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If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Ladies must live + +Author: Alice Duer Miller + +Illustrator: Paul Meylan + +Release Date: June 30, 2004 [eBook #12789] + +Most Recent Release Date: December 28, 2022 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Mary Meehan and the Project Gutenberg Online + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADIES MUST LIVE *** + + + + +LADIES MUST LIVE + + + + +[Illustration: She stopped with her hand on the banister, like +Louise of Prussia] + + + + + LADIES MUST LIVE + + BY + ALICE DUER MILLER + Author of “Come Out of the Kitchen,” etc. + + ILLUSTRATED BY + PAUL MEYLAN + + + [Illustration: (Publisher’s colophon)] + + + NEW YORK + THE CENTURY CO. + 1917 + + + + + Copyright, 1917, by + The Century Co. + + Copyright, 1917, by + INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE CO. + + _Published, October, 1917_ + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + PAGE + + She stopped with her hand on the banister, like + Louise of Prussia _Frontispiece_ + + And then, with a clean towel, he deliberately + dried her hands, finger by finger 69 + + “Isn’t that rather a reckless way for a man in + your situation to talk?” 91 + + “Well, heaven itself can’t save a fool,” said Mrs. + Almar 119 + + It was arranged that he was to bring Dorothy to + dine with them that evening 147 + + He stood like a rock under her caress 173 + + “May I ask, Mr. Riatt, what rights in the matter + you consider that you have?” Linburne pursued 199 + + “Max,” she said, “I love you” 241 + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Mrs. Ussher was having a small house party in the country over New +Year’s Day. This is equivalent to saying that the half dozen most +fashionable people in New York were out of town. + +Certain human beings are admitted to have a genius for discrimination +in such matters as objects of art, pigs or stocks. Mrs. Ussher had +this same instinct in regard to fashion, especially where fashions +in people were concerned. She turned toward hidden social availability +very much as the douser’s hazel wand turns toward the hidden spring. +When she crossed the room to speak to some woman after dinner, +whatever that woman’s social position might formerly have been, you +could be sure that at present she was on the upward wing. When Mrs. +Ussher discovered extraordinary qualities of mind and sympathy in +some hitherto impossible man, you might be certain it was time to +begin to book him in advance. + +Not that Mrs. Ussher was a kingmaker; she herself had no more +power over the situation than the barometer has over the weather. +She merely was able to foretell; she had the sense of approaching +social success. + +She was unaware of her own powers, and really supposed that her +sudden and usually ephemeral friendships were based on mutual +attraction. The fact that for years her friends had been the small +group of the momentarily fashionable required, in her eyes, no +explanation. So simple was her creed that she believed people were +fashionable for the same reason that they were her friends, because +“they were so nice.” + +During the short period of their existence, Mrs. Ussher gave to +these friendships the utmost loyalty and devotion. She agonized +over the financial, domestic and romantic troubles of her friends; +she sat up till the small hours, talking to them like a schoolgirl; +during the height of their careers she organized plots for their +assistance; and even when their stars were plainly on the decline, +she would often ask them to lunch, if she happened to be alone. + +Many people, we know, are prone to make friends with the rich and +great. Mrs. Ussher’s genius consisted in having made friends with +them before they were either. When you hurried to her with some +account of a newly discovered treasure--a beauty or a conversable +young man--she would always say: “Oh, yes, I crossed with her two +years ago,” or “Isn’t he a dear?--he was once in Jack’s office.” +The strange thing was these statements were always true; the +subjects of them confessed with tears that “dear Mrs. Ussher” or +“darling Laura” was the kindest friend they had ever had. + +Her house party was therefore likely to be notable. + +First, there was of course Mrs. Almar--of course without her +husband. There is only one thing, or perhaps two, to be said for +Nancy Almar--that she was very handsome and that she was not a +hypocrite, no more than a pirate is a hypocrite who comes aboard +with his cutlass in his teeth. Mrs. Almar’s cutlass was always in +her teeth, when it was not in somebody’s vitals. + +She had smooth, jet-black hair, done close to her pretty head, +a clear white-and-vermilion complexion, and a good figure, not +too tall. She said little, but everything she did say, she most +poignantly meant. If, while you were talking to her, she suddenly +cried out: “Ah, that’s really good!” there was no doubt you had had +the good fortune to amuse her; while if she yawned and left you in +the midst of a sentence there was no question that she was bored. + +She hated her husband--not for the conventional reason that she had +married him. She hated him because he was a hypocrite, because he +was always placating and temporizing. + +For instance, he had said to her as she was about to start for the +Usshers’: + +“I hope you’ll explain to them why I could not come.” + +There had never been the least question of Mr. Almar’s coming, and +she turned slowly and looked at him as she asked: + +“You mean that I would not have gone if you had?” + +He did not seem annoyed. + +“No,” he said, “that I’m called South on business.” + +“I shan’t tell them that,” she said, slowly wrapping her furs about +her throat; and then foreseeing a comic moment, she added, “but +I’ll tell them you say so, if you like.” + +She was as good as her word--she usually was. + +When the party was at tea about the drawing-room fire, she asked +without the slightest change of expression: + +“Would any one like to hear Roland’s explanation of why he is not +with us?” + +“Had it anything to do with his not being asked?” said a pale young +man; and as soon as he had spoken, he glanced hastily round the +circle to ascertain how his remark had succeeded. + +So far as Mrs. Almar was concerned it had not succeeded at all, in +fact, though he did not know it, nothing he said would ever succeed +with her again, although a week before she had hung upon his every +word. He had been a new discovery, something unknown and Bohemian, +but alas, a day or two before, she had observed that underlying his +socialistic theories was an aching desire for social recognition. +He liked to tell his bejeweled hostesses about his friends the +car-drivers; but, oh, twenty times more, he would have liked to +tell the car-drivers about his friends the bejeweled hostesses. For +this reason Mrs. Almar despised him, and where she despised she +made no secret of the fact. + +“Not asked, Mr. Wickham!” she said. “I assume my husband is asked +wherever I am,” and then turning to Laura Ussher she added with a +faint smile: “One’s husband is always asked, isn’t he?” + +“Certainly, as long as you never allow him to come,” said another +speaker. + +This was the other great beauty of the hour--or, since she was +blond and some years younger than Mrs. Almar, perhaps it would be +right to say that she was the beauty of the hour. + +She was very tall, golden, fresh, smooth, yet with faint hollows in +her cheeks that kept her freshness from being insipid. Christine +Fenimer had another advantage--she was unmarried. In spite of the +truth of the observation that a married woman’s greatest charm is +her husband, he is also in the most practical sense a disadvantage; +he does sometimes stand across the road of advancement, even in a +land of easy divorce. Mrs. Almar, for instance, was regretfully +aware that she might have done much better than Roland Almar. The +great stakes were really open to the unmarried. + +She was particularly aware of this fact at the moment, for the +party was understood to be awaiting a great stake. Mrs. Ussher had +discovered a cousin, a young man who, soon after graduating from +a technical college, had invented a process in the manufacture of +rubber that had brought him a fortune before he was thirty. He was +now engaged in spending it on aviation experiments. He was reckless +and successful. Besides which he was understood to be personally +attractive--his picture in a silver frame stood on a neighboring +table. He was of the lean type that Mrs. Almar admired. + +Now it was perfectly clear to her why he was asked. Mrs. Ussher +adored Christine Fenimer. Of all girls in the world it was +essential that Christine should marry money. This man, Max Riatt, +new to the fashionable world, ought to be comparatively easy game. +The thing ought to go on wheels. But Mrs. Almar herself was not +indifferent to six feet of splendid masculinity; nor without her +own uses at the moment for a good-looking young man. + +In other words, there was going to be a contest; in the full +sight of the little public that really mattered, the lists were +set. Nobody present, except perhaps Wickham, who was dangerously +ignorant of the world in which he was moving, doubted for one +moment that Miss Fenimer had resolved to marry Max Riatt, if, that +is, he turned out to be actually as per the recommendations of Mrs. +Ussher; nor was it less certain that Mrs. Almar intended that he +should be hers. + +Of course if Mrs. Ussher had been absolutely single-minded, she +would not have invited Mrs. Almar to this party; but though a warm +friend to Christine Fenimer, Laura was not a fanatic, and the +piratical Nancy was her friend, too. + +Mrs. Almar could have pleaded an additional reason for her wish to +interfere with this match, besides the natural one of not wishing +Miss Fenimer to attain any success; and that was the fact that +Edward Hickson, her brother, had wanted for several years to marry +Christine. Hickson was a dull, kindly, fairly well-to-do young +man--exactly the type you would like to see your rival marry. +Hickson had motored out with his sister, and had received some +excellent counsel on the way. + +“Now, Ned,” she had said, “don’t cut your own throat by being an +adoring foil. Don’t let Christine grind your face in the dust, just +to show this new man that she can do it.” + +“You don’t do Christine justice,” he had answered, “if you think +she would do that.” + +His sister did not reply. She thought it would have been doing the +girl injustice to suppose that she would do anything else. + +They were still sitting about the tea-table at a quarter to seven, +when Christine and Mrs. Almar rose simultaneously. It was almost +time for the arrival of Riatt, and neither had any fancy for +meeting him save at her best--in all the panoply of evening dress. + +“We’re not dining till a quarter past eight, my dears,” said Mrs. +Ussher. + +Both ladies thought they would lie down before dinner. And here +chance took a hand. Riatt’s train was late, whereas Christine’s +clock was fast. And so it happened that she came downstairs just as +he was coming up. + +There had been no one to greet him. He was told by the butler +that Mrs. Ussher was dressing, that dinner would be in fifteen +minutes; he started to bound up the stairs, following the footman +with his bags, when suddenly looking up the broad flight he saw a +blond vision in white and pearls coming slowly down. He hoped that +his lower jaw hadn’t fallen, but she really was extraordinarily +beautiful; and he could not help slowing down a little. She +stopped, with her hand on the banisters, like Louise of Prussia. + +“Oh, you’re Mr. Riatt,” she said, very gently. “You know you’re +most awfully late.” + +“I wish,” he said, “that I were wise enough to be able to say: ‘Oh, +you’re Miss ----’” + +“I might be a Mrs.” + +“Oh, I hope not,” he answered. “Are you?” + +She smiled. + +“You’ll know as soon as you come down to dinner.” + +“I shall be quick about dressing.” + +He went on up, and she pursued her slow progress down. She felt +that her future had been settled by those few seconds on the stairs. + +“He will do admirably,” she said to herself, and a smile like that +of a sleeping infant curved her lips. She felt calmly triumphant. +She had always said there was no reason why even a rich man should +be absolutely impossible. She recalled certain great fortunes with +repulsive owners, which some of her friends had accepted. For +herself she had always intended to have everything--love and money, +too. And here it was, almost in her hands. There had been moments +when she had been so discouraged that she had actually made up her +mind to marry Ned Hickson. How wise she had been to hold off! + +She leant her arm on the mantel-piece and studied herself in the +mirror. It was a Chinese painted mirror, and the tint of the +glass was green and unbecoming, yet even this could not mar the +dazzling reflection. The only object on which she looked with +dissatisfaction was her string of pearls; they were imitation. She +thought she would have emeralds; and she heard clearly in her own +inner ear this sentence: “Yes, that is young Mrs. Max Riatt; is she +not very beautiful in her emeralds!” + +Fortunately she did not say it aloud, for Mrs. Ussher came down +at this moment, and soon Hickson, and then in an incredibly short +space of time Riatt himself. + +Undoubtedly he would do magnificently. He stood the test even of +evening clothes, though Christine fancied as she studied him that +she would alter his style of collars. They would be better higher. +Mrs. Ussher brought him over at once and introduced him. + +“This is my cousin Max, Christine, about whom I’ve talked so much. +Max, this is Miss Fenimer.” + +They smiled at each other with a common impulse not to confess that +earlier meeting on the stairs; and he was just about to settle down +beside her, when the door opened and, last of all, Mrs. Almar came +in. She was wearing her flame-color and lilac dress. Christine +knew she would have it on; knew that she saved it for the greatest +moments. She did not advance very far into the room, but stood +looking around her. + +“Well,” she said, “where is Cousin Max?” + +It must not be supposed from this question that she had not seen +him almost through the crack of the door as the butler opened it +for her; but by speaking just when and where she did, she forced +him to get up from Christine’s side, and come to where she was +to be introduced to her. Then as dinner was at the same instant +announced, she put her hand on his arm. + +“Take me in to dinner, Cousin Max,” she said. + +“I did not know he was _your_ cousin,” said Wickham, who suffered +from the fatal tendency in moments of doubt to say something. + +Mrs. Almar looked at Riatt. + +“Will you be a cousin to me?” she asked. “It commits you to +nothing.” + +“I don’t consider that an advantage,” he returned, drawing his +elbow slightly inward, so that her hand, if not actually pressed, +was made to feel secure upon his arm. “There are some things I +wouldn’t a bit mind being committed to.” + +Mrs. Almar moved her black head from side to side. + +“You must be more specific,” she said, “or I shan’t understand you.” + +“More specific in words?” he inquired gently. They were crossing +the hall, and had a sort of privacy for an instant. + +“Dear me,” she returned, “you do move rather rapidly, don’t you?” + +“I’m an aviator, you see,” he answered. + +Across the table Christine was trying to be gracious and graceful +while she put up with Hickson, but she was feeling as any honest +captain feels at having a prize cut out from under his very nose. + +Mrs. Ussher seeing this, decided that such methods as Nancy’s +ought not to prevail; she seated herself on Max’s other side, and +instantly engaged in conversation. + +“Don’t you think my dear little Christine is an angel?” she said, +without any encumbering subtility. + +“She certainly looks like one.” + +“Who looks like what?” asked Mrs. Almar, from his other side. She +had had this sort of thing tried too often not to be on her guard. + +Mrs. Ussher leant forward. + +“Max was just saying that Christine looks like an angel.” + +Nancy looked at him and made a very slight grimace. + +“Are you so awfully strong for angels?” she said. He laughed. + +“I never met one before.” + +“You haven’t met one to-night.” + +“You mean that you’re not an angel, Mrs. Almar?” + +“I? Oh, I’m well and favorably known as the wickedest woman in New +York. I meant that Miss Fenimer is not an angel.” + +“You don’t like her?” + +“How you jump at conclusions! To say she isn’t an angel, doesn’t +mean dislike. As a matter of fact, I am eager to secure her as my +sister-in-law.” + +Riatt glanced at Hickson and was aware of the faintest possible +pang. What qualities, he wondered, had a man like that. + +“Oh,” he said, “is she engaged to your brother?” + +“Certainly not,” answered Mrs. Almar. “But it is fairly well +understood by every one except my brother, that if she doesn’t find +anything better within the next few years she will put up with him.” + +At this a slight feeling of disgust for both ladies took possession +of Riatt. + +“I see,” he said rather coldly, and turned to Mrs. Ussher, but +Nancy was not so easily disposed of. + +“You mean,” she went on, “that you see it is my duty as a sister +to prevent anything else turning up. Suppose, for example, that a +handsome, rich, attractive young man should suddenly appear upon +the scene and show an interest in the angelic Christine.” (By this +time Riatt had turned again to her, and she looked straight into +his eyes as she ran through her list of adjectives.) “Don’t you +think it would be my duty to distract his attention--to go almost +any length to distract his attention?” + +“However personally disagreeable to you the process might be?” + +“Probably if he were as I described him, the process would not be +so disagreeable.” + +He smiled. There was no denying he found her amusing. + +In the meantime, the couple across the table had reached a somewhat +similar point. + +Hickson had said as they sat down: + +“Well, and what do you think of this new fellow?” + +Christine’s natural irritation appeared in her answer. + +“I have hardly had an opportunity of judging,” she answered, “but, +watching your sister’s attentions to him, I would say he must be +extremely attractive.” + +Hickson looked a little dashed. + +“Oh,” he said, “Nancy does not mean anything when she goes on like +that.” + +The only effect of this speech was to depress further Miss +Fenimer’s estimate of her companion’s intelligence, for in her +opinion Nancy’s whole life was one long black intention. Feeling +this, Ned went on: + +“As a matter of fact, one reason why she’s so nice to him is to +keep him away from you and give me a chance.” + +“Not very flattering to you, is it?” + +“What do you mean?” + +“The assumption that the only way to make a woman take an interest +in you is to prevent her speaking to any other man.” + +“Oh, I didn’t mean that--” Hickson began, but she interrupted him. + +“That, if anything, Ned.” And she turned to Wickham, who sat on her +other side. + +Wickham was waiting for a little notice and began instantly. + +“I have been taking the liberty of looking at your pearls, Miss +Fenimer, and indulging in such an interesting speculation. Here on +the one hand, you are wearing round your throat the equivalent of +life, health and virtue for half a hundred working girls, as young, +as human, as yourself. Are we to say this is wrong? Are we to say +that beautiful jewels worn by beautiful women are a crime against +society--” + +“One moment, Mr. Wickham,” she said. “My pearls are imitation and +cost eight dollars and fifty cents without the clasp. But,” she +added cruelly, seeing his face fall, “you can say that same thing +to your friend Mrs. Almar, because hers are not artificial, though +I have heard her assert sometimes that they are,” and turning back +to Hickson, who was laboriously trying to carry on a conversation +with his host, she interrupted ruthlessly to say, hardly lowering +her voice: + +“Why in the world, Ned, did Nancy bring this Wickham man here? He’s +perfectly impossible.” + +“Nancy didn’t bring him,” answered her brother innocently. “I +motored out with her myself.” + +“She said she wouldn’t come unless he were asked. Still I know the +answer. Nancy has always had a weakness for blond boys, and last +week she was crazy about this one. Now she has turned against him, +she wants to foist him off on us, but I for one don’t intend to +help her out--” + +By this time Wickham, aware that he had been rebuffed, had found an +explanation for it. The girl was annoyed at having been forced to +admit her pearls were imitation. He decided to put everything right. + +“Miss Fenimer,” he said, and she turned her head perhaps half an +inch in his direction, “I think you misunderstood me just now. My +standards are probably different from those of the men you are +accustomed to. To me the fact that your pearls are not real is an +added beauty. I’m glad they’re not--” + +“Thank you,” said Christine, “but I’m not.” And this time he +understood that he had lost her for good. + +After dinner, Mrs. Almar, knowing that her innings were over, +very effectively prevented Christine having hers, by insisting on +playing bridge. She had an excellent head for cards, and always +needed money. Christine allowed herself to be drawn in, supposing +that Riatt would be one of the players, and found herself seated +opposite to Hickson and next to Jack Ussher. + +Wickham, feeling very much left out and desirous of showing how +well accustomed he was to the casual manners of polite society, +consoled himself with an evening paper. Laura Ussher led Riatt to a +comfortable corner out of earshot of the bridge-table. + +“Now do tell me, Max,” she said, “what you think of them all.” + +“I think, my dear Laura,” he answered, “that they are a very +playful band of cut-throats, and next time you ask me to stay, I +hope you and Jack will be entirely alone.” + + * * * * * + +The servants in a household like the Usshers’ were subjected to +almost every strain, except that of early rising. No one dreamed of +coming down stairs before eleven, and most people not until lunch +time. + +The next morning Riatt was among the first--that is to say he was +up early enough not to be able to escape a tour of inspection of +the place under the guidance of his host. He had seen the stables +and the new garage, and the sheet of snow beneath which lay the +garden, and the other totally different sheet of snow beneath which +was the soil in which Ussher intended next summer to plant a rose +garden. He had gone over, tree by tree, the plantation of firs, +and had noted how the tips of some were injured, and had given his +opinion as to whether or not it were likely that deer had stolen +down from the wild country near at hand and nibbled the young firs +in the night. + +“It’s perfectly possible,” said Ussher. “I have five hundred acres +myself, and then the Club owns a huge tract, and then there’s +some state land. You see we have hardly any neighbors except the +Fenimers and they’re eight or nine miles away.” + +“They live here?” + +“In summer--and then only when Fred Fenimer is in funds, and that’s +not often. A precarious sort of existence, his--gambling in mining +stocks, almost always in wrong. Hard on the daughter--wish some +nice fellow would come along and marry her.” + +“He probably will,” answered Riatt rather coldly. “It’s beginning +to snow again.” + +Ussher had just had his pond swept so that his guests could skate, +and now couldn’t imagine what he should provide for them for the +afternoon, so that his thoughts were instantly and completely +turned from Christine’s problems to his own. + +At the house they found every one waiting for lunch; Mrs. Almar and +Christine chattering together on a window-seat as if they were the +most intimate allies; Hickson reading his fourth morning paper, and +Mrs. Ussher paying the profoundest attention to something Wickham +was saying. She had suddenly wakened to the fact that he was +having a wretched time and that he was after all her guest. But he +interpreted her actions differently, and supposing that he was at +last being appreciated, he had launched fearlessly forth upon the +conversational sea. It was this spectacle that had drawn Christine +and Nancy together, in their whisperings and giggles in the window. + +“This perhaps will illustrate my meaning,” he was saying rather +loudly: “this is the difference in our outlook on life. If you say +‘she dresses well,’ you intend a compliment, but to me it is just +the reverse. The idea is repellent to me that a woman wastes time, +thought, money on her vanity, on decking her body--” + +“One on you, my dear,” whispered Christine. + +“Isn’t he tiresome?” answered Nancy, shutting her eyes. + +“I thought he was your selection.” + +“Nobody’s infallible, my dear. Besides, I telegraphed him not to +accept the invitation, but he says he never got my message.” + +“Why does he think you sent it?” + +“Because I couldn’t trust myself--” + +They grinned at each other. + +With the entrance of Riatt and Ussher they went in to lunch, and +there manœuvering for places for the afternoon immediately began. + +Hickson supposed that by starting early he could secure Christine’s +company. So he at once asked her what she was going to do, and +before she had time to answer he had suggested that she skate, take +a walk, or go sleighing with him. Ussher explained that the skating +was spoiled, and Christine under cover of this diversion managed to +avoid committing herself. + +As a matter of fact her afternoon was arranged. She had told Laura +Ussher a pathetic story of having to go over to her father’s +house, and look up an old fur coat of his which had been left +behind when the house was shut for the winter. Mr. Fenimer was +known to be rather an irritable parent where questions of his own +comfort were concerned; it was not impossible that he would make +himself disagreeable if his orders were not carried out. Laura did +not inquire very closely, but she agreed that the best way for +Christine to traverse the distance would be for Riatt to drive her +over in the cutter. Riatt sat next to Laura at luncheon, and she +put it to him, when the general conversation was loudest. + +“Would you mind awfully driving poor little Christine over to her +own place to get something or other for that horrid father of hers?” + +Of course Riatt didn’t say he did mind; as a matter of fact he +didn’t. He might even have enjoyed the prospect, if it hadn’t been +for the slight hint of compulsion about it. + +“It’s snowing, you know,” he said. + +“It doesn’t amount to anything,” answered his cousin. “But surely, +Max, you’re not afraid of a little snow, if she isn’t!” + +“Anything to oblige you, Laura,” he said. + +She did not quite like his tone, but felt she might safely leave +the rest to Christine. + +Mrs. Almar, unaware of these plots, settled down as soon as the +meal was over, on a comfortable sofa large enough for two, with a +box of cigarettes at her side and a current magazine that contained +a new article on flying. The bird-like objects in the huge page +of cloudy sky at once caught Max’s eye. He came and bent over it +and her, with his hands in his pockets. Still absorbed in it, she +half-unconsciously swept aside her skirts, and he sat down beside +her. She murmured a question--it was only about planes, and he +answered it. Their heads were close together when Christine came +down in her dark furs ready to go. The bells of Jack Ussher’s +fastest trotter were already to be heard tinkling at the door. + +“Are you ready, Max?” said Laura, rather sharply. + +“Laura expects every man to do his duty,” murmured Nancy, without +looking up. + +Riatt expressed himself as entirely ready. Ussher lent him a fur +cap and heavy gloves, warned him about the charmingly uncertain +character of the horse; he and Christine were tucked into the +sleigh, and they were off. + +The snow, as Laura had said, did not seem to amount to much, the +wind was behind them, the horse fast, the roads well packed. Riatt +glanced down at his lovely companion, and felt his spirits rising. +He smiled at her and she smiled back. + +“I do hope you really feel like that,” she said, “not sorry, I +mean, to go on this expedition. Because it was extremely wicked of +me to forget my father’s coat, and this was obviously the occasion +to make amends, but there was no one to take me--” + +“No one to take you?” + +“Oh, I suppose one of the grooms might have driven me over, but I +should have hated that. There was no one else. Jack is much too +selfish, and I wouldn’t have gone with that Wickham person for +anything in the world, even if he had ever driven a sleigh, which I +am sure he hasn’t.” + +“And how about Mr. Hickson?” Riatt asked. “Wasn’t he a possibility?” + +“What has Nancy Almar told you about her brother and me?” + +“Nothing but what he told me himself