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diff --git a/33924-h/33924-h.htm b/33924-h/33924-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b3aa5da --- /dev/null +++ b/33924-h/33924-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7816 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Marion Darche, by F. Marion Crawford. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +ins {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: 1px dashed #dcdcdc;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + + + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Marion Darche, by F. Marion Crawford + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Marion Darche + A Story Without Comment + +Author: F. Marion Crawford + +Release Date: October 14, 2010 [EBook #33924] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARION DARCHE *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander, JoAnn Greenwood, Juliet Sutherland +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER VII.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>CHAPTER VIII.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>CHAPTER IX.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>CHAPTER X.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>CHAPTER XI.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>CHAPTER XII.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#LIST_OF_WORKS"><b>LIST OF WORKS</b></a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + + +<h1>MARION DARCHE</h1> + +<h3><i>A STORY WITHOUT COMMENT</i></h3> +<p><br /></p> +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>F. MARION CRAWFORD</h2> + +<h3>AUTHOR OF "SARACINESCA," "A ROMAN SINGER," "SANT' ILARIO," ETC.</h3> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<h4> +New York<br /> +MACMILLAN AND CO.<br /> +AND LONDON<br /> +1893</h4> + +<h5><i>All rights reserved</i></h5> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1893,<br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> F. MARION CRAWFORD.</h4> + + +<h4>Norwood Press:<br /> +J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith.<br /> +Boston, Mass., U.S.A.</h4><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>MARION DARCHE.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + + +<p>Among the many peculiarities which contribute to make New York unlike +other cities is the construction of what may be called its social map. +As in the puzzles used in teaching children geography, all the pieces +are of different shapes, different sizes and different colours; but they +fit neatly together in the compact whole though the lines which define +each bit are distinctly visible, especially when the map has been long +used by the industrious child. What calls itself society everywhere else +calls itself society in New York also, but whereas in European cities +one instinctively speaks of the social scale, one familiar with New York +people will be much more inclined to speak of the social map. I do not +mean to hint that society here exists on a dead level, but the absence +of tradition, of all acknowledged precedents and of all outward and +perceptible distinctions makes it quite impossible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> to define the +position of any one set in regard to another by the ordinary scale of +superiority or inferiority. In London or Paris, for instance, ambitious +persons are spoken of as climbing, in New York it would be more correct +to speak of them as migrating or attempting to migrate from one social +field to the next. It is impossible to imagine fields real or +metaphorical yielding more different growths under the same sky.</p> + +<p>The people in all these different sets are very far from being +unconscious of one another's existence. Sometimes they would like to +change from one set to another and cannot, sometimes other people wish +them to change and they will not, sometimes they exchange places, and +sometimes by a considerable effort, or at considerable expense, they +change themselves. The man whose occupations, or tastes, or necessities, +lead him far beyond the bounds of the one particular field to which he +belongs, may see a vast deal that is interesting and of which his own +particular friends and companions know nothing whatever. There are a +certain number of such men in every great city, and there are a certain +number of women<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> also, who, by accident or choice, know a little more of +humanity in general than their associates. They recognise each other +wherever they meet. They speak the same language. Without secret signs +or outward badges they understand instinctively that they belong to the +small and exceptional class of human beings. If they meet for the first +time, no matter where, the conversation of each is interesting to the +other; they go their opposite ways never to meet again, perhaps, but +feeling that for a few minutes, or a few hours, they have lived in an +atmosphere far more familiar to them than that of their common everyday +life. They are generally the people who can accomplish things, not hard +to do in themselves but quite out of the reach of those whose life runs +in a single groove. They very often have odd experiences to relate and +sometimes are not averse to relating them. They are a little mysterious +in their ways and they do not care to be asked whither they are going +nor whence they come. They are not easily surprised by anything, but +they sometimes do not remember to which particular social set an idea, a +story, or a prejudice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> belongs, especially if they are somewhat +preoccupied at the time. This occasionally makes their conversation a +little startling, if not incomprehensible, but they are generally +considered to be agreeable people and if they have good manners and +dress like human beings they are much sought after in society for the +simple reason that they are very hard to find.</p> + +<p>In New York walking is essentially the luxury of the rich. The +hard-working poor man has no time to lose in such old-fashioned sport +and he gets from place to place by means of horse cars and elevated +roads, by cabs or in his own carriage, according to the scale of his +poverty. The man who has nothing to do keeps half-a-dozen horses and +enjoys the privilege of walking, which he shares with women and +four-footed animals.</p> + +<p>The foregoing assertions all bear more or less directly upon the lives +of the people concerned in the following story. They all lived in New +York, they all belonged to the same little oddly-shaped piece in the +social puzzle map, some of them were rich enough to walk, and one of +them at least was tolerably well acquainted with a great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> many people in +a great many other sets. On a certain winter's morning this latter +individual was walking slowly down Lexington Avenue in the direction of +Gramercy Park. He was walking, not because he was enormously rich, not +because he had nothing to do, and not because he was ill. He was +suffering momentarily from an acute attack of idleness, very rare in +him, but intensely delightful while it lasted.</p> + +<p>In all probability Russell Vanbrugh had been doing more work than was +good for him, but as he was a man of extremely well-balanced and healthy +nervous organisation the one ill effect he experienced from having +worked harder than usual was a sudden and irresistible determination to +do absolutely nothing for twenty-four hours. He was a lawyer by +profession, a Dutchman by descent, a New Yorker by birth, a gentleman by +his character and education, if the latter expression means anything, +which is doubtful, and so far as his circumstances were concerned he was +neither rich nor poor as compared with most of his associates, though +some of his acquaintances looked up to him as little short of a +millionaire, while others could not have conceived<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> it possible to exist +at all with his income. In appearance he was of middle height, strongly +built but not stout, and light on his feet. On the whole he would have +been called a dark man, for his eyes were brown and his complexion was +certainly not fair. His features were regular and straight but not +large, of a type which is developing rapidly in America and which +expresses clearly enough the principal national characteristics—energy, +firmness, self-esteem, absence of tradition, and, to some extent, of +individuality—in so far as the faculties are so evenly balanced as to +adapt themselves readily to anything required of them. Russell Vanbrugh +was decidedly good-looking and many people would have called him +handsome. He was thirty-five years of age, and his black hair was +turning a little gray at the temples, a fact which was especially +apparent as he faced the sun in his walk. He was in no hurry as he +strolled leisurely down the pavement, his hands in the pockets of his +fur coat, glancing idly at the quiet houses as he passed. The usual +number of small boys was skating about on rollers at the corners of the +streets, an occasional trio of nurse, perambulator and baby came into +view for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> moment across the sunlit square ahead of him, and a single +express-waggon was halting before a house on the other side of the +street, with one of its wheels buried to the hub in a heap of mud-dyed +snow. That was all. Few streets in the world can be as quiet as +Lexington Avenue at mid-day. It looks almost like Boston. Russell +Vanbrugh loved New York in all its aspects and in all its particulars, +singly and wholly, in winter and summer, with the undivided affection +which natives of great capitals often feel for their own city. He liked +to walk in Lexington Avenue, and to think of the roaring, screaming rush +in Broadway. He liked to escape from sudden death on the Broadway +crossing and to think of the perambulator and the boys on roller skates +in Lexington Avenue; and again, he was fond of allowing his thoughts to +wander down town to the strange regions which are bounded by the Bowery, +Houston Street, the East River and Park Row. It amused him to watch his +intensely American surroundings and to remember at the same time that +New York is the third German city in the world. He loved contrasts and +it was this taste, together with his daily occupation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> as a criminal +lawyer, which had led him to extend his acquaintance beyond the circle +in which his father and mother had dined and danced and had their being.</p> + +<p>He was thinking—for people can think while receiving and enjoying +momentary impressions which have nothing to do with their thoughts—he +was thinking of a particularly complicated murder case in which the +murderer had made use of atropine to restore the pupils of his victim's +eyes to their natural size lest their dilatation should betray the use +of morphia. He was watching the boys, the house, the express-cart, and +the distant perambulator, and at the same time he was hesitating as to +whether he should light a cigarette or not. He was certainly suffering +from the national disease, which is said by medical authorities to +consist in thinking of three things at once. He was just wondering +whether, if the expressman murdered the nurse and used atropine the boy +would find it out, when the door of a house he was passing was opened +and a young girl came out upon the brown stone steps and closed it +behind her. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> gray eyes met his brown ones and they both started +slightly and smiled. The girl's bright colour grew a little more bright, +and Vanbrugh's eyelids contracted a little as he stopped and bowed.</p> + +<p>"Oh—is that you?" asked Miss Dolly Maylands, pausing an instant.</p> + +<p>"Good morning," answered Vanbrugh, smiling again as she tripped over the +brown steps and met him on the pavement.</p> + +<p>"I suppose your logical mind saw the absurdity of answering my +question," said Dolly, holding out a slender gloved hand.</p> + +<p>"I see you have been at your charities again," answered Vanbrugh, +watching her fresh face closely.</p> + +<p>"You say that as you would say, 'You have been at your tricks again.' +Why do you tease me? But it is quite true. How did you guess it?"</p> + +<p>"Because you began by chaffing me. That shows that you are frivolous +to-day. When you have been doing something serious you are always +frivolous. When you have been dancing you are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> always funereal. It is +very easy to tell what you have been doing."</p> + +<p>"You ought to be ashamed of yourself."</p> + +<p>Miss Maylands frequently made use of this expression—a strong one in +its way.</p> + +<p>"I know I ought," answered Vanbrugh with humility.</p> + +<p>"But you are not. You are a hypocrite, like all the rest of them." +Dolly's face was grave, but she glanced at her companion as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Of course I am a hypocrite. Life is too short. A man cannot waste his +time in hacking his way through the ice mountain of truth when he may +trot round to the other side by the path of tact."</p> + +<p>"I hate metaphors."</p> + +<p>"So do I."</p> + +<p>"Why do you use them, then?"</p> + +<p>"It is righteous to do the things one does not like to do, is it not?"</p> + +<p>"Not if they are bad."</p> + +<p>"Oh! then I am good, am I?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. I never make rash assertions."</p> + +<p>"No? You called me a hypocrite just now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> and said I was like the rest +of them. Was not that a rash assertion?"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear! You are too logical! I give it up."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad."</p> + +<p>For a few moments they walked along in silence, side by side, in the +sunshine. They were a couple pleasant to look at, yet not very +remarkable in any way. Dolly Maylands was tall—almost as tall as +Vanbrugh, but much fairer. She had about her the singular freshness +which clings to some people through life. It is hard to say wherein the +quality lies, but it is generally connected with the idea of great +natural vitality. There are two kinds of youth. There is the youth of +young years, which fades and disappears altogether, and there is the +youth of nature which is abiding, or which, at most, shrivels and dies +as rose leaves wither, touched with faint colour, still and fragrant to +the last. Dolly's freshness was in her large gray eyes, her bright +chestnut hair, her smooth, clear skin, her perfect teeth, her graceful +figure, her easy motion. But it was deeper than all these, and one +looking at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> her felt that it would outlast them all, and that they would +all try hard to outlast one another. For the rest, the broad brow showed +thought, if not intellect, and the mouth, rather large for the +proportion of the lower face, but not at all heavy, told of strength and +courage, if not of real firmness. Dolly Maylands was large, well grown, +thin, fresh and thoughtful, with a dash of the devil, but of a perfectly +innocent devil, only a little inclined to laugh at his own good works +and to prefer play to prayers, as even angels may when they are very +young and healthy, and have never done anything to be sorry for.</p> + +<p>"You seem to be walking with me," observed Dolly presently.</p> + +<p>"Well—yes—I suppose that is the impression we are giving the +expressman over there."</p> + +<p>"And in court, in one of your cases, if he were a witness, he would +probably give the idea that we met in Lexington Avenue by appointment. +By the bye, one does not walk in Lexington Avenue in the morning."</p> + +<p>"That is what we are doing," answered Vanbrugh imperturbably.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You know that it is compromising, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"So do you."</p> + +<p>"Then why do you do it?"</p> + +<p>"Why do we do it? Is that what you meant to ask?"</p> + +<p>"I did not mean anything."</p> + +<p>"So I supposed, from what you said." Vanbrugh smiled and Dolly laughed +as their eyes met.</p> + +<p>"I was here first," said Vanbrugh after a moment.</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I have been at least an hour at old Mrs. Trehearne's."</p> + +<p>"I may have seen you go in, and I may have waited all that time to catch +you on the door-step."</p> + +<p>"So like you! Why are you not defending the chemist who cremated his +fifth wife alive in a retort, or the cashier who hypnotised the head of +his firm and made him sign cheques with his eyes shut, or the +typhus-germ murderer, or something nice and interesting of that sort? +Are you growing lazy in your old age, Mr. Vanbrugh?"</p> + +<p>"Awfully!"</p> + +<p>"How well you talk. When I have made a beautiful long speech and have +beaten my memory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> black and blue for words I cannot remember, just to be +agreeable—you say 'awfully,' and think you are making conversation."</p> + +<p>"I am not good at conversation."</p> + +<p>"Apparently not. However, you will not have much chance of showing off +your weakness this morning."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"You might say you are sorry! Why not? Because I am not going far."</p> + +<p>"How far?"</p> + +<p>"That is a rude question. It is like asking me where I am going. But I +will be nice and tell you—just to make you feel your inferiority. I am +going to see Marion Darche."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Darche lunches about this time."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. It is within the bounds of possibility that I may be going to +lunch with her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, quite!"</p> + +<p>Again there was a short pause as the two walked on together. Dolly took +rather short, quick steps. Vanbrugh did not change his gait. There are +men who naturally fall into the step of persons with whom they are +walking. It shows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> an imitative disposition and one which readily +accepts the habits of others. Neither Dolly nor her companion were +people of that sort.</p> + +<p>"I was thinking of Mrs. Darche," said Dolly at last.</p> + +<p>"So was I. Extremes meet."</p> + +<p>"They have met in that case, at all events," answered Dolly, growing +serious. "It would not be easy to imagine a more perfectly ill-matched +couple than Marion and her husband."</p> + +<p>"Do you think so?" asked Vanbrugh, who was never inclined to commit +himself.</p> + +<p>"Think so? I know it! And you ought to know it, too. You are always +there. Nobody is more intimate there than you are."</p> + +<p>"Yes,—I often see them."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Dolly looking keenly at him, "and I believe you know much +more about them than you admit. You might as well tell me."</p> + +<p>"I have nothing especial to tell," answered Vanbrugh quietly.</p> + +<p>"There is something wrong. Well—if you will not tell me, Harry Brett +will, some day. He is not half so secretive as you are."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That does not mean anything. The word secretive is not to be found in +any respectable dictionary, nor in any disreputable one either, so far +as I know."</p> + +<p>"How horrid you are! But it is quite true. Harry Brett is not in the +least like you. He says just what he thinks."</p> + +<p>"Does he? Lucky man! That is just what I am always trying to do. And he +tells you all about the Darches, does he?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no! He has never told me anything. But then, he would."</p> + +<p>"That is just the same, you know."</p> + +<p>"What makes you think there is anything wrong?" asked Vanbrugh, changing +his tone and growing serious in his turn.</p> + +<p>"So many things—it is dreadful! What o'clock is it?"</p> + +<p>"Ten minutes to one."</p> + +<p>"Have you time for another turn before I go in?"</p> + +<p>"Of course—all the time. We can walk round Gramercy Park and down +Irving Place."</p> + +<p>Instinctively both were silent as they passed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> the door of Marion +Darche's house and did not resume their conversation till they were +twenty paces further down the street. Then Vanbrugh was the first to +speak.</p> + +<p>"If it is possible for you and me to talk seriously about anything, Miss +Maylands, I should like to speak to you about the Darches."</p> + +<p>"I will make a supreme effort and try to be serious. As for you—"</p> + +<p>Dolly glanced at Vanbrugh, smiled and shook her head, as though to +signify that his case was perfectly hopeless.</p> + +<p>"I shall do well enough," he answered, "I am used to gravity. It does +not upset my nerves as it does yours."</p> + +<p>"You shall not say that gravity upsets my nerves!"</p> + +<p>"Shall not? Why not?" inquired Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>Dolly walked more slowly, putting down her feet with a little emphasis, +so to say.</p> + +<p>"Because I say you shall not. That ought to be enough."</p> + +<p>"Considering that you can stand idiot asylums, kindergartens, school +children, the rector and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> hope of the life to come, and are still +alive enough to dance every night, your nerves ought to be good. But I +did not mean to be offensive—only a little wholesome glass of truth as +an appetiser before Mrs. Darche's luncheon."</p> + +<p>"Puns make me positively ill at this hour!"</p> + +<p>"I will never do it again—never, never."</p> + +<p>"You are not making much progress in talking seriously about the +Darches. I believe it was for that purpose that you proposed to drag me +round and round this hideous place, amongst the babies and the nurses +and the small yellow dogs—there goes one!"</p> + +<p>"Yes—as you say—there he goes, doomed to destruction in the pound. Be +sorry for him. Show a little sympathy—poor beast! Drowning is not +pleasant in this weather."</p> + +<p>"Oh you do not really think he will be drowned?"</p> + +<p>"No. I think not. If you look, you will see that he is a private dog, so +to say, though he is small and yellow. He is also tied to the back of +the perambulator—look—the fact is proved by his having got through the +railings and almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> upset the baby and the nurse by stopping them +short. Keep your sympathy for the next dog, and let us talk about the +Darches, if you and I can stop chaffing."</p> + +<p>"Speak for yourself, Mr. Vanbrugh. You frightened me by telling me the +creature was to be drowned."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I apologise. Since he is to live, what do you think is the +matter with the Darche establishment? Let me put the questions. Is old +Simon Darche in his right mind, so as to understand what is going on? Is +John Darche acting honestly by the Company—and by other people? Is Mrs. +Darche happy?"</p> + +<p>Miss Maylands paused at the corner of the park, looked through the +railings and smoothed her muff of black Persian sheep with one hand +before she made any reply. Russell Vanbrugh watched her face and glanced +at the muff from time to time.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot answer your questions," Dolly answered at last, looking into +his eyes. "I do not know the answers to any of them, and yet I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> have +asked them all of myself. As to the first two, you ought to know the +truth better than I. You understand those things better than I do. And +the last—whether Marion is happy or not—have you any particular reason +for asking it?"</p> + +<p>"No." Vanbrugh answered without the slightest hesitation, but an instant +later his eyes fell before hers. She sighed almost inaudibly, laid her +hand upon the railing and with the other raised the big muff to her face +so that it hid her mouth and chin. To her, the lowering of his glance +meant something—something, perhaps, which she had not expected to find.</p> + +<p>"You ask on general—general principles?" she inquired presently, with a +rather nervous smile.</p> + +<p>But Vanbrugh did not smile. The expression of his face did not change.</p> + +<p>"Yes, on general principles," he answered. "It is the main question, +after all. If Mrs. Darche is not happy, there must be some very good +reason for her unhappiness, and the reason cannot be far to seek. If the +old gentleman is really losing his mind or is going to have softening of +the brain—which is the same thing after all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>— well, that might be it. +But I do not believe she cares so much for him as all that. If he were +her own father it would be different. But he is John's father, and +John—I do not know what to say. It would depend upon the answers to the +other questions."</p> + +<p>"Which I cannot give you," answered Dolly. "I wish I could."</p> + +<p>Dolly gave the railings a little parting kick to knock the snow from the +point of her over-shoe, lowered her muff and began to walk again. +Vanbrugh walked beside her in silence.</p> + +<p>"It is a very serious question," she began again, when they had gone a +few steps. "Of course you think I spend all my time in frivolous +charities and serious flirtations, and dances, and that sort of thing. +But I have my likes and dislikes, and Marion is my friend. She is older +than I, and when we were girls I had a little girl's admiration for a +big one. That lasted until she got married and I grew up. Of course it +is not the same thing now, but we are very fond of each other. You see I +have never had a sister nor any relations to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> speak of, and in a certain +way she has taken the place of them all. At first I thought she was +happy, though I could not see how that could be, because—"</p> + +<p>Dolly broke off suddenly, as though she expected Vanbrugh to understand +what was passing in her mind. He said nothing, however, and did not even +look at her as he walked silently by her side. Then she glanced at him +once or twice before she spoke again.</p> + +<p>"Of course you know what I am thinking of," she said at last. "You must +have thought it all too, then and now, and very often. Of course—you +had reason to."</p> + +<p>"What reason?" Vanbrugh looked up quickly, as he asked the question.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I cannot go into all that! You understand as well as I do. Besides, +it is not a pleasant subject. John Darche was successful, young, rich, +everything you like—except just what one does like. I always felt that +she had married him by mistake."</p> + +<p>"By mistake? What a strange idea. And who should the right man have +been, pray?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, no! She thought he was the right man, no doubt. It was the mistake +of fate, or providence, or whatever you call the thing, if it was a +mistake at all."</p> + +<p>"After all," said Vanbrugh, "what reason have we, you or I, for saying +that they are not perfectly happy? Perhaps they are. People are happy in +so many different ways. After all, John Darche and his wife do not seem +to quarrel. They only seem to disagree—or rather—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Dolly, "that is exactly it. It is not everything one +sees or hears in the house. It is the suspicion that there are +unpleasant things which are neither seen or heard by any of us. And +then, the rest—your questions about the business, which I cannot answer +and which I hardly understand. There are so many people concerned in an +enormous business like that, that I cannot imagine how anything could be +done without being found out."</p> + +<p>"However such things are done," answered Vanbrugh, gravely, "and +sometimes they are found out, and sometimes they are not. Let us hope +for the best in this case."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What would be the best if there were anything to find out?" asked +Dolly, lowering her voice as they paused before Simon Darche's house. +"Would it be better that John Darche should be caught for the sake of +the people who would lose by him, or would it be better for his wife's +sake that he should escape?"</p> + +<p>"That is a question altogether beyond my judgment, especially on such +short notice. Shall we go in?"</p> + +<p>"We? Are you coming too?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am going to lunch with the Darches too."</p> + +<p>"And you never told me so? That is just like you! You get all you can +out of me and you tell me nothing."</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to tell," answered Vanbrugh calmly, "but I apologise all +the same. Shall I ring the bell?"</p> + +<p>"Unless you mean to take me round Gramercy Park again and show me more +nurses and perambulators and dirty dogs. Yes, ring the bell please. It +is past one o'clock."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p>A moment later Miss Dolly Maylands and Mr. Russell Vanbrugh disappeared +behind the extremely well-kept door of Simon Darche's house in Lexington +Avenue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + + +<p>Simon Darche stood at the window of his study, as Dolly and Vanbrugh +entered the house. He was, at that time, about seventy-five years of +age, and the life he had led had told upon him, as an existence of over +excitement ultimately tells upon all but the very strong. Physically, he +was a fine specimen of the American old gentleman. He was short, well +knit, and still fairly erect; his thick creamy-white hair was smoothly +brushed and parted behind, as his well-trimmed white beard was carefully +combed and parted before. He had bushy eyebrows in which there were +still some black threads. His face was ruddy and polished, like fine old +pink silk that has been much worn. But his blue eyes had a vacant look +in them, and the redness of the lids made them look weak; the neck was +shrunken at the back and just behind the ears, and though the head was +well poised on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> shoulders, it occasionally shook a little, or +dropped suddenly out of the perpendicular, forwards or to one side, not +as though nodding, but as though the sinews were gone, so that it +depended altogether upon equilibrium and not at all upon muscular +tension for its stability. This, however, was almost the only outward +sign of physical weakness. Simon Darche still walked with a firm step, +and signed his name in a firm round hand at the foot of the documents +brought to him by his son for signature.</p> + +<p>He had perfect confidence in John's judgment, discretion and capacity, +for he and his son had worked together for nearly twenty years, and John +had never during that time contradicted him. Since the business had +continued to prosper through fair and foul financial weather, this was, +in Simon Darche's mind, a sufficient proof of John's great superiority +of intelligence. The Company's bonds and stock had a steady value on the +market, the interest on the bonds was paid regularly and the Company's +dividends were uniformly large. Simon Darche continued to be President, +and John Darche had now been Treasurer during<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> more than five years. +Altogether, the Company had proved itself to be a solid concern, capable +of surviving stormy days and of navigating serenely in the erratic flood +and ebb of the down-town tide. It was, indeed, apparent that before long +a new President must be chosen, and the choice was likely to fall upon +John. In the ordinary course of things a man of Simon Darche's age could +not be expected to bear the weight of such responsibility much longer; +but so far as any one knew, his faculties were still unimpaired and his +strength was still quite equal to any demands which should be made upon +it, in the ordinary course of events. Of the business done by the +Company, it is sufficient to say that it was an important branch of +manufacture, that the controlling interest was generally in the hands of +the Darches themselves and that its value largely depended upon the +possession of certain patents which, of course, would ultimately expire.</p> + +<p>Simon Darche stood at the window of his study and looked out, smoking a +large, mild cigar which he occasionally withdrew from his lips and +contemplated thoughtfully before knocking off the ash,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> and returning it +to his mouth. It was a very fine cigar indeed, equal in quality to +everything which Simon Darche had consumed during the greater part of +his life, and he intended to enjoy it to the end, as he had enjoyed most +things ever since he had been young. John, he often said, did not know +how to enjoy anything; not that John was in a hurry, or exhibited +flagrantly bad taste, or professed not to care—on the contrary, the +younger man was deliberate, thoughtful and fastidious in his +requirements—but there was an odd strain of asceticism in him, which +his father had never understood. It certainly was not of a religious +nature, but it would have gone well together with a saintly disposition +such as John did not possess. Perhaps indeed, John had the saintly +temperament without the sanctity, and that, after all, may be better +than nothing. He was thinner than his father and of a paler complexion; +his hair was almost red, if not quite, and his eyes were blue—a +well-built man, not ungraceful but a little angular, careful of his +appearance and possessed of perfect taste in regard to dress, if in +nothing else. He bestowed great attention upon his hands,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> which were +small with slender fingers pointed at the tips, and did not seem to +belong to the same epoch as the rest of him; they were almost +unnaturally white, but to his constant annoyance they had an unlucky +propensity to catch the dust, as one says of some sorts of cloth. If it +be written down that a man has characteristically clean hands, some +critic will be sure to remark that gentlemen are always supposed to have +clean hands, especially gentlemen of the Anglo-Saxon race. It is a fact, +nevertheless, that however purely Anglo-Saxon the possessor may be, +there are hands which are naturally not clean and which neither ordinary +scrubbing nor the care of the manicure can ever keep clean for more than +an hour. People who are in the habit of noticing hands are well aware of +the fact, which depends upon the quality of the skin, as the reputation +for cleanliness itself generally does. John Darche's hands did not +satisfy him as the rest of himself did.</p> + +<p>So far as people knew, he had no vices, nor even the small tastes and +preferences which most men have. He did not drink wine, he did not +smoke, and he rarely played cards. He was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> fairly good rider and rode +for exercise, but did not know a pastern from a fetlock and trusted to +others to buy his horses for him. He cared nothing for sport of any +kind; he had once owned a yacht for a short time, but he had never been +any further than Newport in her and had sold her before the year was +out. He read a good deal in a desultory way and criticised everything he +read, when he talked, but on the whole he despised literature as a +trifle unworthy of a serious man's attention. His religious convictions +were problematic, to say the least of it, and his outward practice took +the somewhat negative form of never swearing, even when he was alone. He +did not raise his voice in argument, if he ever argued, nor in anger, +though he had a very bad temper. John Darche could probably say as +disagreeable things as any man living, without exhibiting the slightest +apparent emotion. He was not a popular man. His acquaintances disliked +him; his friends feared him; his intimates and the members of his +household felt that he held them at a distance and that they never +really understood him. His father bestowed an almost childish admiration +upon him, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> which he received a partial compensation in John's +uniformly respectful manner and unvarying outward deference. In the last +appeal, all matters of real importance were left to the decision of +Simon Darche, who always found it easy to decide, because the question, +as it reached him, was never capable of more than one solution.</p> + +<p>It is clear from what has been said that John Darche was not an amiable +character. But he had one small virtue, or good trait, or good point, be +it called as it may. He loved his wife, if not as a woman and a +companion, at least as a possession. The fact was not apparent to the +majority of people, least of all, perhaps, to Mrs. Darche herself, who +was much younger than her husband and whose whole and loyal soul was +filled with his cast-off beliefs, so to say, or, at least, with beliefs +which he would have cast off if he had ever possessed them. +Nevertheless, he was accustomed to consider her as one of his most +valuable belongings, and he might have been very dangerous, had his +enormous dormant jealousy been roused by the slightest show on her part +of preference for any one of the half-dozen men who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> were intimate in +the house. He, on his side, gave her no cause for doubting his fidelity. +He was not loving, his manner was not affectionate, he often lost his +temper and said cruel things to her in his cruel way; but so far as she +knew he did not exchange ten words daily with any other woman, excepting +Mrs. Willoughby, her aunt, and Dolly Maylands, her intimate friend. He +was systematic in his daily comings and goings, and he regularly +finished his evenings at one of the clubs. He slept little, but soundly, +ate sparingly and without noticing what was offered him, drank four cups +of tea and a pint of Apollinaris every day and had never been ill in his +life, which promised to be long, active, uneventful and not overflowing +with blessings for any one else.</p> + +<p>At first it might seem that there was not much ground for the few words +exchanged by Russell Vanbrugh and Dolly Maylands about the Darches' +trouble before they entered the house. To all appearances, Simon Darche +was in his normal frame of mind and had changed little during the last +five years. So far as any one could judge, the Company was as solid as +ever. In her outward<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> manner and conversation Marion Darche seemed as +well satisfied with her lot as she had been on the day of her marriage, +when John had represented to her all that a man should be,—much that +another man, whom she had loved, or liked almost to loving, in her early +girlhood, had not been. The surface of her life was calm and +unemotional, reflecting only the sunshine and storm of the social +weather under which she had lived in the more or less close +companionship of half a hundred other individuals in more or less +similar circumstances.</p> + +<p>There is just enough truth in most proverbs to make them thoroughly +disagreeable. Take, for instance, the saying that wealth is not +happiness. Of course it is not, any more than food and lodging, shoes +and clothing, which are the ultimate forms of wealth, can be called +happiness. But surely, wealth and all that wealth gives constitute a +barrier against annoyance, mental and physical, which has almost as much +to do with the maintenance of happiness in the end, as "climate and the +affections." The demonstration is a simple one. Poverty can of itself +under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> certain circumstances be a source of unhappiness. The possession +of riches therefore is a barrier against the possibility of at least one +sort of misery and relatively increases the chances of being happy on +the whole. It is tolerably certain, that, without money, John Darche +would have been little short of insufferable, and that his wife would +have been chief among the sufferers. The presence of a great fortune +preserved the equilibrium and produced upon outsiders the impression of +real felicity.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, both Vanbrugh and Dolly Maylands, as has been seen, +considered the fortune unsafe and apparent peace problematic. They were +among the most intimate friends of the Darche household and were +certainly better able to judge of the state of affairs than the +majority. They had doubtless perceived in the domestic atmosphere +something of that sultriness which foreruns a storm and sometimes +precedes an earthquake, and being very much in sympathy with each other, +in spite of the continual chaffing which formed the basis of their +conversation, they had both begun to notice the signs of bad weather +very nearly at the same time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<p>It must not be supposed that Mrs. Darche confided her woes to her +friend, to use the current expression by which reticent people +characterise the follies of others. It was not even certain at this time +that she had any woes at all, but Dolly undoubtedly noticed something in +her conduct which betrayed anxiety if not actual unhappiness, and +Russell Vanbrugh, who, as has been observed, was intimately acquainted +with many aspects of New York life, had some doubts as to the state of +the Company's affairs. No one is really reticent. It would perhaps be +more just to the human race as a whole to say that no two persons are +capable of keeping the same secret at the same time. That is probably +the reason why there is always some rumour of an approaching financial +crisis, even while it is very much to the interest of all concerned to +preserve a calm exterior. When a great house is about to have trouble, +and even in some cases as much as two or three years before the +disaster, there is a dull far-off rumble from underground, as though the +foundations were trembling. There is a creaking of the timbers, an +occasional and as yet unaccountable rattling of the panes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> and +sometimes a very slight distortion of the lines of the edifice, all +proving clearly enough that a crash is at hand. As no one believes in +presentiments, divinations or the gift of prophecy in these days, it is +safe to assume that some one who knows the history of the thing has +betrayed the secret, or has told his wife that there is a secret to be +kept. In the matter of secrets there is but one general rule. If you do +not wish a fact to be known, tell no one of its existence.</p> + +<p>Concerning the particular reasons which led Dolly Maylands and Russell +Vanbrugh to exchange opinions on the subject of the Darches, it is +hardly necessary to speak here. The two were very intimate and had known +each other for a long time, and, possibly, there was a tendency in their +acquaintance to something more like affection than friendship. The fact +that Dolly did not flirt with Vanbrugh in the ordinary acceptation of +that word, showed that she might possibly be in love with him. As for +Vanbrugh himself, no one knew what he thought and he did not intend that +any one should. He had never shown any inclination to be married, though +it was said that he, like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> many others, had been deeply attached to Mrs. +Darche in former days; and Dolly, at least, believed that he still loved +her friend in his heart, though she had neither the courage nor the bad +taste to ask a question to which he might reasonably have refused an +answer.</p> + +<p>The only person in the household who seemed to have neither doubts nor +uneasiness was old Simon Darche, and as it was more than likely that his +intelligence had begun to fail, his own sense of security was not +especially reassuring to others.