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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -<title>THE FORBIDDEN WAY</title> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="The Forbidden Way" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2015-01-06" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1911" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="47899" /> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="The Forbidden Way" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="George Gibbs" /> - -<link rel="schema.DCTERMS" href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" /> -<link rel="schema.MARCREL" href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.title" content="The Forbidden Way" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.source" content="/home/ajhaines/forbid/forbid.rst" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.language" content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.modified" content="2015-01-06T22:58:36.406366+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.publisher" content="Project Gutenberg" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.rights" content="Public Domain in the USA." /> -<link rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47899" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.creator" content="George Gibbs" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.created" content="2015-01-06" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" /> -<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" /> -<meta name="generator" content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="the-forbidden-way"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE FORBIDDEN WAY</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>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 </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with -this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. 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.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: The Forbidden Way -<br /> -<br />Author: George Gibbs -<br /> -<br />Release Date: January 06, 2015 [EBook #47899] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE FORBIDDEN WAY</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container frontispiece"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 63%" id="figure-51"> -<span id="as-she-sat-before-her-mirror"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="As she sat before her mirror..." src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">As she sat before her mirror...</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold xx-large">THE -<br />FORBIDDEN WAY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">GEORGE GIBBS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF -<br />THE BOLTED DOOR, ETC.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">ILLUSTRATED</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">NEW YORK -<br />GROSSET & DUNLAP -<br />PUBLISHERS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Copyright, 1911, BY -<br />D. APPLETON AND COMPANY -<br />Copyright, 1911, by Associated Sunday Magazines, Incorporated.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">Published September, 1911</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Printed in the United States of America</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#sharp-practice">Sharp Practice</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#camilla">Camilla</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#new-york">New York</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#id1">The Forbidden Way</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#diners-out">Diners Out</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#mrs-cheyne">Mrs. Cheyne</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#braebank">Braebank</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-brush">The Brush</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-shadow">The Shadow</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#triton-of-the-minnows">Triton of the Minnows</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#discord">Discord</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tea-cups-and-music">Tea Cups and Music</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#good-fishing">Good Fishing</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#father-and-son">Father and Son</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#infatuation">Infatuation</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#old-dangers">Old Dangers</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#old-rose-leaves">Old Rose Leaves</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#combat">Combat</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lady-in-gray">The Lady in Gray</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#la-femme-propose">*La Femme Propose*</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#l-homme-dispose">*L'Homme Dispose*</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#private-matters">Private Matters</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-intruder">The Intruder</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#gretchen-decides">Gretchen Decides</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-crisis">The Crisis</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-call-of-the-heart">The Call of the Heart</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#general-bent">General Bent</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#household-godsand-goddesses">Household Gods—and Goddesses</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="sharp-practice"><span class="bold x-large">THE FORBIDDEN WAY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">SHARP PRACTICE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something new is hatching in this incubator," -he muttered at last, dipping his pen in the ink -bottle again. "And I think—I </span><em class="italics">think</em><span> 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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff Wray nodded and walked to the water cooler.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, at five."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray glanced at the clock. "Has Bent been in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When will those papers be ready?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-night, if you want them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good!" Wray turned, with his hand on the -knob of the door. "When Pete comes, send him -back. Will you, Larry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>. You bet it will!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Business," said Jeff vaguely, "in the mountains."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-day? Bent hasn't been back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you've got to find him—now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow? To-morrow will be too late. That's -what I'm gettin' at. Max is ugly——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray clenched his bony fingers over the chair -arm and leaned across the desk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Max!" he whispered angrily. "What——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did he say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray got to his feet and took two or three rapid -turns up and down the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"D—n him!" he muttered. And then suddenly, -"Where is he now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Up the bar playing pinochle with Fritz."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been promisin' myself sick, but he's a sharp -one—God! But I wish them papers was signed," -sighed Mulrennan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they passed through the office Jeff stopped a -moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm </span><em class="italics">sure</em><span> it's an ugly duckling," commented -the sage.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 cañon, 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's got his nerve—right in plain view of the -town, too. What——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Wray there?" asked Bent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but he told me to ask you to wait. Won't -you come in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just tell him I'll be in in the morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeff may go to Denver to-morrow," said Larry, -"but of course there's no hurry——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bent nodded. "Humph! He feels pretty certain -I'll sign, doesn't he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Berkely stood beside him, smoking and leaning -over his shoulder, but didn't reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bent laughed. "Well, it's all cut and dried. -Seems a pity to have put </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> 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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff Wray wiped his brow, went to the cooler, -drew a glass of water, and slowly drank it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He tossed his hat on the chair, took off his coat, -and opened the door of the back office.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Larry," he added, "you needn't bother to stay, -I've got some writing to do. I'll lock up when I go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it worked beautifully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well," said Bent peevishly, "let's get it -over. I'll sign. Are you ready to make a settlement?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="camilla"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">CAMILLA</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">had</em><span> 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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She raised her head at the sound of a voice and -saw Cortland Bent's broad shoulders at the open -window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Morning!" he said, cheerfully. "You look like -Ariadne deserted. May I come in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded assent, and, thrusting her school -books and unfinished letter in the desk, turned the -key viciously in its lock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you riding to-day?" he asked from the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He came forward, sat on the top of one of the small -desks facing her, and examined her at his ease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're peevish—no? What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I'm in a frightful mood. You'd better -not stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He only laughed up at the sunflower dangling -from the water pitcher. "Oh, I don't mind. I've -a heavenly disposition."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not altogether," he reproached her. "You -and I have had other topics, you know—Swinburne -and Shakespeare and the musical glasses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, but you always drifted back again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can you blame me? If I've made love to -you, it was——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know. I'm a rustic, and it's a good game."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her head sank, but she withdrew her hands. -"And my sanity?" she asked clearly. "That does -not appeal to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps it does—most of all. It maddens -me, too—that I can't make you care for me enough -to forget yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up at him, smiling gently now. "It -is easy to say forget myself, that </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> 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 </span><em class="italics">savoir faire</em><span> -of the great lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't suppose it will mean anything to you -when I tell you I'm going," he said bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Going—where?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"East."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For long?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For good. I've leased the mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're—going—East to—to stay?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not turn, and, if he noticed any change -in her intonation, he gave no sign of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've finished here. The mine is leased. I'm -going back to New York."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't believe—you never told me. It's -curious you shouldn't have said something before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should I? No man likes to admit that -he's a failure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've leased the 'Lone Tree'? To whom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To Wray. He made me a proposition yesterday. -I've accepted it. In fact, I'm out of the thing -altogether."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeff? I don't understand. Why, only yesterday he——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was it loyalty to Jeff that made her pause? He -turned quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What—did he say anything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing—only that the mine was a failure. -That seems curious if he had decided to lease it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And out of Mesa City?" Then, with an attempt -at carelessness, "Of course we'll all miss -you," she said dully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By kissing me?" she mocked scornfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't I?" bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," said Camilla, her head in her hands. -"I've seen them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O God!" whispered the girl, laying a restraining -hand on his arm, "don't go on! I can't stand it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He clasped her hands in both of his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said, "I know it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I can't stay here." She repeated the phrase -mechanically, her gaze afar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I'm afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of me? Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me solve them then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That I'll stick to you until Kingdom Come," -he assented.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her laugh echoed harshly in the bare room. -"Whether you marry the other girl or not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll never marry the other girl," he said savagely, -"never see her again if you say so——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took a step toward her, but she held up her -hand as though warding off a blow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Camilla! Forgive me. I was only trying you. -I will do whatever you say—I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked to the door rapidly, then paused -uncertainly, leaning against the door-jamb and -looking down the street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you go?" she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't—not yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must—at once. Jeff Wray is coming here—now!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have I to do with him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing—only if he guesses what you've been -saying to me, I won't answer for him. That's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She watched the approaching figure of Jeff for -a moment irresolutely and then turned indoors. -"Of course, I can't </span><em class="italics">make</em><span> 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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't say I'd tell him," she put in quickly. -"I'm not going to tell him. Now will you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not riding to-day," she said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you might like to ride out to the -'Lone Tree,'" he said. "You know Mr. Bent has -leased it to me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, he told me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What else did he tell you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I say, Wray," Bent broke in, "I don't see -how that can be any affair of yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla started up, stammered, began to speak, -then sank in her chair again. Bent looked coolly -from one to the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There seems to be a slight difference of opinion," -he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bent bowed his head, as Jeff rose, the girl's hand -in his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I reckon that about winds up all your loose ends -around Mesa, don't it, Bent?" said Jeff -cheerfully. "When are you leaving town?"</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 61%" id="figure-52"> -<span id="i-reckon-that-about-winds-up-all-your-loose-ends-around-mesa-said-jeff-cheerfully"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""'I reckon that about winds up all your loose ends around Mesa,' said Jeff cheerfully."" src="images/img-024.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"'I reckon that about winds up all your loose ends around Mesa,' said Jeff cheerfully."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Bent by this time had taken up his cap, and -was gone.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="new-york"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">NEW YORK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was on the eve of their wedding day that Jeff -first spoke of his childhood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I knew," she said softly. "But I never -weighed </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> 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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I understand now," she muttered. "He -was not worth bothering about."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland Bent! She let the card fall on the table -beside her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood with his hands behind his back studying -the portrait over the fireplace, turning at the sound -of her voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very nice of you to see me," he said slowly. -"How long have you been here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A few weeks only. Won't you sit down?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A warm color had come to her checks as she -realized that he was carefully scrutinizing her from -head to heel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course we're very much honored——" she began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure my husband bears you no ill-will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave a short laugh. "There's no reason why -he should. There's nothing for </span><em class="italics">him</em><span> to be upset -about. He got the fortune that should—which -might have been mine—to say nothing of the -girl——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps we had better leave the girl out of it," -she put in calmly. "Even time hasn't explained -</span><em class="italics">that</em><span> misunderstanding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Prosperity?" she suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not sure I feel at home with you. You're -so matured, so—so punctilious and modish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wouldn't have me wear a short skirt and -a sombrero?" she said with a slow smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced around the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But fine birds can be no less fine whatever they -wear." There was a pause, and then he asked:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long will you be here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All winter, I think. My husband has business -in New York."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know. Mesa City can spare him best -at this season."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're very generous," she said. "I'm sorry. -It has worried me a great deal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps it will be time enough when we're -asked——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—er—of course. I forgot. I'll ask -Gladys—that's my sister—to call at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please don't trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he added, "I mean you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed nervously. "You didn't ask me to -marry you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent, and so he went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no. It can do no good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I may still be a friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope so——" She emerged diffidently and -laid her hand gently on his arm. "If you want -to be my friend you must forget."