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+Project Gutenberg's The Tempting of Tavernake, by E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Tempting of Tavernake
+
+Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+Release Date: February, 2004  [EBook #5091]
+Posting Date: June 12, 2009
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TEMPTING OF TAVERNAKE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Polly Stratton
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE TEMPTING OF TAVERNAKE
+
+
+By E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+
+
+
+
+BOOK ONE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. DESPAIR AND INTEREST
+
+They stood upon the roof of a London boarding-house in the neighborhood
+of Russell Square--one of those grim shelters, the refuge of
+Transatlantic curiosity and British penury. The girl--she represented
+the former race was leaning against the frail palisading, with gloomy
+expression and eyes set as though in fixed contemplation of the
+uninspiring panorama. The young man--unmistakably, uncompromisingly
+English--stood with his back to the chimney a few feet away, watching
+his companion. The silence between them was as yet unbroken, had lasted,
+indeed, since she had stolen away from the shabby drawing-room below,
+where a florid lady with a raucous voice had been shouting a music-hall
+ditty. Close upon her heels, but without speech of any sort, he had
+followed. They were almost strangers, except for the occasional word or
+two of greeting which the etiquette of the establishment demanded. Yet
+she had accepted his espionage without any protest of word or look. He
+had followed her with a very definite object. Had she surmised it,
+he wondered? She had not turned her head or vouchsafed even a single
+question or remark to him since he had pushed his way through the
+trap-door almost at her heels and stepped out on to the leads. Yet it
+seemed to him that she must guess.
+
+Below them, what seemed to be the phantasm of a painted city, a
+wilderness of housetops, of smoke-wreathed spires and chimneys,
+stretched away to a murky, blood-red horizon. Even as they stood there,
+a deeper color stained the sky, an angry sun began to sink into the
+piled up masses of thick, vaporous clouds. The girl watched with an air
+of sullen yet absorbed interest. Her companion's eyes were still fixed
+wholly and critically upon her. Who was she, he wondered? Why had she
+left her own country to come to a city where she seemed to have no
+friends, no manner of interest? In that caravansary of the world's
+stricken ones she had been an almost unnoticed figure, silent,
+indisposed for conversation, not in any obvious manner attractive. Her
+clothes, notwithstanding their air of having come from a first-class
+dressmaker, were shabby and out of fashion, their extreme neatness
+in itself pathetic. She was thin, yet not without a certain buoyant
+lightness of movement always at variance with her tired eyes, her
+ceaseless air of dejection. And withal she was a rebel. It was written
+in her attitude, it was evident in her lowering, militant expression,
+the smouldering fire in her eyes proclaimed it. Her long, rather narrow
+face was gripped between her hands; her elbows rested upon the brick
+parapet. She gazed at that world of blood-red mists, of unshapely,
+grotesque buildings, of strange, tawdry colors; she listened to the
+medley of sounds--crude, shrill, insistent, something like the groaning
+of a world stripped naked--and she had all the time the air of one who
+hates the thing she looks upon.
+
+Tavernake, whose curiosity concerning his companion remained unappeased,
+decided that the moment for speech had arrived. He took a step forward
+upon the soft, pulpy leads. Even then he hesitated before he finally
+committed himself. About his appearance little was remarkable save the
+general air of determination which gave character to his undistinguished
+features. He was something above the medium height, broad-set, and with
+rather more thick black hair than he knew how to arrange advantageously.
+He wore a shirt which was somewhat frayed, and an indifferent tie; his
+boots were heavy and clumsy; he wore also a suit of ready-made clothes
+with the air of one who knew that they were ready-made and was satisfied
+with them. People of a nervous or sensitive disposition would, without
+doubt, have found him irritating but for a certain nameless gift--an
+almost Napoleonic concentration upon the things of the passing moment,
+which was in itself impressive and which somehow disarmed criticism.
+
+"About that bracelet!" he said at last.
+
+She moved her head and looked at him. A young man of less assurance
+would have turned and fled. Not so Tavernake. Once sure of his ground
+he was immovable. There was murder in her eyes but he was not even
+disturbed.
+
+"I saw you take it from the little table by the piano, you know,"
+he continued. "It was rather a rash thing to do. Mrs. Fitzgerald was
+looking for it before I reached the stairs. I expect she has called the
+police in by now."
+
+Slowly her hand stole into the depths of her pocket and emerged.
+Something flashed for a moment high over her head. The young man caught
+her wrist just in time, caught it in a veritable grip of iron. Then,
+indeed, the evil fires flashed from her eyes, her teeth gleamed white,
+her bosom rose and fell in a storm of angry, unuttered sobs. She was
+dry-eyed and still speechless, but for all that she was a tigress. A
+strangely-cut silhouette they formed there upon the housetops, with a
+background of empty sky, their feet sinking in the warm leads.
+
+"I think I had better take it," he said. "Let go."
+
+Her fingers yielded the bracelet--a tawdry, ill-designed affair of
+rubies and diamonds. He looked at it disapprovingly.
+
+"That's an ugly thing to go to prison for," he remarked, slipping it
+into his pocket. "It was a stupid thing to do, anyhow, you know. You
+couldn't have got away with it--unless," he added, looking over
+the parapet as though struck with a sudden idea, "unless you had a
+confederate below."
+
+He heard the rush of her skirts and he was only just in time. Nothing,
+in fact, but a considerable amount of presence of mind and the full
+exercise of a strength which was continually providing surprises for his
+acquaintances, was sufficient to save her. Their struggles upon the
+very edge of the roof dislodged a brick from the palisading, which went
+hurtling down into the street. They both paused to watch it, his arms
+still gripping her and one foot pressed against an iron rod. It was
+immediately after they had seen it pitch harmlessly into the road that
+a new sensation came to this phlegmatic young man. For the first time in
+his life, he realized that it was possible to feel a certain pleasurable
+emotion in the close grasp of a being of the opposite sex. Consequently,
+although she had now ceased to struggle, he kept his arms locked around
+her, looking into her face with an interest intense enough, but more
+analytical than emotional, as though seeking to discover the meaning of
+this curious throbbing of his pulses. She herself, as though exhausted,
+remained quite passive, shivering a little in his grasp and breathing
+like a hunted animal whose last hour has come. Their eyes met; then she
+tore herself away.
+
+"You are a hateful person," she said deliberately, "a hateful,
+interfering person. I detest you."
+
+"I think that we will go down now," he replied.
+
+He raised the trap-door and glanced at her significantly. She held her
+skirts closely together and passed through it without looking at him.
+She stepped lightly down the ladder and without hesitation descended
+also a flight of uncarpeted attic stairs. Here, however, upon the
+landing, she awaited him with obvious reluctance.
+
+"Are you going to send for the police?" she asked without looking at
+him.
+
+"No," he answered.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"If I had meant to give you away I should have told Mrs. Fitzgerald at
+once that I had seen you take her bracelet, instead of following you out
+on to the roof."
+
+"Do you mind telling me what you do propose to do, then?" she continued
+still without looking at him, still without the slightest note of appeal
+in her tone.
+
+He withdrew the bracelet from his pocket and balanced it upon his
+finger.
+
+"I am going to say that I took it for a joke," he declared.
+
+She hesitated.
+
+"Mrs. Fitzgerald's sense of humor is not elastic," she warned him.
+
+"She will be very angry, of course," he assented, "but she will not
+believe that I meant to steal it."
+
+The girl moved slowly a few steps away.
+
+"I suppose that I ought to thank you," she said, still with averted
+face and sullen manner. "You have really been very decent. I am much
+obliged."
+
+"Are you not coming down?" he asked.
+
+"Not at present," she answered. "I am going to my room."
+
+He looked around the landing on which they stood, at the miserable,
+uncarpeted floor, the ill-painted doors on which the long-forgotten
+varnish stood out in blisters, the jumble of dilapidated hot-water cans,
+a mop, and a medley of brooms and rags all thrown down together in a
+corner.
+
+"But these are the servants' quarters, surely," he remarked.
+
+"They are good enough for me; my room is here," she told him, turning
+the handle of one of the doors and disappearing. The prompt turning of
+the key sounded, he thought, a little ungracious.
+
+With the bracelet in his hand, Tavernake descended three more flights
+of stairs and entered the drawing-room of the private hotel conducted
+by Mrs. Raithby Lawrence, whose husband, one learned from her frequent
+reiteration of the fact, had once occupied a distinguished post in the
+Merchant Service of his country. The disturbance following upon the
+disappearance of the bracelet was evidently at its height. There were
+at least a dozen people in the room, most of whom were standing up. The
+central figure of them all was Mrs. Fitzgerald, large and florid, whose
+yellow hair with its varied shades frankly admitted its indebtedness to
+peroxide; a lady of the dashing type, who had once made her mark in the
+music-halls, but was now happily married to a commercial traveler who
+was seldom visible. Mrs. Fitzgerald was talking.
+
+"In respectable boarding-houses, Mrs. Lawrence," she declared with
+great emphasis, "thefts may sometimes take place, I will admit, in the
+servants' quarters, and with all their temptations, poor things, it's
+not so much to be wondered at. But no such thing as this has ever
+happened to me before--to have jewelry taken almost from my person in
+the drawing-room of what should be a well-conducted establishment. Not a
+servant in the room, remember, from the moment I took it off until I got
+up from the piano and found it missing. It's your guests you've got to
+look after, Mrs. Lawrence, sorry to say it though I am."
+
+Mrs. Lawrence managed here, through sheer loss of breath on the part of
+her assailant, to interpose a tearful protest.
+
+"I am quite sure," she protested feebly, "that there is not a person
+in this house who would dream of stealing anything, however valuable it
+was. I am most particular always about references."
+
+"Valuable, indeed!" Mrs. Fitzgerald continued with increased volubility.
+"I'd have you understand that I am not one of those who wear trumpery
+jewelry. Thirty-five guineas that bracelet cost me if it cost a penny,
+and if my husband were only at home I could show you the receipt."
+
+Then there came an interruption of almost tragical interest. Mrs.
+Fitzgerald, her mouth still open, her stream of eloquence suddenly
+arrested, stood with her artificially darkened eyes riveted upon the
+stolid, self-composed figure in the doorway. Every one else was gazing
+in the same direction. Tavernake was holding the bracelet in the palm of
+his hand.
+
+"Thirty-five guineas!" he repeated. "If I had known that it was worth as
+much as that, I do not think that I should have dared to touch it."
+
+"You--you took it!" Mrs. Fitzgerald gasped.
+
+"I am afraid," he admitted, "that it was rather a clumsy joke. I
+apologize, Mrs. Fitzgerald. I hope you did not really imagine that it
+had been stolen."
+
+One was conscious of the little thrill of emotion which marked the
+termination of the episode. Most of the people not directly concerned
+were disappointed; they were being robbed of their excitement, their
+hopes of a tragical denouement were frustrated. Mrs. Lawrence's worn
+face plainly showed her relief. The lady with the yellow hair, on the
+other hand, who had now succeeded in working herself up into a towering
+rage, snatched the bracelet from the young man's fingers and with a
+purple flush in her cheeks was obviously struggling with an intense
+desire to box his ears.
+
+"That's not good enough for a tale!" she exclaimed harshly. "I tell you
+I don't believe a word of it. Took it for a joke, indeed! I only wish my
+husband were here; he'd know what to do."
+
+"Your husband couldn't do much more than get your bracelet back, ma'am,"
+Mrs. Lawrence replied with acerbity. "Such a fuss and calling every one
+thieves, too! I'd be ashamed to be so suspicious."
+
+Mrs. Fitzgerald glared haughtily at her hostess.
+
+"It's all very well for those that don't possess any jewelry and don't
+know the value of it, to talk," she declared, with her eyes fixed upon
+a black jet ornament which hung from the other woman's neck. "What I say
+is this, and you may just as well hear it from me now as later. I don't
+believe this cock-and-bull story of Mr. Tavernake's. Them as took my
+bracelet from that table meant keeping it, only they hadn't the courage.
+And I'm not referring to you, Mr. Tavernake," the lady continued
+vigorously, "because I don't believe you took it, for all your talk
+about a joke. And whom you may be shielding it wouldn't take me two
+guesses to name, and your motive must be clear to every one. The common
+hussy!"
+
+"You are exciting yourself unnecessarily, Mrs. Fitzgerald," Tavernake
+remarked. "Let me assure you that it was I who took your bracelet from
+that table."
+
+Mrs. Fitzgerald regarded him scornfully.
+
+"Do you expect me to believe a tale like that?" she demanded.
+
+"Why not?" Tavernake replied. "It is the truth. I am sorry that you have
+been so upset--"
+
+"It is not the truth!"
+
+More sensation! Another unexpected entrance! Once more interest in the
+affair was revived. After all, the lookers-on felt that they were not to
+be robbed of their tragedy. An old lady with yellow cheeks and jet black
+eyes leaned forward with her hand to her ear, anxious not to miss a
+syllable of what was coming. Tavernake bit his lip; it was the girl from
+the roof who had entered the room.
+
+"I have no doubt," she continued in a cool, clear tone, "that Mrs.
+Fitzgerald's first guess would have been correct. I took the bracelet.
+I did not take it for a joke, I did not take it because I admire it--I
+think it is hideously ugly. I took it because I had no money."
+
+She paused and looked around at them all, quietly, yet with something in
+her face from which they all shrank. She stood where the light fell full
+upon her shabby black gown and dejected-looking hat. The hollows in her
+pale cheeks, and the faint rims under her eyes, were clearly manifest;
+but notwithstanding her fragile appearance, she held herself with
+composure and even dignity. Twenty--thirty seconds must have passed
+whilst she stood there, slowly finishing the buttoning of her gloves.
+No one attempted to break the silence. She dominated them all--they felt
+that she had something more to say. Even Mrs. Fitzgerald felt a weight
+upon her tongue.
+
+"It was a clumsy attempt," she went on. "I should have had no idea where
+to raise money upon the thing, but I apologize to you, nevertheless,
+Mrs. Fitzgerald, for the anxiety which my removal of your valuable
+property must have caused you," she added, turning to the owner of the
+bracelet, whose cheeks were once more hot with anger at the contempt in
+the girl's tone. "I suppose I ought to thank you, Mr. Tavernake, also,
+for your well-meant effort to preserve my character. In future, that
+shall be my sole charge. Has any one anything more to say to me before I
+go?"
+
+Somehow or other, no one had. Mrs. Fitzgerald was irritated and fuming,
+but she contented herself with a snort. Her speech was ready enough as
+a rule, but there was a look in this girl's eyes from which she was glad
+enough to turn away. Mrs. Lawrence made a weak attempt at a farewell.
+
+"I am sure," she began, "we are all sorry for what's occurred and that
+you must go--not that perhaps it isn't better, under the circumstances,"
+she added hastily. "As regards--"
+
+"There is nothing owing to you," the girl interrupted calmly. "You may
+congratulate yourself upon that, for if there were you would not get it.
+Nor have I stolen anything else."
+
+"About your luggage?" Mrs. Lawrence asked.
+
+"When I need it, I will send for it," the girl replied.
+
+She turned her back upon them and before they realized it she was gone.
+She had, indeed, something of the grand manner. She had come to plead
+guilty to a theft and she had left them all feeling a little like
+snubbed children. Mrs. Fitzgerald, as soon as the spell of the girl's
+presence was removed, was one of the first to recover herself. She felt
+herself beginning to grow hot with renewed indignation.
+
+"A thief!" she exclaimed looking around the room. "Just an ordinary
+self-convicted thief! That's what I call her, and nothing else. And here
+we all stood like a lot of ninnies. Why, if I'd done my duty I'd have
+locked the door and sent for a policeman."
+
+"Too late now, anyway," Mrs. Lawrence declared. "She's gone for good,
+and no mistake. Walked right out of the house. I heard her slam the
+front door."
+
+"And a good job, too," Mrs. Fitzgerald armed. "We don't want any of her
+sort here--not those who've got things of value about them. I bet she
+didn't leave America for nothing."
+
+A little gray-haired lady, who had not as yet spoken, and who very
+seldom took part in any discussion at all, looked up from her knitting.
+She was desperately poor but she had charitable instincts.
+
+"I wonder what made her want to steal," she remarked quietly.
+
+"A born thief," Mrs. Fitzgerald declared with conviction,--"a real bad
+lot. One of your sly-looking ones, I call her."
+
+The little lady sighed.
+
+"When I was better off," she continued, "I used to help at a soup
+kitchen in Poplar. I have never forgotten a certain look we used to see
+occasionally in the faces of some of the men and women. I found out what
+it meant--it was hunger. Once or twice lately I have passed the girl who
+has just gone out, upon the stairs, and she almost frightened me. She
+had just the same look in her eyes. I noticed it yesterday--it was just
+before dinner, too--but she never came down."
+
+"She paid so much for her room and extra for meals," Mrs. Lawrence said
+thoughtfully. "She never would have a meal unless she paid for it at the
+time. To tell you the truth, I was feeling a bit uneasy about her. She
+hasn't been in the dining-room for two days, and from what they tell
+me there's no signs of her having eaten anything in her room. As for
+getting anything out, why should she? It would be cheaper for her here
+than anywhere, if she'd got any money at all."
+
+There was an uncomfortable silence. The little old lady with the
+knitting looked down the street into the sultry darkness which had
+swallowed up the girl.
+
+"I wonder whether Mr. Tavernake knows anything about her," some one
+suggested.
+
+But Tavernake was not in the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. A TETE-A-TETE SUPPER
+
+Tavernake caught her up in New Oxford Street and fell at once into step
+with her. He wasted no time whatever upon preliminaries.
+
+"I should be glad," he said, "if you would tell me your name."
+
+Her first glance at him was fierce enough to have terrified a different
+sort of man. Upon Tavernake it had absolutely no effect.
+
+"You need not unless you like, of course," he went on, "but I wish
+to talk to you for a few moments and I thought that it would be more
+convenient if I addressed you by name. I do not remember to have heard
+it mentioned at Blenheim House, and Mrs. Lawrence, as you know, does not
+introduce her guests."
+
+By this time they had walked a score or so of paces together. The girl,
+after her first furious glance, had taken absolutely no notice of him
+except to quicken her pace a little. Tavernake remained by her side,
+however, showing not the slightest sense of embarrassment or annoyance.
+He seemed perfectly content to wait and he had not in the least the
+appearance of a man who could be easily shaken off. From a fit of
+furious anger she passed suddenly and without warning to a state of half
+hysterical amusement.
+
+"You are a foolish, absurd person," she declared. "Please go away. I do
+not wish you to walk with me."
+
+Tavernake remained imperturbable. She remembered suddenly his
+intervention on her behalf.
+
+"If you insist upon knowing," she said, "my name at Blenheim House was
+Beatrice Burnay. I am much obliged to you for what you did for me there,
+but that is finished. I do not wish to have any conversation with you,
+and I absolutely object to your company. Please leave me at once."
+
+"I am sorry," he answered, "but that is not possible."
+
+"Not possible?" she repeated, wonderingly.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"You have no money, you have eaten no dinner, and I do not believe that
+you have any idea where you are going," he declared, deliberately.
+
+Her face was once more dark with anger.
+
+"Even if that were the truth," she insisted, "tell me what concern it is
+of yours? Your reminding me of these facts is simply an impertinence."
+
+"I am sorry that you look upon it in that light," he remarked, still
+without the least sign of discomposure. "We will, if you do not mind,
+waive the discussion for the moment. Do you prefer a small restaurant or
+a corner in a big one? There is music at Frascati's but there are not so
+many people in the smaller ones."
+
+She turned half around upon the pavement and looked at him steadfastly.
+His personality was at last beginning to interest her. His square jaw
+and measured speech were indices of a character at least unusual. She
+recognized certain invincible qualities under an exterior absolutely
+commonplace.
+
+"Are you as persistent about everything in life?" she asked him.
+
+"Why not?" he replied. "I try always to be consistent."
+
+"What is your name?"
+
+"Leonard Tavernake," he answered, promptly.
+
+"Are you well off--I mean moderately well off?"
+
+"I have a quite sufficient income."
+
+"Have you any one dependent upon you?"
+
+"Not a soul," he declared. "I am my own master in every sense of the
+word."
+
+She laughed in an odd sort of way.
+
+"Then you shall pay for your persistence," she said,--"I mean that I may
+as well rob you of a sovereign as the restaurant people."
+
+"You must tell me now where you would like to go to," he insisted. "It
+is getting late."
+
+"I do not like these foreign places," she replied. "I should prefer to
+go to the grill-room of a good restaurant."
+
+"We will take a taxicab," he announced. "You have no objection?"
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"If you have the money and don't mind spending it," she said, "I will
+admit that I have had all the walking I want. Besides, the toe of my
+boot is worn through and I find it painful. Yesterday I tramped ten
+miles trying to find a man who was getting up a concert party for the
+provinces."
+
+"And did you find him?" he asked, hailing a cab.
+
+"Yes, I found him," she answered, indifferently. "We went through the
+usual programme. He heard me sing, tried to kiss me and promised to let
+me know. Nobody ever refuses anything in my profession, you see. They
+promise to let you know."
+
+"Are you a singer, then, or an actress?"
+
+"I am neither," she told him. "I said 'my profession' because it is the
+only one to which I have ever tried to belong. I have never succeeded in
+obtaining an engagement in this country. I do not suppose that even if I
+had persevered I should ever have had one."
+
+"You have given up the idea, then," he remarked.
+
+"I have given it up," she admitted, a little curtly. "Please do not
+think, because I am allowing you to be my companion for a short time,
+that you may ask me questions. How fast these taxies go!"
+
+They drew up at their destination--a well-known restaurant in Regent
+Street. He paid the cabman and they descended a flight of stairs into
+the grill-room.
+
+"I hope that this place will suit you," he said. "I have not much
+experience of restaurants."
+
+She looked around and nodded.
+
+"Yes," she replied, "I think that it will do."
+
+She was very shabbily dressed, and he, although his appearance was by no
+means ordinary, was certainly not of the type which inspires
+immediate respect in even the grill-room of a fashionable restaurant.
+Nevertheless, they received prompt and almost officious service.
+Tavernake, as he watched his companion's air, her manner of seating
+herself and accepting the attentions of the head waiter, felt that
+nameless impulse which was responsible for his having followed her
+from Blenheim House and which he could only call curiosity, becoming
+stronger. An exceedingly matter-of-fact person, he was also by instinct
+and habit observant. He never doubted but that she belonged to a class
+of society from which the guests at the boarding-house where they had
+both lived were seldom recruited, and of which he himself knew little.
+He was not in the least a snob, this young man, but he found the fact
+interesting. Life with him was already very much the same as a ledger
+account--a matter of debits and credits, and he had never failed to
+include among the latter that curious gift of breeding for which he
+himself, denied it by heritage, had somehow substituted a complete and
+exceedingly rare naturalness.
+
+"I should like," she announced, laying down the carte, "a fried sole,
+some cutlets, an ice, and black coffee."
+
+The waiter bowed.
+
+"And for Monsieur?"
+
+Tavernake glanced at his watch; it was already ten o'clock.
+
+"I will take the same," he declared.
+
+"And to drink?"
+
+She seemed indifferent.
+
+"Any light wine," she answered, carelessly, "white or red."
+
+Tavernake took up the wine list and ordered sauterne. They were left
+alone in their corner for a few minutes, almost the only occupants of
+the place.
+
+"You are sure that you can afford this?" she asked, looking at him
+critically. "It may cost you a sovereign or thirty shillings."
+
+He studied the prices on the menu.
+
+"I can afford it quite well and I have plenty of money with me," he
+assured her, "but I do not think that it will cost more than eighteen
+shillings. While we are waiting for the sole, shall we talk? I can tell
+you, if you choose to hear, why I followed you from the boardinghouse."
+
+"I don't mind listening to you," she told him, "or I will talk with
+you about anything you like. There is only one subject which I cannot
+discuss; that subject is myself and my own doings."
+
+Tavernake was silent for a moment.
+
+"That makes conversation a bit difficult," he remarked. She leaned back
+in her chair.
+
+"After this evening," she said, "I go out of your life as completely and
+finally as though I had never existed. I have a fancy to take my poor
+secrets with me. If you wish to talk, tell me about yourself. You have
+gone out of your way to be kind to me. I wonder why. It doesn't seem to
+be your role."
+
+He smiled slowly. His face was fashioned upon broad lines and the
+relaxing of his lips lightened it wonderfully. He had good teeth,
+clear gray eyes, and coarse black hair which he wore a trifle long; his
+forehead was too massive for good looks.
+
+"No," he admitted, "I do not think that benevolence is one of my
+characteristics."
+
+Her dark eyes were turned full upon him; her red lips, redder than ever
+they seemed against the pallor of her cheeks and her deep brown hair,
+curled slightly. There was something almost insolent in her tone.
+
+"You understand, I hope," she continued, "that you have nothing whatever
+to look for from me in return for this sum which you propose to expend
+for my entertainment?"
+
+"I understand that," he replied.
+
+"Not even gratitude," she persisted. "I really do not feel grateful to
+you. You are probably doing this to gratify some selfish interest or
+curiosity. I warn you that I am quite incapable of any of the proper
+sentiments of life."
+
+"Your gratitude would be of no value to me whatever," he assured her.
+
+She was still not wholly satisfied. His complete stolidity frustrated
+every effort she made to penetrate beneath the surface.
+
+"If I believed," she went on, "that you were one of those men--the
+world is full of them, you know--who will help a woman with a reasonable
+appearance so long as it does not seriously interfere with their own
+comfort--"
+
+"Your sex has nothing whatever to do with it," he interrupted. "As to
+your appearance, I have not even considered it. I could not tell you
+whether you are beautiful or ugly--I am no judge of these matters. What
+I have done, I have done because it pleased me to do it."
+
+"Do you always do what pleases you?" she asked.
+
+"Nearly always."
+
+She looked him over again attentively, with an interest obviously
+impersonal, a trifle supercilious.
+
+"I suppose," she remarked, "you consider yourself one of the strong
+people of the world?"
+
+"I do not know about that," he answered. "I do not often think about
+myself."
+
+"I mean," she explained, "that you are one of those people who struggle
+hard to get just what they want in life."
+
+His jaw suddenly tightened and she saw the likeness to Napoleon.
+
+"I do more than struggle," he affirmed, "I succeed. If I make up my mind
+to do a thing, I do it; if I make up my mind to get a thing, I get it.
+It means hard work sometimes, but that is all."
+
+For the first time, a really natural interest shone out of her eyes.
+The half sulky contempt with which she had received his advances passed
+away. She became at that moment a human being, self-forgetting, the
+heritage of her charms--for she really had a curious but very poignant
+attractiveness--suddenly evident. It was only a momentary lapse and it
+was entirely wasted. Not even one of the waiters happened to be looking
+that way, and Tavernake was thinking wholly of himself.
+
+"It is a good deal to say--that," she remarked, reflectively.
+
+"It is a good deal but it is not too much," he declared. "Every man who
+takes life seriously should say it."
+
+Then she laughed--actually laughed--and he had a vision of flashing
+white teeth, of a mouth breaking into pleasant curves, of dark mirth-lit
+eyes, lustreless no longer, provocative, inspiring. A vague impression
+as of something pleasant warmed his blood. It was a rare thing for him
+to be so stirred, but even then it was not sufficient to disturb the
+focus of his thoughts.
+
+"Tell me," she demanded, "what do you do? What is your profession or
+work?"
+
+"I am with a firm of auctioneers and estate agents," he answered
+readily,--"Messrs. Dowling, Spence & Company the name is. Our offices
+are in Waterloo Place."
+
+"You find it interesting?"
+
+"Of course," he answered. "Interesting? Why not? I work at it."
+
+"Are you a partner?"
+
+"No," he admitted. "Six years ago I was a carpenter; then I became an
+errand boy in Mr. Dowling's office I had to learn the business, you see.
+To-day I am a sort of manager. In eighteen months' time--perhaps before
+that if they do not offer me a partnership--I shall start for myself."
+
+Once more the subtlest of smiles flickered at the corners of her lips.
+
+"Do they know yet?" she asked, with faint irony.
+
+"Not yet," he replied, with absolute seriousness. "They might tell me
+to go, and I have a few things to learn yet. I would rather make
+experiments for some one else than for myself. I can use the results
+later; they will help me to make money."
+
+She laughed softly and wiped the tears out of her eyes. They were really
+very beautiful eyes notwithstanding the dark rims encircling them.
+
+"If only I had met you before!" she murmured.
+
+"Why?" he asked.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Don't ask me," she begged. "It would not be good for your conceit, if
+you have any, to tell you."
+
+"I have no conceit and I am not inquisitive," he said, "but I do not see
+why you laughed."
+
+Their period of waiting came to an end at this point. The fish was
+brought and their conversation became disjointed. In the silence which
+followed, the old shadow crept over her face. Once only it lifted. It
+was while they were waiting for the cutlets. She leaned towards him, her
+elbows upon the tablecloth, her face supported by her fingers.
+
+"I think that it is time we left these generalities," she insisted, "and
+you told me something rather more personal, something which I am very
+anxious to know. Tell me exactly why so self-centered a person as
+yourself should interest himself in a fellow-creature at all. It seems
+odd to me."
+
+"It is odd," he admitted, frankly. "I will try to explain it to you but
+it will sound very bald, and I do not think that you will understand. I
+watched you a few nights ago out on the roof at Blenheim House. You were
+looking across the house-tops and you didn't seem to be seeing anything
+at all really, and yet all the time I knew that you were seeing things I
+couldn't, you were understanding and appreciating something which I knew
+nothing of, and it worried me. I tried to talk to you that evening, but
+you were rude."
+
+"You really are a curious person," she remarked. "Are you always
+worried, then, if you find that some one else is seeing things or
+understanding things which are outside your comprehension?"
+
+"Always," he replied promptly.
+
+"You are too far-reaching," she affirmed. "You want to gather everything
+into your life. You cannot. You will only be unhappy if you try. No man
+can do it. You must learn your limitations or suffer all your days."
+
+"Limitations!" He repeated the words with measureless scorn. "If I learn
+them at all," he declared, with unexpected force, "it will be with scars
+and bruises, for nothing else will content me."
+
+"We are, I should say, almost the same age," she remarked slowly.
+
+"I am twenty-five," he told her.
+
+"I am twenty-two," she said. "It seems strange that two people whose
+ideas of life are as far apart as the Poles should have come together
+like this even for a moment. I do not understand it at all. Did you
+expect that I should tell you just what I saw in the clouds that night?"
+
+"No," he answered, "not exactly. I have spoken of my first interest in
+you only. There are other things. I told a lie about the bracelet and I
+followed you out of the boarding-house and I brought you here, for some
+other for quite a different reason."
+
+"Tell me what it was," she demanded.
+
+"I do not know it myself," he declared solemnly. "I really and honestly
+do not know it. It is because I hoped that it might come to me while
+we were together, that I am here with you at this moment. I do not like
+impulses which I do not understand."
+
+She laughed at him a little scornfully.
+
+"After all," she said, "although it may not have dawned upon you yet,
+it is probably the same wretched reason. You are a man and you have the
+poison somewhere in your blood. I am really not bad-looking, you know."
+
+He looked at her critically. She was a little over-slim, perhaps, but
+she was certainly wonderfully graceful. Even the poise of her head, the
+manner in which she leaned back in her chair, had its individuality. Her
+features, too, were good, though her mouth had grown a trifle hard. For
+the first time the dead pallor of her cheeks was relieved by a touch of
+color. Even Tavernake realized that there were great possibilities about
+her. Nevertheless, he shook his head.
+
+"I do not agree with you in the least," he asserted firmly. "Your looks
+have nothing to do with it. I am sure that it is not that."
+
+"Let me cross-examine you," she suggested. "Think carefully now. Does it
+give you no pleasure at all to be sitting here alone with me?"
+
+He answered her deliberately; it was obvious that he was speaking the
+truth.
+
+"I am not conscious that it does," he declared. "The only feeling I am
+aware of at the present moment in connection with you, is the curiosity
+of which I have already spoken."
+
+She leaned a little towards him, extending her very shapely fingers.
+Once more the smile at her lips transformed her face.
+
+"Look at my hand," she said. "Tell me--wouldn't you like to hold it just
+for a minute, if I gave it you?"
+
+Her eyes challenged his, softly and yet imperiously. His whole
+attention, however, seemed to be absorbed by her finger-nails. It seemed
+strange to him that a girl in her straits should have devoted so much
+care to her hands.
+
+"No," he answered deliberately, "I have no wish to hold your hand. Why
+should I?"
+
+"Look at me," she insisted.
+
+He did so without embarrassment or hesitation,--it was more than ever
+apparent that he was entirely truthful. She leaned back in her chair,
+laughing softly to herself.
+
+"Oh, my friend Mr. Leonard Tavernake," she exclaimed, "if you were not
+so crudely, so adorably, so miraculously truthful, what a prig,
+prig, prig, you would be! The cutlets at last, thank goodness! Your
+cross-examination is over. I pronounce you 'Not Guilty!"'
+
+During the progress of the rest of the meal, they talked very little. At
+its conclusion, Tavernake discharged the bill, having carefully checked
+each item and tipped the waiter the exact amount which the man had the
+right to expect. They ascended the stairs together to the street, the
+girl lingering a few steps behind. On the pavement her fingers touched
+his arm.
+
+"I wonder, would you mind driving me down to the Embankment?" she asked
+almost humbly. "It was so close down there and I want some air."
+
+This was an extravagance which he had scarcely contemplated, but he did
+not hesitate. He called a taxicab and seated himself by her side. Her
+manner seemed to have grown quieter and more subdued, her tone was no
+longer semi-belligerent.
+
+"I will not keep you much longer," she promised. "I suppose I am not so
+strong as I used to be. I have had scarcely anything to eat for two
+days and conversation has become an unknown luxury. I think--it seems
+absurd--but I think that I am feeling a little faint."
+
+"The air will soon revive you," he said. "As to our conversation, I
+am disappointed. I think that you are very foolish not to tell me more
+about yourself."
+
+She closed her eyes, ignoring his remark. They turned presently into a
+narrower thoroughfare. She leaned towards him.
+
+"You have been very good to me," she admitted almost timidly, "and I am
+afraid that I have not been very gracious. We shall not see one another
+again after this evening. I wonder--would you care to kiss me?"
+
+He opened his lips and closed them again. He sat quite still, his eyes
+fixed upon the road ahead, until he had strangled something absolutely
+absurd, something unrecognizable.
+
+"I would rather not," he decided quietly. "I know you mean to be kind
+but that sort of thing--well, I don't think I understand it. Besides,"
+he added with a sudden naive relief, as he clutched at a fugitive but
+plausible thought, "if I did you would not believe the things which I
+have been telling you."
+
+He had a curious idea that she was disappointed as she turned her head
+away, but she said nothing. Arrived at the Embankment, the cab came
+slowly to a standstill. The girl descended. There was something new in
+her manner; she looked away from him when she spoke.
+
+"You had better leave me here," she said. "I am going to sit upon that
+seat."
+
+Then came those few seconds' hesitation which were to count for a
+great deal in his life. The impulse which bade him stay with her was
+unaccountable but it conquered.
+
+"If you do not object," he remarked with some stiffness, "I should like
+to sit here with you for a little time. There is certainly a breeze."
+
+She made no comment but walked on. He paid the man and followed her to
+the empty seat. Opposite, some illuminated advertisements blazed their
+unsightly message across the murky sky. Between the two curving rows
+of yellow lights the river flowed--black, turgid, hopeless. Even here,
+though they had escaped from its absolute thrall, the far-away roar of
+the city beat upon their ears. She listened to it for a moment and then
+pressed her hands to the side of her head.
+
+"Oh, how I hate it!" she moaned. "The voices, always the voices,
+calling, threatening, beating you away! Take my hands, Leonard
+Tavernake,--hold me."
+
+He did as she bade him, clumsily, as yet without comprehension.
+
+"You are not well," he muttered.
+
+Her eyes opened and a flash of her old manner returned. She smiled at
+him, feebly but derisively.
+
+"You foolish boy!" she cried. "Can't you see that I am dying? Hold my
+hands tightly and watch--watch! Here is one more thing you can see--that
+you cannot understand."
+
+He saw the empty phial slip from her sleeve and fall on to the pavement.
+With a cry he sprang up and, carrying her in his arms, rushed out into
+the road.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. AN UNPLEASANT MEETING
+
+It was a quarter past eleven and the theatres were disgorging their
+usual nightly crowds. The most human thoroughfare in any of the world's
+great cities was at its best and brightest. Everywhere commissionaires
+were blowing their whistles, the streets were thronged with
+slowly-moving vehicles, the pavements were stirring with life. The
+little crowd which had gathered in front of the chemist's shop was swept
+away. After all, none of them knew exactly what they had been waiting
+for. There was a rumor that a woman had fainted or had met with an
+accident. Certainly she had been carried into the shop and into the
+inner room, the door of which was still closed. A few passers-by had
+gathered together and stared and waited for a few minutes, but had
+finally lost interest and melted away. A human thoroughfare, this,
+indeed, one of the pulses of the great city beating time night and
+day to the tragedies of life. The chemist's assistant, with impassive
+features, was serving a couple of casual customers from behind the
+counter. Only a few yards away, beyond the closed door, the chemist
+himself and a hastily summoned doctor fought with Death for the body of
+the girl who lay upon the floor, faint moans coming every now and then
+from her blue lips.
+
+Tavernake, whose forced inaction during that terrible struggle had
+become a burden to him, slipped softly from the room as soon as the
+doctor had whispered that the acute crisis was over, and passed
+through the shop out into the street, a solemn, dazed figure among the
+light-hearted crowd. Even in those grim moments, the man's individualism
+spoke up to him. He was puzzled at his own action, He asked himself
+a question--not, indeed, with regret, but with something more than
+curiosity and actual selfprobing--as though, by concentrating his mind
+upon his recent course of action, he would be able to understand the
+motives which had influenced him. Why had he chosen to burden himself
+with the care of this desperate young woman? Supposing she lived, what
+was to become of her? He had acquired a certain definite responsibility
+with regard to her future, for whatever the doctor and his assistant
+might do, it was his own promptitude and presence of mind which had
+given her the first chance of life. Without a doubt, he had behaved
+foolishly. Why not vanish into the crowd and have done with it? What was
+it to him, after all, whether this girl lived or died? He had done his
+duty--more than his duty. Why not disappear now and let her take her
+chance? His common sense spoke to him loudly; such thoughts as these
+beat upon his brain.
+
+Just for once in his life, however, his common sense exercised an
+altogether subordinate position. He knew very well, even while he
+listened to these voices, that he was only counting the minutes until he
+could return. Having absolutely decided that the only reasonable course
+left for him to pursue was to return home and leave the girl to her
+fate, he found himself back inside the shop within a quarter of an hour.
+The chemist had just come out from the inner room, and looked up at his
+entrance.
+
+"She'll do now," he announced.
+
+Tavernake nodded. He was amazed at his own sense of relief.
+
+"I am glad," he declared.
+
+The doctor joined them, his black bag in his hand, prepared for
+departure. He addressed himself to Tavernake as the responsible person.
+
+"The young lady will be all right now," he said, "but she may be rather
+queer for a day or two. Fortunately, she made the usual mistake of
+people who are ignorant of medicine and its effects--she took enough
+poison to kill a whole household. You had better take care of her, young
+man," he added dryly. "She'll be getting into trouble if she tries this
+sort of thing again."
+
+"Will she need any special attention during the next few days?"
+Tavernake asked. "The circumstances under which I brought her here are a
+little unusual, and I am not quite sure--"
+
+"Take her home to bed," the doctor interrupted, "and you'll find she'll
+sleep it off. She seems to have a splendid constitution, although she
+has let herself run down. If you need any further advice and your own
+medical man is not available, I will come and see her if you send for
+me. Camden, my name is; telephone number 734 Gerrard."
+
+"I should be glad to know the amount of your fee, if you please,"
+Tavernake said.
+
+"My fee is two guineas," the doctor answered.
+
+Tavernake paid him and he went away. Already the shadow of the
+tragedy was passing. The chemist had joined his assistant and was busy
+dispensing drugs behind his counter.
+
+"You can go in to the young lady, if you like," he remarked to
+Tavernake. "I dare say she'll feel better to have some one with her."
+
+Tavernake passed slowly into the inner room, closing the door behind
+him. He was scarcely prepared for so piteous a sight. The girl's face
+was white and drawn as she lay upon the couch to which they had lifted
+her. The fighting spirit was dead; she was in a state of absolute and
+complete collapse. She opened her eyes at his coning, but closed them
+again almost immediately--less, it seemed, from any consciousness of his
+presence than from sheer exhaustion.
+
+"I am glad that you are better," he whispered crossing the room to her
+side.
+
+"Thank you," she murmured almost inaudibly.
+
+Tavernake stood looking down upon her, and his sense of perplexity
+increased. Stretched on the hard horsehair couch she seemed, indeed,
+pitifully thin and younger than her years. The scowl, which had passed
+from her face, had served in some measure as a disguise.
+
+"We shall have to leave here in a few minutes," he said, softly. "They
+will want to close the shop."
+
+"I am so sorry," she faltered, "to have given you all this trouble. You
+must send me to a hospital or the workhouse--anywhere."
+
+"You are sure that there are no friends to whom I can send?" he asked.
+
+"There is no one!"
+
+She closed her eyes and Tavernake sat quite still on the end of
+her couch, his elbow upon his knee, his head resting upon his hand.
+Presently, the rush of customers having ceased, the chemist came in.
+
+"I think, if I were you, I should take her home now," he remarked.
+"She'll probably drop off to sleep very soon and wake up much stronger.
+I have made up a prescription here in case of exhaustion."
+
+Tavernake stared at the man. Take her home! His sense of humor was faint
+enough but he found himself trying to imagine the faces of Mrs. Lawrence
+or Mrs. Fitzgerald if he should return with her to the boardinghouse at
+such an hour.
+
+"I suppose you know where she lives?" the chemist inquired curiously.
+
+"Of course," Tavernake assented. "You are quite right. I dare say she is
+strong enough now to walk as far as the pavement."
+
+He paid the bill for the medicines, and they lifted her from the couch.
+Between them she walked slowly into the outer shop. Then she began to
+drag on their arms and she looked up at the chemist a little piteously.
+
+"May I sit down for a moment?" she begged. "I feel faint."
+
+They placed her in one of the cane chairs facing the door. The chemist
+mixed her some sal volatile.
+
+"I am sorry," she murmured, "so sorry. In a few minutes--I shall be
+better."
+
+Outside, the throng of pedestrians had grown less, but from the great
+restaurant opposite a constant stream of motor-cars and carriages was
+slowly bringing away the supper guests. Tavernake stood at the door,
+watching them idly. The traffic was momentarily blocked and almost
+opposite to him a motor-car, the simple magnificence of which filled him
+with wonder, had come to a standstill. The chauffeur and footman both
+wore livery which was almost white. Inside a swinging vase of flowers
+was suspended from the roof. A man and a woman leaned back in luxurious
+easy-chairs. The man was dark and had the look of a foreigner. The woman
+was very fair. She wore a long ermine cloak and a tiara of pearls.
+
+Tavernake, whose interest in the passing throngs was entirely
+superficial, found himself for some reason curiously attracted by this
+glimpse into a world of luxury of which he knew nothing; attracted, too,
+by the woman's delicate face with its uncommon type of beauty. Their
+eyes met as he stood there, stolid and motionless, framed in the
+doorway. Tavernake continued to stare, unmindful, perhaps unconscious,
+of the rudeness of his action. The woman, after a moment, glanced away
+at the shopwindow. A sudden thought seemed to strike her. She spoke
+through the tube at her side and turned to her companion. Meanwhile, the
+footman, leaning from his place, held out his arm in warning and the
+car was slowly backed to the side of the pavement. The lady felt for a
+moment in a bag of white satin which lay upon the round table in front
+of her, and handed a slip of paper through the open window to the
+servant who had already descended and was standing waiting. He came at
+once towards the shop, passing Tavernake, who remained in the door-way.
+
+"Will you make this up at once, please?" he directed, handing the paper
+across to the chemist.
+
+The chemist took it in his hand and turned away mechanically toward the
+dispensing room. Suddenly he paused, and, looking back, shook his head.
+
+"For whom is this prescription required?" he asked.
+
+"For my mistress," the man answered. "Her name is there."
+
+"Where is she?"
+
+"Outside; she is waiting for it."
+
+"If she really wants this made up to-night," the chemist declared, "she
+must come in and sign the book."
+
+The footman looked across the counter, for a moment, a little blankly.
+
+"Am I to tell her that?" he inquired. "It's only a sleeping draught. Her
+regular chemist makes it up all right."
+
+"That may be," the man behind the counter replied, "but, you see, I am
+not her regular chemist. You had better go and tell her so."
+
+The footman departed upon his errand without a glance at the girl who
+was sitting within a few feet of him.
+
+"I am very sorry, madam," he announced to his mistress, "that the
+chemist declines to make up the prescription unless you sign the book."
+
+"Very well, then, I will come," she declared.
+
+The woman, handed from the automobile by her servant, lifted her white
+satin skirts in both hands and stepped lightly across the pavement.
+Tavernake stood on one side to let her pass. She seemed to him to be,
+indeed, a creature of that other world of which he knew nothing. Her
+slow, graceful movements, the shimmer of her skirt, her silk stockings,
+the flashing of the diamond buckles upon her shoes, the faint perfume
+from her clothes, the soft touch of her ermine as she swept by--all
+these things were indeed strange to him. His eyes followed her with rapt
+interest as she approached the counter.
+
+"You wish me to sign for my prescription?" she asked the chemist. "I
+will do so, with pleasure, if it is necessary, only you must not keep me
+waiting long."
+
+Her voice was very low and very musical; the slight smile which had
+parted her tired lips, was almost pathetic. Even the chemist felt
+himself to be a human being. He turned at once to his shelves and began
+to prepare the drug.
+
+"I am sorry, madam, that it should have been necessary to fetch you in,"
+he said, apologetically. "My assistant will give you the book if you
+will kindly sign it."
+
+The assistant dived beneath the counter, reappearing almost immediately
+with a black volume and a pen and ink. The chemist was engrossed upon
+his task; Tavernake's eyes were still riveted upon this woman, who
+seemed to him the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in life. No one
+was watching the girl. The chemist was the first to see her face, and
+that only in a looking glass. He stopped in the act of mixing his drug
+and turned slowly round. His expression was such that they all followed
+his eyes. The girl was sitting up in her chair, with a sudden spot of
+color burning in her cheeks, her fingers gripping the counter as though
+for support, her eyes dilated, unnatural, burning in their white setting
+with an unholy fire. The lady was the last to turn her head, and the
+bottle of eau-de-cologne which she had taken up from the counter,
+slipped with a crash to the floor. All expression seemed to pass from
+her face; the very life seemed drawn from it. Those who were watching
+her saw suddenly an old woman looking at something of which she was
+afraid.
+
+The girl seemed to find an unnatural strength. She dragged herself up
+and turned wildly to Tavernake.
+
+"Take me away," she cried, in a low voice. "Take me away at once."
+
+The woman at the counter did not speak. Tavernake stepped quickly
+forward and then hesitated. The girl was on her feet now and she
+clutched at his arms. Her eyes besought him.
+
+"You must take me away, please," she begged, hoarsely. "I am well
+now--quite well. I can walk."
+
+Tavernake's lack of imagination stood him in good stead then. He simply
+did what he was told, did it in perfectly mechanical fashion, without
+asking any questions. With the girl leaning heavily upon his arm, he
+stepped into the street and almost immediately into a passing taxicab
+which he had hailed from the threshold of the shop. As he closed the
+door, he glanced behind him. The woman was standing there, half turned
+towards him, still with that strange, stony look upon her lifeless
+face. The chemist was bending across the counter towards her, wondering,
+perhaps, if another incident were to be drawn into his night's work. The
+eau-de-cologne was running in a little stream across the floor.
+
+"Where to, sir?" the taxicab driver asked Tavernake.
+
+"Where to?" Tavernake repeated.
+
+The girl was clinging to his arm.
+
+"Tell him to drive away from here," she whispered, "to drive anywhere,
+but away from here."
+
+"Drive straight on," Tavernake directed, "along Fleet Street and up
+Holborn. I will give you the address later on."
+
+The man changed his speed and their pace increased. Tavernake sat quite
+still, dumfounded by these amazing happenings. The girl by his side was
+clutching his arm, sobbing a little hysterically, holding him all the
+time as though in terror.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. BREAKFAST WITH BEATRICE
+
+
+The girl, awakened, perhaps, by the passing of some heavy cart along
+the street below, or by the touch of the sunbeam which lay across
+her pillow, first opened her eyes and then, after a preliminary stare
+around, sat up in bed. The events of the previous night slowly shaped
+themselves in her mind. She remembered everything up to the commencement
+of that drive in the taxicab. Sometime after that she must have fainted.
+And now--what had become of her? Where was she?
+
+She looked around her in ever-increasing surprise. Certainly it was the
+strangest room she had ever been in. The floor was dusty and innocent
+of any carpet; the window was bare and uncurtained. The walls were
+unpapered but covered here and there with strange-looking plans, one of
+them taking up nearly the whole side of the room--a very rough piece
+of work with little dabs of blue paint here and there, and shadings and
+diagrams which were absolutely unintelligible. She herself was lying
+upon a battered iron bedstead, and she was wearing a very coarse
+nightdress. Her own clothes were folded up and lay upon a piece of brown
+paper on the floor by the side of the bed. To all appearance, the room
+was entirely unfurnished, except that in the middle of it was a hideous
+papier mache screen.
+
+After her first bewildered inspection of her surroundings, it was upon
+this screen that her attention was naturally directed. Obviously it
+must be there to conceal something. Very carefully she leaned out of bed
+until she was able to see around the corner of it. Then her heart gave a
+little jump and she was only just able to stifle an exclamation of fear.
+Some one was sitting there--a man--sitting on a battered cane chair,
+bending over a roll of papers which were stretched upon a rude deal
+table. She felt her cheeks grow hot. It must be Tavernake! Where had he
+brought her? What did his presence in the room mean?
+
+The bed creaked heavily as she regained her former position. A voice
+came to her from behind the screen. She knew it at once. It was
+Tavernake's.
+
+"Are you awake?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," she answered,--"yes, I am awake. Is that Mr. Tavernake? Where am
+I, please?"
+
+"First of all, are you better?" he inquired.
+
+"I am better," she assured him, sitting up in bed and pulling the
+clothes to her chin. "I am quite well now. Tell me at once where I am
+and what you are doing over there."
+
+"There is nothing to be terrified about," Tavernake answered. "To all
+effects and purposes, I am in another room. When I move to the door,
+as I shall do directly, I shall drag the screen with me. I can promise
+you--"
+
+"Please explain everything," she begged, "quickly. I am
+most--uncomfortable."
+
+"At half-past twelve this morning," Tavernake said, "I found myself
+alone in a taxicab with you, without any luggage or any idea where to
+go to. To make matters worse, you fainted. I tried two hotels but they
+refused to take you in; they were probably afraid that you were going
+to be ill. Then I thought of this room. I am employed, as you know, by
+a firm of estate agents. I do a great deal of work on my own account,
+however, which I prefer to do in secret, and unknown to any one. For
+that reason, I hired this room a year ago and I come here most evenings
+to work. Sometimes I stay late, so last month I bought a small bedstead
+and had it fixed up here. There is a woman who comes in to clean the
+room. I went to her house last night and persuaded her to come here.
+She undressed you and put you to bed. I am sorry that my presence
+here distresses you, but it is a large building and quite empty at
+night-time. I thought you might wake up and be frightened, so I borrowed
+this screen from the woman and have been sitting here."
+
+"What, all night?" she gasped.
+
+"Certainly," he answered. "The woman could not stop herself and this
+is not a residential building at all. All the lower floors are let for
+offices and warehouses, and there is no one else in the place until
+eight o'clock."
+
+She put her hands to her head and sat quite still for a moment or two.
+It was really hard to take everything in.
+
+"Aren't you very sleepy?" she asked, irrelevantly.
+
+"Not very," he replied. "I dozed for an hour, a little time ago. Since
+then I have been looking through some plans which interest me very
+much."
+
+"Can I get up?" she inquired, timidly.
+
+"If you feel strong enough, please do," he answered, with manifest
+relief. "I shall move towards the door, dragging the screen in front of
+me. You will find a brush and comb and some hairpins on your clothes. I
+could not think of anything else to get for you, but, if you will dress,
+we will walk to London Bridge Station, which is just across the way,
+and while I order some breakfast you can go into the ladies' room and do
+your hair properly. I did my best to get hold of a looking-glass, but it
+was quite impossible."
+
+The girl's sense of humor was suddenly awake. She had hard work not to
+scream. He had evidently thought out all these details in painstaking
+fashion, one by one.
+
+"Thank you," she said. "I will get up immediately, if you will do as you
+say."
+
+He clutched the screen from the inside and dragged it towards the door.
+On the threshold, he spoke to her once more.
+
+"I shall sit upon the stairs just outside," he announced.
+
+"I sha'n't be more than five minutes," she assured him.
+
+She sprang out of bed and dressed quickly. There was nothing beyond
+where the screen had been except a table covered with plans, and a
+particularly hard cane chair which she dragged over for her own use.
+As she dressed, she began to realize how much this matter-of-fact,
+unimpressionable young man had done for her during the last few hours.
+The reflection affected her in a curious manner. She became afflicted
+with a shyness which she had not felt when he was in the room. When at
+last she had finished her toilette and opened the door, she was almost
+tongue-tied. He was sitting on the top step, with his back against the
+landing, and his eyes were closed. He opened them with a little start,
+however, as soon as he heard her approach.
+
+"I am glad you have not been long," he remarked. "I want to be at my
+office at nine o'clock and I must go and have a bath somewhere. These
+stairs are rather steep. Please walk carefully."
+
+She followed him in silence down three flights of stone steps. On each
+landing there were names upon the doors--two firms of hop merchants,
+a solicitor, and a commission agent. The ground floor was some sort of
+warehouse, from which came a strong smell of leather.
+
+Tavernake opened the outside door with a small key and they passed into
+the street.
+
+"London Bridge Station is just across the way," he said. "The
+refreshment room will be open and we can get some breakfast at once."
+
+"What time is it?" she asked.
+
+"About half-past seven."
+
+She walked by his side quite meekly, and although there were many things
+which she was longing to say, she remained absolutely without the power
+of speech. Except that he was looking a little crumpled, there was
+nothing whatever in his appearance to indicate that he had been up all
+night. He looked exactly as he had done on the previous day, he
+seemed even quite unconscious that there was anything unusual in their
+relations. As soon as they arrived at the station, he pointed to the
+ladies' waiting-room.