</p> + +<p>While Simon Darche was smoking his large mild cigar at the window, and +while Dolly and Russell Vanbrugh were strolling by the railings of +Gramercy Park, Mrs. Darche was seated before the fire in the library, +and another friend of hers, who has a part to play in this little story +and who, like Vanbrugh, was a lawyer, was trying to interest her in the +details of a celebrated case concerning a will, and was somewhat +surprised to find that he could not succeed. Harry Brett stood towards +Marion Darche in very much the same friendly relation held by Vanbrugh +in Dolly's existence. There was this difference, however, that Brett +was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> well known to have offered himself to Mrs. Darche, who had refused +him upon grounds which were not clear to the social public. Brett was +certainly not so rich as John, but in all other respects he seemed +vastly more desirable as a husband. He was young, fresh, good-looking, +good-tempered. He belonged to a good New York family, whereas the +Darches were of Canadian origin. He had been quite evidently and +apparently very much in love with Marion, whereas John never seemed to +have looked upon her as anything but a valuable possession, to be +guarded for its intrinsic worth, and to be kept in good order and +condition rather than loved and cherished. Every one had said that she +should have married Brett, and when she chose John every one said that +she had married his money. But then it is impossible to please every +one. Brett was certainly not pleased. He had gone abroad and had been +absent a long time, just when he should have been working at his +profession. It was supposed, not without reason, that he was profoundly +disappointed, but nevertheless, when he returned he looked as fresh and +cheerful as ever, was kindly received by Mrs. Darche, civilly treated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +by her husband and forthwith fell into the position of especial friend +to the whole family. He had made up his mind to forget all about the +past, to see as much of Mrs. Darche as he could without falling in love +with her a second time, as he would have called it, and he was doing his +best to be happy in his own way. Within the bounds of possibility he had +hitherto succeeded, and no one who wished well to him or Mrs. Darche +would have desired to doubt the durability of his success. He had +created an artificial happiness and spent his life in fostering the idea +that it was real. Many a better man has done the same before him and +many a worse may try hereafter. But the result always has been the same +and in all likelihood always will be. The most refined and perfect +artificiality is not nature even to him who most earnestly wishes to +believe it is, and the time must inevitably come in all such lives when +nature, being confronted with her image, finds it but a caricature and +dashes it to pieces in wrath.</p> + +<p>Brett's existence was indeed much more artificial than that of his old +love. He had attempted to create the semblance of a new relation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> on the +dangerous ground whereon an older and a truer one had subsisted. She, on +her part, had accepted circumstances as they had formed themselves, and +did her best to get what she could out of them without any attempt to +deceive herself or others. Fortunately for both she was eminently a good +woman, and Brett was a gentleman in heart, as well as in deed.</p> + +<p>And now before this tale is told, there only remains the thankless task +of introducing these last two principal figures in their pen-and-ink +effigies.</p> + +<p>Of Harry Brett almost enough has been said already. His happy vitality +would have lent him something of beauty even if he had possessed none at +all. But he had a considerable share of good looks, in addition to his +height and well-proportioned frame, his bright blue eyes, his fresh +complexion, and short, curly brown hair. He too, like Vanbrugh, belonged +to the American type, which has regular features, arched eyebrows, and +rather deep-set eyes. The lower part of his face was strong, though the +whole outline was oval rather than round or square.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rather a conventional hero, perhaps, if he is to be a hero at all, but +then, many heroes have been thought to be quite average, ordinary +persons, until the knot which heroism cuts was presented to them by +fate. Then people discover in them all sorts of outward signs of the +inward grace that can hit so very hard. Then the phrenologists descend +upon their devoted skulls and discover there the cranial localities of +the vast energy, the dauntless courage, the boundless devotion to a +cause, the profound logic, by which great events are brought about and +directed to the end. Julius Cĉsar at the age of thirty was a frivolous +dandy, an amateur lawyer, and a dilettante politician, in the eyes of +good society in Rome.</p> + +<p>Harry Brett, however, is not a great hero, even in this fiction—a manly +fellow with no faults of any importance and no virtues of any great +magnitude, young, healthy, good-looking, courageous, troubled a little +with the canker of the untrue ideal which is apt to eat the common sense +out of the core of life's tree, mistaken in his attempt to create in +himself an artificial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> satisfaction in the friendship of the woman he +had loved and was in danger of loving still, gifted with the clear sight +which must sooner or later see through his self-made illusion, and +possessed of more than the average share of readiness in speech and +action—a contrast, in this respect, to Vanbrugh. The latter, from +having too comprehensive a view of things, was often slow in reaching a +decision. Brett was more like Mrs. Darche herself in respect of quick +judgment and self-reliance at first sight, if such a novel expression is +permissible.</p> + +<p>As Marion sat before the fire apparently studying its condition and +meditating a descent upon it, after the manner of her kind, she was not +paying much attention to Brett's interesting story about the great +lawyer who had drawn up his own will so that hardly a clause of it had +turned out to be legal, and Brett himself was more absorbed in watching +her than in telling the complicated tale. She was generally admitted to +be handsome. Her enemies said that she had green eyes and yellow hair, +which was apparently true, but they also said that she dyed the one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> and +improved the other with painting, which was false. Her hair was +naturally as fair as yellow gold, of an even colour throughout, and the +shadows beneath her eyes and the dark eyebrows, which were sources of so +much envy and malice, were natural and not done with little coloured +sticks of greasy crayon kept in tubes made to look like silver +pencil-cases, and generally concealed beneath the lace of the toilet +table or in the toe of a satin slipper.</p> + +<p>Marion Darche was handsome and looked strong, though there was rarely +much colour in her face. She did not flush easily. Women who do, often +have an irritable heart, as the doctors call the thing, and though their +affections may be stable their circulation is erratic. They suffer +agonies of shyness in youth and considerable annoyance in maturer years +from the consciousness that the blood is forever surging in their cheeks +at the most inopportune moment; and the more they think of it, the more +they blush, which does not mend matters and often betrays secrets. +Three-fourths of the shyness one sees in the world is the result of an +irritable heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> Marion Darche's circulation was normal, and she was +not shy.</p> + +<p>Like many strong persons, she was gentle, naturally cheerful and +generally ready to help any one who needed assistance. She had an +admirably even temper—a matter, like physical courage, which depends +largely upon the action of the heart and the natural quality of the +nerves—and under all ordinary circumstances she ate and slept like +other people. She did not look at all like Helen or Clytemnestra, and +her disposition was not in the least revengeful—a quiet, tall, fair +young woman, whose clear eyes looked every one calmly in the face and +whose strong white hands touched things delicately but could hold firmly +when she chose; carrying herself straight through a crowd, as she bore +herself upright through life. Those who knew her face best admired +especially her mouth and the small, well-cut, advancing chin, which +seemed made to meet difficulties as a swimmer's divides the water. In +figure, as in face, too, she was strong, the undulating curves were +those of elasticity and energy, rather than of indolence and repose.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<p>As Harry Brett talked and watched her he honestly tried not to wish that +she might have been his wife, and when his resolution broke down he +conscientiously talked on and did his best to interest himself in his +own conversation. The effort was familiar to him of old, and had so +often ended in failure that he was glad when the distant tinkle of the +door bell announced the coming of a third person. John rarely lunched at +home and old Mr. Darche was never summoned until the meal was served. +Brett broke off in the middle of his story and laughed a little.</p> + +<p>"I believe you have not understood a word of what I have been telling +you," he said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche looked up suddenly, abandoned the study of the burning logs +and leaned back in her chair before she answered. Then she looked at him +quietly and smiled, not even attempting to deny the imputation.</p> + +<p>"It is very rude of me, is it not? You must forgive me, to-day. I am +very much preoccupied."</p> + +<p>"You often are, nowadays," answered Brett,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> with a short, manlike sigh, +which might have passed for a sniff of dissatisfaction.</p> + +<p>"I know I am. I am sorry."</p> + +<p>The door opened and Dolly Maylands entered the room, followed closely by +Russell Vanbrugh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + +<p>Simon Darche was undoubtedly a bore. Since bores exist and there is no +other name for them, the strong word has some right to pass into the +English language. The old gentleman belonged to the unconscious and +self-complacent variety of the species, which is, on the whole, less +unbearable than certain others. Generally speaking, it is true that +people who are easily bored are bores themselves, but there are many +very genuine and intolerable bores who go through life rejoicing and +convinced that their conversation is a blessing and their advice a +treasure to those who get it.</p> + +<p>Bores always have one or two friends. Simon Darche had found one in his +daughter-in-law and he availed himself of her friendship to the utmost, +so that it was amazing to see how much she could bear, for she was as +constantly bored by him as other people, and appeared, indeed, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> be +his favourite victim. But no one had ever heard her complain. Day after +day she listened to his talk, smiled at his old stories, read to him, +and seemed rather to seek his society than to avoid it. She was never +apparently tired of hearing about John's childhood and youth and she +received the old man's often repeated confidences concerning his own +life with an ever-renewed expression of sympathy.</p> + +<p>"I simply could not stand it for a day!" exclaimed Dolly occasionally. +"Why, he is worse than my school children!"</p> + +<p>Miss Maylands could not put the case more strongly. Perhaps no one else +could.</p> + +<p>"I like him," answered Mrs. Darche. "I know he is a bore. But then, I +suppose I am a bore myself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Marion!" And Dolly laughed.</p> + +<p>That was generally the end of the conversation. But Dolly, who was by no +means altogether frivolous and had a soul, and bestowed now and then +considerable attention upon its religious toilet, so to say—Dolly +fancied that Papa Darche, as she called him, took the place of a baby in +her friend's heart. Rather a permanent and antique<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> baby, Dolly thought, +but better than nothing for a woman who felt that she must love and take +care of something helpless. She herself did not care for that sort of +thing. The maternal instinct developed itself in another direction and +she taught children in a kindergarten. The stupid ones tired her, as she +expressed it, but then her soul came to the rescue and did its best, +which was not bad. Dolly was a good girl, though she had too many +"purposes" in life.</p> + +<p>Not many minutes after she and Vanbrugh had entered the room on the +morning described in the previous chapters, luncheon was announced.</p> + +<p>"Tell Mr. Darche that luncheon is ready, Stubbs," said Marion, and +Stubbs, gray-haired, portly, rosy-cheeked and respectful, disappeared to +summon the old gentleman.</p> + +<p>Vanbrugh looked at Brett and both smiled, hardly knowing why. Neither of +them had ever lunched at the house without hearing the same order given +by the hostess. People often smile foolishly at familiar things, merely +because they are familiar. Dolly and Mrs. Darche had sat down together +and the two men stood side by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> side near a table on which a number of +reviews and periodicals were neatly arranged in order. Brett idly took +up one of them and held it in his hand.</p> + +<p>"By the bye," he said, "to-day is not Sunday. You are not ill, I hope."</p> + +<p>"Only lazy," answered Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"So am I," answered Brett after a moment's pause.</p> + +<p>There they stood in silence, apathetically glancing at the two ladies, +at the fire and at the window, as two men who know each other very well +are apt to do when they are waiting for luncheon. Brett chanced to look +down at the magazine he held in his hand. It was bound in white paper +and the back of the cover was occupied by a huge advertisement in large +letters. The white margin around it was filled with calculations made in +blue and red pencil, with occasional marks in green. Mechanically +Brett's eyes followed the calculations. The same figure, a high one, +recurred in many places, and any one with a child's knowledge of +arithmetic could have seen that there was a constant attempt to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> up +another sum corresponding to it,—an attempt which seemed always to have +failed. Brett remembered that Darche carried a pencil-case with leads of +three colours in it, and he tossed the magazine upon the table as though +he realised that he had been prying into another person's business. He +glanced at Mrs. Darche who was still talking with Dolly, and a moment +later he took up the magazine again and cautiously tore off the back of +the cover, crumpled it in his hands, approached the fire and tossed it +into the flames. Mrs. Darche looked up quickly.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing," answered Brett, "only a bit of paper."</p> + +<p>Just then Simon Darche entered the room and all rose to go in to +luncheon together.</p> + +<p>The old gentleman shook hands with Dolly and with both the men, looking +keenly into their faces, but mentioning no names. He was cheerful and +ruddy, and a stranger might have expected his conversation to be +enlivening. In this however, he would have been egregiously +disappointed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What have you been doing this morning?" asked Mrs. Darche turning to +him.</p> + +<p>She had asked the question every day for years, whenever she had lunched +at home.</p> + +<p>"Very busy, very busy," answered Mr. Darche.</p> + +<p>His hands did not tremble as he unfolded his napkin, but he seemed to +bestow an extraordinary amount of attention on the exact position of the +glasses before him, pushing them a little forwards and backwards and +glancing at them critically until he was quite satisfied.</p> + +<p>"Busy, of course," he said and looked cheerfully round the table. "There +is no real happiness except in hard work. If I could only make you +understand that, Marion, you would be much happier. Early to bed and +early to rise."</p> + +<p>"Makes a man stupid and closes his eyes," observed Brett, finishing the +proverb in its modern form.</p> + +<p>"What, what? What doggerel is that?"</p> + +<p>"Did you never hear that?" asked Dolly, laughing. "It is from an +unwritten and unpublished book—modern proverbs."</p> + +<p>Simon Darche shook his head and smiled feebly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dear me, dear me, I thought you were in earnest," he said.</p> + +<p>"So he is," said Dolly. "We may have to get up at dawn sometimes, but we +are far too much in earnest to go to bed early."</p> + +<p>This was evidently beyond Simon Darche's comprehension and he relapsed +into silence and the consumption of oysters. Mrs. Darche glanced +reproachfully at Dolly as though to tell her that she should not chaff +the old gentleman, and Vanbrugh came to the rescue.</p> + +<p>"Do you often get up at dawn, Miss Maylands?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Do I look as if I did?" retorted the young lady.</p> + +<p>"How in the world should I know," asked Vanbrugh. "Do I look as though I +associated with people who got up at dawn?"</p> + +<p>Brett laughed.</p> + +<p>"It always amuses me to hear you and Vanbrugh talk, Miss Maylands."</p> + +<p>"Does it, I am so glad," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you seem perfectly incapable of saying one word to each other +without chaffing."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> + +<p>Old Mr. Darche had finished his oysters.</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes," he observed. "A pair of chaffinches."</p> + +<p>A moment of silence followed this appalling pun. Then Mrs. Darche +laughed a little nervously, and Brett, who wished to help her, followed +her example. The old gentleman himself seemed delighted with his own +wit.</p> + +<p>"We are beginning well," said Dolly. "Puns and proverbs with the +oysters. What shall we get with the fruit?"</p> + +<p>Vanbrugh was inclined to suggest that the dessert would probably find +them in an idiot asylum, but he wisely abstained from words and tried to +turn the conversation into a definite channel.</p> + +<p>"Did you read that book I sent you, Mrs. Darche?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the latter, "I began to read it to my father-in-law but +he did not care for it, so I am going on with it alone."</p> + +<p>"What book was that, my dear?" inquired the old gentleman.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche named a recent foreign novel which had been translated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, that thing!" exclaimed her father-in-law. "Why, it is all about +Frenchmen and tea parties! Very dull. Very dull. But then a busy man +like myself has very little time for such nonsense. Mr. Trehearne, I +suppose I could not give you any idea of the amount of work I have to +do."</p> + +<p>He looked at Vanbrugh as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Trehearne?" Brett repeated the name in a low voice, looking at Mrs. +Darche.</p> + +<p>"I know you are one of the busiest men alive," said Vanbrugh quietly and +without betraying the slightest astonishment.</p> + +<p>"I should think so," said Simon Darche, "and I am very glad I am. +Nothing keeps a man busy like being successful. And I may fairly say +that I have been very successful—thanks to John, well—I suppose I may +take a little credit to myself."</p> + +<p>"Indeed you may," said Mrs. Darche readily.</p> + +<p>Every one thought it wise and proper to join in a little murmur of +approval, but Dolly was curious to see what the old gentleman would say +next. She wondered whether his taking Vanbrugh for old Mr. Trehearne, +who had been a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> friend of his youth and who had been dead some years, +was the first sign of mental decay. From Mrs. Darche's calm manner she +inferred that this was not the first time he had done something of the +kind, and her mind went back quickly to her conversation with Vanbrugh +that morning in Gramercy Park. Simon Darche was still talking.</p> + +<p>"The interests of the Company are becoming positively gigantic, and +there seems to be no end to the fresh issues that are possible, though +none of them have been brought to me to sign yet."</p> + +<p>Brett looked quickly at Vanbrugh, but the latter was imperturbable.</p> + +<p>At that moment the door opened and John Darche entered the dining-room. +His face was a little paler than usual and he seemed tired. Mrs. Darche +looked at him in surprise and her father-in-law smiled as he always did +when he saw his son. Every one present said something more or less +incomprehensible by way of greeting. The new-comer shook hands with +Dolly Maylands, nodded to the rest and sat down in the place which was +always reserved for him opposite his wife.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I had nothing particular to do, so I came home to luncheon," he said, +by way of explaining his unexpected appearance.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad."</p> + +<p>"Nothing particular to do!" exclaimed the old gentleman momentarily +surprised into his senses.</p> + +<p>"Nothing requiring my presence," answered John Darche gravely. "I was +down town early this morning and cleared off everything. I shall ride +this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Quite right, quite right, my boy!" put in Simon Darche. "You should +take care of your health. You have been doing too much of late. I +suppose," he added, looking about at the others, "that there is not a +man alive who has my son's power of work."</p> + +<p>"You do work dreadfully hard, John," said Mrs. Darche.</p> + +<p>"But then," said her father-in-law with evident pride, "John leads such +a regular life. He does not drink, he does not smoke, he does not sit up +late at night—altogether, I must say that he takes better care of +himself than I ever did. And that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> is the reason," continued the old +gentleman with increasing animation, "that he has accomplished so much. +If some of you young men would follow his example you would do a great +deal more in the world. Regular hours, regular meals, no cocktails—oh I +daresay if I had never smoked a cigar in my life I should be good for +another fifty years. John will live to be a hundred."</p> + +<p>"Let us hope so," said Vanbrugh blandly.</p> + +<p>"What is this particular disagreeable thing you have given me to eat?" +inquired John looking at his wife.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche looked up in surprise. The remark was quite in keeping with +his usual manner, but it was very unlike him to notice anything that was +put before him.</p> + +<p>"I believe it is a shad," she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose it is," answered John. "The thing has bones in it. Give +me something else, Stubbs."</p> + +<p>He got something else to eat and relapsed into silence. The remainder of +the luncheon was not gay, for his coming had chilled even Dolly's good +spirits. Brett and Vanbrugh did their best to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> sustain the conversation, +but the latter felt more certain than ever that something serious was +the matter. Old Simon Darche meandered on, interspersing his praise of +his son and his boasts of the prosperity of the Company with stale +proverbs and atrocious puns. Almost as soon as the meal was over the few +guests departed with that unpleasant sense of unsatisfied moral appetite +which people have when they have expected to enjoy being together and +have been disappointed.</p> + +<p>When every one was gone John Darche remained in the drawing-room with +his wife. He sat down in his chair like a man over-tired with hard work, +and something like a sigh escaped him. Mrs. Darche pushed a small table +to his side, laid his papers upon it and sat down opposite him. A long +silence followed. From time to time she looked up at her husband as +though she expected him to say something, but he did not open his lips, +though he often stared at her for several minutes together. His +unwinking blue eyes faced the light as he looked at her, and their +expression was disagreeable to her, so that she lowered her own rather +than encounter it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Are things growing worse, John?" at last she asked him.</p> + +<p>"Worse? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"You told me some time ago that you were anxious. I thought that perhaps +you might be in some trouble."</p> + +<p>John did not answer at once but looked at her as though he did not see +her, took up a paper and glanced absently over the columns of +advertisements.</p> + +<p>"Oh no," he said at last, as though her question had annoyed him. "There +is nothing wrong, nothing whatever." Again a silence followed. Mrs. +Darche went to her writing-table and began to write a note. John did not +move.</p> + +<p>"Marion," said he at last, "has any one been talking to you about my +affairs?"</p> + +<p>"No indeed," answered Mrs. Darche in evident surprise at the question, +but with such ready frankness that he could not doubt her.</p> + +<p>"No," he repeated. "I see that no one has. I only asked because people +are always so ready to talk about what they cannot understand, and are +generally so perfectly certain about what they do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> not know. I thought +Dolly Maylands might have been chattering."</p> + +<p>"Dolly does not talk about you, John."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I wonder why not. Does she dislike me especially—I mean more than +most people—more than you do, for instance?"</p> + +<p>"John!"</p> + +<p>"My dear, do not imagine that it grieves me, though it certainly does +not make life more agreeable to be disliked. On the whole, I hardly know +which I prefer—my father's perpetual outspoken praise, or your dutiful +and wifely hatred."</p> + +<p>"Why do you talk like that?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche did not leave her writing-table, but turned in her chair and +faced him, still holding her pen.</p> + +<p>"I fancy there is some truth in what I say," he answered calmly. "Of +course you know that you made a mistake when you married me. You were +never in love with me—and you did not marry me for my money."</p> + +<p>He laughed rather harshly.</p> + +<p>"No, I did not marry you for your money."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course not. You have some of your own—enough—"</p> + +<p>"And to spare, if you needed it, John."</p> + +<p>"You are very kind, my dear," replied Darche with a scarcely perceptible +touch of contempt in his tone. "I shall survive without borrowing money +of my wife."</p> + +<p>"I hope you may never need to borrow of any one," said Marion.</p> + +<p>She turned to the table again and began arranging a few scattered notes +and papers to conceal her annoyance at his tone, hoping that her +inoffensive answer might soon have the effect of sending him away, as +was usually the case. But Darche was not quite in his ordinary state. He +was tired, irritable, and greedy for opposition, as men are whose nerves +are overwrought and who do not realise the fact, because they are not +used to it, and it is altogether new to them.</p> + +<p>"I am tired of 'yea, yea.' Change the conversation, please, and say +'nay, nay.' It would make a little variety."</p> + +<p>"Do you object to my agreeing with you? I am sorry. It is not always +easy to guess what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> you would like. I am quite ready to give up trying, +if you say so. We can easily arrange our lives differently, if you +prefer it."</p> + +<p>"How do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"We might separate, for instance," suggested Mrs. Darche.</p> + +<p>John was surprised. He had sometimes wondered whether it were not +altogether impossible to irritate his wife's calm temper to some open +expression of anger. He had almost succeeded, but he by no means liked +the form of retort she had chosen. A separation would not have suited +him at all, for in his character the love of his possessions was strong, +and he looked upon his wife as an important item in the inventory of his +personal property. He hesitated a moment before he answered.</p> + +<p>"Of course we might separate, but I do not intend that we should—if I +can help it," he added, as though an afterthought had occurred to him.</p> + +<p>"You are not doing your best to prevent it," answered Mrs. Darche.</p> + + +<p>"Oh!—what are my sins? Are you jealous? This begins to interest me."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, I am not jealous, you have never given me any cause to be."</p> + +<p>"You think that incompatibility of temper would be sufficient ground, +then?"</p> + +<p>"For a temporary separation—yes."</p> + +<p>"Ah—it is to be only temporary? How good you are!"</p> + +<p>"It can be permanent, if you like."</p> + +<p>"I have already told you that I have no idea of separating. I cannot +imagine why you go back to it as you do."</p> + +<p>"You drive me back to it."</p> + +<p>"You are suddenly developing a temper. This is delightful."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche made no answer, but occupied herself with her papers in +silence. She could hardly account for the humour in which she was +answering her husband, seeing that for years she had listened to his +disagreeable and brutal sayings without retort. It is impossible to +foresee the precise moment at which the worm will turn, the beast refuse +its load, and the human heart revolt. Sometimes it never comes at all, +and then we call the sufferer a coward. After a pause<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> which lasted +several minutes, John renewed the attack.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry you will not quarrel any more, it was so refreshing," he +said.</p> + +<p>"I do not like quarrelling," answered Marion, without looking up. "What +good can it do?"</p> + +<p>"You are always wanting to do good! Life without contrasts is very +insipid."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche rose from her seat and came and stood by the fireplace.</p> + +<p>"John," she said, "something has happened. You are not like yourself. If +I can be of any use to you, tell me the truth and I will do all I can. +If not, go and ride as you said you would. The fresh air will rest you."</p> + +<p>"You are a good creature, my dear," said Darche looking at her +curiously.</p> + +<p>"I do not know whether you mean to be flattering, or whether you wish to +go on with this idle bickering over words—you know that I do not like +to be called a good creature, like the washerwoman or the cook. Yes—I +know—I am angry just now. Never mind, my advice is good. Either go out +at once, or tell me just what is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> matter and let me do the best I +can to help you."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to tell, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Then go out, or go and talk to your father—or stay here, and I will go +away."</p> + +<p>"Anything rather than stay together," suggested Darche.</p> + +<p>"Yes—anything rather than that. I daresay it is my fault, and I am +quite willing to bear all the blame, but if we are together in the same +room much longer we shall do something which we shall regret—at least I +shall. I am sure of it."</p> + +<p>"That would be very unfortunate," said Darche, rising, with a short +laugh. "Our life has been so exceptionally peaceful since we were +married!"</p> + +<p>"I think it has," answered Marion, calmly, "considering your character +and mine. On the whole we have kept the peace very well. It has +certainly not been what I expected and hoped that it might be, but it +has not been so unhappy as that of many people I know. We both made a +mistake, perhaps, but others have made worse ones. You ask why I married +you. I believe that I loved you. But I might ask you the same +question."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You would get very much the same answer."</p> + +<p>"Oh no—you never loved me. I cannot even say that you have changed much +in five years, since our honeymoon. You did not encourage my illusions +very long."</p> + +<p>"No. Why should I?"</p> + +<p>"I daresay you were right. I daresay that it has been best so. The +longer one has loved a thing, the harder it is to part from it. I loved +my illusions. As for you—"</p> + +<p>"As for me, I loved you, as I understand love," said Darche walking up +and down the room with his hands in his pockets. "And, what is more, as +I understand love, I love you still."</p> + +<p>"Love cannot be a very serious matter with you, then," answered Marion, +turning from him to the fire and pushing back a great log with her foot.</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken," returned Darche. "Love is a serious matter, but not +half so serious as young girls are inclined to believe. Is it not a +matter of prime importance to select carefully the woman who is to sit +opposite to one at table for a lifetime, and whose voice one must hear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +every day for forty years or so? Of course it is serious. It is like +selecting the president of a company—only that you cannot turn him out +and choose another when you are not pleased with him. Love is not a +wild, insane longing to be impossibly dramatic at every hour of the day. +Love is natural selection. Darwin says so. Now a sensible man of +business like me, naturally selects a sensible woman like you to be the +mistress of his household. That is all it comes to, in the end. There is +no essential difference between a man's feeling for the woman he loves +and his feeling for anything else he wants."</p> + +<p>"And I fill the situation admirably. Is that what you mean?" inquired +Marion with some scorn.</p> + +<p>"If you choose to put it in that way."</p> + +<p>"And that is what you call being loved?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—being wanted. It comes to that. All the rest is +illusion—dream-stuff, humbug, 'fake' if you do not object to Bowery +slang."</p> + +<p>"Are you going out?" asked Mrs. Darche, losing patience altogether.</p> + +<p>"No. But I am going upstairs to see the old gentleman. It is almost the +same."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p>He went towards the door and his hand was on the handle of the lock when +she called him back.</p> + +<p>"John—" there was hesitation in her voice.</p> + +<p>"Well? What is the matter?" He came back a few steps and stood near her.</p> + +<p>"John, did you never care for me in any other way—in any better +way—from the heart? You used to say that you did."</p> + +<p>"Did I? I have forgotten. One always supposes that young girls naturally +expect one to talk a lot of nonsense, and that one has no choice unless +one does—so one makes the best of it. I remember that it was a bore to +make phrases so I probably made them. Anything else you would like to +ask?"</p> + +<p>"No—thanks. I would rather be alone."</p> + +<p>John Darche left the room and Marion returned to her writing-table as +though nothing had been said, intending to write her notes as usual. And +indeed, she began, and the pen ran easily across the paper for a few +moments.</p> + +<p>Then on a sudden, her lip quivered, she wrote one more word, the pen +fell from her fingers, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> bowing her head upon the edge of the table +she let the short, sharp sobs break out as they would.</p> + +<p>She was a very lonely woman on that winter's afternoon, and the tension +she had kept on herself had been too great to bear any longer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + + +<p>In spite of her husband's denial, Marion Darche was convinced that he +was in difficulties, though she could not understand how such a point +could have been reached in the affairs of the Company, which had always +been considered so solid, and which had the reputation of being managed +so well. It was natural, when matters reached a crisis, that none of her +acquaintances should speak to her of her husband's troubles, and many +said that Mrs. Darche was a brave woman to face the world as she did +when her husband was in all likelihood already ruined and was openly +accused on all sides of something very like swindling. But as a matter +of fact she was in complete ignorance of all this. John Darche laughed +scornfully when she repeated her question, and she had never even +thought of asking the old gentleman any questions. She was too proud to +speak of her troubles to Vanbrugh or Brett; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> Dolly, foreseeing real +trouble, thought it best to hide from her friend the fears she +entertained. As sometimes happens in such cases, matters had gone very +far without Mrs. Darche's knowledge. The Company was in hands of a +receiver and an inquiry into the conduct of Simon and John Darche was +being pushed forward with the utmost energy by the frightened holders of +the bonds and shares, while Marion was dining and dancing through the +winter season as usual. The Darches were accused of having issued an +enormous amount of stock without proper authority; but there were many +who said that Simon Darche was innocent of the trick, and that John had +manufactured bogus certificates. Others again maintained that Simon +Darche was in his dotage and signed whatever was put before him by his +son, without attempting to understand the obligations to which he +committed himself.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile John's position became desperate, though he himself did not +believe it to be so utterly hopeless as it really was. Since this is the +story of Marion Darche and not of her husband, it is unnecessary to +enter into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> financial details of the latter's ruin. It is enough to +say that for personal ends he had made use of the Company's funds in +order to get into his own control a line of railroad by which a large +part of the Company's produce was transported, with the intention of +subsequently forcing the Company to buy the road of him on his own +terms, as soon as he should have disposed by stealth of his interest in +the manufacture. Had the scheme succeeded he should have realised a +great fortune by the transaction, and it is doubtful whether anything +could have been proved against him after the event. Unfortunately for +him, he had come into collision with a powerful syndicate of which he +had not suspected the existence until he had gone so far that either to +go on or to retire must be almost certain ruin and exposure. The +existence of this syndicate had dawned upon him on the day described in +the preceding chapters, and the state of mind in which he found himself +was amply accounted for by the discovery he had made.</p> + +<p>As time went on during the following weeks, and he became more and more +hopelessly involved,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> his appearance and his manner changed for the +worse. He grew haggard and thin, and his short speeches to his wife +lacked even that poor element of wit which is brutality's last hold upon +good manners. With his father, however, he maintained his usual +behaviour, by a desperate effort. He could not afford to allow the whole +fabric of the old gentleman's illusions about him to perish, so long as +Simon Darche's hand and name could still be useful. It is but just to +admit, too, that he felt a sort of cynical, pitying attachment to his +father—the affection which a spoiled child bestows upon an +over-indulgent parent, which is strongly tinged with the vanity excited +by a long course of unstinted and indiscriminating praise.</p> + +<p>If Marion Darche's own fortune had been invested in the Company of which +her husband was treasurer, she must have been made aware of the +condition of things long before the final day of reckoning came. But her +property had been left her in the form of real estate, and the surplus +had been invested in such bonds and mortgages as had been considered +absolutely safe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> by Harry Brett's father, who had originally been her +guardian, and, after his death, by Harry Brett himself, who was now her +legal adviser, and managed her business for her. The house in Lexington +Avenue was her property. After her marriage she had persuaded her +husband to live in it rather than in the somewhat pretentious and highly +inconvenient mansion erected on Fifth Avenue by Simon Darche in the +early days of his great success, which was decorated within, and to some +extent without, according to the doubtful taste of the late Mrs. Simon +Darche. Vanbrugh compared it to an "inflamed Pullman car."</p> + +<p>Enough has been said to show how at the time, the Darches were on the +verge of utter ruin, and how Marion Darche was financially independent. +Meanwhile the old gentleman's mind was failing fast, a fact which was so +apparent that Marion was not at all surprised when her husband told her +that there was to be a consultation of doctors to inquire into the +condition of Simon Darche, with a view to deciding whether he was fit to +remain, even nominally,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> at the head of the Company or not. As a matter +of fact, the consultation had become a legal necessity, enforced by the +committee that was examining the Company's affairs.</p> + +<p>John Darche was making a desperate fight of it, sacrificing everything +upon which he could lay his hands in order to buy in the fraudulent +certificates of stock. He was constantly in want of money, and seized +every opportunity of realising a few thousands which presented itself, +even descending to gambling in the stock market in the hope of picking +up more cash. He was unlucky, of course, and margin after margin +disappeared and was swallowed up. From time to time he made something by +his speculations—just enough to revive his shrinking hopes, and to whet +his eagerness, already sharpened by extremest anxiety. He did not think +of escaping from the country, however. In the first place, if he +disappeared at this juncture, he must be a beggar or dependent on his +wife's charity. Secondly, he could not realise that the end was so near +and that the game was played out to the last card. Still he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> struggled +on frantically, hoping for a turn of the market, for a windfall out of +the unknown, for a wave of luck, whereby a great sum being suddenly +thrown into his hands he should be able to cover up the traces of his +misdeeds and begin life afresh.</p> + +<p>Marion was as brave as ever, but she got even more credit for her +courage than she really deserved. She knew at this time that the trouble +was great, but she had no idea that it was altogether past mending, and +she had not renewed the offer of help she had made to her husband when +she had first noticed his distress. In the meantime, she devoted herself +to the care of old Simon Darche. She read aloud to him in the morning, +though she was quite sure that he rarely followed a single sentence to +the end. She drove with him in the afternoon and listened patiently to +his rambling comments on men and things. His inability to recognise many +of the persons who had been most familiar to him in the earlier part of +his life was becoming very apparent, and the constant mistakes he made +rendered it advisable to keep him out of intercourse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> with any but the +members of his own family. As has been said, Mrs. Darche had not as yet +made any change in her social existence, but Dolly Maylands, who knew +more of the true state of affairs than her friend, came to see her every +day and grew anxious in the anticipation of the inevitable disaster. Her +fresh face grew a little paler and showed traces of nervousness. She +felt perhaps as men do who lead a life of constant danger. She slept as +well and became almost abnormally active, seizing feverishly upon +everything and every subject which could help to occupy her time.</p> + +<p>"You work too hard, Dolly," said Mrs. Darche one morning as they were +seated together in the library. "You will wear yourself out. You have +danced all night, and now you mean to spend your day in slaving at your +charities."</p> + +<p>Dolly laughed a little as she went on cutting the pages of the magazine +she held. This was a thing Mrs. Darche especially disliked doing, and +Dolly had long ago taken upon herself the responsibility of cutting all +new books and reviews which entered the house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh I love to burn the candle at both ends," she answered.</p> + +<p>"No doubt you do, my dear. We have all liked to do that at one time or +another. But at this rate you will light your candle in the middle, +too."</p> + +<p>"You cannot light a candle in the middle," said Dolly with great +decision.</p> + +<p>"If anybody could, you could," said Marion, watching her as she had +often done of late and wondering if any change had come into the young +girl's life. "Seriously, my dear, I am anxious about you. I wish you +would take care of yourself, or get married, or something."</p> + +<p>"If you will tell me what that 'something' is I will get it at once," +said Dolly, with a smile that had a tinge of sadness in it. "I ask +nothing better."</p> + +<p>"Oh anything!" exclaimed Mrs. Darche. "Get nervous prostration or +anything that is thoroughly fashionable and gives no trouble, and then +go somewhere and rest for a month."