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll try. I </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, people don't die of this sort of thing," he -muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh—I must not let you speak to me so. If -you do, I must go away from New York—or you must."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wouldn't care."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a silence during which she keenly -searched his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mustn't dislike Jeff. I can't permit that. -You can't blame him for being lucky——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lucky? Yes, I suppose you might call it -luck. Didn't you know how your husband and -Mulrennan got that mine?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose, her eyes full of a new wonder and -curiosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They leased it. Everything was legally done," -she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes. Legally——" he paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on—go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the use?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must know—everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did he do? Won't you tell me?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id1"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE FORBIDDEN WAY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Max Reimer," she repeated mechanically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeff——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let him loose? What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't mean——?" she gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It can't be," she stammered. "Yes—yes. -And Reimer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They hid him for two weeks, until they brought -to terms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is what people call Jeff Wray's luck," -he said, and then added grimly, "and my misfortune."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the law?" she said. "Was there no way -in which you could prove the—the——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned away from her and paced the floor. -"He was right. It was all of these. But there was -something else——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 cañon 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right. There </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> 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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He dropped her hands and turned violently away. -"How could you?" he groaned. "How could you -have married him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God knows!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, no," she murmured. "It is not true. -You must not. I did not mean—what I said, -you misunderstood——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Camilla!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know then—I want you, Camilla——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I must go," she said decisively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped, looked at her blankly, then turned away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you're right," he said quietly. "Forgive -me. I had almost forgotten."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must! I will find some excuse to leave New -York."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll follow you," doggedly. "You're mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cort!" she cried desperately. "You must not -speak to me like that. I will not listen. You don't -know what you are saying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I," she said clearly, "I am sane again. -If you follow—I will ring. Do you hear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the shadowed doorway a tall figure stood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Jeff," said Camilla coolly, "you're early, -aren't you? I thought——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gentleman smiled and came forward into the -room with outstretched hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am General Bent. Is this Mrs. Wray? Your -husband is coming along."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The eyes of both newcomers fell on Cortland -Bent, who emerged from the shadow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Cort! You here?" said the General, -and if his quick tones showed slight annoyance, his -well-bred accents meant only polite inquiry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, dad. How do you do, Mr. Wray?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray went over and took him by the hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I rang for tea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope we aren't intruding," said the General. -"I have been very anxious to meet you, Mrs. Wray."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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. </span><em class="italics">He</em><span> wants what </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> have, and </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> want what -</span><em class="italics">he</em><span> has, and neither of us is willing to give up a -square inch. Won't you tell us what to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I give it up," she laughed. "My husband has -a way of getting what he wants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>General Bent's eyes vanished under his heavy brows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said cryptically. "It looks as though -the fruit of the 'Lone Tree' was forbidden."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="diners-out"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">DINERS OUT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"C."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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 régime was their -religion, the General its high priest, and their offices -components of a ceremony which they observed -with impressive dignity and sedate fervor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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-cochère 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I late?" she asked. "I'm so sorry. Will -you forgive me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not late," said her hostess. "Awfully -glad——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff felt himself appraised civilly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are </span><em class="italics">the</em><span> Mr. Wray?" she asked him. "The -rich Mr. Wray?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff flushed with pleasure. Nothing ever tickled -him more than a reference to his possessions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't mind in the least," she said with a slight -accent. "What did you think a baroness ought to -look like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had a kind of an idea she was stoutish, wore a -crown, and sat in a big chair all day, ordering people -around."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a pity," he said soberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His ingenuousness was refreshing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," with a vague attempt at gallantry. -"I'd take you anywhere and be proud to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Wray," she began, in a tone which was -clearly to be heard the length of the table, "you -have a handsome wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, ma'am," he drawled. "I'm glad you think -so, Mrs. Rumsen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A woman with her looks and your money could -have the world at her feet if she wished."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old lady's deep wrinkles relaxed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And diamonds——" he went on. "She's got -half a peck, but I can't get her to put them on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Rumsen did not reply, only examined -him with her small eyes through her lorgnon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you ever been West?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes. Were your people——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no people, Mrs. Rumsen," he said with a -quick air of finality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff bowed politely. "I'm very much flattered, -Mrs. Rumsen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You and my brother have business interests -in common?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I've a mine—a chain of mines and property -interests, including a control of the Denver and -Western Railroad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laid a hand impressively on his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some of them have done it, too, Mrs. Rumsen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I'm afraid I don't just take you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled approvingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why do you care?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last vestige of the grenadier aspect in -Mrs. Rumsen had vanished, and her face dissolved in -smiles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heathens! They are," she laughed delightedly. -"Critters—yes, critters, too. Splendid! Have you -told Cornelius—my brother—that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray's truffle stuck in his throat and he gasped, -"Good God, ma'am! No. You won't tell him, -will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd like to," she chuckled. "But I won't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff laughed. "I'm afraid I've put my foot in -it. I'm apt to. I'm rather a raw product——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have everything you want. Take my -advice and keep your money in the West."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks. But I like New York, and I don't -want to be idle. Besides, there's Camilla—Mrs. Wray, -you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the great lady turned to her dinner partner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Baroness, too, was amiable. It was her -first visit to America. Her husband was an attaché -of an embassy in Washington. She had not yet -been in the West. Were all the men big, as -Mr. Wray was?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had never heard of cowboys. What were -they? Little cows?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the ices were passed he turned to Mrs. Rumsen -and questioned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't you met her?" And then, across the -table, "Rita—you haven't met Mr. Wray—Mrs. Cheyne."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="mrs-cheyne"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">MRS. CHEYNE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, of course you do. One doesn't punch -cattle for nothing. But jumping is different—and -then there's the saddle——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I think I can stay on without going for the -leather. Anyway, I'd like to try."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Delighted. I'm sure Camilla will be glad to -accept. We haven't many engagements."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you've hidden your wife long enough, -Mr. Wray. Does she ride, too?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Like a breeze—astride. But she wouldn't -know what to do on a side-saddle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't blame her. Some of our women ride -across. Gladys, Gretchen, Mrs. Cheyne——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 -</span><em class="italics">ennui</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he approached, she looked up at him sleepily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you were never coming," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you?" said Wray, bewildered. "I—I came -as soon as I could, Mrs. Cheyne. We had our -cigars——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You want to smoke——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm famished—but the General doesn't approve——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray had taken out his cigarette case. "Couldn't -we find a spot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose and led the way through a short corridor -to the conservatory, where they found a stone -bench under a palm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks," she said gratefully. Turning toward -him then, she lowered her chin, opened her eyes, -and looked straight into his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know, you didn't come to me nearly as -soon as I thought you would."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I didn't know——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You should have known."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should I——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I wanted you to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad you wanted me. I think I'd have -come anyway."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled approvingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then my efforts were unnecessary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your efforts?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I willed it. You interested me, you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her quickly. Her eyes only closed -sleepily, then opened again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm lucky," he said, "that's sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know? I may not be at all the -kind of person you think I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll take a chance on that—but I wish you'd -tell me what made you want me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You didn't think I was going to happen then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er—no. Maybe I hoped so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," she smiled, "I have happened. What -are you going to do about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be thankful—mostly. You seem sort of -human, somehow. You do what you want to—say -what you want——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me about Mesa City. You know I was out -West last year."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Were you? Sure?" eagerly. "In Colorado?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," she said slowly, "but I was living in -Nevada."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nevada? That was my old stamping ground. -I punched for the Bar Circle down there. What part?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Reno."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I went there for my divorce."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was he unkind to you—cruel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm really sorry for him. It is—very sad——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She threw her head back and laughed softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Mr. Wray, your sympathy is -touching—he would appreciate it as much as I -do—if he had not already married again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Married? Here in New York?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes. They're living within a stone's throw -of my house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you see him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he's happy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he didn't make </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you curious? You don't look as if you cared -enough to be curious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>. I'm a low-brow all right. I never -read a novel in my life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her askance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," he said slowly, "something -more——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there's nothing left."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But your money——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he paused for breath she sighed. "And yet -you speak of romance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Weren't you afraid?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You bet I was. But </span><em class="italics">they</em><span> 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 </span><em class="italics">be</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did they do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope I haven't tired you, Mrs. Cheyne. It's -dangerous to get me talking about myself. I never -know when to stop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned toward her, embarrassed and still -incredulous. "You're very kind," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought I'd like to talk about you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waved a hand in deprecation. "Me? Oh, -no. We can't come to earth like that. Tell me -another fairy tale."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fairy tale? Then you don't believe me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there isn't any magic business about me. -But I'll try. What do you want most?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put an elbow on her knee and gazed at the -blossom in her fingers. Her voice, too, fell a note.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." And then, with a short, unmirthful laugh, -"That's my secret. You didn't suspect it, did you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord! no." And after a pause, "You're -unhappy about him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cheyne? Oh, no. He's the only thing I am -happy about. Have you ever been really bored, -Mr. Wray?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never. I never even heard the word until I -came to New York."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Mrs. Cheyne——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">want</em><span> something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you ever want anything you can't have?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="braebank"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BRAEBANK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He got up and put down his cigar, and Mrs. Janney -shrugged her shoulders into a more -pronounced convexity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Janney by this time had taken up the telephone -and was ordering the wagons to the station.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it, mother? Cortland and I had </span><em class="italics">such</em><span> a -wonderful ride. He is really quite the nicest man in -the world. Aren't you, Cort?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Partly. Love is so silly. You know, daddy, -I've given Cort his </span><em class="italics">congé</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janney turned testily. "What nonsense you -children talk!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, Gretchen, you're getting more hopeless -every day," sighed her mother. "What does -Cortland say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose I must," said Gretchen with an air -of resignation. "I'll not be any more cruel than -I can help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the good lady left the room they looked -at each other for a moment, and then burst into -shameless laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bent's laughter died, and he gazed at the ash of -his cigarette. "He's really quite serious about it, -isn't he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes. It's an awful nuisance, because, in -his way, he has a will as strong as mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bent smiled. "I'm glad I'm not in his boots. -You're fearfully stubborn, Gretchen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I insist on marrying whom I choose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you insist on not marrying me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me something about Lawrence Berkely, -will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Larry? You've only met him once. Your curiosity -is indecent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know he's coming here with the Wrays."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not really? That's going a bit strong. I don't -think I'll stand for that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, you will. He's quite as good as we -are. He belongs to </span><em class="italics">the</em><span> Berkelys of Virginia. -Mrs. Rumsen knows them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's precisely what I've done," she asserted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her amusedly, but she met his look -coolly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know all these things?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He told me. Besides, he's terribly good looking, -and has had something the matter with his lungs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, of all the——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure I never noticed. See here, Gretchen, -you're talking rot. I'm going to tell your father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't care," airily. "But if you do, I'll -tell Mr. Wray."