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diff --git a/47899.txt b/47899.txt deleted file mode 100644 index bfa86a2..0000000 --- a/47899.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11988 +0,0 @@ - THE FORBIDDEN WAY - - - - -This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United -States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are -located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Forbidden Way -Author: George Gibbs -Release Date: January 06, 2015 [EBook #47899] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORBIDDEN WAY *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - -[Illustration: As she sat before her mirror...] - - - - - *THE - FORBIDDEN WAY* - - - BY - - GEORGE GIBBS - - AUTHOR OF - THE BOLTED DOOR, ETC. - - - - ILLUSTRATED - - - - NEW YORK - GROSSET & DUNLAP - PUBLISHERS - - - - - Copyright, 1911, BY - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - Copyright, 1911, by Associated Sunday Magazines, Incorporated. - - - - _Published September, 1911_ - - - - Printed in the United States of America - - - - - *CONTENTS* - -CHAPTER - - I. Sharp Practice - II. Camilla - III. New York - IV. The Forbidden Way - V. Diners Out - VI. Mrs. Cheyne - VII. Braebank - VIII. The Brush - IX. The Shadow - X. Triton of the Minnows - XI. Discord - XII. Tea Cups and Music - XIII. Good Fishing - XIV. Father and Son - XV. Infatuation - XVI. Old Dangers - XVII. Old Rose Leaves - XVIII. Combat - XIX. The Lady in Gray - XX. *La Femme Propose* - XXI. *L'Homme Dispose* - XXII. Private Matters - XXIII. The Intruder - XXIV. Gretchen Decides - XXV. The Crisis - XXVI. The Call of the Heart - XXVII. General Bent - XXVIII. Household Gods--and Goddesses - - - - - *THE FORBIDDEN WAY* - - - - *CHAPTER I* - - *SHARP PRACTICE* - - -The young man in the swivel chair drummed with his toes against the -desk, while he studied the gaudy fire insurance calendar on the wall -before him. His pipe hung bowl downward from his lips, and the long -fingers of one hand toyed with a legal document in his lap. - -"Something new is hatching in this incubator," he muttered at last, -dipping his pen in the ink bottle again. "And I think--I _think_ it's -an ugly duckling. Of course, it's no business of mine, but----" He -looked up suddenly as a bulky figure darkened the doorway. "Hello, -Jeff!" - -Jeff Wray nodded and walked to the water cooler. - -"Mulrennan's been here to see you three times," said the man in the -swivel chair. "Each time he's been getting madder. I wish you'd keep -your appointments or get another office-boy. That man's vocabulary is a -work of genius. Even you, in your happiest humors--why, what's the -matter with your face?" - -Wray put his fingers up. Four red streaks ran parallel across his cheek -bone. He touched the marks with his hand, then looked at his finger -tips. - -"Oh, that? Seems like I must have butted into something." He gave a -short, unmirthful laugh. "Don't make me look any prettier, does it? -Funny I didn't feel it before." And then, as he turned to the inner -office, "Is Mulrennan coming back?" he asked. - -"Yes, at five." - -Wray glanced at the clock. "Has Bent been in?" - -"No." - -"When will those papers be ready?" - -"To-night, if you want them." - -"Good!" Wray turned, with his hand on the knob of the door. "When Pete -comes, send him back. Will you, Larry?" - -Larry Berkely nodded, and Wray went into the back office and closed the -door behind him. He took out his keys and unlocked the desk, but, -instead of sitting at once, he went over to a cracked mirror in the -corner and examined his face, grinning at his image and touching the red -marks with his fingers. - -"That was a love-tap for fair," he said. "I reckon I deserved it. But -she oughtn't to push a man too far. She was sure angry. Won't speak -now for a while." He turned with a confident air. "She'll come around, -though," he laughed. "You just bet she will." Then he sat down at his -desk, took a photograph in a brass frame out of the drawer, put it up -against the pen-rack before him, and, folding his arms across the -blotter, gazed at it steadily for a moment. - -"It was a mean trick, wasn't it, Camilla girl?" he muttered, half aloud. -"I'm sorry. But you've got to learn who you belong to. There can't be -any fooling of other fellows around Jeff Wray's girl. I just had to -kiss you--had to put my seal on you, Camilla. I reckon you put yours on -me, too, black and blue." He laughed ruefully. "You'll forgive me, -though. A diamond necklace or so will square _that_. You bet it will!" - -He put the picture down, hid it away, and took up some papers that lay -before him. But when, a while later, Larry Berkely showed Mulrennan in, -they found him sitting with his face to the window, looking out with his -baby stare over the hundred thousand acres of the Hermosa Company. - -"Come in, Pete, and shut the door. You don't mind, Larry? Mulrennan -and I have got some private business." Then, when the door was closed, -he said in a half-whisper, "Well? What did you find out about the 'Lone -Tree'?" - -Mr. Mulrennan carefully sought the cuspidor, then wiped his brow with a -dirty red handkerchief. "What didn't I find out? God, Jeff! that mine's -lousy with sylvanite. The watchman was asleep, and we got in -scrumpshus-like. It's half way down that short winze they made last -fall. Max had put some timbers up to hide it, and we pulled 'em down. -We only had matches to strike and couldn't see much, but what we saw was -a-plenty. It's the vein, all right. Holy Mother! but it started my -mouth to watherin'--I haven't had a wink of shlape. Where in h--l have -you been all day?" - -"Business," said Jeff vaguely, "in the mountains." - -"It's no time to be potherin' about wid little matthers." Mulrennan -brought his huge fist down on the table. "You've got to nail this deal, -Jeff, to-day." - -"To-day? Bent hasn't been back." - -"Well, you've got to find him--now." - -"What for? See here, Pete, cool down. Can't you see if I go after him -he'll get suspicious--and then good-bye to everything. You leave this -deal to me. He'll sign. Larry's drawing the lease and bond now. Maybe -to-morrow----" - -"To-morrow? To-morrow will be too late. That's what I'm gettin' at. -Max is ugly----" - -Wray clenched his bony fingers over the chair arm and leaned across the -desk. - -"Max!" he whispered angrily. "What----?" - -"He's afther more money. He talked pretty big last night, but this -mornin'----" He broke off breathlessly. "Oh, I've had the h--l of a -day----" - -"What did he say?" - -"He's talkin' of goin' to the mine owner. He says, after all, Cort Bent -never harmed him any, and it's only a matter of who gives him the most." - -Wray got to his feet and took two or three rapid turns up and down the -room. - -"D--n him!" he muttered. And then suddenly, "Where is he now?" - -"Up the bar playing pinochle with Fritz." - -"Are you sure?" - -"He was twenty minutes ago. I haven't left him a minute except to come -here. Fritz is losin' money to him. I told him to. That will kape him -for a while." - -But Wray had already taken up his hat. "Come, let's go up there. We've -got to shut his mouth some way," he said, through set lips. - -"I've been promisin' myself sick, but he's a sharp one--God! But I wish -them papers was signed," sighed Mulrennan. - -As they passed through the office Jeff stopped a moment. - -"If Bent comes in, Larry, tell him I'll be back in half an hour. -Understand? Don't seem anxious. Just tell him I'm going to Denver and -want to settle that deal one way or another as soon as possible." - -Berkely nodded and watched the strange pair as they made their way up -the street. Wray, his head down and hands in his pockets, and the -Irishman using his arms in violent gestures. - -"I'm _sure_ it's an ugly duckling," commented the sage. - - * * * * * - -It was three years now since Berkely had come to Colorado for his -health, and two since Fate had sent him drifting down to Mesa City and -Jeff Wray. Mesa City was a "boom" town. Three years ago, when the "Jack -Pot" mine was opened, it had become the sudden proud possessor of five -hotels (and saloons), three "general" stores, four barber shops, three -pool rooms, a livery stable, and post office. Its main (and only) street -was a quarter of a mile in length, and the plains for a half mile in -every direction had been dotted with the camps of the settlers. It had -almost seemed as if Saguache County had found another Cripple Creek. - -A time passed, and then Mesa City awoke one morning to find that the -gamblers, the speculators, and the sporting men (and women) had gone -forth to other fields, and left it to its fate, and the town knew that -it was a failure. - -But Jeff Wray stayed on. And when Berkely came, he stayed, too, partly -because the place seemed to improve his health, but more largely on -account of Jeff Wray. What was it that had drawn him so compellingly -toward the man? He liked him--why, he could not say--but he did--and -that was the end of it. There was a directness in the way Wray went -after what he wanted which approached nothing Berkely could think of so -much as the unhesitating self-sufficiency of a child. He seemed to have -an intuition for the right thing, and, though he often did the wrong -one, Berkely was aware that he did it open-eyed and that no book wisdom -or refinement would have made the slightest difference in the -consummation of his plans. Berkely was sure, as Wray was sure, that the -only reason Jeff hadn't succeeded was because opportunity hadn't yet -come knocking at his door. He liked Wray because he was bold and -strong, because he looked him in the eye, because he gave a sense of -large areas, because his impulses, bad as well as good, were generous -and big, like the mountains and plains of which he was a part. His -schemes showed flashes of genius, but neither of them had money enough -to put them into practice. He was always figuring in hundreds of -thousands or even in millions, and at times it seemed to Berkely as -though he was frittering his life away over small problems when he might -have been mastering big ones. At others he seemed very like Mulberry -Sellers, Munchausen, and D'Artagnan all rolled into one. - -What was happening now, Berkely could not determine, so he gave up the -problem and, when his work was done, filled his pipe, strolled to the -door, and watched the changing colors on the mountains to the east of -him, as the sun, sinking lower, found some clouds and sent their shadows -scurrying along the range to the southward. With his eye he followed -the line of the trail up the canon, and far up above the cottonwoods -that skirted the town he could see two figures on horseback coming down. -He recognized them at once, even at that distance, for they were a sight -to which Mesa City had become accustomed. - -"Camilla and Bent," he muttered. "I'm glad Jeff's not here. It's been -getting on his nerves. I hope if Bent sells out he'll hunt a new field. -There are too few women around here--too few like Camilla. I wonder if -she really cares. I wonder----" - -He stopped, his eyes contracted to pin points. The pair on the horses -had halted, and the man had drawn close to his companion, leaning -forward. Was he fixing her saddle? An unconscious exclamation came from -Berkely's lips. - -"He's got his nerve--right in plain view of the town, too. What----?" - -The girl's horse suddenly drew ahead and came galloping down through the -scrub-oak, the man following. Berkely smiled. "The race isn't always -to the swift, Cort Bent," he muttered. - -At the head of the street he saw Miss Irwin's horse turn in at the -livery stable where she kept him, but Cortland Bent's came straight on -at an easy canter and halted at Berkely's door. - -"Is Wray there?" asked Bent. - -"No, but he told me to ask you to wait. Won't you come in?" - -"Just tell him I'll be in in the morning." - -"Jeff may go to Denver to-morrow," said Larry, "but of course there's no -hurry----" - -Bent took out a silver cigarette case and offered it to Berkely. "See -here, Larry," he said, "what the devil do you fellows want with the -'Lone Tree'? Are you going to work it, or are you getting it for some -one else? Of course, it's none of my business--but I'd like to know, -just----" - -"Oh, I'm not in this. This is Jeff's deal. I don't know much about it, -but I think he'd probably work it for a while." - -Together they walked into the office, and Berkely spread some papers out -over the desk. "Jeff told me to draw these up. I think you'll find -everything properly stated." - -Bent nodded. "Humph! He feels pretty certain I'll sign, doesn't he?" - -Berkely stood beside him, smoking and leaning over his shoulder, but -didn't reply. - -Bent laughed. "Well, it's all cut and dried. Seems a pity to have put -_you_ to so much trouble, Larry. I haven't made up my mind. They say -twice as much money goes into gold mines as ever comes out of 'em. I -guess it's true. If it wasn't for Jeff Wray in this deal I'd sign that -paper in a minute. But I've always had an idea that some day he'd make -his pile, and I don't relish the idea of his making it on me. He's a -visionary--a fanatic on the gold in these mountains, but fortune has a -way of favoring the fool----" - -"Sounds as though you might be talking about me," said a voice from the -doorway, where Jeff stood smiling, his broad figure completely blocking -the entrance. - -Bent turned, confused, but recovered himself with a short laugh. "Yes, -I was," he replied slowly. "I've put twenty thousand dollars in that -hole in the rocks, and I hate to leave it." - -Jeff Wray wiped his brow, went to the cooler, drew a glass of water, and -slowly drank it. - -"Well, my friend," he said carelessly between swallows, "there's still -time to back down. You're not committed to anything. Neither am I. -Suit yourself. I'm going to get a mine or so. But I'm not particular -which one. The 'Daisy' looks good to me, but they want too much for it. -The terms on your mine, the 'Lone Tree,' just about suited me--that's -all. It's not a 'big' proposition. It might pan thirty or forty to the -ton, but there's not much in that--not away up there. Take my offer--or -leave it, Bent. I don't give a d--n." - -He tossed his hat on the chair, took off his coat, and opened the door -of the back office. - -"Larry," he added, "you needn't bother to stay, I've got some writing to -do. I'll lock up when I go." - -If Mr. Mulrennan had been present he would have lost his senses in sheer -admiration or sheer dismay. Berkely remembered that "bluff" later, when -he learned how much had depended on its success. - -But it worked beautifully. - -"Oh, well," said Bent peevishly, "let's get it over. I'll sign. Are -you ready to make a settlement?" - - - - - *CHAPTER II* - - *CAMILLA* - - -Her pupils had all been dismissed for the day and the schoolmistress sat -at her desk, a half-written letter before her, gazing out through the -open doorway over the squalid roofs of the "residence section" of Mesa -City. The "Watch Us Grow" sign on the false front over Jeff Wray's -office was just visible over the flat roof of the brick bank building. -"Watch Us Grow!" The shadow in her eyes deepened. For two long years -she had seen that sign from doorway and window of the school, and, even -when she went home to Mrs. Brennan's bungalow up above, she must see it -again from the veranda. Jeff's business card was the most prominent -object in town, except perhaps Jeff himself. It was so much larger than -it had any right to be, out of scale, so vulgar, so insistent, so--so -like Jeff. Jeff had stood in the doorway of the schoolhouse while they -were building his office, and, in his masterful way, had told her of the -trade-mark he had adopted for his business; he wanted it in plain sight -of her desk so that she could see it every day and watch Mesa City (and -himself) fulfil the prophecy. - -That seemed ages ago now. It was before the "Jeff Wray" had been -painted out and "Wray and Berkely" put in its place, before Larry came -out, or Cortland Bent, in the days when Jeff was a new kind of animal to -her, when she had arrived fresh from her boarding school in Kansas. -"Watch Us Grow!" How could any one grow in a place like this--grow -anything, at least, but wrinkled and stale and ugly. The sign had been -a continual mockery to her, a travesty on the deeper possibilities of -life which Fate had so far denied her. She shut her eyes and resolutely -turned her head away, but she could not get Jeff Wray out of her mind. -She was thoroughly frightened. His air of proprietorship so suddenly -assumed yesterday and the brutality of his kiss had brought her own -feelings to a crisis--for she had learned in that moment that their -relationship was impossible. But her fingers tingled still--at the -memory of the blow she had given him. She _had_ promised to marry him -when he "made good." But in Mesa City that had seemed like no promise -at all. How could any one succeed in anything here? - -She leaned forward on the desk and buried her face in her hands. What -chance had she? Where was the fairy prince who would rescue her from -her hut and broth kettle? - -She raised her head at the sound of a voice and saw Cortland Bent's -broad shoulders at the open window. - -"Morning!" he said, cheerfully. "You look like Ariadne deserted. May I -come in?" - -She nodded assent, and, thrusting her school books and unfinished letter -in the desk, turned the key viciously in its lock. - -"Aren't you riding to-day?" he asked from the doorway. - -"No." - -He came forward, sat on the top of one of the small desks facing her, -and examined her at his ease. - -"You're peevish--no? What?" - -"Yes. I'm in a frightful mood. You'd better not stay." - -He only laughed up at the sunflower dangling from the water pitcher. -"Oh, I don't mind. I've a heavenly disposition." - -"How do you show it?" she broke in impetuously. "Every man thinks the -one way to get on with a woman is to make love to her----" - -"No--not altogether," he reproached her. "You and I have had other -topics, you know--Swinburne and Shakespeare and the musical glasses." - -"Oh, yes, but you always drifted back again." - -"How can you blame me? If I've made love to you, it was----" - -"Oh, I know. I'm a rustic, and it's a good game." - -"You're the least rustic person I've ever known," he said seriously. -"It's not a game. I can't think of it as a game. It is something more -serious than that." He took a few paces up and down the aisle before -her and then went on. - -"I know you've never been willing to give me credit for anything I've -said when I've tried to show you how much you were to me--and yet, I -think you cared--you've showed it sometimes. But I've tried to go about -my work and forget you, because I thought it was best for us both. But -I can't, Camilla, I tell you I can't get you out of my head. I think of -something else, and then, in a moment, there you are again--elusive, -mocking, scornful, tender, all in a breath. And then, when I find -you're there to stay, I don't try any more. I don't want to think of -anything else." He leaned across the desk and seized one of her hands -with an ardor which took her by storm. "You've got into my blood like -wine, Camilla. To be near you means to reach forward and take you--the -sound of your voice, the response of your eyes, the appeal of your mind -to mine in this wilderness of spirit--I can't deny them--I don't want to -deny them." - -Her head sank, but she withdrew her hands. "And my sanity?" she asked -clearly. "That does not appeal to you." - -"Perhaps it does--most of all. It maddens me, too--that I can't make -you care for me enough to forget yourself." - -She looked up at him, smiling gently now. "It is easy to say forget -myself, that _you_ may have one more frail woman to remember. Am I so -provincial, Cortland Bent? Am I really so rustic? Two days ago you -were telling me I had all the _savoir faire_ of the great lady." - -He did not reply to that, but, while she watched him, he got up and -walked slowly over to the map of the United States which hung between -the windows. - -"I don't suppose it will mean anything to you when I tell you I'm -going," he said bitterly. - -"Going--where?" - -"East." - -"For long?" - -"For good. I've leased the mine." - -She started up from her chair, breathless, and stood poised on the edge -of the platform, the slender fingers of one hand grasping the projecting -edge of the desk. - -"You're--going--East to--to stay?" - -He did not turn, and, if he noticed any change in her intonation, he -gave no sign of it. - -"I've finished here. The mine is leased. I'm going back to New York." - -"I can't believe--you never told me. It's curious you shouldn't have -said something before." - -"Why should I? No man likes to admit that he's a failure." - -"You've leased the 'Lone Tree'? To whom?" - -"To Wray. He made me a proposition yesterday. I've accepted it. In -fact, I'm out of the thing altogether." - -"Jeff? I don't understand. Why, only yesterday he----" - -Was it loyalty to Jeff that made her pause? He turned quickly. - -"What--did he say anything?" - -"Oh, nothing--only that the mine was a failure. That seems curious if he -had decided to lease it." - -"Oh!" he said smiling, "it's only Wray's way of doing business. When -anything is hanging fire he always says exactly what he doesn't mean. He -doesn't worry me. I've gone over that hole with a fine-tooth comb, and -I'm glad to get out of it." - -"And out of Mesa City?" Then, with an attempt at carelessness, "Of -course we'll all miss you," she said dully. - -"Don't! You mustn't speak to me in that way. I've always been pretty -decent to you. You've never believed in me, but that's because you've -never believed in any man. I've tried to show you how differently I -felt----" - -"By kissing me?" she mocked scornfully. - -Bent changed his tone. "See here, Camilla," he said, "I'm not in a mood -to be trifled with. I can't go away from here and leave you in this -God-forsaken hole. There isn't a person here fit for you to associate -with. It will drive you mad in another year. Do you ever try to -picture what your future out here is going to be?" - -"Haven't I?" bitterly. - -"You've seen them out on the ranches, haven't you? Slabsided, gingham -scarecrows in sunbonnets, brown and wrinkled like dried peaches, moving -all day from kitchen to bedroom, from bedroom to barn, and back -again----" - -"Yes, yes," said Camilla, her head in her hands. "I've seen them." - -"Without one thought in life but the successes of their husbands--the -hay crop, the price of cattle; without other diversion than the visit to -Kinney, the new hat and frock once a year (a year behind the fashion); -their only companions women like themselves, with the same tastes, the -same thoughts, the same habits----" - -"O God!" whispered the girl, laying a restraining hand on his arm, -"don't go on! I can't stand it." - -He clasped her hands in both of his own. - -"Don't you see it's impossible?" he whispered. "You weren't made for -that kind of thing. Your bloom would fade like theirs, only sooner -because of your fineness. You'd never grow like those women, because it -isn't in you to be ugly. But you'd fade early." - -"Yes," she said, "I know it." - -"You can't stay. I know, just as you know, that you were never meant -for a life like that--you weren't meant for a life like this. Do you -care what becomes of these kids? No matter how much chance you give -them to get up in the world, they'll seek their own level in the end." - -"No, I can't stay here." She repeated the phrase mechanically, her gaze -afar. - -"I've watched you, Camilla. I know. For all your warm blood, you're no -hardy plant to be nourished in a soil like this. You need environment, -culture, the sun of flattery, of wealth--without them you'll wither----" - -"And die. Yes, I will. I could not stand this much longer. Perhaps it -would be better to die than to become the dull, sodden things these -women are." - -"Listen, Camilla," he said madly. He put his arms around her, his -pulses leaping at the contact of her body. Her figure drooped away from -him, but he felt the pressure of her warm fingers in his, and saw the -veins throbbing at her throat and temples, and he knew that at last she -was awakened. "You must come with me to the East. I won't go without -you. I want you. I want to see you among people of your own sort. -I'll be good to you--so gentle, so kind that you'll soon forget that -there ever was such a place as this." - -His tenderness overpowered her, and she felt herself yielding to the -warmth of his entreaty. "Do you really need me so much?" she asked -brokenly. - -His reply was to draw her closer to him and to raise her lips to his. -But she turned her head and would not let him kiss her. Perhaps through -her mind passed the memory of that other kiss only yesterday. - -"No, I'm afraid." - -"Of me? Why?" - -"Of myself. Life is so terrible--so full of meaning. I'm afraid--yes, -afraid of you, too. Somewhere deep in me I have a conscience. To-day -you appeal to me. You have put things so clearly--things I have thought -but have never dared speak of. To-day you seem to be the only solution -of my troubles----" - -"Let me solve them then." - -"Wait. To-day you almost seem to be the only man in the world--almost, -but not quite. I'm not sure of you--nor sure of myself. You point a -way to freedom from this--perhaps a worse slavery would await me there. -Suppose I married you----" - -"Don't marry me then," he broke in wildly. "What is marriage? A word -for a social obligation which no one denies. But why insist on it? The -real obligation is a moral one and needs no rites to make it binding. I -love you. What does it matter whether----" - -His meaning dawned on her slowly, and she turned in his arms, her eyes -widening with bewilderment as she looked as though fascinated by the -horror she read in his words. He felt her body straighten in his arms -and saw that the blood had gone from her face. - -"Do I startle you? Don't look so strangely. You are the only woman in -the world. I am mad about you. You know that? Can't you see? Look up -at me, Camilla. There's a girl in the East they want me to marry--of an -old line with money--but I swear I'll never marry her. Never!" - -Slowly she disengaged his arms and put the chair between them. There -was even a smile on her lips. "You mean--that I--that you----" She -paused, uncertain of her words. - -"That I'll stick to you until Kingdom Come," he assented. - -Her laugh echoed harshly in the bare room. "Whether you marry the other -girl or not?" - -"I'll never marry the other girl," he said savagely, "never see her -again if you say so----" - -He took a step toward her, but she held up her hand as though warding -off a blow. - -"One moment," she said, a calm taking the place of her forced gayety, -her voice ringing with a deep note of scorn. "I didn't understand at -first. Back here in the valley we're a little dull. We learn to speak -well or ill as we think. At least, we learn to be honest with -ourselves, and we try to be honest with others. We do not speak fair -words and lie in our hearts. Our men have a rougher bark than yours, -but they're sound and strong inside." She drew herself to her full -height. "A woman is safe in this country--with the men of this country, -Mr. Bent. It is only when----" - -"Camilla! Forgive me. I was only trying you. I will do whatever you -say--I----" - -She walked to the door rapidly, then paused uncertainly, leaning against -the door-jamb and looking down the street. - -"Will you go?" she murmured. - -"I can't--not yet." - -"You must--at once. Jeff Wray is coming here--now!" - -"What have I to do with him?" - -"Nothing--only if he guesses what you've been saying to me, I won't -answer for him. That's all." - -Bent looked up with a quick smile, and then sat on the nearest desk. "I -suppose I ought to be frightened. What? Jeff is a kind of a 'bad man,' -isn't he? But I can't go now, Camilla. Wouldn't be the sporting thing, -you know. I think I'll stay. Do you mind if I smoke?" - -She watched the approaching figure of Jeff for a moment irresolutely and -then turned indoors. "Of course, I can't _make_ you go," she said, "but -I have always understood that when a woman expressed a wish to be alone, -it was the custom of gentlemen----" - -"You made my going impossible," he said coolly. "Don't forget that. -I'll go after a while, but I won't run. You've got something to tell -Jeff Wray. I prefer to be here when you do it." - -"I didn't say I'd tell him," she put in quickly. "I'm not going to tell -him. Now will you go?" - -"No." - -He sat on a desk, swinging one long leg to and fro and looking out of -the open door, at which the figure of Jeff presently appeared. The -newcomer took off his hat and shuffled in uneasily, but his wide stare -and a nod to Bent showed neither surprise nor ill-humor. Indeed, his -expression gave every sign of unusual content. He spoke to Bent, then -gazed dubiously toward the teacher's desk, where Camilla, apparently -absorbed in her letter, looked up with a fine air of abstraction, -nodded, and then went on with her writing. - -"Looks sort of coolish around here," said Jeff. "Hope I haven't butted -into an Experience Meeting or anything." He laughed, but Bent only -examined the ash of his cigarette and smiled. "I thought, Camilla," he -went on, "maybe you'd like to take a ride----" - -Miss Irwin looked up. She knew every modulation of Jeff's voice. His -tone was quiet--as it had been yesterday--but in it was the same note of -command--or was it triumph? She glanced at Cortland Bent. - -"I'm not riding to-day," she said quietly. - -"Not with Bent, either? That's funny. What will people think around -here? We've sort of got used to the idea of seeing you two out -together--kind of part of the afternoon scenery, so to speak. Nothing -wrong, is there?" - -Bent flushed with anger, and Camilla marveled at this new manifestation -of Jeff's instinct. It almost seemed as though he knew what had -happened between them as well as though she had told him. Jeff laughed -softly and looked from one to the other with his mildest stare, as -though delighted at the discovery. - -Miss Irwin rose and put her letter in the drawer of the desk. "I wish -you'd go--both of you," she said quietly. But Wray had made himself -comfortable in a chair and showed no disposition to move. - -"I thought you might like to ride out to the 'Lone Tree,'" he said. -"You know Mr. Bent has leased it to me?" - -"Yes, he told me." - -"What else did he tell you?" - -"Oh, I say, Wray," Bent broke in, "I don't see how that can be any -affair of yours." - -Jeff Wray wrapped his quirt around one knee and smiled indulgently. -"Doesn't seem so, does it, Bent?" he said coolly. "But it really is. -You see, Camilla--Miss Irwin--and I have been friends a long time--as a -matter of fact, we're sort of engaged----" - -"Jeff!" gasped the girl. The calmness of his effrontery almost, if not -quite, deprived her of speech. "Even if it were true, you must see that -it can hardly interest----" - -"I thought that he might like to know. I haven't interfered much -between you two, but I've been thinking about you some. I thought it -might be just as well that Mr. Bent understood before he went away." - -Camilla started up, stammered, began to speak, then sank in her chair -again. Bent looked coolly from one to the other. - -"There seems to be a slight difference of opinion," he said. - -"Oh, we're engaged all right," Jeff went on. "That's why I thought I'd -better tell you it wouldn't be any use for you to try to persuade -Camilla--that is, Miss Irwin--to go to New York with you." - -Jeff made this surprising statement with the same ease with which he -might have dissuaded a client in an unprofitable deal. Miss Irwin -became a shade paler, Bent a shade darker. Such intuition was rather -too precise to be pleasant. Neither of them replied. Bent, because he -feared to trust himself to speak--Camilla, because her tongue refused -obedience. - -"Oh, I'm a pretty good guesser. Camilla told you she wasn't going, -didn't she? I thought so. You see, that wouldn't have done at all, -because I'd have had to go all the way East to bring her back again. -When we're married of course----" - -"Jeff!" The girl's voice, found at last, echoed so shrilly in the bare -room that even Wray was startled into silence. He had not seemed aware -of any indelicacy in his revelation, but each moment added to the -bitterness of Miss Irwin's awakening. Bent's indignity had made her -hate herself and despise the man who had offered it. She thought she -saw what kind of wood had been hidden under his handsome veneer--she had -always known what Jeff was made of. The fibre was there, tough, strong, -and ugly as ever, but it was not rotten. And in that hour she learned a -new definition of chivalry. - -"Jeff, will you be quiet?" But she went over to him and put her hand on -his shoulder, and her words came slowly and very distinctly, as she -looked over Wray's head into Cortland Bent's eyes. "What Mr. Wray says -is true. I intend to marry him when he asks me to." - -Bent bowed his head, as Jeff rose, the girl's hand in his. - -"I reckon that about winds up all your loose ends around Mesa, don't it, -Bent?" said Jeff cheerfully. "When are you leaving town?" - -[Illustration: "'I reckon that about winds up all your loose ends around -Mesa,' said Jeff cheerfully."] - -But Bent by this time had taken up his cap, and was gone. - - - - - *CHAPTER III* - - *NEW YORK* - - -Wonderful things happened in the year which followed. The "Lone Tree" -was a bonanza. Every month added to the value of the discovery. The -incredulous came, saw, and were conquered, and Mesa City was a "boom -town" again. Jeff Wray hadn't a great deal to say in those days. His -brain was working overtime upon the great interlocking scheme of -financial enterprises which was to make him one of the richest men in -the West. He spoke little, but his face wore a smile that never came -off, and his baby-blue stare was more vacuous than ever. - -And yet, as month followed month and the things happened which he had so -long predicted for himself and for the town, something of his old -arrogance slipped away from him. If balked ambition and injured pride -had made him boast before, it was success that tamed him. There was no -time to swagger. Weighty problems gave him an air of seriousness which -lent him a dignity he had never possessed. And if sometimes he -blustered now, people listened. There was a difference. - -As the time for her wedding approached, for the first time in her life -Camilla felt the personality of the man. Why was it that she could not -love him? Since that hour at the schoolhouse when Cortland Bent had -shown her how near--and how fearful--could be the spiritual relation -between a woman and a man, life had taken a different meaning to her. - -Jeff's was a curious courtship. He made love to her bunglingly, and she -realized that his diffidence was the expression of a kind of rustic -humility which set her in a shrine at which he distantly worshipped. He -seemed most like the Jeff of other days when he was talking of himself, -and she allowed him to do this by the hour, listening, questioning, and -encouraging. If this was to make the most of her life, perhaps it might -be as well to get used to the idea. She could not deny that she was -interested. Jeff's schemes seemed like a page out of a fairy book, and, -whether she would or not, she went along with him. There seemed no -limit to his invention, and there was little doubt in his mind, or, -indeed, in hers, that the world was to be made to provide very -generously for them both. - -It was on the eve of their wedding day that Jeff first spoke of his -childhood. - -"I suppose you know, Camilla, I never had a father. That is," he -corrected, "not one to brag about. My mother was a waitress in the -Frontier Hotel at Fort Dodge. She died when I was born. That's my -family tree. You knew it, I guess, but I thought maybe you'd like to -change your mind." - -He looked away from her. The words came slowly, and there was a note of -heaviness in his voice. She realized how hard it was for him to speak -of these things, and put her hand confidently in his. - -"Yes, I knew," she said softly. "But I never weighed _that_ against -you, Jeff. It only makes me prouder of what you have become." And -then, after a pause, "Did you never hear anything about him?" - -"There were some letters written before I was born. I'll show them to -you some day. He was from New York, that's all I know. Maybe you can -guess now why I didn't like Cort Bent." - -Camilla withdrew her hands from his and buried her face in them, while -Wray sat gloomily gazing at the opposite wall. In a moment she raised -her head, her cheeks burning. - -"Yes, I understand now," she muttered. "He was not worth bothering -about." - - * * * * * - -And now they were at the hotel in New York, where Jeff had come on -business. The Empire drawing room overlooked Fifth Avenue and the cross -street. There was a reception room in the French style, a dining room -in English oak, a library (Flemish), smoking room (Turkish), a hall -(Dutch), and a number of bedrooms, each a reproduction of a celebrated -historical apartment. The wall hangings were of silk, the curtains of -heavy brocade, the pictures poor copies of excellent old masters, the -rugs costly; and the fixtures in Camilla's bathroom were of solid -silver. - -Camilla stood before the cheval glass in her dressing room (Recamier) -trying on, with the assistance of her maid and a modiste, a fetching hat -and afternoon costume. Chairs, tables, and the bed in her own sleeping -room were covered with miscellaneous finery. - -When the women had gone, Camilla dropped into a chair in the drawing -room. There was something about the made-to-order magnificence which -oppressed her with its emptiness. Everything that money could buy was -hers for the asking. Her husband was going to be fabulously -wealthy--every month since they had been married had developed new -possibilities. His foresight was extraordinary, and his luck had become -a by-word in the West. Each of his new ventures had attracted a large -following, and money had flowed into the coffers of the company. It was -difficult for her to realize all that happened in the wonderful period -since she had sat at her humble desk in the schoolhouse at Mesa City. -She was not sure what it was that she lacked, for she and Jeff got along -admirably, but the room in which she sat seemed to be one expression of -it--a room to be possessed but not enjoyed. Their good fortune was so -brief that it had no perspective. Life had no personality. It was made -of Things, like the articles in this drawing room, each one agreeably -harmonious with the other, but devoid of associations, pleasant or -unpleasant. The only difference between this room and the parlor at -Mrs. Brennan's was that the furniture of the hotel had cost more money. - -To tell the truth, Camilla was horribly bored. She had proposed to spend -the mornings, when Jeff was downtown, in the agreeable task of providing -herself with a suitable wardrobe. But she found that the time hung -heavily on her hands. The wives of Jeff's business associates in New -York had not yet called. Perhaps they never would call. Everything here -spoke of wealth, and the entrance of a new millionaire upon the scene -was not such a rare occurrence as to excite unusual comment. She peered -out up the avenue at the endless tide of wealth and fashion which passed -her by, and she felt very dreary and isolated, like a vacant house from -which old tenants had departed and into which new ones would not enter. - -She was in this mood when a servant entered. She had reached the point -when even this interruption was welcome, but when she saw that the man -bore a card tray her interest revived, and she took up the bit of -pasteboard with a short sigh of relief. She looked at it, turned it -over in her fingers, her blood slowing a little, then rushing hotly to -her temples. - -Cortland Bent! She let the card fall on the table beside her. - -"Tell him that I am not----" she paused and glanced out of the window. -The quick impulse was gone. "Tell him--to come up," she finished. - -When the page disappeared she glanced about the room, then hurried to -the door to recall him, but he had turned the corner into the corridor -outside, and the message was on its way to a lower floor. - -She paused, irresolute, then went in again, closing the outside door -behind her. What had she done? A message of welcome to Cortland Bent, -the one person in the world she had promised herself she should never -see again; her husband's enemy, her own because he was her husband's; -her own, too, because he had given her pride a wound from which it had -not yet recovered! What should she do? She moved toward the door -leading to her dressing room--to pause again. - -What did it matter after all? Jeff wouldn't care. She laughed. Why -should he? He could afford to be generous with the man who had lost the -fortune he now possessed. He had, too, an implicit confidence in her -own judgment, and never since they had been married had he questioned an -action or motive of hers. As for herself--that was another matter. She -tossed her head and looked at herself in her mirror. Should she not -even welcome the opportunity to show Bent how small a place he now held -in her memory? The mirror told her she was handsome, but she still -lingered before it, arranging her hair, when her visitor was announced. - -He stood with his hands behind his back studying the portrait over the -fireplace, turning at the sound of her voice. - -"It's very nice of you to see me," he said slowly. "How long have you -been here?" - -"A few weeks only. Won't you sit down?" - -A warm color had come to her checks as she realized that he was -carefully scrutinizing her from head to heel. - -"Of course we're very much honored----" she began. - -"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you," he broke in warmly. "I was -tempted to write you a dozen times, but your engagement and marriage to -Wray and"--he paused--"the trouble about the mine seemed to make it -difficult, somehow." - -"I'm sure my husband bears you no ill-will." - -He gave a short laugh. "There's no reason why he should. There's -nothing for _him_ to be upset about. He got the fortune that -should--which might have been mine--to say nothing of the girl----" - -"Perhaps we had better leave the girl out of it," she put in calmly. -"Even time hasn't explained _that_ misunderstanding." - -He shrugged a shoulder expressively. "As you please. I'll not parade -any ghosts if I can help it. I'm too happy to see you. You're more -wonderful than ever. Really I don't believe I should have known you. -You're changed somehow. I wonder what it is?" - -"Prosperity?" she suggested. - -"I'm not sure I feel at home with you. You're so matured, so--so -punctilious and modish." - -"You wouldn't have me wear a short skirt and a sombrero?" she said with -a slow smile. - -"No, no. It is not what you wear so much as what you are. You are -really the great lady. I think I knew it there in the West." - -She glanced around the room. - -"This?" she queried. "This was Jeff's idea." And then, as the possible -disloyalty occurred to her, "You know I would much have preferred a -quieter place. Fine feathers don't always make fine birds." - -"But fine birds can be no less fine whatever they wear." There was a -pause, and then he asked: - -"How long will you be here?" - -"All winter, I think. My husband has business in New York." - -"Yes, I know. Mesa City can spare him best at this season." - -Bent took up an ivory paper cutter from the table and sat turning it -over in his fingers. "I hope--I really hope we may be friends, Mrs. -Wray. I think perhaps if you'll let me I can be of service to you here. -I don't think that there is a chance that I can forget your husband's -getting the 'Lone Tree' away from me. It's pretty hard to have a -success like that at the tips of one's fingers and not be able to grasp -it. I've been pretty sick about it, and the governor threatened to -disown me. But he seems to have taken a fancy to your husband. I -believe that they have some business relations. The fifty thousand -dollars we got in the final settlement salved his wounds I think. Your -husband has the law on his side and that's all there is to it. I'm glad -he has it for your sake, though, especially as it has given me a chance -to see you again." - -"You're very generous," she said. "I'm sorry. It has worried me a great -deal." - -"Oh, well, let's say no more about it," he said more cheerfully. "I'm -so glad that you're to be here. What do you think of my little burg? -Does it amuse you at all? What? Have you met many people, or don't you -want to meet them? I'd like you to know my family--my aunt, Mrs. -Rumsen, especially. She's a bit of a grenadier, but I know you'll get -along. She always says what she thinks, so you mustn't mind. She's -quite the thing here. Makes out people's lists for them and all that -kind of thing. Won't you come and dine with the governor some time?" - -"Perhaps it will be time enough when we're asked----" - -"Oh--er--of course. I forgot. I'll ask Gladys--that's my sister--to -call at once." - -"Please don't trouble." - -Try as she might to present an air of indifference, down in her heart -she was secretly delighted at his candid, friendly attitude. No other -could have so effectually salved the sudden searing wound he had once -inflicted. To-day it was difficult to believe him capable of evil. He -had tried to forget the past. Why should not she? There was another -girl. Perhaps their engagement had been announced. She knew she was -treading on dangerous ground, but she ventured to ask him. - -"Gretchen?" he replied. "Oh, Lord, no! Not yet. You see she has some -ideas of her own on the subject, and it takes at least two to make a -bargain. Miss Janney is a fine sport. Life is a good deal of a joke -with her, as it is to me, but neither of us feels like carrying it as -far as matrimony. We get on beautifully. She's frightfully rich. I -suppose I'll be, too, some day. What's the use? It's a sheer waste of -raw material. She has a romantic sort of an idea that she wants a poor -man--the sort of chap she can lift out of a gray atmosphere. And I----" -His voice grew suddenly sober. "You won't believe that I, too, had the -same kind of notion." - -It was some moments before she understood what he meant, but the silence -which followed was expressive. He did not choose that she should -misunderstand. - -"Yes," he added, "I mean you." - -She laughed nervously. "You didn't ask me to marry you?" - -"No. But I might have explained why I didn't if you had given me time. -I don't think I realized what it meant to me to leave you until I -learned that I had to. Perhaps it isn't too late to tell you now." - -She was silent, and so he went on. - -"I was engaged to be married. I have been since I was a boy. It was a -family affair. Both of us protested, but my father and hers had set -their hearts on it. My governor swore he'd cut me off unless I did as -he wished. And he's not a man to break his word. I was afraid of him. -I was weak, Camilla. I'm not ashamed to tell you the truth. I knew -unless I made good at the mine that I should have nothing to offer you. -So I thought if I could get you to come East, stay for a while, and meet -my father, that time might work out our salvation." - -She got up hurriedly and walked to the window. "I can't see that you can -do any good telling me this. It means so little," she stammered. - -"Only to justify myself. I want to try and make it possible for you to -understand how things were with me then--how they are now." - -"No, no. It can do no good." - -"Let me finish," he said calmly. "It was the other girl I was thinking -about. I was still pledged to her. I could have written her for my -release--but matters came to a crisis rather suddenly. And then you told -me of your engagement to Mr. Wray. You see, after that I didn't care -what happened." He paused, leaning with one hand on the table, his head -bent. "Perhaps I ought not to speak to you in this way now. But it was -on your own account. I don't know what I said to you. I only remember -that I did not ask you to marry me, but that I wanted you with me -always." - -His voice sounded very far away to Camilla, like a message from another -life she had lived so long ago that it seemed almost a message from the -dead. She did not know whether what she most felt was happiness or -misery. The one thing she was sure of was that he had no right to be -speaking to her in this way and that she had no right to be listening. -But still she listened. His words sank almost to a whisper, but she -heard. "I wanted you to be with me always. I knew afterward that I had -never loved any woman but you--God help me--that I never could love any -other woman----" He stopped again. In her corner Camilla was crying -softly--tears of pity for him, for the ashes of their dead. - -"Don't, dear," he said gently. She thought he was coming forward and -raised her head to protest, but she saw that he still stood by the -table, his back toward her. She turned one look of mute appeal, which -he did not see, in his direction, and then rose quickly. - -"You must never speak in this way again," she said, with a surer note. -"Never. I should not have listened. It is my fault. But I have been -so--so glad to hear that--you didn't mean what you said. God knows I -forgive you, and I only hope you can understand--how it was--with me. -You had been so friendly--so clean. It wounded me--horribly. It made -me lose my faith in all things, and I wanted to keep you--as a friend." - -"I think I may still be a friend." - -"I hope so----" She emerged diffidently and laid her hand gently on his -arm. "If you want to be my friend you must forget." - -"I'll try. I _have_ tried. That was easier this morning than it is -this afternoon. It will be harder to-night--harder still to-morrow." -He gave a short laugh and turned away from her toward the fireplace -where he stood, watching the gray embers. - -"Oh, people don't die of this sort of thing," he muttered. - -It was almost with an air of unconcern that she began rearranging the -Beauties on the table, speaking with such a genuine spirit of raillery -that he turned to look at her. - -"Oh, it isn't nearly as bad as you think it is. A man is never quite so -madly in love that he can't forget. You've been dreaming. I was -different from the sort of girls you were used to. You were in love -with the mountains, and mistook me for background." - -"No. There wasn't any background," he broke in. "There was never -anything in the picture but you. I know. It's the same now." - -"Sh--I must not let you speak to me so. If you do, I must go away from -New York--or you must." - -"You wouldn't care." - -She could make no reply to that, and attempted none. When the flowers -were arranged she sat on the edge of the table facing him. "Perhaps it -would be the better way for me to go back to the West," she said, "but -New York is surely big enough to hold us both without danger of your -meeting me too often. And I have another idea," her smile came slowly, -with difficulty, "when you see enough of me in your own city, you will -be glad to forget me whether you want to or not. Perhaps you may meet -me among your own kind of people--your own kind of girls, at dinners, or -at dances. You don't really know me very well, after all. Wouldn't it -bother you if from sheer awkwardness I spilled my wine or said 'yes, -ma'am,' or 'no, ma'am,' to my hostess, not because I wanted to, but -because I was too frightened to think of anything else? Or mistook the -butler for my host? Or stepped on somebody's toes in a ballroom. You -know I don't dance very well. Suppose----" - -"Oh, what's the use, Camilla?" he broke in angrily. "You don't deceive -anybody. You know that kind of thing wouldn't make any difference to -me." - -"But it might to other people. You wouldn't fancy seeing me -ridiculous." He turned to the fire again, and she perceived that her -warning hadn't merited the dignity of a reply, but her attitude and the -lighter key in which her tone was pitched had saved the situation. When -he spoke again, all trace of his discomposure had vanished. - -"Oh, I suppose I'll survive. I've got a name for nerve of a certain -kind, and nobody shall say I ran away from a woman. I don't suppose -there's any use of my trying to like your husband. You see, I'm frank -with you. But I'll swallow a good deal to be able to be near you." - -There was a silence during which she keenly searched his face. - -"You mustn't dislike Jeff. I can't permit that. You can't blame him for -being lucky----" - -"Lucky? Yes, I suppose you might call it luck. Didn't you know how -your husband and Mulrennan got that mine?" - -She rose, her eyes full of a new wonder and curiosity. - -"They leased it. Everything was legally done," she said. - -"Oh, yes. Legally----" he paused. - -"Go on--go on." - -"What is the use?" - -"I must know--everything." - -"He never told you? I think I know why. Because your code and his are -different. The consciences of some men are satisfied if they keep their -affairs within the letter of the law. But there's a moral law which has -nothing to do with the courts. He didn't tell you because he knew you -obeyed a different precept." - -"What did he do? Won't you tell me?" - - - - - *CHAPTER IV* - - *THE FORBIDDEN WAY* - - -He came forward and stood facing her, one hand clutching the back of a -chair, his eyes blazing with newly kindled resentment. "Yes, I will tell -you. It's right for you to know. There was a man in my employ who had -a fancied grievance against my foreman. He had no just cause for -complaint. I found that out and told Harbison to fire him. If Harbison -had obeyed orders there would have been a different story to tell about -the 'Lone Tree.' But my foreman took pity on him because he had a -family; then tried to get him started right again. The man used to work -extra time at night, sometimes with a shift and sometimes alone. And -one night in the small gallery at the hundred-foot level he found the -vein we had been looking for. He was a German, Max Reimer, by name----" - -"Max Reimer," she repeated mechanically. - -"Alone there in that cavern he thought out the plan which afterward -resulted in putting me out of business. He quickly got some timbers -together and hid the hole he'd made. This was easy, for the steps and -railing of the winze needed supports and planking. He put in a blast -farther over and hid the gold-bearing rock--all but a few of the pieces. -These he took out in the pockets of his overalls and carried them to -Jeff Wray----" - -"Jeff----" - -"Your husband called in Pete Mulrennan, and they talked it over. Then -one night Pete and Max crept up to the mine, got past the watchman, and -Max showed Pete what he'd found. I learned all this from Harbison after -they let Max loose." - -"Let him loose? What do you mean?" - -"I'll tell you. Max wanted a lump sum in cash. They laughed at -him--chiefly because they didn't have the money to pay. Then he wanted -a percentage bigger than they wanted to give. When they temporized he -got ugly, swore he'd rather run his chances with Harbison and me, but he -never had an opportunity----" - -"You don't mean----?" she gasped. - -"Wray and Mulrennan lured Reimer to a room over the saloon and got up a -fight; they put him out, gagged and trussed him like a fowl, and left -him there until Jeff Wray had closed the deal with me. That's how your -husband got my mine." - -"It can't be," she stammered. "Yes--yes. And Reimer?" - -"They hid him for two weeks, until they brought to terms." - -"I remember," she said, passing her hand over her brow. "Reimer's boy -was in my school. They missed old Max. They thought he had deserted -them. What a horrible thing! And Jeff--my husband----" - -"That is what people call Jeff Wray's luck," he said, and then added -grimly, "and my misfortune." - -"But the law?" she said. "Was there no way in which you could prove -the--the----" - -"The fraud?" he said brutally. "Oh, yes. The Law! Do you know who -impersonates the Law in Mesa City? Pete Mulrennan! He's judge, court, -and jury. We had the best lawyer in Denver. But Lawrence Berkely had -done his work too well. There's a suit still pending, but we haven't a -show. Good God, Camilla! do you mean to say you heard nothing of all -this?" - -"Nothing," she said. "Nothing. When I heard of the suit and questioned -Jeff he--he said it was maliciousness, jealousy, disappointment, and I -believed him." - -He turned away from her and paced the floor. "He was right. It was all -of these. But there was something else----" - -"Oh, I know," she broke in. "It was what I am feeling now--the sense of -a wrong. But you forget----" She got up and faced him, groping vaguely -for an extenuating circumstance. "That sort of thing has been done in -the West before. A successful mine is all a matter of luck. Max -Reimer's find might have only been a pocket. In that case you would -have been the gainer, and Jeff would have lost." - -"That's sophistry. I can't blame you for defending your husband. Mines -have been leased and bought on theory--with a chance to win, a chance to -lose--for the mere love of a gamble. There was no gamble here. The gold -ore was there--one had only to look. There never has been anything like -it since Cripple Creek. It was mine. Jeff Wray wanted it--so he took -it--by force." - -She had sunk on the settee between the windows, her face buried in her -hands, and was trying to think. All this, the hired magnificence, the -empty show, the damask she was sitting on, the rings on her hands, her -clothing even, belonged by every law of decency and morality to the man -who stood there before her. And the wrong she had so long cherished in -her heart against him was as nothing to the injury her husband had done -to him. She knew nothing of the law, cared nothing for it. All she -could think of were the facts of the case as he had presented them. -Cortland told the truth, she recognized it in everything he had said, in -the ringing note of his voice, the clear light of his eye, the -resentment of a nature that had been tried too far. A hundred forgotten -incidents were now remembered--Jeff's reticence about the law-suit, Max -Reimer's disappearance, the many secret conferences with Mulrennan. She -wondered that suspicion of Jeff had never entered her mind before. She -realized now more poignantly than ever that she had been moving blindly, -supinely, under the spell of a personality stronger than her own. She -recalled the scene in the canon when, beside herself with shame and -mortification, she had struck him in the face and he had only laughed at -her, as he would have laughed at a rebellious child. In that moment she -had hated him. The tolerance that had come later had been defensive--a -defense of her pride. When Cortland Bent had left, she had flown like a -wounded swallow to the hawk's nest, glad of any refuge from the ache at -her heart. - -She raised her head and sought Bent's eyes with her own. A while ago it -had seemed so easy to speak to him. He had been so gentle with her, and -his reticence had made her own indifference possible. He had gone back -to the dead fire again as though to find there a phenix of his lost -hope, and was leaning with an elbow on the mantel, his head bowed in -subjection. He had put his fetters on again as though to make her -understand that his sharp indictment of her husband had not been -intended to include the woman he loved. Painfully she rose and took a -step toward him, and, when she spoke, her voice was low and constrained, -for her thoughts came with difficulty. - -"You are right. There _is_ a moral code--a law of conscience. In my -heart I know that no matter what other men have done in the West in -their madness for gold, the fever for wealth, nothing the law holds will -make Jeff's responsibility to you any the less in my sight. I--I did -not know. You believe me, don't you? I did not know. Even if I had -known, perhaps it would not have made any difference. But I am sure of -one thing--I could never have married a man to live on what he had -stolen from another." As he turned toward her she put her hands over -her face. "Oh, I am shamed--shamed. Perhaps I could have done -something; I would have tried. You know that I would have tried--don't -you?" - -"Yes, yes, I know. I would not have told, I would not have made you -unhappy--but it maddens me to see you here with what is mine--his wife." -He took her hands down and made her look in his face. "Don't think -harshly of me. It isn't the money. If you could have had it--if you -didn't have to share it with him--can't you understand?" - -But she would not look at him, and only murmured, "I understand--I -understand many things I did not know before. But the one thing that -seems most important is that I am his wife. Whatever he has done to -others, he has been very good, very gentle and kind to me." - -He dropped her hands and turned violently away. "How could you?" he -groaned. "How could you have married him?" - -"God knows!" - -The words were wrung from her quickly, like the sudden dropping of a -burden which shocked by the noise of its impact before she was conscious -of its loss. She turned in the same moment and looked at him, hoping -that he had not heard her. But before she could prevent him he had -caught her in his arms and held her close to his body, so that, struggle -as she might, there was no chance for her to escape. And in his eyes -she saw the gleam of an old delight, a bright, wild spark among the -embers of bitterness. - -"Camilla!" he whispered. "I know now. God forgive me that I did not -know before--out there in the schoolhouse, when you gave yourself to -him. You loved me then--you love me now. Isn't that why you tremble, -Camilla? You need not speak. Your heart is close to mine and I can -read----" - -"No, no, no," she murmured. "It is not true. You must not. I did not -mean--what I said, you misunderstood----" - -"Once I misunderstood. I won't make the same mistake again. It was I -who found you there, parching in the desert, and taught you how to -grow--who showed you that life was something more than the barren waste -you had found it. Won't you forgive me? I was a fool--and worse. Look -up at me, Camilla, dear. You were mine out there before you were his. -At least a half of what Jeff Wray has stolen from me--your spiritual -side----" - -At the sound of her husband's name she raised her head and looked up at -him in a daze. He caught her again madly, and his lips even brushed her -cheek, but she started from his arms and sped the length of the room -away from him. - -"Camilla!" - -"No, no. You must not." She stood facing him, wildly pleading. "Don't -come near me, Cort. Is this the way you are going to try to forget--the -way you will teach me to forget?" - -"I didn't know then--I want you, Camilla----" - -As he came forward she retreated to the door of the library and put her -hand on the knob. She did not hear the soft patter of feet on the other -side. - -"Then I must go," she said decisively. - -He stopped, looked at her blankly, then turned away. - -"I suppose you're right," he said quietly. "Forgive me. I had almost -forgotten." - -He slowly paced the room away from her and, his head in his hands, sank -in a distant chair. He heard her sharp sigh and the sound of her -footsteps as she gathered courage and came forward. But he did not -move, and listened with the dull ears of a broken man from whom all hope -has departed. - -"It is going to be harder than I thought. I hoped at least that I could -keep what was in my heart a secret. When my secret was my own it did -not seem as if I was doing any injustice to--to Jeff. It was my heart -that was breaking--not his. What did my secrets matter as long as I did -my duty? But now that you share the burden I know that I am doing him a -great wrong--a greater wrong even than he has done to you. I can't -blame you for coming here. It is hard to forgive a wrong like that. -But with me it is different. No matter what Jeff has done, what he may -do, my duty is very clear--my duty to him, and even to you. I don't -know just how--I must have time to think it out for myself. One thing -is certain: I must not see you again." - -He waved a hand in deprecation. "That is so easy to say. You shall see -me again," he threatened. "I will not give you up." - -"You must! I will find some excuse to leave New York." - -"I'll follow you," doggedly. "You're mine." - -She paused in dismay. Were all the odds to be against her? A sudden -terror gripped her heart and left her supine. She summoned her strength -with an effort. - -"Cort!" she cried desperately. "You must not speak to me like that. I -will not listen. You don't know what you are saying." - -"I don't care what I'm saying--you have driven me mad." As he rose, she -retreated, still facing him, her lips pale, her eyes bright, her face -drawn but resolved. - -"And I," she said clearly, "I am sane again. If you follow--I will ring. -Do you hear?" - -Her hand sought the wall, then was arrested in mid air. A sound of -voices, the ringing of a bell, and the soft patter of a servant's steps -in the corridor brought Cortland Bent to his senses. - -"It's Jeff," she whispered breathlessly; and then with a quiet air of -self-command, the dignity of a well-bred hostess, "Will you sit down, -Mr. Bent? I will ring for tea." - -In the shadowed doorway a tall figure stood. - -"Why, Jeff," said