Chapter 16
As they came down the church steps, some of the crowd still lingered and as Gayle realized this, her posture weakened and she looked limp and pathetic and lowered her head so that the broad brim of her hat shaded her face. She seemed almost to slink through the small groups that drew away to watch her warily, curiously, as she reached the car and Don had to exercise great self-control to keep from slapping her into it. Instead he was almost ostentatiously gentle as he put her into the car and took his seat beside her.
As the car moved away from the church, Gayle settled herself back in the car and beamed happily at Don.
"That was fun," she said contentedly. "There were enough of them left to be able to spread the word around town that I'm a broken and crushed flower-"
"A stinkweed," snapped Don childishly.
"Oh-let's say a deadly nightshade-they're prettier," she mocked.
He stared at her hard for a moment, his brows drawn blackly together.
"There's a weed that grows around and in hog lots," he told her savagely. "It has a very pretty white flower, but it only grows in filth and slime and if you happen to come into close contact with it, the odor is overpoweringly nasty. I'm sorry I don't know its name-"
She clenched her fists for a moment, but she was determined not to let him get under her hide with his nasty jabs. She was triumphant, and she was going to stay that way. So she widened her eyes at him, and fluttered her lashes.
"My, my, a lesson about flowers-oh, Daddy, tell me about the birds and the bees," she cooed sweetly.
Don folded his arms hard and she chuckled delightedly.
When they reached the house, Don helped her out of the car roughly, and kept his hand gripped about her elbow as he guided her around the house and to the service entrance. Through the kitchen, where dark-faced servants looked at her curiously and with anger, and up the back stairs to the corridor that led to her own room he propelled her so vigorously that she shrugged a little and would not protest. At the door of her room he paused, and said savagely, "Get your clothes changed and make it snappy. You're getting out of here so damned fast people will think a tornado blew up-"
"They already think that, dah-ling," she reminded him sweetly, and pushed open the door of her room. "Like to come in and help me change?"
"Get going!" snarled Don savagely.
She laughed again, mockingly and closed the door.
Changing from the delicate, filmy green gown into her traveling clothes was a small matter and her bags were already packed save for the green frock. Hatted, and with her gloves and bag laid ready she tucked the green frock into her bag, locked it and stood erect.
She heard voices outside her door, voices that were at first low-pitched and then rising a little in urgency and Gayle tensed a little. And then the door burst open and Sue was there, with Clyde and Don looking anxiously over her shoulder.
"Oh-hello," said Gayle and tried to mask the faintest possible trace of uneasiness that bothered her with a cool gaiety that was surprisingly convincing. "Come in, won't you?"
"I think," said Sue huskily, her voice shaking a little, "that you are the vilest, lowest, filthiest thing that ever crawled!"
"Do you, now? I'm practically in tears-on account of I just simply adore you," mocked Gayle insolently.
Clyde came into the room, putting Sue gently aside, and looked down at Gayle, while Don, with a worried look over his shoulder, followed him and closed the door behind him.
"You've got to tell her, Gayle, that there wasn't a word of truth in what you said at the church," he said shortly. "I don't know why you did it-but you and I both know it was all lies."
Gayle was mockingly reproachful.
"Oh, darling, please-" she cooed in sweet protest. "It's better for her to know it-and it won't matter, because she married you anyway-she says you're a very dull lover but I think you're marvelous."
Clyde's face was dark with anger and confusion.
"That's a damned he-" he stuttered furiously.
Gayle's eyebrows went up a little.
"That you're a dull and clumsy lover? I think so, too," she agreed with him warmly, her eyes soft and adoring.
"I meant it's a he that you know anything about what sort of-of-lover I am-" Clyde protested hotly.
"Don't give her the satisfaction of arguing with her, darling," said Sue quietly, her head erect, her face white, her eyes blazing. "I know that you have not been her lover."
Gayle was gaily derisive.
"Really?" she mocked. "How can you possibly be sure?"
For just the barest moment a flicker of uncertainty touched Sue's eyes and Gayle pounced on it like a hungry cat on a fat and unwary mouse.
"You can't be sure," she said swiftly. "You can't ever be sure-every time he crawls into your bed, you'll wonder 'did he do this to Gayle? Was Gayle more satisfying than I am? Is he thinking of Gayle this moment?' And you'll always be wondering-"
"Sue, you mustn't believe a word-" protested Clyde sharply.
"But you see, you don't know whether it's true or not-and you'll never know-and I'm going to like that a hell of a lot! Always knowing that you'll be wondering-and never having any way to know the truth," said Gayle swiftly, her eyes meeting Sue's steadily, and Sue unable to tear her gaze away.