+
+"If you will go in and arrange your hair there," he said, "I will go and
+order breakfast and have a shave. I will be back here in about twenty
+minutes. You had better take this."
+
+He offered her a shilling and she accepted it without hesitation. As
+soon as he had gone, however, she looked at the coin in her hand in
+blank wonder. She had accepted it from him with perfect naturalness and
+without even saying "Thank you!" With a queer little laugh, she pushed
+open the swinging doors and made her way into the waiting-room.
+
+In hardly more than a quarter of an hour she emerged, to find Tavernake
+waiting for her. He had retied his tie, bought a fresh collar, had been
+shaved. She, too, had improved her appearance.
+
+"Breakfast is waiting this way," he announced.
+
+She followed him obediently and they sat down at a small table in the
+station refreshment-room.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," she asked, suddenly, "I must ask you something. Has
+anything like this ever happened to you before?"
+
+"Nothing," he assured her, with some emphasis.
+
+"You seem to take everything so much as a matter of course," she
+protested.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know," she replied, a little feebly. "Only--"
+
+She found relief in a sudden and perfectly natural laugh.
+
+"Come," he said, "that is better. I am glad that you feel like
+laughing."
+
+"As a matter of fact," she declared, "I feel much more like crying.
+Don't you know that you were very foolish last night? You ought to have
+left me alone. Why didn't you? You would have saved yourself a great
+deal of trouble."
+
+He nodded, as though that point of view did, in some degree, commend
+itself to him.
+
+"Yes," he admitted, "I suppose I should. I do not, even now, understand
+why I interfered. I can only remember that it didn't seem possible not
+to at the time. I suppose one must have impulses," he added, with a
+little frown.
+
+"The reflection," she remarked, helping herself to another roll, "seems
+to annoy you."
+
+"It does," he confessed. "I do not like to feel impelled to do anything
+the reason for which is not apparent. I like to do just the things which
+seem likely to work out best for myself."
+
+"How you must hate me!" she murmured.
+
+"No, I do not hate you," he replied, "but, on the other hand, you have
+certainly been a trouble to me. First of all, I told a falsehood at the
+boarding-house, and I prefer always to tell the truth when I can. Then
+I followed you out of the house, which I disliked doing very much, and
+I seem to have spent a considerable portion of the time since, in your
+company, under somewhat extraordinary circumstances. I do not understand
+why I have done this."
+
+"I suppose it is because you are a very good-hearted person," she
+remarked.
+
+"But I am not," he assured her, calmly. "I am nothing of the sort. I
+have very little sympathy with good-hearted people. I think the world
+goes very much better when every one looks after himself, and the people
+who are not competent to do so go to the wall."
+
+"It sounds a trifle selfish," she murmured.
+
+"Perhaps it is. I have an idea that if I could phrase it differently it
+would become philosophy."
+
+"Perhaps," she suggested, smiling across the table at him, "you have
+really done all this because you like me."
+
+"I am quite sure that it is not that," he declared. "I feel an interest
+in you for which I cannot account, but it does not seem to me to be
+a personal one. Last night," he continued, "when I was sitting there
+waiting, I tried to puzzle it all out. I came to the conclusion that it
+was because you represent something which I do not understand. I am very
+curious and it always interests me to learn. I believe that must be the
+secret of my interest in you."
+
+"You are very complimentary," she told him, mockingly. "I wonder what
+there is in the world which I could teach so superior a person as Mr.
+Tavernake?"
+
+He took her question quite seriously.
+
+"I wonder what there is myself," he answered. "And yet, in a way, I
+think I know."
+
+"Your imagination should come to the rescue," she remarked.
+
+"I have no imagination," he declared, gloomily.
+
+They were silent for several minutes; she was still studying him.
+
+"I wonder you don't ask me any questions about myself," she said,
+abruptly.
+
+"There is only one thing," he answered, "concerning which I am in the
+least curious. Last night in the chemist's shop--"
+
+"Don't!" she begged him, with suddenly whitening face. "Don't speak of
+that!"
+
+"Very well," he replied, indifferently. "I thought that you were rather
+inviting my questions. You need not be afraid of any more. I really am
+not curious about personal matters; I find that my own life absorbs all
+my interests."
+
+They had finished breakfast and he paid the bill. She began to put on
+her gloves.
+
+"Whatever happens to me," she said, "I shall never forget that you have
+been very kind."
+
+She hesitated for a moment and then she seemed to realize more
+completely how really kind he had been. There had been a certain crude
+delicacy about his actions which she had under-appreciated. She leaned
+towards him. There was nothing left this morning of that disfiguring
+sullenness. Her mouth was soft; her eyes were bright, almost appealing.
+If Tavernake had been a judge of woman's looks, he must certainly have
+found her attractive.
+
+"I am very, very grateful to you," she continued, holding out her hand.
+"I shall always remember how kind you were. Good-bye!"
+
+"You are not going?" he asked.
+
+She laughed.
+
+"Why, you didn't imagine that you had taken the care of me upon your
+shoulders for the rest of your life?" she demanded.
+
+"No, I didn't imagine that," he answered. "At the same time, what plans
+have you made? Where are you going?"
+
+"Oh! I shall think of something," she declared, indifferently.
+
+He caught the gleam in her eyes, the sudden hopelessness which fell like
+a cloud upon her face. He spoke promptly and with decision.
+
+"As a matter of fact," he remarked, "you do not know yourself. You are
+just going to drift out of this place and very likely find your way to a
+seat on the Embankment again."
+
+Her lips quivered. She had tried to be brave but it was hard.
+
+"Not necessarily," she replied. "Something may turn up."
+
+He leaned a little across the table towards her.
+
+"Listen," he said, deliberately, "I will make a proposition to you.
+It has come to me during the last few minutes. I am tired of the
+boarding-house and I wish to leave it. The work which I do at night
+is becoming more and more important. I should like to take two rooms
+somewhere. If I take a third, would you care to call yourself what I
+called you to the charwoman last night--my sister? I should expect you
+to look after the meals and my clothes, and help me in certain other
+ways. I cannot give you much of a salary," he continued, "but you would
+have an opportunity during the daytime of looking out for some work, if
+that is what you want, and you would at least have a roof and plenty to
+eat and drink."
+
+She looked at him in blank amazement. It was obvious that his
+proposition was entirely honest.
+
+"But, Mr. Tavernake," she protested, "you forget that I am not really
+your sister."
+
+"Does that matter?" he asked, without flinching. "I think you understand
+the sort of person I am. You would have nothing to fear from any
+admiration on my part--or anything of that sort," he added, with some
+show of clumsiness. "Those things do not come in my life. I am ambitious
+to get on, to succeed and become wealthy. Other things I do not even
+think about."
+
+She was speechless. After a short pause, he went on.
+
+"I am proposing this arrangement as much for my own sake as for yours.
+I am very well read and I know most of what there is to be known in my
+profession. But there are other things concerning which I am ignorant.
+Some of these things I believe you could teach me."
+
+Still speechless, she sat and looked at him for several moments.
+Outside, the station now was filled with a hurrying throng on their way
+to the day's work. Engines were shrieking, bells ringing, the press of
+footsteps was unceasing. In the dark, ill-ventilated room itself there
+was the rattle of crockery, the yawning of discontented-looking young
+women behind the bar, young women with their hair still in curl-papers,
+as yet unprepared for their weak little assaults upon the good-nature or
+susceptibility of their customers. A queer corner of life it seemed. She
+looked at her companion and realized how fragmentary was her knowledge
+of him. There was nothing to be gathered from his face. He seemed
+to have no expression. He was simply waiting for her reply, with his
+thoughts already half engrossed upon the business of the day.
+
+"Really," she began, "I--"
+
+He came back from his momentary wandering and looked at her. She
+suddenly altered the manner of her speech. It was a strange proposition,
+perhaps, but this was one of the strangest of men.
+
+"I am quite willing to try it," she decided. "Will you tell me where I
+can meet you later on?"
+
+"I have an hour and a half for luncheon at one o'clock," he said. "Meet
+me exactly at the southeast corner of Trafalgar Square. Would you like a
+little money?" he added, rising.
+
+"I have plenty, thank you," she answered.
+
+He laid half-a-crown upon the table and made an entry in a small
+memorandum book which he drew from his pocket.
+
+"You had better keep this," he said, "in case you want it. I am going to
+leave you alone here. You can find your way anywhere, I am sure, and
+I am in a hurry. At one o'clock, remember. I hope you will still be
+feeling better."
+
+He put on his hat and went away without a backward glance. Beatrice sat
+in her chair and watched him out of sight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. INTRODUCING Mrs. WENHAM GARDNER
+
+
+A very distinguished client was engaging the attention of Mr. Dowling,
+Senior, of Messrs. Dowling, Spence & Company, auctioneers and estate
+agents, whose offices were situated in Waterloo Place, Pall Mall. Mr.
+Dowling was a fussy little man of between fifty and sixty years, who
+spent most of his time playing golf, and who, although he studiously
+contrived to ignore the fact, had long since lost touch with the details
+of his business. Consequently, in the absence of Mr. Dowling, Junior,
+who had developed a marked partiality for a certain bar in the locality,
+Tavernake was hastily summoned to the rescue from another part of the
+building, by a small boy violently out of breath.
+
+"Never see the governor in such a fuss," the latter declared,
+confidentially, "She's asking no end of questions and he don't know a
+thing."
+
+"Who is the lady?" Tavernake asked, on the way downstairs.
+
+"Didn't hear her name," the boy replied. "She's all right, though, I can
+tell you--a regular slap-up beauty. Such a motor-car, too! Flowers and
+tables and all sorts of things inside. By Jove, won't the governor tear
+his hair if she goes before you get there!"
+
+Tavernake quickened his steps and in a few moments knocked at the door
+of the private office and entered.
+
+His chief welcomed him with a gesture of relief. The distinguished
+client of the firm, whose attention he was endeavoring to engage, had
+glanced toward the newcomer, at his first appearance, with an air of
+somewhat bored unconcern. Her eyes, however, did not immediately leave
+his face. On the contrary, from the moment of his entrance she watched
+him steadfastly. Tavernake, stolid, unruffled, at that time without
+comprehension, approached the desk.
+
+"This is--er--Mr. Tavernake, our manager," Mr. Dowling announced,
+obsequiously. "In the absence of my son, he is in charge of the letting
+department. I have no doubt that he will be able to suggest something
+suitable. Tavernake," he continued, "this lady,"--he glanced at a card
+in front of him--"Mrs. Wenham Gardner of New York, is looking for a town
+house, and has been kind enough to favor us with an inquiry."
+
+Tavernake made no immediate reply. Mr. Dowling was shortsighted, and in
+any case it would never have occurred to him to associate nervousness,
+or any form of emotion, with his responsible manager. The beautiful
+lady leaned back in her chair. Her lips were parted in a slight but
+very curious smile, her fingers supported her cheek, her eyelids were
+contracted as she looked into his face. Tavernake felt that their
+recognition was mutual. Once more he was back again in the tragic
+atmosphere of that chemist's shop, with Beatrice, half fainting, in his
+arms, the beautiful lady turned to stone. It was an odd tableau, that,
+so vividly imprinted upon his memory that it was there before him at
+this very moment. There was mystery in this woman's eyes, mystery and
+something else.
+
+"I don't seem to have come across anything down here
+which--er--particularly attracts Mrs.--Mrs. Wenham Gardner," Mr. Dowling
+went on, taking up a little sheaf of papers from the desk. "I thought,
+perhaps, that the Bryanston Square house might have suited, but it
+seems that it is too small, far too small. Mrs. Gardner is used to
+entertaining, and has explained to me that she has a great many friends
+always coming and going from the other side of the water. She requires,
+apparently, twelve bedrooms, besides servants' quarters."
+
+"Your list is scarcely up to date, sir," Tavernake reminded him. "If the
+rent is of no particular object, there is Grantham House."
+
+Mr. Dowling's face was suddenly illuminated.
+
+"Grantham House!" he exclaimed. "Precisely! Now I declare that it
+had absolutely slipped my memory for the moment--only for the moment,
+mind--that we have just had placed upon our books one of the most
+desirable mansions in the west end of London. A most valued client,
+too, one whom we are most anxious to oblige. Dear, dear me! It is
+very fortunate--very fortunate indeed that I happened to think of it,
+especially as it seems that no one had had the sense to place it upon
+my list. Tavernake, get the plans at once and show them to--er--to Mrs.
+Gardner."
+
+Tavernake crossed the room in silence, opened a drawer, and returned
+with a stiff roll of papers, which he spread carefully out in front of
+this unexpected client. She spoke then for the first time since he had
+entered the room. Her voice was low and marvelously sweet. There was
+very little of the American accent about it, but something in the
+intonation, especially toward the end of her sentences, was just a
+trifle un-English.
+
+"Where is this Grantham House?" she inquired.
+
+"Within a stone's throw of Grosvenor Square," Tavernake answered,
+briskly. "It is really one of the most central spots in the west end. If
+you will allow me!"
+
+For the next few minutes he was very fluent indeed. With pencil in hand,
+he explained the plans, dwelt on the advantages of the location, and
+from the very reserve of his praise created an impression that the house
+he was describing was the one absolutely perfect domicile in the whole
+of London.
+
+"Can I look over the place?" she asked, when he had finished.
+
+"By all means," Mr. Dowling declared, "by all means. I was on the point
+of suggesting it. It will be by far the most satisfactory proceeding.
+You will not be disappointed, my dear madam, I can assure you."
+
+"I should like to do so, if I may, without delay," she said.
+
+"There is no opportunity like the present," Mr. Dowling replied. "If
+you will permit me," he added, rising, "it will give me the greatest
+pleasure to escort you personally. My engagements for the rest of the
+day happen to be unimportant. Tavernake, let me have the keys of
+the rooms that are locked up. The caretaker, of course, is there in
+possession."
+
+The beautiful visitor rose to her feet, and even that slight movement
+was accomplished with a grace unlike anything which Tavernake had ever
+seen before.
+
+"I could not think of troubling you so far, Mr. Dowling," she protested.
+"It is not in the least necessary for you to come yourself. Your manager
+can, perhaps, spare me a few minutes. He seems to be so thoroughly
+posted in all the details," she added, apologetically, as she noticed
+the cloud on Mr. Dowling's brow.
+
+"Just as you like, of course," he declared. "Mr. Tavernake can go, by
+all means. Now I come to think of it, it certainly would be inconvenient
+for me to be away from the office for more than a few minutes. Mr.
+Tavernake has all the details at his fingers' ends, and I only hope,
+Mrs. Gardner, that he will be able to persuade you to take the house.
+Our client," he added, with a bow, "would, I am sure, be delighted to
+hear that we had secured for him so distinguished a tenant."
+
+She smiled at him, a delightful mixture of graciousness and
+condescension.
+
+"You are very good," she answered. "The house sounds rather large for me
+but it depends so much upon circumstances. If you are ready, Mr.--"
+
+"Tavernake," he told her.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," she continued, "my car is waiting outside and we might
+go on at once."
+
+He bowed and held open the door for her, an office which he performed
+a little awkwardly. Mr. Dowling himself escorted her out on to the
+pavement. Tavernake stopped behind to get his hat, and passing out
+a moment afterwards, would have seated himself in front beside the
+chauffeur but that she held the door of the car open and beckoned to
+him.
+
+"Will you come inside, please?" she insisted. "There are one or two
+questions which I might ask you as we go along. Please direct the
+chauffeur."
+
+He obeyed without a word; the car glided off. As they swung round the
+first corner, she leaned forward from among the cushions of her seat and
+looked at him. Then Tavernake was conscious of new things. As though by
+inspiration, he knew that her visit to the office of Messrs. Dowling,
+Spence & Company had been no chance one.
+
+She remembered him, remembered him as the companion of Beatrice during
+that strange, brief meeting. It was an incomprehensible world, this,
+into which he had wandered. The woman's face had lost her languid,
+gracious expression. There was something there almost akin to tragedy.
+Her fingers fell upon his arm and her touch was no light one. She was
+gripping him almost fiercely.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," she said, "I have a memory for faces which seldom fails
+me. I have seen you before quite lately. You remember where, of course.
+Tell me the truth quickly, please."
+
+The words seemed to leap from her lips. Beautiful and young though she
+undoubtedly was, her intense seriousness had suddenly aged her face.
+Tavernake was bewildered. He, too, was conscious of a curious emotional
+disturbance.
+
+"The truth? What truth do you mean?" he demanded.
+
+"It was you whom I saw with Beatrice!"
+
+"You saw me one night about three weeks ago," he admitted slowly. "I
+was in a chemist's shop in the Strand. You were signing his book for a
+sleeping draught, I think."
+
+She shivered all over.
+
+"Yes, yes!" she cried. "Of course, I remember all about it. The young
+lady who was with you--what was she doing there? Where is she now?"
+
+"The young lady was my sister," Tavernake answered stiffly.
+
+Mrs. Wenham Gardner looked, for a moment, as though she would have
+struck him.
+
+"You need not lie to me!" she exclaimed. "It is not worth while. Tell
+me where you met her, why you were with her at all in that intimate
+fashion, and where she is now!"
+
+Tavernake realized at once that so far as this woman was concerned, the
+fable of his relationship with Beatrice was hopeless. She knew!
+
+"Madam," he replied, "I made the acquaintance of the young lady with
+whom I was that evening, at the boarding-house where we both lived."
+
+"What were you doing in the chemist's shop?" she demanded.
+
+"The young lady had been ill," he proceeded deliberately, wondering
+how much to tell. "She had been taken very ill indeed. She was just
+recovering when you entered."
+
+"Where is she now?" the woman asked eagerly. "Is she still at that
+boarding-house of which you spoke?"
+
+"No," he answered.
+
+Her fingers gripped his arm once more.
+
+"Why do you answer me always in monosyllables? Don't you understand that
+you must tell me everything that you know about her. You must tell me
+where I can find her, at once."
+
+Tavernake remained silent. The woman's voice had still that note of
+wonderful sweetness, but she had altogether lost her air of complete and
+aristocratic indifference. She was a very altered person now from the
+distinguished client who had first enlisted his services. For some
+reason or other, he knew that she was suffering from a terrible anxiety.
+
+"I am not sure," he said at last, "whether I can do as you ask."
+
+"What do you mean?" she exclaimed sharply.
+
+"The young lady," he continued, "seemed, on the occasion to which you
+have referred, to be particularly anxious to avoid recognition. She
+hurried out of the place without speaking to you, and she has avoided
+the subject ever since. I do not know what her motives may have been,
+but I think that I should like to ask her first before I tell you where
+she is to be found."
+
+Mrs. Wenham Gardner leaned towards him. It was certainly the first time
+that a woman in her apparent rank of life had looked upon Tavernake in
+such a manner. Her forehead was a little wrinkled, her lips were parted,
+her eyes were pathetically, delightfully eloquent.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake, you must not--you must not refuse me," she pleaded. "If
+you only knew the importance of it, you would not hesitate for a moment.
+This is no idle curiosity on my part. I have reasons, very serious
+reasons indeed, for wishing to discover that poor girl's whereabouts at
+once. There is a possible danger of which she must be warned. No one can
+do it except myself."
+
+"Are you her friend or her enemy?" Tavernake asked.
+
+"Why do you ask such a question?" she demanded.
+
+"I am only going by her expression when she saw you come into the
+chemist's shop," Tavernake persisted doggedly.
+
+"It is a cruel suggestion, that," the woman cried. "I wish to be her
+friend, I am her friend. If I could only tell you everything, you would
+understand at once what a terrible situation, what a hideous quandary I
+am in."
+
+Once more Tavernake paused for a few moments. He was never a quick
+thinker and the situation was certainly an embarrassing one for him.
+
+"Madam," he replied at length, "I beg that you will tell me nothing. The
+young lady of whom you have spoken permits me to call myself her friend,
+and what she has not told me herself I do not wish to learn from others.
+I will tell her of this meeting with you, and if it is her desire, I
+will bring you her address myself within a few hours. I cannot do more
+than that."
+
+Her face was suddenly cold and hard.
+
+"You mean that you will not!" she exclaimed angrily. "You are obstinate.
+I do not know how you dare to refuse what I ask."
+
+The car had come to a standstill. He stepped out on to the pavement.
+
+"This is Grantham House, madam," he announced. "Will you descend?"
+
+He heard her draw a quick breath between her teeth and he caught a
+gleam in her eyes which made him feel vaguely uneasy. She was very angry
+indeed.
+
+"I do not think that it is necessary for me to do so," she said
+frigidly. "I do not like the look of the house at all. I do not believe
+that it will suit me."
+
+"At least, now that you are here," he protested, "you will, if
+you please, go over it. I should like you to see the ballroom. The
+decorations are supposed to be quite exceptional."
+
+She hesitated for a moment and then, with a slight shrug of the
+shoulders, she yielded. There was a note in his tone not exactly
+insistent, and yet dominant, a note which she obeyed although secretly
+she wondered at herself for doing so. They passed inside the house and
+she followed him from room to room, leaving him to do all the talking.
+She seemed very little interested but every now and then she asked a
+languid question.
+
+"I do not think that it is in the least likely to suit me," she decided
+at last. "It is all very magnificent, of course, but I consider that the
+rent is exorbitant."
+
+Tavernake regarded her thoughtfully.
+
+"I believe," he said, "that our client might be disposed to consider
+some reduction, in the event of your seriously entertaining taking the
+house. If you like, I will see him on the subject. I feel sure that the
+amount I have mentioned could be reduced, if the other conditions were
+satisfactory."
+
+"There would be no harm in your doing so," she assented. "How soon can
+you come and let me know?"
+
+"I might be able to ring you up this evening; certainly to-morrow
+morning," he answered.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"I will not speak upon the telephone," she declared. "I only allow it in
+my rooms under protest. You must come and tell me what your client says.
+When can you see him?"
+
+"It is doubtful whether I shall be able to find him this evening," he
+replied. "It would probably be to-morrow morning."
+
+"You might go and try at once," she suggested.
+
+He was a little surprised.
+
+"You are really interested in the matter, then?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes, yes," she told him, "of course I am interested. I want you to come
+and see me directly you have heard. It is important. Supposing you are
+able to find your client to-night, shall you have seen the young lady
+before then?"
+
+"I am afraid not," he answered.
+
+"You must try," she begged, laying her fingers upon his shoulder. "Mr.
+Tavernake, do please try. You can't realize what all this anxiety means
+to me. I am not at all well and I am seriously worried about--about that
+young lady. I tell you that I must have an interview with her. It is not
+for my sake so much as hers. She must be warned."
+
+"Warned?" Tavernake repeated. "I really don't understand."
+
+"Of course you don't!" she exclaimed impatiently. "Why should you
+understand? I don't want to offend you, Mr. Tavernake," she went on
+hurriedly. "I would like to treat you quite frankly. It really isn't
+your place to make difficulties like this. What is this young lady to
+you that you should presume to consider yourself her guardian?"
+
+"She is a boarding-house acquaintance," Tavernake confessed, "nothing
+more."
+
+"Then why did you tell me, only a moment ago, that she was your sister?"
+Mrs. Gardner demanded.
+
+Tavernake threw open the door before which they had been standing.
+
+"This," he said, "is the famous dancing gallery. Lord Clumber is quite
+willing to allow the pictures to remain, and I may tell you that they
+are insured for over sixty thousand pounds. There is no finer dancing
+room than this in all London."
+
+Her eyes swept around it carelessly.
+
+"I have no doubt," she admitted coldly, "that it is very beautiful. I
+prefer to continue our discussion."
+
+"The dining-room," he went on, "is almost as large. Lord Clumber tells
+us that he has frequently entertained eighty guests for dinner. The
+system of ventilation in this room is, as you see, entirely modern."
+
+She took him by the arm and led him to a seat at the further end of the
+apartment.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," she said, making an obvious attempt to control her
+temper, "you seem like a very sensible young man, if you will allow me
+to say so, and I want to convince you that it is your duty to answer
+my questions. In the first place--don't be offended, will you?--but I
+cannot possibly see what interest you and that young lady can have
+in one another. You belong, to put it baldly, to altogether different
+social stations, and it is not easy to imagine what you could have in
+common."
+
+She paused, but Tavernake had nothing to say. His gift of silence
+amounted sometimes almost to genius. She leaned so close to him while
+she waited in vain for his reply, that the ermine about her neck brushed
+his cheek. The perfume of her clothes and hair, the pleading of her deep
+violet-blue eyes, all helped to keep him tongue-tied. Nothing of this
+sort had ever happened to him before. He did not in the least understand
+what it could possibly mean.
+
+"I am speaking to you now, Mr. Tavernake," she continued earnestly, "for
+your own good. When you tell the young lady, as you have promised to
+this evening, that you have seen me, and that I am very, very anxious to
+find out where she is, she will very likely go down on her knees and beg
+you to give me no information whatever about her. She will do her best
+to make you promise to keep us apart. And yet that is all because she
+does not understand. Believe me, it is better that you should tell me
+the truth. You cannot know her very well, Mr. Tavernake, but she is
+not very wise, that young lady. She is very obstinate, and she has some
+strange ideas. It is not well for her that she should be left in the
+world alone. You must see that for yourself, Mr. Tavernake."
+
+"She seems a very sensible young lady," he declared slowly. "I should
+have thought that she would have been old enough to know for herself
+what she wanted and what was best for her."
+
+The woman at his side wrung her hands with a little gesture of despair.
+
+"Oh, why can't I make you understand!" she exclaimed, the emotion once
+more quivering in her tone. "How can I--how can I possibly make you
+believe me? Listen. Something has happened of which she does not
+know--something terrible. It is absolutely necessary, in her own
+interests as well as mine, that I see her, and that very shortly."
+
+"I shall tell her exactly what you say," Tavernake answered apparently
+unmoved. "Perhaps it would be as well now if we went on to view the
+sleeping apartments."
+
+"Never mind about the sleeping apartments!" she cried quickly. "You must
+do more than tell her. You can't believe that I want to bring harm upon
+any one. Do I look like it? Have I the appearance of a person of evil
+disposition? You can be that young lady's best friend, Mr. Tavernake, if
+you will. Take me to her now, this minute. Believe me, if you do that,
+you will never regret it as long as you live."
+
+Tavernake studied the pattern of the parquet floor for several moments.
+It was a difficult problem, this. Putting his own extraordinary
+sensations into the background, he was face to face with something which
+he did not comprehend, and he disliked the position intensely. After
+all, delay seemed safest.
+
+"Madam," he protested, "a few hours more or less can make but little
+difference."
+
+"That is for me to judge!" she exclaimed. "You say that because you do
+not understand. A few hours may make all the difference in the world."
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"I will tell you exactly what is in my mind," he said, deliberately.
+"The young lady was terrified when she saw you that night accidentally
+in the chemist's shop. She almost dragged me away, and although she
+was almost fainting when we reached the taxicab, her greatest and chief
+anxiety was that we should get away before you could follow us. I
+cannot forget this. Until I have received her permission, therefore,
+to disclose her whereabouts, we will, if you please, speak of something
+else."
+
+He rose to his feet and glancing around was just in time to see the
+change in the face of his companion. That eloquently pleading smile
+had died away from her lips, her teeth were clenched. She looked like a
+woman struggling hard to control some overwhelming passion. Without the
+smile her lips seemed hard, even cruel. There were evil things shining
+out of her eyes. Tavernake felt chilled, almost afraid.
+
+"We will see the rest of the house," she declared coldly.
+
+They went on from room to room. Tavernake, recovering himself rapidly,
+master of his subject, was fluent and practical. The woman listened,
+with only a terse remark here and there. Once more they stood in the
+hall.
+
+"Is there anything else you would like to see?" he asked.
+
+"Nothing," she replied, "but there is one thing more I have to say."
+
+He waited in stolid silence.
+
+"Only a week ago," she went on, looking him in the face, "I told a man
+who is what you call, I think, an inquiry agent, that I would give
+a hundred pounds if he could discover that young woman for me within
+twenty-four hours."
+
+Tavernake started, and the smile came back to the lips of Mrs. Wenham
+Gardner. After all, perhaps she had found the way!
+
+"A hundred pounds is a great deal of money," he said thoughtfully.
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Not so very much," she replied. "About a fortnight's rent of this
+house, Mr. Tavernake."
+
+"Is the offer still open?" he asked.
+
+She looked into his eyes, and her face had once more the beautiful
+ingenuousness of a child.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," she said, "the offer is still open. Get into the car
+with me and drive back to my rooms at the Milan Court, and I will give
+you a cheque for a hundred pounds at once. It will be very easily earned
+and you may just as well take it, for now I know where you are employed,
+I could have you followed day by day until I discover for myself what
+you are so foolishly concealing. Be reasonable, Mr. Tavernake."
+
+Tavernake stood quite still. His arms were folded, he was looking out of
+the hall window at the smoky vista of roofs and chimneys. From the soles
+of his ready-made boots to his ill-brushed hair, he was a commonplace
+young man. A hundred pounds was to him a vast sum of money. It
+represented a year's strenuous savings, perhaps more. The woman who
+watched him imagined that he was hesitating. Tavernake, however, had no
+such thought in his mind. He stood there instead, wondering what strange
+thing had come to him that the mention of a hundred pounds, delightful
+sum though it was, never tempted him for a single second. What this
+woman had said might be true. She would probably be able to discover the
+address easily enough without his help. Yet no such reflection seemed to
+make the least difference. From the days of his earliest boyhood, from
+the time when he had flung himself into the struggle, money had always
+meant much to him, money not for its own sake but as the key to those
+things which he coveted in life. Yet at that moment something stronger
+seemed to have asserted itself.
+
+"You will come?" she whispered, passing her arm through his. "We will be
+there in less than five minutes, and I will write you the cheque before
+you tell me anything."
+
+He moved towards the door indeed, but he drew a little away from her.
+
+"Madam," he said, "I am sorry to seem so obstinate, but I thought I had
+made you understand some time ago. I do not feel at liberty to tell you
+anything without that young lady's permission."
+
+"You refuse?" she cried, incredulously. "You refuse a hundred pounds?"
+
+He opened the door of the car. He seemed scarcely to have heard her.
+
+"At about eleven o'clock to-morrow morning," he announced, "I shall have
+the pleasure of calling upon you. I trust that you will have decided to
+take the house."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
+
+
+Tavernake sat a few hours later at his evening meal in the tiny
+sitting-room of an apartment house in Chelsea. He wore a black tie, and
+although he had not yet aspired to a dinner coat, the details of his
+person and toilet showed signs of a new attention. Opposite to him was
+Beatrice.
+
+"Tell me," she asked, as soon as the small maid-servant who brought in
+their first dish had disappeared, "what have you been doing all day?
+Have you been letting houses or surveying land or book-keeping, or have
+you been out to Marston Rise?"
+
+It was her customary question, this. She really took an interest in his
+work.
+
+"I have been attending a rich American client," he announced, "a
+compatriot of your own. I went with her to Grantham House in her own
+motor-car. I believe she thinks of taking it."
+
+"American!" Beatrice remarked. "What was her name?"
+
+Tavernake looked up from his plate across the little table, across the
+bowl of simple flowers which was its sole decoration.
+
+"She called herself Mrs. Wenham Garner!"
+
+Away like a flash went the new-found peace in the girl's face. She
+caught at her breath, her fingers gripped the table in front of her.
+Once more she was as he had known her first--pale, with great terrified
+eyes shining out of a haggard face.
+
+"She has been to you," Beatrice gasped, "for a house? You are sure?"
+
+"I am quite sure," Tavernake declared, calmly.
+
+"You recognized her?"
+
+He assented gravely.
+
+"It was the woman who stood in the chemist's shop that night, signing
+her name in a book," he said.
+
+He did not apologize in any way for the shock he had given her. He
+had done it deliberately. From that very first morning, when they had
+breakfasted together at London Bridge, he had felt that he deserved
+her confidence, and in a sense it was a grievance with him that she had
+withheld it.
+
+"Did she recognize you?"
+
+"Yes," he admitted. "I was sent for into the office and found her there
+with the chief. I felt sure that she recognized me from the first, and
+when she agreed to look at Grantham House, she insisted upon it that I
+should accompany her. While we were in the motor-car, she asked me about
+you. She wished for your address."
+
+"Did you give it to her?" the girl cried, breathlessly.
+
+"No; I said that I must consult you first."
+
+She drew a little sigh of relief. Nevertheless, she was looking white
+and shaken.
+
+"Did she say what she wanted me for?"
+
+"She was very mysterious," Tavernake answered. "She spoke of some danger
+of which you knew nothing. Before I came away, she offered me a hundred
+pounds to let her know where you were."
+
+Beatrice laughed softly.
+
+"That is just like Elizabeth," she declared. "You must have made her
+very angry. When she wants anything, she wants it very badly indeed, and
+she will never believe that every person has not his price. Money means
+everything to her. If she had it, she would buy, buy, buy all the time."
+
+"On the face of it," Tavernake remarked, soberly, "her offer seemed
+rather an absurd one. If she is in earnest, if she is really so anxious
+to discover your whereabouts, she will certainly be able to do so
+without my help."
+
+"I am not so sure," Beatrice replied. "London is a great hiding place."
+
+"A private detective," he began,--
+
+Beatrice shook her head.
+
+"I do not think," she said, "that Elizabeth will care to employ a
+private detective. Tell me, have you to see her upon this business
+again?"
+
+"I am going to her flat at the Milan Court to-morrow morning at eleven
+o'clock."
+
+Beatrice leaned back in her chair. Presently she recommenced her dinner.
+She had the air of one to whom a respite has been granted. Tavernake, in
+a way, began to resent this continued silence of hers. He had certainly
+hoped that she would at least have gone so far as to explain her anxiety
+to keep her whereabouts secret.
+
+"You must remember," he went on, after a short pause, "that I am in
+a somewhat peculiar position with regard to you, Beatrice. I know so
+little that I do not even know how to answer in your interests such
+questions as Mrs. Wenham Gardner asked me. I am not complaining, but is
+this state of absolute ignorance necessary?"
+
+A new thought seemed to come to Beatrice. She looked at her companion
+curiously.
+
+"Tell me," she asked, "what did you think of Mrs. Wenham Gardner?"
+
+Tavernake answered deliberately, and after a moment's reflection.
+
+"I thought her," he said, "one of the most beautiful women I have ever
+seen in my life. That is not saying very much, perhaps, but to me it
+meant a good deal. She was exceedingly gracious and her interest in you
+seemed quite real and even affectionate. I do not understand why you
+should wish to hide from such a woman."
+
+"You found her attractive?" Beatrice persisted.
+
+"I found her very attractive indeed," Tavernake admitted, without
+hesitation. "She had an air with her. She was quite different from all
+the women I have ever met at the boarding-house or anywhere else. She
+has a face which reminded me somehow of the Madonnas you took me to see
+in the National Gallery the other day."
+
+Beatrice shivered slightly. For some reason, his remark seemed to have
+distressed her.
+
+"I am very, very sorry," she declared, "that Elizabeth ever came to
+your office. I want you to promise me, Leonard, that you will be careful
+whenever you are with her."
+
+Tavernake laughed.
+
+"Careful!" he repeated. "She isn't likely to be even civil to me
+tomorrow when I tell her that I have seen you and I refuse to give her
+your address. Careful, indeed! What has a poor clerk in a house-agent's
+office to fear from such a personage?"
+
+The servant had reappeared with their second and last course. For a few
+moments they spoke of casual subjects. Afterwards, however, Tavernake
+asked a question.
+
+"By the way," he said, "we are hoping to let Grantham House to Mrs.
+Wenham Gardner. I suppose she must be very wealthy?"
+
+Beatrice looked at him curiously.
+
+"Why do you come to me for information?" she demanded. "I suppose that
+she brought you references?"
+
+"We haven't quite got to that stage yet," he answered. "Somehow or
+other, from her manner of talking and general appearance, I do not think
+that either Mr. Dowling or I doubted her financial position."
+
+"I should never have thought you so credulous a person," remarked
+Beatrice, with a smile.
+
+Tavernake was genuinely disturbed. His business instincts were aroused.
+
+"Do you really mean that this Mrs. Wenham Gardner is not a person of
+substance?" he inquired.
+
+Beatrice shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"She is the wife of a man who had the reputation of being very wealthy,"
+she replied. "She has no money of her own, I am sure."
+
+"She still lives with her husband, I suppose?" Tavernake asked.
+
+Beatrice closed her eyes.
+
+"I know very little about her," she declared. "Last time I heard, he had
+disappeared, gone away, or something of the sort."
+
+"And she has no money," Tavernake persisted, "except what she gets from
+him? No settlement, even, or anything of that sort?"
+
+"Nothing at all," Beatrice answered.
+
+"This is very bad news," Tavernake remarked, thinking gloomily of his
+wasted day. "It will be a great disappointment to Mr. Dowling. Why, her
+motor-car was magnificent, and she talked as though money were no object
+at all. I suppose you are quite sure of what you are saying?"
+
+Beatrice shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"I ought to know," she answered, grimly, "for she is my sister."
+
+Tavernake remained quite motionless for a minute, without speech; it was
+his way of showing surprise. When he was sure that he had grasped the
+import of her words, he spoke again.
+
+"Your sister!" he repeated. "There is a likeness, of course. You are
+dark and she is fair, but there is a likeness. That would account," he
+continued, "for her anxiety to find you."
+
+"It also accounts," Beatrice replied, with a little break of the lips,
+"for my anxiety that she should not find me. Leonard," she added,
+touching his hand for a moment with hers, "I wish that I could tell you
+everything, but there are things behind, things so terrible, that even
+to you, my dear brother, I could not speak of them."
+
+Tavernake rose to his feet and lit a cigarette--a new habit with him,
+while Beatrice busied herself with a small coffee-making machine. He sat
+in an easy-chair and smoked slowly. He was still wearing his ready-made
+clothes, but his collar was of the fashionable shape, his tie well
+chosen and neatly adjusted. He seemed somehow to have developed.
+
+"Beatrice," he asked, "what am I to tell your sister to-morrow?"
+
+She shivered as she set his coffee-cup down by his side.
+
+"Tell her, if you will, that I am well and not in want," she answered.
+"Tell her, too, that I refuse to send my address. Tell her that the one
+aim of my life is to keep the knowledge of my whereabouts a secret from
+her."
+
+Tavernake relapsed into silence. He was thinking. Mysteries had no
+attraction for him--he loathed them. Against this one especially he felt
+a distinct grudge. Nevertheless, some instinct forbade his questioning
+the girl.
+
+"Apart from more personal matters, then," he asked after some time, "you
+would not advise me to enter into any business negotiations with this
+lady?"
+
+"You must not think of it," Beatrice replied, firmly. "So far as money
+is concerned, Elizabeth has no conscience whatever. The things she wants
+in life she will have somehow, but it is all the time at other people's
+expense. Some day she will have to pay for it."
+
+Tavernake sighed.
+
+"It is very unfortunate," he declared. "The commission on the letting of
+Grantham House would have been worth having."
+
+"After all, it is only your firm's loss," she reminded him.
+
+"It does not appeal to me like that," he continued. "So long as I am
+manager for Dowling & Spence, I feel these things personally. However,
+that does not matter. I am afraid it is a disagreeable subject for you,
+and we will not talk about it any longer."
+
+She lit a cigarette with a little gesture of relief. She came once more
+to his side.
+
+"Leonard," she said, "I know that I am treating you badly in telling
+you nothing, but it is simply because I do not want to descend to half
+truths. I should like to tell you all or nothing. At present I cannot
+tell you all."
+
+"Very well," he replied, "I am quite content to leave it with you to do
+as you think best."
+
+"Leonard," she continued, "of course you think me unreasonable. I can't
+help it. There are things between my sister and myself the knowledge of
+which is a constant nightmare to me. During the last few months of my
+life it has grown to be a perfect terror. It sent me into hiding at
+Blenheim House, it reconciled me even to the decision I came to that
+night on the Embankment. I had decided that sooner than go back, sooner
+than ask help from her or any one connected with her, I would do what I
+tried to do the time when you saved my life."
+
+Tavernake looked at her wonderingly. She was, indeed, under the spell
+of some deep emotion. Her memory seemed to have carried her back into
+another world, somewhere far away from this dingy little sitting-room
+which they two were sharing together, back into a world where life
+and death were matters of small moment, where the great passions were
+unchained, and men and women moved among the naked things of life.
+Almost he felt the thrill of it. It was something new to him, the touch
+of a magic finger upon his eyelids. Then the moment passed and he was
+himself again, matter-of-fact, prosaic.
+
+"Let us dismiss the subject finally," he said. "I must see your sister
+on business to-morrow, but it shall be for the last time."
+
+"I think," she murmured, "that you will be wise."
+
+He crossed the room and returned with a newspaper.
+
+"I saw your music in the hall as I came in," he remarked. "Are you
+singing to-night?"
+
+The question was entirely in his ordinary tone. It brought her back to
+the world of every-day things as nothing else could have done.
+
+"Yes; isn't it luck?" she told him. "Three in one week. I only heard an
+hour ago."
+
+"A city dinner?" he inquired.
+
+"Something of the sort," she replied. "I am to be at the Whitehall Rooms
+at ten o'clock. If you are tired, Leonard, please let me go alone. I
+really do not mind. I can get a 'bus to the door, there and back again."
+
+"I am not tired," he declared. "To tell you the truth, I scarcely know
+what it is to be tired. I shall go with you, of course."
+
+She looked at him with a momentary admiration of his powerful frame, his
+strong, forceful face.
+
+"It seems too bad," she remarked, "after a long day's work to drag you
+out again."
+
+He smiled.
+
+"I really like to come," he assured her. "Besides," he added, after a
+moment's pause, "I like to hear you sing."
+
+"I wonder if you mean that?" she asked, looking at him curiously. "I
+have watched you once or twice when I have been singing to you. Do you
+really care for it?"
+
+"Certainly I do. How can you doubt it? I do not," he continued, slowly,
+"understand music, or anything of that sort, of course, any more than
+I do the pictures you take me to see, and some of the books you talk
+about. There are lots of things I can't get the hang of entirely, but
+they all leave a sort of pleasure behind. One feels it even if one only
+half appreciates."
+
+She came over to his chair.
+
+"I am glad," she said, a little wistfully, "that there is one thing I do
+which you like."
+
+He looked at her reprovingly.
+
+"My dear Beatrice," he said, "I often wish I could make you understand
+how extraordinarily helpful and useful to me you have been."
+
+"Tell me in what way?" she begged.
+
+"You have given me," he assured her, "an insight into many things in
+life which I had found most perplexing. You see, you have traveled and
+I haven't. You have mixed with all classes of people, and I have gone
+steadily on in one groove. You have told me many things which I shall
+find very useful indeed later on."
+
+"Dear me," she laughed, "you are making me quite conceited!"
+
+"Anyhow," he replied, "I don't want you to look upon me, Beatrice, in
+any way as a benefactor. I am much more comfortable here than at the
+boarding-house and it is costing no more money, especially since you
+began to get those singing engagements. By the way, hadn't you better go
+and get ready?"
+
+She smothered a sigh as she turned away and went slowly upstairs. To
+all appearance, no person who ever breathed was more ordinary than this
+strong-featured, self-centered young man who had put out his arm and
+snatched her from the Maelstrom. Yet it seemed to her that there
+was something almost unnatural about his unapproachability. She was
+convinced that he was entirely honest, not only with regard to his
+actual relations toward her, but with regard to all his purposes.
+Her sex did not even seem to exist for him. The fact that she was
+good-looking, and with her renewed health daily becoming more so,
+seemed to be of no account to him whatever. He showed interest in her
+appearance sometimes, but it was interest of an entirely impersonal
+sort. He simply expressed himself as satisfied or dissatisfied, as a
+matter of taste. It came to her at that moment that she had never seen
+him really relax. Only when he sat opposite to that great map which hung
+now in the further room, and wandered about from section to section
+with a pencil in one hand and a piece of rubber in another, did he show
+anything which in any way approached enthusiasm, and even then it was
+always the unmistakable enthusiasm born of dead things. Suddenly she
+laughed at herself in the little mirror, laughed softly but heartily.
+This was the guardian whom Fate had sent for her! If Elizabeth had only
+understood!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. Mr. PRITCHARD OF NEW YORK
+
+
+Later in the evening, Beatrice and Tavernake traveled together in a
+motor omnibus from their rooms at Chelsea to Northumberland Avenue.
+Tavernake was getting quite used to the programme by now. They sat in a
+dimly-lit waiting-room until the time came for Beatrice to sing. Every
+now and then an excitable little person who was the secretary to some
+institution or other would run in and offer them refreshments, and tell
+them in what order they were to appear. To-night there was no departure
+from the ordinary course of things, except that there was slightly more
+stir. The dinner was a larger one than usual. It came to Beatrice's turn
+very soon after their arrival, and Tavernake, squeezing his way a few
+steps into the dining-room, stood with the waiters against the wall.
+He looked with curious eyes upon a scene with which he had no manner of
+sympathy.
+
+A hundred or so of men had dined together in the cause of some charity.
+The odor of their dinner, mingled with the more aromatic perfume of the
+tobacco smoke which was already ascending in little blue clouds from the
+various tables, hung about the over-heated room, seeming, indeed, the
+fitting atmosphere for the long rows of guests. The majority of them
+were in a state of expansiveness. Their faces were redder than when they
+had sat down; a certain stiffness had departed from their shirt-fronts
+and their manners; their faces were flushed, their eyes watery. There
+were a few exceptions--paler-faced men who sat there with the air of
+endeavoring to bring themselves into accord with surroundings in which
+they had no real concern. Two of these looked up with interest at the
+first note of Beatrice's song. The one was sitting within a few places
+of the chairman, and he was too far away for his little start to be
+noticed by either Tavernake or Beatrice. The nearer one, however,
+Tavernake happened to be watching, and he saw the change in his
+expression. The man was, in his way, ugly. His face was certainly not a
+good one, although he did not appear to share the immediate weaknesses
+of his neighbors. To every note of the song he listened intently. When
+it was over, he rose and came toward Tavernake.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said, "but did I not see you come in with the
+young lady who has just been singing?"
+
+"You may have," Tavernake answered. "I certainly did come with her."
+
+"May I ask if you are related to her?"
+
+Tavernake had got over his hesitation in replying to such questions, by
+now. He answered promptly.
+
+"I am her brother," he declared.
+
+The man produced a card.
+
+"Please introduce me to her," he begged, laconically.
+
+"Why should I?" Tavernake asked. "I have no reason to suppose that she
+desires to know you."
+
+The man stared at him for a moment, and then laughed.
+
+"Well," he said, "you had better show your sister my card. She is, I
+presume, a professional, as she is singing here. My desire to make her
+acquaintance is purely actuated by business motives."
+
+Tavernake moved away toward the waiting-room.
+
+The man, who according to his card was Mr. Sidney Grier, would have
+followed him in, but Tavernake stopped him.
+
+"If you will wait here," he suggested, "I will see whether my sister
+desires to meet you."
+
+Once more Mr. Sidney Grier looked surprised, but after a second glance
+at Tavernake he accepted his suggestion and remained outside. Tavernake
+took the card to Beatrice.
+
+"Beatrice," he announced, "there is a man outside who has heard you sing
+and who wants to be introduced."
+
+She took the card and her eyes opened wide.
+
+"Do you know who he is?" Tavernake asked.
+
+"Of course," she answered. "He is a great producer of musical comedies.
+Let me think."
+
+She stood with the card in her hand. Some one else was singing now--an
+ordinary modern ballad of love and roses, rapture and despair. They
+heard the rising and falling of the woman's voice; the clatter of the
+dinner had ceased. Beatrice stood still thinking, her fingers clinching
+the card of Mr. Sidney Grier.
+
+"You must bring him in," she said to Tavernake finally.
+
+Tavernake went outside.
+
+"My sister will see you," he remarked, with the air of one who brings
+good news.
+
+Mr. Sidney Grier grunted. He was not used to being kept waiting, even
+for a second. Tavernake ushered him into the retiring room, and the
+other two musicians who were there stared at him as at a god.
+
+"This is the gentleman whose card you have, Beatrice," Tavernake
+announced. "Mr. Sidney Grier--Miss Tavernake!"
+
+The man smiled.
+
+"Your brother seems to be suspicious of me," he declared. "I found it
+quite difficult to persuade him that you might find it interesting to
+talk to me for a few minutes."
+
+"He does not quite understand," Beatrice answered. "He has not much
+experience of musical affairs or the stage, and your name would not have
+any significance for him."
+
+Tavernake went outside and listened idly to the song which was
+proceeding. It was a class of music which secretly he preferred to the
+stranger and more haunting notes of Beatrice's melodies. Apparently
+the audience was of his opinion, for they received it with a vociferous
+encore, to which the young lady generously replied with a music-hall
+song about "A French lady from over the water." Towards the close of
+the applause which marked the conclusion of this effort, Tavernake felt
+himself touched lightly upon the arm. He turned round. By his side was
+standing the other dinner guest who had shown some interest in
+Beatrice. He was a man apparently of about forty years of age, tall and
+broad-shouldered, with black moustache, and dark, piercing eyes. Unlike
+most of the guests, he wore a short dinner-coat and black tie, from
+which, and his slight accent, Tavernake concluded that he was probably
+an American.
+
+"Say, you'll forgive my speaking to you," he said, touching Tavernake
+on the arm. "My name is Pritchard. I saw you come in with the young
+lady who was singing a few minutes ago, and if you won't consider it a
+liberty, I'll be very glad indeed if you'll answer me one question."
+
+Tavernake stiffened insensibly.
+
+"It depends upon the question," he replied, shortly.
+
+"Well, it's about the young lady, and that's a fact," Mr. Pritchard
+admitted. "I see that her name upon the programme is given as Miss
+Tavernake. I was seated at the other end of the room but she seemed to
+me remarkably like a young lady from the other side of the Atlantic,
+whom I am very anxious to meet."
+
+"Perhaps you will kindly put your question in plain words," Tavernake
+said.
+
+"Why, that's easy," Mr. Pritchard declared. "Is Miss Tavernake really
+her name, or an assumed one? I expect it's the same over here as in my
+country--a singer very often sings under another name than her own, you
+know," he added, noting Tavernake's gathering frown.
+
+"The young lady in question is my sister, and I do not care to discuss
+her with strangers," Tavernake announced.
+
+Mr. Pritchard nodded pleasantly.
+
+"Why, of course, that ends the matter," he remarked. "Sorry to have
+troubled you, anyway."
+
+He strolled off back to his seat and Tavernake returned thoughtfully to
+the dressing-room. He found Beatrice alone and waiting for him.
+
+"You've got rid of that fellow, then?" he inquired.
+
+Beatrice assented.
+
+"Yes; he didn't stay very long," she replied.
+
+"Who was he?" Tavernake asked, curiously.
+
+"From a musical comedy point of view," she said, "he was the most
+important person in London. He is the emperor of stage-land. He can make
+the fortune of any girl in London who is reasonably good-looking and who
+can sing and dance ever so little."
+
+"What did he want with you?" Tavernake demanded, suspiciously.
+
+"He asked me whether I would like to go upon the stage. What do you
+think about it, Leonard?"
+
+Tavernake, for some reason or other, was displeased.
+
+"Would you earn much more money than by singing at these dinners?" he
+asked.
+
+"Very, very much more," she assured him.
+
+"And you would like the life?"
+
+She laughed softly.
+
+"Why not? It isn't so bad. I was on the stage in New York for some time
+under much worse conditions."
+
+He remained silent for a few minutes. They had made their way into the
+street now and were waiting for an omnibus.
+
+"What did you tell him?" he asked, abruptly.
+
+She was looking down toward the Embankment, her eyes filled once more
+with the things which he could not understand.
+
+"I have told him nothing yet," she murmured.
+
+"You would like to accept?"
+
+She nodded.
+
+"I am not sure," she replied. "If only--I dared!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. WOMAN'S WILES
+
+
+At eleven o'clock the next morning, Tavernake presented himself at the
+Milan Court and inquired for Mrs. Wenham Gardner. He was sent at once to
+her apartments in charge of a page. She was lying upon a sofa piled up
+with cushions, wrapped in a wonderful blue garment which seemed somehow
+to deepen the color of her eyes. By her side was a small table on which
+was some chocolate, a bowl of roses, and a roll of newspapers. She held
+out her hand toward Tavernake, but did not rise. There was something
+almost spiritual about her pallor, the delicate outline of her figure,
+so imperfectly concealed by the thin silk dressing-gown, the faint,
+tired smile with which she welcomed him.
+
+"You will forgive my receiving you like this, Mr. Tavernake?" she
+begged. "To-day I have a headache. I have been anxious for your coming.
+You must sit by my side, please, and tell me at once whether you have
+seen Beatrice."
+
+Tavernake did exactly as he was bidden. The chair toward which she had
+pointed was quite close to the sofa, but there was no other unoccupied
+in the room. She raised herself a little on the couch and turned towards
+him. Her eyes were fixed anxiously upon his, her forehead slightly
+wrinkled, her voice tremulous with eagerness.
+
+"You have seen her?"
+
+"I have," he admitted, looking steadily into the lining of his hat.
+
+"She has been cruel," Elizabeth declared. "I can tell it from your face.
+You have bad news for me."
+
+"I do not know," Tavernake replied, "whether she has been cruel or not.
+She refuses to allow me to tell you her address. She begged me, indeed,
+to keep away from you altogether."
+
+"Why? Did she tell you why?"
+
+"She says that you are her sister, that you have no money of your own
+and that your husband has left you," Tavernake answered, deliberately.
+
+"Is that all?"
+
+"No, it is not all," he continued. "As to the rest, she told me nothing
+definite. It is quite clear, however, that she is very anxious to keep
+away from you."
+
+"But her reason?" Elizabeth persisted. "Did she give you no reason?"
+
+Tavernake looked her in the face.
+
+"She gave me no reason," he said.
+
+"Do you believe that she is justified in treating me like this?"
+Elizabeth asked, playing nervously with a pendant which hung from her
+smooth, bare neck.
+
+"Of course I do," he replied. "I am quite sure that she would not
+feel as she does unless you had been guilty of something very terrible
+indeed."
+
+The woman on the couch winced as though some one had struck her. A more
+susceptible man than Tavernake must have felt a little remorseful at the
+tears which dimmed for a moment her beautiful eyes. Tavernake, however,
+although he felt a moment's uneasiness, although he felt himself
+assailed all the time by a curious new emotion which he utterly failed
+to understand, was nevertheless still immune. The things which were to
+happen to him had not yet, arrived.
+
+"Of course," he continued, "I was very much disappointed to hear this,
+because I had hoped that we might have been able to let Grantham House
+to you. We cannot consider the matter at all now unless you pay for
+everything in advance."
+
+She uncovered her eyes and looked at him. People so direct of speech as
+this had come very seldom into her life. She was conscious of a thrill
+of interest. The study of men was a passion with her. Here was indeed a
+new type!