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wray?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—that you're in love with his wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What—who on earth put that silly idea into -your head?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—yourself. I watched you at the Warringtons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What nonsense! I've known Camilla a long time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gretchen, don't be silly," he said, smiling in -spite of himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm really serious—you'll see." She stopped -and clutched Bent's arm. "Tell me, Cort. He's -not married already, is he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">didn't</em><span>," with dignity, "we talked about the -weather mostly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That must have been romantic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Larry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—and Mrs. Wray," she put in viciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Curtis Janney was already in the big stair hall -to welcome the arrivals.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Noiseless maids and men-servants appeared, -appropriated wraps and hand baggage, and departed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Et tu, Brute</em><span>? That's Mrs. Wray. None of us has -a chance when she's around. Here they are now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he murmured. "I'm expecting wings -any day now. I'm almost too good to be true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't make the sun stop shining."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause—significant to them both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am trying, Camilla. I am doing my best. -You appreciate that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but it shouldn't be so hard. I don't -think it would be hard for me in your place!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes questioned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Any more than </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> can see what </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> were thinking of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a refuge from the danger toward which -she felt herself drifting, and she took it, addressing -her nearest neighbor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Cheyne, don't you think men have abominable taste?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, abominable," laughed the lady. "Ugh! -I hate mustaches, too, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla turned a shade rosier, but her discomfiture -was lost in the laughter of those who remembered -that Cheyne had worn a beard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know I didn't mean just that," explained -Camilla. "I meant their appreciation of -women—their sense of the esthetic——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I say now, Rita," laughed Bent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've never thought about it, Mrs. Cheyne," -said Camilla slowly. "By fortune you mean -propinquity?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> husband, Mrs. Wray—that -would only add a new element of interest. -The more difficult an undertaking, the greater -satisfaction in the achievement."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop, Rita," put in Betty Haviland. "You're -letting out all the secrets of the craft."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Camilla," said Cortland, rising, "wouldn't -you like to see the horses and dogs? It's not nearly -dark yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," she cried gladly. And then to her -host, "What am I to expect, Mr. Janney, silver feed -troughs and sterilized water?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no," said their host, "not yet. But they're -worth it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pair made their way through the library -and a small corridor which led to the south portico.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you like my cousin Rita?" Bent asked -when they were alone outside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she your cousin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Through my mother—the Davidges. Quite -wonderful, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't like her. You don't mind my saying so, -do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd be sorry to think she meant anything she -says," severely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bent laughed. "I'm afraid you're too sincere -for my crowd, Camilla."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is Mr. Cheyne?" she asked suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A perfectly amiable person with a bald head and -a passion for domesticity and music, both of which -Rita affects to despise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did she marry him then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nobody knows. It was one of the marriages -that weren't made in Heaven, that's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Few marriages are, but they're none the less -binding because of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know," he said soberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She recognized the minor note and turned the -subject quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a heavenly spot! These are the stables, -of course. And the buildings beyond?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm wild to see them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"These are the coach and carriage horses, Camilla," -Bent explained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, ma'am," put in the groom. "The -hunters are here," and he led the way to the box -stalls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is Mackinaw? Mr. Janney promised -him to me for to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, what a darling! I'm wild to get on him. Is -he gentle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sunsets pass—they're symbols of the brevity -of things beautiful——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the night is long," he murmured. "So long, -and so dark."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-brush"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE BRUSH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded. "What a heavenly morning!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I a freak?" she asked amiably, "or is there -a hiatus somewhere? I dressed in a tearing -hurry—without a maid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no. Only you're another kind of a person—on -the back of a horse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I? How?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Last night you were all woman. You and I -are making friends pretty fast, but I was a little -afraid of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed. "I don't know whether I like that -or not. And yet I think I do. How am I different -to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should you be scared? You haven't -struck me as being a man who could be scared at -anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">It</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She threw back her head and laughed with a -full throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which are you? The kid on the horse or the -woman—back there—last night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think I'll tell you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I guess I'm </span><em class="italics">It</em><span>, all right," he laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be careful, Camilla," he was saying. "You're -new at this game, and the going is none too safe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We understand each other, don't we, Mackinaw?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pull up a little, Camilla!" he shouted. "You'll -blow him if you don't. This may last all morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I can't!" she cried. "He's pulling me. -He doesn't want to stop, and neither do I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the twenty pounds of under weight—but -you'd better use your curb."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you 'viewed'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you hurt, Camilla?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't give him his head," Camilla stammered. -"I'll know better now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For God's sake, be careful," whispered Bent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on, Mrs. Cheyne!" she cried hoarsely. -"Come on!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 60%" id="figure-53"> -<span id="turning-she-saw-mrs-cheyne-s-horse-go-crashing-through-the-fence"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""Turning, she saw Mrs. Cheyne's horse go crashing through the fence."" src="images/img-114.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"Turning, she saw Mrs. Cheyne's horse go crashing through the fence."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-shadow"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE SHADOW</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe not," she said. "Mackinaw is a -darling. I hope he's sound?" she inquired anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Others came up, men of the Hunt Club, and asked -to be presented, and Camilla, enjoying her triumph, -followed the party to the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" asked Camilla, wonderingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry if she feels badly about it," she put -in mendaciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither will I," said Camilla, smiling to herself. -"She scored one on me yesterday, but I fancy our -accounts are about even."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, they are. I suppose there's no use warning you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, there isn't, Cort. I fancy I'll be able to -look out for myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed as though Cortland had an intuition -of what was passing in her mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If there's any way in which I can be of service," -he ventured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rita? I'd as soon think of falling in love with -a kaleidoscope. Besides——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she laid restraining fingers on his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me about Gretchen," she interrupted quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's nothing to tell, except," he said with a -sigh, "that she's quite gone on Larry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't mean it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really—she told me so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bent glanced at the young couple in the hall. -"He seems to me to be doing </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> tolerably well." He -leaned forward so that his tone, though lowered, -could be heard distinctly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A solution——" she stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, a way out—for both of us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean Jeff—and Mrs. Cheyne?" she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The poison of his suggestion flowed slowly through -her mind, like a drug which stimulates and stupefies -at the same time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean it. They're well met—those two," -he finished viciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean you haven't noticed?" he insisted. -"At my father's? At the Warringtons'? Last -night at the Janneys'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she replied carelessly, "I hadn't noticed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Curtis Janney, who had been moving fussily -from one group to another, came forward as he saw -Camilla rise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was hoping we might still get another short -run, but I suppose you're too tired, Mrs. Wray?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A little—but don't let me interfere. I think -I can find my way back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 -tête-a-têtes so successfully that Rita Cheyne rebelled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, crossing to Camilla, "</span><em class="italics">Dear</em><span> 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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not in the least, my </span><em class="italics">dear</em><span> Mrs. Cheyne. I'm -</span><em class="italics">so</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you happy?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One can't be anything else on a day like this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't care then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For what? Oh, yes. I have a natural interest -in the welfare of my husband. But I think -Mrs. Cheyne is wasting her time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think perhaps you underrate her," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd rather underrate Mrs. Cheyne than underrate -myself," proudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was silent for a moment, flicking at the weeds -with his riding-crop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet—there's Gretchen," she said, "and you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?" she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His brow darkened and he looked straight before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I am doesn't matter. I was born and bred -in this atmosphere. Isn't that enough?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's enough that you survived—that you, too, -have a clean vision."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't believe that, Cort. Back there at </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> -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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't," he muttered savagely. "I </span><em class="italics">want</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, Camilla——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I lied to you. Life is a cinder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Camilla! I was mad then. I thought you -understood. Gretchen and I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would still protect you—that is what I am -offering."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glowered toward her, searching her face sullenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You love him?" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled a little proudly. "I can't love you -both. Jeff is my husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You love him?" he repeated. "Answer me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Camilla!" he called.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But before he could reach her she had joined the -others, outside the gates of Braebank.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="triton-of-the-minnows"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">TRITON OF THE MINNOWS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you decided on that?" asked the General.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I haven't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Curtis Janney took up a letter which he had -separated from the others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bent nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, they're building it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's only a bluff."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Denver and California seems set on this -thing—the more so as it promises to be a success -without much help from them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>General Bent got up and paced the floor with -quick, nervous strides.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is a difference."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>General Bent smiled tolerantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Rumsen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's cost us a pretty penny," growled Janney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The General still stood by the window, his chin -deep in his chest, his long fingers twitching behind -his back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 Cañon -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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just this: He was successful, and he left no -loose ends behind him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've thought at times, Janney, that you lack -some interest in this fight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">us</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Upon my word, Curtis, you amaze me," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Curtis Janney pressed a bell, and a servant -appeared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has Mr. Wray returned?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," said the man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell him General Bent would like to see him here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>General Bent's brows drew together angrily, but -Janney inquired suavely, "Where did you find him, -Carey?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the conservatory, sir, with Mrs. Cheyne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janney smiled, but suppressed Bent's sudden -exclamation with a wave of the hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may bring in the whisky, then tell him -that General Bent and I will await his convenience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Confound his impudence!" muttered the General, -biting at his lip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All for effect, Cornelius," said Janney. "That -fellow is an artist. He's saving his face for the -ordeal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let him save his neck," sneered Bent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't be interested."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray laughed. "I'm the original woolly Western -lamb being led to the shearing, Mrs. Cheyne——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never knew a lamb that had any opinions on -the matter," he said easily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The General got to his feet testily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rita, this won't do at all. We wanted to speak -to Wray privately——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave the room at once, Rita!" said the General -sternly. "You're interfering here. Can't you -see——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cheyne dropped her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You asked me to come here," said Wray, easily -apologetic. "What can I do for you, General Bent?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bent's deeply set eyes were hidden under his -bushy eyebrows, but the lips which held his cigar -were flickering in a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—but that interfered with my own plans," -said Jeff. "And I have had them a long time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a little late to talk about that," assented -Bent. "The plant is there, the mines are there, -and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">lèse majesté</em><span>. Wray was either -a fool or a madman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has it never occurred to you, Wray," snapped -Bent, "that somebody might come along with an axe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er—no. I hadn't thought of that," he replied -quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, think it over. It's worth your while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this a declaration of war?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no," hastily, "merely a movement for peace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had no idea," he said, with a skillfully assumed -expression of wonder, "that the Amalgamated was -so desperately anxious as this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The natural response was tolerant amusement, and -both of them made it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I'm </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> a competitor. That's just the -point. I'm governed by </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> methods, </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> plans, -</span><em class="italics">your</em><span> prices. I've been pretty careful about that. -No, </span><em class="italics">sir</em><span>, I know better than to look for trouble with -the Amalgamated."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean the smelter—or all my interests -in the Valley?" asked Wray quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The smelter, of course—and the Denver and -Saguache Railroad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We could give you traffic agreements."