</p> + +<p>"My dear child," cried Dolly with a laugh, "I cannot think of being so +old-fashioned as to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> nervous prostration. Let me see. I might be +astigmatic. That seems to be the proper thing nowadays. Then I could +wear glasses and look the character of the school-ma'am. Then I could +say I could not dance because I could not see, because of course I could +not dance in spectacles. But for the matter of that, my dear, you need +not lecture me. You are as bad as I am, and much worse—yours is a much +harder life than mine."</p> + +<p>Just as Dolly was about to draw a comparison between her own existence +and her friend's, the door opened and Stubbs entered the room bearing a +dozen enormous roses, of the kind known as American beauties. Dolly, who +had a passion for flowers, sprang up, and seized upon them with an +exclamation of delight.</p> + +<p>"What beauties! What perfect beauties!" she said. "You lucky creature! +Who in the world sends you such things?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche had risen from her seat and had buried her face in the thick +blossoms while Dolly held them.</p> + +<p>"I am sure I do not know," she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh Marion!" answered Dolly, smiling. "Innocence always was your strong +point, and what a strong point it is. I wish people would send me +flowers like these."</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt they do, my dear. Do not pretend they do not. Come and +help me arrange them instead of talking nonsense. Even if it were true +that my life is harder than yours—I do not know why—you see there are +alleviations."</p> + +<p>Dolly did not answer at once. She was wondering just how much her friend +knew of the actual state of things, and she was surprised to feel a +little touch of pain when she contrasted the truth, so far as she knew +it, with the negatively blissful ignorance in which Mrs. Darche's +nearest and best friends were doing their best to keep her.</p> + +<p>"Of course there are alleviations in your life, just as there are in +mine," she said at last, "changes, contrasts and all that sort of thing. +My kindergarten alleviates my dancing and my cotillons vary the dulness +of my school teaching."</p> + +<p>She paused and continued to arrange the flowers in silence, looking back +now and then and glancing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> at them. Mrs. Darche did not speak, but +watched her idly, taking a certain artistic pleasure in the fitness of +the details which made up the little picture before her.</p> + +<p>"But I would not lead your life for anything in the world," added Dolly +at last with great decision.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nonsense, Dolly!"</p> + +<p>"Are you happy, Marion?" asked Dolly, suddenly growing very grave.</p> + +<p>"Happy?" repeated Mrs. Darche, a little surprised by the sudden +question. "Yes, why not? What do you mean by happy?"</p> + +<p>"What everybody means, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"What is that?"</p> + +<p>"Why, wanting things and getting them, of course—wanting a ten cent +thing a dollar's worth, and having it."</p> + +<p>"What a definition!" exclaimed Mrs. Darche. "But I really do believe you +enjoy your life."</p> + +<p>"Though it would bore you to extinction."</p> + +<p>"Possibly. The alternate wild attacks of teaching and flirting to which +you are subject would probably not agree with me."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you could do either, but not both at the same time."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I suppose I could teach if I knew anything," said Mrs. Darche +thoughtfully. "But I do not," she added with conviction.</p> + +<p>"And I have no doubt you could flirt if you loved anybody. It is a pity +you do not."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my flirting days are over," answered Marion laughing. "You seem to +forget that I am married."</p> + +<p>"Do you not forget it sometimes?" asked Dolly, laughing, but with less +genuine mirth.</p> + +<p>"Do not be silly!" exclaimed Marion with a slight shade of annoyance. +She had been helping Dolly with the roses, all of which, with the +exception of two, were now arranged in a vase.</p> + +<p>"These will not go in," she said, holding up the remaining flowers. "You +might stick them into that little silver cup."</p> + +<p>"To represent you—and the other man. A red and a white rose. Is that +it?"</p> + +<p>"Or you and me," suggested Mrs. Darche in perfect innocence. "Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Tell me," said Dolly, when they had finished, "who is he?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Russell Vanbrugh, of course."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Dolly, turning her head away. "Why of course?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, because—"</p> + +<p>"Why not Harry Brett?" asked Dolly, with the merciless insistence +peculiar to very young people.</p> + +<p>In all probability, if no interruption had occurred, the conversation of +that morning would have taken a more confidential turn than usual, and +poor Dolly might then and there have satisfied her curiosity in regard +to the relations between Marion and Russell Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>It would be more correct, perhaps, to use a word of less definite +meaning than relation. Dolly suspected indeed that Vanbrugh loved Mrs. +Darche in his own quiet and undemonstrative fashion, and that this was +the secret of his celibacy. She believed it possible, too, that her +friend might be more deeply attached to Vanbrugh than she was willing to +acknowledge even in her own heart. But she was absolutely convinced that +whatever the two might feel for one another their feelings would remain +for ever a secret. She had gone further than usual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> in asking Marion +whether she were happy, and whether she had not at some time or another +almost forgotten that she was married at all. And Marion had not +resented the words. Dolly felt that she was on the very point of getting +at the truth, and was hoping that she might be left alone half-an-hour +longer with her friend, when the door opened and Simon Darche entered +the room. At the sight of the two young women his pink silk face lighted +up with a bright smile. He rubbed his hands, and the vague expression of +his old blue eyes gave place to a look of recognition, imaginary, it is +true, but evidently a source of pleasure to himself.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, my dear," he said briskly, taking Marion's hand in both +of his and pressing it affectionately. "Good morning, Mrs. Chilton," he +added, smiling at Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Dolly Maylands," suggested Marion in an undertone.</p> + +<p>"Dolly? Dolly?" repeated the old man. "Yes, yes—what did you say? What +did you say, Marion? Dolly Chilton? Silly child. Dolly Chilton has been +dead these twenty years."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What does he mean?" asked Dolly in a whisper. Simon Darche turned upon +her rather suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I remember," he said. "You are the little girl who used to talk +about Darwin, and the soul, and monkeys without tails, and steam +engines, when you were seven years old. Why, my dear child, I know you +very well indeed. How long have you been married?"</p> + +<p>"I am not married," answered the young girl, suppressing a smile.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" inquired Mr. Darche with startling directness. "But then—oh, +yes! I am very sorry, my dear. I did not mean to allude to it. I went to +poor Chilton's funeral."</p> + +<p>Just then, Stubbs, the butler, entered again, bearing this time a note +for Mrs. Darche. While she glanced at the contents he waited near the +door in obedience to a gesture from her. Old Mr. Darche immediately went +up to him, and with hearty cordiality seized and shook his reluctant +hand.</p> + +<p>"Happy to meet you, old fellow!" he cried. "That is all right. Now just +sit down here and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> we will go through the question in five minutes."</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, sir," said the impassive butler. It was not the first time +that his master had taken him for an old friend.</p> + +<p>"Eh, what!" cried Simon Darche. "Calling me 'sir'? Did you come here to +quarrel with me, old man? Oh, I see! You are laughing. Well come along. +This business will not keep. The ladies will not mind if we go to work, +I daresay."</p> + +<p>And forthwith he dragged Stubbs to a table and forced him into a chair, +talking to him all the time. Dolly was startled and grasped Marion's +arm.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she asked under her breath. "Oh, Marion, what is it? Is he +quite mad?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche answered her only by a warning look, and then, turning away, +seemed to hesitate a moment. Stubbs was suffering acutely, submitting to +sit on the edge of the chair to which his master had pushed him, merely +because no means of escape suggested itself to his mechanical +intelligence.</p> + +<p>"Why can you not sit down comfortably?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> asked Mr. Darche, with a show +of temper. "You are not in a hurry, I know. Oh I see, you are cold. +Well, warm yourself. Cold morning. It will be warm enough in Wall Street +to-morrow, if we put this thing through. Now just let me explain the +position to you. I tell you we are stronger than anybody thinks. Yes +sir. I do not see any limit to what we may do."</p> + +<p>Marion took a flower from one of the vases and went up to the old +gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Just let me put this rose in your coat, before you go to work."</p> + +<p>Mr. Darche turned towards her as she spoke, and his attention was +diverted. With a serio-comic expression of devout thankfulness, Stubbs +rose and noiselessly glided from the room.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, thank you," said the old gentleman, and as he bent to smell +the blossom, his head dropped forward rather helplessly. "I was always +fond of flowers."</p> + +<p>The note which Stubbs had brought conveyed the information that the +three doctors who were to examine old Mr. Darche with a view of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +ascertaining whether he could properly be held responsible for his +actions, would come in half an hour. It was now necessary to prepare him +for the visit, and Marion had not decided upon any plan.</p> + +<p>It was evidently out of the question to startle him by letting him +suspect the truth, or even by telling him that his visitors belonged to +the medical profession. Mrs. Darche wished that she might have the +chance of consulting Dolly alone for a moment before the doctors came, +but this seemed equally impossible. She silently handed the note to her +friend to read and began talking to the old gentleman again. He answered +at random almost everything she said. It was clear that he was growing +rapidly worse and that his state was changing from day to day. Marion, +of course, did not know that the medical examination was to be held by +order of the committee conducting the inquiry into the Company's +affairs. Her husband had simply told her what she already knew, namely, +that his father was no longer able to attend to business and that the +fact must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> be recognised and a new president elected. It would be quite +possible, he thought, to leave the old gentleman in the illusion that he +still enjoyed his position and exercised his functions. There could be +no harm in that. To tell him the truth might inflict such a shock upon +his faculties as would hasten their complete collapse, and might even +bring about a fatal result. He had impressed upon her the necessity of +using the utmost tact on the occasion of the doctors' visit, but had +refused to be present himself, arguing, perhaps rightly, that his +appearance could be of no use, but that it might, on the contrary, tend +to complicate a situation already difficult enough.</p> + +<p>The only course that suggested itself to Mrs. Darche's imagination, was +to represent the three doctors as men of business who came to consult +her father-in-law upon an important matter. At the first mention of +business, the old gentleman's expression changed and his manner became +more animated.</p> + +<p>"Eh, business?" he cried. "Oh yes. Never refuse to see a man on +business. Where are they?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> Good morning, Mrs. Chilton. I am sorry I +cannot stay, but I have some important business to attend to."</p> + +<p>He insisted upon going to his study immediately in order to be ready to +receive his visitors.</p> + +<p>"Wait for me, Dolly," said Marion, as she followed him.</p> + +<p>Dolly nodded and sat down in her own place by the fireplace, taking up +the magazine she had begun to cut and thoughtfully resuming her +occupation. Under ordinary circumstances she would perhaps have gone +away to occupy herself during the morning in some of the many matters +which made her life so full. But her instinct told her that there was +trouble in the air to-day, and that the affairs of the Darches were +rapidly coming to a crisis. She liked difficulties, as she liked +everything which needed energy and quickness of decision, and her +attachment to her friend would alone have kept her on the scene of +danger.</p> + +<p>Marion did not return immediately, and Dolly supposed that she had +determined to stay with the old gentleman until the doctors came. It was +rather pleasant to sit by the fire and think, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> wonder, and fill out +the incidents of the drama which seemed about to be enacted in the +house. Dolly realised that she was in the midst of exciting events such +as she had sometimes read of, but in which she had never expected to +play a part. There were all the characters belonging to the situation. +There was the beautiful, neglected young wife, the cruel and selfish +husband, the broken-down father, the two young men who had formerly +loved the heroine, and last, but not least, there was Dolly herself. It +was all very interesting and very theatrical, she thought, and she +wished that she might watch it or watch the developments in the +successive scenes, entirely as a spectator, and without feeling what was +really uppermost in her heart—a touch of sincere sympathy for her +friend's trouble.</p> + +<p>Just as she was thinking of all that Marion had to suffer, John Darche, +the prime cause and promoter of the trouble, entered the room, pale, +nervous, and evidently in the worst of humours.</p> + +<p>"Oh, are you here, Miss Maylands?" he inquired, discontentedly.</p> + +<p>Dolly looked up quietly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes. Am I in the way? Marion has just gone with Mr. Darche to his +study. This note came a few moments ago and she gave it to me to read. I +think you ought to see it."</p> + +<p>John Darche's brow contracted as he ran his eye over the page. Then he +slowly tore the note to shreds and tossed them into the fire.</p> + +<p>"I do not know why my wife thinks it necessary to take all her friends +into the confidences of the family," he said, thrusting his hands into +his pockets and going to the window, thereby turning his back upon +Dolly.</p> + +<p>Dolly made no answer to the rude speech, but quietly continued to cut +the pages of the magazine, until, seeing that Darche did not move and +being herself rather nervous, she broke the silence again.</p> + +<p>"Am I in the way, Mr. Darche?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all, not at all," said John, waking, perhaps, to a sense of his +rudeness and returning to the fireplace. "On the contrary," he +continued, "it is as well that you should be here. There will probably +be hysterics during the course of the day, and I have no doubt you know +what is the right thing to do under the circumstances. There seems to +be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> a horticultural show here," he added, as he noticed for the first +time the vases of flowers on the tables.</p> + +<p>"They are beautiful roses," answered Dolly in a conciliatory tone.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said John, drawing in his tin lips. "Beautiful, expensive—and +not particularly appropriate to-day. One of my wife's old friends, I +suppose. Do you know who sent them?"</p> + +<p>"Stubbs brought them in, a little while ago," Dolly replied. "I believe +there was no note with them."</p> + +<p>"No note," repeated John, still in a tone of discontent. "It is rude to +send flowers without even a card. It is assuming too much intimacy."</p> + +<p>"Is it?" asked Dolly innocently.</p> + +<p>"Of course it is," answered John.</p> + +<p>"Half an hour," he said, after a moment's pause. "Half an hour! How long +is it since that note came?"</p> + +<p>"About twenty minutes I should think."</p> + +<p>"Doctors are generally punctual," observed Darche. "They will be here in +a few minutes."</p> + +<p>"Shall you be present?" asked Dolly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Certainly not," John answered with decision. "It would give me very +little satisfaction to see my father proved an idiot by three fools."</p> + +<p>"Fools!" repeated Dolly in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Yes. All doctors are fools. The old gentleman's head is as clear as +mine. What difference does it make if he does not recognise people he +only half knows? He understands everything connected with the business, +and that is the principal thing. After all, what has he to do? He signs +his name to the papers that are put before him. That is all. He could do +that if he really had softening of the brain, as they pretend he has. As +for electing another president at the present moment it is out of the +question."</p> + +<p>"Yes, so I should suppose," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>John turned sharply upon her.</p> + +<p>"So you should suppose? Why should you suppose any such thing?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard that the Company is in trouble," answered Dolly, calmly.</p> + +<p>John opened his lips as though he were about to make a sharp answer, but +checked himself and turned away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," he said more quietly, "I suppose that news is public property by +this time. There they are," he added, as his ear caught the distant +tinkle of the door bell.</p> + +<p>"Shall I go?" asked Dolly for the third time.</p> + +<p>"No," answered Darche, "I will go out and meet them. Stay here please. I +will send my wife to you presently."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + + +<p>The verdict of the doctors was a foregone conclusion. The family +physician, who was one of the three, the other two being specialists, +stayed behind and explained to John Darche the result of the +examination. There was no hope of recovery, he said, nor even of +improvement. The most that could be done was to give the old gentleman +the best of care so long as he remained alive. Little by little his +faculties would fail, and in a few years, if he did not die, he would be +quite as helpless as a little child.</p> + +<p>John Darche was not in a state to receive the information with +equanimity, though he had expected nothing else and knew that every word +the doctor said was true—and more also. He protested, as he had +protested to Dolly half an hour earlier, that Mr. Darche was still a +serviceable president for the Company, since he could sign his name, no +matter whether he understood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> the value of the signature or not. The +doctor, who, like most people, was aware of the investigation then +proceeding, shook his head, smiled incredulously, asked after Mrs. +Darche and went away, pondering upon the vanity of human affairs and +consoling himself for the sins of the world with the wages thereof, most +of which ultimately find their way to the doctor's bank-book, be the +event life or death.</p> + +<p>Old Mr. Darche, supremely unconscious of what had taken place, and +believing that he had been giving the benefit of his valuable advice to +the directors of a western railroad, had lighted one of his very fine +cigars and had fallen asleep in his easy chair in his own study before +it was half finished. Marion had returned to Dolly in the library and +John had sent for his stenographer and had taken possession of the front +drawing-room for the morning, on pretence of attending to the business +which, in reality, had already been withdrawn from his hands during +several weeks.</p> + +<p>He was in great suspense and anxiety, for it was expected that the work +of the investigating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> committee would end on that afternoon. He knew +that in any event he was ruined, and even he felt that it would be +humiliating to live on his wife's income. They would go abroad at once, +he thought, New York had become hateful to him. He had as yet no +apprehension of being deprived of his liberty, even temporarily. +Whatever action was taken against him must be of a civil nature, he +thought. He did not believe that any judge would issue a warrant for his +arrest on such evidence as could have been collected by the committee. +Simon Darche was incapable of remembering what he had done even a week +previously, and since the doctors declared that his mind was gone, +almost anything might be attributed to him—anything, in fact, about +which the slightest trace of irregularity could be discovered. John had +been cautious enough in his actions when he had been aware that he was +violating the law, though he had been utterly reckless when he had +appealed to chance in the hope of retrieving his losses, and recovering +himself. He believed himself safe, and indulged in speculations about +the future as a relief to the excessive anxiety of the moment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche had some right to know the result of the consultation which +had taken place, but her husband either intended to leave her in +ignorance or forgot her existence after the doctors had left the house. +During some time she remained with Dolly in the library, expecting that +John would at least send her some message, if he did not choose to come +himself. At last she determined to go to him.</p> + +<p>"I am very busy now," he said as she entered the room and glanced at the +secretary.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Mrs. Darche, "I see, but I must speak to you alone for a +minute."</p> + +<p>"Well—but I wish you would choose some other time." He nodded to the +secretary who rose and quietly disappeared.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked Darche, when they were alone.</p> + +<p>"What did the doctors say?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing at all. They talked as doctors always do. Keep the patient +in good health, plenty of fresh air, food and sleep." He laughed sourly +at his own words.</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" inquired Marion, rather incredulously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> "They must have +said something else. Why, we can all see that he is not himself. There +is something very seriously wrong. I am quite sure that he did not +recognise me yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Not recognise you?" said John with the same disagreeable laugh. "Not +recognise you? Do not be silly. He talks of nobody else. I tell you +there is nothing in the world the matter with him, he is good for +another twenty years."</p> + +<p>"Thank heaven for that—for the twenty years of life, whether with all +his faculties or not—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, by all means let us return thanks. At the present rate of interest +on his life that means at least two millions."</p> + +<p>"It hurts me to hear you talk like that about your father," said Marion, +sitting down and watching her husband as he walked slowly up and down +before her.</p> + +<p>"Does it? That is interesting. I wonder why you are hurt because he is +likely to live twenty years. You are not very likely to be hurt by his +death."</p> + +<p>"Did I ever suggest such a thing?"</p> + +<p>"No, it suggested itself."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> + +<p>At this speech Mrs. Darche rose. Standing quite still for a moment, she +looked quietly into his uncertain eyes. He was evidently in the worst of +humours, and quite unable to control himself, even had he wished to do +so. She felt that it would be safer to leave him, for her own temper was +overwrought and ready to break out. She turned towards the door. Then he +called her back.</p> + +<p>"I say, Marion!"</p> + +<p>"Well."</p> + +<p>"What are you making such a fuss about?"</p> + +<p>"Have I said anything?"</p> + +<p>"No, not much, but you have a particularly uncomfortable way of letting +one see what you would like to say."</p> + +<p>"Is that why you called me back?" asked Mrs. Darche on the point of +turning away again.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so. It certainly was not for the pleasure of prolonging this +delightful interview."</p> + +<p>Once more she moved in the direction of the door. Then something seemed +to tighten about her heart, something long forgotten, and which, if she +tried to understand it at all, she thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> was pity. It was +nothing—only a dead love turning in its grave. But it hurt her, and she +stopped and looked back. John Darche was leaning against the high +mantlepiece, shading his eyes from the fire with his small, pointed +white hand. She came and stood beside him.</p> + +<p>"John," she said gently, "I want to speak to you seriously. I am very +sorry if I was hasty just now. Please forget it."</p> + +<p>Darche looked up, pulled out his watch and glanced at it, and then +looked at her again before he answered. His eyes were hard and dull.</p> + +<p>"I think I said that I was rather busy this morning," he answered +slowly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," answered Marion, in her sweet, low voice. "But I will not +keep you long. I must speak. John, is this state of things to go on for +ever?"</p> + +<p>"I fancy not. The death of one of us is likely to put a stop to it +before eternity sets in," he answered with some scorn.</p> + +<p>"We can stop it now if we will but try," said Marion, laying her hand +entreatingly upon his arm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh yes, no doubt," observed John coldly.</p> + +<p>"Let me speak, please, this once," said Mrs. Darche. "I know that you +are worried and harassed about business, and you know that I want to +spare you all I can, and would help you if I could."</p> + +<p>"I doubt whether your help would be conducive to the interests of the +Company," observed Darche.</p> + +<p>"No—I know that I cannot help you in that way. But if you would only +let me, in other ways, I could make it so much easier for you."</p> + +<p>"Could you?" asked John, turning upon her immediately. "Then just lend +me a hundred thousand dollars."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche started a little at the words. As has been said, she was +really quite in ignorance of what was taking place and had no idea that +her husband could be in need of what in comparison with the means of the +Company seemed but a small sum in cash.</p> + +<p>"Do you need money, John?" she asked, looking at him anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, I was only putting an imaginary case."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wish it were not merely imaginary—"</p> + +<p>"Do you?" he asked, interrupting her quickly. "That is kind."</p> + +<p>Marion seemed about to lose her temper at last, though she meant to +control herself.</p> + +<p>"John!" she exclaimed, in a tone of reproach, "why will you so +misunderstand me?"</p> + +<p>"It is you who misunderstand everything."</p> + +<p>"I mean it quite seriously," she answered. "You know if you were really +in trouble for a sum like that, I could help you. Not that you ever +could be. I was only thinking—wishing that in some way or other I might +be of use. If I could help you in anything, no matter how insignificant, +it would bring us together."</p> + +<p>John smiled incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" he exclaimed, "is that what you are driving at? Do you not think +life is very bearable as we are?"</p> + +<p>By this time Marion had completely regained her self-possession. She was +determined not to be repulsed, but there was a little bitterness in her +voice as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"No, frankly, John, as we are living now, life<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> is not very bearable. I +cannot exchange half a dozen words with you without quarrelling, and it +is not my fault, John, it is not my fault! Could you not sometimes make +it a little easier for me?"</p> + +<p>"By borrowing a hundred thousand dollars?"</p> + +<p>A pause followed John's answer, and he walked as far as the window, came +back again and stopped.</p> + +<p>"If you think it would be conducive to our conjugal happiness that I +should owe you a hundred thousand dollars, by all means lend it to me. I +will give you very good security and pay you the current rate of +interest."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche hesitated a moment before she spoke again. She was not quite +sure that he was in earnest, and being determined to make the utmost use +of the opportunity she had created, she dreaded lest if she pressed her +offer upon him he should suddenly turn upon her with a brutal laugh.</p> + +<p>"Do you really mean it, John?" she asked at last. "Will it help you at +all?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you insist upon it and think it will promote your happiness, I +have no objection to taking it," said Darche coolly. "As a matter of +fact it would be a convenience to-day, and it might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> help me to-morrow. +It will certainly not be of any importance next week."</p> + +<p>"I do not know whether you are in earnest or not, but I am."</p> + +<p>Once more she paused. She realised that he was in need of a great deal +of money, and that his scornful acceptance of her offer was really his +way of expressing real interest.</p> + +<p>"You shall have it as soon as I can get it for you. If you really need +it I shall be very glad. If you are only laughing at me—well, I can +bear that too."</p> + +<p>"No," answered John, speaking much more seriously than hitherto. "It is +a simple matter, of course—but it is quite true that it would be a +convenience to me to have a hundred thousand dollars in cash during the +next twenty-four hours, and after all, it will not make any difference +to you, as so much of your property is in bonds. All you need to do is +to borrow the money on call and give the bonds as collateral."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand those things, of course," said Marion in a tone of +grief, "but I suppose it can be managed easily enough, and I shall be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +so proud if I am able to help you a little. Oh, John," she added, after +a little pause, "if we could only be as we used to be, everything to +each other."</p> + +<p>"I wish we could," John answered with real or assumed gravity. "But in +this existence, there is everything to separate us and hardly anything +to bring us together. You see, I am worried all day long, I never get +any rest and then I lose my temper about everything. I know it is wrong +but I cannot help it, and you must try to be as patient as you can, my +dear."</p> + +<p>"I do try, John, I do try, do I not? Say that you know I do." For a +moment she thought she had produced an impression upon him, and a vision +of a happier and more peaceful life rose suddenly before her ready +imagination. But the tone in which he spoke the next words dispelled any +such illusion.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," he said dryly, "I know you do, of course. You are awfully +good—and I am awfully bad. I will reform as soon as I have time. And +now, if you do not mind, I will go and attend to my letters."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And I will see about getting the money at once," she said, bravely +hiding her disappointment at his change of tone. "I may be able to have +it by this evening."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," he answered with some eagerness, "if you are quick about it. +Well good-bye, and I am really much more grateful +<a name="than" id="than"></a><ins title="Original has then">than</ins> I seem."</p> + +<p>His dry unpleasant laugh was the last sound she heard as she left the +room. After all, it seemed perfectly useless, though she did her best +all day and every day.</p> + +<p>Marion Darche left her husband more than ever convinced of the +hopelessness of any attempt at a happier and more united existence. +Faithful, brave, loving, a woman of heart rather than head, she +encountered in every such effort the blank wall of a windowless nature, +so to say—the dull opposition of a heartless intelligence incapable of +understanding any natural impulse except that of self-preservation, and +responding to no touch of sympathy or love. Against her will, she +wondered why she had married him, and tried to recall the time when his +obstinacy had seemed strength, his dulness gravity, his brutality +keenness. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> no inner conjuring with self could give an instant's life +to the dead illusion. The nearest approach to any real resurrection +which she had felt for years had been the little pang that had overtaken +her when she had turned to leave him and had thought for one moment that +he might be suffering, as she was apt to suffer—this being, whom she +had once misunderstood and loved, whom she loved not at all now, but to +whom she had been lovelessly faithful in word and thought and deed for +years past.</p> + +<p>Yet she knew that others had loved her well, most of all Harry Brett, +and girl-like, groping for her heart's half-grown truth she had once +believed that she loved him too, with his boyish, careless ways, his +thoughtless talk and his love of happiness for its own sake. He had +disappointed her in some little way, being over-light of leaf and +flower, though the stem was good to the core; she had looked for +strength on the surface as a child breaks a twig and laughs at the oak +for its weakness; she had expected, perhaps, to be led and ruled by a +hand that would be tender and obedient only for her, and she had turned +from Harry Brett to John Darche as from a delusion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> to a fact, from a +dream to the strong truth of waking—very bitter waking in the end.</p> + +<p>But though she had wrecked heart and happiness, and had suffered that +cold and hunger of the soul which the body can never feel, she would not +change her course nor give up the dream of hope. Worse than what had +been, could not be to come, she said to herself, realising how little +difference financial ruin, even to herself, could make now.</p> + +<p>As she took up her pen to write a word to Brett, begging him to come to +her without delay, she paused a moment, thinking how strange it was that +in an extremity she should be obliged to send for him, who had loved +her, to help her to save her husband, if salvation were possible. She +even felt a little warmth about her heart, knowing how quickly Harry +would come, and she was glad that she had known how to turn a boy's +romantic attachment into a man's solid friendship. Brett would not +disappoint her.</p> + +<p>She sent Dolly away, and Dolly, obedient, docile and long-suffering for +her friend's sake, kissed her on both pale cheeks and left her, tripping +down the brown steps with a light gait and a heavy heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + + +<p>Marion had sent a messenger down town after Brett, and the latter did +not lose a moment in answering the note in person. He was a little pale +as he entered.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked, almost before he had shaken hands.</p> + +<p>"It is kind of you to come at once," answered Marion. "I asked you to +come about a matter of business. Sit down. I will explain."</p> + +<p>"Can I be of any use?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I want some money, a great deal of money, in fact, and I want it +immediately."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to buy a house?" he inquired in some surprise. "How much +do you want?"</p> + +<p>"A hundred thousand dollars."</p> + +<p>Brett did not answer at once. He looked at her rather anxiously, then +stared at the fire, then looked at her again.</p> + +<p>"It is rather short notice for such an amount.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> But you have nearly as +much as that in bonds and mortgages."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know."</p> + +<p>"Well then, there need not be any difficulty. What you have in bonds you +have already, to all intents and purposes. Do I understand that you want +this money in cash?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Mrs. Darche with decision, "in cash."</p> + +<p>"I suppose a cheque will do as well?" suggested Brett with a smile.</p> + +<p>"A cheque?" She repeated the word and seemed to hesitate. "I should have +to write my name on it, should I not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>During the pause which followed, Marion seemed to be reviewing the +aspects of the transaction.</p> + +<p>"The name of the person to whom I give it?" she asked at last, and she +seemed to avoid his glance.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Brett, surprised at the inexperience betrayed by the +question, "unless you cashed it yourself and took the money in notes."</p> + +<p>"No," said Mrs. Darche, as firmly as before. "I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> want the notes here, +please. What I want you to do, is to take enough bonds and get the money +for me. I do not care to know anything else about it, because I shall +not understand."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I ought not to be inquisitive, my dear friend," replied Brett +after a little hesitation, "but I ought to tell you what you do not seem +to realise, that a hundred thousand dollars is a great deal of money and +that you ought not to keep such a sum in the house."</p> + +<p>"I do not mean to keep it in the house. It is to be taken away +immediately."</p> + +<p>"I see."</p> + +<p>He concluded that the money was to be taken from the house by John +Darche, and he determined to prevent such a result if possible.</p> + +<p>"May I ask one question?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"I will not promise to answer it." She still looked away from him.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will. Do you mean to lend this money to some one? If it were +an ordinary payment you would certainly not want it in notes in the +house."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" asked Marion with some impatience.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because no human man of business with whom I have ever had anything to +do likes to trot about town with a hundred thousand dollars' worth of +notes in his pocket. And there is very little doubt in my mind about +what you mean to do with the money. You mean to give it to your husband. +Am I right?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche blushed a little and a shade of annoyance crossed her face.</p> + +<p>"Why should I tell you what I am to do with it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Because I am your legal adviser," answered Brett without hesitating, +"and I may give you some good advice."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I do not want any advice."</p> + +<p>Another pause followed this declaration, which only seemed to confirm +the lawyer in his surmises.</p> + +<p>"I will call it by another name," he said at last in a conciliatory +tone. "I will call it information. But it is information of a kind that +you do not expect. I should certainly not have said anything about it if +you had not sent for me on this business. Is it of any use to beg you to +reconsider the question of lending this money?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, I have made up my mind."</p> + +<p>"To lend it to your husband?"</p> + +<p>"Dear Mr. Brett," said Marion, beginning to be impatient again, "I said +that I would rather not tell you."</p> + +<p>"I fancy that I am not mistaken," Brett answered. "Now my dear friend, +you will be the last to know what every one has known for some time, but +it is time that you should know it. The affairs of the Company are in a +very bad state, so bad indeed, that an inquiry has been going on into +the management. I do not know the result of it yet, but I am very much +afraid that it will be bad, and that it will have very disagreeable +consequences for you all."</p> + +<p>"Consequences?" repeated Mrs. Darche. "What consequences? Do you mean +that we shall lose money?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that and I mean something more. It is very serious. Your husband +is deeply involved, and his father's name is so closely associated with +his in all the transactions that it seems almost impossible to say which +of the two is innocent."</p> + +<p>"Innocent!" cried Marion, laying her hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> suddenly upon the arm of her +chair and starting forward, then rising quickly to her feet and looking +down at him. "What do you mean? Why do you use that word?"</p> + +<p>The expression had hardly escaped Brett's lips when he realised the +extent of his carelessness. He rose and stood beside her, feeling, as a +man does, that she had him at a disadvantage while he was seated and she +was standing.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," he said, "I should have been more careful. I should +have said which of the two is responsible for—"</p> + +<p>"Something disgraceful?" interrupted Mrs. Darche whose excitement was +only increased by his hesitation. "For heaven's sake, do not keep me in +this suspense. Speak! Tell me! Be quick!"</p> + +<p>"I should not have spoken at all except as your adviser," said Brett. +"Nothing definite is known yet, but something is wrong. As a purely +business transaction it is madness to lend money to John Darche. Can you +believe for a moment that the treasurer of such a Company, that the men +who control such a Company, would ask you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> to lend them a hundred +thousand dollars at a few hours' notice, if they were not on the very +verge of ruin?"</p> + +<p>"No, but that is not what happened."</p> + +<p>She stopped short and moved away from him a little, hesitating as to +what she should say next. It was impossible to describe to him the scene +which had taken place between her and her husband.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell you, and yet I want you to know," she said, at last.</p> + +<p>"Do you not trust me?" said Brett, hoping to encourage her.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Trust you! Oh yes, I trust you with all my heart."</p> + +<p>She turned and faced him again.</p> + +<p>"Then tell me," said he. "Tell me what happened in as few words as +possible. Just the bare facts."</p> + +<p>"It is the bare facts that are so hard to tell."</p> + +<p>She turned away from him again feeling that if she allowed her eyes to +meet his she could not long withhold her confidence.</p> + +<p>"I suppose your husband let you guess that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> there was trouble, so that +you made the offer spontaneously, and then he accepted it."</p> + +<p>"Well—yes—no—almost."</p> + +<p>Still she hesitated, standing by the writing-table, and idly turning +over the papers.</p> + +<p>"I saw that he was worried and harassed and that something was wearing +upon him, and I did so want to help him! I thought it might—no I will +not say that."</p> + +<p>"But it will not help matters to throw good money after bad," answered +Brett thoughtfully. "Believe me, there is no more chance of saving this +money you mean to give him, than all the other millions that have gone +through his hands—gone heaven knows where."</p> + +<p>"Millions?"</p> + +<p>There was surprise in her tone.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid so," answered Brett, as though he had no reason in making +any correction in his estimate.