+
+"So you think that I am an adventuress," she murmured.
+
+He reflected for a moment.
+
+"I suppose," he admitted, "that it comes to that. I should not have
+returned at all if I had not promised. If there is any message which you
+wish me to give your sister, I will take it, but I cannot tell you her
+address."
+
+She laid her hand suddenly upon his, and raising herself a little on the
+couch, leaned towards him. Her eyes and her lips both pleaded with him.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," she said slowly, "Beatrice is such a dear, obstinate
+creature, but she does not quite appreciate my position. Do me a favor,
+please. If you have promised not to give me her address let me at least
+know some way or some place in which I could come across her. I am sure
+she will be glad afterwards, and I--I shall be very grateful."
+
+Tavernake felt that he was enveloped by something which he did not
+understand, but his lack of experience was so great that he did not even
+wonder at his insensibility.
+
+"I shall keep my word to your sister," he announced, "in the spirit as
+well as the letter. It is quite useless to ask me to do otherwise."
+
+Elizabeth was at first amazed, then angry, how angry she scarcely knew
+even herself. She had been a spoilt child, she had grown into a spoilt
+woman. Men, at least, had been ready enough to do her bidding all
+her life. Her beauty was of that peculiar kind, half seductive, half
+pathetic, wholly irresistible. And now there had come this strange,
+almost impossible person, against the armor of whose indifference she
+had spent herself in vain. Her eyes filled with tears once more as she
+looked at him, and Tavernake became uneasy. He glanced at the clock and
+again toward the door.
+
+"I think, if you will excuse me," he began,--
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," she interrupted, "you are very unkind to me, very
+unkind indeed."
+
+"I cannot help it," he answered.
+
+"If you knew everything," she continued, "you would not be so obstinate.
+If Beatrice herself were here, if I could whisper something in her ear,
+she would be only too thankful that I had found her out. Beatrice has
+always misunderstood me, Mr. Tavernake. It is a little hard upon me, for
+we are both so far away from home, from our friends."
+
+"You can send her any message you like by me," Tavernake declared.
+"If you like, I will wait while you write a letter. If you really have
+anything to say to her which might change her opinion, you can write it,
+can't you?"
+
+She looked down at her hands--very beautiful and well-kept hands--and
+sighed. This young man, with his unusual imperturbability and hateful
+common sense, was getting on her nerves.
+
+"It is so hard to write things, Mr. Tavernake," she said, "but, of
+course, it is something to know that if the worst happens I can send her
+a letter. I shall think about that for a short time. Meanwhile, there
+is so much about her I would love to have you tell me. She has no money,
+has she? How does she support herself?"
+
+"She sings occasionally at concerts," Tavernake replied after a moment's
+pause. "I suppose there is no harm in telling you that."
+
+Elizabeth leaned towards him. She was very loth indeed to acknowledge
+defeat. Once more her voice was deliciously soft, her forehead
+delicately wrinkled, her blue eyes filled with alluring light.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," she murmured, "do you know that you are not in the
+least kind to me? Beatrice and I are sisters, after all. Even she has
+admitted that. She left me most unkindly at a critical time in my
+life; she misunderstood things; if I were to see her, I could explain
+everything. I feel it very much that she is living apart from me in this
+city where we are both strangers. I am anxious about her, Mr. Tavernake.
+Does she want money? If so, will you take her some from me? Can't you
+suggest any way in which I could help her? Do be my friend, please, and
+advise me."
+
+Life was certainly opening out for Tavernake. The atmosphere by which he
+was surrounded, which she was deliberately creating around him, was the
+atmosphere of an unknown world. It was a position, this, entirely novel
+to him. Nevertheless, he did his best to cope with it intelligently. He
+reflected carefully before he made any reply, he refused absolutely to
+listen to the strange voices singing in his ears, and he delivered his
+decision with his usual air of finality.
+
+"I am afraid," he said, "that since Beatrice refuses even to let you
+know her whereabouts, she would not wish to accept anything from you.
+It seems a pity," he went on, the instincts of the money-saver stirring
+within him; "she is certainly none too well off."
+
+The lady on the couch sighed.
+
+"Beatrice has at least a friend," she murmured. "It is a great deal
+to have a friend. It is more than I have. We are both so far from home
+here. Often I am sorry that we ever left America. England is not a
+hospitable country, Mr. Tavernake."
+
+Again this painfully literal young man spoke out what was in his mind.
+
+"There was a gentleman in the motor-car with you the other night," he
+reminded her.
+
+She bit her lip.
+
+"He was just an acquaintance," she answered, "a man whom I used to know
+in New York, passing through London. He called on me and asked me to go
+to the theatre and supper. Why not? I have had a terrible time during
+the last few months, Mr. Tavernake, and I am very lonely--lonelier than
+ever since my sister deserted me."
+
+Tavernake began to feel, ridiculous though it seemed, that in some
+subtle and inexplicable fashion he was in danger. At any rate, he was
+hopelessly bewildered. He did not understand why this very beautiful
+lady should look at him as though they were old friends, why her eyes
+should appeal to him so often for sympathy, why her fingers, which a
+moment ago were resting lightly upon his hand, and which she had drawn
+away with reluctance, should have burned him like pin-pricks of fire.
+The woman who wishes to allure may be as subtle as possible in her
+methods, but a sense of her purpose, however vague it may be, is
+generally communicated to her would be victim. Tavernake was becoming
+distinctly uneasy. He had no vanity. He knew from the first that this
+beautiful creature belonged to a world far removed from any of which he
+had any knowledge. The only solution of the situation which presented
+itself to him was that she might be thinking of borrowing money from
+him!
+
+"There was never a time in my life," she continued softly, "when I felt
+that I needed a friend more. I am afraid that my sister has prejudiced
+you against me, Mr. Tavernake. Beatrice is very young, and the young are
+not always sympathetic, you know. They do not make allowances, they do
+not understand."
+
+"Why did you tell Mr. Dowling things which were not true?" he asked
+bluntly.
+
+She sighed, and looked down at the handkerchief with which she had been
+toying.
+
+"It was a very silly piece of conceit," she admitted, "but, you see, I
+had to tell him something."
+
+"Why did you come to the office at all?" he continued.
+
+"Do you really want to know that?" she whispered softly.
+
+"Well,--"
+
+"I will tell you," she went on suddenly. "It sounds foolish, in a way,
+and yet it wasn't really, because, you see,"--she smiled at him--"I was
+anxious about Beatrice. I saw you come out of the office that morning,
+and I recognized you at once. I knew that it was you who had been with
+Beatrice. I made an excuse about the house to come and see whether I
+could find you out."
+
+Tavernake, in whom the vanity was not yet born, missed wholly the
+significance of her smile, her trifling hesitation.
+
+"All that," he declared, "is no reason why you should have told Mr.
+Dowling that your husband was a millionaire and had given you carte
+blanche about taking a house."
+
+"Did I mention--my husband?"
+
+"Distinctly," he assured her.
+
+For the first time she had faltered in her speech. Tavernake felt that
+she herself was shaken by some emotion. Her eyes for a moment were
+strangely-lit; something had come into her face which he did not
+understand. Then it passed. The delightful smile, half deprecating,
+half appealing, once more parted her lips; the gleam of horror no longer
+shone in her blue eyes.
+
+"I am always so foolish about money," she declared, "so ignorant that
+I never know how I stand, but really I think that I have plenty, and a
+hundred or two more or less for rent didn't seem to matter much."
+
+It was a point of view, this, which Tavernake utterly failed to
+comprehend. He looked at her in surprise.
+
+"I suppose," he protested, "you know how much a year you have to live
+on?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"It seems to vary all the time," she sighed. "There are so many
+complications."
+
+He looked at her in amazement.
+
+"After all," he admitted, "you don't look as though you had much of a
+head for figures."
+
+"If only I had some one to help me!" she murmured.
+
+Tavernake moved uneasily in his chair. His sense of danger was growing.
+
+"If you will excuse me now," he said, "I think that I must be getting
+back. I am an employee at Dowling, Spence & Company's, you know, and my
+time is not quite my own. I only came because I promised to."
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," she begged, looking at him full out of those wonderful
+blue eyes, "please do me a great favor."
+
+"What is it?" he asked with clumsy ungraciousness.
+
+"Come and see me, every now and then, and let me know how my sister is.
+Perhaps you may be able to suggest some way in which I can help her."
+
+Tavernake considered the question for a moment. He was angry with
+himself for the unaccountable sense of pleasure which her suggestion had
+given him.
+
+"I am not quite sure," he said, "whether I had better come. Beatrice
+seemed quite anxious that I should not talk about her to you at all. She
+did not like my coming to-day."
+
+"You seem to know a great deal about my sister," Elizabeth declared
+reflectively. "You call her by her Christian name and you appear to see
+her frequently. Perhaps, even, you are fond of her."
+
+Tavernake met his questioner's inquiring gaze blankly. He was almost
+indignant.
+
+"Fond of her!" he exclaimed. "I have never been fond of any one in my
+life, or anything--except my work," he added.
+
+She looked at him a little bewildered at first.
+
+"Oh, you strange person!" she cried, her lips breaking into a delightful
+smile. "Don't you know that you haven't begun to live at all yet? You
+don't even know anything about life, and at the back of it all you have
+capacity. Yes," she went on, "I think that you have the capacity for
+living."
+
+Her hand fell upon his with a little gesture which was half a caress. He
+looked around him as though seeking for escape. He was on his feet now
+and he clutched at his hat.
+
+"I must go," he insisted almost roughly.
+
+"Am I keeping you?" she asked innocently. "Well, you shall go as soon as
+you please, only you must promise me one thing. You must come back, say
+within a week, and let me know how my sister is. I am not half so brutal
+as you think. I really am anxious about her. Please!"
+
+"I will promise that," he answered.
+
+"Wait one moment, then," she begged, turning to the letters by her side.
+"There is just something I want to ask you. Don't be impatient--it is
+entirely a matter of business."
+
+All the time he was acutely conscious of that restless desire to get out
+of the room. The woman's white arms, from which the sleeves of her blue
+gown had fallen back, were stretched towards him as she lazily turned
+over her pile of correspondence. They were very beautiful arms and
+Tavernake, although he had had no experience, was dimly aware of the
+fact. Her eyes, too, seemed always to be trying to reach some part of
+him which was dead, or as yet unborn. He could feel her striving to get
+there, beating against the walls of his indifference. Why should a woman
+wear blue stockings because she had a blue gown, he wondered idly. She
+was not like Beatrice, this alluring, beautiful woman, who lay there
+talking to him in a manner whose meaning came to him only in strange,
+bewildering flashes. He could be with Beatrice and feel the truth of
+what he had once told her--that her sex was a thing which need not even
+be taken into account between them. With this woman it was different; he
+felt that she wished it to be different.
+
+"Perhaps you had better tell me about that matter of business next time
+I am here," he suggested, with an abruptness which was almost brusque.
+"I must go now. I do not know why I have stayed so long."
+
+She held out her fingers.
+
+"You are a very sudden person," she declared, smiling at his
+discomfiture. "If you must go!"
+
+He scarcely touched her hand, anxious only to get away. And then the
+door opened and a man of somewhat remarkable appearance entered the room
+with the air of a privileged person. He was oddly dressed, with little
+regard to the fashion of the moment. His black coat was cut after
+the mode of a past generation, his collar was of the type affected by
+Gladstone and his fellow-statesmen, his black bow was arranged with
+studied negligence and he showed more frilled white shirt-front than
+is usual in the daytime. His silk hat was glossy but broad-brimmed; his
+masses of gray hair, brushed back from a high, broad forehead, gave
+him almost a patriarchal aspect. His features were large and fairly
+well-shaped, but his mouth was weak and his cheeks lacked the color of
+a healthy life. Tavernake stared at him open-mouthed. He, for his part,
+looked at Tavernake as he might have looked at some strange wild animal.
+
+"A thousand apologies, dear Elizabeth!" he exclaimed. "I knocked, but I
+imagine that you did not hear me. Knowing your habits, it did not occur
+to me that you might be engaged at this hour of the morning."
+
+"It is a young man from the house agent's," she announced indifferently,
+"come to see me about a flat."
+
+"In that case," he suggested amiably, "I am, perhaps, not in the way."
+
+Elizabeth turned her head slightly and looked at him; he backed
+precipitately toward the door.
+
+"In a few minutes," he said. "I will return in a few minutes."
+
+Tavernake attempted to follow his example.
+
+"There is no occasion for your friend to leave," he protested. "If you
+have any instructions for us, a note to the office will always bring
+some one here to see you."
+
+She sat up on the couch and smiled at him. His obvious embarrassment
+amused her. It was a new sort of game, this, altogether.
+
+"Come, Mr. Tavernake," she said, "three minutes more won't matter, will
+it? I will not keep you longer than that, I promise."
+
+He came reluctantly a few steps back.
+
+"I am sorry," he explained, "but we really are busy this morning."
+
+"This is business," she declared, still smiling at him pleasantly. "My
+sister has filled you with suspicions about me. Some of them may be
+justifiable, some are not. I am not so rich as I should like some people
+to believe. It is so much easier to live well, you know, when people
+believe that you are rolling in money. Still, I am by no means a pauper.
+I cannot afford to take Grantham House, but neither can I afford to go
+on living here. I have decided to make a change, to try and economize,
+to try and live within my means. Now will you bring me a list of small
+houses or flats, something at not more than say two or three hundred
+a year? It shall be strictly a business proceeding. I will pay you for
+your time, if that is necessary, and your commission in advance. There,
+you can't refuse my offer on those terms, can you?"
+
+Tavernake remained silent. He was conscious that his lack of response
+seemed both sullen and awkward, but he was for the moment tongue-tied.
+His habit of inopportune self-analysis had once more asserted itself. He
+could not understand the curious nature of his mistrust of this woman,
+nor could he understand the pleasure which her suggestion gave him. He
+wanted to refuse, and yet he was glad to be able to tell himself that
+he was, after all, but an employee of his firm and not in a position to
+decline business on their behalf.
+
+She leaned a little towards him; her tone was almost beseeching.
+
+"You are not going to be unkind? You will not refuse me?" she pleaded.
+
+"I will bring you a list," he answered heavily, "on the terms you
+suggest."
+
+"To-morrow morning?" she begged.
+
+"As soon as I am able," he promised.
+
+Then he escaped. Outside in the corridor, the man who had interrupted
+his interview was walking backwards and forwards. Tavernake passed him
+without responding to his bland greeting. He forgot all about the lift
+and descended five flights of stairs....
+
+A few minutes later, he presented himself at the office and reported
+that Mrs. Wenham Gardner had decided unfavorably about Grantham House,
+and that she was not disposed, indeed, to take premises of anything like
+such a rental. Mr. Dowling was disappointed, and inclined to think that
+his employee had mismanaged the affair.
+
+"I wish that I had gone myself," he declared. "She obviously wished me
+to, but it happened to be inconvenient. By-the-bye, Tavernake, close the
+door, will you? There is another matter concerning which I should like
+to speak to you."
+
+Tavernake did as he was bidden at once, without any disquietude. His
+own services to the firm were of such a nature that he had no misgiving
+whatever as to his employer's desire for a private interview.
+
+"It is about the Marston Rise estate," Mr. Dowling explained, arranging
+his pince nez. "I believe that the time is coming when some sort of
+overtures should be made. You know what has been in my mind for a very
+considerable time."
+
+Tavernake nodded.
+
+"Yes," he admitted, "I know quite well."
+
+"I did hear a rumor," Mr. Dowling continued, "that some one had bought
+one small plot on the outskirts of the estate. I dare say it is not
+true, and in any case it is not worth while troubling about, but it
+shows that the public is beginning to nibble. I am of opinion that the
+time is almost--yes, almost ripe for a move."
+
+"Do you wish me to do anything in the matter, sir?" Tavernake asked.
+
+"In the first place," Mr. Dowling declared, "I should like you to try to
+find out whether any of the plots have really been sold, and, if so, to
+whom, and what would be their price. Can you do this during the week?"
+
+"I think so," Tavernake answered.
+
+"Say Monday morning," Mr. Dowling suggested, taking down his hat. "I
+shall be playing golf to-morrow and Friday, and of course Saturday.
+Monday morning you might let me have a report."
+
+Tavernake went back to his office. After all, then, things were to come
+to a crisis a little earlier than he had thought. He knew quite well
+that that report, if he made it honestly, and no other idea was likely
+to occur to him, would effectually sever his connection with Messrs.
+Dowling, Spence & Company.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. THE PLOT THICKENS
+
+
+The man whom Tavernake had left walking up and down the corridor lost
+no time in presenting himself once more at the apartments of Mrs. Wenham
+Gardner. He entered the suite without ceremony, carefully closing both
+doors behind him. It became obvious then that his deportment on the
+occasion of his previous appearance had been in the nature of a bluff.
+The air with which he looked across the room at the woman who watched
+him was furtive; the hand which laid his hat upon the table was shaking;
+there was a gleam almost of terror in his eyes. The woman remained
+impassive, inscrutable, simply watching him. After a moment or two,
+however, she spoke--a single monosyllable.
+
+"Well?"
+
+The man broke down.
+
+"Elizabeth," he exclaimed, "you are too--too ghastly! I can't stand it.
+You are unnatural."
+
+She stretched herself upon the couch and turned towards him.
+
+"Unnatural, am I?" she remarked. "And what are you?"
+
+He sank into a chair. He had become very flabby indeed.
+
+"What you are always calling me, I suppose," he muttered,--"a coward.
+You have so little consideration, Elizabeth. My health isn't what it
+was."
+
+His eyes had wandered longingly toward the cupboard at the further end
+of the apartment. The woman upon the couch smiled.
+
+"You may help yourself," she directed carelessly. "Perhaps then you will
+be able to tell me why you have come in such a state."
+
+He crossed the room in a few hasty steps, his head and shoulders
+disappeared inside the cupboard. There was the sound of the withdrawal
+of a cork, the fizz of a sodawater syphon. He returned to his place a
+different man.
+
+"You must remember my age, Elizabeth dear," he said, apologetically.
+"I haven't your nerve--it isn't likely that I should have. When I was
+twenty-five, there was nothing in the world of which I was afraid."
+
+She looked him over critically.
+
+"Perhaps I am not so absolutely courageous as you think," she remarked.
+"To tell you the truth, there are a good many things of which I am
+afraid when you come to me in such a state. I am afraid of you, of what
+you will do or say."
+
+"You need not be," he assured her hastily. "When I am away from you, I
+am dumb. What I suffer no one knows. I keep it to myself."
+
+She nodded, a little contemptuously.
+
+"I suppose you do your best," she declared. "Tell me, now, what is this
+fresh thing which has disturbed you?"
+
+Her visitor stared at her.
+
+"Does there need to be any fresh thing?" he muttered.
+
+"I suppose it is something about Wenham?" she asked.
+
+The man shivered. He opened his lips and closed them again. The woman's
+tone, if possible, grew colder.
+
+"I hope you are not going to tell me that you have disobeyed my orders,"
+she said.
+
+"No," he protested, "no! I was there yesterday. I came back by the mail
+from Penzance. I had to motor thirty miles to catch it."
+
+"Something has happened, of course," she went on, "something which you
+are afraid to tell 'me. Sit up like a man, my dear father, and let me
+have the truth."
+
+"Nothing fresh has happened at all," he assured her. "It is simply that
+the memory of the day I spent at that place and that the sight of him
+has got on my nerves till I can't sleep or think of anything else."
+
+"What rubbish!" she exclaimed.
+
+"You have only seen the place in fine weather," he continued, dropping
+his voice a little. "Elizabeth, you have no idea what it is really like.
+Yesterday morning I got out of the train at Bodmin and I motored through
+to the village of Clawes. After that there were five miles to walk.
+There's no road, only a sort of broken track, and for the whole of that
+five miles there isn't even a farm building to be seen and I didn't meet
+a human soul. There was a sort of pall of white-gray mists everywhere
+over the moor, sometimes so dense that I couldn't see my way, and you
+could stop and listen and there wasn't a thing to be heard, not even a
+sheep bell."
+
+She laughed softly..
+
+"My dear, foolish father," she murmured, "you don't understand what
+a rest cure is. This is quite all right, quite as it should be. Poor
+Wenham has been seeing too many people all his life--that is why we have
+to keep him quiet for a time. You can skip the scenery. I suppose you
+got to the house at last?"
+
+"Yes, I got there," continued her father. "You know what a bleak-looking
+place it is, right on the side of a bare hill--a square, gray stone
+place just the color of the hillside. Well, I got there and walked in.
+There was Ted Mathers, half dressed, no collar, with a bottle of whiskey
+on the table, playing some wretched game of cards by himself. Elizabeth,
+what a brute that man is!"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Go on," she said. "What about Wenham?"
+
+"He was there in a corner, gazing out of the window. When I came he
+sprang up, but when he saw who it was, he--he tried to hide. He was
+afraid of me."
+
+"Why?" she asked.
+
+"He said that I--I reminded him of you."
+
+"Absurd!" she murmured. "Tell me, how did he look?"
+
+"Ill, wretched, paler and thinner than ever, and wilder looking."
+
+"What did Mathers say about him?" she demanded.
+
+"What could he? He told me that he cried all day and begged to be taken
+back to America."
+
+"No one goes near the place, I suppose?" she asked.
+
+"Not a soul. A man comes from the village to sell things once a week.
+Mathers knows when to expect him and takes care that Wenham is not
+around. They are out of the world there--no road, no paths, nothing
+to bring even a tourist. I could have imagined such a spot in Arizona,
+Elizabeth, but in England--no!"
+
+"Has he any amusements at all?" she inquired.
+
+The man's hands were shaking; once more his eyes went longingly toward
+the cupboard.
+
+"He has made--a doll," he said, "carved it out of a piece of wood and
+dressed it in oddments from his ties. Mathers showed it to me as a joke.
+Elizabeth, it was wonderful--horrible!"
+
+"Why?" she asked him.
+
+"It is you," he continued, moistening his lips with his tongue, "you,
+in a blue gown--your favorite shade. He has even made blue stockings and
+strange little shoes. He has got some hair from somewhere and parted it
+just like yours."
+
+"It sounds very touching," she remarked.
+
+The man was shivering again.
+
+"Elizabeth," he said, "I do not think that he means it kindly. Mathers
+took me up into his room. He has made something there which looks like
+a scaffold. The doll was hanging by a piece of string from the gallows.
+Elizabeth!--my God, but it was like you!" he cried, suddenly dropping
+his head upon his arms.
+
+For a moment, a reflection of the terror which had seized him flashed in
+her own face. It passed quickly away. She laughed mockingly.
+
+"My dear father," she protested, "you are certainly not yourself this
+morning."
+
+"I saw you swinging," he muttered, "swinging by that piece of cord!
+There was a great black pin through your heart. Elizabeth, if he
+should get away sometime! If some one should come over from America
+and discover where he was! If he should find us out! Oh, my God, if he
+should find us out!"
+
+Elizabeth had risen to her feet. She was standing now before the fire,
+her left elbow resting upon the mantelpiece, a trifle of silver gleaming
+in her right hand.
+
+"Father," she said, "there is no danger in life for those who know no
+fear. Look at me."
+
+His eyes sought hers, fascinated.
+
+"If he should find me out," she continued, "it would be no such terrible
+thing, after all. It would be the end."
+
+Her fingers disclosed the little ornament she was carrying--a tiny
+pistol. She slipped it back into her pocket. The man was wondering how
+such a thing as this came to be his daughter.
+
+"You have courage, Elizabeth," he whispered.
+
+"I have courage," she assented, "because I have brains. I never allow
+myself to be in a position where I should be likely to get the worst
+of it. Ever since the day when he turned so suddenly against me, I have
+been careful."
+
+Her father leaned towards her.
+
+"Elizabeth," he said, "I never really understood. What was it that came
+over him so suddenly? One day he was your slave, the next I think he
+would have murdered you if he could."
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Honestly," she replied, "I felt it impossible to keep up the sham any
+longer. I married Wenham Gardner in New York because he was supposed to
+be a millionaire and because it seemed to be the best thing to do, but
+as to living with him, I never meant that. You know how ridiculous his
+behavior was on the boat. He never let me out of his sight, but swore
+that he was going to give up smoking and drinking and lead a new life
+for my sake. I really believe he meant it, too."
+
+"Wouldn't it have been better, dear," her father suggested, timidly, "to
+have encouraged him?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"He was absolutely hopeless," she declared. "You say that I have no
+nerves; that is because I do not allow myself to suffer. If I had gone
+on living with Wenham, it would have driven me mad. His habits, his
+manner of life, everything disgusted me. Until I came to see so much of
+him, I never understood what the term 'decadent' really can mean. The
+very touch of him grew to be hateful. No woman could live with such a
+man. By the way, he signed the draft, I suppose?"
+
+Her father handed her a slip of paper, which she looked at and locked in
+her drawer.
+
+"Did he make any trouble about it?" she asked.
+
+The professor shivered.
+
+"He refused to sign it," he said, in a low tone, "swore he would never
+sign it. Mathers sent me out for a few minutes, made me go into another
+room. When I came back, he gave me the draft. I heard him calling out."
+
+"Mathers certainly earns his money," she remarked, drily.
+
+He gazed at her with grudging admiration. This was his daughter, his own
+flesh and blood. Back through the years, for a moment, he seemed to see
+her, a child with hair down her back, sitting on his knee, listening
+to his stories, wondering at the little arts and tricks by which he
+had wrested their pennies and sixpennies from a credulous public.
+Phrenologist, hypnotist, conjurer--all these things the great Professor
+Franklin had called himself. Often, from the rude stage where he had
+given his performance, he had terrified to death the women and children
+of his audience. It flashed upon him at that moment that never, even in
+the days of her childhood, had he seen fear in Elizabeth's face.
+
+"You should have been a man, Elizabeth," he muttered.
+
+She shook her head, smiling as though not ill-pleased at the compliment.
+
+"The power of a man is so limited," she declared. "A woman has more
+weapons."
+
+"More weapons indeed," the professor agreed, as his eyes traveled over
+the slim yet wonderful perfection of her form, lingered for a moment
+at the little knot of lace at her throat, wrestled with the delicate
+sweetness of her features, struggling hard to think from whom among his
+ancestors could have come a creature so physically attractive.
+
+"More weapons, indeed," he repeated. "Elizabeth, what a gift--what a
+gift!"
+
+"You speak," she replied, "as though it were an evil one."
+
+"I was only thinking," he said, "that it seems a pity. You are so
+wonderful, we might have found an easier and a less dangerous way to
+fortune."
+
+She smiled.
+
+"The Bohemian blood in me, I suppose," she remarked. "The crooked ways
+attract, you know, when one has been brought up as I was."
+
+"Your poor mother had no love for them," he reminded her.
+
+"Beatrice has inherited everything that belonged to my mother. I am your
+own daughter, father. You ought to be proud of me. But there, I gave you
+another commission. Is it true that Jerry is really here?"
+
+"He arrived in England on Wednesday on the Lusitania. He has been in
+town all the time since."
+
+A distinct frown darkened her face.
+
+"He must have had my letter, then," she murmured, half to herself.
+
+"Without a doubt," her father admitted. "Elizabeth, why do you take
+chances about seeing this man? He was fond of you in New York, I know,
+but then he was fond of his brother, too. He may not believe your story.
+It may be dangerous."
+
+She smiled.
+
+"I think I can convince Jerry Gardner of anything I choose to tell
+him," she said. "Besides, it is absolutely necessary that I have some
+information about Wenham's affairs. He must have a great deal more money
+somewhere and I must find out how we are to get at it."
+
+The professor shook his head.
+
+"I don't like it," he muttered. "Supposing he finds Beatrice!"
+
+Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Beatrice is made of silent stuff," she declared. "I should never be
+afraid of her. All the same, I wish I could find out just where she is.
+It would look better if we were living together."
+
+The professor shook his head sadly.
+
+"She left us of her own free will," he said, "and I don't believe,
+Elizabeth, that she would ever come back again. She knew very well what
+she was doing. She knew that our views of life were not hers. She didn't
+know half but she knew enough. You were quite right in what you said
+just now; Beatrice was more like her mother, and her mother was a good
+woman."
+
+"Really!" Elizabeth remarked, insolently.
+
+"Don't answer like that," he blustered, striking the table. "She was
+your mother, too."
+
+The woman's face was inscrutable, hard, and flawless behind the little
+cloud of tobacco smoke. The man began to tremble once more. Every time
+he ventured to assert himself, a single look from her was sufficient to
+quell him.
+
+"Elizabeth," he muttered, "you haven't a heart, you haven't a soul, you
+haven't a conscience. I wonder--what sort of a woman you are!"
+
+"I am your daughter," she reminded him, pleasantly.
+
+"I was never quite so bad as that," he went on, taking a large silk
+handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing his forehead. "I had to live
+and times were hard. I have cheated the public, perhaps. I haven't been
+above playing at cards a little cleverly, or making something where I
+could out of the weaker men. But, Elizabeth, I am afraid of you."
+
+"Men are generally afraid of the big stakes," she remarked, flicking the
+ash from her cigarette. "They will cheat and lie for halfpennies, but
+they are bad gamblers when life or death--the big things are in the
+balance. Bah!" she went on. "Father, I want Jerry Gardner to come and
+see me."
+
+"If you can't make him come, my dear," the professor said, "I am sure it
+will be of no use my trying."
+
+"He has had my letter," she continued, half to herself; "he has had my
+letter and he does not come."
+
+"There is nothing to be done but wait," her father decided.
+
+"And meanwhile," she went on, "supposing he were to discover Beatrice,
+supposing they two were to come together; supposing he were to tell her
+what he knows and she were to tell him what she guessed!"
+
+The professor buried his face in his hands. Elizabeth threw her
+cigarette away with an impatient gesture.
+
+"What an idiot I am!" she declared. "What is the use of wasting time
+like this?"
+
+There was a knock at the door. A trim-looking French maid presented
+herself. She addressed her mistress in voluble French. A coiffeur and a
+manicurist were waiting in the next apartment; it was time that Madame
+habited herself. The professor listened to these announcements with an
+air of half-admiring wonder.
+
+"I suppose I must be going," he said, rising to his feet. "There is just
+one thing I should like to ask you, Elizabeth, if I may, before I go."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Who was the young man whom I met here just now?"
+
+"Why do you ask that?" she demanded.
+
+"I really do not know," her father replied, thoughtfully, "except that
+his appearance seemed a little singular. In some respects he appeared so
+commonplace. His clothes and bearing, in fact, were so ordinary that
+I was surprised to find him here with you. And, on the other hand, his
+face--you must remember, my dear, that this is entirely a professional
+instinct; I am still interested in faces--"
+
+"Quite so," she admitted. "Go on. The young man rather puzzles me
+myself. I should like to hear what you make of him. What did you think
+of his face?"
+
+"There was something powerful about it," he declared, "something dogged,
+splendid, narrow, impossible,--the sort of face which belongs to a man
+who achieves great things because he is too stupid to recognize failure,
+even when it has him in its arms and its fingers are upon his throat.
+That young man has qualities, my dear, I am sure. Mind you, at present
+they are dormant, but he has qualities."
+
+She led him to the door.
+
+"My dear father," she said, "sometimes I really respect you. If you
+should come across that young man again, keep your eye upon him. He
+knows one thing at least which I wish he would tell us--he knows where
+Beatrice is."
+
+Her father looked at her in amazement.
+
+"He knows where Beatrice is and he has not told you?"
+
+She nodded.
+
+"You tried to have him tell you and he refused?" the professor
+persisted.
+
+"Exactly," she admitted.
+
+Her father put on his hat.
+
+"I knew that young man was something out of the common."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. THE JOY OF BATTLE
+
+
+They sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, in the topmost corner of the
+field. In the hedge, close at hand, was a commotion of birds. In the elm
+tree, a little further away, a thrush was singing. A soft west wind
+blew in their faces; the air immediately around them was filled with
+sunlight. Yet almost to their feet stretched one of those great arms of
+the city--a suburb, with its miles of villas, its clanging of electric
+cars, its waste plots, its rows of struggling shops. And only a little
+further away still, the body itself--the huge city, throbbing beneath
+its pall of smoke and cloud. The girl, who had been gazing steadily
+downwards for several moments, turned at last to her companion.
+
+"Do you know," she said, "that this makes me think of the first night
+you spoke to me? You remember it--up on the roof at Blenheim House?"
+
+Tavernake did not answer for a moment. He was looking through a
+queerly-shaped instrument that he had brought with him at half-a-dozen
+stakes that he had laboriously driven into the ground some distance
+away. He was absolutely absorbed in his task.
+
+"The main avenue," he muttered softly to himself. "Yes, it must be a
+trifle more to the left. Then we get all the offshoots parallel and the
+better houses have their southern aspect. I beg your pardon, Beatrice,
+did you say anything?" he broke off suddenly.
+
+She smiled.
+
+"Nothing worth mentioning. I was just thinking that it reminded me a
+little up here of the first time you and I ever talked together."
+
+He glanced down at the panorama below, with its odd jumble of hideous
+buildings, softened here and there with wreaths of sunstained smoke, its
+great blots of ugliness irredeemable, insistent.
+
+"It's different, of course," she went on. "I remember, even now, the
+view from the house-top that night. In a sense, it was finer than this;
+everything was more lurid and yet more chaotic; one simply felt that
+underneath all those mysterious places was some great being, toiling and
+struggling--Life itself, groaning through space with human cogwheels. Up
+here one sees too much. Oh, my dear Leonard," she continued, "to think
+that you, too, should be one of the devastators!"
+
+He fitted his instrument into its case and replaced it in his pocket.
+
+"Come," he said, "you mustn't call me hard names. I shall remind you of
+the man whose works you are making me read. You know what he says--'The
+aesthete is, after all, only a dallier. The world lives and progresses
+by reason of its utilitarians.' This hill represents to me most of the
+things that are worth having in life."
+
+She laughed shortly.
+
+"You will cut down those hedges and drive away the birds to find a fresh
+home; you will plough up the green grass, cut out a street and lay
+down granite stones. Then I see your ugly little houses coming up like
+mushrooms all over the place. You are a vandal, my dear Leonard."
+
+"I am simply obeying the law," he answered. "After all, even from your
+own point of view, I do not think that it is so bad. Look closer, and
+you will find that the hedges are blackened here and there with smuts.
+The birds will find a better dwelling place further away. See how the
+smoke from those factory chimneys is sending its smuts across these
+fields. They are no longer country; they are better gathered in."
+
+She shivered.
+
+"There is something about life," she said, sadly, "which terrifies me.
+Every force that counts seems to be destructive."
+
+Up the steep hill behind them came the puffing and groaning of a small
+motor-car. They both turned their heads to watch it come into view.
+It was an insignificant affair of an almost extinct pattern, a single
+cylinder machine with a round tonneau back. The engine was knocking
+badly as the driver brought it to a standstill a few yards away from
+them. Involuntarily Tavernake stiffened as he saw the two men who
+descended from it, and who were already passing through the gate close
+to where they were. One was Mr. Dowling, the other the manager of the
+bank where they kept their account. Mr. Dowling recognized his manager
+with surprise but much cordiality.
+
+"Dear me!" he exclaimed. "Dear me, this is most fortunate! You know Mr.
+Tavernake, of course, Belton? My manager, Mr. Tavernake--Mr. Belton,
+of the London & Westminster Bank. I have brought Mr. Belton up here,
+Tavernake, to have a look round, so that he may know what we mean to do
+with all the money we shall have to come and borrow, eh?"
+
+The bank manager smiled.
+
+"It is a very fine situation," he remarked.
+
+The eyes of the two men fell upon Beatrice, who had drawn a little to
+one side.
+
+"May we have the pleasure, Tavernake?" Mr. Dowling said, graciously.
+"You are not married, I believe?"
+
+"No, this is my sister," Tavernake answered, slowly,--"Mr. Belton and
+Mr. Dowling."
+
+The two men acknowledged the salute with some slight surprise. Beatrice,
+although her clothes were simple, had always the air of belonging to a
+different world.
+
+"Your brother, my dear Miss Tavernake," Mr. Dowling declared, "is a
+perfect genius at discovering these desirable sites. This one I honestly
+consider to be the find of our lifetime. We have now," he proceeded,
+turning to Mr. Belton, "certain information that the cars will run to
+whatever point we desire in this vicinity, and the Metropolitan Railway
+has also arranged for an extension of its system. To-morrow I propose,"
+Mr. Dowling continued, holding the sides of his coat and assuming a
+somewhat pompous manner, "to make an offer for the whole of this site.
+It will involve a very large sum of money indeed, but I am convinced
+that it will be a remunerative speculation."
+
+Tavernake remained grimly silent. This was scarcely the time or the
+place which he would have selected for an explanation with his employer.
+There were signs, however, that the thing was to be forced upon him.
+
+"I am very pleased indeed to meet you here, Tavernake," Mr. Dowling went
+on, "pleased both for personal reasons and because it shows, if I may be
+allowed to say so, the interest which you take in the firm's business,
+that you should devote your holiday to coming and--er--surveying the
+scene of our exploits, so to speak. Perhaps now that you are here you
+would be able to explain to Mr. Belton better than I should, just what
+it is that we propose."
+
+Tavernake hesitated for a moment. Finally, however, he proceeded to make
+clear a very elaborate and carefully thought out building scheme, to
+which both men listened with much attention. When he had finished,
+however, he turned round to Mr. Dowling, facing him squarely.
+
+"You will understand, sir," he concluded, "that a scheme such as I have
+pointed out could only be carried through if the whole of the property
+were in one person's hands. I may say that the information to which you
+referred a few days ago was perfectly correct. A considerable portion of
+the south side of the hill has already been purchased, besides certain
+other plots which would interfere considerably with any comprehensive
+scheme of building."
+
+Mr. Dowling's face fell at once; his tone was one of annoyance mingled
+with irritation.
+
+"Come, come," he declared, "this sounds very bad, Mr. Tavernake, very
+neglectful, very careless as to the interests of the firm. Why did we
+not keep our eye upon it? Why did we not forestall this other purchaser,
+eh? It appears to me that we have been slack, very slack indeed."
+
+Tavernake took a small book from his pocket.
+
+"You will remember, sir," he said, "that it was on the eleventh of May
+last year when I first spoke to you of this site."
+
+"Well, well," Mr. Dowling exclaimed, sharply, "what of it?"
+
+"You were starting out for a fortnight's golf somewhere," Tavernake
+continued, "and you promised to look into the affair when you returned.
+I spoke to you again but you declared that you were far too busy to go
+into the matter at all for the present, you didn't care about this side
+of London, you considered that we had enough on hand--in fact, you threw
+cold water upon the idea."
+
+"I may not have been very enthusiastic at first," Mr. Dowling admitted,
+grudgingly. "Latterly, however, I have come round to your views."
+
+"There have been several articles in various newspapers, and a good deal
+of talk," Tavernake remarked, "which have been more effectual, I think,
+in bringing you round, than my advice. However, what I wish to say to
+you is this, sir, that when I found myself unable to interest you in
+this scheme, I went into it myself to some extent."
+
+"Went into it yourself?" Mr. Dowling repeated, incredulously. "What do
+you mean, Tavernake? What do you mean, sir?"
+
+"I mean that I have invested my savings in the purchase of several plots
+of land upon this hillside," Tavernake explained.
+
+"On your own account?" Mr. Dowling demanded. "Your savings, indeed!"
+
+"Certainly," Tavernake answered. "Why not?"
+
+"But it's the firm's business, sir--the firm's, not yours!"
+
+"The firm had the opportunity," Tavernake pointed out, "and were not
+inclined to avail themselves of it. If I had not bought the land when I
+did, some one else would have bought the whole of it long ago."
+
+Mr. Dowling was obviously in a furious temper.
+
+"Do you mean to tell me, sir," he exclaimed, "that you dared to enter
+into private speculations while still an employee of the firm? It is
+a most unheard-of thing, unwarranted, ridiculous. I shall require you,
+sir, to at once make over the plots of land to us--to the firm, you
+understand. We shall give you your price, of course, although I expect
+you paid much more for it than we should have done. Still, we must give
+you what you paid, and four per cent interest for your money."
+
+"I am sorry," Tavernake replied, "but I am afraid that I should require
+better terms than that. In fact," he continued, "I do not wish to sell.
+I have given a great deal of thought and time to this matter, and I
+intend to carry it out as a personal speculation."
+
+"Then you will carry it out, sir, from some other place than from
+within the walls of my office," Mr. Dowling declared, furiously. "You
+understand that, Tavernake?"
+
+"Perfectly," Tavernake answered. "You wish me to leave you. It is very
+unwise of you to suggest it, but I am quite prepared to go."
+
+"You will either resell me those plots at cost price, or you shall not
+set foot within the office again," Mr. Dowling insisted. "It is a gross
+breach of faith, this. I never heard of such a thing in all my life.
+Most unprofessional, impossible behavior!"
+
+Tavernake showed no signs of anger--he simply turned a little away.
+
+"I shall not sell you my land, Mr. Dowling," he said, "and it will suit
+me very well to leave your employ. You appear," he continued, "to expect
+some one else to do the whole of the work for you while you reap the
+entire profits. Those days have gone by. My business in the world is to
+make a fortune for myself, and not for you!"
+
+"How dare you, sir!" Mr. Dowling cried. "I never heard such impertinence
+in my life."
+
+"You haven't done a stroke of work for five years," Tavernake went on,
+unmoved, "and my efforts have supplied you with a fairly good income. In
+future, those efforts will be directed towards my own advancement."
+
+Mr. Dowling turned back toward the car.
+
+"Young man," he said, "you can brazen it out as much as you like, but
+you have been guilty of a gross breach of faith. I shall take care that
+the exact situation is made known in all responsible quarters. You'll
+get no situation with any firm with whom I am acquainted--I can promise
+you that. If you have anything more to say to Dowling, Spence & Company,
+let it be in writing."
+
+They parted company there and then. Tavernake and Beatrice went down the
+hill in silence.
+
+"Does this bother you at all?" she inquired presently.
+
+"Nothing to speak of," Tavernake answered. "It had to come. I wasn't
+quite ready but that doesn't matter."
+
+"What shall you do now?" she asked.
+
+"Borrow enough to buy the whole of the hill," he replied.
+
+She looked back.
+
+"Won't that mean a great deal of money?"
+
+He nodded.
+
+"It will be a big thing, of course," he admitted. "Never mind, I dare
+say I shall be able to interest some one in it. In any case, I never
+meant Mr. Dowling to make a fortune out of this."
+
+They walked on in silence a little further. Then she spoke again, with
+some hesitation.
+
+"I suppose that what you have done is quite fair, Leonard?"
+
+He answered her promptly, without any sign of offence at her question.
+
+"As a matter of fact," he confessed, "it is an unusual thing for any one
+in the employ of a firm of estate agents to make speculations on their
+own account in land. In this case, however, I consider that I was
+justified. I have opened up three building speculations for the firm, on
+each one of which they have made a great deal of money, and I have not
+even had my salary increased, or any recognition whatever offered me.
+There is a debt, of course, which an employee owes to his employer.
+There is also a debt, however, which the employer owes to his employee.
+In my case I have never been treated with the slightest consideration
+of any sort. What I have done I shall stick to. After all, I am more
+interested in making money for myself than for other people."
+
+They had reached the corner of the field now, and turning into the lane
+commenced the steep descent. It was Sunday evening, and from all the
+little conventicles and tin churches below, the bells began their
+unmusical summons. From further away in the distance came the more
+melodious chiming from the Cathedral and the city churches. The shriller
+and nearer note, however, prevailed. The whole medley of sound was a
+discord. As they descended, they could see the black-coated throngs
+slowly moving towards the different places of worship. There was
+something uninspiring about it all. She shuddered.
+
+"Leonard," she said, "I wonder why you are so anxious to get on in the
+world. Why do you want to be rich?"
+
+He was glancing back toward the hill, the light of calculations in his
+eyes. Once more he was measuring out those plots of land, calculating
+rent, deducting interest.
+
+"We all seek different things," he replied tolerantly,--"some fame,
+some pleasure. Mr. Dowling, for instance, has no other ambition than to
+muddle round the golf links a few strokes better than his partner."
+
+"And you?" she asked.
+
+"It is success I seek," he answered. "Women, as a rule, do not
+understand. You, for instance, Beatrice, are too sentimental. I am very
+practical. It is money that I want. I want money because money means
+success."
+
+"And afterwards?" she whispered.
+
+He was attending to her no longer. They were turning now into the broad
+thoroughfare at the bottom of the lane, at the end of which a tram-car
+was waiting. He scribbled a few, final notes into his pocket-book.
+
+"To-morrow," he exclaimed, with the joy of battle in his tone,
+"to-morrow the fight begins in earnest!"
+
+Beatrice passed her hand through his arm.
+
+"Not only for you, dear friend, but for me," she said. "For you? What do
+you mean?" he asked quickly.
+
+"I have been trying to tell you all day," she continued, "but you have
+been too engrossed. Yesterday afternoon I went to see Mr. Grier at the
+Atlas Theatre. I had my voice tried, and to-morrow night I am going to
+take a small part in the new musical comedy."
+
+Tavernake stared at her in something like consternation. His ideas as
+to the stage and all that belonged to it were of a primitive order. Mrs.
+Fitzgerald was perhaps as near as possible to his idea of the type. He
+glanced incredulously at Beatrice--slim, quietly dressed, yet with the
+unmistakable, to him mysterious, distinction of breeding.
+
+"You an actress!" he exclaimed.
+
+She laughed softly.
+
+"Dear Leonard," she said, "this is going to be a part of your education.
+To-morrow night you shall come to the theatre and wait for me at the
+stage-door."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. A BEWILDERING OFFER
+
+
+Elizabeth stood with her hands behind her back, leaning slightly against
+the writing-table. The professor, with his broad-brimmed hat clinched
+in his fingers, walked restlessly up and down the little room. The
+discussion had not been altogether a pleasant one. Elizabeth was
+composed but serious, her father nervous and excited.
+
+"You are mad, Elizabeth!" he declared. "Is it that you do not
+understand, or will not? I tell you that we must go."
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Where would you drag me to?" she asked. "We certainly can't go back to
+New York."
+
+He turned fiercely upon her.
+
+"Whose fault is it that we can't?" he demanded. "If it weren't for you
+and your confounded schemes, I could be walking down Broadway next week.
+God's own city it is, too!" he muttered. "I wish we'd never seen those
+two young men."
+
+"It was a pity, perhaps," she admitted, "yet we had to do something. We
+were absolutely stonybroke, as they say over here."
+
+"Anyway, we've got to get out of this," the professor declared.
+
+"My dear father," she replied, "I will agree that if a new city or a new
+world could arise from the bottom of the sea, where Professor Franklin
+was unknown, and his beautiful daughter Elizabeth had neyer been heard
+of, it might perhaps be advisable for us to go there.  As it is--"
+
+"There is Rome," he exclaimed, "or some of the smaller places! We have
+money for a time. We could get another draft, perhaps, from Wenham."
+
+She shook her head. "We are just as safe here as anywhere on the
+Continent," she remarked.
+
+Once more he struck the table. Then he threw out his hands above his
+head with the melodramatic instinct which had always been strong in his
+blood.
+
+"Do you think that I am a fool?" he cried. "Do you think I do not know
+that if there were not something moving in your brain you would think
+no more of that clerk, that bourgeois estate agent, than of the door-mat
+beneath your feet? It is what I always complain about. You make use
+of me as a tool. There are always things which I do not understand. He
+comes here, this young man, under a pretext, whether he knows it or not.
+You talk to him for an hour at a time. There should be nothing in
+your life which I do not know of, Elizabeth," he continued, his voice
+suddenly hoarse as he leaned towards her. "Can't you see that there is
+danger in friendships for you and for me, there is danger in intimacies
+of any sort? I share the danger; I have a right to share the knowledge.
+This young man has no money of his own, I take it. Of what use is he to
+us?"
+
+"You are too hasty, my dear father," she replied. "Let me assure you
+that there is nothing at all mysterious about Mr. Tavernake. The simple
+truth is that the young man rather attracts me."
+
+The professor gazed at her incredulously.
+
+"Attracts you! He!"
+
+"You have never perfectly understood me, my dear parent," she murmured.
+"You have never appreciated that trait in my character, that strange
+preference, if you like, for the absolutely original. Now in all my life
+I never met such a young man as this. He wears the clothes and he has
+the features and speech of just such a person as you have described, but
+there is a difference."
+
+"A difference, indeed!" the professor interrupted roughly. "What
+difference, I should like to know?"
+
+She shrugged her shoulders lightly.
+
+"He is stolid without being stupid," she explained. "He is entirely
+self-centered. I smile at him, and he waits patiently until I have
+finished to get on with our business. I have said quite nice things to
+him and he has stared at me without change of expression, absolutely
+without pleasure or emotion of any sort."
+
+"You are too vain, Elizabeth," her father declared. "You have been
+spoilt. There are a few people in the world whom even you might fail to
+charm. No doubt this young man is one of them."
+
+She sighed gently.
+
+"It really does seem," she admitted, "as though you were right, but we
+shall see. By-the-bye, hadn't you better go? The five minutes are nearly
+up."
+
+He came over to her side, his hat and gloves in his hand, prepared for
+departure.
+
+"Will you tell me, upon your honor, Elizabeth," he begged, "that there
+is no other reason for your interest? That you are not engaged in any
+fresh schemes of which I know nothing? Things are bad enough as they
+are. I cannot sleep, I cannot rest, for thinking of our position. If I
+thought that you had any fresh plans on hand--"
+
+She flicked the ash from her cigarette and checked him with a little
+gesture.
+
+"He knows where Beatrice is," she remarked thoughtfully, "and I can't
+get him to tell me. There is nothing beyond--absolutely nothing."...
+
+When Tavernake was announced, Elizabeth was still smoking, sitting in
+an easy-chair and looking into the fire. Something in her attitude, the
+droop of her head as it rested upon her fingers, reminded him suddenly
+of Beatrice. He showed no other emotion than a sudden pause in his
+walk across the room. Even that, however, in a person whose machinelike
+attitude towards her provoked her resentment, was noticeable.
+
+"Good morning, my friend!" she said pleasantly. "You have brought me the
+fresh list?"
+
+"Unfortunately, no, madam," Tavernake answered. "I have called simply
+to announce that I am not able to be of any further assistance to you in
+the matter."
+
+She looked at him for a moment without remark.
+
+"Are you serious, Mr. Tavernake?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," he replied. "The fact is I am not in a position to help you. I
+have left the employ of Messrs. Dowling, Spence & Company."
+
+"Of your own accord?" she inquired quietly.
+
+"No, I was dismissed," he confessed. "I should have been compelled to
+leave in a very short time, but Mr. Dowling forestalled me."
+
+"Won't you sit down and tell me about it?" she invited.
+
+He looked her in the eyes, square and unflinching. He was still able to
+do that!
+
+"It could not possibly interest you," he said.
+
+"And--my sister? You have seen her?"
+
+"I have seen your sister," Tavernake answered, without hesitation.
+
+"You have a message for me?"
+
+"None," he declared.
+
+"She refuses--to be reconciled, then?"
+
+"I am afraid she has no friendly feelings towards you."
+
+"She gave you no reason?"
+
+"No direct reason," he admitted, "but her attitude is--quite
+uncompromising."
+
+She rose and swept across the floor towards him. With firm but gentle
+fingers she took his worn bowler hat and mended gloves from his hand.
+Her gesture guided him towards a sofa.
+
+"Beatrice has prejudiced you against me," she murmured. "It is not fair.
+Please come and sit down--for five minutes," she pleaded. "I want you
+to tell me why you have quarrelled with that funny little man, Mr.
+Dowling."
+
+"But, madam,--" he protested.
+
+"If you refuse, I shall think that my sister has been telling you
+stories about me," she declared, watching him closely.
+
+Tavernake drew a little away from her but seated himself on the sofa
+which she had indicated. He took up as much room as possible, and to his
+relief she did not persist in her first intention, which was obviously
+to seat herself beside him.
+
+"Your sister has told me nothing about you whatsoever," he said
+deliberately. "At the same time, she asked me not to give you her
+address."
+
+"We will talk about that presently," she interrupted. "In the first
+place, tell me why you have left your place."
+
+"Mr. Dowling discovered," he told her, in a matter-of-fact tone, "that
+I had been doing some business on my own account. He was quite right to
+disapprove. I have not been back to the office since he found it out."
+
+"What sort of business?" she asked.
+
+"The business of the firm is to buy property in undeveloped districts
+and sell it for building estate," he explained. "I have been very
+successful hitherto in finding sites for their operations. A short time
+ago, I discovered one so good that I invested all my own savings in
+buying certain lots, and have an option upon the whole. Mr. Dowling
+found it out and dismissed me."
+
+"But it seems most unfair," she declared.
+
+"Not at all," he answered. "In Mr. Dowling's place I should have done
+the same thing. Every one with his way in life to make must look out for
+himself. Strictly speaking, what I did was wrong. I wish, however, that
+I had done it before. One must think of one's self first."
+
+"And now?" she inquired. "What are you going to do now?"
+
+"I am going to find a capitalist or float a company to buy the rest of
+the site," he announced. "After that, we must see about building. There
+is no hurry about that, though. The first thing is to secure the site."
+
+"How much money does it require?"
+
+"About twelve thousand pounds," he told her.
+
+"It seems very little," she murmured.
+
+"The need for money comes afterwards," he explained. "We want to drain
+and plan and build without mortgages. As soon as we are sure of the
+site, one can think of that. My option only extends for a week or so."
+
+"Do you really think that it is a good speculation?" she asked.
+
+"I do not think about such matters," he answered, drily. "I know."
+
+She leaned back in her chair, watching him for several seconds--admiring
+him, as a matter of fact. The profound conviction of his words was
+almost inspiring. In her presence, and she knew that she was a very
+beautiful woman, he appeared, notwithstanding his absence of any
+knowledge of her sex and his lack of social status, unmoved, wholly
+undisturbed. He sat there in perfect naturalness. It did not seem to him
+even unaccountable that she should be interested in his concerns. He
+was not conceited or aggressive in any way. His complete self-confidence
+lacked any militant impulse. He was--himself, impervious to
+surroundings, however unusual.
+
+"Why should I not be your capitalist?" she inquired slowly.
+
+"Have you as much as twelve thousand pounds that you want to invest?" he
+asked, incredulously.
+
+She rose to her feet and moved across to her desk. He sat quite still,
+watching her without any apparent curiosity. She unlocked a drawer and
+returned to him with a bankbook in her hand.
+
+"Add that up," she directed, "and tell me how much I have."
+
+He drew a lead pencil from his pocket and quickly added up the total.
