sue was in her half-furnished living-room—not curled comfortably on the couch-bed, as she would have been a month or two earlier, but sitting rather stiffly in a chair, a photograph in her listless hand.
zanin—big, shaggy, sunburnt—walked the floor. “are you turning conventional, sue?” he asked. “what is it? you puzzle me.”
“i don't want that picture used, jacob.”
he lighted a cigarette, dropped on a wooden chair, tipped it lack against the wall, twisted his feet around the front legs, drummed on the front of the seat with big fingers.
he reached for the photograph. it was sue herself, as she would appear in one of the more daring scenes of nature.
“it's an honest picture, sue—right off the film.” she was very quiet. “it's the singling it out, jacob. in the film it is all movement, action—it passes. it doesn't stay before their eyes.” a little feeling crept into her voice. “i agreed to do the film, jacob. i'm doing it. am i not?”
“but you're drawing a rather sharp line, sue. we've got to hit them hard with this thing. i don't expect mann to understand. i've got to work along with him as best i can and let it go at that. but i count on you.” the legs of the chair came down with a bang. he sprang up and walked the floor again. his cigarette consumed, he lighted another with the butt, which latter he tossed into a corner of the room. sue's eyes followed it there. she was still gazing at it when zanin paused before her. she could feel him looking down at her. she wished it were possible to avoid discussion just now. there had been so many discussions during these crowded two years.... she raised her eyes. there were his, fixed on her. he was not tired. his right hand was plunged into his thick hair; his left hand held the cigarette.
“you're none too fit, sue.”
she moved her hands in assert.
“and that's something to be considered seriously. we need you fit.”
she did not answer at once. she would have liked to send him away. she tried to recall the long slow series of events, each dovetailed so intricately into the next that had brought them so close. her mind—her sense of fairness—told her that he had every right to stand there and talk at her; yet he seemed suddenly and oddly a stranger.
“suppose,” she said, “we stop discussing me.”
he shook his head. “it's quite time to begin discussing you. it's suppressions, sue. you've played the village game with your mind, but you've kept your feelings under. the result is natural enough—your nerves are in a knot. you must let go—trust your emotions.”
“i trust my emotions enough,” said she shortly.
he walked back and forth. “let's look at this dispassionately, sue. we can, you and i. of course i love you—you know that. there have been women enough in my life, but none of them has stirred my blood as you have. not one. i want you—desperately—every minute—month in, month out. but”—he stood before her again—“if you can't let go with me, i'd almost—surely, yes, i can say it, i'd rather it would be somebody else then. but somebody, something. you're all buttled up. it's dangerous.”
she stirred restlessly.
“you know that as well as i.” he was merciless.
the worst of it was he really seemed dispassionate. for the moment she could not question his sincerity. he went on—“as lately as last winter you would have carried all this off with a glorious flare. it's this suppression that has got to your nerves, as it was bound to. you're dodging, i'm afraid. you're refusing life.” he lit another cigarette. “it's damn puzzling. at heart you are, i know, a thoroughbred. i can't imagine you marrying for a living or to escape love. you're intelligent—too intelligent for that.” she moved restlessly, picked up the photograph and studied it again.
“you can't go back to that home of yours...”
“i'm not going back there,” she said.
“and you can't quit. we're too deep in.”
“don't talk about that, jacob!” she broke out. “i'm not going to quit.”
he dropped casually on the arm of her chair. one big hand rested on the chair-back, the other took hers and held it, with the picture, a little higher.
she seemed for an instant to shrink away; then, with slightly compressed lips, sat motionless.
“you think i am squeamish,” she said.
“yes, i do.” they both looked at the photograph.
“really, sue—why on earth!... what is it, anyway? are you all of a sudden ashamed of your body?”
“don't expect me to explain. i know i'm inconsistent.”
he pressed her hand; then his other big hand very quietly stroked her hair, slid down to her forehead, rested slightly on her flushed temple and cheek.
“you poor child,” he said, “you're almost in a fever. you've got to do something. don't you see that?”
she was silent.
“it's tearing you to pieces, this giving the lie to your own beliefs. you've got to let go, sue! for god's sake, be human! accept a little happiness. you're not a small person. you are gifted, big. but you've got to live the complete life. it's the only answer.... see here. peter's away, isn't he?”
“he left last thursday... i had a note...”
“i didn't,” zanin smiled grimly. “it's tuesday, now. we can't do those outdoor scenes yet. you come away with me. i'll take you off into the hills somewhere—over in pennsylvania or up-state. let's have some happiness, sue. and give me a chance to take a little real care of you. half my strength is rusting right now because you won't use it.”
he drew her closer.
suddenly she sprang up, leaped across the room, whirled against the wall and faced him.
then she faltered perceptibly, for on his face she saw only frank admiration.