</p> + +<p>"You must tell me all you can, all you know," said Marion, turning to +him again.</p> + +<p>"That would be a long affair," said Brett, "though I know a great deal +about it. But I do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> not know all, though the situation is simple enough +and bad enough. In spite of the large earnings of the Company, the +finances are in a rotten state and it is said that there are large sums +not accounted for. An inquiry has been going on for some time, and was, +I believe, closed last night, but the result will not be known until +this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"What sort of an inquiry?" asked Mrs. Darche, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"The regular examination of the books and of all the details which have +gone through the hands of your father-in-law and your husband."</p> + +<p>"My father-in-law! Do you mean to say that they are trying to implicate +the old gentleman too?"</p> + +<p>Marion's face expressed the utmost concern.</p> + +<p>"As president of the Company, he cannot fail to be implicated."</p> + +<p>"But he is no more responsible for what he does than a child!" cried +Mrs. Darche, in a tone of protestation.</p> + +<p>"I know that, but he is nominally at the head of the administration. +That is all you need know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> The rest is merely a mass of figures with an +account of tricks and manipulations which you could not understand."</p> + +<p>"And what would happen if—if—"</p> + +<p>She leaned towards him unconsciously, watching his lips to catch the +answer.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that if the inquiry goes against them, legal steps will be +taken," said Brett.</p> + +<p>"Legal steps? What legal steps?"</p> + +<p>Brett hesitated, asking himself whether he should be justified in +telling her what he expected as well as what he knew.</p> + +<p>"Well—" he continued at last, "you know in such cases the injured +parties appeal to the law. But it is of no use to talk about that until +you know the result of the inquiry."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean, do you really mean that John may be arrested?" asked Mrs. +Darche, turning pale.</p> + +<p>"At any moment."</p> + +<p>Brett answered in a low voice. Almost as soon as he had spoken he left +her side and crossed the room as though not wishing to be a witness to +the effect the news must have upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> her. Before his back was turned she +sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. A long pause +followed. Marion was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Brett—" she said, and stopped.</p> + +<p>"Yes." He came back to her side at once.</p> + +<p>"Can you not help me?" she asked earnestly.</p> + +<p>"How can I?"</p> + +<p>"Is there nothing, nothing that can be done?"</p> + +<p>"The whole matter is already beyond my power, or yours, or any one's."</p> + +<p>Marion looked steadily at him for several seconds and then turned her +face away, leaning against the mantelpiece.</p> + +<p>"I am sure something can be done."</p> + +<p>"No, nothing can be done."</p> + +<p>He did not move, and spoke in a tone of the utmost decision.</p> + +<p>"That is not true," said Marion turning upon him suddenly. "Money can +help him, and we are wasting time. Do not lose a moment! Take all I have +in the world and turn it into money and take it to him. Go! Do not lose +a moment! Go! Why do you wait? Why do you look at me so?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It would not be a drop in the bucket," answered Brett, still not +moving.</p> + +<p>"All I have!"</p> + +<p>"All you have."</p> + +<p>"That is impossible," cried Mrs. Darche, incredulously. "I am not +enormously rich, but it is something. It is between four and five +hundred thousand dollars. Is it not? I have heard you say so."</p> + +<p>"Something like that," assented Brett, as though the statement did not +alter the case.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche came close to him, laid her hand upon his arm and gently +pushed him, as though urging him to leave her.</p> + +<p>"Go! I say," she cried. "Take it. Do as I tell you. There may be time +yet. It may save them."</p> + +<p>But Brett did not move.</p> + +<p>"It is utterly useless," he said stolidly. "It is merely throwing money +out of the window. Millions could not stop the inquiry now, nor prevent +the law from taking its course if it is appealed to."</p> + +<p>"You will not do it?" asked Marion with something almost like a menace +in her voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, I will not," said Brett, more warmly. "I will not let you ruin +yourself for nothing."</p> + +<p>"Are you really my friend?"</p> + +<p>She drew back a little and looked at him earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Your friend? Yes—and more—more than that, far more than you can dream +of."</p> + +<p>"Will you refuse, do you refuse, to do this for me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I refuse."</p> + +<p>"Then I will do it for myself," she said with a change of tone as though +she had suddenly come to a decision. "I will let my husband do it for +me. You cannot refuse to give me what is mine, what you have in your +keeping."</p> + +<p>But Brett drew back and folded his arms.</p> + +<p>"I can refuse and I do refuse," he said.</p> + +<p>"But you cannot! You have no right."</p> + +<p>Her voice was almost breaking.</p> + +<p>"That makes no difference," Brett answered firmly. "I have the power. I +refuse to give you anything. You can bring an action against me for +robbing you, and you will win your case, but by that time it will be too +late. You may borrow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> money on your mere name, but your securities and +title-deeds are in my safe, and there they shall stay."</p> + +<p>Marion looked at him one moment longer and then sank back into her seat.</p> + +<p>"You are cruel and unkind," she said in broken tones. "Oh, what shall I +do?"</p> + +<p>Brett hesitated, not knowing exactly what to do, and not finding +anything especial to say. It is generally the privilege of man to be the +bearer of whatever bad news is in store for woman, but as yet no hard +and fast rule of conduct has been laid down for the unfortunate +messenger's action under the circumstances. Being at a loss for words +with which to console the woman he loved for the pain he had unwillingly +given her, Brett sat down opposite her and tried to take her hand. She +drew it away hastily.</p> + +<p>"No, go away," she said almost under her breath. "Leave me alone. I +thought you were my friend."</p> + +<p>"Indeed I am," protested Brett in a soothing tone.</p> + +<p>"Indeed you are not."</p> + +<p>Marion sat up suddenly and drew back to her end of the sofa.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you call this friendship?" she asked almost bitterly. "To refuse to +help me at such a moment. Do you not see how I am suffering? Do you not +see what is at stake? My husband's reputation, his father's name, good +name, life perhaps—the shock of a disgrace would kill him—and for me, +everything! And you sit there and refuse to lift a finger to help +me—oh, it is too much! Indeed it is more than I can bear!"</p> + +<p>"Of course you cannot understand it all now," said Brett, very much +distressed. "You cannot see that I am right, but you will see it soon, +too soon. You cannot save him. Why should you ruin yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Is there some other reason," asked Brett, quickly. "Something that I do +not know?"</p> + +<p>"All the reasons," she exclaimed passionately, "all the reasons there +ever were."</p> + +<p>"Do you love him still?" asked Brett, scarcely knowing what he was +saying.</p> + +<p>Marion drew still further back from him and spoke in an altered tone.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Brett, you have no right to ask me such a question."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No right? I? No, perhaps I have no right. But I take the right whether +it is mine or not. Because I love you still, as I have always loved you, +because there is nothing in heaven or earth I would not do for you, +because if you asked me for all I possessed at this moment, you should +have it, to do what you like with it—though you shall have nothing of +what is yours—because, to save you the least pain, I would take John +Darche's place and go to prison and be called a rascal and a thief +before all the world, for your sake, for your dear sake, Marion. I love +you. You know that I love you. Right or wrong—but it is right and not +wrong! There is not a man in the world who would do for any woman the +least of the things I would do for you."</p> + +<p>Again he tried to take her hand, though she resisted and snatched it +from him after a little struggle.</p> + +<p>"Leave me! leave me!" she cried despairingly. "Let me go!"</p> + +<p>"Not until you know, not until you understand that every word I say +means ten thousand times more than it ever meant to any one, not until +you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> know that I love you through and through with every part of me, +with every thought and action of my life. Look at me! Look into my eyes! +Do you not see it there, the truth, the devotion? No? Is it so long +since I loved you and you said—you thought—you believed for one little +day that you loved me? Can you not remember it? Can you not remember +even the sound of the words? They were so sweet to hear! They are so +very sweet as they come back now—with all they mean now—but could not +mean then!"</p> + +<p>"Harry!"</p> + +<p>She could not resist pronouncing his name that once.</p> + +<p>"I knew it! You loved me then. You love me now. What is the use of +fighting against it, when we love each other so? Marion! Love! Ah God! +At last!"</p> + +<p>"Go!"</p> + +<p>With a quick movement she sprang to her feet and stood back from him.</p> + +<p>"Marion!"</p> + +<p>But in a moment it was past. With a gesture she kept him at arm's +length.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is that your friendship?" she asked reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"No, it is love," he answered almost roughly. "There is no friendship in +it."</p> + +<p>"And you talk of helping me!" she cried. "And at such a time as this, +when I am weak, unstrung, you force it all upon me, and drag out what I +have hidden so long. No, no! You do not love me. Go!"</p> + +<p>"Not love you!" Again he tried to get near her. "God in heaven! Do not +hurt me so!"</p> + +<p>"No," she answered, still thrusting him back. "If you loved me you would +help me, you would respect me, you would honour me, you would not try to +drag me down."</p> + +<p>"Drag you down! Ah, Marion!"</p> + +<p>He spoke very unsteadily, then turning his face from her he leaned upon +the mantelpiece and watched the fire. A long pause followed. After +awhile he looked up again and their eyes met.</p> + +<p>"Harry!" said Mrs. Darche quietly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Come and sit beside me on that chair."</p> + +<p>Brett obeyed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We must forget this morning," said Marion in her natural tone of voice. +"We must say to ourselves that all this has never happened and we must +believe it. Will you?"</p> + +<p>"You ask too much," answered Brett looking away. "I cannot forget that I +have said it—at last, after all these years."</p> + +<p>"You must forget it. You must—must—for my sake."</p> + +<p>"For your sake?" Still he looked away from her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, for my sake," she repeated. "If you cannot forget, I can never +look any one in the face again. <a name="look" id="look"></a><ins title="Original has open double quottion mark">Look</ins> at me, please," she said, laying +her hand upon his arm. "Look into my eyes and tell me that you will not +remember."</p> + +<p>"For your sake I will try not to remember," he said slowly. "But I +cannot promise yet," he added with sudden passion. "Oh no!"</p> + +<p>"You will do your best. I know you will," said Marion, in a tone that +was meant to express conviction. "Now go. And remember that I have +forgotten."</p> + +<p>"You are very kind," Brett answered with more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> humility than she had +expected. "You are very good to me. I was mad for a moment. Forgive me. +Try to forgive me."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to forgive, for I remember nothing," said Marion with +a faint smile.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, then." He turned to go.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," she answered quite naturally.</p> + +<p>"Now come back, please," she said, when he had almost reached the door. +"You are Mr. Brett now, and I am Mrs. Darche. I am in great trouble and +you are my friend, and you must help me as well as you can."</p> + +<p>"In any way I can," he answered, coming back to her. "But I will help +only you, I will not help any one else."</p> + +<p>"Not even old Mr. Darche?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do not mean to except him."</p> + +<p>"That is right. And we must act quickly. We must decide what is to be +done. We have," she hesitated, "we have lost time—at any moment it may +be too late."</p> + +<p>"It is too late now," Brett answered in a sudden change of tone, as +Stubbs the butler suddenly entered the room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Please madam," said Stubbs, who was pale and evidently very much +disturbed, "there are some strange gentlemen to see Mr. John Darche, and +when I told them that he was out, they said they would see old Mr. +Darche, and I said that old Mr. Darche was ill and could see no one, and +they said they must see him; and they are coming upstairs without leave, +and here they are, madam, and I cannot keep them out!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + + +<p>Bail was refused, and John Darche remained in prison during the weeks +that intervened between his arrest and his trial. He was charged with +making use of large sums, the property of the Company, for which he was +unable to account, with fraudulently tampering with the books and with +attempting to issue certificates of stock to a very large amount, +bearing forged signatures.</p> + +<p>The house in Lexington Avenue was very gloomy and silent. Simon Darche, +who was of course in ignorance of what had taken place, had caught cold +and was confined to his bed. It was said that he was breaking down at +last, and that his heart was affected. Dolly Maylands came daily and +spent long hours with her friend, but not even her bright face could +bring light into the house. Russell Vanbrugh and Harry Brett also came +almost every day. Vanbrugh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> had undertaken Darche's defence, out of +friendship for Marion, and it was natural that he should come. As for +Brett, he could not stay away, and as Mrs. Darche seemed to have +forgiven and forgotten his passionate outbreak and did not bid him +discontinue his visits, he saw no reason for doing so on any other +ground.</p> + +<p>He was, on the whole, a very loyal-hearted man, and was very much +ashamed of having seemed to take advantage of Marion's distress, to +speak as he had spoken. But he was neither over-sensitive nor in any way +morbid. Seeing that she intended to forgive him, he did not distress +himself with self-accusations nor doubt that her forgiveness was sincere +and complete. Besides, her present distress was so great that he felt +instinctively her total forgetfulness of smaller matters, and even went +so far as to believe himself forgotten. Meanwhile he watched every +opportunity of helping Marion, and would have been ready at a moment's +notice to do anything whatever which could have alleviated her suffering +in the slightest degree. Nevertheless, he congratulated himself that he +was not a criminal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> lawyer, like Vanbrugh, and that it had not fallen to +his share to defend John Darche, thief swindler, and forger. He would +have done that, and more also, as Vanbrugh was doing, for Marion's sake, +no doubt, but he was very glad that it could not be asked of him. It was bad +enough that he should be put into the witness-box to state on his oath +such facts as he could remember to Darche's advantage, and to be +cross-examined and re-examined, and forced through the endless phases of +torture to which witnesses are usually subjected. He was able, at least, +to establish the fact that not the smallest sum had ever, so far as he +knew, passed from the hands of John Darche to his wife's credit. On +being asked why, as Mrs. Darche's man of business, he had not invested +any of her money in the Company, he replied that his father had managed +the estate before him, and that his father's prejudices and his own were +wholly in favour of investment in real estate, bonds of long-established +railways and first mortgages, and that Mrs. Darche had left her affairs +entirely in his hands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<p>Marion herself gave her evidence bravely and truthfully, doing her best +to speak to her husband's advantage. Her appearance and manner excited +universal sympathy, to use the language of the reports of the case, but +what she said did not tend in any way to exculpate John Darche. On the +contrary, society learned for the first time from her lips that she had +led a most unhappy life. She suffered acutely under the +cross-examination. Being excessively truthful, she gave her answers +without the slightest distortion of fact, while doing her best to pass +over altogether any statement which could injure her husband's defence. +As often happens, what she omitted to say told most heavily against him, +while the little she was forced to admit concerning his father's +condition amply corroborated the medical opinion of the latter's state, +and proved beyond a doubt that he had been during more than a year a +mere instrument in his son's hands. He, at least, was wholly innocent, +and would be suffered to spend his few remaining years in the dreams of +a peaceful dotage.</p> + +<p>The court, to use the current phrase, showed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> Marion every +consideration. That is, she was tacitly admitted from the first to have +had no connection whatever with the crime of which her husband was +accused. To the last, she intended to be present when the judge summed +up the case, in order to help John to the end by seeming to believe in +his innocence. On that very day, however, Simon Darche was so far +recovered as to be able to leave his room for the first time, and her +presence at his side seemed absolutely necessary. It was most important +that all knowledge of what was happening should be kept from him. He was +quite capable of leaving the house if left to himself, and he would +certainly not have submitted to any suggestion to the contrary offered +by Stubbs.</p> + +<p>He might stroll into a club or into the house of some old friend, and +some one would be sure to offer him the tactless sympathy which goes +about to betray secrets. Moreover, he had been told, in explanation of +John's protracted absence, that the latter had been obliged to go away +on business, and he had enough memory and power of reasoning left to be +surprised at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> receiving no letters. He was sure to make inquiries about +John, if left to his own devices. Marion could not leave him. In the +midst of her extreme anxiety she was obliged to pass the greater part of +the day in reading to him, and in trying to divert his mind from the +thought of John and his absence. His love and mistaken admiration for +his son had been the strongest feelings in his life and continued to the +end.</p> + +<p>Dolly Maylands would have been faithful to Marion under any imaginable +consequences, with that whole-souled belief and trust which is +girlhood's greatest charm. On the last day of the trial she came in the +morning and did not leave the house again. Brett appeared at intervals +and told Dolly how matters were going.</p> + +<p>He was not a man like Vanbrugh, of very varied acquaintances and wide +experience, but in certain quarters he had great influence, and on +Marion's behalf he exerted it to the utmost on the present occasion. +Foreseeing that the verdict must inevitably be unfavourable, and knowing +of Simon Darche's great anxiety about his son's absence, Brett succeeded +in obtaining an order<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> to bring John Darche to see his father before he +should be taken back to prison after the conclusion of the trial. It was +agreed that the police officers should appear dressed as civilians, and +should be introduced with John to the old man's presence as men of +business accompanying his son. John would then have the opportunity of +quieting his father's apprehensions in regard to his future absence, and +he could take leave of his wife if he wished to do so, though of course +he would not be allowed to be even a moment out of his guardians' sight. +The order was ostensibly granted in consideration of Simon Darche's +mental infirmity, and of the danger to his health which any shock must +cause, and which already existed in the shape of acute anxiety. In +reality, the favour was granted as a personal one to Brett. When +everything was arranged, he returned to Lexington Avenue. He found Dolly +alone in the library and told her what he had done.</p> + +<p>It was very quiet in the room, and the dusk was stealing away the last +glow of the sunset that hung over the trees and houses of Gramercy +Park.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> Dolly sat near the window, looking out, her hands clasped upon +one knee, her fair young face very grave and sad. Brett paced the floor +nervously.</p> + +<p>"How kind you are!" Dolly exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Kind?" repeated the young man, almost indignantly, and stopping in his +walk as he spoke. "Who would not do as much if he could?"</p> + +<p>"Lots of people."</p> + +<p>"Not of her friends—not of those who know her. It is little enough that +I can do for any of them. Vanbrugh has done more than I—can do much +more."</p> + +<p>"What a fight he has made!" The ready enthusiasm rang in the girl's +clear voice. Then her tone changed as she continued. "Yes," she said +thoughtfully, "Marion is lucky to have such friends as you and Russell +Vanbrugh."</p> + +<p>"And you yourself, Miss Maylands."</p> + +<p>"I? Oh, I do not count. What can a woman do on days like these? I can +only stay here and try to make her feel that I am a comfortable pillow +for her to lay her head upon, when she is entirely worn out. Poor +Marion! She is the bravest woman I ever knew. But then—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> + +<p>She stopped, hesitating, and Brett, who was almost too much excited to +follow all the words she spoke, was suddenly aware that she had not +finished the sentence.</p> + +<p>"What were you going to say?" he asked, struggling desperately to +remember what she had said already.</p> + +<p>"I hardly ought—I suppose," objected Dolly. "But then—what can it +matter? He is sure to be found guilty, is he not?"</p> + +<p>"Quite sure," Brett answered slowly.</p> + +<p>"Well then—Marion must feel that when this last agony is over she will +have much more peace in her life than she has enjoyed for a long time. I +wonder whether it is very wrong to say such things."</p> + +<p>"Wrong? Why? We all think them, I am sure. At least, you and Vanbrugh +and I do. As for society, I do not know what it thinks. I have not had +time to ask, nor time to care, for that matter."</p> + +<p>"I suppose everybody sympathises with Marion as we do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course. Do you know? I believe she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> will be more popular than +before. Everything that has come out in this abominable trial has been +in her favour. People realise what a life she has been living during all +these years—without a complaint. Wonderful woman! That brute Darche! I +wish he were to be hanged instead of sent to the Penitentiary!"</p> + +<p>"He deserves it," answered Dolly with the utmost conviction. "I suppose +Marion will get a divorce."</p> + +<p>Again Brett stopped short in his walk and looked at her keenly. The idea +had doubtless passed through his own mind, but he had not heard any one +else express it as yet.</p> + +<p>"After all," he said slowly, "there is no reason why she should not."</p> + +<p>Then he suddenly relapsed into silence and resumed his walk.</p> + +<p>"And then I suppose," said Dolly thoughtfully, "she would marry again."</p> + +<p>Brett said nothing to this, but continued to pace the floor, glancing at +the young girl from time to time, and meditating on the total depravity +of innocence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She might marry Russell Vanbrugh, for instance," observed Dolly, as +though talking to herself.</p> + +<p>This was too much for Brett. For the third time he stopped and faced +her.</p> + +<p>"Why Vanbrugh, of all people?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Of all people, Mr. Vanbrugh, I should think," Dolly answered. "Think of +what he has done, how devoted he has been in all this trouble. And then, +the way she spoils him! Any one can see that she is ready to fall in +love with him. If she were not as good as—as anything can be—as spring +water and snow drops and angels' prayers, so to say, she would be in +love with him already. But then, she is, you know."</p> + +<p>"I cannot imagine a woman being in love with Vanbrugh," said Brett +impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, can't you? I can. I thought he was your best friend."</p> + +<p>"What has that to do with it? My best friend might be deaf and lame and +blind of one eye."</p> + +<p>"Also, he might not," said Dolly with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well!" exclaimed Brett, turning away, "if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> you have made up your +mind that Mrs. Darche is to marry Russell Vanbrugh, of course I have +nothing to say. I daresay people would think it a very good match."</p> + +<p>"With John Darche alive and in the Penitentiary?" inquired the young +girl, instantly taking the opposite tack.</p> + +<p>"As though any one could care or ask what became of him!" cried Brett, +with something like indignation. "Thank heaven we are just in this +country! We do not visit the sins of the blackguard upon the innocent +woman he leaves behind him. Fortunately, there are no children. The very +name will be forgotten, and Mrs. Darche can begin life over again."</p> + +<p>"Whoever marries her will have to take old Mr. Darche as an +incumbrance," remarked Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Of course! Do you suppose that such a woman would leave the poor old +gentleman to be taken care of by strangers? Besides, he is a beggar. He +has not so much as pocket-money for his cigars. Of course Mr. Darche +will stay with them. After all, it will not be so bad. He is very quiet +and cheerful, and never in the way."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> + +<p>Brett spoke thoughtfully, in a tone which conveyed to Dolly the +certainty that he had already revolved the situation of Marion's future +husband in his mind.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Mr. Brett," she said, after a short pause, "will anybody say +that she should have sacrificed her own little fortune?"</p> + +<p>"People may say it as much as they please," answered the young man +quickly. "No one will ever make me believe it."</p> + +<p>"I thought conscientious people often did that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they do. But this does not seem to me to be a case for that. The +bogus certificates of stocks never really were on the market. The first +that were issued excited suspicion, and proceedings began almost +immediately. Whatever John Darche actually stole was practically taken +from the funds of the Company. Now the Company is rich, and it was its +own fault if it did not look after its affairs. In some failures, a lot +of poor people suffer. That is different. It has fortunately not +happened here. The stock will be depreciated for a time, but the Company +will continue to exist<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> and will ultimately hold up its head again. The +bonds are good enough. After all, what is stock? Lend me some money at +your own risk and if I have anything I will pay you interest. If I have +nothing, you get nothing. That is what stock means."</p> + +<p>"I know," answered Dolly, whose clear little brain had long been +familiar with the meanings of common business terms. "Yes, you are quite +right. There is no reason why Marion should give anything of her own."</p> + +<p>"None whatever," assented Brett.</p> + +<p>If Dolly drew any conclusions from what Brett had said, she kept them to +herself, and a long silence followed, which was broken at last by the +appearance of Russell Vanbrugh, looking pale and tired. He shook hands +in silence and sat down.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is all over?" said Dolly softly, in a tone of +interrogation.</p> + +<p>"Yes, just as we feared."</p> + +<p>"What has he got?" inquired Brett, lowering his voice as though he +feared that Marion might overhear him, though she was not in the room.</p> + +<p>"Five years."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is that all?" asked the younger man almost indignantly.</p> + +<p>Vanbrugh smiled faintly at the question.</p> + +<p>"I am rather proud of it," he answered, "considering that I defended the +case."</p> + +<p>"True, I forgot." Brett began to walk up and down again.</p> + +<p>Dolly looked at Vanbrugh and nodded to him with a little smile as though +in approval of what he had done. He seemed pleased and grateful.</p> + +<p>"You must be dreadfully tired," she said. "Do let me give you some tea."</p> + +<p>"Thanks—I should like some—but some one ought to tell Mrs. Darche. +Shall I? Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"I will tell her," said Brett stopping suddenly. "I will send a message +and she will come down to the drawing-room."</p> + +<p>He went out, leaving Dolly to comfort Vanbrugh with tea, for he was far +too much excited to sit down or to listen to their conversation. The +whole matter might be more or less indifferent to them, whose lives +could not be affected directly by Mrs. Darche's misfortunes, but he +felt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> that his own happiness was in the balance. He knew also that, by +the arrangements he had made, John Darche would be brought to the house +in the course of the next hour, before being taken back to prison for +the night, and it was necessary to warn Marion and to see that the old +gentleman was prepared to receive his son.</p> + +<p>"How about old Mr. Darche?" inquired Dolly, when she and Vanbrugh were +left alone.</p> + +<p>"Every one is sorry for him," said Vanbrugh, "just as every one +execrates John. I get very little credit for the defence," he added, +with a dry laugh.</p> + +<p>"How good you are!" exclaimed Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Am I? It seems to me it was the least I could do."</p> + +<p>"It will not seem so to every one," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"I would do a great deal for Mrs. Darche," said Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know you would. You—you are very fond of her, are you not?" She +turned her face away as she asked the question.</p> + +<p>"I wish to be a good friend to her."</p> + +<p>"And something more?" suggested Dolly, in a tone of interrogation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Something more?" repeated Vanbrugh, "I do not understand."</p> + +<p>"Oh nothing! I thought you did."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I did. But I think you are mistaken."</p> + +<p>"Am I?" Dolly asked, turning her face to him again. "I wish—I mean, I +do not think I am."</p> + +<p>"I am sure you are."</p> + +<p>"This is a good deal like a puzzle game, is it not?"</p> + +<p>"No, it is much more serious," said Vanbrugh, speaking gravely. "This is +certainly not the time to talk of such things, Miss Maylands. John +Darche may come at any moment, and as far as possible his father has +been prepared for his coming. But that isn't it. Perhaps I had better +say it at once. We have always been such good friends, you know, and I +think a great deal of your good opinion, so that I do not wish you to +mistake my motives. You evidently think that I am devoted—to say the +least of it—to Mrs. Darche. After all, what is the use of choosing +words and beat about the bush? You think I am in love with her. I should +be very sorry to leave you with that impression—very, very sorry. Do +you understand?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dolly had glanced at him several times while he had been speaking, but +when he finished she looked into the fire again.</p> + +<p>"You were in love with her once?" she said quietly.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps; how do you know that?"</p> + +<p>"She told me so, ever so long ago."</p> + +<p>"She told you so?" Vanbrugh's tone betrayed his annoyance.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Why are you angry? I am her best friend. Was it not natural that +she should tell me?"</p> + +<p>"I hardly know."</p> + +<p>A pause followed, during which Stubbs entered the room, bringing tea. +When he was gone and Dolly had filled Vanbrugh's cup she took up the +conversation again.</p> + +<p>"Are you thinking about it?" she asked, with a smile.</p> + +<p>"About what?" Vanbrugh looked up quickly over his cup.</p> + +<p>"Whether it was natural or not?"</p> + +<p>"No, I was wondering whether you would still believe it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why should I?" asked Dolly.</p> + +<p>"You might. In spite of what I tell you. You know very little of my +life."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know a great deal," said the young girl with much conviction. "I +know all about you. You are successful, and rich and popular and happy, +and lots of things."</p> + +<p>"Am I?" asked Vanbrugh rather sadly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Everybody knows you are."</p> + +<p>"You are quite sure that I am happy?"</p> + +<p>"Unless you tell me that you are not."</p> + +<p>"How oddly people judge us," exclaimed Vanbrugh. "Because a man behaves +like a human being, and is not cross at every turn, and puts his +shoulder to the wheel, to talk and be agreeable in society, everybody +thinks he is happy."</p> + +<p>"Of course." Dolly smiled. "If you were unhappy you would go and sit in +corners by yourself and mope and be disagreeable. But you do not, you +see. You are always 'on hand' as they call it, always ready to make +things pleasant for everybody."</p> + +<p>"That is because I am so good-natured."</p> + +<p>"What is good nature?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A combination of laziness and vulgarity," Vanbrugh answered promptly.</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Vanbrugh. "The vulgarity that wishes to please everybody, +and the laziness that cannot say no."</p> + +<p>"You are not a lawyer for nothing. But you are not lazy and you are not +vulgar. If you were I should not like you."</p> + +<p>"Do you like me?" asked Vanbrugh quickly.</p> + +<p>"Very much," she answered with a little laugh.</p> + +<p>"You just made me define good nature, Miss Maylands. How do you define +liking?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is very vague," said Dolly in an airy tone. "It is a sort of +uncly, auntly thing."</p> + +<p>"Oh. I see."</p> + +<p>"Do you?"</p> + +<p>"Uncles and aunts sometimes marry, do they not?"</p> + +<p>"What an idea? They are always brothers and sisters."</p> + +<p>"Unless they are uncles and aunts of different people," suggested +Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>At this point they were interrupted by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> entrance of Stubbs. That +dignified functionary had suffered intensely during the last few days, +but his tortures were not yet over. So far as lay in his power he still +maintained that absolute correctness of appearance which distinguished +him from the common, or hirsute "head man"; but he could not control the +colour of his face nor the expression of his eyes. He had been a footman +in the house of Marion's father, in that very house in fact, and had +completely identified himself with the family. Had he considered that he +was in the employment of Simon and John Darche, he would have long since +given notice and sought a place better suited to his eminent +respectability. But having always waited upon Marion since she had been +a little girl, he felt bound by all the tenets of inherited +butlerdom—and by a sort of devotion not by any means to be laughed +at—to stand by his young mistress through all her troubles. By this +time his eyes had a permanently unsettled look in them as though he +never knew what fearful sight he might next gaze upon, and the ruddy +colour was slowly but certainly sinking to the collar line. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> had +already descended to the lower tips of his ears.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, Miss Maylands," he said in a subdued tone, "beg pardon, +sir. Mr. John has come with those gentlemen."</p> + +<p>Both Dolly and Vanbrugh started slightly and looked up at him. Vanbrugh +was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>"Do you not think you had better go away—to Mrs. Darche?" he asked. +"She may want to see you for a minute."</p> + +<p>Dolly rose and left the room.</p> + +<p>"I suppose they will come in here," said Vanbrugh, addressing Stubbs.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," answered the butler nervously, "they are coming."</p> + +<p>"Well—let us make the best of it."</p> + +<p>A moment later John Darche entered the room, followed closely by three +men, evidently dressed for the occasion, according to superior orders, +in what, at police <a name="head1" id="head1"></a><ins title="Original uses both head-quarters and headquarters">head-quarters</ins>, was believed to be the height of the +fashion, for they all wore light snuff-coloured overcoats, white ties, +dark trousers and heavily-varnished shoes, and each had a perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> new +high hat in his hand. They looked about the room with evident curiosity.</p> + +<p>Darche himself was deathly pale and had grown thinner. Otherwise he was +little changed. As soon as he caught sight of Vanbrugh, he came forward, +extending his hand.</p> + +<p>"I have not had a chance to thank you for your able defence," he said +calmly.</p> + +<p>"It is not necessary," answered Vanbrugh coldly, and putting his hands +behind him as he leaned against the mantelpiece. "It was a matter of +duty."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said John Darche stiffly, and drawing back a step. "If you +do not want to shake hands we will treat it as a matter of business."</p> + +<p>"He is pretty fresh, ain't he?" remarked one of the officers in an +undertone to his neighbour.</p> + +<p>"You bet he is," answered the other.</p> + +<p>"Now I have got to see the old gentleman," said Darche, speaking to +Vanbrugh. "Before I go, I would like to have a word with you. There is +no objection to my speaking privately to Mr. Vanbrugh, I suppose?" he +inquired, turning to the officer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not if you stay in the room," answered the one who took the lead.</p> + +<p>Darche nodded to Vanbrugh, who somewhat reluctantly followed him to the +other end of the room.</p> + +<p>"I say," he began in a tone not to be overheard by the detectives. "Can +you not give me another chance?"</p> + +<p>"What sort of chance?" replied Vanbrugh, raising his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"If I could get through that door," said John looking over Vanbrugh's +shoulder, "I could get away. I know the house and they do not. +Presently, when my father comes, if you could create some sort of +confusion for a moment, I could slip out. They will never catch me. +There is an Italian sailing vessel just clearing. I have had exact +information. If I can get through that door I can be in the Sixth Avenue +Elevated in three minutes and out of New York Harbour in an hour."</p> + +<p>Vanbrugh had no intention of being a party to the escape. He met +Darche's eyes coldly as he answered.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, I will not do it. I have defended you in open court, but I am not +going to help you evade the law."</p> + +<p>"Do not be too hard, Vanbrugh," said Darche, in a tone of entreaty. +"Things are not half so bad as they are made out."</p> + +<p>"If that is true, I am sorry. But you have had a perfectly fair trial."</p> + +<p>"Will you not help me get away?" Darche urged knowing that this was his +last chance.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Vanbrugh," said John in an insinuating tone, "you used to be fond of my +wife. You wanted to marry her."</p> + +<p>"What has that to do with it?" asked Vanbrugh turning sharply upon him.</p> + +<p>"You may marry her and welcome, if you let me get through that door. I +shall never be heard of again."</p> + +<p>"You infernal scoundrel!" Vanbrugh was thoroughly disgusted. "Now +gentlemen," he said, turning to the officer in charge, "I will bring Mr. +Darche here to see his son. I am sure that for the old gentleman's sake, +out of mere humanity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> you will do the best you can to keep up the +illusion we have arranged. He is old and his mind wanders. He will +scarcely notice your presence."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," the man answered. "You may trust us to do that, sir. Now +then, boys," he said, addressing his two companions, "straighten up, +best company manners, stiff upper lip—keep your eye on the young man. +He is rather too near that door for my taste."</p> + +<p>John Darche's face expressed humiliation and something almost +approaching to despair. He was about to make another attempt, and had +moved a step towards Vanbrugh, when he suddenly started a little and +stood still. Marion stood in the open door beyond three detectives. She +touched one of them on the shoulder as a sign that she wished to pass.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, lady," said the man, drawing back. "Anything that we can do +for you?"</p> + +<p>"I am Mrs. Darche. I wish to speak to my husband."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, madam," and all three made way for her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + +<p>She went straight to her husband, and stood before him at the other end +of the room, speaking in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything I can do for you, John?" she asked so that he could +barely hear her.</p> + +<p>"You can help me to get away—if you will." John Darche's eyes fell +before hers.</p> + +<p>She gazed at him during several seconds, hesitating, perhaps, between +her sense of justice and her desire to be faithful to her husband to the +very end.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will," she said briefly.</p> + +<p>Before she spoke again she turned quite naturally, as though in +hesitation, and satisfied herself that the three men were out of +hearing. Vanbrugh, perhaps suspecting what was taking place, had engaged +them in conversation near the door.</p> + +<p>"How?" she asked, looking at John again. "Tell me quickly."</p> + +<p>"Presently, when my father comes, get as many people as you can. Let me +be alone for a moment. Make some confusion, upset something, anything +will do. Give me a chance to get through the door into the library."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will try. Is that all?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said John Darche, and for one moment a look of something +like genuine gratitude passed over his hard face. "Yes, that is all. You +will be glad to get rid of me."</p> + +<p>Marion looked one moment longer, hesitated, said nothing and turned +away.</p> + +<p>"If you have no objections," said Vanbrugh addressing the officer in +charge, "we will take Mr. Darche to his father's room instead of asking +him to come here."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," answered the detective. "We can do that."</p> + +<p>As they were about to leave the room, Brett met them at the door. He +paused a moment and looked about. Then he went straight to Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"Has he seen him yet?