“Me.” Caroline took off her gloves and coat and hat, and her mother put up her hand as though to ward off a too-affectionate kiss (it gave that impression), but when her daughter lowered her head to kiss her, Mrs. Walker cupped Caroline’s chin in the palm of her hand. “Dear,” she said. “Did you have a nice Christmas? Never even telephoned, did you?”
“Yes, I did, but you were out.”
“Yes, I was. I did go to Uncle Sam’s. You look well, dear.”
“I don’t feel well. I feel like the devil. Mother, what—”
“Yes, a little tired. A little strained. Why don’t you make Julian take you—”
“What would you do if I got a divorce?”
“—to Pinehurst. Divorce? Oh, now, Caroline. Four years, almost five. Divorce.”
“I thought so,” said Caroline. She relaxed. “I’m sorry. I just came here because I had to speak to somebody and I didn’t want to talk to somebody that’d blab it all over.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious.”
“But are you? Are you serious, Caroline? That’s a very serious thing, when people start talking about a divorce. We’ve never had a divorce in our family, and I don’t think there was ever one in Julian’s family either. What is it?”
“I’m just fed up. I’m sick and tired and miserable. I’m so miserable and unhappy. I’m so unhappy, Mother, I don’t care if I die.”
“Die, dear? Are you pregnant? Are you, dear? You could be wrong, you know. It might just be the strain, Christmas.” She got up and sat beside Caroline. “Come here, dear. Tell me about it. Mother wants to hear all about it.”
“Caroline wants to cry,” said Caroline, and laughed.
“Oh, this is serious. Dear, don’t. Have you missed the second period, dear?”
“Yes. Someone was in our seats. Oh, Mother, please. I’m not pregnant. That’s not it.”
“Are you sure, dear?”
“I’m positive. Mother, please don’t worry about that. That’s not it at all. It isn’t that. I guess I don’t want to talk about it,” said Caroline. “I’ll tell you what’s the matter. I might as well. I’m through with Julian. I want to go away and get a divorce and never hear his name again for a long time. We can go to France, can’t we? Can’t we?”
“Well, I suppose so. This year we ought to be a little more careful, Mr. Chadwick says and Carter. Carter isn’t very optimistic. But we could if we had to, go to Europe I mean. Seven. Twenty-five. Hundred and. Oh, we could go. You wouldn’t want to buy many things, would you, dear?”
“I don’t want to buy anything. I want a divorce. I want to stop being with Julian English and this life. All I am is tired. It’s nothing more than that. I’m just tired and fed up. I’m all washed up and I want to go away. I want to sleep here tonight and all other nights. I want to forget Julian and I want to talk to somebody and go away. I want to talk to somebody with an English accent or I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“This is serious. Tell me all about it if you want to. Of course if you’d rather not.”
“I’m not making much sense, am I?”
“Did you have a quarrel? Oh, you must have, of course.”
“No. Strangely enough, we didn’t. Not what you’d call a quarrel. That is, we didn’t have any scene or anything. It isn’t as easy as that. That could be fixed, I guess.”
“Well, what then? Julian isn’t in love with someone else, is he? I can’t somehow I can’t believe that. I don’t profess to know much about Julian, or any men, for that matter, but if Julian’s in love with someone else, then I’m no judge at all. If it’s just another woman temporarily, dear, don’t wreck your life on that account, I beg of you. Don’t wreck your whole life. Men are different from us women. An unscrupulous woman can make a man—”
“Period.”
“What, dear?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, as I was saying, dear, please listen. A woman without any scruples—and it might be someone we know. I don’t know a thing about this other woman, but there are unscrupulous women in every strata of life.”
“Mother?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Mother, what did you do with all the old records?”
“What old records, dear? Do you mean the Victrola records? Those?”
“Yes. What did you do with them?”
“Oh, don’t you remember? I gave them to the Y.M.C.A. camp three years ago. You said at the time you didn’t want them, only a few. You took some.”
“Oh, so I did.”
“If there’s any special one you want we could send for it. Mr. Peters would be glad to get it I’m sure. He wants me to buy an autophonic and trade this one in, this Victrola. But I’d never use an autophonic. I never use this one.”
“Orthophonic, Mother.”
“Orthophonic? It sounded like autophonic. Are you sure? Mr. Peters, I was sure he said autophonic. Oh, Caroline, see?”
“What, Mama?”
“See? It’s all over, isn’t it? Your bad spell. Here we are, having one of our discussions about words. You and Julian. You didn’t leave any foolish notes, did you, dear?”
“Oh, God no. I never thought to. Mother, do you really think I came running to you with a silly five-minute quarrel?”
“Well, after all, you’re not upset any more, are you?”
“Do you really think I’m not?”
“Yes. I do. I really think the worst of it has passed, gone. Your father and I had our quarrels, too.”
“When he died you said you never quarreled.”
“I never said that. At least, I never tried to give the impression that we didn’t have our differences. That would be untrue. All high-strung people, people in love, they always have their differences. As a matter of fact, Caroline, I’ve been thinking all along, something told me there wasn’t much to this. I’m nothing if not sympathetic and you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to see you happy, but I don’t want you to behave like a foolish child and do things and say things you’ll be sorry for later. Divorce! Why the very idea is—it’s wrong, Caroline, and I don’t see how you could say such things. You go on back to Julian, or stay here a while if you want to punish him, but stop this talk about divorce. Understand, I’m not defending Julian, but I should think you’d know how to handle him by this time. Flatter him, use your feminine wiles. You’re a pretty girl and he loves you. Believe me, Caroline, when a wife can’t hold a husband and there’s no other woman, the wife had better stop and see where the lack is in herself. Oh, my. It’s all so much like the time your father and I had our first quarrel.”
“What was your first quarrel about—not that this is my first, but go on, dear. Tell me. Caroline wants to know.”
“It wasn’t anything much. It was personal. Just between your father and I, dear.”
“Sex?”
“Caroline! Yes, it was, in a way. Is that—is—are you and Julian—does he want you to do something you—something…”
If she only knew Julian, Caroline thought; if she only knew me! “No, dear. Julian’s always been very good about that,” she said.
“Oftentimes men don’t understand. Many girls’ lives are ruined, completely wrecked, because men don’t understand how a nice girl feels. But let’s not talk about that. I told you when you were married, I told you to take a firm stand on certain things.”
“You never told me what things, though.”
“Well, dear, a nice girl. I couldn’t very well tell you some things till the matter came up. Apparently it never did, or you’d have come to me, I’m sure. You’re still only a girl, though, Caroline, and if you’re having trouble that way, that sort of trouble, please come to me instead of going to some friend your own age. I think things of that sort ought to be talked over between mother and daughter, not outsiders. I finally learned how to handle your father and my experience isn’t worth a thing, not a snap of the fingers, unless I’m able to help you, hand it on to you. But let’s not talk about it unless you want to.”