The Genius by Theodore Dreiser

“Carlotta Hibberdell, you’re the most brazen creature I ever knew! You’re a terrible liar. How can you stand there and look me in the eye and say that, when you know that I know? Why lie in addition to everything else? Oh! Carlotta, the shame of it. If you only had some sense of honor! How can you lie like that? How can you?”

“I’m not lying,” declared Carlotta, “and I wish you would quit fussing. You didn’t see me. You know you didn’t. I came out of my room and you were in the front room. Why do you say you weren’t. You didn’t see me. Supposing I am a liar. I’m your daughter. I may be vile. I didn’t make myself so. Certainly I’m not in this instance. Whatever I am I come by it honestly. My life hasn’t been a bed of roses. Why do you start a silly fight? You haven’t a thing to go on except suspicion and now you want to raise a row. I don’t care what you think of me. I’m not guilty in this case and you can think what you please. You ought to be ashamed to charge me with something of which you are not sure.”

She walked to the window and stared out. Her mother shook her head. Such effrontery was beyond her. It was like her daughter, though. She took after her father and herself. Both were self-willed and determined when aroused. At the same time she was sorry for her girl, for Carlotta was a capable woman in her way and very much dissatisfied with life.

“I should think you would be ashamed of yourself, Carlotta, whether you admit it to me or not,” she went on. “The truth is the truth and it must hurt you a little. You were in that room. We won’t argue that, though. You set out deliberately to do this and you have done it. Now what I have to say is this: You are going back to your apartment today, and Mr. Witla is going to leave here as quick as he can get a room somewhere else. You’re not going to continue this wretched relationship any longer if I can help it. I’m going to write to his wife and to Norman too, if I can’t do anything else to break this up. You’re going to let this man alone. You have no right to come between him and Mrs. Witla. It’s an outrage, and no one but a vile, conscienceless woman would do it. I’m not going to say anything to him now, but he’s going to leave here and so are you. When it’s all over you can come back if you want to. I’m ashamed for you. I’m ashamed for myself. If it hadn’t been for my own feelings and those of Davis, I would have ordered you both out of the house yesterday and you know it. It’s consideration for myself that’s made me smooth it over as much as I have. He, the vile thing, after all the courtesy I have shown him. Still I don’t blame him as much as I do you, for he would never have looked at you if you hadn’t made him. My own daughter! My own house! Tch! Tch! Tch!”

There was more conversation—that fulgurous, coruscating reiteration of charges. Eugene was no good. Carlotta was vile. Mrs. Hibberdell wouldn’t have believed it possible if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. She was going to tell Norman if Carlotta didn’t reform—over and over, one threat after another.

“Well,” she said, finally, “you’re going to get your things ready and go into the city this afternoon. I’m not going to have you here another day.”

“No I’m not,” said Carlotta boldly, pondering over all that had been said. It was a terrible ordeal, but she would not go today. “I’m going in the morning. I’m not going to pack that fast. It’s too late. I’m not going to be ordered out of here like a servant.”

Her mother groaned, but she gave in. Carlotta could not be made to do anything she did not want to do. She went to her room, and presently Mrs. Hibberdell heard her singing. She shook her head. Such a personality. No wonder Eugene succumbed to her blandishments. What man wouldn’t?

Chapter 25

The sequel of this scene was not to be waited for. At dinner time Mrs. Hibberdell announced in the presence of Carlotta and Davis that the house was going to be closed up for the present, and very quickly. She and Carlotta were going to Narragansett for the month of September and a part of October. Eugene, having been forewarned by Carlotta, took it with a show of polite surprise. He was sorry. He had spent such a pleasant time here. Mrs. Hibberdell could not be sure whether Carlotta had told him or not, he seemed so innocent, but she assumed that she had and that he like Carlotta was “putting on.” She had informed Davis that for reasons of her own she wanted to do this. He suspected what they were, for he had seen signs and slight demonstrations which convinced him that Carlotta and Eugene had reached an understanding. He did not consider it anything very much amiss, for Carlotta was a woman of the world, her own boss and a “good fellow.” She had always been nice to him. He did not want to put any obstacles in her way. In addition, he liked Eugene. Once he had said to Carlotta jestingly, “Well, his arms are almost as long as Norman’s—not quite maybe.”

“You go to the devil,” was her polite reply.

Tonight a storm came up, a brilliant, flashing summer storm. Eugene went out on the porch to watch it. Carlotta came also.

“Well, wise man,” she said, as the thunder rolled. “It’s all over up here. Don’t let on. I’ll see you wherever you go, but this was so nice. It was fine to have you near me. Don’t get blue, will you? She says she may write your wife, but I don’t think she will. If she thinks I’m behaving, she won’t. I’ll try and fool her. It’s too bad, though. I’m crazy about you, Genie.”

Now that he was in danger of losing Carlotta, her beauty took on a special significance for Eugene. He had come into such close contact with her, had seen her under such varied conditions, that he had come to feel a profound admiration for not only her beauty but her intellect and ability as well. One of his weaknesses was that he was inclined to see much more in those he admired than was really there. He endowed them with the romance of his own moods—saw in them the ability to do things which he only could do. In doing this of course he flattered their vanity, aroused their self-confidence, made them feel themselves the possessors of latent powers and forces which before him they had only dreamed of. Margaret, Ruby, Angela, Christina and Carlotta had all gained this feeling from him. They had a better opinion of themselves for having known him. Now as he looked at Carlotta he was intensely sorry, for she was so calm, so affable, so seemingly efficient and self reliant, and such a comfort to him in these days.

“Circe!” he said, “this is too bad. I’m sorry. I’m going to hate to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” she replied. “You can’t. I won’t let you. I’ve found you now and I’m going to keep you. This don’t mean anything. We can find places to meet. Get a place where they have a phone if you can. When do you think you’ll go?”

“Right away,” said Eugene. “I’ll take tomorrow morning off and look.”

“Poor Eugene,” she said sympathetically. “It’s too bad. Never mind though. Everything will come out right.”

She was still not counting on Angela. She thought that even if Angela came back, as Eugene told her she would soon, a joint arrangement might possibly be made. Angela could be here, but she, Carlotta, could share Eugene in some way. She thought she would rather live with him than any other man on earth.

It was only about noon the next morning when Eugene had found another room, for, in living here so long, he had thought of several methods by which he might have obtained a room in the first place. There was another church, a library, the postmaster and the ticket agent at Speonk who lived in the village. He went first to the postmaster and learned of two families, one the home of a civil engineer, where he might be welcome, and it was here that he eventually settled. The view was not quite so attractive, but it was charming, and he had a good room and good meals. He told them that he might not stay long, for his wife was coming back soon. The letters from Angela were becoming most importunate.