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, we are just going," answered Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"Can I be of any use?"</p> + +<p>"Stay with Mrs. Darche."</p> + +<p>"Shall we go?" he asked, turning to John.</p> + +<p>"How brave you are!" exclaimed Brett when they were alone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Does it need much courage?" asked Marion, sinking into a chair. "I do +not know. Perhaps."</p> + +<p>"I know that there are not many men who could bear all this as well as +you do," Brett answered, and there was a little emotion in his face.</p> + +<p>"Men are different. Mr. Brett—" she began after a short pause.</p> + +<p>"Yes, do you want to ask me something?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, something that is very hard to ask. Something that you will +refuse."</p> + +<p>"That would be hard indeed."</p> + +<p>"Will you promise not to be angry?" asked Marion faintly.</p> + +<p>"Of course I will," Brett answered.</p> + +<p>"Do not be so sure. Men's honour is such a strange thing. You may think +what I am going to ask touches it."</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>He sat down beside her and prepared to listen.</p> + +<p>"Will you help my husband to escape?" asked Marion in a whisper. "No—do +not say it. Wait until I tell you first how it can be done. Presently I +will get them all into this room. Old Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> Darche is too ill to come, I +am afraid. You have not spoken alone to John yet. Take him aside and +bring him close to this door on pretence of exchanging a few words. I +will make a diversion of some sort at the other end of the room and as +they all look round he can slip out. If he has one minute's start they +will never see him again. Will you do it?"</p> + +<p>"You were right," said Brett gravely. "It is a hard thing to ask."</p> + +<p>"Will you do it?"</p> + +<p>"It is criminal," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Will you do it?"</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, give me time to think!" He passed his hand over his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"There is no time," said Marion anxiously. "Will you do it for me?"</p> + +<p>"How can I? how can I?"</p> + +<p>"You told me that you loved me the other day—will you do it for my +sake?"</p> + +<p>A change came over Brett's face.</p> + +<p>"For your sake?" he asked in an altered tone. "Do you mean it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. For my sake."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very well. I will do it." He turned a little pale and closed one hand +over the other.</p> + +<p>"Thank you—thank you, Harry." Her voice lingered a little, as she +pronounced his name. "Stay here. I will make them come. It is of no use +to leave them there. It is a mere formality, at best."</p> + +<p>"I am ready," said Brett, rising.</p> + +<p>Marion left her seat, and crossing the room again tried the door in +question to satisfy herself that it would open readily. She looked out +into the passage beyond and then came back, and passing Brett without a +word left the room.</p> + +<p>She was not gone long, and during the minutes of her absence Brett tried +hard not to think of what he was going to do. He could not but be aware +that it was a desperately serious matter to help a convicted criminal to +escape. He thought of the expression he had seen on Marion's face when +he had promised to do it, and of the soft intonation of her sweet voice, +and he tried to think of nothing else.</p> + +<p>In a moment more she was in the room again leading old Mr. Darche +forward, his arm linked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> in hers. John came in on his father's other +side, while Vanbrugh and the three officers followed.</p> + +<p>"I understand, I understand, my boy," cried old Darche in his cheery +voice. "It is a grand thing."</p> + +<p>John was very pale as he answered, and was evidently making a great +effort to speak lightly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. It has turned out much simpler than we expected, +however, thanks to your immense reputation, father. Without your name we +could not have done it, could we, gentlemen?" he asked, turning to the +detectives as though appealing to them.</p> + +<p>"No, guess not," answered the three together.</p> + +<p>"Good God, what a scene!" exclaimed Brett under his breath.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Brett," said Marion approaching him. "You said you wanted to speak +to my husband. Now you must tell me all about it, father," she +continued, drawing the old gentleman towards the fire. "I do not half +understand in all this confusion."</p> + +<p>"Why it is as plain as day, child," said Simon Darche, ever ready to +explain a matter of business.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> "The second mortgage of a million and a +half to square everything. Come here, come close to the fire, my hands +are cold. I think I must have been ill."</p> + +<p>"You would never think Mr. Darche had been ill, would you, gentlemen?" +asked Marion, appealing again to the detectives.</p> + +<p>"No, guess not," they answered in chorus.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Brett led Darche across the room, talking to him in a loud +tone until they were near the door.</p> + +<p>"Your wife will make some diversion presently," he whispered. "I do not +know how. When she does, make for that door and get out."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, thank you," said John with genuine fervour, and his face +lighted up. "God bless you, Brett!"</p> + +<p>"Do not thank me," answered Brett roughly. "I do not want to do it. +Thank your wife."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed John Darche, and his eyelids contracted. "My wife! Is it +for her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I will remember that. I will remember it as long as I live."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>Brett never forgot the look which accompanied the words.</p> + +<p>"Well, be grateful to her anyhow," he said.</p> + +<p>At that moment a piercing scream rang through the room. Marion Darche, +while talking to her father-in-law, had been standing quite close to the +fire. When Brett turned his head the front of her dress was burning with +a slow flame and she was making desperate efforts to tear it from her.</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens, you are really burning!" cried Brett as he crushed the +flaming stuff with his bare hands, regardless of the consequences to +himself.</p> + +<p>"Did you think that I cried out in fun?" asked Marion calmly.</p> + +<p>On hearing his wife's cry John Darche had bestowed but one glance upon +her. It mattered but little to him that she was really on fire. The +detectives had rushed to her assistance and for one moment no one was +looking. He was close to the door. A moment later he had left the room +and turned the key behind him.</p> + +<p>"My God!" exclaimed the officer in charge, suddenly. "He has gone! Run, +boys! Stop! One of you take the old one. We will not lose them both."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> + +<p>Old Darche started as though he had suddenly been waked out of a deep +sleep, and his voice rang out loud and clear.</p> + +<p>"Hey, what is this?" he cried. "Hello! Detectives in my house? Disguised +too?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," answered one of the detectives, seizing him by the wrist +just as the other two left the room in pursuit of John Darche. "And one +of them has got you."</p> + +<p>"Got me!" roared the old man. "Hands off, there! What do you mean? Damn +you, sir, let me go!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," replied the officer calmly, "if you are going to take on +like that, you may just as well know that your son was tried and +convicted for forgery to-day. Not that I believe that you had anything +to do with it, but he is a precious rascal all the same, and has escaped +from your house—"</p> + +<p>"I! <a name="forgery" id="forgery"></a><ins title="Original has no question mark">Forgery?</ins> The man is mad! John, where are you? +Brett! Vanbrugh! Help me, gentlemen!"</p> + +<p>He appealed to Brett, and then to Vanbrugh who, indeed, was doing his +best to draw the officer away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, no," answered the latter firmly. "I've got one of them—it's all in +the family."</p> + +<p>Though Marion's dress was still smouldering and Brett was on his knees +trying to extinguish the last spark with his own hands, she forgot her +own danger, and almost tearing herself away from Brett she clasped the +policeman's hand trying to drag it from Simon Darche's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir," she cried in tearful entreaty, "pray let him go! He is +innocent—he is ill! He will not think of escaping. Don't you see that +we have kept it all from him?"</p> + +<p>"Kept it all from me?" asked the old gentleman fiercely turning upon +her. "What do you mean? Where is John? Where is John? I say!"</p> + +<p>"In handcuffs by this time I guess," said the detective calmly.</p> + +<p>"But I insist upon knowing what all this means," continued old Darche, +growing more and more excited, while the veins of his temples swelled to +bursting. "Forgery! Trial! Conviction! John escaping! Am I dreaming? Are +not you three directors of the other road? Good God,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> young man, speak!" +He seized Brett by the collar in his excitement.</p> + +<p>"Pray be calm, sir, pray be calm," answered the young man, trying to +loosen the policeman's sturdy grasp.</p> + +<p>By a tremendous effort, such as madmen make in supreme moments, the old +man broke loose, and seizing Marion by the wrist dragged her half across +the room while he spoke. "Tell me this thing is all a lie!" he cried, +again and again.</p> + +<p>"The lady knows the truth well enough, sir," said the policeman, coming +up behind him. "She caught fire just right."</p> + +<p>For one moment Simon Darche stood upright in the middle of the room, +looking from one to the other with wild frightened eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is true!" he cried in accents of supreme agony. "John has +disgraced himself! Oh, my son, my son!"</p> + +<p>One instant more, and the light in his eyes broke, he threw out his arms +and fell straight backwards against the detective. Simon Darche was +dead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + + +<p>There was no lack of sympathy for Marion Darche, and it was shown in +many ways during the period of calm which succeeded her husband's +disappearance and the sudden death of his father. Every one was anxious +to be first in showing the lonely woman that she was not alone, but +that, on the contrary, those who had been her friends formerly were more +ready than ever to proclaim the fact now, and, so far as they were able, +not in words only, but in deeds also.</p> + +<p>She was relieved, all at once, of the many burdens which had oppressed +her life during the past years—indeed, she sometimes caught herself +missing the constant sacrifice, the daily effort of subduing her temper, +the hourly care for the doting old man who was gone.</p> + +<p>But with all this, there was the consciousness that she was not +altogether free. Somewhere in the world, John Darche was still alive, a +fugitive,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> a man for whose escape a reward was offered. It was worse +than widowhood to be bound to a husband who was socially dead. It would +have been easier to bear if he had never escaped, and if he were simply +confined in the Penitentiary. There would not have been the danger of +his coming back stealthily by night, which Marion felt was not imaginary +so long as he was at large.</p> + +<p>Yet she made no effort to obtain a divorce from the man whose name was a +disgrace. On the contrary, so far as outward appearances were concerned, +she made no change, or very little, in her life. Public opinion had been +with her from the first, and society chose to treat her as a young +widow, deserving every sympathy, who when the time of mourning should +have expired, would return to the world, and open her doors to it.</p> + +<p>There was a great deal of speculation as to the reasons which prevented +her from taking steps to free herself, but no one guessed what really +passed in her mind, any more than the majority of her acquaintances +understood that she had once loved John Darche. It had been commonly +said for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> years that she had married him out of disappointment because +something had prevented her from marrying another man, usually supposed +to have been Russell Vanbrugh. People attributed to her a greater +complication of motives than she could have believed possible.</p> + +<p>In order not to be altogether alone, she took a widowed cousin to live +with her—a Mrs. Willoughby, who soon became known to her more intimate +friends as Cousin Annie. She was a gray, colourless woman, much older +than Marion, kind of heart but not very wise, insignificant but refined, +a moral satisfaction and an intellectual disappointment, accustomed to +the world, but not understanding it, good by nature and charitable, and +educated in religious forms to which she clung by habit and association +rather than because they represented anything to her. Cousin Annie was +one of those fortunate beings whom temptation overlooks, passing by on +the other side, who can suffer in a way for the loss of those dear to +them, but whose mourning does not reach the dignity of sorrow, nor the +selfish power of grief.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<p>Marion did not feel the need of a more complicated and gifted +individuality for companionship. On the contrary, it was a relief to her +to have some one at her side for whom she was not expected to think, but +who, on the contrary, thought for her in all the commonplace matters of +life, and never acted otherwise than as a normal, natural, human unit. +There had been enough of the unusual in the house in Lexington Avenue, +and Marion was glad that it was gone.</p> + +<p>Three months passed in this way and the spring was far advanced. Then, +suddenly and without warning, came the news that John Darche had been +heard of, traced, seen at last and almost captured. He had escaped once +more and this time he had escaped, for ever, by his own act. He had +jumped overboard in the English Channel from the Calais boat, and his +body had not been found.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche wore black for her husband, and Cousin Annie said it was +very becoming. Dolly Maylands thought it absurd to put on even the +appearance of mourning for such a creature, and said so.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My dear child," answered Marion gently, "he was my husband."</p> + +<p>"I never can realise it," said Dolly. "Do you remember, I used to ask +you if you did not sometimes forget it yourself?"</p> + +<p>"I never forgot it." Mrs. Darche's voice had a wonderful gravity in it, +without the least sadness. She was a woman without affectation.</p> + +<p>"No," said Dolly thoughtfully, "I suppose you never had a chance. It is +of no use, Marion dear," she added after a little pause, and in a +different tone, as though she were tired of pretending a sort of subdued +sympathy, "it is of no use at all! I can never be sorry, you know—so +that ends it. Why, just think! You are free to marry any one you please, +to begin life over again. How many women in your position ever had such +a chance? Not but what you would have been just as free if you had got a +divorce. But—somehow, this is much more solidly satisfactory. Yes, I +know—it is horrid and unchristian—but there is just that—there is a +solid satisfaction in—"</p> + +<p>She was going to say "in death," but thought better of it and checked +herself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It will not make very much difference to me just yet," said Marion. +"Meanwhile, as I said, he was my husband. I shall wear mourning a short +time, and then—then I do not know what I shall do."</p> + +<p>"It must be very strange," answered Dolly.</p> + +<p>"What, child?"</p> + +<p>"Your life. Now you need not call me child in that auntly tone, as +though you were five hundred thousand years older and wiser and duller +than I am. There are not six years between our ages, you know."</p> + +<p>"Do not resent being young, Dolly."</p> + +<p>"Resent it! No, indeed! I resent your way of making yourself out to be +old. In the pages of future history we shall be spoken of as +contemporaries."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche smiled, and Dolly laughed.</p> + +<p>"School-book style," said the girl. "That is my morning manner. In the +evening I am quite different, thank goodness! But to go back—what I +meant was that your own life must seem very strange to you. To have +loved really—of course you did—why should you deny it? And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> then to +have made the great mistake and to have married the wrong man, and to +have been good and to have put up the shutters of propriety and +virtue—so to say, and to have kept up a sort of Sunday-go-to-meeting +myth for years, expecting to do it for the rest of your life, and +then—to have the luck—well, no, I did not mean to put it that way—but +to begin life all over again, and the man you loved not married yet, and +just as anxious to marry you as ever—"</p> + +<p>"Stop, Dolly! How do you know?" Marion knit her brows in annoyance.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I know nothing, of course. I can only guess. But then, it is easy +to guess, sometimes."</p> + +<p>"I am not so sure," answered Marion thoughtfully, and looking at Dolly +with some curiosity.</p> + +<p>As for Brett, he said nothing to any one, when the news of John Darche's +death reached New York. He supposed that people would take it for +granted that in the course of time he would marry Marion, because the +world knew that he had formerly loved her, and that she had made a +mistake in not accepting him and would probably be quite willing to +rectify it now that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> was free. There had always been a certain +amount of inoffensive chaff about his devotion to her interests. But he +himself was very far from assuming that she would take him now. He knew +her better than the world did, and understood the unexpected hesitations +and revulsions of which she was capable, much better than the world +could.</p> + +<p>He took a hopeful view, however, as was natural. For the present he +waited and said nothing. If she chose to go through the form of +mourning, he would go through the form of respecting it while it lasted. +Society is the better for most of its conventionalities, a fact of which +one may easily assure oneself by spending a little time in circles that +make bold to laugh at appearances. A man may break the social barriers +for a great object's sake, or out of true passion—as sheer necessity +may force a man to sleep by the road side. But a man who habitually +makes his bed in the gutter by choice is a madman, and one who thinks +himself above manners and conventionalities is generally a fool. There +is nothing more intolerable than eccentricity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> for its own sake, nor +more pitiful than the perpetual acting of it to a gallery that will not +applaud.</p> + +<p>For some time Brett continued to come and see Marion regularly, and she +did not hesitate to show him that he was as welcome as ever. Then, +without any apparent cause, his manner changed. He became much more +grave than he had ever been before, and those who knew him well were +struck by an alteration in his appearance, not easily defined at first, +but soon visible to any one. He was growing pale and thin.</p> + +<p>Vanbrugh strolled into his office on a warm day in early June and sat +down for a chat. Brett's inner sanctum was in the Equitable Building, +measured twelve feet by eight, and was furnished so as to leave a space +of about six feet by four in the middle, just enough for two chairs and +the legs of the people who sat in them. Vanbrugh looked at his friend +and came to the just conclusion that something was materially wrong with +him.</p> + +<p>"Brett," he said, suddenly, "let us run over to Paris."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I cannot leave New York at present," Brett answered, without +hesitation, as though he had already considered the question of going +abroad.</p> + +<p>"Not being able to leave New York is a more or less dangerous disease +which kills a great many people," observed Vanbrugh. "You must leave New +York, whether you can or not. I do not know whether you are ill or not, +but you look like an imperfectly boiled owl."</p> + +<p>"I know I do. I want a change."</p> + +<p>"Then come along."</p> + +<p>"No, I cannot leave New York. I am not joking, my dear fellow."</p> + +<p>"I see you are not. I suppose it is of no use to ask what is the matter. +If you wanted help you would say so. You evidently have something on +your mind. Anything I can do?"</p> + +<p>"No, I wish there were. I will tell you some day. It is something rather +odd and unusual."</p> + +<p>Brett was not an imaginative man, or Vanbrugh, judging from his +appearance and manner, would almost have suspected that he was suffering +from some persecution not quite natural or earthly. He had the uneasy +glance of a man who fancies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> himself haunted by a sight he fears to see. +Vanbrugh looked at him a long time in silence and then rose to go.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, old man," he said, with something almost like a sigh. "You +live too much alone," he added, turning as he was about to open the +door. "You ought to get married."</p> + +<p>Brett smiled in rather a ghastly fashion which did not escape his +friend.</p> + +<p>"I cannot leave New York," he repeated mechanically.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you will before long," said Vanbrugh, going out. "I would if I +were you."</p> + +<p>He went away in considerable perplexity. Something in Brett's manner +puzzled him and almost frightened him. As a lawyer, and one accustomed +to dealing with the worst side of human nature, he was inclined to play +the detective for a time; as a friend, he resolved not to inquire too +closely into a matter which did not concern him. In fact, he had already +gone further than he had intended. Only a refined nature can understand +the depth of degradation to which curiosity can reduce friendship.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> + +<p>A day or two later Vanbrugh met Dolly Maylands at a house in Tuxedo Park +where he had come to dine and spend the night. There were enough people +at the dinner to insure a little privacy to those who had anything to +say to one another.</p> + +<p>"Brett is ill," said Vanbrugh. "Do you know what is the matter with +him?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose Marion has refused him after all," answered Dolly, looking at +her plate.</p> + +<p>Vanbrugh glanced at her face and thought she was a little pale. He +remembered the conversation when they had been left together in the +library after John Darche's trial, and was glad that he had then spoken +cautiously, for he connected her change of colour with himself, by a +roundabout and complicated reasoning more easy to be understood than to +explain.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she has," he said coolly. "But I do not think it is probable."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Brett does not go to see her any more."</p> + +<p>"Really? Are you sure of that, Miss Maylands?"</p> + +<p>"Marion has noticed it. She spoke to me of it yesterday. I wondered—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Whether there had been any misunderstanding. I suppose that is what I +was going to say." She blushed quickly, as she had turned pale a moment +before. "You see," she continued rather hurriedly, "people who have once +misunderstood one another may do the same thing again. Say, for +instance, that he vaguely hinted at marriage—men have such vague ways +of proposing—"</p> + +<p>"Have they?"</p> + +<p>"Of course—and that Marion did not quite realise what he meant, and +turned the conversation, and that Mr. Brett took that for a refusal and +went away, and lost his appetite, and all that—would it not account for +it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented Vanbrugh with a smile. "It might account for it—though +Harry Brett is not a school girl of sixteen."</p> + +<p>"Meaning that I am, I suppose," retorted Dolly, anxious to get away from +the subject which she had not chosen, and to lead Vanbrugh up to what +she would have called the chaffing point. But he was not in the humour +for that.</p> + +<p>"No," he said quietly. "I did not mean that." And he relapsed into +silence for a time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was thinking the matter over, and he was also asking himself whether, +after all, he should not ask Dolly Maylands to marry him, though he was +so much older than she. That was a possibility which had presented +itself to his mind very often of late, and from time to time he +determined to solve the question in one way or the other, and be done +with it. But when he wished to decide it, he found it capable of only +two answers; either he must offer himself or not. Sometimes he thought +he would and then he fancied that he ought to prepare Dolly for so grave +a matter by giving up chaff when they were together. But the first +attempt at putting this resolution into practice was a failure whenever +he tried it. Chaff was Dolly's element,—she pined when she was deprived +of it. The serious part of her nature lay deep, and there were treasures +there, hidden far below the bright tide of rippling laughter. Such +treasures are sometimes lost altogether because no one discovers them, +or because no one knows how to bring them to the surface.</p> + +<p>As he sat by her side in silence, Vanbrugh was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> impelled to turn +suddenly upon Dolly and ask her to marry him, without further diplomacy. +But he reflected upon the proverbial uncertainty of woman's temper and +held his peace. He had never made love to her, and there had never been +anything approaching to a show of sentiment between them until that +memorable afternoon when the trial was over. Moreover Russell Vanbrugh +was a very comfortable man. Nothing less grammatically incorrect could +express the combination of pleasant things which made up his life. He +was not lonely, in his father's house—indeed, he was not lonely +anywhere. He was contented, rich enough to satisfy all his tastes, +popular in a certain degree among those he liked, peaceful, never bored, +occupying, as it were, a well upholstered stall at the world's play, +when he chose to be idle, and busy with matters in which he took a +healthy, enduring interest when he chose to work. To marry would be to +step into an unknown country. He meant to make the venture some day, but +he had just enough of indolence in his character to render the first +effort a little distasteful. Nevertheless, he was conscious that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +thought more and more of Dolly, and that he was, in fact, falling +seriously in love with her, and foreseeing that there was to be a change +in their relations, there arose the doubt, natural in a man not +over-vain, as to the reception he might expect at her hands.</p> + +<p>When Dolly next saw Marion Darche she proceeded to attack the question +in her own way. Marion was still in town, hesitating as to what she +should do with her summer. She had no house in the country. The place +which had belonged to her husband had gone with such little property as +he had still owned at the time of his conviction to repair some of the +harm he had done.</p> + +<p>The windows of the library were open, and a soft south-easterly breeze +was blowing up from the square bringing a breath of coming summer from +the park leaves. Those who love New York, even to the smell of its mud, +know the strange charm of its days and evenings in late spring. Like the +charm of woman, the charm of certain great cities can never be explained +by those who feel it to those who do not. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> were flowers in the +library, and Dolly sat down near the windows and breathed the sweet +quiet air before she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Harry Brett is ill," she said.</p> + +<p>"Ill? Seriously?" Marion had started slightly at the news.</p> + +<p>"Not ill at home," explained Dolly. "Mr. Vanbrugh spoke of it the other +night."</p> + +<p>"Oh—" Marion seemed relieved. "Perhaps that is the reason why he does +not come to see me," she added rather inconsequently, after a moment's +pause.</p> + +<p>Dolly turned in her seat and looked into her friend's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Marion," she said gravely. "You know that is not the reason why he does +not come."</p> + +<p>"I know? What do you mean, Dolly?"</p> + +<p>In spite of the genuine and innocent surprise in the tone, Dolly was not +satisfied.</p> + +<p>"He has asked you to marry him and you have refused him," she said with +conviction.</p> + +<p>"I?"</p> + +<p>For a moment Marion Darche stared in amazement. Then her eyes filled +with tears and she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> turned away suddenly. Her voice was unsteady as she +answered.</p> + +<p>"No. He has not asked me to marry him."</p> + +<p>"Are you quite sure, dear?" insisted Dolly. "You know men have such odd +ways of saying it, and sometimes one does not quite understand—and then +a word, or a glance—if a man is very sensitive—you know—"</p> + +<p>"Do not talk like that," said Marion, a little abruptly.</p> + +<p>A short silence followed, during which she moved uneasily about the +room, touching the objects on the table, though they needed no +arrangement. At last she spoke again, out of the dusk from the corner +she had reached in her peregrination.</p> + +<p>"If he asked me to marry him, I should accept him," she said in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>Dolly was silent in her turn. She had not expected a direct confidence +so soon, and had not at all foreseen its nature, when it came almost +unasked.</p> + +<p>"It is very strange!" she exclaimed at last.</p> + +<p>"Yes," echoed Marion Darche, quite simply. "It is very strange."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was long before the mystery was solved, and Dolly did not refer to it +in the meantime. Brett did not go abroad, nor did he leave New York for +more than a few days during the summer, though it was almost +inconceivable that his business should require his constant presence +during the dull season, and he could certainly have left matters to his +partner, had he not had some very good reason for refusing to take a +holiday.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche took Cousin Annie with her and wandered about during a +couple of months, visiting various places which did not interest her, +falling in with acquaintances often, and sometimes with friends, but +rather avoiding those she met than showing any wish to see much of them.</p> + +<p>To tell the truth, the great majority showed no inclination to intrude +upon her privacy. People understood well enough that she should desire +to be alone and undisturbed, considering the strange circumstances +through which she had passed during the winter and spring. Moreover +Brett's conduct elicited approval on all sides. It was said that he +showed good taste in not following<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> Mrs. Darche from place to place, as +he might easily have done, and as most men in his position undoubtedly +would have done, for it was quite clear that he was seriously in love. +All his friends had noticed the change of appearance and manner, and +others besides Vanbrugh had advised him to take a rest, to go abroad, to +go and shoot bears, in short, to do one of the many things which are +generally supposed to contribute to health and peace of mind. Then it +was rumoured that he was working harder than usual, in view of his +approaching marriage, that he was not so well off as had generally been +supposed, and that he wished to forestall any remarks to the effect that +he was going to marry Mrs. Darche for the sake of her fortune, which was +considerable. In short, people said everything they could think of, and +all the things that are usually thought of in such cases, and when they +had reached the end of their afflictions they talked of other friends +whose doings formed a subject of common interest.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche did not find much companionship in her cousin, but that was +not exactly what she required or expected of Mrs. Willoughby. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +wanted the gray, colourless atmosphere which the widowed lady seemed to +take about with her, and she liked it merely because it was neutral, +restful and thoroughly unemotional. She did not think of creating new +diversions for herself, nor of taking up new interests. Her life had +been so full that this temporary emptiness was restful to her. She was +surprised at finding how little the present resembled what she had +expected it to be, so long as it had been still a future. As yet, too, +there was an element of uncertainty in it which did not preclude +pleasant reflections. Though she had said to Dolly that Brett's conduct +was changed, she could still explain it to herself well enough to be +satisfied with her own conclusions. Doubtless he felt that it was yet +too soon to speak or even to show by his actions that he had anything to +say. She could well believe—and indeed it was flattering—that he +abstained from seeing her because he felt that in her presence he might +not be able to control his speech. She called up in her memory what had +taken place many months previously when she had sent for him and had +told him that she needed a large sum of money at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> short notice—how he +had lost his head on that occasion, and allowed words to break out which +both of them had regretted. Since there was now no obstacle in the way, +it would of course be harder for him than ever to act the part of a +disinterested friend, even for the short time—the shortest +possible—during which she went through the form of wearing mourning for +John Darche. She could still say to herself that it was delicate and +tactful on Brett's part to act as he was acting, although she sometimes +thought, or wished, that he might have allowed what was passing in his +mind to betray itself by a glance, a gesture or a gentle intonation. It +was certainly pushing the proprieties to the utmost to keep away from +her altogether. Even when he wrote to her, as he had occasion to do +several times during the summer, he confined himself almost entirely to +matters of business, and the little phrase with which he concluded each +of his communications seemed to grow more and more formal. There had +always been something a little exaggerated in Harry Brett's behaviour. +It had been that perhaps, which in old times had frightened her, had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +prevented her from accepting him, and had made her turn in mistaken +confidence to the man of grave moderation and apparently unchanging +purpose who had become her husband.</p> + +<p>Dolly Maylands had no such illusions with regard to Brett's conduct, +though she did not again discuss the matter with Russell Vanbrugh. She +was conscious that he felt as she did, that something mysterious had +taken place about which neither of them knew anything, but which was +seriously and permanently influencing Harry Brett's life. Dolly, +however, was more discreet than was commonly supposed, and kept her +surmises to herself. When Mrs. Darche and Brett were discussed before +her, she said as little as she could, and allowed people to believe that +she shared the common opinion, namely, that the two people would be +married before the year was out and that, in the meanwhile, both were +behaving admirably.</p> + +<p>Vanbrugh wandered about a good deal during the summer, returning to New +York from time to time, more out of habit than necessity. He made visits +at various country houses among his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> friends, spent several days on +board of several yachts, was seen more than once in Bar Harbour, and +once, at least, at Newport and on the whole did all those things which +are generally expected of a successful man in the summer holidays. He +wrote to Brett several times, but they did not meet often. The tone of +his friend's letters tended to confirm his suspicion of some secret +trouble. Brett wrote in a nervous and detached way and often complained +of the heat and discomfort during July and August, though he never gave +a sufficient reason for staying where he was.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, Vanbrugh found that where he was invited Dolly +Maylands was often invited too, and that there seemed to be a general +impression that they liked one another's society and should be placed +together at dinner.</p> + +<p>More than once, Vanbrugh felt again the strong impulse to which he had +almost yielded at Tuxedo. More than once he made a serious attempt to +change the tone of his conversation with Dolly. She did not fail to +notice this, of course, and being slightly embarrassed generally became +grave and silent on such occasions, thereby leading<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> Vanbrugh to suppose +that she was bored, which very much surprised the successful man of the +world at first and very much annoyed him afterwards.</p> + +<p>So the summer passed away, and all concerned in this little story were +several months older if not proportionately wiser.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + + +<p>In the autumn, Marion Darche returned to town, feeling that since she +was to begin life over again, and since her friends had accepted the +fact, there was no reason for not taking the first steps at once. She +intended to live very quietly, occupying herself as best she could, for +she knew that some occupation was necessary to her, now that the whole +busy existence of the last five years was over. She did not know what to +do. She consulted Dolly, and would have liked to consult Brett, but he +rarely called, and then, by design or coincidence, he always seemed to +appear just when some one else was with her.</p> + +<p>More than once she had thought of writing to him freely, asking him to +explain the cause of his conduct and to put an end to the estrangement +which was growing up between them. She even went so far as to begin a +letter, but it was never finished and found its way to the fire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> before +it was half written. She could not, however, keep her thoughts from +dwelling on him, since there was no longer any reason for trying to +forget his existence. She was not lacking in pride, and if she had +believed that Harry Brett no longer loved her, she would have still been +strong enough to bury the memory of him out of sight and beyond danger +of resurrection. But he did not behave in such a way as to convince her +of that. A woman's instinct is rarely wrong in telling her whether she +is loved or not, unless she is confronted with a man of superior +wickedness or goodness. The strength which breeds great virtues and +great vices lends that perfect control of outward manner which is called +diabolical or heroic according to circumstances. Harry Brett was not +such a man. He could keep away from the house in Lexington Avenue, +because for some reason or other he believed it necessary to avoid Mrs. +Darche's society; but he could not simulate what he did not feel, nor +conceal his real feelings when he was with her. The cold, nervous hand, +the quick glance, the momentary hesitation, the choice of a seat a +little too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> far from her side—all told Marion that he loved her still, +and that he believed himself obliged to stay away, and was afraid to be +alone with her.</p> + +<p>At last she made up her mind to do something which should show him +definitely that she now regarded her mourning as a mere formality, and +intended before long to return to her former way of living, as though +nothing had happened. She determined to ask Brett and Vanbrugh and Dolly +to luncheon. It certainly was not a very wild dissipation which she +proposed, but it was the first time she had invited more than one of +them at the same time. And cousin Annie Willoughby petitioned for a +fourth guest by a very gentle and neutral hint. She had a certain +elderly friend, one James Brown, who was the only person living who +seemed able to talk to her for any length of time.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown had been a disappointment to his friends in his youth. He was +regarded as a failure. Great things had been expected of him when he +left college and during several years afterwards. But his so-called +gifts had turned out to be only tastes, and he had never accomplished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +anything. He had not the enthusiastic, all-devouring, all-appreciative, +omnivorous nature which makes some amateurs delightful companions and +invaluable flatterers. Though he really knew something about several +subjects no one ever had the slightest respect for his opinion or +judgment. He was an agreeable man, a good-natured gossip, a harmless +critic. He always seemed to have read every word of books which most +people found tiresome and skimmed in half an hour, and he never was +acquainted with the book of the hour until the hour was past. No one +ever understood why he liked Mrs. Willoughby, nor why she liked him, but +if people thought of the matter at all they thought the friendship very +appropriate. Mr. Brown knew everybody in society and was useful in +filling a place, because he was a bachelor, and joined in the hum if not +in the conversation. In appearance he was a bald man with refined +features, a fair beard turning gray, gentle blue eyes, an average +figure, small feet and hands, well-made clothes, a chronic watch-chain +and a ring with an intaglio. His strong point was his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> memory, his weak +point was his absence of tact.</p> + +<p>Marion, who intended that the general conversation of the table should +be followed by a general pairing off after the coffee, reflected that +Mr. Brown would amuse Mrs. Willoughby while Vanbrugh talked to Dolly and +she herself had an opportunity of speaking with Brett. So she asked Mr. +Brown to join the party, and he accepted. Dolly came first, but Mr. +Brown, who was punctuality itself, appeared a moment later. Vanbrugh +arrived next, and last of all Harry Brett, a little late and apologising +rather nervously.</p> + +<p>"Did you get my note?" he inquired of Vanbrugh, after the first +greetings and as soon as he could exchange a word with him, unnoticed in +the general conversation.</p> + +<p>"No. Anything important? I went out early—before eleven o'clock, and +have not been at home since."</p> + +<p>"There was an interesting story of a wreck in the paper this morning," +said Mr. Brown, addressing the three ladies.</p> + +<p>"Stop him," said Brett to Vanbrugh in an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> energetic whisper. "Now Brown, +my dear fellow," he continued aloud, sitting down beside Mrs. Darche, +"do not begin the day by giving us the Sunday Herald entire, because we +have all read it and we know all about the wreck—"</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown, who was used to interruption and to being checked when he was +about to bore people, looked up with mild eyes and protested a little.</p> + +<p>"I say, Brett, you know, you are rather abrupt sometimes, in your way of +shutting people up. But as you say, they have probably all read the +story. I only thought—"</p> + +<p>"Only thought!" cried Vanbrugh, taking his cue from his friend. "Only! +As though thinking were not the most important function of the human +animal, next to luncheon—"</p> + +<p>"I have not read the story Mr. Brown alludes to," observed Mrs. +Willoughby rather primly.</p> + +<p>"Oh—it is all about natural history, and cannibals and latitudes and +people in a boat," said Brett talking very fast. "All that kind of +thing. As for the news I can give you lots of it. Great fire, strike, a +new bacillus in postage-stamp<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> gum—awfully dangerous, Mrs. Willoughby. +Always use a sponge for moistening your stamps or you will get +something—some sort of new disease—what is it, Vanbrugh? You always +know everything."