+
+"If you have not given any cheques since this was made up," he said
+calmly, "you have a credit balance of thirteen thousand, one hundred and
+eighteen pounds, nine shillings and fourpence. It is very foolish of
+you to keep so much money on current account. You are absolutely losing
+about eight pounds a week."
+
+She smiled.
+
+"It is foolish of me, I suppose," she admitted, "but I have no one to
+advise me just now. My father knows no more about money than a child,
+and I have just had quite a large amount paid to me in cash. I only wish
+we could get Beatrice to share some of this, Mr. Tavernake."
+
+He made no remark. To all appearance, he had never heard of her sister.
+She came and sat down by his side again.
+
+"Will you have me for a partner, Mr. Tavernake?" she whispered.
+
+Then, indeed, for a moment, the impassivity of his features relaxed. He
+was frankly amazed.
+
+"You cannot mean this," he declared. "You know nothing about the
+value of the property, nothing about the affair at all. It is quite
+impossible."
+
+"I know what you have told me," she said. "Is not that enough? You are
+sure that it will make money and you have just told me how foolish I am
+to keep so much money in my bank. Very well, then, I give it to you to
+invest. You must pay me quite a good deal of interest."
+
+"But you know nothing about me," he protested, "nothing about the
+property."
+
+"One must trust somebody," she replied. "Why shouldn't I trust you?"
+
+He was nonplussed. This woman seemed to have an answer for everything.
+Besides, when once he had got over the unexpectedness of the thing, it
+was, of course, a wonderful stroke of fortune for him. Then came a whole
+rush of thoughts, a glow which he thrust back sternly. It would mean
+seeing her often; it would mean coming here to her rooms; it would mean,
+perhaps, that she might come to look upon him as a friend. He set his
+teeth hard. This was folly!
+
+"Have you any idea about terms?" he inquired.
+
+She laughed softly.
+
+"My dear friend," she said, "why do you ask me such a question? You know
+quite well that I am not competent to discuss terms with you. Listen.
+You are engaged in a speculation to carry out which you want the loan of
+twelve thousand pounds. Draw up a paper in which you state what my share
+will be of the profits, what interest I shall get for my money, and give
+particulars of the property. Then I will take it to my solicitor, if you
+insist upon it, although I am willing to accept what you think is fair."
+
+"You must take it to a solicitor, of course," he answered, thoughtfully.
+"I may as well tell you at once, however, that he will probably advise
+you against investing it in such a way."
+
+"That will make no difference at all," she declared. "Solicitors hate
+all investments, I know, except their horrid mortgages. There are only
+two conditions that I shall make."
+
+"What are they?" he asked.
+
+"The first is that you must not say a word of this to my sister."
+
+Tavernake frowned.
+
+"That is a little difficult," he remarked. "It happens that your sister
+knows something about the estate and my plans."
+
+"There is no need to tell her the name of your partner," Elizabeth said.
+"I want this to be our secret entirely, yours and mine."
+
+Her hand fell upon his; he gripped the sides of his chair. Again he was
+conscious of this bewildering, incomprehensible sensation.
+
+"And the other condition?" he demanded, hoarsely.
+
+"That you come sometimes and tell me how things are going on."
+
+"Come here?" he repeated.
+
+She nodded.
+
+"Please! I am very lonely. I shall look forward to your visits."
+
+Tavernake rose slowly to his feet. He held out his hand--she knew better
+than to attempt to keep him. He made a speech which was for him gallant,
+but while he made it he looked into her eyes with a directness to which
+she was indeed unaccustomed.
+
+"I shall come," he said. "I should have wanted to come, anyhow."
+
+Then he turned abruptly away and left the room. It was the first speech
+of its sort which he had ever made in his life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. TAVERNAKE BLUNDERS
+
+
+Tavernake felt that he had indeed wandered into an alien world as he
+took his place the following evening among the little crowd of people
+who were waiting outside the stage-door of the Atlas Theatre. These were
+surroundings to which he was totally unaccustomed. Two very handsome
+motor-cars were drawn up against the curb, and behind them a string of
+electric broughams and taxicabs, proving conclusively that the young
+ladies of the Atlas Theatre were popular in other than purely theatrical
+circles.
+
+The handful of young men by whom Tavernake was surrounded were of a
+genus unknown to him. They were all dressed exactly alike, they all
+seemed to breathe the same atmosphere, to exhibit the same indifference
+towards the other loungers. One or two more privileged passed in
+through the stage-door and disappeared. Tavernake contented himself with
+standing on the edge of the curbstone, his hands thrust into the pockets
+of his dark overcoat, his bowler hat, which was not quite the correct
+shape, slightly on the back of his head; his serious, stolid face
+illuminated by the gleam from a neighboring gas lamp.
+
+Presently, people began to emerge from the door. First of all, the
+musicians and a little stream of stage hands.
+
+Then a girl's hat appeared in the doorway, and the first of the Atlas
+young ladies came out, to be claimed at once by her escort. Very soon
+afterwards, Beatrice arrived. She recognized Tavernake at once and
+crossed over to him.
+
+"Well?" she asked.
+
+"You looked very nice," he said, slowly, as he led the way down
+the street. "Of course, I knew about your singing, but everything
+else--seemed such a surprise."
+
+"For instance?"
+
+"Why, I mean your dancing," he went on, "and somehow or other you looked
+different on the stage."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"'Different' won't do for me," she persisted. "I must have something
+more specific."
+
+"Well, then, you looked much prettier than I thought you were,"
+Tavernake declared, solemnly. "You looked exceedingly nice."
+
+"You really thought so?" she asked, a little doubtfully.
+
+"I really thought so. I thought you looked much nicer than any of the
+others."
+
+She squeezed his arm affectionately.
+
+"Dear Leonard," she said, "it's so nice to have you think so. Do you
+know, Mr. Grier actually asked me out to supper."
+
+"What impertinence!" Tavernake muttered.
+
+Beatrice threw her head back and laughed.
+
+"My dear brother," she protested, "it was a tremendous compliment. You
+must remember that it was entirely through him, too, that I got the
+engagement. Four pounds a week I am going to have. Just think of it!"
+
+"Four pounds a week is all very well," Tavernake admitted. "It seems a
+great deal of money to earn like that. But I don't think you ought to go
+out to supper with any one whom you know so slightly."
+
+"Dear prig! You know, you are a shocking prig, Leonard."
+
+"Am I?" he answered, without offence, and with the air of one seriously
+considering the subject.
+
+"Of course you are. How could you help it, living the sort of life
+you've led all your days? Never mind, I like you for it. I don't know
+whether I want to go out to supper with anybody--I really haven't
+decided yet--but if I did, it would certainly be better for me to go
+with Mr. Grier, because he can do me no end of good at the theatre, if
+he likes."
+
+Tavernake was silent for several moments. He was conscious of feeling
+something which he did not altogether understand. He only knew that
+it involved a strong and unreasonable dislike to Mr. Grier. Then he
+remembered that he was her brother, that he had the right to speak with
+authority.
+
+"I hope that you will not go out to supper with any one," he said.
+
+She began to laugh but checked herself.
+
+"Well," she remarked, "that sounds very terrible. Shall we take a 'bus?
+To tell you the truth, I am dying of hunger. We rehearsed for two hours
+before the performance, and I ate nothing but a sandwich--I was so
+excited."
+
+Tavernake hesitated a moment--he certainly was not himself this evening!
+
+"Would you like to have some supper at a restaurant," he asked, "before
+we go home?"
+
+"I should love it," she declared, taking his arm as they passed through
+a stream of people. "To tell you the truth, I was so hoping that you
+would propose it."
+
+"I think," Tavernake said, deliberately, "that there is a place a little
+way along here."
+
+They pushed their way down the Strand and entered a restaurant which
+Tavernake knew only by name. A small table was found for them and
+Beatrice looked about with delight.
+
+"Isn't this jolly!" she exclaimed, taking off her gloves. "Why, there
+are five or six of the girls from the theatre here already. There are
+two, see, at the corner table, and the fair-haired girl--she is just
+behind me in the chorus."
+
+Tavernake glanced around. The young women whom she pointed out were
+all escorted by men who were scrupulously attired in evening dress. She
+seemed to read his thoughts as she laughed at him.
+
+"You stupid boy," she said. "You don't suppose that I want to be like
+them, do you? There are lots of things it's delightful to look on at,
+and that's all. Isn't this fish good? I love this place."
+
+Tavernake looked around him with an interest which he took no pains
+to conceal. Certainly the little groups of people by whom they were
+surrounded on every side had the air of finding some zest in life which
+up to the present, at any rate, had escaped him. They came streaming in,
+finding friends everywhere, laughing and talking, insisting upon tables
+in impossible places, calling out greetings to acquaintances across the
+room, chaffing the maitre d'hotel who was hastening from table to table.
+The gathering babel of voices was mingled every now and then with the
+popping of corks, and behind it all were the soft strains of a very
+seductive little band, perched up in the balcony. Tavernake felt the
+color mounting into his cheeks. It was true: there was something here
+which was new to him!
+
+"Beatrice," he asked her suddenly, "have you ever drunk champagne?"
+
+She laughed at him.
+
+"Often, my dear brother," she answered. "Why?"
+
+"I never have," he confessed. "We are going to have some now."
+
+She would have checked him but he had summoned a waiter imperiously and
+given his order.
+
+"My dear Leonard," she protested, "this is shocking extravagance."
+
+"Is it?" he replied. "I don't care. Tell me about the theatre. Were they
+kind to you there? Will you be able to keep your place?"
+
+"The girls were all much nicer than I expected," she told him, "and the
+musical director said that my voice was much too good for the chorus.
+Oh, I do hope that they will keep me!"
+
+"They would be idiots if they didn't," he declared, vigorously. "You
+sing better and you dance more gracefully and to me you seemed much
+prettier than any one else there."
+
+She laughed into his eyes.
+
+"My dear brother," she exclaimed, "your education is progressing indeed!
+It is positively the first evening I have ever heard you attempt to make
+pretty speeches, and you are quite an adept already."
+
+"I don't know about that," he protested. "I suppose it never occurred
+to me before that you were good-looking," he added, examining her
+critically, "or I dare say I should have told you so. You see, one
+doesn't notice these things in an ordinary way. Lots of other people
+must have told you so, though."
+
+"I was never spoilt with compliments," she said. "You see, I had a
+beautiful sister."
+
+The words seemed to have escaped her unconsciously. Almost as they
+passed her lips, her expression changed. She shivered, as though
+reminded of something unpleasant. Tavernake, however, noticed nothing.
+For the greater part of the day he had been sedulously fighting against
+a new and unaccustomed state of mind. He had found his thoughts slipping
+away, time after time, until he had had to set his teeth and use all
+his will power to keep his attention concentrated upon his work. And now
+once more they had escaped, again he felt the strange stir in his blood.
+The slight flush on his cheek grew suddenly deeper. He looked past the
+girl opposite to him, out of the restaurant, across the street, into
+that little sitting-room in the Milan Court. It was Elizabeth who was
+there in front of him. Again he heard her voice, saw the turn of her
+head, the slow, delightful curve of the lips, the eyes that looked into
+his and spoke to him the first strange whispers of a new language. His
+heart gave a quick throb. He was for the moment transformed, a prisoner
+no longer, a different person, indeed, from the stolid, well-behaved
+young man who found himself for the first time in his life in these
+unaccustomed surroundings. Then Beatrice leaned towards him, her voice
+brought him back to the present--not, alas, the voice which at that
+moment he would have given so much to have heard.
+
+"To-night," she murmured, "I feel as though we were at the beginning of
+new things. We must drink a toast."
+
+Tavernake filled her glass and his own.
+
+"Luck to you in your new profession!" he said.
+
+"And here is one after your own heart, you most curious of men!" she
+exclaimed, a few seconds later. "To the undiscovered in life!"
+
+He drained his glass and set it down empty.
+
+"The undiscovered," he muttered, looking around. "It is a very good
+toast, Beatrice. There are many things of which one might remain
+ignorant all one's life if one relied wholly upon one's own
+perceptions."
+
+"I believe," she agreed, "that if I had not appeared you were in great
+danger of becoming narrow."
+
+"I am sure of it," he answered, "but you see you came."
+
+She was thoughtful for a moment.
+
+"This reminds me just a little of that first dreary feast of ours," she
+said. "You knew what it was like then to feed a genuinely starving girl.
+And I was miserable, Leonard. It didn't seem to me that there was any
+other end save one."
+
+"You've got over all that nonsense?" he asked anxiously.
+
+"Yes, I suppose so," she answered. "You see, I've started life again and
+one gets stronger. But there are times even now," she added, "when I am
+afraid."
+
+The mirth had suddenly died from her face. She looked older, tired,
+and careworn. The shadows were back under her eyes; she glanced around
+almost timorously. He filled her glass.
+
+"That is foolishness," he said. "Nothing nor anybody can harm you now."
+
+Some note in his voice attracted her attention. Strong and square, with
+hard, forceful face, he sat wholly at his ease among these unfamiliar
+surroundings, a very tower of refuge, she felt, to the weak. His
+face was not strikingly intellectual--she was not sure now about his
+mouth--but one seemed to feel that dogged nature, the tireless pains by
+which he would pursue any aim dear to him. The shadows passed away from
+her mind. What was dead was gone! It was not reasonable that she should
+be haunted all her days by the ghosts of other people's sins. The
+atmosphere of the place, the atmosphere of the last few hours, found its
+way again into her blood. After all, she was young, the music was sweet,
+her pulses were throbbing to the tune of this new life. She drank her
+wine and laughed, her head beating time to the music.
+
+"We have been sad long enough," she declared. "You and I, my dear
+serious brother, will embark in earnest now upon the paths of frivolity.
+Tell me, how did things go to-day?"
+
+It flashed into his mind that he had great news, but that it was not for
+her. About that matter there was still doubt in his mind, but he could
+not speak of it.
+
+"I have had an offer," he said guardedly. "I cannot say much about it at
+present, for nothing is certain, but I am sure that I shall be able to
+raise the money somehow."
+
+His tone was calm and confident. There was no self-assurance or bluster
+about it, and yet it was convincing. She looked at him curiously.
+
+"You are a very positive person, Leonard," she remarked. "You must have
+great faith in yourself, I think."
+
+He considered the question for a moment.
+
+"Perhaps I have," he admitted. "I do not think that there is any other
+way to succeed."
+
+The atmosphere of the place was becoming now almost languorous. The band
+had ceased to play; little parties of men and women were standing about,
+bidding one another goodnight. The lamps had been lowered, and in the
+gloom the voices and laughter seemed to have become lower and more
+insinuating; the lights in the eyes of the women, as they passed down
+the room on their way out, softer and more irresistible.
+
+"I suppose we must go," she said reluctantly.
+
+Tavernake paid his bill and they turned into the street. She took his
+arm and they turned westward. Even out here, the atmosphere of the
+restaurant appeared to have found its way. The soberness of life, its
+harder and more practical side, was for the moment obscured. It was
+not the daytime crowd, this, whose footsteps pressed the pavements. The
+careworn faces of the money-seekers had vanished. The men and women to
+whom life was something of a struggle had sought their homes--resting,
+perhaps, before they took up their labors again. Every moment taxicabs
+and motor-cars whirled by, flashing upon the night a momentary
+impression of men in evening dress, of women in soft garments with
+jewels in their hair. The spirit of pleasure seemed to have crept into
+the atmosphere. Even the poorer people whom they passed in the street,
+were laughing or singing.
+
+Tavernake stopped short.
+
+"To-night," he declared, "is not the night for omnibuses. We are going
+to have a taxicab. I know that you are tired."
+
+"I should love it," she admitted.
+
+They hailed one and drove off. Beatrice leaned back among the cushions
+and closed her eyes, her ungloved hand rested almost caressingly upon
+his. He leaned forward. There were new things in the world--he was sure
+of it now, sure though they were coming to him through the mists, coming
+to him so vaguely that even while he obeyed he did not understand.
+Her full, soft lips were slightly parted; her heavily-fringed eyelids
+closed; her deep brown hair, which had escaped bounds a little, drooping
+over her ear. His fingers suddenly clasped hers tightly.
+
+"Beatrice!" he whispered.
+
+She sat up with a start, her eyes questioning his, the breath coming
+quickly through her parted lips.
+
+"Once you asked me to kiss you, Beatrice," he said. "To-night--I am
+going to."
+
+She made no attempt to repulse him. He took her in his arms and
+kissed her. Even in that moment he knew that he had made a mistake.
+Nevertheless, he kissed her again and again, crushing her lips against
+his.
+
+"Please let me go, Leonard," she begged at last.
+
+He obeyed at once. He understood quite well that some strange thing had
+happened. It seemed to him during those next few minutes that everything
+which had passed that night was a dream, that this vivid picture of a
+life more intense, making larger demands upon the senses than anything
+he had yet experienced, was a mirage, a thing which would live only
+in his memory, a life in which he could never take any part. He had
+blundered; he had come into a new world and he had blundered. A sense of
+guilt was upon him. He had a sudden wild desire to cry out that it was
+Elizabeth whom he had kissed. Beatrice was sitting upright in her place,
+her head turned a little away from him. He felt that she was expecting
+him to speak--that there were inevitable words which he should say. His
+silence was a confession. He would have lied but the seal was upon his
+lips. So the moment passed, and Tavernake had taken another step forward
+towards his destiny! ...
+
+As he helped her out of the cab, her fingers tightened for a moment upon
+his hand. She patted it gently as she passed out before him into the
+house, leaving the door open. When he had paid the cabman and followed,
+she had disappeared. He looked into the sitting-room; it was empty.
+Overhead, he could hear her footsteps as she ascended to her room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. AN EVENING CALL
+
+
+In the morning, when he left for the city, she was not down. When he
+came home in the evening, she was gone. Without removing his hat
+or overcoat, he took the letter which he found propped up on the
+mantelpiece and addressed to him to the window and read it.
+
+DEAR BROTHER LEONARD,--It wasn't your fault and I don't think it was
+mine. If either of us is to blame, it is certainly I, for though you are
+such a clever and ambitious young person, you really know very little
+indeed of the world,--not so much, I think, as I do. I am going to stay
+for a few nights, at any rate, with one of the girls at the theatre,
+who I know wants some one to share her tiny flat with her. Afterwards, I
+shall see.
+
+Don't throw this letter in the fire and don't think me ungrateful. I
+shall never forget what you did for me. How could I?
+
+I will send you my address as soon as I am sure of it, or you can always
+write me to the theatre.
+
+                Good-bye, dear Leonard,
+                                        YOUR SISTER BEATRICE.
+
+Tavernake looked from the sheet of notepaper out across the gray square.
+He knew that he was very angry, angry though he deliberately folded
+the letter up and placed it in his pocket, angry though he took off
+his overcoat and hung it up with his usual care; but his anger was with
+himself. He had blundered badly. This episode of his life was one which
+he had better forget. It was absolutely out of harmony with all his
+ideas. He told himself that he was glad Beatrice was gone. Housekeeping
+with an imaginary sister in this practical world was an absurdity.
+Sooner or later it must have come to an end. Better now, before it had
+gone too far--better now, much better! All the same, he knew that he was
+going to be very lonely.
+
+He rang the bell for the woman who waited upon them, and whom he seldom
+saw, for Beatrice herself had supplied their immediate wants. He found
+some dinner ready, which he ate with absolute unconsciousness. Then he
+threw himself fiercely into his work. It was all very well for the first
+hour or so, but as ten o'clock grew near he began to find a curious
+difficulty in keeping his attention fixed upon those calculations. The
+matter of average rentals, percentage upon capital--things which but
+yesterday he had found fascinating--seemed suddenly irksome. He could
+fix his attention upon nothing. At last he pushed his papers away, put
+on his hat and coat, and walked into the street.
+
+At the Milan Court, the hall-porter received his inquiry for Elizabeth
+with an air of faint but well-bred surprise. Tavernake, in those days,
+was a person exceedingly difficult to place. His clothes so obviously
+denoted the station in life which he really occupied, while the slight
+imperiousness of his manner, his absolute freedom from any sort of
+nervousness or awkwardness, seemed to bespeak a consideration which
+those who had to deal with him as a stranger found sometimes a little
+puzzling.
+
+"Mrs. Wenham Gardner is in her rooms, I believe, sir," the man said. "If
+you will wait for a moment, I will inquire."
+
+He disappeared into his office, thrusting his head out, a moment or two
+later, with the telephone receiver still in his hand.
+
+"Mrs. Gardner would like the name again, sir, please," he remarked.
+
+Tavernake repeated it firmly.
+
+"You might say," he added, "that I shall not detain her for more than a
+few minutes."
+
+The man disappeared once more. When he returned, he indicated the lift
+to Tavernake.
+
+"If you will go up to the fifth floor, sir," he said, "Mrs. Gardner
+will see you."
+
+Tavernake found his courage almost leaving him as he knocked at the door
+of her rooms. Her French maid ushered him into the little sitting-room,
+where, to his dismay, he found three men, one sitting on the table, the
+other two in easy-chairs. Elizabeth, in a dress of pale blue satin, was
+standing before the mirror. She turned round as Tavernake entered.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake shall decide!" she exclaimed, waving her hand to him.
+"Mr. Tavernake, there is a difference of opinion about my earrings. Major
+Post here,"--she indicated a distinguished-looking elderly gentleman,
+with carefully trimmed beard and moustache, and an eyeglass attached to
+a thin band of black ribbon--"Major Post wants me to wear turquoises. I
+prefer my pearls. Mr. Crease half agrees with me, but as he never agrees
+with any one, on principle, he hates to say so. Mr. Faulkes is wavering.
+You shall decide; you, I know, are one of those people who never waver."
+
+"I should wear the pearls," Tavernake said.
+
+Elizabeth made them a little courtesy.
+
+"You see, my dear friends," she declared, "you have to come to England,
+after all, to find a man who knows his own mind and speaks it without
+fear. The pearls it shall be."
+
+"It may be decision," Crease drawled, speaking with a slight American
+accent, "or it may be gallantry. Mr. Tavernake knew your own choice."
+
+"The last word, as usual," she sighed. "Now, if you good people will
+kindly go on downstairs, I will join you in a few minutes. Mr. Tavernake
+is my man of business and I am sure he has something to say to me."
+
+She dismissed them all pleasantly. As soon as the door was closed she
+turned to Tavernake. Her manner seemed to become a shade less gracious.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I don't know why I came," Tavernake confessed bluntly. "I was restless
+and I wanted to see you."
+
+She looked at him for a moment and then she laughed. Tavernake felt a
+sense of relief; at least she was not angry.
+
+"Oh, you strangest of mortals!" she exclaimed, holding out her hands.
+"Well, you see me--in one of my most becoming gowns, too. What do you
+think of the fit?"
+
+She swept round and faced him again with an expectant look. Tavernake,
+who knew nothing of women's fashions, still realized the superbness of
+that one unbroken line.
+
+"I can't think how you can move a step in it," he said, "but you look--"
+
+He paused. It was as though he had lost his breath. Then he set his
+teeth and finished.
+
+"You look beautiful," he declared. "I suppose you know that. I suppose
+they've all been telling you so."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"They haven't all your courage, dear Briton," she remarked, "and if they
+did tell me so, I am not sure that I should be convinced. You see, most
+of my friends have lived so long and lived so quickly that they have
+learned to play with words until one never knows whether the things they
+speak come from their hearts. With you it is different."
+
+"Yes," Tavernake admitted, "with me it is different!"
+
+She glanced at the clock.
+
+"Well," she said, "you have seen me and I am glad to have seen you, and
+you may kiss my fingers if you like, and then you must run away. I am
+engaged to have supper with my friends downstairs."
+
+He raised her fingers clumsily enough to his lips and kept them there
+for a moment. When he let them go, she wrung them as though in pain,
+and looked at him. She turned abruptly away. In a sense she was
+disappointed. After all, he was an easy victim!
+
+"Elise," she called out, "my cloak."
+
+Her maid came hurrying from the next room. Elizabeth turned towards her,
+holding out her shoulders. She nodded to Tavernake.
+
+"You know the way down, Mr. Tavernake? I shall see you again soon,
+sha'n't I? Good-night!"
+
+She scarcely glanced at him as she sent him away, yet Tavernake walked
+on air.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. A WARNING FROM Mr. PRITCHARD
+
+
+Tavernake hesitated for a moment under the portico of the Milan Court,
+looking out at the rain which had suddenly commenced to descend. He
+scarcely noticed that he had a companion until the man who was standing
+by his side addressed him.
+
+"Say, your name is Tavernake, isn't it?"
+
+Tavernake, who had been on the point of striding away, turned sharply
+around. The man who had spoken to him was wearing morning clothes of
+dark gray tweed and a soft Homburg hat. His complexion was a little
+sallow and he was clean-shaven except for a slight black moustache. He
+was smoking a black cigar and his accent was transatlantic. Something
+about his appearance struck Tavernake as being vaguely familiar, but he
+could not at first recall where he had seen him before.
+
+"That is my name, certainly," Tavernake admitted.
+
+"I am going to ask you a somewhat impertinent question," his neighbor
+remarked.
+
+"I suppose you can ask it," Tavernake rejoined. "I am not obliged to
+answer, am I?"
+
+The man smiled.
+
+"Come," he said, "that's honest, at any rate. Are you in a hurry for a
+few minutes?"
+
+"I am in no particular hurry," Tavernake answered. "What do you want?"
+
+"A few nights ago," the stranger continued, lowering his voice a little,
+"I met you with a young lady whose appearance, for some reason which
+we needn't go into, interested me. To-night I happened to overhear you
+inquiring, only a few minutes ago, for the sister of the same young
+lady."
+
+"What you heard doesn't concern me in the least," Tavernake retorted. "I
+should say that you had no business to listen."
+
+His companion smiled.
+
+"Well," he declared, "I have always heard a good deal about British
+frankness, and it seems to me that I'm getting some. Anyway, I'll
+tell you where I come in. I am interested in Mrs. Wenham Gardner. I am
+interested, also, in her sister, whom I think you know--Miss Beatrice
+Franklin, not Miss Tavernake!"
+
+Tavernake made no immediate reply. The man was an American, without a
+doubt. Perhaps he knew something of Beatrice. Perhaps this was one
+of the friends of that former life concerning which she had told him
+nothing.
+
+"You are not, by any chance, proposing," Tavernake said at last, "to
+discuss either of these ladies with me? I do not know you or what your
+business may be. In any case, I am going now."
+
+The other laid his hand on Tavernake's shoulder.
+
+"You'll be soaked to the skin," he protested. "I want you to come into
+the smoking-room here with me for a few minutes. We will have a drink
+together and a little conversation, if you don't mind."
+
+"But I do mind," Tavernake declared. "I don't know who you are and I
+don't want to know you, and I am not going to talk about Mrs. Gardner,
+or any other lady of my acquaintance, with strangers. Good-night!"
+
+"One moment, please, Mr. Tavernake."
+
+Tavernake hesitated. There was something curiously compelling in the
+other's smooth, distinct voice.
+
+"I'd like you to take this card," he said. "I told you my name before
+but I expect you've forgotten it,--Pritchard--Sam Pritchard. Ever heard
+of me before?"
+
+"Never!"
+
+"Not to have heard of me in the United States," the other continued,
+with a grim smile, "would be a tribute to your respectability. Most of
+the crooks who find their way over here know of Sam Pritchard. I am a
+detective and I come from New York."
+
+Tavernake turned and looked the man over. There was something convincing
+about his tone and appearance. It did not occur to him to doubt for a
+moment a word of this stranger's story.
+
+"You haven't anything against her--against either of them?" he asked,
+quickly.
+
+"Nothing directly," the detective answered. "All the same, you have been
+calling upon Mrs. Wenham Gardner this evening, and if you are a friend
+of hers I think that you had better come along with me and have that
+talk."
+
+"I will come," Tavernake agreed, "but I come as a listener. Remember
+that I have nothing to tell you. So far as you are concerned, I do not
+know either of those ladies."
+
+Pritchard smiled.
+
+"Well," he said, "I guess we'll let it go at that. All the same, if you
+don't mind, we'll talk. Come this way and we'll get to the smoking-room
+through the hotel. It's under cover."
+
+Tavernake moved restlessly in his chair.
+
+"What the devil is all this talk about crooks!" he exclaimed
+impatiently. "I didn't come here to listen to this sort of thing. I am
+not sure that I believe a word of what you say."
+
+"Why should you," Pritchard remarked, "without proof? Look here."
+
+He drew a leather case from his pocket and spread it out. There were a
+dozen photographs there of men in prison attire. The detective pointed
+to one, and with a little shiver Tavernake recognized the face of the
+man who had been sitting at the right hand of Elizabeth.
+
+"You don't mean to say," he faltered, "that Mrs. Gardner--"
+
+The detective folded up his case and replaced it in his pocket.
+
+"No," he said, "we haven't any photographs of your lady friend there,
+nor of her sister. And yet, it may not be so far off."
+
+"If you are trying to fasten anything upon those ladies,--" Tavernake
+began, threateningly.
+
+The detective laughed and patted him on the shoulder.
+
+"It isn't my business to try and fasten things upon any one," he
+interrupted. "At the same time, you seem to be a friend of Mrs. Wenham
+Gardner, and it is just as well that some one should warn her."
+
+"Warn her of what?" Tavernake asked.
+
+The detective looked at his cigar meditatively.
+
+"Make her understand that there is trouble ahead," he replied.
+
+Tavernake sipped his whiskey and soda and lit a cigarette. Then he
+turned in his chair and looked thoughtfully at his companion. Pritchard
+was a striking-looking man, with hard, clean-cut features--a man of
+determination.
+
+"Mr. Pritchard, I am a clerk in an estate office. My people were
+work-people and I am trying to better myself in the world. I haven't
+learned how to beat about a subject, but I have learned a little of the
+world, and I know that people such as you are not in the habit of doing
+things without a reason. Why the devil have you brought me in here to
+talk about Mrs. Gardner and her sister? If you've anything to say, why
+don't you go to Mrs. Gardner herself and say it? Why do you come and
+talk to strangers about their affairs? I am here listening to you, but I
+tell you straight I don't like it."
+
+Pritchard nodded.
+
+"Say, I am not sure that I don't like that sort of talk," he declared.
+"I know all about you, young man. You're in Dowling & Spence's office
+and you've got to quit. You've got an estate you want financing.
+Miss Beatrice Franklin was living under your roof--as your sister, I
+understand--until yesterday, and Mrs. Gardner, for some reason of her
+own, seems to be doing her best to add you to the list of her admirers.
+I am not sure what it all means but I could make a pretty good guess.
+Here's my point, though. You're right. I didn't bring you here for your
+health. I brought you here because you can do me a service and yourself
+one at the same time, and you'll be doing no one any harm, nobody you
+care about, anyway. I have no grudge against Miss Beatrice. I'd just as
+soon she kept out of the trouble that's coming."
+
+"What is this service?" Tavernake asked.
+
+Pritchard for the moment evaded the point.
+
+"I dare say you can understand, Mr. Tavernake," he said, "that in my
+profession one has to sometimes go a long way round to get a man or a
+woman just where you want them. Now we merely glanced at that table as
+we came in, and I can tell you this for gospel truth--there isn't one
+of that crowd that I couldn't, if I liked, haul back to New York on some
+charge or another. You wonder why I don't do it. I'll tell you. It's
+because I am waiting--waiting until I can bring home something more
+serious, something that will keep them out of the way for just as long
+as possible. Do you follow me, Mr. Tavernake?"
+
+"I suppose I do," Tavernake answered, doubtfully. "You are only talking
+of the men, of course?"
+
+Pritchard smiled.
+
+"My young friend," he agreed, "I am only talking of the men. At the same
+time, I guess I'm not betraying any confidence, or telling you anything
+that Mrs. Wenham Gardner doesn't know herself, when I say that she's
+doing her best to qualify for a similar position."
+
+"You mean that she is doing something against the law!" Tavernake
+exclaimed, indignantly. "I don't believe it for a moment. If she is
+associating with these people, it's because she doesn't know who they
+are."
+
+Pritchard flicked the ash from his cigar.
+
+"Well," he said, "every man has a right to his own opinions, and for my
+part I like to hear any one stick up for his friends. It makes no odds
+to me. However, here are a few facts I am going to bring before you.
+Four months ago, one of the turns at a vaudeville show down Broadway
+consisted of a performance by a Professor Franklin and his two
+daughters, Elizabeth and Beatrice. The professor hypnotized, told
+fortunes, felt heads, and the usual rigmarole. Beatrice sang, Elizabeth
+danced. People came to see the show, not because it was any good but
+because the girls, even in New York, were beautiful."
+
+"A music-hall in New York!" Tavernake muttered.
+
+The detective nodded.
+
+"Among the young bloods of the city," he continued, "were two brothers,
+as much alike as twins, although they aren't twins, whose names were
+Wenham and Jerry Gardner. There's nothing in fast life which those
+young men haven't tried. Between them, I should say they represented
+everything that was known of debauchery and dissipation. The eldest
+can't be more than twenty-seven to-day, but if you were to see them
+in the morning, either of them, before they had been massaged and
+galvanized into life, you'd think they were little old men, with just
+strength enough left to crawl about. Well, to cut a long story short,
+both of them fell in love with Elizabeth."
+
+"Brutes!" Tavernake interjected.
+
+"I guess they found Miss Elizabeth a pretty tough nut to crack," the
+detective went on. "Anyhow, you know what her price was from her name,
+which is hers right enough. Wenham, who was a year younger than his
+brother, was the first to bid it. Three months ago, Mr. and Mrs. Wenham
+Gardner, Miss Beatrice, and the devoted father left New York in the
+Lusitania and came to London."
+
+"Where is this Wenham Gardner, then?" Tavernake demanded.
+
+Pritchard took his cigar case from his pocket and selected another
+cigar.
+
+"Say, that's where you strike the nail right on the head," he remarked.
+"Where is this Wenham Gardner?"
+
+"I don't mind telling you, Mr. Tavernake, that to discover his
+whereabouts is exactly what I am over on this side for. I have a
+commission from the family to find out, and a blank cheque to do it
+with."
+
+"Do you mean that he has disappeared, then?" asked Tavernake.
+
+"Off the face of the earth, sir," Pritchard replied. "Something like two
+months ago, the young married couple, with Miss Beatrice, started for
+a holiday tour somewhere down in the west of England. A few days after
+they started, Miss Beatrice comes back to London alone. She goes to
+a boarding-house, is practically penniless, but she has shaken her
+sister--has, I believe, never spoken with her since. A little later,
+Elizabeth alone turns up in London. She has plenty of money, more
+money than she has ever had the control of before in her life, but no
+husband."
+
+"So far, I don't see anything remarkable about that," Tavernake
+interposed.
+
+"That may or may not be," Pritchard answered, drily. "This creature,
+Wenham Gardner--I hate to call him a man--was her abject slave--up till
+the time they reached London, at any rate. He would never have quit of
+his own accord. He stopped quite suddenly communicating with all his
+friends. None of their cables, even, were answered."
+
+"Why don't you go and ask Mrs. Gardner where he is?" Tavernake demanded
+bluntly.
+
+"I have already," Pritchard declared, "taken that liberty. With tears
+in her eyes, she assured me that after some slight quarrel, in which
+she admits that she was the one to blame, her husband walked out of the
+house where they were staying, and she has not seen him since. She was
+quite ready with all the particulars, and even implored me to help find
+him."
+
+"I cannot imagine," Tavernake said, "why any one should disbelieve her."
+
+The detective smiled.
+
+"There are a few little outside circumstances," he remarked, looking at
+the ash of his cigar. "In the first place, how do you suppose that this
+young Wenham Gardner spent the last week of his stay in New York?"
+
+"How should I know?" Tavernake replied, impatiently.
+
+"By realizing every cent of his property on which he could lay his
+hands," the detective continued. "It isn't at any time an easy business,
+and the Gardner interest is spread out in many directions, but he must
+have sailed with something like forty thousand pounds in hard cash.
+A suspicious person might presume that that forty thousand pounds has
+found its way to the stronger of the combination."
+
+"Anything else?" Tavernake asked.
+
+"I won't worry you much more," the detective answered. "There are a few
+other circumstances which seem to need explanation, but they can wait.
+There is one serious one, however, and that is where you come in."
+
+"Indeed!" Tavernake remarked. "I was hoping you would come to that
+soon."
+
+"The two sisters, Beatrice and Elizabeth, have been together ever
+since we can learn anything of their history. Those people who don't
+understand the disappearance of Wenham Gardner would like to know why
+they quarreled and parted, why Beatrice is keeping away from her sister
+in this strange manner. I personally, too, should like to know from Miss
+Beatrice when she last saw Wenham Gardner alive."
+
+"You want me to ask Miss Beatrice these things?" Tavernake demanded.
+
+"It might come better from you," Pritchard admitted. "I have written her
+to the theatre but naturally she has not replied."
+
+Tavernake looked curiously at his companion.
+
+"Do you really suppose," he asked, "that, even granted there were any
+unusual circumstances in connection with that quarrel--do you seriously
+suppose that Beatrice would give her sister away?"
+
+The detective sighed.
+
+"No doubt, Mr. Tavernake," he said, "these young ladies are friends of
+yours, and perhaps for that reason you are a little prejudiced in their
+favor. Their whole bringing-up and associations, however, have certainly
+not been of a strict order. I cannot help thinking that persuasion might
+be brought to bear upon Miss Beatrice, that it might be pointed out to
+her that a true story is the safest."
+
+"Well, if you've finished," Tavernake declared, "I'd like to tell you
+what I think of your story. I think it's all d--d silly nonsense! This
+Wenham Gardner, by your own saying, was half mad. There was a quarrel
+and he's gone off to Paris or somewhere. As to your suggestions about
+Mrs. Gardner, I think they're infamous."
+
+Pritchard was unmoved by his companion's warmth.
+
+"Why, that's all right, Mr. Tavernake," he affirmed. "I can quite
+understand your feeling like that just at first. You see, I've been
+among crime and criminals all my days, and I learn to look for a certain
+set of motives when a thing of this sort happens. You've been brought
+up among honest folk, who go the straightforward way about life, and
+naturally you look at the same matter from a different point of view.
+But you and I have got to talk this out. I want you to understand that
+those very charming young ladies are not quite the class of young women
+whom you know anything about. Mind you, I haven't a word to say against
+Miss Beatrice. I dare say she's as straight as they make 'em. But--you
+must take another whiskey and soda, Mr. Tavernake. Now, I insist upon
+it. Tim, come right over here."
+
+Mr. Pritchard seemed to have forgotten what he was talking about. The
+room had been suddenly invaded. The whole of the little supper party,
+whose individual members he had pointed out to his companion, came
+trooping into the room. They were all apparently on the best of terms
+with themselves, and they all seemed to make a point of absolutely
+ignoring Pritchard's presence. Elizabeth was the one exception. She was
+carrying a tiny Chinese spaniel under one arm; with the fingers of her
+other hand she held a tortoise-shell mounted monocle to her eye, and
+stared directly at the two men. Presently she came languidly across the
+room to them.
+
+"Dear me," she said, "I had no idea that even your wide circle of
+acquaintances, Mr. Pritchard, included my friend, Mr. Tavernake."
+
+The two men rose to their feet. Tavernake felt confused and angry. It
+was as though he had been playing the traitor in listening, even for a
+moment, to these stories.
+
+"Mr. Pritchard introduced himself to me only a few minutes ago," he
+declared. "He brought me in here and I have been listening to a lot of
+rubbish from him of which I don't believe a single word."
+
+She flashed a wonderful smile upon him.
+
+"Mr. Pritchard is so very censorious," she murmured. "He takes such a
+very low view of human nature. After all, though, I suppose we must not
+blame him. I think that as men and women we do not exist to him. We are
+simply the pegs by means of which he can climb a little higher in the
+esteem of his employers."
+
+Pritchard took up his soft hat and stick.
+
+"Mrs. Gardner," he said, "I will confess that I have been wasting my
+time with this young man. You are a trifle severe upon me. You may find,
+and before long, that I am your best friend."
+
+She laughed delightfully.
+
+"Dear Mr. Pritchard," she exclaimed, "it is a strange thought, that! If
+only I dared hope that some day it might come true!"
+
+"More unlikely things, madam, are happening every hour," the detective
+remarked. "The world--our little corner of it, at any rate--is full
+of anomalies. There might even come a time to any one of us three when
+liberty was more dangerous than the prison cell itself."
+
+He nodded carelessly to Tavernake, and with a bow to Elizabeth turned
+and left the room. Elizabeth remained as though turned to stone, looking
+after him as he descended the stairs.
+
+"The man is a fool!" Tavernake cried, roughly.
+
+Elizabeth shook her head and sighed.
+
+"He is something far more ineffective," she said. "He is just a little
+too clever."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER, XV. GENERAL DISCONTENT
+
+
+Elizabeth did not at once rejoin her friends. Instead, she sank on to
+the low settee close to where she had been standing, and drew Tavernake
+down to her side. She waved her hand across at the others, who were
+calling for her.
+
+"In a moment, dear people," she said.
+
+Then she leaned back among the cushions and laughed at her companion.
+
+"Tell me, Mr. Tavernake," she asked, "don't you feel that you have
+stepped into a sort of modern Arabian Nights?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh, I know Mr. Pritchard's weakness," she continued. "He loves to throw
+a glamour around everything he says or does. Because he honors me by
+interesting himself in my concerns, he has probably told you all sorts
+of wonderful things about me and my friends. A very ingenious romancer,
+Mr. Pritchard, you know. Confess, now, didn't he tell you some stories
+about us?"
+
+She might have spared herself the trouble of beating about the bush.
+There was no hesitation about Tavernake.
+
+"He said that your friends were every one of them criminals," Tavernake
+declared, "and he admitted that he was working hard at the present
+moment to discover that you were one, too."
+
+She laughed softly but heartily.
+
+"I wonder what was his object," she remarked, "in taking you into his
+confidence."
+
+"He happened to know," Tavernake explained, "that I was intimate with
+your sister. He wanted me to ask Beatrice a certain question."
+
+Elizabeth laughed no more. She looked steadfastly into his eyes.
+
+"And that question?"
+
+"He wanted me to ask Beatrice why she left you and hid herself in
+London."
+
+She tried to smile but not very successfully.
+
+"According to his story," Tavernake continued, "you and Beatrice and
+your husband were away together somewhere in the country. Something
+happened there, something which resulted in the disappearance of your
+husband. Beatrice came back alone and has not been near you since. Soon
+afterwards, you, too, came back alone. Mr. Gardner has not been seen or
+heard of."
+
+Elizabeth was bending over her dog, but even Tavernake, unobservant
+though he was, could see that she was shaken.
+
+"Pritchard is a clever man, generally," she remarked, "diabolically
+clever. Why has he told you all this, I wonder? He must have known that
+you would probably repeat it to me. Why does he want to show me his
+hand?"
+
+"I have no idea," Tavernake replied. "These matters are all beyond
+me. They do not concern me in any way. I am not keeping you from your
+friends? Please send me away when you like."
+
+"Don't go just yet," she begged. "Sit with me for a moment. Can't you
+see," she added, whispering, "that I have had a shock? Sit with me. I
+can't go back to those others just yet."
+
+Tavernake did as he was bidden. The woman at his side was still
+caressing the little animal she carried. Watching her, however,
+Tavernake could see that her bosom was rising and falling quickly. There
+was an unnatural pallor in her cheeks, a terrified gleam in her eyes.
+Nevertheless, these things passed. In a very few seconds she was herself
+again.
+
+"Come," she said, "it is not often that I give way. The only time I am
+ever afraid is when there is something which I do not understand. I do
+not understand Mr. Pritchard to-night. I know that he is my enemy. I
+cannot imagine why he should talk to you. He must have known that you
+would repeat all he said. It is not like him. Tell me, Mr. Tavernake,
+you have heard all sorts of things about me. Do you believe them? Do
+you believe--it's rather a horrible thing to ask, isn't it?" she went on
+hurriedly,--"do you believe that I made away with my husband?"
+
+"You surely do not need to ask me that question," Tavernake answered,
+fervently. "I should believe your word, whatever you told me. I should
+not believe that you could do anything wrong."
+
+Her hand touched his for a moment and he was repaid.
+
+"Don't think too well of me," she begged. "I don't want to disappoint
+you."
+
+Some one pushed open the swing doors and she started nervously. It was
+only a waiter who passed through into the bar.
+
+"What I think of you," Tavernake said slowly, "nothing could alter, but
+because I am stupid, I suppose, there is quite a good deal that I cannot
+understand. I cannot understand, for instance, why they should suspect
+you of having anything to do with your husband's disappearance. You can
+prove where you were when he left you?"
+
+"Quite easily," she answered, "only, unfortunately, no one seems to
+have seen him go. He timed his departure so cunningly that he apparently
+vanished into thin air. Even then," she continued, "but for one thing
+I don't suppose that any one would have had suspicions. I dare say Mr.
+Pritchard told you that before we left New York my husband sold out some
+of his property and brought it over to Europe with him in cash. We had
+both determined that we would live abroad and have nothing more to do
+with America. It was not I who persuaded him to do this. It made no
+difference to me. If he had run away and left me, the courts would have
+given me money. If he had died and I had been a widow, he would have
+left me his property. But simply because there was all this money in
+our hands, and because he disappeared, his people and this man Pritchard
+suspect me."
+
+"It is wicked," he muttered.
+
+She turned slowly towards him.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," she said, "do you know that you can help me very much
+indeed?"
+
+"I only wish I could," he replied. "Try me."
+
+"Can't you see," she went on, "that the great thing against me is that
+Beatrice left me suddenly when we were on that wretched expedition, and
+came back alone? She is in London, I know, quite close to me, and still
+she hides. Pritchard asks himself why. Mr. Tavernake, go and tell her
+what people are saying, go and tell her everything that has happened,
+let her understand that her keeping away is doing me a terrible injury,
+beg her to come and let people see that we are reconciled, and warn her,
+too, against Pritchard. Will you do this for me?"
+
+"Of course I will," Tavernake answered. "I will see her to-morrow."
+
+Elizabeth drew a little sigh of relief.
+
+"And you'll let me know what she says?" she asked, rising.
+
+"I shall be only too glad to," Tavernake assured her.
+
+"Good-night!"
+
+She looked up into his face with a smile which had turned the heads of
+hardened stagers in New York. No wonder that Tavernake felt his heart
+beat against his ribs! He took her hands and held them for a moment.
+Then he turned abruptly away.
+
+"Good-night!" he said.
+
+He disappeared through the swing doors. She strolled across the room to
+where her friends were sitting in a circle, laughing and talking. Her
+father, who had just come in and joined them, gripped her by the arm as
+she sat down.
+
+"What does it mean?" he demanded, with shaking voice. "Did you see
+that he was there with Pritchard--your young man--that wretched estate
+agent's clerk? I tell you that Pritchard was pumping him for all he was
+worth."
+
+"My dear father," she whispered, coldly, "don't be melodramatic. You
+give yourself away the whole time. Go to bed if you can't behave like a
+man."
+
+The lights had been turned low, there was no one else in the room. The
+little old gentleman with the eyeglass leaned forward.
+
+"Have you any notion, my dear Elizabeth," he asked, "why our friend
+Pritchard is so much in evidence just at present?"
+
+"Not on account of you, Jimmy," she answered, "nor of any one else here,
+in fact. The truth is he has conceived a violent admiration for me--an
+admiration so pronounced, indeed, that he hates to let me out of his
+sight."
+
+They all laughed uproariously. Then Walter Crease, the journalist,
+leaned forward,--a man with a long, narrow face, yellow-stained fingers,
+and hollow cheekbones. He glanced around the room before he spoke, and
+his voice sounded like a hoarse whisper.
+
+"See here," he said, "seems to me Pritchard is getting mighty awkward.
+He hasn't got his posse around him in this country, anyway."
+
+There was a dead silence for several seconds. Then the little old
+gentleman nodded solemnly.
+
+"I am a trifle tired of Pritchard myself," he admitted, "and he
+certainly knows too much. He carries too much in his head to go around
+safely."
+
+The eyes of Elizabeth were bright.
+
+"He treats us like children," she declared. "To-night he has told the
+whole of my affairs to a perfect stranger. It is intolerable!"
+
+The little party broke up soon after. Only Walter Crease and the
+man called Jimmy Post were left talking, and they retired into the
+window-seat, whispering together.
+
+Tavernake, with his hands thrust deep in his overcoat pockets, left the
+hotel and strode along the Strand. Some fancy seized him before he had
+gone many paces, and turning abruptly to the left he descended to the
+Embankment. He made his way to the very seat upon which he had sat once
+before with Beatrice. With folded arms he leaned back in the corner,
+looking out across the river, at the curving line of lights, at the
+black, turgid waters, the slowly-moving hulk of a barge on its way down
+the stream. It was a new thing, this, for him to have to accuse himself
+of folly, of weakness. For the last few days he had moved in a mist of
+uncertainty, setting his heel upon all reflection, avoiding every issue.
+To-night he could escape those accusing thoughts no longer; to-night he
+was more than ever bitter with himself. What folly was this which had
+sprung up in his life--folly colossal, unimaginable, as unexpected as
+though it had fallen a thunderbolt from the skies! What had happened to
+change him so completely!
+
+His thought traveled back to the boarding-house. It was there that the
+thing had begun. Before that night upon the roof, the finger-posts which
+he had set up with such care and deliberation along the road which led
+towards his coveted goal, had seemed to him to point with unfaltering
+directness towards everything in life worthy of consideration. To-night
+they were only dreary phantasms, marking time across a miserable plain.
+Perhaps, after all, there had been something in his nature, some rebel
+thing, intolerable yet to be reckoned with, which had been first born of
+that fateful curiosity of his. It had leapt up so suddenly, sprung with
+such scanty notice into strenuous and insistent life. Yet what place had
+it there? He must fight against it, root it out with both hands. What
+was this world of intrigue, this criminal, undesirable world, to him?
+His common sense forbade him altogether to dissociate Elizabeth from her
+friends, from her surroundings. She was the secret of the pain which was
+tearing at his heartstrings, of all the excitement, the joy, the passion
+which had swept like a full flood across the level way of his life,
+which had set him drifting among the unknown seas. Yet it was Beatrice
+who had brought this upon him. If she had never left, if he had not
+tasted the horrors of this new loneliness, he might have been able to
+struggle on. He missed her, missed her diabolically. The other things,
+marvelous though they were, had been more or less like a mirage.
+This world of new emotions had spread like a silken mesh over all his
+thoughts, over all his desires. Beatrice had been a tangible person,
+restful, delightful, a real companion, his one resource against this
+madness. And now she was gone, and he was powerless to get her back.
+He turned his head, he looked up the road along which he had torn that
+night with his arms around her. She owed him her life and she had gone!
+With all a man's inconsequence, it seemed to him as he rose heavily to
+his feet and started homeward, that she had repaid him with a certain
+amount of ingratitude, that she had left him at the one moment in his
+life when he needed her most.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE
+
+
+The next afternoon, at half-past four, Tavernake was having tea with
+Beatrice in the tiny flat which she was sharing with another girl, off
+Kingsway. She opened the door to him herself, and though she chattered
+ceaselessly, it seemed to him that she was by no means at her ease. She
+installed him in the only available chair, an absurd little wicker thing
+many sizes too small for him, and seated herself upon the hearth-rug a
+few feet away.
+
+"You have soon managed to find me out, Leonard," she remarked.
+
+"Yes," he answered. "I had to go to the stage doorkeeper for your
+address."
+
+"He hadn't the slightest right to give it you," she declared.
+
+Tavernake shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I had to have it," he said simply.
+
+"The power of the purse again!" she laughed. "Now that you are here, I
+don't believe that you are a bit glad to see me. Are you?"
+
+He did not answer for a moment. He was thinking of that vigil upon
+the Embankment, of the long walk home, of the battle with himself, the
+continual striving to tear from his heart this new thing, for which,
+with a curious and most masculine inconsistency, he persisted in holding
+her responsible.
+
+"You know, Leonard," she continued, getting up abruptly and beginning to
+make the tea, "I believe that you are angry with me. If you are, all I
+can say is that you are a very foolish person. I had to come away. Can't
+you see that?"
+
+"I cannot," he answered stolidly.
+
+She sighed.
+
+"You are not a reasonable person," she declared. "I suppose it is
+because you have led such a queer life, and had no womenfolk to look
+after you. You don't understand. It was absurd, in a way, that I should
+ever have called myself your sister, that we should even have attempted
+such a ridiculous experiment. But after--after the other night--"
+
+"Can't we forget that?" he interrupted.
+
+She raised her eyes and looked at him.
+
+"Can you?" she asked.
+
+There was a curious, almost a pleading earnestness in her tone. Her eyes
+had something new to say, something which, though it failed to stir his
+blood, made him vaguely uncomfortable. Nevertheless, he answered her
+without hesitation.
+
+"Yes," he replied, "I could forget it. I will promise to forget it."
+
+It was unaccountable, but he almost fancied that he saw this new thing
+pass from her face, leaving her pale and tremulous. She looked away
+again and busied herself with the tea-caddy, but the fingers which held
+the spoon were shaking a little.
+
+"Oh, I suppose I could forget," she said, "but it would be very
+difficult for either of us to behave as though it had never happened.
+Besides, it really was an impossible situation, you know," she went on,
+looking down into the tea-caddy. "It is much better for me to be here
+with Annie. You can come and see me now and then and we can still be
+very good friends."
+
+Tavernake was annoyed. He said nothing, and Beatrice, glancing up,
+laughed at his gloomy expression.
+
+"You certainly are," she declared, "the most impossible, the most
+primitive person I ever met. London isn't Arcadia, you know, and you are
+not my brother. Besides, you were such an autocrat. You didn't even like
+my going out to supper with Mr. Grier."
+
+"I hate the fellow!" Tavernake admitted. "Are you seeing much of him?"
+
+"He took us all out to supper last night," she replied. "I thought it
+was very kind of him to ask me."
+
+"Kind, indeed! Does he want to marry you?" Tavernake demanded.
+
+She set down the teapot and again she laughed softly. In her plain black
+gown, very simple, adorned only by the little white bow at her neck,
+quakerlike and spotless, with the added color in her cheeks, too, which
+seemed to have come there during the last few moments, she was a very
+alluring person.
+
+"He can't," she declared. "He is married already."
+
+Then there came to Tavernake an inspiration, an inspiration so wonderful
+that he gripped the sides of his chair and sat up. Here, after all, was
+the way out for him, the way out from his garden of madness, the way to
+escape from that mysterious, paralyzing yoke whose burden was already
+heavy upon his shoulders. In that swift, vivid moment he saw something
+of the truth. He saw himself losing all his virility, the tool and
+plaything of this woman who had bewitched him, a poor, fond creature
+living only for the kind words and glances she might throw him at her
+pleasure. In those few seconds he knew the true from the false.