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd rather not. I'll sell—but only as a -whole—gold mines, coal, lumber, and all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray caught General Bent's significant nod.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is my last word, gentlemen," he concluded firmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a silence, which Cornelius Bent broke -at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what is your figure, Mr. Wray?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thirty millions?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The voices of both men sounded as one, Janney's -frankly incredulous—Bent's satirical and vastly -unpleasant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thirty millions!" Bent repeated with a sneer. -"Dollars or cents, Mr. Wray?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dollars, sir," said Jeff coolly. "It will pay me -that—in time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so, sir," said Wray politely. "Will you -excuse me, Mr. Janney?" and bowed himself out -of the room.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="discord"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">DISCORD</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mind if I stay, Jeff?" she asked. "I'd -like to hear, if you don't mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd rather you wouldn't. You can't be interested -in this—besides, the matter is rather -important and confidential."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be annoyed, Camilla," he whispered. -"Jeff is worried. You understand, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I understand," she replied wearily. -"Don't mind me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla got up, slowly, thoughtfully, and at -last moved to the bell determinedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To her maid she said, "Tell Mr. Wray I'd like -to see him before he goes out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must have—oh—it's you, Jeff——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wanted to see me?" he asked harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I haven't much time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't keep you long. You've decided to go -West—without me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, next week. Perhaps sooner if——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to change your mind about taking -me with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want jewelry, or clothes, or friends," -she insisted. "I want to go back and watch them -build 'Glen Irwin.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They've stopped working on 'Glen Irwin.' I -wanted the money that was going into that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've a big fight on, and I need all the capital -I can swing. 'Glen Irwin' will have to wait," he -finished grimly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course—I didn't understand. But it makes -no difference. I can stay at the hotel or at -Mrs. Brennan's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all this? Oh, no, you'd be miserable. -Besides, I have other plans."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't want me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I'll be very busy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No busier than you were before we came here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff paced the length of the room and returned -before he answered her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gazed thoughtfully at the fire. "Don't you -believe me when I say I want to go with you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I may not be gone long—perhaps only a week -or so. In the meanwhile, you're your own mistress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've always let me be that. But I have -reasons for wanting to leave New York."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray turned and stared at her blankly. "Reasons?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I—I'm a little tired. The life here is -so gay. I'm unused to it. It bewilders me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She fingered the pages of a book beside her. -"Then this is final?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—you must do as I say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He examined her shrewdly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're afraid?" he asked. "That's too bad. -I thought I was doing you a service."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cort Bent. That's what I mean. Cort Bent. -He's yours. I give him to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeff!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> 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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is not true," she broke in. "That day he -called here——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who? Mrs. Cheyne?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Mrs. Cheyne—and others."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> still in love with him," she said -insolently, "what then?" He looked at her -admiringly, for scorn became her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, Jeff," she pleaded. "I can't bear it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he only laughed at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you let me speak?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to meet him," she whispered -brokenly. "I don't want to see him again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The face she turned up to him was haggard, but -her eyes were wide with wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I heard you—you were calling for Cort. I'm -not going to be a fool any longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned away from her and went toward the -door, while she got up with some dignity and walked -to the fireplace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're going—to Mrs. Cheyne?" she asked coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I like," defiantly. "This game works both ways."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I see. There's some method in your madness -after all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Evidently," with scorn. "No doubt you make -it profitable to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're insulting," she broke in. "Will you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned at the door—his face pale with fury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the door crashed between them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have this note mailed at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was addressed to Cortland Bent.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tea-cups-and-music"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">TEA CUPS AND MUSIC</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 -anæmic, 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that wouldn't do—in a little while perhaps -you would be quite poor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are going to paint that handsome Madame Wray?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. She's coming in for tea to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are wonderful, those people. He is so -original—so </span><em class="italics">farouche</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He doesn't care whether he's forgiven or not, -does he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a pose. All Westerners adopt it. To -consent to be like other people would be to confess -a weakness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I like him; but then"—the Baroness yawned -politely—"all Americans are attractive. Mrs. Wray -I find less interesting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally, madame. You are a woman." Then, -after a pause, "It is a pity she's getting herself -talked about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really? That's encouraging—with Monsieur Bent?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes—they met in the West—the phenix -of an old romance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How delightful! Monsieur Jeff doesn't care?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no," significantly. "He has his reasons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door-knocker clanged, and Mrs. Rumsen -entered, escorting two débutantes, who paused on -the threshold of the studio gurglingly, their eyes -round with timidity and a precocious hopefulness -of imminent deviltries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">So</em><span> 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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How too thweetly perfect!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How fearfully interesting!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The newcomers fluttered palpitantly from canvas -to canvas and only subsided when Mrs. Cheyne -entered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> like that? I'll never forgive -you. You were painting me for Cheyne, I know it. -My portrait fairly exudes the early Victorian."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need a manager. May I offer——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks. I shall be in the poor-house soon -enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get Mr. Wray to help," laughed the painter -mischievously. "They say he has a way of making -dollars bloom from sage-brush."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at him swiftly, but took her cup of -tea from the Baroness and held her peace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The knocker clanged again, and Mrs. Wray, -Miss Janney, Larry Berkely, and Cortland Bent -came in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should have 'phoned," said the lady. "I had -something particular to speak to you about. Is -your husband coming here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I really don't know," Camilla stammered. -"He has been away and very busy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll be back for my dance, won't he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so—but he's never certain. He's -going West very soon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was telling me something about his early -life. You ought to be very proud of him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How very curious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the kind of personality one isn't likely to -forget. Has he any memory of his father or—of -his mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. His mother died when he was born. His -father—he doesn't remember his father at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're very kind, Mrs. Rumsen. I'm glad -you think us worth while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How very unfortunate!" in genuine dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shouldn't dare to be a cause of any -disagreement——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't really care. Why should you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are reasons. The General was most kind -to us both——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because he had something to get out of you," -she sniffed. "I could have told you that before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it was through General Bent that we met -everybody—people who have entertained us—the -Janneys, the McIntyres, and yourself, Mrs. Rumsen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In another corner of the studio—a dark one behind -a screen—Miss Janney had impounded Larry Berkely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you seen 'Man and Super-man'?" she was asking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've read it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. It was very un-human," said Larry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or a man so helpless, saying such dreadful -things—thinking such dreadful things about a girl and -then marrying her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How curious! I've been hoping the same sort -of thing—fearing it, too," he added dolefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fearing it? What do you mean? Tell me at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing," he murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I insist on knowing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wanted you to like me—and yet I dreaded it, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It needn't bother </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it does—if it makes </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> miserable. What -is it? Won't you tell me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don't think we ought to be too friendly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" in surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because it wouldn't be good for you—for either of us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You silly boy. I've known that for ever so long. -That's one of the reasons why I fell in love with——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Larry kissed her.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>On the other side of the screen, to her own -accompaniment on the piano, the Baroness Charny began -singing:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Tes doux baisers sont des oiseaux</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Qui voltigent fous sur mes lèvres,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Ils y versent l'oubli des fièvres</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Tes doux baisers sont des oiseaux,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Aussi légers que des roseaux,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Foulés par les pieds blancs des chèvres</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Tes doux baisers sont des oiseaux</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Qui voltigent fous, sur mes lèvres."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Amid the chorus of approval, as the Baroness -paused, a thin little lisping voice was heard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bent shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "How -should </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know, Miss Champney? </span><em class="italics">I've</em><span> never been -married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Married? How thilly! Of courthe not! It -would be thtupid to kith </span><em class="italics">then</em><span>—tho -unneth-eth—unneth-eth—oh, you know what I mean, don't -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I don't. I'd be tempted not to -understand, just to hear you say 'unnecessary' again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now you're making fun of me. You're -perfectly horrid. </span><em class="italics">Ithn't</em><span> he, Mr. Perot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's a brute, Miss Champney—an utter brute; -that's because he's never been kissed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, how very interethting! Haven't you really, -Mr. Bent? Oh, you're really quite hopeleth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a </span><em class="italics">Chanson Galante</em><span> of Bemberg</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>"A la cour</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>A la cour</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Aimer est un badinage</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Et l'amour</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Et l'amour</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>N'est dangereux qu'au village</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Un berger</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Un berger</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Si la bergere n'est tendre</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Sait se prendre</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Sait se prendre</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Mais il ne saurait changer.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Et parmi nous quand les belles</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Sont legeres ou cruelles,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Loin d'en mourir de depit</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>On en rit, on en rit,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Et l'on change aussi-tot qu'elles."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jeff listened composedly and joined perfunctorily -in the applause. Rita Cheyne laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Charming, Baroness. I'm so in sympathy with -the sentiment, too. It's delightfully French."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the sentiment?" asked Jeff vaguely -of any one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cheyne undertook to explain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" said Jeff, subsiding, conscious, that the -question and reply had been given for the benefit -of the entire company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The conversation became general again, and Wray -finished his glass and set it down on the edge of the -transom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the matter, Mrs. Cheyne?" he asked. -"Aren't you glad to see me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should I be?" coolly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're very kind—but I didn't leave any -instructions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but they told me. I wanted to see you." -"You didn't want to see me the other night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I couldn't—I 'phoned you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think it would have been in better -taste if you had come yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I left in the morning for Washington. I've just -returned. I'm sorry you didn't understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't talk like that. I tell you I've been away," -he protested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really! Why didn't you write to me then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Write?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or send me some roses?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll send you a wagon-load."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's too late," she sighed. "It was the thought -I wanted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray rubbed his chin pensively. It occurred to -him that there were still many things with which -he was unfamiliar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did think of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't you tell me so then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm telling you now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She leaned toward him with a familiar gesture of -renewed confidences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">say</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't suppose I'll ever learn——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not unless some woman teaches you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you try me again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll take it. I can't lose you, Mrs. Cheyne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not if I can help it," she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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-fiancée. -But Miss Janney was not in the least disconcerted, -only turning her head over her shoulder to throw -at him:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please go away, Cort. I'm extremely busy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla smiled, but was serious again when Bent -whispered at her ear, "</span><em class="italics">My</em><span> refuge!" he said. "</span><em class="italics">Yours</em><span> -is yonder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," said Camilla, her head in the air, "let -us go."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="good-fishing"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">GOOD FISHING</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Wray entered she was deep in "You -Never Can Tell," but looked up at her visitor -slowly and extended a languid hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you early?" she asked, slipping a marker -in the pages of her book and closing it slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't think so. I thought I was late. -I was detained."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She held up a hand in protest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray got up hurriedly. "I won't 'butt in' -then. I don't want to disturb——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The matter? Nothing. I'm all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm worried. There's been a slight tangle in -my plans. I—but I'm not going to trouble -you with——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to hear—of course. You went to Washington?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Weren't you successful?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you going to have enough?