V
That was a hard, a rather miserable job, getting rid of the Lulu Bains whom Hettie had made superfluous.
On the Tuesday evening after his first meeting with Hettie, when Lulu came cooing into his study, Elmer looked depressed, did not rise to welcome her. He sat at his desk, his chin moodily in his two hands.
“What is it, dear?” Lulu pleaded.
“Sit down—no, please, don’t kiss me—sit down over there, dearest. We must have an earnest talk,” said the Reverend Dr. Gantry.
She looked so small, so rustic, for all her new frock, as she quivered in an ugly straight chair.
“Lulu, I’ve got something dreadful to tell you. In spite of our carefulness, Cleo—Mrs. Gantry—is onto us. It simply breaks my heart, but we must stop seeing each other privately. Indeed—”
“Oh, Elmer, Elmer, oh, my lover, please!”
“You must be calm, dear! We must be brave and face this thing honestly. As I was saying, I’m not sure but that it might be better, with her horrible suspicions, if you didn’t come to church here any more.”
“But what did she say—what did she say? I hate her! I hate your wife so! I won’t be hysterical but—I hate her! What did she say?”
“Well, last evening she just calmly said to me—You can imagine how surprised I was; like a bolt out of the blue! She said—my wife said, ‘Well, tomorrow I suppose you’ll be meeting that person that teaches cooking again, and get home as late as usual!’ Well, I stalled for time, and I found that she was actually thinking of putting detectives on us!”
“Oh, my dear, my poor dear! I won’t ever see you again! You mustn’t be disgraced, with your wonderful fame that I’ve been so proud of!”
“Darling Lulu, can’t you see it isn’t that? Hell! I’m a man! I can face the whole kit and boodle of ’em, and tell ’em just where they get off! But it’s you. Honestly, I’m afraid Floyd will kill you if he knows.”
“Yes, I guess he would. … I don’t know’s I care much. It would be easier than killing myself—”
“Now you look here, young woman! I’ll have none of this idiotic suicide talk!” He had sprung up; he was standing over her, an impressive priestly figure. “It’s absolutely against every injunction of God, who gave us our lives to use for his service and glory, to even think of self-slaughter! Why, I could never have imagined that you could say such a wicked, wicked, wicked thing!”
She crawled out after a time, a little figure in a shabby topcoat over her proud new dress. She stood waiting for a trolley car, alone under an arc-light, fingering her new beaded purse, which she loved because in his generosity He had given it to her. From time to time she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and all the time she was quite stupidly muttering, “Oh, my dear, my dear, to think I made trouble for you—oh, my dear, my very dear!”
Her husband was glad to find, the year after, that she had by some miracle lost the ambitiousness which had annoyed him, and that night after night she was willing to stay home and play cribbage. But he was angry and rather talkative over the fact that whenever he came home he would find her sitting blank-faced and idle, and that she had become so careless about her hair. But life is life, and he became used to her slopping around in a dressing gown all day, and sometimes smelling of gin.