Camilla coolly, "you're early, aren't you? I -thought----" - -She rose as she realized that the gentleman in the doorway wore a frock -coat--a garment Jeff affected to despise--and that the hair at his -temples was white. "I beg your pardon," she murmured. - -The gentleman smiled and came forward into the room with outstretched -hand. - -"I am General Bent. Is this Mrs. Wray? Your husband is coming along." - -Jeff entered from the corridor at this moment. "Hello, Camilla! The -General was kind enough to say he wanted to meet you, so he brought me -uptown in his machine." - -The eyes of both newcomers fell on Cortland Bent, who emerged from the -shadow. - -"Why, Cort! You here?" said the General, and if his quick tones showed -slight annoyance, his well-bred accents meant only polite inquiry. - -"Yes, dad. How do you do, Mr. Wray?" - -Wray went over and took him by the hand. - -"Well! well!" said Wray heartily. "This is sure like old times. Glad -to see you, Bent. It seems like only yesterday that you and Camilla -were galloping over the plains together. A year and a half has made -some changes, eh? Camilla, can't we have a drink? One doesn't meet old -friends every day." - -"I rang for tea." - -"Tea? Ugh! Not tea, Camilla. I can't get used to these foreign -notions. General--Cort--some Scotch? That's better. Tea was invented -for sick people and old maids," and then, as the servant entered, "Tell -Greer to bring the tray, and some cigars. You'll let us, won't you, -Camilla? General Bent and I have been talking for two hours, and if -there's any thirstier business than that----" - -"I hope we aren't intruding," said the General. "I have been very -anxious to meet you, Mrs. Wray." - -"I'm very much flattered. I'm afraid, though, that Jeff has taken you -out of your way." She paused, conscious that the sharp eyes of the old -man were peering at her curiously from under the shadows of his bushy -eyebrows. "I feel as if I ought to know you very well," she went on. -"In the West your son often spoke of you." - -"Did he? H--m!" And then, with a laugh, "Cortland, my boy, what did -you say to her? You expected to see an old ogre, didn't you?" - -"Oh, no, but you are different from the idea I had of you. You and your -son are not in the least alike, are you?" - -"No. You see Cortland took the comeliness of the Davidges, and I--well, -I won't tell you what they call me in the Street," he laughed grimly. -"You know Mr. Wray and I have some interests in the West in common--some -properties that adjoin, and some railroads that join. It's absurdly -simple. _He_ wants what _I_ have, and _I_ want what _he_ has, and -neither of us is willing to give up a square inch. Won't you tell us -what to do?" - -"I give it up," she laughed. "My husband has a way of getting what he -wants." - -"The great secret of that," said Wray comfortably, "is wanting what you -can get. Still, I don't doubt that when the General's crowd gets -through with me there won't be enough of me to want anything. You -needn't worry about the 'Lone Tree,' Cortland. You'll have it again, -after a while, when my hide is spread out to dry." - -General Bent's eyes vanished under his heavy brows. - -"No," he said cryptically. "It looks as though the fruit of the 'Lone -Tree' was forbidden." - - - - - *CHAPTER V* - - *DINERS OUT* - - -When the visitors had gone, Camilla disappeared in the direction of her -own apartment. The thought of being alone with Jeff was intolerable to -her. She must have time to think, to wash away the traces of her -emotion, which she was sure even the shadows of the drawing room could -hardly have hidden from the sharp eyes of her elderly guest. Her -husband had given no indication of having noticed anything unusual in -her appearance, but she knew that he would not have let her discover it -if he had. She breathed a sigh of relief when the door was closed -behind her, dismissed her maid, and, slipping into a comfortable -garment, threw herself face downward on a couch and buried her head in -its pillow. - -Out of the disordered tangle of her thoughts one idea gradually -evolved--that she must not see Cortland Bent again. She could not plan -just now how she was to avoid him, for General Bent had already invited -them to dine at his house, and she knew that she must go, for Jeff's -sake, no matter what it cost her. She could not blame Cortland as much -as she blamed herself, for she realized now how vulnerable she had been -even from the first moment when she had entered the room, bravely -assuring herself that she cared for him no longer. The revelation of -her husband's part in the lease of the "Lone Tree" had shocked her, but -even her abomination of his brutal method of consummating the business -was lost in the discovery of her own culpability. Before to-day it had -not seemed so great a sin to hold another man's image in her heart, but -the disclosure of her secret had robbed it of some of the dignity of -seclusion. The one thing that had redeemed her in the past had been the -soft pains of self-abnegation, and now she had not even those to comfort -her. - -The revelation to Cort had even made their relation a little brutal. -She fought with herself silently, proposing subterfuge and sophistry, -then dragging her pitiful treasure forth remorselessly under the garish -light of conscience. She could not understand the change that -Cortland's presence made; for what yesterday had been only unduteous, -to-day was a sin. What then had been a balm was now a poison. - - -Morning brought regeneration. The sun shone brightly through her yellow -curtains, and her maid brought with her breakfast tray a note from the -contrite Cortland. - - -"Forgive me, Camilla. Forgive me. Call me selfish, unreasonable, -cruel--anything you like--but don't tell me I shall not see you again. -You will find me a model of all the virtues. Gladys is calling on you -to-day. You are coming to the dinner, aren't you? I will be there--in -a corner somewhere, but I won't bother you. The night has brought me -patience. Forgive me. - -"C." - - -Camilla slipped the note among her laces, and when Jeff looked in to -bring her the invitation which had arrived in the morning mail to dine -at the house of Cornelius Bent, she presented a fair face and joyous -countenance. - - -General Bent's dinners had a way of being ponderous--like himself. From -soup to coffee the victuals were rich and highly seasoned, the wines -full-bodied; his dishes were heavy, his silver-service massive, his -furniture capacious. The impression of solidity was further enhanced by -the thick oak paneling, the wide fireplace, and the sumptuous -candelabra. Many, if not all, of these adjectives might readily be -applied to his men-servants, who had been so long in his employ that the -essentials of their surroundings had been seared into their souls. The -Bent regime was their religion, the General its high priest, and their -offices components of a ceremony which they observed with impressive -dignity and sedate fervor. - -As a rule, the personality of the General's guests did nothing to -detract from the impression of opulence. They were the heavy men of -affairs, the big men of clubdom, of business, of religion, of politics. -Camilla had been warned of what she must expect, but it was with -feelings of trepidation not far removed from awe that she and Jeff got -down from their taxi under the glow of the porte-cochere before the wide -portal of the great house in Madison Avenue. Her last admonition to her -husband in the cab had been, "Jeff, don't shuffle your feet! And don't -say 'ma'am.' And keep your hands out of your pockets! If you can't -think of anything to say, don't say it." - -Wray only laughed. He was very much at his ease, for he had convinced -himself downtown that the doors of the Bent establishment would not have -swung so wide had the General not found that Wray's holdings and -influence in the West were matters which some day he would have to -reckon with. - -When they arrived they were pleased to discover that there were to be -young people among the guests as well as old. Three stout, florid -gentlemen, members of the directorate of the Amalgamated Reduction -Company, whom Jeff had met downtown, with their wives, and Mr. and Mrs. -Worthington Rumsen lent their share to the dignity the General required, -but there was a leaven of a younger set in Gladys, his daughter (Mrs. -Bent had died many years before), Cortland, his son, and some others. -Most of the guests were already in the drawing room when the Wrays were -announced. And Camilla entered a little uncertainly, her eyes -sparkling, seeking her hostess. There was a subdued masculine murmur of -approval, a raising of lorgnons to aged feminine noses, a general -movement of appreciation. - -Camilla was radiant. Cortland Bent came forward from his corner, slowly -drinking in her loveliness with his eyes. She was gowned in white and -wore no ornaments. The slenderness which all women ape was hers without -asking. Her ruddy hair at the last moment had resisted the arts of the -hair-dresser, and so she wore it as she had always done, in a heavy coil -like a rope of flame. If she had been pale as she entered, the blood -now flowed quickly--almost too quickly to be fashionable--suffusing her -face and gently warming her splendid throat and shoulders. - -"Am I late?" she asked. "I'm so sorry. Will you forgive me?" - -"You're not late," said her hostess. "Awfully glad----" - -"We're bountifully repaid," put in General Bent gallantly, as he came -forward. "I'm sure you're quite worth waiting for. I've been telling -New York for years it had better keep its eyes on the West. Now I must -warn its women. How are you, Wray? You know Warrington--and Janney. -Let me present you, Wray--the Baroness Charny." - -Jeff felt himself appraised civilly. - -"You are _the_ Mr. Wray?" she asked him. "The rich Mr. Wray?" - -Jeff flushed with pleasure. Nothing ever tickled him more than a -reference to his possessions. - -"I'm Wray--from Colorado. And you--you know I've never seen a real live -baroness before. So don't mind if I look at you a little. You see, we -never have anybody like you out our way----" - -"I don't mind in the least," she said with a slight accent. "What did -you think a baroness ought to look like?" - -"I had a kind of an idea she was stoutish, wore a crown, and sat in a -big chair all day, ordering people around." - -"I'm afraid you read fairy stories. I don't own a crown, and I might -order people all day, but nobody would pay the least attention to me." - -"What a pity," he said soberly. - -His ingenuousness was refreshing. - -"You know, Mr. Wray, baronesses aren't any more important nowadays than -anybody else. The only barons worth while in the world are the Coal -Barons, the Wheat Barons, the Gold Barons, like you." And then, "Did -you know that you were to take me in? Are you glad?" - -"Of course," with a vague attempt at gallantry. "I'd take you anywhere -and be proud to." - -"Then give me your arm," she laughed. And they followed the others in -to dinner. Wray's other neighbor was Mrs. Rumsen, his host's sister. -Camilla had related many tales of her social prowess, and she was really -the only person at the table of whom Jeff stood the least in awe. Mrs. -Rumsen's nose was aquiline like her brother's, her eyebrows high and -slightly arched, her eyes small and rather close together, as though -nature had intended them for a short but concentrated vision. She held -her head very erect, and from her great height was enabled without -pretence to look down on all lesser things. Cortland had described her -as a grenadier, and, as Wray realized that the moment when he must talk -to her was inevitably approaching, he lost some faith in his moods and -tenses. - -"Mr. Wray," she began, in a tone which was clearly to be heard the -length of the table, "you have a handsome wife." - -"Yes, ma'am," he drawled. "I'm glad you think so, Mrs. Rumsen." - -"A woman with her looks and your money could have the world at her feet -if she wished." - -"Yes. I've told her the same thing. But I don't think she likes a -fuss. Why, I sent up a whole carload of hats--all colors, with plumes -and things, but she wouldn't have one of them." - -The old lady's deep wrinkles relaxed. - -"And diamonds----" he went on. "She's got half a peck, but I can't get -her to put them on." - -Mrs. Rumsen did not reply, only examined him with her small eyes through -her lorgnon. - -"You know, Mr. Wray, ever since you came into the room you have been a -puzzle to me. Your features resemble those of some one I have -known--years ago--some one I have known intimately--curious I can't----" - -"Have you ever been West?" - -"Oh, yes. Were your people----?" - -"I have no people, Mrs. Rumsen," he said with a quick air of finality. - -"Oh!" She still looked at him wonderingly. "I beg your pardon." Then -she went on calmly, "You really interest me a great deal. I have seen -Westerners in New York before--but you're different--I mean," she added, -"the cut of your nose, the lines of your chin, the set of your head on -your shoulders. I hope you'll forgive an old woman's curiosity." - -Jeff bowed politely. "I'm very much flattered, Mrs. Rumsen." - -"You and my brother have business interests in common?" - -"Yes, I've a mine--a chain of mines and property interests, including a -control of the Denver and Western Railroad." - -She laid a hand impressively on his arm. - -"Hold them. Take my advice and hold them. I know it is a great -temptation to extend your control, to be a big man East and West. But -don't try it by weakening what you have. Other men have come here to -set the Hudson afire----" - -"Some of them have done it, too, Mrs. Rumsen." - -She shrugged. "What is the use? You have an empire of your own. Stay -at home, develop it. Wouldn't you rather be first in Mantua than second -in Rome?" - -"I--I'm afraid I don't just take you?" - -"I mean, wouldn't you rather be an emperor among your own people than -fetch and carry--as so many others are doing--for Wall Street?" - -"That's just the point. Only the boot is on the other leg. Wall Street -needs the West. Wall Street doesn't think so. It's away behind the -times. Those people downtown are so stuck on themselves that they think -the whole country is stooping with its ear to the ground listening to -what they're doing. Why, Mrs. Rumsen, there are men in the West--big -men, too--who think Wall Street is a joke. Funny, isn't it? Wall -Street doesn't seem to know that millions of acres of corn, of wheat, -and potatoes keep growing just the same. Those things don't wait to -hear what Wall Street thinks. Only God Almighty can make 'em stop -growing. And as long as they grow, we don't bother much." - -She smiled approvingly. - -"Then why do you care?" - -"Oh, I'm a kind of missionary. These people downtown are heathen -critters. They're so ignorant about their own country it almost makes -me ashamed to talk to them." - -The last vestige of the grenadier aspect in Mrs. Rumsen had vanished, -and her face dissolved in smiles. - -"Heathens! They are," she laughed delightedly. "Critters--yes, -critters, too. Splendid! Have you told Cornelius--my brother--that?" - -Wray's truffle stuck in his throat and he gasped, "Good God, ma'am! No. -You won't tell him, will you?" - -"I'd like to," she chuckled. "But I won't." - -Jeff laughed. "I'm afraid I've put my foot in it. I'm apt to. I'm -rather a raw product----" - -"Whatever you do, Mr. Wray, don't change. You're positively refreshing. -Anybody can learn to be good form. It's as simple as a, b, c. If it -wasn't easy there wouldn't be so many people practising it. The people -in the shops even adopt our adjectives before they're well out of our -mouths. Hats are 'smart,' when in earlier days they were simply -'becoming.' Gowns are 'fetching' or 'stunning' that were once merely -'pretty.' Let a fashionable Englishman wear a short coat with a high -hat to the Horse Show, and every popinjay in town will be doing the same -thing in a week. If you're a raw product, remain so by all means. Raw -products are so much more appetizing than half-baked ones." - -"I don't think there's any way to make me any different, Mrs. Rumsen," -he laughed, "even if I wanted to be. People will have to take me as I -am. Your brother has been kind. It seems as if he had a broader view -of our people than most of the others." - -"Don't be too sure. They're all tarred with the same stick. It's a -maxim of mine never to put my trust in any person or thing below -Twenty-third Street. The farther downtown you go, the deeper the -villainy. You'll find all New Yorkers much the same. Out of business -hours they are persons of the most exemplary habits, good fathers, -vestrymen in churches, excellent hosts. In business----" she held up -her hands in mock horror. - -"Oh, I know," Wray chuckled. "But I'm not afraid. I'm something of a -wolf myself. Your brother needs me more than I need him. I think we'll -get along." - -"You have everything you want. Take my advice and keep your money in -the West." - -"Thanks. But I like New York, and I don't want to be idle. Besides, -there's Camilla--Mrs. Wray, you know." - -"Yes, I see. I can't blame her. No woman with her looks wants to waste -them on mountain scenery. I must know her better--and you. She must let -me call on her. I'm giving a ball later. Do you think you could come?" - -And the great lady turned to her dinner partner. - -The Baroness, too, was amiable. It was her first visit to America. Her -husband was an attache of an embassy in Washington. She had not yet -been in the West. Were all the men big, as Mr. Wray was? - -She had a charming faculty of injecting the personal note into her -questions, and before he was aware of it Wray found himself well -launched in a description of his country--the mountains, the plains, the -cowboys. - -She had never heard of cowboys. What were they? Little cows? - -Jeff caught a warning look from Camilla across the table, which softened -his laughter. He explained, and the Baroness joined in the merriment. -Then he told her that he had been for years a cowpuncher down in Arizona -and New Mexico before he went into business, described the "round-up," -the grub wagon, and told her of a brush with some Yaqui Indians who were -on the warpath. When he began, the other people stopped talking and -listened. Jeff was in his element and without embarrassment finished -his story amid plaudits. Camilla, listening timidly, was forced to admit -that his domination of the table was complete. The conversation became -general, a thing which rarely happened at the Bent dinners, and Jeff -discovered himself the centre of attention. Almost unconsciously he -found himself addressing most of his remarks to a lady opposite, who had -listened and questioned with an unusual show of interest. - -When the ices were passed he turned to Mrs. Rumsen and questioned. - -"Haven't you met her?" And then, across the table, "Rita--you haven't -met Mr. Wray--Mrs. Cheyne." - - - - - *CHAPTER VI* - - *MRS. CHEYNE* - - -Over the coffee, curiously enough, there seemed to be a disposition to -refrain from market quotations, for General Bent skilfully directed the -conversation into other channels--motoring--aviation--the Horse -Show--the newest pictures in the Metropolitan--and Jeff listened avidly, -newly alive to the interests of these people, who, as Mrs. Rumsen had -said, above Twenty-third Street took on a personality which was not to -be confounded with the life downtown, where he had first met them. When -Curtis Janney asked him if he rode, Jeff only laughed. - -"Oh, yes, of course you do. One doesn't punch cattle for nothing. But -jumping is different--and then there's the saddle----" - -"Oh, I think I can stay on without going for the leather. Anyway, I'd -like to try." - -"Right-o!" said Janney heartily. "We've had one run already--a drag. -Couldn't you and Mrs. Wray come out soon? We're having a few people for -the hunt week after next. There will be Cortland Bent, Jack Perot, the -Rumsens, the Billy Havilands, Mrs. Cheyne, the Baroness and--if you'll -come along--yourselves." - -"Delighted. I'm sure Camilla will be glad to accept. We haven't many -engagements." - -"I think you've hidden your wife long enough, Mr. Wray. Does she ride, -too?" - -"Like a breeze--astride. But she wouldn't know what to do on a -side-saddle." - -"I don't blame her. Some of our women ride across. Gladys, Gretchen, -Mrs. Cheyne----" - -"Well," Jeff silently raised his brandy glass in imitation of his -companion, "I'm glad there are a few horses somewhere around here--I -haven't seen any outside of the shafts of a hansom since I left the -West." - -"The horse would soon be extinct if it wasn't for Curtis Janney," put in -the General breezily. "Why, he won't even own a motor. No snorting -devils for him. Might give his horses the pip or something. The stable -is worth seeing, though. You're going, aren't you, Wray?" - -In the library, later, Wray found Mrs. Cheyne. Until he had come to New -York Wray's idea of a woman had never strayed from Camilla. There were -other females in the Valley, and he had known some of them, but Camilla -had made any comparison unfortunate. She was a being living in a sphere -apart, with which mere clay had nothing in common. He had always -thought of her as he thought of the rare plants in Jim Noakes' -conservatory in Denver, flowers to be carefully nurtured and admired. -Even marriage had made little difference in his point of view. It is -curious that he thought of these things when he leaned over Mrs. Cheyne. -To his casual eye this new acquaintance possessed many of the -characteristics of his wife. Perhaps even more than Camilla she -represented a mental life of which he knew nothing, contributed more -than her share to the sublimated atmosphere in which he found himself -moving. They might have been grown in the same conservatory, but, if -Camilla was the Orchid, Mrs. Cheyne was the Poinsettia flower. And yet -she was not beautiful as Camilla was. Her features, taken one at a -time, were singularly imperfect. He was almost ready to admit that she -wasn't even strikingly pretty. But as he looked at her he realized for -the first time in his life the curious fact that a woman need not be -beautiful to be attractive. He saw that she was colorful and unusually -shapely, and that she gave forth a flow of magnetism which her air of -_ennui_ made every effort to deny. Her eyes, like her hair, were brown, -but the pupils, when she lifted her lids high enough to show them, were -so large that they seemed much darker. Her dinner dress, cut straight -across her shoulders, was of black, like the jewelled bandeau in her -hair and the pearls which depended from her ears. These ornaments, -together with the peculiar dressing of her hair, gave her well-formed -head an effect which, if done in brighter hues, might have been -barbaric, but which, in the subdued tones of her color scheme, only -added to the impression of sombre distinction. - -As he approached, she looked up at him sleepily. - -"I thought you were never coming," she said. - -"Did you?" said Wray, bewildered. "I--I came as soon as I could, Mrs. -Cheyne. We had our cigars----" - -"Oh, I know. Men have always been selfish--they always will be selfish. -Cousin Cornelius is provincial to herd the men and women--like -sheep--the ones in one pen, the others in another. There isn't a salon -in Europe--a real salon--where the women may not smoke if they like." - -"You want to smoke----" - -"I'm famished--but the General doesn't approve----" - -Wray had taken out his cigarette case. "Couldn't we find a spot?" - -She rose and led the way through a short corridor to the conservatory, -where they found a stone bench under a palm. - -He offered her his case, and she lit the cigarette daintily, holding it -by the very tips of her fingers, and steadying her hand against his own -as Wray would have done with a man's. Wray did not speak. He watched -her amusedly, aware of the extraordinary interest with which she -invested his pet vice. - -"Thanks," she said gratefully. Turning toward him then, she lowered her -chin, opened her eyes, and looked straight into his. - -"You know, you didn't come to me nearly as soon as I thought you would." - -"I--I didn't know----" - -"You should have known." - -"Why should I----?" - -"Because I wanted you to." - -"I'm glad you wanted me. I think I'd have come anyway." - -She smiled approvingly. - -"Then my efforts were unnecessary." - -"Your efforts?" - -"Yes, I willed it. You interested me, you see." - -He looked at her quickly. Her eyes only closed sleepily, then opened -again. - -"I'm lucky," he said, "that's sure." - -"How do you know? I may not be at all the kind of person you think I -am." - -"I'll take a chance on that--but I wish you'd tell me what made you want -me." - -"I was bored. I usually am. The Bent parties are so formal and -tiresome. Everybody always says the same things--does the same things." -She sighed deeply. "If Cousin Cornelius saw me now I'd be in disgrace. -I wonder why I always like to do the things people don't expect me to." - -"You wouldn't be much of a woman if you didn't," he laughed. "But I -like surprises. There wouldn't be much in life if you knew what was -going to happen every minute." - -"You didn't think I was going to happen then?" - -"Er--no. Maybe I hoped so." - -"Well," she smiled, "I have happened. What are you going to do about -it?" - -"Be thankful--mostly. You seem sort of human, somehow. You do what you -want to--say what you want----" - -"And if I don't get what I want, ask for it," she laughed. "I told -Gladys it was very inconsiderate of her not to send you in to dinner -with me. She's always doing that sort of thing. Gladys lacks a sense -of proportion. As it is, the evening is almost gone, and we've only -begun." - -"I feel as if I'd known you for years," said Jeff heartily. "That's -funny, too," he added, "because you're so different from any other woman -I've ever known. You look as if you might have come from a book--but -you speak out like Mesa City." - -"Tell me about Mesa City. You know I was out West last year." - -"Were you? Sure?" eagerly. "In Colorado?" - -"Oh, yes," she said slowly, "but I was living in Nevada." - -"Nevada? That was my old stamping ground. I punched for the Bar Circle -down there. What part?" - -"Reno." - -"Oh!" - -"I went there for my divorce." - -His voice fell a note. "I didn't know that. I'm awfully sorry you were -so unfortunate. Won't you tell me about it?" - -"There's nothing to tell. Cheyne and I were incompatible--at least -that's what the lawyers said. As such things go, I thought we got along -beautifully. We weren't in the least incompatible so long as Cheyne -went his way and let me go mine. It's so easy for married people to -manage, if they only knew how. But Cheyne didn't. He didn't want to be -with me himself--and he didn't want any one else to be. So things came -to a pretty pass. It actually got so bad that when people wanted either -of us to dinner they had to write first to inquire which of us was to -stay away. It made a lot of trouble, and the Cheyne family got to be a -bore--so we decided to break it up." - -"Was he unkind to you--cruel?" - -"Oh, dear, no! I wish he had been. Our life was one dreadful round of -cheerful monotony. I got so tired of the shape of his ears that I could -have screamed. Yes, I really think," she mused, "that it was his ears." - -Wray examined her with his baby-like stare as though she had been a -specimen of ore. There seemed to be no doubt of the fact that she was -quite serious. - -"I'm really sorry for him. It is--very sad----" - -She threw her head back and laughed softly. - -"My dear Mr. Wray, your sympathy is touching--he would appreciate it as -much as I do--if he had not already married again." - -"Married? Here in New York?" - -"Oh, yes. They're living within a stone's throw of my house." - -"Do you see him?" - -"Of course. I dined with them only last week. You see," and she leaned -toward him with an air of new confidences, "that's only human. I can't -really give up anything I've once possessed. You know, I try not to -sell horses that I've liked. I did sell one once, and he turned up one -morning in a hired brougham. That taught me a lesson I've never -forgotten. Now when they outlive their usefulness I turn them out on my -farm in Westchester. Of course, I couldn't do that to Harold, but I did -the next best thing. I've satisfied myself that he's properly looked -after--and I'm sure he'll reflect credit on his early training." - -"And he's happy?" - -"Blissfully so. It wouldn't be possible for a man to have the -advantages of a training like the one I have given him and not be able -to make a woman happy." - -"But he didn't make _you_ happy." - -"Me? Oh, I wasn't made for bondage of any kind. Most women marry -because they're bored or because they're curious. In either case they -pay a penalty. Marriage provides no panacea. One only becomes more -bored--with one's own husband--or more curious about other people's -husbands." - -"Are you curious? You don't look as if you cared enough to be curious." - -"I do care." She held her cigarette at arm's length and flicked off its -ash with her little finger. "Mr. Wray, I'll let you into a secret. A -woman never appears so bored as when she is intensely interested in -something--never so much interested as when she is bored to extinction. -I am curious. I am trying to learn (without asking you impertinent -questions) how on earth you and Mrs. Wray ever happened to marry." - -She tilted her chin impudently and looked down her nose at him, her eyes -masked by her dark lashes, through which it hardly seemed possible that -she could see him at all. Jeff laughed. She had her nerve with her, he -thought, but her frankness was amusing. He liked the way she went after -what she wanted. - -"Oh, Camilla--I don't know. It just happened, I guess. She's more your -kind than mine. I'm a good deal of a scrub, Mrs. Cheyne. You see, I -never went to college--or even to high school. Camilla knows a lot. -She used to teach, but I reckon she's about given up the idea of trying -to teach _me_. I'm a low-brow all right. I never read a novel in my -life." - -"You haven't missed much. Books were only meant for people who are -willing to take life at second-hand. One year of the life you lived on -the range is worth a whole shelf-ful. The only way to see life is -through one's own eyes." - -"Oh, I've seen life. I've been a cowboy, rancher, speculator, miner, -and other things. And I've seen some rough times. But I wouldn't have -worked at those things if I hadn't needed the money. Now I've got it, -maybe I'll learn something of the romantic side of life." - -She leaned back and laughed at him. "You dear, delicious man. Then it -has never occurred to you that during all these years you've been living -a romance?" - -He looked at her askance. - -"And then, to cap it all," she finished, "you discover a gold mine, and -marry the prettiest woman in the West. I suppose you'll call that -prosaic, too. You're really quite remarkable. What is it that you -expect of life after all?" - -"I don't know," he said slowly, "something more----" - -"But there's nothing left." - -"Oh, yes, there is. I've only tasted success, but it's good, and I like -it. What I've got makes me want more. There's only one thing in the -world that really means anything to me--and that's power----" - -"But your money----" - -"Yes, money. But money itself doesn't mean anything to me--idle -money--the kind of money you people in New York are content to live on, -the interest on land or bonds. It's what live, active money can do that -counts with me. My money has got to keep working the way I work--only -harder. Some people worship money for what it can buy their bodies. I -don't. I can't eat more than three square meals a day. I want my money -to make the desert bloom--to make the earth pay up what it owes, and -build railroads that will carry its products where they're needed. I -want it to take the miserable people away from the alleys in your city -slums and put them to work in God's country, where their efforts will -count for something in building up the waste ground that's waiting for -them out there. Why, Mrs. Cheyne, last year I took up a piece of -desert. There wasn't a thing on it but rabbit-brush. Last spring I -worked out a colonization plan and put it through. There's a town there -now called Wrayville, with five thousand inhabitants, two hotels, three -miles of paved sidewalk, a public school, four factories, and two -newspapers. All that in six months. It's a hummer, I can tell you." - -As he paused for breath she sighed. "And yet you speak of romance." - -"Romance? There's no romance in that. That's just get-up-and-get. I -had to hustle, Mrs. Cheyne. I'd promised those people the water from the -mountains on a certain date, but I couldn't do it, and the big ditch -wasn't finished. I was in a bad fix, for I'd broken my word. Those -people had paid me their money, and they threatened to lynch me. They -had a mass meeting and were calling me some ugly names when I walked in. -Why they didn't take a shot at me then, I don't know--but they didn't. -I got up on the table, and, when they stopped yelling, I began to talk -to 'em. I didn't know just what to say, but I knew I had to say -something and make good--or go out of town in a pine box. I began by -telling 'em what a great town Wrayville was going to be. They only -yelled, 'Where's our water?' I told them it was coming. They tried to -hoot me down, but I kept on." - -"Weren't you afraid?" - -"You bet I was. But _they_ never knew it. I tried to think of a reason -why they didn't have that water, and in a moment they began to listen. -I told 'em there was thirty thousand dollars' worth of digging to be -done. I told 'em it would _be_ done, too, but that I didn't see why -that money should go out of Wrayville to a lot of contractors in Denver. -I'd been saving that work for the citizens of Wrayville. I was prepared -to pay the highest wages for good men, and, if Wrayville said the word, -they could begin the big ditch to-morrow." - -"What did they do?" - -"They stopped yelling right there, and I knew I had 'em going. In a -minute they started to cheer. Before I finished they were carrying me -around the hall on their shoulders. Phew--but that took some quick -thinking." - -Mrs. Cheyne had started forward when he began, and, as he went on, her -eyes lost their sleepy look, her manner its languor, and she followed -him to the end in wonder. When he stopped, she sank back in her corner, -smiling, and repeated: "Romance? What romance is there left in the world -for a man like you?" - -He looked up at her with his baby stare and then laughed awkwardly. -"You're making fun of me, Mrs. Cheyne. I've been talking too much, I -reckon." - -She didn't reply at once, and the look in her eyes embarrassed him. He -reached for his cigarette case, offered it to her, and, when she -refused, took one himself, lit it slowly, gazing out of the transom -opposite. - -"I hope I haven't tired you, Mrs. Cheyne. It's dangerous to get me -talking about myself. I never know when to stop." - -"I don't want you to stop. I've never been so entertained in my life. -I don't believe you know how interesting you are." - -He turned toward her, embarrassed and still incredulous. "You're very -kind," he muttered. - -"You mustn't be so humble," she broke in sharply. "You weren't so a -minute ago. I like you best when you are talking of yourself." - -"I thought I'd like to talk about you." - -She waved a hand in deprecation. "Me? Oh, no. We can't come to earth -like that. Tell me another fairy tale." - -"Fairy tale? Then you don't believe me?" - -"Oh, yes," she laughed, "I believe you, but to me they're fairy tales -just the same. It seems so easy for you to do wonderful things. I wish -you'd do some conjuring for me." - -"Oh, there isn't any magic business about me. But I'll try. What do you -want most?" - -She put an elbow on her knee and gazed at the blossom in her fingers. -Her voice, too, fell a note. - -"What I think I want most," she said slowly, "is a way out of this." -She waved the blossom vaguely in the direction of the drawing room. -"I'm sick of it all, of the same tiresome people, the same tiresome -dinners, dances, teas. We're so narrow, so cynical, so deeply enmeshed -in our small pursuits. I'm weary--desperately weary of myself." - -"You?" - -"Yes." And then, with a short, unmirthful laugh, "That's my secret. -You didn't suspect it, did you?" - -"Lord! no." And after a pause, "You're unhappy about him?" - -"Cheyne? Oh, no. He's the only thing I am happy about. Have you ever -been really bored, Mr. Wray?" - -"Never. I never even heard the word until I came to New York." - -"Have you ever been so tired that your body was numb--so that if you -struck it a blow you were hardly conscious of it, when you felt as if -you could go to sleep and never want to wake up? Well, that's the -condition of my mind. It's so tired of the same impressions that it -fails to make note of them; the people I see, the things I do, are all -blurred and colorless like a photograph that has been taken out of -focus. The only regret I have when I go to sleep is that I have to wake -up again." - -"My dear Mrs. Cheyne----" - -"Oh, I'm not morbid. I'm too bored to be morbid even. I don't think -I'm even unhappy. It takes an effort to be unhappy. I can't tell you -what the matter is. One drifts. I've been drifting a long time. I -think I have too much money. I want to _want_ something." - -"Don't you ever want anything you can't have?" - -She sat upright, and her voice, instead of drawling languidly, came in -the quick accents of discovery. "Yes, I do. I've just found out. -You've actually created a new interest in life. Won't you be nice to -me? Come and see me often and tell me more fairy tales." - - - - - *CHAPTER VII* - - *BRAEBANK* - - -"I can't see, Curtis," said Mrs. Janney, in the smoking room, "why you -chose to ask those vulgar Wrays to Braebank. It almost seems as if you -were carrying your business relationships too far. The woman is pretty -enough, and I dare say her easy Western ways will be attractive to the -masculine portion of your guests. But the man is impossible--absolutely -impossible! He does not even use correct English, and his -manners--atrocious!" - -The palms of the good lady's hands, as she raised them in her righteous -wrath, were very pink on the inside, like the petals of rosebuds. They -were sheltered hands, very soft and plump, and their fingers bore many -large and expensive jewels. Mrs. Janney was made up wholly of convex -curves, which neither art nor starvation could deflect. The roundness -of her face was further accented by concentric curves at brows, mouth, -and chin, which gave the impression of a series of parentheses. It -would not be stretching the figure too far to add that Mrs. Janney, in -most of their few affiliations, bore a somewhat parenthetical relation -to her husband. Her life, as well as her conversation, was made up of -"asides," to which Curtis Janney was not in the habit of paying the -slightest attention. Her present remarks, however, seemed to merit a -reply. - -"My dear Amelia," he said, tolerantly, from his easy chair, "when we -were first married you used to say that all a man needed to make his way -in New York was a dress suit and a smile. Wray has both. Besides, it -is quite necessary to be on good terms with him. As for his wife, I -have rarely seen a girl who created such an agreeable impression. -Cornelius Bent has taken them up. He has his reasons for doing so. So -have I. I'll trouble you, therefore, to be civil." - -He got up and put down his cigar, and Mrs. Janney shrugged her shoulders -into a more pronounced convexity. - -"I won't question your motives, Curtis, though, of course, I know you -have them. But I don't think we can afford to jeopardize our standing -by always taking up new people like the Wrays. The man is vulgar--the -woman, provincial." - -Mr. Janney by this time had taken up the telephone and was ordering the -wagons to the station. - -"Why, Gretchen, dear! You're late. It's almost train time." Miss -Janney entered in riding clothes from the terrace, bringing traces of -the fine November weather. She was a tall, slender girl of the athletic -type, sinuous and strong, with a skin so firm and ruddy from the air -that it glowed crisply as though shot with mica. - -"Is it, mother? Cortland and I had _such_ a wonderful ride. He is -really quite the nicest man in the world. Aren't you, Cort?" - -"Of course I am," said Bent, laughing, as he entered, "anything Gretchen -says. That's because I never made love to her, isn't it, Gretchen?" - -"Partly. Love is so silly. You know, daddy, I've given Cort his -_conge_." - -Janney turned testily. "What nonsense you children talk!" - -"I mean it, though, daddy," she went on calmly. "I'm too fond of Cort -ever to think of marrying him. We settled that still more definitely -to-day. Since you were so inconsiderate, you two, as to neglect to -provide me with a brother, I've adopted Cort." - -"Really, Gretchen, you're getting more hopeless every day," sighed her -mother. "What does Cortland say?" - -"I?" laughed Bent. "What is there left for me to say? We're hopelessly -friendly, that's all. I'm afraid there's nothing left but to take to -drink. May I?" - -He lifted the decanter of Scotch and poured himself a drink, but Janney, -with a scowl in the direction of his daughter, left the room. - -"You mustn't speak so heartlessly, dear," said Mrs. Janney. "You know -it always makes your father angry. You must be patient with her, -Cortland." - -"I am," said that gentleman, helping himself to a cigarette. "I'm the -soul of patience, Mrs. Janney. I've pleaded and begged. I've even -threatened suicide, but all to no purpose. There's no satisfaction in -shooting one's self on account of a girl who's going to laugh at your -funeral." - -He threw himself hopelessly into a big English chair and sighed -exuberantly, while Gretchen gave him a reproachful look over her -mother's shoulder. "My poor boy, don't give her up," said the lady, -genuinely. "All will come right in time, I'm sure. You must be sweeter -to him, Gretchen. You really must." - -"I suppose I must," said Gretchen with an air of resignation. "I'll not -be any more cruel than I can help." - -When the good lady left the room they looked at each other for a moment, -and then burst into shameless laughter. - -"Poor mother! She never had a sense of humor. I wouldn't laugh at your -funeral, though, Cort. That was unkind. You know, I'm afraid father is -very much provoked." - -Bent's laughter died, and he gazed at the ash of his cigarette. "He's -really quite serious about it, isn't he?" - -"Oh, yes. It's an awful nuisance, because, in his way, he has a will as -strong as mine." - -Bent smiled. "I'm glad I'm not in his boots. You're fearfully stubborn, -Gretchen." - -"Because I insist on marrying whom I choose?" - -"Because you insist on not marrying me." - -Miss Janney sank in a chair by the table, fingering the pages of a -magazine. She said nothing in reply, but in a few moments spoke -carelessly. - -"Tell me something about Lawrence Berkely, will you?" - -"Larry? You've only met him once. Your curiosity is indecent." - -"You know he's coming here with the Wrays." - -"Not really? That's going a bit strong. I don't think I'll stand for -that." - -"Oh, yes, you will. He's quite as good as we are. He belongs to _the_ -Berkelys of Virginia. Mrs. Rumsen knows them." - -"That's convincing. Any one Aunt Caroline knows will need no card to -Saint Peter. Oh, Larry's all right. But I warn you not to fall in love -with him." - -"That's precisely what I've done," she asserted. - -He glanced at her amusedly, but she met his look coolly. - -"It's true, Cort. He's actually the only man I've met since I came out -who really isn't eligible. I'm so delighted. Of course, father would -never have permitted it if he'd only known that Mr. Berkely wasn't rich. -He hasn't much use for poor people. Oh, he's well enough off, I suppose, -as Mr. Wray's partner, but then he doesn't own any of that fabulous gold -mine." - -"How do you know all these things?" - -"He told me. Besides, he's terribly good looking, and has had something -the matter with his lungs." - -"Well, of all the----" - -"That's why he's been living in the West. But he's quite well now. -Isn't it splendid? I only hope he'll like me. Don't you think he has -wonderful eyes?" - -"I'm sure I never noticed. See here, Gretchen, you're talking rot. I'm -going to tell your father." - -"Oh, I don't care," airily. "But if you do, I'll tell Mr. Wray." - -"Wray?" - -"Yes--that you're in love with his wife." - -Miss Janney exploded this bombshell casually while she removed her hat, -watching him carefully meanwhile in the mirror. If she had planned her -coup, she could not have been more fully rewarded, for Cortland started -up, clutching at the chair arms, his face aghast; but when his eyes met -hers in the mirror he sank back again, laughing uneasily. - -"What--who on earth put that silly idea into your head?" - -"You--yourself. I watched you at the Warringtons." - -"What nonsense! I've known Camilla a long time." - -"Not so long as you've known me. And you never looked at me like that." -She laid her hat beside her crop on the table, then turned quickly and -put her hand over his on the chair arm. "You may trust me, Cortland, -dear. If I'm going to be your sister, I may as well begin at once. -It's true, isn't it?" - -He remained silent a long while, his gaze fixed on the open fire before -him. Then at last he turned his hand over so that his fingers clasped -hers. "Yes," he whispered, "it's true, Gretchen. It's true." - -"I'm so sorry, Cort," she murmured. "I suspected from your letters. I -wish I might have helped you. I feel somehow that I am to blame--that -we ever got engaged. Won't you tell me how it happened that she married -him--instead of you?" - -"No, no," he said, rising and walking to the window. "She--she married -Wray--because--because she loved him, that's all. I wasn't the man." - -Gretchen watched him wistfully, still standing beside the chair he had -vacated, full of the first deep sympathy she had ever known. Slowly she -walked over and put her hand timidly on his shoulder. - -"You'll forgive me, won't you, Cort? I wouldn't have spoken if I had -known how deeply you felt." She turned aside with a bitter little -laugh. "Isn't it queer that life should be so full of complications? -Everybody expects you and me to marry each other--at least, everybody -but ourselves, and we won't because--why is it that we won't? Chiefly -because everybody expects us to--and because it's so easy. I'm sure if -there was any reason why we shouldn't marry, I'd love you quite madly. -Instead of which, you're in love with a married woman, and I--I'm -interested in a youth with sad romantic eyes and an impaired breathing -apparatus." - -"Gretchen, don't be silly," he said, smiling in spite of himself. - -"I'm really serious--you'll see." She stopped and clutched Bent's arm. -"Tell me, Cort. He's not married already, is he?" - -"You silly child. Not that I know of. Berkely is a conscientious sort -of a bird--he wouldn't have let you make love to him----" - -"I _didn't_," with dignity, "we talked about the weather mostly." - -"That must have been romantic." - -"Cort, I'll not speak to you again." She rushed past him to the window, -her head erect. Outside was the whirr of an arriving motor. "How -tiresome. Here come the Billy Havilands," she said, "and they'll want to -be playing 'Auction' at once. They always do. As if there was nothing -but 'Bridge' in the world!" She sniffed. "I wish we were going to be -fewer in number. Just you and I and----" - -"And Larry?" - -"Yes--and Mrs. Wray," she put in viciously. - -Curtis Janney was already in the big stair hall to welcome the arrivals. - -"Billy--Dorothy--welcome! Of course you had to bring your buzz-wagon. -I suppose I'll be driven to build a garage some day--but it will be well -down by the East Lodge. Do you expect to follow in that thing? Rita! -Awfully glad. Your hunter came over last night. He looks fit as a -fiddle. Aren't you cold? Gretchen, dear, ring for tea." - -Noiseless maids and men-servants appeared, appropriated wraps and hand -baggage, and departed. - -"We timed it nicely," said Haviland, looking at his watch. "Forty-seven -from the ferry. We passed your wagons a moment ago. Gretchen, who's -the red-haired girl with the Rumsens?" - -"_Et tu, Brute_? That's Mrs. Wray. None of us has a chance when she's -around. Here they are now." - -The two station wagons drew up at the terrace, and the guests -dismounted. Mr. and Mrs. Rumsen with the Wrays in the station wagon, -and the Baroness Charny, the Warringtons, Jack Perot, and Lawrence -Berkely in the 'bus. - -"Well, Worthy! Got here after all! Caroline, Mrs. Wray, would you like -to go right up or will you wait for tea? Wray, there's something -stronger just inside. Show him, won't you, Billy?" - -Wray entered the big hall with a renewed appreciation of the utility of -wealth. The houses in New York which he had seen were, of course, built -upon a more moderate scale. He had still to discover that the men of -wealth were learning to make their week-ends out of town longer, and -that the real home-life of many of them had been transferred to the -country, where broad acres and limitless means enabled them to gratify -their tastes in developing great estates which would hand down their -names in the architectural history of the country when their city houses -should be overwhelmed and lost in the march of commerce. Curtis Janney, -for all his great responsibilities, was an open-air man, and he took a -real delight in his great Tudor house and stables. The wide entrance -hall which so impressed Jeff was designed in the ripe Palladian manner -which distinguished the later work of the great Inigo Jones. This lofty -room was the keynote of the building--a double cube in shape, the -staircase which led from the centre opposite the door ornate in a -character purely classic--the doorways to the other rooms on the same -floor masterful in structural arrangement and elegant in their grace and -simplicity. It almost seemed as though the room had been designed as a -framework for the two wonderful Van Dykes which were placed at each side -of the stairway. - -Jeff smiled as he walked into the smoking room--the smile of possession. -He realized, as never before, that taste, elegance, style, were things -which could be bought with money, as one would buy stock or a piece of -real estate. The only difference between Curtis Janney and himself was -that his host had an ancestor or two--while Jeff had none. - -Miss Janney had quietly and cleverly appropriated Lawrence Berkely and -was already on her way to the conservatory. Jack Perot, who painted the -portraits of fashionable ladies, had taken the Baroness to the Long -Room, where the English pictures were hung. Camilla, after a few polite -comments on the dignity of the house, sat a little aside in silence. -Cortland Bent, after a glance toward the door through which Miss Janney -had vanished, dropped into the vacant chair beside her. - -"I'm so glad to see you," she said genuinely. "You know the magnificence -is rather bewildering." She paused and lowered her voice. "It seems as -if I hadn't seen you for ages." - -"Yes," he murmured. "I'm expecting wings any day now. I'm almost too -good to be true." - -"You're an angel," she smiled. "I want you to be good, and I'm sure I -want you to be true. And yet"--she paused--"this seems the only case in -the world where to be true is to be bad." - -"You can't make the sun stop shining." - -"I don't think I want it to stop shining altogether. You see, I'm -selfish. I want it under a cloud, that's all." - -There was a pause--significant to them both. - -"I am trying, Camilla. I am doing my best. You appreciate that?" - -"Yes, but it shouldn't be so hard. I don't think it would be hard for -me in your place!" - -His eyes questioned. - -"Miss Janney--she is adorable." She looked over the rim of her cup at -him as she finished her tea. "My dear Cort," she laughed, as she handed -it to him, "the best I can say for you is that you have the worst taste -in the world. I'm really in love with her myself. I can't see what you -could have been thinking of----" - -"Any more than _I_ can see what _you_ were thinking of." - -There was a refuge from the danger toward which she felt herself -drifting, and she took it, addressing her nearest neighbor. - -"Mrs. Cheyne, don't you think men have abominable taste?" - -"Oh, yes, abominable," laughed the lady. "Ugh! I hate mustaches, too, -don't you?" - -Camilla turned a shade rosier, but her discomfiture was lost in the -laughter of those who remembered that Cheyne had worn a beard. - -"You know I didn't mean just that," explained Camilla. "I meant their -appreciation of women--their sense of the esthetic----" - -"Anesthetic, Mrs. Wray. That's the only word for a man's perceptions. -A French frock, a smart hat, a little deft color, and the plainest of us -is a match for the gayest Lothario. They're only bipeds, instincts on -legs----" - -"Oh, I say now, Rita," laughed Bent. - -"We can't stand for that, Mrs. Cheyne," put in their host. "I suppose -you'd think me ungallant if I asked you what kind of instincts women -were." - -"Instincts with wings," she purred, "angels by intuition, rhapsodists by -occupation, and sirens by inheritance. We're not in the least afraid of -you, Mr. Janney." - -"I should think not. For my part, if I knew that one of you was camping -on my trail, I'd give in at once." - -"I'm so glad. It's a pet theory of mine that when a woman really sets -her cap for a man he had better give up at once, for she will win -him--fortune favoring--in the end. Don't you agree, Mrs. Wray?" - -"I've never thought about it, Mrs. Cheyne," said Camilla slowly. "By -fortune you mean propinquity?" - -"Oh, yes--and other things----" laughingly. "For instance, if I had -fallen in love with a man I shouldn't stop to consider. If he was -another woman's husband--say _your_ husband, Mrs. Wray--that would only -add a new element of interest. The more difficult an undertaking, the -greater satisfaction in the achievement." - -Camilla looked at her steadily for a moment. "I've never thought that -any man ought to be dignified by such extraordinary effort. A husband so -easily won away is not worth keeping." - -The two women had only met once before. They both smiled, sweetly -tolerant, their weapons politely sheathed. Only Cortland Bent, who knew -the hearts of both, sensed the difference between them. - -"You're very flattering, Rita," he broke in, "especially to the bipeds. -You've carefully deprived us of every attribute but legs. But we still -have those--and can run." - -"But you don't," laughed Mrs. Cheyne. "That's just the point. You like -the game--all of you. Even your legs aren't proof against flattery." - -"Stop, Rita," put in Betty Haviland. "You're letting out all the -secrets of the craft." - -"Come, Camilla," said Cortland, rising, "wouldn't you like to see the -horses and dogs? It's not nearly dark yet." - -"Oh, yes," she cried gladly. And then to her host, "What am I to -expect, Mr. Janney, silver feed troughs and sterilized water?" - -"Oh, no," said their host, "not yet. But they're worth it." - -The pair made their way through the library and a small corridor which -led to the south portico. - -"How do you like my cousin Rita?" Bent asked when they were alone -outside. - -"Is she your cousin?" - -"Through my mother--the Davidges. Quite wonderful, eh?" - -"I don't like her. You don't mind my saying so, do you?" - -"Not in the least. She's not your sort, Camilla. But then nobody ever -takes Rita seriously. She doesn't want them to. She's a spoiled -darling. Everybody pets her. That bored kind of cleverness is -effective--but everybody knows she doesn't mean half she says." - -"I'd be sorry to think she meant anything she says," severely. - -Bent laughed. "I'm afraid you're too sincere for my crowd, Camilla." - -"Who is Mr. Cheyne?" she asked suddenly. - -"A perfectly amiable person with a bald head and a passion for -domesticity and music, both of which Rita affects to despise." - -"Why did she marry him then?" - -"Nobody knows. It was one of the marriages that weren't made in Heaven, -that's all." - -"Few marriages are, but they're none the less binding because of that." - -"Yes, I know," he said soberly. - -She recognized the minor note and turned the subject quickly. - -"What a heavenly spot! These are the stables, of course. And the -buildings beyond?" - -"The kennels. Mr. Janney has his own pack--corking hounds. They've -been breeding this strain a long while in England. I suppose they're as -good as any in the world." - -"I'm wild to see them." - -The head groom met them at the door of the carriage house and showed -them through. The much despised touring car of the Havilands occupied a -negligible part of the great floor. The coach, brake, carryall, station -wagons, victoria, runabouts, and brake-carts--all in royal blue with -primrose running-gear--looked down with an old-fashioned dignity and -disapprobation on this product of a new civilization. The paneled walls -of the room were covered with sporting prints, and the trophy room, with -its cabinets of cups and ribbons, bore eloquent testimony to Curtis -Janney's success at horse shows in every large city of the country. In -the stables Camilla lost all sense of restraint. A stable had never -meant anything like this. The cement floors were spotless, and the long -line of stalls of polished wood with brass newels and fittings shone -like the silver in the drawing room. The mats and blankets were of -blue, and each bore the monogram of the owner in yellow. - -"These are the coach and carriage horses, Camilla," Bent explained. - -"Yes, ma'am," put in the groom. "The hunters are here," and he led the -way to the box stalls. - -"Where is Mackinaw? Mr. Janney promised him to me for to-morrow." - -"Oh, Mackinaw is right here, ma'am. And a fine bit of flesh he is." He -went in and threw off the blanket, while Camilla followed. "Not a -blemish. He'll take his four rails like they was two. Just give him his -head, and you won't be far off when they kill." - -"Oh, what a darling! I'm wild to get on him. Is he gentle?" - -She patted him on the neck, and he nosed her pocket for sugar. One by -one she saw them all, and they reached the kennels in time for the -evening meal. - -"Oh, well," she sighed as they turned back toward the house, "I'm almost -reconciled to riches. One could live in a place like this and forget -there was anything else in the world." - -"Yes, perhaps some people might," he said significantly. "I couldn't, -even if I wanted to. The only real joy in life is the memory of -Saguache Peak at sunset." - -"Sunsets pass--they're symbols of the brevity of things beautiful----" - -"But the night is long," he murmured. "So long, and so dark." - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII* - - *THE BRUSH* - - -Jeff Wray was learning many things. The arrival of Lawrence Berkely on -the scene had at first seemed rather alarming. Several wires in cipher -before Larry reached New York had apprised Jeff of an uncertain state of -mind in members of the directorate of the Denver and Western Railroad -Company. Collins, Hardy, and even Jim Noakes had been approached by -representatives of the Chicago and Utah with flattering offers for their -interests in the D. & W., and Berkely reported them on the horns of a -dilemma. Collins and Hardy were big owners of land which lay along the -trunk line and were dependent on that company for all facilities for -moving their wheat and other crops. It had not always been easy to get -cars to haul their stuff to market, and this fall they only got their -hay and potatoes in by a dispensation from the men higher up. Noakes, -as Jeff well knew, owned stock in the through line, but the showing of -the Saguache Mountain Development Company for the year had been so -strong that he had felt sure his associates would see the importance of -keeping their interests intact, temporizing, where they could, with the -Denver crowd, who had it in their power to threaten his connections at -Saguache. - -Mulrennan was wiring Jeff, too--copiously. There was an election -pending in Kinney, and the Denver crowd had advanced a candidate for -judge in opposition to the party with which Pete was affiliated. Other -reports both in New York and from the West indicated a strong pressure -from the East on the officers of the D. & W. Berkely viewed all these -indications of a concerted movement against Jeff's railroad with -increasing dismay and lost no time in giving him his opinion as to the -possible outcome of the raid. - -But Jeff apparently was losing no sleep over the situation. He was -fully aware that the whole movement had originated in New York, and that -Cornelius Bent and his crowd were back of it. He knew, too, that the -Amalgamated Reduction Company wanted his new smelter. Long ago he had -foreseen this possibility and had laid his own plans accordingly. The -Denver and Saguache was his. With Noakes, Collins, and Hardy, he had a -control of the Denver and Western, but their possible defection, which -he had also foreseen, had made other plans necessary. Three months -before he came East he had unobtrusively secured through other persons a -right of way from Saguache to Pueblo, a distance of one hundred and -twenty miles. The line of this survey was well to the southward and -would open up a country occupied only by small settlers under the -Homestead laws. He had turned the organization of the Development -Company loose for two months on that vast tract of land, and had, at a -reasonably small expense, secured by purchase or long-time options the -most valuable land along his new line. His engineers were Germans, -imported for the work, who had no affiliations with other roads, and his -plans had so far worked out to a T. He had also worked out (on paper) -an irrigation scheme for the whole proposition. - -At Pueblo the new road would connect with the Denver and California, a -line which had no connection with the Chicago and Utah, and which had -even been recently engaged in a rate war with the other roads to the -coast. Its officers were friendly, and Wray's plans had all been worked -out in their confidence and with their approval. Indeed, a good part of -his backing had been furnished by capitalists in San Francisco. - -Jeff felt sure that the first move to capture the D. & W. was only a -bluff, and in his conferences with General Bent, Janney, and McIntyre, -had played a waiting game. The "Daisy" was now a producer--not a -producer like the "Lone Tree"--but it was paying, and the "Comet," a new -prospect that had been opened farther south, was doing a business of a -hundred to the ton. His stamps were working night and day, and the -smelter was doing its share in Wray's triumphant progress. All his -other plans were working out, and the longer he could wait the more -formidable he could make himself as an adversary. He knew that the crux -of the situation was the ambition of the Amalgamated Reduction Company. -They controlled every smelting concern in three states, and Wray's big -plant was a thorn in their side. By waiting, Jeff hoped that he could -make them show their hands, so he made no attempt to force an issue, -being content to play the part they themselves had assigned him. Their -hospitality, his welcome into their exclusive set, his use of their -clubs (to two of which he had been proposed for membership), the -business associations they were planning for him, did little to convince -Jeff of the sincerity of their attentions. But he acted the dupe with a -good grace, with one eye to windward, greatly amused at their -friendliness, which, while it failed to flatter, gave him an increasing -sense of the importance of his mission. General Bent had intimated that -within a week or so he would be in a position to make a definite -proposition for his railroad, which, of course, meant the absorption of -Wray's plant into the Trust. Financially, there were great possibilities -in a friendly association with these men. - -They were closely in touch with No. -- Broadway and, if they chose, -could point the way to power such as he had never dreamed of. But in -his heart he mistrusted them. He thought of Mrs. Rumsen's words of -warning, and he knew that what she said was true. They would not spare -him if he offered them a chance which would give them a command of the -situation. Well, they hadn't command of it yet, and he knew he held -some cards which they had never seen. If they continued to weave their -web as they had begun it, there would still be time to side-step. - -Meanwhile, he gave himself up to a thorough enjoyment of the situation. -There was nothing he liked better than a fight, and the fact that his -adversaries were formidable lent a zest to the situation. He reassured -Larry, sent a lot of wires to Mulrennan, took a few successful flyers in -the stock market (which went to show that his luck had not yet turned), -and spent his leisure moments in a riding school uptown going over the -jumps with Camilla. - -Curtis Janney's dinner table held nothing in common with General Bent's. -The viands were well cooked but not heavy; the wines of a lighter -variety, dry, for the most part, and sparkling; the service deft and -dignified but not austere. The table decorations were not made up of -set-pieces from the florists', but