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My credit's good, and I'm paying eight per cent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eight? Why, I only get four!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know. Eight is the legal rate in my state. -Business is done on that basis."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I could help. You know I'm horribly rich. -I'd like to look into the matter. Will you let me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stephen Gillis. But he'll do what I say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd rather you consulted him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said sullenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm very sorry. Is there any way in which I can help?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The decision in his tone was not encouraging, -but she persevered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't want help?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't a matter I can speak about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her big fish was sulking in the deeps? It was a -case for shark-bait and a "dipsy" lead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray started violently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you unhappy?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he muttered at last. "It's time we -understood each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you going to do about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">him</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sank back in her chair again and mused -dreamily, her eyes on the open fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">love</em><span> that he loved. I had made a similar -mistake. We discovered it quite casually one evening -after dinner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I you," and then softly, "Mrs. Wray was -your first love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he muttered, "she was my last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They sat there in silence for some moments, but -Wray, who first spoke, restored her self-complacency.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 60%" id="figure-54"> -<span id="she-did-not-struggle-or-resist-it-seemed-impossible-to-do-so"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""She did not struggle or resist. It seemed impossible to do so."" src="images/img-178.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"She did not struggle or resist. It seemed impossible to do so."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How could you?" she said. "How could you?" And -then, with more composure, she turned and -pointed toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you'd please go—at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked over to the door and stood by the -bell. "Do you wish me to ring?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She raised her hand toward the bell, but halted -it in midair. Wray noticed her hesitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She dropped her hands. "Yes, you kissed me, -brutally, shamelessly——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shamelessly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry you think so badly of me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray gave her his blandest stare, and then -shrugged his shoulders and turned toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're willing to have me go like this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going West to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It makes no difference to me where you are going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you forgive me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="father-and-son"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">FATHER AND SON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 -Æschylus 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to speak to you about the Wrays," he -said at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland's gaze found the fire and remained on it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir, I know," put in his son.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is correct, sir," muttered Cortland, "there were."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The General eyed his son sharply before he spoke -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I to understand that those reasons still -exist? Or——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They have," the General interrupted suavely. -"If Mrs. Wray is to receive your confidences I -can't give you mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," bitterly. "I didn't know I had -ever done anything to warrant such an attitude -as this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're very flattering, sir. I've never carried -much water on either shoulder; and my relations -with Mrs. Wray hardly warrant——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland Bent smiled at the ash of his cigar. His -father saw it and lost his temper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, dad," calmly, "where shall we begin? -With Gretchen? Very well. Gretchen and I have -decided that we're not going to be married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have no intention of marrying next year or -at any other time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, of all the——! Curtis Janney doesn't -know this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He should. Gretchen is in love with somebody -else, and I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span>! I understand. You are, too. You're -in love with Jeff Wray's wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Under the circumstances I should prefer not to -discuss the matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland turned to the fire, his lips compressed, -and with the tongs replaced a fallen log.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland straightened up, the tongs in his hand, his -face pale with fury, saying in stifled tones:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For God's sake, stop, or I'll strike you as you sit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You had no right to speak of Mrs. Wray in -those terms," said Cortland, his voice still quivering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry. I did not know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland set down the fire tongs, his hands -trembling, and put both elbows on the mantel-shelf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really? You surprise me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a moment of silence which proved to -both men the futility of further discussion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't believe you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the truth. Strange as it may seem to you -and to me, she loves her husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She married him for his money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak to me freely, Cort," said the old man -more kindly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland sat up, then leaned forward, his elbows on -his knees, and followed his father's gaze into the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is strange—very, very strange!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is strange, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cornelius Bent passed his fingers before his eyes -quickly and straightened in his chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry, Cort," he said with sudden -harshness. And then, after a pause, "You must not -see Mrs. Wray again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're right, sir—I've thought so for some days. -But it's not so easy. Sometimes I think she needs -me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Needs you? Don't they get along?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know. There are times when I feel that -I am doing the right sort of thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He doesn't abuse her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland rose and leaned one elbow on the mantel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You want me to help you in the fight for Wray's -smelter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you want me to see her again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's wiser not to. No good can come of -it—perhaps a great deal of harm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She would not understand—she knows I dislike -her husband, but it seems to me I ought to -tell her——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, watching his son narrowly and yet -with a kind of stealthy pity. Cortland's struggle -cost him something.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland laid his hand on the old man's shoulder -almost timidly, as he might have done to a stranger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll forgive me, father——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—and the sooner the better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he was gone, Cortland sank into the big -chair his father had vacated, his head in his hands, -and remained motionless.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="infatuation"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">INFATUATION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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 protégée of Mrs. Worthington Rumsen, or -because she was the wife of the rich Mr. Wray, -but because she was herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll never forgive you, Billy," laughed Rita, -brushing the snow from her neck. "Never—I'm -simply soaking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Spoils of victory! You're lucky I didn't kiss you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I am," she said with sudden demureness. -"I'd rather have my face washed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter, Cort? Aren't you going to -speak to me?" she asked carelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He forced a laugh. "Oh, yes, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where have you been? Do you realize that I -haven't seen you for the last two days?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Four," he corrected soberly. "I—I've been -very busy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's no explanation. You're angry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not at all. I—thought I'd better not come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She examined him curiously, and laid her fingers -on his arm. "How funny you are? Has anything -happened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" and she turned away abruptly, her chin -in the air, "I'm sorry. We needn't meet </span><em class="italics">now</em><span>," -and she hurried her steps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he lengthened his stride and kept pace with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't understand——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care to understand. You don't want -to see me—that's enough——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Camilla, please——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 antennæ 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 fiancée, 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he really in love with Mrs. Cheyne?" asked -Camilla.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes—threw over a girl he was engaged -to. He's got it bad—worse than most of 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a pity!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rita's in good form this winter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She has a charm for men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dolly says she's a </span><em class="italics">de luxe</em><span> binding of a -French novel on a copy of 'Handley Cross.' I -guess it's true. But I've always been afraid of -Rita."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you go away please, Cort?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to see you to-night, Camilla," he said -suddenly. "Where will you be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she wouldn't reply, he took her hand and skated -backward facing her. "You've got to see me, -Camilla——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't—I won't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going away to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've gotten along for four days without meeting," -she said airily. "I think I'll survive."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're heartless——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know it. Please get out of my way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not until you promise to let me see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're seeing me now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her firmly by the elbows. "Listen, -Camilla! I'm leaving New York to-morrow for a -long while—perhaps for good——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it true? Why are you going?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what I wanted to tell you. May I see -you to-night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She considered a moment before she replied -indifferently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, if you like. I am at the Havilands'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't move on </span><em class="italics">our</em><span> account, Larry," said Perot -mischievously; "your silhouettes through the -window were wonderful—quite touching—in fact."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jack!" said Gretchen, her face flaming, "you -couldn't </span><em class="italics">see</em><span>——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, as a matter of fact, we couldn't—because -the shades are drawn"—the painter laughed -immoderately—"but you know we </span><em class="italics">might</em><span> have."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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—</span><em class="italics">never</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rest of the crowd appeared after a while, and -the steward brought hot Scotches, which detracted -nothing from the gayety of the occasion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," with fine scorn, "quilting parties! -No bridge, golf or tennis. Imagine a confirmed -night owl like </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, Billy, tucked safely in bed at -nine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm often in bed by nine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nine in the morning," laughed Perot. "That's -safe enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't believe 'em, Camilla. I'm an ideal -husband, aren't I, Dolly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hadn't noticed it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, what's the use?" sniffed Mrs. Cheyne. -"There's only one Ideal Husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who?" asked a voice, solicitous and feminine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, some other woman's, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How silly of you, Rita," said Gretchen indignantly. -"It's gotten to the point where nobody -believes the slightest thing you say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's just what she wants," laughed Cortland. -"Don't gratify her, Gretchen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cheyne shrugged her shoulders, and, with -a glance at Camilla, "Now the Ideal Wife, Cort——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would be my own," he interrupted quickly, his -face flushing. "I wouldn't marry any other kind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's why you </span><em class="italics">haven't</em><span> married, Cortland dear," -said Rita acidulously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rita glanced at Camilla swiftly and smiled her -acknowledgment of the thrust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They wouldn't be ideal," she laughed, "if we -ever got them, Mrs. Wray."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Touchée," whispered Billy Haviland to Larry -Berkely, delightedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mind if I stay out, Rita?" Cortland -appealed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, not at all, I'm so used to being deserted for -Mrs. Wray that I'm actually uncomfortable without -the sensation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="old-dangers"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">OLD DANGERS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 -Carrière—Beleuze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> money she was spending, not her -own; </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> money which provided all the luxuries about -her—the rich apartment in New York, the motor -car, </span><em class="italics">carte blanche</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I played well to-night," she said; "I believe even -Billy is pleased with me. I </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> have luck, -though—shameful luck——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stretched her arms above her head, sighing -luxuriously. "Oh, life is sweet—after all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland watched her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it?" he asked quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think so, Cort?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's not much sweetness left, for me in -anything. I've got to go away from you, Camilla."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you said." And then airily, "Good-by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He closed his eyes a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to know what it means to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why do it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I've thought it all out. It's the best thing -I can do—for you—for myself——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ought to be a judge of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His dark eyes sought her face for a meaning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's curious you didn't consult me," she went on. -"I hope I know what's best for myself——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean that you don't care—my presence is -unimportant. My absence will be even less important."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do care," she insisted. "What's the use of -my telling you. I'll be very unhappy without you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm quite fond of afternoon tea, Cort." And -then, more seriously, "Are you really resolved?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he muttered, "resolved—desperately resolved."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My father——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We quarreled—but the poison left its sting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla laughed nervously, the laughter of a -woman of the world. It grated on him strangely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you suppose </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He straightened and turned toward her sternly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mustn't talk like that," he said. "You're -lying. I know your heart. It's clean as snow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> 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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you want me still, Cort?" she asked archly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! you never loved me," she stammered. "You -couldn't speak coldly like this if you did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He raised his eyes calmly, but made no reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You make it hard for me," he said with an effort -at calmness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know I—I need you—and yet you'd -leave me at a word."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going—because it's best to go," he said -hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're going because you don't care what -happens to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Cort! Let me go!" she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He misunderstood the meaning of those tears -and petted her as if she had been a child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He watched her anxiously, waiting for the storm -to pass, and at last came near and put his arms -around her again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were only—fooling—only playing with -me? I might have known——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I wasn't playing with you. I—couldn't -bear to lose you—but," she stammered resolutely, -"now—I </span><em class="italics">must</em><span>—— 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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had turned away from her, his gaze on the -dying log.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why couldn't you have let me go—without -this?" he groaned. "It would have been easier for -both of us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat up slowly, still struggling to suppress the -nervous paroxysms which shook her shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," he groaned. "God help you, you love -</span><em class="italics">him</em><span>." 