Don said quietly, strongly, "Sue, she's an unmitigated liar and a tramp and a common slut-you can't believe anything she says."
Gayle laughed softly, triumphantly.
"No, but you'll always wonder-because women are like that. And every hour you spend in bed with Clyde will be spoiled by that wondering-and gradually, you'll get fed up with him-but I suppose Don will always be around, waiting for the scraps you want to throw his way."
Sue gasped and Don swore lividly. Gayle smiled sweetly at Clyde.
"Because of course you know," she said gaily, almost casually, "that Don is madly in love with Sue and she thinks he's-well, of course, he is a very accomplished lover. You're going to like the things he's taught her-"
Don grasped her by the arm and jerked her towards the door, just as the door opened and Mrs. Leslie stood there.
"You-bitch!" she said in almost a whisper, her eyes blazing at Gayle, her mouth twisting away from the word that no one had ever heard her use before.
"Oh, save it," snapped Gayle, suddenly wearying of the whole business. "Nothing you can say hasn't already been said and much better. And don't bother to order me out of here, because I'm just about to leave and damned glad I am going."
She wrenched her arm free of Don, and stood erect, facing them all.
"It's been a hell of a lot of fun," she told them venomously. "And the nicest part about it is that none of you will ever forget me. Nor will the town of Claresville, either!"
She swept towards the door, her head erect, while Don, his mouth a thin line, little white parentheses on either side of it to mark the hard set of his jaw, picked up her luggage and followed her, while the others drew aside as though fearful that her slightest touch might contaminate them.
When Don reached her she stood at the head of the front stairs, looking down at the chattering crowd below, and her eyes were satirical.
"I can't quite make up my mind about my exit line," she drawled sweetly. "Whether I should go down the stairs and through the crowd looking pathetic and heartbroken and forsaken-"
Don grasped her arm and drew her forcibly towards the back stairs.
"You'll go out the back way, like the rest of the garbage," he told her violently.
"We-ell, I suppose it would be sort of anti-climax if I let them see me again," she admitted sweetly as she went down the back stairs and out through the kitchen door. "After all, I made my point at the church, didn't I?"
Don did not answer her, as he jerked open the door of the waiting car and thrust her into it, piling her luggage beside her. To the driver, he said curtly, "You understand where you are to take her?"
"Sure, Don," said the man briskly. "Railroad station in Atlanta and see that she takes the next train out for New York."
"That's it," said Don grimly and stepped back as the car swung around the parking apron and headed towards the highway, leaving Don in a cloud of dust.
Gayle looked back as Don turned and strode into the house. And there was a small, lonely, frightened crying deep in her heart. That heart that a woman in her "profession" is not supposed ever to admit that she possesses. For love dies hard, even in the heart of a "brass-bound hussy." She was shamed and humiliated that she had been fool enough to fall in love. She derided herself bitterly for such folly. Tried to deny that it had happened; but as she turned a white, set face ahead to look un-seeingly at the golden path of light the car's lamps cut through the falling dusk, her mouth was thin and bitter and there were tears in her eyes that she could not quite blink away.
She was herself again by the time the car reached Atlanta, and when it was found that she had only a brief wait before the New York train, her escort handed her a ticket and Gayle smiled brilliantly at him.
"Thank you," she cooed sweetly. "And thank you for a very nice ride. I don't think I've met you before, have I? I'm sure I would have remembered."
He was tall and loose-jointed, red-haired, freckled, not more than twenty-five and his blue eyes wore a lively curiosity and an almost unwilling admiration.
"No, I just work for Clyde-I don't travel in his gang," he answered her, friendly and a trifle eager. "I was at the church, though...."
"Oh," said Gayle, and her eyes twinkled wickedly and there was a little smile touching her mouth that gave the man courage to blurt out a question.
"Look, you're away from Claresville now, and-well-was that on the level-what you accused him of...." he broke off, and the dark color almost swallowed up his freckles, but his eyes pleaded with her for an answer.
Gayle hesitated, her eyes mocking, the smile deepening a little.
"What do you think?" she drawled finally. The man grinned eagerly.
"I think Clyde's a pretty smart cookie and I never knew him to let any grass grow under his feet-I mean-well, he likes the gals, so I'd say if he had the opportunity-a good-looking dame like you-"
Gayle laughed a little.
"You're sweet," she drawled teasingly.
"Well-was it true?" in his eager question she sensed the avidity of a born gossip, and suddenly she laughed again.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she derided and walked away from him, swinging her hips a little and glad to be free of the restrictions Claresville imposed on such action for "a well-brought up lady."
The man's eyes followed her, and she heard the long low wolf-whistle that he gave and she tossed him a gay smile over her shoulder as she walked away from him....