came from Janney's own conservatories -and were more in the way of colored embroideries against the damask -cloth. General conversation was, therefore, continuous, and every -person at this table could see and be seen by every other. The -formality of the city seemed to be banished by common consent, and -Camilla, who went in with Cortland Bent (a mischievous dispensation of -Miss Janney), felt very much at home in the frank, friendly atmosphere. -Almost all the conversation, she discovered, was of the "horsey" -variety, at least at Camilla's end of the table, where their host -presided, and, as she had never ridden to hounds before, she seized the -opportunity to acquaint herself with the interesting details of the -morning which awaited her. - -The Sunnybrook Hunt Club, she learned, was only a mile away, but on -certain days the Braebank hounds were used and members of the Hunt Club -living in the vicinity added their numbers to the field. There were -plenty of foxes, Mr. Janney assured her, and to-morrow they were to draw -a cover over toward the Chelten Hills. Mrs. Cheyne, she heard, was -thought to be the best horsewoman in the county. Her own country-place -was but five miles away, and, in spite of her boasted love of ease, she -was to be found at every Meet in the season, no matter how early the -hour. To-morrow was to be one of the big days of the year, Mr. Janney -informed Camilla, and all the farmers over whose fields they hunted were -invited to lunch after the Meet, in the Long Gallery. - -So when, in the early morning, after a light breakfast, Mr. Janney's -guests met on the terrace, it was with a feeling of intense interest and -excitement that Camilla drew on her gloves and joined them. Of the men, -Curtis Janney, Worthington Rumsen, and Billy Haviland wore the pink -coats with gray facings of Sunnybrook, while their host wore in addition -the velvet cap which distinguished him as Master of the Hounds. The -hounds were already loose on the great lawn, while the Huntsman and -Whippers-in rode among them. The sun had not yet risen, and the heavy -frost which lay upon the lawns caught the chill greenish opalescent -tints of the dawn. Mrs. Cheyne was already in the saddle, her hunter, a -lean, rangy boy, pirouetting and mouthing his bits, eager to be off. -The Baroness Charny, dainty and very modish in a dark green habit and -silk hat, was chatting gaily with Larry Berkely while a groom adjusted -her stirrup-leather. Mrs. Haviland, Wray, Perot, and her host were -waiting for their horses, which the men were bringing up from the -stables. Curtis Janney came forward gaily when Camilla appeared. - -"We're all here, Mrs. Wray," he greeted her. "The others will meet us at -the Chelten Crossroads. Your horse is ready," and then, with a glance -at her habit, "You're riding across, I believe?" - -She nodded. "What a heavenly morning!" - -"The conditions are perfect. This white frost will soften at sun-up. -We'll have a fine run. Won't you let me help you mount?" - -They were all in the saddle in a few moments and, walking their horses, -with the Huntsman and hounds in the lead, were soon on their way past -the big entrance gates. Camilla saw Jeff draw his horse alongside that -of Mrs. Cheyne and realized that the few days during which Lawrence -Berkely had been in the city had done much for her husband's appearance. -She saw the look and heard the laugh with which Mrs. Cheyne greeted her -husband and experienced, in spite of herself, a sense of annoyance that -Jeff continually showed a preference for her company to that of any of -the other women of the party. She knew that in her heart it made no -difference to her into whose hands Jeff entrusted himself. Mrs. -Cheyne's languid air of patronage had provoked her, and her pride -rebelled at the thought of any slight, however thoughtless, at the hands -of her husband. But as Cortland Bent came alongside of her, she -realized that the friendly relations of her husband and his feminine -partner might progress far on extravagantly sentimental lines and still -provide no just cause for complaint. - -If Mrs. Cheyne had any mental reservations, her graceful back gave no -sign of them. She sat her horse squarely, even a little stiffly, which -brought into contrast the easy, rather slouchy seat which Jeff had -learned on the plains. But Wray was in his element. On a horse, at -least, he felt himself the equal of any one in the party and need ask no -favors or give any. He examined Mrs. Cheyne's costume curiously. Her -long coat was a mere subterfuge, for beneath it she wore white breeches -like his own and patent leather boots. Her hair was done in a compact -mass on the back of her head, and her hat was held in place by a strong -elastic band. The shoulders of her coat were square and her manner -easy. He recalled the flowing feminine lines of her costume at dinner -the night before, and it seemed difficult to appreciate that she was the -same person with whom he had talked so late in the smoking room. - -"Am I a freak?" she asked amiably, "or is there a hiatus somewhere? I -dressed in a tearing hurry--without a maid." - -"Oh, no. Only you're another kind of a person--on the back of a horse." - -"Am I? How?" - -"Last night you were all woman. You and I are making friends pretty -fast, but I was a little afraid of you." - -"Why?" - -"You're different at night, so sleepy and handsome, like a rattler in -the sun, the kind you hate to wake up but must, to see how far he'll -strike." - -She laughed. "I don't know whether I like that or not. And yet I think -I do. How am I different to-day?" - -"To-day you're only part woman. The rest of you is just kid. If it -wasn't for that knot of hair I'd take you for a boy--a very nice, -good-looking boy." - -She looked up at him mischievously. "You know you have a faculty of -saying unpleasant things very pleasantly. I'm glad I look youthful. My -only horror is of growing old. I don't think I like the idea of your -thinking me anything unfeminine." - -He glanced frankly at her protruding knee. "I don't. Most of you is -woman all right--but you don't scare me half as much this morning." - -"Why should you be scared? You haven't struck me as being a man who -could be scared at anything." - -"Not out here, but inside--in the drawing room--you've got me at a -disadvantage. I'm new to soft speeches, low lights, and the way you -Eastern women dress. There's too much glamor. I never know whether you -mean what you say or whether it's all just a game--and I'm _It_." - -She threw back her head and laughed with a full throat. - -"You dear, delicious, impossible creature! Don't you know that the -world is a tangle of illusions, and that you and I and everybody else -were made to help keep them tangled? Nobody ever means what he says. -Half of the joy in life consists in making people think you different -from what you are." - -"Which are you? The kid on the horse or the woman--back there--last -night?" - -"Do you think I'll tell you?" - -"No, I suppose not. And it wouldn't help me much if you're going to lie -about it--I mean," he corrected, "if you're trying to keep me guessing." - -"My poor, deluded friend, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. So -what's the use. For the present," she added defiantly, "I'm the kid on -the horse." - -"And I guess I'm _It_, all right," he laughed. - -As they approached Chelten Hills they made out at the cross-roads a -number of figures on horseback. The sun, a pale madder ball, had -suddenly sprung from behind the hills and painted with its rosy hues the -streaks of mist which hung in the valleys below them. As its shadows -deepened and its glow turned from pink to orange, the figures at the -cross-roads stood out in silhouette against the frosty meadows beyond. -There were three women and at least a dozen men, most of them wearing -the club colors, which took on added brilliancy as the sun emerged from -behind the distant hills. A cloud of vapor rose from the flanks of the -horses. There was much "hallo-ing" and waving of riding crops as the -Huntsman and his hounds rode into their midst and the two parties met. -A brief consultation, and the hounds were sent down a narrow lane and -across a wooden bridge toward a patch of woods which darkened the -hillside half a mile away. - -"We'll draw that cover first," said Curtis Janney. "Perhaps we can coax -the old Chelten Fox to come out to-day." It was the name they had given -to an old quarry of theirs, the elusive victor in half a dozen runs in -the last few years. - -Cortland Bent had refused to relinquish his post beside Camilla. There -seemed no reason why he should, since Gretchen had so completely -appropriated Larry, and Jeff, Mrs. Cheyne. - -"Be careful, Camilla," he was saying. "You're new at this game, and the -going is none too safe." - -But Camilla only smiled. She looked forward at Mrs. Cheyne's intolerant -back, and there was a joyous flash in her eyes like the one he -remembered two years ago when she led the chase of a coyote, which she -ran down and roped unaided. She leaned forward gaily and patted her -horse's neck. - -"We understand each other, don't we, Mackinaw?" - -And then, as though to express her emancipation from all earthly -barriers, she gave her horse his head in the pasture and followed a -party which had scorned the open gate. Mackinaw took the three rails -like a bird and shook his head viciously when Camilla restrained him. -Cortland followed her, smiling, and in a moment they had all stopped at -the foot of the hill, while the hounds went forward into the cover. - -Janney had planned well. They waited a while, chatting among -themselves, and then suddenly the hounds gave tongue. At the farther -end of the cover, taking a diagonal course across an old cornfield up -the hill, the old fox emerged, while the hounds, getting the scent, -followed hot-foot after him. - -"Tally-ho!" was the cry from one of the whips, and it echoed again and -again the length of the field. In a second they were off, Curtis Janney -in the lead, roaring some instructions which nobody understood. Camilla, -overanxious, cleared the brook at a bound and won her way among the -leaders. Gretchen Janney and Mrs. Cheyne, their horses well in hand, -were a little to the left, following the Master, whose knowledge of the -lay of the land foresaw that the run would follow the ridge which -farther on turned to the eastward. Camilla only knew that she must ride -straight, and went forward up the hill toward the line of bushes around -which the last hound had disappeared. Bent thundered after her, -watching her anxiously as she took the fence at the top of the hill--a -tall one--and landed safely in the stubble beyond. - -"Pull up a little, Camilla!" he shouted. "You'll blow him if you don't. -This may last all morning." - -"I--I can't!" she cried. "He's pulling me. He doesn't want to stop, and -neither do I." - -"It's the twenty pounds of under weight--but you'd better use your -curb." - -As they cleared the bushes they "viewed" again from a distance the -hounds running in a straight line, skirting a pasture at the edge of a -wood half a mile away. The field below to their left was now a thin -line of single horsemen or groups of twos and threes. Behind Bent were -Billy Haviland and the Baroness. Down the hill they went, more carefully -this time, then up again over rocky ground dotted with pitfalls of ice -and snow which made the going hazardous. Janney's crowd below on the -level meadows was forging ahead, but when Camilla reached the top of the -next hill she saw that, instead of surging toward the river, the hounds -were far away to the right in open country and going very fast. They -reached the road from the meadow just as Curtis Janney, closely followed -by Gretchen and Mrs. Cheyne, Larry, and Jeff, came riding into the open. - -"Have you 'viewed'?" - -Cortland Bent pointed with his crop, and they all saw the pack making -for the woods and the trees which lined the creek in the hollow beyond. -It was a wide stretch of open country made up of half a dozen fields and -fences. The short, sharp cry of the hounds as they sighted the fox was -music to Camilla, but the roar of the wind in her ears and the thunder -of the horses' hoofs were sweeter. It was a race for the creek. The -Master, on his big thoroughbred, was three lengths in the lead, but -Jeff, Mrs. Cheyne, and Camilla, just behind him, were taking their jumps -together. - -At the third fence, for some reason, Mackinaw refused, and, scarcely -knowing how it had happened, Camilla slid forward over his ears to the -ground. She was a little stunned, but managed to keep her hold on the -reins, and before Cortland Bent could dismount she was on her feet -again, her cheeks a little pale, but in nowise injured. - -"Are you hurt, Camilla?" - -"No. Help me up quickly, Cort." She had seen Jeff and Mrs. Cheyne draw -rein a moment on the other side of the fence, but, when she rose, ride -on together. Jeff shouted something to her, but she could not hear it. - -"I didn't give him his head," Camilla stammered. "I'll know better now." - -"For God's sake, be careful," whispered Bent. - -If she heard him she gave no sign of it, for, with her face pale and her -lips compressed, she made a wide turn, and, before the rest of the field -came up, she had put Mackinaw at the jump again, giving him his head and -the crop on his flank just before he rose to it. The frightened animal -cleared the rails with two feet to spare and a good six feet on the -farther side, and, when Jeff turned at the bank of the creek to look, he -saw Mackinaw nobly clearing the last fence that remained between them. - -Camilla, her color coming slowly back, kept her eyes fixed on the smart -silk hat of Mrs. Cheyne. The memory of Mrs. Cheyne's smile infuriated -her. Her manner was so superior, her equipment so immaculate, her seat -such a fine pattern of English horsemanship. The run was to be long, -they said. Perhaps there would still be time to show that she could -ride--as the boys in the West rode, for every inch--for every pound. - -Through the ford she dashed, with Cortland close at her heels, the water -deluging them both, up the bank and over the rise of the hill, toward a -patch of bushes where the fox doubled and went straight with the wind -across the valley for the hills. The going was rougher here--boulders, -stone walls, and ploughed fields. Camilla cut across the angle and in a -moment was riding beside her husband and Mrs. Cheyne, who seemed to be -setting the pace. - -"Are you all right?" Jeff asked. But she only smiled at him and touched -Mackinaw with her heel. She was riding confidently now, sure of herself -and surer of her horse. They understood each other, and Mackinaw -responded nobly, for when he found his place by the side of Rita -Cheyne's bay mare he sensed the will of his rider that here was the -horse that he must outstay. The pace was terrific, and once or twice -Camilla felt the eyes of the other woman upon her, but she rode -joyously, grimly, looking neither to left nor right, as she realized -that Mrs. Cheyne's mount was tiring and that Mackinaw seemed to be -gaining strength at every jump. - -The old Chelten Fox gained immortality that day. Twice the foremost -hounds were snapping at his very heels, when, from some hidden source of -energy, he drew another store and ran away from them, doubling through -the brush and throwing them off the scent, which they recovered only -when he had put a safe distance between them. Camilla had lost her hat, -her hair had fallen about her shoulders, and a thorn had gashed her -cheek. The pace was telling on Mackinaw, whose stride was not so long -or his jumps so powerful, but Mrs. Cheyne still rode beside her, her -face a little paler than before, but her seat as firm--her hands as -light as ever. If there were any other riders near them, both women -were oblivious, seeing nothing but the blur of the flying turf beneath -them, hearing nothing but the sharp note of the hounds in front, which -told that the chase was nearly ended. - -Before them was a lane with two fences of four rails, an "in and out," -with a low "take off" from the meadow. Camilla rose in her stirrups to -look and saw that Mrs. Cheyne had drawn rein. It was a jump which would -tax the mettle of fresher animals. With a smile on her face which might -have been a counterfeit of the one Mrs. Cheyne had worn earlier in the -morning, Camilla turned in her saddle, catching the eye of her -companion, and pointed with her crop straight before her to where the -hounds had "killed" in the meadow just beyond, then set Mackinaw for the -highest panel she could find. - -"Come on, Mrs. Cheyne!" she cried hoarsely. "Come on!" - -Mackinaw breasted the fence and reached the road--a pause of a second -until Camilla's spurs sank into his flanks, when, mad with pain, he -leaped forward into the air, just clearing the other fence and the ditch -that lay on the farther side. Camilla pulled up sharply as the Huntsman -dismounted and made his way among the dogs. Turning, she saw Mrs. -Cheyne's horse rise awkwardly from the lane and go crashing through the -fence, breaking the top rail and landing in the ditch. Its rider, -thrown forward out of the saddle, landed heavily and then rolled to one -side and lay quiet. - -[Illustration: "Turning, she saw Mrs. Cheyne's horse go crashing through -the fence."] - -With a quick cry of dismay, Camilla dismounted, conscience-stricken, and -ran to her fallen foe, just as the others rode up and caught the -frightened horse. - -"Dear Mrs. Cheyne," she heard herself saying, "I'm so sorry. Are you -really badly hurt?" But the only reply she got was a feeble shake of -the head. Curtis Janney brought out a brandy flask, and, after a sip or -two, Mrs. Cheyne revived and looked about her. - -"I'm all here, I think," she said. "That was a bad cropper--in my own -barnyard, too--the Brush must be yours, Mrs. Wray. Give me a cigarette, -somebody." - - - - - *CHAPTER IX* - - *THE SHADOW* - - -Mrs. Cheyne's farmhands and stablemen came running and took the horses -of those who dismounted; and Mrs. Cheyne, after examining herself to see -that no bones were broken, led the way, stiffly but without assistance, -to the house. Camilla, still a little bewildered, saw Mackinaw led off -to the stable for a rub-down. The Master of the Hounds was the first to -congratulate her. - -"Here is your Brush, Mrs. Wray. You've filled every woman's heart with -envy. To be in at the death of the old Chelten Fox is an achievement. -You had a fall. Are you injured?" - -"I believe not," she said. "Mackinaw is a darling. I hope he's sound?" -she inquired anxiously. - -"As a bell," he said generously. "He's got the heart of an ox. You -know"--he laughed and whispered--"I bought him from Mrs. Cheyne, and -to-day you've vindicated me." - -Others came up, men of the Hunt Club, and asked to be presented, and -Camilla, enjoying her triumph, followed the party to the house. - -Mrs. Cheyne's house differed in character from that of the Janneys. It -was snugly built in a pocket of the hills, facing to the south. The -original building, square and massive, dated from the early eighteenth -century, but two symmetrical wings at the sides had greatly increased -its original size. Large pillars and a portico gave the graceful lines -which the addition demanded. The wide stair hall which ran from front -to back had not been altered, and the furniture and hangings rigidly -preserved the ancient atmosphere. - -The surprised butler and his assistant hurriedly prepared hot Scotches -and toddy, and the halls and large rooms on the lower floor were soon -filled with the swaggering company--all talking at once, each with his -tale of luck or misfortune. - -It was not until Camilla was gratefully enthroned in a big chair by the -open fireplace that Cortland Bent found a chance to speak to her. - -"What possessed you, Camilla? You rode like a demon. You've dragged -poor Rita's pride in the mire. Riding is her long suit. She's not used -to yielding her laurels as she did to-day. I fancy she's not at all -happy about it." - -"Why?" asked Camilla, wonderingly. - -"You don't know Rita as I do. She runs things out here pretty much in -her own way." He chuckled quietly. "Good Lord, but you did put it over -her." - -"I'm sorry if she feels badly about it," she put in mendaciously. - -"There's nothing to be sorry about. You won out against odds on a horse -she'd thrown into the discard. That doesn't make her feel any sweeter. -She's a queer one. There's no telling how she'll take things. But she -doesn't like being the under dog, and she won't forget this soon." - -"Neither will I," said Camilla, smiling to herself. "She scored one on -me yesterday, but I fancy our accounts are about even." - -"Yes, they are. I suppose there's no use warning you." - -"No, there isn't, Cort. I fancy I'll be able to look out for myself." - -He examined her keenly and realized that she was looking at Jeff, who -stood with some men at the end of the room toasting their hostess. He -seemed to have forgotten Camilla's existence. In the field before they -came into the house Jeff had spoken to her, and when Janney had given -Camilla the Brush, Jeff had congratulated her noisily and with the -heartiness and enthusiasm he always showed over things which reflected -credit on himself. In their private life Jeff still stood a little in -awe of Camilla. He realized that his many deficiencies put him at a -disadvantage with a woman of her stamp, and, no matter what he felt, he -had never asked more of her in the way of companionship than she had -been willing to give him ungrudgingly; he was tolerant of her literary -moods, her music, her love of pictures, and the many things he could not -understand. She was the only cultured woman he had ever known, and his -marriage had done little to change his way of thinking of her. Camilla -had not meant to abide forever in the shrine in which Jeff had enthroned -her. - -In the earlier days of their married life she had been willing to sit -enshrined because it had been the easiest way to conceal the actual -state of her own mind; because it had come to be a habit with her--and -with him to behold her there. Their pilgrimage to New York had made a -difference. It was not easy for Camilla to define it just yet. He was a -little easier in his ways with her, regarded her inaccessibility a -little less seriously, and questioned by his demeanor rather than by any -spoken words matters which had long been taken for granted by them both. -He had made no overt declaration of independence and, in his way, gave -her opinions the same respect he had always given them. The difference, -if anything, had been in the different way in which they viewed from the -very same angle the great world of affairs. Men, as Jeff had always -known, were much the same all the world over, but, curiously enough, he -had never seen fit to apply any rule to its women. It was flattery, -indeed, for him to have believed for so long that, because Camilla was -cultured, all cultured women must be like Camilla. His wife realized -that Jeff's discovery of Mrs. Cheyne was requiring a readjustment of all -his early ideas. And so, while she spoke lightly of Mrs. Cheyne to -Cortland Bent, in her heart she was aware that if the lady took it into -her pretty head to use Jeff as a weapon she might herself be put upon -the defensive. - -It seemed as though Cortland had an intuition of what was passing in her -mind. - -"If there's any way in which I can be of service," he ventured. - -"Oh, yes, Cort," she laughed. "I'll call on you. The only thing I ask -of you now is--not to fall in love with Mrs. Cheyne." - -"Rita? I'd as soon think of falling in love with a kaleidoscope. -Besides----" - -But she laid restraining fingers on his arm. - -"Tell me about Gretchen," she interrupted quickly. - -"There's nothing to tell, except," he said with a sigh, "that she's -quite gone on Larry." - -"You can't mean it?" - -"Really--she told me so." - -Camilla glanced toward the hall where the two young people were sitting -in the big haircloth sofa engaged in a harmless investigation of the -science of palmistry. - -Camilla laughed. "It really looks so, doesn't it? I am sorry, though. -I had begun to look on Miss Janney as one of the solutions of our -difficulty." - -"There isn't any solution of it--not that way--you must take my word for -it. Gretchen and I understand each other perfectly. If I can do -anything to help Lawrence Berkely with her, I'll do it." - -"Oh, you're quite hopeless, Cort," she sighed, "and I have no patience -with Larry. I can't see why he doesn't mind his own business." - -Bent glanced at the young couple in the hall. "He seems to me to be -doing _that_ tolerably well." He leaned forward so that his tone, -though lowered, could be heard distinctly. - -"There is another solution. Perhaps you had not thought of it." She -turned her head quickly and searched his face for a meaning. For reply -he coolly turned his gaze in the direction of Jeff and Mrs. Cheyne, who -had withdrawn into an embrasure of one of the windows. - -"A solution----" she stammered. - -"Yes, a way out--for both of us." - -"You mean Jeff--and Mrs. Cheyne?" she whispered. - -"I do." - -The poison of his suggestion flowed slowly through her mind, like a drug -which stimulates and stupefies at the same time. - -"You mean that I should allow Jeff--that I should connive in his----" -She stopped, horror-stricken. "Oh, Cort, that was unworthy of you," she -whispered. - -"I mean it. They're well met--those two," he finished viciously. - -Camilla held up her fingers pleadingly. "Don't speak. I forbid you." -And, rising, she took up her gloves and crop from the table. "Besides," -she said more lightly, "I have a suspicion that you are trying to stir -up a tempest in a teapot." - -"Do you mean you haven't noticed?" he insisted. "At my father's? At the -Warringtons'? Last night at the Janneys'?" - -"No," she replied carelessly, "I hadn't noticed." - -Curtis Janney, who had been moving fussily from one group to another, -came forward as he saw Camilla rise. - -"I was hoping we might still get another short run, but I suppose you're -too tired, Mrs. Wray?" - -"A little--but don't let me interfere. I think I can find my way back." - -He looked at his watch. "Hello! It's time we were off anyway. The -other guests will be eating all our breakfast. Come, Cort, Gretchen, -Mrs. Cheyne--you know you're my guest still," strolling from group to -group and ruthlessly breaking up the tete-a-tetes so successfully that -Rita Cheyne rebelled. - -"You're a very disagreeable person, Mr. Janney--Ivywild resents it. -You're trying to form the hospitality of the county into one of those -horrid trusts. Every time accident throws the hunt my way you insist on -dragging it off to Braebank. It isn't fair. Of course, if you -insist----" - -And then, crossing to Camilla, "_Dear_ Mrs. Wray, I'm borrowing your -husband for a while. I feel a little tired, so he promised to lunch -with me here and go on to Braebank later. You don't mind, do you?" - -"Not in the least, my _dear_ Mrs. Cheyne. I'm _so_ sorry you feel -badly." And then to her husband, "Remember, Jeff, Mr. Janney expects -you later." Each spoke effusively, the tips of their fingers just -touching. Then Mrs. Cheyne followed her visitors to the door. - -Outside a coach-horn was blowing, and, as they emerged upon the porch -the Janney brake arrived, tooled by the coachman and bearing aloft Mrs. -Rumsen, General Bent, and Gladys, who had arrived from town on the -morning train. But they would not get down, and the cavalcade soon -wound its way along the drive, leaving Jeff and Mrs. Cheyne waving them -a good-by from the steps. - -Camilla took the road thoughtfully. It was the first time in their -brief social career that Jeff had not consulted her before he made his -own plans. She did not blame him altogether, for she knew that Jeff's -inexperience made him singularly vulnerable to the arts of a woman of -the type of Mrs. Cheyne, who, for want of any better occupation in life, -had come to consider all men her lawful prey. Camilla knew that mild -flirtations were the rule rather than the exception in this gay world -where idle people caught at anything which put to flight the insistent -demon of weariness and boredom. And she discovered that it was a part -of the diversion of the younger married couples to loan husbands and -wives to satisfy the light fancy of the hour. All this was a part of the -fabric in which she and Jeff were living and endangered society only -when the women were weak and the men vicious. But Jeff somehow didn't -seem to fit into the picture. His personality she had learned to -associate with significant achievements. His faults, as well as his -virtues, were big, and he had a habit of scorning lesser sins. The -pleasure of a mild flirtation such as his brothers of the city might -indulge in for the mere delight of the society of a woman would offer -nothing to Jeff, who was not in the habit of doing anything mildly or by -halves. Camilla knew him better than Mrs. Cheyne did. - -Of course, no one thought anything of his new interest in Mrs. Cheyne. -All of the younger men were interested in Mrs. Cheyne at one time or -another, and it was doubtful if people had even noticed his attentions. -Cortland had, but there was a reason for that. Anything that could -discredit Jeff in her eyes was meat and drink to him. But it was cruel -of Cortland to take advantage of her isolation, but how could she cut -herself off from Cort, when her husband, by the nature of the situation, -had thrown her so completely on his mercies? It seemed as though all -the world was conspiring to throw her with the one man whose image she -had promised her conscience she would wipe from her heart. He rode -beside her now remorselessly, proving by his silence more eloquently the -measure of his appreciation of the situation. She felt that he, too, was -entering the Valley of Indecision, with the surer step of a dawning -Hope, while she faltered on the brink of the Slough of Despond. - -They had fallen well behind the others, and followed a quiet lane -bordered by a row of birch trees which still clung tenaciously to the -remnants of their autumn finery. At one side gushed a stream, fed by -the early snows, which sang musically of the secrets of earth and sky. -There was no indecision here. Every twig, every painted stone, the sky -and breeze, spoke a message of blithe optimism. All was right with the -world, and if doubt crept into the hearts of men it was because they -were deaf to the messages of Nature. The spell of its beauty fell on -Camilla, too, and she found herself smiling up at Cortland Bent. There -were many things to be thankful for. - -"Are you happy?" he asked. - -"One can't be anything else on a day like this." - -"You don't care then?" - -"For what? Oh, yes. I have a natural interest in the welfare of my -husband. But I think Mrs. Cheyne is wasting her time." - -"I think perhaps you underrate her," he muttered. - -"I'd rather underrate Mrs. Cheyne than underrate myself," proudly. - -He was silent for a moment, flicking at the weeds with his riding-crop. - -"Mrs. Cheyne and you have nothing in common, Camilla," he said. "I'm -afraid it isn't in you to understand this crowd. The set in which she -and I were brought up is a little world in itself. The things which -happen outside of it are none of its concern. It doesn't care. It has -its own rules and its own code of decency to which it makes its members -subscribe. It is New York in miniature, the essence, the cream of its -vices, its virtues, and its follies. It lives like that poison-ivy -along the fence, stretching out its tendrils luxuriously in the -direction of the sun, moving along the line of least resistance. It -does not care what newer growth it stunts, what blossom learns to grow -beneath its shade, to fade and droop, perhaps to wither for lack of air -and sunlight----" - -"And yet--there's Gretchen," she said, "and you." - -He smiled almost gaily. "Yes, there are many Gretchens, thank God. -Girls with the clean, sound vision of their sturdy forbears, whose -mothers were young when the city still felt the impress of its early -austerities." - -"And you?" she repeated. - -His brow darkened and he looked straight before him. - -"What I am doesn't matter. I was born and bred in this atmosphere. -Isn't that enough?" - -"It's enough that you survived--that you, too, have a clean vision." - -"No, that is not true," he said sharply. "I can't see clearly--I'm not -sure that I want to see clearly--not now." - -"I won't believe that, Cort. Back there at _her_ house you said -something that was unworthy of you, that showed me another side of your -nature, the dark side, like the shadowy places under the ivy. I want you -to forget that you ever said them--that you ever thought them even." - -"I can't," he muttered savagely. "I _want_ some one to come between -you--to make him suffer what I am suffering--to place a distance between -you which nothing can ever repair." - -"Some one has already come between us," she said, gently. "The one I -have in mind is the Cort Bent of Mesa City, who used to help me gather -columbines; who rode with me far up the trail to get the last ray of the -sunset when the valley below was already asleep in the shadow; who -shouted my name in the gorge because he said it was sweet to hear the -mountains send back its echoes all silvered over with the mystery of the -Infinite; who told me of palaces and gardens in lands which I had never -seen, and of the talented men and women who had lived in them; who sang -to me in the moonlight and taught me to dream----" - -"Don't, Camilla----" - -"That was a boy I remember, who lived years and years ago when I was -rich--rich in innocent visions which he did nothing to destroy. It was -he who gave me an idea that there were men who differed from those I had -known before--men in whose hearts was tenderness and in whose minds one -might find a mirror for one's harmless aspirations toward a life that -wasn't all material and commonplace. He was my knight, that boy, -thoughtful, considerate, and gentle. He was foolish sometimes, but I -loved him because his ideals had not been destroyed." - -"I lied to you. Life is a cinder." - -She shook her head. "No, you did not lie to me--not then. Later you -did when you asked me to come to New York. Oh, I know. I can see more -clearly now. Suppose that even now I chose what you call your solution -of the tangle we've made of things. You'd like to see Jeff desert me -for Rita Cheyne so that you could have your own way with me now." - -"Camilla! I was mad then. I thought you understood. Gretchen and -I----" - -"I understand many things better than I did," she interrupted. "You -were no more mad then than you are now. I think I have always been -willing to forgive you for that. I wanted to forgive you because I -thought perhaps you didn't know what you were saying. But you make it -harder for me now. The boy I knew in the West is dead, Cortland. In -his place rides a man I do not know, a man with a shadow in his eyes, a -man of the gay world, which moves along the line of least resistance, -with little room in his heart for the troubles of the woman he once -offered to protect with his life." - -"I would still protect you--that is what I am offering." - -"How? By making me a woman like Rita Cheyne, who changes her husbands -as though they were fashions in parasols. You offer me protection from -Jeff. I refuse it." And then she added a little haughtily, "I'm not -sure that I need any protection." - -He glowered toward her, searching her face sullenly. - -"You love him?" he muttered. - -She smiled a little proudly. "I can't love you both. Jeff is my -husband." - -"You love him?" he repeated. "Answer me!" - -"Not when you take that tone. I'll answer you nothing. Come, we had -better ride forward." And, before he could restrain her, she had urged -her horse into a canter. - -"Camilla!" he called. - -But before he could reach her she had joined the others, outside the -gates of Braebank. - - - - - *CHAPTER X* - - *TRITON OF THE MINNOWS* - - -Mr. Janney's breakfast guests had gone, and, having seen the last of the -country wagons depart, he went into the office next to the smoking room, -where Cornelius Bent sat awaiting him. Curtis Janney brought a sheaf of -telegrams and letters which he laid on the desk. Then he opened a -humidor, offered his guest a cigar, took one himself, and sat down. - -"Well, what did you hear?" asked General Bent. Janney took a puff or two -at his cigar, then frowned at the papers on the table. - -"A great deal," he muttered, "both bad and good. I have here reports -for the whole week from our men in Denver, Pueblo, Kinney, and Saguache. -The pressure from Abington and the Chicago and Utah has finally brought -Noakes into line. It was something of a job, for he's tied up in one of -Wray's development companies, and it has cost some money. Abington had -to give him a big bonus for the stock in the Denver and Western. -Collins and Hardy came around all right, and it only remains to put the -screws on to make Wray show his hand." - -"Have you decided on that?" asked the General. - -"No, I haven't." - -Curtis Janney took up a letter which he had separated from the others. - -"You remember we thought his planning this new line to Pueblo was -financial suicide and that, if we gave Wray enough rope, he'd hang -himself. We didn't even see the use of throwing the usual impediments -in the way." - -Bent nodded. - -"Well, they're building it." - -"It's only a bluff." - -"I'm not so sure. My last reports show that the money is in the -treasury--some of it is Wray's, but most of it has come from Utah, -California, and Washington even. The Denver and California is backing -the whole project, and tent towns are springing up along the line of the -survey. Those people out there believe in Wray and are following him -like sheep." - -"They wouldn't follow him long if we found a way to stop him," said the -General grimly. "I've seen those stampedes before, but they always come -to an end. What does Lamson report?" - -"The Denver and California seems set on this thing--the more so as it -promises to be a success without much help from them." - -General Bent got up and paced the floor with quick, nervous strides. - -"Why, Curtis," he said, "you seem to see unusual trouble in the way. -The case presents no greater difficulties than the Seemuller plant did, -or the Myers and Ott, but we got them both in the end." - -"There is a difference." - -"Where?" - -"The man himself. He'll fight to the last ditch. That jaw wasn't given -him altogether as an ornament. I'm sorry we can't find his weak point. -A man who looks as far ahead as he does is a good one to tie to." - -"But he may not want any strings on him. The other night at dinner at -my house he was boasting of his independence. He didn't know how hot it -made me." - -"Yes, he did. That's why he did it. He said the same thing here -yesterday. But I wasn't deceived. It was all a part of his game. I -think in a game of bluff he can make old gamesters like you and me sit -up and do some guessing." Janney knocked the ash from his cigar and -laughed. - -"Cornelius, our fine scheme hasn't worked out--not so far. When Wray -first came in the office, you sized him up as a social climber. But, if -you think we are going to bewilder him by our clubs, the opera, and -social connections, you're reckoning without your host." - -General Bent smiled tolerantly. - -"He assimilates surprisingly well," he said with a reflective nod. "For -all his Western manner, he never gives the impression of being -ill-at-ease. I'll say that for him. Why, do you know, I strolled in on -Caroline the other afternoon on my way uptown and found him teaching her -how to play pinochle." - -"Mrs. Rumsen?" - -"Yes. She'll be making him the rage before the winter is out. But he -takes it all as a matter of course. Indeed, I think he fancies himself -our equal in any matter." He paused and then rose. "But he must prove -that. The Amalgamated must own that smelter." - -"Oh, yes," said Janney, following him with his eyes. "It will, of -course. We can't have him underbidding us. It's lucky he hasn't tried -it yet. But that's the danger from a man with both ability and ambition. -And we can't run the risk of letting him get too far." - -There was a silence of some moments, which Cornelius Bent improved by -running over the correspondence. When he had finished he tossed the -letters abruptly on the table, and walked to the window. "Poor Cort," -he muttered, "he lost us the whole thing. I wonder what's the matter -with that boy. He always seems to miss it somehow. I can never make a -business man of him--like you or myself--or like Jeff Wray." - -"He's cost us a pretty penny," growled Janney. - -The General still stood by the window, his chin deep in his chest, his -long fingers twitching behind his back. - -"Jeff Wray must pay for that, Curtis. If we can't beat him in one way -we must choose another. Jeff Wray stole the 'Lone Tree.' He trespassed -on our property in the dead of the night, did violence to one of our -employes, and bluffed Cort into signing that lease. If there was any -law in the state of Colorado, he'd be serving his term at Canon City. -But I'll get him yet! I will, by God! If he'd come in this office now -and hold you up for the money in your safe he'd be a thief. What is the -difference?" - -"Just this: He was successful, and he left no loose ends behind him." - -"I've thought at times, Janney, that you lack some interest in this -fight." - -"Why? Because I take the precaution to get all the information I -can--and because my information turns out to be unfavorable to our -plans? You want to crush Wray. Very well. I have no objections. Crush -him if you can. But it would hardly do to let him crush _us_." - -Bent turned and examined his host curiously. Then he laughed. It wasn't -pretty laughter, and it cracked dryly, like the sound of a creaking -door. - -"Upon my word, Curtis, you amaze me," he said. - -"Very well," put in Janney coolly. "But think it over. Don't be hasty. -If he puts that road through and starts the game of underbidding on the -raw product, we'll be in for a long fight--and an expensive one. I -don't think the Company wants that now. McIntyre doesn't, I know. And -Warrington, as usual, is for temporizing." - -"Temporizing?" Cornelius Bent's jaws snapped viciously. "This is not a -case where personal preferences can be considered. There's a great -principle involved. Are we going to let an upstart like Jeff Wray--a -petty real estate operator from an obscure Western town--come into our -field with a few stolen millions and destroy the plans of an organized -business which controls the output of practically all the great -gold-producing states--a company whose sound methods have brought order -out of chaos, have given employment to an army of people; whose patents -have simplified processes, reduced the cost of production, and kept the -price of the metal where it is satisfactory both to the mines and the -market? Are we going to see all this jeopardized by a wild-catter, a -tin-horn gambler, a fellow with neither decency nor moral principle? -Temporize like Warrington if you like, but the Board of the Amalgamated -must make a fight for the Wray smelter--or accept my resignation." - -Bent stalked the floor swiftly, biting off the ends of his sentences as -though they were parts of Wray's anatomy, clenching his fingers as he -might have done had they encircled Wray's neck. Curtis Janney followed -him with his gaze, his brows tangled and his lips compressed, aware of -the seriousness of the situation. The resignation of Cornelius Bent -from the Board of the Amalgamated was a contingency not for a moment to -be considered. - -"That, of course, is impossible," he said. "We're all behind you to a -dollar if you take that stand. But couldn't it be wise to have Wray in -and talk to him? We might learn something that's not on the cards." - -"Oh, yes, if you like," growled the General, "but you're wasting time. -I've got my idea of what that property is worth. I'll make him the -offer. If he refuses"--and his lower jaw worked forward--"it will be -war--to the last ditch." - -Curtis Janney pressed a bell, and a servant appeared. - -"Has Mr. Wray returned?" - -"Yes, sir," said the man. - -"Tell him General Bent would like to see him here." - -The man departed, and General Bent with an effort relaxed the muscles of -his face and sat. Both gentlemen looked up quickly when the servant -returned a few moments later. - -"I delivered your message, sir," he said. "Mr. Wray asked me to say -that he is engaged at the present moment and will join you later." - -General Bent's brows drew together angrily, but Janney inquired suavely, -"Where did you find him, Carey?" - -"In the conservatory, sir, with Mrs. Cheyne." - -Janney smiled, but suppressed Bent's sudden exclamation with a wave of -the hand. - -"You may bring in the whisky, then tell him that General Bent and I will -await his convenience." - -"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." - -"Confound his impudence!" muttered the General, biting at his lip. - -"All for effect, Cornelius," said Janney. "That fellow is an artist. -He's saving his face for the ordeal." - -"Let him save his neck," sneered Bent. - -Janney stretched his legs forward and smoked comfortably. "Break it if -you like, Cornelius," he said. "I can't, you know, so long as he's my -guest." - -Wray sauntered in some moments later, accompanied by Rita Cheyne. -General Bent looked up with a scowl, which the lady's gay assurance -failed to dismiss. - -"May I come in, too?" she asked. "I'm wild to hear how big men talk -business. Won't you let me, Cousin Cornelius? I'm positively thirsty -for knowledge--business knowledge. You' don't mind, do you, Mr. -Janney?" - -"You can't be interested." - -Wray laughed. "I'm the original woolly Western lamb being led to the -shearing, Mrs. Cheyne----" - -"The golden fleece!" she put in. "I know. But I'm not going to allow -it. You're not going to let them--are you, Jeff Wray?" - -"I never knew a lamb that had any opinions on the matter," he said -easily. - -The General got to his feet testily. - -"Rita, this won't do at all. We wanted to speak to Wray privately----" - -"Oh! You needn't mind me. I'm positively bursting with other people's -confidences. But I'm really the soul of discretion. Please let me -stay." She went over to Curtis Janney and laid her hands on his -shoulders appealingly. "I'll sell you Jack-in-the-Box if you will, Mr. -Janney," she said. "You know you've wanted that horse all season." - -Janney laughed. "That's a great temptation--but this isn't my affair," -and he glanced at General Bent, who stood frowning at them from the -window. - -"Leave the room at once, Rita!" said the General sternly. "You're -interfering here. Can't you see----?" - -Mrs. Cheyne dropped her hands. - -"Oh, if you take that tone, of course." She moved toward the door, -turning with her hand on the knob--"I think you're horrid--both of you. -I hope your lamb turns out to be a lion, and eats you up." And, with a -laugh and a toss of her head, she went out, banging the door behind her. - -Jeff Wray and Curtis Janney laughed, but the frown on General Bent's -face had not relaxed for an instant. When the door had closed he sat -down in his chair again, while Janney offered cigars. Jeff took one -with a sudden serious air, meant perhaps as a tribute to the attitude -and years of his fellow guest. - -Curtis Janney, looking from one to the other, searched each face for -signs of doubt or indetermination and found in each the same deeply set -eyes, straight brow, firm, thin mouth, square jaw, and heavy chin which -he recognized as belonging to those of this world who know how to fight -and who do not know when they are beaten. Wray's features were heavier, -the lines in the General's face more deeply bitten by the acid of Time, -but their features were so much alike that, had Janney not known the -thing was impossible, it might have been easy to imagine some kind of -collateral or even more intimate family relationship. - -"You asked me to come here," said Wray, easily apologetic. "What can I -do for you, General Bent?" - -Bent's deeply set eyes were hidden under his bushy eyebrows, but the -lips which held his cigar were flickering in a smile. - -"Yes," he began with a slow, distinct enunciation, which Wray recognized -at once as belonging to his office downtown, "I thought we might talk a -little business, if Mr. Janney doesn't object." - -"Not in the least," said Janney, "but there's no reason why we shouldn't -mix in a little of the Old Thorne," and he handed the decanter to Wray. -Cornelius Bent refused. - -"Wray," he went on, "we've been talking about your plant down in the -Valley. From all we've been able to find out, it's a pretty good -proposition in a small way. But the Amalgamated Reduction Company has -no special interest in acquiring it. That mountain range, in our -judgment, will never be a big producer. The 'Lone Tree' is the kind of -an exception that one finds only once in a lifetime." - -"And yet we're running on full time," said Wray, with an odd smile. "If -the other mines keep up their promise we won't need to buy any more ore, -General." - -"The mountains of the West are full of holes that once were promising, -Wray--like notes of hand--but they've long since gone to protest." - -Jeff's chin tipped upward the fraction of an inch. "I'm endorsing these -notes, General. Besides," he added suavely, "you know I'm not -overanxious to sell. When I came into your office it was only with the -hope that I might establish friendly relations. That, I'm glad to say, -I succeeded in doing. Your health, Mr. Janney." - -General Bent refused to be disarmed. "Yes, I know. But friendship and -business are two things. Commercially you are in the attitude of a -rival of the company I represent. Of course"--opulently--"not a serious -rival, but one who must logically be considered in our plans. We didn't -like your building that smelter, and you could have brought your ore at -a fair price to one of our plants in Pueblo or Colorado Springs." - -"Yes--but that interfered with my own plans," said Jeff. "And I have -had them a long time." - -"It's a little late to talk about that," assented Bent. "The plant is -there, the mines are there, and----" - -"Yes. But I don't see how they need bother you. Most of the gold we -send to market comes from the 'Lone Tree.' I haven't handled any ore -below your prices--not yet." - -There was, if possible, the slightest accent on the last words, but Wray -uttered them with a sweet complacency which failed to deceive. This -young fool was threatening--actually threatening the mighty Smelting -Trust. It was so preposterous that General Bent actually laughed--a -thing he seldom did below Twenty-third Street or when he talked business -elsewhere. - -"No," he said grimly. "I'm glad that didn't seem necessary. It would -have been a pity. See here, Wray"--he leaned forward, his face drawn in -decisive lines--"let's get to the point. We've both been dodging it -very consistently for a month. You've got some property that may be -useful to us. We've thought enough about it at least to make a few -inquiries about the whole situation--and about you. We could take that -plant under our own management and do a little better than you could. I -don't think the location really warrants it--for the big mine may stop -paying any day and the railroad facilities, you'll admit, are not of the -best. But, if you're willing to sell out at a moderate figure, we might -buy it. Or, perhaps, you'd like to come in with us and take stock in -the Company. We think a good deal of your ability. There isn't any -doubt that you could make yourself useful to us if you chose." - -"Thanks," said Jeff, with a sip at his Scotch, and then looked out of -the window. He had caught the meaning of General Bent's casual remark -about the railroad facilities. - -"Of course," Bent went on, "I don't care to show improper curiosity -about your plans, but if you are willing to meet me in a friendly spirit -we might reach an agreement that would be profitable both to your -companies and mine." - -"I'd rather think it was interest than curiosity," said Wray with a -smile. "But, unfortunately, I haven't got any plans--further than to -get all the ore I can out of 'Lone Tree' and to keep my works busy. -Just now I'm pretty happy the way things are going. I've screwed the -lid down, and I'm sitting on it, besides--with one eye peeled for the -fellow with the screw driver." - -Cornelius Bent controlled his anger with difficulty. His equality with -Jeff, as a guest of Curtis Janney, gave Wray some advantages. The easy -good nature with which he faced the situation and his amused -indifference to the danger which threatened him put the burden of proof -on the General, who experienced the feelings of an emperor who has been -jovially poked in the ribs by the least of his subjects. This was _lese -majeste_. Wray was either a fool or a madman. - -"Has it never occurred to you, Wray," snapped Bent, "that somebody might -come along with an axe?" - -"Er--no. I hadn't thought of that," he replied quietly. - -"Well, think it over. It's worth your while." - -"Is this a declaration of war?" - -"Oh, no," hastily, "merely a movement for peace." - -Wray took a few puffs at his cigar and looked from Janney to the -General, like a man on whom some great truth had suddenly dawned. - -"I had no idea," he said, with a skillfully assumed expression of -wonder, "that the Amalgamated was so desperately anxious as this." - -In drawing aside the curtain, he had still managed to retain his -tactical advantage. Both older men felt it--Bent more than Janney, -because it was he who had shown their hand, while Wray's cards were -still unread. - -The natural response was tolerant amusement, and both of them made it. - -"Anxious?" laughed Bent. "Is the lion anxious when the wolf comes -prowling in his jungle? Success has twisted your perspective, my dear -Wray. The Amalgamated is not anxious--it has, however, a natural -interest in the financial health of its competitors." - -"But I'm _not_ a competitor. That's just the point. I'm governed by -_your_ methods, _your_ plans, _your_ prices. I've been pretty careful -about that. No, _sir_, I know better than to look for trouble with the -Amalgamated." - -"One moment, Wray," put in Janney; "we don't seem to be getting -anywhere. Let's simplify matters. We can get along without your plant, -but if we wanted to buy, what would you want for it?" - -"Do you mean the smelter--or all my interests in the Valley?" asked Wray -quickly. - -"The smelter, of course--and the Denver and Saguache Railroad." - -"I don't care to sell--I've got other interests--my Development Company, -the coal mines and lumber--they're all a part of the same thing, Mr. -Janney, like the limbs of my body--cut one off, and I might bleed to -death." - -"We could give you traffic agreements." - -"I'd rather not. I'll sell--but only as a whole--gold mines, coal, -lumber, and all." - -Wray caught General Bent's significant nod. - -"That is my last word, gentlemen," he concluded firmly. - -There was a silence, which Cornelius Bent broke at last. - -"And what is your figure, Mr. Wray?" he asked. - -Jeff Wray reached for the match box, slowly re-lit his cigar, which -emitted clouds of smoke, through which presently came his reply. "You -gentlemen have been kind to me here in New York. I want you to know that -I appreciate it. You've shown me a side of life I never knew existed. -I like the West, but I like New York, too. I want to build a house and -spend my winters here--I wasn't figuring on doing that just yet--but if -you really want my interests I'll sell them to you--without -reservation--every stick and stone of them for thirty millions." - -"Thirty millions?" - -The voices of both men sounded as one, Janney's frankly -incredulous--Bent's satirical and vastly unpleasant. - -"Thirty millions!" Bent repeated with a sneer. "Dollars or cents, Mr. -Wray?" - -Jeff turned and looked at him with the innocent and somewhat vacuous -stare which had learned its utility in a great variety of services. -Jeff only meant it as a disguise, but the General thought it impudent. - -"Dollars, sir," said Jeff coolly. "It will pay me that--in time." - -"In a thousand years," roared the General. "The Amalgamated doesn't -figure on millenniums, Mr. Wray. We don't want your other interests, -but we'll buy them--for five million dollars--in cash--and not a cent -more. You can sell at that price or--" the General did not see, or -refused to see, the warning glance from Janney--"or be wiped off the -map. Is that clear?" - -"I think so, sir," said Wray politely. "Will you excuse me, Mr. -Janney?" and bowed himself out of the room. - - - - - *CHAPTER XI* - - *DISCORD* - - -That afternoon late, Berkely and the Wrays returned to town, and the -Western wires tingled with Jeff's telegrams to Pueblo, Kinney, and Mesa -City. He had burnt his bridges behind him, and, like a skillful cavalry -leader, was picking out the vantage points in the enemy's country. The -answers came slowly, but Wray had planned his campaign before he left -the West, and the messages were satisfactory. He realized that his -utility in New York, for the present at least, was at an end, and he saw -that he must soon leave for the West to repair any possible break in his -line of communications. - -Camilla learned of his intended departure with mingled feelings. Her -husband's rather ostentatious deference to Mrs. Cheyne had annoyed her. -She knew in her heart that she had no right to cavil or to criticise, -and pride forbade that she should question him. Larry's presence at -dinner precluded personal discussions, and Camilla sat silent while the -men talked seriously of Jeff's business plans. It had not been her -husband's habit to discuss his affairs with her, and, when the coffee -was served, he asked her coolly if she wouldn't rather be alone. - -"Do you mind if I stay, Jeff?" she asked. "I'd like to hear, if you -don't mind." - -"I'd rather you wouldn't. You can't be interested in this--besides, the -matter is rather important and confidential." - -She got up quickly. Larry Berkely, who had caught the expression in her -eyes, opened the door for her and followed her into the drawing room. - -"Don't be annoyed, Camilla," he whispered. "Jeff is worried. You -understand, don't you?" - -"Oh, yes, I understand," she replied wearily. "Don't mind me." - -As the door closed behind him she stood irresolute for a moment, then -suddenly realized she had been up since dawn and was very tired. Her -body ached, and her muscles were sore, but the weariness in her mind was -greater than these. The closing of the dining-room door had robbed her -of the refuge she most needed. She wanted to talk--to hear them -talk--anything that would banish her own thoughts--anything that would -straighten out the disorderly tangle of her late impressions of the new -life and the people she had met in it. She had never thought of Jeff as -sanctuary before, and yet she now realized, when the support of his -strength was denied her, that in her heart she had always more or less -depended upon him for guidance. - -And yet she feared him, too. A while ago she had been filled with -horror at his share in the "Lone Tree" affair, and since that time the -knowledge had haunted her. But she had not dared to speak of it to him. -She felt instinctively that this was one of the matters upon the other -side of the gulf that had always yawned with more or less imminence -between them. Their relations were none too stable to risk a chance of -further discord. The difference in his manner which she had noticed a -week or more ago had become more marked, and to-night at the dinner -table he had troubled less than usual to disguise his lack of interest -in her opinions. The image of Cort was ever in her mind, and the danger -that threatened her seemed no less distant than before, and yet she -still hoped, as she had always done, that something would happen--some -miracle, some psychological crisis which would show her husband and -herself the way to unity. Since she had seen Cortland Bent, she had lost -some faith in herself, gained some fear of Jeff, whose present attitude -she was at a loss to understand, but she still clung desperately to the -tattered shreds of their strange union, though lately even those seemed -less tangible. To-night, when she had asked him to take her West with -him, he had refused her impatiently--almost brusquely. - -She went into her own rooms slowly and undressed. As she sat before her -mirror, the sight of the scratch on her face recalled the incidents of -the day. Mrs. Cheyne! Her lips drew together, her brows tangled in -thought, and she dismissed her maid, who had come in to brush her hair. -What right had Jeff to ignore her as he had done? No matter what her -own shortcomings, in public, at least, she had always shown him a proper -respect and had never in her heart dishonored him by an unworthy -thought. For one brief moment in Cortland Bent's arms she had been swept -from the shallows into deeper water, but even then she had known, as she -knew now, that loyalty to Jeff had always been uppermost in her -thoughts. They must have an understanding before he went away. She -would not be left here in New York alone. She had learned to distrust -herself, to distrust Jeff, Cort, and all the charming irresponsible -people of the gay set into which they had been introduced. - -In her dressing gown she sat before her fire and listened to the murmur -of voices in the drawing room, from which she had been banished. She -could hear Jeff's steps as he rose and paced the floor, his voice louder -and more insistent than Larry's. There was a coming and going of pages -delivering and receiving telegrams, and she felt the undercurrent of a -big crisis in Jeff's career--the nature of which she had only been -permitted to surmise. His attitude had wounded her pride. It hurt her -that Larry should see her placed in the position of a petitioner. Her -one comfort was the assurance that she did not care what Jeff himself -thought of her, that it was her pride which insisted on a public -readjustment of their relations. - -Camilla got up, slowly, thoughtfully, and at last moved to the bell -determinedly. - -To her maid she said, "Tell Mr. Wray I'd like to see him before he goes -out." - -When Wray entered the room later, a frown on his face, the cloud of -business worry in his eyes, he found Camilla asleep on the divan under a -lamp, a magazine on the rug beside her, where it had fallen from her -fingers. His lips had been set for short words, but when he saw her he -closed the door noiselessly behind him. Even sleep could not diminish -the proud curve of the nostrils, or change the firmly modeled chin and -the high, clearly penciled brows. Jeff looked at her a moment, his face -showing some of the old reverence--the old awe of her beauty. - -And while he looked, she stirred uneasily and murmured a name. He -started so violently that a chair beside him scraped the floor and awoke -her. - -"I must have--oh--it's you, Jeff----" - -"You wanted to see me?" he asked harshly. - -"Yes--I----" She sat up languidly. "I did want to see you. There are -some things I want to talk about--some things I want explained. Sit -down, won't you?" - -"I--I haven't much time." - -"I won't keep you long. You've decided to go West--without me?" - -"Yes, next week. Perhaps sooner if----" - -"I want you to change your mind about taking me with you." - -"Why?" - -"I want to go." - -Jeff laughed disagreeably. "You women are funny. For a year you've -been telling me that the only thing you wanted was a visit to New York. -Now you're here, you want to go back. I've told you to get all the -clothes you need, hired you an apartment in the best hotel, given you -some swell friends, bought you jewelry----" - -"I don't want jewelry, or clothes, or friends," she insisted. "I want -to go back and watch them build 'Glen Irwin.'" - -"They've stopped working on 'Glen Irwin.' I wanted the money that was -going into that." - -"Oh!" - -"I've a big fight on, and I need all the capital I can swing. 'Glen -Irwin' will have to wait," he finished grimly. - -"Of course--I didn't understand. But it makes no difference. I can -stay at the hotel or at Mrs. Brennan's." - -"After all this? Oh, no, you'd be miserable. Besides, I have other -plans." - -"You don't want me?" - -"No. I'll be very busy." - -"No busier than you were before we came here." - -Jeff paced the length of the room and returned before he answered her. - -"See here, Camilla. You ought to know, by this time that when I say a -thing I mean it. I'm going West alone to do some fence-building. -You're to stay here and do the same thing--socially. I need these people -in my business, and I want you to keep on good terms with them." - -She gazed thoughtfully at the fire. "Don't you believe me when I say I -want to go with you?" - -Jeff made an abrupt movement. "Well--hardly. We've always got along -pretty well, so long as each of us followed our own pursuits. But I -think you might as well acknowledge that you don't need me--haven't -needed me now or at any other time." - -"I do need you, Jeff. I want to try and take a greater interest in your -affairs--to help you if I can, socially if necessary, but I'd rather do -it with you than alone." - -"I may not be gone long--perhaps only a week or so. In the meanwhile, -you're your own mistress." - -"You've always let me be that. But I have reasons for wanting to leave -New York." - -Wray turned and stared at her blankly. "Reasons?" - -"Yes. I--I'm a little tired. The life here is so gay. I'm unused to -it. It bewilders me." - -"I think I understand," he said slowly. "But it can't be helped. I -want you to cultivate the McIntyres, the Warringtons, and the Rumsens. -Larry will stay here in the hotel for a while. You can call on him." - -She fingered the pages of a book beside her. "Then this is final?" she -asked. - -"Yes--you must do as I say." - -He had never before used that tone with her. The warm impulse that had -sought this interview was dried at its source. "Very well--I'll stay," -she said coldly, "no matter what happens." - -He examined her shrewdly. - -"You're afraid?" he asked. "That's too bad. I thought I was doing you a -service." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Cort Bent. That's what I mean. Cort Bent. He's yours. I give him to -you." - -"Jeff!" - -She rose and faced him, trembling, and her eyes flickered like a -guttering candle, as she tried to return his look. "How could you?" she -stammered. "How could you speak to me so?" - -But he was merciless. "Oh, I'm not blind, and I'm not deaf, either. -I've seen and I've heard. But I didn't need to see or to hear. Don't -you suppose I've always known you married me out of spite--out of pique, -because Cort Bent wouldn't marry you. I knew it then just as I know it -now, but I hoped I could win you back and that things would be the same -as they were before _he_ came meddling in my affairs. Well, you know -what happened better than I do. Our marriage has been a failure. I was -a fool--so were you. We've made the best of a bad job, but that don't -make it a good job. I let you go your own way. I've been good to you -because I knew I'd been as big a fool as you were. What I didn't know -was that you'd met Cort Bent behind my back----" - -"That is not true," she broke in. "That day he called here----" - -"Don't explain," impatiently, "it won't help matters. I'm not blind. -The main fact is that you've seen Cort Bent again and that you're still -in love with him. These people are talking about you." - -"Who? Mrs. Cheyne?" - -"Yes, Mrs. Cheyne--and others." - -Camilla steadied herself with a hand upon the table. The brutality of -his short, sharp indictment unnerved her for the moment. She had hoped -he would have given her the opportunity to make an explanation in her -own way, a confession even which, if he had willed, might have brought -them nearer in spirit than they had ever been. But that was now -impossible. Every atom of him breathed antagonism--and the words of her -avowal were choked in the hot effusion of blood which pride and shame -sent coursing to her throat and temples. - -"And if I _am_ still in love with him," she said insolently, "what -then?" He looked at her admiringly, for scorn became her. - -"Oh, nothing," he said with a shrug. "Only be careful, that's all. -Back in Mesa City I thought of shooting Cort Bent, but I found a better -way to punish him. Here"--he laughed--"I've a different plan. I'm -going to give you a free foot. I'm going to throw you two together--to -give you a chance to work out your salvation in your own way. Your -marriage to me means nothing to you. Time has proved that. You and I -are oil and water. We don't mix. We never have mixed. There isn't any -reason that I can see that we're ever going to mix. We've worried along -somehow, to date, but it's getting on my nerves. I'd rather we -understood each other once and for all. I'm past changing. You knew -what I was--a queer weed, a mongrel. I took root and I grew as Nature -made me grow, in the soil I fell in, hardy, thick-ribbed, stubborn, and -lawless. The world was my enemy, but I fought it as Nature taught, by -putting on a rough bark and spines like the cactus that grew beside me. -Oh, I grew flowers, too, pretty pale blossoms that tried to open to the -sun. You had a chance to see them--but they weren't your kind. You -looked beyond them at the hot-house plants----" - -"Don't, Jeff," she pleaded. "I can't bear it." - -But he only laughed at her. - -"Well, I've brought them to you--the roses, the orchids, the carnations, -and you're going to live with them, in the atmosphere you've always -wanted----" - -"Won't you let me speak?" - -"No!" he thundered. "My mind is made up. I'm going West alone. You go -your way. I go mine. Is that clear? You and Cortland Bent can meet -when and where you please." - -"I don't want to meet him," she whispered brokenly. "I don't want to -see him again." - -"I can't believe you," he sneered. "We've lived a lie since we were -married. Let's tell the truth for once in our lives. When I came in -this room you were asleep, but even while you slept you dreamed of him -and his name was in your mouth." - -The face she turned up to him was haggard, but her eyes were wide with -wonder. - -"I heard you--you were calling for Cort. I'm not going to be a fool any -longer." - -He turned away from her and went toward the door, while she got up with -some dignity and walked to the fireplace. - -"You're going--to Mrs. Cheyne?" she asked coldly. - -"If I like," defiantly. "This game works both ways." - -"Yes, I see. There's some method in your madness after all." - -"I don't see why you should care--since I don't object to Bent. Mrs. -Cheyne is a friend of mine. She's investing in my company----" - -"Evidently," with scorn. "No doubt you make it profitable to her." - -"We won't talk about Mrs. Cheyne. You don't like her. I do. You like -Cort Bent. I don't. And there we are. We understand each other. It's -the first time in our lives we ever have. I don't question you, and -you're not to question me. All I ask is that you hide your trail, as -I'll hide mine. I have some big interests at stake, and I don't want -any scandal hanging around my name--or yours. I'm giving you into the -hands of my enemies. The father wants to ruin my business, the son to -ruin my wife. I'll fight General Bent with his own weapons. The -son----" - -"You're insulting," she broke in. "Will you go?" - -He turned at the door--his face pale with fury. - -"Yes, I'll go. And I won't bother you again. These rooms are yours. -When I'm here, mine are there. Some day when I'm ready I'll get you a -divorce. Then you can marry as you please. As for me," he finished -passionately, "I'm done with marriage--done with it--you understand?" - -And the door crashed between them. - -Camilla stood for a moment, tense and breathless, staring wide-eyed at -the pitiless door. Then the room went whirling and she caught at the -chair at her desk and sank into it helplessly, one hand pressed against -her breast. For a moment she could not think, could not see even. The -brutality of his insults had driven her out of her bearings. Why he had -not struck her she could not imagine, for it was in the character of the -part he was playing. He had not given her a chance. He must have seen -that she was trying to repair past damages and begin anew. A throb of -self-pity that was almost a sob came into her throat. Tears gathered in -her eyes and pattered on the desk before her. She did not notice them -until she heard them fall, and then she dried her eyes abruptly as -though in shame for a weakness. He did not want to begin anew. She -could see it all clearly now. He was tired of her and caught at the -easiest way to be rid of her, by putting her in the wrong. Her strength -came quickly as she found the explanation, and she sat up rigidly in her -chair, her face hot with shame and resentment. She deserved something -better from him than this. All that was worst in her clamored for -utterance. - -With a quick movement of decision she reached forward for a pen and -paper and wrote rapidly a scrawl, then rang the bell for her maid. - -"Have this note mailed at once." - -It was addressed to Cortland Bent. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII* - - *TEA CUPS AND MUSIC* - - -Dropping in on Jack Perot meant being shot skyward for twelve stories in -a Louis Sixteenth elevator operated by a magnificent person in white -gloves and the uniform of a Prussian lieutenant. Perot's panelled door -was no different from others in the corridor upstairs, except for its -quaint bronze knocker, but the appearance of a man-servant in livery and -the glimpse of soft tapestries and rare and curious furniture which one -had on entering the small reception room gave notice that a person of -more than ordinary culture and taste dwelt within. The studio of the -painter itself was lofty, the great north window extending the full -height of two stories of the building, while the apartment beyond, a -library and dining room with steps leading above to the bedrooms, -contained all the luxuries that the most exacting bachelor might -require. - -To arrive at the distinction of being a fashionable portrait painter one -must have many qualifications. In the schools one must know how to draw -and to paint from the model. In the fashionable studio one must know -how to draw and paint--then discover how not to do either. If the nose -of one's sitter is too long, one must know how to chop it off at the -end; if the mouth is too wide, one must approximate it to the Greek -proportions; eyes that squint must be made squintless and colorful; -protruding ears must be reduced. Indeed, there is nothing that the -beauty doctor professes to accomplish that the fashionable portrait -painter must not do with his magic brush. He must make the lean -spinster stout and the stout dowager lean; the freckled, spotless; the -vulgar, elegant; the anaemic, rosy; his whole metier is to select -agreeable characteristics and to present them so forcibly that the -unpleasant ones may be forgotten, to paint people as they ought to be -rather than as they are, to put women in silk who were meant for shoddy, -and men in tailored coats who have grown up in shirt-sleeves. - -In addition to these purely technical attainments, he must be an -infallible judge of character, a diplomat, a sophist; he must have a -silver tea-service, to say nothing of excellent Scotch and cigarettes. -He must be able to write a sonnet or mix a salad, discuss the Book of -Job or the plays of Bernard Shaw, follow the quotations of the stock -market, the news of the day, and the fashions in women's hats. He must -laugh when he feels dejected and look dejected when he feels like -laughing. Indeed, there is nothing the fashionable portrait painter -must not be able to do, except perhaps really--to paint. - -Jack Perot could even do that, too, when he wanted to. The sketch of -the Baroness Charny on his easel was really sincere--an honest bit of -painting done with the freedom his other work lacked. Perhaps this was -because it was not a commission, but just one of those happy interludes -which sometimes occur amid the dreariest of measures. It pleased him, at -any rate, and he stood off from it squinting delightedly through his -monocle while the Baroness poured the tea. - -"Really, madame, it's too bad it's finished. I was almost ready to -believe myself back in Paris again," he said in French. "If one could -only live one's life backward!" - -"Oh, that wouldn't do--in a little while perhaps you would be quite -poor." - -"Yes," he sighed, "but think how much better I would paint." He stopped -before the sketch and sighed again. "I think it's you, Baroness. You -bring an echo of my vanished youth. Besides, I didn't paint you for -money. That is the difference." - -"You are going to paint that handsome Madame Wray?" - -"Yes. She's coming in for tea to-day." - -"They are wonderful, those people. He is so original--so _farouche_." - -"He's too fond of talking about himself," he growled. "These people -represent the Western type so common in New York--climbers--but New York -will forgive much in the husband of Mrs. Wray." - -"He doesn't care whether he's forgiven or not, does he?" - -"That's a pose. All Westerners adopt it. To consent to be like other -people would be to confess a weakness." - -"I like him; but then"--the Baroness yawned politely--"all Americans are -attractive. Mrs. Wray I find less interesting." - -"Naturally, madame. You are a woman." Then, after a pause, "It is a -pity she's getting herself talked about." - -"Really? That's encouraging--with Monsieur Bent?" - -"Oh, yes--they met in the West--the phenix of an old romance." - -"How delightful! Monsieur Jeff doesn't care?" - -"Oh, no," significantly. "He has his reasons." - -The door-knocker clanged, and Mrs. Rumsen entered, escorting two -debutantes, who paused on the threshold of the studio gurglingly, their -eyes round with timidity and a precocious hopefulness of imminent -deviltries. - -"_So_ kind of you, Mrs. Rumsen. Good morning, Miss Van Alstyne--Miss -Champney" (with Jack Perot it was always morning until six of the -afternoon). "You've met the Baroness?" - -"How too thweetly perfect!" - -"How fearfully interesting!" - -The newcomers fluttered palpitantly from canvas to canvas and only -subsided when Mrs. Cheyne entered. - -"Am I welcome?" she drawled. "This is your day, isn't it, Jack? Oh, -how charming!" She paused before the sketch of the Baroness. "Why -didn't you paint _me_ like that? I'll never forgive you. You were -painting me for Cheyne, I know it. My portrait fairly exudes the early -Victorian." - -Perot kissed the tips of his fingers and wafted them toward her. "Quite -correct, dear Rita. Cheyne was paying the bill. Now if you gave me -another commission----" - -"I won't--you're the most mercenary creature. Besides, I'm too hard up. -One must really have billions nowadays." She sank on the couch beside -the Baroness. "It's really very exhausting--trying to live on one's -income. I'm very much afraid I shall have to marry again." - -"You need a manager. May I offer----" - -"No, thanks. I shall be in the poor-house soon enough." - -"Get Mr. Wray to help," laughed the painter mischievously. "They say he -has a way of making dollars bloom from sage-brush." - -She glanced at him swiftly, but took her cup of tea from the Baroness -and held her peace. - -The knocker clanged again, and Mrs. Wray, Miss Janney, Larry Berkely, -and Cortland Bent came in. - -"This is really jolly, Gretchen. Hello! Cort, Berkely--Mrs. Wray, I've -been pining to see your hair against my old tapestry. Oh! shades of -Titian! Can I ever dare?" - -Camilla colored softly, aware of Mrs. Cheyne's sleepy eyes in the shadow -below the skylight. She nodded in their general direction and then took -Mrs. Rumsen's proffered hand--and the seat beside her. - -"I was so sorry to have missed you this morning," she said. "I'm always -out, it seems, when the people I want to see come in." - -"I should have 'phoned," said the lady. "I had something particular to -speak to you about. Is your husband coming here?" - -"I--I really don't know," Camilla stammered. "He has been away and very -busy." - -"He'll be back for my dance, won't he?" - -"I think so--but he's never certain. He's going West very soon." - -"He was telling me something about his early life. You ought to be very -proud of him." - -"I can't tell just what it is, but to me your husband seems like an echo -of something, an incarnation of some memory of my youth--perhaps only a -long-forgotten dream. But it persists--it persists. I can't seem to -lose it." - -"How very curious." - -"It is the kind of personality one isn't likely to forget. Has he any -memory of his father or--of his mother?" - -"No. His mother died when he was born. His father--he doesn't remember -his father at all." - -Mrs. Rumsen smiled. "Forgive me, won't you? I suppose you'll think me a -meddlesome old busybody. But I'm not, really. I want to be friendly. -You're a stranger in New York, and it occurred to me that perhaps you -might crave a little mothering once in a while. It is so easy to make -mistakes here, and there are so many people who are willing to take -advantage of them." - -"You're very kind, Mrs. Rumsen. I'm glad you think us worth while." - -"I do. So much worth while that I want to lay particular stress upon -it. Perhaps I ought to tell you what I mean. Last night my brother -dined with us. He was in a very disagreeable mood--and spoke very -bitterly of your husband. I suppose he may even go so far as to carry -his business antagonism into his social relations with you both." - -"How very unfortunate!" in genuine dismay. - -"That is his way. He's rather used to lording it over people here. And -people stand it just because he's Cornelius Bent. I suppose Mr. Wray -knows what he is about. At any rate, I honor him for his independence. -I told my brother so--and we're not on speaking terms." - -As Camilla protested she laughed. "Oh, don't be alarmed, dear; we have -been that way most of our lives. You see we're really very much alike. -But I wanted you to understand that my brother's attitude, whatever it -is, will make no possible difference to me." - -"I shouldn't dare to be a cause of any disagreement----" - -"Not a word, child. I'm not going to permit Wall Street to tell me who -my friends shall be. There is too much politics in society already. -That is why I want you to dine with me before my ball, and receive with -me afterward, if you will." - -Camilla's eyes brightened with pleasure. "Of course, I'm very much -honored, Mrs. Rumsen. I will come gladly, if you don't think I'll add -fuel to the flame." - -"I don't really care. Why should you?" - -"There are reasons. The General was most kind to us both----" - -"Because he had something to get out of you," she sniffed. "I could -have told you that before." - -"But it was through General Bent that we met everybody--people who have -entertained us--the Janneys, the McIntyres, and yourself, Mrs. Rumsen." - -"He was the ill-wind that blew us the good," she finished graciously. -"Say no more about it. I have a great many friends in New York, my -child--some who are not stockholders in the Amalgamated Reduction -Company." - - * * * * * - -In another corner of the studio--a dark one behind a screen--Miss Janney -had impounded Larry Berkely. - -"Have you seen 'Man and Super-man'?" she was asking. - -"I've read it." - -"Well, do you believe in it? Don't you think it breeds a false -philosophy? Can you imagine a girl so brazen as to pursue a man whether -he wanted her or not?" - -"No. It was very un-human," said Larry. - -"Or a man so helpless, saying such dreadful things--thinking such -dreadful things about a girl and then marrying her?" - -"It was absurd--quite ridiculous in fact. No one ever meets that kind -of people in real life. I never could stand a girl of that sort." - -"Oh, I'm so glad you agree with me. Do you know, Larry, I really -believe that you and I have exactly the same way of thinking about most -things. It's really remarkable. I'm so glad. It's a great comfort to -me, too, because ever since I first met you I hoped we'd learn to -understand each other better." - -"How curious! I've been hoping the same sort of thing--fearing it, -too," he added dolefully. - -"Fearing it? What do you mean? Tell me at once." - -"Oh, nothing," he murmured. - -"I insist on knowing." - -"I wanted you to like me--and yet I dreaded it, too." - -"Don't say that again," she whispered. "I can't stand it, Larry. I do -care for you--more and more every time I see you. But it makes me -terribly unhappy to feel that anything is bothering you." - -"It needn't bother _you_." - -"Yes, it does--if it makes _you_ miserable. What is it? Won't you tell -me?" - -"I--I don't think we ought to be too friendly." - -"Why not?" in surprise. - -"Because it wouldn't be good for you--for either of us." - -"That's no answer at all. I refuse to listen. What do I mind if it's -good for me or not--if I care for you enough to--to--what is it, Larry? -Answer me." - -"Well, you know I'm all right now, but when I went West my bellows--my -breathing apparatus--oh, hang it all! The reason I went West was on -account of my health. My lungs, you know----" - -"You silly boy. I've known that for ever so long. That's one of the -reasons why I fell in love with----" - -She stopped, the color suddenly rushing to her cheeks as she realized -what she had been saying. But Larry's fingers had found hers in the -corner, and she looked up into his eyes and went on resolutely. "I do -love you, Larry. I think I always have. Are you glad?" - -Then Larry kissed her. - - * * * * * - -On the other side of the screen, to her own accompaniment on the piano, -the Baroness Charny began singing: - - "Tes doux baisers sont des oiseaux - Qui voltigent fous sur mes levres, - Ils y versent l'oubli des fievres - Tes doux baisers sont des oiseaux, - Aussi legers que des roseaux, - Foules par les pieds blancs des chevres - Tes doux baisers sont des oiseaux - Qui voltigent fous, sur mes levres." - - -Amid the chorus of approval, as the Baroness paused, a thin little -lisping voice was heard. - -"Oh, how too utterly thweetly exthquithite! I never thought of kitheth -being like the flight of little birdth. Are they, Mr. Bent? I thought -they lathted longer." - -Bent shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "How should _I_ know, Miss -Champney? _I've_ never been married." - -"Married? How thilly! Of courthe not! It would be thtupid to kith -_then_--tho unneth-eth--unneth-eth--oh, you know what I mean, don't -you?" - -"I'm afraid I don't. I'd be tempted not to understand, just to hear you -say 'unnecessary' again." - -"Now you're making fun of me. You're perfectly horrid. _Ithn't_ he, -Mr. Perot?" - -"He's a brute, Miss Champney--an utter brute; that's because he's never -been kissed." - -"Oh, how very interethting! Haven't you really, Mr. Bent? Oh, you're -really quite hopeleth." - -Mrs. Cheyne sipped her tea quite fastidiously and listened, bored to the -point of extinction. Nor did her expression change when, some moments -later, Jeff Wray was announced. Camilla's face was the only one in the -room which showed surprise. She had not seen her husband for several -days, and she noticed, as he came over and spoke to Mrs. Rumsen, that he -looked more than ordinarily tired and worried. With Camilla he -exchanged a careless greeting and then passed her on his way to the -others. The servant brought the decanter and soda bottle, and he sank -on the divan by the side of Rita Cheyne. It surprised him a little when -she began talking quite through him to their host and the Baroness, whom -they were asking to sing again. - -It was a _Chanson Galante_ of Bemberg - - "A la cour - A la cour - Aimer est un badinage - Et l'amour - Et l'amour - N'est dangereux qu'au village - Un berger - Un berger - Si la bergere n'est tendre - Sait se prendre - Sait se prendre - Mais il ne saurait changer. - Et parmi nous quand les belles - Sont legeres ou cruelles, - Loin d'en mourir de depit - On en rit, on en rit, - Et l'on change aussi-tot qu'elles." - - -Jeff listened composedly and joined perfunctorily in the applause. Rita -Cheyne laughed. - -"Charming, Baroness. I'm so in sympathy with the sentiment, too. It's -delightfully French." - -"What is the sentiment?" asked Jeff vaguely of any one. - -Mrs. Cheyne undertook to explain. - -"That love is only dangerous to the villager, Mr. Wray. In the city -it's a joke--it amuses and helps to pass the time." - -"Oh!" said Jeff, subsiding, conscious, that the question and reply had -been given for the benefit of the entire company. - -"Rather dainty rubbish, I should say," said Perot, with a sense of -saving a situation (and a client). "Love is less majestic in the -village--that's all, but perhaps a little sweeter. Ah, Baroness!"--he -sighed tumultuously--"Why should you recall--these memories?" - -The conversation became general again, and Wray finished his glass and -set it down on the edge of the transom. - -"What is the matter, Mrs. Cheyne?" he asked. "Aren't you glad to see -me?" - -"Why should I be?" coolly. - -"I don't know. I thought you might be. I stopped at your house. They -told me you were here, so I came right down." - -"You're very kind--but I didn't leave any instructions." - -"No, but they told me. I wanted to see you." "You didn't want to see me -the other night." - -"I couldn't--I 'phoned you." - -"Don't you think it would have been in better taste if you had come -yourself?" - -"I left in the morning for Washington. I've just returned. I'm sorry -you didn't understand." - -"I did. You had other fish to fry. Did you know I came all the way in -from the country to see you? No woman cares to throw herself at the -head of a man. Personally I prefer an insult to a slight, Mr. Wray." - -"Good Lord! I hope you don't think I could do that. I certainly have -never showed you anything but friendship. I've been worried over--over -business matters." - -"That's a man's excuse. It lacks originality. I'm not accustomed to -rebuffs, Mr. Wray. I made the mistake of showing that I liked you. -That's always fatal, I thought you were different. I know better now. -There's no depth too great for the woman who cheapens herself--I'm glad -I learned that in time." - -"Don't talk like that. I tell you I've been away," he protested. - -"Really! Why didn't you write to me then?" - -"Write?" - -"Or send me some roses?" - -"I'll send you a wagon-load." - -"It's too late," she sighed. "It was the thought I wanted." - -Wray rubbed his chin pensively. It occurred to him that there were -still many things with which he was unfamiliar. - -"I did think of you." - -"Why didn't you tell me so then?" - -"I'm telling you now." - -She leaned toward him with a familiar gesture of renewed confidences. - -"There are a thousand ways of telling a woman you're thinking of her, -Mr. Wray. The only way not to tell her is to _say_ that you are. What -a man says is obvious and unimportant. A woman always judges a man by -the things that he ought to have done--and the things he ought not to -have done." - -"I don't suppose I'll ever learn----" - -"Not unless some woman teaches you." - -"Won't you try me again?" - -"I'll think about it." And then with one of her sudden transitions, she -added in a lower tone, "I am at home to-night. It is your last chance -to redeem yourself." - -"I'll take it. I can't lose you, Mrs. Cheyne." - -"No--not if I can help it," she whispered. - -A general movement among Perot's visitors brought the conversation to a -pause. Mrs. Rumsen, after a final word with Camilla, departed with her -small brood. Cortland Bent, with a mischievous intention of supplying -evidence of the inefficacy of the parental will, removed one wing of the -screen which sheltered Berkely and his own ex-fiancee. But Miss Janney -was not in the least disconcerted, only turning her head over her -shoulder to throw at him: - -"Please go away, Cort. I'm extremely busy." - -Camilla smiled, but was serious again when Bent whispered at her ear, -"_My_ refuge!" he said. "_Yours_ is yonder." - -She followed his glance toward Wray and Rita Cheyne, who were so wrapped -in each other's conversation that they were unconscious of what went on -around them. - -"Come," said Camilla, her head in the air, "let us go." - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII* - - *GOOD FISHING* - - -A clock struck the hour of nine. Mrs. Cheyne lowered the volume of -Shaw's plays, the pages of which she had made a pretence of reading, and -frowned at the corner of the rug. She now wore a house gown of clinging -material whose colors changed from bronze to purple in the shadow of the -lamps. It fitted her slim figure closely like chain-mail and shimmered -softly like the skin of a dusky chameleon. Mrs. Cheyne was fond of -uncertain colors in a low key, and her hour was in the dim of twilight, -which lent illusions, stimulated the imagination to a perception of the -meaning of shadows--softened shadows which hung around her eyes and -mouth, which by day were merely lines--a little bitter, a little hard, a -little cynical. Mrs. Cheyne's effects were all planned with exquisite -care; the amber-colored shades, the warmish rug and scarlet table cover, -the Chinese mandarin's robe on her piano, the azaleas in the yellow -pots, all were a part of a color scheme upon which she had spent much -thought. Her great wealth had not spoiled her taste for simplicity. -The objects upon her table and mantel-shelf were few but choice, and -their arrangement, each with reference to the other, showed an artistry -which had learned something from Japan. She hated ugliness. Beauty was -her fetich. The one great sorrow of her life was the knowledge that her -own face was merely pretty; but the slight irregularity of her features -somewhat condoned for this misfortune, and she had at last succeeded in -convincing herself that the essence of beauty lies rather in what it -suggests than in what it reveals. Nature, by way of atoning for not -making each feature perfect, had endowed them all with a kind of Protean -mobility, and her mind with a genius for suggestion, which she had -brought to a high degree of usefulness. Without, therefore, being -beautiful at all, she gave the impression of beauty, and she rejoiced in -the reputation which she possessed of being marked "Dangerous." - -She had rejoiced in it, moreover, because she had been aware that, no -matter how dangerous she might prove to be with others, with herself she -had not been dangerous. The kind of romance, the kind of sentiment, in -which she indulged she had come to regard as highly specialized art in -which she was Past Grand Mistress. She loved them for their own sake. -She was a fisher of men, but fished only for the love of fishing, and it -was her pleasure while her victims still writhed to unhook them as -tenderly as might be and let them flap ungracefully back into their own -element. Her fly-book was a curiosity and of infinite variety. Izaak -Walton advances the suggestion that trout bite "not for hunger, but -wantonness." Rita Cheyne was of the opinion that men bit for a similar -reason; and so she whipped the social streams ruthlessly for the mere -joy of the game, matching her skill to the indifference of her quarry, -her artistry to their vehemence. - -And now she suddenly discovered that she must throw her fly-book -away--she had tried them all--the "silver-doctor," the "white moth," the -"brown hackle"--and all to no purpose. Her fish had risen, but he would -not bite. She was fishing in unfamiliar waters, deeper waters, where -there were hidden currents she could not understand. The tackle she had -used when fishing for others would not serve for Jeff Wray. - -It provoked her that her subtlety was of no avail, for she had the true -fisher's contempt for heavy tackle. And yet she realized that it was -only heavy tackle which would land him. He was the only man who had -really interested her in years, and his conquest was a matter of pride -with her. She had other reasons, too. His wife was beautiful. Rita -Cheyne was merely artistic. Victory meant that Beauty was only an -incident--that Art, after all, was immortal. The theory of a whole -lifetime needed vindication. - -When Wray entered she was deep in "You Never Can Tell," but looked up at -her visitor slowly and extended a languid hand. - -"Aren't you early?" she asked, slipping a marker in the pages of her -book and closing it slowly. - -"No, I don't think so. I thought I was late. I was detained." - -She held up a hand in protest. - -"I was really hoping you might not come. I've been really so -amused--and when one is really amused nowadays one should expect nothing -more of the gods." - -Wray got up hurriedly. "I won't 'butt in' then. I don't want to -disturb----" - -"Oh, sit down--do. You make me nervous. Have a cigarette--I'll take -one, too. Now tell me what on earth is the matter with you." - -"The matter? Nothing. I'm all right." - -"You've changed somehow. When I met you at the Bents' I thought you the -most wonderful person I had ever met--with great--very great -possibilities. Even at the Janneys' the illusion still remained. -Something has happened to change you. You do nothing but scowl and say -the wrong thing. There's no excuse for any man to do that." - -"I'm worried. There's been a slight tangle in my plans. I--but I'm not -going to trouble you with----" - -"I want to hear--of course. You went to Washington?" - -"Yes--to see some of our congressmen. I have the law on my side in this -fight, and I'm trying to make things copperlined--so there can't be a -leak anywhere. Those fellows down there are afraid of their own lives. -They act as though they were on the lookout for somebody to stab them in -the back. Washington is too near New York. A fellow goes there from the -West and in about six months he's a changed man. He forgets that he -ever came from God's country, and learns to bow and scrape and lick -boots. I reckon that's the way to get what you want here in the -East--but it goes against my grain." - -"Weren't you successful?" - -"Oh, yes, I found out what I wanted to know. It's only a question of -money. They'll fall in line when I'm ready. But it's going to take -cash--more than I thought it would." - -"Are you going to have enough?" - -"My credit's good, and I'm paying eight per cent." - -"Eight? Why, I only get four!" - -"I know. Eight is the legal rate in my state. Business is done on that -basis." - -"I wish I could help. You know I'm horribly rich. I'd like to look into -the matter. Will you let me?" - -"Yes, but there's a risk--you see, I'm honest with you. I'll give stock -as security and a share in the profits--but my stock isn't exactly like -government bonds. Who is your lawyer? I'll put it up to him if you -like." - -"Stephen Gillis. But he'll do what I say." - -"I'd rather you consulted him." - -"Oh, yes, I shall. But I have faith in you, Jeff Wray. It seems like a -good speculation. I'd like you to send me all the data. I'll really -look into it seriously." She stopped and examined his face in some -concern. In the lamplight she saw the lines that worry had drawn there. -"But not to-night. You've had enough of business. You're tired--in your -mind"--she paused again that he might the better understand her -meaning--"but you're more tired in your heart. Business is the least of -your worries. Am I right?" - -"Yes," he said sullenly. - -"I'm very sorry. Is there any way in which I can help?" - -"No." - -The decision in his tone was not encouraging, but she persevered. - -"You don't want help?" - -"It isn't a matter I can speak about." - -"Oh!" - -Her big fish was sulking in the deeps? It was a case for shark-bait and -a "dipsy" lead. - -"You won't tell me? Very well. Frankness is a privilege of friendship. -I'll use it. Your wife is in love with my cousin Cortland." - -Wray started violently. - -"How do you know?" - -She smiled. "Oh, I don't know. I guessed. It's true, though." She -paused and examined him curiously. He had subsided in his chair, his -head on his breast, his brows lowering. - -"Are you unhappy?" she asked. - -"No," he muttered at last. "It's time we understood each other." - -"What are you going to do about it?" - -"Do? Nothing," he said with a short laugh. "There's nothing to do. I'm -a good deal of a fool, but I know that putting trouble in a woman's way -never made her quit going after what she'd set her mind on. If I licked -Cort Bent she'd make me out a brute; if I shot him, she'd make _him_ out -a martyr. Any way, I'm a loser. I'm going my own way and she----" He -got up and strode the length of the room and back, and then spoke -constrainedly: "I'm not going to speak of this matter to you or to any -one else." - -He dropped into his chair beside her again and glared at the window -curtain. Mrs. Cheyne leaned one elbow on the arm of her chair which was -nearest him and sighed deeply. - -"Why is it that we always marry the wrong people? If life wasn't so -much of a joke, I'd be tempted to cry over the fallibility of human -nature. The love of one's teens is the only love that is undiluted with -other motives--the only love that's really what love was meant to be. -It's perfectly heavenly, but of course it's entirely unpractical. -Marrying one's first love is iconoclasm--it's a sacrilege--a -profanation--and ought to be prohibited by law. First love was meant -for memory only--to sweeten other memories later on--but it was never -meant for domestication. Rose petals amid cabbage leaves! Incense amid -the smells of an apartment kitchen!" - -She sank back in her chair again and mused dreamily, her eyes on the -open fire. - -"It's a pretty madness," she sighed. "Romance thrives on unrealities. -What has it in common with the butcher? You know"--she paused and gave -a quick little laugh--"you know, Cheyne and I fell in love at first -sight. He was an adorable boy and he made love like an angel. He had a -lot of money, too--almost as much as I had--but he didn't let that spoil -him--not then. He used to work quite hard before we were married, and -was really a useful citizen. - -"Matrimony ruined him. It does some men. He got to be so comfortable -and contented in his new condition that he forgot that there was -anything else in the world but comfort and content--even me. He began -to get fat and bald. Don't you hate bald-headed men with beards? He -was so sleek, shiny, and respectable that he got on my nerves. He -didn't want to go anywhere but to symphony concerts and the opera. -Sometimes he played quite dolefully on the 'cello--even insisted on -doing so when we had people in to dinner. It was really very -inconsiderate of him when every one wanted to be jolly. He began making -a collection of 'cellos, too, which stood around the walls of the music -room in black cases like coffins. Imagine a taste like that! The thing -I had once mistaken for poetry, for sentiment, had degenerated into a -kind of flabby sentimentality which extended to all of the commonplaces -of existence. I found that it wasn't really me that he loved at all. -It was _love_ that he loved. I had made a similar mistake. We -discovered it quite casually one evening after dinner." - -She broke off with a sigh. "What's the use? I suppose you'll think I'm -selfish--talking of myself. Mine is an old story. Time has mellowed it -agreeably. Yours is newer----" - -"I'm very sorry for you. But you know that I'm sorry. I've told you so -before. I think I understand you better now." - -"And I you," and then softly, "Mrs. Wray was your first love?" - -"No," he muttered, "she was my last." - -Mrs. Cheyne's lids dropped, and she looked away from him. Had Wray been -watching her he would have discovered that the ends of her lips were -flickering on the verge of a smile, but Wray's gaze was on the andirons. - -They sat there in silence for some moments, but Wray, who first spoke, -restored her self-complacency. - -"You're very kind to me," he said slowly. "You say you like me because -I'm different from other fellows here. I suppose I am. I was born -different and I guess I grew up different. If you think I'm worth -while, then I'm glad I grew up the way I did." He got up and walked -slowly the length of the room. She watched him doubtfully, wondering -what was passing in his mind. She learned in a moment; for when he -approached her again he leaned over her chair and, without the slightest -warning, had put his arms around her and kissed her again and again on -the lips. - -She did not struggle or resist. It seemed impossible to do so, and she -was too bewildered for a moment to do anything but sit and stare blankly -before her. He was a strange fish--a most extraordinary fish which rose -only when one had stopped fishing. It was the way he did it that -appalled her--he was so brutal, so cold-blooded. When he released her -she rose abruptly, her face pale and her lips trembling. - -[Illustration: "She did not struggle or resist. It seemed impossible to -do so."] - -"How could you?" she said. "How could you?" And then, with more -composure, she turned and pointed toward the door. - -"I wish you'd please go--at once." - -But as he stood staring at her she was obliged to repeat: "Don't you -hear me? I want you to go and not to come back. Isn't that plain? Or -would you prefer to have me ring for a servant?" - -"No, I don't prefer either," he said with a smile; "I don't want to go. -I want to stay here with you. That's what I came for." - -She walked over to the door and stood by the bell. "Do you wish me to -ring?" - -"Of course not." - -"Will you go?" - -"No." - -She raised her hand toward the bell, but halted it in midair. Wray -noticed her hesitation. - -"Wait a moment. Don't be foolish, Rita. I have something to say to -you. It wouldn't reflect much credit on either of us for you to send me -out. I thought we understood each other. I'm sorry. You said once that -you liked me because I was plain-spoken and because I said and did just -what came into my head, but you haven't been fair with me." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Just this: You and I were to speak to each other freely of ourselves -and of each other. You said you needed me, and I knew I needed you. We -decided it was good to be friends. That was our agreement. You broke -it wilfully. You have acted with me precisely as you have acted with a -dozen other men. It was lucky I discovered my danger in time. I don't -think any woman in the world could do as much with me as you could--if -you wanted to. When I like anybody I try to show them that I do. If -you were a man I'd give you my hand, or loan you money, or help you in -business. I can't do that with you. You're a woman and meant to be -kissed. So I kissed you." - -She dropped her hands. "Yes, you kissed me, brutally, shamelessly----" - -"Shamelessly?" - -"You've insulted me. I'll never forgive you. Don't you think a woman -can tell? There are other ways of judging a man. I've interested you, -yes, because you've never known any real woman before," contemptuously. -"I suppose you're interested still. You ought to be. But you can never -care for any woman until you forget to be interested in yourself. For -you the sun rises and sets in Jeff Wray, and you want other people to -think so, too." - -"I'm sorry you think so badly of me." - -"Oh, no, I don't think badly of you. From the present moment I sha'n't -think of you at all. I--I dislike you--intensely. I want to be alone. -Will you please go?" - -Wray gave her his blandest stare, and then shrugged his shoulders and -turned toward the door. - -"You're willing to have me go like this?" - -"Yes." - -"I'm going West to-morrow." - -"It makes no difference to me where you are going." - -"Won't you forgive me?" - -"No." - -As he passed her, he offered his hand in one last appeal, but she turned -away from him, her hands behind her, and in a moment he was gone. - -Rita Cheyne heard the hall door close behind him and then sank into the -chair before the open fire, her eyes staring before her at the tiny -flame which still played fitfully above the gray log. Her fish had -risen at last with such wanton viciousness that he had taken hook, line, -reel, and rod. Only her creel remained to her--her empty creel. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV* - - *FATHER AND SON* - - -Father and son had dined together alone, and for most of the time in -silence. Cornelius Bent had brought his business mien uptown with him, -and Cortland, with a discretion borrowed of experience, made only the -most perfunctory attempts at a conversation. Since the "Lone Tree" -affair there had happened a change in their relations which each of them -had come to understand. Cortland Bent's successive failures in various -employments had at last convinced his father that his son was not born -of the stuff of which Captains of Industry are made. The loss of the -mine had been the culminating stroke in Cortland's ill-fortune, and -since his return to New York he had been aware of a loss of caste in the -old man's eyes. General Bent had a habit of weighing men by their -business performances and their utility in the financial enterprises -which were controlled from the offices of Bent & Company. It was not -his custom to make allowances for differences in temperament in his -employees, or even to consider their social relationships except in so -far as they contributed to his own financial well-being. He had -accustomed himself for many years to regard the men under him as -integral parts of the complicated machinery of his office, each with its -own duty, upon the successful performance of which the whole fabric -depended. He had figured the coefficient of human frailty to a decimal -point, and was noted for the strength of his business organization. - -To such a man an only son with incipient leanings toward literature, -music, and the arts was something in the nature of a reproach upon the -father himself. Cort had left college with an appreciation of AEschylus -and Euripides and a track record of ten-seconds flat. So far as Bent -Senior could see, these accomplishments were his only equipment for his -eventual control of the great business of the firm of which his father -was the founder. The Greek poets were Greek, indeed, to the General, -but the track record was less discouraging, so Cortland began the -business of life at twenty-three as a "runner" for the bank, rising in -time to the dignity of a post inside a brass cage, figuring discounts, -where for a time he was singularly contented, following the routine with -a cheerfulness born of desperation. As assistant to the cashier he was -less successful, and when his father took him into his own office later -and made him a seller of bonds, Cortland was quite sure that at last he -had come into his own. For the selling of bonds, it seemed, required -only tireless legs and tireless imagination--both of which he possessed. -Only after a month he was convinced that bond sellers are born--not -made. - -The General, still hoping against hope, had now taken him back into his -office on a salary and an interest in business secured, and thus made -his son more or less dependent upon his own efforts for the means to -enjoy his leisure. Father and son existed now as they had always done, -on a basis of mutual tolerance--a hazardous relation which often -threatened to lead and often did lead to open rupture. To-night -Cortland was aware that a discussion of more than usual importance was -impending, and, when dinner was over, the General ordered the coffee -served in the smoking room, the door of which, after the departure of -the butler, he firmly closed. - -General Bent lit his cigar with some deliberation, while Cortland -watched him, studying the hard familiar features, the aquiline nose, the -thin lips, the deeply indented chin, wondering, as he had often wondered -before, how a father and son could be so dissimilar. It was a freak of -heredity, Nature's little joke--at Cornelius Bent's expense. The -General sank into his armchair, thoughtfully contemplating his legs and -emitting a cloud of smoke as though seeking in the common rite of -tobacco some ground of understanding between his son and himself. - -"I want to speak to you about the Wrays," he said at last. - -Cortland's gaze found the fire and remained on it. - -"You are aware that a situation has arisen within the past few weeks -which has made it impossible for Bent & Company or myself personally to -have any further relations, either financial or social, with Jeff Wray? -He has taken a stand in regard to his holdings in Saguache Valley which -I consider neither proper nor justifiable. To make short of a long -matter, I thought it best some weeks ago to forget the matter of the -mine and make Wray an offer for his entire interests in the Saguache -Valley. It was a generous offer, one that no man in his position had a -right to refuse. But he did refuse it in such terms that further -negotiations on the subject were impossible." - -"Yes, sir, I know," put in his son. - -"Wray's rise is one of those remarkable combinations of luck and -ability--I'll concede him that--which are to be found in every community -once in a decade. From obscure beginnings--God knows what the fellow -sprang from--he has worked his way up in a period of three years to a -position of commanding influence. He owns the biggest independent -smelter in the West--built it, we now believe, with the intention of -underbidding the Amalgamated. He has not done so yet because he hasn't -been sure enough of himself. But he's rapidly acquiring a notion that -nothing Jeff Wray can do will fail. That is his weak point--as it is -with every beggar on horseback. You are familiar with all of these -facts. You've had some occasion," bitterly, "to form your own judgment -of the man. When you came East I was under the impression that, aside -from business, there were other reasons, why you disliked him." - -"That is correct, sir," muttered Cortland, "there were." - -The General eyed his son sharply before he spoke again. - -"Am I to understand that those reasons still exist? Or----" - -"One moment, sir. I'd like to know just where this conversation is -drifting. My relations with Wray have never been pleasant. He isn't -the type of man I've ever cared much about. No conditions that I'm -aware of could ever make us friendly, and, aside from his personality, -which I don't admire, I'm not likely to forget the 'Lone Tree' matter -very soon." - -"H--m! That still rankles, does it? It does with me--with all of us. -Oh, I'm not blaming you, Cort. If you had been a little sharper you -might have made one last investigation before you signed those papers. -But you didn't, and that's the end of that part of the matter. What I -want to know now is just what your relations with the Wray family are at -the present moment. You hate Wray, and yet most of your leisure moments -are spent in the company of his wife. Am I to understand----?" - -"Wait a moment, sir----" Cortland had risen and moved uneasily to the -fireplace. "I'd prefer that Mrs. Wray's name be kept out of the -discussion. I can't see how my relations with her can have any -bearing----" - -"They have," the General interrupted suavely. "If Mrs. Wray is to -receive your confidences I can't give you mine." - -"Thank you," bitterly. "I didn't know I had ever done anything to -warrant such an attitude as this." - -"Tut! tut! Don't misunderstand me. Whatever your sins, they've always -been those of omission. I don't believe you'd betray me wilfully. But -intimacies with pretty women are dangerous, especially intimacies with -the wives of one's financial enemies; unless, of course, there's some -method in one's madness." - -"What do you mean?" - -"I'm sorry I don't make my intention clear. If your friendship with -Mrs. Wray can be useful to Bent & Company I see no reason why it -shouldn't continue. But if it jeopardizes my business plans in any way, -it's time it stopped. In my office you are in a position and will, I -hope, in the near future be in a further position to learn all the -business plans of the Amalgamated and other companies. Of course, I -don't know how far Mrs. Wray enjoys the business confidences of-her -husband. But it is safe to assume that, being a woman, she knows much -more than her husband thinks she does. I don't intend that you should -be placed in an embarrassing position with respect to her or with -respect to me. I'm on the point of starting the machinery of my office -on a big financial operation for the Amalgamated Reduction Company--the -exact nature of which until the present moment has remained a secret. -Your part in this deal has been mapped out with some care, and the -responsibilities I have selected for you should give you a sense of my -renewed faith in your capabilities. But you can't carry water on both -shoulders----" - -"You're very flattering, sir. I've never carried much water on either -shoulder; and my relations with Mrs. Wray hardly warrant----" - -"I can't see that," impatiently. "You're so often together that people -are talking about you. Curtis Janney has spoken to me about it. Of -course, your affair with Gretchen is one that you must work out for -yourselves, but I'll confess I'm surprised that she stands for your -rather obvious attentions to a married woman." - -Cortland Bent smiled at the ash of his cigar. His father saw it and -lost his temper. - -"I'm tired of this shilly-shallying," he snapped. "You seem to make a -practice in life of skating along the edge of important issues. I'm not -going to tolerate it any longer, and I've got to know just where you -stand." - -"Well, dad," calmly, "where shall we begin? With Gretchen? Very well. -Gretchen and I have decided that we're not going to be married." - -"What?" - -"We have no intention of marrying next year or at any other time." - -"Well, of all the----! Curtis Janney doesn't know this." - -"He should. Gretchen is in love with somebody else, and I----" - -"_You_! I understand. You are, too. You're in love with Jeff Wray's -wife." - -He paused, but his son made no reply, though the old man watched his -face curiously for a sign. The General knocked his cigar-ash into the -fire. - -"Is that true?" - -"Under the circumstances I should prefer not to discuss the matter." - -"Why? You and I haven't always been in sympathy, but the fact remains -that I'm your father." The old man's long fingers clutched the chair -arm, and he looked straight before him, speaking slowly. "I suppose -you've got to have your fling. I did. Every man does. But you're -almost old enough to be through that period now. There was never a -woman in the world worth the pains and anxieties of an affair of this -kind. A woman who plays loose with one man will do it with another. -The fashion of making love to other men's wives did not exist when I was -young." - -Cortland turned to the fire, his lips compressed, and with the tongs -replaced a fallen log. - -"When I was young," the old man went on, "a man's claim upon his wife -was never questioned. Society managed things better in those days. -Ostracism was the fate of the careless woman; and men of your age who -sought married women by preference were denied the houses of the young -girls of their own condition. If a fellow of your type had oats to sow, -he sowed them with a decent privacy instead of bringing his mother, his -sister, into contact----" - -Cortland straightened up, the tongs in his hand, his face pale with -fury, saying in stifled tones: - -"For God's sake, stop, or I'll strike you as you sit." - -The General moved forward in his chair almost imperceptibly, and the -cigar slipped from his fingers and rolled on the hearth. For a long -moment the two men looked into each other's eyes, the elder conscious -that for the first time in his life he had seen his son really aroused. -There was no fear in the father's look, only surprise and a kind of -reluctant admiration for a side of Cortland's character he had never -seen. He sank back into his chair and looked into the fire. - -"Oh!" he muttered. - -"You had no right to speak of Mrs. Wray in those terms," said Cortland, -his voice still quivering. - -"I'm sorry. I did not know." - -Cortland set down the fire tongs, his hands trembling, and put both -elbows on the mantel-shelf. - -"Perhaps, since you know so much," he said in a suppressed voice, "I had -better add that I would have married her if Wray hadn't." - -"Really? You surprise me." - -There was a moment of silence which proved to both men the futility of -further discussion. - -"If you don't mind, I'd rather we didn't speak of this. Mrs. Wray would -understand your viewpoint less clearly than I do. She is not familiar -with vice, and she does not return my feeling for her. If she did, I -should be the last person in the world she would see----" - -"I can't believe you." - -"It is the truth. Strange as it may seem to you and to me, she loves -her husband." - -"She married him for his money." - -Cortland was silent. Memory suddenly pictured the schoolroom at Mesa -City where he had won Camilla and lost her in the same unfortunate -hour--his hour of mistakes, spiritual and material--a crucial hour in -his life which he had met mistily, a slave of the caste which had bred -him, a trifler in the sight of the only woman he could love, just as he -had been a trifler before the world in letters and in business. - -"No," he replied. "She did not marry him for money. She married -him--for other reasons. She found those reasons sufficient then--she -finds them sufficient now." He dropped heavily, with the air of a -broken man, into an armchair, and put a hand over his eyes as though the -light hurt them. "Don't try to influence me, sir. Let me think this -out in my own way. Perhaps, after what you've told me about the -Amalgamated, I ought to let you know." - -"Speak to me freely, Cort," said the old man more kindly. - -"I don't want you to think of Camilla as the wife of Jeff Wray. I want -you to think of her as I think of her--as herself--as the girl I knew -when I first went West, an English garden-rose growing alone in the -heart of the desert. How she had taken root there Heaven only knows, -but she had--and bloomed more tenderly because of the weeds that -surrounded her." - -He paused a moment and glanced at his father. General Bent had sunk deep -in his chair, his shaggy brows hiding his deeply set eyes, which peered -like those of a seer of visions into the dying embers before him. A -spell seemed to have fallen over him. Cortland felt for the first time -in his life that there was between them now some subtle bond of -sympathy, unknown, undreamed of, even. Encouraged, he went on. - -"She was different from the others. I thought then it was because of -the rough setting. I know now that it wasn't. She is the same here -that she was out there. I can't see anything in any other woman; I -don't want to see anything in any other woman. I couldn't make her out; -it puzzled me that I could do nothing with her. After school hours--she -was the schoolmistress, you know, sir--we rode far up into the -mountains. She got to be a habit with me; then a fever. I didn't know -what was the matter except that I was sick because of the need of her. -I didn't think of marriage then. She was nothing. Her father kept a -store in Abilene, Kansas. I thought of you. All my inherited instincts, -my sense of class distinction, of which we people in New York make such -a fetich, were revolted. But I loved her, and I told her so." - -Cortland sat up, then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and -followed his father's gaze into the fire. - -"She was too clean to understand me, sir. I knew it almost before I had -spoken. In her eyes there dawned the horror, the fear, the self-pity -which could not be said in words. Then Jeff Wray came in and I left -her--left Mesa City. There was--nothing else--to do." - -His voice, which had sunk to a lower key, halted and then was silent. A -chiming clock in the hallway struck the hour; other clocks in dainty -echo followed in different parts of the house; an automobile outside -hooted derisively; but for a long while the two men sat, each busied -with a thread of memory which the young man had unreeled from the spool -of life. In the midst of his thoughts Cort heard a voice at his elbow, -the voice of an old man, tremulous and uncertain, a softer voice than -his father's. - -"It is strange--very, very strange!" - -"What is strange, sir?" - -Cornelius Bent passed his fingers before his eyes quickly and -straightened in his chair. - -"Your story. It's strange. You know, Cort, I, too, once loved a woman -like that--the way you do. It's an old romance--before your mother, -Cort. Nobody knows--nobody in the East ever knew--even Caroline----" - -He stopped speaking as though he had already said too much, got up -slowly and walked the length of the room, while Cortland watched him, -conscious again of the sudden unusual sense of conciliation in them -both. At the other end of the room the General stood a moment, his -hands behind his back, his gaze upon the floor. - -"I am sorry, Cort," he said with sudden harshness. And then, after a -pause, "You must not see Mrs. Wray again." - -Cortland's hands clenched until the knuckles were white, and his eyes -closed tightly, as though by a muscular effort he might rob them of a -persistent vision. When he spoke his voice was husky like that of a man -who had been silent for a long time. - -"You're right, sir--I've thought so for some days. But it's not so easy. -Sometimes I think she needs me----" - -"Needs you? Don't they get along?" - -"I don't know. There are times when I feel that I am doing the right -sort of thing." - -"He doesn't abuse her?" - -"I don't know. She'd be the last person to speak of it if he did. But -I think she doesn't altogether want me to go." - -General Bent shook his head slowly. "No, Cort. It won't do. What -you've just told me makes your duty very clear--your duty to her and -your duty to yourself. There's danger ahead--danger for you both. You -may not care for my advice--we've not always understood each other--but -I hope you'll believe me when I say that I offer it unselfishly, with -the single purpose of looking after your own welfare. Leave New York. -I'm prepared to send you West next week, if you'll go. There will be a -lot of work for us all. It's possible that I may go, too, before long. -I can give you duties which will keep you busy so that you won't have -time to think of other things. When I first spoke to you of this -business to-night I spoke as President of the Amalgamated Reduction -Company, now I am speaking to you as a father. I want you with us more -than ever--largely on our account, but more largely now upon your own. -Will you go?" - -Cortland rose and leaned one elbow on the mantel. - -"You want me to help you in the fight for Wray's smelter?" - -"Yes, I do." - -"Don't you want me to see her again?" - -"It's wiser not to. No good can come of it--perhaps a great deal of -harm." - -"She would not understand--she knows I dislike her husband, but it seems -to me I ought to tell her----" - -"That you're making financial war upon her husband? Forewarn -him--forearm him? What else would you say. That doesn't seem fair to -me, does it?" - -He paused, watching his son narrowly and yet with a kind of stealthy -pity. Cortland's struggle cost him something. - -"I suppose you're right," he said at last. And then, turning around -toward his father, "I will not see her again. Give me the work, sir, -and I'll do my best. Perhaps I haven't always tried to do that. I will, -though, if you give me the chance." - -"Your hand on it, Cort. I won't forget this. I'm glad you spoke to me. -It hasn't always been our custom to exchange confidences, but I'll give -you more of mine if you'll let me. I'm getting old. More and more I -feel the need of younger shoulders to lean on. I'm not all a business -document, but the habit of mercilessness grows on one downtown. Mercy -has no place in business, and it's the merciful man that goes to the -wall. But I have another side. There's a tender chord left in me -somewhere. You've struck it to-night, and there's a kind of sweetness in -the pain of it, Cort. It's rusty and out of use, but it can still sing -a little." - -Cortland laid his hand on the old man's shoulder almost timidly, as he -might have done to a stranger. - -"You'll forgive me, father----?" - -"Oh, that"--and he took his son's hand--"I honor you for that, my son. -She was the woman you loved. You could not hear her badly spoken of. -Perhaps if I had known my duty--I should have guessed. Say nothing -more. You're ready to take my instructions?" - -"Yes--and the sooner the better." - -"Very good. You'll hear more of this to-morrow. I am--I'm a little -tired to-night. I will see you at the office." - -Cortland watched him pass out of the door and listened to his heavy step -on the broad staircase. Cornelius Bent was paying the toll of his -merciless years. - -When he was gone, Cortland sank into the big chair his father had -vacated, his head in his hands, and remained motionless. - - - - - *CHAPTER XV* - - *INFATUATION* - - -The season was at its height. The Rumsen ball, the Warringtons' -dinner-dance, and some of the subscription affairs had passed into -social history, but a brilliant season of opera not yet half over and a -dozen large dances were still to follow. Camilla sat at her desk -assorting and arranging the cards of her many visitors, recording -engagements and obligations. When Jeff had left for the West she had -plunged into the social whirlpool with a desperation born of a desire to -forget, and, as she went out, there had come a bitter pleasure in the -knowledge that, after all, she had been able to win her way in New York -against all odds. People sought her now, not because she was a protegee -of Mrs. Worthington Rumsen, or because she was the wife of the rich Mr. -Wray, but because she was herself. - -The dangers which threatened no longer caused her any dismay, for -ambition obsessed her. It was an appetite which had grown great with -feeding, and she let it take her where it would. There was not an hour -of the day when she was not busy--in the mornings with her notes and her -shopping, in the afternoons with luncheons, teas, and other smart -functions, at night with dinners, the theatre, or the opera and the -calendared dances. There were few opportunities for her to be alone, -and the thought of a reconciliation with her husband, which had at one -time seemed possible, had been relegated to her mental dust-bin in -company with an assorted lot of youthful ideals which she had found it -necessary to discard. - -She could not remember the day when she had not been socially ambitious. -Five months ago, before she and Jeff had quarreled, there had been a -time when she had been willing to give up the world and go back with -him. She had been less ambitious at that moment than ever before in her -life. If