+Without hesitation, he gripped with all the colossal selfishness of his
+unthinking sex at the rope which was thrown to him.
+
+"Well, then, I do," he said firmly. "Will you marry me, Beatrice?"
+
+She threw her head back and laughed, laughed long and softly, and
+Tavernake, simple and unversed in the ways of women, believed that she
+was indeed amused.
+
+"Neither you nor any one else, dear Leonard!" she exclaimed.
+
+"But I want you to," he persisted. "I think that you will."
+
+There was coquetry now in the tantalizing look she flashed him.
+
+"Am I, too, then, one of these things to be attained in your life?" she
+asked. "Dear Leonard, you mustn't say it like that. I don't like the
+look of your jaw. It frightens me."
+
+"There is nothing to be afraid of in marrying me," he answered. "I
+should make you a very good husband. Some day you would be rich, very
+rich indeed. I am quite sure that I shall succeed, if not at once,
+very soon. There is plenty of money to be made in the world if one
+perseveres."
+
+She had the air of trying to take him seriously.
+
+"You sound quite convincing," she admitted, "but I do wish that you
+would put all these thoughts out of your mind, Leonard. It doesn't sound
+like you in the least. Remember what you told me that first night; you
+assured me that women had not the slightest part in your life."
+
+"I have changed," he confessed. "I did not expect anything of the sort
+to happen, but it has. It would be foolish of me to deny it. I have been
+all my life learning, Beatrice," he continued, with a sudden curious
+softness in his tone, "and yet, somehow or other, it seems to me that I
+never knew anything at all until lately. There was no one to direct me,
+no one to show me just what is worth while in life. You have taught me a
+great deal, you have taught me how little I know. And there are things,"
+he went on, solemnly, "of which I am afraid, things which I do not begin
+even to understand. Can't you see how it is with me? I am really very
+ignorant. I want some one who understands; I want you, Beatrice, very
+badly."
+
+She patted the back of his hand caressingly.
+
+"You mustn't talk like that, Leonard," she said. "I shouldn't make you a
+good wife. I am not going to marry any one."
+
+"And why?" he asked.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"That is my secret," she told him, looking into the fire.
+
+"You mean to say that, you will never marry?" he persisted.
+
+"Oh, I suppose I shall change, like other women," she answered. "Just at
+present, I feel like that."
+
+"Is it because your sister's marriage--"
+
+She caught hold of both his hands; her eyes were suddenly full of
+terror.
+
+"You mustn't talk about Elizabeth," she begged, "you please mustn't talk
+about her. Promise that you won't."
+
+"But I came here to talk about her," he replied.
+
+Beatrice, for a moment, said nothing. Then she threw down his hands and
+laughed once more. As she flung herself back in her place, it seemed to
+Tavernake that he saw once more the girl who had stood upon the roof of
+the boarding-house.
+
+"You came to talk about Elizabeth!" she exclaimed. "I forgot. Well, go
+on, what is it?"
+
+"Your sister is in trouble!"
+
+"Are you her confidant?" Beatrice asked.
+
+"I am not exactly that," he admitted, "but she has asked me to come and
+see you."
+
+Beatrice had suddenly grown hard, her lips were set together, even her
+attitude was uncompromising.
+
+"Say exactly what you have to say," she told him. "I will not
+interrupt."
+
+"It sounds foolish," Tavernake declared, "because I know so little, but
+it seems that your sister is being annoyed by a man named Pritchard, an
+American detective. She tells me that he suspects her of being concerned
+in some way with the disappearance of her husband. One of his reasons is
+that you left her abruptly and went into hiding, that you will not see
+or speak to her. She wishes you to be reconciled."
+
+"Is that all?" Beatrice asked.
+
+"It is all," he replied, "so long as you understand its significance.
+If you go to see your sister, or let her come to see you, this man
+Pritchard will have one of his causes for suspicion removed."
+
+"So you came as Elizabeth's ambassador," Beatrice said, half as though
+to herself. "Well, here is my answer. I will not go to Elizabeth. If she
+finds out my whereabouts and comes here, then I shall go away again and
+hide. I shall never willingly exchange another word with her as long as
+I live."
+
+Tavernake looked at her doubtfully.
+
+"But she is your sister!" he explained.
+
+"She is my sister," Beatrice repeated, "and yet what I have said to you
+I mean."
+
+There was a short silence. Tavernake felt unaccountably ill at ease.
+Something had sprung up between them which he did not understand. He was
+swift to recognize, however, the note of absolute finality in her tone.
+
+"I have given my message," he declared. "I shall tell her what you say.
+Perhaps I had better go now."
+
+He half rose to his feet. Suddenly she lost control of herself.
+
+"Leonard, Leonard," she cried, "don't you see that you are being very
+foolish indeed? You have been good to me. Let me try and repay it a
+little. Elizabeth is my sister, but listen! What I say to you now I say
+in deadly earnest. Elizabeth has no heart, she has no thought for other
+people, she makes use of them and they count for no more to her than
+the figures that pass through one's dreams. She has some sort of hateful
+gift," Beatrice continued, and her voice shook and her eyes flashed,
+"some hateful gift of attracting people to her and making them do her
+bidding, of spoiling their lives and throwing them away when they have
+ceased to be useful. Leonard, you must not let her do this with you."
+
+He rose to his feet awkwardly. Very likely it was all true, and yet,
+what difference did it make?
+
+"Thank you," he said.
+
+They stood, for a moment, hand in hand. Then they heard the sound of a
+key in the lock.
+
+"Here's Annie coming back!" Beatrice exclaimed.
+
+Tavernake was introduced to Miss Annie Legarde, who thought he was a
+very strange person indeed because he did not fit in with any of the
+types of men, young or old, of whom she knew anything. And as for
+Tavernake, he considered that Miss Annie Legarde would have looked at
+least as well in a hat half the size, and much better without the
+powder upon her face. Her clothes were obviously more expensive than
+Beatrice's, but they were put on with less care and taste.
+
+Beatrice came out on to the landing with him.
+
+"So you won't marry me, Beatrice?" he said, as she held out her hand.
+
+She looked at him for a moment and then turned away with a faint sob,
+without even a word of farewell. He watched her disappear and heard
+the door shut. Slowly he began to descend the stone steps. There was
+something to him a little fateful about the closed door above, the long
+yet easy descent into the street.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. THE BALCONY AT IMANO'S
+
+
+At six o'clock that evening, Tavernake rang up the Milan Court and
+inquired for Elizabeth. There was a moment or two's delay and then he
+heard her reply. Even over the telephone wires, even though he stood,
+cramped and uncomfortable, in that stuffy little telephone booth, he
+felt the quick start of pleasure, the thrill of something different
+in life, which came to him always at the sound of her voice, at the
+slightest suggestion of her presence.
+
+"Well, my friend, what fortune?" she asked him.
+
+"None," he answered. "I have done my best. Beatrice will not listen to
+me."
+
+"She will not come and see me?"
+
+"She will not."
+
+Elizabeth was silent for a moment. When she spoke again, there was a
+change in her tone.
+
+"You have failed, then."
+
+"I did everything that could be done," Tavernake insisted eagerly. "I
+am quite sure that nothing anybody could say would move Beatrice. She is
+very decided indeed."
+
+"I have another idea," Elizabeth remarked, after a brief pause. "She
+will not come to me; very well, I must go to her. You must take me
+there."
+
+"I cannot do that," Tavernake answered.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Beatrice has refused absolutely to permit me to tell you or any one
+else of her whereabouts," he declared. "Without her permission I cannot
+do it."
+
+"Do you mean that?" she asked.
+
+"Of course," he answered uncomfortably.
+
+There was another silence. When she spoke again, her voice had changed
+for the second time. Tavernake felt his heart sink as he listened.
+
+"Very well," she said. "I thought that you were my friend, that you
+wished to help me."
+
+"I do," he replied, "but you would not have me break my word?"
+
+"You are breaking your word with me," she told him.
+
+"It is a different thing," he insisted.
+
+"You will not take me there?" she said once more.
+
+"I cannot," Tavernake answered.
+
+"Very well, good-bye!"
+
+"Don't go," he begged. "Can't I see you somewhere for a few minutes this
+evening?"
+
+"I am afraid not," Elizabeth replied coolly.
+
+"Are you going out?" he persisted.
+
+"I am going to the Duke of York's Theatre with some friends," she
+answered. "I am sorry. You have disappointed me."
+
+She rang off and he turned away from the telephone booth into the
+street. It seemed to him, as he walked down the crowded thoroughfare,
+that some reflection of his own self-contempt was visible in the
+countenances of the men and women who were hurrying past him. Wherever
+he looked, he was acutely conscious of it. In his heart he felt the
+bitter sense of shame of a man who wilfully succumbs to weakness. Yet
+that night he made his efforts.
+
+For four hours he sat in his lonely rooms and worked. Then the unequal
+struggle was ended. With a groan he caught up his hat and coat and
+left the house. Half an hour later, he was among the little crowd of
+loiterers and footmen standing outside the doors of the Duke of York's
+Theatre.
+
+It was still some time before the termination of the performance. As the
+slow minutes dragged by, he grew to hate himself, to hate this new
+thing in his life which had torn down his everyday standards, which had
+carried him off his feet in this strange and detestable fashion. It
+was a dormant sense, without a doubt, which Elizabeth had stirred into
+life--the sense of sex, quiescent in him so long, chiefly through
+his perfect physical sanity; perhaps, too, in some measure, from his
+half-starved imagination. It was significant, though, that once aroused
+it burned with surprising and unwavering fidelity. The whole world of
+women now were different creatures to him, but they left him as utterly
+unmoved as in his unawakened days. It was Elizabeth only he wanted,
+craved for fiercely, with all this late-born passion of mingled
+sentiment and desire. He felt himself, as he hung round there upon the
+pavement, rubbing shoulders with the liveried servants, the loafers,
+and the passers-by, a thing to be despised. He was like a whipped dog
+fawning back to his master. Yet if only he could persuade her to come
+with him, if it were but for an hour! If only she would sit opposite him
+in that wonderful little restaurant, where the lights and the music, the
+laughter and the wine, were all outward symbols of this new life from
+before which her fingers seemed to have torn aside the curtains! His
+heart beat with a fierce impatience. He watched the thin stream of
+people who left before the play was over, suburbanites mostly, in
+a hurry for their trains. Very soon the whole audience followed,
+commissionaires were busy with their whistles, the servants eagerly
+looking right and left for their masters. And then Elizabeth! She came
+out in the midst of half-a-dozen others, brilliant in a wonderful
+cloak and dress of turquoise blue, laughing with her friends, to all
+appearance the gayest of the party. Tavernake stepped quickly forward,
+but at that moment there was a crush and he could not advance. She
+passed within a yard of him, escorted by a couple of men, and for a
+moment their eyes met. She raised her eyebrows, as though in surprise,
+and her recognition was of the slightest. She passed on and entered a
+waiting motorcar, accompanied by the two men. Tavernake stood and looked
+after it. She did not even glance round. Except for that little gesture
+of cold surprise, she had ignored him. Tavernake, scarcely knowing what
+he did, turned slowly towards the Strand.
+
+He was face to face now with a crisis before which he seemed powerless.
+Men were there in the world to be bullied, cajoled, or swept out of the
+way. What did one do with a woman who was kind one moment and insolent
+the next, who raised her eyebrows and passed on when he wanted her, when
+he was there longing for her? Those old solid dreams of his--wealth,
+power, his name on great prospectuses, a position in the world--these
+things now appeared like the day fancies of a child. He had seen his way
+towards them. Already he had felt his feet upon the rungs of the ladder
+which leads to material success. This was something different, something
+greater. Then a sense of despair chilled his heart. He felt how
+ignorant, how helpless he was. He had not even studied the first
+text-book of life. Those very qualities which had served him so well
+before were hopeless here. Persistence, Beatrice had told him once, only
+annoys a woman.
+
+He came to a standstill outside the entrance to the Milan Court, and
+retraced his steps. The thought of Beatrice had brought something
+soothing with it. He felt that he must see her, see her at once. He
+walked back along the Strand and entered the restaurant where Beatrice
+and he had had their memorable supper. From the vestibule he could just
+see Grier's back as he stood talking to a waiter by the side of a round
+table in the middle of the room. Tavernake slowly withdrew and made his
+way upstairs. There were one or two little tables there in the balcony,
+hidden from the lower part of the room. He seated himself at one,
+handing his coat and hat mechanically to the waiter who came hurrying
+up.
+
+"But, Monsieur," the man explained, with a deprecating gesture, "these
+tables are all taken."
+
+Tavernake, who kept an account book in which he registered even his car
+fares, put five shillings in the man's hand.
+
+"This one I will have," he said, firmly, and sat down.
+
+The man looked at him and turned aside to speak to the head waiter. They
+conversed together in whispers. Tavernake took no notice. His jaw was
+set. Himself unseen, he was gazing steadfastly at that table below. The
+head waiter shrugged his shoulders and departed; his other clients
+must be mollified. There was a finality which was unanswerable about
+Tavernake's methods.
+
+Tavernake ate and drank what they brought to him, ate and drank and
+suffered. Everything was as it had been that other night--the popping
+of corks, the soft music, the laughter of women, the pleasant, luxurious
+sense of warmth and gayety pervading the whole place.
+
+It was all just the same, but this time he sat outside and looked on.
+Beatrice was seated next Grier, and on her other side was a young man of
+the type which Tavernake detested, partly because it inspired him with
+a reluctant but insistent sense of inferiority. The young man was
+handsome, tall, and thin. His evening clothes fitted him perfectly,
+his studs and links were of the latest mode, his white tie arranged as
+though by the fingers of an artist. And yet he was no tailor's model.
+A gentleman, beyond a doubt, Tavernake decided, watching grudgingly the
+courteous movement of his head, listening sometimes to his well-bred but
+rather languid voice. Beatrice laughed often into his face. She admired
+him, of course. How could she help it! Grier sat at her other side. He,
+too, talked to her whenever he had the chance. It was a new fever which
+Tavernake was tasting, a new fever burning in his blood. He was jealous;
+he hated the whole party below. In imagination he saw Elizabeth with her
+friends, supping most likely in that other, more resplendent restaurant,
+only a few yards away. He imagined her the centre of every attention.
+Without a doubt, she was looking at her neighbor as she had looked at
+him. Tavernake bit his lip, frowning. If he had had it in his power,
+in those black moments, to have thrown a thunderbolt from his place, he
+would have wrecked every table in the room, he would have watched with
+joy the white, startled faces of the revelers as they fled away into
+the night. It was a new torture, indescribable, bitter. Indeed, this
+curiosity of his, of which he had spoken to Beatrice as they had walked
+together down Oxford Street on that first evening, was being satisfied
+with a vengeance! He was learning of those other things of life. He had
+sipped at the sweetness; he was drinking the bitters!
+
+An altercation by his side distracted him. Again there was the head
+waiter and a protesting guest. Tavernake looked up and recognized
+Professor Franklin. With his broad-brimmed hat in his hand, the
+professor, in fluent phraseology and a strong American accent, was
+making himself decidedly disagreeable.
+
+"You had better send for your manager right away, young man," he
+declared. "On Tuesday night he brought me here himself and I engaged
+this table for the week. No, I tell you I won't have any other! I guess
+my order was good enough. You send for Luigi right here. You know who I
+am? Professor Franklin's my name, from New York, and if I say I mean to
+have a thing, I expect to get it."
+
+For the first time he recognized Tavernake, and paused for a moment in
+his speech.
+
+"Have I got your table, Professor?" Tavernake asked, slowly.
+
+"You have, sir," the professor answered. "I did not recognize you when
+I came in or I would have addressed you personally. I have particular
+reasons for occupying a front table here every night this week."
+
+The thoughts began to crowd in upon Tavernake's brain. He hesitated.
+
+"Why not sit down with me?" he suggested.
+
+The professor acquiesced without a word. The head waiter, with a sigh
+of relief, took his hat and overcoat and accepted his order. Tavernake
+leaned across the table.
+
+"Professor," he said, "why do you insist upon sitting up here?"
+
+The professor moved his head slowly downwards.
+
+"My young friend, I speak to you in confidence?"
+
+"In confidence," Tavernake repeated.
+
+"I come here secretly," the professor continued, "because it is the only
+chance I have of seeing a very dear relative of mine. I am obliged to
+keep away from her just now, but from here I can watch, I can see that
+she is well."
+
+"You mean your daughter Beatrice," Tavernake said, calmly.
+
+The professor trembled all over.
+
+"You know!" he muttered.
+
+"Yes, I know," Tavernake answered. "I have been able to be of some
+slight assistance to your daughter Beatrice."
+
+The professor grasped his hand.
+
+"Yes, yes," he said, "Elizabeth is very angry with you because you
+will not tell her where to find the little girl. You are right, Mr.
+Tavernake. You must never tell her."
+
+"I don't intend it," Tavernake declared.
+
+"Say, this is a great evening for me!" the professor went on, eagerly.
+"I found out by accident myself. I was at the bar and I saw her come in
+with a lot of others."
+
+"Why don't you go and speak to her?" Tavernake asked.
+
+The professor shivered.
+
+"There has been a disagreement," he explained. "Beatrice and Elizabeth
+have quarreled. Mind you, Beatrice was right."
+
+"Then why don't you go to her instead of staying with Elizabeth?"
+Tavernake demanded, bluntly.
+
+The professor temporarily collapsed. He drank heavily of the whiskey and
+soda by his side, and answered gloomily.
+
+"My young friend," he said, "Beatrice, when she left us, was penniless.
+Mind you, Elizabeth is the one with brains. It is Elizabeth who has the
+money. She has a strong will, too. She keeps me there whether I will or
+not, she makes me do many things--many things, surely--which I hate. But
+Elizabeth has her way. If I had gone with Beatrice, if I were to go to
+her now, I should be only a burden upon her."
+
+"You have no money, then?" Tavernake remarked.
+
+The professor shook his head sadly.
+
+"Speculations, my young friend," he replied, "speculations undertaken
+solely with the object of making a fortune for my children. I have had
+money and lost it."
+
+"Can't you earn any?" Tavernake asked. "Beatrice doesn't seem
+extravagant."
+
+The professor regarded this outspoken young man with an air of hurt
+dignity.
+
+"If you will forgive me," he said. "I think that we will choose another
+subject of conversation."
+
+"At any rate," Tavernake declared, "you must be fond of your daughter or
+you would not come here night after night just to look at her."
+
+The professor shook out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his
+eyes.
+
+"Beatrice was always my favorite," he announced solemnly, "but
+Elizabeth--well, you can't get away from Elizabeth," he added, leaning
+across the table. "To tell you the truth, Mr. Tavernake, Elizabeth
+terrifies me sometimes, she is so bold. I am afraid where her scheming
+may land us. I would be happier with Beatrice if only she had the means
+to satisfy my trifling wants."
+
+He turned to the waiter and ordered a pint of champagne.
+
+"Veuve Clicquot '99," he instructed the man. "At my age," he remarked,
+with a sigh, "one has to be careful about these little matters. The
+wrong brand of champagne means a sleepless night."
+
+Tavernake looked at him in a puzzled way. The professor was a riddle
+to him. He represented no type which had come within the orbit of his
+experience. With the arrival of the champagne, the professor became
+almost eloquent. He leaned forward, gazing stealthily down at the round
+table.
+
+"If I could tell you of that girl's mother, Mr. Tavernake," he said, "if
+I could tell you what her history, our history, has been, it would seem
+to you so strange that you would probably regard me as a romancer. No,
+we have to carry our secrets with us."
+
+"By-the-bye," Tavernake asked, "what are you a professor of?"
+
+"Of the hidden sciences, sir," was the immediate reply. "Phrenology was
+my earliest love. Since then I have studied in the East; I have spent
+many years in a monastery in China. I have gratified in every way my
+natural love of the occult. I represent today those people of advanced
+thought who have traveled, even in spirit, for ever such a little
+distance across the line which divides the Seen from the Unseen, the
+Known from the Infinite."
+
+He took a long draught of champagne. Tavernake gazed at him in blank
+amazement.
+
+"I don't know much about science," he said. "It is only lately that I
+have begun to realize how ignorant I really am. Your daughter has helped
+to teach me."
+
+The professor sighed heavily.
+
+"A young woman of attainments, sir," he remarked, "of character, too.
+Look at the way she carries her head. That was a trick of her mother's."
+
+"Don't you mean to speak to her at all, then?" Tavernake asked.
+
+"I dare not," the professor replied. "I am naturally of a truthful
+disposition, and if Elizabeth were to ask me if I had spoken to her
+sister, I should give myself away at once. No, I look on and that is
+all."
+
+Tavernake drummed with his fingers upon the tablecloth. Something in
+the merriment of that little party downstairs had filled him with a very
+bitter feeling.
+
+"You ought to go and claim her, professor," he declared. "Look down at
+them now. Is that the best life for a girl? The men are almost strangers
+to her, and the girls are not fit for her to associate with. She has no
+friends, no relatives. Your daughter Elizabeth can do without you very
+well. She is strong enough to take care of herself."
+
+"But my dear sir," the professor objected, "Beatrice could not support
+me."
+
+Tavernake paid his bill without another word. Downstairs the lights had
+been lowered, the party at the round table were already upon their feet.
+
+"Good-night, professor!" he said. "I am going to see the last of
+Beatrice from the top of the stairs."
+
+The professor followed him--they stood there and watched her depart with
+Annie Legarde. The two girls got into a taxicab together, and Tavernake
+breathed a sigh of relief, a relief for which he was wholly unable to
+account, when he saw that Grier made no effort to follow them. As soon
+as the taxi had rolled away, they descended and passed into the street.
+Then the professor suddenly changed his tone.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," he said, "I know what you are thinking about me: I am a
+weak old man who drinks too much and who wasn't born altogether honest.
+I can't give up anything. I'd be happier, really happier, on a crust
+with Beatrice, but I daren't, I simply daren't try it. I prefer the
+flesh pots with Elizabeth, and you despise me for it. I don't blame you,
+Mr. Tavernake, but listen."
+
+"Well?" Tavernake interjected.
+
+The professor's fingers gripped his arm.
+
+"You've known Beatrice longer--you don't know Elizabeth very well,
+but let me tell you this. Elizabeth is a very wonderful person. I know
+something about character, I know something about those hidden powers
+which men and women possess--strange powers which no one can understand,
+powers which drag a man to a woman's feet, or which make him shiver when
+he passes another even in a crowd. You see, these things are a science
+with me, Mr. Tavernake, but I don't pretend to understand everything.
+All I know is that Elizabeth is one of those people who can just do what
+she likes with men. I am her father and I am her slave. I tell myself
+that I would rather be with Beatrice, and I am as powerless to go as
+though I were bound with chains. You are a young ignorant man, Mr.
+Tavernake, you know nothing of life, and I will give you a word of
+warning. It is better for you that you keep away from over there."
+
+He raised one hand and pointed across the street towards the Milan
+Court; with the other he once more gripped Tavernake's arm.
+
+"Why she should take the trouble even to speak with you for a moment, I
+do not know," the professor continued, "but she does. It has pleased her
+to talk with you--why I can't imagine--only if I were you I would get
+away while there is yet time. She is my daughter but she has no heart,
+no pity. I saw her smile at you. I am sorry always for the man she
+smiles upon like that. Goodnight, Mr. Tavernake!"
+
+The professor crossed the street. Tavernake watched him until he was out
+of sight. Then he felt an arm thrust through his.
+
+"Why, this is what I call luck!" a familiar voice exclaimed. "Mr.
+Tavernake, you're the very man I was looking for!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE
+
+
+Tavernake was not sociably inclined and took no pains to conceal the
+fact. Mr. Pritchard, however, was not easily to be shaken off.
+
+"So you've been palling up to the old man, eh?" he remarked, in friendly
+fashion.
+
+"I came across the professor unexpectedly," Tavernake answered, coldly.
+"What do you want with me, please? I am on my way home."
+
+Pritchard laughed softly to himself.
+
+"Say, there's something about you Britishers I can't help admiring!" he
+declared. "You are downright, aren't you?"
+
+"I suppose you think we are too clumsy to be anything else," Tavernake
+replied. "This is my 'bus coming. Good-night!"
+
+Pritchard's hand, however, tightened upon his companion's arm.
+
+"Look here, young man," he said, "don't you be foolish. I'm a valuable
+acquaintance for you, if you only realized it. Come along across the
+street with me. My club is on the Terrace, just below. Stroll along
+there with me and I'll tell you something about the professor, if you
+like."
+
+"Thank you," Tavernake answered, "I don't think I care about hearing
+gossip. Besides, I think I know all there is to be known about him."
+
+"Did you give Miss Beatrice my message?" Pritchard asked suddenly.
+
+"If I did," Tavernake replied, "I have no answer for you."
+
+"Will you tell her this," Pritchard began,--
+
+"No, I will tell her nothing!" Tavernake interrupted. "You can look
+after your own affairs. I have no interest in them and I don't want to
+have. Good-night!"
+
+Pritchard laughed again but he did not relax his grasp upon the other's
+arm.
+
+"Now, Mr. Tavernake," he said, "it won't do for you to quarrel with me.
+I shouldn't be surprised if you discovered that I am one of the most
+useful acquaintances you ever met in your life. You needn't come into
+the club unless you like, but walk as far as there with me. When we get
+on to the Terrace, with closed houses on one side and a palisade upon
+the other, I am going to say something to you."
+
+"Very well," Tavernake decided, reluctantly. "I don't know what there is
+you can have to tell me, but I'll come as far as there, at any rate."
+
+They crossed the Strand and turned into Adam Street. As they neared the
+further corner, Pritchard stepped from the pavement into the middle of
+the street, and looked searchingly around.
+
+"Say, you'll excuse my being a little careful," he remarked. "This is
+rather a lonely part for the middle of London, and I have been followed
+for the last two days by people whose company I am not over keen about."
+
+"Followed? What for?" Tavernake demanded.
+
+"Oh, the usual thing!" answered the detective, with a shrug of the
+shoulders. "That company of crooks I showed you last night don't fancy
+having me around. They've a good many grudges up against Sam Pritchard.
+I am not quite so safe over here as I should be in New York. Most of
+them are off to Paris tomorrow, thank Heavens!"
+
+"And you?" Tavernake asked. "Are you going, too?"
+
+Pritchard shook his head.
+
+"If only those fools would believe it, I'm not over here on their
+business at all. I came over on a special commission this time, as you
+know. I have a word of warning for you, Mr. Tavernake. I guess you won't
+like to hear it, but you've got to."
+
+Tavernake stopped short.
+
+"I don't want your warnings!" he said angrily. "I don't want you
+interfering in my affairs!"
+
+The detective smiled quietly. Then a new expression suddenly tightened
+his lips.
+
+"Never mind about that just now!" he exclaimed. "See here, take this
+police whistle from my left hand, quick, and blow it for all that you
+are worth!"
+
+It was characteristic of Tavernake that he was prepared to obey without
+a second's hesitation. The opportunity, however, was denied him. The
+events which followed came and passed like a thought. A blow on his left
+wrist and the whistle fell into the road. A dark figure had sprung up,
+apparently from space; a long arm was twined around Pritchard's neck,
+bending him backwards; there was a gleam of steel within a few inches of
+his throat. And then Tavernake saw a wonderful thing. With a turn of his
+wrist, Pritchard suddenly seemed to lift the form of his assailant into
+the air. Tavernake caught a swift impression of a man's white face, the
+head pointing to the street, the legs twitching convulsively. Head
+over heels Pritchard seemed to throw him, while the knife clattered
+harmlessly into the roadway. The man lay crumpled up and moaning before
+the door of one of the houses. Pritchard sprang after him. The door had
+been cautiously opened and the man crawled through; Pritchard followed;
+then the door closed and Tavernake beat upon it in vain.
+
+For several seconds--it seemed to Tavernake much longer--he stood
+gazing at the door, breathing heavily, absolutely unable to collect his
+thoughts. The whole affair had happened with such amazing celerity! He
+could not bring himself to realize it, to believe that it was Pritchard
+who had been with him only a few seconds ago, who in danger of his
+life had performed that marvelous trick of jiu-jutsu, had followed
+his unknown assailant into that dark, mysterious house, from no single
+window of which was a single gleam of light visible. Tavernake had led
+an uneventful life. Of the passions which breed murder and the desire
+to kill he knew nothing. He was dazed with the suddenness of it all. How
+could such a thing happen in the midst of London, in a thoroughfare only
+momentarily deserted, at the further end of which, indeed, were many
+signs of life! Then the thought of that knife made him shiver--blue
+glittering steel cutting the air like whipcord. He remembered the look
+in the assassin's face--horrible, an epitome of the passions, which
+seemed to reveal to him in that moment the existence of some other, some
+unknown world, about which he had neither read nor dreamed.
+
+The sound of footsteps came as an immense relief. A man came round the
+corner, smoking a cigarette and humming softly to himself. The presence
+of another human being seemed suddenly to bring Tavernake's feet back
+upon the earth. He moved toward the pavement and addressed the newcomer.
+
+"Can you tell me how to get inside that house?" he asked quickly.
+
+The man removed the cigarette from his mouth and stared at his
+questioner.
+
+"I should ring the bell," he replied, "but surely it's unoccupied? What
+do you want to get in there for?"
+
+"Less than a minute ago," Tavernake told him, "I was walking here with
+a friend. A man came up behind us and tried deliberately to stab him.
+He bolted afterwards through that door, my friend followed him, the door
+was closed in my face."
+
+The newcomer was a youngish man, a musician, who had just come from
+a concert and was on his way to the club at the end of the street.
+Probably, had he been a journalist, his curiosity would have been
+greater than his incredulity. As it was, however, he gazed at Tavernake,
+for a moment, blankly.
+
+"Look here," he said, "this doesn't sound a very likely story of yours,
+you know."
+
+"I don't care whether it's likely or not," Tavernake answered hotly;
+"it's true! The knife's somewhere in the road there--it fell up against
+the railings."
+
+They crossed the road together and searched. There were no signs of the
+weapon. Tavernake peered over the railings.
+
+"When my friend struck the other man and twisted him over," he
+explained, "the knife seemed to fly up into the air; it might even have
+reached the gardens."
+
+His companion turned slowly away.
+
+"Well, it's no use looking down there for it," he remarked. "We might
+try the door, if you like."
+
+They leaned their weight against it, hammered at the panels, and waited.
+The door was fast closed and no reply came. The musician shrugged his
+shoulders and prepared to depart, after one more glance at Tavernake,
+half suspicious, half questioning.
+
+"If you think it worth while," he said, "you had better fetch the
+police, perhaps. If you take my advice, though, I think I should go home
+and forget all about it."
+
+He passed on, leaving Tavernake speechless. The idea that people might
+not believe his story had never seriously occurred to him. Yet all of a
+sudden he began to doubt it himself. He stepped back into the road and
+looked up at the windows of the house--dark, uncurtained, revealing
+no sign of life or habitation. Had he really taken that walk with
+Pritchard, stood on this spot with him only a minute or two ago? Then he
+picked up the police whistle and he had no longer any doubts. The whole
+scene was before him again, more vividly than ever. Even at this moment,
+Pritchard might be in need of help!
+
+He turned and walked sharply to the corner of the Terrace, finding
+himself almost immediately face to face with a policeman.
+
+"You must come into this house with me at once!" Tavernake exclaimed,
+pointing backwards. "A friend of mine was attacked here just now; a man
+tried to stab him. They are both in that house. The man ran away and my
+friend followed him. The door is closed and no one answers."
+
+The constable looked at Tavernake very much as the musician had done.
+
+"Do either of them live there, sir?" he asked.
+
+"How should I know!" Tavernake answered. "The man sprang upon my friend
+from behind. He had a knife in his hand--I saw it. My friend threw him
+over and he escaped into that house. They are both there now.
+
+"Which house is it, sir?" the policeman inquired.
+
+They were standing almost in front of it. The gate was open and
+Tavernake beat against the panels with the flat of his hand. Then, with
+a cry of triumph, he stooped down and picked something up from a crack
+in the flagged stones.
+
+"The key!" he cried. "Come on, quick!"
+
+He thrust it into the lock and turned it; the door swung smoothly open.
+The policeman laid his hand upon Tavernake's shoulder.
+
+"Look here," he said, "let's have that story of yours again, a little
+more clearly. Who is it that's in this house?"
+
+"Five minutes ago," Tavernake began, speaking rapidly, "I met a man in
+the Strand whom I know slightly--Pritchard, an American detective. He
+said that he had something to say to me and he asked me to walk round
+with him to a club in this Terrace. We were in the middle of the road
+there, talking, when a man sprang at him; he must have come up behind
+quite noiselessly. The man had a knife in his hand. My friend threw him
+head over heels--it was some trick of jiu-jutsu; I have seen it done at
+the Polytechnic. He fell in front of this door which must either have
+been ajar or else some one who was waiting must have let him in. He
+crawled through and my friend followed him. The door was slammed in my
+face."
+
+"How long ago was this?" the policeman asked.
+
+"Not much more than five minutes," Tavernake answered.
+
+The policeman coughed.
+
+"It's a very queer story, sir."
+
+"It's true!" Tavernake declared, fiercely. "You and I have got to search
+this house."
+
+The policeman nodded.
+
+"There's no harm in that, sir, anyway."
+
+He flashed his lantern around the hall--unfurnished, with paper hanging
+from the walls. Then they began to enter the rooms, one by one. Nowhere
+was there any sign of occupation. From floor to floor they passed, in
+grim silence. In the front chamber of the attic was a camp bedstead, two
+or three humble articles of furniture, and a small stove.
+
+"Caretaker's kit," the policeman muttered. "Nothing seems to have been
+used for some time."
+
+They descended the stairs again.
+
+"You say you saw the two men enter this house, sir?" the policeman
+remarked doubtfully.
+
+"I did," Tavernake declared. "There is no doubt about it."
+
+"The back entrances are all properly locked," the policeman pointed out.
+"None of the windows by which any one could escape have been opened.
+We've been into every room. There's no one in the house now, sir, is
+there?"
+
+"There doesn't seem to be," Tavernake admitted.
+
+The policeman looked him over once more; Tavernake certainly had not the
+appearance of one attempting a hoax.
+
+"I am afraid there is nothing more we can do, sir," the man said
+civilly. "You had better give me your name and address."
+
+"Can't we go over the place once more?" Tavernake suggested. "I tell you
+I saw them come in."
+
+"I have my beat outside to look after, sir," the constable answered. "If
+it wasn't that you seem respectable, I should begin to think that you
+wanted me out of the way for a bit. Name and address, please."
+
+Tavernake gave them readily. They passed out together into the street.
+
+"I shall report this matter," the man said, closing his book. "Perhaps
+the sergeant will have the house searched again. If you take my advice,
+sir," he added, "you'll go home."
+
+"I saw them both pass through that door," Tavernake repeated, half
+to himself, still standing upon the pavement and staring at the unlit
+windows.
+
+The constable made no reply but moved off. Soon he reached the corner of
+the Terrace and disappeared. Tavernake slowly crossed the road and with
+his back to the railings looked steadfastly at the dark front of
+gray stone houses. Big Ben struck one o'clock, several people passed
+backwards and forwards. Men were coming out from the club, and
+separating for the night; the roar of the city was growing fainter. Yet
+Tavernake felt indisposed to move. The look in that man's drawn white
+face and black eyes haunted him, There was tragedy there, the shadow of
+terrible things, fear, and the murderous desire to kill! Through that
+door they had passed, the two men, one in flight, the other in pursuit.
+Where were they now? Perhaps it had been a trap. Pritchard had spoken
+seriously enough of his enemies.
+
+Then, as he stood there, he saw for the first time a thin line of light
+through the closely-drawn curtains of a room on the ground floor of the
+adjoining house. Without a moment's hesitation, he crossed the road and
+rang the bell. The door was opened, after a trifling delay, by a man
+in plain clothes, who might, however, have been a servant in mufti. He
+looked at Tavernake suspiciously.
+
+"I am sorry to have disturbed you," Tavernake explained, "but I saw some
+one go in the house next to you, a little time ago. Can you tell me if
+you have heard any noises or voices during the last half-hour?"
+
+The man shook his head.
+
+"We have heard nothing, sir," he said.
+
+"Who lives here?" Tavernake asked.
+
+"Did you call me up at one o'clock in the morning to ask silly
+questions?" the man replied insolently. "Every one's in bed here and I
+was just going."
+
+"There's a light in your ground floor room," Tavernake remarked.
+"There's some one talking there now--I can hear voices."
+
+The man closed the door in his face. For some time Tavernake wandered
+restlessly about, starting at last reluctantly homewards. He had reached
+the Strand and was crossing Trafalgar Square when a sudden thought held
+him. He stood still for a moment in the middle of the street. Then he
+turned abruptly round. In less than five minutes he was once more on the
+Terrace.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. TAVERNAKE INTERVENES
+
+
+Tavernake had the feelings of a man suddenly sobered as he turned once
+more into the Adelphi Terrace. Waiting until no one was in sight, he
+opened the door of the empty house with the Yale key which he had kept,
+and carefully closed it. He struck a match and listened for several
+minutes intently; not a sound from anywhere. He moved a few yards
+further to the bottom of the stairs, and listened again; still silence.
+He turned the handle of the ground floor apartment and commenced a fresh
+search. Room by room he examined by the light of his rapidly dwindling
+matches. This time he meant to leave behind him no possibility of any
+mistake. He even measured the depths of the walls for any secret hiding
+place. From room to room he passed, leisurely, always on the alert,
+always listening. Once, as he opened a door on the third floor there
+was a soft scurrying as though of a skirt across the floor. He struck
+a match quickly, to find a great rat sitting up and looking at him with
+black, beady eyes. It was the only sign of life he found in the whole
+building.
+
+When he had finished his search, he came down to the ground floor and
+entered the room corresponding with the one from which he had heard
+voices in the adjoining house. He crouched here upon the dusty boards
+for some time, listening. Now and then he fancied that he could still
+hear voices on the other side of the wall, but he was never absolutely
+certain.
+
+At last he rose to stretch himself, and almost as he did so a fresh
+sound from outside attracted his notice. A motor-car had turned into the
+Terrace. He walked to the uncurtained window and stood there, sure of
+being himself unseen. Then his heart gave a great leap. Unemotional
+though he was, this was a happening which might well have excited a
+more phlegmatic individual. A motor-car which he remembered very well,
+although it was driven now by a man in dark livery, had stopped at the
+next house. A woman and two men had descended. Tavernake never glanced
+at the latter; his eyes were fastened upon their companion. She was
+wrapped in a long cloak, but she lifted her skirts as she crossed the
+pavement, and he saw the flash of her silver buckles. Her carriage, her
+figure, were unmistakable. It was Elizabeth who was paying this early
+morning visit next door! Already the little party had disappeared. They
+did not even ring the bell. The door must have been opened silently
+at their coming. The motor-car glided off. Once more the Terrace was
+deserted.
+
+Tavernake felt sure that he knew now the solution,--there was a way from
+this house into the next one. He struck another match and, standing back
+a few yards, looked critically at the dividing wall. In ancient days
+this had evidently been a dwelling-house of importance, elaborately
+decorated, as the fresco work upon the ceiling still indicated. The wall
+had been divided into three panels, with a high wainscoting. Inch by
+inch he examined it from one end to the other; he started from the back
+and came toward the front. About three-quarters of the way there, he
+paused. It was very simple, after all. The solid wall for a couple of
+feet suddenly ceased, and the design was continued with an expanse of
+stretched canvas, which yielded easily to his finger. He leaned his ear
+against it; he could hear now distinctly the sound of voices--he heard
+even the woman's laughter. For the height of about four feet the wall
+had been bodily removed. He made a small hole in the canvas--there was
+still darkness. He enlarged the hole until he could thrust his hand
+through--there was nothing but canvas the other side. He knew now where
+he was. There was only that single thickness of canvas between him and
+the room. He had but to make the smallest hole in it and he would be
+able to see through. Even now, with the removal of the barrier on his
+side, the voices were more distinct. A complete section of the wall had
+evidently been taken out and replaced by a detachable framework of wood
+covered with stretched canvas. He stood back for a moment and felt with
+his finger; he could almost trace the spot where the woodwork fitted
+upon hinges. Then he went on his hands and knees again, and with his
+penknife in his hand he paused to listen. He could hear the man Crease
+talking--a slow, nasal drawl. Then he heard Pritchard's voice, followed
+by what seemed to be a groan. There was a silence, then Elizabeth seemed
+to ask a question. He heard her low laugh and some note in it sent a
+shiver through his body. Pritchard was speaking fiercely now. Then, in
+the middle of his sentence, there was silence once more, followed by
+another groan. He could almost feel the people in that room holding
+their breaths.
+
+Tavernake was rapidly forgetting all caution. The point of his knife was
+through the canvas. Slowly he worked it round until a small piece, the
+size of a half-crown, was partially cut through. With infinite pains he
+got his head and shoulders into the small recess and for the first time
+looked into the room. Pritchard was sitting almost in the middle of the
+apartment; his arms seemed to be bound to the chair and his legs were
+tied together. A few yards away, Elizabeth, her fur coat laid aside, was
+lounging back in an easy-chair, her dress all glittering with sequins,
+a curious light in her eyes, a cruel smile parting her lips. By her
+side--sitting, in fact, on the arm of her chair--was Crease, his long,
+worn face paler, even, than usual; his lips curled in a smile of cynical
+amusement. Major Post was there, carefully dressed as though he had been
+attending some social gathering, standing upon the hearth-rug with his
+coat-tails under his arms. The professor, in whose face seemed written
+the most abject terror, was talking. Tavernake now could hear every word
+distinctly.
+
+"My dear Elizabeth! My dear Crease! You are both too precipitate! I tell
+you that I protest--I protest most strongly. Mr. Pritchard, I am sure,
+with a little persuasion, will listen to reason. I will not be a party
+to any such proceeding as--as this. You understand, Crease? We have gone
+quite far enough as it is. I will not have it."
+
+Elizabeth laughed softly.
+
+"My dear father," she said, "you will really have to take something for
+your nerves. Nothing need happen to Mr. Pritchard at all unless he asks
+for it. He has his chance--. no one should expect more."
+
+"You are right, my dear Elizabeth," declared Crease, speaking very
+slowly and with his usual drawl. "This question of his health for
+the future--at any rate, for the immediate future--is entirely in
+Pritchard's own hands. There is no one who has received so many warnings
+as he. Bramley was cautioned twice; Mallison was warned three times and
+burned to death; Forsith had word from us only once, and he was shot in
+a drunken brawl. This man Pritchard has been warned a dozen times, he
+has escaped death twice. The time has come to show him that we are in
+earnest. Threats are useless; the time has come for deeds. I say that
+if Pritchard refuses this trifling request of ours, let us see that he
+leaves this house in such a state that he will not be able to do us any
+harm for some time at least."
+
+"But he will give his word!" the professor cried excitedly. "I am quite
+sure that if you allow me to talk to him reasonably, he will pledge
+his word to go back to the States and interfere no longer with your
+affairs."
+
+Pritchard turned his head slightly. He was a little pale, and the blood
+was dropping slowly on to the floor from a wound in his temple, but his
+tone was contemptuous.
+
+"I will give you my word, Professor, and you, Elizabeth Gardner, and
+you, Jim Post, and you, Walter Crease, that crippled, or straight, in
+evil or good health, from the very jaws of death I will hang on to life
+until you have paid your just debts. You understand that, all of you?
+I don't know what sort of a show this is. You may be in earnest, or you
+may be trying a rag. In any case, let me assure you of this. You won't
+get me to beg for mercy. If you force me to drink that stuff you are
+talking about, I'll find the antidote, and as sure as there's a prison
+in America, so surely I'll make you suffer for it! If you take my
+advice," he went on slowly, "and I know what I'm talking about, you'll
+cut these ropes and set open your front door. You 'll live longer, all
+of you."
+
+"An idiot," Elizabeth remarked pleasantly, "can do but little harm in
+the world. The word of a person of weak intellect is not to be relied
+upon. For my part, I am very tired of our friend, Mr. Pritchard. If you
+others had been disposed to go to much greater lengths, if you had said
+'Hang him from the ceiling,' I should have been well pleased."
+
+Pritchard made a slight movement in his chair--it was certainly not a
+movement of fear.
+
+"Madam," he said, "I admire your candor. Let me return it. I don't
+believe there's one of you here has the pluck to attempt to do me
+any serious injury. If there is, get on with it. You hear, Mr. Walter
+Crease? Bring out that bottle of yours."
+
+Crease removed his cigar from his lips and rose slowly to his feet. From
+his waistcoat pocket he produced a small phial, from which he drew the
+cork.
+
+"Seems to me it's up to us to do the trick," he remarked languidly.
+"Catch hold of his forehead, Jimmy."
+
+The man known as Major Post threw away his cigarette, and coming round
+behind Pritchard's chair, suddenly bent the man's head backward.
+Crease advanced, phial in hand. Then all Hell seemed to be let loose in
+Tavernake. He stepped back in his place and marked the extent of that
+wooden partition. Then, setting his teeth, he sprang at it, throwing
+the great weight of his massive shoulder against the framework door.
+Scratched and bleeding, but still upon his feet, he burst into the room,
+with the noise of bricks falling behind,--an apparition so unexpected
+that the little company gathered there seemed turned into some waxwork
+group from the Chamber of Horrors--motionless, without even the power of
+movement.
+
+Tavernake, in those few moments, was like a giant among a company of
+degenerates. He was strong, his muscles were like whipcord, and his
+condition was perfect. Walter Crease went over like a log before his
+fist; Major Post felt the revolver at which he had snatched struck from
+his hand, and he himself remembered nothing more till he came to his
+senses some time afterwards. A slash and a cut and Pritchard was free.
+The professor stood wringing his hands. Elizabeth had risen to her feet.
+She was pale, but she was still more nearly composed than any other
+person in the room. Tavernake and Pritchard were masters of the
+situation. Pritchard leaned toward the mirror and straightened his tie.
+
+"I am afraid," he said looking down at Walter Crease's groaning figure,
+"that our hosts are scarcely in fit condition to take leave of us. Never
+mind, Mrs. Gardner, we excuse ourselves to you. I cannot pretend to be
+sorry that my friend's somewhat impetuous entrance has disturbed your
+plans for the evening, but I do hope that you will realize now the
+fatuousness of such methods in these days. Good-night! It is time we
+finished our stroll together, Tavernake."
+
+They moved towards the door--there was no one to stop them. Only the
+professor tried to say a few words.
+
+"My dear Mr. Pritchard--my dear Pritchard, if you will allow me to call
+you so," he exclaimed, "let me beg of you, before you leave us, not to
+take this trifling adventure too seriously! I can assure you that it was
+simply an attempt to coerce you, not in the least an affair to be taken
+seriously!"
+
+Pritchard smiled.
+
+"Professor," he said, "and you, Walter Crease, and you, Jimmy Post, if
+you're able to listen, listen to me. You have played the part of
+children to-night. So surely as men and women exist who live as you do,
+so surely must the law wait upon their heels. You cannot cheat justice.
+It is as inexorable as Time itself. When you try these little tricks,
+you simply give another turn to the wheel, add another danger to life.
+You had better learn to look upon me as necessary, all of you, for I am
+certainly inevitable."
+
+They passed backwards through the door, then they went down the silent
+hall and out into the street. Even as they did so, the clock struck a
+quarter to two.
+
+"My friend Tavernake," Pritchard declared, lighting a cigarette with
+steady fingers, "you are a man. Come into the club with me while I bathe
+my forehead. After all, we'll have that drink together before we say
+goodnight."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. A PLEASANT REUNION
+
+
+Tavernake awoke some hours later with a puzzled sense of having lost
+his own identity, of having taken up another man's life, stepped into
+another man's shoes. From the day of his first arrival in London, a raw
+country youth, till the night when he had spoken to Beatrice on the roof
+of Blenheim House, nothing that could properly be called an adventure
+had ever happened to him. He had never for a moment felt the want of it;
+he had not even indulged in the reading of books of romance. The thing
+which had happened last night, as in the cold morning sunlight he sat up
+in his bed, seemed to him a thing grotesque, inconceivable. It was
+not really possible that those people--those well-bred, well-looking
+people--had seriously contemplated an enormity which seemed to belong
+to the back pages of history, or that he, Tavernake, had burst through
+a wall with no weapons in his hand, and had dominated the situation! He
+sat there steadily thinking. It was incredible, but it was true! There
+existed still in his mind some faint doubt as to whether they would
+really have proceeded to extremities. Pritchard himself had made light
+of the whole affair, afterwards had treated it, indeed, as a huge
+practical joke. Tavernake, remembering that little group as he had first
+seen it, remained doubtful.
+
+By degrees, his own personal characteristics began to assert themselves.
+He began to wonder how his action would affect his commercial interests.
+He had probably made an enemy of this wonderful sister of Beatrice's,
+the woman who had so completely filled his thoughts during the last few
+days, the woman, too, who was to have found the money by means of which
+he was to set his feet upon the first rung of the ladder. This was a
+thing, he decided, which must be settled at once. He must see her and
+know exactly what terms they were on, whether or not she meant to be off
+with her bargain. The thought of action of any sort was stimulating. He
+rose and dressed, had his breakfast, and set out on his pilgrimage.
+
+Soon after eleven o'clock, he presented himself at the Milan Court and
+asked for Mrs. Wenham Gardner. For several minutes he waited about in
+nervous anticipation, then he was told that she was not at home. More
+than a little disappointed, he pressed for news of her. The hall porter
+thought that she had gone down into the country, and if so it
+was doubtful when she would be back. Tavernake was now seriously
+disconcerted.
+
+"I want particularly to wire to her," he insisted. "Please find out from
+her maid how I shall direct a telegram."
+
+The hall porter, who was a most superior person, regarded him blandly.
+
+"We do not give addresses, sir," he explained, "unless at the expressed
+wish of our clients. If you leave a telegram here, I will send it up to
+Mrs. Gardner's rooms to be forwarded."
+
+Tavernake scribbled one out, begging for news of her return, added
+his address and left the place. Then he wandered aimlessly about the
+streets. There seemed something flat about the morning, some aftermath
+of the excitement of the previous night was still stirring in his blood.
+Nevertheless, he pulled himself together with an effort, called for a
+young surveyor whom he had engaged to assist him, and spent the rest of
+the day out upon the hill. Religiously he kept his thoughts turned
+upon his work until the twilight came. Then he hurried home to meet the
+disappointment which he had more than half anticipated. There was no
+telegram for him! He ate his dinner and sat with folded arms, looking
+out into the street. Still no telegram! The restlessness came back once
+more. Soon after ten o'clock it became unbearable. He found himself
+longing for company, the loneliness of his little room since the
+departure of Beatrice had never seemed so real a thing. He stood it as
+long as he could and then, catching up his hat and stick, he set his
+face eastwards, walking vigorously, and with frequent glances at the
+clocks he passed.
+
+A few minutes past eleven o'clock, he found himself once more in
+that dark thoroughfare at the back of the theatre. The lamp over
+the stage-door was flickering in the same uncertain manner, the same
+motor-cars were there, the same crowd of young men, except that each
+night they seemed to grow larger. This time he had a few minutes only to
+wait. Beatrice came out among the earliest. At the sight of her he was
+suddenly conscious that he had, after all, no excuse for coming, that
+she would probably cross-examine him about Elizabeth, would probably
+guess the secret of his torments. He shrank back, but he was a moment
+too late for she had seen him. With a few words of excuse to the others
+with whom she was talking, she picked up her skirts and came swiftly
+across the muddy street. Tavernake had no time to escape. He
+remained there until she came, but his cheeks were hot, and he had an
+uncomfortable feeling that his presence, that their meeting like this,
+was an embarrassment to both of them.
+
+"My dear Leonard," she exclaimed, "why do you hide over there?"
+
+"I don't know," he answered simply.
+
+She laughed.
+
+"It looks as though you didn't want to see me," she remarked. "If you
+didn't, why are you here?"
+
+"I suppose I did want to see you," he replied. "Anyhow, I was lonely. I
+wanted to talk to some one. I walked all the way up here from Chelsea."
+
+"You have something to tell me?" she suggested.
+
+"There was something," he admitted. "I thought perhaps you ought to
+know. I had supper with your father last night. We talked about you."
+
+She started as though he had struck her; her face was suddenly pale and
+anxious.
+
+"Are you serious, Leonard?" she asked. "My father?"
+
+He nodded.
+
+"I am sorry," he said. "I ought not to have blundered it out like that.
+I forgot that you--you were not seeing anything of him."
+
+"How did you meet him?"
+
+"By accident," he answered. "I was sitting alone up in the balcony at
+Imano's, and he wanted my table because he could see you from there, so
+we shared it, and then we began talking. I knew who he was, of course;
+I had seen him in your sister's room. He told me that he had engaged the
+table for every night this week."
+
+She looked across the road.
+
+"I can't go out with those people now," she declared. "Wait here for
+me."
+
+She went back to her friends and talked to them for a moment or two.
+Tavernake could hear Grier's protesting voice and Beatrice's light
+laugh. Evidently they were trying uselessly to persuade her to change
+her mind. Soon she came back to him.
+
+"I am sorry," he said reluctantly. "I am afraid that I have spoiled your
+evening."
+
+"Don't be foolish, please," she replied taking his arm. "Do you believe
+that my father will be up in the balcony at Imano's to-night?"
+
+Tavernake nodded.
+
+"He told me so."
+
+"We will go and sit up there," she decided. "He knows where I am to be
+found now so it doesn't matter. I should like to see him."
+
+They walked off together. Though she was evidently absent and
+distressed, Tavernake felt once more that sense of pleasant
+companionship which her near presence always brought him.
+
+"There is something else I must ask you," she began presently. "I want
+to know if you have seen Pritchard lately."
+
+"I was with him last night," Tavernake answered.
+
+She shivered.
+
+"He was asking questions?"
+
+"Not about you," Tavernake assured her quickly. "It is your sister in
+whom he is interested."
+
+Beatrice nodded, but she seemed very little relieved. Tavernake could
+see that the old look of fear was back in her face.
+
+"I am sorry, Beatrice," he said, regretfully. "I seem just now to be
+always bringing you reminiscences of the people whom it terrifies you to
+hear about."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"It isn't your fault, Leonard," she declared, "only it is rather strange
+that you should be mixed up with them in any way, isn't it? I suppose
+some day you'll find out everything about me. Perhaps you'll be sorry
+then that you ever even called yourself my brother."
+
+"Don't be foolish," he answered, brusquely.
+
+She patted his hand.
+
+"Is the speculation going all right?" she asked.
+
+"I am hoping to get the money together this week," he replied. "If I get
+it, I shall be well off in a year, rich in five years."