</p> + +<p>"Gum-boils," suggested Vanbrugh, without hesitation.</p> + +<p>Brett gave him a grateful look, as Mr. Brown's laughter assured him that +the danger was over for the present. But Brett did not desist until +Stubbs opened the dining-room door and they all went in to luncheon. +Mrs. Darche watched him curiously, wondering what was the matter. She +had never before heard him talk so nervously. Vanbrugh had not the +slightest idea of what had happened, but blindly followed Brett's lead, +and helped him to annihilate Mr. Brown, whenever the latter showed the +least inclination to tell a story.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown, however, was an obstinate person. He was not quick on his +feet mentally, so to say, and an insignificant idea had as strong a hold +upon his thoughts as an important one. Somehow he managed to tell the +tale of the wreck to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> Mrs. Willoughby and Dolly in the little shifting +of companionship which always takes place on leaving table. To do him +justice, he told it very shortly, and Mrs. Darche did not chance to be +listening at the time. Stubbs was offering everybody coffee, and Marion +had a box of cigarettes and was standing before the fireplace with +Vanbrugh and Brett, exchanging a few words with the latter. Suddenly Mr. +Brown's voice rose above the rest.</p> + +<p>"Of course," he was saying, "nobody ever knew positively that the man +had really been drowned. But he had never turned up—"</p> + +<p>"And probably never will," answered Dolly, glancing nervously at Marion. +But she had caught the words and had turned a little pale.</p> + +<p>Vanbrugh looked over to Brown.</p> + +<p>"For heaven's sake, Jim," he said, in a low voice. "Talk about something +else, if you must, you know!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown's face fell as he realised his mistake.</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Just like me! I forgot that poor Darche +drowned himself."</p> + +<p>Marion recovered herself quickly and came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> forward, offering her box of +cigarettes to everybody, while Brett carried the little silver spirit +lamp.</p> + +<p>"You must all smoke and make yourselves happy," she said with a smile. +"Cousin Annie does not mind it in the least."</p> + +<p>"Well, of course," began Mrs. Willoughby, primly polite, "nowadays—"</p> + +<p>"There is nobody like you, Mrs. Darche," said Vanbrugh, accepting the +offer. "Thanks."</p> + +<p>"They are your especial kind," answered Marion.</p> + +<p>"I know they are—that is what I mean. How you spoil me!"</p> + +<p>Marion went on.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Brown?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, thank you. I do smoke sometimes," answered Mr. Brown, hesitating +in the matter between his allegiance to Mrs. Willoughby, who disapproved +of smoking in the drawing-room, and his duty to his hostess, who +encouraged it.</p> + +<p>"I hope you always do," said Marion. "When a man does not smoke—Mr. +Brett, take one."</p> + +<p>She had stopped herself, remembering that her husband had not been a +smoker, but Mr. Brown finished the sentence for her with his usual +tact.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, lighting his cigarette, "men who do not smoke always +seem to me to be suspicious characters."</p> + +<p>"Dolly, try one," said Marion, trying not to hear him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Marion!" Dolly laughed.</p> + +<p>"Try it," said Vanbrugh, sitting down beside her.</p> + +<p>The party had paired off, and Marion found herself near the window with +Brett, beside a table covered with photographs and etchings.</p> + +<p>"I wonder why Miss Maylands should seem shocked," began Brett, entering +into conversation rather awkwardly. "I have no doubt that she, and you, +and perhaps Mrs. Willoughby, have all tried a cigarette in secret, and +perhaps you have liked it?"</p> + +<p>"If I liked cigarettes I would smoke them," said Mrs. Darche, with +decision.</p> + +<p>"Do you always do what you like?"</p> + +<p>"In little things."</p> + +<p>"And how about the big things?" inquired Brett.</p> + +<p>"I like to have other people take care of them for me."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What people?" As he asked the question he absently took a photograph +from the table and looked at it.</p> + +<p>"People who know me," said Marion.</p> + +<p>"Meaning me?"</p> + +<p>"If you like."</p> + +<p>"If I like!" exclaimed Brett. Then, having broken the ice, as it were, +his voice suddenly changed. "There is nothing I like so much, there is +nothing I would rather do than take care of you and what belongs to +you."</p> + +<p>"You have shown it," answered Mrs. Darche gently. She took the +photograph from Brett's hand and looked at it, in her turn, without +seeing it.</p> + +<p>"I have tried to, once or twice," said Brett, "when you needed help."</p> + +<p>"Indeed you have. And you know that I am grateful too."</p> + +<p>"I do not care to know that," he replied. "If I ever did anything for +you—it was only what any other man would have done in my place—it was +not for the sake of earning your gratitude."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> + +<p>"For what then?"</p> + +<p>Brett hesitated a moment before he answered, and then turned from her +towards the window as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"It was not for the sake of anything."</p> + +<p>"Mere caprice, then?" asked Marion, watching him closely.</p> + +<p>"No, not that."</p> + +<p>"I suppose your motives are a secret?" Marion laughed a little, perhaps +at her own curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Yes." Brett pronounced the single word with great earnestness.</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" exclaimed Marion.</p> + +<p>"Yes. And I shall be very sorry if you ever find out what that secret +is."</p> + +<p>"How mysterious!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, is it not?"</p> + +<p>Brett had suddenly assumed a tone of indifference. As he spoke Vanbrugh +and Dolly rose and came forwards towards the table.</p> + +<p>"If you have quite finished not looking at those photographs, give them +to me, Brett," said Vanbrugh. "Miss Maylands wishes to see them."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, take them by all means," answered Brett, thrusting a dozen or more +into his hands. "As I was saying, Mrs. Darche, I am the worst judge of +architecture in the world—especially from photographs."</p> + +<p>"Architecture, eh?" observed Vanbrugh, as he re-crossed the room with +Dolly. "Rather hard on photographs of etchings from portraits."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" exclaimed Dolly, laughing softly and looking back at Brett and +Mrs. Darche. "They talk of love's temple, you know, and building up +one's happiness—and lots of things of that sort—the architecture of +the affections."</p> + +<p>"You seem to care," said Vanbrugh, sitting down and laying the +photographs upon his knees.</p> + +<p>"Do I? Do you not?"</p> + +<p>"I—oh, well, in a sort of a fatherly way, I suppose." He held up one of +the photographs upside down and looked at it.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Now I care in a sort of a sisterly way, you know. It is very much +the same thing, I fancy."</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" asked Vanbrugh with a short laugh. "I thought you had +made up your mind."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> + +<p>"About what?"</p> + +<p>"About Harry Brett."</p> + +<p>Dolly looked at him in surprise and drew herself up a little stiffly. +"What about him?"</p> + +<p>"I do not mean to be rude, nor inquisitive, nor anything of the sort—so +I think I had better turn the conversation."</p> + +<p>"But you do not. You are waiting for me to say something. Do you think I +am afraid? Do you think I am like all the girls you meet and dance with, +and repeat your pretty speeches to?"</p> + +<p>"Repeat is graceful," said Vanbrugh, "considerate—so kind of you."</p> + +<p>"I do not feel kind," answered Dolly emphatically, "and I am not at all +afraid of telling the truth."</p> + +<p>"Considering your interest in Sunday schools that is what I should +expect."</p> + +<p>"I am just as fond of dancing and enjoying myself as any one else," said +Dolly, relenting, "though I do take an interest in Sunday schools."</p> + +<p>"Fashionable charities and dissipations, as Brett calls them—I see."</p> + +<p>"Do not see in that tone of voice, please—if what you see has anything +to do with me."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Which it has," said Vanbrugh. "Mrs. Darche is one of your charities, I +suppose—and Harry Brett is one of your dissipations."</p> + +<p>"You are too complicated," answered Dolly, really not understanding. +"Say it in American, will you not?"</p> + +<p>"You love Brett, and you are nice to Mrs. Darche, though you hate her," +said Vanbrugh in a tone which left Dolly in doubt as to whether he was +in earnest or only chaffing. She paused a moment and stared at him +before she answered, and then to his great astonishment spoke with more +coldness than he was accustomed to.</p> + +<p>"Precisely," she said. "I love Mrs. Darche and I hate Brett because he +does not ask her to marry him as he should, now that Darche has been +dead so long. I am sorry, Marion," she said, turning to Mrs. Darche, and +going up to her rather suddenly, "dear—I really must be going."</p> + +<p>"Already?" exclaimed Marion in surprise, "it is not three o'clock?"</p> + +<p>"Almost," said Dolly, "and I have lots to do—ever so many people +waiting for me at a Committee,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> and then a visit I must make, and a +frock to try on—and then if we are to dine at seven so as to be dressed +in time for the tableaux there is no afternoon at all."</p> + +<p>"How busy you are! Yet you always look so fresh! How in the world do you +do it?"</p> + +<p>"A large appetite and a clear conscience—" suggested Brett, who seemed +to be more than usually absent-minded.</p> + +<p>Dolly glanced at him rather angrily as she shook hands with her friend. +"Good-bye, dear Marion. It has been ever so nice! Good-bye."</p> + +<p>She left the room. Vanbrugh was annoyed and discomforted by her sudden +departure, but he made the best of the situation, and after closing the +door behind her, sat down beside Mrs. Willoughby, who was listening to +one of Brown's stories.</p> + +<p>"I suppose she is angry with me," said Brett to Marion. "What did I say? +I was thinking of something else."</p> + +<p>"Then why did you choose that moment for speaking of her?" asked Mrs. +Darche reproachfully. "You really must take care, you will make +enemies."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course. What does it matter?"</p> + +<p>"It matters to me, if you make enemies of my friends."</p> + +<p>"That is different," said Brett. "But seriously—do not people forgive a +lack of tact sometimes—being a little absent-minded? Look at Jim +Brown."</p> + +<p>"That is quite another thing," Marion answered. "Yes—I heard what he +was telling as we came into the room after the luncheon. Of course it +was tactless. Of course no man in his senses should talk in a loud tone, +before me, of a man falling overboard at sea and being drowned, still +less—"</p> + +<p>"What?" asked Brett.</p> + +<p>A short pause followed the question, and when Marion answered it, it was +evident that she was making an effort.</p> + +<p>"Still less of the possibility that such a man might be heard of again +some day."</p> + +<p>"That at least is improbable," said Brett, very gravely.</p> + +<p>"I shivered when I heard what he said."</p> + +<p>"I do not wonder."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the meantime, at the other end of the room, Mr. Brown was enjoying at +last the supreme satisfaction of talking without reserve about the story +he had seen in the papers that morning.</p> + +<p>"One never knows what to believe," said Mrs. Willoughby.</p> + +<p>"Believe nothing," said Vanbrugh with much conviction. "In particular, +my dear Mrs. Willoughby, do not believe in Brown's tales. He is a +perfectly idle man, and he does nothing but sleep and talk, because he +has a liver and cannot eat. A man who has nothing to do requires a great +deal of sleep and a great deal of conversation."</p> + +<p>"I say, Russell, old man," protested Mr. Brown with a good-humoured +laugh, "this is rather unkind. Where would you get your conversation if +I did not supply you with the items? That is what one's best friends +come to, Mrs. Willoughby, in this bustling world. And why should not +people eat, sleep, and talk,—and do nothing else if they have time? But +as for this story, I never pretended that it was anything but newspaper +gossip—not even that—a sensation item, manufactured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> down town, +perhaps. 'Woman burned alive in Jersey City,'—five lines—'Deny the +report,'—five lines more—that is the sort of thing. But this is a +strange coincidence, or a strange story. It might almost be poor +Darche's case, with a sensational ending."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," answered Vanbrugh, who by this time quite understood the +meaning of Brett's strange conduct before luncheon, "of course it is +only a sensational paragraph, and belongs to your department, Brown. But +as you say, the coincidences are extraordinary. A man says he fell +overboard from a Channel boat, and was picked up by an Italian bark, +which took him to Valparaiso after all sorts of adventures. The weak +point in these stories generally is that the man never seems to take the +trouble to communicate with his relations from the first port he +reaches, and takes an awful lot of trouble to get shipwrecked somewhere +on the way. But in this case that is the strong point. What did you say +the fellow's name was?"</p> + +<p>"Why, my dear man, that is three-quarters of the coincidence. He calls +himself John Drake.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> Transpose the 'r' and the 'a,' and that looks +uncommonly like John Darche."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," said Vanbrugh; "but then there is nothing peculiar about +'John.' If he had been christened 'Eliphalet Xenophon' it would have +been considerably stranger. Besides if he really were Darche he would +not call himself either Darche or John."</p> + +<p>"How can you suggest anything so dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby.</p> + +<p>"Why 'dreadful'?" asked Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"Only think of it," said Mrs. Willoughby. "An escaped suicide—I mean, a +convict who escaped and killed himself."</p> + +<p>"And you think that the disgrace of having committed suicide will cling +to him in after life, so to say—in Sing-Sing?" inquired Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"Do not make me out more stupid than I really am." Cousin Annie assumed +a deprecatory expression. "Do you not think that a man like +Darche—convicted of a crime—escaped—if he suddenly re—re— What is +the word?"</p> + +<p>"Imperfectly resurrected," suggested Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes! Anything! If he came back to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> life, and yet was supposed to be +dead, and was trying to begin all over again and to make a fresh start, +and that kind of thing—under another name—"</p> + +<p>"In order to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing his widow marry some one +else?" asked Vanbrugh, with less discretion than usual.</p> + +<p>"I did not mean that," said Mrs. Willoughby quickly. "Poor Marion! Poor +Marion! What time is it, Mr. Brown?"</p> + +<p>"Three."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear!" exclaimed cousin Annie.</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" echoed Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is later than I thought," said Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>By a common impulse, all three rose at once and crossed the room to take +leave of their hostess.</p> + +<p>"What, are you all going?" asked the latter.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what time it is, Marion?" And not waiting for an answer, +Mrs. Willoughby held out her hand.</p> + +<p>"It is awfully late," observed Vanbrugh, by way of explanation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thank you so much," said Mr. Brown, shaking hands warmly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is later than I thought." Brett looked at his watch, though by +this time he had made up his mind to outstay the others.</p> + +<p>"Well—if you must go—"</p> + +<p>Marion did not show any anxiety to detain her guests as they filed out +of the room.</p> + +<p>"You did not mean me to go away with the crowd, did you?" asked Brett, +as the door closed behind Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"Not if you wished to stay," answered Marion, taking her favourite chair +near the fire. "Take another cigarette. Sit down."</p> + +<p>"And make myself at home? Thanks."</p> + +<p>"If you can," said Mrs. Darche with a pleasant laugh.</p> + +<p>"Did you hear what they were saying to each other over there while we +were talking?" inquired Brett, who by this time seemed to have recovered +from the unnatural embarrassment he had shown at first. He had rather +suddenly made up his mind that Marion ought to know something about the +story in the papers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No. Did you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I do not like that." Mrs. Darche did not seem pleased. "It was not nice +of you—to be able to talk as you were talking, and to listen to the +conversation of other people at the same time."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what they were saying?" asked Brett.</p> + +<p>"No, certainly not."</p> + +<p>"It is not a pleasant subject. They were talking about that paragraph in +the papers again. Of course there is nothing in the story, and yet it is +very strange. May I speak of it?"</p> + +<p>"Is it of any use?" asked Mrs. Darche, beginning to suspect what was +coming.</p> + +<p>"I hardly know," Brett answered, "and yet if it should turn out there is +even the smallest grain of truth—"</p> + +<p>"There cannot be. I know there cannot be," she repeated, after a +moment's pause, as though she had gone over the whole question in the +interval. "Oh, what is the use of suggesting such things?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Brett. "You know there cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> be any truth in it—even +if he were alive he would not come back. I know it, and yet if he +should, it would be so horrible that I cannot help thinking of it. You +know what it would mean if that man were to return."</p> + +<p>"I know what it would mean to me. Do not speak of it, please."</p> + +<p>"I must, I cannot help it. I feel as if something were driving me to +speak. You did not hear the whole story. They said the man was picked up +in mid-channel by an Italian ship more than <i>seven months</i> ago."</p> + +<p>"Seven months ago!"</p> + +<p>"Even the time would fit the truth. But then—stop. Was he a swimmer? +Yes—of course—I remember him at Newport." Brett answered his own +question. "The ship—a bark they called it—was outward bound, and could +not put in again. She was on her way to Valparaiso. You know where that +is, all the way round by the Straits of Magellan. Something happened to +her, she got wrecked or something—they say that a lot of the crew were +killed and eaten up by the cannibals in Terra del Fuego. John Drake—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> + +<p>"John Drake!" Marion exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, another coincidence. John Drake—horribly like is it not?—managed +to escape with the second mate, the carpenter, and the cabin boy, got +across to the Patagonian country—there are lots of details. They +wandered about for ever so long, and at last turned up somewhere. They +were all Italians, and Drake, who had no papers, was shipped off again +by the Consul on board of another Italian ship. That accounts for six +months, with the bad weather they had. Then there is a long blank. And +now this John Drake turns up here—"</p> + +<p>"Yes—but—after all, if he changed his name, he would change it +altogether." She stopped and looked at him, for the argument seemed +conclusive.</p> + +<p>"That is not the only point that is not clear," Brett answered. "But the +names are so dreadfully alike."</p> + +<p>"But there is a very great difference!" Marion exclaimed. "There are a +great many Drakes—but Darche is a very uncommon name."</p> + +<p>"That is the reason why he changed it so little."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, why do you suggest such a possibility—of what use is it? Why?" She +rose suddenly and began to move about the room.</p> + +<p>"Because I am a fool, I suppose," Brett answered, not moving from his +seat. "But I cannot help it. The idea has taken hold of me and I cannot +get rid of it. I feel as though that man had risen from the dead to +wreck your life."</p> + +<p>"It would be a wreck indeed!" said Marion in a low voice that had a sort +of horror in it. "You could not save me this time—not even you."</p> + +<p>"And yet—"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"No—I ought not to say it."</p> + +<p>"Mysteries again?" Marion stopped beside him and looked down into his +face.</p> + +<p>"The same, if you choose to call it a mystery."</p> + +<p>"I wish you would speak out, my dear friend," said Marion gravely. "I +feel all the time that there is something in your mind which you wish to +say to me, but which you will not, or cannot, or dare not say. Am I +right?"</p> + +<p>"To some extent."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I do not think you understand what friendship really means."</p> + +<p>"Friendship?" Brett exclaimed. "For you? No, perhaps I do not. I wish I +did. I would give a great deal if I could."</p> + +<p>"I do not in the least understand," said Marion, sitting down again. +"You, my best friend, tell me in the most serious, not to say mysterious +way, that you do not know what friendship means, when you are proving +every day that you do. I hate secrets! Very few friendships will bear +them. I wish there were none between us."</p> + +<p>"Ah, so do I!"</p> + +<p>"Then let there be none," said Marion in a tone that was almost +authoritative. "Why should there be? In the dear old times when I was so +unhappy and you were so good to me, we had no secrets, at least none +that I knew of. Why should we have any now?"</p> + +<p>"The very reason why there must be one at all is the secret itself. Will +you not believe me if I tell you that it would hurt you very much to +know it?"</p> + +<p>"It is hard to believe, and I"—she laughed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>— "I can confess to a +reasonable amount of curiosity on the subject."</p> + +<p>"Do not be curious," said Brett, very gravely, "please do not be +curious. You might find it out and I should never forgive myself."</p> + +<p>"But if I forgave you—"</p> + +<p>"That would make no difference. That would not make the smallest +difference."</p> + +<p>"What! Not to you?" Mrs. Darche glanced at him in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Not to me," answered Brett with decision. "The harm would be done."</p> + +<p>"Utterly incomprehensible!" exclaimed Marion as though speaking to +herself. "I cannot help asking you again," she said turning to Brett +again. "Tell me, has it anything to do with my husband?"</p> + +<p>"Yes it has."</p> + +<p>"Then tell me! Tell me, for heaven's sake!" By this time she was growing +anxious.</p> + +<p>"Not for the world," said Brett firmly.</p> + +<p>"You do not know how unkind you are. You do not know—you do not know +how much your friendship is to me, and how you are letting this wretched +mystery come between us."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I know better, better than you can guess."</p> + +<p>"And you are keeping it to yourself because you are afraid of hurting +me—hurting me!" she repeated bitterly. "As though I were not past +hurting, these many months, as though I had not been through most all +that a woman can bear and live, and yet I have borne it and have lived. +No, I am wrong. I can still be hurt. Two things could hurt me. If by +some horrible miracle John came back to life, and if—" She paused and +hesitated.</p> + +<p>"What?" asked Brett, who hardly seemed to be listening to her.</p> + +<p>"If you allowed anything to break up this friendship of ours. But the +one is impossible. John is dead, and I have lived down the shame of his +memory, and the other—no, it would be your fault."</p> + +<p>"It would hurt you much more to know what I am keeping from you than to +lose my friendship, or rather your friendship for me," said Brett, +shaking his head. "Mine you cannot lose, whatever you do. I am giving +you the best proof of it now."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And do you mean to say that after all that came out in those dark days, +that after the trial and conviction, and my husband's escape and his +horrible end, that there is still worse behind?—that he left something +which you know and I do not know, but which, if I knew it, could still +have the power to wreck my life and break what is the best part of +me—yes, I am not ashamed to say so—the best part of me—our +friendship. I am not tired of the sound of that word yet, nor shall be. +Do you mean that? Do you really mean what you say?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Brett, who had nodded at each of her questions. "I mean +that there is something which I know, and of which the knowledge might +ruin the happiness you have found since you have been alone. And yet you +ask me to tell you what it is, when no possible good could come from +your knowledge of it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do," said Marion, emphatically. "And as for my happiness, you +are killing it with every word you say. You have knocked from under my +feet the security of my position and you have taken the good out of what +was best<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> by saying that a word from you would spoil it. What is there +left now but to tell me the truth?"</p> + +<p>"Your belief in me, if you ever had any—and I know that you had, as I +hope that you still have."</p> + +<p>"My belief in you?" Marion paused, looked at him and then turned away. +"Yes, but the more I believe in you, the more I must believe every word +you say—"</p> + +<p>While she was speaking, Stubbs opened the door, and entered the room, +bringing a card.</p> + +<p>"The person wishes to see you, madam," he said, holding out the silver +salver.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darche's face betrayed some annoyance at the interruption as she +took up the card and read the name. "W. H. Wood, Associated Press. What +does this mean?" she asked turning to Brett. "Do you know the man?"</p> + +<p>"Evidently a reporter," said Brett.</p> + +<p>"Tiresome people," exclaimed Mrs. Darche. "I wonder what in the world he +wants. Perhaps he has made a mistake. At all events there is no reason +why I should see him. Say that I am engaged," she added, turning to +Stubbs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wait a minute, Stubbs," said Brett, calling after the man. "Do not send +him away," he added, turning to Marion. "Let me see him."</p> + +<p>"Why?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I have an idea that he has come about that story that has got into the +papers," said Brett in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Impossible!" exclaimed Mrs. Darche with great emphasis.</p> + +<p>"No," objected Brett, "there is just a possibility, and if it should be +that, some one had better see him. Something very disagreeable might be +written, and it is better to stop it at once."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Mrs. Darche, yielding. "If you really think it is +better, see him here. Ask Mr. Wood to come in," she said to Stubbs, as +she passed him and went out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + + +<p>Brett stood before the fireplace as the reporter entered the room—a +quiet, pale young man with a pinched face, smooth brown hair and thin +hands which somehow conveyed the impression of sadness.</p> + +<p>"I asked to see Mrs. Darche," he said apologetically.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Darche is engaged," answered Brett. "I am a friend of hers and +will answer any questions so far as I can."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I have no doubt, sir, that you are often troubled by us. You +know the reporter has to be everywhere. I will not take any more of your +time than I can help. I understand that Mrs. Darche and her friends are +to take part in some tableaux for a charitable purpose at the end of the +week—"</p> + +<p>"I fancy there is some mistake about that," said Brett. "Mrs. Darche is +in mourning."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Precisely," said Mr. Wood. "I daresay Mrs. Darche would be glad to have +the report denied. I understand, then, that there are not to be any +tableaux."</p> + +<p>"I believe there is to be something of the kind, but Mrs. Darche has +nothing to do with the affair—beyond giving her advice, I think. She +would certainly not care very much to be talked of in the papers just +now."</p> + +<p>"Just so," replied Mr. Wood readily. "I quite understand that there is a +prejudice against it, and of course Mrs. Darche's name shall not appear. +But you do not know what a great interest our readers take in social +doings. Our paper has a very large circulation in the West."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad to know it. Would it not be enough just to mention the +fact that there are to be some tableaux for a charity?"</p> + +<p>"If you would give me a hint about the subjects. Historical? One or two +names would be very useful."</p> + +<p>"Really I do not think that any of us care to see our names in the +paper," said Brett.</p> + +<p>"I will be as discreet as you wish—Mr.—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My name is Brett."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Brett," repeated the reporter, making a note. "May I inquire, Mr. +Brett, if you yourself take a part in the entertainment?"</p> + +<p>"Well—yes—I do."</p> + +<p>"Any particular costume?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—" Brett hesitated slightly and smiled. "Yes. Particular costumes +are rather the rule in tableaux."</p> + +<p>"I do not wish to be indiscreet, of course."</p> + +<p>"No, I daresay not. I believe I am to be Darnley."</p> + +<p>"Thank you." Here Mr. Wood made another note. "Miss Maylands as Queen +Mary Stuart? Is the report correct?"</p> + +<p>"I believe so," answered Brett, coldly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Brett. If you could oblige me with one or two +more names I could fix it nicely."</p> + +<p>"I suppose, Mr. Wood, that you mean to say something about it whether I +tell you or not?"</p> + +<p>"Well, now, Mr. Brett," replied the reporter, assuming a more +confidential manner, "to be quite frank, that is just what happens. We +do not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> like to tire people out with questions they do not care to +answer, but the social column has to be filled somehow, and if we do not +get the news for it, it is sometimes made up in the office."</p> + +<p>"So I have often been led to believe from reading it," said Brett. +"There are to be three tableaux, from well-known pictures, in which Miss +Maylands, Mr. Russell Vanbrugh, myself, and a few others are to take +part. The affair is to take place, I think, at Mrs. Trehearne's house."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Brett. Dancing afterwards?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me. Supper furnished by Delmonico, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Well I really have not asked. I daresay."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Brett. Delmonico." Mr. Wood's pencil noted the fact. +Brett began to think that he had had enough of the interview, and +deliberately lighting a cigarette looked at the reporter. "Anything else +you would like to know, Mr. Wood?"</p> + +<p>"Well, since you have been so very obliging, Mr. Brett, I would like to +ask you a question."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Brett, resignedly. "Go ahead."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Darche is a widow, I understand."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Darche was the unfortunate victim of an accident several months +ago, I believe?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then of course there can be no truth in the story that he arrived in +New York yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"What story?" Brett asked, turning sharply upon the young man.</p> + +<p>"I thought perhaps you might have seen it in this morning's paper," +answered Wood quietly. "But perhaps you would not have noticed it, as +there was a misprint in the name. A man came to the office yesterday and +told the editor in charge that Mr. John Darche, who fell overboard last +spring from a steamer, and was supposed to have been drowned, had turned +up, and that he had seen him. I guess he was a crank. There are lots of +them hanging around the office, and sometimes they get a drink for a bit +of sensation."</p> + +<p>"Oh! is that the way news is manufactured?" inquired Brett, with some +contempt.</p> + +<p>"Not in our office, Mr. Brett," replied the reporter, drawing himself +up. "You can see for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> yourself that we only get our information from the +most reliable sources. If that were not so, I should not have disturbed +you to-day. But as there is no doubt in your mind that Mr. Darche is +positively dead, I daresay that Mrs. Darche would be glad to have the +report of her husband's return contradicted?"</p> + +<p>"I do not think it matters much, since the name was printed Drake."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," said Wood. "Some of the papers printed it correctly, and +others are going to do so. I just saw two gentlemen from an evening +paper, and they have got it straight for this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"You do not mean to say that the papers believe the story?" asked Brett +in real or affected surprise.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, Mr. Brett, they give it for what it is worth."</p> + +<p>"With headlines a foot high, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps some of the papers will do so," answered the young man +with a smile.</p> + +<p>Brett's manner changed as he realised that he could not afford to let +the reporter take away a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> wrong impression. He sat down and pointed to a +chair. "Take a cigarette, Mr. Wood."</p> + +<p>"No, I thank you, I do not smoke. Thank you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Wood sat down upon the edge of the chair beside Brett, who looked at +him fixedly for a moment before speaking. "I do not suppose that it is +necessary for me to repeat that this story is an absurd fabrication, and +that if there is a man who is going about and calling himself John +Darche, he ought to be in jail."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Mr. Brett, I am quite of that opinion."</p> + +<p>"Then would you mind helping me to get hold of him? Where is the man to +be heard of?"</p> + +<p>"That is another matter, Mr. Brett. I shall be happy to see that the +report is denied. But whether the man is an impostor or not, it will be +hard to find him. That will not matter. We will explain everything +to-morrow morning, and it will all be forgotten by the next day. You say +you are quite sure, Mr. Brett, that Mr. Darche was not picked up when he +fell overboard?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" answered Brett, authoritatively.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I see," said Wood. "Thank you. I understand that it was in winter, in +rough weather, and that the efforts made to save him were in vain."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, it was a calm, warm night in May. It is certainly +strange that they should not have been able to save him. That ought to +prove beyond question that he sank at once."</p> + +<p>"There is no doubt about that, I should think," replied the reporter +without much conviction. "I won't detain you any longer, Mr. Brett. The +report shall be denied at once. Will you allow me to use your name as +authority for these details?"</p> + +<p>"Everybody knows the story."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me. Our paper has a very large circulation in the West, and a +well-known name like yours lends great weight to any statement."</p> + +<p>"I did not know that my name was so particularly well known," observed +Brett.</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly, Mr. Brett. Your yacht won a race last year. I remember +it very well."</p> + +<p>"That might be a claim to distinction, but I never had a yacht."</p> + +<p>"Not fond of the sea, Mr. Brett?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I like it well enough," said Brett, rising, as though he +wished it understood that the interview was at an end. "You will +distinctly deny this report, will you not?"</p> + +<p>"You can rely upon me to say just what you have said to me, Mr. Brett."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Thank you. Then you will be good enough to say that there is +not a word of truth in it, and warn people against the man who calls +himself Darche?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, certainly. Thank you, Mr. Brett. Good morning, Mr. Brett."</p> + +<p>"Good morning."</p> + +<p>Brett followed the reporter with his eyes till the door closed behind +him. He felt as though he had distinctly got the worst of it in the +encounter, and yet he could not see how he could have said less. And +that was how stories got about, he thought. If he had not seen the +reporter,—if the latter had been turned away as Mrs. Darche had +intended, the story of Darche's return would have been reported again +and again. That, at least, thought Brett, was prevented for the +present.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> + +<p>Nevertheless, as he stood alone during those few moments before sending +word to Marion that the reporter was gone, Brett's face betrayed his +terrible anxiety. He hesitated. More than once his hand went out towards +the bell and dropped again by his side. At last he made up his mind, +touched the button, and sent Stubbs with his message to Mrs. Darche.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she asked as she entered the room.</p> + +<p>"It is all right," he answered. "It was about the charity tableaux. I +did not want to go away without seeing you, so I sent Stubbs—"</p> + +<p>"You are not going this moment?" Marion looked at him in surprise.</p> + +<p>She was further than ever from understanding him. He seemed to act +suddenly and irrationally. A quarter of an hour earlier he had been +almost his old self, in spite of his strange references to a mystery +which he could not communicate to her, and now he had changed again and +resumed the incomprehensible manner he had affected of late. He seemed +anxious to get away from her, even at the cost of seeming rude. Then, as +he held out his hand to say good-bye, he surprised her more than ever.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If you will allow me," he said, "I will come back in the course of the +afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," she answered, staring at him as she shook hands.</p> + +<p>A moment later he was gone, leaving Marion in considerable perplexity +and some anxiety of mind.</p> + +<p>When Brett left the house he went in search of Vanbrugh, whom he +ultimately found at a club. The conversation which had taken place +between three men who were spending the long afternoon between +letter-writing, the papers, and gossip, is worth recording.</p> + +<p>It was about five o'clock. The names of the men were Goss, Greene, and +Bewlay, and they were rather insignificant persons, but gentlemen, and +all acquainted with the actors of this story. Goss was seated in a deep +leathern easy-chair with a paper. Greene was writing a letter, and +Bewlay was exceedingly busy with a cigar while waiting for some one to +say something.</p> + +<p>"Well!" exclaimed Goss. "That beats the record!"</p> + +<p>"I say," said Greene, looking up and speaking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> sharply, "I wish you +would not startle a fellow in that way. My nerves are not of the best +any way. What is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing in particular," said the first speaker. "John Darche has +come back to life again. I thought he was drowned last May."</p> + +<p>"Stuff!" ejaculated Greene, testily.</p> + +<p>"All right. I do not want to disturb your correspondence."</p> + +<p>"What is that about John Darche?" inquired Bewlay, delighted at hearing +a voice.</p> + +<p>"Some rubbish or other," answered Goss. "It is the fashion to resurrect +people nowadays—sort of way the newspapers have of getting ahead of the +day of judgment. If this goes on, that entertainment will not draw."</p> + +<p>"What is it, any way?"</p> + +<p>"Headlines to begin with. 'The return of the prodigal—John W. Darche, +alive and asking questions. Accident—not suicide—interview with Mr. +Henry C. Brett.'"</p> + +<p>"What the dickens has Brett got to do with it?" asked Greene, looking up +from his letter again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They say he is engaged to marry Mrs. Darche," said Bewlay, in +explanation.</p> + +<p>"That is another ridiculous story," answered Greene. "I happen to know +he is as good as engaged to Miss Maylands."</p> + +<p>"Let me see the paper, please," said Bewlay.</p> + +<p>"No, I will read it," said Goss, shifting his position so as to get a +better light. "Then you can all hear. 'Our reporter called this +afternoon at the house of Mrs. John W. Darche, the beautiful and +accomplished widow who so long dispensed her hospitality in Lexington +Avenue. The beauteous lady was doubtless engaged in the consideration of +the costumes for certain charity tableaux in which her mourning prevents +her from taking a part, but in which her artistic taste and advice are +invaluable to the performers, and our reporter was received by Mr. Henry +C. Brett, the well-known lawyer, yachtsman, and patron of the turf, who +is to play the part of Darnley to Miss Maylands' Queen Mary of Scotland +in the artistic treat which awaits the favoured and charitable to whom +invitations have been tendered. Mr. Brett was kind enough to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> answer a +few questions regarding the report of Mr. John Darche's return to New +York which appeared in the morning papers. Mr. Brett affected to treat +the story with unconcern, but it was evident from his anxious manner and +from his somewhat nervous bearing that he was deeply moved, though he +bravely "took arms against the sea of troubles." Mr. Brett said +repeatedly in the course of the conversation that the story was an +absurd fabrication, and if there was a man going around calling himself +John Darche he ought to be in jail. He professed to be quite sure that +Mr. Darche was dead, but was obliged to admit that there was no evidence +forthcoming to certify to the tragedy. "The accident," said Mr. Brett, +"happened on board of a channel steamer more than seven months ago. It +was a calm, warm night in May. Two ladies were lying in their chairs on +the quarter-deck engaged in conversation. Suddenly in the mysterious +gloom they noticed the muffled figure of a gentleman passenger leaning +over the rail hard by them. A moment later the figure was gone. There +was a dull splash and all was over. They at once realised the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> horrid +situation and cried aloud for help, but there seems to have been no one +else on deck in that part of the boat. Many minutes elapsed before they +could explain what they had seen, and the necessary orders were given +for stopping the steamer. The Captain then retraced his course, lowered +a number of boats, and every effort was made to prosecute the search +until far into the night when the steamer, which carried mails, was +reluctantly obliged to resume her way. His body," said Mr. Brett in +conclusion, "was never found." Mr. Brett, as was very natural, was more +than anxious that the report should be denied, but in the face of the +facts he himself stated with such pellucid clearness, it is impossible +to say conscientiously that the story of Mr. Darche's return may not be +true. The fact remains that a gentleman whose name is undoubtedly Darche +is now in New York, and if he is really Mr. John Darche of Lexington +Avenue, steps will be taken to set all doubts at rest before twenty-four +hours have expired.' I daresay you are not surprised at my exclamation +now, after reading that," said Goss, looking round at his hearers. +"Pretty serious for Brett."