he had taken her with him then, there might still have been -time to repair their damages and begin life on a basis of real -understanding. For a brief time she had abhorred the new life he had -found for her, had hated herself for the thing that she really was, a -social climber, a pariah--too good for her old acquaintances, not good -enough for her new ones--a creature with a mission of intrusion, a being -neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring, and yet perhaps something of -all three. But that period of mental probation had passed. She no -longer felt that she was climbing. There were many broken rungs below -her on the social ladder, but those above were sound, and her head was -among clouds tinted with pink and amber. - -Such was the magic of success. She lived in an atmosphere of soft -excitements and pleasurable exhilarations, of compliments and of -flattery, of violets and roses. Bridge lessons had improved her game, -but she still discovered that the amounts she could lose in a week were -rather appalling. Checks for large amounts came regularly from the -West, and she spent them a little recklessly, convinced that she was -obeying to the letter her husband's injunction to strengthen their -social position, no matter what the cost. She had written Jeff twice in -the first week after his departure asking if she could not follow him to -Mesa City. His replies had been brief and unnecessarily offensive--so -that, though his image loomed large at times, pride refused further -advances. Cortland Bent had been with her continually and of course -people were talking. She heard that from Mrs. Rumsen, who, in the -course of a morning of casual "mothering," had spoken to Camilla with -characteristic freedom. - -"I know there's no harm in his attentions, child," she said, "at least -so far as you're concerned. You have always struck me as being -singularly capable of looking after yourself--and of course Cort is old -enough to know what _he_ is about. But it never does any one any good -to be talked about--especially a woman who has her way to make in the -world. There is a simplicity almost rustic in the way you two young -people allow yourselves to be discovered in public places--which, to an -ancient philosopher like myself, carries complete conviction of -innocence. But others may not be so discerning. If you were ugly or -deformed it wouldn't make the slightest difference what you did, but, -being handsome, you are on trial; and every pretty woman in society is -on the jury of a court which convicts on circumstantial evidence alone." - -Camilla thanked her preceptor for the warning, aware of an unpleasant -sense of shock at the revelation. She seemed to have reached a point in -her mad infatuation with life where warnings made no impression upon -her. She had not seen Cort Bent for several days now, and, while she -experienced a vague sense of loss in his absence, which had not been -explained, she was so busy that she had not even found time to analyze -it. - -A belated cold season had set in--a season of snow and ice; and -fashionable New Yorkers, in a brief interlude of unimportant -engagements, flocked for the week-end to their country places to enjoy a -few days of old-fashioned winter weather. The Billy Havilands' farm was -within motoring distance of the town. It wasn't much of a place in the -modern sense, merely a charming old shingled farmhouse which had been -remodeled and added to, set in a big lawn like a baroque pearl in green -enamel, surrounded by ancient trees which still protected it with their -beneficent boughs. As Haviland and his wife preferred the city in -winter and went to their Newport cottage in summer, they only used The -Cove for small house parties between seasons. It was kept open for just -such occasions as the present one, and Camilla, who had joined this -party at the last moment, was looking forward with enjoyment to a -glimpse of winter life in a different sort of community. - -Snow had fallen during the night, but the day was cold and clear--one of -those dry, sparkling days like the winter ones in Colorado when the -Saguache Peak was laid like a white paper-cutting against the turquoise -sky, and the trees at timber line were visible in silhouette to the -naked eye. It was freezing hard, and Camilla's skin tingled sharply -beneath her motor veil, but she lay back in her warm furs beside Dorothy -Haviland in the tonneau, drinking deep breaths of delight as she watched -the panorama of purple hills across the river. The snow was not too -deep for easy going, but in places it had drifted across the road waist -high. Rejoicing in the chance to test the mettle of his high-powered -car, Haviland took these drifts on the high gear, sending a cloud of -iridescent crystals over and about his guests, who pelted the -unresponsive back of his head with snowballs. Farmers in sleighs and -wagons on runners drew aside in alarm, to stare with open mouths at the -panting demon--which passed them by before their horses had time to be -frightened. Every ride with "Billy" was a "joy" ride--he hadn't driven -this car in the Vanderbilt Cup race for nothing. Jack Perot clung to the -robe rail, and alternately prayed and swore in Haviland's ear; the -Baroness Charny punctuated his remarks with cunning foreign cries, and -Dorothy herself admonished him to be careful, but Camilla, whatever she -felt, sat quietly between the two women, her pulses going fast, a prey -to the new excitement of speed. - -Haviland had 'phoned his orders from the city to have the bobsled sent -over to the Country Club--and when they drove through the entrance -gates, the pond in the valley below the golf course was dotted with -skaters. A blue thread of smoke trailed skyward from the cabin of the -Fishing and Skating Club--a part of the larger organization--from which -people came and glided forth by twos and threes over the glossy blue -surface of the pond. - -A surprise awaited the party, for as the motor drew up at the steps of -the Golf House it was greeted by a storm of soft snowballs from a crowd -ambushed in a snow fort on the lawn. The motor party got out hurriedly, -laughing like children, while Billy Haviland, like a good general, -marshaled his forces under the protecting bulk of the machine, while -they threw off their heavy furs and made snowballs enough to sally forth -valiantly to the attack. The battle was short and furious, until Jack -Perot and Camilla by a dexterous flank-movement assailed the unprotected -wings and came to close quarters with the enemy, Larry, Gretchen, -Cortland Bent, and Rita Cheyne. A well-aimed shot by Camilla caught -Cortland on the nose, which disconcerted him for a moment, and Haviland -improved his opportunity by washing Rita's face in snow. A truce was -declared, however, but not before the besiegers had entered the -breastworks and given three cheers for their victory. - -"I'll never forgive you, Billy," laughed Rita, brushing the snow from -her neck. "Never--I'm simply soaking." - -"Spoils of victory! You're lucky I didn't kiss you." - -"Yes, I am," she said with sudden demureness. "I'd rather have my face -washed." - -The machine was sent on, and, chatting gaily, the party made its way -down to the cabin by the lakeside, a path to which had been cleared -through the snow. Camilla glanced at Cortland Bent, who stood silently -at her side. - -"What's the matter, Cort? Aren't you going to speak to me?" she asked -carelessly. - -He forced a laugh. "Oh, yes, of course." - -"Where have you been? Do you realize that I haven't seen you for the -last two days?" - -"Four," he corrected soberly. "I--I've been very busy." - -"That's no explanation. You're angry?" - -"No, not at all. I--thought I'd better not come." - -She examined him curiously, and laid her fingers on his arm. "How funny -you are? Has anything happened?" - -He didn't reply at once, and kept his gaze away from her. "I came here -to-day," he said deliberately, "because I thought it would be the one -place where you and I wouldn't meet." - -"Oh!" and she turned away abruptly, her chin in the air, "I'm sorry. We -needn't meet _now_," and she hurried her steps. - -But he lengthened his stride and kept pace with her. - -"You don't understand----" - -"I don't care to understand. You don't want to see me--that's -enough----" - -"Camilla, please----" - -"I'm not in the habit of pursuing the men of my acquaintance, Cort. -I'll save you the trouble of avoiding me." And with that she broke away -from him and ran down the path, joining the others at the door of the -house. His attitude annoyed her more because she couldn't understand it -than because of any other reason. What had come over him? They had -parted as friends with the definite assurance that they were to meet the -next day. She had been busy writing letters then, but she remembered -now that he had not called. There was an unaccountable difference in -his manner, and he had spoken with a cold precision which chilled her. -She felt it in all the sensitive antennae which a woman projects to -guard the approaches to her heart. All that was feminine and cruel in -her was up in arms at once against him. He needed a lesson. She must -give it to him. - -On the ice they met a merry party, and Billy Haviland pointed them all -out to Camilla--Molly Bracknell and her diminutive husband, known in -clubdom as the "comic supplement"; Jack Archer, the famous surgeon, and -his fiancee, who had lost her appendix and her heart at the same time. -Stephen Gillis, the lawyer, who was in love with his pretty client, Mrs. -Cheyne, and didn't care who knew it. - -"Is he really in love with Mrs. Cheyne?" asked Camilla. - -"Oh, yes--threw over a girl he was engaged to. He's got it bad--worse -than most of 'em." - -"What a pity!" - -"Rita's in good form this winter." - -"She has a charm for men." - -"Dolly says she's a _de luxe_ binding of a French novel on a copy of -'Handley Cross.' I guess it's true. But I've always been afraid of -Rita." - -"Why?" - -"She's too infernally clever. She don't like my sort. She likes brainy -chaps with serious purposes. They're the kind that always take to her. -I think she knows I'm 'wise.'" - -They crossed hands, and Camilla resolutely gave herself over to the -pleasure of motion. She skated rather badly--a fact to be bewailed, -since Rita Cheyne was doing "figure eights" and "corkscrews," but with -Haviland's help she managed to make three or four turns without mishap. -But she refused to "crack the whip," and skated alone until Cortland -Bent joined her. He offered her his hand, but she refused his help. - -"Won't you go away please, Cort?" - -"I've got to see you to-night, Camilla," he said suddenly. "Where will -you be?" - -As she wouldn't reply, he took her hand and skated backward facing her. -"You've got to see me, Camilla----" - -"I can't--I won't." - -"I'm going away to-morrow." - -"We've gotten along for four days without meeting," she said airily. "I -think I'll survive." - -"You're heartless----" - -"I know it. Please get out of my way." - -"No--not until you promise to let me see you." - -"You're seeing me now." - -He took her firmly by the elbows. "Listen, Camilla! I'm leaving New -York to-morrow for a long while--perhaps for good----" - -For the first time she realized the importance of what he was saying and -looked up into his eyes, discovering something in their shadows she had -not seen before. - -"Is it true? Why are you going?" - -"That's what I wanted to tell you. May I see you to-night?" - -She considered a moment before she replied indifferently. - -"Yes, if you like. I am at the Havilands'." - -As they stopped before the cabin, Jack Perot joined them, offering to -take Camilla for a turn, but she said she was cold, and the three of -them went inside to the burning log. Larry and Gretchen on the bench -put a space between them rather suddenly. - -"Don't move on _our_ account, Larry," said Perot mischievously; "your -silhouettes through the window were wonderful--quite touching--in fact." - -"Jack!" said Gretchen, her face flaming, "you couldn't _see_----" - -"No, as a matter of fact, we couldn't--because the shades are -drawn"--the painter laughed immoderately--"but you know we _might_ -have." - -"You're a very disagreeable person, and I don't like you at all," said -Miss Janney. "I'll never let you do my portrait--_never_!" - -"Ha! ha!" he cried in accents of Bowery melodrama. "At last, Geraldine, -I have you in me cul-lutches. I'm desprit and starving! Next week I -paint your portrait--or tell your father! Cha-oose, beautiful one!" - -In the laugh which followed Larry joined good-naturedly. Indeed, there -was nothing left to do--unless it was to wring the painter's neck. -Instead of which, he wrung his hand and whispered, "I wish you would, -Perot. It'll save me the trouble." - -The rest of the crowd appeared after a while, and the steward brought -hot Scotches, which detracted nothing from the gayety of the occasion. - -"God made the country--man made the town," sighed Billy sententiously, -holding the amber liquid to the firelight. "The simple pleasures--the -healthy sports of our ancestors! Eh, Rita?" - -"Oh, yes," with fine scorn, "quilting parties! No bridge, golf or -tennis. Imagine a confirmed night owl like _you_, Billy, tucked safely -in bed at nine." - -"I'm often in bed by nine." - -"Nine in the morning," laughed Perot. "That's safe enough." - -"Don't believe 'em, Camilla. I'm an ideal husband, aren't I, Dolly?" - -"I hadn't noticed it." - -"Oh, what's the use?" sniffed Mrs. Cheyne. "There's only one Ideal -Husband." - -"Who?" asked a voice, solicitous and feminine. - -"Oh, some other woman's, of course." - -"How silly of you, Rita," said Gretchen indignantly. "It's gotten to the -point where nobody believes the slightest thing you say." - -"That's just what she wants," laughed Cortland. "Don't gratify her, -Gretchen." - -Mrs. Cheyne shrugged her shoulders, and, with a glance at Camilla, "Now -the Ideal Wife, Cort----" - -"Would be my own," he interrupted quickly, his face flushing. "I -wouldn't marry any other kind." - -"That's why you _haven't_ married, Cortland dear," said Rita -acidulously. - -Camilla listened with every outward mark of composure--her gaze in the -fire--conscious of the growing animosity in Mrs. Cheyne. They had met -only twice since Jeff's departure, and on those occasions each had -outdone the other in social amenities, each aware of the other's -hypocrisy. In their polite interchange of compliments Wray's name had -by mutual consent been avoided, and neither of them could be said to -have the slightest tactical advantage. But Camilla felt rather than -knew that an understanding of some sort existed between Mrs. Cheyne and -Jeff--a more complete understanding than Camilla and her husband had -ever had. She could not understand it, for two persons more dissimilar -had never been created. Mrs. Cheyne was the last expression of a -decadent dynasty--Jeff, the dawning hope of a new one. She had taken him -up as the season's novelty, a masculine curiosity which she had added to -her cabinet of eligible amusements. Camilla's intuition had long since -told her of Jeff's danger, and it had been in her heart the night they -separated to warn him against his dainty enemy. Even now it might not -have been too late--if he would have listened to her, if he would -believe that her motive was a part of their ancient friendship, if he -would meet her in a spirit of compromise, if he were not already too -deeply enmeshed in Rita Cheyne's silken net. There were too many "ifs," -and the last one seemed to suggest that any further effort in the way of -a reconciliation would be both futile and demeaning. - -Camilla was now aware that Mrs. Cheyne was going out of her way to make -her relations with Cort conspicuous--permissible humor, had the two -women been friendly. Under present conditions it was merely -impertinence. - -"Mrs. Cheyne means," said Camilla distinctly, "that the ideal husbands -are the ones one can't get." And then, pointedly, "Don't you, Mrs. -Cheyne?" - -Rita glanced at Camilla swiftly and smiled her acknowledgment of the -thrust. - -"They wouldn't be ideal," she laughed, "if we ever got them, Mrs. Wray." - -"Touchee," whispered Billy Haviland to Larry Berkely, delightedly. - -Outside there was a merry jingle of sleighbells, and Mrs. Haviland rose. -"Come, children," she said, "that's for us. I wish we had more room at -The Cove. You'll come, though, Cort, won't you? We need another man." - -"Do you mind if I stay out, Rita?" Cortland appealed. - -"Oh, not at all, I'm so used to being deserted for Mrs. Wray that I'm -actually uncomfortable without the sensation." - -So the party was arranged. A long bobsled hitched to a pair of horses -was at the door, and the women got on, while Gretchen pelted snowballs -at Perot, and only succeeded in hitting the horses, so that Camilla and -the Baroness were spilled out into the snow and the man had a hard time -bringing the team to a stop. A pitched battle ensued while the three -women scrambled into their places, Cortland and Billy covering the -retreat. At last they all got on, and, amid a shower of snowballs which -the sledders couldn't return, the horses galloped up the hill and out -into the turnpike which led to the Haviland farm. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI* - - *OLD DANGERS* - - -Camilla had known for some time that she could not forget. She sought -excitements eagerly because they softened the sting of memory, and the -childish delights of the afternoon with the Havilands, while they made -the grim shadow less tangible, could not drive it away. When the idle -chatter of small talk was missing, Jeff loomed large. At The Cove she -went at once to her room, but instead of dressing she threw herself on -the bed and followed the pretty tracery of the wall paper beside her; -her eyes only conjured mental pictures of the days in Mesa City, before -Cortland Bent had come, the long rides with Jeff up the mountain trail -when she first began to learn what manner of man he was and what manner -of things he must one day accomplish. She seemed to realize now that -even in those early days Jeff Wray had stood as a type of the kind of -manhood that, since the beginning of time, has made history for the -world. - -With all his faults, his vulgar self-appreciation, and his distorted -ethics, there was nothing petty or mean about him. He was generous, had -always been generous to a fault, and there was many a poor devil of a -gambler or a drunkard even in those days who had called his name -blessed. He hadn't had much to give, but when he made a stake there -were many who shared it with him. Since he had been married his -benefactions had been numberless. He never forgot his old friends and, -remembering old deeds of kindness to himself, had sought them out--a -broken sheep-herder back on the range, a barber in Pueblo who was -paralyzed, a cowboy in Arizona with heart disease, a freight brakeman of -the D. & W. who had lost a leg--and given them money when he couldn't -find work that they could do. She remembered what people in the West -still said--that Jeff had never had a friend who wasn't still his -friend. - -She had often reviled herself because her judgment of all men was -governed by the external marks of gentility which had been so dear to -her heart--the kind of gentility which Cortland Bent had brought into -Mesa City. Gentility was still dear to her heart, but there was a -growing appreciation in her mind of something bigger in life than mere -forms of polite intercourse. Jack Perot, who was painting her portrait; -Billy Haviland, who sent her roses; Douglas Warrington, who rode with -her in the park; Cortland Bent--all these men had good manners as their -birthright. What was it they lacked? Culture had carved them all with -finer implements on the same formula, but what they had gained in -delicacy they had lost in force. Jeff might have been done by Rodin, -the others by Carriere--Beleuze. - -It made her furious that in spite of herself she still thought of Jeff. -She got up and went to the mirror. There were little telltale wrinkles -about her eyes, soft shadows under her cheek-bones which had not been -there when she came to New York. It was worry that was telling on her. -She had never yet been able to bring herself to the point of believing -that all was over between Jeff and herself. Had she really believed -that he was willing to live his future without her, she could not have -consented even for so long as this to play the empty part he had -assigned her. It was _his_ money she was spending, not her own; _his_ -money which provided all the luxuries about her--the rich apartment in -New York, the motor car, _carte blanche_ at Sherry's, extravagances, she -was obliged to acknowledge, which for the present he did not share. -True, she was following implicitly his directions in keeping his memory -green in the social set to which he aspired, and she had done her part -well. But the burden of her indebtedness to him was not decreased by -this obedience, and she felt that she could not for long accept the -conditions he had imposed. Such a life must soon be -intolerable--intolerable to them both. - -It was intolerable now. She could not bear the thought of his -brutality, the cruelty of his silence, the pitiless money which he threw -at her every week as one would throw a bone to a dog. He was carrying -matters with a high hand, counting on her love of luxury and the -delights of gratified social ambition to hold her in obedience. He had -planned well, but the end of it all was near. It was her pride that -revolted--that Jeff could have thought her capable of the unutterable -things he thought of her--the pitiful tatters of her pride which were -slowly being dragged from her by the tongue of gossip. Mrs. Rumsen had -warned her, and Mrs. Cheyne made free use of her name with Cort's. The -world was conspiring to throw her into Cortland's arms. She would not -admit that the fault was her own--it was Jeff's. It had always been -Jeff's. She had given him every chance to redeem her, but he had tossed -her aside--for another. Now she had reached a point when she didn't -care whether he redeemed her or not. She felt herself -drifting--drifting--she didn't know where and didn't seem to care where. - -It was affection she craved, love that she loved, and Cortland was an -expression of it. He had always been patient--even when she had treated -him unkindly. A whispered word to Cortland---- - -Her musing stopped abruptly. What did Cortland mean by avoiding her? -And why was he leaving New York? There was a tiny pucker at her brows -while she gave the finishing touches to her toilet; but when she went -down to dinner her cheeks glowed with ripe color and her eyes were shot -with tiny sparkling fires. - -"Auction" bridge followed dinner. In the cutting Cort and the Baroness -were out of it, and when Cort and the Baroness cut in, Camilla and Perot -cut out. Fate conspired, and it was not until late in the evening that -Cortland and Camilla found themselves alone in the deserted library at -the far end of the wing. Camilla sank back into the silk cushions of -the big davenport wearily. - -"I played well to-night," she said; "I believe even Billy is pleased -with me. I _did_ have luck, though--shameful luck----" - -She stretched her arms above her head, sighing luxuriously. "Oh, life -is sweet--after all." - -Cortland watched her. - -"Is it?" he asked quietly. - -"Don't you think so, Cort?" - -"There's not much sweetness left, for me in anything. I've got to go -away from you, Camilla." - -"So you said." And then airily, "Good-by." - -He closed his eyes a moment. - -"I want you to know what it means to me." - -"Then why do it?" - -"I--I've thought it all out. It's the best thing I can do--for you--for -myself----" - -"I ought to be a judge of that." - -His dark eyes sought her face for a meaning. - -"It's curious you didn't consult me," she went on. "I hope I know what's -best for myself----" - -"You mean that you don't care--my presence is unimportant. My absence -will be even less important." - -"I do care," she insisted. "What's the use of my telling you. I'll be -very unhappy without you." - -He shook his head and smiled. "Oh, I know--you'll miss me as you would -your afternoon tea if it was denied you--but you'll do without it." - -"I'm quite fond of afternoon tea, Cort." And then, more seriously, "Are -you really resolved?" - -"Yes," he muttered, "resolved--desperately resolved." - -She threw herself away from him against the opposite end of the couch, -facing him, and folded her arms, her lips closed in a hard line. - -"Very well, then," she said cruelly, "go!" It seemed as if he hadn't -heard her, for he leaned forward, his head in his hands, and went on in -a voice without expression. - -"I've felt for some time that I've been doing you a wrong. People are -talking about us--coupling your name with mine--unpleasantly. Heaven -knows what lies they're telling. Of course you don't hear--and I -don't--but I know they're talking." - -"How do you know?" - -"My father----" - -"Oh!" - -"We quarreled--but the poison left its sting." - -Camilla laughed nervously, the laughter of a woman of the world. It -grated on him strangely. - -"Don't you suppose _I_ know?" she said. "I'm not a baby. And now that -you've ruined my reputation you're going to leave me. That's unkind of -you. Oh, don't worry," she laughed again. "I'll get along. There are -others, I suppose." - -He straightened and turned toward her sternly. - -"You mustn't talk like that," he said. "You're lying. I know your -heart. It's clean as snow." - -"Because _you_ haven't soiled it?" She clasped her hands over her knees -and leaned toward him with wicked coquetry. "Really, Cort, you're a -sweet boy--but you lack imagination. You know you're not the only man -in the world. A woman in my position has much to gain--little to lose. -I'm a derelict, a ship without a captain----" - -He interrupted her by taking her in his arms and putting his fingers -over her lips. "Stop!" he whispered, "I'll not listen to you." - -"I mean it. I've learned something in your world. I thought life was a -sacrament. I find it's only a game." She struggled away from him and -went to the fireplace, but he rose and stood beside her. - -"You're lying, Camilla," he repeated, "lying to me. Oh, I know--I've -been a fool--a vicious--a selfish fool. I've let them talk because I -couldn't bear to be without you--because I thought that some day you'd -learn what a love like mine meant. And I wanted you--wanted you----" - -"Don't you want me still, Cort?" she asked archly. - -He put his elbows on the mantel and gazed into the flames, but would not -reply, and the smile faded from her lips before the dignity of his -silence. - -"I've thought it all out, Camilla. I'm going away on business for my -father, and I don't expect to come back. I thought I could go without -seeing you again--just send you a note to say good-by. It was easier for -me that way. I thought I had won out until I saw you to-day--but now -it's harder than ever." - -He looked up as he thought she might misconstrue his meaning. "Oh, I'm -not afraid to leave on your account. Our set may make you a little -careless, a little cynical, but you've got too much pride to lose your -grip--and you'll never be anything else but what you are." He gazed -into the fire again and went on in the same impersonal tone as if he had -forgotten her existence. "I'll always love you, Camilla.... I love you -more now than I ever did--only it's different somehow.... It used to be -a madness--an obsession.... Your lips, your eyes, your soft fingers, the -warm elusive tints of your skin--the petals of the bud--I would have -taken them because of their beauty, crushed out, if I could, the soul -that lived inside, as one crushes a shrub to make its sweetness -sweeter." He sighed deeply and went on: "I told you I loved you -then--back there in Mesa City--but I lied to you, Camilla. It wasn't -love. Love is calmer, deeper, almost judicial, more mental than -physical even.... I'm going away from you because I love you more than -I love myself." - -"Oh! you never loved me," she stammered. "You couldn't speak coldly -like this if you did." - -He raised his eyes calmly, but made no reply. - -"Love--judicial!" she went on scornfully. "What do you know of love? -Love is a storm in the heart; a battle--a torrent--it has no mind for -anything but itself. Love is ruthless--self-seeking----" - -"You make it hard for me," he said with an effort at calmness. - -"You know I--I need you--and yet you'd leave me at a word." - -"I'm going--because it's best to go," he said hoarsely. - -"You're going because you don't care what happens to me." - -He flashed around, unable to endure more, and caught her in his arms. -"Do I look like a man who doesn't care? Do I?" he whispered. "If you -only hadn't said that--if you only hadn't said that----" - -Now that she had won she was ready to end the battle, and drew timidly -away. But with Cort the battle had just begun. And though she -struggled to prevent it, he kissed her as he had never done before. Her -resistance and the lips she denied him, the suppleness of her strong -young body, the perfume of her hair brought back the spell of mid-summer -madness which had first enchained him. - -"You've got to listen to me now, Camilla. I don't care what happens to -my promises--to you--or to any one else. I'm mad with love for you. -I'll take the soul of you. It was mine by every right before it was -his. I'll go away from here--but you'll go with me--somewhere, where we -can start again----" - -In that brief moment in his arms there came a startling revelation to -Camilla. Cort's touch--his kisses--transformed him into a man she did -not know. - -"Oh, Cort! Let me go!" she whispered. - -"Away from all this where the idle prattle of the world won't matter," -he went on wildly. "You have no right to stay on here, using the money -he sends you--my money--money he stole from me. He has thrown you over, -dropped you like a faded leaf. You're clinging to a rotten tree, -Camilla. He'll fall. He's going to fall soon. You'll be buried with -him--and nothing between you and death but his neglect and brutality." - -In his arms Camilla was sobbing hysterically. The excitement with which -she had fed her heart for the last few months had suddenly stretched her -nerves to too great a tension. She had been mad--cruel to tantalize -him--and she had not realized what her intolerance meant for them both -until it was too late. - -He misunderstood the meaning of those tears and petted her as if she had -been a child. - -"Don't, Camilla--there's nothing to fear. I'll be so tender to you--so -kind that you'll wonder you could ever have thought of being happy -before. Look up at me, dear. Kiss me. You never have, Camilla. Kiss -me and tell me you'll go with me--anywhere." - -But as he tried to lift her head she put up her hands and with an effort -repulsed--broke away from--him and fell on the couch in a passion of -tears. She had not meant this--not this. It wasn't in her to love any -one. - -In the process of mental readjustment following her husband's desertion -of her she had learned to think of Cort in a different way. It seemed -as though the tragedy of her married life had dwarfed every other -relation, minimized every emotion that remained to her. Cortland Bent -was the lesser shadow within the greater shadow, a dimmer figure blurred -in the bulk, a part of the tragedy, but not the tragedy itself. For a -time he had seemed to understand, and of late had played the part of -guide, philosopher, and friend, if not ungrudgingly, at least patiently, -without those boyish outbursts of petulance and temper in which he had -been so difficult to manage. She cared for him deeply, and lately he -had been so considerate and so gentle that she had almost been ready to -believe that the kind of devotion he gave her was the only thing in life -worth while. He had learned to pass over the many opportunities she -offered him to take advantage of her isolation, and she was thankful -that at last their relation had found a happy path of communion free -from danger or misunderstanding. While other people amused and -distracted her, Cort had been her real refuge, his devotion the rock to -which she tied. But this! She realized that what had gone before was -only the calm before the storm--and she had brought it all on herself! - -He watched her anxiously, waiting for the storm to pass, and at last -came near and put his arms around her again. - -"No--not that!" she said brokenly. "It wasn't that I wanted, Cort. You -don't understand. I needed you--but not that way." He straightened -slowly as her meaning came to him. - -"You were only--fooling--only playing with me? I might have known----" - -"No, I wasn't playing with you. I--couldn't bear to lose you--but," she -stammered resolutely, "now--I _must_---- You've got to go. I don't -know what has happened to me--I haven't any heart--I think--no heart--or -soul----" - -He had turned away from her, his gaze on the dying log. - -"Why couldn't you have let me go--without this?" he groaned. "It would -have been easier for both of us." - -She sat up slowly, still struggling to suppress the nervous paroxysms -which shook her shoulders. - -"Forgive me, Cort. You--you'll get along best without me. I've only -brought you suffering. I'm a bird of ill-omen--which turns on the hand -that feeds it. I was--was thinking only of myself. I wish I could make -you happy--you deserve it, Cort. But I can't," she finished miserably, -"I can't." - -He did not move. It almost seemed as though he had not heard her. His -voice came to her at last as though from a distance. - -"I know," he groaned. "God help you, you love _him_." She started up -as though in dismay, and then, leaning forward, buried her face in her -hands in silent acquiescence. When she looked up a moment later he was -gone. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVII* - - *OLD ROSE LEAVES* - - -Camilla wrote nothing to Jeff about her illness. It was nothing very -serious, the doctor said--only a fashionable case of nerves. The type -was common, the medicine rest and quiet. He commended his own -sanitarium, where he could assure her luxury and the very best society, -but Camilla refused. She wanted to be alone, and so she denied herself -to callers, canceled all her engagements, and took the rest cure in her -own way. She slept late in the mornings, took her medicine -conscientiously, put herself on a diet, and in the afternoon, with her -maid only for company, took long motor rides in the country to -out-of-the-way places on roads where she would not be likely to meet her -acquaintances. - -She knew what it was that she needed. It wasn't the strychnia tonic the -doctor had prescribed, or even the rest cure. The more she was alone, -the more time she had to think. It was in moments like the present, in -the morning hours in her own rooms, that she felt that she could not -forget. There was no longer the hum of well-bred voices about her, no -music, the glamor of lowered lights, or the odor of embowered roses to -distract her mind or soothe her senses. In the morning hours Jeff was -present with her in the flesh. Everything about her reminded her of -him; the desk at which he had worked, with its pigeon-holes full of -papers in the reckless disorder which was characteristic of him; the -corncob pipe which he had refused to discard; the Durham tobacco in its -cotton bag beside a government report on mining; the specimens of ore -from the "Lone Tree," which he had always used as paper weights; the -brass bowl into which he had knocked his ashes; and the photograph, in -its jeweled frame, of herself in sombrero and kerchief, taken at Myers's -Photograph Gallery in Mesa City at the time when she had taught school, -before Jeff's dreams had come true. - -She took the picture up and examined it closely. It was the picture of a -girl sitting on a table, a lariat in one hand and a quirt in the other, -and the background presented Mesa City's idea of an Italian villa, with -fluted columns, backed by some palms and a vista of lake. How well she -remembered that gray painted screen and the ornate wicker chair and -table which were its inevitable accompaniment. They had served as a -background for Pete Mulrennan in a Prince Albert coat, when he was -elected mayor; for Jack Williams, the foreman of the "Lazy L" ranch, and -his bride from Kinney; for Mrs. Brennan in her new black silk dress; for -the Harbison twins and their cherubic mother. She put the photograph -down, and her head sank forward on her arms in mute rebellion. In her -sleep she had murmured Cort's name, and Jeff had heard her. But she -knew that in itself this was not enough to have caused the breach. What -else had he heard? Jeff had tired of her--that was all--had tired of -being married to a graven image, to a mere semblance of the woman he had -thought she was. She could not blame him for that. It was his right to -be tired of her if he chose. - -It was the sudden revelation of the actual state of her mind with regard -to Cortland which had given her the first suggestion of her true -bearings--that and the careless chatter of the people of their set in -which Mrs. Cheyne was leading. Cortland had guessed the truth which she -had been so resolutely hiding from herself. She loved Jeff--had always -loved him--and would until the end of time. Like the chemist who for -months has been seeking the solution of a problem, she had found the -acid which had magically liberated the desired element; the acid was -Jealousy, and, after all dangerous vapors had passed, Love remained in -the retort, elemental and undefiled. The simplicity of the revelation -was as beautiful as it was mystifying. Had she by some fortuitous -accident succeeded in transmuting some baser metal into gold, she could -not have been more bewildered. Of course, Jeff could not know. To him -she was still the Graven Image, the pretty Idol, the symbol of what -might have been. How could he guess that his Idol had been made flesh -and blood--that now she waited for him, no longer a symbol of lost -illusions, but just a woman--his wife. She raised her head at last, -sighed deeply, and put the photograph in the drawer of the desk. As she -did so, the end of a small battered tin box protruded. She remembered -it at once--for in it Jeff had always kept the letters and papers which -referred to his birth and babyhood. She had looked them over before -with Jeff, but it was almost with a feeling of timidity at an intrusion -that she took the box out and opened it now. The papers were ragged, -soiled, and stained with dampness and age, and the torn edges had been -joined with strips of court-plaster. There were two small portraits -taken by a photographer in Denver. Camilla took the photographs in her -fingers and looked at them with a new interest. One of the pictures was -of a young woman of about Camilla's age, in a black beaded Jersey waist -and a full overskirt. Her front hair was done in what was known as a -"bang," and the coils were twisted high on top of her head. But even -these disfigurements--according to the lights of a later -generation--could not diminish the attractiveness of her personality. -There was no denying the beauty of the face, the wistful eyes, the -straight, rather short nose, the sensitive lips, and the deeply -indented, well-made chin--none of the features in the least like Jeff's -except the last, which, though narrower than his, had the same firm -lines at the angle of the jaw. It was not a weak face, nor a strong -one, for whatever it gained at brows and chin it lost at the eyes and -mouth. - -But Jeff's resemblance to his father was remarkable. Except for the -old-fashioned collar and "string" tie, the queerly cut coat, and -something in the brushing of the hair, the figure in the other -photograph was that of her husband in the life. She had discovered this -when she and Jeff had looked into the tin box just after they were -married, and had commented on it, but Jeff had said nothing in reply. -He had only looked at the picture steadily for a moment, then rather -abruptly taken it from her and put it away. From this Camilla knew that -the thoughts of his mother were the only ones which Jeff had cared to -select from the book of memory and tradition. Of his father he had -never spoken, nor would speak. He would not even read again these -letters which his mother had kept, wept over, and handed down to her son -that the record of a man's ignominy might be kept intact for the -generations to follow her. - -It was, therefore, with a sense of awe, of intrusion upon the mystery of -a sister's tragedy, that Camilla opened the letters again and read them. -There were eight of them in all, under dates from May until October, -1875, all with the same superscription "Ned." As she read, Camilla -remembered the whole sad story, and, with the face of the woman before -her, was able to supply almost word for word the tender, passionate, -bitter, forgiving letters which must have come between. She had pleaded -with him in May to return to her, but in June, from New York, he had -written her that he could not tell when he would go West again. In July -he was sure he would not go West until the following year, if then. In -August he sent her money--which she must have returned--for the next -letter referred to it. In September his manner was indifferent--in -October it was heartless. It had taken only six months for this man -madly to love and then as madly to forget. - -Camilla remembered the rest of the story as Jeff had told it to her, -haltingly, shamedly, one night at Mrs. Brennan's, as it had been told to -him when he was a boy by one of the nurses who had taken him away from -the hospital where his mother had died--of her persistent refusal to -speak of Jeff's father or to reveal his identity, of Jeff's birth -without a name, and of his mother's death a few weeks later, unrepentant -and unforgiving. With her last words she had blessed the child and -prayed that they would not name it after her. At first he had been -playfully called "Thomas Jefferson," and so Thomas Jefferson he remained -until later another of his guardians had added the "Wray" after a -character in a book she was reading and "because it sounded pretty." -That was Jeff's christening. - -Camilla put the letters aside with the faded blue ribbon which had -always accompanied them and gazed at the photograph of Jeff's father. -Yes, it was a cruel face--a handsome, cruel face--and it looked like -Jeff. She had never thought of Jeff as being cruel. Did she really -know her husband, after all? Until they had come to New York Jeff had -always been forbearing, kindly, and tender. Before their marriage he had -sometimes been impatient with her--but since that time, often when he -had every right to be angry, he had contented himself with a baby-like -stare and had then turned away and left her. Flashes of cruelty -sometimes had shown in his treatment of the Mexicans on the railroad or -at the mines, but it was not the kind of cruelty this man in the -photograph had shown--not the enduring cruelty of heartlessness which -would let a woman die for the love of him. The night Jeff had left her -the worst in him was dominant, and yet she had not thought of him as -cruel. It was to the future alone which she must look for an answer to -the troubled question that rose in her mind. - -At this moment her maid entered--a welcome interruption. - -"Will you see Mrs. Rumsen, Madame?" - -"Oh, yes, Celeste. Ask her if she won't come in here." - -Of all the friendships she had made in New York, that of Mrs. Rumsen was -the one Camilla most deeply prized. There was a tincture of old-world -simplicity in her grandeur. Only those persons were snobbish, Mrs. -Rumsen always averred, whose social position was insecure. It was she -who had helped Camilla to see society as it really was, laid bare to her -its shams, its inconsistencies, and its follies; who had shown her the -true society of old New York; taken her to unfamiliar heights among the -"cliff-dwellers" of the old regime who lived in the quiet elegance of -social security with and for their friends, unmoved by the glitter of -modern gew-gaws, who resisted innovations and fought hard for old -traditions which the newer generation was seeking to destroy, a -mild-eyed, incurious race of people who were sure that what they had and -were was good, and viewed the social extravagances as the inhabitants of -another planet might do, from afar, who went into the world when they -chose, and returned to their "cliffs" when they chose, sure of their -welcome at either place. They were the people Rita Cheyne called -"frumps," and Cortland Bent, "bores," but to Camilla, who had often -found herself wondering what was the end and aim of all things, they -were a symbol of completion. - -Mrs. Rumsen laid aside her wraps with the deliberation of a person who -is sure of her welcome. - -"You'll forgive my appearance?" asked Camilla. "I didn't think you'd -mind." - -"I'm flattered, child. It has taken longer than I supposed it would to -teach you not to be punctilious with me. Well, you're better, of -course. This long rest has done wonders for you." - -"Oh, yes. But I'm afraid I wouldn't last long here. I'm used to air -and sunshine and bed at ten o'clock at night." She paused a moment. -"I've been thinking of going West for a while." - -"Really? When?" - -"I--I haven't decided. I thought that Jeff would have returned by this -time, but his business still keeps him." - -"And you miss him? That's very improper. I'm afraid I haven't schooled -you carefully enough." She smiled and sighed. "That is a vulgar -weakness your woman of society must never confess to. We may love our -husbands as much as we like, but we mustn't let people know it. It -offends their conceit and reminds them unpleasantly of their own -deficiencies." - -"People aren't really as bad as you're trying to paint then," laughed -Camilla. "Even you, Mrs. Rumsen! Why, I thought the habit of cynicism -was only for the very young and inexperienced." - -"Thanks, child. Perhaps it's my second childhood. I don't want to be -cynical--but I must. One reason I came to you is because I want you to -refresh my point of view. I wonder what air and sunshine and bed at ten -o'clock would do for me. Would you like to prescribe it for me? I -wonder if you wouldn't take me West with you." - -Camilla laughed again. - -"Are you really in earnest? Of course I'd be delighted--but I'm afraid -you wouldn't be. The accommodations are abominable except, of course, -in Denver, and you wouldn't want to stay there. You know our--our house -isn't finished yet. It would be fine if we could camp--but that isn't -very comfortable. I love it. But you know there are no porcelain -tubs----" - -"Oh, I know. I've camped in the West, dear, a good many years -ago--before you were born. I wonder how I should like it now----" - -She paused, her wandering gaze resting on the desk, which Camilla had -left in disorder, the letters scattered, the photographs at which she -had been looking propped upright against the tin document-box. It was on -the photographs that Mrs. Rumsen's gaze had stopped. Slowly she rose -from her chair, with an air of arrested attention, adjusted her lorgnon, -and examined it at close range. - -"I thought I might have been mistaken at first," she said quickly. "I -see I'm not. Camilla, dear, where on earth did you get that photograph -of the General?" - -Camilla had risen. "The General?" she faltered. "I don't understand." - -"Of my brother--Cornelius Bent--that is his photograph. I have one like -it in the family album at home." - -"That can't be." - -"I was looking over them only the other day--why do you look so -strangely?" - -"Are you sure? You can't be sure----" - -"I am. I remember the queer cravat and the pose of the hands on the -chair. I remember him, too--perfectly. Do you think I wouldn't know my -own brother?" - -"Oh, there must be some mistake--it is dreadful. I can't----" - -"What is dreadful, child? What do you mean?" She laid a hand on -Camilla's arm, and Camilla caught at it, her nerves quivering. - -"The photograph is----" - -"Where did you get it? It isn't mine, is it? or Cortland's?" - -"No, no. It has been in that tin box for more than thirty years. It -isn't yours. It's Jeff's--my husband's--do you understand? It's -his--oh, I can't tell you. It's too horrible. I can't believe it -myself. I don't want to believe it." - -She sank into the chair at the desk, trembling violently. Mrs. Rumsen, -somewhat surprised and aware of the imminence of a revelation the nature -of which she could not even faintly surmise, bent over Camilla kindly -and touched her gently on the shoulder. - -"Compose yourself, Camilla, and if you think I ought to know, tell me. -What had my brother to do with you or yours? How did his picture come -here?" - -Camilla replied with difficulty. - -"That picture has been in Jeff's possession since he was a baby. It was -the only heritage his mother left him, the photograph and these letters. -I have just been reading them. They were written to _her_. _He_ had -deserted her--before Jeff was born----" - -Mrs. Rumsen's hand had dropped from Camilla's shoulder, and she turned -quickly away--with a sharp catch in her breath. When she spoke, her -voice, like Camilla's, was suppressed and controlled with difficulty. - -"Then my brother was--your husband's----" - -"Oh, I don't know," Camilla broke in quickly. "It is all so dreadful. -There may be some mistake. Jeff will never speak of it. He has tried -all these years to forget. I don't know why I took these letters out to -read. Perhaps it would be better if you hadn't known----" - -"No, no. I think I ought to know. Perhaps in justice to my -brother----" - -"There can be no justice for Jeff's father, Mrs. Rumsen. I have read -his letters to her--to Jeff's mother. Before you came in I was trying -to think of a punishment horrible enough for the kind of men who deceive -women as he did, and then leave them to face the world alone." - -"But perhaps there was something you don't know----" she groped vainly. - -"Every question you would ask, every excuse that he could offer, is -answered in these letters. Now that you know Jeff's story perhaps you -had better read them." - -With trembling hands she gathered the letters and gave them to her -visitor, who now sat in the big armchair near the window, her straight -figure almost judicial in its severity. She glanced at the handwriting -and at the signature, and then let the papers fall into her lap. - -"Yes, they are my brother's," she said slowly. "It is his -handwriting--and the name--the General's name is Cornelius Edward--'Ned' -was his name at college--he never used his first name until later in -life. I--I suppose there's no doubt about it." - -She sat with one hand to her brow as though trying to reconcile two -parts of an astounding narrative. Camilla's revelation did not seem in -the least like reality. Cornelius Bent's part in it was so at variance -with his character as she had known it. There had never been time for -love or for play. When he had given up his profession of engineering -and plunged into business downtown his youth was ended. She recalled -that this must have been about the time he returned from the Western -trip--the year before he was married. The making of money had been the -only thing in life her brother had ever cared about. He had loved his -wife in his peculiar way until she died, and he had been grateful for -his children. His membership in the ---- Regiment, years ago, had been -a business move, and the service, though distinguished, had made him -many valuable business connections, but all of Cornelius Bent's family -knew that his heart and his soul were downtown, day and night, night and -day. - -And yet there seemed no chance that Camilla could be mistaken. The -marks of handling, the stains of Time--perhaps of tears--the pin-hole at -the top, these were the only differences between the photograph in her -album at home and the one she now held in her fingers. - -Camilla waited for her to speak again. Her own heart was too full of -Jeff and of what this discovery might mean to him to be willing to trust -herself to further speech until she was sure that her visitor understood -the full meaning of the situation. There was a sudden appreciation of -the delicacy of her own position and of the danger to which her -friendship with Mrs. Rumsen was being subjected--and, highly as she had -prized it, Camilla knew that if her visitor could not take her own point -of view with regard to Jeff's father and with regard to Jeff himself she -must herself bring that friendship to an end. In some anxiety she waited -and watched Mrs. Rumsen while she read. The proud head was bent, the -brows and chin had set in austere lines, and Camilla, not knowing what -to expect, sat silently and waited. - -"It is true, of course," said her visitor, softly. "There can't be the -slightest doubt of it now. There are some allusions here which identify -these letters completely. I don't know just what to say to you, child. -From the first time I saw your husband he attracted me -curiously--reflected a memory--you remember my speaking of it? It all -seems so clear to me now that the wonder is I didn't think of it myself. -The resemblance between the two men is striking even now." - -"Yes--yes--I hadn't thought of that." - -There was another silence, during which Mrs. Rumsen seemed to realize -what was passing in Camilla's mind--her sudden reticence and the meaning -of it, for she straightened in her chair and extended both hands warmly. - -"It is all true. But my brother's faults shall make no difference in my -feeling for his children. If anything I should and will love them the -more. Come and kiss me, Camilla, dear," she said with gentle -simplicity. - -And Camilla, her heart full of her kindness, fell on her knees at Mrs. -Rumsen's feet. - -"You are so good--so kind," she sobbed happily. - -"Not at all," said Mrs. Rumsen with a return of her old "grenadier" -manner, at the same time touching her handkerchief to her eyes. "To -whom should I not be good unless to my own. If my brother disowns your -husband, there's room enough in my own empty heart for you both----" - -Camilla started back frightened, her eyes shining through her tears. - -"You must not speak of this to him--to General Bent--not yet. I must -think what it is best for us to do." - -"No, dear. I'll not speak of it. I'll never speak of it unless you -allow me to. It is your husband's affair. He shall do what he thinks -best. As for Cornelius--it is a matter for my brother--and his God----" - -"He has forgotten. Perhaps it would be better if he never knew." - -"Something tells me that he will learn the truth. It was written years -ago. It will not come through me--because it is not my secret to tell. -One thing only is certain in my mind, and that is that your husband, -Jeff, must be told. It is his right." - -"Yes, I know. I must go to him. It will be terrible news for him." - -"Terrible?" - -"I fear so. I remember his once saying that if he ever found his father -he'd shoot him as he would a dog." - -As Mrs. Rumsen drew back in alarm, she added quickly, "Oh, no, of course -he didn't mean that. That was just Jeff's way of expressing himself." - -As Camilla rose, Mrs. Rumsen sighed deeply. - -"I don't suppose I have any right to plead for my brother--but you and -Jeff must do him justice, too. All this happened a long while ago. -Between that time and this lie thirty years of good citizenship and -honorable manhood. Cornelius has been no despoiler of women." She -picked up the papers again. "The curious thing about it, Camilla, is -that nowhere in these letters is there any mention of a child. I can't -understand that. Have you thought--that perhaps he did not know? It's -very strange, mystifying. I have never known the real heart of my -brother, but he could hardly have been capable of _that_. He was never -given at any time to show his feelings--even to his wife or his family. -Have you thought--that perhaps he loved--Jeff's mother?" - -"I hope--I pray that he did. Perhaps if Jeff could believe that--but -the letters--no, Mrs. Rumsen--no man who had ever loved could have -written that last letter." - -"But you must do what you can to make your husband see the best of it, -Camilla. That is your duty, child--don't you see it that way?" - -Camilla was kneeling on a chair, her elbows on its back, her fingers -wreathing her brows. - -"Yes, I suppose so," she sighed. "But I'm afraid in this matter Jeff -will not ask my opinions--he must choose for himself. I don't know what -he will do or say. You could hardly expect him to show filial devotion. -Gladys and Cortland"--she rose in a new dismay and walked to the -window--"I had not thought of them." - -Her visitor followed Camilla with questioning eyes. "They must share the -burden--it is theirs, too," she put in after a moment. - -"It is very hard for me to know what to do. It is harder now than it -would have been before this fight of the Amalgamated for the smelter. -They are enemies--don't you suppose I hear the talk about it? General -Bent has sworn to ruin Jeff--to put him out of business; and Jeff will -fight until he drops. Father against son--oh, Mrs. Rumsen, what can be -done?" She took the photograph and letters from the lap of her visitor -and stood before the mantel. "If I burned them----" - -"No, no," Mrs. Rumsen had risen quickly and seized Camilla by the arm. -"You mustn't do that." - -"It would save so much pain----" - -"No one saved _her_ pain. You have no right. Who are you to play the -part of Providence to two human souls? This drama was arranged years -before you were born. It's none of your affair. Fate has simply used -you--used _us_--as humble instruments in working out its plans." - -Camilla shook her head. "It can do Jeff no good. It will do Gladys and -Cortland harm. Jeff has forgotten the past. It has done him no -harm--except that he has no name. He has won his way without a -name--even this will not give him one. Jeff's poor incubus will be a -grim reality--tangible flesh--to be despised." - -Mrs. Rumsen looked long into the fire. "I can't believe it," she said -slowly. "My brother and I are not on the best of terms--we have never -been intimate, because we could not understand each other. But he is -not the kind of man any one despises. People downtown say he has no -soul. If he hasn't, then this news can be no blow to him. If he -has----" - -She paused. And then, instead of going on, took Camilla by the hand. - -"Camilla," she said gently, "we must think long over this--but not now. -It must be slept on. Get dressed while I read these letters, and we'll -take a spin into the country. Perhaps by to-morrow we'll be able to see -things more clearly." - - - - - *CHAPTER XVIII* - - *COMBAT* - - -It had been a time of terrific struggles. For four months Wray's -enemies had used every device that ingenuity could devise to harass him -in the building of his new road, the Saguache Short Line; had attacked -the legality of every move in the courts; hampered and delayed, when -they could, the movement of his material; bribed his engineers and -employes; offered his Mexicans double wages elsewhere; found an -imaginary flaw in his title to the Hermosa Estate which for a time -prevented the shipment of ties until Larry came on and cleared the -matter up. Finally they caused a strike at the Pueblo Steel Works, -where his rails were made, so that before the completion of the contract -the works were shut down. Tooth and nail Jeff fought them at every -point, and Pete Mulrennan's judge at Kinney, whose election had taken -place before the other crowd had made definite plans, had been an -important asset in the fight for supremacy. - -The other crowd had appealed from his decisions, of course, but the law -so far had been on Wray's side, and there was little chance that the -decisions would be overruled in the higher court. But as Jeff well -knew, the Amalgamated crowd had no intention of standing on ceremony, -and what they couldn't do in one way they attempted to accomplish in, -another. Five carloads of ties on the Denver and Saguache railroad were -ditched in an arroyo between Mesa City and Saguache. Wray's engineers -reported that the trestles had been tampered with. Jeff satisfied -himself that this was true, then doubled his train crews, supplied the -men with Winchesters and revolvers, and put a deputy sheriff in the cab -of each locomotive. After that an explosion of dynamite destroyed a -number of his flat cars, and a fire in the shops was narrowly averted. -A man caught at the switches had been shot and was now in the hospital -at Kinney with the prospect of a jail sentence before him. Judge Weigel -was a big gun in Kinney, and he liked to make a big noise. He would -keep the law in Saguache County, he said, if he had to call on the -Governor to help him. - -More difficult to combat were the dissensions Jeff found among his own -employes. The German engineers, like other men, were fallible, and left -him when the road was half done because they were offered higher -salaries elsewhere. His under-engineers, his contractors, his foremen -were all subject to the same influences, but he managed somehow to keep -the work moving. New men, some of them just out of college, were -imported from the East and Middle West, and the Development Company was -turned into an employment agency to keep the ranks of workmen filled. -Mexicans went and Mexicans came, but the building of the road went -steadily on. There were no important engineering problems to solve, -since the greater part of the line passed over the plains, where the -fills and cuts were small and the grading inexpensive. Seven months had -passed since ground had been broken and the road, in spite of obstacles, -had been nearly carried to completion. - -Already Wray had had a taste of isolation. For two months there had -been but one passenger train a day between Kinney and Saguache. To all -intents and purposes Kinney was now the Western terminus of the road, -and Saguache was beginning to feel the pinch of the grindstones. -Notwithstanding the findings of the Railroad Commission, Judge Weigel's -decision, and Jeff's representations through his own friends at -Washington, the Denver and Western refused to put on more trains. -Saguache, they contended, was not the real terminus of the road; that -the line had been extended from Kinney some years before to tap a coal -field which had not proved successful; that Saguache was not a growing -community, and that the old stage line still in operation between the -two towns would be adequate for every purpose. These were lies of -course, vicious lies, for every one knew that since the development of -the Mesa City properties Saguache had trebled in size, and that the -freight business alone in ten years would have provided for the entire -bonded indebtedness of the road. What might happen in time Jeff did not -know or care. It was a matter which must be fought out at length and -might take years to settle. The Chicago and Utah Railroad Company for -the present had command of the situation. To handle the business Jeff -had put on a dozen four-mule teams between Kinney and Saguache, which -carried his freight and necessary supplies along the old trail over the -Boca Pass, which was shorter by ten miles than the railroad, a -heart-breaking haul and a dangerous one to man and beast. But it was -the only thing left for him to do. - -Realizing the futility of any efforts at coercion, Jeff had relinquished -the losing battle and had put his heart and soul into the building of -the Saguache Short Line. He knew every stick and stone of it and rode -along the line from camp to camp, lending some of his own enthusiasm to -the foremen of the gangs, pitting one crowd against the other in -friendly rivalry for substantial bonuses. At last the connecting links -were forged and only a matter of twenty miles of track remained to be -laid--when the Pueblo Steel Works shut down. This was a severe -blow--one on which Jeff had not counted. The penalties for non-delivery -to which the steel company were liable were heavy, but Jeff did not want -the penalties. Compared with his own magnificent financial prospects, -the penalties were only a drop in the bucket. He wanted his road. His -entire future depended upon its completion--the smelter, the Development -Company, and all his chain of mining, coal, and lumber properties. -Without that road he was now at the mercy of his enemies. - -Twenty miles of rails! They seemed very little in the face of what he -had already accomplished. He had not counted on this, and had laid no -alternative plans. The Denver and California people were powerless to -help him. A subtle influence was at work among the steel companies, -and, so far as Jeff could see, it would take him from three to five -months to get his rails from the West or East. In the meanwhile what -might his enemies not accomplish in bringing about his downfall. What -would become of his pledges to the settlers on the Hermosa Estate--and -the lot-holders of Saguache, many of whose houses were only half built -while they waited for the material to complete them? These people were -already impatient, and in a short while, unless something could be done -to open connections, the storm must break. - -Some days before, by request, Jeff had met Cortland Bent in Denver. He -was glad to learn that at last the Amalgamated had decided to come out -into the open and kept the