A Wicked Woman Page #2

"A Wicked Woman" is a novella by Jack London that delves into themes of morality, desire, and societal constraints. The story follows the complex relationship between a man and a woman who challenge the conventions of their time. Through vivid character portrayals and a gripping narrative, London explores the nature of wickedness and the struggles between personal freedom and societal expectations. The work highlights the intricacies of human emotions, making it a poignant reflection on love, betrayal, and the pursuit of happiness.

• Novel

								

eyelid drooping down for the moment in an unmistakable wink.

It was at this time that Loretta received a letter from Billy that was
somewhat different from his others. In the main, like all his letters,
it was pathological. It was a long recital of symptoms and sufferings,
his nervousness, his sleeplessness, and the state of his heart. Then
followed reproaches, such as he had never made before. They were sharp
enough to make her weep, and true enough to put tragedy into her face.
This tragedy she carried down to the breakfast table. It made Jack and
Mrs. Hemingway speculative, and it worried Ned. They glanced to him for
explanation, but he shook his head.

"I'll find out to-night," Mrs. Hemingway said to her husband.

But Ned caught Loretta in the afternoon in the big living-room. She
tried to turn away. He caught her hands, and she faced him with wet
lashes and trembling lips. He looked at her, silently and kindly. The
lashes grew wetter.

"There, there, don't cry, little one," he said soothingly.

He put his arm protectingly around her shoulder. And to his shoulder,
like a tired child, she turned her face. He thrilled in ways unusual for
a Greek who has recovered from the long sickness.

"Oh, Ned," she sobbed on his shoulder, "if you only knew how wicked I
am!"

He smiled indulgently, and breathed in a great breath freighted with the
fragrance of her hair. He thought of his world-experience of women, and
drew another long breath. There seemed to emanate from her the perfect
sweetness of a child--"the aura of a white soul," was the way he phrased
it to himself.

Then he noticed that her sobs were increasing.

"What's the matter, little one?" he asked pettingly and almost
paternally. "Has Jack been bullying you? Or has your dearly beloved
sister failed to write?"

She did not answer, and he felt that he really must kiss her hair, that
he could not be responsible if the situation continued much longer.

"Tell me," he said gently, "and we'll see what I can do."

"I can't. You will despise me.--Oh, Ned, I am so ashamed!"

He laughed incredulously, and lightly touched her hair with his lips--so
lightly that she did not know.

"Dear little one, let us forget all about it, whatever it is. I want to
tell you how I love--"

She uttered a sharp cry that was all delight, and then moaned--

"Too late!"

"Too late?" he echoed in surprise.

"Oh, why did I? Why did I?" she was moaning.

He was aware of a swift chill at his heart.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh, I... he... Billy.

"I am such a wicked woman, Ned. I know you will never speak to me
again."

"This--er--this Billy," he began haltingly. "He is your brother?"

"No... he... I didn't know. I was so young. I could not help it. Oh, I
shall go mad! I shall go mad!"

It was then that Loretta felt his shoulder and the encircling arm become
limp. He drew away from her gently, and gently he deposited her in a
big chair, where she buried her face and sobbed afresh. He twisted his
moustache fiercely, then drew up another chair and sat down.

"I--I do not understand," he said.

"I am so unhappy," she wailed.

"Why unhappy?"

"Because... he... he wants me to marry him."

His face cleared on the instant, and he placed a hand soothingly on
hers.

"That should not make any girl unhappy," he remarked sagely. "Because
you don't love him is no reason--of course, you don't love him?"

Loretta shook her head and shoulders in a vigorous negative.

"What?"

Bashford wanted to make sure.

"No," she asserted explosively. "I don't love Billy! I don't want to
love Billy!"

"Because you don't love him," Bashford resumed with confidence, "is no
reason that you should be unhappy just because he has proposed to you."

She sobbed again, and from the midst of her sobs she cried--

"That's the trouble. I wish I did love him. Oh, I wish I were dead!"

"Now, my dear child, you are worrying yourself over trifles." His other
hand crossed over after its mate and rested on hers. "Women do it every
day. Because you have changed your mind or did not know your mind,
because you have--to use an unnecessarily harsh word--jilted a man--"

"Jilted!" She had raised her head and was looking at him with
tear-dimmed eyes. "Oh, Ned, if that were all!"

"All?" he asked in a hollow voice, while his hands slowly retreated from
hers. He was about to speak further, then remained silent.

"But I don't want to marry him," Loretta broke forth protestingly.

"Then I shouldn't," he counselled.

"But I ought to marry him."

"OUGHT to marry him?"

She nodded.

"That is a strong word."

"I know it is," she acquiesced, while she strove to control her
trembling lips. Then she spoke more calmly. "I am a wicked woman, a
terribly wicked woman. No one knows how wicked I am--except Billy."

There was a pause. Ned Bashford's face was grave, and he looked queerly
at Loretta.

"He--Billy knows?" he asked finally.

A reluctant nod and flaming cheeks was the reply.

He debated with himself for a while, seeming, like a diver, to be
preparing himself for the plunge.

"Tell me about it." He spoke very firmly. "You must tell me all of it."

"And will you--ever--forgive me?" she asked in a faint, small voice.

He hesitated, drew a long breath, and made the plunge.

"Yes," he said desperately. "I'll forgive you. Go ahead."

"There was no one to tell me," she began. "We were with each other so
much. I did not know anything of the world--then."

She paused to meditate. Bashford was biting his lip impatiently.

"If I had only known--"

She paused again.

"Yes, go on," he urged.

"We were together almost every evening."

"Billy?" he demanded, with a savageness that startled her.

"Yes, of course, Billy. We were with each other so much... If I had only
known... There was no one to tell me... I was so young--"

Her lips parted as though to speak further, and she regarded him
anxiously.

"The scoundrel!"

With the explosion Ned Bashford was on his feet, no longer a tired
Greek, but a violently angry young man.

"Billy is not a scoundrel; he is a good man," Loretta defended, with a
firmness that surprised Bashford.

"I suppose you'll be telling me next that it was all your fault," he
said sarcastically.

She nodded.

"What?" he shouted.

"It was all my fault," she said steadily. "I should never have let him.
I was to blame."

Bashford ceased from his pacing up and down, and when he spoke, his
voice was resigned.
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