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Pretty serious for Mrs. Darche," observed Greene.</p> + +<p>"Pretty serious for everybody," said Bewlay, smoking thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"That is," suggested Greene, "if it is not all a fake, which is probably +the truth about it."</p> + +<p>"Has anybody seen Brett here?" inquired Goss.</p> + +<p>At this point the conversation was interrupted by the entry of Mr. +Brown, who was also a member of the club.</p> + +<p>"Is Brett here?" he asked, looking about.</p> + +<p>"Just what I was asking," answered Goss. "I suppose you have seen this?"</p> + +<p>"About Darche? Yes. I am afraid it is true."</p> + +<p>"What! You do not believe it?" Greene was the most sceptical of the +party.</p> + +<p>"Have you seen him?" asked Bewlay.</p> + +<p>"No," answered Mr. Brown. "I have not seen him, but I mean to before +long. This is much too serious to be flying about in the papers like +this. Imagine what would happen if it fell into Mrs. Darche's hands. Why +it is enough to kill any ordinary woman on the spot! To think that that +infernal blackguard may not be dead after all."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You seem to feel rather strongly on the subject," observed Greene. "Are +you engaged to marry Mrs. Darche too?"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" ejaculated Brown. "I am in earnest. Just put yourself in her +position."</p> + +<p>"For my part I had rather not," replied Goss with a smile. "But I agree +with Brown. A more unmitigated blackguard than John Darche never +breathed the unholy air of Wall Street. The only decent thing about him +was his suicide, and now virtue is to be cheated of that."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Darche never speaks of him, I believe?" The question came from +Bewlay.</p> + +<p>"He did not return the civility," said Goss. "I have heard him talk +about his wife in this very room—well—I won't say how, but he was a +brute."</p> + +<p>"Judging from your language you must be talking about Darche," said a +fifth speaker. Vanbrugh had entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Brown, "we were. The damning was going on, but we had +not got to the faint praise. What do you think about all this, +Vanbrugh?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The question must be settled one way or the other before to-night," +answered the last comer. "If Darche is really alive the fact must be +kept quiet until to-morrow and then some one must tell his wife. I +propose that we elect a committee of action, give up our dinner parties +if we have any, and go and find the fellow."</p> + +<p>"That sounds like good advice," said Brown.</p> + +<p>"We might as well look for a Chinaman in Pekin," put in Greene, "as to +try to hunt out any particular tough in the Bowery at this time of day."</p> + +<p>"We can try any way," said Mr. Brown, who was of a hopeful temperament. +"I am not engaged to dine anywhere, are you, Vanbrugh?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then come along." They turned towards the door and were just going out +when Brett met them, looking very white.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Brett!" exclaimed Brown. "You are the very man we have been +looking for. Come along with us and find John Darche."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," said Vanbrugh, interposing. "Have you seen this +interview?" He took the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> paper from Greene and gave it to Brett, who +read rapidly while the others looked on, talking in undertones.</p> + +<p>"Damn!" he exclaimed, turning to the others. "Have you all been reading +this stuff? I hope you do not believe that is what I said? A man came to +the house after luncheon. You fellows had just gone and I was going. +Mrs. Darche did not want to see him, but I advised her to let me tell +him what ought to be said about this affair. He tried to pump me about +the charity tableaux and then asked me about Darche. I told him that it +was all an absurd fabrication, and he promised to say so and to deny all +reports. And this is the result."</p> + +<p>"Of course it is," said Greene. "The natural result of putting yourself +into any reporter's hands."</p> + +<p>"I would like to say a word for the reporter," said Mr. Brown mildly. +"The paper is not his. He does not edit it. He does not get a share of +the profits, and when he interviews people he merely is doing what he +has undertaken to do. He is earning his living."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Marriage and death and reporters make barren our lives," observed +Greene sourly, and some of the men laughed.</p> + +<p>"I say, Brett, how much of this did you actually say?" asked Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"Not a word, it seems to me. And yet I see some of my own phrases worked +in." He picked up the paper and looked at it again. "Yes, I did say that +it was a warm May night. I did say that his body was never found. Yes, +that is true enough. How the deuce does the fellow manage to twist it +so?"</p> + +<p>"Does it not strike you that the reporter has only shown you your own +account in the light in which other people will look at it?" inquired +Mr. Brown, sententiously.</p> + +<p>"Oh, confound it all, Brown, how can you say such a thing?" exclaimed +Brett.</p> + +<p>"Well, I will explain," replied Mr. Brown. "Here are the facts, by your +own showing. On a warm evening in spring, and in calm weather, John +Darche fell overboard. I do not say he threw himself overboard, though +it was said that he did, to get away from the detective, possibly it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +may have been an accident after all. We do not know. He was seen to go +over by some one, possibly by two ladies. It was very likely at +supper-time. We do not know that either. But it is quite sure that there +were not many people about. The ladies screamed, as was natural, called +for help and all that sort of thing. But on a calm May night those +channel boats run very fast. They did not cry out 'man overboard!' as a +sailor would have done, and very probably five minutes elapsed before +the Captain gave the order to stop. In that time the boat would have run +a mile and a half. It could not stop inside of half a mile. Well, do you +know anything about the tides and currents in the Channel? The steamer +could not have gone back to the point at which Darche was lost much +inside of twenty minutes. In that time the current may have carried him +a mile or more in one direction or the other. Every one remembers that +Darche was a good swimmer. As it happened in May, he was not burdened +with an overcoat, or thick boots, and there are always vessels about in +the Channel. Why is it so very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> improbable that he should have been +picked up by one, outward bound—"</p> + +<p>While he was speaking, Brett played nervously with an unlighted cigar, +which he held in his hand.</p> + +<p>"A sailing-vessel outward bound from England to South America would not +be in the Channel," observed Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"Nobody said she was from England," retorted Brown. "She may have been +from Amsterdam. A great many Italian vessels take in cargo there."</p> + +<p>"Surely she would have stopped and put Darche ashore," said Greene with +conviction. But the others laughed.</p> + +<p>"You are not much of a sailor," said Brown. "You cannot stop a +sailing-vessel, as you express it, and run into any harbour you like as +though she were a steam-tug. To put back might mean a loss of two or +three weeks to the captain. Upon my soul, Vanbrugh, I cannot see why it +is so improbable."</p> + +<p>"You are not in earnest, Brown?" asked Brett anxiously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am, though. A case like that happened not very long ago. Everybody +knows about it. It is a fact. A man came back and found his wife married +to somebody else."</p> + +<p>"Enoch Arden!" suggested Greene contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"Precisely the same thing. The man had been living somewhere near San +Francisco. After he came back he found his wife had married an old +friend of his—a very good fellow. He would not break her heart, so he +went off to live by himself in the Rockies."</p> + +<p>"I wish you would stop!" exclaimed Brett, almost livid.</p> + +<p>"I wonder it does not strike you in the same way," continued Mr. Brown, +unmoved. "You are a lawyer, Vanbrugh. Now just argue the case, and meet +my points."</p> + +<p>"Well really, you do put the case pretty strongly," answered Vanbrugh +thoughtfully. "If you look at it in that way, there certainly is a bare +shadow of a possibility that Darche may have come back."</p> + +<p>"Good God, Vanbrugh, don't!" cried Brett.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I cannot quite help it." Vanbrugh drew Brown a little aside and spoke +in a lower tone, but Brett, who could scarcely control himself, moved up +behind them. "Look here, Brown," said Vanbrugh, "we ought not to talk +like this before Brett. After all, it is a mere possibility, one chance +in a thousand."</p> + +<p>"Considering the peculiarities of the name," argued Mr. Brown, "there +are more chances than that."</p> + +<p>"Possibly. But why should he go to the newspaper office instead of +hiding altogether, or getting away from New York by the next steamer?"</p> + +<p>"That is true," assented Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"I say, you fellows," cried Brett, coming between them. "Stop that, +won't you? You are both infatuated. Why, you must be mad! Everybody +knows he is dead."</p> + +<p>"It is certainly probable," said Mr. Brown doubtfully, "but it is not +sure."</p> + +<p>"Do not get excited, Brett," said Vanbrugh. "There are a lot of men +looking on. Go home and leave it to us. We will find the man and see him +before to-night."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am going with you," said Brett resolutely.</p> + +<p>"No, you are not," said Vanbrugh, looking at him curiously. "You are no +good. You are losing your head already. Go home and keep quiet."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it would be much better," urged Mr. Brown. "Besides, two of us are +quite enough."</p> + +<p>"You do not really believe it," Brett said suddenly, after a moment's +hesitation.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, I suppose not," answered Vanbrugh with affected indifference.</p> + +<p>"Cheer up, old man!" said Mr. Brown. "There may not be anything in it +after all."</p> + +<p>"May not!" exclaimed Brett. "I ought not to be here, anyhow," he added, +speaking to Vanbrugh. "He may ring at her door at any moment." And +without further words he disappeared into the hall.</p> + +<p>"Brett seems to be pretty badly rattled," remarked Greene.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Goss. "Strange, is it not? Yet you are quite sure that +he is to marry Miss Maylands?"</p> + +<p>"It is not safe to be sure of anything," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> Greene, going back to the +writing-table and folding his letter.</p> + +<p>"I believe it is true that he has come back," mused Bewlay, relighting +his cigar.</p> + +<p>"There certainly is a possibility," said Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"Of course there is," assented Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"I almost believe it myself," said Greene, rising and going out with his +letter.</p> + +<p>"It is a queer story, is it not?" observed Goss.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Bewlay. "It has made me quite thirsty."</p> + +<p>"Well, this is a good stopping-place," replied the other. "Ten minutes +for refreshments."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + + +<p>Vanbrugh and Mr. Brown lost no time, for the former knew exactly what to +do. Within three-quarters of an hour they had been to <a name="head2" id="head2"></a><ins title="Original uses both headquarters and head-quarters">headquarters</ins> in +Mulberry Street, had ascertained that there was ground for the report +that John Darche had returned, that the police were making haste to +secure him and that he had paused the night without much attempt at +concealment, in a sailors' lodging-house on the east side. They found +the place without difficulty, and were informed that the man Darche had +gone out in the morning, leaving his few effects in charge of the +lodging-house keeper. The house was watched by detectives. Vanbrugh +asked Brown to stay at the Mulberry Street Station until dinner-time and +then to bring him news at Mrs. Darche's in Lexington Avenue, whither he +at once returned, fearing some trouble and anxious to give timely +warning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> + +<p>He knew enough of criminals to suspect that Darche, finding himself in +New York very much against his will and doubtless without money, would +in all likelihood attempt to obtain money from his wife to aid him in +making his escape. He would probably not waste time in writing, but +would appear in person at the house, just before dinner when he would +know that Marion must be at home, and he would have little or no +difficulty in forcing his way into her presence.</p> + +<p>This was what he foresaw in case the man proved to be really John +Darche. The police were satisfied that there was no mistake, and that a +fortunate accident had thrown the escaped criminal into their hands. +Nevertheless, Vanbrugh had doubts on the subject. The coincidence of +name was possible, if not probable, and no one had given him any +description which would have applied any more to John Darche than to any +other man of his age and approximately of his complexion. The +lodging-house keeper was evidently under the impression that the man, +whoever he was, must be a sailor; but any one familiar with sea-faring +men knows that, apart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> from some peculiarity of dress there is often +very little to distinguish them from landsmen, beyond the fact that no +seaman ever wears spectacles, and that most sailors have bronzed faces. +But a landsman is easily imposed upon by a "guernsey," a jack-knife, a +plug of tobacco, and a peculiar taste in swearing.</p> + +<p>When Brett had left Marion Darche so abruptly, she had gone to her +morning-room and shut herself up to think, with no especial result, +except that she was very unhappy in the process. She would not even see +Dolly Maylands, who came in soon afterwards, but sent her word to have +tea in the library with Cousin Annie. She herself, she said, would come +down later. She begged Dolly to stay to dinner, just as she was.</p> + +<p>Dolly was busy as usual, but she was anxious about her friend and about +Brett, and her own life seemed very perplexing. Men were very odd +creatures, she thought. Why did Brett hesitate to ask Marion to marry +him, since he was in love with her, unless he were sure that Marion +loved Vanbrugh, or at least liked him better? And if Vanbrugh were not +himself in love with Marion,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> an idea which Dolly scouted with wrath, +why did he not offer himself to her, Dolly Maylands? Considering that +the world was a spheroid, thought Dolly, it was a very crooked stick of +a world, after all.</p> + +<p>"All alone, Dolly?" asked Mrs. Willoughby, entering the library.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Dolly. "I am all alone, and I am tired, and I want some +tea, and Marion is lying down, and everything is perfectly horrid. Do +sit down and let us have a cosy talk, all by ourselves."</p> + +<p>"Why will people scramble through life at such a rate?" And Mrs. +Willoughby installed her gray self in an easy-chair. "I have told Marion +fifty times since last summer that she will break down unless she gives +herself a rest."</p> + +<p>"My dear Mrs. Willoughby," said Dolly. "Marion is a very sensible woman +and manages her existence on scientific principles. She really gets much +more rest than you or I, not to mention the fact—well, I suppose I +ought not to say it."</p> + +<p>"What? Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I was thinking that since poor Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> Darche was drowned, life must +have seemed like one long rest to Marion."</p> + +<p>"Oh Dolly, how unkind!" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby, and then paused a +moment before she continued. "But I suppose there is some truth in it. +What is that proverb? 'De—de—mort—'"</p> + +<p>"'De mortuis nil nisi—something like bones,'" answered Dolly with a +laugh.</p> + +<p>"What? What is that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh nothing. It only means that everybody should say the nicest possible +things when people are dead. That was what you meant. But I should think +the living would appreciate them more."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," assented Mrs. Willoughby vaguely. "I daresay he would."</p> + +<p>"He? Who is he?" asked Dolly with affected surprise.</p> + +<p>"Oh I do not mean anything, my dear. I hardly think that Marion will +marry again."</p> + +<p>"I suppose they are admirably suited to each other?"</p> + +<p>"Who?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who? Why Marion and Mr. Vanbrugh. Who else?" Dolly watched Mrs. +Willoughby's face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I was not thinking of that. I meant Mr.—hm—" She interrupted +herself in fear of indiscretion. "Your dress will be complete now with +the lace, will it not, Dolly?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," answered Dolly in a careless tone. "It was just like Mr. +Vanbrugh, was it not, to take all that trouble to find the very thing I +wanted?"</p> + +<p>"A man will take a great deal of trouble, my dear, when he wants to +please somebody he is fond of."</p> + +<p>"Yes—but me," suggested Dolly, just to see what Cousin Annie thought.</p> + +<p>"Why not you? Should you like some tea, Dolly?"</p> + +<p>"Why not me? I suppose because I am Marion's friend," Dolly answered.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, if you put it in that way—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Willoughby was interrupted by the appearance of Stubbs bringing in +the tea.</p> + +<p>"Is Mrs. Darche at home if any one calls, Stubbs?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"No, madam. Mrs. Darche is upstairs and not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> at home." He paused a +moment to see whether Mrs. Willoughby meant to say anything more, and +then left the room.</p> + +<p>"Dear Mrs. Willoughby, I do so want to ask you a question," said Dolly, +beginning to pour the tea.</p> + +<p>"What is it, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"One lump or two?" inquired Dolly with hesitation.</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" asked Mrs. Willoughby with a slight laugh.</p> + +<p>"Not quite," answered Dolly. "Do you take milk?"</p> + +<p>"Please, and one lump. What is the question, child?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Dolly, laughing herself. "It was foolish and inquisitive, and +all sorts of horrid things. I think I had better not ask it."</p> + +<p>"About Marion and Mr. Brett?"</p> + +<p>"Why?" Dolly asked, looking up quickly, and then hesitating. "Is there +anything? I mean—yes, that is what I meant to ask."</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear," answered Mrs. Willoughby in a confidential tone, "to +tell the truth I am glad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> to talk to somebody about it, for it is on my +mind, and you know that Marion does not like to answer questions."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. Well, so you think there is something between them?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, of course there is," said Mrs. Willoughby without hesitation. +"And I am quite sure that something has happened lately. In fact, I +believe they are engaged to be married."</p> + +<p>"Do you really? And—and—where does Mr. Vanbrugh come in?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Vanbrugh? I am sure I do not know. Perhaps he will be Harry Brett's +best man."</p> + +<p>"If they could see themselves as others see them," reflected Dolly under +her breath, before she answered the remark. "They would make a handsome +couple, would they not? But you are quite mistaken, dear Mrs. +Willoughby—oh, you are quite—quite mistaken." She looked down and +sipped her tea.</p> + +<p>"How do you know that?" asked Mrs. Willoughby. "How can you be so sure? +Do you not see how they go on together, always sitting in corners and +talking in undertones?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you not see how Marion spoils Mr. Vanbrugh, and gets his special +brand of cigarettes for him, and always asks him to dinner to fill up a +place, and altogether behaves like an idiot about him? You must be blind +if you do not see that. Let me give you another cup of tea?"</p> + +<p>"Thanks, I have not finished," said Cousin Annie. "Of course, my dear +child, no two people ever look at things from the same point of view, +but I was thinking—"</p> + +<p>Stubbs opened the door again.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Vanbrugh," he announced.</p> + +<p>"He knew you were here, my dear," said Mrs. Willoughby in a whisper. "He +has come to see you."</p> + +<p>"Will you be good-natured and forgive my spoiling your tea?" asked +Vanbrugh, as he entered the room.</p> + +<p>"We will try," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," said Mrs. Willoughby, "and have some with us."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," answered Vanbrugh. "I am even ruder than I seem, for I am in a +hurry. Do you think I could see Mrs. Darche? For a minute?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I daresay," replied Cousin Annie, doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Of course you can. She is upstairs and not at home." Dolly laughed.</p> + +<p>"So Stubbs told me," said Vanbrugh, "and I came in to ask you to help +me. I am very glad I have seen you first. I know it is late and I will +not keep you a moment. There is something that I must say. I have just +been at the club for a moment and Brown came in and four or five others. +There is certainly an impression that John Darche has really come back +again."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" cried Mrs. Willoughby, thoroughly startled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how awful!" exclaimed Dolly in real distress. "But you were all +saying after luncheon that it was impossible."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Vanbrugh. "I know we were. But it looks otherwise now. +There was so much talk about it that I proposed to Brown to try and find +the man. We have been down town since then, to Mulberry Street. There +certainly is a man knocking about under the name of John Darche, who +landed from an Italian vessel last night."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Have you seen him?" asked Dolly. "Oh, poor Marion!"</p> + +<p>"Dreadful, dreadful!" repeated Mrs. Willoughby, staring at Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"No," answered the latter in reply to Dolly's question, "we have not +seen him, but we shall have him this evening."</p> + +<p>"Here?" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby, looking round nervously.</p> + +<p>"Here in this house?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—or at least, under our hand," said Vanbrugh. "Brown is waiting for +information at the Mulberry Street Station."</p> + +<p>"To bring him here to-night?" asked Cousin Annie, with increasing +anxiety.</p> + +<p>"No, to keep him from coming."</p> + +<p>"And you have come to warn Marion?" inquired Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, in a way," answered Vanbrugh. "But not to tell her, of course. I +want her to give strict orders about any odd-looking persons who may +present themselves. I mean to tell her that I am afraid some reporter +may try to get in, and that the man at the door must be very careful."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will go to her," said Mrs. Willoughby, rising. "Mr. Vanbrugh—if he +comes, if it is really he, he cannot be turned away from what was his +own house."</p> + +<p>"No, but he shall be stopped at the door, and I will go out and talk to +him and persuade him to escape, or to come and see me in the morning, if +he is mad enough to stay."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is sensible," answered Cousin Annie. "Shall I speak to my +niece myself, or shall I make her come down?"</p> + +<p>Vanbrugh hesitated a moment and looked at Dolly, who answered by an +almost imperceptible nod.</p> + +<p>"I think," said Vanbrugh, "that to put her to any inconvenience would +make the matter look more serious than we wish her to think it is. Do +you think you could explain, Mrs. Willoughby? Give her the idea that the +newspaper man who was here to-day may come back—or some other person, +or two or three. Anything of that sort."</p> + +<p>"I will do my best," answered Mrs. Willoughby. "You will wait until I +come back, will you not?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," replied Vanbrugh, as she left the room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you think it is really true?" asked Dolly.</p> + +<p>"I do not know what to think. Putting all the facts we have together, +there is certainly a possibility."</p> + +<p>"I am very, very sorry," said Dolly, after a short pause.</p> + +<p>"Poor Mrs. Darche!" exclaimed Vanbrugh. "After all these months of +freedom she has had, it will break her heart."</p> + +<p>"I was not thinking of Marion," answered Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Of whom, then?" asked Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"Of—of—some one else."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know."</p> + +<p>"Yes," repeated Dolly with marked sympathy. "Will you not let me make +you a nice cup of tea, Mr. Vanbrugh?"</p> + +<p>"No, thanks."</p> + +<p>"Will you not light a cigarette?" asked Dolly. "Here are some of your +own."</p> + +<p>"No, thanks," answered Vanbrugh absently. "I have just smoked."</p> + +<p>"Do sit down and warm yourself," said Dolly, pushing a chair towards the +fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well—thanks—I suppose Mrs. Willoughby will be gone some minutes. Have +you thought of what might happen if Darche were alive?" he asked, +reverting to the subject uppermost in his mind.</p> + +<p>"I do not like to think of it. But I cannot help thinking of it," she +answered almost inaudibly. "I know that I cannot, and I hate myself and +everybody."</p> + +<p>"We may have to think of it seriously in three or four hours," said +Vanbrugh. "Brown will bring me word. He will dine with me, and I will be +within reach in case anything happens."</p> + +<p>"What a head you have!" exclaimed Dolly. "You ought to be a general."</p> + +<p>"It is simple enough, it seems to me, as simple as going back to stop an +express train when there has been an accident on the line."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it is always the one particular man who has more sense than +the rest who thinks of stopping the express train."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," answered Vanbrugh indifferently. "The man who has his +eyes open. It is odd, is it not, that the happiness of so many people +should be at stake on one day?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So many?"</p> + +<p>"Well, three at least."</p> + +<p>"Three? Are there not four?" asked Dolly, with a smile.</p> + +<p>"There is Stubbs, of course," said Vanbrugh thoughtfully; "not to +mention a lot of people who would not be particularly glad to see Darche +back, on general principles. Well, I am sorry for them all, but I was +not thinking of them especially."</p> + +<p>"Whom were you thinking of?"</p> + +<p>"Some one not concerned in the matter—some one, I cannot say nearest; +think of something that rhymes with it. You are fond of hymns and that +sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"Dearest?" suggested Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, 'dearest'; that rhymes, does it not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that rhymes," assented Dolly, with a little sigh. "Whom were you +thinking of?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"A person."</p> + +<p>"What an answer! And what an expression! I suppose the name of the +person is a profound secret?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It has been a secret for some time," said Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"Oh!—then you have a faithful disposition?" asked Dolly with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"I hope so," answered Vanbrugh, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Any other virtues?"</p> + +<p>"Lots," he laughed in his turn.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Virtue makes people so nice and safe," said Dolly, "and helps them to +bear misfortune, and to do almost everything except enjoy themselves."</p> + +<p>"What an appalling code for a Sunday school teacher!"</p> + +<p>"Do not laugh. I have had an offer."</p> + +<p>"Of marriage?" asked Vanbrugh, looking at her.</p> + +<p>"No. If I had, I would not tell you. I have been offered twenty-five +dollars a month to teach at a Sunday school—a visitor, who did not know +me, you see, and wished to engage me."</p> + +<p>"And you refused?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Foolish of me, was it not? Twenty-five dollars—just think!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is a lot of money," laughed Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"Several pairs of gloves," said Dolly gravely. "But I refused. You know +the proverb—'be virtuous and you will be happy, but you will not have a +good time.'"</p> + +<p>"And you mean to have a good time. I have always been meaning to—but it +is rather dull, all by myself. I am not young enough to be gay +alone—nor old enough to enjoy being sour."</p> + +<p>"There is a remedy—get married!" Dolly smiled, looked grave, and then +smiled again.</p> + +<p>"That is almost easier done than said, if one does not mind whom one +marries."</p> + +<p>"And you do mind, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—I am foolish enough to care," answered Vanbrugh, glancing at her.</p> + +<p>"To care for some particular person—is that rude, or indiscreet, or +horrid of me?"</p> + +<p>"Very! But I will forgive you on one condition."</p> + +<p>"I never accept conditions."</p> + +<p>"Unconditional surrender? Is that it?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," Dolly answered without hesitation.</p> + +<p>"I surrender unconditionally—at discretion."</p> + +<p>"Oh—very well. Then I will be nice and ask<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> what the condition was for +the sake of which you kindly proposed to forgive me for what I did not +do. Come—what is it?"</p> + +<p>"You asked if I cared for one particular person," said Vanbrugh, gently.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Do you?" He could hardly distinguish the words.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you, if you will answer the same question."</p> + +<p>"You answer first."</p> + +<p>"Yes. That is the answer." His hand stole out towards hers.</p> + +<p>"Yes—that is the other answer."</p> + +<p>"Do two positives make a negative?" asked Vanbrugh, as their hands met.</p> + +<p>"No—not in mathematics," laughed Dolly, a little awkwardly, and +withdrawing her fingers from his. "Two negatives make a positive, +sometimes."</p> + +<p>"A positive 'no'?" asked Vanbrugh, incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes."</p> + +<p>"But we were both saying 'yes.'"</p> + +<p>"We are both saying 'yes,'" repeated Dolly slowly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Could we not go a step farther?"</p> + +<p>"How?" Dolly started a little and looked at him. "I do not understand—I +thought—"</p> + +<p>"What did you think?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know what to think." She hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Will you not let me help you to decide?" For the first time in their +acquaintance, Vanbrugh's voice grew tender.</p> + +<p>"I—I am almost afraid—"</p> + +<p>"Afraid of me?"</p> + +<p>"Of you? Oh no, you do not frighten me at all—but I am just a little—" +again Dolly hesitated, then as though making a great effort she tried to +speak severely. "Mr. Vanbrugh, you must not play with me!"</p> + +<p>"Miss Maylands, you have played with me a long time," answered Vanbrugh +softly.</p> + +<p>"I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Have I? I—I did not mean to," she added thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we have both played in earnest," suggested Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"But you play with so many people—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> + +<p>"With whom, for instance?" asked Vanbrugh.</p> + +<p>"With Marion, for instance," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"With Mrs. Darche?" Vanbrugh's voice expressed genuine astonishment. +"What an extraordinary idea! As though Brett were not my best friend!"</p> + +<p>"What of that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, do not pretend that you do not understand—especially to-day, when +they are both so unhappy—you will do something that will hurt them if +you are not careful."</p> + +<p>"I wonder—" Dolly did not complete the sentence, but turned away as +though leaving it to him.</p> + +<p>"I know. So you must not talk of my flirting with Mrs. Darche. It is not +just to her nor kind to me—and you do not mean to be unkind to me, do +you?"</p> + +<p>"To you—of all people!" Her voice was very gentle.</p> + +<p>"Of all people in the world, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—I think so—of all people." She nodded slowly, and then looked up +and let her eyes meet his.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You think so—you are not quite sure?" asked Vanbrugh, although there +was no longer any doubt.</p> + +<p>"I am always sure of what I think." Dolly smiled, still looking at him.</p> + +<p>"And this is not play any more? This is quite earnest?"</p> + +<p>"Quite—quite—" While she was speaking his face was suddenly close to +hers and his lips touched her cheek. "Oh!—I did not mean—"</p> + +<p>"I did," said Vanbrugh emphatically.</p> + +<p>"I see you did," answered Dolly, blushing scarlet.</p> + +<p>"Will you not see again—" He leaned towards her again.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! Not on any account!" she cried, pushing him away and laughing. +"Besides"—the handle of the door turned as she was speaking—"there are +people coming. Oh—I can feel it!" she whispered, rising precipitately +with her hands to her cheek. "But I am so happy!" she added, with one +more look as she broke from him.</p> + +<p>Dolly whispered the last words as Mrs. Willoughby<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> re-entered the room, +and Vanbrugh rose to his feet, hardly realising that the crisis of his +life had been reached with a laugh and a kiss, but quite as happy as +Dolly herself in his thoroughly undemonstrative way. Both were, perhaps, +a little ashamed of themselves when they remembered Marion Darche's +trouble, and contrasted her anxiety with their own visions of a sunny +future; and both felt all at once that they were out of place; if they +could not be together without a third person, they wished to be alone.</p> + +<p>"I do not really believe that anything will happen," said Vanbrugh, +speaking to Mrs. Willoughby. "I do not believe either, that this man is +Mrs. Darche's husband, for there is every reason to be sure that John +Darche was actually drowned. But in case anything should happen, pray +send for me at once. I shall be at home and shall not go out this +evening. Good-night, Miss Maylands."</p> + +<p>"I am going, too," said Dolly, rather suddenly. "Do you think," she +added, turning to Mrs. Willoughby, "that it would be very dreadful if +Mr. Vanbrugh took me as far as the corner?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What is there dreadful in it?" asked Mrs. Willoughby, who was +old-fashioned and remembered the times when young men used to take young +girls to parties, and walked home with them unchaperoned.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then, will you take me, Mr. Vanbrugh? My maid has not come +yet. I only want to go to Mrs. Trehearne's and tell her it is all right +about that lace."</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted," answered Vanbrugh, his handsome face lighting up +in a way Dolly had never seen.</p> + +<p>They had not been gone more than five minutes when Brett rang at the +door again and asked for Mrs. Darche. Stubbs looked at him for a moment, +and then said that he would inquire. Brett waited in the library, by the +deserted tea table, for Cousin Annie had betaken herself to her own room +as soon as Dolly and Vanbrugh left, and he wondered who had been there. +It was some time before Marion appeared.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to see you again," she said, quietly, and holding out her +hand. "You went away so suddenly—as though you were anxious about +something."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am."</p> + +<p>"And you have made me anxious, too. You were telling me that a great and +final misfortune is hanging over my head. You do not know me. You do not +understand me. You do not see that I would much rather know what it is, +and face it, than live in terror of it and trust altogether to you to +keep it from me."</p> + +<p>"But do you not know after all these years, that you can trust me? Do +you not trust me now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Marion answered after a pause. "As a man, my dear friend, I trust +you. You do all that a man can do. I can even give you credit, perhaps, +for being able to do more than you or any other man can do. But there is +more. There is something yet. Be as faithful as you may, as honest as +God has made you, and as brave and as strong as you are—you cannot +control fate. You do not believe in fate? I do. Well, call it that you +please. Circumstances arise which none of us, not the strongest of us, +can govern. Whatever this secret is, it means a fact, it means that +there is something, somewhere, which might come to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> my knowledge, which +might make me unutterably miserable, which you some day may not be able +to keep from me. Does it not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it does," said Brett, slowly. "I cannot deny that. You might, you +may, come to know of it without my telling you."</p> + +<p>"Then tell me now," said Marion earnestly. "Is it not far better and far +more natural that this, whatever it may be, should come to me directly +from you, instead of through some stranger, unawares, when I am least +prepared for it, when I may break down under the shock of it? Do you not +think that you, my best friend, could make it easier for me to hear, if +any one could?"</p> + +<p>"If any one could, yes," answered Brett in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"And if no one can, then you at least can make it less cruel. Let me +know now when I am prepared for it by all you have said—prepared to +hear the most dreadful news that I can possibly imagine, something far +more dreadful, I am sure, than anything really could be. Let me hear of +it from you of all other men."</p> + +<p>"No, no, do not ask me!" He turned from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> her as though he had finally +made up his mind. "Of all men, I should be the last to hurt you. And +there is no certainty, perhaps not even a probability, that you should +ever know it if I do not tell you."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but there is!" she cried, insisting. "You have said so. You told me +that a moment ago. No—you must tell me. I will not let you go until you +do. I will not leave anything unsaid that I can say—that a woman can +say—"</p> + +<p>"No, no!"</p> + +<p>"Harry, I must know. I will know." She laid her hand upon his arm.</p> + +<p>"For heaven's sake!" exclaimed Brett in the utmost distress.</p> + +<p>"Harry! You loved me once—" Her voice vibrated audibly.</p> + +<p>"Once!" Brett started violently, and turned if possible, paler.</p> + +<p>"You made me think so."</p> + +<p>"Marion, Marion, don't!"</p> + +<p>"I will. Do you remember, Harry, long, long ago when we were almost boy +and girl, how you promised, faithfully, sacredly, that if ever I needed +you, that if ever I asked your help—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And you married John Darche instead of me," said Brett, interrupting +her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I married John Darche," answered Marion, gravely.</p> + +<p>"Because you loved him and not me."</p> + +<p>"Because I thought,—no, I will not go back to that. There is a nearer +time than that in the past, a day we both remember, a day that I am +ashamed of, and yet—well you have not forgotten it either. That +morning—not so many months ago. It was on that day—that day when my +husband was arrested. It was in this very room. You told me that you +loved me, and I—you know what I did. It was bad. It was wrong. Call it +what you please, but it was the truth. I let you know that I loved you +as well as you loved me and better, for I had more to lose. John was +alive then. He is dead now—long dead. If I was ashamed then, I am not +ashamed now—for I have nothing to be ashamed of. I am showing whether I +trust you or not, whether I believe in you, whether I am willing to +stake my woman's pride on your man's faithfulness. I loved you then, and +I showed you that I did. Harry! I love you now—and I tell you so +without a blush."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> + +<p>Brett trembled as though in bodily fear, glanced at her and turned away.</p> + +<p>"Great God!" he exclaimed under his breath.</p> + +<p>"And you—Harry—you still—Harry—look at me! What is it?"</p> + +<p>With wide and loving eyes she looked at him, expecting every instant +that he would turn to her. But he did not move. Then suddenly, with a +low cry, as though she were mortally hurt, she fell back upon the sofa.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my God! you do not love me!"</p> + +<p>Her voice was broken and weak, but he heard the words. He turned at +last, looked at her, and then knelt down at her side.</p> + +<p>"Marion, Marion! dear!" he whispered lovingly, again and again. But she +pushed him away. Then he rose to his feet and sat beside her, looking +down into her face. "Yes," he said gravely, "you must know my secret +now."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know your secret now, your miserable secret." She turned her +face from him against the cushion.</p> + +<p>"No, you do not know it," he said. "You do not even guess it. But I must +tell you now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> Take care. Be strong, be brave. It will hurt you."</p> + +<p>While he was speaking Mrs. Darche rose from the sofa and her expression +slowly changed as she realised that he had something grave to tell her. +She rose slowly, steadying herself, but not taking her eyes from his +face.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, please. I am ready."</p> + +<p>"John Darche is alive, and I have known it almost from the first."</p> + +<p>It seemed to Brett that nothing he had ever done in his life had been +half so hard. Marion stared at him for a moment, and then once more sank +slowly into her seat and covered her face.</p> + +<p>"Do you understand me now?" he asked after a long pause. "Do you see now +why I have fought so hard against telling you this thing?"</p> + +<p>"It is better so," she answered in a low and indistinct tone. "It was +better that I should know it now." Then she was silent for a long time. +"And is that all you have to tell me after all that I have told you?" +she asked at last, as though in a dream.</p> + +<p>"All? All, dear?" Suddenly his resolution<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> broke down. "You know it is +not all. I love you—that is all, indeed—and more than I have the right +to say or you to hear."</p> + +<p>"A right! What is right? Where is right now?"