+
+"There is just a doubt about your getting it, then?" she inquired.
+
+"Just a doubt," he admitted. "I have a solicitor who is doing his best
+to raise a loan, but I have not heard from him for two days. Then I have
+also a friend who has promised it to me, a friend upon whom I am not
+quite sure if I can rely."
+
+They turned into the Strand.
+
+"Tell me about my father, Leonard," she begged.
+
+He hesitated; it was hard to know exactly how to speak of the professor.
+
+"Perhaps if you have talked with him at all," she went on, "it will help
+you to understand one of the difficulties I had to face in life."
+
+"He is, I should imagine, a little weak," Tavernake suggested,
+hesitatingly.
+
+"Very," she answered. "My mother left him in my charge, but I cannot
+keep him."
+
+"Your sister--" he began.
+
+She nodded.
+
+"My sister has more influence than I. She makes life easier for him."
+
+They reached the restaurant and made their way upstairs. Tavernake
+appropriated the same table and once more the head waiter protested.
+
+"If the gentleman comes again to-night," Tavernake said, "you will find
+that he will be only too glad to have supper with us."
+
+Then the professor came. He made his usual somewhat theatrical
+entrance, carrying his broad-brimmed hat in his hand, brandishing his
+silver-topped cane. When he saw Tavernake and Beatrice, he stopped
+short. Then he held out both hands, which Beatrice immediately seized.
+There were tears in his eyes, tears running down his cheeks. He sat down
+heavily in the chair which Tavernake was holding for him.
+
+"Beatrice," he exclaimed, "why, this is most affecting! You have come
+here to have supper with your old father. You trust me, then?"
+
+"Absolutely," she replied, still clasping his hands. "If you give me
+away to Elizabeth, it will be the end. The next time I shall never be
+found."
+
+"For some days," he assured her, "I have known exactly where you were to
+be found. I have never spoken of it. You are safe. My meals up here,"
+he added, with a little sigh, "have been sad feasts. To-night we will
+be cheerful. Some quails, I think, quails and some Clicquot for you, my
+dear. You need it. Ah, this is a happiness indeed!"
+
+"You know Mr. Tavernake, father," she remarked, after he had given a
+somewhat lengthy order to the waiter.
+
+"I met and talked with Mr. Tavernake here the other night," the
+professor admitted, with condescension.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake was very good to me at a time when I needed help,"
+Beatrice told him.
+
+The professor grasped Tavernake's hands.
+
+"You were good to my child," he said, "you were good to me. Waiter,
+three cocktails immediately," he ordered, turning round. "I must drink
+your health, Mr. Tavernake--I must drink your health at once."
+
+Tavernake leaned forward towards Beatrice.
+
+"I wonder," he suggested, "whether you would not rather be alone with
+your father."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"You know so much," she replied, "and it really doesn't seem to matter.
+Tell me, father, how do you spend your time?"
+
+"I must confess, dear," the professor said, "that I have little to do.
+Your sister Elizabeth is quite generous."
+
+Beatrice sat back in her chair as though she had been struck.
+
+"Father," she exclaimed, "listen! You are living on that money! Doesn't
+it seem terrible to you? Oh, how can you do it!"
+
+The professor looked at his daughter with an expression of pained
+surprise.
+
+"My dear," he explained, "your sister Elizabeth has always been the
+moneyed one of the family. She has brains and I trust her. It is not for
+me to inquire as to the source of the comforts she provides for me. I
+feel myself entitled to receive them, and so I accept."
+
+"But, father," she went on, "can't you see--don't you know that it's his
+money--Wenham's?"
+
+"It is not a matter, this, my child," the professor observed, sharply,
+"which we can discuss before strangers. Some day we will speak of it,
+you and I."
+
+"Has he--been heard of?" she asked, in a whisper.
+
+The professor frowned.
+
+"A hot-tempered young man, my dear," he declared uneasily, "a hot
+tempered young man, indeed. Elizabeth gives me to understand that it was
+just an ordinary quarrel and away he went."
+
+Beatrice was white to the lips.
+
+"An ordinary quarrel!" she muttered.
+
+She sat quite still. Tavernake unconsciously found himself watching her.
+There were things in her eyes which frightened him. It seemed as though
+she were looking out of the gay little restaurant, with its lights and
+music and air of comfort, out into some distant quarter of the world,
+some other and very different place. She was living through something
+which chilled her heart, something terrifying. Tavernake saw those
+things in her face and his eyes spelt them out mercilessly.
+
+"Father," she whispered, leaning towards him, "do you believe what you
+have just been saying to me?"
+
+It was the professor's turn to be disturbed. He concealed his
+discomfiture, however, with a gesture of annoyance.
+
+"That is scarcely a proper question, Beatrice," he answered sharply.
+"Ah," he added, with more geniality, "the cocktails! My young friend
+Tavernake, I drink to our better acquaintance! You are English, as I
+can see, a real Britisher. Some day you must come out to our own great
+country--my daughter, of course, has told you that we are Americans. A
+great country, sir,--the greatest I have ever lived in--room to breathe,
+room to grow, room for a young man like you to plant his ambitions and
+watch them blossom. To our better acquaintance, Mr. Tavernake, and may
+we meet some day in the United States!"
+
+Tavernake drank the first cocktail in his life and wiped the tears from
+his eyes. The professor found safety in conversation.
+
+"You know," he went on, "that I am a man of science. Physiognomy
+delights me. Men and women as I meet them represent to me varying types
+of humanity, all interesting, all appealing to my peculiar love of the
+science of psychology. You, my dear Mr. Tavernake, if I may venture to
+be so personal, represent to me, as you sit there, the exact prototype
+of the young working Englishman. You are, I should judge, thorough,
+dogmatic, narrow, persistent, industrious, and bound to be successful
+according to the scope and nature of your ambitions. In this country
+you will never develop. In my country, sir, we should make a colossus of
+you. We should teach you not to be content with small things; we should
+raise your hand which you yourself kept to your side, and we should
+point your finger to the skies. Waiter," he added, turning abruptly
+round, "if the quails are not yet ready I will take another of these
+excellent cocktails."
+
+Tavernake was embarrassed. He saw that Beatrice was anxious to talk to
+her father; he saw, also, that her father was determined not to talk
+to her. With a little sigh, however, she resigned herself to the
+inevitable.
+
+"I have lectured, sir," the professor continued, "in most of the cities
+of the United States, upon the human race. The tendencies of every
+unit of the human race are my peculiar study. When I speak to you of
+phrenology, sir, you smile, and you think, perhaps, of a man who sits in
+a back room and takes your shilling for feeling the bumps of your head.
+I am not of this order of scientific men, sir. I have diplomas from
+every university worth mentioning. I blend the sciences which treat with
+the human race. I know something of all of them. Character reading to me
+is at once a passion and a science. Leave me alone with a man or a woman
+for five minutes, paint me a map of Life, and I will set the signposts
+along which that person will travel, and I shall not miss one."
+
+"You are doing no work over here, father, are you?" Beatrice asked.
+
+"None, my dear," he answered, with a faint note of regret in his tone.
+"Your sister Elizabeth seemed scarcely to desire it. Her movements are
+very uncertain and she likes to have me constantly at hand. My daughter
+Elizabeth," he continued, turning to Tavernake, "is a very beautiful
+young woman, left in my charge under peculiar circumstances. I feel it
+my duty, therefore, to be constantly at hand."
+
+Again there was a flash of that strange look in the girl's face. She
+leaned forward, but her father declined to meet her gaze.
+
+"May I ask one or two personal questions?" she faltered. "Remember, I
+have not seen or heard anything from either of you for seven months."
+
+"By all means, my dear," the professor declared. "Your sister, I am glad
+to say, is well. I myself am as you see me. We have had a pleasant time
+and we have met some dear old friends from the other side. Our greatest
+trouble is that you are temporarily lost to us."
+
+"Elizabeth doesn't guess--"
+
+"My child," the professor interrupted, "I have been loyal to you.
+If Elizabeth knew that I could tell her at any moment your exact
+whereabouts, I think that she would be more angry with me than ever she
+has been in her life, and, my dear," he added, "you know, when Elizabeth
+is angry, things are apt to be unpleasant. But I have been dumb. I have
+not spoken, nor shall I. Yet," the professor went on, "you must not
+think, Beatrice, that because I yield to your whim in this matter I
+recognize any sufficient cause why you should voluntarily estrange
+yourself from those whose right and privilege it is to look after you.
+You are able, I am glad to see, to make your way in the world. I have
+attended the Atlas Theatre, and I am glad to see that you have lost
+none of your old skill in the song and dance. You are deservedly popular
+there. Soon, I have no doubt, you will aspire to more important parts.
+Still, my dear child," the professor continued, disposing of his second
+cocktail, "I see no reason why your very laudable desire to remain
+independent should be incompatible with a life under your sister's roof
+and my protection. Mr. Tavernake here, with his British instincts, will,
+I am sure, agree with me that it is not well for a young lady--my own
+daughter, sir, but I may say it--of considerable personal attractions,
+to live alone or under the chaperonage merely of these other young
+ladies of the theatre."
+
+"I think,", Tavernake said, "that your daughter must have very strong
+reasons for preferring to live alone."
+
+"Imaginary ones, my dear sir," the professor assured him,--"altogether
+imaginary. The quails at last! And the Clicquot! Now this is really a
+delightful little meeting. I drink to its repetition. This is indeed a
+treat for me. Beatrice, my love to you! Mr. Tavernake, my best respects!
+The only vintage, sir," he concluded, setting down his empty glass
+appreciatively.
+
+"To go back to what you were saying just now," Tavernake remarked, "I
+quite agree with you about Beatrice's living alone. I am very anxious
+for her to marry me."
+
+The professor set down his knife and fork. His appearance was one of
+ponderous theatricality.
+
+"Sir," he declared, "this is indeed a most momentous statement. Am I to
+take it as a serious offer for my daughter's hand?"
+
+Beatrice leaned over and laid her fingers upon his.
+
+"Father," she said, "it doesn't matter please. I am not willing to marry
+Mr. Tavernake."
+
+The professor looked from one to the other and coughed.
+
+"Are Mr. Tavernake's means," he asked, "of sufficient importance to
+warrant his entering into matrimony?"
+
+"I have no money at all to speak of," Tavernake answered. "That really
+isn't important. I shall very soon make all that your daughter can
+spend."
+
+"I agree with my daughter, sir," the professor declared. "The subject
+might well be left until such time as you have improved your position.
+We will dismiss it, therefore,--dismiss it at once. We will talk--"
+
+"Father," Beatrice interrupted, "let us talk about yourself. Don't
+you think you would be more contented, happier, if you were to try to
+arrange for a few--a few demonstrations or lectures over here, as you
+at first intended? I know that you must find having nothing to do such a
+strain upon you," she added.
+
+It was perhaps by accident that her eyes were fixed upon the glass which
+the professor was carrying to his lips. He set it down at once.
+
+"My child," he said, in a low tone, "I understand you."
+
+"No, no," she insisted, "I didn't mean that, but you are always better
+when you are working. A man like you," she went on, a little wistfully,
+"should not waste his talents."
+
+He sighed.
+
+"You are perhaps right, my child," he admitted. "I will go and see my
+agents to-morrow. Up till now," he went on, "I have refused all offers.
+I have felt that Elizabeth, the care of Elizabeth in her peculiar
+position, demanded my whole attention. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I
+have over-estimated the necessity of being constantly at her right
+hand. She is a very clever woman Elizabeth," he concluded, "very clever
+indeed."
+
+"Where is she now, father?" Beatrice asked.
+
+"She motored into the country early this morning with some friends,"
+the professor said. "They went to a party last night with Walter Crease,
+London correspondent to the New York Gazette," he explained, turning a
+little away from Tavernake. "They were all home very late, I understand,
+and Elizabeth complained of a headache this morning. Personally, I
+regret to say that I was not up when they left."
+
+Beatrice leaned quite close to her father.
+
+"Do you see anything of the man Pritchard?" she inquired.
+
+The professor was suddenly flabby. He set down his glass, spilling half
+its contents. He stole a quick glance at Tavernake.
+
+"My child," he exclaimed, "you ought to consider my nerves! You know
+very well that the sudden mention of any one whom I dislike so intensely
+is bad for me. I am surprised at you, Beatrice. You show a culpable lack
+of consideration for my infirmities."
+
+"I am sorry, father," she whispered, "but is he here?"
+
+"He is," the professor admitted. "Between ourselves," he added, a white,
+scared look upon his pale face, "he is spoiling my whole peace of mind.
+My enjoyment of the comforts which Elizabeth is able to provide for me
+is interfered with by that man's constant presence. He seldom speaks,
+and yet he seems always to be watching. I do not trust him, Beatrice. I
+am a judge of men and I tell you that I do not trust him."
+
+"I wish that Elizabeth would go away," Beatrice said in a low tone. "Of
+course, I have no right--to say things. Nothing serious has perhaps ever
+happened. And yet--and yet, for her own sake, I do not think that she
+should stay here in London with Pritchard close at hand."
+
+The professor raised his glass with shaking fingers.
+
+"Elizabeth knows what is best," he declared, "I am sure that Elizabeth
+knows what is best, but I, too, am beginning to wish that she would go
+away. Last night we met him at Walter Crease's."
+
+Once more he turned a little nervously towards Tavernake, who was
+looking down into the body of the restaurant with immovable face.
+
+"We tried to persuade him then to go away. He is really in rather a
+dangerous position here. Jimmy Post has sworn that he will not be taken
+back to New York, and there are one or two others--a pretty desperate
+crew. We tried last night to reason with Pritchard."
+
+"It was no good?" she whispered.
+
+"No good at all," the professor answered, drily. "Perhaps, if we had not
+been interrupted, we might have convinced him."
+
+"Tell me about it," she begged.
+
+The professor shook his head. Tavernake still had that air of paying no
+attention whatever to their conversation.
+
+"It is not for you to know about, my dear," he concluded. "You have
+chosen very wisely to keep out of these matters. Elizabeth has such
+wonderful courage. My own nerve, I regret to say, is not quite what it
+was. Waiter, I will take a liqueur of the old brandy in a large glass."
+
+The brandy was brought, but the professor seemed haunted by memories and
+his spirits never wholly returned. Not until the lights were turned down
+and Tavernake had paid the bill, did he partially recover his former
+manner.
+
+"Dear child," he said, as they stood up together, "I cannot tell you
+what the pleasure has been of this brief reunion."
+
+She rested her fingers upon his shoulders and looked up into his face.
+
+"Father," she begged, softly, "come to me. I can keep you, if you don't
+mind for a short time being poor. You shall have all my salary except
+just enough for my clothes, and anything will do for me to wear. I will
+try so hard to make you comfortable."
+
+He looked at her with an air of offended dignity.
+
+"My child," he replied, "you must not talk to me like that. If I did not
+feel that my duty lay with Elizabeth, I should insist upon your coming
+to me, and under those conditions it would be I who should provide, not
+you. But for the moment I cannot leave your elder sister altogether. She
+needs me."
+
+Beatrice turned away a little sadly. They all three descended the
+stairs.
+
+"I shall leave our young friend, Mr. Tavernake, to escort you to your
+home," the professor announced. "I myself shall telephone to see if
+Elizabeth has returned. If she is still away, I shall spend an hour or
+two, I think, with my friends at the Blue Room Club. Beatrice, this has
+been a joy to me, a joy soon, I hope, to be repeated."
+
+He took both her hands. She smiled at him with an attempt at
+cheerfulness.
+
+"Good-night, father!" she said.
+
+"And to you, sir, also, good-night!" the professor added, taking
+Tavernake's hand and holding it for a minute in his, while he looked
+impressively in his face. "I will not say too much, but I will say this:
+so much as I have seen of you, I like. Good-night!"
+
+He turned and strode away. Both Beatrice and Tavernake watched him until
+he disappeared. Then, with a sigh, she picked up her skirts with her
+right hand, and took Tavernake's arm.
+
+"Do you mind walking home?" she asked. "My head aches."
+
+Tavernake looked for a moment wistfully across the road toward the Milan
+Court. Beatrice's hand, however, only held his arm the tighter.
+
+"I am going to make you come with me every step of the way," she
+declared, "so you can just as well make the best of it. Afterwards--"
+
+"What about afterwards?" he interrupted.
+
+"Afterwards," she continued, with decision, "you are to go straight
+home!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. SOME EXCELLENT ADVICE
+
+
+Tavernake, in response to a somewhat urgent message, walked into his
+solicitor's office almost as soon as they opened on the following
+morning. The junior partner of the firm, who took an interest in him,
+and was anxious, indeed, to invest a small amount in the Marston Rise
+Building Company, received him cordially but with some concern.
+
+"Look here, Tavernake," he said, "I thought I'd better write a line and
+ask you to come down. You haven't forgotten, have you, that our option
+of purchase lasts only three days longer?"
+
+Tavernake nodded.
+
+"Well, what of it?" he asked.
+
+"It's just as well that you should understand the situation," the lawyer
+continued. "Your old people are hard upon our heels in this matter,
+and there will be no chance of any extension--not even for an hour. Mr.
+Dowling has already put in an offer a thousand pounds better than yours;
+I heard that incidentally yesterday afternoon; so you may be sure
+that the second your option has legally expired, the thing will be off
+altogether so far as you're concerned."
+
+"That's all very well," Tavernake remarked, "but what about the plots
+that already belong to me?"
+
+"They have some sort of scheme for leaving those high and dry," the
+solicitor explained. "You see, the drainage and lighting will be largely
+influenced by the purchaser of the whole estate. If Dowling gets it,
+he means to treat your plots so that they will become practically
+valueless. It's rather a mean sort of thing, but then he's a mean little
+man."
+
+Tavernake nodded.
+
+"Well," he announced, "I was coming to see you, anyhow, this morning, to
+talk to you about the money."
+
+"Your friend isn't backing out?" the lawyer asked, quickly.
+
+"My friend has not said anything about backing out yet," Tavernake
+replied, "but circumstances have arisen during the last few days which
+have altered my own views as to the expediency of business relations
+with this person. I haven't any reason to suppose that the money won't
+be forthcoming, but if I could get it from any other source, I should
+prefer it."
+
+The solicitor looked blank.
+
+"Of course," he said, "I'll do what I can, if you like, but I may as
+well tell you at once that I don't think I should have a ghost of a
+chance of raising the whole amount."
+
+"I suppose," Tavernake inquired, thoughtfully, "your firm couldn't do
+anything?"
+
+"We could do something, certainly," the solicitor answered, "on account
+of our own clients. We might, perhaps, manage up to five thousand
+pounds. That would still leave us wanting seven, however, and I scarcely
+see where we could get it."
+
+Tavernake was silent for a few moments.
+
+"You haven't quarreled with your friend, have you?" the solicitor asked.
+
+"No, there has been no quarrel," Tavernake replied. "I have another
+reason."
+
+"If I were you, I'd try and forget it," his friend advised. "To tell you
+the truth, I have been feeling rather anxious about this affair. It's
+a big thing, you know, and the profit is as sure as the dividend on
+Consols. I should hate to have that little bounder Dowling get in and
+scoop it up."
+
+"It's a fine investment," admitted Tavernake, "and, as you say, there
+isn't the slightest risk. That's why I was hoping you might have been
+able to manage it without my calling upon my friend."
+
+Mr. Martin shook his head.
+
+"It isn't so easy to convince other people. All the same, I don't want
+to get left. If you'll take my advice, you'll go and call on your friend
+at once, and see exactly how matters stand. If everything's O.K. and you
+can induce him to part a few hours before it is absolutely necessary, I
+must confess that it would take a load off my mind. I don't like these
+affairs that have to be concluded at the last possible moment."
+
+"Well," Tavernake agreed, "I must try what I can do, then. There is
+nothing else fresh, I suppose?"
+
+"Nothing," the solicitor answered. "Come back, if you can make any
+definite arrangement, or telephone. The matter is really bothering me a
+little. I don't want to have the other people slip in now."...
+
+Tavernake, instead of obeying his first impulse and making his way
+direct to the Milan Court, walked to the flat in Kingsway, climbed up
+the stone steps, and asked for Beatrice. She met him at her own door,
+fully dressed.
+
+"My dear Leonard!" she exclaimed, in surprise. "What an early caller!"
+
+"I want a few words with you," he said. "Can you spare me five minutes?"
+
+"You must walk with me to the theatre," she replied, "I am just off to
+rehearsal."
+
+They descended the stairs together.
+
+"I have something to tell you," Tavernake began, "something to tell you
+which you won't like to hear."
+
+"Something which I won't like to hear," she repeated, fearfully. "Go on,
+Leonard. It can't be worse than it sounds."
+
+"I don't know why I've come to tell you," he went on. "I never meant to.
+It came into my mind all of a sudden and I felt that I must. It has to
+do with your sister and the Marston Rise affair."
+
+"My sister and the Marston Rise affair!" Beatrice exclaimed,
+incredulously.
+
+Then a sudden light broke in upon her. She stopped short and clutched at
+his hand.
+
+"You don't mean that it was Elizabeth who was going to find you the
+money?" she cried.
+
+"I do," he answered. "She offered it of her own accord. I do not know
+why I talked to her of my own affairs, but she led me on to speak of
+them. Your sister is a wonderful person," he continued, dropping his
+voice. "I don't know why, but she made me talk as no one else has ever
+made me talk before. I simply had to tell her things. Then, when I had
+finished, she showed me her bankbooks and suggested that she should
+invest some of her money in the Rise."
+
+"But do you mean to tell me," Beatrice persisted, "that it is her money
+upon which you are relying for this purchase?"
+
+Tavernake nodded.
+
+"You see," he explained, "Mr. Dowling dropped upon us before I was
+prepared. As soon as he found out, he went to the owners of the estate
+and made them a bid for it. The consequence was that they shortened my
+option and gave me very little chance indeed to find the money. When
+your sister offered it, it certainly seemed a wonderful stroke of
+fortune. I could give her eight or ten per cent, whereas she would only
+get four anywhere else, and I should make a profit for myself of over
+ten thousand pounds, which I cannot do unless I find the money to buy
+the estate."
+
+"But you mustn't touch that money, you mustn't have anything to do with
+it!" Beatrice exclaimed, walking very fast and looking straight ahead.
+"You don't understand. How should you?"
+
+"Do you mean that the money was stolen?" Tavernake asked, after a
+moment's pause.
+
+"No, not stolen," Beatrice replied, "but it comes--oh! I can't tell you,
+only Elizabeth has no right to it. My own sister! It is all too awful!"
+
+"Do you think that she has come by this money dishonestly?"
+
+"I am not sure," Beatrice murmured. "There are worse things, more
+terrible things even than theft."
+
+The practical side of Tavernake's nature was very much to the fore
+that morning. He began to wonder whether women, after all, strange and
+fascinating creatures though they were, possessed judgment which could
+be relied upon--whether they were not swayed too much by sentiment.
+
+"Beatrice," he said, "you must understand this. I have no time to raise
+the money elsewhere. If I don't get it from your sister, supposing she
+is still willing to let me have it, my chance has gone. I shall have to
+take a situation in some one else's office as a clerk--probably not so
+good a place as I held at Dowling & Spence's. On the other hand, the use
+of that money for a very short time would be the start of my career. All
+that you say is so vague. Why need I know anything about it? I met your
+sister in the ordinary way of business and she has made an ordinary
+business proposition to me, one by which she will be, incidentally, very
+greatly benefited. I never thought of telling you this at all, but when
+the time came I hated to go and draw that money from your sister without
+having said anything to you. So I came this morning, but I want you, if
+you possibly can, to look at the matter from my point of view."
+
+She was silent for several moments. Then she glanced at him curiously.
+
+"Why on earth," she asked, "should my sister make this offer to you? She
+isn't a fool. She doesn't usually trust strangers."
+
+"She trusted me, apparently," Tavernake answered.
+
+"Can you understand why?" Beatrice demanded.
+
+"I think that I can," he replied. "If one can rely upon one's
+perception, she is surrounded by people whom she might find agreeable
+companions but whom she is scarcely likely to have much confidence in.
+Perhaps she realized that I wasn't like them."
+
+"And you want very much to take this money?" she said, half to herself.
+
+"I want to very much indeed," Tavernake admitted. "I was on my way
+to see her this morning and to ask her to let me have it a day or two
+before the time, but I felt, somehow, that there seemed to be a certain
+amount of deceit in going to her and taking it without saying a word to
+you. I felt that I had to come here first. But Beatrice, don't ask me to
+give it up. It means such a long time before I can move again. It's the
+first step that's so difficult, and I must--I must make a start. It's
+such a chance, this. I have spent so many hours thinking about it. I
+have planned and worked and sketched it all out as no one else could do.
+I must have that money."
+
+They walked on in silence until they reached the stage door. Beatrice
+was thinking of her companion as she had seen him so often, poring over
+his plans, busy with ruler and india-rubber, absolutely absorbed in the
+interest of his task. She remembered the first time he had talked
+about this scheme of his, how his whole face had changed, the almost
+passionate interest with which he had worked the thing out even to its
+smallest details. She realized how great a part of his life the thing
+had become, what a terrible blow it would be to him to have to abandon
+it. She turned and faced him.
+
+"Leonard," she said, "perhaps, after all, you are right. Perhaps I give
+way too much to what, after all, is only a sentimental feeling. I am
+thankful that you came and told me; I shall always be thankful for that.
+Take the money, but pay it back as soon as you can."
+
+"I shall do that," he answered. "I shall do that you may rely upon it."
+
+She laid her hand upon his arm.
+
+"Leonard," she begged, "I know that Elizabeth is very beautiful and very
+fascinating, and I don't wonder that you like to go and see her, but I
+want to ask you to promise me one thing."
+
+He felt as though he were suddenly turned into stone. It was not
+possible--it could not be possible that she had guessed his secret!
+
+"Well?" he demanded.
+
+"Don't let her introduce you to her friends; don't spend too much time
+there," she continued. "Elizabeth is my sister and I don't--really I
+don't want to say anything that doesn't sound kind, but her friends are
+not fit people for you to know, and Elizabeth--well she hasn't very much
+heart."
+
+He was silent for several moments.
+
+"How did you know I liked going to see your sister?" he asked,
+abruptly.
+
+She smiled.
+
+"My dear Leonard," she said, "you are not very clever at hiding your
+feelings. When you came to see me the other day, do you imagine I
+believed for a single moment that you asked me to marry you simply
+because you cared? I think, Leonard, that it was because you were
+afraid, you were afraid of something coming into your life so big,
+so terrifying, that you were ready to clutch at the easiest chance of
+safety."
+
+"Beatrice, this is absurd!" he exclaimed.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"No, it isn't that," she declared. "Do you know, my dear Leonard, what
+there was about you from the very first which attracted me?"
+
+"No," he answered.
+
+"It was your honesty," she continued. "You remember that night upon the
+roof at Blenheim House? You were going to tell a lie for me, and I know
+how you hated it. You love the truth, you are truthful naturally; I
+would rely upon you wherever I was. I know that you would keep your
+word, I know that you would be honest. A woman loves to feel that about
+a man--she loves it--and I don't want you to be brought near the people
+who sneer at honesty and all good things. I don't want you to hear their
+point of view. You may be simple and commonplace in some respects; I
+want you to stay just as you are. Do you understand?"
+
+"I understand," Tavernake replied gravely.
+
+A call boy shouted her name down the stone passage. She patted him on
+the shoulder and turned away.
+
+"Run along now and get the money," she said. "Come and see me when it's
+all over."
+
+Tavernake left her with a long breath of relief and made his way towards
+the Strand. At the corner of Wellington Street he came face to face
+with Pritchard. They stopped at once. There seemed to be something
+embarrassing about this meeting. Pritchard patted him familiarly on the
+shoulder.
+
+"How goes it, old man?" he asked.
+
+"I am all right," Tavernake answered, somewhat awkwardly. "How are you?"
+
+"I guess I'd be the better for a drink," Pritchard declared. "Come
+along. Pretty well done up the other night, weren't we? We'll step into
+the American Bar here and try a gin fizz."
+
+They found themselves presently perched upon two high stools in a
+deserted corner of the bar to which Pritchard had led the way. Tavernake
+sipped his drink tentatively.
+
+"I should like," he said, "to ask you a question or two about Wednesday
+night."
+
+Pritchard nodded.
+
+"Go right ahead," he invited.
+
+"You seem to take the whole affair as a sort of joke," Tavernake
+remarked.
+
+"Well, isn't that what it was?" the detective asked, smiling.
+
+Tavernake shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"There didn't seem to me to be much joke about it!" he exclaimed.
+
+Pritchard laughed gayly.
+
+"You are not used to Americans, my young friend," he said. "Over on this
+side you are all so fearfully literal. You are not seriously supposing
+that they meant to dose me with that stuff the other night, eh?"
+
+"I never thought that there was any doubt about it at all," Tavernake
+declared deliberately.
+
+Pritchard stroked his moustache meditatively.
+
+"Well," he remarked, "you are certainly green, and yet I don't know why
+you shouldn't be. Americans are always up to games of that sort. I am
+not saying that they didn't mean to give me a scare, if they could, or
+that they wouldn't have been glad to get a few words of information out
+of me, or a paper or two that I keep pretty safely locked up. It would
+have been a better joke on me then. But as for the rest, as for really
+trying to make me take that stuff, of course, that was all bunkum."
+
+Tavernake sat quite still in his chair for several minutes.
+
+"Will you take another gin fizz, Mr. Pritchard?" he asked.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+Tavernake gave the order. He sat on his stool whistling softly to
+himself.
+
+"Then I suppose," he said at last, "I must have looked a pretty sort of
+an ass coming through the wall like a madman."
+
+Pritchard shook his head.
+
+"You looked just about what you were," he answered, "a d----d good sort.
+I'm not playing up to you that it was all pretense. You can never trust
+that gang. The blackguard outside was in earnest, anyway. After all, you
+know, they wouldn't miss me if I were to drop quietly out. There 's no
+one else they 're quite so much afraid of. There 's no one else knows
+quite as much about them."
+
+"Well, we'll let it go at that," Tavernake declared. "You know so much
+of all these people, though, that I rather wish you 'd tell me something
+I want very much to know."
+
+"It's by telling nothing," the detective replied quickly, "that I know
+as much as I do. Just one cocktail, eh?"
+
+Tavernake shook his head.
+
+"I drank my first cocktail last night," he remarked. "I had supper with
+the professor and his daughter."
+
+"Not Elizabeth?" Pritchard asked swiftly.
+
+Tavernake shook his head.
+
+"With Miss Beatrice," he answered.
+
+Pritchard set down his glass.
+
+"Say, Tavernake," he inquired, "you are friendly with that young lady,
+Miss Beatrice, aren't you?"
+
+"I certainly am," Tavernake answered. "I have a very great regard for
+her."
+
+"Then I can tell you how to do her a good turn," Pritchard continued,
+earnestly. "Keep her away from that old blackguard. Keep her away from
+all the gang. Believe me, she is looking for trouble by even speaking to
+them."
+
+"But the man's her father," Tavernake objected, "and he seems fond of
+her."
+
+"Don't you believe it," Pritchard went on. "He's fond of nothing and
+nobody but himself and easy living. He's soft, mind you, he's got plenty
+of sentiment, he 'll squeeze a tear out of his eye, and all that sort
+of thing, but he'd sell his soul, or his daughter's soul, for a little
+extra comfort. Now Elizabeth doesn't know exactly where her sister is,
+and she daren't seem anxious, or go around making inquiries. Beatrice
+has her chance to keep away, and I can tell you it will be a thundering
+sight better for her if she does."
+
+"Well, I don't understand it at all," Tavernake declared. "I hate
+mysteries."
+
+Pritchard set down his empty glass.
+
+"Look here," he remarked, "this affair is too serious, after all, for us
+to talk round like a couple of gossips. I have given you your warning,
+and if you're wise you 'll remember it."
+
+"Tell me this one thing," Tavernake persisted. "Tell me what is the
+cause of the quarrel between the two? Can't something be done to bring
+them together again?"
+
+Pritchard shook his head.
+
+"Nothing," he answered. "As things are at present, they are better
+apart. Coming my way?"
+
+Tavernake followed him out of the place. Pritchard took his arm as he
+turned down toward the Strand.
+
+"My young friend," he said, "here is a word of advice for you. The
+Scriptures say that you cannot serve God and mammon. Paraphrase that to
+the present situation and remember that you cannot serve Elizabeth and
+Beatrice."
+
+"What then?" Tavernake demanded.
+
+The detective waited until he had lit the long black cigar between his
+teeth.
+
+"I guess you'd better confine your attentions to Beatrice," he
+concluded.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. DINNER WITH ELIZABETH
+
+
+The rest of that day was for Tavernake a period of feverish anxieties.
+He received two telegrams from Mr. Martin, his solicitor, and he
+himself was more uneasy than he cared to admit. At three o'clock in
+the afternoon, at eight in the evening, and again at eleven o'clock at
+night, he presented himself at the Milan Court, always with the same
+inquiry. On the last occasion, the hall porter had cheering news for
+him.
+
+"Mrs. Wenham Gardner returned from the country an hour ago, sir," he
+announced. "I can send your name up now, if you wish to see her."
+
+Tavernake was conscious of a sense of immense relief. Of course, he had
+known that she had not really gone away for good, but all the same her
+absence, especially after the event of the night before last, was a
+little disquieting.
+
+"My name is Tavernake," he said. "I do not wish to intrude at such an
+hour, but if she could see me for a moment, I should be glad."
+
+He sat down and waited patiently. Soon a message came that Mr. Tavernake
+was to go up. He ascended in the lift and knocked at the door of her
+suite. Her maid opened it grudgingly. She scarcely took the pains to
+conceal her disapproval of this young man--so ordinary, so gauche. Why
+Madame should waste her time upon such a one, she could not imagine!
+
+"Mrs. Gardner will see you directly," she told him. "Madame is dressing
+now to go out for supper. She will be able to spare you only a few
+seconds."
+
+Tavernake remained alone in the luxurious little sitting-room for nearly
+ten minutes. Then the door of the inner room was opened and Elizabeth
+appeared. Tavernake, rising slowly to his feet, looked at her for a
+moment in reluctant but wondering admiration. She was wearing an ivory
+satin gown, without trimming or lace of any sort, a gown the fit of
+which seemed to him almost a miracle. Her only jewelry was a long rope
+of pearls and a small tiara. Tavernake had never been brought into close
+contact with any one quite like this.
+
+She was putting on her gloves as she entered and she gave him her left
+hand.
+
+"What an extraordinary person you are, Mr. Tavernake!" she exclaimed.
+"You really do seem to turn up at the most astonishing times."
+
+"I am very sorry to have intruded upon you to-night," he said. "As
+regards the last occasion, however, upon which I made an unexpected
+appearance, I make no apologies whatever," he added coolly.
+
+She laughed softly. She was looking full into his eyes and yet he could
+not tell whether she was angry with him or only amused.
+
+"You were by way of being a little melodramatic, were you not?" she
+remarked. "Still, you were very much in earnest, and one forgives a
+great deal to any one who is really in earnest. What do you want with me
+now? I am just going downstairs to supper."
+
+"It is a matter of business," Tavernake replied. "I have a friend who
+is a partner with me in the Marston Rise building speculation, and he is
+worried because there is some one else in the field wanting to buy the
+property, and the day after to-morrow is our last chance of paying over
+the money."
+
+She looked at him as though puzzled.
+
+"What money?"
+
+"The money which you agreed to lend me, or rather to invest in our
+building company," he reminded her.
+
+She nodded.
+
+"Of course! Why, I had forgotten all about it for the moment. You are
+going to give me ten per cent interest or something splendid, aren't
+you? Well, what about it? You don't want to take it away with you now, I
+suppose?"
+
+"No," he answered, "it isn't that. To be honest with you, I came to make
+sure that you hadn't changed your mind."
+
+"And why should I change my mind?"
+
+"You might be angry with me," he said, "for interfering in your concerns
+the night before last."
+
+"Perhaps I am," she remarked, indifferently.
+
+"Do you wish to withdraw from your promise?" he asked.
+
+"I really haven't thought much about it," she replied, carelessly.
+"By-the-bye, have you seen Beatrice lately?"
+
+"We agreed, I think," he reminded her, "that we would not talk about
+your sister."
+
+She looked at him over her shoulder.
+
+"I do not remember that I agreed to anything of the sort," she declared.
+"I think it was you who laid down the law about that. As a matter of
+fact, I think that your silence about her is very unkind. I suppose you
+have seen her?"
+
+"Yes, I have seen her," Tavernake admitted.
+
+"She continues to be tragic," Elizabeth asked, "whenever my name is
+mentioned?"
+
+"I should not call it tragic," Tavernake answered, reluctantly. "One
+gathers, however, that something transpired between you before she left,
+of a serious nature."
+
+She looked at him earnestly.
+
+"Really," she said, "you are a strange, stolid young man. I wonder," she
+went on, smiling into his face, "are you in love with my sister?"
+
+Tavernake made no immediate response, only something flashed for a
+moment in his eyes which puzzled her.
+
+"Why do you look at me like that?" she demanded. "You are not angry with
+me for asking?"
+
+"No, I am not angry," he replied. "It isn't that. But you must know--you
+must see!"
+
+Then she indeed did see that he was laboring under a very great emotion.
+She leaned towards him, laughing softly.
+
+"Now you are really becoming interesting," she murmured. "Tell me--tell
+me all about it."
+
+"I don't know what love is!" Tavernake declared fiercely. "I don't know
+what it means to be in love!"
+
+Again she laughed in his face.
+
+"Are you so sure?" she whispered.
+
+She saw the veins stand out upon his temples, watched the passion which
+kept him at first tongue-tied.
+
+"Sure!" he muttered. "Who can be sure when you look like that!"
+
+He held out his arms. With a swift little backward movement she flitted
+away and leaned against the table.
+
+"What a brother-in-law you would make!" she laughed. "So steady, so
+respectable, alas! so serious! Dear Mr. Tavernake, I wish you joy. As a
+matter of fact, you and Beatrice are very well suited for one another."
+
+The telephone bell rang. She moved over and held the receiver to her
+ear. Her face changed. After the first few words to which she listened,
+it grew dark with anger.
+
+"You mean to say that Professor Franklin has not been in since
+lunch-time?" she exclaimed. "I left word particularly that I should
+require him to-night. Is Major Post there, then? No? Mr. Crease--no?
+Nor Mr. Faulkes? Not one of them! Very well, ring me up directly the
+professor comes in, or any of them."
+
+She replaced the receiver with a gesture of annoyance. Tavernake was
+astonished at the alteration in her expression. The smile had gone, and
+with its passing away lines had come under her eyes and about her mouth.
+Without a word to him she strode away into her bedroom. Tavernake was
+just wondering whether he should retire, when she came back.
+
+"Listen, Mr. Tavernake," she said, "how far away are your rooms?"
+
+"Down at Chelsea," he answered, "about two miles and a half."
+
+"Take a taxi and drive there," she commanded, "or stop. You will find my
+car outside. I will telephone down to say that you are to use it. Change
+into your evening clothes and come back for me. I want you to take me
+out to supper."
+
+He looked at her in amazement. She stamped her foot.
+
+"Don't stand there hesitating!" she ordered. "Do as I say! You don't
+expect I am going to help you to buy your wretched property if you
+refuse me the simplest of favors? Hurry, I say! Hurry!"
+
+"I am really very sorry," Tavernake interposed, "but I do not possess a
+dress suit. I would go, with pleasure, but I haven't got such a thing."
+
+She looked at him for a moment incredulously. Then she broke into a fit
+of uncontrollable laughter. She sat down upon the edge of a couch and
+wiped the tears from her eyes.
+
+"Oh, you strange, you wonderful person!" she exclaimed. "You want to buy
+an estate and you want to borrow twelve thousand pounds, and you know
+where Beatrice is and you won't tell me, and you are fully convinced,
+because you burst into a house through the wall, that you saved poor
+Pritchard from being poisoned, and you don't possess a dress suit! Never
+mind, as it happens it doesn't matter about the dress suit. You shall
+take me out as you are."
+
+Tavernake felt in his pockets and remembered that he had only thirty
+shillings with him.
+
+"Here, carry my purse," she said carelessly. "We are going downstairs to
+the smaller restaurant. I have been traveling since six o'clock, and I
+am starving."
+
+"But how about my clothes?" Tavernake objected. "Will they be all
+right?"
+
+"It doesn't matter where we are going," she answered. "You look very
+well as you are. Come and let me put your tie straight."
+
+She came close to him and her fingers played for a moment with his tie.
+She was very near to him and she laughed deliberately into his face.
+Tavernake held himself quite stiff and felt foolish. He also felt
+absurdly happy.
+
+"There," she remarked, when she had arranged it to her satisfaction,
+"you look all right now. I wonder," she added, half to herself, "what
+you do look like. Something Colonial and forceful, I think. Never
+mind, help me on with my cloak and come along. You are a most
+respectable-looking escort, and a very useful one."
+
+
+Although Tavernake was nominally the host, it was Elizabeth who selected
+the table and ordered the supper. There were very few other guests in
+the room, the majority being down in the larger restaurant, but among
+these few Tavernake noticed two of the girls from the chorus at the
+Atlas. Elizabeth had chosen a table from which she had a view of the
+door, and she took the seat facing it. From the first Tavernake felt
+certain that she was watching for some one.
+
+"Talk to me now, please, about this speculation," she insisted. "I
+should like to know all about it, and whether you are sure that I shall
+get ten per cent for my money."
+
+Tavernake was in no way reluctant. It was a safe topic for conversation,
+and one concerning which he had plenty to say. But after a time she
+stopped him.
+
+"Well," she said, "I have discovered at any rate one subject on which
+you can be fluent. Now I have had enough of building properties, please,
+and house building. I should like to hear a little about Beatrice."
+
+Tavernake was dumb.
+
+"I do not wish to talk about Beatrice," he declared, "until I understand
+the cause of this estrangement between you."
+
+Her eyes flashed angrily and her laugh sounded forced.
+
+"Not even talk of her! My dear friend," she protested, "you scarcely
+repay the confidence I am placing in you!"
+
+"You mean the money?"
+
+"Precisely," she continued. "I trust you, why I do not know--I suppose
+because I am something of a physiognomist--with twelve thousand pounds
+of my hard-earned savings. You refuse to trust me with even a few simple
+particulars about the life of my own sister. Come, I don't think that
+things are quite as they should be between us."
+
+"Do you know where I first met your sister?" Tavernake asked.
+
+She shook her head pettishly.
+
+"How should I? You told me nothing."
+
+"She was staying in a boarding-house where I lived," Tavernake went on.
+"I think I told you that but nothing else. It was a cheap boarding-house
+but she had not enough money to pay for her meals. She was tired of
+life. She was in a desperate state altogether."
+
+"Are you trying to tell me, or rather trying not to tell me, that
+Beatrice was mad enough to think of committing suicide?" Elizabeth
+inquired.
+
+"She was in the frame of mind when such a step was possible," he
+answered, gravely. "You remember that night when I first saw you in the
+chemist's shop across the street? She had been very ill that evening,
+very ill indeed. You could see for yourself the effect meeting you had
+upon her."
+
+Elizabeth nodded, and crumbled a little piece of roll between her
+fingers. Then she leaned over the table towards Tavernake.
+
+"She seemed terrified, didn't she? She hurried you away--she seemed
+afraid."
+
+"It was very noticeable," he admitted. "She was terrified. She dragged
+me out of the place. A few minutes later she fainted in the cab."
+
+Elizabeth smiled.
+
+"Beatrice was always over-sensitive," she remarked. "Any sudden shock
+unnerved her altogether. Are you terrified of me, too, Mr. Tavernake?"
+
+"I don't know," he answered, frankly. "Sometimes I think that I am."
+
+She laughed softly.
+
+"Why?" she whispered.
+
+He looked into her eyes and he felt abject. How was it possible to sit
+within a few feet of her and remain sane!
+
+"You are so wonderful," he said, in a low tone, "so different from any
+one else in the world!"
+
+"You are glad that you met me, then--that you are here?" she asked.
+
+He raised his eyes once more.
+
+"I don't know," he answered simply. "If I really believed--if you were
+always kind like this--but, you see, you make two men of me. When I am
+with you I am a fool, your fool, to do as you will with. When I am away,
+some glimmerings of common sense come back, and I know."
+
+"You know what?" she murmured.
+
+"That you are not honest," he added.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake!" she exclaimed, lifting her head a little.
+
+"Oh, I don t mean dishonest in the ordinary way!" he protested, eagerly.
+"What I mean is that you look things which you don't feel, that you are
+willing for any one who can't help admiring you very much to believe for
+a moment that you, too, feel more kindly than you really do. This is so
+clumsy," he broke off, despairingly, "but you understand what I mean!"
+
+"You have an adorable way of making yourself understood," she laughed.
+"Come, do let us talk sense for a minute or two. You say that when
+you are with me you are my slave. Then why is it that you do not bring
+Beatrice here when I beg you to?"
+
+"I am your slave," he answered, "in everything that has to do with
+myself and my own actions. In that other matter it is for your sister to
+decide."
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Well," she said, "I suppose I shall be able to endure life without
+her. At any rate, we will talk of something else. Tell me, are you not
+curious to know why I insisted upon bringing you here?"
+
+"Yes," he admitted, "I am."
+
+"Spoken with your usual candor, my dear Briton!" she exclaimed. "Well, I
+will gratify your curiosity. This, as you see, is not a popular supping
+place. A few people come in--mostly those who for some reason or other
+don't feel smart enough for the big restaurants. The people from the
+theatres come in here who have not time to change their clothes. As you
+perceive; the place has a distinctly Bohemian flavor."
+
+Tavernake looked around.
+
+"They seem to come in all sorts of clothes," he remarked. "I am glad."
+
+"There is a man now in London," Elizabeth continued, "whom I am just
+as anxious to see as I am to find my sister. I believe that this is the
+most likely place to find him. That is why I have come. My father was
+to have been here to take me, but as you heard he has gone out somewhere
+and not returned. None of my other friends were available. You happened
+to come in just in time."
+
+"And this man whom you want to see," Tavernake asked, "is he here?"
+
+"Not yet," she answered.
+
+There were, indeed, only a few scattered groups in the place, and most
+of these were obviously theatrical. But even at that moment a man came
+in alone through the circular doors, and stood just inside, looking
+around him. He was a man of medium height, thin, and of undistinguished
+appearance. His hair was light-colored and plastered a little in front
+over his forehead. His face was thin and he walked with a slight stoop.
+Something about his clothes and his manner of wearing them stamped him
+as an American. Tavernake glanced at his companion, wondering whether
+this, perhaps, might not be the person for whom she was watching. His
+first glance was careless enough, then he felt his heart thump against
+his ribs. A tragedy had come into the room! The woman at his side sat as
+though turned to stone. There was a look in her face as of one who sees
+Death. The small patch of rouge, invisible before, was now a staring
+daub of color in an oasis of ashen white. Her eyes were as hard as
+stones; her lips were twitching as though, indeed, she had been stricken
+with some disease. No longer was he sitting with this most beautiful
+lady at whose coming all heads were turned in admiration. It was as
+though an image of Death sat there, a frozen presentment of horror
+itself!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. ON AN ERRAND OF CHIVALRY
+
+
+The seconds passed; the woman beside him showed no sign of life.
+Tavernake felt a fear run cold in his blood, such as in all his days
+he had never known. This, indeed, was something belonging to a world of
+which he knew nothing. What was it? Illness? Pain? Surprise? There was
+only his instinct to tell him. It was terror, the terror of one who
+looks beyond the grave.
+
+"Mrs. Gardner!" he exclaimed. "Elizabeth!"
+
+The sound of his voice seemed to break the spell. A half-choked sob came
+through her teeth; the struggle for composure commenced.
+
+"I am ill," she murmured. "Give me my glass. Give it to me."
+
+Her fingers were feeling for it but it seemed as though she dared not
+move her head. He filled it with wine and placed the stem in her hand.
+Even then she spilled some of it upon the tablecloth. As she raised
+it to her lips, the man who stood still upon the threshold of the
+restaurant looked into her face. Slowly, as though his quest were over,
+he came down the room.
+
+"Go away," she said to Tavernake. "Go away, please. He is coming to
+speak to me. I want to be alone with him."
+
+Strangely enough, at that moment Tavernake saw nothing out of the common
+in her request. He rose at once, without any formal leave-taking, and
+made his way toward the other end of the cafe. As he turned the corner
+towards the smoking-room, he glanced once behind. The man had approached
+quite close to Elizabeth; he was standing before her table, they seemed
+to be exchanging greetings.
+
+Tavernake went on into the smoking-room and threw himself into an
+easy-chair. He had been there perhaps for ten minutes when Pritchard
+entered. Certainly it was a night of surprises! Even Pritchard, cool,
+deliberate, slow in his movements and speech, seemed temporarily
+flurried. He came into the room walking quickly. As the door swung
+back, he turned round as though to assure himself that he was not being
+followed. He did not at first see Tavernake. He sat on the arm of an
+easy-chair, his hands in his pockets, his eternal cigar in the corner
+of his mouth, his eyes fixed upon the doors through which he had issued.
+Without a doubt, something had disturbed him. He had the look of a man
+who had received a blow, a surprise of some sort over which he was still
+ruminating. Then he glanced around the room and saw Tavernake.
+
+"Hullo, young man!" he exclaimed. "So this is the way you follow my
+advice!"
+
+"I never promised to follow it," Tavernake reminded him.
+
+Pritchard wheeled an easy-chair across the room and called to the
+waiter.
+
+"Come," he said, "you shall stand me a drink. Two whiskies and sodas,
+Tim. And now, Mr. Leonard Tavernake, you are going to answer me a
+question."
+
+"Am I?" Tavernake muttered.
+
+"You came down in the lift with Mrs. Wenham Gardner half an hour ago,
+you went into the restaurant and ordered supper. She is there still and
+you are here. Have you quarreled?"
+
+"No, we did not quarrel," Tavernake answered. "She explained that she
+was supping in the cafe only for the sake of meeting one man. She wanted
+an escort. I filled that post until the man came."
+
+"He is there now?" Pritchard asked.
+
+"He is there now," Tavernake assented.
+
+Pritchard withdrew the cigar from his mouth and watched it for a moment.
+
+"Say, Tavernake," he went on, "is that man who is now having supper with
+Mrs. Wenham Gardner the man whom she expected?"
+
+"I imagine so," Tavernake replied.
+
+"Didn't she seem in any way scared or disturbed when he first turned
+up?"
+
+"She looked as I have seen no one else on earth look before," Tavernake
+admitted. "She seemed simply terrified to death. I do not know why--she
+didn't explain--but that is how she looked."
+
+"Yet she sent you away!"
+
+"She sent me away. She didn't care what became of me. She was watching
+the door all the time before he came. Who is he, Pritchard?"
+
+"That sounds a simple question," Pritchard answered gravely, "but it
+means a good deal. There's mischief afoot to-night, Tavernake."
+
+"You seem to thrive on it," Tavernake retorted, drily. "Any more
+bunkum?"
+
+Pritchard smiled.
+
+"Come," he said, "you're a sensible chap. Take these things for what
+they're worth. Believe me when I tell you now that there is a great deal
+more in the coming of this man than Mrs. Wenham Gardner ever bargained
+for."
+
+"I wish you'd tell me who he is," Tavernake begged. "All this mystery
+about Beatrice and her sister, and that lazy old hulk of a father, is
+most irritating."
+
+Pritchard nodded sympathetically.
+
+"You'll have to put up with it a little longer, I'm afraid, my young
+friend," he declared. "You've done me a good turn; I'll do you one. I'll
+give you some good advice. Keep out of this place so long as the old man
+and his daughter are hanging out here. The girl 's clever--oh, she's
+as clever as they make them--but she's gone wrong from the start. They
+ain't your sort, Tavernake. You don't fit in anywhere. Take my advice
+and hook it altogether."
+
+Tavernake shook his head.
+
+"I can't do that just now," he said. "Good-night! I'm off for the
+present, at any rate."
+
+Pritchard, too, rose to his feet. He passed his arm through Tavernake's.
+
+"Young man," he remarked, "there are not many in this country whom I can
+trust. You're one of them. There's a sort of solidity about you that I
+rather admire. You are not likely to break out and do silly things. Do
+you care for adventures?"
+
+"I detest them," Tavernake answered, "especially the sort I tumbled into
+the other night."
+
+Pritchard laughed softly. They had left the room now and were walking
+along the open space at the end of the restaurant, leading to the main
+exit.
+
+"That's the difference between us," he declared thoughtfully. "Now
+adventures to me are the salt of my life. I hang about here and watch
+these few respectable-looking men and women, and there doesn't seem to
+be much in it to an outsider, but, gee whiz! there's sometimes things
+underneath which you fellows don't tumble to. A man asks another in
+there to have a drink. They make a cheerful appointment to meet for
+lunch, to motor to Brighton. It all sounds so harmless, and yet there
+are the seeds of a conspiracy already sown. They hate me here, but they
+know very well that wherever they went I should be around. I suppose
+some day they'll get rid of me."
+
+"More bunkum!" Tavernake muttered.
+
+They stood in front of the door and passed through into the courtyard.
+On their right, the interior of the smaller restaurant was shielded from
+view by a lattice-work, covered with flowers and shrubs. Pritchard came
+to a standstill at a certain point, and stooping down looked through.
+He remained there without moving for what seemed to Tavernake an
+extraordinarily long time. When he stood up again, there was a distinct
+change in his face. He was looking more serious than Tavernake had ever
+seen him. But for the improbability of the thing, Tavernake would have
+thought that he had turned pale.
+
+"My young friend," he said, "you've got to see me through this. You 've
+a sort of fancy for Mrs. Wenham Gardner, I know. To-night you shall be
+on her side."
+
+"I don't want any more mysteries," Tavernake protested. "I'd rather go
+home."
+
+"It can't be done," Pritchard declared, taking his arm once more.
+"You've got to see me through this. Come up to my rooms for a minute."
+
+They entered the Court and ascended to the eighth floor. Pritchard
+turned on the lights in his room, a plainly furnished and somewhat bare
+apartment. From a cupboard he took out a pair of rubber-soled shoes and
+threw them to Tavernake.
+
+"Put those on," he directed.
+
+"What are we going to do?" Tavernake asked.
+
+"You are going to help me," Pritchard answered. "Take my word for it,
+Tavernake, it's all right. I could tackle the job alone, but I'd rather
+not. Now drink this whiskey and soda and light a cigarette. I shall be
+ready in five minutes."
+
+"But where are we going?" Tavernake demanded.