appointment, wondering why the General had -chosen Cortland as his emissary. He had entered the offices of the -Chicago and Utah with his usual air of self-confidence, frankly curious -as to what part Cort could be expected to play in such a big game. It -did not take him long to learn. They had not been talking more than a -few moments before Jeff discovered that General Bent had made no -mistake. The bored, abstracted air of the gilded youth, the mannerisms -which Jeff had been accustomed to associate with Cortland Bent, were for -some reason lacking. In the short time since they had last met a change -of some sort had come over his old acquaintance. He conveyed an -impression of spareness and maturity, as though in a night he had melted -off all superfluities of flesh and spirit. His eyes now seemed to be -more deeply set, their gaze, formerly rather deliberate, now -penetrating, almost to a degree of shrewdness. He was no longer the boy -who had been a failure. He was now the man who had tasted the -bitterness of success. - -"I thought we might make one more effort for peace, Wray. That's why -I'm here. I'm fully informed as to the affairs of the Amalgamated -Reduction Company and as to my father's previous conversations with you. -I'm authorized to talk over your interests in the Valley. We thought -before carrying out all our plans you might like to have a chance to -reconsider." - -"That's pretty clever of you, Bent. I'm ready to talk business--any -time. Fire away!" - -"I will. By this time you have probably formed some sort of an idea of -the kind of a proposition you're up against. I'm not making any -pretence of friendship when I warn you that you're going to lose out in -the end. My instructions are to ask you to come in with us now. Later -perhaps you couldn't do it so advantageously." - -"H--m! I'm figuring my chances are getting better every minute, Bent." -He paused and then added, smiling, "How would your crowd like to come in -with me? I've got a good thing--a very good thing. And I wouldn't mind -selling a small block at a good figure. It seems a pity to cut each -other's throats, don't it? They'll be building houses of gold-bricks -out here next year, and you and I will pay the bill--while we might be -putting a snug profit into our pockets." - -Bent remembered another bluff of Wray's which had been expensive, so he -only laughed. - -"You once froze me out with a pair of deuces, Wray, but I'm holding -cards this hand," he finished quietly. - -"I haven't such a bad hand, Bent," drawled Jeff, shaking some Durham -into a paper. "Even 'fours' wouldn't scare me." He put the drawing -string of his tobacco-bag in his teeth and closed the bag viciously. -"See here--we're wasting time. What are your offers? If they're not -better than your father's were, it's not worth while talking." - -"Better than my father's?" Cortland couldn't restrain a gasp of -admiration. "Why, Wray, your property isn't worth what it was." - -"Why not?" savagely. - -"Well, for one thing," said Cortland coolly, "your railroad connections -are not what they might be. I might add to that, there's no assurance -they're going to be improved." - -"Not unless I give it to you. Trains are scheduled to run on the -Saguache Short Line on the twenty-fifth of May." - -"They're not going to run, Wray." Jeff turned on him quickly, but -Cortland's eyes met his eagerly. "That's true," he added. "Believe it -or not, as you choose." - -Jeff's sharp glance blurred quickly. Then he smiled and looked out of -the window with his childish stare. - -"Oh, well," he said quietly, "we'll do the best we can." - -"You'd better take my advice and come in with, us now. We'll meet you -in a fair spirit----" - -"Why?" asked Jeff suddenly. "Why should you meet me in any kind of -spirit. You've got things all your own way--at the upper end of the -Valley--now you say you've coppered my outlet at Pueblo." - -"Yes, that's true. But there are other reasons why we prefer to go no -farther without an effort to come to terms. We're frank in admitting -that when we can accomplish anything by compromise we prefer to do it. -This fight has been expensive. It promises to be more expensive. But, -no matter what your reasons, ours are greater, and no matter what move -you make, the Amalgamated can check you. The Amalgamated will win in -the end. It always has. It always will. You've only to look at its -history----" - -"Oh, I know its history," said Wray. "It's a history of organized crime -in three states. You've had a succession of easy marks--of sure things. -I'm another one. You've got a sure thing. Why don't you go ahead and -play it. Why do you want to talk about it? I wouldn't in your place. -I'd clean you out and hang your bones up the way you did Conrad -Seemuller's, for the crows to roost on." Wray leaned forward and -brought his fist down on the table. "I know what your 'fair spirit' -means, Cort Bent. It means that your 'sure thing' is a 'selling -plater'; that you've played your best cards and the tricks are still in -my hand." - -Cortland Bent's shoulders moved almost imperceptibly. - -"You're mistaken," he said shortly. - -"Well, you'll have to prove it. I lived for some years in Missouri." - -"Then you won't consider any basis for settlement?" - -"There's nothing to settle. You started this fight. Now finish it. -Either your father wins--or I do. He wouldn't consider my figures in -New York. He'd be less likely to consider them now. They've gone up -since then." - -Cortland rose and walked to the window. - -"I warn you that you're making a mistake. This is neither a bluff nor a -threat. I mean what I say. You're going to lose. You've been hampered -by lack of railroad facilities. How do you like it? Your own mines -have kept your plant busy, but you can't buy any ore and you can't -compete with us. You'll never be able to." - -"I'll take my chances." - -"Then this is final?" - -"Yes." And, as Cortland Bent rose and took up his hat, "You go back to -those that sent you here and say that on the twenty-fifth of May the -Saguache Smelting Company will be in the market for ore. I've never -competed with your company. I've always been content to take my profit -at the current prices. But if it's necessary to be a hog to remain in -this business, I'll be the biggest hog now or get out of it. You tell -your people that in future I'll regulate my schedule to theirs, and -whatever the prices of the Amalgamated are, my prices will be better. -Is that clear?" - -"Perfectly. I'm much obliged. Good morning." - -The interview had terminated rather suddenly--almost too suddenly to be -entirely satisfactory to Jeff, who had at first seen in a talk with -Cortland Bent an opportunity to learn by inductive methods something of -the future plans of his enemies. He realized, as he watched Bent's -squared shoulders disappear through the door of an inner office, that in -this respect he had been entirely unsuccessful. Bent had revealed -nothing that Jeff did not know before. Jeff had a feeling, too, that -Bent had retired with a slight advantage, even though it had been moral -rather than tactical. Throughout the interview Bent had preserved the -same demeanor of quiet confidence, of repression and solidity, which, in -spite of his advances, had more than offset Jeff's violence and -distemper. What had come over the man? Had he found himself at last? - -In his heart Jeff had always had a feeling of good-humored contempt for -the men of Cortland Bent's class, and the fact that Camilla preferred -this one to him had made him less tolerant of them even than before. He -was unwilling to acknowledge to himself the slight sense of shock he had -experienced in discovering that Cort Bent was now a foeman worthy of his -own metal. Their trails were crossing too often. It wasn't healthy for -either of them. - -He understood now why it was that Camilla had written him vaguely of an -urgent matter about which she could not write, requesting permission to -come West at once. He had put it down to the whim of a woman--as he did -everything feminine he could not understand. It was all clear to him -now. She wanted to be near Cortland Bent and feared to take any -definite step which might compromise her in the eyes of her husband. He -had had some misgivings about her letters--they had seemed so frank, so -womanly and friendly, with a touch of regretful tenderness in them that -was unlike anything Jeff could remember when they had been together. -But he was glad now that he had refused her. Seeing Bent had brought -back into Jeff's mind the whole sad history of their mistaken marriage. -There wasn't a day when he didn't miss her, and his business worries -were never so thick about him that her image didn't intrude. Frequently -he found himself thinking and planning, as he used to plan, for Camilla; -only to remember bitterly in time that the battle he was fighting was -only for himself. And now the man she loved had come down to help the -legions of autocracy against him. He was glad of that. It would nerve -him for the struggle. He could fight better with Cort Bent on the other -side. - -With an effort he put the thought of Camilla from his mind and went -about his other business with a new determination to circumvent his -foes. He always fought better when his back was to the wall, and his -conversation with Bent had confirmed the necessity of completing the -Short Line at any cost. - -The drains upon his resources had been enormous. Three million dollars -had already been spent, and there was another million still to be -provided for. His expenses had been greater because of the unusual -impediments thrown in his way. The mine was paying "big," and the -railroad and the banks were still backing him, but he knew that there -was a limit to the amounts he must expect from these quarters. He had -tried to buy rails in the open market and found that his enemies had -forestalled him. The mills agreed to take his orders, but during the -press of business refused to name a definite date for delivery. General -Bent, whose friendship was necessary to the steel interests East and -West, had seen to that. But if the Amalgamated thought that the lack of -rails was going to stop the construction of the Short Line, they were -going to have another guess. - -Already an alternative plan had suggested itself to Wray, a desperate, -unheard-of plan which he could never have thought of except as a last -resort. But the more he thought of it, the more convinced he was that it -was the only solution of his problem. He would tear up the rails of the -old narrow-gauge which ran from Mesa City up to the old coal field at -Trappe. They were light rails, old and rusty from disuse, but they were -_rails_, and by the use of more ties and "blue-boards" for the time -would serve his purpose. With the sidings and a reserve supply of the -D. & S. at Saguache, he managed to figure out enough to finish the Short -Line. He knew his engineers wouldn't approve--they couldn't approve, he -knew, on any grounds but those of expediency, for such construction was -dangerous and would make the accomplishment of any kind of a fast -schedule impossible, but they would give him his connection--without -which all of his plans must fall to earth. By October, or perhaps by -late summer, he would manage to get standard rails somewhere. It would -be easier once the road was in operation. He couldn't help smiling when -he went into the office of the Denver and California. If this was the -last card Bent's crowd could play, it was on the tallies that they were -to lose the game. - -His plans met with the approval of his friends, and Jeff went back to -Mesa City with a lighter heart than when he had left it. A hurried -conference with his engineers and directors, which exhausted some of -Jeff's strength and most of his patience, and the old road was doomed to -destruction. Nor was Jeff satisfied until three dilapidated flat cars -loaded with Mexicans and tools were started over the line to the coal -fields. Then he turned with a sigh under the "Watch Us Grow" sign and -went into his private office, where an accumulation of mining business -awaited him. - -But his sense of triumph was short-lived. The week had not ended before -advices of a disquieting nature reached him from Denver and Pueblo of a -considerable activity in the stock of the Denver and California. This -information in itself was not surprising, for during the past year the -rate-war and the unsettled condition of the country had made the stock -of the road particularly vulnerable to manipulation? But back of this -movement, Symonds, the General Manager of the road, one of Wray's -staunchest supporters, thought he detected powerful influences. Rumors -of a more startling character had transpired, signifying the transfer of -large blocks of the stock to Eastern investors which seriously -threatened the control of those in power. Other men, men of the -directorate, Jeff discovered, also showed signs of apprehension. A -reorganization of the road might mean anything--to Jeff it meant ruin, -if the new stockholders were in any way identified with the Chicago and -Utah. Was this Bent's crowd? For the first time Wray really appreciated -the lengths to which his enemies were prepared to go to accomplish his -downfall. He knew that they had already spent large sums and had used -all their influence in completing their control of the Denver and -Western, but a control of the Denver and California! It was simply -incredible! - -Letters from the banks were still more disquieting. Conditions, they -wrote, were so unsatisfactory throughout the West that their boards of -directors had thought it advisable to call their loans on the stock of -the Denver and Saguache Railroad Company. The uncertainty of the -development of the Saguache Company's properties, owing to the -imperfection of their railroad connections, made this course necessary -until they secured definite and satisfactory assurances as to the -completion of the Saguache Short Line and the value of its contracts -with the Denver and California Railroad Company. The receipt of these -letters in the same mail was a coincidence which showed Jeff that, in -spite of all assurances to the contrary, his friends were weakening -under fire and that the enemy had invaded his own country. They meant, -in short, that unless he could meet the loans at once--eight hundred -thousand dollars on stock really worth two millions and a half--those -securities would fall into the hands of the Amalgamated people. - -Eight hundred thousand dollars! It seemed a prodigious sum of money -now. The "Lone Tree" would bring that in the open market--of course, -but he and Pete could not sell the "Lone Tree." It was the backbone of -his entire financial position! Really alarmed at the sudden disastrous -turn the company's affairs had taken, he called a meeting of Mulrennan, -Larry Berkely, Weigel, Willoughby, and other available directors, and -then hurried to Denver to see his friends in the D. & C. - -Other disappointments awaited him there. Symonds, and Shackelton, the -vice-president, advised him for the sake of his head, as well, perhaps, -as for their own, to compromise with his enemies if he could. Until -more light was shed as to the new ownership of the D. & C. they could -make him no further promises of assistance either moral or financial. -He argued with them, pleaded with them at least for some pledge on the -part of the road with which he could reassure the banks. They were -powerless, they said. Their contracts, of course, would be a basis for -a suit even under a new management. They could--or would do nothing -more. - -A suit? Jeff knew what that meant--interminable legal proceedings, -while the ties of the Saguache Short Line rotted under the rails, and -washouts in the summer tore the roadbed to pieces; it meant the shutting -down of his coal mines, the abandonment of his lumber camps, the -complete isolation of his mines and smelter, which, if they did business -at all, must do it under all kinds of disadvantages. - -There was only one thing left to do, and that was to finish the Short -Line and put it into operation. Then, perhaps, the courts would uphold -him and force the D. & C. to live up to its contracts--no matter who was -in control. But how was he to redeem the eight hundred thousand in -stock? He had enough available capital to finish the Short Line, but -not enough to redeem the stock, too. He got on the Denver and Western -sleeper for Kinney that night, sore in mind and body. He was too tired -even to think. Larry and Pete must help him now. Perhaps there was -some way. He fell into a troubled sleep, and about his ears Cornelius -Bent's railroad mocked at him in noisy triumph. - - * * * * * - -The arrival of the morning train from Saguache was an event in Mesa -City. There were but two trains a day, and it was the morning train -which brought the mail and yesterday's newspapers from Denver. For -obvious reasons, the passenger traffic was small, and, as almost every -member of the Saguache community was personally known to almost every -citizen of Mesa City, the greetings as a rule were short and laconic, -consisting of a rustic nod or the mere mention of a surname. Most of -the travelers were men and descended from the combination -baggage-smoker; but this morning Bill Wilkinson, the conductor (and -brakeman), a person by nature taciturn, appeared upon the platform of -the rear coach bearing a lady's English traveling bag, and winked, -actually winked, at Ike Matthews, the station master, who was waiting -for his envelope from headquarters. At least eight people saw that wink -and fully eighteen the handbag, and, when a pretty lady in a dove-gray -traveling suit appeared in the car doorway to be helped down -ceremoniously to the station platform, thirty-six eyes were agog and -thirty-six ears were open to learn the meaning of the unusual -occurrence; for it was plainly to be seen that the visitor bore every -mark of consequence and came from the East--surely from Denver--possibly -from Chicago. - -They saw her smile her thanks to Wilkinson, but when she looked rather -helplessly about her and asked for a "coupe" or "station wagon" a -snigger, immediately suppressed, arose from the younger persons in the -audience. The firm hand of Ike Matthews now took control of the -situation. - -"Do you want the hotel, ma'am?" he said. - -"Yes, I think so," said the lady. "But first I want to find Mr. Jeff -Wray. Can you tell me where I can see him?" - -Her eyes searched the cottonwood trees along the creek opposite the -station, as though she hoped to find him there, searching in the wrong -direction for the town which had been described to her. - -"Yes, ma'am, if you'll come with me." Ike took up the bag and led the -way around the corner of the building into Main Street, while the -engineer and fireman hung out of their cab and with the crowd on the -platform followed the slim figure with their eyes until it vanished into -the crowd at the post-office. - -A clerk in the outer room of the Development Company's office building -received the queer pair. - -"Mr. Wray is in, ma'am, but he's very busy." He looked at her timidly. -"I don't know whether he'll see you or not. Who shall I say?" - -The lady handed him a card, and, as he disappeared, she fingered in her -pocketbook for change--then, after a glance at the station master, -smiled at him instead. - -"I'm much obliged to you," she said gratefully. "I think I'll stay here -now. I'll find my way to the hotel." - -Matthews put the bag on a desk, awkwardly removed his hat and departed, -while the lady sat and waited. - -In the inner office, his head in his hands, his elbows on his desk, his -brows bent over some papers, sat Jeff, trying to bring cosmos out of the -chaos of his affairs. His clerk entered, the card in his hand, -wondering whether he had made a mistake. Hell had been let loose in the -Development Company for a week, and Mr. Wray, he knew, was in no humor -for interruptions. Jeff looked up with a frown. - -"Well--what is it?" - -"A lady--to see you." - -Jeff's head sank into his papers again. - -"Tell her I'm busy!" Then he looked up irritably. "What lady? Who is -she? I can't see anybody to-day." - -"I don't know. She doesn't belong around here." And he dropped the -card on the desk. - -Jeff picked it up and looked at it with a scowl, then started in -amazement. What did it mean? He rose slowly, his brows perplexed, and -put on his coat. - -"Tell her to come in," he said. He was still standing in the middle of -the room looking at her card when Mrs. Cheyne entered. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIX* - - *THE LADY IN GRAY* - - -She was frankly amused at his bewilderment. - -"Well," she said with a smile, "you don't seem very pleased to see me." - -"I--it's rather sudden. I wasn't exactly certain it was you." He took -her hand mechanically. "What on earth are you doing out here?" - -"I've come to see you--traveled two thousand miles to tell you I'm -sorry." - -Jeff brought forth a chair. - -"Sorry? What for? Oh, yes, we quarreled, didn't we? I remember. It -was my fault. But I don't understand yet. Are you on your way to the -coast?" - -"What coast? Oh, no," coolly; "I rather thought I'd reached my -destination, but perhaps I'm mistaken." - -Jeff was still regarding her curiously, as if he couldn't be quite sure -he was not dreaming. He pulled out his swivel chair and sat in it, -facing her. - -"Now tell me what this means," he insisted rather sternly. - -"I've told you. I want to convey the impression of begging your pardon. -Don't I do it? I've tried so hard. Ugh! Such unspeakable -sleeping-cars last night! Such a silly little train this morning from -the place with the unpronounceable name. I had no idea that friendship -could be such a martyrdom!" She sighed. "I think I really deserve -something after this." - -He found that he was smiling in spite of himself. "You do, I'm sure," he -said after a pause. "But I don't bear you any grudge. I expected too -much of you, I guess. I've forgotten that long ago. I'm glad to see -you." - -"Really?" she drawled. "You convey just the opposite idea. You ought -to be glad, you know. I've never been so tired in my life. That train! -Oh, Jeff, whatever possessed you to live in such an outlandish place?" - -"This is where I belong. If Mesa City is outlandish, then I'm -outlandish, too." - -"Love me, love my dog," she laughed. "I'd have to love you a lot. -Perhaps it will improve on acquaintance." She crossed her feet and -settled more comfortably in her chair, while Jeff watched her shrewdly. - -"You can't mean you want to stay here?" he asked. - -"I don't know. That depends on you. I've told you the sentimental side -of my journey. Actually I'm a practical young female, with a prudent eye -for an investment." And when her companion smiled, "Are you laughing -because you think I'm not practical--or because you think I'm not -prudent?" - -"I'd hardly call you either. In fact, I don't know what to think. You -don't seem to belong, somehow." - -"Why not? Once you said I spoke out like Mesa City." - -"But you don't look like Mesa City." - -"Horrors!" preening her hair, "I hope not." - -Jeff leaned back in his chair with folded arms and examined her--his -eyes narrowing critically. She had given two explanations of her -presence, neither of which in itself seemed sufficient. The real -explanation, he was forced to admit, lay in the presence itself. She -bore his scrutiny calmly, examining him with frank interest. - -"What is it you don't understand?" she asked him, answering the question -in his eyes with another. "Me? Oh, you'll have to give it up. There -isn't any answer. I'm something between a sibyl and a sphinx. You -thought you'd guessed me in New York, but you hadn't, you see. I'm -neither what you thought I was, nor what you thought I ought to be. I'm -the spirit of Self-Will. I do as I choose. I thought I'd like to see -you, and so I came--_Voila_." - -"I don't know what you can expect here. The accommodations at the -hotel----" - -"Oh, I can stand anything now--after your trains----" - -"You'll be bored to death." - -"I'm always bored to death. But, then, this place may have the charm of -boring me in an entirely new way. After all," she sighed, "I might as -well be bored here as at home." - -Wray got up without speaking and walked to the window which overlooked -the plains. He stood here a moment, his hands behind his back, the look -of perplexity deepening on his face. Somehow Rita Cheyne didn't seem -accessory to the rather grim background of his thoughts. For days he -had been acting the leading part in what now promised to be a tragedy. -Rita belonged to satirical comedy or, at the best, to the polite -melodrama. Something of this she suddenly read in his attitude, -wondering why she had not discerned it before. She got up and went over -to him. - -"What is it, Jeff? You're changed somehow out here. You seem older, -bigger, browner, more thoughtful." - -"This is where I work, Rita," he said with a slow smile. "In New York -we Westerners only play. I am older--yes, more thoughtful, too. I've -had a good deal to worry me----" - -"Yes, I know. I think Cortland Bent has been behaving very badly." - -Jeff made a quick gesture of protest. - -"I didn't mean that," he said abruptly. "My worries are business -worries." - -"Oh! I intruded." - -"Yes, you did. But I'm glad of it now. I'm going to Hell about as fast -as a man can, but I might as well do it comfortably." - -"What do you mean?" she asked in alarm. - -"Your relatives, the Bents. They've got me in a corner." - -"Yes, I heard. What will be the end of it?" - -Jeff ran a finger around his throat with a significant gesture. - -"Won't you tell me about it?" - -"It wouldn't interest you. It's a long story. They have more money than -I have. That's the amount of it." - -"I thought you were so wealthy." - -"I am. But I can't go up against the whole of Wall Street. They've -cost me a lot. If I won this fight I'd be the richest man west of the -Missouri River. It isn't over yet." He paced the room violently, -beginning to rant, as he still did when to talked of himself. "No, by -G--d! not yet. They've got to come to me in the end. They can't get my -mine." He went over to his desk and took out a piece of ore. "See -that, Rita; that came out of 'Lone Tree' only yesterday. They may get a -control of the Denver and Saguache and even of the Development Company, -but they can't get the 'Lone Tree.' I reckon I won't starve." - -"But how can they get the Development Company?" - -"The banks have called my loans--oh, you can't understand. If I don't -meet them, the stock will be sold. Bent's crowd will buy it." - -"Of course I don't know much about these things, but I was -wondering--how much stock is there?" - -"Two million and a half. I've borrowed eight hundred thousand dollars." - -She looked down, turning the ferrule of her umbrella on the toe of her -boot. - -"Suppose some one else bought it?" - -"I hadn't thought of that. Who?" - -"Me." - -Jeff started forward in his chair, his eyes blazing--then he took a step -or two away from her. - -"You?" - -She nodded pertly. He turned and looked at her over his shoulder. -Then, with a warm impulse, he seized both of her hands in his and held -them tightly in his own. - -"That's white of you, Rita. You're the real thing. I'll swear you -are--the Real Thing--you've got sand, too, a lot of it, and I like you -for it. It's worth while getting in a hole to find out who your friends -are. I won't forget this soon." - -She disengaged her hands. - -"Thanks," she said calmly. "Do you agree?" - -"Agree? To what?" - -"To let me buy that stock?" - -He straightened and turned to his desk, uncertainly fingering some -papers there. He was silent so long that she repeated the question. - -"No," he said at last. - -"Why do you say that?" - -"I don't want you to." - -"I don't understand. In New York you were willing to have me in with -you. Why do you object now? Any security your banks will take ought to -be good enough for me. Any security my cousin Cornelius Bent wants to -buy ought to be worth having." - -"It is--to him." - -"Then why not to me?--it's all in the family." - -He looked at her blankly a moment and then laughed and shook his head. - -"No--there's too much risk." - -"I expected to risk something." - -He sat down in his chair before her and put his hands over hers. - -"See here, Rita. You'll have to let me think this thing out and take my -own time. I never put my friends into anything I don't believe in -myself. If you're looking for an investment here I'll find you -something. I know a dozen good things." - -"You can't prevent my getting that stock if I want it," she broke in. - -"The Amalgamated can." - -"I'll go to the General and tell him I insist on having it. He's a -little afraid of me." - -He laughed. "He ought to be. I am, too." Jeff rose and took up his -hat and Rita Cheyne's traveling bag. "There's one thing sure: I'm not -going to talk about this any more--not now. You're tired. I've got to -get you fixed up somehow. You know I started building a place up in the -canon, but it's not finished yet. Mrs. Brennan is away. There's -nothing for it but a hotel, I guess." - -"Oh, I don't care. I'm not going to be discouraged. I warn you I always -have my own way--in the end--in all things." - -He chose to disregard the significance of the remark and showed her out. -On their way up the street the spirit moved him to apologize again. - -"There's a bathroom at the Kinney House. I'd better take you there. -It's pretty well kept. Camilla stayed there once. I wish she was here." - -"You do?" quizzically. - -"Why--yes." - -"Then why don't you have her here?" she asked suddenly. - -A shade passed over Jeff's face. "We went East for the winter," he said -slowly. "I had to come back here. My wife likes it in New York. It--it -wasn't advisable for her to come." - -"Thanks, I knew that before," she said slowly. Further conversation was -interrupted by their arrival at the Kinney House, a frame structure at -the upper end of Main Street, where it stood in lonely dignity, quite -dwarfing its nearest neighbors, which clambered part of the way up the -slope and then paused--as though in sudden diffidence before the majesty -of its three-storied preeminence. It wore at this time a coat of yellow -paint of a somewhat bilious hue, but its cornices, moldings, and the -rather coquettish ornaments about the "Ladies Entrance" were painted -white. The letters C-A-F-E (without the accent), painted ostentatiously -upon a window, gave a touch of modernity, and the words "Ladies' Parlor" -advised the wearied traveler that here was to be found a haven for the -females of refined and retiring dispositions. The sound of a piano was -heard from that chaste apartment as Mrs. Cheyne registered her long -angular signature beneath that of "Pat O'Connell, Santa Fe"; and the -strains of "The Maiden's Prayer" came forth, followed presently by the -"Carnival of Venice." Mrs. Cheyne smiled her tolerance. - -"Do you want a room by the day, week or month, ma'am?" asked the clerk. - -"I'm a little uncertain," she said; "I may be here only for a day or two -or I may be here"--and she glanced at Jeff--"for a month--or even -longer." - -"Mrs. Cheyne is looking into some mining properties," said Jeff with an -amused air. But when his companion followed the clerk up the stairway, -jangling a key with a huge brass tag, Jeff departed thoughtfully. So -far as he could see, Mrs. Cheyne had come to Mesa City with the express -intention of playing the devil. The magnificence of her financial -offer, while it dazzled, had not blinded him. But he was truly -bewildered by her audacity, disarmed by the recklessness of her -amiability. She always got what she wanted in the end, she said. What -was it she wanted? Himself? He couldn't help thinking so, but it made -him feel like a fool. In the East she had led him or as she led other -men on, for the mere joy of the game, and he had followed her -cautiously, aware of his own insufficiency but delighting in the -opportunities her society afforded him to even his accounts with -Camilla. Both had called their relation friendship for want of a better -word, but Jeff knew that friendship had another flavor. The night when -he had last visited her he had played his cards and had called that -bluff. But to-day he realized that she had seen his raise and had now -removed the limit from the game. From now on it was to be for table -stakes, with Rita Cheyne dealing the cards. - -And what did her amazing financial proposition mean? Could it be -genuine? He knew that she was very wealthy--wealthy in the New York -way--but it was not in his experience that sentiment and finance had -anything in common. If her offers were genuine, her confidence in his -financial integrity and in him was extraordinary. If they were not, her -confidence in herself was likewise extraordinary. - -Jeff smiled to himself a little uneasily. What would Mesa City be -saying about the unexplained arrival of a captivating female from New -York who sought him out at his office and whose claims upon his society -(unless he fled) could not be denied. There was no chance for him to -flee, even if he wished, the condition of his business requiring his -presence here for at least a few days, and the trunk check in his hand -reminded him that he had promised Rita Cheyne her trunk immediately, so -that she might ride with him that very afternoon. What was to be done? -Her ingenuity had always surprised him, and her resources were of -infinite variety. To tell the truth, he was afraid of her, and was -willing for the first time to acknowledge it frankly to himself. She -interested him--had always interested him--but it seemed to be more the -interest of curiosity than that of any real affiliation. To be with -Rita Cheyne was like going to a three-ring circus, where one is apt to -lose sight of the refined performance on the stage just in front in -bewilderment over the acrobatic feats of the lady in spangles at one -side. What was her real reason for coming West to Mesa City? He gave -it up and turned in at the office, gave the trunk check to a clerk, and -in a moment had taken up his business at the point where Mrs. Cheyne had -interrupted him. - -Eight hundred thousand dollars! If the Amalgamated took up that stock, -General Bent's crowd would have control of the Development Company and -the Denver and Saguache Railroad Company. If Rita Cheyne's offers were -genuine--if he chose to use her money to redeem that stock--he could -place himself on some kind of financial footing, could entrench himself -for a long battle over the railroad connections, which he might -eventually win. There was a chance. He did not dare to call in -Mulrennan to talk the matter over. Pete had been catching at straws for -a week, and Jeff knew what his advice would be. His superstitious mind -would look on Mrs. Cheyne's visit as a direct interposition of -Providence, as a message and an injunction. Jeff began to think himself -mad not to have accepted her proposition at once. It dangled before him -temptingly--but he let it hang there like ripe fruit upon the vine, -hesitating to reach forth and seize. He could not believe it was real. -It was "too aisy," as Pete would have said. Was he losing his nerve? -Was it that the last victories of his enemies had sapped some of his old -assurance, or had he suddenly developed a conscience? He put his head -in his hands and tried to think. If he won his fight he could double -Rita Cheyne's money in a year. If he lost--and he had to think of that -more and more each day--the stock might not be worth the paper it was -written on. Rita knew all this, but she still believed in him--more -even than he believed in himself. Women were funny. He couldn't -understand, unless she had some motive which had not been revealed to -him. There would be a string of some sort to that extraordinary -proposition. - -He got up at last and sent a message to the Home Ranch, ordering two -horses to be sent to his office at three o'clock. - - - - - *CHAPTER XX* - - _*La Femme Propose*_ - - -The wagon-road to the "Lone Tree" skirted the mountains for a way and -then wound through a nick in the foothills into a level vale of natural -parks, meadows, and luxuriant grass, bordered by pines and cottonwoods, -beneath which tiny streams meandered leisurely down to the plains below. - -Mrs. Cheyne emerged from the scrub-oak delightedly. - -"It's like a Central Park for Brobdingnags," she cried. "I feel as -though Apache ought to have seven-league horseshoes. As a piece of -landscape gardening it's remarkably well done, for Nature is so apt to -make mistakes--only Art is unerring." She breathed deep and sighed. -"Here it seems Nature and Art are one. But it's all on such a big -scale. It makes me feel so tiny--I'm not sure that I like it, Jeff -Wray. I don't fancy being an insect. And the mountain tops! Will they -never come any nearer? We've been riding toward them for an hour, but -they seem as far away as ever. I know now why it was that I liked -you--because your eyes only mirrored big things--nobody can have a -mountain for a friend without joining the immortal Fellowship. It makes -it so easy to scorn lesser things--like bridge and teas. Imagine a -mountain at an afternoon tea!" - -Jeff rode beside her, answering in monosyllables. The road now climbed a -wood of tall oaks, rock-pines, and spruces, through which the sunlight -filtered uncertainly, dappling fern and moss with vagrant amber. -Somewhere near them a stream gushed among the rocks and a breeze crooned -in the boughs. Rita Cheyne stopped talking and listened for she knew -not what. There was mystery here--the voice of the primeval, calling to -her down the ages. She glanced at Jeff, who sat loosely on his horse, -his gaze on the trail. She had believed he shared her own emotions, but -she knew by the look in his eyes that his thoughts were elsewhere. She -spoke so suddenly that he looked up, startled. - -"Why don't you say something? This place makes me think about Time and -Death--the two things I most abhor. Come, let's get out of here." - -Apache sprang forward up the trail at the bidding of his mistress, whose -small heels pressed his flanks, again and again, as she urged him on and -out into the afternoon sunlight beyond, while Jeff thundered after. He -caught her at the top of a sand-ridge half a mile away, where they -pulled their horses down to a walk. - -"What was the matter?" said Jeff. "You rode as if the Devil was after -you." - -"Oh, no--I'm not afraid of the Devil. It's the mystery of the Infinite. -That wood--why don't the dead oak-branches fall? They look like -gibbets. Ugh!" She shuddered and laughed. "Didn't you feel it?" - -"Feel what?" - -"Spooky." - -"No. I camped there once when I was prospecting. That stream you jumped -was Dead Man's Creek." - -"He must be there yet, the dead man. It was like a tomb. Who was he?" - -"A soldier. He deserted from Fort Garland and was killed by some -Mexicans. They buried him under a pile of stones." - -"What a disagreeable place. It's like a cemetery for dead hopes. I -won't go back; you'll have to take me around some other way." - -"What are you afraid of?" - -"I'm afraid of melancholy--I hate unhappiness. I was born to be -amused--I _won't_ be unhappy," she said almost fiercely. "Why should I -be? I have everything in the world that most people want. If I see -anything I want and haven't got, I go and get it." - -"You're lucky." - -She shrugged. "So people say. I do as I please. I always have and -always will. You were surprised to see me here. I told you why I came. -I wanted to see you. You were the only person in New York who did not -bore me to extinction. If it gives me pleasure to be here, this is the -place where I ought to be. That's logical, isn't it?" - -"It sounds all right. But you won't stay here long," he said. - -"Why not?" - -"You couldn't stand it. There's nothing to do but ride." - -"I'd rather ride than do anything else." - -Jeff looked straight forward over his horse's ears, his eyes narrowing, -his lips widening in a smile. - -"Well--if you don't see what you want--ask for it," he said slowly. - -"I will. Just now, however, I don't want anything except an interest in -your business. You're going to let me have it, aren't you, Jeff? You'd -take some stranger in. Why not me? I'm the most innocuous stockholder -that ever lived. I always do whatever anybody tells me to do." - -"You don't realize the situation. I've told you I'm in a dangerous -position. With that stock in my possession again, all my holdings would -be intact and I might stand a long siege--or perhaps be able to make a -favorable compromise--but there's no certainty of it. I don't know what -they've got up their sleeves. As it is, I stand to lose the greater -part of my own money, but I'm not going to lose yours." - -"I don't believe you're going to lose. I'm not quite a fool. Those -papers you showed me don't prove anything. The Development Company has -two hundred thousand acres of land worth twenty dollars an acre and the -coal fields besides. That's good enough security for me." - -"It would be good enough security for any one if we had our connection. -I could make you a lot of money." He broke off impatiently. "See here, -Rita, don't press me in this matter, I'd rather wait a while. I've got -a few days before those notes are due. Something may turn up----" - -"Which will let me out--thanks, I'm not going to be left out. I know -what you've done in these mountains and in this country, and I believe -in you as much as I ever did. I'd like you to let me help you, and I'm -not afraid of losing--but if I do lose, it won't kill me. Perhaps I'm -richer than you think I am. I'm willing to wait. You'll be rich again -some day, and I'll take my chances. They can't keep you down, Jeff--not -for long." - -Jeff thrust forth a hand and put it over hers. - -"You're solid gold, Rita, and you're the best friend I ever had. I -can't say more than that." - -She smiled happily. "I've been hoping you'd say that. It's worth -coming out here for. I want to prove it, though--and I hope you'll let -me." - -The road now turned upward toward the railroad grade. As they reached -the crest of the hill Jeff pointed to the left at the mills and the -smelter buildings hanging tier on tier down the side of the mountain. -Below in a depression of the hills a lake had formed, surrounded by -banks of reddish earth. The whole scene was surpassing ugly, and the -only dignity it possessed was lent by the masses of tall black stacks, -above which hung a pall of smoke and yellow gases. Rita Cheyne gasped. -"So that's the bone of contention? I thought it would be something like -the New York Public Library or the Capitol at Washington! Why, Jeff, -it's nothing but a lot of rusty iron sheds!" - -"Yes," he drawled, "we don't go in much for architecture out here. It's -what's inside those sheds that counts. We've got every known appliance -for treating ore that was ever patented, with a wrinkle or two the -Amalgamated hasn't." - -They rode around the lake while Wray explained everything to her, and -then up the hill toward the trestles and ore-dumps of the "Lone Tree" -mine. Wray's struggles for a right-of-way to the markets of the country -showed no reflection here. From two small holes in the mountain side -cars emerged at intervals upon their small tracks and dumped their loads -at the mill, from which there came a turmoil of titanic forces. Jeff -offered to show his companion the workings, but she refused. - -"No, I think not," she said. "It's too noisy here. I haven't finished -talking to you, and I want to ride." - -And so they turned their horses' heads into another trail, which -descended among the rocks and scrub-oak, after a while emerging at the -edge of a great sand-dune which the wind had tossed up from the valley -below--a hill of sand a thousand feet high, three miles wide and six -miles long, a mountain range in miniature, in which trees, rocks, and -part of a mountain were obliterated. Even the Great Desert had not -presented to Rita Cheyne such a scene of desolation. Their horses -stopped, sniffed the breeze, and snorted. Jeff pointed into the air, -where some vultures wheeled. - -Mrs. Cheyne shuddered. "It looks like Paradise Lost. We're not going -there?" - -"No--I only wanted you to see it. There's a thousand million dollars of -gold in that sandpile." - -"Let it stay there. I think it's a frightfully unpleasant place. Why -do you show me all these things when all I want to do is to talk?" She -turned her horse's head, and they followed a slight trail between groves -of aspen trees, a shimmering loveliness of transparent color. "You're -not giving me much encouragement, Jeff. You didn't believe in my -friendship in New York, but you're trying your best to keep me from -proving it here." - -"I do believe it now. Didn't I tell you so?" - -"Yes, but you don't show it. What do you think my enemies in New York -are saying of my disappearance? What will they say when they know I've -come out here to you? Not that I care at all. Only I think that _you_ -ought to consider it." - -"I do," he said briefly. "Why do you make such a sacrifice?" - -"I never make sacrifices," she said, eluding him skillfully, "even for -my friends. Don't make that mistake. I've told you I came because I'd -rather be here than in New York. If I heard that your financial enemies -were trying to ruin you, that only made me the more anxious to come. -Besides, I had an idea that you might be lonely. Was I right?" - -"Yes--I am." - -"Was, you mean." - -"Yes--was," he corrected. "I've been pretty busy, of course, night as -well as day, but after New York this place is pretty quiet." - -"Did you miss me?" - -"Yes," frankly, "I did--you and I seem to get on pretty well. I think -we always will." - -"So do I. I've always wondered if I'd ever meet a man who hadn't been -spoiled. And I was just about ready to decide that he didn't exist when -you came along. The discovery restored my faith in human nature. It -was all the more remarkable, too, because you were married. Most -married men are either smug and conceited, or else dejected and -apprehensive. In either case they're quite useless for my purpose." - -"What is your purpose?" he asked. - -"Psychological experiment," she returned glibly. "Some naturalists study -beetles, others butterflies and moths. I like to study men." - -"Have you got me classified?" - -"Yes--you're my only reward for years of patient scientific endeavor. -The mere fact that you're married makes no difference, except that as a -specimen you're unique. Do you wonder that I don't want to lose you?" - -"I'm not running away very fast." - -"No. But the fact remains that you're not my property," she answered, -frowning. "I can't see--I've never been able to see--why you ever -married, any more than I can see why I did. I'm quite sure that you -would have made me an admirable husband, just as I'm sure that I would -have made you an admirable wife. You don't mind my speaking plainly, do -you? I'm thinking out loud. I don't do it as a rule. It's a kind of -luxury that one doesn't dare to indulge in often. I have so many weak -points in which you are strong, and I have a few strong ones in which -you are weak, we could help each other. You could make something of me, -I'm sure. I'm not as useless as I seem to be; sometimes I think I have -in me the material to accomplish great things--if I only knew where to -begin, or if I had some one who is in the habit of accomplishing them to -show me how. That is why I wanted to help you. It struck me as a step -in the right direction." - -"It was," he ventured, "only it was too big a step." - -"One can't do big things by halves," she insisted. "Money is the only -thing I have that you lack. It is the only thing that I can -give--that's why I want to give it--so that you can use it as a measure -of my sincerity. I'd like to make you happy, too----" She paused, and -her voice sank a note. "Why should you be unhappy? You don't deserve -it. I know you don't. I haven't any patience with women who don't know -a good thing when they have it." - -"Perhaps I'm not as good a thing as I seem. You yourself are not beyond -making mistakes, Rita." - -"Oh, Cheyne? I didn't make that mistake, Cheyne did. He thought -marriage was a sentimental holiday, when everybody nowadays knows that -it's only a business contract. Don't let's talk of Cheyne. I can still -hear the melancholy wail of his 'cello. I want to forget all of that. -You have helped me to do it. I've been looking at you from every angle, -Jeff Wray, and I find that I approve of you. Your wife has other views. -She married you out of pique. You married her because she was the only -woman in sight. You put a halo around her head, dressed her up in -tinsel, set her on a gilt pedestal, and made believe that she was a -goddess. It was a pretty game, but it was only a game after all. -Imagine making a saint of a woman of this generation! People did--back -in the Dark Ages--but the ages must have been very dark, or they'd never -have made such a mistake. I've often thought that saints must be very -uncomfortable, because they were human once. Your wife was human. She -still is. She didn't want to be worshipped. She hadn't forgotten my -cousin Cortland, you see----" - -"What's the use of all this, Rita?" said Wray hoarsely. "I don't mind -your knowing. Everybody else seems to. But why talk about it? Let -sleeping dogs lie." - -She waved her hand in protest. "One of the dearest privileges of -friendship is to say as many disagreeable things as one likes. I'm -trying to show you how impossible you are to a woman of her type, and -how impossible your wife is to you." - -"I'd rather you wouldn't." - -"She marries you to prove to my cousin Cortland that he isn't the only -man in the world, and then spends an entire winter in New York proving -to everybody that he is. There hasn't been a day since you left that -they haven't been together, riding, motoring, going to the theatre and -opera. It has reached the point when people can't think of asking one of -them to dinner without including the other. If you don't know all this, -it's time you did. And I take it as a melancholy privilege to be the -one to tell you of it. It's too bad. No clever woman can allow herself -to be the subject of gossip, and when she does she has a motive for what -she's doing or else she doesn't care. Perhaps you know what Mrs. Wray's -motive is. If you have an understanding with her you haven't done me -the honor of telling it." - -"No," he muttered, "I'm not in the habit of talking of my affairs. You -know we don't get along. No amount of talking will help matters." - -"What are you going to do?" - -Wray's eyes were sullen. Rita Cheyne chose to believe that he was -thinking of his wife. But as he didn't reply at once she repeated the -question. It almost seemed as though her insistence annoyed him, but his -tone was moderate. - -"What is it to you, Rita?" - -She took a quick glance at him before she replied. - -"It means a good deal to me," she went on more slowly. "To begin with, -I haven't any fancy for seeing my best friend made a fool of by the -enemies of his own household. It seems to me that your affairs and hers -have reached a point where something must be done. Perhaps you've -already decided." - -"I've left her--she's in love with Cort Bent. I have proof of it. We -made a mistake, that's all." - -"Of course you did," she said. "I'm glad that you acknowledge it. Are -you going back to New York?" - -"I haven't decided. That depends on many things. She thinks I'm in -love with you." - -They had come to a piece of rough ground sown with boulders and fallen -trees, through which their horses picked their way carefully. Rita -Cheyne watched the broad back of her companion with a new expression in -her eyes. He had never seemed so difficult to read as at this moment, -but she thought that she understood and she found something admirable in -his reticence and in his loyalty to his wife. In a moment the trail -widened again as they reached the levels, and her horse found its way -alongside his. - -"She thinks you're in love with me? What does she know about love? -What do I know about it? or you? Love is a condition of mind, -contagious in extreme youth, but only mildly infectious later in life. -Why should any one risk his whole future on a condition of mind? You -feel sick but you don't marry your doctor or your trained nurse because -he helps to cure you. Why don't you? Simply because you get well and -then discover that your doctor has a weak chin or disagreeable finger -ends. When you get well of love, if you marry to cure it, there's -nothing left but Reno. I don't believe in love. I simply deny its -existence--just as I refuse to believe in ghosts or a personal Devil. I -resent the idea that your wife should believe you're in love with me. -You find pleasure in my society because I don't rub you the wrong way, -and I like you because I find less trouble in getting on with you than -with anybody else." - -"You're a cold-blooded proposition, Rita," said Wray smiling. - -"Yes--if it's cold-blooded to think--and to say what one thinks. But -I'm not so cold-blooded that I could marry one man when I liked -another--a man with whom I had no bond of sympathy. Cheyne was the -nearest approach I could find to the expression of a youthful -ideal--people told me I was in love with him--so I married him. Of -course, if I had had any sense--but what's the use? I've learned -something since then. To-day I would marry--not for love, but for -something finer--not because of a condition of mind or a condition of -body, but because of a stronger, more enduring relation, like that -between the lime and sand that build a house. I'd marry a man because I -wanted to give him my friendship and because I couldn't get on without -his friendship, and if the house we built would not endure, then no -marriage will endure." - -"You mean, Rita," Wray interrupted with sober directness, "that you'd -marry me if you could?" - -She flushed mildly. "I didn't say so. I said I would marry for -friendship because it's the biggest thing in the world. I don't mind -saying I'd marry you. It's quite safe, because, obviously, I can't." - -Jeff looked at her uncertainly and then laughed noisily. - -"Rita, you're a queer one! I never know when the seriousness stops and -the fun begins." - -She smiled and frowned at the same time. - -"The fun hasn't begun. I mean what I say. Why shouldn't a woman say -what she thinks? A man does. I shock you?" - -"No--it's part of you somehow. Speak out. I'll tell you whether I -believe you or not when you're through." - -"I suppose I'm what people call a modern woman. If I am, I'm glad of it. -Most women fight hard for their independence. I've simply taken mine. -I say and do and shall always say and do precisely what comes into my -mind. I've no doubt that I'll make enemies. I've already succeeded in -doing that. I'll also probably shock my friends--but I've thrown away -my fetters and refuse to put them on again because some silly prig -believes in living up to feminine traditions. I haven't any sympathy -with tradition. Tradition has done more to hinder the enlightened -development of the individual than any single force in history. -Tradition means old fogyism, cant and hypocrisy. I never could see why, -because our fathers and mothers were stupid, we have to be stupid, too. -Imagine an age in which it was not proper to cross one's legs if one -wanted to--an age of stiff-backed chairs, to sit in which was to be -tortured--when every silly person denied himself a hundred harmless, -innocent amusements simply because tradition demanded it! We live in an -age of reason. If a woman loves a man, why shouldn't she tell him so?" - - - - - *CHAPTER XXI* - - _*L'homme Dispose*_ - - -Jeff Wray had listened in curiosity, then in amazement, his eyes turned -toward the Saguache Peak, whose snow-cap caught a reflection of the -setting sun. He had accustomed himself to unusual audacities on the -part of his companion, but the frankness of her speech had outdone -anything he could remember. When he turned his look in her direction it -was with a shrewd glance of appraisement like the one she felt in the -morning when she had first appeared in his office. As they reached an -opening in the trees Jeff halted his horse and dismounted. - -"It's early yet. Let's sit for a while. Throw your bridle over his -head. He'll stand." - -Mrs. Cheyne got down, and they sat on a rock facing the slope, which -dropped away gently to the valley. Jeff took out his tobacco and papers -and deftly rolled a cigarette, while Rita Cheyne watched him. He -offered to make her one, but she refused. - -"You've got me guessing now, Rita," he said with a laugh. "More than -once in New York I wondered what sort of a woman you really were. I -thought I'd learned a thing or two before I came away, but I'll admit -you've upset all my calculations. I've always known you were clever when -it came to the real business of disguising your thoughts. I know you -never mean what you say, but I can't understand anybody traveling two -thousand miles to create a false impression. You know as well as I do -that all this talk of yours about friendship is mere clever nonsense. I -know what friendship means, and I guess I know what love means, too, but -there isn't any way that you can mix them up so that I won't know one -from the other." - -"I'm not trying to mix them up." - -"You're trying to mix _me_ up then." He took her hand in his and made -her look at him. "You've been playing with me for some time. I was a -different kind of a breed from anything you'd been used to in New York, -and you liked to wind me up so that you could see the wheels go 'round. -You've had a lot of fun out of me in one way or another, and you still -find me amusing." - -She stopped indignantly. - -"Don't you believe in me?" - -"No. The things you say are too clever to be genuine for one thing. -You're too cold-blooded for another." - -"One can't think unless one is cold-blooded." - -"When a woman's in love she doesn't want to think." - -"I'm not in love--I simply say I'll marry you, that's all." - -"You're talking nonsense." - -"I never was saner in my life. I want you to believe in my kind of -friendship." - -"Eight hundred thousand dollars' worth of friendship is not to be -sneezed at." - -"Stop, Jeff, you're brutal. I won't listen." - -"You've got to. I've listened to you. Now you must listen to me, and -I'm going to make you play the game with your cards above the table. So -far as I can understand, you hold the New York record for broken hearts -to date, and I was warned that you had strewn your wrecks along the -whole front of Central Park East. But I suppose I was too much -flattered when you showed me attention to take to my heels. I liked you -and I wanted you to like me. Perhaps we both liked each other for the -same reason--with the same motive--curiosity. You put me in odd -situations just to see what I'd do. I liked to be with you. You purred -like a kitten in the sun, and I liked to hear you, so I was willing to -perform for that privilege. You claimed me for a friend, but you tried -your best to make me lose my head. That's true, you can't deny it. I -didn't lose it, because--well, because I had made up my mind that I -wouldn't. I don't know whether you were disappointed or not, but I know -you were surprised, because you weren't in the habit of missing a trick -when you played that game." - -She withdrew her hand abruptly and turned her head away. "That isn't -true," she murmured. "You must not speak to me so." - -"I've got to. Every word of what I say is true--and you know it." - -"It's not true now." - -"Yes, it's true now. I know how much you really care about me. You've -got so much in life that you're never really interested in anything -except the things you can't get. You like me because you know I'm out -of your reach and you can't have me even if I wanted you to. You're a -great artist, but I don't think you really ever fooled me much. You like -to run with a fast and Frenchy set just because it gives your cleverness -a chance it couldn't have with the Dodos, but you don't mind being -talked about, because your conscience is clear; you like the excitement -of running into danger just to prove your cleverness in getting out of -it. See here, Rita, this time you're going too far. I suppose I ought to -feel very proud of the faith you put in me and your willingness to trust -yourself so completely in my hands. I guess I do. But things are -different with me somehow. I told you I was going to Hell pretty fast, -and I'm not in a mood to be trifled with." - -"I'm not trifling." She had caught a sinister note in his voice and -looked up at him in alarm. - -"There's a way to prove that." - -"How?" - -"This!" - -He put his arms around her, turned her face to his, and held it there -while he looked a moment into her eyes. But she struggled and held away -from him, suddenly discovering something unfamiliar in the roughness of -his touch and the expression in his eyes. - -"Let me go!" she cried, struggling desperately to be free. - -"You'll kiss me." - -"No--never, not after that." - -"After what?" - -"The way you speak to me. You're rough----" - -"I'll not let you go until you tell me why you came here. If you love -me, you'll look in my eyes and tell me so." - -"I don't love you," she panted, still struggling. "I never shall. Let -me go, I say!" - -He laughed at her. Her struggles were so futile. Art could not avail -her here. She realized it at last and lay quietly in his arms, her eyes -closed, her figure relaxed, while he kissed her as he pleased. - -"Will you tell me you love me?" - -"No. I loathe you." - -Then she began struggling again; he released her, and she flung away and -stood facing him, her hat off, hair in disorder, cheeks flaming, her -body trembling with rage and dismay. - -"Oh, that you could have touched me so!" - -"Why, Rita----" he began. - -"Don't speak to me----" She moved toward the horses. "I'm going," she -asserted. - -"Where?" - -"To Mesa City." - -"How can you? You don't know the way." - -"I'll find the way. Oh----" She stamped her foot in rage and then, -without other warning, sank on a rock near by and burst into tears. - -Jeff Wray rose uncertainly and stared at her, wide-eyed, like other more -practiced men in similar situations, unaccountably at a loss. He had -acted on impulse with a sense of fitting capably into a situation. He -watched her in amazement, for her tears were genuine. No woman was -clever enough to be able to cry like that. There was no feminine -artistry here. She was only a child who had made the discovery that her -doll is stuffed with sawdust. He realized that perhaps for the first -time he saw her divested of her artifice, the polite mummery of the -world, the real Rita Cheyne, who all her life had wanted to want -something and, now that she had found what it was, could not have it -just as she wanted it. It was real woe, there was no doubt of that, the -pathetic woe of childhood. He went over to her and laid his hand gently -on her shoulder. But she would not raise her head, and it almost seemed -as though she had forgotten him. He stood beside her for some moments, -looking down at her with a changing expression. The hard lines she had -discovered in his face were softened, the frown relaxed, and at his lips -there came the flicker of a smile. - -"I--I'm sorry," he said at last. "I--I made a mistake, Rita. I made a -mistake." - -The sobs began anew. - -"How--how could you--treat me so?" - -There was no reply to that, so he stood silently and waited for the -storm to pass. Meanwhile he had the good taste not to touch her again. -But as the sobs diminished he repeated: - -"I made a mistake, Rita. You made me think----" - -"Oh!" only. Her face appeared for a moment above her arms and then -instantly disappeared. "You're odious!" - -"Why, Rita," he said with warm frankness, "how could I believe anything -else? All your talk of friendship; why, you asked me to marry you. What -did you expect of me?" - -"Not that--not what you did--the way you did it." - -"You forgave me once." - -She raised her head, careless of the tears which still coursed. - -"Yes, I forgave you then. But not now. I can't forgive you now. No -man ever kissed a woman the way you kissed me unless he is mad about -her--or despises her." - -"Despises----" - -"Yes. You might as well ask me to forgive you for murdering my brother. -You've killed something inside me--my pride, I think. I can -never--never forget that." - -She got up and turned her back to him, fingering for her handkerchief. -She had none. He slowly undid the kerchief from around his own neck and -put it in her hand. - -"Don't cry, Rita." - -"Cry?" She wheeled around, still staunching her tears. "No, I'll not -cry. I was a fool to cry. I'll not cry any more. I cried -because--because I was disappointed--that any one I trusted could be so -base." - -"I'm not so dreadful as all that. You must admit----" - -"I'll admit nothing--except that I made a mistake, too. It hasn't been -a pleasant awakening. I know now what those kisses meant." - -Wray's incomprehension was deeper. - -"I wish _I_ did," he said. "I was sure they wouldn't do you any harm. -You wouldn't have been so frank with me if you hadn't been pretty sure -of yourself." - -"That was my mistake. I was so sure of myself that I didn't think it -necessary to be sure of you." And while Jeff was trying to understand -what she meant, she went on: - -"Those were not _my_ kisses. They were impersonal--and might have been -given to any woman--that is, any woman who would allow them. Each of -them a separate insult--Judas kisses--treacherous kisses--kisses of -retaliation--of revenge----" - -"What on earth are you talking about?" - -"You've been using me to square your accounts with your wife--that's -all," scornfully. "As if you didn't know." - -He flushed crimson and bit his lips. "That's not true," he muttered. -"What does it matter to my wife? Why should she care who I kiss--or -why?" - -"It doesn't matter to her, I suppose," she said, slightly ironical; "she -is her own mistress again, but it does to you. Curiously enough you're -still in love with your wife. She's in love with somebody else. -Naturally it wounds your self-esteem--that precious self-esteem of yours -that's more stupendous than the mountain above you. She hurts you, and -you come running to me for the liniment. Thanks! You've come to the -wrong shop, Mr. Wray." - -Jeff's brows darkened. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but -thought better of it. As Rita Cheyne took up the bridle of her horse and -led him to a rock that she might mount, Jeff interfered. - -"One moment, Rita. I think we'd better have this thing out. I'm -beginning to understand better the width of the breach between us--it's -widened some to-day--and I don't believe you're going to try to make it -up to-morrow. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to have any more -misunderstandings, either. I want you to forgive me if you can. I've -cared for you a good deal--enough to make me sorry you were only -fooling. Things don't seem to be going my way, and I've had lot of -thinking to do that hasn't made me any too cheerful. I don't seem to -see things just the way I did. This fight has made me bitter. I've got -everything against me--_your_ world, the organized forces of your world -against a rank outsider. I belong to the people who work with their -hands. I've always been pretty proud of that. I went East and mixed up -with a lot of your kind of people. I had a good time. They asked me to -their houses, gave me their wine and food. They knew what they were -about. They had need of me, but no matter what they said or did they -never for a moment let me forget what I'd come from. You were the only -one of all that crowd who tried to make me feel differently. Was it any -wonder that I was grateful for it?" - -"Your gratitude takes a curious form." - -He held up a hand in protest. - -"Then you--you liked me because I said just what I thought whenever I -thought it, but even with you I never forgot it wasn't possible for us -ever to reach an understanding of perfect equality. You played with -life--you had been taught to. Life is a kind of joke to you. People are -incidents, only important when they give you amusement. I've been more -important than others for that reason--because I gave you more amusement -than others, but there's never been any doubt that I was only an -incident. To me life is a grim problem--I've felt its weight, and I -know. To-day you talked of making a marriage as I would speak of making -a cigarette. It was too cold-blooded even for humour----" - -"You refuse me then, do you, Jeff?" she laughed. But he made no reply to -her banter. - -"I've done with marriage," he went on. "I tried it and I failed, just -as you tried it and failed, but I'm not ready, as you are, to make a -joke of it. Failures are not the kind of things I like to joke about. -You joke because joking makes you forget. I'm not trying to forget. I -couldn't if I wanted to. I've learned that out here. My wife can do as -she likes. If she wants to marry Cort Bent I'll give her a divorce, but -as for me, I've done with it--for good." - -Jeff had sunk to the rock beside her, his head in his hands, while she -stood a little way off looking down at him. Their relative attitudes -seemed somehow to make a difference in her way of thinking of him. In -spite of the light bitterness of her mood, she, too, felt the weight of -his thoughts. - -"Do you mean to say," she murmured, half in pity, half in contempt, -"that you still love your wife as much as this?" - -But he made no reply. - -"It's really quite extraordinary," she went on with a manner which -seemed to go with upraised brows and a lorgnon. "You're really the most -wonderful person I've ever known. This is the kind of fidelity one -usually associates with the noble house-dog. I'm sure she'd be -flattered. But why will you give her a divorce? Since you're not going -to marry--what's the use?" - -He rose and went to the horses. "Come," he said, "it's getting late. -Let's get back." - -She refused his help, mounted alone, and silently they rode down the -slope through the underbrush, where after a while Jeff found a trail in -the open. - -"Does this lead to Mesa City?" she asked. - -He nodded. - -"Good-by, then." She flourished her hand and, before he realized it, -was off and had soon disappeared from sight. He urged his horse forward -into a full gallop, but saw that he could not catch her. Apache was the -faster horse, and his own animal carried too much weight. So after a -few miles he gave up the race, walked his winded horse, and gave himself -up to his thoughts. - -The exercise had refreshed his mind, and he was able to think with calm -amusement of the little comedy in which he had just been an actor. What -a spoiled child she was! He couldn't understand why he had ever been -afraid of her. It was only pity he felt now, the pity of those tears, -the only really inartistic thing Rita had ever been guilty of, for her -face had not been so pretty when she cried. And yet they appealed to him -more strongly than any token she had ever given him. What did they -mean? He had hurt her pride, of course--he had had to do that, but -somehow his conscience didn't seem to trouble him much about the state -of Rita's heart. Love meant something different to him from the kind of -cold, analytical thing Rita Cheyne was capable of. If it hadn't been -for those tears! They worried him. - -As he reached the edge of a wood he caught a glimpse of her just -disappearing over the brow of a hill, half a mile away. So he urged his -horse forward. It wouldn't do to have her ride into Mesa without him. -He rode hard and suddenly came upon her kneeling at the border of a -stream, dipping his bandana into the water and touching her eyes. When -she saw him she looked up pertly, and he saw that she was only a child -washing its face. - -"Hello!" she said. "I was waiting for you. Do you see what I'm doing? -It's a rite. Do I look like Niobe? I'm washing my hands--of you." - -Jeff got down and stood beside her. - -"Do be sensible, Rita." - -"I am--am I clean? You haven't a powder puff about you--have you?" - -"You're going to tell me you forgive me?" - -"There's nothing to forgive. If you think there's anything to forgive, -I'll forgive--of course." She got up from her knees, wiping her face, -sat down on a tree trunk, and motioned him to sit beside her. - -"Jeff," she said, "I've a confession to make. You know what it is, -because you're cleverer than you have any right to be. I don't love you -really, you know, and I'm pretty sure it isn't in me to love any -one--except myself. It has always made me furious to think that I -couldn't do anything with you. From the first I set my heart on having -you for myself, not because I wanted to laugh at you--I couldn't have -done that--but because you were in love with your wife." - -"Why--do you hate her so?" - -"I don't. I don't hate any one. But she irritated me. She was so -self-satisfied, so genuine, so handsome--three things which I am not." -She waited for him to contradict her, but Jeff was frowning at vacancy. - -"Just to satisfy my self-esteem--which is almost as great as yours, Jeff -Wray--I would have moved mountains to win, and I even let you drag my -pride in the dust before I discovered that I couldn't. I die pretty -hard, but I know when I'm dead." - -"Don't, Rita; you and I are going to be better friends than ever." - -"No, Jeff, I'm going East to-morrow. I don't want to see you. To see -you would be to remind me of my insufficiencies." - -"You've made a friend." - -"No," shaking her head, "that won't do. It never does. I may have -tried to deceive you, but I know better. Friendship is masculine--or -it's feminine. It can't be both. I'm going away at once. I'm not -going to see you again." - -"Oh, yes, you are. To-morrow we'll----" - -"No. I'd go to-night if there was a train. I want you to do one thing -for me, though. Will you?" - -"If I can." - -"That money--the money for that stock. I want to leave it with you--to -use or not to use as you think best. I've got a great deal of -money--much more than is good for me." - -Jeff shook his head. - -"No, Rita, no. I can't do that. If I'm going to lose, I'll lose -alone." - -"But if you win?" she turned and gave him her hand. "You will. I've -sworn you will. And here's luck on it." Instead of clasping her hand, -as she intended he should, he raised it to his lips and kissed it -gently--as under different conditions he might have kissed her lips. -She looked down at the top of his head and closed her eyes a moment, but -when he looked up she was smiling gaily. - -"You're a good sport, Rita," he said. - -"Yes," she said coolly, "I believe I am." - -They rode into Mesa City slowly. The valley was already wrapped in -shadow, but above them the upper half of Saguache Peak was afire with -the sunset. The evening train was in and had puffed its way up to the -yard. There was a crowd at the post-office waiting for mail, and -scattered groups here and there were chatting with the arrivals. Wray -and Mrs. Cheyne climbed the slope to the Kinney House, where a cowboy -from the Home Ranch was waiting for their horses. They dismounted and -went indoors to the office, where a solitary lady in a dark dress was -signing her name to the hotel register. At the sound of their voices -she turned and straightened, suddenly very pale and tense. And then, -before Jeff could speak, turned again quickly to the clerk and said -quietly: - -"If you'll show me the way up at once, please, I'd like to go to my -room." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXII* - - *PRIVATE MATTERS* - - -Jeff followed Camilla's departing back with blank bewilderment, too -amazed to utter a word. Rita Cheyne looked at Jeff's face and then -laughed. - -"Act Three will now begin," she said gaily. "It's really too good, Jeff. -But it's time for the lady-villain to die. I'm off stage now, so -good-by." - -She gave him her hand, and he took it mechanically. - -"I'll see you to-morrow," he said gravely. - -"No, this is good-by. There isn't any to-morrow for us. I won't see -you, Jeff. I think perhaps you won't want to see me now." - -"This will make no difference," he stammered. "Don't you see--I've got -to make _her_ understand." - -"You mean--my reputation. She'd never understand that. You'll be -wasting time. Don't bother. I'm going to Denver in the morning. No, -not a word----" - -He tried to hold her, but the clerk came down at this moment, so, with a -last flourish of the hand, she sped past him and up the stairs. - -Jeff stood for a moment in the middle of the floor, irresolute. Then he -turned to the desk and asked the number of Mrs. Wray's room. - -"Parlor B, Mr. Wray, but she told me to say that she did not want to be -disturbed." - -Jeff hesitated, and then, with a frown: "That doesn't matter," he -growled. "I'll explain. I'm going up," and he made his way to the -stairs. - -The room, he remembered, was at the front of the house. He had occupied -it before they built his sleeping quarters in the office building. He -found the door readily and knocked, but there was no response. He -knocked again. This time her voice inquired. - -"It's Jeff, Camilla," he said. "I must see you at once. Let me in, -please." - -Another long pause of indecision. He might have been mistaken, but he -fancied he could hear Rita Cheyne's light laugh somewhere down the -corridor. He did not want a scene--as yet his and Camilla's misfortunes -had not reached the ears of Mesa City. He was still debating whether he -would knock again or go away when the key turned in the lock and the -door was opened. - -"Come in," said Camilla, and he entered. She had removed her hat, and -the bed and pillow already bore traces of her weight. - -"I'm sorry to intrude," he began awkwardly. - -"Shut the door," she suggested. "Perhaps it's just as well that people -here shouldn't know any more of our private affairs than is necessary." - -He obeyed and turned the key in the lock. His wife had moved to the -window and stood, very straight and pale, waiting for him to speak. She -seemed, if anything, slimmer than when he had seen her last, and her -hair, which had fallen loosely about her shoulders, was burnished with -the last warm glow from Saguache Peak. He had never thought her more -beautiful, but there were lines at her eyes and mouth which the growing -shadows of the room made deeper. - -"I suppose you're willing to believe the worst of me," he began, "and of -her. Perhaps I ought to tell you first that she only came here this -morning--that she's going away to-morrow----" - -"It isn't necessary to explain," she interrupted. "I hope Mrs. Cheyne -won't go on my account. I'm going, too, in the morning. Under the -circumstances, I'm sorry I couldn't have waited a day or two, but I had -to see you at once." - -"You had to see me? Has something gone wrong in New York? What -is----?" - -"Oh, no," wearily. "Everything in New York is all right. I've had -everything packed in boxes and have given up the apartment at the -hotel." - -Jeff's brows tangled in mystification. - -"You've given up the apartment? Why?" - -"I'm not going to live there any more. I'm going to Kansas--to Abilene. -I'm very tired, Jeff, and I need a rest." - -"Camilla!" He pushed an armchair toward her and made her sit. "You do -look as if you--you're not sick, are you?" - -"Oh, no--just tired of everything." Her voice was low, as it always had -been, but it had no life in it. "Just tired of being misunderstood. I -won't explain, and I don't expect you to. I couldn't listen if you did. -I came here because I had to come, because no matter what our relations -are it was my duty to see you at once and tell you something of the -greatest importance." - -He stood behind her chair, his fingers close to her pallid cheeks, -gently brushed by the filaments of her hair, the perfume of which -reached him like some sweet memory. He leaned over her, aching for some -token that would let him take her in his arms and forget all the shadows -that had for so long hung about them. But as she spoke, he -straightened, glowering at the wall beyond her. - -"It isn't--it's nothing--to do with you--and Cort Bent----?" - -"Oh, no, not at all. I haven't seen Cort for some time. It's -about--about the General." - -"General Bent?" Jeff gave a quick sigh, paced across the room, and then -turned with a frown. "I'm not interested in General Bent," he muttered. -"For me he has stopped being a person. He's only a piece of -machinery--a steel octopus that's slowly crushing me to bits. I'd -rather not talk of General Bent." - -"Is it as bad as that?" she murmured, awe-stricken. - -"Yes--they've pushed me to the wall. I'm still fighting, but unless I -compromise or sell the mine----" he stopped and straightened his great -frame. "Camilla, don't let's talk of this. I know you're tired. I -won't stay long. Just tell me what you mean about going back to -Abilene." - -She clasped her hands nervously, glad of the chance to postpone her -revelation, which seemed to grow more difficult with each moment. - -"I can't stand the life I'm living, Jeff. I can't take any more from -you. I've done it all spring because you wanted me to, but I can't live -a lie any longer. Those rooms, that luxury, the servants, the people -about me, they oppressed me and bore me to the earth. I have no right -to them--still less now that things are going badly with you. You wanted -me to keep the place we'd made--to make a larger place for your name in -New York. I hope I've made it, but it has cost me something. I'm sick of -ambition, of the soulless striving, the emptiness of it all. I can't do -it any longer. I must go somewhere where I can be myself, where I don't -have to knuckle to people I despise, where I don't have to climb, climb, -climb--my ears deaf to the sneers and the envy of the scandal-mongers, -and open only for the flattery which soothes my self-esteem but not--no, -nothing can soothe the ache at the heart." - -"What has happened, Camilla? I understood you had made many new -friends." - -"Yes, some new friends--also, some new enemies. But that hasn't bothered -me. It's the lying I had to do--about you--the excuses I have had to -make for being alone, the dates I have set for your return, lies--all -lies--when I knew you were not going to return, that you had deserted me -and left me only your money as a bribe. I couldn't do it any longer. I -wrote you all this. You thought I didn't mean what I said--because I -had your money--your merciless money, to gratify my pride in my pretty -body. It has come to the point where your money is an insult--as much -of an insult as the dishonor you put on me." - -"Dishonor? I can't have you associate that name with Mrs. Cheyne," he -blurted forth. - -She smiled and then gave a hard, dry, little unmirthful laugh. - -"Oh, you mistake my meaning. I wasn't thinking of Mrs. Cheyne. I was -selfish enough to be still thinking of myself." - -"I don't understand." - -She got up and walked to the window, leaning her face against the pane -to soothe with its coolness the heat of her brow. "I was thinking of my -own dishonor--not yours--I have nothing to do with yours. To be doubted -as you have doubted me--to know that you could believe me capable of -dishonoring you--that is dishonor enough." - -"You mustn't forget that you gave me cause," he said hoarsely. "What -kind of a man do you think I am? You married me for a whim--because -another man wouldn't have you. I forgave you that because I was willing -to take you at any price. That was my fault as much as yours. It was -what came after----" - -He came up behind her, his voice trembling but suppressed. - -"Do you think I'm the kind of man to tolerate the things between you and -Cort Bent? I was a fool once. I believed in you--I thought no matter -how little love you had in your heart for me that you'd have enough -respect for yourself. Do you think I could stand knowing that my -servants had seen you in his arms?" - -She flashed around at him, breathless, paler than ever, clutching at the -window-sill behind her for support. "Who--who told you this?" - -"Greer--my valet at the hotel," he snarled, "when I discharged him and -came here." - -"He said----?" - -Jeff caught her by the elbows--brutally--and held her so that he could -look into her eyes. - -"It's true--isn't it? Answer me!" - -She gazed at him wide-eyed, and now for the first time he saw how ill -she looked. Even at that moment he was sure that pity and love and a -desire for possession were still the feelings that dominated him. She -could not stand the gaze of his eyes. They seemed to burn through her, -so she lowered her head. - -"Yes," she admitted brokenly, "it's true--I was in his arms." - -A sound came from his throat--a guttural sound half-choked in the -utterance, as he dropped her, turned violently and in a stride was at -the door. But as the key turned in the lock, she started forward and -clutched him by the sleeve. - -"Wait," she whispered piteously. "You must. You can't go now. You've -got to know everything." - -"I think I've had enough. I'm going." He turned the knob and opened -the door, but she leaned against it and pushed it shut. - -"You've got to listen. I have some rights still--the right every woman -has to defend her name." - -"If she can," he sneered. - -"I can--I will. Will you listen?" He shrugged his shoulders and walked -past her to the window. Camilla faced him, beginning slowly, -breathlessly. "It was when we first came to New York that it began--that -day when you and your--you and General Bent came in from downtown. -Cortland was there--I--I thought I had forgotten him. I was happy with -you. I was beginning to believe that, after all, we hadn't made a -mistake. But you were away all day and I was lonely. The city was so -vast, so unfriendly. I had no right to be lonely but I was. I was -bewildered by all the magnificence and homesick for Mesa City. That day -Cort Bent came in I had a fit of the blues. He brought back all the old -story--and told me how you stole the mine." - -Jeff laughed aloud. "So he told you that--did he? For sympathy?" he -sneered. - -"It revolted me," she persisted. "It revolts me still. I was new to -modern business methods then. I can't like them now, but I've learned -to keep silent. He asked me to forgive him the past, and I did. The -spell of romance was over me still. He told me that he loved me more -than ever and that he would not give me up. I thought--I thought I -loved him, too----" - -"You _thought_! You _knew_!" he said immoderately. "You've always loved -him." - -"No, no. It wasn't that," she pleaded. "It wasn't love, Jeff. I -learned that soon enough. It was only pity----" - -"And where was your pity for me?" - -"Don't, Jeff--let me finish. Whatever my feelings for you then, -whatever they are now, I was true to you in word and deed." - -"When you were in his arms?" He laughed harshly. - -"He took me in his arms. He tried to kiss me on the lips, but I would -not let him. I've never let him. I broke away and threatened to ring -if he followed me--and then--and then you came in. That's all, -Jeff--all--and it's the truth." She faced him bravely, her eyes seeking -his. He glared at her madly, but could not stare her down. It was one -of those tragic moments when all the future hangs on the flicker of an -eyelash. Jeff's gaze fell first. - -"I would have come back here," she went on. "I asked you to leave New -York with me. You wouldn't go. Instead of that you threw us together -more and more. Why, I don't know, unless it was because you did not -care." - -"I did care," he muttered. - -"You did not care," she insisted. "You had met Rita Cheyne then----" - -"It was because _she_ saw what I did," he asserted. "It was because----" - -"Don't explain," she said. "I'm not asking _you_ to explain or to -exonerate her. It's too late for that. But I cannot bear to have you -think such dreadful things about me, cruel things, things that -hurt--hurt me here----" - -She put her hand to her breast and swayed. He sprang to her side and -caught her in his arms as she fell, lifting her like a child and -carrying her to the bed, terror-stricken at the coldness of her hands -and face. He rang the bell, and then with bungling fingers loosened her -collar and dress, whimpering the while like a child. "Camilla, my girl, -don't look so white. Open your eyes. I believe you, dearie; I've -always believed you. Look at me, Camilla. I know you're straight. I -didn't mean it. I was cruel to you. I wouldn't hurt you for the world. -I love you. You're _my_ girl--_my_ girl." - -There was a commotion at the door of the adjoining room, which suddenly -flew open, and a figure in a trailing silk kimono glided in, pushed him -aside abruptly, and put a silver brandy flask to Camilla's lips. It was -Mrs. Cheyne. - -"I was next door," she explained jerkily. "I heard. I couldn't help -it. The partitions are so thin." And then, with sudden authority: -"Don't stand there like a fool. Bring some water--quickly," and when he -had obeyed: "Now bathe her temples and give her brandy. She'll be all -right in a minute. When I go, get a light. But she mustn't see me -here." And, before he was even aware of it, she had vanished like a -wraith. - -The housemaid brought a lamp, put it on the table, and hovered anxiously -in the background, but Camilla's eyes had opened. - -"Mrs. Wray is sick," Jeff began. - -But Camilla had already drawn herself up on one elbow and gently pushed -him away. - -"I--I'm all right now. I can't imagine what made me feel so queerly. -I've never been--I've never fainted before." - -"A little more brandy?" - -"No, not now. Who--? Wasn't there some one else in here? I thought--I -saw some one in pink--and smelled a perfume. I must have been -dreaming." - -"Lie back on the pillow and rest, Camilla, dear. You're played out. The -doctor will be here in a minute." - -"I don't want a doctor. I'm all right." With an effort she -straightened and sat on the side of the bed. "I remember--I was telling -you----" - -"Don't, Camilla. I don't want to hear. I believe you. It's all a -mistake." He bent over her and tried to take her in his arms. - -But she held up her hand and gently restrained him. "No--no," she said -shaking her head. "Don't try to soothe me. That doesn't mean anything. -I know. Shadows like these are not brushed away so quickly. Sit there, -Jeff, by the window and listen. There's something else I must tell -you--I should have told you at once. It's what I came here for, but I -didn't seem to have the courage." - -"No, not to-night." - -"I must--it won't keep. You must listen." Her eyes pleaded, and so he -sank into the rocking chair, leaning forward eagerly. She took up the -handbag beside her on the table and fumbled tremblingly at the lock. - -"It's something which concerns General Bent and you--no, not business, -Jeff--something personal--something dreadfully personal--which has -nothing whatever to do with your business relations, and yet something -which seems to make your hatred of each other all the more terrible. -It--it seems very hard for me to tell you, because it's something you -have never liked to speak about--something that has always made you very -unhappy." - -"Why, what do you mean, Camilla?" he asked. - -"You must let me tell you in my own way, because it will be hard for you -to realize. I must show you that there is no mistake--no chance of a -mistake, Jeff. Two weeks ago at the hotel in New York I was reading the -letters in the old tin box and looking at the photographs. They were in -the drawer of your desk. I've never spoken of them to you or looked at -them since we were married--but you were not there to see them and--I--I -didn't think you'd mind. I had them on your desk when Mrs. Rumsen came -in. She saw the photograph of your father. She--she had one just like -it in her album at home----" - -"She knew him, then?" eagerly. - -"Yes. I've brought both photographs with me." She took them out of the -handbag with trembling hands and gave them to him. - -He got up, took them to the light and held them side by side. "Yes, -yes," he muttered, "they are the same--the very same. There's no doubt -about that." And then, in a suppressed voice, "You know who he is?" - -"Yes, Jeff. Mrs. Rumsen and I know--no one else--not a soul else. It's -your secret. We couldn't tell. No one can or will but you." Her voice -had sunk almost to a whisper. "It's--it's the General--Jeff--General -Bent." - -Outwardly Jeff gave no sign of unusual disturbance--a slight tightening -of his thumbs upon the pictures, a slight bending of the head that his -eyes might be surer of their vision. But to Camilla, who was watching -him timidly, he seemed to grow compact, his big frame to shrink into -itself and his eyes to glow with a strange, unfamiliar fire. - -"General--Bent--General--Bent," he repeated the words huskily, as if -they were a formula which he was trying to commit to memory. "It can't -be true?" - -"Yes, Jeff, it's true. Mrs. Rumsen identified the letters. There's no -doubt--none." - -"I can't believe--why, I'd have _felt_ it--Camilla. I've always said I'd -know him if I saw him." - -"You didn't--but have you thought? You look like him, Jeff. You _look_ -like him." - -"Yes--it's strange I didn't think of that." And then suddenly, "Does -_he_ know?" - -"No--he won't unless you tell him." - -He looked up at her with dumb, uncomprehending eyes and sank in his -chair again, still grasping the photographs. - -"I must think," he groaned, "I've got to think--what to do. I've hated -him so--all these long years. I hate him now--not because he's my--my -father--but because--he's himself." - -"Stop, Jeff, you mustn't--you mustn't speak so." - -"It's true," raising his bloodshot eyes to hers. "Why should I care? -Did _he_ care for the atom he's put into the world to float about -without a name to land on any dung-hill? I'll pay him back for that, by -God! I'm not his son. The only thing I want of his blood is his -cruelty. I'll take that and use it when I can--on him and his." - -"You mustn't, Jeff. It's horrible. I can't stand hearing this." - -At the touch of her hand he stopped, got up and paced the length of the -room and back again in grim silence, his lips working, while she watched -him, fearful of another outburst. - -"I must think this thing out, Camilla--by myself. I don't know what -I'll do." And then suddenly, "Where is he now?" he asked harshly. - -"In Denver--at the Brown Palace Hotel. They came West before I did with -the Janneys, Gretchen, and Mrs. Rumsen. They came in a private car." - -"To be in at my finish," he muttered bitterly. "I can't seem to think, -Camilla. It's all so monstrous--it staggers me." - -He stopped pacing the floor and looked at her, suddenly realizing how -ill she had been, and contrite and self-accusing he fell on his knees at -her feet and put his arms around her. - -"Camilla! I shouldn't have let you tell me all this to-night. You were -not strong enough. I've been brutal to you--to forget what you were -suffering. You must sleep. My heart has been aching for you all these -long months. I'll take care of you and make you strong and well again. -You're not going back to Abilene, Camilla." - -Slowly she disengaged her hands. - -"You must go now, Jeff. I--I am tired. But all I need is rest. I -couldn't have slept until I told you. It has preyed on me like a -poison. I can't influence you, though. You must use your own judgment -as to what you'll do, but I pray you'll do nothing rash." - -"You must not go back to Abilene. There's much to be explained, -Camilla--you must promise not to go away! I want to speak to you about -Rita Cheyne." - -She rose from her seat on the bed with a kind of wistful dignity. - -"I can't promise anything, Jeff. Go, please. I want to be alone." - -He looked at her a moment, pleading, and then turned without a word and -went out. She heard his heavy steps go down the noisy hall, heard them -again on the porch below and on the boardwalk through the village until -they were engulfed in the gloom of the night--Jeff's night of anguish, -battle, and temptation. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIII* - - *THE INTRUDER* - - -Meanwhile, in Parlor A, next door, a lady in a pink kimono, who seemed -unusually diminutive and childish in her low-heeled bedroom slippers, -pottered about uneasily, walking from window to window, jerking at the -shades to peer out of doors, and then pulling the shades noisily down -again; opening the hall door, looking down the corridor, walking out a -few steps and then coming rapidly back again, to light a cigarette which -she almost immediately put out and threw into the stove; coughing, -dropping things--and then standing tense and alert to listen, acting -altogether in a surprising and unusual manner. But the sound of voices -in the adjoining room persevered, now loud--now less loud, but always -perfectly audible through the thin, paper-like partition. At last, as -though in sudden desperation, without removing her clothes, or even her -slippers, she crawled quickly into the bed and pulled the covers and -pillow over her head, lying still as a mouse, but tense and alert in -spite of herself and--in spite of herself--listening. She emerged again -in a while, half smothered, like a diver coming to the surface, -listening again, and then with an exclamation quickly got out of bed, -her fingers at her ears, to open the hall door presently and flee down -the corridor. - -From her vantage point--in an empty room--she heard Jeff's rapid -footsteps go past, and only when she heard them no longer did she go -back to Parlor A. She closed the outer door and locked it, sat down in -an armchair, leaning forward, her head in her hands, staring at a pink -rose in the ornate carpet, deep in thought. In the room next door all -was quiet again. Once she thought she heard the sound of a sob, but she -could not be sure of it, and after a while the light which had shone -through the wide crack under the door disappeared. For a long time she -sat there, immovable except for the slight, quick tapping of one small -foot upon the floor. - -At last she rose with an air of resolution and touched the bell. To the -clerk, who answered it in person, she asked for telegraph blanks and a -messenger. He looked at his watch. - -"The telegraph office is closed." - -"Well, it will have to be opened. This is a matter which can't wait -until morning. The operator must be found." - -"We _might_ get a message through." He looked at the bill she had put -in his hand. "Yes, I'm sure we can." - -"And you might send me up some tea and toast." She shut the door, went -to her trunk, took out her writing pad, put it on the table, turned up -the wick of the lamp, and began writing. She finished a letter and -sealed it carefully. When the telegraph blanks came she wrote two -rather lengthy messages. One of the telegrams was addressed to the -cashier of the Tenth National Bank of Denver--the other telegram and the -letter were addressed to Lawrence Berkely at the Brown Palace Hotel in -the same city. When she had given the messenger his instructions, she -sank in her chair again with a sigh, and, with a tea cup in one hand and -a piece of buttered toast in the other, sat facing the door into Parlor -B. Her face wore a curious expression, partly mischievous, partly -solemn, but there was at times a momentary trace of trouble in it, too, -and when the tea cup was set aside she stretched her arms wearily and -then brought them down, lacing her fingers behind her neck, putting her -head back and closing her eyes as though in utter, soul-racking -weariness. Suddenly she rose, passing the back of one wrist abruptly -across her brows, and prepared to go to bed. - - * * * * * - -Camilla awoke late and ordered breakfast in her room. It was not bodily -fatigue which she felt now. That seemed to have passed. It was mental -inertia, which, like muscular stiffness, follows the carrying of too -heavy a burden. A part of her burden she still carried, and even the -brightness of the Colorado sun, which dappled the tinsel wall paper -beside her, failed to rekindle the embers of old delights. From one of -her windows she could see the fine sweep of the Saguache range as it -extended its great half-moon toward the northern end of the valley, -where it joined the main ridge of the Continental Divide; from the other -window the roofs of the town below her, Mulrennan's, the schoolhouse, -and Jeff's "Watch Us Grow" sign, now dwarfed by the brick office -building which had risen behind it. It seemed a hundred years since she -had lived in Mesa City, and to her eyes, accustomed to elegant -distances, the town seemed to have grown suddenly smaller, more ugly, -garish, and squalid. And yet it was here that she had lived for five -years--five long years of youth and hope and boundless ambition. In -those days the place had oppressed her with its emptiness, and she had -suffered for the lack of opportunity to live her life in accordance with -the dreams of her school-days; but to-day, when she seemed to have -neither hope nor further ambition, she knew that the early days were -days of real happiness. What did it matter if it had been the bliss of -ignorance, since she was now aware of the folly of wisdom? She could -never be happy anywhere now--not even here. She lay back on her pillows -and closed her eyes, but even then the vision of Rita Cheyne intruded--a -vision of Jeff and Rita Cheyne riding together over the mountain trails. - -She was indeed unpleasantly surprised when, a few moments later, there -was a knock upon the door at the foot of her bed; and when she had put -on a dressing gown the door opened suddenly, and there stood Rita Cheyne -herself, smiling confidently and asking admittance. - -Camilla was perturbed--so much so, in fact, that no words occurred to -her. The door had opened outward toward Rita Cheyne, who held its knob. -It was, therefore, obviously impossible for Camilla to close it without -Mrs. Cheyne's assistance. This, it seemed, the visitor had no intention -of giving, for she came forward on the door-sill and held out her hand. - -"Mrs. Wray," she said gently, "I want to come in and talk to you. May -I?" - -"This is--rather surprising," Camilla began. - -"Yes," she admitted, "it is. Perhaps I'm a little surprised, too. I--I -wanted to talk to you. There are some things--important things----" - -By this time Camilla had managed to collect her scattered resources. -"I'm not sure," she said coolly, "that our friendship has ever been -intimate enough to warrant----" - -Rita put one hand up before her. "Don't, Mrs. Wray! It hasn't. But -you'll understand in a moment, if you'll let me come in and talk to -you." - -Camilla drew her laces around her throat and with a shrug stood aside. -"I hope you'll be brief," she said coldly. "Will you sit down?" - -But Mrs. Cheyne had already sat in a chair with her back to one of the -windows, where her face was partially obscured by the shadows of her -hair. She pulled her kimono about her figure, clasped her fingers over -her knees, and leaned forward, eagerly examining her companion, who had -seated herself uneasily upon the side of the bed. "You _are_ handsome!" -she said candidly, as if settling a point in her own mind which had long -been debatable. "I don't think I ever saw you handsomer than you are at -the present moment. Trouble becomes you, it gives a meaning to the -shadows of your face which they never had before." - -Camilla started up angrily. "Did you come here to comment upon my -appearance?" - -"No," said Rita suavely. "I can't help it--that's all. Did you know -that you have been the means of destroying one of my most treasured -ideals? You have, you know. I've always scoffed at personal -beauty--now I remain to pray. It's a definite living force--like -politics--or like religion." - -"Really, Mrs. Cheyne----!" - -"Please let me talk--you would if you only knew what I'm going to say. -My remarks may seem irrelevant, but they're not. They're a confession -of weakness on my part--an acknowledgment of strength on yours. You -never liked me from the first, and I don't think I really was very fond -of you. We seemed to have been run in different moulds. There's no -reason why we shouldn't have got along because--well, you know I'm not -half bad when one really knows me; and you!--you have everything that -most people like--you're beautiful, cultured, clever and--and quite -human." - -Camilla made a gesture of impatience, but Rita went on imperturbably. -"You're handsome, gentle and human--but you--you're a dreadful fool!" - -And then, with a laugh, "Please sit down and don't look so tragic. It's -true, dear, perfectly true, and you'll be quite sure of it in a moment." - -Anger seemed so futile, Camilla was reduced to a smile of contempt. -"I'm sure I can't be anything but flattered at your opinions, Mrs. -Cheyne." But, in spite of herself, she was conscious of a mild -curiosity as to whither this remarkable conversation was leading. - -"Thanks," said Rita with mock humility. "There's only one thing in the -world more blind than hatred, and that's love. Because you think you -hate me, you'd be willing to let slip forever your only chance of -happiness in this world." - -"I don't hate you," said Camilla icily, "and luckily my happiness is not -in any way dependent on what you may say or do." - -"Oh, yes, it is," said Rita quickly. "I'm going to prevent you from -making a mistake. You've already made too many of them. You're -planning to go away to Kansas when your husband positively adores the -very ground you walk on." - -Having shot her bolt, like the skillful archer she put her head on one -side and eagerly watched its flight. Camilla started up, one hand on -the bed-post, her color vanishing. - -"You--you heard?" - -"I--I know." - -"_He_ told you." - -"Who? Jeff?" She leaned back in her chair and laughed up at the -ceiling. "Well, hardly. I don't mind people telling me they adore the -ground _I_ walk on, but----" - -"How did you know?" Camilla glanced toward the door and into Mrs. -Cheyne's room, a new expression of dismay coming into her eyes. "You -heard what passed in here--last night?" - -"Yes--something--I couldn't help it." - -"How could you--have listened?" Camilla gasped. - -"I tried not to--I tried to make you stop--by dropping things and making -a noise, but I couldn't. You didn't or wouldn't hear--either of you. -Finally I had to go out of the room." She rose with a sudden impulse of -sympathy and put her hand on Camilla's shoulder. - -"Oh, don't think everything bad about me! Can't you understand? Won't -you realize that at this moment I'm the best friend you have in the -world? Even if you don't admit that, try to believe that what I say to -you is true. Why should I risk a rebuff in coming in here to you if it -wasn't with a motive more important than any hurt you can do to me? -What I say to you is true. Your husband loves you. He's mad about you. -Don't you understand?" Camilla lowered her eyes, one of her hands -fingering at the bed-cover, suddenly aware of the friendly pat on her -shoulder. At last she slowly raised her head and found Rita Cheyne's -eyes with the searching, intrusive look that one woman has for another. - -"Why should _you_ tell me this?" she asked. Mrs. Cheyne turned aside -with a light laugh. - -"Why _shouldn't_ I? Is happiness so easily to be had in this world that -I'd refuse it--to a friend if it was in my power to give? I can't see -you throwing it away for a foolish whim. That's what it is--a whim. -You've got to stay with Jeff. What right have you to go? What has he -done to deserve it? I flirted with him. I acknowledge it. What is -that? I flirt with every man I like. It's my way of amusing myself." -She straightened, and, with a whimsical smile which had in it a touch of -effrontery, "The fact that he still loves you after that, my dear," she -said, "is the surest proof of his devotion." - -Camilla looked away--out of the window toward the "Watch Us Grow" sign, -the symbol of Jeff's ambition, and her eyes softened. She got up and -walked to the window which faced the mountains. - -"If I could only believe you--if I only could," she said, and then, -turning suddenly, "Why did you try to make Jeff fall in love with you?" - -Rita shrugged. "Simply because--because it was impossible. I'm so -tired of doing easy things. I've always done everything I wanted to, and -it bored me. I owe your husband a debt. I thought all men were the -same. Do you really think there are any more like Jeff?" - -Camilla watched her narrowly, probing shrewdly below the surface for -traces of the vein of feeling she had shown a moment before. What she -discovered was little, but that little seemed to satisfy her, for, after -a pause, in which she twisted the window cord and then untwisted it -again, she came forward slowly, took Rita by both hands and looked deep -into her eyes. - -"Why did you come out here?" - -It was no time for equivocation. Camilla's eyes burned steadily, oh, so -steadily. But Rita did not flinch. - -"I thought Jeff was lonely. I thought he needed some one, and so I came -out in the Bents' private car as far as Denver. I left them there and -came on alone. I wanted to help him--I'm trying to help him still--with -my sympathy, my money--and--and such influence as I can use to make his -wife realize her duty to him and her duty to herself." - -It was an explanation which somehow did not seem to explain, and yet -curiously enough it satisfied Camilla. If it was not the whole truth, -there was enough of it that was nothing but the truth. She felt that it -would not have been fair to ask for more. Rita was not slow to follow -up this advantage. She gave a quick sigh, then took Camilla by both -shoulders. "You mustn't go away to Kansas, I tell you. You've never -loved anybody but Jeff. Cortland knows it, and I know it. I've known it -all the while. A woman has a way of learning these things. If you -leave him now there's no telling what may happen. He needs you. He -can't get on without you. They're trying to crush the life out of him -in this soulless war for the smelter, and they may succeed. He's pushed -to the limit of his resourcefulness and his endurance. Flesh and blood -can't stand that strain long. He needs all his friends now and every -help, moral and physical, that they can give him. There's no one else -who can take your place now. No one to stand at his side and take the -bad with the good. You've had your half of his success--now you must -take your half of his failure. You're his wife, Camilla! Do you -understand that? His wife!" - -A sob welled up in Camilla's throat and took her unawares. She bent her -head to hide it--and then gave way and fell on the bed in a passion of -tears. - -Rita watched her for a moment with a smile, for she knew that the tears -were tears of happiness, then went over and put her arms around -Camilla's shoulders, murmuring gently: - -"You're not to blame, Camilla--not altogether--and it's not too late to -begin again. He needs you now as he has never needed you before. It's -your opportunity. I hope you see it." - -"I do, I do," came faintly from the coverlid. - -"You must see him at once. Do you understand? Shall I send for him?" - -"Yes, soon." Camilla sat up and smiled through her tears, drew Rita -down alongside of her, put her arm around her and kissed her on the -cheek. - -"I understand you now. I'm sorry--for many things. I want to know you -better, dear. May I?" - -"Yes," said Rita calmly, "if you can. Perhaps then you might explain me -to myself. But I'm going to New York again soon--something tells me you -are to stay here." - -"I will stay here now," said Camilla proudly, "if Jeff wants me. Are -you sure--sure--he----" - -Rita held her off at arm's length, quizzically--tantalizing her -purposely. - -"No, silly. He loves me, of course--that's why I'm presenting him to -you." Then she leaned forward, kissed her on the cheek, and rose -quickly. - -"It's pretty late. I must catch the eleven o'clock train. I have a lot -to do. I'm going into my own room." - -There was a knock at the outer door. Camilla answered it and received a -note from the clerk. - -"From Mr. Wray's office. There's no answer." - -She opened it hurriedly, while Rita watched. - - -"Dear Camilla" (it ran): "I'm leaving suddenly by the early train for -Denver on a business matter which to me means either life or death. For -the love of God don't leave me now. Wait until I return. I'm going to -the Brown Palace Hotel and will write you from there. - -"JEFF." - - -She read through the hurried scrawl twice and then silently handed it to -her companion. - -"You must follow, Camilla--at once--with me," said Mrs. Cheyne. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIV* - - *GRETCHEN DECIDES* - - -Lawrence Berkely was doing scout duty in the neighborhood of the seat of -war, keeping closely in touch with Wray by wire code. Although he had a -room at the Brown Palace Hotel, he went elsewhere for his meals, and -since the arrival of General Bent's party he had eluded the detection of -Cornelius Bent, Curtis Janney, or Cortland. He had been advised by a -brief wire from Gretchen Janney of the date of her departure from New -York and had noted the arrival of his business enemies with mingled -feelings. In response to his note to her room Gretchen had stolen away -and met him quietly in one of the hotel parlors, where, unknown to -Curtis Janney, they had renewed their vows of eternal fidelity. - -Gretchen was, of course, familiar with Larry's position as a business -rival of her father's pet company, and she had thought it best, since -Larry's departure from New York, to keep their engagement a secret from -her parents. She had heard from him regularly, and distance, it seemed, -had made no difference in the nature of her feelings for him, but she -knew from her father's disappointment at Cortland Bent's defection that -the time to take her parents into her confidence had not yet arrived. - -It had not occurred to Curtis Janney to think of Lawrence Berkely's -attentions seriously, but Gretchen knew that her mother, at least, had -breathed a sigh of relief when Larry had left New York. Mrs. Janney had -questioned her daughter anxiously, but Gretchen had answered in riddles, -and in the end had succeeded in convincing her that marriage was the -last thing in the world she was thinking of. Gretchen was a little -afraid of her father. Once or twice he had expressed himself rather -freely as to the kind of man he expected his daughter to marry, from -which it was clear that his list of eligibles did not include Lawrence -Berkely. She had written all of this tearfully to Larry, so that when -she reached Denver he decided that matters had reached a crisis which -demanded some sort of an understanding with Janney pere. The -clandestine meetings, which rather appealed to Gretchen's sense of the -romantic, made Larry unhappy. He had nothing to be ashamed of and saw -no reason why he had to court the woman he loved under cover of -darkness. So he made up his mind to settle the thing in his own way. - -In this crisis it had occurred to Gretchen to enlist Mrs. Cheyne's -services in their behalf, for Rita had always been a favorite of her -father's; but an evening or two after her arrival in Denver that lady -had mysteriously disappeared from the hotel, only leaving word that she -had gone to visit friends in the neighborhood and would advise General -Bent of her future plans. No one but Larry, with whom she had been -talking, had for a moment suspected that the "friends" in the -neighborhood were only Jeff, and, though she had not bound Larry to -secrecy, both duty and discretion demanded his silence. - -Larry's position was difficult, but when he discovered that nothing was -to be gained by keeping his movements hidden from Cornelius Bent he took -the bull by the horns and boldly sent up his card to Curtis Janney's -suite. He was so full of his own affairs that Mr. Janney's possible -misconception of the object of his visit had not occurred to him. He -was welcomed cordially--so jovially, in fact, that for a moment he was -taken off his guard. - -"Well, Berkely, by George! glad to see you. Rather a surprise to find us -all out here invading your own country, eh?" - -Larry sat rather soberly, refused a cigar, and expressed well-bred -surprise. - -"I can't imagine anybody wanting to leave Braebank in April," he said. - -"Well, I didn't want to, Berkely--I'm doing a little scientific farming -this summer--but we had to come out on this smelter business--the -General and I----" He stopped and puffed rapidly at his cigar. "It's -too bad--really--I'm sorry, sorry, but I think Wray made a mistake. I -like Wray, Berkely. He's got stuff in him, but he overleaped himself in -this smelter business. It's a pity he thought he had to fight us, but -you've got to admit we gave him every chance." - -"I didn't come to see you about the smelter business, Mr. Janney," said -Berkely rather quietly, "but on a matter of my own--a personal--a -private matter." - -Janney's face grew grave. - -"A private matter?" - -"Yes, sir." Larry closed his lips firmly for a moment, and then came to -the point without further words. "Mr. Janney, I suppose I should have -spoken to you before I left New York. Our business relations seemed to -make it difficult. But the very fact that we can't be friends in -business makes it necessary for me, at least, to be honest with you in -this other matter." - -"What on earth are you driving at?" - -"I want to marry your daughter, sir, that's all," said Larry with the -suddenness of desperation. - -"Gretchen? My daughter?" Janney said, explosively. He rose, with one -hand on the back of his chair, and glared at Larry as though he doubted -his sanity. "You want to marry Gretchen?" Then he laughed--and Larry -discovered in that laugh wherein Janney and General Bent had points of -contact. Janney took three long strides to the window, then wheeled -suddenly. "You must be crazy. My daughter--marry _you_?" - -Larry had risen and met Janney's impertinent scrutiny with some dignity. - -"Yes, sir; I'm not aware of anything in my family, my connections, my -prospects, or my character which can be found objectionable. Your -daughter cares for me----" - -"Why, you insolent young fortune-hunter!" - -"Wait a moment!" and Larry's voice dominated. "You'll speak to me as one -gentleman does to another--or you'll not speak to me at all." He took -up his hat from the table, and then, more evenly, "I take it, you refuse -your consent?" - -By this time Curtis Janney's usual poise had completely deserted him. - -"Refuse--my consent? Well, rather!" - -He went to the door through which Berkely had entered. But instead of -opening the door Janney turned and put his back to it. - -"See here, young man, you don't like my language. Perhaps you'll like it -less when I'm through talking. Colorado seems to breed big ambitions. I -know nothing of your family and care less. But I do know something of -your prospects. Inside of forty-eight hours you won't have prospects of -any kind. You're going to be blotted out. Do you understand? I've made -other plans for my daughter--and I'm not in the mood to listen to any -silly romantic nonsense from her or any far-sighted propositions from -you. Your proposal is impudent sir, d--d impudent--the proposition of a -desperate man who, failing to win by fair means----" - -"Will you open the door, sir?" said Larry, now white with rage. "If -not, I'll find means to open it myself." He took a step forward, and -the two men glared into each other's eyes not a pace apart. There was no -mistaking Larry's determination, and Mr. Janney's surprise was manifest. -This was not the manner of the fortune-hunters he had met. Somewhat -uncertainly he stood aside, and Berkely put his hand on the door-knob. - -"I did you an honor in consulting you, sir. It's a pity you couldn't -appreciate it. In the future I'll act on my own initiative. Good -afternoon." - -And, before the older man had even realized what the words meant, Larry -had opened the door and was gone. He hurried down the corridor, still -trembling at the meaning of Janney's insults, which had touched his -Southern pride. For Gretchen's sake it would have been better if he -could have kept himself under control, and he realized that he had lost -every chance of getting Curtis Janney's permission and approval. But -that did not daunt him. He had acquitted his mind of a responsibility, -and he was glad that in the future there could be no misunderstanding. -If he could not marry Gretchen with the approval of her family, he would -marry her without it. - -Halfway up the block above the hotel on Seventeenth Street Larry -stopped, able for the first time to review more calmly the incidents of -the last half hour. What was it Curtis Janney had said about his -prospects? In forty-eight hours he would be wiped off the earth. That -meant Jeff, too. He had a sudden guilty sense of shock, that in his -selfish absorption in his own affairs he had for the moment forgotten -Jeff and the business of the Company. Forty-eight hours! That was -important information--and Janney had let it slip in anger--there was no -doubt about that. What did it mean? That all the Amalgamated Company's -wires were laid, and the only thing left was to touch the button which -would blow the Wray interests to pieces? - -It looked that way, and yet Larry still hoped. The rails of the Saguache -Short Line would be joined to those of the D. & C. to-morrow. Much -depended on Symonds. Larry hurried over to the offices of the Denver -and California and emerged later with a look of satisfaction. Symonds -was still General Manager and was still loyal. Within thirty-six hours, -at his orders, a locomotive and one passenger car from the D. & C. yards -at Pueblo would carry Clinton, Symonds, Mulrennan, Judge Weigel, and -other stockholders of the Development Company from Pueblo over the line -to Saguache, establishing their connection at Pueblo in accordance with -Jeff's agreements with the road. It would take some queer construction -of the law for Jeff's enemies to get around that. Larry knew that it -meant a long fight, one which lack of money might lose in the end, but -he assured himself that he could establish a nice legal point which -would be worth fighting for. The calling of Jeff's loans by the banks -was a more dangerous matter. Larry had hoped that this could have been -arranged, but only a small amount of the money had been forthcoming, and -where Jeff was going to raise the rest of it Providence only knew! - -When Larry reached his room at the hotel he found a brief note from -Gretchen: - - -"I have heard about everything. I shall never speak to father again. -You must marry me at once, Larry. I can't stand the suspense any -longer. Mother is here with me, but I'm going to get away somehow. Meet -me at the Shirley at ten o'clock." - - -Larry smiled and kissed the penciled scrawl rapturously. "God bless -you, I'll do it--Gretchen, dear," he said to himself. - -That was a busy evening for Larry. It was six o'clock when he wrote a -line to Gretchen and rang for a page, to whom he gave careful -instructions--also, some money. Then he sat at his desk and with his -code sent a long wire to Jeff. At half-past six he was dressing -carefully in the intervals between packing a suit case and 'phoning to a -legal friend of his, Dick Wetherall, about a minister and a license. At -seven-thirty he dined with Wetherall. At eight he received Rita -Cheyne's mysterious wire. At nine he found the cashier of the Tenth -National Bank at his home and planned for the taking up of the -Development Company's notes and arranging to deposit Mrs. Cheyne's money -to Jeff Wray's account on the following morning. At ten he met Gretchen -at the Shirley Hotel, and, at half-past ten, had married her. - - * * * * * - -In response to Larry's first telegram and speeding eastward on the early -train, Jeff Wray read all this astonishing news in the sheaf of -telegrams handed him at the station by Ike Matthews. His brow lifted, -and the hard lines at his mouth relaxed in a smile. Good old Larry! He -tried to conjure a vision of Curtis Janney's face as he heard the news. -Larry was carrying the war into the enemy's camp with a vengeance. - -It took Jeff longer to decipher the second telegram: - - -"Mrs. Cheyne has arranged with her Denver agents--deposit eight hundred -thousand dollars your credit Tenth National to-morrow morning. Await -instructions." - - -It seemed incredible. When had Rita done this? The grim lines that his -long night's vigil had seared at the corners of his mouth grew deeper, -but his eyes glowed with a sombre fire. There was still an even chance -to win--for Larry was holding the fort awaiting reinforcements, and Rita -Cheyne had restored the break in Jeff's line of communication. The -astonishing information in Larry's last wire seemed to clear his mind of -the doubts which had assailed it all night long. The possibility of -success now gave his own affairs a different complexion. He could never -have told the truth to General Bent (Jeff couldn't think of him as a -father) unless he won the fight for the independence of the Saguache -Smelter. Jeff was no man to come cringing in the hour of failure at the -feet of his enemy, asking immunity on the strength of such a -relationship as that which existed between them. It had been clear to -Jeff all night long that if he lost his fight he could never face -General Bent with the truth. That was the real bitterness of defeat. - -But if he won? The long years of dishonor through which he had -struggled, without a name, without kindred, without friends, loomed -large before him--mute, merciless years of struggle, privation, and -emptiness. If he won, there was more than one victory to be gained in -this fight, a moral victory as well as a physical one--the triumph of an -eternal truth, the vindication of a forgotten wrong. If he won he would -tell General Bent the truth--not as a son to a father, but as one -merciless enemy to another, asking no quarter and giving none. - -The only connection for Kinney at Saguache was with the later train, but -Jeff had arranged for a motor-car which took him over the Pass and -landed him at Kinney in time for the twelve o'clock train for Denver, -where he arrived at six o'clock that evening. Larry met him at the -station, smiling broadly. - -"I think we've put a spoke in their wheel, Jeff," he laughed. "But we -must keep dark. To-morrow morning when the banks open you're going to -take up that stock, then we're going to call on the General." - -"Is everything all right?" - -"Yes, Symonds is standing pat, but they don't know it. The new General -Manager comes in to-morrow, but Symonds's orders will go through first. -That train will run, Jeff--sure." - -"Poor old Larry! a fine honeymoon you're having! Where's your wife?" - -"At the Wetherall Ranch. Went out there last night. Her mother has -been out to see her. It looks as though they might come around. It's -too bad I had to go against them just now, but Mr. Janney forced my -hand, and I had to. You understand, don't you, Jeff?" And, explaining -as they went, Berkely followed Jeff out of the station, into a motor-car -that was awaiting them. