. Why shouldn’t we go there for a few

moments if we want to? No one would be likely to hear us.

We needn’t talk so loud. There isn’t any one on the street,

even. Let’s walk by the house and see if anybody is up.”

Since hitherto she had not permitted him to come within

half a block of the house, her protest was not only nervous

but vigorous. Nevertheless on this occasion Clyde was

proving a little rebellious and Roberta, standing somewhat

in awe of him as her superior, as well as her lover, was

unable to prevent their walking within a few feet of the

house where they stopped. Except for a barking dog there

was not a sound to be heard anywhere. And in the house

no light was visible.

“See, there’s no one up,” protested Clyde reassuringly.

“Why shouldn’t we go in for a little while if we want to? Who

will know? We needn’t make any noise. Besides, what is

wrong with it? Other people do it. It isn’t such a terrible thing

An American Tragedy

429

for a girl to take a fellow to her room if she wants to for a

little while.”

“Oh, isn’t it? Well, maybe not in your set. But I know what’s

right and I don’t think that’s right and I won’t do it.”

At once, as she said this, Roberta’s heart gave a pained

and weakening throb, for in saying so much she had

exhibited more individuality and defiance than ever he had

seen or that she fancied herself capable of in connection

with him. It terrified her not a little. Perhaps he would not

like her so much now if she were going to talk like that.

His mood darkened immediately. Why did she want to act

so? She was too cautious, too afraid of anything that

spelled a little life or pleasure. Other girls were not like that,

—Rita, those girls at the factory. She pretended to love him.

She did not object to his holding her in his arms and kissing

her under a tree at the end of the street. But when it came

to anything slightly more private or intimate, she could not

bring herself to agree. What kind of a girl was she,

anyhow? What was the use of pursuing her? Was this to be

another case of Hortense Briggs with all her wiles and

evasions? Of course Roberta was in no wise like her, but

still she was so stubborn.

Although she could not see his face she knew he was

angry and quite for the first time in this way.

“All right, then, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to,”

came his words and with decidedly a cold ring to them.

“There are others places I can go. I notice you never want

to do anything I want to do, though. I’d like to know how you

think we’re to do. We can’t walk the streets every night.” His

tone was gloomy and foreboding—more contentious and

bitter than at any time ever between them. And his

references to other places shocked and frightened Roberta

An American Tragedy

430

—so much so that instantly almost her own mood changed.

Those other girls in his own world that no doubt he saw

from time to time! Those other girls at the factory who were

always trying to make eyes at him! She had seen them

trying, and often. That Ruza Nikoforitch—as coarse as she

was, but pretty, too. And that Flora Brandt! And Martha

Bordaloue—ugh! To think that any one as nice as he

should be pursued by such wretches as those. However,

because of that, she was fearful lest he would think her too

difficult—some one without the experience or daring to

which he, in his superior world, was accustomed, and so

turn to one of those. Then she would lose him. The thought

terrified her. Immediately from one of defiance her attitude

changed to one of pleading persuasion.

“Oh, please, Clyde, don’t be mad with me now, will you?

You know that I would if I could. I can’t do anything like that

here. Can’t you see? You know that. Why, they’d be sure to

find out. And how would you feel if some one were to see

us or recognize you?” In a pleading way she put one hand

on his arm, then about his waist and he could feel that in

spite of her sharp opposition the moment before, she was

very much concerned—painfully so. “Please don’t ask me

to,” she added in a begging tone.

“Well, what did you want to leave the Newtons for then?” he

asked sullenly. “I can’t see where else we can go now if you

won’t let me come to se e you once in a while. We can’t go

any place else.”

The thought gave Roberta pause. Plainly this relationship

was not to be held within conventional lines. At the same

time she did not see how she could possibly comply. It was

too unconventional—too unmoral—bad.

“I thought we took it,” she said weakly and placatively, “just

so that we could go places on Saturday and Sunday.”

An American Tragedy

431

“But where can we go Saturday and Sunday now?

Everything’s closed.”

Again Roberta was checked by these unanswerable

complexities which beleaguered them both and she

exclaimed futilely, “Oh, I wish I knew what to do.”

“Oh, it would be easy enough if you wanted to do it, but

that’s always the way with you, you don’t want to.”

She stood there, the night wind shaking the drying

whispering leaves. Distinctly the problem in connection with

him that she had been fearing this long while was upon her.

Could she possibly, with all the right instruction that she had

had, now do as he suggested. She was pulled and swayed

by contending forces within herself, strong and urgent in

either case. In the one instance, however painful it was to

her moral and social mood, she was moved to comply—in

another to reject once and for all, any such, as she saw it,

bold and unnatural suggestion. Nevertheless, in spite of the

latter and because of her compelling affection she could not

do other than deal tenderly and pleadingly with him.

“I can’t, Clyde, I can’t. I would if I could but I can’t. It

wouldn’t be right. I would if I could make myself, but I can’t.”

She looked up into his face, a pale oval in the dark, trying to

see if he would not see, sympathize, be moved in her favor.

However, irritated by this plainly definite refusal, he was not

now to be moved. All this, as he saw it, smacked of that

long series of, defeats which had accompanied his

attentions to Hortense Briggs. He was not going to stand for

anything now like that, you bet. If this was the way she was

going to act, well let her act so—but not with him. He could

get plenty of girls now—lots of them—who would treat him

better than this.

An American Tragedy

432

At once, and with an irritated shrug of the shoulders, as she

now saw, he turned and started to leave her, saying as he

did so, “Oh, that’s all right, if that’s the way you feel about

it.” And Roberta dumfounded and terrified, stood there.

“Please don’t go, Clyde. Please don’t leave me,” she

exclaimed suddenly and pathetically, her defiance and

courage undergoing a deep and sad change. “I don’t want

you to. I love you so, Clyde. I would if I could. You know

that.”

“Oh, yes, I know, but you needn’t tell me that” (it was his

experience with Hortense and Rita that was prompting him

to this attitude). With a twist he released his body from her

arm and started walking briskly down the street in the dark.

And Roberta, stricken by this sudden development which

was so painful to both, called, “Clyde!” And then ran after

him a little way, eager that he should pause and let her

plead with him more. But he did not return. Instead he went

briskly on. And for the moment it was all she could do to

keep from following him and by sheer force, if need be,

restrain him. Her Clyde! And she started running in his

direction a little, but as suddenly stopped, checked for the

moment by the begging, pleading, compromising attitude in

which she, for the first time, found herself. For on the one

hand all her conventional training was now urging her to

stand firm—not to belittle herself in this way—whereas on