</p> + +<p>"Where you are, dear." He was holding both her hands in his.</p> + +<p>Then all at once a light came into her face.</p> + +<p>"And we can make the rest right, too! Are there no laws? Is there no +justice? If this man who has ruined both our lives is not dead—ah! but +he is! I know he is. What proof have you? How can you stand there and +tell me that I am still bound and tied to a man whose very name is a +stain on me, whose mere memory is a disgrace."</p> + +<p>"How do I know?" repeated Brett. "It is simple enough. He has written to +me. I have his letters. Do you care to see them? Do you know what he +says? What he repeats whenever he writes? He began a few days after we +heard of his supposed death. I know the letter by heart. 'My dear +Brett—I am not dead at all. I know that you love my wife, but I do not +propose that you should be happy at my expense.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> If you try to marry her +I shall be at the wedding to forbid the banns.'"</p> + +<p>"He wrote that? He wrote that in his own hand?" The strange emotions +that were chasing each other in her heart found quick expression in her +face.</p> + +<p>"And he has written it often. Would it have made you happier to know it +during all these months? Or could I have looked you in the face as an +honourable man and told you that I loved you when I alone knew that your +husband was alive?" He had drawn back from her now and stood leaning +against the mantelpiece with folded arms.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see it all! I see it all now!" she said. "How brave you have +been! How good! And now he is coming back to find some new way of +hurting us! Oh it is too much! I thought I had borne all. But you were +right. There was more to bear."</p> + +<p>"Do you know?" Brett began after a moment's pause. "In spite of this +story that was in the papers to-day I find it hard to believe that he +has really come back. He was quite capable of starting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> the story +himself from a distance for the sake of giving you pain, but he knows as +well as we do that if he comes here he comes to serve his time in +prison."</p> + +<p>Marion seemed to be trying to think over the situation.</p> + +<p>"Stop!" she said at last. "You know that there was a woman, too, though +we never spoke of her, you and I. But every one knew it. People used to +pity me for that before they knew the rest. Do you not think it possible +that she may have written those letters to you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! I know John Darche's handwriting. I have good cause to know +it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose you are right," answered Marion thoughtfully. "Did any +one man ever accumulate so much wickedness in a lifetime? He was not +satisfied with one crime. And yet he was not the only bad man in the +world. What does a girl know of the man she is to marry? She sees him +day after day, of course, but she only sees the best side of him. She +knows nothing of what he does, nor of what he thinks when he is not with +her, but she imagines it all, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> her own way, with no facts to guide +her. Then comes marriage. How could I know?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, it would have been hard for any girl to guess what sort of man +John Darche was."</p> + +<p>"Please do not talk about that."</p> + +<p>"And how do you know that I am any better man than John Darche?" asked +Brett, suddenly. "What do you know of my comings and goings when I am +not here, or how I spend my time? How do you know that I am not bound by +some disgraceful tie, as he was? I have been in all sorts of places +since we said good-bye on that winter's evening. Do you remember? I have +wandered and worked, and done ever so many things since then. How do you +know that there is not some woman in my life whom I cannot get rid of?"</p> + +<p>He had not changed his position while speaking. When he paused for her +answer she went up to him, laying her hands upon his shoulders and +looking into his face.</p> + +<p>"Harry! is there any other?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear." But his eyes answered before he spoke.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I knew it. You have answered your own question. That is all."</p> + +<p>"Thank you." As she drew back he caught her hand and held it, and his +words came fast and passionately. "No. That is not all. That is not +half. That is not one-thousandth part of what I ought to say. I know it. +Thank you? My whole life is not enough to thank you with. All the words +I ever heard or know are not enough—the best of words mean so little. +And they never do come to me when I want them. But those little words of +yours are more to me than all the world beside. I do thank you with all +my strength, with all my heart, with all my soul, and I will live for +you with all three. Why should I say it? You know it all, dear, much +better than it can be said, for you believe in me. But it is good to +say—I wish it could have been half as good to hear."</p> + +<p>She had listened to each word and looked for each passing expression +while he spoke. She looked one moment longer after he had finished, and +then turned quietly away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is good to hear—if you only knew how good!" she said softly. "And +words are not always empty. When they come from the heart, as ours do, +they bring up gold with them—and things better than gold."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + + +<p>A long silence followed. Neither of them, perhaps, realised exactly what +had passed, or if they did, actual facts seemed very far away from their +dreamland. Marion was the first to feel again the horror of the +situation, tenfold worse than before he had last spoken.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I cannot bear it!" she said suddenly. "I cannot bear it now—as I +could. Really alive, after all—and this story to-day? Have you found +out nothing? Have you nothing more to tell me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is something to tell you."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Bad news."</p> + +<p>"Bad? Worse than—"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid so," answered Brett.</p> + +<p>"You have told me that he is alive." She laid her hand upon his arm. "Do +not tell me that he is here! You said you could not believe it!"</p> + +<p>"If I do not, it is only because I have not seen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> him with my own eyes. +I did not mean to tell you—until—" he stopped.</p> + +<p>"Tell me!" cried Marion. "Tell me everything quickly! If you tell me—I +can bear it, if you tell me—but not from any one else. Where is he? +When did he come? Is he arrested again? Is he in prison?"</p> + +<p>"No, not yet. He is in a sailors' lodging-house—if it is he."</p> + +<p>"How do you know it? Oh, how can you be so sure, if you have not seen +him?"</p> + +<p>"None of us have seen him," answered Brett, barely able to speak at all. +"Vanbrugh and Brown—they went to find him—I found Brown in Mulberry +Street, waiting for news—you know the Police Headquarters are there. +Vanbrugh had left him—then I came up town again—to you."</p> + +<p>"Russell Vanbrugh has been here," said Marion, trying to collect her +thoughts. "He told Cousin Annie to give strict orders about reporters."</p> + +<p>"He was afraid that Darche might come to try and get money from you—"</p> + +<p>"Money! I would give—God knows what I would give."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I do not believe he will come," said Brett, assuming a confidence he +did not feel. "He must know that the house is watched already."</p> + +<p>Marion's expression changed. Her face turned paler. The lines deepened +and her eyes grew dark. She had made a desperate resolution. She took +Brett's hand and looked at him in silence for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye—dear," she said.</p> + +<p>She would have withdrawn her hand, but Brett grasped it and pressed it +almost roughly to his lips.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," she said again.</p> + +<p>It was almost too much to ask of any man. Brett held her hand fast.</p> + +<p>"No—not good-bye," he answered with rising passion. "It is not +possible. It cannot be, Marion—do not say it."</p> + +<p>"I must—you must."</p> + +<p>"No—no—no!" he repeated. "It cannot be good-bye. Remember what you +said. Is this man who was dead to you and to all the world, if not to +me, to ruin both our lives? Are we to bow our heads and submit patiently +to such a fate as that? If I had told you long ago that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> was alive, +as I alone knew he was, would you not have done your best to free +yourself from such a tie, from a man—you said it yourself—whose very +name is a stain, and whose mere memory is a disgrace?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered Marion resolutely, and withdrawing her hands. "I mean it. +This is our good-bye, and this must be all, quite all. Do you think I +would ever accept such a position as that? That I could ever feel as +though the stain were wiped out and the disgrace forgotten by such a +poor formality as a divorce? No! Let me speak! Do not interrupt me yet. +If I had known six months ago that John was still alive, I would have +done it, and I should have felt perhaps, that it meant something, that I +was really free, that the world would forget the worst part of my story, +and that I could come to you as myself, not as the wife of John Darche, +forger and escaped convict. But I cannot do it now. It is too late, now +that he has come back. No power on earth can detach his past from my +present, nor clear me of his name. And do you think that I would hang +such a weight as that about your neck?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But you are wrong," answered Brett, earnestly. "Altogether wrong. The +life you have lived during these last months has proved that. Have you +ever heard that any one in all the world you know has—I will not say +dared—has even thought of visiting on you the smallest particle of your +husband's guilt? Oh, no! They say the world is unkind, but it is just in +the long run."</p> + +<p>"No. People have been kind to me—"</p> + +<p>"No. Just, not kind."</p> + +<p>"Well, call it what you will," Marion answered, speaking in a dull tone +which had no resonance. "People have overlooked my name and liked me for +myself. But it is different now. A few good friends may still come, the +nearest and dearest may stand by me, but the world will not accept +without a murmur the man who has married the divorced wife of a convict. +The world will do much, but it will not do that. And so I say good-bye +again," she continued after a little pause, "once more this last time, +for I will not hamper you, I will not be a load upon you. I will not +live to give you children who may reproach you for their mother's sake. +We shall be what we were—friends. But, for the rest—good-bye!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Marion! Do not say such things!"</p> + +<p>"I will, and I must say them now, for I will not give myself another +chance," she answered with unmoved determination. "What has been, has +been, and cannot be undone. I did wrong months ago on that dreadful +morning, when I let you guess that I might love you. I did wrong on that +same day, when I prayed you for my sake to help John to escape, when I +made use of your love for me, to make you do the one dishonourable +action of your life. I have suffered for it. Better, far better, that my +husband should have gone then and submitted to his sentence, than that I +should have helped him—made you help me—"</p> + +<p>"At the risk of your own life," said Brett, interrupting her.</p> + +<p>"There was no risk at all, with you all there to help me, and I knew +it."</p> + +<p>"There was," said Brett, insisting. "You might have burned to death. And +as for what I did, I hardly knew that I was doing it. I saw that you +were really on fire and I ran to help you. No one ever thought of +holding me responsible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> for what happened when my back was turned. But I +would have done more, and you know I would. And now you talk of injuring +me, if you divorce that man and let me take your life into mine! This is +folly, Marion, this is downright madness!"</p> + +<p>Marion looked at him in silence for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Harry, would you do it in my place?" she asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"If your wife had forged, had been convicted, and sentenced, and you had +the public disgrace of it to bear, would you wish to give me your name?"</p> + +<p>Brett opened his lips to speak, and then checked himself and turned +away.</p> + +<p>"You see!" she exclaimed, still watching him.</p> + +<p>"No, that would be different," he said at last in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Why different? I see no difference at all. Of course you must say so, +any man would in your place. But that does not make it a fact. You would +rather cut off your right hand than ask me to marry you with such a +stain on your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> good name. You can have nothing to answer to that, for it +is hard logic and you know it."</p> + +<p>"Call it logic, if you will," he answered coming up to her. "It does not +convince me. And I will tell you more. I will not yield. I would not be +persuaded if I knew that I could be, for I will convince you, I will +persuade you that the real wrong and the only wrong is whatever parts a +man and a woman who love as we love; who are ready, as you know we are +ready, to give all that man and woman can, each for the other, and who +will give it, each to the other, in spite of everything, as I will give +you my life and my name and everything I have before I die, whether you +will have it or not!"</p> + +<p>"If I say that I will not accept such a sacrifice, what then?"</p> + +<p>"You will accept it," said Brett in a tone of authority.</p> + +<p>"Ah, but I will not! Harry!" cried Marion, with a sudden change of +voice, "I know that all you say is true. I know how generous you are,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +that you would really do all you say you would. I need not say that I +thank you. That would mean too little. But I will not take from you +one-thousandth part of what you offer. I will not taint your life with +mine. You could not answer my question. You could not deny what I +said—that if you were in my place, you would suffer anything rather +than ask me to marry you. I know—you say it is different—but it is +not. Disgrace is just as real from woman to man as from man to woman, +and you shall not have it from me nor through me. That is why I say +good-bye. That is why you must say it too—for my sake."</p> + +<p>"For your sake?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered. "Do you think that I could ever be happy again? Do +you not see that if I married you now, I should be haunted through every +minute of my life by the bitter presence of the wrong done you? Do you +not know what I should feel if people looked askance at you, and grew +cold in their acquaintance, and smiled to each other when you went by? +Do you think that would be easy to bear? Yes, it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> good-bye for my +sake, as well as yours. Not lightly—you know it. It means good-bye to +love, and hope, and if I live, it means the loss of freedom, too, when +John Darche is released from prison."</p> + +<p>"What!" cried Brett. "Do you mean to say that you would ever let him +come back to you?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that I will not be divorced. And he would come back to me—he +will come back for help, and I must give it to him when he does."</p> + +<p>"Receive that man under your roof!" He could not believe that she was in +earnest.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Since he is alive he is still my husband. When he comes back after +undergoing his sentence I shall have to receive him."</p> + +<p>"When you know that you could have a divorce for the asking?"</p> + +<p>"Which I would refuse if it were thrust upon me," she answered firmly.</p> + +<p>"That would be mad indeed. What can that possibly have to do with me?"</p> + +<p>"This," she said. "We are speaking this last time. I will not be +divorced from him; do you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> know why? Because if I were—if I were +free—I should be weak, and marry you. Do you understand now? Try and +understand me, for I shall not say it again—it is too hard to say."</p> + +<p>"Not so hard as it is to believe."</p> + +<p>"But you will try, will you not?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>The monosyllable had scarcely escaped from his lips, short, energetic +and determined, when he was interrupted by Stubbs, who seemed destined +to appear at inopportune moments on that day. He was evidently much +excited, and he stood stock still by the door. At the same time there +was a noise outside, of many feet and of subdued voices. Stubbs made +desperate gestures.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Brett, sir! Will you please come outside, sir!" He was hardly able +to make himself understood.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" asked Marion, severely.</p> + +<p>"I cannot help it, sir! Indeed I cannot, Madam!" protested the +distressed butler.</p> + +<p>Brett understood.</p> + +<p>"There is trouble," he said quickly to Marion, holding out his hands as +though he wished to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> protect her, and touching her gently. "Please go +away. Leave me here."</p> + +<p>"Trouble?" She was not inclined to yield.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It must be he—if you have to see him, this is not the place."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>With his hands, very tenderly, he pushed her toward the door at the +other end of the room, the same through which John Darche had once +escaped. She resisted for a moment—then without a word she obeyed his +word and touch and went out, covering her eyes with her hand.</p> + +<p>"Now then, what is it?" asked Brett, turning sharply around as he closed +the door.</p> + +<p>"I could not help it, sir!" Stubbs repeated. "There is a man in the hall +as says he is Mr. John—leastwise he says his name is John Darche, +though he has got a beard, sir, which Mr. John never had, as you may +remember, sir, and there is a lot of policemen in plain clothes and +otherwise, and Mr. Brown says they are pressmen, and the driver of the +cab, and Michael Curly, and the expressman—"</p> + +<p>"What do all these people want?" inquired Brett, sternly. "Turn them +out."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is a fact, sir, just as I tell you—and so help me the powers, sir, +here they are coming in and I cannot keep them out—I cannot, not if I +was a dozen Stubbses!"</p> + +<p>Before he had finished speaking, a number of men had pushed past him +into the room, led by Mr. Brown, very much out of breath and trying his +best to control the storm he had raised.</p> + +<p>"What is this disturbance, Brown?" asked Brett angrily. "Who are these +people?"</p> + +<p>"It is the man, Brett!" cried Mr. Brown triumphantly, and pushing +forward a burly and bearded individual in a shabby "guernsey" with a +black rag tied in a knot round his neck. "Now just look at him, and tell +me whether he has the slightest resemblance to John Darche."</p> + +<p>"He is no more John Darche than I am! Take him away!"</p> + +<p>"Out with you!" cried Stubbs, only too anxious to enforce the order.</p> + +<p>"He said he was John Darche," said one of the men from Mulberry Street.</p> + +<p>The man refused to be turned out by Stubbs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> and stood his ground, +evidently anxious to clear himself. He was an honest-looking fellow +enough, and there was a twinkle in his bright blue eyes as though he +were by no means scared, but rather enjoyed the hubbub his presence +created.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," he said in a healthy voice that dominated the rest. "I am no +more John Darche than you are, sir, unless that happens to be your name, +which I ask your pardon if it is. But I said I was, and so the bobbies +brought me along. But this gentleman here, he showed me the papers, that +there was trouble about John Darche, so I just let them bring me, which +I had no call to do, barring I liked, being a sailor man and quick on my +feet."</p> + +<p>"Well then, who are you?" asked Brett. "And where is John Darche?"</p> + +<p>"John Darche is dead, sir, and I buried him on the Patagonian shore."</p> + +<p>"Dead?" cried Brett. The colour rushed to his face, and for a moment the +room swam with him. "Can you prove that, my man?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I say he is dead, because I saw him die and buried him—just +so, as I was telling you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p> + +<p>This was more than Stubbs could bear in his present humour.</p> + +<p>"Dead, is he? Mr. John's dead, is he? This man says he is dead, and he +comes here saying as he is him."</p> + +<p>"Be quiet, Stubbs," said Brett. "Tell your story, my man, and be quick +about it," he added.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said the man, taking his hands from his pockets, and +standing squarely before Brett. "That is what I came to do if these sons +of guns will let me talk. John Darche was working his passage as cook, +sir, and we was wrecked down Magellan way, and some was drowned, poor +fellows, and some was taken off, worse luck for us. But I said I would +stick to the ship if Darche would, and we should get salvage money. We +had not much of a name to lose, either of us, so we tried it, but the +cook was not much to boast of for a sailor man, and we could not bring +her through, and she went to pieces on the Patagonian shore. The cook, +that was John Darche, he caught his death, what with too much salt +water, and too little to eat, and died two days after we got ashore. So +I buried him. And seeing as my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> own name wan't of much use to me, being +well known about those parts for a trifle of braining a South American +devil in Buenos Ayres, I took his, which wan't no more use to him +neither, and somehow or other I got here, by the help of Almighty God +and an Eyetalian captain, and working my passage and eating their +blooming boiled paste. And I soon found out what sort of a name I had +taken from my dead mate, for he seems to have been pretty well known to +these here gentlemen. But I daresay as you can swear, sir, that I ain't +John Darche he as you knew, and maybe as I ain't wanted on my own +account, these gentlemen will come and have a drink with me and call +quits."</p> + +<p>"Have you got anything to prove this story?" Brett asked, when the man +had finished.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, there's myself to prove it," said the sailor. "I don't know +that I should care for more proof. And there's my dead mate's watch, +too. He had a watch, he had. He was a regular swell though he was +working his passage as cook. But I had to leave it with my uncle this +morning."</p> + +<p>Brett drew a long breath and clasped his hands nervously together.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I suppose you can set this man at liberty, upon my declaration that he +is not John Darche, and after hearing his story," he said, turning to +the police officer who stood near the sailor.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, sir," answered the latter. "I guess that will be all right. If +not, we'll make it right in five minutes."</p> + +<p>"Well then, I must ask you to go away for the present—and as quickly as +possible. Take that with you, my man, and come and see me to-morrow +morning. My name is Brett. The butler will write my address for you."</p> + +<p>"I don't want your money, sir," said the sailor.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, you do," answered Brett, with a good-humoured smile. "Go and +get your watch out of pawn and bring it with you."</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir," said the sailor.</p> + +<p>As they were going out, it struck Brett that he perhaps owed something +to Mr. Brown who, after all, had taken a great deal of trouble in the +matter.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Darche will be very much obliged to you, Brown," he said. "But I +am not sure that the matter is ended. It would be awfully good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> of you +to put the thing through, while I break the news to Mrs. Darche. Could +you not go along with them and see that the man is really set at +liberty?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown was a good-natured man, and was quite ready to do all that was +asked of him. Brett thanked him once more, and he left the house with +the rest.</p> + +<p>When they were all gone, Stubbs came back, evidently very much relieved +at the turn matters had taken.</p> + +<p>"Please go into the drawing-room," said Brett, "and ask Mrs. Darche to +come here one moment, if she can speak to me alone, and keep every one +else out of the room. You understand, Stubbs."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," answered the butler. "But it is the Lord's own mercy, sir, +especially the watch." He left the room in search of Mrs. Darche.</p> + +<p>Scarcely a moment elapsed before she entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Stubbs said you wanted to see me," she said in a voice that shook with +anxiety.</p> + +<p>Brett came forward to meet her, and standing quite close to her, looked +into her eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Something very strange has happened," he said, with a little +hesitation. "Something—something very, very good—can you bear the +shock of a great happiness, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Happiness," she repeated. "What is it? Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, +suddenly understanding. "Oh! thank God, I see it in your eyes! It is not +true? He is not here?—oh, Harry!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. That is it. The whole story was only a fabrication. He is not +here. You see I cannot let you wait a moment for the good news. It is so +good. So much better even than I have told you."</p> + +<p>"Better!" she cried as the colour rose to her pale cheeks. "What could +be better? Oh, it is life, it is freedom—it is almost more than I can +bear after this dreadful day!"</p> + +<p>"But you must bear more," said Brett, smiling.</p> + +<p>"More pain?" she asked with a little start. "Something else?"</p> + +<p>"No. More happiness."</p> + +<p>"Ah, no! There is no more!"</p> + +<p>"Yes there is. Listen. There is a reason why the story could not be +true, why it is absolutely impossible that it should be true."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Impossible?" She looked up suddenly. "You cannot say that."</p> + +<p>"Yes I can," he answered. "We have seen the last of John Darche. He will +never come back."</p> + +<p>"Never?" cried Marion. "Never at all? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Never, in this world," Brett answered gravely.</p> + +<p>She seized his arm with sudden energy and looked into his face.</p> + +<p>"What? No—it cannot be true! Oh, do not deceive me, for the love of +Heaven!"</p> + +<p>"John Darche is dead."</p> + +<p>"Dead!" In the pause that followed, she pressed her hand to her side as +though she could not draw breath.</p> + +<p>"Oh! no! no—it cannot be true. It is another story. Oh, why did you +tell me?"</p> + +<p>"It is true. The man who was with him when he died was here a moment +ago."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you were right," she said faintly. "It is almost too much."</p> + +<p>Brett's arm went round her and drew her towards him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," he answered, speaking gently in her ear, "not too much for you and +me to bear together. Think of all that has died with him—think of all +the horror and misery and danger and fear that he has taken out of the +world with him. Think that there is nothing now between you and me. +Nothing—not the shadow of a nothing. That our lives are our own now, +and each the other's, yours mine, mine yours, forever and always. Ah, +Marion, dear, is that too much to bear?"</p> + +<p>"Almost," she said as her head sank upon his shoulder. "Ah, God! that +hell and heaven should be so near."</p> + +<p>"And such a heaven! Love! Darling! Sweetheart! Look at me!"</p> + +<p>"Harry!" She opened her eyes. "Love! No—find me other words for all you +are to me."</p> + +<p>She drew his face down to hers and their lips met.</p> +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<h3>THE END.</h3> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LIST_OF_WORKS" id="LIST_OF_WORKS"></a>LIST OF WORKS</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>MR. F. MARION CRAWFORD.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h4>IN THE PRESS. A NEW NOVEL.</h4> + +<h3>PIETRO GHISLERI.</h3> + +<h5>12mo, cloth, $1.00. In the uniform edition of Mr. Crawford's Novels.</h5> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h3>THE NOVEL. WHAT IT IS.</h3> + +<p>By <span class="smcap">F. Marion Crawford</span>, author of "Children of the King," "Saracinesca," +etc., etc. Uniform with the pocket edition of +<a name="William" id="William"></a><ins title="Original has Willian">William</ins> +Winter's Works. With photogravure portrait. 18mo, cloth, 75 cents.</p> + +<h4>Also a large-paper limited edition. 12mo, $2.00.</h4> + +<blockquote><p>"Mr. Crawford in the course of this readable little essay +touches upon such topics as realism and romanticism, the use of +dialect, the abuse of scientific information, the defects of +historical fiction. Mr. Crawford's discussion of what does and +what does not constitute the novel will be read with eager +interest by the large company of his sincere admirers in this +country."—<i>Beacon.</i></p></blockquote> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h3>CHILDREN OF THE KING.</h3> + +<h4>A Tale of Southern Italy. 12mo, cloth, $1.00.</h4> + +<blockquote><p>"A sympathetic reader cannot fail to be impressed with the +dramatic power of this story. The simplicity of nature, the +uncorrupted truth of a soul, have been portrayed by a +master-hand. The suddenness of the unforeseen tragedy at the +last renders the incident of the story powerful beyond +description. One can only feel such sensations as the last +scene of the story incites. It may be added that if Mr. +Crawford has written some stories unevenly, he has made no +mistakes in the stories of Italian life. A reader of them +cannot fail to gain a clearer, fuller acquaintance with the +Italians and the artistic spirit that pervades the +country."—M. L. B. in <i>Syracuse Journal</i>.</p></blockquote> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Macmillan & Co.</span> take pleasure in announcing that they have added the +following volumes (with the author's latest revisions) to their uniform +edition of the Works of Mr. F. Marion Crawford, thereby enabling them to +issue a complete edition of all his novels:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A ROMAN SINGER. New Edition, revised and corrected.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">TO LEEWARD. PAUL PATOFF.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">AN AMERICAN POLITICIAN. New Edition, revised and partly rewritten.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2>F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS</h2> + +<h3>NEW UNIFORM AND COMPLETE EDITION.</h3> + +<h4><b>12mo, cloth. Price $1.00 each.</b></h4> + +<p>"Mr. F. Marion Crawford is," as Mr. Andrew Lang says, "the most +'versatile and various' of modern novelists. He has great adaptability +and subtleness of mind, and whether dealing with life in modern Rome or +at the court of Darius at Shushan, in the wilds of India or in the +fashionable quarter of New York, in the Black Forest or in a lonely +parish of rural England, he is equally facile and sure of his ground; a +master of narrative style, he throws a subtle charm over all he +touches."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h4>TO BE PUBLISHED IN JUNE:</h4> + +<h3>PIETRO GHISLERI.</h3> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>Children of the King.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>Don Orsino</b>, A sequel to "Saracinesca" and "Sant' Ilario."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>The Three Fates.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>The Witch of Prague.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>Khaled.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>A Cigarette-maker's Romance.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>Sant' Ilario</b>, A sequel to "Saracinesca."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>Greifenstein.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>With the Immortals.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>To Leeward.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>A Roman Singer.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>An American Politician.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>Paul Patoff.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>Marzio's Crucifix.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>Saracinesca.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>A Tale of a Lonely Parish.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>Zoroaster.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>Dr. Claudius.</b></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>Mr. Isaacs.</b></span><br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span></p> + +<h2>F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS.</h2> + +<h3>12MO. BOUND IN CLOTH.</h3> + <hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h3>WITH THE IMMORTALS.</h3> + +<h4>Price, $2.00.</h4> + +<p>Altogether an admirable piece of art worked in the spirit of a thorough +artist. Every reader of cultivated tastes will find it a book prolific +in entertainment of the most refined description, and to all such we +commend it heartily.—<i>Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.</i></p> + +<h3>GREIFENSTEIN.</h3> + +<h4>Price, $1.50.</h4> + +<p>"Greifenstein" is a remarkable novel, and while it illustrates once more +the author's unusual versatility, it also shows that he has not been +tempted into careless writing by the vogue of his earlier books.... +There is nothing weak or small or frivolous in the story. The author +deals with tremendous passions working at the height of their energy. +His characters are stern, rugged, determined men and women, governed by +powerful prejudices and iron conventions, types of a military people, in +whom the sense of duty has been cultivated until it dominates all other +motives, and in whom the principle of "noblesse oblige" is so far as the +aristocratic class is concerned, the fundamental rule of conduct. What +such people may be capable of is startlingly shown.—<i>New York Tribune.</i></p> + +<h3>SANT' ILARIO.</h3> + +<h4><i>A SEQUEL TO "SARACINESCA."</i></h4> + +<h4>Price, $1.50.</h4> + +<p>The author shows steady and constant improvement in his art. "Sant' +Ilario" is a continuation of the chronicles of the Saracinesca +family.... A singularly powerful and beautiful story.... Admirably +developed, with a naturalness beyond praise.... It must rank with +"Greifenstein" as the best work the author has produced. It fulfils +every requirement of artistic fiction. It brings out what is most +impressive in human action, without owing any of its effectiveness to +sensationalism or artifice. It is natural, fluent in evolution, +accordant with experience graphic in description, penetrating in +analysis, and absorbing in interest.—<i>New York Tribune.</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p> +<h3>A CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE.</h3> + +<h4>Price, $1.25.</h4> + +<p>It is a touching romance, filled with scenes of great dramatic +power.—<i>Boston Commercial Bulletin.</i></p> + +<p>It is full of life and movement, and is one of the best of Mr. +Crawford's books.—<i>Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>The interest is unflagging throughout. Never has Mr. Crawford done more +brilliant realistic work than here. But his realism is only the case and +cover for those intense feelings which, placed under no matter what +humble conditions, produce the most dramatic and the most tragic +situations.... This is a secret of genius, to take the most coarse and +common material, the meanest surroundings, the most sordid material +prospects, and out of the vehement passions which sometimes dominate all +human beings to build up with these poor elements scenes and passages, +the dramatic and emotional power of which at once enforce attention and +awaken the profoundest interest. —<i>New York Tribune.</i></p> + +<h3>MR. ISAACS.</h3> + +<h4>A Tale of Modern India. Price, $1.50.</h4> + +<p>If considered only as a semi-love story it is exceptionally fascinating, +but when judged as a literary effort it is truly great.—<i>Home Journal.</i></p> + +<p>Under an unpretentious title we have here the most brilliant novel, or +rather romance, that has been given to the world for a very long +time.—<i>The American.</i></p> + +<p>No story of human experience that we have met with since "John +Inglesant" has such an effect of transporting the reader into regions +differing from his own. "Mr. Isaacs" is the best novel that has ever +laid its scenes in our Indian dominions.—<i>The Daily News.</i></p> + +<p>A work of unusual ability.... It fully deserves the notice it is sure to +attract.—<i>The Athenĉum.</i></p> + +<p>A story of remarkable freshness and promise, displaying exceptional +gifts of imagination.—<i>The Academy.</i></p> + +<h3>DR. CLAUDIUS.</h3> + +<h4>A True Story. Price, $1.50.</h4> + +<p>An interesting and attractive story, and in some directions a positive +advance upon "Mr. Isaacs."—<i>New York Tribune.</i></p> + +<p>"Dr. Claudius" is surprisingly good, coming after a story of so much +merit as "Mr. Isaacs." The hero is a magnificent specimen of humanity, +and sympathetic readers will be fascinated by his chivalrous wooing of +the beautiful American countess.—<i>Boston Traveller.</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span></p> +<h3>ZOROASTER.</h3> + +<h4>Price, $1.50.</h4> + +<p>The novel opens with a magnificent description of the march of the +Babylonian court to Belshazzar's feast, with the sudden and awful ending +of the latter by the marvelous writing on the wall which Daniel is +called to interpret. From that point the story moves on in a series of +grand and dramatic scenes and incidents which will not fail to hold the +reader fascinated and spell-bound to the end.—<i>Christian at Work.</i></p> + +<p>The field of Mr. Crawford's imagination appears to be unbounded.... In +"Zoroaster" Mr. Crawford's winged fancy ventures a daring flight.... Yet +"Zoroaster" is a novel rather than a drama. It is a drama in the force +of its situations and in the poetry and dignity of its language, but its +men and women are not men and women of a play. By the naturalness of +their conversation and behavior they seem to live and lay hold of our +human sympathy more than the same characters on a stage could possibly +do.—<i>The Times.</i></p> + +<h3>A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH.</h3> + +<h4>Price, $1.50.</h4> + +<p>It is a pleasure to have anything so perfect of its kind as this brief +and vivid story.... It is doubly a success, being full of human +sympathy, as well as thoroughly artistic in its nice balancing of the +unusual with the commonplace, the clever juxtaposition of innocence and +guilt, comedy and tragedy, simplicity and intrigue.—<i>Critic.</i></p> + +<h3>SARACINESCA.</h3> + +<h4>Price, $1.50.</h4> + +<p>His highest achievement, as yet, in the realms of fiction. The work has +two distinct merits, either of which would serve to make it great,—that +of telling a perfect story in a perfect way, and of giving a graphic +picture of Roman society in the last days of the Pope's temporal +power.... The story is exquisitely told.—<i>Boston Traveller.</i></p> + +<p>One of the most engrossing novels we have ever read.—<i>Boston Times.</i></p> + +<h3>MARZIO'S CRUCIFIX.</h3> + +<h4>Price, $1.50.</h4> + +<p>Now this is brought out in this little story with the firmness of touch, +a power and skill which belong to the first rank in art.... We take the +liberty of saying that this work belongs to the highest department of +character painting in words.—<i>Churchman.</i></p> + +<p>"Marzio's Crucifix" is another of those tales of modern Rome which show +the author so much at his ease. A subtle compound of artistic feeling, +avarice, malice, and criminal frenzy is this carver of silver chalices +and crucifixes.—<i>The Times.</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE WITCH OF PRAGUE.</h3> + +<h4><i>A FANTASTIC TALE.</i></h4> + +<h5>With numerous Illustrations by <span class="smcap">W. J. Hennessy</span>.</h5> + +<h4>Price, $1.00.</h4> + +<p>"The Witch of Prague" is so remarkable a book as to be certain of as +wide a popularity as any of its predecessors. The keenest interest for +most readers will lie in its demonstration of the latest revelations of +hypnotic science.... But "The Witch of Prague" is not merely a striking +exposition of the far-reaching possibilities of a new science; it is a +romance of singular daring and power.—<i>London Academy.</i></p> + +<h3>KHALED:</h3> + +<h4><i>A TALE OF ARABIA.</i></h4> + +<h4>Price, $1.25.</h4> + +<p>The story is powerful; it is pervaded by fine poetic feeling, is +picturesque to a remarkable degree, and the local color is extraordinary +in its force and truth. Of the many admirable contributions to the +literature of fiction that Mr. Crawford has made, this book is, on the +whole, the most artistic in construction and finish, and the thorough +artist is apparent at every stage of the story. His plot is intensely +dramatic, but he has never permitted it to sway him to the extent of +slighting any of the more minute details under the impulse of merely +telling what he has to tell. He holds his theme firmly in hand and +controls instead of being controlled by it. The characters have been +drawn with the greatest care and stand out in bold relief and fine +contrast. The atmosphere of the East is in every page, in every +utterance.—<i>Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>Throughout the fascinating story runs the subtlest analysis, suggested +rather than elaborately worked out, of human passion and motive, the +building out and development of the character of the woman who becomes +the hero's wife and whose love he finally wins being an especially acute +and highly-finished example of the story-teller's art.... That it is +beautifully written and holds the interest of the reader, fanciful as it +all is, to the very end, none who know the depth and artistic finish of +Mr. Crawford's work need be told.—<i>The Chicago Times.</i></p> + +<h3>MACMILLAN & CO.,<br /> +112 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> + +<p><a href="#head1">Head-quarters</a> and <a href="#head2">headquarters</a> each used once, retained.</p> + +<p>p. 110: Original shows— I am really much more grateful <a href="#than">then</a> I seem. — +Inconsistent with others uses of then and than in the text. Changed to than.</p> + +<p>p. 131: Original shows— I can never look any one in the face again. <a href="#look">"Look</a> at me, please — double-quote before Look removed</p> + +<p>p. 168: Original shows— "I! <a href="#forgery">Forgery</a> The man is mad!" — "?" added after Forgery.</p> + +<p>p. 311: Original shows— "pocket edition of <a href="#William">Willian</a> Winter's Works" — corrected to William</p> + +<p>p. <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>, +<a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>: footer of "MACMILLAN & CO.,112 FOURTH +AVENUE, NEW YORK." at bottom of each page removed. Retained on p. 316 +(last page) only.</p> +<p>p. <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>: header of "F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS. 12MO. +BOUND IN CLOTH." at top of each page removed. Retained on p. 313 +(beginning of section) only.</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Marion Darche, by F. Marion Crawford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARION DARCHE *** + +***** This file should be named 33924-h.htm or 33924-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/9/2/33924/ + +Produced by D Alexander, JoAnn Greenwood, Juliet Sutherland +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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