NEAERA AGAIN

Neaera's attempt on Chairo had proved a humiliating failure, and when she confronted Lydia her cheeks were flushed, not with success as might have been imagined, but with the effort to escape without disgrace from a situation for which she had no one to thank or blame but herself. Chairo had certainly at one time been attracted by Neaera beyond the limits of mere companionship, but he had not taken long to discover that the glances that tended to bewitch him were no less bewitchingly turned on others, and he soon put Neaera where she deserved in his acquaintance.

She was extremely useful to him in his political plans and on the staff of "Liberty"; and although he was dimly conscious that Neaera would to the end—at every moment that the strain of the actual work was relieved—endeavor to bring into their intimacy the element of coquetry of which she was a past master, Chairo treated this disposition with something of the amused sense of her charm that would be elicited by a pet animal. And this willingness to be amused by her Neaera understood to mean a tribute to her attractiveness that might on a suitable occasion lead to an exchange of vows at the altar of matrimony.

But she little understood Chairo when she attempted to force the occasion of their meeting at Masters's into a channel so opposite to his present disposition. When he entered the room where Neaera awaited him the lines in his face and the fatigue in his eye elicited from Neaera an ejaculation in which, strange to say, there was some real sincerity. She was truly sorry for him, and she was woman enough to guess that the weary face before her was due to no mere political reverses, for the face was not only that of a tired man, it was also that of a man who had been chastened. She was restive under the thought that the chastening influence could be his love for Lydia, and the problem before her grew complicated when she guessed how difficult it would be for her to elicit from Chairo any word that could sting the woman whom to that particular end she had secreted in the adjoining room. Then, too, although she was mistress of her own voice, she was not mistress of Chairo's, and the possibility that Lydia might close her ears was one that did not enter within the scope of Neaera's imagination.

After having expressed her sympathy for Chairo and found that it elicited little or no response from him, but, on the contrary, that he was eager to know the reason of her presence in New York and of her message to him, she launched upon a highly imaginative account of her relations to Masters, and with her command of humor very soon got Chairo laughing over the success with which, according to her story, she had pulled the wool over Masters's eyes. Chairo had no reason to love Masters, and he had long ceased to regard Neaera as a responsible person; the immorality of her proceeding affected him, therefore, no more than if he had observed it in a monkey or a cat.

Neaera told her story in words so rapid and a voice so low that Lydia could hardly have understood it had she tried, and Neaera felt that she had scored a point when she had made Chairo laugh. Then, anticipating the effect of silence on Lydia, she had handed Chairo some selected passages from Masters's letters to read, and as Chairo burst again into laughter over certain passages in them, Neaera began to feel she might venture farther. Laughter, especially over an unrighteous matter, tends to make all righteousness seem superfluous, but when Neaera got near Chairo, in a pretense of reading over his shoulder, a very slight and almost unconscious movement of Chairo away from her made her understand that any further effort in this direction would be a mistake.

So Neaera set herself to discussing very seriously the situation with Chairo, assured him that she was prepared to sacrifice herself, and with a tear in her eye admitted to him, almost in a whisper, that she had tampered with his carriage.

"I knew it," said Chairo.

"But did you guess why?" asked Neaera, very low.

Chairo did not answer, but looked inquiry.

"Then you shall never know," continued Neaera.

This was the psychological moment of the interview. She had intended, had Chairo given her the least encouragement, to throw herself into his arms and confess to him that she had never loved any man but him, that so great was her love for him that she was prepared now to face the investigating committee, tell the whole story, and telling the story by so much exonerate him. She had expected that if there was a spark of affection in Chairo's heart for her, his chivalrousness would be roused by this offer, and he would share her fortunes rather than permit her sacrifice to assure his.

But the possibility of this imagined scene had been dissipated by that little unconscious movement of Chairo's away from her. Then, too, she knew that Lydia was in the next room, and she almost regretted now that she was there, for if Lydia had not been there she might have risked the venture. But that Lydia should witness a humiliating rejection was a risk she could not take. So she had spoken very low and rapidly in the hope that although Lydia might not hear any specific word that would hurt, she might gather a general impression that would sufficiently torment her. She little knew how completely she was, to this extent at any rate, succeeding.

"My dear Neaera," answered Chairo, "you are a very charming and complicated person and I do not pretend to guess why you chose to thwart my plans. But you have done me a great wrong in many ways. Should you decide now to repair them—in so far as this is possible—you will be behaving in a manner which, though proper, would hardly be consistent." He smiled a little as he said this; Neaera wished he would not speak so loud, and was even betrayed into a gesture which he interpreted as a gesture of protest, but was really an instinctive effort to induce him to lower his voice.

"You are very cruel to me," said Neaera, and she lowered her eyelids so that her long, black lashes swept her cheek.

"And you are a charming little comÉdienne," laughed Chairo, "and you ought to have devoted yourself to the stage."

"The world's my stage," she said, raising her eyes with a flash of indignation. "And there is upon it every kind of character. But while I have made a fool of many I have always respected you, and this is how you pay me for it!"

Chairo was not deceived by her pretty little air of indignation, but he said to himself that though it was a part she was playing, she played it well; so he arose, and, taking her hand, said:

"I do not mean to be unkind, Neaera, and for anything you do to help me I shall be profoundly grateful."

"What shall I do, Chairo?" she asked, looking up appealingly to him.

"Ah! that is in your hands," he answered.

"You can count upon me," she said, holding his hand in both of hers.

Chairo did not wish to prolong the interview, so by way of farewell he lifted her hands to his lips. Then she fell upon her knees, kissed his hands not once but many times, and bathed them in her tears. He lifted her gently and put her in her chair.

"Good-bye, little woman," he said gently, "and be sure that whatever you may do, I shall feel kindly toward you," and disengaging himself from her, he left the room.

Neaera saw him leave with something like real affection in her heart. "He is the best of them all," she said, "and I might have loved him really." And whether it was that there was in her something that might have responded to him had he love to give her or whether it was mere reaction from her own trumped-up distress, there was a moment as Neaera sat there when the little woman did sincerely think herself in love.

But the recollection that Lydia was in the next room came to her, and she wondered how much Lydia had heard. She looked in the mirror and saw there the reflection of the very agitation she wished Lydia to suspect, and so before the trace of it could disappear, she hurried to her victim. Perhaps, thought she, Lydia had heard something without hearing too much.