An American Tragedy Theodore Dreiser (whitelam books .TXT) 📖

She had made a decision. He would have to marry her. She must make him if there were no other way out of this. She must⁠—she must. Think of her home, her mother, Grace Marr, the Newtons, all who knew her in fact⁠—the terror and pain and shame with which this would sear all those in any way identified with her⁠—her father, brothers, sisters. Impossible! Impossible! It must not and could not be! Impossible. It might seem a little severe to her, even now, to have to insist on this, considering all the emphasis Clyde had hitherto laid upon his prospects here. But how, how else was she to do?

Accordingly the next day, and not a little to his surprise, since for so many hours the night before they had been together, Clyde received another note telling him that he must come again that night. She had something to say to him, and there was something in the tone of the note that seemed to indicate or suggest a kind of defiance of a refusal of any kind, hitherto absent in any of her communications to him. And at once the thought that this situation, unless cleared away, was certain to prove disastrous, so weighed upon him that he could not but put the best face possible on it and consent to go and hear what it was that she had to offer in the way of a solution⁠—or⁠—on the other hand, of what she had to complain.

Going to her room at a late hour, he found her in what seemed to him a more composed frame of mind than at any time since this difficulty had appeared, a state which surprised him a little, since he had expected to find her in tears. But now, if anything, she appeared more complacent, her nervous thoughts as to how to bring about a satisfactory conclusion for herself having called into play a native shrewdness which was now seeking to exercise itself.

And so directly before announcing what was in her mind, she began by asking: “You haven’t found out about another doctor, have you, Clyde, or thought of anything?”

“No, I haven’t, Bert,” he replied most dismally and wearisomely, his own mental tether-length having been strained to the breaking point. “I’ve been trying to, as you know, but it’s so darn hard to find anyone who isn’t afraid to monkey with a case like this. Honest, to tell the truth, Bert, I’m about stumped. I don’t know what we are going to do unless you can think of something. You haven’t thought or heard of anyone else you could go to, have you?” For, during the conversation that had immediately followed her first visit to the doctor, he had hinted to her that by striking up a fairly intimate relationship with one of the foreign family girls, she might by degrees extract some information there which would be of use to both. But Roberta was not of a temperament that permitted of any such facile friendships, and nothing had come of it.

However, his stating that he was “stumped” now gave her the opportunity she was really desiring, to present the proposition which she felt to be unavoidable and not longer to be delayed. Yet being fearful of how Clyde would react, she hesitated as to the form in which she would present it, and, after shaking her head and manifesting a nervousness which was real enough, she finally said: “Well, I’ll tell you, Clyde. I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t see any way out of it unless⁠—unless you, well, marry me. It’s two months now, you know, and unless we get married right away, everybody’ll know, won’t they?”

Her manner as she said this was a mixture of outward courage born out of her conviction that she was in the right and an inward uncertainty about Clyde’s attitude, which was all the more fused by a sudden look of surprise, resentment, uncertainty and fear that now transformation-wise played over his countenance; a variation and play which, if it indicated anything definite, indicated that she was seeking to inflict an unwarranted injury on him. For since he had been drawing closer and closer to Sondra, his hopes had heightened so intensely that, hearkening to this demand on the part of Roberta now, his brow wrinkled and his manner changed from one of comparatively affable, if nervous, consideration to that of mingled fear, opposition as well as determination to evade drastic consequence. For this would spell complete ruin for him, the loss of Sondra, his job, his social hopes and ambitions in connection with the Griffiths⁠—all⁠—a thought which sickened and at the same time caused him to hesitate about how to proceed. But he would not! he would not! He would not do this! Never! Never!! Never!!!

Yet after a moment he exclaimed equivocally: “Well, gee, that’s all right, too, Bert, for you, because that fixes everything without any trouble at all. But what about me? You don’t want to forget that that isn’t going to be easy for me, the way things are now. You know I haven’t any money. All I have is my job. And besides, the family don’t know anything about you yet⁠—not a thing. And if it should suddenly come out now that we’ve been going together all this time, and that this has happened, and that I was going to have to get married right away, well, gee, they’ll know I’ve been fooling ’em and they’re sure to get sore. And then what? They might even fire me.”

He paused to see what effect this explanation would have, but noting the somewhat dubious expression which of late characterized Roberta’s face whenever he began excusing himself, he added hopefully and evasively, seeking by any trick that he could to delay this sudden issue: “Besides, I’m not so sure that I can’t find a doctor yet, either. I haven’t had much luck so far, but that’s not saying that I won’t. And