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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="old-rose-leaves"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">OLD ROSE LEAVES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment her maid entered—a welcome interruption.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you see Mrs. Rumsen, Madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, Celeste. Ask her if she won't come in -here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 régime 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Rumsen laid aside her wraps with the -deliberation of a person who is sure of her welcome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll forgive my appearance?" asked Camilla. -"I didn't think you'd mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really? When?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I haven't decided. I thought that Jeff -would have returned by this time, but his business -still keeps him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla laughed again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla had risen. "The General?" she faltered. -"I don't understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of my brother—Cornelius Bent—that is his -photograph. I have one like it in the family album -at home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That can't be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was looking over them only the other day—why -do you look so strangely?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure? You can't be sure——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there must be some mistake—it is dreadful. -I can't——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is dreadful, child? What do you mean?" She -laid a hand on Camilla's arm, and Camilla -caught at it, her nerves quivering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The photograph is——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you get it? It isn't mine, is it? or -Cortland's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla replied with difficulty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">her</em><span>. -</span><em class="italics">He</em><span> had deserted her—before Jeff was born——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then my brother was—your husband's——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no. I think I ought to know. Perhaps in -justice to my brother——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But perhaps there was something you don't -know——" she groped vainly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—yes—I hadn't thought of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Camilla, her heart full of her kindness, fell -on her knees at Mrs. Rumsen's feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are so good—so kind," she sobbed happily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla started back frightened, her eyes shining -through her tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must not speak of this to him—to General -Bent—not yet. I must think what it is best for -us to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has forgotten. Perhaps it would be better -if he never knew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know. I must go to him. It will be -terrible news for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Terrible?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fear so. I remember his once saying that if he -ever found his father he'd shoot him as he would -a dog."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Camilla rose, Mrs. Rumsen sighed deeply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>. 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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla was kneeling on a chair, her elbows on -its back, her fingers wreathing her brows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her visitor followed Camilla with questioning eyes. -"They must share the burden—it is theirs, too," -she put in after a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," Mrs. Rumsen had risen quickly and -seized Camilla by the arm. "You mustn't do that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would save so much pain——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one saved </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> 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 </span><em class="italics">us</em><span>—as humble -instruments in working out its plans."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused. And then, instead of going on, took -Camilla by the hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="combat"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">COMBAT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's pretty clever of you, Bent. I'm ready -to talk business—any time. Fire away!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bent remembered another bluff of Wray's which -had been expensive, so he only laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You once froze me out with a pair of deuces, -Wray, but I'm holding cards this hand," he finished -quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better than my father's?" Cortland couldn't -restrain a gasp of admiration. "Why, Wray, your -property isn't worth what it was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" savagely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not unless I give it to you. Trains are -scheduled to run on the Saguache Short Line on the -twenty-fifth of May."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff's sharp glance blurred quickly. Then he -smiled and looked out of the window with his -childish stare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well," he said quietly, "we'll do the best -we can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better take my advice and come in with, -us now. We'll meet you in a fair spirit——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland Bent's shoulders moved almost imperceptibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're mistaken," he said shortly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you'll have to prove it. I lived for some -years in Missouri."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you won't consider any basis for settlement?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland rose and walked to the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll take my chances."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then this is final?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly. I'm much obliged. Good morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">rails</em><span>, 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They saw her smile her thanks to Wilkinson, -but when she looked rather helplessly about her and -asked for a "coupé" 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want the hotel, ma'am?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A clerk in the outer room of the Development -Company's office building received the queer pair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm much obliged to you," she said gratefully. -"I think I'll stay here now. I'll find my way to -the hotel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Matthews put the bag on a desk, awkwardly -removed his hat and departed, while the lady sat -and waited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—what is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A lady—to see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff's head sank into his papers again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell her I'm busy!" Then he looked up -irritably. "What lady? Who is she? I can't see -anybody to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know. She doesn't belong around here." And -he dropped the card on the desk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lady-in-gray"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE LADY IN GRAY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She was frankly amused at his bewilderment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," she said with a smile, "you don't -seem very pleased to see me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've come to see you—traveled two thousand -miles to tell you I'm sorry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff brought forth a chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What coast? Oh, no," coolly; "I rather thought -I'd reached my destination, but perhaps I'm mistaken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now tell me what this means," he insisted rather -sternly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is where I belong. If Mesa City is outlandish, -then I'm outlandish, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't mean you want to stay here?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd hardly call you either. In fact, I don't -know what to think. You don't seem to belong, -somehow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not? Once you said I spoke out like Mesa City."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you don't look like Mesa City."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Horrors!" preening her hair, "I hope not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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—</span><em class="italics">Voilà</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what you can expect here. The -accommodations at the hotel——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I can stand anything now—after your trains——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll be bored to death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, Jeff? You're changed somehow out -here. You seem older, bigger, browner, more -thoughtful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know. I think Cortland Bent has been -behaving very badly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff made a quick gesture of protest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't mean that," he said abruptly. "My -worries are business worries."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! I intruded."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" she asked in alarm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your relatives, the Bents. They've got me in -a corner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I heard. What will be the end of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff ran a finger around his throat with a -significant gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you tell me about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It wouldn't interest you. It's a long story. -They have more money than I have. That's the -amount of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you were so wealthy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how can they get the Development Company?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I don't know much about these things, -but I was wondering—how much stock is there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two million and a half. I've borrowed eight -hundred thousand dollars."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked down, turning the ferrule of her -umbrella on the toe of her boot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suppose some one else bought it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hadn't thought of that. Who?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff started forward in his chair, his eyes -blazing—then he took a step or two away from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She disengaged her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks," she said calmly. "Do you agree?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Agree? To what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To let me buy that stock?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He straightened and turned to his desk, uncertainly -fingering some papers there. He was silent -so long that she repeated the question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you say that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want you to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is—to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why not to me?—it's all in the family."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her blankly a moment and then -laughed and shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—there's too much risk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I expected to risk something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat down in his chair before her and put his -hands over hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't prevent my getting that stock if I -want it," she broke in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Amalgamated can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll go to the General and tell him I insist on -having it. He's a little afraid of me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 cañon, but it's not finished yet. Mrs. Brennan -is away. There's nothing for it but a hotel, -I guess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do?" quizzically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why—yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why don't you have her here?" she asked -suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 preëminence. -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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want a room by the day, week or month, -ma'am?" asked the clerk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="la-femme-propose"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">La Femme Propose</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cheyne emerged from the scrub-oak delightedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was the matter?" said Jeff. "You rode -as if the Devil was after you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Feel what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Spooky."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I camped there once when I was prospecting. -That stream you jumped was Dead Man's Creek."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He must be there yet, the dead man. It was -like a tomb. Who was he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A soldier. He deserted from Fort Garland and -was killed by some Mexicans. They buried him -under a pile of stones."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you afraid of?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid of melancholy—I hate unhappiness. -I was born to be amused—I </span><em class="italics">won't</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're lucky."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It sounds all right. But you won't stay here -long," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You couldn't stand it. There's nothing to -do but ride."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd rather ride than do anything else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff looked straight forward over his horse's ears, -his eyes narrowing, his lips widening in a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—if you don't see what you want—ask -for it," he said slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff thrust forth a hand and put it over hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're solid gold, Rita, and you're the best -friend I ever had. I can't say more than that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I think not," she said. "It's too noisy -here. I haven't finished talking to you, and I want -to ride."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cheyne shuddered. "It looks like Paradise -Lost. We're not going there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—I only wanted you to see it. There's -a thousand million dollars of gold in that sandpile."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do believe it now. Didn't I tell you so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> ought to consider it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do," he said briefly. "Why do you make such -a sacrifice?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was, you mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you miss me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," frankly, "I did—you and I seem to get -on pretty well. I think we always will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is your purpose?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Psychological experiment," she returned glibly. -"Some naturalists study beetles, others butterflies -and moths. I like to study men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you got me classified?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not running away very fast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was," he ventured, "only it was too big a step."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I'm not as good a thing as I seem. You -yourself are not beyond making mistakes, Rita."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd rather you wouldn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you going to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it to you, Rita?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took a quick glance at him before she replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've left her—she's in love with Cort Bent. -I have proof of it. We made a mistake, that's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course you did," she said. "I'm glad that -you acknowledge it. Are you going back to New York?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't decided. That depends on many -things. She thinks I'm in love with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a cold-blooded proposition, Rita," said -Wray smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean, Rita," Wray interrupted with sober -directness, "that you'd marry me if you could?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff looked at her uncertainly and then laughed -noisily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rita, you're a queer one! I never know when the -seriousness stops and the fun begins."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled and frowned at the same time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—it's part of you somehow. Speak out. -I'll tell you whether I believe you or not when you're -through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="l-homme-dispose"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">L'homme Dispose</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's early yet. Let's sit for a while. Throw -your bridle over his head. He'll stand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not trying to mix them up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're trying to mix </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped indignantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you believe in me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. The things you say are too clever to be -genuine for one thing. You're too cold-blooded -for another."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One can't think unless one is cold-blooded."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When a woman's in love she doesn't want to think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not in love—I simply say I'll marry you, -that's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're talking nonsense."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never was saner in my life. I want you to -believe in my kind of friendship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eight hundred thousand dollars' worth of -friendship is not to be sneezed at."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop, Jeff, you're brutal. I won't listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She withdrew her hand abruptly and turned her -head away. "That isn't true," she murmured. -"You must not speak to me so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to. Every word of what I say is true—and -you know it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not true now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not trifling." She had caught a sinister -note in his voice and looked up at him in alarm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a way to prove that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me go!" she cried, struggling desperately -to be free.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll kiss me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—never, not after that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The way you speak to me. You're rough——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't love you," she panted, still struggling. -"I never shall. Let me go, I say!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you tell me you love me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I loathe you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that you could have touched me so!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Rita——" he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't speak to me——" She moved toward -the horses. "I'm going," she asserted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To Mesa City."