in every look and word--that +he loves you.” + +Christine sighed. + +He smiled at her. + +“And you’re glad of it,” he said. + +“You mean I care for him?” + +“I don’t know anything about that, but you’re glad he cares for +you.” + +“You’re utterly mistaken.” + +“How would you feel if another woman came and took him away from +you to-morrow?” + +“Took him away from me?” cried Christine, in a tone of surprise +that made Riatt laugh aloud. + +“That’s the wonderful thing about the so-called weaker sex,” he +said. “Saying ‘no’ seems to have no terrors to them at all. The +timidest girl will refuse a man with no more trouble and anxiety +than she would expend on refusing a dinner invitation; whereas men, +with all their vaunted courage, are absolutely at the mercy of a +determined woman. I have a friend who has just married a girl--whom +he three times explicitly refused--only because she asked him to.” + +Miss Fenimer looked at him thoughtfully. + +“Surely you exaggerate,” she said. + +He shook his head sadly. + +“I wish I did,” he returned, “but I assure you that is the great +secret--that any man would rather marry any woman than refuse her +to her face. You see, no graceful way for a man to say ‘no’ has +ever been discovered.” + +“Why, you poor defenseless creatures!” said Christine. “I’ll teach +you some ways immediately. I couldn’t bear to think of your going +about a prey to the first woman who proposed to you. Let us begin +our lessons immediately. Have I your attention?” + +“Completely.” + +“Let me see. In the first place there are several general types of +proposal. There is the calmly rational, the passionate whirlwind, +the dangerously controlled, or volcano under a sheet of ice--” she +broke off. “I don’t know how women do it,” she said. “I only know +about men.” + +He smiled, “But you admit to knowing all about them, I gather?” + +It would have been folly to deny it. + +“And then there’s the meltingly pathetic,” she went on. “I imagine +that’s what women attempt oftenest. Let us begin with that. Now you +are to suppose that I, with tears streaming down my face, have just +confessed that I have always looked up to you as a sort of god, +that I hardly dare--” + +“Wait, wait!” cried Riatt. “This is by far the most interesting +part of the lesson, and you go so fast. I have no imagination. I +don’t know how it would be, you must say all those things.” + +“Do I have to cry?” said Christine. + +Riatt debated the point. + +“No,” he answered at length, “I can imagine the tears, but +everything else you must act out. Particularly that part about my +seeming like a god to you.” + +“But how in the world can I teach you what to do, if I have to act +a part myself?” + +“Well, before we begin, just give me a sketch of what I ought to +do.” + +“You must be very cold and firm, and explain to me that though my +mistake is natural, you are really not a god at all; and then that +gives you an excuse to talk a great deal about yourself, and tell +how wicked and human and splendid you are, and that you are not +worthy of a simple, good girl like myself, and how you don’t love +me anyhow. And then the essential thing is to go away quickly, and +end the interview before I have a chance to begin all over again.” + +He looked doubtfully at the snow. + +“Must I get out and walk home?” he asked. + +“No,” she said. “I think that’s too complicated. We might try an +easier one to begin. Suppose we do the calmly rational first. I +explain to you that I have watched you from boyhood, and have come +to the conclusion that our tastes, our intellects, our--” + +“Oh, no,” said Riatt, “there’s really no use in going on with that. +Even I should have no difficulty with any lady who approached me +in that way. But there was one of the others that sounded rather +promising and difficult. How about the passionate whirlwind? I say +to try that next.” + +To her surprise, Christine found herself coloring a little. + +“Ah,” she said, laying her hand on her lips and shaking her head, +“that’s very difficult, because you see, it really can’t be +imitated--” + +“Can’t be imitated!” cried Max. “Why, what sort of a teacher are +you? I believe you don’t know your job. You are the sort of teacher +who would tell an arithmetic class that long division could not +be imitated. I believe the trouble with you is that you don’t +understand the passionate whirlwind yourself. I believe you’re a +fraud, and I shall have your license to teach taken away from you. +Can’t be imitated! Well, let me see you try, at least.” + +Christine felt that he had the better of her, but she said firmly: + +“Are you teaching this subject, or am I?” + +“Certainly you can’t think _you_ are. But if you say so, I’ll have +a try.” + +Not sorry to create a diversion, Christine looked about her, and +was more diverted from the subject in hand than she had expected to +be. + +They were on the wrong road. What with the snow and the fact that +she had been so busy talking that she really had no idea how far +they had been, it took her a moment to orient herself anew. She +told him with a conscience-struck look. + +“And you,” said Riatt, “who do not even know the road to your own +house, were volunteering to pilot me through an emotional crisis.” + +Even a suggestion of adverse criticism was unpleasant to Miss +Fenimer. She was not accustomed to it; and she answered with some +sharpness: + +“Yes, but the road is real, whereas I understand your embarrassment +through the attentions of ladies is purely fictitious.” + +Riatt wondered how fictitious, but he turned the cutter about in +obedience to her commands. The horse started forward even more +gaily, under the impression that he was going home. But for the +drivers, the change was not so agreeable. A high wind had come up, +the snow was falling faster, and the light of the winter afternoon, +already beginning to fade, was obscured by high, dark, silver-edged +banks of clouds. + +“Upon my word,” said Riatt, “I think we had better go back.” + +“It’s only a little way from here,” Christine answered, trying hard +to think how far it really was. She did want to get her father’s +coat, but she was not indifferent to the triumph of making Riatt +late for dinner, and leaving Nancy Almar throughout the afternoon +with no companion but Wickham or Jack Ussher. + +The wind cut their faces, the horse pulled and pranced, the gaiety +had gone out of their little expedition. They drove on a mile or +so, and then Riatt stopped the horse. + +“We’ve got to go back, Miss Fenimer,” he said firmly. + +“Oh, please not, Mr. Riatt; we are almost there, and,” she added +with a fine sense of filial obligation, “I really feel I must do as +my father asked me.” + +Riatt felt inclined to point out that she, with her muff held up +to her face, was not making the greatest sacrifice to the ideal of +duty. + +“Have you any very clear idea where your house is?” he asked. His +tone was not flattering, and Christine was quick to feel it. + +“Do I know where I live five months of the year?” she returned. “Of +course I do. It’s just over this next hill.” + +The afternoon was turning out so perversely that she would hardly +have been surprised to find that the house had disappeared from its +accustomed place. But as they came over the crest, there it was, in +a hollow between two hills, looking as summer houses do in winter, +like a forlorn toy left out in the snow. + +“But it’s shut up,” said Riatt. “There’s no one in it.” + +“I have the keys to the back door.” + +He touched the horse for the first time with the whip, and they +went jingling down the slope, in between the almost completely +buried gateposts, and drew up before the kitchen door. + +Miss Fenimer kicked her feet free from the rugs, jumped out, and +from the recesses of her muff produced a key which she inserted in +the lock. + +“Now you won’t be long, will you?” said Riatt, with more of command +than persuasion in his tone. + +It was a principle of life on the part of Christine that she never +allowed any man to bully her; or perhaps, it would be more nearly +just to say that she never intended to allow any man to do so until +she herself became persuaded that he could, and with this object +she always made the process look as difficult and dangerous as +possible at the very beginning. + +She looked back at him and smiled with irritating calm. + +“I shall be just as long as is necessary,” she replied, and so +saying, she turned, or rather attempted to turn, the key. + +But disuse, or cold, or her own lack of strength prevented and +she was presently reduced to asking Riatt to help her. He did not +volunteer his assistance. She had definitely and directly to ask +for it. Then he was friendliness itself. + +“Just stand by the horse’s head, will you?” he said, and when +he saw her stationed there, he sprang out, and with an almost +insulting ease opened the door. + +Just as he did so, however, a gust of wind, fiercer than any other, +swept round the corner of the house and carried away Christine’s +hat. She made a quick gesture to catch it, and as she did so, +struck the horse under the chin. The animal reared, and Christine +jumped aside to avoid being struck by its hoofs; the next instant, +it had thrown its head in the air, and started at full speed down +the road, dragging the empty sleigh after it. Riatt, who had his +back turned, did not see the beginning of the incident, but a +cry from Christine soon roused his attention, and he started in +pursuit, calling to the animal to stop, in the hope that the human +voice might succeed when all other methods were quite obviously +useless. But the horse, now thoroughly excited by the hanging +reins, the bells, and the sense of its own power, went only faster +and faster, and finally disappeared at full speed. + +Riatt came slowly back; he was sinking in the snow to his waist at +every step. Christine was watching him with some anxiety. + +“Is there a telephone in the house?” he asked. + +She shook her head. + +“No, it’s disconnected when we leave in the autumn.” + +There was a moment’s silence, then she said questioningly: “What +shall we do?” + +“There’s only one thing we can do,” he returned; “go into the house +and light a fire.” + +But Christine hesitated. + +“I don’t think it will be wise to waste time doing that,” she said, +“if you have to go back on foot to the Usshers’--” + +“Go back on foot!” Riatt interrupted. “My dear Miss Fenimer, that +is quite impossible. It must be every inch of ten miles, it’s dark, +a blizzard is blowing, I don’t know the way, and we haven’t passed +a house.” + +“But, but,” said she, “suppose they don’t rescue us to-night?” + +“They probably will to-morrow,” answered Riatt, and he walked past +her into the house. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Christine was glad to get out of the wind, but the damp chill of +the deserted house was not much of an improvement. Ahead of her in +the darkness, she could hear Riatt snapping electric switches which +produced nothing. + +“Isn’t the light connected?” he called. + +“I don’t know.” + +“Aren’t there lamps in the house?” + +“I don’t know.” + +“Where could I find some candles?” + +“What a tiresome man!” she thought; and for the third time she +answered: “I don’t know.” + +A rather unappreciative grunt was his only reply, and then he +called back: “You’d better stay where you are, till I find +something to make a light.” + +She asked nothing better. She was oppressed with a sense of crisis. +An inner voice seemed to be saying, in parody of Charles Francis +Adams’s historic words: “I need hardly point out to your ladyship +that this means marriage.” + +She had thought, lightly enough, that everything was settled the +evening before on the stairs when she had made up her mind that he +would do. But with all her belief in herself, she was not unaware +even then that unforeseen obstacles might arise. He might be +secretly engaged for all she knew to the contrary. But now she felt +quite sure of him. With Fate playing into her hands like this--with +romance and adventure and the possibilities of an uninterrupted +tête-à-tête, she knew she could have him if she wanted him. And the +point was that she did. At least she supposed she did. She felt as +many a young man feels when he lands his first job--triumphant, but +conscious of lost freedoms. + +Marriage, she knew, was the only possible solution of her problems. +Her life with her father was barely possible. As a matter of fact +they were but rarely together. The tiny apartment in New York +did not attract Fred Fenimer as a winter residence, when he had +an opportunity of going to Aiken or Florida or California at the +expense of some more fortunate friend. In summer it was much the +same. “My dear,” he would say to his daughter, “I really can’t +afford to open the house this summer.” And Christine would coldly +acquiesce, knowing that this statement only meant that he had +received an invitation that he preferred to a quiet summer with her. + +Sometimes throughout the whole season father and daughter would +only meet by chance on some unexpected visit, or coming into a +harbor on different yachts. + +“Isn’t that the _Sea-Mew’s_ flag?” Christine would say languidly. +“I rather think my father is on board.” + +And then, perhaps, some amiable hostess in need of an extra man +would send the launch to the _Sea-Mew_ to bring Mr. Fenimer back +to dine; and he would come on board, very civil, very neat, very +punctilious on matters of yachting etiquette; and he and Christine +having exchanged greeting, would find that they had really nothing +whatsoever to say to each other. + +Their only vital topic of conversation was money, and as this was +always disagreeable, both of them instinctively tried to avoid +it. Whenever Fenimer had money, he either speculated with it, or +immediately spent it on himself. So that he was always able to say +with perfect truth, whenever his daughter asked for it, that he +had none. The result of this was that she had easily drifted into +the simple custom of running up bills for whatever she needed, and +allowing the tradesmen to fight it out with her father. + +Such a system does not tend to economy. Christine’s idea of what +was necessary, derived from the extravagant friends who offered her +the most opportunity for amusing herself, enlarged year by year. +Besides, she asked herself, why should she deny herself, in order +that her father might lose more money in copper stocks? + +Sometimes during one of their casual meetings, he would say to +her under his breath: “Good Heavens, girl, do you know, I’ve just +had a bill of almost three thousand dollars from your infernal +dressmaker? How can I stop your running up such bills?” And she +would answer coolly: “By paying them every year or so.” + +She knew--she had always known since she was a little girl--that +from this situation, only marriage could rescue her, and from the +worse situation that would follow her father’s death; for she +suspected that he was deeply in debt. Not having been brought up in +a sentimental school she was prepared to do her share in arranging +such a marriage. In the world in which she lived, competition was +severe. Already she had seen a possible husband carried off under +her nose by a little school-room mouse who had had the aid of an +efficient mother. + +But now for the first time in her life, she saw that the game was +in her own hands. She had only to do the right thing--only perhaps +to avoid doing the wrong one--and her future was safe. + +She heard Riatt calling and she followed him into the laundry, +where he had collected some candles: he was much engaged in +lighting a fire in the stove. + +“But wouldn’t the kitchen range be better?” she asked. + +“No water turned on,” he answered. + +To her this answer was utterly unintelligible. What, she +wondered, was the connection between fire and water. But, rather +characteristically, she was disinclined to ask. She walked to the +sink, however, and turned the tap; a long husky cough came from it, +but no water. + +After this burst of energy she sank into a chair, amused to watch +his arrangements. Thoroughly idle people--and there is not much +question that Miss Fenimer was idle--learn a variety of methods for +keeping other people at work, and probably the most effective of +these is flattery. Christine may have been ignorant of the feminine +arts of cooking and fire-making; but of the super-feminine art of +flattery she was a thorough mistress. + +Now as Riatt finished building his fire, and began to bring in +buckets of snow to supply their need of water, the gentle flow of +her flattery soothed him as the sound of a hidden brook in the +leafy month of June. Nor, strangely enough, did the fact that he +dimly apprehended its purpose in the least interfere with his +enjoyment. + +“If ever I’m thrown away on a desert island, I speak to be +thrown away with you,” she said. “There isn’t another man of +my acquaintance who could bring order out of these primitive +conditions.” + +He laughed. “Well, you know,” he said, “this isn’t really what +you’d call primitive. I was snowed up in Alaska once.” + +“Alaska! You’ve been snowed up in Alaska?” she echoed in the tone +of a child who says: was it a _black_ bear? + +Oh, yes, it lightened his toil. Nevertheless, he asked for her +assistance in trying to find something to eat. She knew no more +about the kitchen than he did, but she advanced toward a door and +opened it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. It was the +kitchen closet. She opened a tin box. + +“There is something here that looks like gravel,” she called. He +rushed to her side. It was cereal. He found other supplies, too, a +little salt, sugar, coffee, and a jar of bacon. + +“How clever of you to know what they all are,” she murmured, and he +felt as if he had invented them out of thin air, like an Eastern +magician. + +He carried them back to the kitchen. “I wonder if you’d get the +coffee grinder,” he said. + +She hadn’t the faintest idea what a coffee grinder looked like, but +she went away to find it, and came back presently with an object +strange enough to serve any purpose. + +“Is this it?” she asked. + +“That’s a meat chopper,” he answered, and then laughed. “You’re not +a very good housekeeper, are you?” + +“Of course not,” she said. “Did you ever know an agreeable woman +who was? Good housekeepers are always bores, because they can never +for an instant get their minds off the most tiresome things in the +world like bills, and how the servants are behaving. All clever +women are bad housekeepers, and so they always find some one like +you to take care of them.” + +He was putting the cereal to boil, and answered only after a +second. “Perhaps you’ll think me old-fashioned, but I cannot help +respecting the art of housekeeping.” + +“Oh, so do I in its place,” replied Miss Fenimer. “My maid does the +whole thing capitally. But let me give you a test. Think of the +very best housekeeper you ever met. Would you like to have her here +instead of me? You may be quite candid.” + +Riatt stopped and considered an instant with his head on one side. +“She’d make me awfully comfortable,” he said. + +Miss Fenimer nodded, as much as to say: yes, but even so-- + +“No,” he said at length, as if the decision had been close. +“No, after all I would rather do the work and have you. But it +isn’t because you are a poor housekeeper that I prefer you. It’s +because--” + +Compliments upon her charms were platitudes to Christine, and +she cut him short. “Yes, it is. It’s because I’m so detached, and +don’t interfere, and let you do things your own way, and think you +so wonderful to be able to do them at all. Now if I knew how to do +them, too, I should be criticizing and suggesting all the time, and +you’d have no peace. You like me for _being a poor housekeeper_.” + +He smiled. “On that ground I ought to like you very much then,” he +answered. + +“Perhaps you do,” she said cheerfully. “Anyhow I’m sure you like +me better than that other girl you were thinking of--that good +housekeeper. Who is she?” + +“I like her quite a lot.” + +“I see--you think she’d make a good wife.” + +“I think she’d make a good wife to any man who was fortunate +enough--” + +“Oh, what a dreadful way to talk of the poor girl!” + +“On the contrary, I admire her extremely.” + +“I believe you are engaged to her.” + +“Not as much as you are to Hickson.” + +Christine laughed. “From the way you describe her,” she said, “I +believe she’d make a perfect wife for Ned.” + +“Oh, she’s much too good for him.” + +“Thank you. You seem to think I’ll do nicely for him.” + +“Ah, but she’s much better than you are.” + +“And yet you said you’d rather have me here than her.” + +He smiled. “I think,” he said, and Christine rather waited for his +next words, “I think I shall go down and see if I can’t get the +furnace going.” + +Nevertheless, she said to herself when he was gone, “I should not +feel at all easy about him, if I were the other girl.” + +She knew there was no prospect of their being rescued that night. +When the sleigh arrived at the Usshers’, if it ever did arrive, its +empty shattered condition would suggest an accident. The Usshers +were at that moment probably searching for them in ditches, and +hedges. The marks of the sleigh would be quickly obliterated by the +storm. No, she thought comfortably, there was no escape from the +fact that their situation was compromising. The only question was +how could the matter be most tactfully called to his attention. +At the moment he seemed happily unaware that such things as the +proprieties existed. + +At this his head appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. + +“Watch the cereal, please,” he said, “and see that it doesn’t burn.” + +“Like King Alfred?” + +“Not too much like him, please, for that pitiful little dab of food +is about all we have to eat.” + +When he was gone Christine advanced toward the stove and looked +at the cereal--looked at it closely, but it seemed to her to be +but little benefited by her attention. Presently she discovered +on a shelf beside the laundry clock a pinkish purple paper novel, +called: “The Crime of the Season.” Its cover depicted a man in a +check suit and side-whiskers looking on in astonishment at the +removal of a drowned lady in full evening dress from a very minute +pond. Christine opened it, and was so fortunate as to come full +upon the crime. She became as completely absorbed in it as the +laundress had been before her. + +She was recalled to the more sordid but less criminal surroundings +of real life by a strong pungent smell. She sniffed, and then her +heart suddenly sank as she realized that the cereal was burning. +She recognized a peculiarly disagreeable flavor about which she had +often scolded the cook, thinking such carelessness on the part of +one of her employees to be absolutely inexcusable. + +She ran to the head of the cellar stairs. “Mr. Riatt!” she called. + +He was now shaking down the furnace, and the noise completely +drowned her voice. “Oh, dear, what a noisy man he is,” she thought +and when he had finished, she called again: “Mr. Riatt!” + +This time he heard. “What is it?” he answered. + +“Mr. Riatt, what shall I do? The cereal is burning terribly.” + +“I should think it was,” he said. “I can smell it down here.” He +sprang up the stairs and snatched the pot from the stove. “You must +have stopped stirring it,” he said. + +“Oh, I didn’t stir it!” + +“What did you do?” + +“You didn’t tell me to stir it.” + +“I certainly did.” + +“No, you said just to watch it.” + +Riatt looked at her. “Well,” he said, “I’ve heard of glances +cutting like a knife, but never stirring like a spoon. If I were a +really just man,” he went on, “I’d make you eat that burnt mess for +your supper, but I’m so absurdly indulgent that I’ll share some of +my bacon and biscuits with you.” + +His tone as well as his words were irritating to one not used to +criticism in any form. + +“I don’t care for that sort of joke,” she said. + +“I wasn’t aware of having made a joke.” + +“I mean your attitude as if I were a child that had been naughty.” + +“It wouldn’t be so bad if you were a child.” + +“You consider me to blame because that wretched cereal chose to +burn?” + +“Emphatically I do.” + +“How perfectly preposterous,” said Christine, and a sense of bitter +injustice seethed within her. “Why in the world should _I_ be +expected to know how to cook?” + +“I’m a little too busy at the moment to explain it to you,” Riatt +answered, “but I promise to take it up with you at a later date.” + +There was something that sounded almost like a threat in this. +She turned away, and walking to the window stood staring out into +the darkness. He was really quite a disagreeable young man, she +thought. How true it was, that you couldn’t tell what people were +like when everything was going smoothly. She wondered if he would +always be like that--trying to keep one up to one’s duty and making +one feel stupid and ignorant about the merest trifles. + +“Well, this rich meal is ready,” he said presently. + +She turned around. The table was set--she couldn’t help wondering +where he had found the kitchen knives and forks--the bacon was +sizzling, the tin of biscuits open, and the coffee bubbling and +gurgling in its glass retort. + +She sat down and began to eat in silence, but as she did so, she +studied him furtively. She was used to many different kinds of +masculine bad temper; her father’s irritability whenever anything +affected his personal comfort: and from other men all forms of +jealousy and hurt feelings. But this stern indifference to her as +a human being was something a little different. She decided on her +method. + +“Oh, dear,” she said, “this meal couldn’t be much drearier if we +were married, could it?” + +“Except,” he returned, unsmilingly, “that then it would be one of a +long series.” + +“Not as far as I’m concerned,” she answered. “I should leave you on +account of your bad temper.” + +“If I hadn’t first left you on account of--” + +“Of burning the cereal?” + +“Of being so infernally irresponsible about it.” + +“Oh, that’s the trouble, is it?” she said. “That I did not seem to +care? Well, I assure you that I don’t like burnt food any better +than you do, but I have some self-control. I wouldn’t spoil a whole +evening just because--” A sudden inspiration came to her. Her voice +failed her, and she hid her face in her pocket handkerchief. + +Riatt leant back in his chair and looked at her, looked at least at +the back of her long neck, and the twist of her golden hair and the +occasional heave of her shoulders. + +The strange and the humiliating thing was that she had just as much +effect upon him when he quite obviously knew that she was insincere. + +“Why,” he said gently, “are you crying? Or perhaps I ought to say, +why are you pretending to cry?” + +She paid no attention to the latter part of his question. + +“You’re so unkind,” she said, careful not to overdo a sob. “You +don’t seem to understand what a terrible situation this is for me.” + +“In what way is it terrible?” + +“Don’t you know that a story like this clings to a girl as long +as she lives? That among the people I know there will always be +gossip--” + +“You’re not serious?” + +She nodded, still behind her handkerchief, “Yes, I am. This will be +something I shall have to live down, as much as you would if you +had robbed a bank.” + +She now raised her head, and wiping her eyes hard enough to make +them a little red, she glanced at him. + +Really she thought it would save a great deal of time and trouble, +if he could just see the thing clearly and ask her to marry him now. + +But apparently his mind did not work so quickly. + +“Who will repeat it?” he said. “Not the Usshers--” + +“Nancy Almar won’t let it pass. She’ll have found the evening dull +without you, and she’ll feel she has a right to compensation. And +that worm, Wickham; it will be his favorite anecdote for the rest +of his life. I was horrible to him last night at dinner.” + +“Sorry you were?” + +“Not a bit. I’d do it again, but I may as well face the fact that +he won’t be eager to conceal his own social triumphs for the sake +of my good name. Can’t you hear him, ‘Curious thing happened the +other day--at my friends the Usshers’. Know them? A lovely country +place--’--” + +“I’m awfully sorry,” he said. “What a bore! Is there anything I +could do--” + +“Well, there _is_ one thing.” + +He looked up quickly. If ever terror flashed in a man’s eyes, she +saw it then in his. Her heart sank, but her mind worked none the +less well. + +“It’s this,” she went on smoothly. “There’s a lodge, a sort of +tool-house, only about half a mile down the road. Couldn’t you take +a lantern, couldn’t you possibly spend the night there?” + +“It isn’t by any chance,” he said, “that you’re afraid of having me +here?” + +“Oh, no, not you,” she answered. “No, I should feel much safer with +you here than there.” (If he went her case was ruined, and she was +now actually afraid perhaps he would go.) “I should be terrified +in this great place all by myself. Still, I think you ought to go. +It’s