+
+"You are going," Pritchard replied, "on an errand of chivalry. You are
+going to become once more a rescuer of woman in distress. You are going
+to save the life of your beautiful friend Elizabeth."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. CLOSE TO TRAGEDY
+
+
+The actual words of greeting which passed between Elizabeth and the
+man whose advent had caused her so much emotion were unimpressive. The
+newcomer, with the tips of his fingers resting upon the tablecloth,
+leaned slightly towards her. At close quarters, he was even more
+unattractive than when Tavernake had first seen him. He was faultily
+shaped; there was something a little decadent about his deep-set eyes
+and receding forehead. Neither was his expression prepossessing. He
+looked at her as a man looks upon the thing he hates.
+
+"So, Elizabeth," he said, "this pleasure has come at last!"
+
+"I heard that you were back in England," she replied. "Pray sit down."
+
+Even then her eyes never left his. All the time they seemed to be
+fiercely questioning, seeking for something in his features which eluded
+them. It was terrible to see the change which the last few minutes had
+wrought in her. Her smooth, girlish face had lost its comeliness. Her
+eyes, always a little narrow, seemed to have receded. It was such a
+change, this, as comes to a brave man who, in the prime of life, feels
+fear for the first time.
+
+"I am glad to find you at supper," he declared, taking up the menu. "I
+am hungry. You can bring me some grilled cutlets at once," he added to
+the waiter who stood by his side, "and some brandy. Nothing else."
+
+The waiter bowed and hurried off. The woman played with her fan but her
+fingers were shaking.
+
+"I fear," he remarked, "that my coming is rather a shock to you. I am
+sorry to see you looking so distressed."
+
+"It is not that," she answered with some show of courage. "You know me
+too well to believe me capable of seeking a meeting which I feared. It
+is the strange thing which has happened to you during these last few
+months--this last year. Do you know--has any one told you--that you seem
+to have become even more like--the image of--"
+
+He nodded understandingly.
+
+"Of poor Wenham! Many people have told me that. Of course, you know that
+we were always appallingly alike, and they always said that we should
+become more so in middle-age. After all, there is only a year between
+us. We might have been twins."
+
+"It is the most terrible thing in likenesses I have ever seen," the
+woman continued slowly. "When you entered the room a few seconds ago, it
+seemed to me that a miracle had happened. It seemed to me that the dead
+had come to life."
+
+"It must have been a shock," the man murmured, with his eyes upon the
+tablecloth.
+
+"It was," she agreed, hoarsely. "Can't you see it in my face? I do not
+always look like a woman of forty. Can't you see the gray shadows
+that are there? You see, I admit it frankly. I was terrified--I am
+terrified!"
+
+"And why?" he asked.
+
+"Why?" she repeated, looking at him wonderingly. "Doesn't it seem to you
+a terrible thing to think of the dead coming back to life?"
+
+He tapped lightly upon the tablecloth for a minute with the fingers of
+one hand. Then he looked at her again.
+
+"It depends," he said, "upon the manner of their death."
+
+An executioner of the Middle Ages could not have played with his victim
+more skillfully. The woman was shivering now, preserving some outward
+appearance of calm only by the most fierce and unnatural effort.
+
+"What do you mean by that, Jerry?" she asked. "I was not even
+with--Wenham, when he was lost. You know all about it, I suppose,--how
+it happened?"
+
+The man nodded thoughtfully.
+
+"I have heard many stories," he admitted. "Before we leave the subject
+for ever, I should like to hear it from you, from your own lips."
+
+There was a bottle of champagne upon the table, ordered at the
+commencement of the meal. She touched her glass; the waiter filled
+it. She raised it to her lips and set it down empty. Her fingers were
+clutching the tablecloth.
+
+"You ask me a hard thing, Jerry," she said. "It is not easy to talk
+of anything so painful. From the moment we left New York, Wenham
+was strange. He drank a good deal upon the steamer. He used to talk
+sometimes in the most wild way. We came to London. He had an attack of
+delirium tremens. I nursed him through it and took him into the country,
+down into Cornwall. We took a small cottage on the outskirts of a
+fishing village--St. Catherine's, the place was called. There we lived
+quietly for a time. Sometimes he was better, sometimes worse. The doctor
+in the village was very kind and came often to see him. He brought a
+friend from the neighboring town and they agreed that with complete rest
+Wenham would soon be better. All the time my life was a miserable one.
+He was not fit to be alone and yet he was a terrible companion. I did my
+best. I was with him half of every day, sometimes longer. I was with him
+till my own health began to suffer. At last I could stand the solitude
+no longer. I sent for my father. He came and lived with us."
+
+"The professor," her listener murmured.
+
+She nodded.
+
+"It was a little better then for me," she went on, "except that poor
+Wenham seemed to take such a dislike to my father. However, he hated
+every one in turn, even the doctors, who always did their best for
+him. One day, I admit, I lost my temper. We quarreled; I could not help
+it--life was becoming insupportable. He rushed out of the house--it was
+about three o'clock in the afternoon. I have never seen him since."
+
+The man was looking at her, looking at her closely although he was
+blinking all the time.
+
+"What do you think became of him?" he asked. "What do people think?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"The only thing he cared to do was swim," she said. "His clothes and hat
+were found down in the little cove near where we had a tent."
+
+"You think, then, that he was drowned?" the man asked.
+
+She nodded. Speech seemed to be becoming too painful.
+
+"Drowning," her companion continued, helping himself to brandy, "is not
+a pleasant death. Once I was nearly drowned myself. One struggles for a
+short time and one thinks--yes, one thinks!" he added.
+
+He raised his glass to his lips and set it down.
+
+"It is an easy death, though," he went on, "quite an easy death. By the
+way, were those clothes that were found of poor Wenham's identified as
+the clothes he wore when he left the house?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"One could not say for certain," she answered. "I never noticed how he
+was dressed. He wore nearly always the same sort of things, but he had
+an endless variety."
+
+"And this was seven months ago--seven months."
+
+She assented.
+
+"Poor Wenham," he murmured. "I suppose he is dead. What are you going to
+do, Elizabeth?"
+
+"I do not know," she replied. "Soon I must go to the lawyers and ask for
+advice. I have very little more money left. I have written several times
+to New York to you, to his friends, but I have had no answer. After all,
+Jerry, I am his wife. No one liked my marrying him, but I am his wife.
+I have a right to a share of his property if he is dead. If he has
+deserted me, surely I shall be allowed something. I do not even know how
+rich he was."
+
+The man at her side smiled.
+
+"Much better off than I ever was," he declared. "But, Elizabeth!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"There were rumors that, before you left New York, Wenham converted very
+large sums of money into letters of credit and bonds, very large sums
+indeed." She shook her head. "He had a letter of credit for about a
+thousand pounds, I think," she said. "There is very little left of the
+money he had with him."
+
+"And you find living here expensive, I dare say?"
+
+"Very expensive indeed," she agreed, with a sigh. "I have been looking
+forward to seeing you, Jerry. I thought, perhaps, for the sake of old
+times you might advise me."
+
+"Of old times," he repeated to himself softly. "Elizabeth, do you think
+of them sometimes?"
+
+She was becoming more herself. This was a game she was used to playing.
+Of old times, indeed! It seemed only yesterday that these two brothers,
+who had the reputation in those days of being the richest young men
+in New York, were both at her feet. So far, she had scarcely been
+fortunate. There was still a chance, however. She looked up. It seemed
+to her that he was losing his composure. Yes, there was something of the
+old gleam in his eyes! Once he had been madly enough in love with her.
+It ought not to be impossible!
+
+"Jerry," she said, "I have told you these things. It has been so very,
+very painful for me. Won't you try now and be kind? Remember that I
+am all alone and it is all very difficult for me. I have been looking
+forward to your coming. I have thought so often of those times we spent
+together in New York. Won't you be my friend again? Won't you help me
+through these dark days?"
+
+Her hand touched his. For a moment he snatched his away as though stung.
+Then he caught her fingers in his and held them as though in a vice. She
+smiled, the smile of conscious power. The flush of beauty was streaming
+once more into her face. Poor fellow, he was still in love, then! The
+fingers which had closed upon hers were burning. What a pity that he was
+not a little more presentable!
+
+"Yes," he muttered, "we must be friends, Elizabeth. Wenham had all the
+luck at first. Perhaps it's going to be my turn now, eh?"
+
+He bent towards her. She laughed into his face for a moment and then was
+once more suddenly colorless, the smile frozen upon her lips. She began
+to shiver.
+
+"What is it?" he asked. "What is it, Elizabeth?"
+
+"Nothing," she faltered, "only I wish--I do wish that you were not so
+much like Wenham. Sometimes a trick of your voice, the way you hold your
+head--it terrifies me!"
+
+He laughed oddly.
+
+"You must get used to that, Elizabeth," he declared. "I can't help
+being like him, you know. We were great friends always until you came. I
+wonder why you preferred Wenham."
+
+"Don't ask me--please don't ask me that," she begged. "Really, I think
+he happened to be there just at the moment I felt like making a clean
+sweep of everything, of leaving New York and every one and starting life
+again, and I thought Wenham meant it. I thought I should be able to keep
+him from drinking and to help him start a new life altogether over here
+or on the Continent."
+
+"Poor little woman," he said, "you have been disappointed, I am afraid."
+
+She sighed.
+
+"I am only human, you know," she went on. "Every one told me that Wenham
+was a millionaire, too. See how much I have benefited by it. I am almost
+penniless, I do not know whether he is dead or alive, I do not know what
+to do to get some money. Was Wenham very rich, Jerry?"
+
+The man laughed.
+
+"Oh, he was very rich indeed!" he assured her. "It is terrible that you
+should be left like this. We will talk about it together presently, you
+and I. In the meantime, you must let me be your banker."
+
+"Dear Jerry," she whispered, "you were always generous."
+
+"You have not spoken of the little prude--dear Miss Beatrice," he
+reminded her suddenly.
+
+Elizabeth sighed.
+
+"Beatrice was a great trial from the first," she declared. "You know how
+she disliked you both--she was scarcely even civil to Wenham, and she
+would never have come to Europe with us if father hadn't insisted upon
+it. We took her down to Cornwall with us and there she became absolutely
+insupportable. She was always interfering between Wenham and me and
+imagining the most absurd things. One day she left us without a word of
+warning. I have never seen her since."
+
+The man stared gloomily into his plate.
+
+"She was a queer little thing," he muttered. "She was good, and she
+seemed to like being good."
+
+Elizabeth laughed, not quite pleasantly.
+
+"You speak as though the rest of us," she remarked, "were qualified to
+take orders in wickedness."
+
+He helped himself to more brandy.
+
+"Think back," he said. "Think of those days in New York, the life we
+led, the wild things we did week after week, month after month, the same
+eternal round of turning night into day, of struggling everywhere to
+find new pleasures, pulling vice to pieces like children trying to find
+the inside of their playthings."
+
+"I don't like your mood in the least," she interrupted.
+
+He drummed for a moment upon the tablecloth with his fingers.
+
+"We were talking of Beatrice. You don't even know where she is now,
+then?"
+
+"I have no idea," Elizabeth declared.
+
+"She was with you for long in Cornwall?" he asked.
+
+Elizabeth toyed with her wineglass for a minute.
+
+"She was there about a month," she admitted.
+
+"And she didn't approve of the way you and Wenham behaved?" he demanded.
+
+"Apparently not. She left us, anyway. She didn't understand Wenham in
+the least. I shouldn't be surprised," Elizabeth went on, "to hear that
+she was a hospital nurse, or learning typing, or a clerk in an office.
+She was a young woman of gloomy ideas, although she was my sister."
+
+He came a little closer towards her.
+
+"Elizabeth," he said, "we will not talk any more about Beatrice. We will
+not talk any more about anything except our two selves."
+
+"Are you really glad to see me again, Jerry?" she asked softly.
+
+"You must know it, dear," he whispered. "You must know that I loved you
+always, that I adored you. Oh, you knew it! Don't tell me you didn't.
+You knew it, Elizabeth!"
+
+She looked down at the tablecloth.
+
+"Yes, I knew it," she admitted, softly.
+
+"Can't you guess what it is to me to see you again like this?" he
+continued.
+
+She sighed.
+
+"It is something for me, too, to feel that I have a friend close at
+hand."
+
+"Come," he said, "they are turning out the lights here. You want to know
+about Wenham's property. Let me come upstairs with you for a little time
+and I will tell you as much as I can from memory."
+
+He paid the bill, helped her on with her cloak. His fingers seemed like
+burning spots upon her flesh. They went up in the lift. In the corridors
+he drew her to him and she began to tremble.
+
+"What is there strange about you, Jerry?" she faltered, looking into his
+face. "You terrify me!"
+
+"You are glad to see me? Say you are glad to see me?"
+
+"Yes, I am glad," she whispered.
+
+Outside the door of her rooms, she hesitated.
+
+"Perhaps," she suggested, faintly,--"wouldn't it be better if you came
+to-morrow morning?"
+
+Once more his fingers touched her and again that extraordinary sense of
+fear seemed to turn her blood cold.
+
+"No," he replied, "I have been put off long enough! You must let me in,
+you must talk with me for half an hour. I will go then, I promise. Half
+an hour! Elizabeth, haven't I waited an eternity for it?"
+
+He took the keys from her fingers and opened the door, closing it again
+behind them. She led the way into the sitting-room. The whole place was
+in darkness but she turned on the electric light. The cloak slipped from
+her shoulders. He took her hands and looked at her.
+
+"Jerry," she whispered, "you mustn't look at me like that. You terrify
+me! Let me go!"
+
+She wrenched herself free with an effort. She stepped back to the corner
+of the room, as far as she could get from him. Her heart was beating
+fiercely. Somehow or other, neither of these two young men, over whose
+lives she had certainly brought to bear a very wonderful influence, had
+ever before stirred her pulses like this. What was it, she wondered?
+What was the meaning of it? Why didn't he speak? He did nothing but
+look, and there were unutterable things in his eyes. Was he angry with
+her because she had married Wenham, or was he blaming her because Wenham
+had gone? There was passion in his face, but such passion! Desire,
+perhaps, but what else? She caught up a telegram which lay upon her
+writing desk, and tore it open. It was an escape for a moment. She read
+the words, stared, and read them aloud incredulously. It was from her
+father.
+
+"Jerry Gardner sailed for New York to-day."
+
+She looked up at the man, and as she looked her face grew gray and the
+thin sheet went quivering from her lifeless fingers to the floor. Then
+he began to laugh, and she knew.
+
+"Wenham!" she shrieked. "Wenham!"
+
+There was murder in his face, murder almost in his laugh.
+
+"Your loving husband!" he answered.
+
+She sprang for the door but even as she moved she heard the click of the
+bolt shot back. He touched the electric switch and the room was suddenly
+in darkness. She heard him coming towards her, she felt his hot breath
+upon her cheek.
+
+"My loving wife!" he whispered. "At last!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. THE MADMAN TALKS
+
+
+Tavernake turned on the light. Pritchard, with a quick leap forward,
+seized Wenham around the waist and dragged him away. Elizabeth had
+fainted; she lay upon the floor, her face the color of marble.
+
+"Get some water and throw over her," Pritchard ordered.
+
+Tavernake obeyed. He threw open the window and let in a current of air.
+In a moment or two the woman stirred and raised her head.
+
+"Look after her for a minute," Pritchard said. "I Il lock this fierce
+little person up in the bathroom."
+
+Pritchard carried his prisoner out. Tavernake leaned over the woman who
+was slowly coming back to consciousness.
+
+"Tell me about it," she asked, hoarsely. "Where is he?"
+
+"Locked up in the bathroom," Tavernake answered. "Pritchard is taking
+care of him. He won't be able to get out."
+
+"You know who it was?" she faltered.
+
+"I do not," Tavernake replied. "It isn't my business. I'm only here
+because Pritchard begged me to come. He thought he might want help."
+
+She held his fingers tightly.
+
+"Where were you?" she asked.
+
+"In the bathroom when you arrived. Then he bolted the door behind and we
+had to come round through your bedroom."
+
+"How did Pritchard find out?"
+
+"I know nothing about it," Tavernake replied. "I only know that he
+peered through the latticework and saw you sitting there at supper."
+
+She smiled weakly.
+
+"It must have been rather a shock to him," she said. "He has been
+convinced for the last six months that I murdered Wenham, or got rid of
+him by some means or other. Help me up."
+
+She staggered to her feet. Tavernake assisted her to an easy chair. Then
+Pritchard came in.
+
+"He is quite safe," he announced, "sitting on the edge of the bath
+playing with a doll."
+
+She shivered.
+
+"What is he doing with it?" she asked.
+
+"Showing me exactly, with a shawl pin, where he meant to have stabbed
+you," Pritchard answered, drily. "Now, my dear lady," he continued, "it
+seems to me that I have done you one injustice, at any rate. I certainly
+thought you'd helped to relieve the world of that young person. Where
+did he come from? Perhaps you can tell me that."
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"I suppose I may as well," she said. "Listen, you have seen what he was
+like to-night, but you don't know what it was to live with him. It was
+Hell!"--she sobbed--"absolute Hell! He drank, he took drugs, it was
+all his servant could do to force him even to make his toilet. It was
+impossible. It was crushing the life out of me."
+
+"Go on," Pritchard directed.
+
+"There isn't much more to tell," she continued. "I found an old
+farmhouse--the loneliest spot in Cornwall. We moved there and I left
+him--with Mathers. I promised Mathers that he should have twenty pounds
+a week for every week he kept his master away from me. He has kept him
+away for seven months."
+
+"What about that story of yours--about his having gone in swimming?"
+Pritchard asked.
+
+"I wanted people to believe that he was dead," she declared defiantly.
+"I was afraid that if you or his relations found him, I should have to
+live with him or give up the money."
+
+Pritchard nodded.
+
+"And to-night you thought--"
+
+"I thought he was his brother Jerry," she went on. "The likeness was
+always amazing, you know that. I was told that Jerry was in town. I felt
+nervous, somehow, and wired to Mathers. I had his reply only last night.
+He wired that Wenham was quite safe and contented, not even restless."
+
+"That telegram was sent by Wenham himself," Pritchard remarked. "I think
+you had better hear what he has to say."
+
+She shrank back.
+
+"No. I couldn't bear the sight of him again!"
+
+"I think you had better," Pritchard insisted. "I can assure you that he
+is quite harmless. I will guarantee that."
+
+He left the room. Soon he returned, his arm locked in the arm of Wenham
+Gardner. The latter had the look of a spoilt child who is in disgrace.
+He sat sullenly upon a chair and glared at every one. Then he produced a
+small crumpled doll, with a thread of black cotton around its neck, and
+began swinging it in front of him, laughing at Elizabeth all the time.
+
+"Tell us," Pritchard asked, "what has become of Mathers?"
+
+He stopped swinging the doll, shivered for a moment, and then laughed.
+
+"I don't mind," he declared. "I guess I don't mind telling. You see,
+whatever I was when I did it, I am mad now--quite mad. My friend
+Pritchard here says I am mad. I must have been mad or I shouldn't have
+tried to hurt that dear beautiful lady over there."
+
+He leered at Elizabeth, who shrank back.
+
+"She ran away from me some time ago," he went on, "sick to death of me
+she was. She thought she'd got all my money. She hadn't. There's plenty
+more, plenty more. She ran away and left me with Mathers. She was paying
+him so much a week to keep me quiet, not to let me go anywhere where I
+should talk, to keep me away from her so that she could live up here and
+see all her friends and spend my money. And at first I didn't mind, and
+then I did mind, and I got angry with Mathers, and Mathers wouldn't let
+me come away, and three nights ago I killed Mathers."
+
+There was a little thrill of horror. He looked from one to the other. By
+degrees their fear seemed to become communicated to him.
+
+"What do you mean by looking like that, all of you?" he exclaimed.
+"What does it matter? He was only my man-servant. I am Wenham Gardner,
+millionaire. No one will put me in prison for that. Besides, he
+shouldn't have tried to keep me away from my wife. Anyway, it don't
+matter. I am quite mad. Mad people can do what they like. They have to
+stop in an asylum for six months, and then they're quite cured and
+they start again. I don't mind being mad for six months. Elizabeth,"
+he whined, "come and be mad, too. You haven't been kind to me. There's
+plenty more money--plenty more. Come back for a little time and I'll
+show you."
+
+"How did you kill Mathers?" Pritchard asked.
+
+"I stabbed him when he was stooping down," Wenham Gardner explained.
+"You see, when I left college my father thought it would be good for me
+to do something. I dare say it would have been but I didn't want to. I
+studied surgery for six months. The only thing I remember was just where
+to kill a man behind the left shoulder. I remembered that. Mathers was
+a fat man, and he stooped so that his coat almost burst. I just leaned
+over, picked out the exact spot, and he crumpled all up. I expect," he
+went on, "you'll find him there still. No one comes near the place
+for days and days. Mathers used to leave me locked up and do all the
+shopping himself. I expect he's lying there now. Some one ought to go
+and see."
+
+Elizabeth was sobbing quietly to herself. Tavernake felt the
+perspiration break out upon his forehead. There was something appalling
+in the way this young man talked.
+
+"I don't understand why you all look so serious," he continued. "No one
+is going to hurt me for this. I am quite mad now. You see, I am playing
+with this doll. Sane men don't play with dolls. I hope they'll try me
+in New York, though. I am well-known in New York. I know all the lawyers
+and the jurymen. Oh, they're up to all sorts of tricks in New York!
+Say, you don't suppose they'll try me over here?" he broke off suddenly,
+turning to Pritchard. "I shouldn't feel so much at home here."
+
+"Take him away," Elizabeth begged. "Take him away." Pritchard nodded.
+
+"I thought you'd better hear," he said. "I am going to take him away
+now. I shall send a telegram to the police-station at St. Catherine's.
+They had better go up and see what's happened."
+
+Pritchard took his captive once more by the arm. The young man struggled
+violently.
+
+"I don't like you, Pritchard," he shrieked. "I don't want to go with
+you. I want to stay with Elizabeth. I am not really afraid of her. She'd
+like to kill me, I know, but she's too clever--oh, she's too clever! I'd
+like to stay with her."
+
+Pritchard led him away.
+
+"We'll see about it later on," he said. "You'd better come with me just
+now."
+
+The door closed behind them. Tavernake staggered up.
+
+"I must go," he declared. "I must go, too."
+
+Elizabeth was sobbing quietly to herself. She seemed scarcely to hear
+him. On the threshold Tavernake turned back.
+
+"That money," he asked, "the money you were going to lend me--was that
+his?"
+
+She looked up and nodded. Tavernake went slowly out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. A CRISIS
+
+
+Pritchard was the first visitor who had ever found his way into
+Tavernake's lodgings. It was barely eight o'clock on the same morning.
+Tavernake, hollow-eyed and bewildered, sat up upon the sofa and gazed
+across the room.
+
+"Pritchard!" he exclaimed. "Why, what do you want?"
+
+Pritchard laid his hat and gloves upon the table. Already his first
+swift glance had taken in the details of the little apartment. The
+overcoat and hat which Tavernake had worn the night before lay by his
+side. The table was still arranged for some meal of the previous day.
+Apart from these things, a single glance assured him that Tavernake had
+not been to bed.
+
+Pritchard drew up an easy-chair and seated himself deliberately.
+
+"My young friend," he announced, "I have come to the conclusion that you
+need some more advice."
+
+Tavernake rose to his feet. His own reflection in the looking-glass
+startled him. His hair was crumpled, his tie undone, the marks of his
+night of agony were all too apparent. He felt himself at a disadvantage.
+
+"How did you find me out?" he asked. "I never gave you my address."
+
+Pritchard smiled.
+
+"Even in this country, with a little help," he said, "those things are
+easy enough. I made up my mind that this morning would be to some extent
+a crisis with you. You know, Tavernake, I am not a man who says much,
+but you are the right sort. You've been in with me twice when I should
+have missed you if you hadn't been there."
+
+Tavernake seemed to have lost the power of speech. He had relapsed again
+into his place upon the sofa. He simply waited.
+
+"How in the name of mischief," Pritchard continued, impressively, "you
+came to be mixed up in the lives of this amiable trio, I cannot imagine!
+I am not saying a word against Miss Beatrice, mind. All that surprises
+me is that you and she should ever have come together, or, having come
+together, that you should ever have exchanged a word. You see, I am here
+to speak plain truths. You are, I take it, a good sample of the hard,
+stubborn, middle-class Briton. These three people of whom I have spoken,
+belong--Miss Beatrice, perhaps, by force of circumstances--but still
+they do belong to the land of Bohemia. However, when one has got over
+the surprise of finding you on intimate terms with Miss Beatrice,
+there comes a more amazing thing. You, with hard common sense written
+everywhere in your face, have been prepared at any moment, for all I
+know are prepared now, to make an utter and complete idiot of yourself
+over Elizabeth Gardner."
+
+Still Tavernake did not speak. Pritchard looked at him curiously.
+
+"Say," he went on, "I have come here to do you a service, if I can. So
+far as I know at present, this very wonderful young lady has kept on the
+right side of the law. But see here, Tavernake, she's been on the wrong
+side of everything that's decent and straight all her days. She married
+that poor creature for his money, and set herself deliberately to drive
+him off his head. Last night's tragedy was her doing, not his, though
+he, poor devil, will have to end his days in an asylum, and the lady
+will have his money to make herself more beautiful than ever with. Now I
+am going to let you behind the scenes, my young friend."
+
+Then Tavernake rose to his feet. In the shabby little room he seemed to
+have grown suddenly taller. He struck the crazy table with his clenched
+fist so that the crockery upon it rattled. Pritchard was used to seeing
+men--strong men, too--moved by various passions, but in Tavernake's face
+he seemed to see new things.
+
+"Pritchard," Tavernake exclaimed, "I don't want to hear another word!"
+
+Pritchard smiled.
+
+"Look here," he said, "what I am going to tell you is the truth. What
+I am going to tell you I'd as soon say in the presence of the lady as
+here."
+
+Tavernake took a step forward and Pritchard suddenly realized the man
+who had thrown himself through that little opening in the wall, one
+against three, without a thought of danger.
+
+"If you say a single word more against her," Tavernake shouted hoarsely,
+"I shall throw you out of the room!"
+
+Pritchard stared at him. There was something amazing about this young
+man's attitude, something which he could not wholly grasp. He could see,
+too, that Tavernake's words were so few simply because he was trembling
+under the influence of an immense passion.
+
+"If you won't listen," Pritchard declared, slowly, "I can't talk.
+Still, you've got common sense, I take it. You've the ordinary powers
+of judging between right and wrong, and knowing when a man or a woman's
+honest. I want to save you--"
+
+"Silence!" Tavernake exclaimed. "Look here, Pritchard," he went on,
+breathing a little more naturally now, "you came here meaning to do the
+right thing--I know that. You're all right, only you don't understand.
+You don't understand the sort of person I am. I am twenty-four years
+old, I have worked for my own living up here in London since I was
+twelve. I was a man, so far as work and independence went, at fifteen.
+Since then I have had my shoulder to the wheel; I have lived on nothing;
+I have made a little money where it didn't seem possible. I have worried
+my way into posts which it seemed that no one could think of giving
+me, but all the time I have lived in a little corner of the world--like
+that."
+
+His finger suddenly described a circle in the air.
+
+"You don't understand--you can't," he went on, "but there it is. I never
+spoke to a woman until I spoke to Beatrice. Chance made me her friend.
+I began to understand the outside of some of those things which I had
+never even dreamed of before. She set me right in many ways. I began to
+read, think, absorb little bits of the real world. It was all wonderful.
+Then Elizabeth came. I met her, too, by accident--she came to my office
+for a house--Elizabeth!"
+
+Pritchard found something almost pathetic in the sudden dropping of
+Tavernake's voice, the softening of his face.
+
+"I don't know how to talk about these things," Tavernake said, simply.
+"There's a literature that's reached from before the Bible to now, full
+of nothing else. It's all as old as the hills. I suppose I am about
+the only sane man in this city who knew nothing of it; but I did know
+nothing of it, and she was the first woman. Now you understand. I can't
+hear a word against her--I won't! She may be what you say. If so, she's
+got to tell me so herself!"
+
+"You mean that you are going to believe any story she likes to put up?"
+
+"I mean that I am going to her," Tavernake answered, "and I have no idea
+in the world what will happen--whether I shall believe her or not. I can
+see what you think of me," he went on, becoming a little more himself
+as the stress of unaccustomed speech passed him by. "I will tell you
+something that will show you that I realize a good deal. I know the
+difference between Beatrice and Elizabeth. Less than a week ago, I asked
+Beatrice to marry me. It was the only way I could think of, the only way
+I could kill the fever."
+
+"And Beatrice?" Pritchard asked, curiously.
+
+"She wouldn't," Tavernake replied. "After all, why should she? I have my
+way to make yet. I can't expect others to believe in me as I believe in
+myself. She was kind but she wouldn't."
+
+Pritchard lit a cigar.
+
+"Look here, Tavernake," he said, "you are a young man, you've got your
+life before you and life's a biggish thing. Empty out those romantic
+thoughts of yours, roll up your shirt sleeves and get at it. You are
+not one of these weaklings that need a woman's whispers in their ears
+to spur them on. You can work without that. It's only a chapter in your
+life--the passing of these three people. A few months ago, you knew
+nothing of them. Let them go. Get back to where you were."
+
+Then Tavernake for the first time laughed--a laugh that sounded even
+natural.
+
+"Have you ever found a man who could do that?" he asked. "The candle
+gives a good light sometimes, but you'll never think it the finest
+illumination in the world when you've seen the sun. Never mind me,
+Pritchard. I'm going to do my best still, but there's one thing that
+nothing will alter. I am going to make that woman tell me her story, I
+am going to listen to the way she tells it to me. You think that where
+women are concerned I am a fool. I am, but there is one great boon which
+has been vouchsafed to fools--they can tell the true from the false.
+Some sort of instinct, I suppose. Elizabeth shall tell me her story and
+I shall know, when she tells it, whether she is what you say or what she
+has seemed to me."
+
+Pritchard held out his hand.
+
+"You're a queer sort, Tavernake," he declared. "You take life plaguy
+seriously. I only hope you 'll get all out of it you expect to. So
+long!"
+
+Tavernake opened the window after his visitor had gone, and leaned out
+for some few minutes, letting the fresh air into the close, stifling
+room. Then he went upstairs, bathed and changed his clothes, made
+some pretense at breakfast, went through his letters with methodical
+exactness. At eleven o'clock he set out upon his pilgrimage.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. TAVERNAKE CHOOSES
+
+
+Tavernake was kept waiting in the hall of the Milan Court for at least
+half an hour before Elizabeth was prepared to see him. He wandered
+aimlessly about watching the people come and go, looking out into the
+flower-hung courtyard, curiously unconscious of himself and of his
+errand, unable to concentrate his thoughts for a moment, yet filled all
+the time with the dull and uneasy sensation of one who moves in a dream.
+Every now and then he heard scraps of conversation from the servants and
+passers-by, referring to the last night's incident. He picked up a paper
+but threw it down after only a casual glance at the paragraph. He saw
+enough to convince him that for the present, at any rate, Elizabeth
+seemed assured of a certain amount of sympathy. The career of poor
+Wenham Gardner was set down in black and white, with little extenuation,
+little mercy. His misdeeds in Paris, his career in New York, spoke for
+themselves. He was quoted as a type, a decadent of the most debauched
+instincts, to whom crime was a relaxation and vice a habit. Tavernake
+would read no more. He might have been all these things, and yet she had
+become his wife!
+
+At last came the message for which he was waiting. As usual, her maid
+met him at the door of her suite and ushered him in. Elizabeth was
+dressed for the part very simply, with a suggestion even of mourning in
+her gray gown. She welcomed him with a pathetic smile.
+
+"Once more, my dear friend," she said, "I have to thank you."
+
+Her fingers closed upon his and she smiled into his face. Tavernake
+found himself curiously unresponsive. It was the same smile, and he knew
+very well that he himself had not changed, yet it seemed as though life
+itself were in a state of suspense for him.
+
+"You, too, are looking grave this morning, my friend," she continued.
+"Oh, how horrible it has all been! Within the last two hours I have had
+at least five reporters, a gentleman from Scotland Yard, another from
+the American Ambassador to see me. It is too terrible, of course," she
+went on. "Wenham's people are doing all they can to make it worse. They
+want to know why we were not together, why he was living in the country
+and I in town. They are trying to show that he was under restraint
+there, as if such a thing were possible! Mathers was his own
+servant--poor Mathers!"
+
+She sighed and wiped her eyes. Still Tavernake said nothing. She looked
+at him, a little surprised.
+
+"You are not very sympathetic," she observed. "Please come and sit down
+by my side and I will show you something."
+
+He moved towards her but he did not sit down. She stretched out her
+hand and picked something up from the table, holding it towards him.
+Tavernake took it mechanically and held it in his fingers. It was a
+cheque for twelve thousand pounds.
+
+"You see," she said, "I have not forgotten. This is the day, isn't it?
+If you like, you can stay and have lunch with me up here and we will
+drink to the success of our speculation."
+
+Tavernake held the cheque in his fingers; he made no motion to put it in
+his pocket. She looked at him with a puzzled frown upon her face.
+
+"Do talk or say something, please!" she exclaimed. "You look at me like
+some grim figure. Say something. Sit down and be natural."
+
+"May I ask you some questions?"
+
+"Of course you may," she replied. "You may do anything sooner than stand
+there looking so grim and unbending. What is it you want to know?"
+
+"Did you understand that Wenham Gardner was this sort of man when you
+married him?"
+
+She shrugged her shoulders slightly.
+
+"I suppose I did," she admitted.
+
+"You married him, then, only because he was rich?"
+
+She smiled.
+
+"What else do women marry for, my dear moralist?" she demanded. "It
+isn't my fault if it doesn't sound pretty. One must have money!"
+
+Tavernake inclined his head gravely; he made no sign of dissent.
+
+"You two came over to England," he went on, "with Beatrice and your
+father. Beatrice left you because she disapproved of certain things."
+
+Elizabeth nodded.
+
+"You may as well know the truth," she said. "Beatrice has the most
+absurd ideas. After a week with Wenham, I knew that he was not a person
+with whom any woman could possibly live. His valet was really only his
+keeper; he was subject to such mad fits that he needed some one always
+with him. I was obliged to leave him in Cornwall. I can't tell you
+everything, but it was absolutely impossible for me to go on living with
+him."
+
+"Beatrice," Tavernake remarked, "thought otherwise."
+
+Elizabeth looked at him quickly from below her eyelids. It was hard,
+however, to gather anything from his face.
+
+"Beatrice thought otherwise," Elizabeth admitted. "She thought that I
+ought to nurse him, put up with him, give up all my friends, and try and
+keep him alive. Why, it would have been absolute martyrdom, misery for
+me," she declared. "How could I be expected to do such a thing?"
+
+Tavernake nodded gravely.
+
+"And the money?" he asked.
+
+"Well, perhaps there I was a trifle calculating," she confessed. "But
+you," she added, nodding at the cheque in his hand, "shouldn't grumble
+at that. I knew when we were married that I should have trouble. His
+people hated me, and I knew that in the event of anything happening
+like this thing which has happened, they would try to get as little as
+possible allowed me. So before we left New York, I got Wenham to turn as
+much as ever he could into cash. That we brought away with us."
+
+"And who took care of it?"
+
+Elizabeth smiled.
+
+"I did," she answered, "naturally."
+
+"Tell me about last night," Tavernake said. "I suppose I am stupid but I
+don't quite understand."
+
+"How should you?" she answered. "Listen, then. Wenham, I suppose got
+tired of being shut up with Mathers, although I am sure I don't see what
+else was possible. So he waited for his opportunity, and when the man
+wasn't looking--well, you know what happened," she added, with a shiver.
+"He got up to London somehow and made his way to Dover Street."
+
+"Why Dover Street?"
+
+"I suppose you know," Elizabeth explained, "that Wenham has a
+brother--Jerry--who is exactly like him. These two had rooms in Dover
+Street always, where they kept some English clothes and a servant. Jerry
+Gardner was over in London. I knew that, and was expecting to see him
+every day. Wenham found his way to the rooms, dressed himself in his
+brother's clothes, even wore his ring and some of his jewelry, which he
+knew I should recognize, and came here. I believed--yes, I believed all
+the time," she went on, her voice trembling, "that it was Jerry who was
+sitting with me. Once or twice I had a sort of terrible shiver. Then I
+remembered how much they were alike and it seemed to me ridiculous to be
+afraid. It was not till we got upstairs, till the door was closed behind
+me, that he turned round and I knew!"
+
+Her head fell suddenly into her hands. It was almost the first sign of
+emotion. Tavernake analyzed it mercilessly. He knew very well that it
+was fear, the coward's fear of that terrible moment.
+
+"And now?"
+
+"Now," she went on, more cheerfully, "no one will venture to deny that
+Wenham is mad. He will be placed under restraint, of course, and the
+courts will make me an allowance. One thing is absolutely certain, and
+that is that he will not live a year."
+
+Tavernake half closed his eyes. Was there no sign of his suffering, no
+warning note of the things which were passing out of his life! The woman
+who smiled upon him seemed to see nothing. The twitching of his fingers,
+the slight quivering of his face, she thought was because of his fear
+for her.
+
+"And now," she declared, in a suddenly altered tone, "this is all over
+and done with. Now you know everything. There are no more mysteries,"
+she added, smiling at him delightfully. "It is all very terrible, of
+course, but I feel as though a great weight had passed away. You and I
+are going to be friends, are we not?"
+
+She rose slowly to her feet and came towards him. His eyes watched her
+slow, graceful movements as though fascinated. He remembered on that
+first visit of his how wonderful he had thought her walk. She was still
+smiling up at him; her fingers fell upon his shoulders.
+
+"You are such a strange person," she murmured. "You aren't a little bit
+like any of the men I've ever known, any of the men I have ever cared
+to have as friends. There is something about you altogether different. I
+suppose that is why I rather like you. Are you glad?"
+
+For a single wild moment Tavernake hesitated. She was so close to him
+that her hair touched his forehead, the breath from her upturned lips
+fell upon his cheeks. Her blue eyes were half pleading, half inviting.
+
+"You are going to be my very dear friend, are you not--Leonard?" she
+whispered. "I do feel that I need some one strong like you to help me
+through these days."
+
+Tavernake suddenly seized the hands that were upon his shoulders, and
+forced them back. She felt herself gripped as though by a vice, and a
+sudden terror seized her. He lifted her up and she caught a glimpse of
+his wild, set face. Then the breath came through his teeth. He shook all
+over but the fit had passed. He simply thrust her away from him.
+
+"No," he said, "we cannot be friends! You are a woman without a heart,
+you are a murderess!"
+
+He tore her cheque calmly in pieces and flung them scornfully away. She
+stood looking at him, breathing quickly, white to the lips though the
+murder had gone from his eyes.
+
+"Beatrice warned me," he went on; "Pritchard warned me. Some things I
+saw for myself, but I suppose I was mad. Now I know!"
+
+He turned away. Her eyes followed him wonderingly.
+
+"Leonard," she cried out, "you are not going like this? You don't mean
+it!"
+
+Ever afterwards his restraint amazed him. He did not reply. He closed
+both doors firmly behind him and walked to the lift. She came even to
+the outside door and called down the corridor.
+
+"Leonard, come back for one moment!"
+
+He turned his head and looked at her, looked at her from the corner of
+the corridor, steadfastly and without speech. Her fingers dropped from
+the handle of the door. She went back into her room with shaking knees,
+and began to cry softly. Afterwards she wondered at herself. It was the
+first time she had cried for many years.
+
+
+Tavernake walked to the city and in less than half an hour's time found
+himself in Mr. Martin's office. The lawyer welcomed him warmly.
+
+"I'm jolly glad to see you, Tavernake," he declared. "I hope you've got
+the money. Sit down."
+
+Tavernake did not sit down; he had forgotten, indeed, to take of his
+hat.
+
+"Martin," he said, "I am sorry for you. I have been fooled and you have
+to pay as well as I have. I can't take up the option on the property.
+I haven't a penny toward it except my own money, and you know how much
+that is. You can sell my plots, if you like, and call the money your
+costs. I've finished."
+
+The lawyer looked at him with wide-open mouth.
+
+"What on earth are you talking about, Tavernake?" he exclaimed. "Are you
+drunk, by any chance?"
+
+"No, I am quite sober," Tavernake answered. "I have made one or two bad
+mistakes, that's all. You have a power of attorney for me. You can do
+what you like with my land, make any terms you please. Good-day!"
+
+"But, Tavernake, look here!" the lawyer protested, springing to his
+feet. "I say, Tavernake!" he called out.
+
+But Tavernake heard nothing, or, if he heard, he took no notice. He
+walked out into the street and was lost among the hurrying throngs upon
+the pavements.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK TWO
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. NEW HORIZONS
+
+
+Towards the sky-line, across the level country, stumbling and crawling
+over the deep-hewn dikes, wading sometimes through the mud-oozing swamp,
+Tavernake, who had left the small railway terminus on foot, made his
+way that night steadily seawards, as one pursued by some relentless
+and indefatigable enemy. Twilight had fallen like a mantle around him,
+fallen over that great flat region of fens and pastureland and bog.
+Little patches of mist, harbingers of the coming obscurity, were being
+drawn now into the gradual darkness. Lights twinkled out from the
+far-scattered homesteads. Here and there a dog barked, some lonely bird
+seeking shelter called to its mate, but of human beings there seemed to
+be no one in sight save the solitary traveler.
+
+Tavernake was in grievous straits. His clothes were caked with mud,
+his hair tossed with the wind, his cheeks pale, his eyes set with the
+despair of that fierce upheaval through which he had passed. For many
+hours the torture which had driven him back towards his birthplace had
+triumphed over his physical exhaustion. Now came the time, however, when
+the latter asserted itself. With a half-stifled moan he collapsed. Sheer
+fatigue induced a brief but merciful spell of uneasy slumber. He lay
+upon his back near one of the broader dikes, his arms outstretched, his
+unseeing eyes turned toward the sky. The darkness deepened and passed
+away again before the light of the moon. When at last he sat up, it was
+a new world upon which he looked, a strange land, moonlit in places, yet
+full of shadowy somberness. He gazed wonderingly around--for the moment
+he had forgotten. Then memory came, and with memory once more the stab
+at his heart. He rose to his feet and went resolutely on his way.
+
+Almost until the dawn he walked, keeping as near as he could to that
+long monotonous line of telegraph posts, yet avoiding the road as much
+as possible. With the rising of the sun, he crept into a wayside hovel
+and lay there hidden for hours. Hunger and thirst seemed like things
+which had passed him by. It was sleep only which he craved, sleep and
+forgetfulness.
+
+Dusk was falling again before he found himself upon his feet, starting
+out once more upon this strangely thought-of pilgrimage. This time he
+kept to the road, plodding along with tired, dejected footsteps, which
+had in them still something of that restless haste which drove him
+ceaselessly onward as though he were indeed possessed of some unquiet
+spirit. He was recovering now, however, a little of his natural common
+sense. He remembered that he must have food and drink, and he sought
+them from the wayside public-house like an ordinary traveler, conquering
+without any apparent effort that first invincible repugnance of his
+toward the face of any human being. Then on again across this strange
+land of windmills and spreading plains, until the darkness forced him
+to take shelter once more. That night he slept like a child. With the
+morning, the fever had passed from his blood. A great wind blew in his
+face even as he opened his eyes, touched to wakefulness by the morning
+sun, a wind that came booming over the level places, salt with the touch
+of the ocean and fragrant with the perfume of many marsh plants. He was
+coming toward the sea now, and within a very short distance from where
+he had spent the night, he found a broad, shining river stealing into
+the land. With eager fingers he stripped himself and plunged in, diving
+again and again below the surface, swimming with long, lazy strokes
+backwards and forwards. Afterwards he lay down in the warm, dry grass,
+dressed himself slowly, and went on his way. The wind, which had
+increased now since the early morning, came thundering across the level
+land, bending the tops of the few scattered trees, sending the sails of
+the windmills spinning, bringing on its bosom now stronger than ever the
+flavor of the sea itself, salt and stimulating. Tavernake told himself
+that this was a new world into which he was coming. He would pass into
+its embrace and life would become a new thing.
+
+Towards evening with many a thrill of reminiscence, he descended a steep
+hill and walked into a queer time-forgotten village, whose scattered
+red-tiled cottages were built around an arm of the sea. Boldly enough
+now he entered the one inn which flaunted its sign upon the cobbled
+street, and, taking a seat in the stone-floored kitchen, ate and drank
+and bespoke a bed. Later on, he strolled down to the quay and made
+friends with the few fishermen who were loitering there. They answered
+his questions readily, although he found it hard at first to pick up
+again the dialect of which he himself had once made use. The little
+place was scarcely changed. All progress, indeed, seemed to have
+passed it by. There were a handful of fishermen, a boat-builder and a
+fish-curer in the village. There was no other industry save a couple of
+small farmhouses on the outskirts of the place, no railway within twelve
+miles. Tourists came seldom, excursionists never. In the half contented,
+half animal-like expression which seemed common to all the inhabitants,
+Tavernake read easily enough the history of their uneventful days. It
+was such a shelter as this, indeed, for which he had been searching.
+
+On the second night after his arrival, he walked with the boatbuilder
+upon the wooden quay. The boatbuilder's name was Nicholls, and he was
+a man of some means, deacon of the chapel, with a fair connection as
+a jobbing carpenter, and possessor of the only horse and cart in the
+place.
+
+"Nicholls," Tavernake said, "you don't remember me, do you?"
+
+The boat-builder shook his head slowly and ponderously.
+
+"There was Richard Tavernake who farmed the low fields," he remarked,
+reminiscently. "Maybe you're a son of his. Now I come to think of it, he
+had a boy apprenticed to the carpentering."
+
+"I was the boy," Tavernake answered. "I soon had enough of it and went
+to London."
+
+"You'm grown out of all knowledge," Nicholls declared, "but I mind you
+now. So you've been in London all these years?"
+
+"I've been in London," Tavernake admitted, "and I think, of the two,
+that Sprey-by-the-Sea is the better place."
+
+"Sprey is well enough," the boat-builder confessed, "well enough for a
+man who isn't set on change."
+
+"Change," Tavernake asserted, grimly, "is an overrated joy. I have had
+too much of it in my life. I think that I should like to stay here for
+some time."
+
+The boat-builder was surprised, but he was a man of heavy and deliberate
+turn of mind and he did not commit himself to speech. Tavernake
+continued.
+
+"I used to know something of carpentering in my younger days," he said,
+"and I don't think that I have forgotten it all. I wonder if I could
+find anything to do down here?"
+
+Matthew Nicholls stroked his beard thoughtfully.
+
+"The folk round about are not over partial to strangers," he observed,
+"and you'm been away so long I reckon there's not many as'd recollect
+you. And as for carpentering jobs, there's Tom Lake over at Lesser
+Blakeney and his brother down at Brancaster, besides me on the spot,
+as you might say. It's a poor sort of opening there'd be, if you ask my
+opinion, especially for one like yourself, as 'as got education."
+
+"I should be satisfied with very little," Tavernake persisted. "I want
+to work with my hands. I should like to forget for a time that I have
+had any education at all."
+
+"That do seem mightily queer to me," Nicholls remarked, thoughtfully.
+
+Tavernake smiled.
+
+"Come," he said, "it isn't altogether unnatural. I want to make
+something with my hands. I think that I could build boats. Why do you
+not take me into your yard? I could do no harm and I should not want
+much pay."
+
+Matthew Nicholls stroked his beard once more and this time he counted
+fifty, as was his custom when confronted with a difficult matter. He had
+no need to do anything of the sort, for nothing in the world would have
+induced him to make up his mind on the spot as to so weighty a proposal.
+
+"It's not likely that you're serious," he objected. "You are a young man
+and strong-limbed, I should imagine, but you've education--one can tell
+it by the way you pronounce your words. It's but a poor living, after
+all, to be made here."
+
+"I like the place," Tavernake declared doggedly. "I am a man of small
+needs. I want to work all through the day, work till I am tired enough
+to sleep at night, work till my bones ache and my arms are sore. I
+suppose you could give me enough to live on in a humble way?"
+
+"Take a bite of supper with me," Nicholls answered. "In these serious
+affairs, my daughter has always her say. We will put the matter before
+her and see what she thinks of it."
+
+They lingered about the quay until the light from Wells Lighthouse
+flashed across the sea, and until in the distance they could hear the
+moaning of the incoming tide as it rippled over the bar and began to
+fill the tidal way which stretched to the wooden pier itself. Then the
+two men made their way along the village street, through a field, and
+into the little yard over which stood the sign of "Matthew Nicholls,
+Boat-Builder." At one corner of the yard was the cottage in which he
+lived.
+
+"You'll come right in, Mr. Tavernake," he said, the instincts of
+hospitality stirring within him as soon as they had passed through
+the gate. "We will talk of this matter together, you and me and the
+daughter."
+
+Tavernake seemed, on his introduction to the household, like a man
+unused to feminine society. Perhaps he did not expect to find such a
+type of her sex as Ruth Nicholls in such a remote neighborhood. She was
+thin, and her cheeks were paler than those of any of the other young
+women whom he had seen about the village. Her eyes, too, were darker,
+and her speech different. There was nothing about her which reminded him
+in the least of the child with whom he had played. Tavernake watched
+her intently. Presently the idea came to him that she, too, was seeking
+shelter.
+
+Supper was a simple meal, but it was well and deftly served. The girl
+had the gift of moving noiselessly. She was quick without giving
+the impression of haste. To their guest she was courteous, but her
+recollection of him appeared to be slight, and his coming but a matter
+of slight interest. After she had cleared the cloth, however, and
+produced a jar of tobacco, her father bade her sit down with them.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," he began, ponderously, "is thinking some of settling
+down in these parts, Ruth."
+
+She inclined her head gravely.
+
+"It appears," her father continued, "that he is sick and tired of the
+city and of head-work. He is wishful to come into the yard with me, if
+so be that we could find enough work for two."
+
+The girl looked at their visitor, and for the first time there was a
+measure of curiosity in her earnest gaze. Tavernake was, in his way,
+good enough to look upon. He was well-built, his shoulders and physique
+all spoke of strength. His features were firmly cut, although his
+general expression was gloomy. But for a certain moroseness, an
+uncouthness which he seemed to cultivate, he might even have been deemed
+good-looking.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake would make a great mistake," she said, hesitatingly. "It
+is not well for those who have brains to work with their hands. It is
+not a place for those to live who have been out in the world. At most
+seasons of the year it is but a wilderness. Sometimes there is little
+enough to do, even for father."
+
+"I am not ambitious for over-much work or for over-much money, Miss
+Nicholls," Tavernake replied. "I will be frank with you both. Things out
+in the world there went ill with me; it was not my fault, but they went
+ill with me. What ambitions I had are finished--for the present, at any
+rate. I want to rest, I want to work with my hands, to grow my muscles
+again, to feel my strength, to believe that there is something effective
+in the world I can do. I have had a shock, a disappointment,--call it
+what you like."
+
+The old man Nicholls nodded deliberately.
+
+"Well," he pronounced, "it's a big change to make. I never thought of
+help in the yard before. When there's been more than I could do, I've
+just let it go. Come for a week on trial, Leonard Tavernake. If we are
+of any use to one another, we shall soon know of it."
+
+The girl, who had been looking out into the night, came back.
+
+"You are making a mistake, Mr. Tavernake," she said. "You are too young
+and strong to have finished your battle."
+
+He looked at her steadily and sighed. It was only too obvious that hers
+had been fought and lost.
+
+"Perhaps," he replied softly, "you are right. Perhaps it is only the
+rest I want. We shall see."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. THE SIMPLE LIFE
+
+
+So Tavernake became a boat-builder. Summer passed into winter and this
+hamlet by the sea seemed, indeed, as though it might have been one of
+the forgotten spots upon the earth. Save for that handful of cottages,
+the two farmhouses a few hundred yards inland, and the deserted Hall
+half-hidden in its grove of pine trees, there was no dwelling-place
+nor any sign of human habitation for many miles. For eight hours a day
+Tavernake worked, mostly out of doors, in the little yard which hung
+over the beach. Sometimes he rested from his labors and looked seaward,
+looked around him as though rejoicing in that unbroken solitude, the
+emptiness of the gray ocean, the loneliness of the land behind. What
+things there were which lay back in the cells of his memory, no person
+there knew, for he spoke of his past to no one, not even to Ruth. He
+was a good workman, and he lived the simple life of those others without
+complaint or weariness. There was nothing in his manner to denote that
+he had been used to anything else. The village had accepted him without
+question. It was only Ruth who still, gravely but kindly enough,
+disapproved of his presence.
+
+One day she came and sat with him as he smoked his after-dinner pipe,
+leaning against an overturned boat, with his eyes fixed upon that line
+of gray breakers.
+
+"You spend a good deal of your time thinking, Mr. Tavernake," she
+remarked quietly.
+
+"Too much," he admitted at once, "too much, Miss Nicholls. I should be
+better employed planing down that mast there."
+
+"You know that I did not mean that," she said, reprovingly, "only
+sometimes you make me--shall I confess it?--almost angry with you."
+
+He took his pipe from his mouth and knocked out the ashes. As they fell
+on the ground so he looked at them.
+
+"All thought is wasted time," he declared, grimly, "all thought of the
+past. The past is like those ashes; it is dead and finished."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Not always," she replied. "Sometimes the past comes to life again.
+Sometimes the bravest of us quit the fight too soon."
+
+He looked at her questioningly, almost fiercely. Her words, however,
+seemed spoken without intent.
+
+"So far as mine is concerned," he pronounced, "it is finished. There is
+a memorial stone laid upon it, and no resurrection is possible."
+
+"You cannot tell," she answered. "No one can tell."
+
+He turned back to his work almost rudely, but she stayed by his side.
+
+"Once," she remarked, reflectively, "I, too, went a little way into the
+world. I was a school-teacher at Norwich. I was very fond of some one
+there; we were engaged. Then my mother died and I had to come back to
+look after father."
+
+He nodded.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"We are a long way from Norwich," she continued, quietly. "Soon after I
+left, the man whom I was fond of grew lonely. He found some one else."
+
+"You have forgotten him?" Tavernake asked, quickly.
+
+"I shall never forget him," she replied. "That part of life is finished,
+but if ever my father can spare me, I shall go back to my work again.
+Sometimes those work the best and accomplish the most who carry the
+scars of a great wound."
