An American Tragedy - Theodore Dreiser [168]
And on her part she was torn, not so much by the question as to whether she would have to yield in this matter (for by now that was almost the least of her worries), but whether, once so yielding, Clyde would be satisfied with just some form of guarded social contact in the room—or not. And so continue on the strength of that to be friends with her. For more than this she would not grant—never. And yet—this suspense. The misery of his indifference. She could scarcely endure it from minute to minute, let alone from hour to hour, and finally in an agony of dissatisfaction with herself at having brought all this on herself, she retired to the rest room at about three in the afternoon and there with the aid of a piece of paper found on the floor and a small bit of pencil which she had, she composed a brief note:
“Please, Clyde, don’t be mad at me, will you? Please don’t. Please look at me and speak to me, won’t you? I’m so sorry about last night, really I am—terribly. And I must see you tonight at the end of Elm Street at 8:30 if you can, will you? I have something to tell you. Please do come. And please do look at me and tell me you will, even though you are angry. You won’t be sorry. I love you so. You know I do.
“Your sorrowful,
“ROBERTA.”
And in the spirit of one who is in agonized search for an opiate, she folded up the paper and returning to the room, drew close to Clyde’s desk. He was before it at the time, bent over some slips. And quickly as she passed she dropped the paper between his hands. He looked up instantly, his dark eyes still hard at the moment with the mingled pain and unrest and dissatisfaction and determination that had been upon him all day, and noting Roberta’s retreating figure as well as the note, he at once relaxed, a wave of puzzled satisfaction as well as delight instantly filled him. He opened it and read. And as instantly his body was suffused with a warm and yet very weakening ray.
And Roberta in turn, having reached her table and paused to note if by any chance any one had observed her, now looked cautiously about, a strained and nervous look in her eyes. But seeing Clyde looking directly at her, his eyes filled with a conquering and yet yielding light and a smile upon his lips, and his head nodding a happy assent, she as suddenly experienced a dizzying sensation, as though her hitherto constricted blood, detained by a constricted heart and constricted nerves, were as suddenly set free. And all the dry marshes and cracked and parched banks of her soul—the dry rivulets and streams and lakes of misery that seemed to dot her being—were as instantly flooded with this rich upwelling force of life and love.
He would meet her. They would meet tonight. He would put his arms around her and kiss her as before. She would be able to look in his eyes. They would not quarrel any more—oh, never if she could help it.
Chapter 22
The wonder and, delight of a new and more intimate form of contact, of protest gainsaid, of scruples overcome! Days, when both, having struggled in vain against the greater intimacy which each knew that the other was desirous of yielding to, and eventually so yielding, looked forward to the approaching night with an eagerness which was as a fever embodying a fear. For with what qualms—what protests on the part of Roberta; what determination, yet not without a sense of evil—seduction—betrayal, on the part of Clyde. Yet the thing once done, a wild convulsive pleasure motivating both. Yet, not without, before all this, an exaction on the part of Roberta to the effect that never—come what might (the natural consequences of so wild an intimacy strong in her thoughts) would he desert her, since without his aid she would be helpless. Yet, with no direct statement as to marriage. And he, so completely overcome and swayed by his desire, thoughtlessly protesting that he never would— never. She might depend on that, at least, although even then there was no thought in his mind of marriage. He would not do that. Yet nights and nights—all scruples for the time being abandoned, and however much by day Roberta might brood and condemn herself