not so very far. You go down the road a little way and then +turn to the right through the woods. I think you’ll find it. The +roof used to leak a little, but I dare say you won’t mind that. +There isn’t any fireplace, but you could take lots of blankets--” + +“I tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “No one will come to rescue us +to-night. I’ll sleep here to-night, and to-morrow as soon as it’s +light, I’ll go to this cottage, and when they come, you can tell +them any story you please. Will that do?” + +It did perfectly. “Oh, thank you,” she said. “How kind you are! And +you do forgive me, don’t you?” + +“About the cereal? Oh, yes, on one condition.” + +“What is that?” She was still meltingly sweet. + +“That you wash these dishes.” + +She felt inclined to box his ears. Had he seen through her all the +time? + +“I never washed a dish in my life,” she observed thoughtfully. + +“Have you ever done anything useful?” + +She reflected, and after some thought she replied, not boastfully, +but as one who states an indisputable fact: “Never.” + +He folded his arms, leant against the wall and looked down upon +her. “I wish,” he said, “if it isn’t too much trouble that you +would give me a detailed account of one of your average days.” + +“You talk,” said she, “as if you were studying the manners and +customs of savages.” + +“Let us say of an unknown tribe.” + +She leant back in her chair and stretched her arms over her head. +“Well, let me see,” she said. “I wake up about nine or a little +after if I haven’t been up all night, and I ring for my maid. And +about eleven--” + +“Don’t skip, please. You ring for your maid. What does she do for +you?” + +Imagine any one’s not knowing! Miss Fenimer marveled. “Why, she +draws my bath and puts out my things, and while I’m taking my +bath, she straightens the room and lights the fire, if it’s cold, +and brings in my breakfast-tray and my letters. And by half past +ten, I’m finally dressed if no one has come in to delay me, only +some one always has. Last winter my time was immensely occupied +by two friends of mine who had both fallen in love with the same +man--one of them was married to him--and they used to come every +day and confide in me. You have no idea how amusing it was. He +behaved shockingly, but I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for +him. They were both such determined women. Finally I went to him, +and told him how it was I knew so much about his affairs, and said +I thought he ought to try and make up his mind which of them he +really did care for. And what do you think he said? That he had +always been in love with me.” She laughed. “How absurdly things +happen, don’t they?” + +“Good Heavens!” said Riatt. + +“But even at the worst, I’m generally out by noon, and get a walk. +I’m rather dependent on exercise, and then I lunch with some one or +other--” + +“Men or women?” + +“Either or both. And then after lunch I drive with some one, or go +to see pictures or hear music, and then I like to be at home by +tea time, because that’s, of course, the hour every one counts on +finding you; and then there’s dressing and going out to dinner, and +very often something afterwards.” + +“Good Lord,” said Riatt again, and after a moment he added: “And +does that life amuse you?” + +“No, but it doesn’t bore me as much as doing things that are more +trouble.” + +“What sort of things?” + +“Oh, being on committees that you don’t really take any interest +in.” She rather enjoyed his amazement. + +“Now tell me one thing more,” he said. “What would you do if you +had to earn your living?” + +The true answer was that she would marry Edward Hickson, but, +though heretofore she had been fairly candid, she thought on this +point a little dissembling was permissible. “I should starve, I +suppose,” she returned gaily. + +“And suppose you fell in love with a poor man?” + +She grew grave at once. “Oh, that’s a dreadful thing to happen to +one,” she said. “I’ve had two friends who did that.” She almost +shuddered. “One actually married him.” + +“And what happened to her?” + +Miss Fenimer shook her head. “I don’t know. She’s living in the +suburbs somewhere. I haven’t seen her for ages.” + +“And the other?” + +“She was more practical. She married him to a rich widow ten years +older than he was. That provided for him, you see, at least. But it +turned out worse than the other case.” + +“How?” + +“Why, he fell in love with this other woman--” + +“His wife, you mean?” + +“Yes. Imagine it! Men are so fickle.” + +“Do you know that you really shock me?” + +“It’s better to appreciate the way things are.” + +“It isn’t the way things are among decent normal human beings.” + +She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, I imagine it is,” she said, “only +they’re not honest enough to admit it.” + +He continued to stare at her and, strangely enough, she had never +seemed to him more beautiful. + +“And do you mean to tell me,” he said, “that people who have the +standards that you describe will attach the slightest importance to +an innocent little adventure like this of ours?” + +“Of course. They are the very people who will.” + +“Nonsense.” + +“Yes, because they make a point of always believing the worst, or +at least of pretending to.” + +“Why pretend?” + +“Because it makes conversation so much more amusing. Sometimes,” +she added thoughtfully, “I have a terrible suspicion that there +really isn’t an atom of harm in any of them--that they all behave +perfectly well, and just excite themselves by talking as if they +didn’t.” + +“And you call that suspicion terrible?” + +“Well, it makes it all seem a little flat. But then sometimes,” she +went on brightly, “one does find out something absolutely hideous.” + +“See here,” he said, “it’s a crime for a girl of your age to talk +like this. It’s a silly habit. I don’t believe you’re like that at +heart.” + +“You talk,” said she, “like Edward Hickson.” + +“In some communities that would be thought a fighting word,” he +returned. “But you haven’t yet answered my question. You’ve told me +what your friends have done; but what would you do yourself, if you +fell in love with a poor man?” + +“In the first place, I never should. What makes a man attractive +to me is power, preëminence, being bowed down to. If I lived in a +military country, I’d love the greatest soldier; and if I lived in +a savage country, I’d love the strongest warrior; but here to-day, +the only form of power I see is money. It’s what makes you able to +have everything you want, and that’s a man’s greatest charm.” + +“And it seems to me that the most tied-down creatures I ever saw +are the rich men I’ve met in the East.” + +She was honestly surprised. “Why, what is there they can’t do?” she +asked. + +He smiled. “They can’t do anything that might endanger their +property rights,” he answered, “and that seems to me to cut them +off from most forms of human endeavor. But no matter about that. +You say you would not be likely to fall in love with a poor man, +but suppose you _did_. Perhaps it has happened already?” + +Miss Fenimer looked thoughtful. “I was trying to think,” she said. +“Yes, there was a young artist two years ago that I was rather +interested in. He was very nice looking, and Nancy Almar kept +telling me how much he was in love with her.” + +“And that stimulated your interest?” + +“Of course.” + +“Just for the sake of information,” he said, “do you always want to +take away any man who is safely devoted to another woman?” + +Christine seemed resolved to be accurate. “It depends,” she +answered, “whether or not I have anything else to do, but of course +the idea always pops into one’s head: I wonder if I couldn’t make +him like me best.” + +“And do you always find you can?” + +“Oh, there’s no rule about it; only as a newcomer one has the +advantage of novelty, and that’s something.” + +“And what happened about this artist?” + +Christine smiled reminiscently: “I found he wasn’t really in love +with Nancy at all: he just wanted to paint her portrait.” + +“I should think he would have wanted to paint yours.” + +“He did and gave it to me as a present, and then he behaved very +badly.” She sighed. + +“What did he do?” + +“Well,” she hesitated. “He did not really want to give me the +picture. He thought he wanted to keep it himself. It was much the +best thing he ever did. I had to persuade him a good deal, and in +persuading him, I may have given him the impression that I cared +about him more than I really did. Anyhow, after I actually had +the portrait hanging in my sitting-room, I told him I thought it +was better for us not to meet any more. Some men would have been +flattered to think I took them so seriously. But he was furious, +and one day when I was out he sent for the portrait and cut it all +to pieces. Wasn’t that horrible? My pretty portrait!” + +“Horrible!” said Riatt. “It seems to me the one spark of spirit the +poor young man showed.” + +She glanced at him under her lashes. “What would you have done?” + +“I’d take you out to the plains for a year or so, and let you find +out a little about what life is like.” + +“I don’t think it would be a success,” she returned. “I don’t +profit by discipline, I’m afraid. But,” she stood up, “I’m +perfectly open minded. I’ll make a beginning. I’ll wash the +dishes--just to please you.” + +[Illustration: And then, with a clean towel, he deliberately dried +her hands, finger by finger] + +He watched her go to the kitchen sink, and pour water from the +steaming kettle into a dish pan, saw her turn up her lace-frilled +cuffs, and begin with her long, slim, inefficient hands to take +up the dirty plates. Suddenly, much to his surprise, he found he +couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear to see the lace fall down again and +again, and her obvious shrinking from the task. + +He crossed the room and took the plates from her, and then with a +clean towel, he deliberately dried her hands, finger by finger, +while she stood by like a docile child, looking up at him in wonder. + +“Don’t you want to reform me?” she asked plaintively. + +“No,” he answered shortly. + +“Why not?” + +“Because you would be too dangerous,” he returned. “Now you have +every charm except goodness. If you turned good and gentle you’d be +supreme.” + +“I never thought goodness was a _charm_,” she objected. + +“And that’s just what I hope you will never find out.” + +She laughed. “I don’t believe there’s much danger,” she said. “I +think I shall go on being wicked and mercenary and selfish to the +day of my death, and probably getting everything I want.” + +“I hope not. I mean I hope you won’t get what you want.” + +“Oh, why are you so unkind?” + +“Because I shall want to use you as a terrible example to my +grandchildren.” + +“Do you think you will remember me as long as that?” + +“I feel no doubt about it.” + +She smiled. “It seems rather hard that I have to come to a bad end +just to oblige your horrid little grandchildren,” she said. “As a +matter of fact, I shall probably run them down in my motor as they +go to work with their little dinner-pails. And as I take their +mangled forms to the hospital, I’ll murmur: ‘Riatt, Riatt, I think +I once knew a half-hearted reformer of that name.’” + +“You think you, too, will remember as long as that?” + +“I have an excellent memory for trifles,” she returned, and rose +yawning. “And now I think I’ll go to bed--unless there’s anything +more you want to know about our tribal customs. Are you going to +write a nature book about us: ‘Head-hunting Among the Idle Rich’?” + +“‘The Cannibals of the Atlantic Coast’ is the title,” he answered +as he gave her a candle. “I’ll leave your breakfast for you in the +morning before I go. And by the way, if some one comes to rescue +you, don’t go off and leave me in the tool-house, will you?” + +“Oh, I’m not really as bad as that.” + +He shook his head as if he didn’t feel sure. + +She went away well satisfied with her evening’s work. There had +been something extremely flattering in his mingled horror and +amusement at her candid revelations. Holding up the candle she +looked at her own image in her mirror. “I wonder,” she thought, “if +that young man knows what a dangerous frame of mind he’s in?” + +He had some suspicion, for as he dragged a mattress downstairs and +laid it before the kitchen fire, he kept repeating to himself, as +if in a last effort to rouse some moral enthusiasm: “What a band of +cut-throats they are!” + +Christine woke the next morning to find the sun shining on an +unbroken sheet of snow. The storm had passed in the night. She +dressed quickly and went down to find the kitchen empty, and the +track of footsteps in the snow leading away in the direction of the +tool-house. Her coffee was bubbling and slices of bacon neatly laid +in the frying pan were ready for cooking. She thought he might have +stayed and cooked it for her. + +“No one will come as early as this,” she thought, plaintively. + +But hardly had she finished her simple meal, when the sound of +sleigh bells reached her ears, and running to the window she saw +that Ussher and Hickson in a two horse sleigh were driving down the +slope. + +A moment later they were in the kitchen. And after the minimum time +had elapsed during which all three talked at once recounting their +own individual anxieties, Ussher asked: + +“Where’s Max?” + +Christine cast down her eyes with a sort of Paul-and-Virginia +expression, as she answered: “Oh, he is sleeping in the tool-house!” + +“Well, I call that damned nonsense,” said Ussher. “Let a man freeze +to death! Upon my word, Christine, I thought you had more sense.” +And he strode away to the back door. “Yes, here are his tracks, +poor fellow.” Ussher went out after him, and Hickson turned back. + +“But _you_ think I was right, don’t you, Edward?” said Christine, +for she had never failed to elicit commendation from Edward. + +But now his brow was dark. “But, I say, Christine,” he said, +“there’s one thing I don’t understand. These tracks of his +footsteps in the snow.” + +“He didn’t fly, Ned, even if he is an aviator.” + +“Yes, but it didn’t stop snowing until four o’clock this morning.” + +How irritating the weather always is, Christine thought. For though +she was willing to use scandal as a weapon over Riatt, she was not +sure that she wished to put it into Hickson’s hands. + +She thought hard, and then said brightly: + +“Oh, perhaps he came back for his breakfast before I was up.” + +Hickson shook his head: “They only lead one way,” he said. + +In the face of the tactlessness of hard facts, Christine decided to +create a diversion. + +“I can’t stand here gossiping about the conduct of an aviator,” +she said, “when there’s so much to be done. Look at all these +dirty plates. What ought to be done with them, Edward, dear?” she +appealed to him as to a fountain of wisdom, and he did not fail her. + +“They ought to be washed,” he said. “Give me a towel. I’ll do it.” +And he felt more than rewarded when, as she handed him a towel, her +hand touched his. + +The many duties of which she had just spoken seemed suddenly to +have melted away, for she sat down quite idly and watched him. + +“How well you do it, Edward,” she said, not quite honestly, for +she compared his slow gestures very unfavorably with Riatt’s deft +hands. “It’s quite as if you had washed dishes all your life.” + +“Ah, Christine,” he answered, looking at her sentimentally over +a coffee-cup, “I shouldn’t ask anything better than to wash your +dishes for the rest of my life.” + +“Thank you, Edward, but I think I should ask something a good deal +better,” she answered. + +It was on this scene that Ussher and Riatt entered, and the eyes of +the latter twinkled. + +“Engaged a kitchen-maid, I see,” he said in a low tone to Christine. + +“I think it’s so good for people to do something useful now and +then, don’t you?” + +“A form of education that you offer almost every one who comes near +you.” + +Hickson did not hear everything, but he caught the idea, and said +severely: + +“I don’t suppose any one would ask Miss Fenimer to wash dirty +dishes.” + +Riatt laughed: “No one who had ever seen her try.” + +Ussher, who had been fuming in the background, now broke out: + +“Upon my word, Christine, that tool-house was like a vault. It was +madness to ask any one to spend the night in such a place.” + +“Did you spend the night in the tool-house?” said Hickson with +unusual directness. + +“There are worse places than the tool-house,” said Riatt, as he and +Ussher hurried down to the cellar to put out the furnace fire. + +Hickson turned to Christine. “The fellow didn’t answer me,” he said. + +“Perhaps he thought it was none of your business, Edward, my dear,” +she answered. + +“Everything connected with you is my business,” he returned. + +“Oh, Edward, what a dreary outlook for me!” + +“Christine, answer me. Did or did not this man make advances to +you?” + +“Edward, he did.” + +“What happened?” + +“He gave me a long, tiresome, moral lecture and, judging by you, my +dear, that is proof of affection.” + +“You’re simply amusing yourself with me!” + +“I’m not amusing myself very much, Edward, if that’s any comfort.” + +“You drive me mad,” he said and stamped away from her so hard, that +Ussher came up from the cellar. + +“What’s Edward doing?” he said. + +“He says he’s going mad,” returned Christine, “but I thought he was +washing the dishes.” + +“There’s no pleasing Edward,” said Ussher. “He was in my room at +six o’clock this morning trying to get me to start a rescuing party +(and I needn’t tell you, Christine, we none of us had much sleep +last night), and now that he is here and finds you safe, he seems +to be just as restless as ever.” And Ussher returned to the cellar +still grumbling. + +“You know why I’m restless, Christine,” Hickson said when they were +again alone. + +Christine seemed to wonder. “The artistic temperament is usually +given as the explanation, but somehow, in your case, Edward--” + +He came and stood directly in front of her. + +“Christine, what did happen last night?” + +Although not a muscle of Miss Fenimer’s face moved, she knew very +well that this was a turning-point. She had the choice between +killing the scandal, or giving it such life and strength that +nothing but her marriage with Riatt would ever allay it. She +knew that a few sensible words would put Hickson straight, and +Hickson would be a powerful ally. On the other hand, if he came +back plainly weighted with a terrible doubt, no one would ask any +further evidence. The question was, how much would Riatt feel the +responsibility of such a situation. It was a fighting chance. +Themistocles when he burnt his ships must have argued in very much +the same way, but probably not so rapidly. + +“There are some things, Edward,” Christine said in a low shaken +voice, “that I cannot discuss even with you.” + +Hickson turned away with a groan. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Christine had been right when she told Riatt that Nancy Almar would +be resentful after a dull evening at the Usshers’. + +The evening, as far as Nancy was concerned, had been very dull +indeed. To be bored, in her creed, was a confession of complete +failure; it indicated the most contemptible inefficiency, since +she designed the whole fabric of her life with the unique object +of keeping herself amused. Nothing bored her more than to have the +general attention centered on some one else, as all that evening +it had been focussed on the absent ones. Not only did she miss +the excitement of her contest with Christine over the possession +of Riatt, but she was positively wearied by the Usshers’ anxiety, +by her brother’s agony of jealousy and fear, and by Wickham’s +continual effort to strike an original thought from the dramatic +quality of the situation. + +She was finally reduced to playing piquet with Wickham, and though +she won a good deal of money from him--more, that is, than he +could comfortably afford to lose--she still counted the evening a +failure, bad in the present, and extremely menacing to the future. +For with her habitual mental candor, she admitted that by this time +Christine, if not actually frozen to death--which after all one +could not exactly hope--had probably won the game. The chances were +that Riatt was captured. + +“What is the matter, Ned?” she said to her brother, as he fidgeted +about the card-table, after a last futile expedition to the +telephone. “Can’t you decide whether you’d rather the lady of +your love were dead or subjected for twenty-four hours to the +fascinations of an irresistible young man?” + +“What an interesting question that raises,” observed Wickham, +examining rather ruefully the three meager cards he had drawn. “A +modern Lady-or-the-Tiger idea. I am not of a jealous temperament +and should always prefer to see a woman happy with another man.” + +“And often do, I dare say,” said Nancy. “I have a point of seven, +and fourteen aces.” + +“I must own I can’t see Riatt’s irresistible quality,” said Hickson +irritably. + +“Rich, nice looking and has his wits about him,” replied Mrs. Almar +succinctly. + +“About as good-looking as a fence-rail.” + +“And they say women are envious!” exclaimed his sister. + +“Are you a feminist, Mrs. Almar?” inquired the irrepressible +Wickham. + +“No, just a female, Mr. Wickham.” + +“I never thought a big bony nose made a man a beauty,” grumbled +Hickson. + +“Ah, how much wisdom there is in that reply of yours, Mrs. Almar,” +said Wickham. “Just a female. Your meaning is, if I interpret you +rightly, that you are content with the duties and charms which +Nature has bestowed upon your sex--” + +“Until I can get something better,” replied Nancy briskly, drawing +the score toward her and beginning to add it up. “My idea is to let +the other women do the fighting; if they win, I shall profit; if +they lose, I’m no worse off. I believe I’ve rubiconed you again, +Mr. Wickham.” + +“Well, I don’t understand women’s taste, anyhow,” said Hickson. + +“You never spoke a truer word than that, my dear,” said Nancy. +“Seventy-four fifty, I think that makes it, Mr. Wickham, +subtracting the dollar and a half you made on the first game. Oh, +yes, a check will do perfectly. I’m less likely to lose it.” + +“I never had a worse run of luck,” observed Wickham with an attempt +at indifference. + +Mrs. Almar stood up yawning. “Doubtless you are on the brink of a +great amorous triumph,” she said languidly, and went off to bed. + +Hickson did not attempt to sleep. He sat up for the remainder of +the night, in the hope that some sudden call might come, and at six +o’clock as Ussher had told Christine, he was ready for new efforts. + +Rescued and rescuers reached the Usshers’ house about half past +ten the following morning. Nancy was not yet downstairs. Wickham +had not been able to judge what was the correct note to strike in +connection with the whole incident, and so did not dare to sound +any. The arrival was comparatively simple. Mrs. Ussher received +her beloved Christine with open arms; Riatt went noncommittally +upstairs to take a bath; Hickson had decided, in spite of his +depression of spirits, to try to make up a little of last night’s +lost sleep, when he received a summons from his sister. Her maid, a +clever, sallow little Frenchwoman, came down with her hands in her +apron pockets to say that Madame should like to speak to Monsieur +at once. + +He found Nancy still in bed; her little black head looking blacker +than usual against the lace of the pillows and the coverlet and of +her own bed-jacket. The only color about her was the yellow covered +French novel she laid down as he entered, and the one enormous ruby +on her fourth finger. + +“And now, Ned, my dear,” she said quite affectionately for her, “I +hear you have brought the wanderers safely home. Tell me all about +it.” + +Hickson, to whom this summons had not come as a surprise, had +resolved that he would confide none of his anxieties to his sister +but, alas, as well might a pane of glass resolve to be opaque to a +ray of sunlight. Within ten minutes, Nancy knew not only all that +he knew, but such additional deductions as her sharper wits enabled +her to draw. + +“I see,” she murmured, as he finished. “The only positive fact that +we have is that he did not leave the house until after five. How +very interesting!” + +“Very terrible,” said Hickson. + +“Terrible,” exclaimed Nancy, with the most genuine surprise. “Not +at all. From your point of view most encouraging. It can mean only +one thing. The young man very prudently ran away.” + +Edward was really stirred to anger. “Nancy,” he said, “how do you +dare, even in fun--” + +“Oh, my dear,” answered his sister, as one wearied by all the folly +in the world, “how can I be of any use to you if you will not open +your eyes? He ran away. We don’t know of course just from what; but +we do know this: Max Riatt is the best match that has yet presented +himself, and that Christine is the last girl in the world to ignore +that simple fact. Come, Ned, even if you do love her, you may as +well admit the girl is not a perfect fool. Fate, accident, or +possibly her own clever manœuvering put the game into her hands. +The question is, how did she play it? I know what I’d have done, +but I don’t believe she would. I think she probably tried to make +him believe that she was hopelessly compromised in the eyes of the +world, and that there was no course open to an honorable man but to +ask her to marry him.” + +“I can’t imagine Christine playing such a part.” + +“I tell you, you never do the poor girl justice. If she did +that--and the chances are she did--then his running away is most +encouraging. It means, in your own delightful language, that he did +not fall for it--did not want to run any risk of compromising her, +if marriage was the consequence.” + +“But, Nancy, Christine almost admitted that--that he tried to make +love to her.” + +“I can’t see what that has to do with it, or what difference it +makes,” replied Mrs. Almar. “However, too much importance should +not be attached to such admissions. I have sometimes made them +myself when the facts did not bear me out. No woman likes to +confess, especially to an old adorer like you, that she has spent +so many hours alone with a man and he has not made love to her.” + +Hickson shook his head. “I’m not clever enough to be able to +explain it,” he said, “but I received the clearest impression from +her that she had been through some painful experience.” + +“Good,” said Nancy. “Do you know the most painful experience she +could have been through?” + +“No, what?” + +“If he hadn’t paid the slightest attention to her; and that, my +dear brother, is what I am inclined to think took place. No, the +game is still on; only now she’ll have the Usshers to help her. +This is no time for me to lie in bed.” + +Ned looked at her doubtfully. “I thought I’d try and sleep a +little,” he said. + +“The best thing you can do,” she returned. “Lucie! Lucie! Where are +the bells in this house! What privations one suffers for staying +away from home! Oh, yes, here it is,” and she caught the atom +of enamel and gold dangling at the head of her bed, and rang it +without ceasing until the maid, who regarded her mistress with an +admiration quite untinctured by affection, appeared silently at the +doorway. + +In an astonishingly short space of time, she was dressed and +downstairs, presenting her usual sleek and polished appearance. +Wickham was alone in the drawing-room, and a suggestion that they +should have another game of piquet quickly drove him to the writing +of some purely imaginary business letters. + +The coast was thus clear, but Riatt was still absent. + +Nancy’s methods were nothing if not direct. She rang the bell and +when the butler appeared she said: + +“Where is Mr. Riatt?” + +“In his room, madam.” + +“Dressing?” + +“No, madam, he is dressed. Resting, I should say.” + +Nancy nodded her head once. “One moment,” she said; and going to +the writing table she sat down and wrote quickly: + + “I should like five minutes’ conversation with you. Strange + to say my motive is altruistic--so altruistic that I feel + I should sign myself ‘Pro Bono Publico,’ instead of Nancy + Almar. There is no one down here in the drawing-room at the + moment.” + +She put this in an envelope, sealed it with sealing wax (to the +disgust of the butler who found it hard enough, as it was, to keep +up with all that went on in the house) and told the man to send it +at once to Mr. Riatt’s room. + +She did not have long to wait. Riatt, with all the satisfaction in +his bearing of one who has just bathed, shaved and eaten, came down +to her at once. + +“Good morning, Pro Bono Publico,” he said, just glancing about to +be sure he was not overheard. “It was not necessary to put this +interview on an altruistic basis. I should have been glad to come +to it, even if it had been as a favor to you.” + +[Illustration: “Isn’t that rather a reckless way for a man in your +situation to talk?”] + +She looked at him with her hard, dark eyes. “Isn’t that rather a +reckless way for a man in your situation to talk?” + +“I was not aware that I was in a situation.” + +This was exactly the expression that she had wanted from him. It +seemed to come spontaneously, and could only mean that at least he +was not newly engaged. + +She relaxed the tension of her attitude. “Are you really under the +impression that you’re not?” + +“I feel quite sure of it.” + +“You poor, dear, innocent creature.” + +“However,” he went on, sitting down beside her on the wide, low +sofa, “something tells me that I shall enjoy extremely having you +tell me all about it.” + +Tucking one foot under her, as every girl is taught in the +school-room it is most unladylike to do, she turned and faced him. +“Mr. Riatt,” she said, “when I was a child I used to let the mice +out of the traps--not so much, I’m afraid, from tenderness for the +mice, as from dislike of my natural enemy, the cook. Since then I +have never been able to see a mouse in anybody’s trap but my own, +without a desire to release it.” + +“And I am the mouse?” + +She nodded. “And in rather a dangerous sort of trap, too.” + +He smiled at the seriousness of her tone. + +“Ah,” said she, “the self-confidence which your smile betrays is +one of the weaknesses by which nature has delivered your sex into +the hands of mine. I would explain it to you at length, but the +time is too short. The great offensive may begin at any moment. The +Usshers have made up their minds that you are to marry Christine +Fenimer. That was why you were asked here.” + +“Innocent Westerner as I am,” he answered, “that idea--” + +She interrupted him. “Yes, but don’t you see it’s entirely +different now. Now they really have a sort of hold on you. I don’t +know what Christine’s own attitude may be, but I can tell you this: +her position was so difficult that she was on the point of engaging +herself to Ned.” + +“Oh, come,” said Riatt politely, “your brother is not so bad as you +seem to think.” + +“He’s not bad at all, poor dear. He’s very good; but women do +not fall in love with him. You, on the contrary, are rich and +attractive. You’ll just have to take my word for that,” she added +without a trace of coquetry. “And so--and so--and so, if I were +you, my dear Cousin Max, I should give orders to have my bag packed +at once, and take a very slow, tiresome train that leaves here +at twelve-forty-something, and not even wait for the afternoon +express.” + +There was that in her tone that would have made the blood of any +man run cold with terror, but he managed a smile. “In my place you +would run away?” he said. + +She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t run away myself, but I advise +you to. I shouldn’t be in any danger. Being a mere woman, I can be +cruel, cold and selfish when the occasion demands. But this is a +situation that requires all the qualities a man doesn’t possess.