“fine, sue!” he cried. “that's the old fire! damn it, girl, don't let's be childish about this! you and i don't need to get all of a flutter at the thought of love. if i didn't stir an emotional response in you do you think i'd want you? but i do.” he rose and came to her. he gripped her shoulders and made her look at him. “child, for god's sake, don't all at once forget everything you know! where's your humor? can't you see that this is exactly what you've got to have—that somebody has got to stir you as i'm stirring you now! if i couldn't reach you, it would have to be some one else. a little love won't hurt you any. the real danger i've been fearing is that no man would be able to stir you. that would be the tragedy. you're a live vital girl. you're an artist. of course you've got to have love. you'll never do real work without it. you'll never even grow up without it.”
she could not meet his eyes. and she had a disheartening feeling that he was reasonable and right, granting the premises of their common philosophy.
he took his hands away. she heard him strike a match and light a cigarette, then move about the room. then his voice—
“what do you say, sue—will you pack a bag and start off with me? it'll do both of us good. it'll give us new life for our job.”
she was shaking her head. “no,” she said. “no.”
“if it was only this,” he said, thoughtfully enough—“but it's everything. peter is lying down on me and now you are failing me utterly.”
she dropped on a chair by the door. “that's the hardest thing you ever said to me, jacob.”
“it is true. i'm not blaming you. but it is a fact i have to meet.... sue, do you think for one moment i intend being beaten in this enterprise? don't you know me better than that? you are failing me. not in love—that is personal. but in the work. lately i have feared that peter had your love. now, sue, if i am not to have you i can almost wish he had. when you do accept love it will hurt you. i have no doubt of that. there will be reactions. the conventional in you will stab and stab. but you are not little, and you will feel the triumph of it. it will make you. after all, however it may come, through door or window, love is life.”
she had folded her hands in her lap and was looking down at them. “i have no doubt you are right,” she said slowly and quietly.
he gave a weary sigh. “of course. your own intelligence tells you.... if you won't go with me, sue, i may slip away alone. i've got to think. i've got to get money. i can get it, and i will. a little more energy, a little more expenditure of personality will do it. it can always be done.”
her mind roused and seized on this as a momentary diversion. “do you mean to go outside for it?”
“if it comes to that. don't you know, sue, that we're too far in with this thing to falter. the way to make money is to spend money. peter's a chicken. if he won't come through, somebody's got to. why it would cost more than a thousand dollars—perhaps two thousand—merely to do what i have planned to do with the picture you so suddenly dislike,” he looked about for his hat. “i'm going, sue. i've let myself get stirred up; and that, of course, is foolishness. i'm just tiring you out. you can't help, i see that—not as you are.”
she rose and leaned against the wall by the door. he took her arm as he reached her side. “buck up, little girl,” he said; “don't blame yourself.”
she did not answer, and for a long moment they stood thus. then she heard him draw in his breath.
his arms were around her. he held her against him.
“have you got a kiss for me, sue?” he asked.
she shook her head.
he let her go then, and again she leaned against the walk
“good-by,” said he. “if you could bring yourself to share the real thrill with me, i could help you. but i'm not going to wear you out with this crude sex-duel stuff. good-by.”
“wait,” she said then. she moved over to the table, and fingered the photograph. he stood in the doorway and watched her. she was thinking—desperately thinking. he could see that. the flush was still on her temples and cheeks. finally she straightened up and faced him.
“jacob,” she said, “i can't let you go like that. this thing has got to be settled. really settled.”
he slowly nodded.
“give me till saturday, jacob. i promise you i'll try to think it all out. i'll go through with the pictures anyway—somehow. as for this photograph, go ahead. use it. only please don't commit yourself in a money way before i see you. come to tea saturday, at four. i'll either tell you finally that we are—-well, hardly to be friends beyond the rest of this job of ours, or i'll—i'll go along with you, jacob.”
her voice faltered over the last of this, but her eyes did not. and her chin was high.
“it's too bad,” said he. “but you're right. it isn't me. you've come to the point where you've got to find yourself.”
“that's it,” she said. “i've got to try to find out what i am. if my thoughts and feelings have been misleading me—well, maybe i am conventional—maybe i am little—”
her voice broke. her eyes filled. but she fought the tears back and still faced him.
he took a step toward her. she shook her head.
he went out then.
and when the outer door shut she dropped limply on the couch-bed.