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can you? You don't know the way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I'm sorry," he said at last. "I—I made -a mistake, Rita. I made a mistake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sobs began anew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How—how could you—treat me so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I made a mistake, Rita. You made me think——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" only. Her face appeared for a moment -above her arms and then instantly disappeared. -"You're odious!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not that—not what you did—the way you did it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forgave me once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She raised her head, careless of the tears which -still coursed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Despises——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't cry, Rita."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not so dreadful as all that. You must -admit——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray's incomprehension was deeper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Those were not </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> 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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What on earth are you talking about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've been using me to square your accounts -with your wife—that's all," scornfully. "As if -you didn't know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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—</span><em class="italics">your</em><span> 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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your gratitude takes a curious form."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He held up a hand in protest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You refuse me then, do you, Jeff?" she laughed. -But he made no reply to her banter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean to say," she murmured, half in -pity, half in contempt, "that you still love your wife -as much as this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he made no reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose and went to the horses. "Come," he -said, "it's getting late. Let's get back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does this lead to Mesa City?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff got down and stood beside her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do be sensible, Rita."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am—am I clean? You haven't a powder -puff about you—have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're going to tell me you forgive me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why—do you hate her so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, Rita; you and I are going to be better -friends than ever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've made a friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, you are. To-morrow we'll——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I'd go to-night if there was a train. I -want you to do one thing for me, though. Will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Rita, no. I can't do that. If I'm going -to lose, I'll lose alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a good sport, Rita," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said coolly, "I believe I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you'll show me the way up at once, please, -I'd like to go to my room."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="private-matters"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">PRIVATE MATTERS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave him her hand, and he took it mechanically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll see you to-morrow," he said gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This will make no difference," he stammered. -"Don't you see—I've got to make </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Parlor B, Mr. Wray, but she told me to say -that she did not want to be disturbed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Jeff, Camilla," he said. "I must see you -at once. Let me in, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in," said Camilla, and he entered. She -had removed her hat, and the bed and pillow already -bore traces of her weight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry to intrude," he began awkwardly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You had to see me? Has something gone -wrong in New York? What is——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff's brows tangled in mystification.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've given up the apartment? Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Camilla!" He pushed an armchair toward her -and made her sit. "You do look as if you—you're -not sick, are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't—it's nothing—to do with you—and -Cort Bent——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, not at all. I haven't seen Cort for -some time. It's about—about the General."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it as bad as that?" she murmured, awe-stricken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She clasped her hands nervously, glad of the chance -to postpone her revelation, which seemed to grow -more difficult with each moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What has happened, Camilla? I understood -you had made many new friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dishonor? I can't have you associate that name -with Mrs. Cheyne," he blurted forth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled and then gave a hard, dry, little -unmirthful laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you mistake my meaning. I wasn't thinking -of Mrs. Cheyne. I was selfish enough to be -still thinking of myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He came up behind her, his voice trembling but -suppressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flashed around at him, breathless, paler than -ever, clutching at the window-sill behind her for -support. "Who—who told you this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Greer—my valet at the hotel," he snarled, -"when I discharged him and came here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He said——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff caught her by the elbows—brutally—and -held her so that he could look into her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's true—isn't it? Answer me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she admitted brokenly, "it's true—I -was in his arms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait," she whispered piteously. "You must. -You can't go now. You've got to know everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've got to listen. I have some rights -still—the right every woman has to defend her name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If she can," he sneered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff laughed aloud. "So he told you that—did -he? For sympathy?" he sneered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">thought</em><span>! You </span><em class="italics">knew</em><span>!" he said immoderately. -"You've always loved him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no. It wasn't that," she pleaded. "It -wasn't love, Jeff. I learned that soon enough. -It was only pity——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And where was your pity for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you were in his arms?" He laughed harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did care," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You did not care," she insisted. "You had -met Rita Cheyne then——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was because </span><em class="italics">she</em><span> saw what I did," he asserted. -"It was because——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't explain," she said. "I'm not asking </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> -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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> girl—</span><em class="italics">my</em><span> -girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The housemaid brought a lamp, put it on the -table, and hovered anxiously in the background, -but Camilla's eyes had opened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Wray is sick," Jeff began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Camilla had already drawn herself up on -one elbow and gently pushed him away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A little more brandy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lie back on the pillow and rest, Camilla, dear. -You're played out. The doctor will be here in a -minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what do you mean, Camilla?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She knew him, then?" eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I've brought both photographs with me." She -took them out of the handbag with trembling -hands and gave them to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Jeff, it's true. Mrs. Rumsen identified -the letters. There's no doubt—none."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't believe—why, I'd have </span><em class="italics">felt</em><span> it—Camilla. -I've always said I'd know him if I saw him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You didn't—but have you thought? You -look like him, Jeff. You </span><em class="italics">look</em><span> like him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—it's strange I didn't think of that." And -then suddenly, "Does </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—he won't unless you tell him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up at her with dumb, uncomprehending -eyes and sank in his chair again, still grasping the -photographs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop, Jeff, you mustn't—you mustn't speak so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's true," raising his bloodshot eyes to hers. -"Why should I care? Did </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mustn't, Jeff. It's horrible. I can't stand -hearing this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be in at my finish," he muttered bitterly. -"I can't seem to think, Camilla. It's all so -monstrous—it staggers me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Slowly she disengaged her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose from her seat on the bed with a kind of -wistful dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't promise anything, Jeff. Go, please. I -want to be alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-intruder"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE INTRUDER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The telegraph office is closed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it will have to be opened. This is a -matter which can't wait until morning. The -operator must be found."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We </span><em class="italics">might</em><span> get a message through." He looked -at the bill she had put in his hand. "Yes, I'm -sure we can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Wray," she said gently, "I want to come -in and talk to you. May I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is—rather surprising," Camilla began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla started up angrily. "Did you come here -to comment upon my appearance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, Mrs. Cheyne——!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla made a gesture of impatience, but Rita -went on imperturbably. "You're handsome, gentle -and human—but you—you're a dreadful fool!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you heard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">He</em><span> told you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 -</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> walk on, but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—something—I couldn't help it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How could you—have listened?" Camilla gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> tell me this?" she asked. Mrs. Cheyne -turned aside with a light laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why </span><em class="italics">shouldn't</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you come out here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was no time for equivocation. Camilla's eyes -burned steadily, oh, so steadily. But Rita did not -flinch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do, I do," came faintly from the coverlid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must see him at once. Do you understand? -Shall I send for him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand you now. I'm sorry—for many -things. I want to know you better, dear. May I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will stay here now," said Camilla proudly, -"if Jeff wants me. Are you sure—sure—he——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rita held her off at arm's length, -quizzically—tantalizing her purposely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a knock at the outer door. Camilla -answered it and received a note from the clerk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From Mr. Wray's office. There's no answer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She opened it hurriedly, while Rita watched.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst"><span>"JEFF."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She read through the hurried scrawl twice and -then silently handed it to her companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must follow, Camilla—at once—with -me," said Mrs. Cheyne.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="gretchen-decides"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">GRETCHEN DECIDES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 père. 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Berkely, by George! glad to see you. -Rather a surprise to find us all out here invading -your own country, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Larry sat rather soberly, refused a cigar, and -expressed well-bred surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't imagine anybody wanting to leave -Braebank in April," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janney's face grew grave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A private matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What on earth are you driving at?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to marry your daughter, sir, that's all," -said Larry with the suddenness of desperation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Larry had risen and met Janney's impertinent -scrutiny with some dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you insolent young fortune-hunter!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By this time Curtis Janney's usual poise had -completely deserted him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Refuse—my consent? Well, rather!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went to the door through which Berkely had -entered. But instead of opening the door Janney -turned and put his back to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Larry reached his room at the hotel he -found a brief note from Gretchen:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Larry smiled and kissed the penciled scrawl -rapturously. "God bless you, I'll do it—Gretchen, -dear," he said to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It took Jeff longer to decipher the second telegram:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Mrs. Cheyne has arranged with her Denver -agents—deposit eight hundred thousand dollars your -credit Tenth National to-morrow morning. Await -instructions."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is everything all right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor old Larry! a fine honeymoon you're having! -Where's your wife?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-crisis"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE CRISIS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir, nothing. I know all I need to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>General Bent's head dropped the fraction of an -inch. "Your information is correct," he said shortly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray's jaw set, and he glared angrily, but Berkely -only smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The three men started, and Berkely grinned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>General Bent's brow twitched ominously. "I -hope, Mr. Berkely, you'll come to the point without -delay," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Berkely refused to lose his temper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're aware, of course," he said coolly, "that -such a policy is likely to prove expensive?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll have to show that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think we will. But I can't believe that you -repudiate this contract," said Larry, tapping a -paper with his forefinger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't make that contract. I would never -have made it. The courts will pass on its validity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then this is final?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Absolutely. Is there anything more you want -to say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Larry smiled. "I think so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is correct."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The General settled back in his chair, swinging -his gold eyeglasses daintily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is he going to get that authority?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His smile infuriated Wray, who replied quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By virtue of my control of all companies," he -said crisply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray exchanged a glance with Berkely and -laughed dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The frown on Bent's brows deepened. The point -of this joke did not dawn on him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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. </span><em class="italics">You</em><span> haven't the money to take it up. I -</span><em class="italics">have</em><span>. 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff sat quietly, one of his hands toying with the -top of an inkstand, which he was regarding with -friendly interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you </span><em class="italics">sure</em><span>, General?" he asked calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>General Bent clasped his twitching fingers to keep -them still. "Why, sir—what do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That you're mistaken, that's all. That stock -is for sale, but you'll still have to come to me to -buy it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a lie!" said Jeff calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense, sir. We have a witness who verifies -Reimer in every particular, who swears he saw from -the doorway——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is your witness?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fritz Weyl—I see you remember him. He——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wray laughed uneasily. "Yes, I remember Fritz?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff grew a shade paler, his eyes blazing their -resentment at the old man who stood tottering -before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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;—</span><em class="italics">you?—you?</em><span>" Wray -clenched his fist and took a step forward, but -Larry Berkely seized him by the arm, and Cortland -Bent stepped between.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>General Bent pushed his son aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, Cort—call McCabe. We'll see——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment there was an interruption.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a moment, Cort, please," said a voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There has been a mistake—a terrible mistake. -If you'll let me explain——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>General Bent was the first to recover his senses. -"Rita! Leave the room at once!" he commanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said firmly, "not until you hear what -I have to say——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't listen now—another time," he fumed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, now. I'm going to save you from doing -something that you'll regret the rest of your life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While the General questioned, Jeff had turned and -seized her by the arm, his eyes pleading.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rita!" he muttered, "You know? .... For -God's sake, don't! ... Not now!"