But before I knew it I had completely lost my head over — over Miss — Miss —”
“Yes, this Miss X.
We know.
You fell madly and unreasonably in love with her. Was that the way of it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And then?”
“Well — and then — I just couldn’t care for Miss Alden so much any more.”
A thin film of moisture covered Clyde’s forehead and cheeks as he spoke.
“I see!
I see!” went on Jephson, oratorically and loudly, having the jury and audience in mind. “A case of the Arabian Nights, of the enscorcelled and the enscorcellor.”
“I don’t think I know what you mean,” said Clyde.
“A case of being betwitched, my poor boy — by beauty, love, wealth, by things that we sometimes think we want very, very much, and cannot ever have — that is what I mean, and that is what much of the love in the world amounts to.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Clyde, quite innocently, concluding rightly that this was mere show of rhetoric on Jephson’s part.
“But what I want to know is — how was it that loving Miss Alden as much as you say you did — and having reached that relationship which should have been sanctified by marriage — how was it that you could have felt so little bound or obligated to her as to entertain the idea of casting her over for this Miss X?
Now just how was that? I would like to know, and so would this jury, I am sure.
Where was your sense of gratitude?
Your sense of moral obligation?
Do you mean to say that you have none?
We want to know.”
This was really cross-examination — an attack on his own witness.
Yet Jephson was within his rights and Mason did not interfere.
“Well . . .” and here Clyde hesitated and stumbled, quite as if he had not been instructed as to all this beforehand, and seemed to and did truly finger about in his own mind or reason for some thought that would help him to explain all this.
For although it was true that he had memorized the answer, now that he was confronted by the actual question here in court, as well as the old problem that had so confused and troubled him in Lycurgus, he could scarcely think clearly of all he had been told to say, but instead twisted and turned, and finally came out with:
“The fact is, I didn’t think about those things at all very much.
I couldn’t after I saw her.
I tried to at times, but I couldn’t.
I only wanted her and I didn’t want Miss Alden any more.
I knew I wasn’t doing right — exactly — and I felt sorry for Roberta — but just the same I didn’t seem able to do anything much about it.
I could only think of Miss X and I couldn’t think of Roberta as I had before no matter how hard I tried.”
“Do you mean to say that you didn’t suffer in your own conscience on account of this?”
“Yes, sir, I suffered,” replied Clyde.
“I knew I wasn’t doing right, and it made me worry a lot about her and myself, but just the same I didn’t seem to be able to do any better.” (He was repeating words that Jephson had written out for him, although at the time he first read them he felt them to be fairly true. He had suffered some.)
“And then?”
“Well, then she began to complain because I didn’t go round to see her as much as before.”
“In other words, you began to neglect her.”
“Yes, sir, some — but not entirely — no, sir.”
“Well, when you found you were so infatuated with this Miss X, what did you do?
Did you go and tell Miss Alden that you were no longer in love with her but in love with some one else?”
“No, I didn’t. Not then.”
“Why not then?
Did you think it fair and honorable to be telling two girls at once that you cared for them?”
“No, sir, but it wasn’t quite like that either.
You see at that time I was just getting acquainted with Miss X, and I wasn’t telling her anything.
She wouldn’t let me.
But I knew then, just the same, that I couldn’t care for Miss Alden any more.”
“But what about the claim Miss Alden had on you?
Didn’t you feel that that was enough or should be, to prevent you from running after another girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, why did you then?”
“I couldn’t resist her.”