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Does your heart become harder when a pretty woman cries? Is +your conscience unmoved by the responsibility of some one else’s +unhappiness? Can you be made love to without a haunting suspicion +that you brought it on yourself?” + +“Good heavens, no!” cried Riatt from the heart. + +“Then, run while there’s time.” + +As the ox fears the gad-fly and the elephant the mouse, so does the +bravest of men fear the emotional entanglement of any making but +his own. For an instant Riatt felt himself swept by the frankest, +wildest panic. Misadventures among the clouds he had had many +times, and had looked a clean straight death in the face. He had +never felt anything like the terror that for an instant possessed +him. Then it passed and he said with conviction: + +“Well, after all, there are certain things you can’t be made to do +against your will.” + +“Certainly. But you are not referring to marriage, are you?” + +“Yes, I was.” + +“My poor, dear man! As if half the marriages in the world were not +made against the wish of one party or the other.” + +His heart sank. “It’s perfectly true,” he said. “And yet one does +rather hate to run away.” + +“Not so much as one hates afterward to think one might have.” + +He laughed and she went on: “The moment is critical. Laura Ussher +and Christine have been closeted together for the better part of +two hours. Something is going to happen immediately. At any moment +Laura may appear and say with that wonderfully casual manner of +hers, ‘May I have a word with you, Max?’ And then you’ll be lost.” + +“Oh, not quite as bad as that, I hope,” said Riatt. + +“Lost,” she repeated, and leaning over she laid one polished finger +tip on the bell. “When the man comes, tell him to get you ready for +that early train.” + +There was complete silence between them until the footman appeared +and Riatt had given the necessary orders. + +“I wonder,” he said when they were again alone, “whether I shall be +angry at you for this advice, or grateful. It’s a dangerous thing, +you know, to advise a man to run away.” + +“Dine with me in town on Wednesday, and you can tell me which it +is.” + +“You don’t seem to be much afraid of my anger.” + +“I think perhaps your gratitude might be the more dangerous of the +two.” + +While he was struggling between a new-found prudence, and a natural +desire to inquire further into her meaning, a door upstairs was +heard to shut, and presently Laura Ussher came sauntering into the +room. + +“You’re up early, Nancy,” she said pleasantly. + +“I thought I ought to recognize the return of the wanderers in some +way--particularly, as I hear we are to lose one of them so soon.” + +Mrs. Ussher glanced quickly at her cousin. “Are you leaving us, +Max?” + +“I’m sorry to say I’ve just had word that I must, and I told the man +to make arrangements for me to get that twelve-something-or-other +train.” + +Mrs. Ussher did not change a muscle. “I’m sorry you have to go,” +she said. “We shall all miss you. By the way, you won’t be able to +get anything before the four-eighteen. That midday train is taken +off in winter. Didn’t the footman tell you? Stupid young man; but +he’s new and has not learnt the trains yet, I suppose. Do you want +to send a telegram? They have to be telephoned here, but if you +write it out I’ll have it sent for you.” + +“How wonderful you are, Laura,” murmured Mrs. Almar. + +Mrs. Ussher looked vague. “In what way, dear?” + +“In all ways, but I think it’s as a friend that I admire you most.” + +Mrs. Ussher smiled. “Yes,” she said, “I’m very devoted to my +friends even when they don’t behave quite fairly to me. But I love +my relations, too,” she added. “Max, since I’m to lose you so soon, +I’d like to have a talk with you before lunch. Shall we go to my +little study?” + +Nancy’s eyes danced. “No, Laura,” she said, “he will not. He has +just promised to teach me a new solitaire, and I won’t yield him to +any one.” + +Riatt, terrified at this proof that Nancy’s prophecy was coming +true, resolved to cling to her. + +“Sit down and learn the game, too, Laura,” he said. “It’s a very +good one.” + +“I want to speak to you about a business matter, Max.” + +“I never attend to business during church hours, Laura,” he +answered. “We’ll talk about it after lunch, if you like.” + +Laura had learnt the art of yielding gracefully. “That will do just +as well,” she said, and sat down to watch the game. + +Presently Wickham, seeing that Mrs. Almar seemed to be safely +engaged, ventured back. And they were all thus innocently occupied +when luncheon was announced. + +Christine came down looking particularly lovely. It is a precaution +which a good-looking woman rarely fails to take in a crisis. She +was wearing a deep blue dress trimmed with fur, and only needed a +solid gold halo behind her head to make her look like a Byzantine +saint. + +“Well, Miss Fenimer,” said Wickham, as they sat down. “You look +very blooming after your terrible experiences.” + +Christine had come prepared for battle. “Oh, they weren’t so very +terrible, Mr. Wickham, thank you,” she said, and she leant her +elbow on the table and played with those imitation pearls which +she now hoped so soon to give to her maid. “Mr. Riatt is the most +wonderful provider--expert as a cook as well as a furnace-man.” + +“It mayn’t have been terrible for you,” put in Ussher, who had a +habit of conversational reversion, “but I bet it was no joke in the +tool-house! How an intelligent woman like you, Christine, could +dream of making a man spend the night in that hole, just for the +sake of--” + +“But I thought it was Mr. Riatt’s own choice,” said Nancy gently. + +“You wouldn’t think so if you could have felt the place,” Ussher +continued. “And what difference did it make? Who was there to talk? +Every one knows that their being there was just an unavoidable +accident--” + +“Oh, if it had been an accident!” said Nancy, and it was as if +a little venomous snake had suddenly wriggled itself into the +conversation. Every one turned toward her, and her brother asked +sternly: + +“_If_, it had been an accident, Nancy? What the deuce do you mean +by _if_?” + +Nancy shook her small head. “I express myself badly,” she said. +“English rhetoric was left out of my education.” + +“You manage to convey your ideas, dear,” said Laura. + +“I was trying to say that if poor, dear Christine had not been so +unfortunately the one to hit the horse in the head, and start him +off--” + +Wickham pricked up his ears. “Oh, I say, Miss Fenimer,” he +exclaimed, “did you really hit the horse?” + +“Certainly, I did, Mr. Wickham.” + +“But what did you do that for?” + +Christine did not trouble to answer this question. Hickson, who had +been suffering far more than any one, rushed to the rescue. + +“Miss Fenimer did not do it on purpose, Wickham. She happened to be +standing--” + +“Oh, is that what your sister meant?” said Christine, as if a +sudden light dawned on her. “Tell me, Nancy darling, do you really +think I hit the horse on purpose, so as to have an uninterrupted +evening with Mr. Riatt? How you do flatter men! It’s a great art. +I’m afraid I shall never learn it.” + +For the first time, Riatt found himself looking at her with a +certain amount of genuine admiration. This was very straight +fighting. “They have the piratical virtues,” he thought, “courage, +and the ability to give and take hard blows.” + +Mrs. Almar was not to be outdone. “Well,” she said, “I may as well +be honest. I can imagine myself doing it, for the right man. And we +should have had an amusing evening of it, which was more than we +had here, I can tell you. We were very dreary. Mr. Wickham tried to +relieve the monotony by a game of piquet, but I’m afraid he did not +really enjoy it, for he has not asked me to play since.” And she +cast a quick stimulating glance at Wickham, whose usual inability +to say nothing again betrayed him. + +“Oh,” he said, “I enjoyed our game immensely.” + +“Good,” answered Nancy. “We’ll have another this afternoon then.” + +“Indeed, yes,” said Wickham, looking rather wan. + +“After Mr. Riatt has gone,” said Nancy distinctly. She knew that +Laura had had no opportunity to convey this intelligence to +Christine, and it amused her to see how she would support the blow. +Christine’s expression did not change, but her blue eyes grew +suddenly a little darker. She turned slowly toward Riatt. + +“And are you leaving us?” she asked. + +“Sorry to say I am.” + +“What a bore,” said Miss Fenimer politely. Hickson’s simple heart +bounded for joy. “She’s refused him,” he thought, “and that’s why +he’s rushing off like this.” + +“Yes,” said Ussher, “I should think he would want to go home and +take some care of himself. It’s a wonder if he doesn’t develop +pneumonia.” + +Christine smiled at Riatt across the table. “They make me feel as +if I had been very cruel, Mr. Riatt,” she said. + +“Cruel, my dear,” cried Nancy. “Oh, I’m sure you weren’t _that_,” +and then intoxicated by her own success, she made her first +tactical error. She turned to Riatt and said: “Don’t forget that +you are dining with me on Wednesday evening.” She enjoyed this +exhibition of power. She saw Laura and Christine glance at each +other. But they were not dismayed; they saw at once that Max had +not been playing his hand alone; he was going not entirely on his +own initiative, and that was encouraging. + +Riatt, who perfectly understood the public protectorate that was +thus established over him, resented it; in fact by the time they +rose from the table, he was thoroughly disgusted with all of +them--weary, as he said to himself of their hideous little games. +He hardened his heart even as Pharaoh did, and he felt not the +least hesitation in according Laura the promised interview, for the +reason that he felt no doubt of his own powers of resistance. + +He permitted himself to be ostentatiously led away, upstairs to +her little private sitting-room, with its books, and fireplace, +and signed photographs, and he pretended not to see Nancy Almar’s +glance, which was almost a wink, and might have been occasioned by +the fact that she herself was at the same moment gently guiding +Wickham in the direction of a card-table. + +Laura made her cousin very comfortable, in a long chair by the +fire, with his cigarettes and his coffee beside him on a little +table, and then she began murmuring: + +“Isn’t it a pity Nancy Almar is so poisonous at times! She isn’t +really bad hearted, but anything connected with Christine has +always roused her jealousy--the old beauty and the new one, I +suppose.” + +“I wonder,” said Riatt, “what is the difference, if any, between a +pirate and a bucaneer? Miss Fenimer and Mrs. Almar seem to me to +have many qualities in common.” + +“Oh, Max, how can you say that? Christine is so much more gentle +and womanly, so much--” + +“My dear Laura, we haven’t very much time, and I think you said you +wanted to talk to me on a business matter.” + +Laura Ussher had the grace to hesitate, just an instant, before she +answered: “Oh, yes, but it’s your business I want to talk about. +I want to speak to you about this terrible situation in which +Christine finds herself. Do you realize that Nancy and Wickham +between them will spread this story everywhere, with all the +embellishments their fancy may dictate, particularly emphasizing +the fact that it was Christine who made the horse run away. It will +be in the papers within a week. You know, Max, just as well as I +do, that it wasn’t her fault. Is she to be so cruelly punished for +it? Can you permit that?” + +“It’s not my fault either, Laura.” + +“You can so easily save the situation.” + +“How?” + +“By asking her to marry you.” + +“That I will not do.” + +“Are you involved with some one else?” + +“I might make you understand better if I said yes, but it would +not be true. I’m not in love with any individual, but I know +clearly the type of woman I could fall in love with, and it most +emphatically is not Miss Fenimer’s.” + +“Yet so many men have fallen in love with her.” + +“Oh, I see her beauty; I even feel her charm; but to marry her, no.” + +“Think of the prestige her beauty and position--” + +“My dear Laura, what position? Social position as represented by +the hectic triviality of the last few days? Thank you, no, again.” + +“Dear Max,” said his cousin more seriously than she had hitherto +spoken, “you know I would not want you to do anything that I +thought would make you unhappy. But this wouldn’t. I know Christine +better than you do. I know that under all her worldliness and +hardness there is a vein of devotion and sweetness--” + +“Very likely there is. But it would not be brought out by a +mercenary marriage with a man who cared nothing for her. If that +is all you have to say, Laura, let’s end an interview which hasn’t +been very pleasant for either of us.” + +“Oh, Max, how can you abandon that lovely creature to some tragic +future?” + +“You know quite well she is going to do nothing more tragic than to +marry Hickson.” + +“And you are willing to sacrifice her to Hickson?” + +“My dear Laura, I cannot prevent all the beautiful, dissatisfied +women in the world from marrying dull, kind-hearted young men who +adore them.” + +Mrs. Ussher stared at him in baffled, unhappy silence, and in the +pause, the door quickly and silently opened and Christine herself +entered. She looked calm, almost Olympian, as she laid her hand on +Laura’s arm. + +“Let me have just a word alone with Mr. Riatt,” she said; and +as Laura precipitately left the room, Christine turned to Riatt +with a reassuring smile. “Don’t be alarmed,” she said. “Your most +dangerous antagonist has just gone. I’ve really come to rescue +you.” She sank into a chair. “How exhausting scenes are. Let me +have a cigarette, will you?” + +She smoked a moment in silence, while he stood erect and alert by +the mantel-piece. At last, glancing up at him, she said: + +“I suppose Laura was suggesting that you marry me?” + +He nodded. + +“Laura’s a dear, but not always very wise. You see, she thinks we +are both so wonderful, she can’t believe we wouldn’t make each +other happy. And from her point of view, it is rather an obvious +solution. You see, she does not know about that paragon in the +Middle West.” + +“She existed only in my imagination.” + +“Oh, a dream-lady,” said Christine, and her eyes brightened a +little. “No wonder you thought her too good for Ned. Well, that +brings me to what I came to tell you. I have decided to marry +Edward Hickson.” + +There was a blank and rather flat pause, during which Riatt took +his cigarette from his mouth and very carefully studied the ash, +but could think of nothing to say. The thought in his mind was that +Hickson was a dull dog. + +“Have you told Hickson?” he asked after a moment. + +She shook her head. “No, and I shan’t till I get more accustomed to +the idea myself. It isn’t exactly an easy idea to get accustomed +to. The prospect is not lively.” + +“I dare say you will contrive to make it as lively as possible.” + +She smiled drearily. “How very poorly you do think of me! I shan’t +make Ned a bad wife. He will be very happy, and Nancy and I will be +like sisters. By the way, you’re not in love with Nancy, are you?” + +“Certainly not.” + +“Good. They all say it’s a dog’s life.” She yawned. “Oh, isn’t +everything tiresome! If I had had any idea my filial deed in going +to find my father’s coat would have resulted in my having to marry +Ned, I never would have gone.” + +Riatt struggled in silence. He wanted--any man would have +wanted--to ask her whether there wasn’t some other way out; but +knowing that he himself was the only other way, he refrained and +asked instead: “Is there anything I can do to help you?” + +“There is,” she responded promptly. “Rather a disagreeable thing, +too. But it will be all over in an instant, and you can take your +afternoon train and forget all about us. Will you do it?” + +He hesitated, and she went on: + +“Ah, cautious to the last! It’s just a demonstration, a _beau +geste_. It’s this: You see, the situation, as I have discovered +from a little talk with Ned, is more ugly than has yet appeared. +They are holding one thing up their sleeve. Ned, it seems, noticed +the track of your feet leaving the house, and it did not stop +snowing until the morning. That was rather careless of you, wasn’t +it? Nancy can make a good deal of that one little fact.” + +“What people you are!” + +“Rather horrid, aren’t we? Did Laura keep telling you what a +wonderful advantage it would be for you to be one of us? I wish I +could have seen your face.” + +“Yes, she did say something of the advantages of belonging to a +group like this. Do you know what any man who married you ought to +do with you,” he added with sudden vigor. “He ought to take you +to the smallest, ugliest, deadest town he could find and keep you +there five years.” + +“Thank you,” she said. “You have achieved the impossible. You have +made Ned seem quite exciting. Hitherto I have taken New York for +granted, but now I shall add it to his positive advantages. But you +haven’t heard yet what it is I want you to do.” + +“What is it?” + +“I want you to make me a well authenticated offer of marriage +before you go for good.” + +“Miss Fenimer, I have the honor to ask you to marry me.” + +“I regret so much, Mr. Riatt, that a previous attachment prevents +my accepting--but, my dear man, that isn’t at all what I mean. Do +you suppose Wickham and Nancy will believe me just because I walk +out of this room and say you asked me to marry you? No, we must +have some proof to offer.” + +“Something in writing?” + +She hesitated. + +“No,” she said, “one really can’t go about with a framed proposal +like a college degree. I want a public demonstration.” + +“Something with a band or a phonograph?” + +She was evidently thinking it out--or wished to appear to be. “Not +quite that either. This would be more like it. Suppose I send for +Nancy to come here now and consult with me as to whether I shall +accept your offer or not. If I told her before you, she could +hardly refuse to believe it. And you would be safe, for there isn’t +the least doubt what advice she will give me.” + +“You think she will advise you against me?” + +Christine nodded. “She will try to save you from the awful fate she +is reserving for her brother.” She touched the bell. “Do you feel +nervous?” + +“A trifle,” he answered, and indeed he did, for he knew better than +Christine could, how strange this coming interview would appear +to Mrs. Almar after the conversation before lunch. He consoled +himself, however, by the thought that train-time was drawing near, +“and then, please heaven,” he said to himself, “I need never see +any of them again.” + +“Isn’t it strange,” began Miss Fenimer, and then as a servant +appeared in the doorway: “Oh, will you please ask Mrs. Almar to +come here for a few minutes and speak to me. Tell her it is very +important. Isn’t it strange,” she went on, when the man had gone, +“that I’m not a bit nervous, and yet I have so much more at stake +than you have.” + +“You have a good deal clearer notion of your rôle than I.” + +“Your rôle is easy. You confirm everything I say, and contrive to +look a little depressed at the end. Nothing could be simpler.” + +He hesitated. “Simpler than to look depressed when you refuse me?” + +“No one really likes to be refused,” she said. “Even I, hardened +as I am, felt a certain distaste for the idea that Laura had been +urging me on your reluctant acceptance. By the way, you did seem +able to say no, after all your talk on our unfortunate drive about +no man’s being able to refuse a woman.” + +“Oh, a third party,” he answered. “That’s a very different thing. +Had it been you yourself, with streaming eyes--” He looked at her +sitting very cool and straight at a safe distance. + +“I don’t think I could cry to save my life,” she observed. +“Certainly not to save my reputation.” + +He did not answer. The situation had begun to seem like a game to +him, or some absurd farce in which he was only reading some regular +actor’s part; and when presently the door opened to admit Mrs. +Almar, he felt as if she had been waiting all the time in the wings. + +Nancy stopped with a gesture of surprise, on finding that she was +interrupting a tête-à-tête. Christine ignored her astonishment. + +“Nancy dear,” she said. “How nice of you to come, when I know how +busy you were teaching Wickham piquet. Sit down. This is the reason +I sent for you. As one of my best friends, I want your candid +advice about this horrid situation.” + +“But Laura is one of your best friends, too,” said Mrs. Almar. + +“You’ll see why I did not send for Laura. She is so ridiculously +prejudiced in favor of Mr. Riatt. There’s no question as to what +her advice would be. In fact,” said Christine with the frankest +laugh, “she’s advised it long ago--even before he asked me.” + +At these sinister words, Mrs. Almar gave a glance like the jab of a +knife at Riatt. + +“See here, Christine,” she said, “every minute I spend here is a +direct pecuniary loss to me. Let’s get to the point.” + +“Of course. How selfish I am,” answered Miss Fenimer. “The point +is this. In view of the gossip and talk, and your own dear little +suggestion, darling, that I had frightened the horse on purpose, +Mr. Riatt has thought it necessary to ask me to marry him. I say he +has thought it necessary, because in spite of all his flattering +protestations, I can’t help feeling that he’s done it from a sense +of duty. But whatever his sentiments may be, I’ve been quite open +about mine. I’m not in love with him. In view of all this, Nancy, +do you think it advisable that I accept his offer?” + +Mrs. Almar had never been considered particularly good-tempered. +Now she jumped to her feet with her eyes positively blazing. “Have +I been called away from the care of my depleted bank account to +take part in a farce like this?” she cried. “You ought to be +ashamed of yourself, Christine. You know just as well as I do that +that young man never even thought of asking you to marry him.” + +Christine was quite unruffled. “Oh, Nancy dear,” she said, “how +helpful you always are. I see what you mean. You think no one will +believe that he ever did propose unless I accept him. I think +you’re perfectly right.” + +“They won’t and I don’t,” said Nancy, and moved rapidly to the door. + +“One moment, Mrs. Almar,” said Riatt, firmly. “You happen to be +mistaken. I did very definitely ask Miss Fenimer to marry me not +ten minutes ago.” + +“And do you renew that request?” said Christine. + +[Illustration: “Well, heaven itself can’t save a fool,” said Mrs. +Almar] + +“I do.” + +Christine held out her hand with the gesture of a queen. “And I +very gratefully accept your generous offer,” she said. + +“Well, heaven itself can’t save a fool,” said Mrs. Almar, and she +went out of the room, and slammed the door after her. + +As she went, Riatt actually flung the hand of his newly affianced +wife from him. “May I ask,” he said, “what you think you are doing?” + +Christine had covered her face with her hands, and had sunk into a +chair. For an instant Riatt really thought that the strain of the +situation had been too much for her; but on closer inspection he +found that she was shaking with laughter. + +“I can’t be sure which was funnier,” she gasped, “your face or +Nancy’s.” + +Riatt did not seem to feel mirthful. “Do you take in,” he asked her +sternly, “that you have just broken your word.” + +“I’ve just plighted it, haven’t I?” + +“You promised to refuse me.” + +She sprang up. “I did not. I never said a word like it. If a +stenographer had been here, the record would bear me out. You +inferred it, I dare say. Besides, what could I do? Even Nancy +herself told us no one would believe us unless I accepted you--at +least for a time.” + +“For what time?” + +“Oh, don’t let us cross bridges until we get to them. We are hardly +engaged yet--Max! I must practise calling you Max, mustn’t I?” +In attempting to repress an irrepressible smile she developed an +unknown dimple in her left cheek. The sight of it made his tone +particularly relentless as he answered: + +“If by the fifteenth of this month you have not broken this +engagement, I’ll announce its termination myself.” + +“And you,” she went on, as if he had not spoken, “must get into the +habit of calling me Christine.” + +“Listen to me,” he said, and he took her by the shoulders with a +gesture that no one could have mistaken for a caress. “I do not +intend to marry you.” + +“I see you feel no doubt of my wishes in the matter.” + +“I wonder where I got the idea.” + +“Be reassured,” she said, finding herself released. “My intentions +are honorable. I would not marry any really nice man absolutely +against his will. Although I did say to myself the very first time +I saw you, coming downstairs in that well-cut coat of yours--or +is it the shoulders?--I did say: ‘I could be happy with that man, +happier, that is, than with Ned.’ You may think it isn’t much of a +compliment, but Ned has a very nice disposition, nicer than yours.” + +“And I should say it was the first requisite for your husband.” + +She became suddenly plaintive. “Of course I can see,” she said, +“why any one shouldn’t want to be married, but I can’t see why you +object to being engaged to me for a few weeks.” + +“How can I be sure you will keep your word?” + +“I’ll give it to you in writing,” she returned. “Write: This is to +certify that I, Christine Fenimer, have enveigled the innocent and +unsuspecting youth--” + +“I won’t,” said Riatt. + +“I will then,” she answered, and sitting down she wrote: + + “This is to certify that I, Christine Fenimer, have + speciously, feloniously and dishonorably induced Mr. Max + Riatt to make me an offer of marriage, which I knew at the + time he had no wish to fulfil, and I hereby solemnly vow + and swear to release him from same on or before the first + day of March of this year of grace. (Signed) CHRISTINE + FENIMER.” + +“There,” she said, “put that in your pocketbook, and for goodness’ +sake don’t let your pocket be picked between now and the first of +March.” + +He took it and put it very carefully away, observing as he did so: +“It’s a long time to the first of March.” + +“It mayn’t seem as long as you think.” + +“Are you by any chance supposing,” he asked with a directness he +had learnt from her own methods, “that by that time I may have +fallen in love with you?” + +She did not hesitate at all. “Well, I think it is a possibility.” + +“Oh, anything’s possible, but I can tell you this: Even if I were +in love with you, you are not the type of woman I should ever dream +of marrying.” + +“What would you do?” + +“If I saw the slightest chance of falling in love with you--which I +don’t--I should try all the harder to free myself.” + +“I don’t see how you could try any harder than you have. You begin +to make me suspicious.” + +“Miss Fenimer--” + +“Christine, please.” + +“Christine, I am not the least bit in love with you.” + +“Quite sure that you’re not whistling to keep your courage up?” + +“Quite sure.” + +“Well,” she said, “just to show my fair spirit, I’ll tell you +that I entirely believe you. Shall I add it to the contract: And +I credit his repeated assertion that he is not and never will be +in the least in love with me? No, I think I’ll omit the ‘and never +will be’ clause.” + +“And may I ask one other question,” he continued, ignoring her +last suggestion. “What did you mean when you told me that you had +decided to marry Hickson?” + +“So I have. Don’t you see? He and I are really engaged, but he +doesn’t know it. You and I are not really engaged, and you _do_ +know it.” + +“I wish I did,” he returned gloomily. + +“Oh, yes,” she said, “you know it and I know it, but the +dog--that’s Nancy--she doesn’t know it.” + +He seemed unimpressed by the humor of the situation. He walked away +and put his hand on the knob. + +“One thing more,” he said. “I would like to be sure that you +understand this. The weapons are all in my hands. The only strength +of your position lies in my good nature and willingness to keep up +appearances. Neither one is a rock of defense. I’m not, as you said +yourself, good-tempered, and I care very little for appearances. +The risk you run, if you don’t play absolutely fair, is of being +publicly jilted.” + +“And I should hate that,” she answered candidly. + +“I’m sure you would,” he answered. “And I don’t particularly enjoy +threatening you with such a possibility.” + +“Really,” said she. “Now I rather like you when you talk like that.” + +“Fortunate that you do,” he returned, “for you will probably hear a +good deal of it.” + +She nodded with perfect acquiescence. “And now,” she said, “if you +have no more hateful things to say, let’s go and tell our friends +of the great happiness that has come into our lives.” + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +As they went down the stairs--those same stairs on which only two +evenings before they had first met--toward the drawing-room where +their great announcement was to be made, Riatt stopped Christine in +her triumphal progress. + +“You’re not going to have the supreme cruelty,” he said, “to let +poor Hickson think that our engagement is a genuine one?” + +Christine paused. “I wonder,” she answered thoughtfully, “which in +the end would deceive him most--to make him think it was real or +fake?” + +“You blood-curdling woman,” said Riatt. “I am not engaged to you.” + +“Oh, yes, you are--until March first.” + +“I am pretending to be until March first.” + +She leant against the banisters, and regarded him critically. +“Isn’t it strange,” she remarked, “that you dislike so much the +idea of my trying to make you care for me? Some men would be crazy +about the process.” + +“Oh, if I enjoyed the process, I should regard myself as lost.” + +She shook her head. “I’m not sure that this terror isn’t a more +significant confession of weakness. Who is it is most afraid of +high places? Those who feel a desire to jump off.” + +“I’m not afraid,” he returned crossly. “I just don’t like it. I +don’t want to be made love to. That’s one of the mistakes women are +always making. They think all men want to be made love to by any +woman. We don’t.” + +Christine sighed gently. “You’re getting disagreeable again,” she +said with the softest reproach in her tone. “Let’s go on.” + +“You haven’t answered my question,” he said. “Are you going to tell +Hickson the truth?” + +“How can I? If I told him, Nancy would know at once, and the whole +aim of this plot is to deceive Nancy. However,” she added brightly, +“I shall do what I can to alleviate his sufferings. I shall tell +him that I am not in the least in love with you, that you have +never so much as kissed me, and that my present intention is that +you never shall.” + +“And you may add that my intention is the same,” replied Riatt with +some sternness. + +Christine smiled. “There’s no use in telling him that,” she +answered, “for he wouldn’t believe it.” + +“Upon my word,” said he, “I think you’re the vainest woman I ever +met.” + +“Candid, merely,” she returned, as she opened the door of the +drawing-room. The scene that greeted them was eminently suited +to their purpose. Laura and Ussher were standing at the table +watching the last bitter moments of the game between Nancy and the +unfortunate Wickham. Hickson was not there. + +“Oh, Laura,” said Christine, “could I have just a word with you?” + +Mrs. Ussher looked up startled. She had been deeply depressed by +her unsuccessful conversation with her cousin. He had seemed to her +absolutely immovable, but there was no mistaking the significant +bride-like modulations of Christine’s voice. + +“With me?” she said, and in her eagerness she was already at the +door, before Christine stopped her. + +“Really,” she said, “I don’t know why only with you. I know you are +all enough my friends to be interested--even Mr. Wickham. Max and +I wanted to tell you that we are engaged. Only, of course, it’s a +secret.” + +Riatt had resolved that he would not look at Mrs. Almar, and he +didn’t. She was adding up the score, and her arithmetic did not +fail her. “And that makes 387, Mr. Wickham,” she said, and then +she looked up with her bright, piercing eyes, in time to see Laura +fling herself enthusiastically into Riatt’s arms. She got up with a +shrewd smile. “Let me congratulate you, too, Mr. Riatt,” she said. +“I always like to see people get what they deserve.” + +“Oh, Nancy, I’m sure you think I’m getting far more than I +deserve,” said Christine. + +“You haven’t actually got it yet, darling,” returned Mrs. Almar. + +“That sounds almost like a threat, my dear.” + +“More in the line of a prophecy.” + +At this moment the footman created a diversion by announcing that +the sleigh was waiting to take Mr. Riatt to the train, and Riatt +explained that he had decided not to take the train that day. Then +Christine, on inquiring, found that Hickson was writing letters +in the library, and went away to talk to him. She had no fear of +leaving Max; she knew he was in safe hands; Laura would not allow +Nancy an instant alone with him. Nor, as a matter of fact, was +Riatt himself eager to subject himself to the cross-examination of +that keen and contemptuous intelligence. Indeed Nancy soon drifted +out of the room, and Riatt found himself committed to a long +tête-à-tête with Laura on the subject of Christine’s perfections, +and his supposed deceitfulness in pretending indifference. “Oh, +you protested too much, my dear Max,” Laura insisted with the most +irritating exuberance. “I knew when you began to say that she was +the last woman in the world you would fall in love with, that your +hour had come. No man ever lived who could resist Christine when +she chooses to make herself agreeable.” + +Riatt felt he was looking rather grim for an accepted lover, as +he answered that it was a great comfort to feel one had succumbed +only to the irresistible. Before very long Christine came back, and +taking in what had been going on, managed to get rid of her friend. +Laura made it plain that she was only too glad to accord the lovers +a few blissful moments alone. + +“I can’t describe to you,” he said crossly, “how intensely +disagreeable I find the situation.” + +Christine laughed. “And did you look like that while Laura was +detailing my perfections? A judge about to pronounce the death +sentence is gay in comparison. Cheer up. I haven’t had a pleasant +fifteen minutes myself. I never thought myself kind-hearted, but I +assure you I really longed to tell Ned the truth. He is the nicest +person.” + +“I believe he will make you an excellent husband.” + +“Oh, dear, I’m afraid he will.” She sighed. “Safety first will be +a dull motto to go through life with. Do you want to know what I +told him? No? Well, I’m going to tell you anyhow. I said that you +had made me this magnificent offer, prompted, I felt sure, by the +purest chivalry; and that I felt I owed it to my family, my friends +and my reputation to accept it, but that you had left my heart +untouched, and that if he and you were both penniless, I should +prefer him to you. That wasn’t all perfectly true.” + +Suddenly Riatt found himself smiling. “My innocent child,” he said, +“let me make one thing clear to you. Any effort on your part to +create an impression that you have fallen in love with me will not +be crowned with success.” + +Christine was quite unabashed by his directness. + +“I’m not a bit in love with you,” she said--“not any more than you +are with me, only I realize that there is a possibility for either +of us, and of the two,” she added maliciously, “I really think I’m +the more hard-hearted.” + +“Perhaps you will think I am running away from danger,” he +answered, “when I tell you that as soon as I have seen your father, +got your ring, and fulfilled the immediate necessities of the +occasion, I shall go home.” + +“Oh, you can’t do that!” cried Christine, in genuine alarm. + +“You surely don’t expect me to neglect my legitimate business on +account of this ridiculous farce.” + +For the first time a certain amount of real hostility crept in +their relation. They looked at each other steadily. Then Christine +said politely: “Well, we’ll see how things go.” He knew, however, +that she was as determined that he should stay as he was to leave, +and the knowledge made him all the firmer. + +The evening was a stupid one, devoted largely to toasts, jokes, +congratulations and a few stabs from Nancy. Through it all poor +Hickson’s gloom was obvious. + +The next day the party broke up. Wickham and Hickson taking an +early express; the others, even Nancy who abandoned her motor on +account of the snow, going in by a noonday train. Already, it +seemed to Riatt that the bonds of matrimony were closing about him +as he found himself delegated to look up Christine’s trunks, maid +and dressing-case. + +Soon after the arrival of the train he had an appointment, made +by telephone, with Mr. Fenimer. The interview was to take place +at Mr. Fenimer’s club, a most discreet and elegant organization +of fashionable virility. Riatt was not kept waiting. Fenimer came +promptly to meet him. + +He was a man of fifty, well made, and supremely well dressed. +He was tanned as befits a sportsman; on his face the absence of +furrows created by the absence of thought was made up for by the +fine wrinkles induced by poignant and continued anxiety about his +material comforts. In his figure the vigor of the athlete contended +with the comfortable stoutness of the epicure. He had left a +discussion in which all his highest faculties had been roused, a +discussion on the replenishing of the club’s cellar, and had come +to speak to his future son-in-law, with satisfaction but without +vital interest. His manner was a perfect blending of reserve and +cordiality. + +“You will hardly expect a definite answer from me to-day, Mr. +Riatt,” he said. “You understand, I am sure, that knowing so +little of you--an only child, my daughter”--He waved his hand, +not manicured but most beautifully cared for. Riatt noticed that +in spite of these chilling sentences, Fenimer was soon composing +a paragraph for the press, and advocating the setting of the date +for the wedding early in April, as he himself was booked for a +fishing-trip later. He did this under the assumption that he was +yielding to Riatt’s irresistible eagerness. “You have an excellent +advocate in Christine. My daughter has always ruled me. And now in +my old age I am to lose her. I had a long letter from her by the +early mail, speaking of you in the highest terms.” He smiled. Riatt +rose, and allowed him to return to the question of the club’s wines. + +Something about this interview was more shocking to him than the +cynicism of Nancy and Christine; Fenimer’s suave eagerness to hand +his daughter over to a total stranger, did not amuse him as the +women’s light talk had done. He felt sorry for Christine and a +little disgusted. He wondered what that letter had really said. Was +Fenimer a conspirator, too, or only a willing dupe? + +From the club he went to the jeweler’s and selected the most +conspicuous diamond he could find. Her friends should not miss the +fact that she was engaged if a solitaire could prove it to them. +He ordered it sent to her, much to the surprise of the clerk, who +pointed out that it was usual to present such things in person. + +After this he went to his hotel and found a pile of letters had +accumulated in his absence. + +The first he opened was in a round childish hand with uncertain +margins, and a final “e” on the word Hotel. + + “Dear Cousin Max,” it said, “I do not know you, but Mamma + says that you are going to marry Christine. I think you + are very lucky, and am glad you are bringing her into our + family. Victor and I love her. She comes to the nursery + sometimes, but never stays long. + + “Your loving cousin, + “MURIEL USSHER.” + +Riatt laughed as he laid it down. “I bet she doesn’t stay long,” he +said. “How she does skim the cream!” And then with an exclamation +of surprise he tore open another envelope which had been left by +hand. It said: + + “Dear Max: + + “I hope you will be pleasantly surprised to find that + Mother and I are staying in this hotel. I find New York + more wonderful but more unfriendly than I had been told, + and I want terribly to see a familiar face. Won’t you look + us up as soon as you can? + + “Yours as ever, + “DOROTHY.” + +He went to the telephone, found that she was in and immediately +arranged that she should go out to lunch with him. + +All the morning and some of the night, he had been engaged in the +composition of a letter to Dorothy Lane. Theirs was an old and +sentimental friendship, which adverse circumstances might have +ended, or favoring circumstances have changed into love. As things +were, it seemed to be tending toward their marriage without any +whirlwind rapidity. + +There was no doubt he was very glad to see her, as he hurried her +into a taxicab, and told the man to drive to the restaurant of +the hour. She was very neatly and nicely dressed in a tailor-made +costume for which she had just paid twice as much as a native New +York woman would have paid. In fact she was an essentially neat +and nice little person. They talked both at once like two children +about all the people at home, until they were actually seated at +table, and lunch was ordered. Then Riatt made up his mind he must +take the plunge. + +“Dolly,” he said, “do I look as if something tremendous had just +happened?” + +“Don’t tell me you’ve invented a submarine, or something?” + +“No, this is something of a more personal nature.” + +“Oh, Max, you’ve fallen in love?” + +A waiter rushing up with rolls and butter suggested that Madame +probably preferred fresh butter to salted, before Riatt answered: +“No, that is just what I haven’t done--and that’s the secret, +Dolly. I’m not a bit in love, but I am engaged to be married.” + +“Max! But why if--” + +“I’ll tell you on the second of March. It’s a good story. You’ll +enjoy it, but for the present, my dear, you must just accept the +fact that I am engaged, that I am neither wildly elated nor unduly +depressed.” + +Miss Lane had grown extremely serious. “Who is she?” she asked. + +“Her name is Christine Fenimer.” + +“I’ve seen her name in the papers.” + +“Who has not?” he returned bitterly. + +“What is she like?” + +Riatt felt some temptation to answer truthfully and say: “She is +designing, mercenary, hard-hearted and as beautiful as a goddess.” +But he did not, and, as he paused he saw the head waiter spring +forward from the doorway, smiling and holding up a pencil to +attract the attention of some underling, and then he saw that +Christine, Hickson and Mr. and Mrs. Linburne were being ushered in. +Christine approached, tall, beautiful, conspicuous, and as divinely +unconscious of it as Adam and Eve of their nakedness; she moved +between the tables, bowing here and there to people she knew, not +purposely ignoring all others, but seeming to find them invisible +as thin air. Riatt watched as if she were some great spectacle, and +was recalled only by hearing Dorothy’s voice saying: + +“What a lovely creature!” + +“That is Miss Fenimer.” + +A sudden and deep flush spread over Miss Lane’s face. + +“And you have been telling me of your indifference to her?” she +asked bitterly. “How could any man be indifferent!” + +“Good Heavens,” cried Riatt fiercely. “All you women are alike! +Beauty isn’t the only thing in the world for a man to love. There +are such things as truth and honor--” + +“Yes, and old friendship, too,” said Miss Lane, “but they don’t +always amount to much.” + +“That is an unnecessary, unkind thing to say,” he answered. “My +friendship for you means a good deal more to me than my engagement +to her.” + +“Max, I don’t need to be consoled or soothed about your engagement,” +said Miss Lane with a good deal of spirit. “As far as I am concerned +you are quite free not only to become engaged, but to have any +feeling you like for the lady you have chosen. I’m sure I +congratulate you very heartily.” + +“You mean you don’t believe a word of what I have been trying to +tell you.” + +“Oh, yes, I do. I believe you are engaged.” + +Perhaps it was as well that at this instant, Christine’s eyes +fell upon her; she stared, then laughed, and pointed him out to +Hickson, who glanced at him coldly; he was evidently thinking that +he would not have taken another girl out to lunch the very day his +engagement was announced. + +“I suppose I had better go and speak to them,” Max said. + +“I should think so,” replied Dorothy tonelessly. “Who are the +others?” + +Riatt, not sorry for a moment’s respite, entered into a detailed +account of Lee Linburne. He was the third generation of a great +fortune, augmenting rather than decreasing with years. He was but +little over thirty and had taken the whole field of amusement and +sports as his own. He played polo, had a racing stable and a racing +yacht, had gone in recently for flying (hence Riatt’s connection +with him), occasionally financed a theatrical show, and now and +then attended a directors’ meeting of some of his grandfather’s +companies. The result was that his name was as widely known through +the country as Abraham Lincoln’s. Dorothy knew as soon as she heard +his name, that he had married a girl from Pittsburg, and had gone +through her native city in a private car on his honeymoon three +years before, and had stopped, she rather thought, and had lunch +with the Governor of the State. + +On Hickson, Max touched more briefly. + +When at last he did cross the room, Christine received him with the +utmost cordiality. + +“What luck to run across you, though of course this is the only +place in New York where one can get food that doesn’t actually +poison one. Last week--do you remember, Lee? We dined somewhere or +other with the Petermans and nothing from the beginning of dinner +to the end was fit to eat. But, bless them, they did not know. Have +you met Mrs. Linburne? Oh, she knows all about _us_. In fact every +one does, for I can’t resist wearing this.” She moved her left hand +on which his diamond shone like a swollen star. “How did you find +my father?” + +“Most amiable,” answered Riatt rather poisonously, and regretted +the poison when he saw the Linburnes exchange an amused glance. Of +course every one knew that Mr. Fenimer would present no obstacles. + +“Who are you lunching with, Max? Is that your little secretary?” + +The tone, very civil and friendly, made Max furious, as if any one +that Christine did not know was hardly worth inquiring about. + +“No, it’s Miss Lane--an old friend of mine. I think I must have +spoken to you about her.” + +“Oh, the perfect provider? Is that really she?” Christine +craned her neck openly to stare at her. “Why, she’s rather nice +looking--for a good housekeeper, that is. You’re dining with me +to-night, aren’t you?” + +“No,” answered Riatt, with a sudden inspiration of ill-humor. “I’m +dining with Miss Lane.” + +“Bring her, too! Won’t she come?” + +“I really can’t say.” + +“You can ask her.” + +“To your house?” + +Christine always knew when she was really beaten. She got up with a +sigh. “Take me over,” she said to him, “and I’ll ask her myself.” +And she added to the Linburnes: “Out of town people are always so +fussy about little things.” + +Riatt did not know if this slightly contemptuous observation were +meant to apply to him or to Miss Lane; he hoped in his heart +that Dorothy would refuse the invitation. But he under-estimated +Christine’s powers. No one could have been more persuasive, more +meltingly sweet, and compellingly cordial than she was, and it was +soon arranged that he was to bring Dorothy to dine that evening. + +[Illustration: It was arranged that he was to bring Dorothy to dine +with them that evening] + +When it was over, and he was back again in his own seat, he could +see, by glancing at Christine that she was engaged in a long +humorous account of the incident, for her own table; and he could +tell, even from that distance, when he was supposed to be speaking, +when Dorothy, and when Christine was repeating her own words. +Meanwhile Dorothy was saying: + +“How charming and simple she is, Max. You always hear of these +people as being so artificial and elaborate.” + +“Oh, they’re direct enough,” returned Riatt bitterly. + +The bitterness was so apparent that Dorothy could not ignore it. +She looked up at him for an instant and then she said seriously: “I +believe I know what the trouble with you is, Max. You can’t believe +that she loves you for yourself. You’re haunted by the dread that +what you have has something to do with it. Isn’t that it?” + +Max now made use of the well-known counter question as an escape +from a tight place. + +“And what is your judgment on that point, Dolly?” + +“She loves you,” said Miss Lane, with conviction, and a moment +afterward she sighed. + +“Without disputing your opinion,” returned Riatt, “I should very +much like to know on what you base it.” + +“Oh, on a hundred things--on her look, her manner, her being so +nice to me--on woman’s intuition in fact.” + +Riatt thought to himself that he had never had much confidence in +the intuition theory and now he had none. + +They did not part at the termination of lunch. It was almost a +duty, Riatt considered, to show a stranger a few of the sights. +Miss Lane, who was extremely well-informed on all questions of +art, suggested the Metropolitan Museum; and after that they took +a taxicab and drove along the river and watched the winter sunset +above the palisades; and then they went and had tea at the Plaza, +and by the time they returned to Mrs. Lane it was almost the hour +for dressing for dinner; and then Max sat gossiping with Mrs. Lane, +for whom he had always had the deepest affection, until he knew he +was going to be late. + +They were late--a difficult thing to be in the Fenimer household. +The party, a small one, was waiting when Miss Lane and Mr. Riatt +were ushered in. Nancy was there, and Hickson, and Mr. Linburne +without his wife this time; and Mr. Fenimer himself, doing honor to +his future son-in-law by taking a meal at home. + +Christine in a wonderful pink chiffon and lace tea-gown came +forward to greet Dorothy, rather than Max, to whom she gave merely +an understanding smile, while she held the girl’s hand an instant. + +“Max says this is your first visit to New York,” she said, after +she had introduced her father and Nancy. “It is good of you to give +us an evening, when there are so many more amusing things to do, +but Max says we are as interesting as Bushmen or Hottentots. I hope +you’ll find us so.” + +The hope seemed unlikely to be fulfilled, for while the presence +of Mr. Fenimer, who was rather a stickler for etiquette, prevented +the perfect freedom that had reigned at the Usshers’, the talk +turned on people whom Dorothy did not know, and it was so quick and +allusive that no outsider could have followed it. Hickson, soon +appreciating something in Miss Lane’s situation not utterly unlike +his own, was touched by her obvious isolation, and tried to make +up for the neglect of the others. Riatt, sitting between Nancy and +Christine, had little time left to him for observation of any one +else. + +When dinner was over Christine instantly drew him away to her own +little sitting-room, on pretense of showing him some letter of +congratulation that she had received. But once there, she shut the +door, and standing before it, she said, with an air of the deepest +feeling: + +“You’re in love with this girl.” + +Riatt, who had sunk comfortably down on a sofa by the fire, looked +up in surprise. + +“And if I am?” he answered. + +“You need not humiliate me by making it so evident,” she retorted, +and almost stamped her foot. “Lunching with her in public, and +taking her to tea, as I was told, getting here so late for +dinner--I wish you could have heard the way Nancy and Lee Linburne +were goading me before dinner about it.” + +“My dear Christine,” said Max, and he was amused to hear a tone +of real conjugal remonstrance in his voice, “you have lunched and +dined in one day with Hickson, and yet I don’t feel I have any +grounds of complaint.” + +“Every one knows how little I care for Ned,” she answered, “but +people say you do care for this little Western mouse. I hate her. +She’s good and nice, and the kind of a girl men think it wise to +marry, and just as different from me as she can be. I do hate +her--and I hate myself too.” And she covered her face with her +hands. + +“Come here, Christine,” said Riatt, without moving, and was rather +surprised when she obeyed. He made her sit down beside him, and +taking her hands from her face, was astonished to find that she was +really crying. + +“Why, my dear child,” he said, in the most paternal manner he could +manage. “What is this all about?” And it was quite in the same note +that Christine wept a moment on his shoulder. Then she raised her +head, with a return of her old brisk manner. + +“I’m jealous,” she said. “Oh, don’t suppose one can’t be jealous +of people one doesn’t care for. I could be jealous of any one when +Nancy begins teasing me and making fun of me. And I’m jealous too, +because I’m sure she’s a nice girl and I’ve made such a mess of my +life, and I deserve it all; but when you came in together, as if +you had just been happily married, and I looked at Ned and thought +how wretched I’m always going to be with him, and what silly things +I shall undoubtedly do before I die--” + +“I hate to hear you talk like that.” + +“Why should you care? _She’ll_ never do silly things--that’s clear. +Is that why you love her?” + +“As a matter of fact I am not in love with Miss Lane.” + +“My dear Max, there’s really no reason why you should deceive me +about it.” + +“That’s just what she said about you.” + +“You mean”--Christine sprang to her feet and gazed at him like an +outraged empress--“You mean that you told her that you didn’t love +me?” + +“I most assuredly did.” + +“Max, how could you be so low, so despicable, so false?” + +Riatt laughed. “Well, it certainly was not false, Christine,” he +said. “It happens to be true, you know; and I felt I owed a measure +of truth to a very old and very real friendship. I told her nothing +more than that--I was engaged and not madly in love.” + +Christine threw up her hands. “The game is up,” she said. “She’ll +tell everybody, of course.” + +“She’ll tell absolutely no one.” + +“Because she’s perfect, I suppose?” + +“Because she didn’t for one moment believe me.” + +“Didn’t believe we were engaged?” + +“Didn’t believe that any one could be engaged to so beautiful and +charming a person as you are and not be in love with her.” + +Christine’s manner softened slightly. “She thinks me charming?” + +“She thinks you irresistible, almost as irresistible as Laura +thinks you; and she is trying to find out why I am so eager to +deceive her in the matter.” + +Christine clapped her hands, and executed a few steps. “She’s +jealous, too,” she cried. “The perfect woman is jealous. I never +thought of her suffering, too.” + +“She is not jealous, but I suppose it may hurt her feelings a +little that I shouldn’t--” + +“Oh, nonsense, Max, she loves you. Do you think I could be deceived +on such a subject? She watches you all the time. She loves you. +And I think it would be very impertinent of her not to. I should +think very poorly of her if she didn’t. Imagine what she must be +undergoing at this moment, by our prolonged absence.” + +“Perhaps, we’d better be going back,” said Riatt calmly. + +Christine barred the door, spreading out both her arms. + +“She thinks you’re making love to me, Max.” + +“And yet, Christine, I’m not.” + +“But she doesn’t know that; she doesn’t know what an immovable +iceberg you are.” + +“No, indeed she doesn’t.” + +Christine’s manner again changed utterly. All the playfulness +disappeared. “You mean,” she said, “that you’re not cold and +immovable with her?” + +“What’s the use of my telling you anything, if you don’t believe +me?” The idea of teasing Christine had never occurred to him +before, but he thought highly of it. She came toward him at once. + +“Oh, Max, my dear,” she said, “don’t be horrid, when I’m having +such a wretched time anyhow. Don’t you think you might _pretend_ to +care for me just a little?” + +Riatt rose. “Yes, I do,” he said, “and so I shall, in public.” + +Christine was all the gentle, wistful child immediately. + +“Never when we’re alone?” she asked. + +Max lit a cigarette briskly. “I don’t suppose we shall very often +be alone,” he returned. “After all, why should we?” + +She looked at him like a wounded bird: “No reason if you don’t want +to.” + +At this moment the door opened and her father came in. + +“Come, come, my dear, this is no way to treat your guests,” he +said. “I must really insist that you go back to the drawing-room. +Upon my word, Riatt, you ought not to keep her like this.” + +“It was a great temptation to have her a few minutes to myself, Mr. +Fenimer,” said Max, and Christine grinned gratefully at him behind +her father’s back. + +“Very likely, very likely,” said Mr. Fenimer crossly, “but I want +to go to the club, and how can I, unless she goes back? You can’t +think only of yourself, my dear fellow.” + +Riatt admitted that this was true and he and Christine went back to +the drawing-room. + +Very soon afterwards, he gave Dorothy a keen prolonged look, which +she did not misunderstand. She got up at once and said good night. +In the taxicab, he questioned her at once as to her impressions. + +“I didn’t like Mr. Linburne or Mrs. Almar at all, Max. She kept +asking me the greatest number of questions about you and the story +of your life. What interest has she in you, I wonder?” + +“None,” answered Riatt, but added rather quickly, “And what did you +think of Linburne?” + +“I couldn’t bear him, though I own he’s nice looking. But he told +Mrs. Almar a story--I could not help hearing--I never heard such a +story in my life.” + +“I gather it did not shock Mrs. Almar.” + +“She knew it already. ‘Lee,’ she said, ‘that story is so old that +even my husband knows it,’ and every one laughed.” + +“I’m afraid you did not enjoy yourself.” + +“I like Mr. Hickson very much. And I thought Miss Fenimer more +beautiful than before. He was telling me what a wonderful nature +she has. He said he had never seen her out of temper.” + +“Yes, Hickson’s crazy about her,” said Riatt casually. + +“Dear Max, why do you try to deceive yourself about your own +feeling for her?” + +“Deceive myself,” he said angrily. “If you knew the truth, my dear +Dolly!” His heart stood still. Deceive himself! What an insulting +phrase. He repressed a strong impulse to propose on the instant to +Dolly. That would show her how indifferent he was to Christine. It +would assure him, too. + +Instead he formed a plan to go home with her and her mother, when +they went. + +“When are you going back, Dolly?” + +“The day after to-morrow.” + +“Any objections to my going, too?” + +“Objections! Max, dear!” + +He engaged his ticket at once at the hotel office. Having done so, +he felt tranquil and relieved, and perhaps the least little bit +dull. The clerk assured him he was fortunate to be able to get a +berth at such short notice. “Very fortunate,” he agreed and was +annoyed at a certain cold ring in his voice. + +The next day, true to his promise to show Christine all attentions +that the public could expect, he sent her a box of flowers, and +at four he stopped for her and they went and took a long walk +together, hoping to meet as many people whom they knew as possible. + +“We won’t walk in the Park,” said Christine. “No one sees you +there, though of course if they do, it makes an impression. But, +no; we’ll stick to Fifth Avenue, and study all the windows that +have clothes or furniture in them, as if our minds were entirely +taken up with trousseaux and house-furnishing.” + +She was true to her word, and not squeamish. Riatt found it rather +amusing to wander at her side, dressing her in imagination in every +garment that the windows so frankly displayed, and answering with +real interest her constant inquiry: “Do you think that would become +me? Would you like me in that? Do you prefer silk to batiste?” + +They were standing in front of a stocking shop in which on a row of +composition legs which might have made a chorus envious, “new ideas +in hosiery” were romantically displayed, when Riatt decided to tell +her of his approaching departure. He chose the street, because +he was well aware that she would not approve of his plan, and he +wished to avoid a repetition of last evening’s scene. + +“I shall have to go away the day after to-morrow,” he said, and +glanced quickly down on her to see how she would take it. + +She was studying the stockings, and she drew away with her head at +a critical angle. + +“It’s a queer thing,” she said, “that certain stripes do make the +ankle look large. Theoretically they ought to make it look slim, +but you take my word for it, Max, they don’t.” + +“Nothing could make your ankles look anything but slim, Christine,” +he replied politely. + +“No, my ankles are rather good, aren’t they?” she replied, and then +as if she had now disposed of the more serious topic, she added: +“And so you are going home? Well, you mayn’t believe it, but I +shall really miss you a great deal. Oh, look at these jade flowers! +They’re really good.” + +Riatt looked at the pale lilac and pink blossoms starting from +their icy green leaves, but he hardly saw them. He was disgusted at +the discovery of an unexpected perversity in his nature. He found +himself hardly pleased at the absence of protest with which his +announcement was greeted. All her attention was absorbed by the +jade. + +“Wouldn’t it look well on our drawing-room mantel-piece?” she said. + +“I’ll give it to you as a wedding present,” he answered. “That is, +if you think Hickson would like it.” + +“I don’t think he’ll like anything you ever give me. He did not +even like my ring. He thinks the stone too large. By the way, +I never properly thanked you for the ring. It has been most +splendidly persuasive. Even Nancy grew pale when she saw the proof +of your sincerity.” + +“Will it be sufficient even in the face of my continued absence?” +he asked, for it occurred to him that perhaps she had not +understood that he meant to remain in the West indefinitely. + +“Oh, I think so,” she answered, pleasantly. “You might write to +me now and then, and I’ll show just a suitable paragraph here and +there to an intimate friend.” + +A new idea suddenly occurred to him. Had she any motive for +desiring his absence? Had some unexpected possibility cropped up? +Did she want to get rid of him? Not, he added, that he minded if +she did, but it would be rather interesting to know. + +“I’m going a little earlier than I expected,” he went on, “because +the Lanes are going, and I hate to make that long journey alone.” + +She nodded understandingly. “It will be much nicer for you to have +them.” + +He looked at her coldly. It seemed to him he had never known a +more callous nature. And to think that the evening before she had +actually shed tears, simply because he took another girl to lunch! +It caught his attention, he said to himself, just as a study in +human nature. + +He did not see her the next day until evening. They were both to +dine at Nancy’s--(thus had the proposed dinner with Mrs. Almar +deteriorated) and go afterward to the opera. Nancy of course would +not have dreamed of crowding three women into her box, so the party +consisted of herself and Christine, Riatt, Roland Almar--a pale, +eager, little man, trying to placate the world with smiles, and +once again Linburne, whose handsome dark head, and curved mouth, +half cynical, half sensuous, began to weary Riatt inexpressibly. + +After dinner he found that he and Mrs. Almar were to go in her tiny +coupé, and the four others in Linburne’s large car. + +“And so,” she observed as soon as they started, “the mouse +preferred the trap after all?” And he could feel that she was +laughing at him in the shadow. + +“But feels none the less grateful for the kind intention to rescue +him.” + +“Oh, I don’t care much for the gratitude of a man in love with +another woman.” + +“You judge me to be very much in love?” + +This general conviction on the part of the ladies of his +acquaintance was growing monotonous. Nancy continued: + +“But come back in two years, and we’ll talk of gratitude then. In +the meantime let us stick to the impersonal. What do you think of +Linburne?” + +“I’ve had many opportunities of judging. I’ve been nowhere for two +days without meeting him.” + +Mrs. Almar laughed with meaning. + +“I wonder why that should be,” she said. + +“What do you mean?” Riatt asked, but at that moment they drew up +before the Thirty-ninth Street entrance, and the doorman, opening +the motor’s door, shouted “Ten--Forty-five”--a cheerful lie he has +been telling four times a week for many years. + +In the opera box, Riatt at once seated himself behind Christine. +There is no place like the opera for public devotion. Christine was +resplendent in black and gold with a huge black and gold fan that +made the fans of the temple dancers--the opera was “Aïda”--look +commonplace and ineffective. + +Behind it she now murmured to Max: + +“And what poisonous thing did dear Nancy tell you coming down?” + +“Nothing--except what everyone has been telling me for the last few +days--that I seemed very much in love.” + +“And that annoyed you, I suppose.” + +“On the contrary. I was delighted to find I was such a good actor.” + +“People who pretend to be asleep sometimes end by actually doing +it. Pretending is rather dangerous sometimes.” + +“Yes, but you see I shan’t have to pretend after to-morrow.” + +“Are you all packed and ready?” + +“Mentally I am.” + +In the _entr’acte_ which followed quickly after their entrance, +Christine dismissed him very politely. “There,” she said, “you +don’t have to stay on duty all the time. You can go and stretch +your legs, if you want.” + +He rose at once, and as he did so, Linburne slipped into his place. + +Riatt had caught sight of Laura Ussher across the house, and knew +his duty demanded that he should go and say a word to his exuberant +cousin who, he supposed, regarded herself as the artificer of his +happiness. + +“Oh, my dear Max,” she began, hastily bundling out an old friend +who had been reminiscing about the days of the de Rezskes, and +waving Riatt into place, “every one is so delighted at the +engagement, and thinks you both so fortunate. How happy she is, +Max! She looks like a different person.” + +“I thought she looked rather tired this evening,” answered Riatt, +who always found himself perverse in face of Laura’s enthusiasm. + +Mrs. Ussher raised her opera glass and studied Christine’s profile, +bent slightly toward Linburne, who was talking with the immobility +of feature which many people use when saying things in public which +they don’t wish overheard. “Oh, well, she doesn’t look as brilliant +as she did when _you_ were with her. But isn’t that natural? I +wonder why Nancy asked Lee Linburne and where is that silly little +wife of his. Oh, don’t go, Max. It’s only the St. Anna attaché; we +met him on the coast last summer.” + +But Riatt insisted on making way for the South American diplomat, +who was standing courteously in the back of the box. + +He wandered out into the corridors, not enough interested in any of +his recent acquaintances to go and speak to them. Two men coming up +behind him were talking; he could not help hearing their dialogue: + +“Who’s this fellow she’s engaged to?” + +“No one knows--a Western chap with a lot of money.” + +“Suppose she cares anything about him?” + +“Oh, no, she’s telling every one she doesn’t. They say he’s mad +about her.” + +“Ought to be, by Jove. I always thought the only man she ever cared +for--” + +Riatt found himself straining his ears vainly to catch the name, +but it was drowned in other conversations that rose about him. He +understood now why Christine had been angry at his telling Dorothy +that he was not in love, for he found himself annoyed at the idea +of her having told everybody that she wasn’t. But, it’s a different +thing, he thought, to tell one intimate friend in confidence, or to +give the news to every Tom, Dick and Harry. Then the juster side of +his nature reasserted itself, and he saw that she was only laying +the trail for the breaking of her engagement. Yet this evidence of +her good faith did not entirely allay the irritation of his spirit. + +When he went back to the box, Linburne was gone, and the man +who had replaced him, yielded to Riatt with the most submissive +promptness. But this time no easy interchange occurred between them. + +About half past ten, Christine leaned over to her hostess, and +said: “Would you care at all if I deserted you, dear? I’m tired.” + +“Mind when I have my Roland to keep me company?” said Nancy. “One +seems to take one’s husband to the opera this year.” + +At this point Linburne, who had been standing in the back of the +box, came forward and said: “Won’t you take my car, Miss Fenimer? +I’ll go down and find it for you.” + +A look that passed between them, a twinkle in Nancy’s eyes, +suddenly convinced Riatt that the scheme was for Linburne to take +Christine home. He did not stop to ask why this idea was repugnant +to him, but he said firmly: + +“I have a car of my own downstairs, and I’ll take Miss Fenimer +home.” It was of course a lie, as the simple taxicab was his only +means of vehicular locomotion, but a taxi, thank heaven, can always +be obtained quickly at the Metropolitan. Christine consented. +Linburne stepped back. + +They drove the few blocks in silence. He went up the steps of her +house, and when the door was opened he said: “May I come in for a +few minutes? I shan’t have time to-morrow probably.” + +“Do,” said Christine. She went into the drawing-room and sank into +a chair. “Who ever heard of not saying good-by to one’s fiancée?” + +He saw that she was in her most teasing mood, and somehow this made +him more serious. + +“Perhaps,” he said rather stiffly, “you think I carry out your +instructions too exactly. Perhaps I show a more scrupulous devotion +in public than you meant.” + +“Oh, no. It looked so well.” + +“It would not have looked so well for Linburne to take you home.” + +She clapped her hands. “Excellent,” she said, “but you know it is +not necessary to take that proprietary tone when we are alone.” + +“Even as a mere acquaintance I might offer you some advice,” he +said. + +“I’m rather sleepy as it is,” she returned, yawning slightly. + +For the first time Riatt had a sense of crisis. He knew he must +either save her, or leave her. He could not give her a little sage +advice and abandon her. It would be like advising a starving man +not to steal and going away with your pockets full. He could not +say, “Have nothing to do with a selfish materialist like Linburne,” +when he knew better perhaps than any one how empty of any ideality +or hope her relation to Hickson was bound to be. Yet on the other +hand, he could not say, “Come to me, instead.” He despised her +method of life, distrusted her character, disliked her ideas, and +was under no illusion as to her feeling for himself. If he had +come to her without money she would have laughed in his face. What +chance would either of them have under such circumstances? It was +simple madness to consider it. And why was he considering it? Just +because she looked lovely and wan, sunk in a deep chair in all her +black and gold finery, just because her face had the lines of an +Italian saint and her voice had strange and moving tones in it. + +“Good-by,” he said briefly. + +She sprang up. “Good gracious,” she said, “and are you going just +like that? You know it is customary to extract a promise to write. +At least to beg for a lock of the hair.” (She drew out a golden +lock, and let it crinkle back into place again.) “Or do you think +you will remember me without it?” + +[Illustration: He stood like a rock under her caress] + +“I’m not so sure I want to remember you.” + +“I hope you don’t. It’s the things you don’t want to remember that +you never can get out of your head.” + +“Good-by,” he said again. + +“Haven’t you one nice thing to say to me before you go?” + +“Not one.” + +“Wouldn’t you at least admit that I had enlarged your point of +view?” + +“Aren’t you going to shake hands with me?” he said. + +She shook her head, and began to approach him. He felt afterward +as if he had known exactly what she meant to do, and yet he seemed +to lack all power to prevent her--or perhaps it was will that was +lacking. She came up to him, very deliberately put her arms about +his neck, and, almost as tall as he, laid her head on his shoulder; +and then murmured under his chin: “But you must never, never come +back.” + +He stood like a rock under her caress; he did not make any answer; +he did not attempt to undo the clasp of her arms. He was as +impassive as a hunted animal who, in some terrible danger, pretends +to be already dead. + +It was a matter of only a few seconds. Then she dropped her arms, +and he went away. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Running away is seldom a becoming gesture, yet it is one that +should at least bring relief; but as Riatt went westward, he was +conscious of no relief whatsoever. The day was bitter and gray, +and, looking out of the window, he felt that he was about as flat +and dreary as the country through which he was passing. + +He sat a little while with the Lanes in their compartment. + +“I suppose you’ll be glad to get home and see George and Louise and +the children,” said Mrs. Lane, referring to some cousins of Riatt’s +about whom, it is to be feared, he had not thought for weeks. + +Dorothy laughed. “What does he care for home-staying cousins when +he is leaving a lovely creature languishing for him in New York?” +she said. + +“I doubt if Christine does much languishing,” he returned, though +the idea was not at all disagreeable to him. + +“You two are the strangest lovers I ever knew,” said Miss Lane. + +Riatt wondered if that were an accurate description of them--lovers, +though strange ones. + +He left his old friends presently and went and sat in the +observation-car. What, he wondered, had Christine meant by her last +words, about never coming back? Never come back to annoy with his +critical attitude? Never come back to watch her deterioration as +Hickson’s wife? Or never come back to disturb her peace of mind and +heart by his mere presence? He debated all interpretations but the +last pleased him most. + +A bride and groom were in the car. The girl was not in the least +like Christine. She was small and wore a pair of the most fantastic +gray and black boots that Riatt had ever seen; but she was very +blond and very much in love. Riatt hated both her and her husband. +“People ought not to be allowed to show their feelings like that,” +he said to himself, as he kicked open the door leading to the back +platform, with a violence that was utterly unnecessary. + +Nor did things mend on his arrival at his home. His native town was +naturally interested in his engagement; it showed this interest by +keeping the idea continually before him. It assumed, of course, +that he was going to bring his bride home. The rising architect +of the community came to him with the assumption that he would +wish to build her a more suitable house than that of his father, +which, large and comfortable, had been constructed in the very +worst taste of the early “eighties.” No, Riatt found himself saying +with determination, his father’s house would be good enough for +his wife. He thought the sentiment sounded rather well, as he +pronounced it. But this did not solve his difficulties, for now +it was but too evident that he must at least redecorate the old +house; and he found himself, he never knew exactly how, actually +in process of doing over a bedroom, bathroom and boudoir for +Christine, just exactly as if he had expected her ever to lay eyes +on them. + +Mrs. Lane came to him with the suggestion that he would wish +Christine to be one of the patronesses of the next winter’s dances. +The list was about to be printed. Max hesitated. “It would be a +little premature to put her down as Mrs. Riatt, wouldn’t it?” he +objected. Mrs. Lane thought this was merely superstitious, and +ordered the cards so printed without consulting him further. + +Every one asked him what he heard from her, so that he actually +stooped once or twice to invent sentences from imaginary letters +of hers. He even went so far as to read the society columns of the +New York newspapers, so that he might not be caught in any absurd +error about her whereabouts. Such at least is the reason by which +he explained his conduct to himself. + +He was shocked to find that he was restless and dissatisfied. The +only occupation that seemed to give any relief was gambling; or, +as a mine-owning friend of his expressed it, in making “a less +conservative and more remunerative investment of his capital.” +He spent hours every day hanging over the ticker in the office +of Burney, Manders and Company--and this young and eager firm of +brokers made more money in commissions during the first two weeks +of his return than they had during the whole year that preceded it. + +On the whole he lost, and Welsley, his mining friend, seeing this +began to urge on him more and more the advisability of buying out +the majority of stock in a certain Spanish-American gold mine. At +first he always made the same answer: “You know as well as I do, +Welsley, I would never put a penny into any property I had not +inspected.” + +But gradually a desire to inspect it grew up in his mind. What +would suit his plans better than a long trip, as soon as the +breaking of his engagement was announced? A week at sea, two or +three days on a river, and then sixty miles on mule-back over the +mountains--there at least he would not be troubled by accounts of +Christine’s wedding, or assertions that she had looked brilliant at +the opera. + +He had been at home about two weeks, when her first letter came. +So far the only scrap of her handwriting that he possessed was the +formal release that she had given him the afternoon they became +engaged, and which, for safe keeping doubtless, he always carried +in his pocketbook, and which he sometimes found himself reading +over--not as a proof that he could get out of his engagement, but +rather in an attempt to verify the fact that he had ever got into +it. + +However unfamiliar with her writing, he had not the least doubt +about the letter from the first instant that he saw it. No one else +could use such absurd faint blue and white paper and such large +square envelopes. As he took it up, he said to himself that it had +never occurred to him that she would write, and yet he saw without +any sense of inconsistency that he had looked for this letter in +every mail. And yet, so perverse is the nature of mankind, that he +opened it, not with pleasure, but with a sudden return of all his +old terror of being trapped. + + “Dear Max,” it said. “I have been pretending so often to + write to you for the benefit of my inquiring friends, that + I think I may as well do it as a tribute to truth. + + “How foolish that was--the night you went away! One gets + carried away sometimes by the drama of a situation, without + any relation to the facts, and the idea of parting forever + from one’s fiancé is rather dramatic, isn’t it? I cried all + night, and rather enjoyed it. Then in the morning when I + woke up, everything seemed to have returned to the normal, + and I could not understand what had made me so silly. + + “Don’t suppose that because you have gone, I am therefore + freed from the disagreeable criticism of which you made + such a speciality. Ned comes in almost every day to tell me + that he does not approve of my conduct. I am not behaving, + it appears, as an affianced bride should. Don’t you like + to think of Ned so loyally protecting your interests in + your absence? His criticisms are, I suppose, based on + the attentions of a nice little boy just out of college, + who calls me ‘Helen,’ and writes sonnets to me which are + to appear in the most literary of weeklies. Look out for + them. They are good, and may raise your low estimate of my + charms. The best one begins: + + “When the blond wonder first on Paris dawned-- + + “Isn’t that pretty? + + “Write to me. At least send me a blank envelope that I may + leave ostentatiously on my desk. + + “Yours at the moment, + “CHRISTINE.” + +Riatt’s first thought on laying down the letter was: “Hickson +never in the world objected to any little poet just out of +college, and she knows it very well. It’s Linburne he is worried +about--Linburne, whose name she does not even mention.” And how +absurd to attempt to make him believe she had cried all night. That +was simply an untruth. Yet oddly enough, it came before his eyes in +a more vivid picture than many a scene he had actually witnessed. + +A few minutes later he went to the club and looked up the literary +weekly of which she had spoken. There was no sonnet in it, but the +issue of the next week contained it. Riatt read it with an emotion +he could not mistake. It brought Christine like a visible presence +before him. Also it made him angry, to have to see her like this, +through another man’s eyes. “Little whelp,” he said, “to detail +a woman’s beauty in print like that! What does he know about it +anyhow? I don’t believe for one second she looked at him like that.” + +The sonnet ended: + + She turned, a white embodiment of joy, + And looking on him, sealed the doom of Troy. + +He was roused by a friendly shout in his ear. “Ho, ho, Max, reading +poetry, are you? What love does for the worst of us!” It was +Welsley, who snatched the paper out of his hand, running over the +lines rapidly to himself: “Hem, hem, ‘carnation, alabaster, gold +and fire.’ Some queen, that, eh? Have you had your dinner? Well, +don’t be cross. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t read verse if +you like. And this young man is the latest thing. My wife says they +are going to import him here to speak to the Greek Study Club.” + +“I shall be curious to hear him, if the Greek Club will ask me,” +said Max. + +“Oh, you’ll be in the East getting married,” answered Welsley. + +Strangely enough, it was with something like a pang that Max said +to himself that he wouldn’t be. + +“Carnation, alabaster, gold and fire.” + +It was not a bad line, he thought. + +After dinner, he felt a little more amiable, and so he sat down and +wrote his first real letter to his fiancée. + + “If we were really engaged, my dear Christine,” he wrote, + “you would have had a night letter long before this, asking + you to explain to me just how it was that you did look on + that amorous young poet. His verse is pretty enough, though + I can’t say I exactly enjoyed it. However, my native town + thinks very highly of him, and intends to ask him to come + and address one of our local organizations. If so, I shall + have an opportunity of questioning him on the subject of + the sources of his inspiration. ‘Is Helen a real person?’ I + shall ask. ‘Not so very,’ I can imagine his replying. Ah, + what would we both give to know? + + “My friends here, stimulated by Dorothy Lane’s ravishing + description of you, have asked many times to see your + picture. I am ashamed of my own carelessness in having gone + away without obtaining one for exhibition purposes. Will + you send me one at once? One not already in circulation + among poets and painters. I will set it on my writing + table, and allow my eyes to stray sentimentally toward it + whenever I have people to dinner. + + “By the way, the day I left New York I told a florist + to send you flowers every day. We worked out quite an + elaborate scheme for every day in the week. Did he ever do + it? + + “Yours, at least in the sight of this company, + + “MAX RIATT.” + +In answer to this, he was surprised by a telegram: + + “So sorry for absurd mistake. Entirely misunderstood source + of the flowers. Enjoy them a great deal more now. Yes, they + come regularly. A thousand thanks. Am sending photograph by + mail.” + +Riatt did not need to ask himself from whom she had imagined they +came. Not the poet, unless magazine rates were rising unduly. +Nor Hickson, who failed a little in such attentions. No, it was +Linburne--and evidently Linburne’s attentions were taken so much as +a matter of course, that she had not even thanked him, nor had he +noticed her omission. + +He did not answer the telegram, nor did he acknowledge the +photograph but, true to his word, he established it at once on +his desk in a frame which he spent a long time in selecting. +The picture represented Christine at her most queenly and +unapproachable. She wore the black and gold dress, and the huge +feather fan was folded across her bare arms. Every time he looked +at it, he remembered how those same arms had been clasped round his +own stiff and unbending neck. And sometimes he found the thought +distracted his attention from important matters. + +It was about the middle of February when he received one morning a +letter from Nancy Almar. He knew _her_ handwriting. She was always +sending him little notes of one kind or another. This one was very +brief. + +“Clever mouse! So it knew a way to get out all the time!” + +All day he speculated on the meaning of this strange message. Had +Nancy discovered some proof of the nature of his engagement? Had +Christine been moved by pity to tell Hickson the truth? On the +whole he inclined to think that this was the explanation. + +The next day he knew he had been mistaken. He had a letter from +Laura Ussher--not the first in the series--urging him to come back +at once. + + “Max,” she wrote, with a haste that made her almost + indecipherable, “you must come. What are you dreaming + of--to leave a proud, beautiful, impressionable creature + like Christine the prey to so finished a villain as + Linburne? You are not so ignorant of the ways of the world + as not to know his intentions. Most people are saying you + deserve everything that is happening to you. I try to + explain, but I know you saw enough while you were here to + be put upon your guard. Why don’t you come? I must warn you + that if you do not come at once you need not come at all.” + +Riatt had just come in; it was late in the afternoon. The letters +were lying on his writing table; and as he finished this one, he +raised his eyes and looked at Christine’s picture. + +He did not believe Laura’s over-wrought picture. Christine was no +fool, Linburne no villain. There was probably a little flirtation, +and a good deal of gossip. But that would all be put a stop to by +the announcement of Christine’s engagement to Hickson. He did not +even feel annoyed at his cousin’s suggestion that he did not know +his way about the world. He knew it rather better than she did, he +fancied. + +And having so disposed of his mail, he took up the evening paper +which lay beneath it, and read the first headline: + + Mrs. Lee Linburne to seek divorce: Wife of well-known + multimillionaire now at Reno-- + +As he read this a blind rage swept over Riatt. He did not stop to +inquire why if he were willing to give Christine up to Hickson he +was infuriated at the idea of Linburne’s marrying her; nor why, as +he had allowed himself to be made use of, he was angry to find that +he had been far more useful than he had supposed. He only knew that +he was angry, and with an anger that demanded instant action. + +He looked at his watch. He had time to catch a train to Chicago. +He went upstairs and packed. He knew that what he was doing was +foolish, that he would poignantly regret it, but he never wavered +an instant in his intention. + +He reached New York early in the afternoon. He had notified no one +of his departure, and he did not announce his arrival. He went +straight to the Fenimers’ house--not indeed expecting to find +Christine at home at that hour, but resolved to await her return. + +The young man at the door, who had known Riatt before, appeared +confused, but was decided. + +Miss Fenimer, he insisted, was out. + +Glancing past him Riatt saw a hat and stick on the hall table. He +had no doubt as to their owner. + +“I’ll wait then,” he said, coming in, and handing his own things to +the footman, who seemed more embarrassed still. + +Taking pity on him, Riatt said: + +“You mean Miss Fenimer is at home, but has given orders that she +won’t see any one?” + +Such, the man admitted, was the case. + +“She’ll see me,” Riatt answered, “take my name up.” + +The footman, looking still more wretched, obeyed. Riatt heard him +go into the little drawing-room overhead, and then there was a long +pause. Once he thought he heard a voice raised in anger. As may be +imagined his own anger was not appeased by this reception. + +While he was waiting, the door of a room next the front door opened +and Mr. Fenimer came out. His astonishment at seeing Riatt was so +great that with all his tact he could not repress an exclamation, +which somehow did not express pleasure. + +“You here, my dear Riatt!” he said, grasping him cordially by the +hand. “Christine, I’m afraid--” + +“I’ve sent up to see,” said Max, curtly. + +“Ah, well, my dear fellow,” Mr. Fenimer went on easily, “come, +you know, a man really can’t go off in the casual way you did and +expect to find everything just as he likes when he comes back. +I have a word to say to you myself. Shall we walk as far as the +corner together?” + +To receive his dismissal from Mr. Fenimer was something that Riatt +had never contemplated. + +“I should prefer to wait until the footman comes down,” he answered. + +“No use, no use,” said Mr. Fenimer, suddenly becoming jovial, “I +happen to know that Christine is out. Come back a little later--” + +“And whose hat is that, then?” asked Max. + +It had been carelessly left on its crown and the initials “L.L.” +were plainly visible. + +Mr. Fenimer could not on the instant think of an answer, and Riatt +decided to go upstairs unannounced. + +As he opened the drawing-room door he heard Christine’s voice +saying: “Thank you, I shall please myself, Lee, even without your +kind permission.” + +The doors in the Fenimer house opened silently, so that though +Christine, who was facing the door, saw him at once, Linburne, +whose back was turned to it, was unaware of his presence, and +answered: + +“You ought to have more pride than to want to see a fellow who has +made it so clear he doesn’t care sixpence about seeing you.” + +Christine openly smiled at Max, as she answered: “Well, I do want +to see him,” and Linburne turning to see at what her smile was +directed found himself face to face with Riatt. + +Max made a gesture to the footman, and shut the door behind his +hasty retreat, then he came slowly into the room. + +“In one thing you are mistaken, Mr. Linburne,” he said. “I do care +whether or not I see Miss Fenimer.” + +Linburne was angry at Christine, not only for insisting on seeing +Riatt, but for the lovely smile with which she had greeted him. He +was glad of an outlet for his feelings. + +He almost shrugged his shoulders. “An outsider can only judge by +your conduct, Mr. Riatt,” he answered. “And I may tell you that you +have subjected Miss Fenimer to a good deal of disagreeable gossip +by your apparently caring so little.” + +“And others by apparently caring so much,” said Max. + +Christine was the only one who recognized at once the fact that +both men were angry; and she did not pour oil on the waters by +laughing gaily. “You can’t find any subject for argument there,” +she observed, “for you are both perfectly right. You have both made +me the subject of gossip; but don’t let it worry you, for my best +friends have long ago accustomed me to that.” + +“I hope you won’t think I’m asking too much, Mr. Riatt,” said +Linburne, with a politeness that only accentuated his irritation, +“in suggesting that as your visit is, I believe, unexpected, and as +mine is an appointment of some standing, that you will go away and +let me finish my conversation with Miss Fenimer.” + +Max smiled. “Oddly enough,” he said, “I was about to make the same +request to you. But I suppose we must let Miss Fenimer settle the +question.” + +Christine smiled like an angel. “Can’t we have a nice time as we +are?” she asked. + +This frivolous reply was properly ignored by both men, and Riatt +went on: “Don’t you think you ought to consider the fact that Miss +Fenimer and I are engaged?” + +“Miss Fenimer assures me she does not intend to marry you.” + +“And may I ask if you consider that she does intend to marry +you--that is if you should happen to become marriageable?” + +“That is a question between her and me,” returned Linburne. + +Riatt laughed. “I see,” he said. “The matrimonial plans of my +future wife are no affair of mine?” And for an instant he felt his +most proprietary rights were being invaded. + +“Miss Fenimer is not your future wife.” + +“Well, Mr. Linburne, I hear you say so.” + +“You shall hear _her_ say so,” answered Linburne. “Christine,” he +added peremptorily, “tell Riatt what you have just been telling me.” + +There was a long painful silence. Both men stood looking intently +at Christine, who sat with her head erect, staring ahead of her +like a sphinx, but saying nothing. After a moment she glanced up +at Max’s face, as if she expected to find there an answer to her +problem. She did not look at Linburne. + +“Christine,” said Max very gently, “what have you told Mr. +Linburne?” + +“She has told me everything,” answered Linburne impetuously, and +then seeing by the glance that the two others exchanged that such +was not the case, his temper got the best of him. + +“Do you mean you’ve been lying to me?” he asked. + +“Just what did you tell him, Christine?” said Riatt, finding it +easier and easier to be calm and protecting as his adversary grew +more violent. + +Christine looked up at him with the innocence of a child. “I told +him that we did not love each other, and that our engagement was +really broken, but that no one was to know until March.” + +“Why did you tell him that?” + +“It’s the truth, Max--almost the truth.” + +“Almost the truth!” cried Linburne. “Do you want me to think you +care something for this man after all?” + +“In the simple section of the country from which I come,” observed +Riatt, “we often care a good deal for the people we marry.” + +Linburne turned on him. “Really, Mr. Riatt,” he said, “you don’t +take an idea very quickly. You have just heard Miss Fenimer say +that she did not love you and that she considered your engagement +at an end.” + +“I heard her say she had told you that.” + +“You mean to imply that she said what was untrue?” + +“I could answer your question better,” said Riatt, “if I understood +a little more clearly what your connection with this whole +situation is.” + +“The connection of any old friend who does not care to see Miss +Fenimer neglected and humiliated,” answered Linburne, all the more +hotly because he knew it was an awkward question. + +Perhaps the young poet had not been so wrong in attaching the name +of Helen to Miss Fenimer, for she sat now as calmly interested in +the conflict developing before her, as Helen when she sat on the +walls of Troy and designated the Greek heroes for the amusement of +her newer friends. + +“May I ask, Mr. Riatt, what rights in the matter you consider that +you have?” Linburne pursued. + +For Riatt, too, the question was an awkward one, but he had his +answer ready. “The rights,” he said, “of a man who certainly was +once engaged to Miss Fenimer, and who came East ignorant that the +engagement was already at an end.” + +Christine laughed. “Very neatly put,” she said. + +“Neatly put,” exclaimed Linburne. “You talk as if we were playing a +game.” + +[Illustration: “May I ask, Mr. Riatt, what rights in the matter you +consider that you have?” Linburne pursued] + +“You have the reputation of playing all games well, my dear Lee,” +she returned. The obvious fact that she was enjoying the interview, +made both men eager to end it--but, unfortunately, they wished to +end it in diametrically opposite ways. + +“Christine,” said Linburne, “will you ask Mr. Riatt to be so kind +as to let me have ten minutes alone with you?” + +Riatt spoke to her also. “I will do exactly as you say,” he said, +“but you understand that if I go now, I shall not come back.” + +Christine smiled. “Is that a threat or a promise?” she asked, the +sweetness of her smile almost taking away the sting of her words. + +Seeing that she hesitated, Riatt went on: “Since I have come more +than a thousand miles to see you, don’t you think you might suggest +to Mr. Linburne that he let me have my visit undisturbed?” + +There was a long and rather terrible pause, terrible that is to the +two men. Christine probably enjoyed every second of it. There was +nothing in Linburne’s experience of life to make him think that any +woman whom he had honored with his preference was likely to prefer +another man to himself. So the pause was terrible to him, not +because he doubted what the climax would be, but because he felt +his dignity insulted by even an appearance of hesitation. Max, on +the other hand, was still a good deal in doubt as to her ultimate +intentions. + +It was to him, finally, that she spoke. + +“Max,” she said, “do you remember that while we were staying at the +Usshers’ we composed a certain document together?” + +He nodded, and then as she did not continue, he opened his +pocketbook and took out the release. + +She made no motion to take it; on the contrary, she leaned back and +crossed her hands in her lap. + +“Yes,” she said, “that’s it. Well, you may stay, if you care to +burn that scrap of paper.” + +It was now Max’s turn to hesitate, for the decision of freedom or +captivity was in his own hands; the crisis he had so recklessly +rushed to meet was now upon him. + +“What is in that paper?” asked Linburne, as one who has a right to +question. + +Christine was perfectly good-tempered as she answered: “Well, Lee, +it still belongs to Mr. Riatt; but if he decides not to burn it, I +promise to tell you all about it as we drink our tea.” + +“Do you promise me that, Christine?” + +“Most solemnly, Lee.” She looked up at Linburne, and before Max +knew what he was doing he found he had dropped the paper into the +fire. + +Strangely enough, though the fire was hot, the paper did not catch +at once, but curled and rocked an instant in the heat, before it +disappeared in flame and smoke. Not until it was a black crisp did +Christine turn to Linburne, and hold out her hand. + +“Good-by, Lee,” she said pleasantly. But he did not answer or take +her hand. He left the room in silence. + +When the door had shut behind him, Christine glanced at her +remaining visitor. “And now,” she said, “I suppose you are wishing +you had not.” + +“What sort of a woman are you?” Riatt exclaimed. “Will you take any +man that offers, me or Hickson, or Linburne or me again, just as +luck will have it?” + +“I take the best that offers, Max--and that’s no lie.” + +The implied compliment did not soften Riatt. He went on: “If you +and I are really to be married--” + +“If, my dear Max! What could be more certain?” + +“Since, then, we are to be married, you must tell me exactly what +has taken place between you and Linburne.” + +“With pleasure. Won’t you sit down?” She pointed to a chair near +her own, but Riatt remained standing. “Shall we have tea first?” + +“We’ll have the story.” + +“Oh, it’s not much of a story. Lee and I have known each other +since we were children. I suppose I always had it in mind that I +might marry him--” + +“You loved him?” + +“Certainly not. He always had too high an opinion of himself, +and I used to enjoy taking it out of him--and making it up to +him afterwards, too. I used to enjoy that as well. Sometimes, of +course, he found the process too unbearable; and in one of his fits +of anger at me, just after he left college, he went and blundered +into this marriage with Pauline. She, you see, took him at his own +valuation. His marriage seemed to put an end to everything between +us--” + +“You surprise me.” + +Christine laughed. “Ah, I was younger then.” + +“You kept on seeing him?” + +“Naturally we met now and then. Sometimes he used to tell me how I +was the only woman--” + +“That is your idea of putting an end to everything?” + +“Oh, if one took seriously all the men who say that--I did not +think much about Lee’s feelings for me, until my engagement was +announced. Then it appeared that the notion of my marrying some one +else was intolerable to him.” + +“A high order of affection,” exclaimed Riatt. “He was content +enough until there seemed some chance of your being happy.” + +“Perhaps he did not consider that life with you would promise +absolute happiness, Max.” + +“I don’t call that love. I call it jealousy.” + +At this Christine laughed outright. “And what emotion, may I ask, +has just brought you here in such haste?” + +The thrust went home. Riatt changed countenance. + +“But I,” he said, “never pretended to love you.” + +“Why then are you marrying me?” + +“Heaven knows.” + +“I know, too,” she answered, unperturbed by his rudeness, “and some +day if you’re good I’ll tell you.” + +Her calm assumption that everything was well seemed to him +unbearable. “I don’t know that I feel very much inclined to chat,” +he said, turning toward the door. “I’ll see you sometime to-morrow.” + +She said nothing to oppose him, and he left the room. Downstairs +the same footman was waiting to let him out. To him, at least, +Riatt seemed a triumphant lover, only as Linburne had long since +heavily subsidized him, even his admiration was tinctured with +regret. + +As for Max, himself, he left the house even more restless and +dissatisfied than he had entered it. + +To be honest, he had, he knew, sometimes imagined a moment when he +would take Christine in his arms and say: “Marry me anyhow.” Such +an action he knew would be reckless, but he had supposed it would +be pleasant. But now there was nothing but bitterness and jealousy +in his mood. What did he know or care for such people? he said to +himself. What did he know of their standards and their histories? +How much of Christine’s story about Linburne was to be believed? +What more natural than that they had always loved each other? Some +one knew the truth--every one, very likely, except himself. But +whom could he ask? He could have believed Nancy on one side as +little as Laura on the other. + +And as he thought this, he saw coming down the street, Hickson--a +witness prejudiced, perhaps, but strictly honest. + +For the first time in their short acquaintance, Hickson’s face +brightened at the sight of Riatt, and he called out with evident +sincerity: “I am glad to see you.” + +“I came on rather unexpectedly.” + +“I’m glad you did. Quite right.” Hickson stopped at this, and +looked at his companion with such wistful uncertainty, that it +seemed perfectly natural for Riatt, answering that look, to say: + +“You may speak frankly to me, you know.” + +Ned took a long breath. “I believe that I may,” he said. “I hope +so, anyhow. I haven’t had any one I could be frank with. Between +ourselves, Fenimer is no good at all.” + +“What, my future father-in-law?” + +“Is that what he is?” Hickson asked with, for him, unusual +directness. + +Riatt’s affirmative was not very decided, and Ned went on: + +“I can’t even talk to Nancy about it. She’s keen, but she does not +understand Christine. She attributes the most shocking motives to +her, and when I object, she says every one is like that, only I +haven’t sense enough to see it. Well, I never pretended to have as +much sense as Nancy, but I see some things that she doesn’t. I see, +for instance, that there’s something noble in Christine, in spite +of--I beg your pardon for talking to you like this, but you must +remember that I have known her a good deal longer than you have, +and that in a different way perhaps I care for her almost as much +as you do.” + +“I told you to speak frankly,” answered Riatt. “What is it that +Mrs. Almar says of Christine?” + +At first Hickson refused to answer, but the suffering and anxiety +he had been undergoing pushed him toward self-expression, and +Riatt did not have to be very skilful to extract the whole story. +Nancy had asserted that Christine had never intended for a minute +to marry Riatt--that she had just used him to excite Linburne’s +jealousy to such a point that he would arrange matters so that he +could marry her himself. For once Riatt found himself in accord +with Nancy. + +“Do more people than your sister think that?” + +Hickson was not without his reserves. “Oh, I dare say, but I don’t +care about that sort of gossip. It’s absurd to say she and Linburne +are engaged. How can a girl be engaged to a married man?” + +“We must move with the times, my dear Hickson,” said Riatt bitterly. + +“Linburne’s no good,” Ned went on, “not where women are concerned. +He wouldn’t treat her well if he did marry her. Why, Riatt,” he +added solemnly, “I’d far rather see her married to you than to him.” + +If Max felt disposed to smile at this innocent endorsement, he +suppressed the inclination, and merely answered: + +“You may have your wish.” + +“I hope so,” said Ned. “But you mustn’t go off to kingdom-come, and +leave Linburne a clear field. He’s a man who knows how to talk to +women, and what with the infatuation she has always had for him--” + +“You think she has always cared for him?” asked Max. He tried +to smooth his tone down to one of calm interest, but it alarmed +Hickson. + +“I don’t know,” he returned hastily. “I used to think so, but I may +be wrong. I thought the same thing about you at the Usshers’. She +kept saying she wasn’t a bit in love with you, but it seemed to me +she was different with you from what she had ever been with any one +else. I suppose I oughtn’t to have said that either. Upon my word, +Riatt, it is awfully good of you to let me talk like this! I can +assure you it is a great relief to me.” + +His companion could hardly have echoed this sentiment. As he walked +back alone to his hotel, he found that Hickson’s words had put the +last touches to his mental discomfort. + +At first his own conduct had seemed inexplicable to him. Everything +had been going well, he had been just about to be free from the +whole entanglement, when an impulse of primitive jealousy and +fierce masculine egotism had suddenly brought him to New York and +bound him hand and foot. It had not been an agreeable prospect--to +live among people whose standards he did not understand, with +a woman whom he did not love. But, since his conversation with +Hickson, his eyes were opened, and he saw the situation in far more +tragic colors. + +He _did_ love her. He did not believe in her or trust her; he +had no illusions as to her feeling for him, but his for her was +clear--he loved her, loved her with that strange mingling of +passion and hatred so often found and so rarely admitted. + +He could imagine a man’s learning, even under the most suspicious +circumstances, to conquer jealousy of a woman who loved him. Or +he could imagine having confidence in a woman who did not pretend +love. But to be married to a woman whom you love, without a shred +of belief either in her principles or her affection, seemed to +Riatt about as terrible a prospect as could be offered to a human +being. + +There was just one chance for him--that Christine might be willing +to release him. If she really loved Linburne, if there had been +some sort of understanding between them in the past, if his coming +had only precipitated a lovers’ quarrel, then certainly Christine +had too much intelligence to let such a chance slip through her +fingers just on the eve of Linburne’s divorce. Nor was she, he +thought bitterly, too proud to stoop to ask a man to reconsider; +nor did it seem likely, however deeply Linburne’s vanity had been +wounded, that he would refuse to listen. + +With this in mind, as soon as he reached his hotel, he sat down and +wrote her a letter: + + “My dear Christine: + + “What was it, according to your idea, that happened this + afternoon? I believed that for the first time I asked you + to marry me, and that you, for the first time definitely + accepted me. But as I think over your manner, I am led to + think you supposed it was just a continuation of our old + joke. + + “Did you accept me, Christine? And if so, why? Why + commit yourself to a marriage without affection, at the + psychological moment when a man for whom you have always + cared is about to be free? + + “If you still need me in the game, I am ready enough to be + of use, but I will not be bound to a relation unless you, + too, consider it irrevocably binding. + + “Yours, + “M. R.” + +He told the messenger to wait for an answer, but he thought that +Christine would hardly be willing to commit herself on such short +notice, or without an interview with Linburne. + +But, within a surprisingly short interval, her letter was in his +impatient hands. + + “Dear Max: + + “I will not be so cruel as to leave you one moment longer + in the false hope that your little break for freedom may + be successful. Face the fact, bravely, my dear. I am going + to marry you. We are both irrevocably bound--at least as + irrevocably as the marriage tie can bind nowadays. If + this afternoon my manner seemed less portentous than you + expected, that must have been because I have always counted + on just this termination to our little adventure. You must + do me the justice to confess that I have always told you + so. As for Lee, in spite of Nancy (I suppose it was Nancy + to whom you rushed for information from my very doorstep) I + have never cared sixpence for him. + + “Yours till death us do part, + “CHRISTINE.” + +Max read the letter which was brought to him while he was at +dinner. He put it into his pocket, finished an excellent salad, +went to the theater, came back to the hotel and went to bed and +to sleep rather congratulating himself on the fact that he had +become callous to the whole situation, and that, so far as he was +concerned, the crisis was past. + +But of course it wasn’t. With the rattle of the first milkcart, +which in a modern city has taken the place of the half-awakened +bird, he woke up, and if he had been in jail he could not have felt +a more choking sense of imprisonment. There was no escape for him, +no hope. + +He got up and looked out at the city far below, all outlined like +a great electric sign that said nothing. There must be some way of +being free, besides jumping from the twelfth story window. He lit a +cigarette, and stood thinking. Men disappeared every day; it could +be done. What were the chances, he wondered, of being identified +if he shipped as steward, or engineer for that matter, on a South +American freighter? + +It was full daylight before he found himself in possession of a +possible scheme. He remembered the legend of a certain Saint, told +him by his nurse in his early days. She had been beautiful, too +beautiful for her religious ideals; the number of her suitors was +distracting; so to one of them who had extravagantly admired her +eyes she sent them on a salver. + +Riatt did not intend sending Christine his worldly goods, but +recognizing that they were the source of the whole trouble, he +decided to get rid of the major part. The problem was simply to +lose his money before the date set for the wedding. And that was +not so difficult, after all. There were a number of people in the +metropolis he thought who would give him every assistance. + +The problem of getting it back again at some future time was more +complicated, but even that he thought he could accomplish. He had +made one fortune and he supposed he could some day make another. + +The practical question was: What sum would make him impossible to +Christine as a husband? Twenty thousand a year would be out of the +question. But to be perfectly safe he decided to leave himself only +fifteen thousand. He would begin operation as soon as the exchange +opened in the morning. In the meantime what about that mine of +Welsley’s? There was an easy means of sinking almost any sum. + +He took up the telephone and sent a telegram at once. + + “Plans for my wedding prevent trip to mine. Have, however, + decided after minute investigation here to invest $500,000 + in it. Believe we shall make our fortunes.” + +He stood an instant with the instrument still in his hand. “Suppose +the damned thing succeeds,” he thought, “I shall be worse off than +ever.” + +Then his faith returned to him. “Nothing of Welsley’s ever did +succeed,” he thought; and with this conclusion he went back to bed +and slept like a child. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +With his definite decision and unalterable plan of action, +wonderful peace of mind had come to Riatt. He said to himself that +he was now to have a few weeks--whatever time it should take him to +lose his fortune decently--of being engaged to a woman whom, he now +acknowledged, he passionately loved. He intended to make the best +of it. + +The next day as he walked up Fifth Avenue on his way to lunch with +her, another inspiration came to him; it was not necessary to +lose his money; spending it would be quite as effective. Acting +on this idea, he went into a celebrated jeweler’s shop, and with +astonishing celerity chose, paid for and pocketed a string of +brilliant pearls. + +It was a present that might have made any man welcome--and +Christine had never been accused of not being able to express +herself when she wanted to--but Christine had already welcomed him +for his changed demeanor; his brilliant smile and unruffled brow +told her as soon as she saw him that he was a very different person +from the tortured and irritable creature who had left her the +preceding afternoon. + +Never were two people more disposed to find each other and +themselves agreeable, and Riatt was in process of clasping the +pearls about Christine’s neck (for she had had some unaccountable +difficulty in doing it for herself) when the drawing-room door +opened and Nancy Almar strolled in. + +Her jaw did not actually drop at the scene that met her eyes, +for that did not happen to be her method of expressing surprise, +but her manner conveyed none the less an astonishment not very +agreeable. + +“Was I mistaken,” she said, “in thinking I was to stop and take you +to the Bentons’?” + +“Quite right, my dear. Only Max’s return has put everything else +out of my head.” + +“What, you didn’t ever expect him to come back?” + +“You talk, Nancy, as if you had never heard that we were engaged.” + +“If you really are, Christine, why are the Linburnes being +divorced?” + +“Because they loathe each other, I imagine.” + +“What a changeable creature you are, Christine! It seems only +the other day that you were crying your eyes out because Lee was +engaged.” + +Without glancing at Max, Christine became aware that some of the +gaiety had gone from his expression. + +“Have you seen my pearls, dear?” she said. + +It was a complete answer, so far as Nancy was concerned, for she +was one of the women who can never harden herself to the sight of +another woman’s jewels. + +“How beautiful, love,” she answered. “If they were only a trifle +larger they might be mistaken for your old imitation string.” Then +feeling that she could never better this, she took her departure. + +“Oh, dear,” sighed Christine, “do you think I shall ever get so +superior that Nancy can’t tease me when she says things like that?” + +“Did you really cry, Christine?” + +“The night you went away?” + +“When you first heard of Linburne’s engagement?” + +She nodded at him, like a child who would like to lie its way out +of a scrape. + +“But then I often cry over trifles,” she added. + +“Like my going away?” + +“Really, Max, you ought to be able to understand why I cried over +Lee’s engagement. It was Nancy who brought me the news, and she was +so triumphant over it. She said every one would think he had been +making a fool of me. You know she has the power of teasing me more +than any one in the world--except, perhaps, you.” + +“I have a piece of news for you, Christine.” + +“Good or bad?” + +“Indifferent, I think you would say. It’s a scientific discovery.” + +“An invention, Max? Could I understand it?” + +“I think you can if you make an effort.” + +“What is it?” + +He put his arms suddenly about her. “I find I’m in love with you,” +he said, and added a moment later: “And just think that I’ve been +engaged to you so long and that’s the first time I’ve kissed you.” + +Christine with her head still buried on his shoulders murmured, +“But it won’t be the last.” + +Riatt’s expression changed. “Not absolutely the last, perhaps,” he +answered with something that just wasn’t a sigh. + +She looked up at him. “That piece of indifferent news of yours--” +she began. + +“Didn’t I describe it correctly?” + +“It wasn’t news to me.” + +“You mean you had already guessed that I loved you?” + +“I’ve always known it.” + +“Always?” + +“You can’t think I would ever have let you go away at all, if I had +not felt sure. And if you hadn’t loved me, I couldn’t have brought +you back.” + +“I came back because--” + +“Because the Linburnes were getting a divorce, and because Laura +wrote you a letter. Do you fancy I had nothing to do with either of +those events?” + +And Riatt found himself answering almost in the word of Cyrano: + + “_Non, non, mon cher amour, je ne vous aimais pas_.” + +The days that followed were the happiest that Riatt had ever known. +Only those who have lived in a brief and agreeable present can +understand the fullness of joy that he was able to extract from +it. If he had been under sentence of death he could not have given +less thought to the future. He gave himself up wholly to the two +excitements of making love and losing money. + +At first he prospered more at the former than the latter. For at +first, for some time after he had acquired the stock of the mine, +the reports from it grew more and more favorable and old friends +came to him and begged him to allow them to take up a little of it. +His curt refusal to all such propositions increased the impression +that he knew he had a very good thing and meant to keep it all for +himself. + +But he did not have very long to wait for the turn of the tide. +Within a few weeks he received a letter from Welsley, alarming +only because its intention was so obviously to allay alarm. It +appeared that a liberal revolution was threatened; the concession +from the government then in power would not bear the scrutiny of an +impartial witness such as our own State Department. If, in other +words, the present government fell, the concession would fall, too. + + “However,” Welsley wrote cheerfully, “though the revolution + has the support of the uneducated element of the + population, which comprises most of the people, as they + have neither arms, ammunition nor money, they can’t do + much, unless some fool in the north is induced to finance + them. You could help us a lot by looking about and seeing + if there is any danger of such a thing.” + +On receipt of this, Riatt instantly telegraphed to Welsley as +follows: + + “Count upon me. What is the name and address of the + revolutionary agent here?” + +The next day in a back bedroom of a down-town hotel, $10,000 +changed hands between a slight, dark, very finished gentleman who +spoke English with the slightest possible accent, and a tall, +fine-looking young American whose name never appeared in the +transaction. Within a month a shipment of arms had been smuggled +into a certain South American country, with the result that the +revolution was completely successful--as indeed it deserved to +be. One of the first acts of the new government was to revoke the +iniquitous concession of the San Pedro gold mine, made to “a group +of greedy North American capitalists by the former corrupt and evil +administration.” + +Riatt’s bearing during this unhappy experience was universally +praised. As he went in and out of his broker’s office, not a trace +of anxiety visible upon his countenance, men would nudge each other +and whisper, “Did you ever see such nerve? He stands to lose a +million.” + +The only moment of regret that he suffered was when one day, when +things first began to look badly, he met Linburne and another +man in Wall Street, and there was something subtly insulting and +triumphant in the former’s manner of condoling with him about the +situation. + +Rumors of it reached Christine. She liked the picture of Riatt’s +courage and calm, and hated the danger of his losing money. + +“You’re not risking too much, are you, Max?” she asked. + +“Wouldn’t you enjoy love in a cottage, Christine?” he answered. + +She tried to make it clear to him how little such a prospect would +tempt her, and gathered from the fact that he hardly listened to +her reply that he felt confident there was no real danger. + +With the success of the revolution, Riatt realized that his holiday +was over, that he must tell Christine the truth and then retire to +his old home and begin a new method of life on his decreased income. + +It was now early April--a warm advanced spring--when he decided +that the next day should see the end of his little drama. But, +as we all know, it sometimes happens that those who set a mine +are the most startled by the explosion; and Riatt, at an early +breakfast (for he and Christine were going into the country for the +day), with a mind occupied with the phrases in which he should bid +her good-by and eyes lazily reading the newspaper, was suddenly +startled beyond words by a short paragraph on the financial page. +This stated in the baldest terms the failure of his brokers at home. + +There was no country expedition for Riatt that day. He rushed +down-town, leaving a short message for Christine, and by night he +knew the worst, knew that the liabilities of the firm far exceeded +any possible assets, knew positively that the comfortable sum he +had intended to preserve for himself had been swept away, knew that +he now really had to begin life over. + +That night when he came back to his hotel, he understood for the +first time that he had throughout been cherishing an unrecognized +hope; that he had not been honest with himself, and that all the +time beneath his great scheme had lain the belief that when the +truth was known Christine would prefer him and his moderate income +to Linburne and his wealth; that, in short, the great scheme had +been all the time not a method of freeing himself, but a test of +her affection. + +Now any such possibility was over. Now he himself was facing the +problem of mere existence--at least he would be as soon as he had +collected his wits enough to face anything. + +The next day, which was Sunday, he spent entirely with his lawyer. +When he came back to his hotel, between the entrance and the +elevator a figure rose in his path. It was Hickson. + +“Riatt, I’m awfully sorry about this,” he said. + +“Thank you, Hickson. It’s very decent of you to be,” Max answered +as cordially as he could, but he was tired and wanted to be let +alone, and there was not as much real gratitude in his heart as +there should have been. He did not ask Ned to sit down until he had +explained with his accustomed simplicity that he had something of +importance to say. Then Riatt let him lead the way to one of those +remote and stuffy sitting-rooms in which all hotels abound. He saw +at once that Hickson found it difficult to say what he had come to +say, but Riatt was in no humor this time to help him out. + +“I’m awfully sorry this has happened,” Hickson went on, “not only +on your account, but on Christine’s. I mean that I did begin to +hope that life with you meant peace and happiness for her--” + +To cut him short, Riatt said quickly: “Now, of course, the marriage +is out of the question.” + +Hickson’s face brightened, as if the difficult words had been said +for him. “You do feel that?” he said, nodding a little as if to +encourage his friend. + +Max did not answer at first in words; he laughed rather bitterly, +and then after a pause he said, “Yes, Hickson, I do.” + +Ned was clearly relieved. “Of course,” he said, “I did not know +how that would be. But I own it did occur to me. The world is very +censorious of poor Christine. Every one will say that she is the +kind of woman who can’t stick to a man in adversity. Yes, I assure +you, Riatt, lots of these women who can’t put down one of their +motors without having nervous prostration will pillory Christine +for breaking her engagement, unless--” he paused. + +“I don’t follow your idea, Ned.” + +Hickson sighed. “Why, as long as you recognize the impossibility +of the marriage, couldn’t you in some way make it appear that the +breaking of the engagement came from you--as--if--” + +“I see,” said Riatt. There was a short silence, and then he asked +in a tone that sounded perfectly calm to Hickson: “Is this a +message from Christine?” + +“Oh, no. Not a message from Christine, though she has been trying +to communicate with you for two days. She can’t see why you won’t +even answer her letters. I told her I would find you--” + +“In fact, it _is_ a message, or at least you are her messenger?” + +“No, Riatt, at least not from her. I have a message for you, but +not from her.” + +“From whom?” + +“From Linburne. He has the greatest admiration for your power, +abilities, in spite of any differences you may have had. He wants +to offer you a position, only he felt awkward about doing it +himself after what has taken place. He asked me to speak to you. +It’s a good salary, only it means going to Manchuria, no--” + +“One moment,” said Riatt. “These two messages, are they in any way +connected?” + +“I don’t understand.” + +“Linburne’s offer is not by any chance the reward for my giving +Christine a suitable release?” + +Hickson was really shocked. “How can you think such a thing, Riatt?” + +“Where did you see Linburne?” + +Hickson hesitated, but confessed after some protest that it had +been at Christine’s house. + +“But you don’t understand, you really don’t,” he said. “She has +been distracted by your reverses, and not hearing from you she has +turned to me, to Jack Ussher, to any one who could give her news +and help you, as she imagined--” + +“I understand quite enough,” answered Riatt. “Thank Mr. Linburne +for his kind offer and say I have other plans; and tell Christine +she can have her absolution for nothing. I’ll give her a letter +that will put her right with every one.” And walking to a desk: + + “My dear Christine,” he wrote. “As you are aware, I have + lost everything I have in the world, and though I know that + to a spirit like your own poverty could not alter love, I + must own that I, more experienced in privation, find that + the situation has had a somewhat chilling effect upon my + emotions. In short, my dear, I cannot begin life over again + hampered by a wife. Thanking you for the loyalty with which + you have stood by me in this crisis, and wishing you every + happiness in the future, believe me + + “Sincerely yours, + “R. M. RIATT.” + +He handed the note to Hickson. “I think that, taken externally, +will effect a cure,” he said. “Good night, Hickson. I’m dead tired, +so you won’t mind my going to bed. Oh, and I’m off to-morrow, so I +shan’t see you again. Good-by.” + +“Are you going home?” Hickson asked. But Max maintained a certain +vagueness as to his plans, which Hickson, having accomplished his +purpose, did not notice. He was very much pleased with the results +of his diplomacy. No one could say a word against Christine now. It +wasn’t her fault if the engagement was broken. Riatt was a noble +fellow--only, the noblest sometimes forgot these simple, practical +details. + +The next day Riatt paid his bill at the hotel and went away without +leaving an address. + +Few of us have driven past rows of suburban cottages, or through +streets lined by city flats, without considering how easy it would +be to sink one’s identity and become part of a new unknown life. +Riatt certainly had often thought of such a possibility and now he +put his plans into operation. He took no great precautions against +discovery, for he had no notion that any one would be particularly +interested in knowing his whereabouts. But he allowed those at home +to suppose he was working in New York, as he suggested to those in +New York that he had very naturally gone home. + +As a matter of fact, he had taken a position with a new company +which was constructing aëroplanes for the market, into which in +past times he had put a little money. He hired a small flat in +Brooklyn, on the top floor, so that he had a glimpse of the harbor +from his sitting-room windows. He spent the last of his ready money +in buying out the dilapidated furniture of his predecessor; and +then with the assistance of the janitor’s wife, who gave him his +breakfast and did what she called “redding up the place,” he began +to live on the slim salary that his new job gave him. + +Every afternoon he would take the new machines out and fly at +sunset over the sandy plains of Long Island, would dine cheaply at +some neighboring restaurant, and would return to his flat about +ten, go to bed early and be ready for work the next morning. + +The only relaxation he allowed himself was the excitement of +hating Christine, to which he now devoted a great deal of time and +thought. It was the only thing that gave life any interest. + +What was loss of money, after all, he said to himself, for an +able-bodied man? He could bear that well enough, if his life had +not been poisoned, if hope hadn’t been taken from him. She had +spoilt him for everything else. His success, if ever he should +succeed, would not bring him what most men wanted of success--a +companion and a home. He had nothing to work for, and yet nothing +to do except work. It was all his own fault, he said; and blamed +her all the more bitterly. He was glad, he thought, that he had +made it impossible for her to have a final interview with him; and +in his heart he could not forgive her for not having overcome the +obstacles to a meeting which he had set up in the last frenzied +days in New York. + +“If I were of a revengeful disposition,” he said to himself, “I +should ask nothing better than that she should marry Linburne”; and +he concluded that he was not revengeful because he found he did not +want it. He made up his mind after the most prolonged consideration +that a woman such as Christine exercised the maximum influence for +evil; a thoroughly wicked woman could not help inspiring distrust, +but a nature like hers had enough good to attach you and yet left +you nothing to depend upon. + +He read the papers, awaiting the announcement of her marriage, but +found no mention of her name except once, toward the end of May, a +short paragraph announcing that she had gone out of town for the +season. + +It was soon after he had read this that he came home earlier than +usual and let himself into his little flat. The day had been +successful, a new device in the engine was working well and the +company had had a large order from abroad. And as usual, with the +prospect of success had come to him a bitter sense of the emptiness +of the future. He was thinking of Christine, and when he turned the +switch of the electric light, there she was. She was sitting in a +large shabby armchair, drawn close to the window, so that she could +look out at the river. She had taken off her hat, and her hair +shown particularly golden and her eyes looked brightly blue in the +sudden glare of light. + +“You’re dreadfully late,” she said, quite as if she had charge of +his comings and goings. “I’ve been here hours and hours and hours.” + +Now that he actually saw her before him, it was neither love nor +hate that he felt, but an undefinable and overmastering emotion +that seemed to petrify him, so that he stood there quite silent +with his hand on the switch. + +“Well,” she went on, “aren’t you surprised to see me?” + +He bent his head. + +“Can you guess why I have come?” + +He shook his head. + +She looked a little distressed at this. “Then perhaps I’ve made a +mistake in coming.” + +At this he spoke for the first time. “I should say that the chances +were that you had,” he said, and his tone was not agreeable. + +The edge of his words seemed to give her back all her confidence. +“Now, how strange that you should not know why I’m here! I’ve come, +of course, to return your pearls.” He saw now, between the laces +of her summer dress that she was wearing them. “In common honesty +I could hardly keep them.” She put up her hands to the clasp, but +it did not yield at once to her touch, and she looked up at him. “I +think you’ll have to undo it for me,” she murmured, with bent head. + +“I don’t want them,” he answered, with temper. “I never want to see +them again.” + +“Nor me, either, perhaps?” + +“Nor you either--perhaps.” + +She rose and approached him. “I’ll keep them on one condition, +Max--that you take permanent charge of both of us.” Then seeing +that she had produced no change in his expression, she came very +close indeed. “There’s no use in looking like a stone image, Max. +It won’t save you.” + +“Save me! And what is my danger?” + +“I’m your danger, my dear.” + +“Not any longer, Christine.” + +“You mean you don’t love me any more?” + +“Not a bit.” + +At this she shifted her ground with admirable ease. + +“In that case,” she said cheerfully, “we can talk the whole subject +over quite dispassionately.” + +“Quite, if there were anything to talk over.” + +“Only first,” she said, “aren’t you going to ask me to stay to +dinner? It’s very late, you know--” + +“I don’t dine here,” he answered, “and I doubt if you would eat +very much at the restaurant where I take my meals.” + +“Well, would you mind my going into the kitchen and making myself a +cup of tea?” + +He gave his consent, but evinced no intention of accompanying +her. To see her like this, in his own home, where he had so often +imagined her being and where she would never be again, was torture +to him. + +After an interval that seemed to him an eternity, she came back +flushed and triumphant, carrying a tray on which were tea, toast +and scrambled eggs. + +“There,” she said, “don’t you think I’ve improved? Don’t you think +I’m rather a good housewife?” + +The element of pathos in her self-satisfaction was too much for +him. “I’m afraid I’m not in the mood either for comedy or for +supper,” he said. + +Her face fell. “I thought you’d be so hungry,” she observed gently. +“But no matter. Sit down and we’ll talk.” + +“I know of nothing to talk about,” he returned, but he dropped +reluctantly into a hard, stiff chair opposite her. + +“I’ll tell you what there is to talk about,” said Christine. +“Something that has never been mentioned in all the discussions +that have been taking place. And that is my feelings.” + +“Your feelings,” Riatt began, rather contemptuously, but she +stopped him. + +“No,” she said, “you shan’t say what you were going to. My +feelings, my feelings for you. You’ve told me that you did _not_ +love me, that you despised me, that you _did_ love me, but you’ve +never asked how I felt to you.” + +“But you’ve made it so clear. You felt that, in default of anything +else, I would do.” + +She leaned across the table and looked at him gravely. “Max,” she +said, “I love you.” + +He made no motion, not even one of contempt, and so she got up, and +coming round the table, she knelt down beside him and put her arms +tightly about him. Still he did not move, except that his hands, +which had been hanging at his sides, now gripped the edges of the +chair with the rigidity of iron, and he said in a voice which +sounded even in his own ears like that of a total stranger: + +“What folly this is, Christine!” + +“Why is it folly?” + +“If you had said this six weeks ago, while I still had enough money +to--” + +[Illustration: “Max,” she said, “I love you”] + +“If I had said it then you wouldn’t have believed me.” He looked at +her; it was true. + +“But now,” she went on rapidly, “you must believe me. If I come +now to live with you and work for you, no one can accuse me of +mercenary motives--not even you, Max. I shan’t get anything from +the bargain but you, and that is all I want.” + +“This is madness,” said Riatt, trying not very sincerely to free +himself. + +“Yes, of course it’s mad, like all really logical things,” she +answered. “But that’s the way it’s going to be. I love you, and I +am going to stay with you.” + +“I couldn’t let you,” he said. “I couldn’t accept such a sacrifice.” + +“A sacrifice, Max. That’s the first really stupid thing I ever +heard you say. It isn’t a sacrifice; it’s a result, a consequence +of the fact that I love you. It isn’t a question of my doing it, +or your letting me. It simply can’t be otherwise. The other things +I used to value--parties and pretty clothes and luxuries--they +were a sort of game I played because I did not know any other. But +only part of me was alive then. I was like a blind person; and +they were my stick; but now that I can see, the stick is just in +my way. It isn’t silly and romantic to believe in love, Max. The +hardest-headed, most practical people believe in it--every one who +has any sense really believes in it, when they find it. To be poor, +to be uncomfortable--it’s a price, but a small one to pay for love. +Isn’t that true--true, at least, as far as you’re concerned?” + +“Oh, yes, as far as I’m concerned--” + +“Then what right have you to think it’s not true to me? Don’t be +such a moral snob, Max. If love’s the best thing in the world for +you, it’s ever so much more so for me--I need it more.” + +“Nobody could need it more than I do,” he answered, suddenly +clasping her to him. + +“It’s the way it’s going to be, anyhow,” she murmured. + +“I can’t let you go,” he said, as if arguing with an unseen auditor. + +She nodded in a somewhat contracted space. “That’s it,” she +announced. “It has to be.” + +It was only a few days later that Nancy Almar, driving past a +well-known house-furnishing shop on her way home to tea, was +surprised to observe her brother standing, with a salesman at +his elbow, in trancelike contemplation of a small white enameled +ice-box. With her customary decision, Nancy ordered her chauffeur +to stop, and entering the shop by another door she stood close +beside Hickson during his purchase of the following articles: +the ice-box, an improved coffee percolator and a complete set of +kitchen china of an extremely decorative pattern. + +“Bless me, Ned,” she said suddenly in his ear, “might one ask when +you are going to housekeeping, and with whom?” + +There was no denying that Ned’s start was guilty, and his manner +confused as he answered, “Oh, they’re not for me--” + +The salesman who, perhaps, lacked tact, or possibly only wanted to +get away to wait on another customer, said at this point: + +“And the address, sir? I have the name--Mrs. Max Riatt.” + +“Riatt married!” cried Nancy. “But to whom? I thought he had +nothing left in the world.” + +“He hasn’t,” answered Ned, hastily scribbling the address on a card +and handing it to the man. + +“Oh, then he’s married some one who loves him for himself alone, +I know. That faithful sleek-headed girl from his home town. Won’t +Christine be angry when she hears it! She always likes her old +loves to pine a long time before they console themselves. Let us go +and tell her. Or is she away still?” + +A rather sad smile lit up Hickson’s countenance as he followed his +sister to her motor. “I think she knows it,” he said. + +Nancy put her hand on his arm. “Oh, dear, darling Ned,” she +said. “Get in and drive home with me and tell me all about it. +I knew he really never cared for Christine. She dazzled and +distressed him in about equal proportions. And yet I doubt if +Miss--Whatever-Her-Name-Was--will be very exciting--” + +“It is not Miss Lane, who, by the way, I like and admire very +much,” said Ned, firmly. + +“Who is it? Some one I know?” + +“Yes, you know her.” + +Something in his extreme solemnity transferred the idea to her. + +“You don’t mean that Christine--” + +He nodded. “I was at their wedding yesterday.” + +“And where are they?” + +“That’s it, Nancy. They’re living in a flat and they have no +servant--” + +His sister leaned back and laughed heartily, and then composing +her countenance with an effort, she said: “My poor dear! But it’s +really all for the best. She won’t stay with him six months.” + +“Nancy! She’ll stay with him forever.” + +“Where is this flat?” + +“I’ve promised not to tell. They don’t want to be bothered by all +of us.” + +“They want to conceal their deplorable situation, of course. Well, +my dear, I can wait. Six months from now I’ll ask them to dine to +meet Linburne. Christine’s dresses will be a little out of fashion, +and they’ll come in a trolley car, and she’ll have a veil over her +head--” + +“Six months from now Riatt may be on the way to making a nice +little sum. He has a very good thing, he thinks.” + +“He’d better be quick about it. A flat in summer! Oh, the cinders +on the window-sill, and the sun on the roof, and the knowledge that +all of us are going out of town to lawns and lakes--He’d better be +quick, Ned.” + +The motor had stopped before the door of Nancy’s little house which +was arrayed in its summer dress of red and white awnings, and red +and white window boxes. The footman had rung the bell, and was +waiting with his eye on the front door, so as to catch the right +second for opening the door of the motor. + +“Nancy,” said her brother, with real horror in his tone, “you talk +as if you wanted her to fail.” + +“I do. I do, of course.” + +“Why? Do you hate her?” + +Nancy nodded. “Yes, I hate her now. I didn’t used to.” + +“It seems to me this is just the moment to admire her. It may be +foolish, but surely what she has done is noble, Nancy.” + +The hall door opened and simultaneously the door of the motor, and +Nancy, putting out one foot, said over her shoulder: + +“Oh, Ned, what a goose you are! Don’t you know any woman would have +done what she’s done, if she had the chance--the real chance?” + +She ran up the steps and into her house, leaving her brother +staring after her in amazement. + + +THE END + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADIES MUST LIVE *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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