She was weeping. “Oh, Bruce, oh, please!
What have I done?
Don’t you love me any more?
Isn’t it enough that I’ll do anything you want?
I don’t ask anything of you, do I?
Please, Bruce, you won’t leave me, will you, Bruce?”
But Tollifer, pushing her aside, broke away.
“Don’t, Rosalie, don’t,” he went on.
“I won’t stand for it!
You can’t hold me this way.
I’m getting out because I have to!”
He opened the door, but as he moved, Rosalie threw herself between him and the stairs.
“Oh, Bruce,” she cried, “for God’s sake, you can’t go!
Listen, you can’t leave me this way!
I’ll do anything, anything at all, I tell you!
Oh, Bruce, I’ll get more money, I’ll get a better job.
I know I can.
We can move to another apartment.
I’ll fix it all.
Bruce, please sit down, and don’t carry on this way.
I’ll kill myself if you leave me!”
But Tollifer was adamant by this time.
“Oh, cut that, Rosie!
Don’t be a damn fool!
I know you’re not going to kill yourself, and you know it, too.
Brace up!
Just be calm, and I’ll see you tonight or tomorrow, maybe, but I’ve got to make a new deal, that’s all there is to it.
Do you get that?”
Rosalie weakened under his gaze.
She realized now that the inevitable was not to be avoided.
She knew she could not hold him if he wished to go.
“Oh, Bruce,” she pleaded once more, pressing close to him.
“I won’t let you go! I won’t! I won’t!
You can’t go this way!”
“Can’t I?” he demanded.
“Well, just watch me!”
And he pulled her away from the door and went out, hurrying down the stairs.
Rosalie, breathless and filled with terror, stood staring as the house door slammed, then turned wearily and re-entered the room, closing the door and leaning against it.
It was nearly time to go to rehearsal, but she shuddered as she thought of it.
She didn’t care now. There was nothing . . . unless, maybe, he would come back . . . he would have to come back for his clothes . . .
Chapter 9
The thought which Tollifer was cherishing at this time was that he might get a job in a brokerage house or trust company dealing with the affairs, or, more particularly, the fortunes, of widows or daughters of men of wealth.
His difficulty, however, was that he had passed out of the group of society handy men that flourished not only on the fringe, but in the very heart, of New York society of that day.
Such men were not only useful, but at times absolutely essential, to those with money but no background who sought to enter society, as well as to passe debutantes who, because of encroaching years, wished to maintain a conspicuous place.
The qualifications were considerable, including the best American descent, appearance, social flair, and a sophisticated interest in yachting, racing, polo, tennis, riding, driving—especially the four-in-hand coach—the opera, the theater, the sporting ring.
These men followed the wealthy to Paris, Biarritz, Monte Carlo, Nice, Switzerland, Newport, Palm Beach; the duck blinds of the south and the country clubs everywhere.
In New York their principal haunts were the smart restaurants, the “Diamond Horseshoe” of the opera, and the theaters.
It was necessary that they dress well and appropriately for any occasion; be of service and skill in obtaining the best seats for a horse show, a tennis match, a football game, or the current popular play.
It helped if they were able to take a hand at cards and explain the finer points of the game, or, on occasion, give advice or make suggestions as to clothes, jewels, or the decoration of a room.
But, above all, they must see that the names of their patrons appeared with comparative frequency in Town Topics or the newspaper society colums.