</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 60%" id="figure-55"> -<span id="rita-he-muttered-you-know"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""'Rita!' he muttered, 'You know?'"" src="images/img-354.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"'Rita!' he muttered, 'You know?'"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said firmly. "No one else will. I must."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cornelius Bent and Cortland had watched Wray -in amazement. His face had suddenly grown white -and drawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have no right to tell him, Rita," he persisted. -"It's my secret!—not yours! You can't! I tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she eluded him and faced the General.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must listen to me, Cousin Cornelius."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Curtis Janney, who had been watching Wray -closely, now interposed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let her speak, General. It seems to be -something of more than usual importance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," he growled, "but be brief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't tell it here," she insisted. "I must -speak to you alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alone? Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a private matter. Will you come into the -next room, there's no one there——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned and was moving toward the door when -Jeff's large figure blocked the way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Larry, I must get away from here—at -once," and, opening the door, he fled madly down -the corridor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-call-of-the-heart"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE CALL OF THE HEART</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly, without moving, Jeff's great hand -shot out and clinched Larry's knee like a vise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He—he's my father, Larry," said Jeff hoarsely, -"my father—do you understand? I didn't want -him to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He hasn't broken us yet, Jeff. He can't keep -us out of Pueblo. We're going to win, I tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've got to win, Larry," groaned Jeff. "We've -got to win. That conspiracy charge——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mere piffle," said Larry. "Don't worry. -They've bought Fritz Weyl. He's not a -competent witness. I can prove it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff sank back again, his gaze on the mountains. -"He'd send me to Cañon City—to the penitentiary—if -he could—and he's—my father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeff," she was whispering, "they told me you -needed me, and so I came to you. Do you want me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Camilla, girl. Is it true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not going back to Kansas?" he asked -anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled. "Not unless you want me to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew her into his arms again. "I'll never -want you to. I want you here—close—close—my girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must never leave me again, Jeff—I've -suffered so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I couldn't stand seeing you. I thought you -loved——" She put her fingers over his lips and -would not let him finish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His head bowed, the grasp of his hands relaxed, -and his eyes stared into vacancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She started up, terror-stricken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he couldn't—even he—couldn't do a -thing like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, he could," grimly. "He has bribed -Reimer and Fritz Weyl. They swear I tried to -murder Max."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God," she crooned. "I've been so -afraid. There have been so many stories."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lies—all lies—circulated by him. Now he's -got Reimer to swear to them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She threw her arms around his neck and searched -his face anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeff—he can't make people believe——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't sell the mine—not now. It would -clean me out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never!" Jeff's jaw set, and he rose, putting -her aside almost roughly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll never give them up while I've an ounce of -blood to fight!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What can it mean?" Jeff was asking as though -to himself. "Cort Bent! What does he want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very curious," Camilla said slowly. "To -see you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the door Cortland turned to Mrs. Berkely -who had met him in the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry, Jeff—I am—from the bottom of -my heart. I want you to understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do," said Jeff, with difficulty. "I didn't -want you to know——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad. I think it's better so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ill?" stammered Jeff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff sank heavily in a chair and buried his face -in his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do the doctors say?" asked Camilla anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland turned and spoke with an effort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff's eyes peered above his trembling fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He asked—for me?" he said hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—he wants to see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff's head sank into his hands again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He wants—to see </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>? I can't—seem to -realize——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's true—he asked me to bring you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a glance at Cortland, Camilla went over to -Jeff and laid her fingers lightly on his shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you—do you think he'll die?" he asked. -"What do they say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His heart is bad," said Cort gravely. "I don't -know—a man of father's years seldom recovers -from a thing like that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="general-bent"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">GENERAL BENT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland followed the doctor into the sick room, -while Janney joined Jeff and Camilla and waited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will he—get over it, Mr. Janney?" Camilla -asked softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Wray," she said, "you may come in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he here?" the General murmured. "Is he here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff moved quietly around the bed to the chair -which the nurse had placed for him, "Yes, sir," -he said huskily. "It's Jeff."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't want you to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad to know. It makes me—happy. I've -been trying for so many years to find you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You tried?" in astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Married?" Jeff leaned forward over the white -coverlid toward the old man's distorted face. "You -were married?" he whispered, awe-stricken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, married, Jeff—married—I—I have the -papers—at home—I'll show them to you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff bent his head suddenly over the old man's -lean fingers and kissed them impulsively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Married!" he murmured, "Thank God! Thank -God for that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Nixon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think—no," he said confusedly. "I can't -remember—she disappeared——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir. She married again and went to Texas. -She took me with her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do, sir—I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The General's hand left the coverlid and rested -for a moment on Jeff's shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hoped you would. I've always hoped you'd -forgive me when you knew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="household-godsand-goddesses"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HOUSEHOLD GODS—AND GODDESSES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla bit off her thread and smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Platonic?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">svelte</em><span>, 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 </span><em class="italics">fat</em><span>, Camilla! The -horror of it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla looked up at the exquisite afternoon -frock, which fitted her slender figure as only one made -by Patrain could, and smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Rita, positively corpulent. It's a pity. -You really had a good figure once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nature </span><em class="italics">is</em><span>—immortal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not inefficient," Camilla corrected. -"You're merely feminine—extravagantly feminine——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, feminine—but not womanly. Oh, I know -what I am!" she concluded fiercely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">these</em><span>?" Camilla laid a hand on the wicker -basket beside her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rita took up one of the tiny garments and -examined it with minute interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They're Art's tribute to Nature, Rita," said -Camilla with an air of finality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Cheyne sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew you were here, Rita," she said, bending -her tall figure for a caress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Teddy Wetherby's machine—at the corner—and Teddy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he waiting still? Such a nice boy—but -absolutely oblivious of the passage of time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you'd given up your kindergarten, -Rita," put in Camilla, laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to tell his mother," said Mrs. Rumsen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father—Aunt Caroline—Hello! Rita."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir—" from Camilla, "please give an -account of yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not," said Camilla so decisively that -Rita Cheyne laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There!" she said pityingly. "Oh, Jeff! a subject -and a slave as well! Aren't you really going -to let him go, Camilla?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla looked up into Jeff's face with a heavenly -smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course—if he </span><em class="italics">wants</em><span> to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I </span><em class="italics">don't</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What kind of a meeting?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of the Rita Cheyne Protective Association."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeff, you're horrid!" said Rita, but she -laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not," he said calmly. "They have my full -sympathy and support. I told 'em so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your sins are finding you out, my dear cousin," -chuckled the General. "They always do in the end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you're hopeless—</span><em class="italics">all</em><span> of you," sighed the -culprit, setting down her tea cup.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cortland finished his drink in leisurely fashion -and dropped into the vacant chair beside his -father. "Well, we put it over," he said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The bond issue?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't think it was possible," the old man -exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It wasn't easy, but Jeff managed it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't sir," Jeff interposed. "Cort did the -whole thing. We've made him president. We -made it unanimous in the end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By George, Cort, I'm proud of you. I always -knew you had the stuff in you if we ever woke you up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's His Majesty?" he asked of Mrs. Wray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Camilla glanced at the clock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Asleep, I hope. He's been very dissipated -lately. He was up yesterday until seven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Takes after his father," said Mrs. Cheyne scornfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He knows a good thing when he sees it," laughed -Cort. "Got the gold fever, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a shame!" said Camilla indignantly. -"He hasn't any kind of a fever, have you, Cornelius?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The child said, "Da!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't I tell you? He knows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has such fuzzy pink hair!" said Cort, -rubbing it the wrong way. "Do you think it will -stay pink?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No respect for age! None at all!" said Mrs. Rumsen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You didn't want to stay out to dinner, did you, -Jeff?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," he said, "of course I did. I'm very -fond of dining out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed contentedly. They had dined out -only once this winter, and that was at his father's -house. There was a long silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor Rita," she sighed at last, "what's to -become of her? She's not really happy, Jeff. I -sometimes think——" she paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That she still thinks of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff laughed. "I hope she does. Why, silly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Simply because she never gives me the slightest -reason to think that she does."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jeff rubbed his nose thoughtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's one too many for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you know that a woman always judges -another woman by the thoughts she suppresses?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's nonsense."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it isn't. I won't have you say that what -I think is nonsense."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned her head toward him and looked down -into his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure you never cared for Rita? Not a -little?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was the Forbidden Way, Jeff. Do you like -this way—</span><em class="italics">our</em><span> way—better?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was a well-trained servant.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE END</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">GENE STRATTON-PORTER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">THE HARVESTER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">FRECKLES.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp. -Design and decorations by -Ralph Fletcher Seymour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">JOHN FOX, JR'S.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other -stories, some of Mr. Fox's most -entertaining Cumberland valley -narratives.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">MYRTLE REED'S NOVELS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">LAVENDER AND OLD LACE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">A SPINNER IN THE SUN.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">THE MASTER'S VIOLIN.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Founded on a fact that all artists realize.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">GROSSET& DUNLAP'S</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">DRAMATIZED NOVELS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE KIND THAT ARE MAKING THEATRICAL HISTORY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">WITHIN THE LAW.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Bayard Veiller & Marvin Dana. -Illustrated by Wm. Charles Cooke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This is a novelization of the -immensely successful play which ran -for two years in New York and Chicago.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Robert Carlton Brown. -Illustrated with scenes from the play.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The story of Mary is being told -in moving pictures and played in -theatres all over the world.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By David Belasco. -Illustrated by John Rae.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This is a novelization of the popular play -in which David Warfield, -as Old Peter Grimm, scored such a remarkable success.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal, -powerful, both as a book and as a play.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">THE GARDEN OF ALLAH.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Robert Hichens.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This novel is an intense, glowing epic -of the great desert, sunlit, -barbaric, with its marvelous atmosphere -of vastness and loneliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is a book of rapturous beauty, -vivid in word painting. The play -has been staged with magnificent -cast and gorgeous properties.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">BEN HUR. A Tale of the Christ.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By General Lew Wallace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">BOUGHT AND PAID FOR.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By George Broadhurst and Arthur -Hornblow. Illustrated with scenes from the play.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The interest of the story turns -on the day-by-day developments -which show the young wife the price she has paid.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">GROSSET & DUNLAP'S</span></p> -<p class="center largebold pnext"><span>DRAMATIZED NOVELS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">Original, sincere and courageous—often amusing—the -<br />kind that are making theatrical history.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">MADAME X.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Alexandra Bisson and J. W. McConaughy. -Illustrated with scenes from the play.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">THE GARDEN OF ALLAH.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Robert Hichens.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">THE PRINCE OF INDIA.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Lew. Wallace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Grace -Miller White. Illust. by Howard Chandler Christy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">YOUNG WALLINGFORD.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By George Randolph -Chester. Illust. by F. R. Gruger and Henry Raleigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By P. G. Wodehouse. -Illustrations by Will Grefe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHARMING BOOKS FOR GIRLS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Jean Webster. Illustrated by C. D. Williams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">JUST PATTY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Jean Webster. Illustrated by C. M. Relyea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Eleanor Gates. With four full page illustrations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Kate Douglas Wiggin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Kate Douglas Wiggin. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Additional episodes in the girlhood -of this delightful heroine that -carry Rebecca through various stages -to her eighteenth birthday.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">REBECCA MARY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By Annie Hamilton Donnell. -Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">EMMY LOU: Her Book and Heart.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By George Madden Martin. -Illustrated by Charles Louis Hinton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">Ask for complete free list of G. & D. 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