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXV* - - *THE CRISIS* - - -One of the rooms in Janney's suite had been turned into an office for -General Bent, and here it was that all the conferences between the -officers of the Amalgamated Reduction Company and their underlings had -taken place. The big men of Denver had all called to pay their respects -to the bigger man from the East, and some of them had taken part in the -business of reorganizing the Denver and California and its subsidiary -companies. - -But in spite of the conditions which had made Bent's control of the -railroad possible and the money the crowd would make out of it, -everybody in this intimate circle knew that the real object of the -General's financial operations was the fight of the Amalgamated -Reduction Company for the ownership of the Saguache Smelter. The -reorganization of the Denver and California had now been completed, and -this morning orders had gone forth removing Clinton, Symonds, and all -the old crowd from the active management of the road. - -General Bent sat at the end of the long desk table in conference with -Curtis Janney, Cortland Bent, and a youngish-oldish, keen-eyed man in a -cutaway coat and white waistcoat. This was Henry McCabe of -Denver--attorney for the Amalgamated--the shrewdest lawyer west of the -Missouri River, and one of the shrewdest east of it. In front of McCabe -on the desk was a leather portfolio from which a number of papers -protruded. Behind him sat a clerk who had been taking down in shorthand -his questions and the replies of two men at the farther end of the -table. These men were roughly dressed, and, though at the present -moment each of them smoked one of Curtis Janney's remarkable cigars, -they sat aloof and uncomfortable on their gilt chairs, assuming -attitudes of ease they were far from feeling. One of the strangers was -Max Reimer, the man who had discovered the lost vein in the "Lone Tree" -mine. The other was Fritz Weyl, one-time barkeeper of Pete Mulrennan's -saloon in Mesa City. - -McCabe's examination had hardly been concluded when two cards were -brought in by a page and handed to Cortland Bent. He glanced at them, -and then, without comment, laid them on the table before his father. - -"H--m! He's here now," muttered the General, staring grimly. "He's -saved us the trouble of sending for him." He tossed the cards on the -table and rose. "There's nothing more you wanted to ask, was there, -McCabe?" - -"No, sir, nothing. I know all I need to." - -"I thought so. Will you take these men downstairs? But have them -within call--I may need them. Have Harbison handy, too. Curtis, you'll -stay, of course--and you, Cort." Then to the waiting servant, "Show -these gentlemen up." - -When Wray and Berkely entered, General Bent had resumed his chair at the -head of the table, and Cortland and Curtis Janney sat on either side of -him. The General's head was bent forward in its customary pose, his -shaggy brows lowered so that his eyes were scarcely visible, but in the -smile that twisted one end of his thin lips Berkely read a sardonic -confidence in the outcome of the interview. On entering the room Wray -fixed his wide gaze on General Bent, his eyes gleaming strangely, and -kept it on him as though fascinated, until, at a word from Cortland -Bent, he sank into a chair beside Berkely. Aside from this civility, no -amenities passed. General Bent had sunk back in his armchair, coolly -swinging his glasses by their cord, while he keenly eyed Berkely, who -had begun talking. Curtis Janney, trying to bury his personal -animosities in the present issue, folded his stout arms resolutely and -leaned forward upon the table. - -"We understand, General Bent, that it is you--representing Eastern -interests--who have obtained a majority of the stock of the Denver and -California Railroad Company. Am I correctly informed?" - -General Bent's head dropped the fraction of an inch. "Your information -is correct," he said shortly. - -"As general counsel for the Saguache Short Line," Berkely went on, "I am -here to inform you that, in accordance with a contract entered into in -March of last year, the Denver and California made certain traffic -arrangements with my Company conditional upon the completion of the -Saguache Short Line upon a specified date. My company accepted these -conditions and has succeeded in carrying out to the letter the terms of -its agreements----" - -"One moment, Mr. Berkely," put in the General with a vague attempt to be -humorous, "if I may ask, what is the Saguache Short Line? A telegraph, -stage, or railroad company?" - -Wray's jaw set, and he glared angrily, but Berkely only smiled. - -"A railroad company, sir," he said with suave directness, "controlling a -right of way from Pueblo to Saguache--the most direct line from the -Saguache to the market. Our tracks are laid, our signals in place, our -stations built, and this morning we are advised that the Denver and -California is running its first train through from Pueblo to Saguache!" - -The three men started, and Berkely grinned. - -"I may add that in addition to Mr. Clinton (who at ten o'clock this -morning had not yet retired from the presidency of your road), the train -also carries other officers of your company as well as stockholders of -mine. A lunch has been provided at the northern terminus of the road, -and a spirit of harmony dominates the occasion--one which I'm sure -you'll admit is noteworthy in every particular." - -General Bent's brow twitched ominously. "I hope, Mr. Berkely, you'll -come to the point without delay," he said. - -"Willingly. The Saguache Short Line has fulfilled its part of the -contract. The present officers of your company are willing to carry out -theirs. The object of our visit was merely to reassure ourselves of your -friendly disposition--the friendly disposition of the newly elected -officers of your road--and to arrange with all proper haste a practical -schedule for the operation of the line." - -Larry paused and sank back in his chair with a smile. General Bent had -risen and was leaning forward over the table toward Berkely, his face a -thunder-cloud. - -"You want a schedule, do you?" he growled, his voice deepening. "Well, -I'll give you one--I'll give it to you now, and it won't take a great -while, either. As long as I'm in control of the Denver and California -Railroad Company not a wheel shall turn on your little jerk-water line -within a mile of Pueblo. That's my answer to your proposition. Our yard -limit marks your terminus--do you understand? Get your ore there if you -can find any," he finished brutally. - -But Berkely refused to lose his temper. - -"You're aware, of course," he said coolly, "that such a policy is likely -to prove expensive?" - -"You'll have to show that." - -"I think we will. But I can't believe that you repudiate this -contract," said Larry, tapping a paper with his forefinger. - -"I didn't make that contract. I would never have made it. The courts -will pass on its validity." - -"Then this is final?" - -"Absolutely. Is there anything more you want to say?" - -"I think that's all, General Bent," said Berkely, rising. "I had hoped -you would have been willing to meet us in a fair spirit. Failing to -discover that--either in your attitude or your demeanor--I suppose there -is nothing else to be said." - -"One moment," interrupted the General, sinking back in his chair with an -effort at self-control. "Sit down, please. There's something more to be -said--something which you both may be interested to hear." And he -addressed his remarks directly to Wray. "I can't say that I've watched -your efforts to put your plans through without some interest, Mr. Wray. -Under other circumstances I may say that I would have been compelled to -a kind of admiration for your fruitless perseverance. It's all the more -remarkable in the face of the obstacles with which you had to contend. -But we are fully informed as to your actual financial strength, and I -think the time has come when we may draw aside the veil and speak -frankly. Mr. Berkely informs me that he intends to proceed against the -Denver and California Railroad Company. To do this, of course, he must -have the proper authority. Are you sure that he can get it?" - -Larry smiled. "I think so." - -"To do so he requires, does he not, a majority vote of the Denver and -Saguache Railroad Company as well as that of the Short Line--those two -companies and the Development Company, as I understand it, being in a -way dependent one upon the other?" - -"That is correct." - -The General settled back in his chair, swinging his gold eyeglasses -daintily. - -"How is he going to get that authority?" he asked. - -His smile infuriated Wray, who replied quickly. - -"By virtue of my control of all companies," he said crisply. - -"Your control?" said Bent; "you have no control. I know your resources -to a dollar, Mr. Wray. To-day at twelve o'clock your Denver and Saguache -Railroad Company stock will be in my possession." - -Wray exchanged a glance with Berkely and laughed dryly. - -"Oh, you're really coming in with us at last, are you, General?" he -said. "That's fine!" And then with a chuckle, "Your name on the -directorate of the Denver and Saguache ought to have some weight with -the new officers of the Denver and California." - -The frown on Bent's brows deepened. The point of this joke did not dawn -on him. - -"That stock has always been for sale," Wray went on. "Everything I have -is for sale when the man comes along who can afford to buy it. It's -funny, though, General Bent, that you haven't said anything to me about -it." - -A slight twitching of Bent's lips and the nervous movement of his -fingers among the papers on the table. Was this really a joke or only -the last manifestation of Wray's colossal impudence? He chose to think -it the latter. - -"It hasn't been necessary to say anything to you about it, sir," he said -sternly. "To-day at noon two million and a half of that stock is thrown -on the market at a bargain--at a very great bargain. But I'm the only -man in the United States who would dare to touch it. I'm the only man -in the world, except yourself, to whom it's worth a dollar. I know your -resources down to the last dime. _You_ haven't the money to take it up. -I _have_. At noon that stock will be mine, so will you be mine--your -two railroads and your smelter, at the price I choose to pay for them." - -Jeff sat quietly, one of his hands toying with the top of an inkstand, -which he was regarding with friendly interest. - -"Are you _sure_, General?" he asked calmly. - -General Bent clasped his twitching fingers to keep them still. "Why, -sir--what do you mean?" - -"That you're mistaken, that's all. That stock is for sale, but you'll -still have to come to me to buy it." - -"How----" - -"Because I paid off those notes this morning. That stock is in my -safe-deposit vault, where it's going to stay--unless"--and he smiled -sarcastically--"unless you still want it." - -General Bent's face paled and grew red, then purple. He struggled to -his feet with difficulty. His plans didn't often miscarry, and the fact -that one of the links of the chain he had tested so carefully had failed -to hold completely mystified him. How--where had Jeff Wray succeeded in -raising eight hundred thousand dollars when the limit of his borrowing -capacity had long ago been reached? For months the wonderful secret -organization of the Amalgamated had been at work prying into the affairs -of Wray's companies and had figured his possible resources to the -thinnest part of a hair. He had not sold the "Lone Tree" or even the -smallest interest in it, and yet there he was apparently entrenched as -firmly as ever. General Bent gasped in amazement. Only the -interposition of Providence could have made such a thing possible. -Cortland Bent had gone into the adjoining room suddenly, and Wray knew -he was verifying this information over the telephone. But General Bent -did not wait for him to return. To his mind this news needed no -verification. It was time for him to play his last card--and his best. - -"You d--d young scoundrel," he said in a hoarse whisper, his voice -trembling with fury, while Wray and Berkely rose angrily and faced him. -"I won't mince matters with you any longer. You thought when you stole -that mine three years ago that you had covered all your tracks and made -yourself safe from civil suits. Mr. Berkely planned well. We fought -you in the courts and lost. I suppose you thought we had given up. We -did let up, but it was only to get a firmer hold. We've got it now, and -we're going to use it. You stole that mine--trespassed on our property -at night and tried to murder one of our employes. You assaulted him and -would have killed him if you hadn't been interrupted----" - -"That's a lie!" said Jeff calmly. - -"You'll have a chance to prove that. You lured Max Reimer into a -gambling den and put him out of business so that he couldn't prevent my -son from signing that lease." - -"That's another lie! He was drunk and violent and drew a gun on me. My -partner struck him down. His head hit the edge of a table." - -"Nonsense, sir. We have a witness who verifies Reimer in every -particular, who swears he saw from the doorway----" - -"Who is your witness?" - -"Fritz Weyl--I see you remember him. He----" - -Wray laughed uneasily. "Yes, I remember Fritz?" - -Bent came one step nearer, waving a trembling hand at Cortland, who had -returned and was trying to restrain him. But the General shook him off. - -"We dropped those civil suits because we thought it was wise to do so, -and because we knew that in time we would be in a position to win in -other ways. There are other processes of law besides the civil ones, and -those are the ones we choose to take. Before you can leave Denver you'll -be arrested on charges of abduction and conspiracy. I suppose you know -what that means?" - -Jeff grew a shade paler, his eyes blazing their resentment at the old -man who stood tottering before him. - -"You'd do that--you?" cried Jeff, hoarsely, struggling hard to keep -himself under control. "You'd hire men to send me to the penitentiary -because I've balked your plans--because I've beaten you in a fair fight -against odds;--_you?--you?_" Wray clenched his fist and took a step -forward, but Larry Berkely seized him by the arm, and Cortland Bent -stepped between. - -General Bent pushed his son aside. - -"Go, Cort--call McCabe. We'll see----" - -At this moment there was an interruption. - -"Wait a moment, Cort, please," said a voice. - -The door into Mr. Janney's parlor had opened suddenly, and Mrs. Cheyne -had entered the room. And while the General eyed her angrily, too amazed -to speak, she strode quickly forward into the group and continued -quietly, - -"There has been a mistake--a terrible mistake. If you'll let me -explain----" - -General Bent was the first to recover his senses. "Rita! Leave the room -at once!" he commanded. - -"No," she said firmly, "not until you hear what I have to say----" - -"I can't listen now--another time," he fumed. - -"No, now. I'm going to save you from doing something that you'll regret -the rest of your life." - -While the General questioned, Jeff had turned and seized her by the arm, -his eyes pleading. - -"Rita!" he muttered, "You know? .... For God's sake, don't! ... Not -now!" - -[Illustration: "'Rita!' he muttered, 'You know?'"] - -"Yes," she said firmly. "No one else will. I must." - -Cornelius Bent and Cortland had watched Wray in amazement. His face had -suddenly grown white and drawn. - -"You have no right to tell him, Rita," he persisted. "It's my -secret!--not yours! You can't! I tell you." - -But she eluded him and faced the General. - -"You must listen to me, Cousin Cornelius." - -Curtis Janney, who had been watching Wray closely, now interposed. - -"Let her speak, General. It seems to be something of more than usual -importance." - -"Very well," he growled, "but be brief." - -"I can't tell it here," she insisted. "I must speak to you alone." - -"Alone? Why?" - -"It's a private matter. Will you come into the next room, there's no -one there----" - -She turned and was moving toward the door when Jeff's large figure -blocked the way. - -"You don't know what you're doing, Rita," he whispered. "You can't. I -forbid it." But Berkely, who had been watching the General, took Jeff -by the arm and held him by main force. - -"Stand aside, sir," said General Bent, roughly brushing by. "If there's -something you want concealed, it's something I want to hear." And he -followed, banging the door behind him. - -Jeff made a movement as though he would follow--then turned toward -Cortland Bent and Janney, who had watched this extraordinary change in -the demeanor of their enemy with wonder and some curiosity. Jeff stared -at them wildly and took up his hat, saying in a strange voice, - -"Come, Larry, I must get away from here--at once," and, opening the -door, he fled madly down the corridor. - -Berkely paused a moment. "We have no intention of dodging any issues," -he said quietly. "If any of you gentlemen want to see Mr. Wray or me, -you can find us both at the Wetherall Ranch to-morrow." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVI* - - *THE CALL OF THE HEART* - - -Larry caught up with Jeff outside the elevator shaft, where he found him -striding up and down like a caged beast. Jeff entered the car in a daze -and followed Larry blindly across the huge lobby downstairs and out of -doors to a motor which was waiting for them at the curb. Larry was still -bewildered at the surprising conclusion of their visit and eyed his -companion sharply, but Jeff sat with folded arms, looking neither to the -right nor left as they whirled through the city streets and out into the -highroad. The hunted look in Jeff's eyes warned Larry not to speak, so -he sat beside his partner patiently and waited. - -Suddenly, without moving, Jeff's great hand shot out and clinched -Larry's knee like a vise. - -"He--he's my father, Larry," said Jeff hoarsely, "my father--do you -understand? I didn't want him to know." - -Larry put his hand over Jeff's and gripped it hard. He knew what other -people in Mesa City knew of Jeff's birth, but no words occurred to him. -The information had taken his breath away. - -"I didn't want him to know," Jeff went on. "I wanted to wait--to tell -him myself when things had broken right for us. I wanted to win--to -show him I was his master--not to come crawling and licking his boots -for mercy. I'll not do it now, either, by G--d. He can break me to -bits, but he'll never own me--I never was his--I never will be----" - -"He hasn't broken us yet, Jeff. He can't keep us out of Pueblo. We're -going to win, I tell you." - -"We've got to win, Larry," groaned Jeff. "We've got to win. That -conspiracy charge----" - -"Mere piffle," said Larry. "Don't worry. They've bought Fritz Weyl. -He's not a competent witness. I can prove it." - -Jeff sank back again, his gaze on the mountains. "He'd send me to Canon -City--to the penitentiary--if he could--and he's--my father." - -Larry bit his lip, but didn't reply, for his mind was working rapidly. -He had a perspective on the situation which had been denied to Jeff, and -the vista did not seem unpleasant. He was prepared to fight for Jeff's -interests and his own to the bitter end, but he was too keen a lawyer -and too sound a philosopher not to know the value of compromise, and, in -spite of himself, it was his legal mind which grasped the essentials of -Jeff's relation to their common enemy. What would be the effect of this -astonishing revelation on the mind of General Bent? He did not dare -speak of this to Jeff, who in his present mood could only misinterpret -him; but he was still thinking of it when the car drew up at the steps -at Wetherall's big bungalow palace. Gretchen and their hostess met the -arrivals at the door, and Jeff followed them in slowly. He wanted to be -alone again to think--and here was sanctuary. Gretchen paused at the -entrance to the morning room, and, taking Jeff by the arm, opened the -door, pushed him in quickly, and closed it behind him. And while Jeff -was wondering what it all meant he heard a step beside him, felt the -timid touch of a hand on his sleeve, and found his eyes looking down -into Camilla's. - -"Jeff," she was whispering, "they told me you needed me, and so I came -to you. Do you want me?" - -He looked at her mistily, for the misfortunes which hung about him had -dulled his perceptions. It seemed strange that she should be there, but -he experienced no surprise at seeing her. - -"Yes, I want you," he said absently. "Of course I want you." He -fingered the hand on his sleeve and patted it gently, as he would have -done a child's, but she saw with pain that the tragedy of his birth now -overshadowed all other issues. If he was thinking of her at all, it was -of the other Camilla--the Camilla he had known longest--the gingerbread -woman that she had been. It hurt her, but she knew that it was her own -fault that he could not think otherwise. She took his hand in her own -warm fingers, and held it closely against her breast. - -"Jeff, dear, look at me. I'm not the woman that I used to be. I'm the -real Camilla, now--the Camilla you always hoped I'd be. I'm changed. -Something has happened to me. I want you to understand--I'm not a -graven image now, Jeff, I'm just--your wife." - -He looked at her, bewildered, but in her eyes he saw that what she said -was true. They were different eyes from the ones he had -known--softened, darker--and looked up into his own pleadingly, wet with -compassion, the tender, compelling eyes of a woman whose soul is -awakened. She released his hand and threw her arms around his neck, -lifting her face to his. "Don't you understand, Jeff? I want you. I -want you. I've never wanted anybody else." - -His arms tightened about her, and their lips met. She was tangible -now--no mere image to be worshipped from afar, but a warm idol of flesh -and blood, to be taken into one's heart and enshrined there. - -"Camilla, girl. Is it true?" - -"Yes," she whispered, "it has always been true--only I didn't know it. -I love you, Jeff. I love you--oh, how I love you! Better than -myself--better than all the world. Do you realize it now?" - -He took her head between his hands and held it away so that he might -look deep into her eyes and be sure. Their lashes dropped once or twice -and hid them, but that made them only the more lovely when they opened -again. For in them he read the whole measure of his happiness and hers. - -"Yes, it's true. I know it now. You've never looked at me like -that--never before." He bent her head forward and would have kissed -her--as he sometimes used to do--on the forehead--but she would not let -him. - -"No, not that kiss--the cold kiss of homage, Jeff. I don't want to be -venerated. You're not to kiss me like that again--ever. My -lips--they're yours, Jeff--my lips ... No one else--no, never ... -they're yours." - -So he took them, and in their sweetness for a while found forgetfulness -of his bitterness. At last she led him to a big chair by the window, -made him sit, and sank on the floor at his feet. - -"You're not going back to Kansas?" he asked anxiously. - -She smiled. "Not unless you want me to." - -He drew her into his arms again. "I'll never want you to. I want you -here--close--close--my girl." - -"You must never leave me again, Jeff--I've suffered so." - -"I couldn't stand seeing you. I thought you loved----" She put her -fingers over his lips and would not let him finish. - -"No--not now----don't speak of that, it's all a nightmare. But you must -never leave me again. I want to be with you always. I want to take my -half of your troubles." - -His head bowed, the grasp of his hands relaxed, and his eyes stared into -vacancy. - -"My troubles--yes, there are a lot of them. Perhaps you won't care for -me so much when I'm down and out, Camilla. I suppose I ought to tell -you. He--my father is going to have me indicted for conspiracy--about -the mines. He's going to try to jail me--if he can." - -She started up, terror-stricken. - -"Oh, he couldn't--even he--couldn't do a thing like that." - -"Oh, yes, he could," grimly. "He has bribed Reimer and Fritz Weyl. -They swear I tried to murder Max." - -"But you didn't, Jeff--tell me you didn't," she said tremulously. "You -know you never told me what happened, and I've feared--you were -desperate in those days--and lawless." - -"I'm desperate and lawless yet," he muttered. "But I'd never try to kill -a man just for money. We offered Max Reimer a share in the mine--a good -share--but he wanted to hog it all. I told him he was a drunken fool, -and he tried to shoot me. Mulrennan struck him, and knocked him out. I -wouldn't be here now if he hadn't. I don't know why I never told you. -I suppose I thought you wouldn't understand. I left Mulrennan trying to -bring him around--and went down and bought that lease. That's all." - -"Thank God," she crooned. "I've been so afraid. There have been so -many stories." - -"Lies--all lies--circulated by him. Now he's got Reimer to swear to -them." - -She threw her arms around his neck and searched his face anxiously. - -"Jeff--he can't make people believe----" - -"He wants to ruin me--and he'll do it if he can. There's no telling what -money will do. He squeezed Conrad Seemuller and made him a bankrupt. -Seemuller drank himself to death. Jimmy Ott blew out his brains. Oh, -don't be afraid--I'm not going to do either--I'm not going to be crushed -like a worm. If he ruins me, he'll pay dear for the privilege. I'll -drag him down with me, and he'll drop farther than I will. I wanted to -keep things quiet--but I won't any longer. I'll tell the world my -story--his story, and let the world judge between us." - -He tramped up and down the floor like a madman until Camilla interposed -and led him to a divan. He followed her like a child and let her sit -beside him while she questioned him as to what had happened. Jeff had -looked for sanctuary, and he had found it at last. The other people in -the house did not disturb them, and they sat for a long time alone, -exchanging the confidences which had been so long delayed; but they were -none the less sweet on that account. Late in the afternoon Camilla -questioned Jeff again about the happenings of the morning. Rita Cheyne's -part in the situation did not surprise her. She knew that Rita had -heard everything and had decided to continue to play the game with Fate -in Jeff's behalf. But she did not tell Jeff so. When he questioned her -she told him what had happened at the Kinney House after he had left. - -"Oh, Jeff, I don't know how I could have misjudged you so. Rita opened -my eyes--why she chose to do it, I don't know. She's a strange woman--I -can't quite make her out even now. She's half angel, half vixen, but -I'll never forget her--never!" Camilla put her hand over Jeff's -suddenly. "That money--Jeff--you must pay her back that money--if you -have to sell the mine." - -"I can't sell the mine--not now. It would clean me out." - -"I don't care," she pleaded. "I don't want money. It has brought -nothing but unhappiness to either of us. I want to begin all over -again. I've learned my lesson. I look back to the old days and wonder -what I could have been dreaming of. I've seen all I want of the world. -Happiness belongs in the heart--no amount of money can buy it a place -there. I want to be poor again--with you. Give him--give General Bent -what he wants, Jeff--that will satisfy him, won't it? Please, Jeff, for -my sake! Sell out the smelter and the mine----" - -"Never!" Jeff's jaw set, and he rose, putting her aside almost roughly. - -"I'll never give them up while I've an ounce of blood to fight!" - -His tongue faltered and was silent. Camilla followed his startled gaze -through the open window at an automobile, from the tonneau of which a -man hurriedly descended. - -"What can it mean?" Jeff was asking as though to himself. "Cort Bent! -What does he want?" - -"It's very curious," Camilla said slowly. "To see you----" - -When Bent came into the room a moment later they were both aware of the -imminence of important revelations. Camilla had not seen him for two -months, and she was conscious of a slight sense of shock at his -appearance. Jeff, too, noted that he was very pale and that in his eyes -there hung a shadow of the misfortune that had marked them all. - -At the door Cortland turned to Mrs. Berkely who had met him in the hall. - -"If you don't mind, Gretchen, I'd like to speak to him alone." And, -when Camilla would have gone, "No, Camilla, it concerns you, too." -While they wondered what was coming he walked past Camilla and put a -hand on Jeff's shoulder, the lines in his face softening gently. - -"They've told me, Jeff. I know. I've come to offer you my hand." And, -as Jeff still stared at him uncertainly, "You won't refuse it, will -you!" - -There was a nobility in the simple gesture, a depth of meaning in the -quiet tones of his voice. Camilla alone knew what those few words were -costing him, and she watched Jeff, who was standing as though he had -been turned to stone, his head bent forward upon his breast, his -deep-set eyes peering under his brows as General Bent's had often done. -His eyes found Cortland's at last, searching them keenly, but he found -in them only a small bright flame of fellowship among the embers of -regret. Jeff's fingers twitched a little, then his hand came forward -impulsively, and the two men clasped hands. - -"I'm sorry, Jeff--I am--from the bottom of my heart. I want you to -understand." - -"I do," said Jeff, with difficulty. "I didn't want you to know----" - -"I'm glad. I think it's better so." - -He paused a moment before going on. "I want--I want you and Camilla to -go right back with me. Can you? That's what I came to ask. Father is -ill." - -"Ill?" stammered Jeff. - -"A stroke of apoplexy--the sudden shock of discovering all this." Jeff -and Camilla started forward with one impulse of horror. "Rita and Aunt -Caroline were with him, and Rita had told him the truth--the doctors are -there--he has recovered consciousness, but his left side is paralyzed, -completely paralyzed." - -Jeff sank heavily in a chair and buried his face in his hands. - -"What do the doctors say?" asked Camilla anxiously. - -"That he's very sick--that's all. Nobody can tell. I've wired Chicago -for a specialist. We can only wait and hope. It's pretty desperate--I -know that. He's an old man--and he's grown older lately." - -Cort stopped speaking and walked to the window, while Camilla watched -him pityingly. He wasn't like the old Cort she used to know, and yet -there was something inexpressively appealing in his gentleness which -reminded her of the moods in him she had liked the best. She glanced at -Jeff. His head was still buried in his hands, and he had not moved. -But Camilla knew that this startling revelation was causing a -rearrangement of all Jeff's ideas. In that moment she prayed that -Jeff's bitterness might be sweetened--that the tragedy which had -suddenly stalked among them might soften his heart to pity for the old -man who was his father and his enemy. - -Cortland turned and spoke with an effort. - -"Will you go back with me, Jeff? When he first recovered consciousness -he spoke your name. He has been asking for you ever since. He -wants----" - -Jeff's eyes peered above his trembling fingers. - -"He asked--for me?" he said hoarsely. - -"Yes--he wants to see you." - -Jeff's head sank into his hands again. - -"He wants--to see _me_? I can't--seem to realize----" - -"It's true--he asked me to bring you." - -There was a long period of silence, during which Jeff's long, bony -fingers clasped and unclasped back of his head as he struggled with -himself. "I can't," he groaned at last. "I can't. It has been too -long--too much." He straightened in disorder and went on wildly: "Why, -he has dogged my steps for months--used all his genius and cunning to do -away with me--tried to rid himself of me as he did years ago--and even -hired men to swear my liberty away." His head dropped into his hands -again and he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "No, I can't, -Cort. I can't. It's too much to ask--too much." - -Cortland stood in the middle of the floor, his arms folded, head bent, -waiting for the storm to pass, his own pain engulfed in the greater pain -of the man before him. He did not try to answer Jeff, for there was no -answer to be made. It was not a moment for words, and he knew he had no -right even to petition. It was a matter for Jeff's heart alone--a heart -so long embittered that even if it refused this charity, Cortland could -not find it in his own heart to condemn. - -With a glance at Cortland, Camilla went over to Jeff and laid her -fingers lightly on his shoulder. - -"Jeff," she said with gentle firmness, "you must go--to your father." -But, as he did not move, she went on. "You forget--he did not know. -Perhaps if he had known he would have tried to make atonement before. -Do you realize what it means for a man like General Bent to make such a -request at such a time? You can't refuse, Jeff. You can't." - -Jeff moved his head and stared for a long time at the fireplace, his -fingers clenched on the chair arms, turning at last to Cortland. - -"Do you--do you think he'll die?" he asked. "What do they say?" - -"His heart is bad," said Cort gravely. "I don't know--a man of father's -years seldom recovers from a thing like that----" - -But it was Camilla who interposed. She stepped between the two men and -took Jeff Ly the arm. "Cort can't go back without you, Jeff," she said -passionately. "Don't you see that? He can't. You've got to go. If -your father died to-night you'd never forgive yourself. He may have -done you a wrong, but God knows he's trying to right it now. You've got -to let him." Cortland watched them a moment, then suddenly straightened -and glanced at his watch. - -"I can't stay here any longer," he said. "I've got to go back to him. -There is much to be done, and I'm the only one to do it. This is my -last plea--not that of a dying man's son for his father, but of a -brother to a brother for the father of both. Come back with me--Jeff. -Not for his sake--but for your own. It is your own blood that is -calling you--pitifully--you can't refuse." - -Jeff struggled heavily to his feet and passed his hands across his eyes, -and then, with a sudden sharp intake of his breath, he turned to -Cortland, his lips trembling. - -"I'll go," he said hoarsely. "If he wants me, I'll go, Cort. Something -is drawing me--something inside of me that awoke when you told me what -had happened. I've been fighting against it, the habit of thirty years -was fighting it, but I've got to go. I'd be cursed if I didn't. You're -sure he really wants me, Cort?" - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVII* - - *GENERAL BENT* - - -The room at the hotel into which Cortland showed them was a part of -General Bent's own suite. Curtis Janney and a doctor consulted near the -window, and a nurse from the hospital, in her white linen uniform and -cap, hovered near. Jeff's questioning gaze sought the crack of the door -of the darkened room adjoining. - -"I think you may go in, Mr. Bent," said the doctor to Cortland. "He's -conscious at longer intervals now. It looks very much more hopeful, -sir. He still asks for Mr. Wray." - -Cortland followed the doctor into the sick room, while Janney joined -Jeff and Camilla and waited. - -"Will he--get over it, Mr. Janney?" Camilla asked softly. - -"Oh, I think so now--we didn't at first. Only one side is affected. He -can even move the hand a little. Of course, it may be a long time." - -Jeff listened in a daze. The baby stare had come into his eyes again, -and it moved from one object in the room to another--always returning to -the door of the darkened room into which Cortland had vanished. There -was an odor of medicine, the sound of crackling ice, and now the murmur -of voices. A moment later one of the nurses appeared in the doorway. - -"Mr. Wray," she said, "you may come in." - -And Jeff entered, passing Cortland, who stood with bowed head at the -door. In the darkness he could just make out the white figure of the -old man propped up against the pillows. He breathed with difficulty, -and Jeff, unused to scenes of sickness, felt all his heart go out in -pity for the helpless old man who was calling for him. - -"Is he here?" the General murmured. "Is he here?" - -Jeff moved quietly around the bed to the chair which the nurse had -placed for him, "Yes, sir," he said huskily. "It's Jeff." - -The General's right hand groped feebly along the covers, and Jeff took -it in both of his own. "Cort told me you wanted me, sir." - -"I'm glad--very glad." He turned his head and tried to smile. "It -was--so--so sudden--the news," he said with an effort, "to find out----" - -"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't want you to know." - -"I'm glad to know. It makes me--happy. I've been trying for so many -years to find you." - -"You tried?" in astonishment. - -"Yes, I didn't know anything about--about having a son--until it was too -late. One of my associates--in the West--told me later. I tried to -find out--where they had taken you, but the nurse in the hospital--had -gone--and there was no record of her--or of--of you." He spoke with a -great effort, striving against the drowsiness which from time to time -attacked him. "They did things--differently in those days. She--your -mother--never mentioned my name. We had had a quarrel--a serious -quarrel--just after we were married----" - -"Married?" Jeff leaned forward over the white coverlid toward the old -man's distorted face. "You were married?" he whispered, awe-stricken. - -"Yes, married, Jeff--married--I--I have the papers--at home--I'll show -them to you----" - -Jeff bent his head suddenly over the old man's lean fingers and kissed -them impulsively. - -"Married!" he murmured, "Thank God! Thank God for that." - -The General's eyes followed him plaintively, while he struggled for -breath. "Yes, it's true. In Topeka--Kansas. That's what I wanted to -tell you. I couldn't go--I couldn't die without letting you know that. -It didn't matter to her--she could forget. I did her a wrong, but not a -great wrong, as I did you. I've thought about you all these years, -Jeff. It's my secret--I've kept it a long time----" - -He sank back into his pillows, exhausted, breathing heavily again, and -the doctor who had stood in the doorway came forward. "I think you had -better rest, General. Mr. Wray can come in later." But the General -resolutely waved him aside with a movement that suggested his old -authority. - -"No, not yet--I'm better--I'll sleep again in a moment." And, as the -doctor withdrew, the old man's grasp on Jeff's hand grew tighter. "They -took you away from the hospital--without even giving you a name." - -"Yes, sir--I had no name but the one they gave me." Jeff tried to make -him stop talking, but he went on, striving desperately: - -"I had men working--to try and find you. I've their reports at -home--you shall see them. I want you to know that I did all I could. -We got the name of the nurse." - -"Mrs. Nixon?" - -"I think--no," he said confusedly. "I can't remember--she -disappeared----" - -"Yes, sir. She married again and went to Texas. She took me with her." - -Bent's eyes searched Jeff's piteously. "That was it," he whispered, -"that was it. That's my excuse--I tried, you know I tried, don't you? -It has been my burden for years--more even lately--than when I was -younger--the wrong I had done you. Say that you understand--won't -you--my--my--son?" - -The tears had come into Jeff's eyes, welled forth like the gush of water -in a dry fountain, and fell upon the old wrinkled fingers. - -"I do, sir--I do." - -The General's hand left the coverlid and rested for a moment on Jeff's -shoulder. - -"I hoped you would. I've always hoped you'd forgive me when you knew." - -Jeff straightened and brushed his eyes. "There's nothing to forgive. -I--I only want you to get well--you will, sir. They say you're better." - -"Yes, Jeff, better--better already--but I'm very tired. I think--I -think--I can sleep now--but don't go away--don't go," and he sank back -in a state of coma. - -General Bent recovered. The stroke was a slight one, and he gained -strength and the use of his faculties rapidly. But Time had served its -notice of dispossession, and they all knew that the hour had come when -the management of Bent's great business interests must pass to younger -hands. Within a few weeks he was permitted to sit up for an hour each -day, and with Cortland's help took up the loose ends of the most urgent -business. But he tired easily, and it was evident to them all that the -days of his activity were ended. - -In spite of it all, a great calm had fallen over the General's spirit. -The quick decision, the incisive judgment, were still his--for one -doesn't forget in a moment the habits of a lifetime of command--but his -tones were softer, his manner more gentle, and in his eyes there had -dawned a soft light of toleration and benignity which became him -strangely. - -Gladys, who had come on from Lakewood, was with him constantly and -watched these changes in her father with timid wonder. He had never -been one to confide in his children, and it required some readjustment -of her relations with him to accept the quiet appeal of his eyes and the -sympathy and appreciation which she found in his newly begotten -tenderness. In Cortland, too, she saw a great change, and it surprised -her to discover the resolute, unobtrusive way in which he met his -responsibilities, both functional and moral. Jeff and Camilla, aware of -their anomalous position, had decided to leave the hotel and go back to -Mesa City as soon as General Bent grew better. It was Cortland who -prevailed on them to stay. - -"We're all one family now, Jeff," he said firmly, "one and indivisible. -Gladys and I are of a mind on that, and father wishes it so. Your claim -on him comes before ours--we don't forget that--we don't want to forget -it." - -Jeff, unable to reply, only grasped him by the hand. And then, with -Larry's help, the two of them plunged into the business of straightening -out the tangle in the General's affairs and Jeff's. It was a matter of -moment with Cortland to give the Saguache Short Line a proper schedule -at once, and so by his dispensation on the twenty-fifth of May, as Jeff -had boasted (he thought of it now), trains were running from Pueblo to -Saguache. The Denver and Western, too, restored its old schedule from -Kinney, and the Saguache Mountain Development Company resumed its -business by really developing. - -In the absence of his two sons, Camilla and Gladys sat with the old man, -reading or talking to him as the fancy seized him to have them do. He -liked to lie on a couch at the window and look out toward the mountains -beyond which Jeff's interests lay, while Camilla told him of her -husband's early struggles in the Valley. He questioned her eagerly, -often repeating himself, while she told him of the "Watch Us Grow" sign, -of the failure of Mesa City, and of its rejuvenescence. - -"Perhaps, after all," the old man would sigh, "perhaps it did him no -harm. It makes me very happy, child." He didn't say what made him -happy, but Camilla knew. - -Then there came a day when the General was pronounced out of all danger -and capable of resuming a small share of his old responsibilities. On -that day new articles of partnership were drawn for the firm of Bent & -Company, into which Jeff Wray was now admitted. The "Lone Tree" mine -and the Saguache Smelter figured in the transaction. Mrs. Cheyne, who -had a wise corner in her pretty head, refused to accept the money which -had been advanced to Jeff Wray, and now insisted on bonds of the -Development Company and stock in the Short Line. Lawrence Berkely, -whose peace had been made with Curtis Janney, now became the Western -representative of the Amalgamated Reduction Company, with Pete Mulrennan -as actual head of the Mesa City plant. It was from General Bent that -all of the plans emanated, and Curtis Janney without difficulty -succeeded in arranging matters in New York. He took a sardonic pleasure -in reminding the General that he had once suggested the advisability of -using Jeff's talents for the benefit of their company--and accepted -these plans as a slight tribute to his own wisdom. - -General Bent wanted to go up to Mesa City to see the mine, but it was -thought best by the doctors to send him East to a lower altitude, and -so, about the middle of June, Cortland took him to New York, leaving -Jeff and Camilla to stay for a while at Mesa City, where Camilla could -watch the building of "Glen Irwin." She could not find it in her heart -to give up the West--not altogether. Later on they would spend their -summers there--up in the mountains--Jeff's mountains. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVIII* - - *HOUSEHOLD GODS--AND GODDESSES* - - -The years which followed seemed very short ones to Camilla--a time of -quiet delight, of restitution, and fulfillment. General Bent had wanted -them to come and live with him in the old house down in Madison Avenue, -and Jeff, in his whole-hearted way, had given him the promise, but it -was Camilla who had thought it wisest for them to have an establishment -of their own. The house was just off the avenue near the Park, a rented -place, for Camilla had not yet arrived at the state of mind to consider -New York their home. But most of Jeff's time was now spent in New -York--seven months of the year at least--and she was beginning to learn -with reluctance that before long only their summers could be spent at -"Glen Irwin." On certain afternoons Camilla sat in the library -downstairs with her embroidery frame (she always seemed to be sewing -now), her lap covered with thin, flimsy fabrics, the borders of which -she was embellishing. They were very tiny pieces of material, apparently -shapeless, but from time to time she held them at arm's length before -her, her head on one side, and smiled approval of her own handiwork. It -was here that Jeff liked to find her--thus occupied. He had not even -contracted the habit of stopping at a club on the way uptown, and unless -he was detained on important matters she knew when she would hear the -sound of his key in the latch outside. - -Mrs. Wray had made it known that she was not at home except to the -chosen few. The General came on certain days for his "toddy," Gladys on -the way home from "teaing it," Mrs. Rumsen, Dolly Haviland, and Rita -Cheyne, each for a peep behind the curtain. - -Rita Cheyne came oftenest and stayed longest. She had no social -responsibilities, she claimed, except that of seeing the small garments -in Camilla's lap made successfully. She was hopelessly bored, more -demurely cheerful, more buoyantly pessimistic than ever. - -"What a joy it must be," she sighed, "to have an object in life. My -objects are all subjective. I have a dreadful fear that I'm getting to -be a philosopher." - -Camilla bit off her thread and smiled. - -"Platonic?" she asked. - -"I'm afraid so. I used to take such desperate fancies to people. I -used to want to make people like me whether they wanted to or not. Now -I'm really indifferent. I actually don't care whether my hat is on -straight or not. It's such a pity. I used to like to be _svelte_, -fluffy, and smartly groomed. I didn't mind suffering the tortures of -the rack if I knew I was effective. Now--I'm positively dowdy. I don't -care what I wear so long as I'm comfortable--and I'm actually getting -_fat_, Camilla! The horror of it!" - -Camilla looked up at the exquisite afternoon frock, which fitted her -slender figure as only one made by Patrain could, and smiled. - -"Yes, Rita, positively corpulent. It's a pity. You really had a good -figure once." - -"The worst of it is that I don't seem to care," she went on, oblivious. -"I used to love to dress for moods--for my moods and for other people's. -I thought that Art could solve every problem that came to me. Art!" she -sniffed contemptuously. "Art in a woman is merely a confession of -inefficiency. I used to think that Art was immortal. Now I find that -only Nature is." - -Camilla lifted the tiny sacque with its absurd blue silk cuffs and -examined it with a satisfied air. When she had finished she leaned over -to Rita and whispered with the air of an oracle: - -"Nature _is_--immortal." - -"It is. You're right," she sighed. "But it's my nature to be merely -mortal--and I'm going to die very hard. I must continue to hide my -inefficiencies--by Art." - -"You're not inefficient," Camilla corrected. "You're merely -feminine--extravagantly feminine----" - -"Yes, feminine--but not womanly. Oh, I know what I am!" she concluded -fiercely. - -"You're a darling!" said Camilla softly. "You're very much more womanly -than you want people to think you are. Why should you take such a -delight in _these_?" Camilla laid a hand on the wicker basket beside -her. - -Rita took up one of the tiny garments and examined it with minute -interest. - -"It's very pretty, isn't it? But quite silly. Imagine anything so tiny! -What a lot of trouble you take. And you've made them all yourself. -They're really exquisite." - -"They're Art's tribute to Nature, Rita," said Camilla with an air of -finality. - -Mrs. Cheyne sighed. - -"My mission in life is ended, Camilla. I'm quite sure of it now. -You've convinced me. I'm actually envious of a woman who sits by the -fire and sews baby-clothes. Your industry is a reproach--your smile a -reproof and your happiness a condemnation. I know you're right. You've -really solved the problem, and I haven't. I never will. I'm past that -now. I'm going to grow old ungracefully, yielding the smallest fraction -of an inch at a time to the inevitable. I'm going to be stout, I know -it--and probably dumpy. I could weep, Camilla." - -"Who's talking of weeping here?" said a voice. And General Bent, with -his stick, came thumping in. "Oh--you, Rita?" he laughed. "Women never -cry unless there's something to be gained by it." Rita offered him her -cheek, and Camilla rang for tea. In a moment Mrs. Rumsen came in. - -"I knew you were here, Rita," she said, bending her tall figure for a -caress. - -"How?" - -"Teddy Wetherby's machine--at the corner--and Teddy." - -"Is he waiting still? Such a nice boy--but absolutely oblivious of the -passage of time." - -"I thought you'd given up your kindergarten, Rita," put in Camilla, -laughing. - -"I have. But Teddy is my prize pupil. He's taking a post-graduate -course." And, when they all laughed at her, she turned on them -severely. "I won't have you laughing at Teddy. He's really an angel." - -"I'm going to tell his mother," said Mrs. Rumsen. - -Rita took her tea cup and sank back in her chair absently. "Oh, -well--perhaps you'd better," she said. "I'm going in for square-toed -shoes and settlement meetings." - -The General grunted and sipped his Scotch, but when Jeff and Cortland -came in the women were still laughing at Mrs. Cheyne. Jeff walked -across the room to his wife and kissed her. - -"Father--Aunt Caroline--Hello! Rita." - -"Well, sir--" from Camilla, "please give an account of yourself." - -"You'll have to speak to Cort. We stopped in at the Club for a minute. -Cheyne was there and Hal Dulaney, Perot, Steve Gillis, Douglas -Warrington, and two or three others. They wanted us to stay for dinner. -But we didn't." - -"Of course not," said Camilla so decisively that Rita Cheyne laughed. - -"There!" she said pityingly. "Oh, Jeff! a subject and a slave as well! -Aren't you really going to let him go, Camilla?" - -Camilla looked up into Jeff's face with a heavenly smile. - -"Of course--if he _wants_ to." - -"But I _don't_ want to," said Jeff, sinking into a chair with a -comfortable sigh. "This is good enough for me. Besides," he added -mischievously, "it looked like a meeting." - -"What kind of a meeting?" - -"Of the Rita Cheyne Protective Association." - -"Jeff, you're horrid!" said Rita, but she laughed. - -"I'm not," he said calmly. "They have my full sympathy and support. I -told 'em so." - -"Your sins are finding you out, my dear cousin," chuckled the General. -"They always do in the end." - -"Oh, you're hopeless--_all_ of you," sighed the culprit, setting down -her tea cup. - -Cortland finished his drink in leisurely fashion and dropped into the -vacant chair beside his father. "Well, we put it over," he said -quietly. - -"The bond issue?" - -"Yes, sir--we had a fight in the board, but we got McIntyre's vote at -last and jammed it through--that was all we needed." - -"I didn't think it was possible," the old man exclaimed. - -"It wasn't easy, but Jeff managed it." - -"I didn't sir," Jeff interposed. "Cort did the whole thing. We've made -him president. We made it unanimous in the end." - -"By George, Cort, I'm proud of you. I always knew you had the stuff in -you if we ever woke you up." - -"Oh, I guess I'm awake all right. A fellow has to be down there." He -leaned forward and picked up an article on the work basket. - -"Where's His Majesty?" he asked of Mrs. Wray. - -Camilla glanced at the clock. - -"Asleep, I hope. He's been very dissipated lately. He was up yesterday -until seven." - -"Takes after his father," said Mrs. Cheyne scornfully. - -At that moment a small cry was heard upstairs, and Camilla flew. "The -lamb!" she cried, and from the hall they heard her telling the trained -nurse to bring the infant down. At the bottom of the steps she met them -and bore him triumphantly in. He was a very small person with large -round blue eyes that stared like Jeff's. They looked at nobody in -particular, and yet they were filled with the wisdom of the ages. - -"What a little owl he is!" said Rita, but when she jangled her gold -purse before his eyes he seized it with both hands and gurgled -exultantly. - -"He knows a good thing when he sees it," laughed Cort. "Got the gold -fever, too." - -"What a shame!" said Camilla indignantly. "He hasn't any kind of a -fever, have you, Cornelius?" - -The child said, "Da!" - -"Didn't I tell you? He knows." - -"He has such fuzzy pink hair!" said Cort, rubbing it the wrong way. "Do -you think it will stay pink?" - -"You sha'n't be godfather to my son if you say another word, Cortland. -Here, nurse, take him. They sha'n't abuse him any longer." She pressed -her lips rapturously against his rosy cheek and released him. Mrs. -Rumsen gazed through her lorgnon, while the infant, with a cry of -delight, pulled the glasses from the General's nose. - -"No respect for age! None at all!" said Mrs. Rumsen. - -After a while they all went away--Rita Cheyne to her post-graduate -pupil, Mrs. Rumsen to her brougham, and Cort and his father to the walk -downtown, leaving Camilla and Jeff sitting at the fireside alone. One -armchair was big enough for them both. She sat on his knees and leaned -back against him, close in the shelter of his arms. - -"You didn't want to stay out to dinner, did you, Jeff?" she asked. - -"Oh, yes," he said, "of course I did. I'm very fond of dining out." - -She laughed contentedly. They had dined out only once this winter, and -that was at his father's house. There was a long silence. - -"Poor Rita," she sighed at last, "what's to become of her? She's not -really happy, Jeff. I sometimes think----" she paused. - -"What?" - -"That she still thinks of you." - -Jeff laughed. "I hope she does. Why, silly?" - -"Simply because she never gives me the slightest reason to think that -she does." - -Jeff rubbed his nose thoughtfully. - -"That's one too many for me." - -"Don't you know that a woman always judges another woman by the thoughts -she suppresses?" - -"That's nonsense." - -"No, it isn't. I won't have you say that what I think is nonsense." - -She turned her head toward him and looked down into his eyes. - -"Are you sure you never cared for Rita? Not a little?" - -"Sure." - -"It was the Forbidden Way, Jeff. Do you like this way--_our_ -way--better?" - -He held her closer in his arms and that reply seemed adequate. She -asked him no more questions until some moments later, and she asked him -that one because she always liked the way he answered it. - -A sudden loud rasping of the dining-room hangings on their brass rod, -and Camilla sprang up hurriedly. She even had time to go to the mantel -mirror and rearrange the disorder of her hair before the butler came in -to announce dinner. - -He was a well-trained servant. - - - - - THE END - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - *STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY* - - *GENE STRATTON-PORTER* - - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. - - - - *THE HARVESTER* - -Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs - -"The Harvester," David Langston, is a man of the woods and fields, who -draws his living from the prodigal hand of Mother Nature herself. If -the book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man, with his -sure grip on life, his superb optimism, and his almost miraculous -knowledge of nature secrets, it would be notable. But when the Girl -comes to his "Medicine Woods," and the Harvester's whole sound, healthy, -large outdoor being realizes that this is the highest point of life -which has come to him--there begins a romance, troubled and interrupted, -yet of the rarest idyllic quality. - - - - *FRECKLES.* - -Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford - -Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which he -takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great -Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs to -the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with "The -Angel" are full of real sentiment. - - - - *A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST.* - -Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda. - -The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, lovable type of -the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and kindness -towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the sheer beauty -of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and -unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage. - -It is an inspiring story of a life worth while and the rich beauties of -the out-of-doors are strewn through all its pages. - - - - *AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW.* - -Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp. Design and decorations by Ralph -Fletcher Seymour. - -The scene of this charming, idyllic love story is laid in Central -Indiana. The story is one of devoted friendship, and tender -self-sacrificing love; the friendship that gives freely without return, -and the love that seeks first the happiness of the object. The novel is -brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos -and tender sentiment will endear it to all. - - - - * * * * * - - - - *JOHN FOX, JR'S.* - - *STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS* - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. - - - - *THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE.* - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree -that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine -lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he -finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the -foot-prints of a girl. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and -the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder -chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine." - - - - *THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME* - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come." -It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which -often springs the flower of civilization. - -"Chad," the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he -came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, -seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and -mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming waif, -by the way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in the -mountains. - - - - *A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND.* - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, the lair of -moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the -heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two -impetuous young Southerners fall under the spell of "The Blight's" -charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in the -love making of the mountaineers. - -Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some of -Mr. Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives. - - - - * * * * * - - - - *MYRTLE REED'S NOVELS* - - May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. - - - - *LAVENDER AND OLD LACE.* - -A charming story of a quaint corner of New England where bygone romance -finds a modern parallel. The story centers round the coming of love to -the young people on the staff of a newspaper--and it is one of the -prettiest, sweetest and quaintest of old fashioned love stories, * * * a -rare book, exquisite in spirit and conception, full of delicate fancy, -of tenderness, of delightful humor and spontaneity. - - - - *A SPINNER IN THE SUN.* - -Miss Myrtle Reed may always be depended upon to write a story in which -poetry, charm, tenderness and humor are combined into a clever and -entertaining book. Her characters are delightful and she always displays -a quaint humor of expression and a quiet feeling of pathos which give a -touch of active realism to all her writings. In "A Spinner in the Sun" -she tells an old-fashioned love story, of a veiled lady who lives in -solitude and whose features her neighbors have never seen. There is a -mystery at the heart of the book that throws over it the glamour of -romance. - - - - *THE MASTER'S VIOLIN.* - -A love story in a musical atmosphere. A picturesque, old German virtuoso -is the reverent possessor of a genuine "Cremona." He consents to take -for his pupil a handsome youth who proves to have an aptitude for -technique, but not the soul of an artist. The youth has led the happy, -careless life of a modern, well-to-do young American and he cannot, with -his meagre past, express the love, the passion and the tragedies of life -and all its happy phases as can the master who has lived life in all its -fulness. But a girl comes into his life--a beautiful bit of human -driftwood that his aunt had taken into her heart and home, and through -his passionate love for her, he learns the lessons that life has to -give--and his soul awakes. - -Founded on a fact that all artists realize. - - - - * * * * * - - - - *GROSSET& DUNLAP'S* - - *DRAMATIZED NOVELS* - - THE KIND THAT ARE MAKING THEATRICAL HISTORY - - May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list - - - - *WITHIN THE LAW.* - -By Bayard Veiller & Marvin Dana. Illustrated by Wm. Charles Cooke. - -This is a novelization of the immensely successful play which ran for -two years in New York and Chicago. - -The plot of this powerful novel is of a young woman's revenge directed -against her employer who allowed her to be sent to prison for three -years on a charge of theft, of which she was innocent. - - - - *WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY.* - -By Robert Carlton Brown. Illustrated with scenes from the play. - -This is a narrative of a young and innocent country girt who is suddenly -thrown into the very heart of New York, "the land of her dreams," where -she is exposed to all sorts of temptations and dangers. - -The story of Mary is being told in moving pictures and played in -theatres all over the world. - - - - *THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM.* - -By David Belasco. Illustrated by John Rae. - -This is a novelization of the popular play in which David Warfield, as -Old Peter Grimm, scored such a remarkable success. - -The story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal, powerful, -both as a book and as a play. - - - - *THE GARDEN OF ALLAH.* - -By Robert Hichens. - -This novel is an intense, glowing epic of the great desert, sunlit, -barbaric, with its marvelous atmosphere of vastness and loneliness. - -It is a book of rapturous beauty, vivid in word painting. The play has -been staged with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties. - - - - *BEN HUR. A Tale of the Christ.* - -By General Lew Wallace. - -The whole world has placed this famous Religious-Historical Romance on a -height of pre-eminence which no other novel of its time has reached. -The clashing of rivalry and the deepest human passions, the perfect -reproduction of brilliant Roman life, and the tense, fierce atmosphere -of the arena have kept their deep fascination. A tremendous dramatic -success. - - - - *BOUGHT AND PAID FOR.* - -By George Broadhurst and Arthur Hornblow. Illustrated with scenes from -the play. - -A stupendous arraignment of modern marriage which has created an -interest on the stage that is almost unparalleled. The scenes are laid -in New York, and deal with conditions among both the rich and poor. - -The interest of the story turns on the day-by-day developments which -show the young wife the price she has paid. - - - - * * * * * - - - - *GROSSET & DUNLAP'S* - - DRAMATIZED NOVELS - - Original, sincere and courageous--often amusing--the - kind that are making theatrical history. - - - - *MADAME X.* - -By Alexandra Bisson and J. W. McConaughy. Illustrated with scenes from -the play. - -A beautiful Parisienne became an outcast because her husband would not -forgive an error of her youth. Her love for her son is the great final -influence in her career. A tremendous dramatic success. - - - - *THE GARDEN OF ALLAH.* - -By Robert Hichens. - -An unconventional English woman and an inscrutable stranger meet and -love in an oasis of the Sahara. Staged this season with magnificent -cast and gorgeous properties. - - - - *THE PRINCE OF INDIA.* - -By Lew. Wallace. - -A glowing romance of the Byzantine Empire, presenting with extraordinary -power the siege of Constantinople, and lighting its tragedy with the -warm underflow of an Oriental romance. As a play it is a great dramatic -spectacle. - - - - *TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY.* - -By Grace Miller White. Illust. by Howard Chandler Christy. - -A girl from the dregs of society, loves a young Cornell University -student, and it works startling changes in her life and the lives of -those about her. The dramatic version is one of the sensations of the -season. - - - - *YOUNG WALLINGFORD.* - -By George Randolph Chester. Illust. by F. R. Gruger and Henry Raleigh. - -A series of clever swindles conducted by a cheerful young man, each of -which is just on the safe side of a State's prison offence. As -"Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford," it is probably the most amusing expose of -money manipulation ever seen on the stage. - - - - *THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY.* - -By P. G. Wodehouse. Illustrations by Will Grefe. - -Social and club life in London and New York, an amateur burglary -adventure and a love story. Dramatized under the title of "A Gentleman -of Leisure," it furnishes hours of laughter to the play-goers. - - - - * * * * * - - - - *CHARMING BOOKS FOR GIRLS* - - May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list - - - - *WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE.* - -By Jean Webster. Illustrated by C. D. Williams. - -One of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been -written. It is bright, whimsical and entertaining, lifelike, laughable -and thoroughly human. - - - - *JUST PATTY.* - -By Jean Webster. Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. - -Patty is full of the joy of living, fun-loving, given to ingenious -mischief for its own sake, with a disregard for pretty convention which -is an unfailing source of joy to her fellows. - - - - *THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL.* - -By Eleanor Gates. With four full page illustrations. - -This story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate children -whose early days are passed in the companionship of a governess, seldom -seeing either parent, and famishing for natural love and tenderness. A -charming play as dramatized by the author. - - - - *REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM.* - -By Kate Douglas Wiggin. - -One of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca's artistic, -unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of -austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal -dramatic record. - - - - *NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA.* - -By Kate Douglas Wiggin. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -Additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that -carry Rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday. - - - - *REBECCA MARY.* - -By Annie Hamilton Donnell. Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green. - -This author possesses the rare gift of portraying all the grotesque -little joys and sorrows and scruples of this very small girl with a -pathos that is peculiarly genuine and appealing. - - - - *EMMY LOU: Her Book and Heart.* - -By George Madden Martin. Illustrated by Charles Louis Hinton. - -Emmy Lou is irresistibly lovable, because she is so absolutely real. She -is just a bewitchingly innocent, huggable little maid. The book is -wonderfully human. - - - _Ask for complete free list of G. & D. 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