+
+She turned away to the house, and after that it seemed to him that she
+avoided him for a time. At any rate, she made no further attempt to win
+his confidence. Propinquity, however, was too much for both of them. He
+was a lodger under her father's roof. It was scarcely possible for them
+to keep apart. Saturdays and Sundays they walked sometimes for miles
+across the frost-bound marshes, in the quickening atmosphere of the
+darkening afternoons, when the red sun sank early behind the hills, and
+the twilight grew shorter every day. They watched the sea-birds together
+and saw the wild duck come down to the pools; felt the glow of exercise
+burn their cheeks; felt, too, that common and nameless exultation
+engendered by their loneliness in the solitude of these beautiful empty
+places. In the evenings they often read together, for Nicholls, although
+no drinker, never missed his hour or so at the village inn. Tavernake,
+in time, began to find a sort of comfort in her calm, sexless
+companionship. He knew very well that he was to her as she was to him,
+something human, something that filled an empty place, yet something
+without direct personality. Little by little he felt the bitterness
+in his heart grow less. Then a late spring--late, at any rate, in this
+quaint corner of the world--stole like some wonderful enchantment across
+the face of the moors and the marshes. Yellow gorse starred with golden
+clumps the brown hillside; wild lavender gleamed in patches across the
+silver-streaked marshes; the dead hedges came blossoming into life.
+Crocuses, long lines of yellow and purple crocuses, broke from waxy buds
+into starlike blossoms along the front of Matthew Nicholls's garden. And
+with the coming o spring, Tavernake found himself suddenly able to thin
+of the past. It was a new phase of life. He could sit down and think of
+those things that had happened to him, without fearing to be wrecked by
+the storm. Often he sat out looking seaward, thinking of the days
+when he had first met Beatrice, of those early days of pleasant
+companionship, of the marvelous avidity with which he had learned from
+her. Only when Elizabeth's face stole into the foreground did he spring
+from his place and turn back to his work.
+
+One day Tavernake sat poring over the weekly local paper, reading it
+more out of curiosity than from any real interest. Suddenly a familiar
+name caught his eye. His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment, and
+the page swam before his eyes. Quickly he recovered himself and read:
+
+      THE QUEEN'S HALL, UNTHANK ROAD,
+                  NORWICH
+
+                TWICE DAILY.
+             PROFESSOR FRANKLIN
+          assisted by his daughter,
+           MISS BEATRICE FRANKLIN,
+     will give his REFINED and MARVELOUS
+     ENTERTAINMENT, comprising HYPNOTISM, feats
+     Of SECOND SIGHT never before attempted on
+     any stage, THOUGHT-READING, and a BRIEF
+     LECTURE upon the connection between ANCIENT
+     SUPERSTITIONS and the EXTRAORDINARY
+     DEVELOPMENTS OF THE NEW SCIENCE.
+
+     PROFESSOR FRANKLIN Can be CONSULTED PRIVATELY,
+     by letter or by appointment.  Address for this
+     week--The Golden Cow, Bell's Lane, Norwich.
+
+Twice Tavernake read the announcement. Then he went out and found Ruth.
+
+"Ruth," he told her, "there is something calling me back, perhaps for
+good."
+
+For the first time she gave him her hand.
+
+"Now you are talking like a man once more," she declared. "Go and seek
+it. Comeback and say good-bye to us, if you will, but throw your tools
+into the sea."
+
+Tavernake laughed and looked across at his workshop.
+
+"I don't believe," he said, "that you've any confidence in my boat."
+
+"I'm not sure that I would sail with you," she answered, "even if you
+ever finished it. A laborer's work for a laborer's hand. You must go
+back to the other things."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. OLD FRIENDS MEET
+
+
+The professor set down his tumbler upon the zinc-rimmed counter. He was
+very little changed except that he had grown a shade stouter, and there
+was perhaps more color in his cheeks. He carried himself, too, like a
+man who believes in himself. In the small public-house he was, without
+doubt, an impressive figure.
+
+"My friends," he remarked, "our host's whiskey is good. At the same
+time, I must not forget--"
+
+"You'll have one with me, Professor," a youth at his elbow interrupted.
+"Two special whiskies, miss, if you please."
+
+The professor shrugged his shoulders--it was a gesture which he
+wished every one to understand. He was suffering now the penalty for a
+popularity which would not be denied!
+
+"You are very kind, sir," he said, "very kind, indeed. As I was about to
+say, I must not forget that in less than half an hour I am due upon the
+stage. It does not do to disappoint one's audience, sir. It is a poor
+place, this music-hall, but it is full, they tell me packed from floor
+to ceiling. At eight-thirty I must show myself."
+
+"A marvelous turn, too, Professor," declared one of the young men by
+whom he was surrounded.
+
+"I thank you, sir," the professor replied, turning towards the speaker,
+glass in hand. "There have been others who have paid me a similar
+compliment; others, I may say, not unconnected with the aristocracy of
+your country--not unconnected either, I might add," he went on, "with
+the very highest in the land, those who from their exalted position
+have never failed to shower favors upon the more fortunate sons of our
+profession. The science of which I am to some extent the pioneer--not a
+drop more, my young friend. Say, I'm in dead earnest this time! No more,
+indeed."
+
+The young man in knickerbockers who had just come in banged the head of
+his cane upon the counter.
+
+"You'll never refuse me, Professor," he asserted, confidently. "I'm
+an old supporter, I am. I've seen you in Blackburn and Manchester, and
+twice here. Just as wonderful as ever! And that young lady of yours,
+Professor, begging your pardon if she is your daughter, as no doubt she
+is, why, she's a nut and no mistake."
+
+The professor sighed. He was in his element but he was getting uneasy at
+the flight of time.
+
+"My young friend," he said, "your face is not familiar to me but
+I cannot refuse your kindly offer. It must be the last, however,
+absolutely the last."
+
+Then Tavernake, directed here from the music-hall, pushed open the swing
+door and entered. The professor set down his glass untasted. Tavernake
+came slowly across the room.
+
+"You haven't forgotten me, then, Professor?" he remarked, holding out
+his hand.
+
+The professor welcomed him a little limply; something of the bombast had
+gone out of his manner. Tavernake's arrival had reminded him of things
+which he had only too easily forgotten.
+
+"This is very surprising," he faltered, "very surprising indeed. Do you
+live in these parts?"
+
+"Not far away," Tavernake answered. "I saw your announcement in the
+papers."
+
+The professor nodded.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I am on the war-path again. I tried resting but I
+got fat and lazy, and the people wouldn't have it, sir," he continued,
+recovering very quickly something of his former manner. "The number
+of offers I got through my agents by every post was simply
+astounding--astounding!"
+
+"I am looking forward to seeing your performance this evening,"
+Tavernake said politely. "In the meantime--"
+
+"I know what you are thinking of," the professor interrupted. "Well,
+well, give me your arm and we will walk down to the hall together.
+My friends," the professor added, turning round, "I wish you all a
+good-night!"
+
+Then the door was pushed half-way open and Tavernake's heart gave a
+jump. It was Beatrice who stood there, very pale, very tired, and much
+thinner even than the Beatrice of the boardinghouse, but still Beatrice.
+
+"Father," she exclaimed, "do you know that it is nearly--"
+
+Then she saw Tavernake and said no more. She seemed to sway a little,
+and Tavernake, taking a quick step forward, grasped her by the hands.
+
+"Dear sister," he cried, "you have been ill!"
+
+She was herself again almost in a moment.
+
+"Ill? Never in my life," she replied. "Only I have been hurrying--we
+are late already for the performance--and seeing you there, well, it was
+quite a shock, you know. Walk down with us and tell me all about it.
+Tell us what you are doing here--or rather, don't talk for a moment! It
+is all so amazing."
+
+They turned down the narrow cobbled street, the professor walking in the
+middle of the roadway, swinging his cane, a very imposing and wonderful
+figure, with the tails of his frock-coat streaming in the wind, his
+long hair only half-hidden by his hat. He hummed a tune to himself
+and affected not to take any notice of the other two. Then Tavernake
+suddenly realized that he had done a cowardly action in leaving her
+without a word.
+
+"There is so much to ask," she began at last, "but you have come back."
+
+She looked at his workman's clothes.
+
+"What have you been doing?" she asked, sharply.
+
+"Working," Tavernake answered, "good work, too. I am the better for it.
+Don't mind my clothes, Beatrice. I have been mad for a time, but after
+all it has been a healthy madness."
+
+"It was a strange thing that you did," she said,--"you disappeared."
+
+He nodded.
+
+"Some day," he told her, "I may, perhaps, be able to make you
+understand. Just now I don't think that I could."
+
+"It was Elizabeth?" she whispered, softly.
+
+"It was Elizabeth," he admitted.
+
+They said no more then till they reached the hall. She stopped at the
+door and put out her hand timidly.
+
+"I shall see you afterwards?" she ventured.
+
+"Do you mind my coming to the performance?" he asked.
+
+She hesitated.
+
+"A few moments ago," she remarked, smiling, "I was dreading your coming.
+Now I think that you had better. It will be all over at ten o'clock, and
+I shall look for you outside. You are living in Norwich?"
+
+"I shall be here for to-night, at any rate," he answered.
+
+"Very well, then," she said, "afterwards we will have a talk."
+
+Tavernake passed through the scattered knot of loiterers at the door
+and bought a seat for himself in the little music-hall, which,
+notwithstanding the professor's boast, was none too well filled. It was
+a place of the old-fashioned sort, with small tables in the front, and
+waiters hurrying about serving drinks. The people were of the lowest
+order, and the atmosphere of the room was thick with tobacco smoke.
+A young woman in a flaxen wig and boy's clothes was singing a popular
+ditty, marching up and down the stage, and interspersing the words o f
+her song with grimaces and appropriate action. Tavernake sat down with
+a barely-smothered groan. He was beginning to realize the tragedy upon
+which he had stumbled. A comic singer followed, who in a dress suit
+several sizes too large for him gave an imitation of a popular Irish
+comedian. Then the curtain went up and the professor was seen, standing
+in front of the curtain and bowing solemnly to a somewhat unresponsive
+audience. A minute later Beatrice came quietly in and sat by his side.
+There was nothing new about the show. Tavernake had seen the same thing
+before, with the exception that the professor was perhaps a little
+behind the majority of his fellow-craftsmen. The performance was
+finished in dead silence, and after it was over, Beatrice came to the
+front and sang. She was a very unusual figure in such a place, in a
+plain black evening gown, with black gloves and no jewelry, but they
+encored her heartily, and she sang a song from the musical comedy
+in which Tavernake had first seen her. A sudden wave of reminiscence
+stirred within him. His thoughts seemed to go back to the night when
+he had waited for her outside the theatre and they had had supper at
+Imano's, to the day when he had left the boarding-house and entered upon
+his new life. It was more like a dream than ever now.
+
+He rose and quitted the place immediately she had finished, waiting in
+the street until she appeared. She came out in a few minutes.
+
+"Father is going to a supper," she announced, "at the inn where he has a
+room for receiving people. Will you come home with me for an hour? Then
+we can go round and fetch him."
+
+"I should like to," Tavernake answered.
+
+Her lodgings were only a few steps away--a strange little house in a
+narrow street. She opened the front door and ushered him in.
+
+"You understand, of course," she said, smiling, "that we have abandoned
+the haunts of luxury altogether."
+
+He looked around at the tiny room with its struggling fire and horsehair
+sofa, linoleum for carpet, oleographs for pictures, and he shivered,
+not for his own sake but for hers. On the sideboard were some bread and
+cheese and a bottle of ginger beer.
+
+"Please imagine," she begged, taking the pins from her hat, "that you
+are in those dear comfortable rooms of ours down at Chelsea. Draw
+that easy-chair up to what there is of the fire, and listen. You smoke
+still?"
+
+"I have taken to a pipe," he admitted.
+
+"Then light it and listen," she went on, smoothing her hair for a minute
+in front of the looking-glass. "You want to know about Elizabeth, of
+course."
+
+"Yes," he said, "I want to know."
+
+"Elizabeth, on the whole," Beatrice continued, "got out of all her
+troubles very well. Her husband's people were wild with her, but
+Elizabeth was very clever. They were never able to prove that she had
+exercised more than proper control over poor Wenham. He died two months
+after they took him to the asylum. They offered Elizabeth a lump sum to
+waive all claims to his estate, and she accepted it. I think that she is
+now somewhere on the Continent."
+
+"And you?" he asked. "Why did you leave the theatre?"
+
+"It was a matter of looking after my father," she explained. "You see,
+while he was there with Elizabeth he had too much money and nothing to
+do. The consequence was that he was always--well, I suppose I had better
+say it--drinking too much, and he was losing all his desire for work. I
+made him promise that if I could get some engagements he would come away
+with me, so I went to an agent and we have been touring like this for
+quite a long time."
+
+"But what a life for you!" Tavernake exclaimed. "Couldn't you have
+stayed on at the theatre and found him something in London?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"In London," she said, "he would never have got out of his old habits.
+And then," she went on, hesitatingly, "you understand that the public
+want something else besides the hypnotism--"
+
+Tavernake interrupted her ruthlessly.
+
+"Of course I understand," he declared, "I was there to-night. I
+understood at once why you were not very anxious for me to go. The
+people cared nothing at all about your father's performance. They simply
+waited for you. You would get the same money if you went round without
+him."
+
+She nodded, a trifle shamefacedly.
+
+"I am so afraid some one will tell him," she confessed. "They nearly
+always ask me to leave out his part of the performance. They have even
+offered me more money if I would come alone. But you see how it is. He
+believes in himself, he thinks he is very clever and he believes that
+the public like his show. It is the only thing which helps him to keep a
+little self-respect. He thinks that my singing is almost unnecessary."
+
+Tavernake looked into that faint glimmer of miserable fire. He was
+conscious of a curious feeling in his throat. How little he knew of
+life! The pathos of what she had told him, the thought of her bravely
+traveling the country and singing at third-rate music-halls, never
+taking any credit to herself, simply that her father might still believe
+himself a man of talent, appealed to him irresistibly. He suddenly held
+out his hand.
+
+"Poor little Beatrice!" he exclaimed. "Dear little sister!"
+
+The hand he gripped was cold, she avoided his eyes.
+
+"You--you mustn't," she murmured. "Please don't!"
+
+He held out his other hand and half rose, but her lips suddenly ceased
+to quiver and she waved him back.
+
+"No, Leonard," she begged, "please don't do or say anything foolish.
+Since we do meet again, though, like this, I am going to ask you one
+question. What made you come to me and ask me to marry you that day?"
+
+He looked away; something in her eyes accused him.
+
+"Beatrice," he confessed, "I was a thick-headed ignorant fool, without
+understanding. I came to you for safety. I was afraid of Elizabeth, I
+was afraid of what I felt for her. I wanted to escape from it."
+
+She smiled piteously.
+
+"It wasn't a very brave thing to do, was it?" she faltered.
+
+"It was mean," he admitted. "It was worse than that. But, Beatrice," he
+went on, "I was missing you horribly. You did leave a big empty place
+when you went away. I am not going to excuse myself about Elizabeth. I
+lived through a time of the strangest, most marvelous emotions one could
+dream of. Then the thing came to an end and I felt as though the
+bottom had gone out of life. I suppose--I loved her," he continued
+hesitatingly. "I don't know. I only know that she filled every thought
+of my brain, that she lived in every beat of my heart, that I would have
+gone down into Hell to help her. And then I understood. That morning
+she told me something of the truth about herself, not meaning
+to--unconsciously--justifying herself all the time, not realizing that
+every word she said was damnable. And then there didn't seem to be
+anything else left, and I had only one desire. I turned my back upon
+everything and I went back to the place where I was born, a little
+fishing village. For the last thirty miles I walked. I shall never
+forget it. When I got there, what I wanted was work, work with my hands.
+I wanted to build something, to create anything that I could labor upon.
+I became a boat builder--I have been a boatbuilder ever since."
+
+"And now?" she asked.
+
+"Beatrice!"
+
+She turned and faced him. She looked into his eyes very searchingly,
+very wistfully.
+
+"Beatrice," he said, "I ask you once more, only differently. Will you
+marry me now? I'll find some work, I'll make enough money for us. Do you
+remember," he went on, "how I used to talk, how I used to feel that I
+had only to put forth my strength and I could win anything? I'll feel
+like that again, Beatrice, if you'll come to me."
+
+She shook her head slowly. She looked away from him with a sigh. She
+had the air of one who has sought for something which she has failed to
+find.
+
+"You mustn't think of that again, Leonard," she told him. "It would be
+quite impossible. This is the only way I can save my father. We have a
+tour that will take us the best part of another year."
+
+"But you are sacrificing yourself!" he declared. "I will keep your
+father."
+
+"It isn't that only," she replied. "For one thing, I couldn't let you;
+and for another, it isn't only the money, it's the work. As long as
+he's made to think that the public expect him every night, he keeps off
+drinking too much. There is nothing else in the whole world which would
+keep him steady. Don't look as though you didn't understand, Leonard. He
+is my father, you know, and there isn't anything more terrible than to
+see any one who has a claim on us give way to anything like that. You
+mayn't quite approve, but please believe that I am doing what I feel to
+be right."
+
+The little fire had gone out. Beatrice glanced at the clock and put on
+her jacket again.
+
+"I am sorry, Leonard," she said, "but I think I must go and fetch father
+now. You can walk with me there, if you will. It has been very good
+to see you again. For the rest I don't know what to say to you. Do you
+think that it is quite what you were meant for--to build boats?"
+
+"I don't seem to have any other ambition," he answered, wearily. "When
+I read in the paper this morning that you and your father were here,
+things seemed suddenly different. I came at once. I didn't know what I
+wanted until I saw you, but I know now, and it isn't any good."
+
+"No good at all," she declared cheerfully. "It won't be very long,
+Leonard, before something else comes along to stir you. I don't think
+you were meant to build boats all your life."
+
+He rose and took up his hat. She was waiting for him at the door. Again
+they passed down the narrow street.
+
+"Tell, me, Beatrice," he begged, "is it because you don't like me well
+enough that you won't listen to what I ask?"
+
+For a moment she half closed her eyes as though in pain. Then she
+laughed, not perhaps very naturally. They were standing now by the door
+of the public house.
+
+"Leonard," she said, "you are very young in years but you are a baby
+in experience. Mind, there are other reasons why I could not--would not
+dream of marrying you, other reasons which are absolutely sufficient,
+but--do you know that you have asked me twice and you have never once
+said that you cared, that you have never once looked as though you
+cared? No, don't, please," she interrupted, "don't explain anything. You
+see, a woman always knows--too well, sometimes."
+
+She nodded, and passed in through the swinging-doors. Standing out there
+in the narrow, crooked street, Tavernake heard the clapping and applause
+which greeted her entrance, he heard her father's voice. Some one struck
+a note at the piano--she was going to sing. Very slowly he turned away
+and walked down the cobbled hill.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. PRITCHARD'S GOOD NEWS
+
+
+Late in the afternoon of the following day, Ruth came home from the
+village and found Tavernake hard at work on his boat. She put down her
+basket and stopped by his side.
+
+"So you are back again," she remarked.
+
+"Yes, I am back again."
+
+"And nothing has happened?"
+
+"Nothing has happened," he assented, wearily. "Nothing ever will happen
+now."
+
+She smiled.
+
+"You mean that you will stay here and build boats all your life?"
+
+"That is what I mean to do," he announced.
+
+She laid her hand upon his shoulder.
+
+"Don't believe it, Leonard," she said. "There is other work for you in
+the world somewhere, just as there is for me."
+
+He shook his head and she picked up her basket again, smiling.
+
+"Your time will come as it comes to the rest of us," she declared,
+cheerfully. "You won't want to sit here and bury your talents in the
+sands all your days. Have you heard what is going to happen to me?"
+
+"No! Something good, I hope."
+
+"My father's favorite niece is coming to live with us--there are seven
+of them altogether, and farming doesn't pay like it used to, so Margaret
+is coming here. Father says that if she is as handy as she used to be I
+may go back to the schools almost at once."
+
+Tavernake was silent for a moment. Then he got up and threw down his
+tools.
+
+"Great Heavens!" he exclaimed. "If I am not becoming the most selfish
+brute that ever breathed! Do you know, the first thought I had was that
+I should miss you? You are right, young woman, I must get out of this."
+
+She disappeared into the house, smiling, and Tavernake called out to
+Nicholls, who was sitting on the wall.
+
+"Mr. Nicholls," he asked, "how much notice do you want?"
+
+Matthew Nicholls removed his pipe from his mouth.
+
+"Why, I don't know that I'm particular," he replied, "being as you want
+to go. Between you and me, I'm gettin' fat and lazy since you came.
+There ain't enough work for two, and that's all there is to it, and
+being as you're young and active, why, I've left it to you, and look at
+my arms."
+
+He held them up.
+
+"Used to be all muscle, now they're nothin' but bloomin' pap. And no'
+but two glasses of beer a day extra have I drunk, just to pass the time.
+You can stay if you will, young man, but you can go out fishin' and
+leave me the work, and I'll pay you just the same, for I'm not saying
+that I don't like your company. Or you can go when you please, and
+that's the end of it."
+
+Matthew Nicholls spat upon the stones and replaced his pipe in his
+mouth. Tavernake came in and sat down by his side.
+
+"Look here," he said, "I believe you are right. I'll stay another week
+but I'll take things easy. You get on with the boat now. I'll sit here
+and have a smoke."
+
+Nicholls grunted but obeyed, and for the next few days Tavernake loafed.
+On his return one afternoon from a long walk, he saw a familiar figure
+sitting upon the sea wall in front of the workshop, a familiar figure
+but a strange one in these parts. It was Mr. Pritchard, in an American
+felt hat, and smoking a very black cigar. He leaned over and nodded to
+Tavernake, who was staring at him aghast.
+
+"Hallo, old man!" he called out. "Run you to earth, you see!"
+
+"Yes, I see!" Tavernake exclaimed.
+
+"Come right along up here and let's talk," Pritchard continued.
+
+Tavernake obeyed. Pritchard looked him over approvingly. Tavernake was
+roughly dressed in those days, but as a man he had certainly developed.
+
+"Say, you're looking fine," his visitor remarked. "What wouldn't I give
+for that color and those shoulders!"
+
+"It is a healthy life," Tavernake admitted. "Do you mean that you've
+come down here to see me?"
+
+"That's so," Pritchard announced; "down here to see you, and for no
+other reason. Not but that the scenery isn't all it should be, and that
+sort of thing," he went on, "but I am not putting up any bluff about
+it. It's you I am here to talk to. Are you ready? Shall I go straight
+ahead?"
+
+"If you please," Tavernake said, slowly filling his pipe.
+
+"You dropped out of things pretty sudden," Pritchard continued. "It
+didn't take me much guessing to reckon up why. Between you and me, you
+are not the first man who's been up against it on account of that young
+woman. Don't stop me," he begged. "I know how you've been feeling. It
+was a right good idea of yours to come here. Others before you
+have tried the shady side of New York and Paris, and it's the wrong
+treatment. It's Hell, that's what it is, for them. Now that young
+woman--we got to speak of her--is about the most beautiful and the most
+fascinating of her sex--I'll grant that to start with--but she isn't
+worth the life of a snail, much less the life of a strong man."
+
+"You are, quite right," Tavernake confessed, shortly. "I know I was
+a fool--a fool! If I could think of any adjective that would meet the
+case, I'd use it, but there it is. I chucked things and I came here. You
+haven't come down to tell me your opinion of me, I suppose?"
+
+"Not by any manner of means," Pritchard admitted. "I came down first to
+tell you that you were a fool, if it was necessary. Since you know it,
+it isn't. We'll pass on to the next stage, and that is, what are you
+going to do about it?"
+
+"It is in my mind at the present moment," Tavernake announced, "to leave
+here. The only trouble is, I am not very keen about London."
+
+Pritchard nodded thoughtfully.
+
+"That's all right," he agreed. "London's no place for a man, anyway. You
+don't want to learn the usual tricks of money-making. Money that's made
+in the cities is mostly made with stained fingers. I have a different
+sort of proposal to make."
+
+"Go ahead," Tavernake said. "What is it?"
+
+"A new country," Pritchard declared, altering the angle of his cigar,
+"a virgin land, mountains and valleys, great rivers to be crossed, all
+sorts of cold and heat to be borne with, a land rich with minerals--some
+say gold, but never mind that. There is oil in parts, there's tin,
+there's coal, and there's thousands and thousands of miles of forest.
+You're a surveyor?"
+
+"Passed all my exams," Tavernake agreed tersely.
+
+"You are the man for out yonder," Pritchard insisted. "I've two years'
+vacation--dead sick of this city life I am--and I am going to put you on
+the track of it. You don't know much about prospecting yet, I reckon?"
+
+"Nothing at all!"
+
+"You soon shall," Pritchard went on. "We'll start from Winnipeg. A few
+horses, some guides, and a couple of tents. We'll spend twenty weeks, my
+friend, without seeing a town. What do you think of that?"
+
+"Gorgeous!" Tavernake muttered.
+
+"Twenty weeks we'll strike westward. I know the way to set about the
+whole job. I know one or two of the capitalists, too, and if we don't
+map out some of the grandest estates in British Columbia, why, my name
+ain't Pritchard."
+
+"But I haven't a penny in the world," Tavernake objected.
+
+"That's where you're lying," Pritchard remarked, pulling a newspaper
+from his pocket. "See the advertisement for yourself: 'Leonard
+Tavernake, something to his advantage.' Well, down I went to those
+lawyers--your old lawyer it was--Martin. I told him I was on your track,
+and he said--'For Heaven's sake, send the fellow along!' Say, Tavernake,
+he made me laugh the way he described your bursting in upon him and
+telling him to take your land for his costs, and walking out of the room
+like something almighty. Why, he worked that thing so that they had to
+buy your land, and they took him into partnership. He's made a pot of
+money, and needs no costs from you, and there's the money for your land
+and what he had of yours besides, waiting for you."
+
+Tavernake smoked stolidly at his pipe. His eyes were out seaward, but
+his heart was beating to a new and splendid music. To start life again,
+a man's life, out in the solitudes, out in the great open spaces! It was
+gorgeous, this! He turned round and grasped Pritchard by the shoulder.
+
+"I say," he exclaimed, "why are you doing all this for me, Pritchard?"
+
+Pritchard laughed.
+
+"You did me a good turn," he said, "and you're a man. You've the
+pluck--that's what I like. You knew nothing, you were as green and
+ignorant as a young man from behind the counter of a country shop, but,
+my God! you'd got the right stuff, and I meant getting even with you
+if I could. You'll leave here with me to-morrow, and in three weeks we
+sail."
+
+Ruth came smiling out from the house.
+
+"Won't you bring your friend in to supper, Mr. Tavernake?" she begged.
+"It's good news, I hope?" she added, lowering her voice a little.
+
+"It's the best," Tavernake declared, "the best!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. BEATRICE REFUSES
+
+
+A week later Tavernake was in London. A visit to his friend Mr. Martin
+had easily proved the truth of Pritchard's words, and he found himself
+in possession of a sum of money at least twice as great as he had
+anticipated. He stayed at a cheap hotel in the Strand and made purchases
+under Pritchard's supervision. For the first few days he was too busy
+for reflection. Then Pritchard let him alone while he ran over to Paris,
+and Tavernake suddenly realized that he was in the city to which he had
+thought never to return. He passed the back of the theatre where he had
+waited for Beatrice, he looked up at the entrance of the Milan Court;
+he lunched alone, and with a curious mixture of feelings, at the little
+restaurant where he had supped with Beatrice. It was over, that part
+of his life, over and finished. Yet, with his natural truthfulness, he
+never attempted to disguise from himself the pain at his heart. Three
+times in one day he found himself, under some pretext or another, in
+Imano's Restaurant. Once, in the middle of the street, he burst into a
+fit of laughter. It was while Pritchard was in London, and he asked him
+a question.
+
+"Pritchard," he remarked, "you area man of experience. Did any one ever
+care for two women at the same time?"
+
+Pritchard removed his cigar from his teeth and stared at his companion.
+
+"Why, my young friend," he replied, "I've found no trouble myself in
+being fond of a dozen."
+
+Tavernake smiled and said no more. Pritchard was one of the good fellows
+of the world, but there were things which were hidden from him.
+Yet Tavernake, who had fallen into a habit, during his solitude, of
+analyzing his sensations, was puzzled by this one circumstance, that
+when he thought of Elizabeth, though his heart never failed to beat
+more quickly, the sense of shame generally stole over him; and when he
+thought of Beatrice, a curious loneliness, a loneliness that brought
+with it a pain, seemed suddenly to make the hours drag and his pleasures
+flavorless. For two days he was puzzled. Then his habit of taking long
+walks helped him toward a solution. In a small outlying music-hall in
+the east-end of London, he saw the same announcement that he had noticed
+in the Norfolk newspaper,--"Professor Franklin" in large type, and "Miss
+Beatrice Franklin" in small.
+
+That night he attended the music-hall. The scene was practically a
+repetition of the one in Norwich, only with additions. The professor's
+bombastic performance met with scarcely any applause. Its termination
+was, indeed, interrupted by catcalls and whistles from the gallery.
+Beatrice's songs, on the other hand, were applauded more vociferously
+than ever. She had hard work to avoid a third encore.
+
+At the end of the performance, Tavernake made his way to the stage-door
+and waited. The neighborhood was an unsavory one, and the building
+itself seemed crowded in among a row of shops of the worst order,
+fish stalls, and a glaring gin palace. Long before Beatrice came out,
+Tavernake could hear the professor's voice down the covered passage, the
+professor's voice apparently raised in anger.
+
+"Undutiful behavior, that's what I call it--undutiful!"
+
+They emerged into the street, the professor very much the same as usual;
+Beatrice paler, with a pathetic droop about her mouth. Tavernake came
+eagerly forward.
+
+"Beatrice!" he cried, holding out his hand.
+
+The professor drew back. Beatrice stood still,--for a moment it seemed
+as though she were about to faint. Tavernake grasped her hands.
+
+"I am so sorry!" he exclaimed, clumsily. "I ought not to have come up
+like that."
+
+She smiled a little wan smile.
+
+"I am quite all right," she replied, "only the heat inside was rather
+trying, and even out here the atmosphere isn't too good, is it? How did
+you find us out?"
+
+"By chance again," Tavernake answered. "I have news. May I walk with you
+a few steps?"
+
+She glanced timidly toward her father. The professor was holding aloof
+in dignified silence.
+
+"Perhaps," Tavernake said quickly, "you would take supper with me? I am
+going abroad, and I should like to say good-bye properly. A bottle of
+champagne and some supper. What do you say, Professor?"
+
+The professor suffered his features to relax.
+
+"A very admirable idea," he declared. "Where shall we go?"
+
+"Is it too late to get to Imano's?" Tavernake suggested.
+
+The professor hesitated.
+
+"A taxicab," he remarked, "would do it, if--"
+
+He paused, and Tavernake smiled.
+
+"A taxicab it shall be," he decided. "I am in funds just for the moment.
+Come along, both of you, and I'll tell you all about it."
+
+He made her take his arm, although her fingers did no more than touch
+his coat sleeve.
+
+"Pritchard came and dug me out," he continued. "I am going abroad with
+him. It's sort of prospecting in some new country at the back of British
+Columbia. We see what we can find and then go to a financier's and start
+companies, mining companies and oil fields--anything. I am off in a
+week."
+
+Beatrice half closed her eyes. They had hailed a passing cab and she
+sank back among the cushions with a sigh of relief.
+
+"Dear Leonard," she murmured, "I am so glad, so very happy for your
+sake. This is the sort of thing which I hoped would happen."
+
+"And now tell me about yourselves," he went on.
+
+There was a sudden silence. Tavernake was conscious that Beatrice's
+clothes were distinctly shabbier, that the professor's hat was shiny.
+The professor cleared his throat.
+
+"I do not wish," he said, "to intrude our private matters upon one who,
+although I will not call him a stranger, is assuredly not one of our
+old friends. At the same time, I admit that a little trouble has arisen
+between Beatrice and myself, and we were discussing it at the moment
+you arrived. I shall appeal to you now. As an unprejudiced member of the
+audience to-night, Mr. Tavernake, you will give me your honest opinion?"
+
+"Certainly," Tavernake promised, with a sinking premonition of what was
+to come.
+
+"What I complain of," the professor began, speaking with elaborate and
+impressive slowness, "is that my performance is hurried over and that
+too long a time is taken up by Beatrice's songs. The management remark
+upon the applause which her efforts occasionally ensure, but, as I would
+point out to you, sir," he continued, "a performance such as mine makes
+too deep an impression for the audience to show their appreciation of it
+by such vulgar methods as hand-clapping and whistling. You follow me, I
+trust, Mr. Tavernake?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course," Tavernake admitted.
+
+"I take a sincere and earnest interest in my work," the professor
+declared, "and I feel that when it has to be scamped that my daughter
+may sing a music-hall ditty, the result is, to say the least of it,
+undignified. For some reason or other, I have been unable to induce the
+management to see entirely with me, but my point is that Beatrice
+should sing one song only, and that the additional ten minutes should be
+occupied by me in either a further exposition of my extraordinary powers
+as a hypnotist, or in a little address to the audience upon the hidden
+sciences. Now I appeal to you, Mr. Tavernake, as a young man of common
+sense. What is your opinion?"
+
+Tavernake, much too honest to be capable in a general way of duplicity,
+was on the point of giving it, but he caught Beatrice's imploring gaze.
+Her lips were moving. He hesitated.
+
+"Of course," he began, slowly, "you have to try and put yourself into
+the position of the major part of the audience, who are exceedingly
+uneducated people. It is very hard to give an opinion, Professor. I
+must say that your entertainment this evening was listened to with rapt
+interest."
+
+The professor turned solemnly towards his daughter.
+
+"You hear that, Beatrice?" he said severely. "You hear what Mr.
+Tavernake says? 'With rapt interest!'"
+
+"At the same time," Tavernake went on, "without a doubt Miss Beatrice's
+songs were also extremely popular. It is rather a pity that the
+management could not give you a little more time."
+
+"Failing that, sir," the professor declared, "my point is, as I
+explained before, that Beatrice should give up one of her songs. What
+you have said this evening more than ever confirms me in my view."
+
+Beatrice smiled thankfully at Tavernake.
+
+"Well," she suggested, "at any rate we will leave it for the present.
+Sometimes I think, though, father, that you frighten them with some of
+your work, and you must remember that they come to be amused."
+
+"That," the professor admitted, "is the most sensible remark you have
+made, Beatrice. There is indeed something terrifying in some of my
+manifestations, terrifying even to myself, who understand so thoroughly
+my subject. However, as you say, we will dismiss the matter for the
+present. The thought of this supper party is a pleasant one. Do you
+remember, Mr. Tavernake, the night when you and I met in the balcony at
+Imano's?"
+
+"Perfectly well," Tavernake answered.
+
+"Now I shall test your memory," the professor continued, with a knowing
+smile. "Can you remember, sir, the brand of champagne which I was then
+drinking, and which I declared, if you recollect, was the one which best
+agreed with me, the one brand worth drinking?"
+
+"I am afraid I don't remember that," Tavernake confessed. "Restaurant
+life is a thing I know so little of, and I have only drunk champagne
+once or twice in my life."
+
+"Dear, dear me!" the professor exclaimed. "You do astonish me, sir.
+Well, that brand was Veuve Clicquot, and you may take my word for it,
+Mr. Tavernake, and you may find this knowledge useful to you when you
+have made a fortune in America and have become a man of pleasure; there
+is no wine equal to it. Veuve Clicquot, sir, if possible of the year
+1899, though the year 1900 is quite drinkable."
+
+"Veuve Clicquot," Tavernake repeated. "I'll remember it for this
+evening."
+
+The professor beamed.
+
+"My dear," he said to Beatrice, "Mr. Tavernake will think that I had a
+purpose in testing his memory."
+
+Beatrice smiled.
+
+"And hadn't you, father?" she asked.
+
+They all laughed together.
+
+"Well, it is pleasant," the professor admitted, "to have one's
+weaknesses ministered to, especially when one is getting on in life,"
+he added, with a ponderous sigh. "Never mind, we will think only of
+pleasant subjects this evening. It will be quite interesting, Mr.
+Tavernake, to hear you order the supper."
+
+"I sha'n't attempt it," Tavernake answered. "I shall pass it on to you."
+
+"This reminds me," the professor declared, "of the old days. I feel sure
+that this is going to be a thoroughly enjoyable evening. We shall think
+of it often, Mr. Tavernake, when you lie sleeping under the stars. Why,
+what a wonderful thing these taxicabs are! You see, we have arrived."
+
+They secured a small table in a corner at Imano's, and Tavernake found
+himself curiously moved as he watched Beatrice take off her worn and
+much mended gloves and look around uneasily at the other guests. Her
+clothes were indeed shabby, and there were hollows now in her cheeks.
+
+Again he felt that pain, a pain for which he could not account. Suddenly
+America seemed so far away, the loneliness of the great continent became
+an actual and appreciable thing. The professor was very much occupied
+ordering the supper. Tavernake leaned across the table.
+
+"Do you remember our first supper here, Beatrice?" he asked.
+
+She nodded, with an attempt at brightness which was a little pitiful.
+
+"Yes," she replied, "I remember it quite well. And now, please, Leonard,
+don't talk to me again until I have had a glass of wine. I am tired and
+worn out, that is all."
+
+Even Tavernake knew that she was struggling against the tears which
+already dimmed her eyes. He filled her glass himself. The professor set
+his own down empty with the satisfied smile of a connoisseur.
+
+"I think," he said, "that you will agree with me about this vintage.
+Beatrice, this is what will bring color into your cheeks. My little
+girl," he continued, turning to Tavernake, "will soon need a holiday. I
+am hoping presently to be able to arrange a short tour by myself, and if
+so, I shall send her to the seaside. Now I want you particularly to try
+the fish salad--the second dish there. Beatrice, let me help you."
+
+Presently the orchestra began to play. The warmth of the room, the wine
+and the food--Tavernake had a horrible idea once that she had eaten
+nothing that day--brought back some of the color to Beatrice's cheeks
+and a little of the light to her eyes. She began to talk something in
+the old fashion. She avoided, however, any mention of that other supper
+they had had together. As time went on, the professor, who had drunk the
+best part of two bottles of wine and was talking now to a friend, became
+almost negligible. Tavernake leaned across the table.
+
+"Beatrice," he whispered, "you are not looking well. I am afraid that
+life is getting harder with you."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"I am doing what I must," she answered. "Please don't sympathize with
+me. I am hysterical, I think, tonight. It will pass off."
+
+"But, Beatrice," he ventured, timidly, "could one do nothing for you?
+I don't like these performances, and between you and me, we know they
+won't stand your father's show much longer. It will certainly come to an
+end soon. Why don't you try and get back your place at the theatre? You
+could still earn enough to keep him."
+
+"Already I have tried," she replied, sorrowfully. "My place is filled
+up. You see," she added, with a forced laugh, "I have lost some of
+my looks, Leonard. I am thinner, too. Of course, I shall be all right
+presently, but it's rather against me at these west-end places."
+
+Again he felt that pain at his heart. He was sure now that he was
+beginning to understand!
+
+"Beatrice," he whispered, "give it up--marry me I will take care of
+him."
+
+The flush of color faded from her cheeks. She shivered a little and
+looked at him piteously.
+
+"Leonard," she pleaded, "you mustn't. I really am not very strong just
+now. We have finished with all that--it distresses me."
+
+"But I mean it," he begged. "Somehow, I have felt all sorts of things
+since we came in here. I think of that night, and I believe--I do
+believe that what came to me before was madness. It was not the same."
+
+She was trembling now.
+
+"Leonard," she implored, "if you care for me at all, be quiet. Father
+will turn round directly and I can't bear it. I shall be your very
+faithful friend; I shall think of you through the long days before we
+meet again, but don't--don't spoil this last evening."
+
+The professor turned round, his face mottled, his eyes moist, a great
+good-humor apparent in his tone.
+
+"Well, I must say," he declared, "that this has been a most delightful
+evening. I feel immensely better, and you, too, I hope, Beatrice?"
+
+She nodded, smiling.
+
+"I trust that when Mr. Tavernake returns," the professor continued,
+"he will give us the opportunity of entertaining him in much the same
+manner. It will give me very much pleasure, also Beatrice. And if, sir,"
+he proceeded, "during your stay in New York you will mention my name at
+the Goat's Club, or the Mosquito Club, you will, I think, find yourself
+received with a hospitality which will surprise you."
+
+Tavernake thanked him and paid the bill. They walked slowly down the
+room, and Tavernake was curiously reluctant to release the little hand
+which clasped his.
+
+"I have kept this to the last," Beatrice said, in a low tone. "Elizabeth
+is in London."
+
+He was curiously unmoved.
+
+"Yes?" he murmured.
+
+"I should like you--I think it would be well for you to go and see her,"
+she went on. "You know, Leonard, you were such a strange person in those
+days. You may imagine things. You may not realize where you are. I think
+that you ought to go and see her now, now that you have lived through
+some suffering, now that you understand things better. Will you?"
+
+"Yes, I will go," Tavernake promised.
+
+Beatrice glanced round towards where her father was standing.
+
+"I don't want him to know," she whispered. "I don't want either him
+or myself to be tempted to take any of her money. She is living at
+Claridge's Hotel. Go there and see her before you leave for your new
+life."
+
+He stood at the door and watched them go down the Strand, the professor,
+flamboyant, walking erect with flying coat-tails, and his big cigar held
+firmly between his teeth; Beatrice, a wan figure in her black clothes,
+clinging to his arm. Tavernake watched them until they disappeared,
+conscious of a curious excitement, a strange pain, a sense of
+revelation. When at last they were out of sight and he turned back for
+his coat and hat, his feet were suddenly leaden. The band was playing
+the last selection--it was the air which Beatrice had sung only that
+night at the east-end music-hall. With a sudden overpowering impulse
+he turned and strode down the Strand in the direction where they had
+vanished. It was too late. There was no sign of them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. UNDERSTANDING COMES TOO LATE
+
+
+Tavernake's first impression of Elizabeth was that he had never, even
+in his wildest thoughts, done her justice. He had never imagined her so
+wonderfully, so alluringly beautiful. She had received him, after a very
+long delay, in her sitting-room at Claridge's Hotel--a large apartment
+furnished more like a drawing-room. She was standing, when he entered,
+almost in the center of the room, dressed in a long lace cloak and a hat
+with a drooping black feather. She looked at him, as the door opened, as
+though for a moment half puzzled. Then she laughed softly and held out
+her hands.
+
+"Why, of course I remember you!" she exclaimed. "And to think that when
+I had your card I couldn't imagine where I had heard the name before!
+You are my dear estate agent's clerk, who wouldn't take my money, and
+who was so wretchedly rude to me twelve months ago."
+
+Tavernake was quite cool. He found himself wondering whether this was
+a pose, or whether she had indeed forgotten. He decided that it was a
+pose.
+
+"I was also," he reminded her, "one night in your rooms at the Milan
+Court when your husband--"
+
+She stopped him with an imperative gesture.
+
+"Spare me, please," she begged. "Those were such terrible days--so dull,
+too! I remember that you were quite one of the brightest spots. You
+were absolutely different from every one I had ever met before, and you
+interested me immensely."
+
+She looked at him and slowly shook her head.
+
+"You look very nice," she said. "Your clothes fit you and you are most
+becomingly tanned, but you don't look half so awkward and so adorable."
+
+"I am sorry," he replied, shortly.
+
+"And you came to see me!" she went on. "That was really nice of you. You
+were quite fond of me, once, you know. Tell me, has it lasted?"
+
+"That is exactly what I came to find out," he answered deliberately. "So
+far, I am inclined to think that it has not lasted."
+
+She made a little wry face and drew his arm through hers.
+
+"Come and sit down and tell me why," she insisted. "Be honest, now. Is
+it because you think I am looking older?"
+
+"I have thought of you for many hours a day for months," Tavernake said,
+slowly, "and I never imagined you so beautiful as you seem now."
+
+She clapped her hands.
+
+"And you mean it, too!" she exclaimed. "There is just the same
+delightfully convincing note in your tone. I am sure that you mean it.
+Please go on adoring me, Mr. Tavernake. I have no one who interests me
+at all just now. There is an Italian Count who wants to marry me, but he
+is terribly poor; and a young Australian, who follows me everywhere, but
+I am not sure about him. There is an English boy, too, who is going to
+commit suicide if I don't say 'yes' to him this week. On the whole,
+I think I am rather sorry that people know I am a widow. Tell me, Mr.
+Tavernake, are you going to adore me, too?"
+
+"I don't think so," Tavernake answered. "I rather believe that I am
+cured."
+
+She shrugged her shoulders and laughed musically.
+
+"But you say that you still think I am beautiful," she went on, "and I
+am sure my clothes are perfect--they came straight from Paris. I hope
+you appreciate this lace," she added, drawing it through her fingers.
+"My figure is just as good, too, isn't it?"
+
+She stood up and turned slowly round. Then she sat down suddenly, taking
+his hand in hers.
+
+"Please don't say that you think I have grown less attractive," she
+begged.
+
+"As regards your personal attractions," Tavernake replied, "I imagine
+that they are at least as great as ever. If you want the truth, I think
+that the reason I do not adore you any longer is because I saw your
+sister last night."
+
+"Saw Beatrice!" she exclaimed. "Where?"
+
+"She was singing at a miserable east-end music-hall so that her father
+might find some sort of employment," Tavernake said. "The people only
+forbore to hiss her father's turn for her sake. She goes about the
+country with him. Heaven knows what they earn, but it must be little
+enough! Beatrice is shabby and thin and pale. She is devoting the best
+years of her life to what she imagines to be her duty."
+
+"And how does this affect me?" Elizabeth asked, coldly.
+
+"Only in this way," Tavernake answered. "You asked me how it was that I
+could find you as beautiful as ever and adore you no longer. The reason
+is because I know you to be wretchedly selfish. I believed in you
+before. Everything that you did seemed right. That was because I was a
+fool, because you had filled my brain with impossible fancies, because I
+saw you and everything that you did through a distorted mirror."
+
+"Have you come here to be rude?" she asked him.
+
+"Not in the least," he replied. "I came here to see whether I was
+cured."
+
+She began to laugh, very softly at first, but soon she threw herself
+back among the cushions and laid her hand caressingly upon his shoulder.
+
+"Oh, you are just the same!" she cried. "Just the same dear, truthful
+bundle of honesty and awkwardness and ignorance. So you are going to be
+victim of Beatrice's bow and spear, after all."
+
+"I have asked your sister to marry me," Tavernake admitted. "She will
+not."
+
+"She was very wise," Elizabeth declared, wiping the tears from her eyes.
+"As an experience you are delightful. As a husband you would be terribly
+impossible. Are you going to stay and take me out to dinner this
+evening? I'm sure you have a dress suit now."
+
+Tavernake shook his head.
+
+"I am sorry," he said. "I have already an engagement."
+
+She looked at him curiously. Was it really true that he had become
+indifferent? She was not used to men who escaped.
+
+"Tell me," she asked, abruptly, "why did you come? I don't understand.
+You are here, and you pass your time being rude to me. I ask you to take
+me to dinner and you refuse. Do you know that scarcely a man in London
+would not have jumped at such a chance?"
+
+"Very likely," Tavernake answered. "I have no experience in such
+matters. I only know that I am going to do something else."
+
+"Something you want to do very much?" she whispered.
+
+"I am going down to a little music-hall in Whitechapel," Tavernake said,
+"and I am going to meet your sister and I am going to put her in a cab
+and take her to have some supper, and I am going to worry her until she
+promises to be my wife."
+
+"You are certainly a devoted admirer of the family," she laughed.
+"Perhaps you were in love with her all the time."
+
+"Perhaps I was," he admitted.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"I don't believe it," she said. "I think you were quite fond of me once.
+You have such absurdly old-fashioned ideas or I think that you would be
+fond of me now."
+
+Tavernake rose to his feet.
+
+"I am going," he declared. "This will be good-bye. To-morrow I am going
+to British Columbia."
+
+The laughter faded for a moment from her face. She was suddenly serious.
+
+"Don't go," she begged. "Listen. I know I am not good like Beatrice, but
+I do like you--I always did. I suppose it is that wonderful truthfulness
+of yours. You are a different type from the men one meets. I am rather
+a reckless person. It is such a comfort sometimes to meet any one like
+you. You seem such an anchorage. Stay and talk to me for a little time.
+Take me out to-night. You asked me to go with you once, you know, and I
+would not. To-night it is I who ask you."
+
+He shook his head slowly.
+
+"This is good-bye!" he said, firmly. "I suppose, after all, you were not
+unkind to me in those days, but you taught me a very bitter lesson. I
+came to you to-day in fear and trembling. I was afraid, perhaps, that
+the worst was not over, that there was more yet to come. Now I know that
+I am free."
+
+She stamped her foot.
+
+"You shall not go away like that," she declared.
+
+He smiled.
+
+"Do you think I do not understand?" he continued. "It is only because
+I am able to go, because the touch of your fingers, that look in your
+eyes, do not drive me half mad now, that you want me to stay. You would
+like to try your powers once more. I think not. I am satisfied that I am
+cured indeed, but perhaps it is safer to risk nothing."
+
+She pointed to the door.
+
+"Very well, then," she ordered, "you can go."
+
+He bowed, and already his fingers were on the handle. Suddenly she
+called to him.
+
+"Leonard! Leonard!"
+
+He turned round. She was coming towards him with her arms outstretched,
+her eyes were full of tears, there were sobs in her voice.
+
+"I am so lonely," she begged. "I have thought of you so much. Don't go
+away unkindly. Stay with me for this evening, at any rate. You can see
+Beatrice at any time. It is I who need you most now."
+
+He looked around at the splendid apartment; he looked at the woman whose
+fingers, glittering with jewels, rested upon his shoulders. Then he
+thought of Beatrice in her shabby black gown and wan little face, and
+very gently he removed her hands.
+
+"No," he said, "I do not think that you need me any more than I need
+you. This is a caprice of yours. You know it and I know it. Is it worth
+while to play with one another?"
+
+Her hands fell to her sides. She turned half away but she said
+nothing. Tavernake, with a sudden impulse which had in it nothing of
+passion--very little, indeed, of affection--lifted her fingers to his
+lips and passed out of the room. He descended the stairs, filled with
+a wonderful sense of elation, a buoyancy of spirit which he could not
+understand. As he walked blithely to his hotel, however, he began to
+realize how much he had dreaded this interview. He was a free man, after
+all. The spell was broken. He could think of her now as she deserved to
+be thought of, as a consummate woman of the world, selfish, heartless,
+conscienceless. He was well out of her toils. It was nothing to him if
+even he had known that at that moment she was lying upon the sofa to
+which she had staggered as he left the room, weeping bitterly.
+
+For over an hour Tavernake endured the smells and the bad atmosphere of
+that miserable little music-hall, watching eagerly each time the numbers
+were changed. Then at last, towards the end of the program, the manager
+appeared in front.
+
+"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "I regret very much to inform
+you that owing to the indisposition of the young lady, Miss Beatrice
+Franklin and her father are unable to appear to-night. I have pleasure
+in announcing an extra turn, namely the Sisters De Vere in their
+wonderful burlesque act."
+
+There was a murmur of disapprobation mingled with some cheering.
+Tavernake left his place and walked around to the back of the hall.
+Presently the manager came out to him.
+
+"I am sorry to trouble you, sir," Tavernake said, "but I heard your
+announcement just now from the front. Can you give me the address of
+Professor Franklin? I am a friend, and I should like to go and see
+them."
+
+The manager pointed to the stage-doorkeeper.
+
+"This man will give it you," he announced, shortly. "It's quite close. I
+shall look in myself after the show to know how the young lady is."
+
+Tavernake procured the address and set out in the taxicab which he had
+kept waiting. The driver listened to the direction doubtfully.
+
+"It's a poor sort of neighborhood, sir," he remarked.
+
+"We've got to go there," Tavernake told him.
+
+They reached it in a few minutes, a miserable street indeed. Tavernake
+knocked at the door of the house to which he was directed, with sinking
+heart. A man, collarless and half dressed, in carpet slippers, opened
+the door after a few moments' waiting.
+
+"Well, what is it?" he asked, gruffly.
+
+"Is Professor Franklin here?" Tavernake inquired.
+
+The man seemed as though he were about to slam the door, but thought
+better of it.
+
+"If you're a friend of the professor's, as he calls himself," he said,
+"and you've any money to shell out, why, you're welcome, but if you're
+only asking out of curiosity, let me tell you that he used to lodge here
+but he's gone, and if I'd had my way he'd have gone a week ago, him and
+his daughter, too."
+
+"I don't understand," Tavernake protested. "I thought the young lady was
+ill."
+
+"She may be ill or she may not," the man replied, sulkily. "All I know
+is that they couldn't pay their rent, couldn't pay their food bill,
+couldn't pay for the drinks the old man was always sending out for. So
+tonight I spoke up and they've gone."
+
+"At least you know where to!" Tavernake exclaimed.
+
+"I ain't no sort of an idea," the man declared. "Take my word for it
+straight, guvnor, I know no more about where they went to than the man
+in the moon, except that I'm well shut of them, and there's a matter of
+eighteen and sixpence, if you care to pay it."
+
+"I'll give you a sovereign," Tavernake promised, "if you will tell me
+where they are now."
+
+"What's the good of making silly conditions like that!" the man
+grumbled. "If I knew where they were, I'd earn the quid soon enough, but
+I don't, and that's the long and the short of it! And if you ain't going
+to pay the eighteen and six, well, I've answered all the questions I
+feel inclined to."
+
+"I'll make it two pounds," Tavernake promised. "I'm going to sail for
+America to-morrow morning early, and I must see them first."
+
+The man leaned forward.
+
+"Look here," he said, "if I knew where they was, a quid would be quite
+good enough for me, but I don't, and that's straight. If you want to
+look for them, I should try one of the doss houses. As likely there as
+anywhere."
+
+He slammed the door and Tavernake turned away. A sudden despair had
+seized him. He looked up and down the street, he looked away beyond and
+thought of the miles and miles of streets, the myriads of chimneys,
+the huge branches of the great city stretching far and wide. At eight
+o'clock the next morning, he must leave for Southampton. Was it too
+late, after all, that he had discovered the truth?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. IN A VIRGIN COUNTRY
+
+
+One night Tavernake began to laugh. He had grown a long brown beard
+and the hair was over his ears. He was wearing a gray flannel shirt, a
+handkerchief tied around his neck, and a pair of worn riding breeches
+held up by a belt. He had kicked his boots off at the end of a long day,
+and was lying in the moonlight before a fire of pine logs, whose smoke
+went straight to the star-hung sky. No word had been spoken for the last
+hour. Tavernake's fit of mirth came with as little apparent reason as
+the puffs of wind which every now and then stole down from the mountain
+side and made faint music in the virgin forests.
+
+Pritchard turned over on his side and looked at him. Cigars had for many
+weeks been an unknown thing, and he was smoking a corn-cob pipe full of
+coarse tobacco.
+
+"Stumbled across a joke anywhere?" he asked.
+
+"I'm afraid no one but myself would see the humor of it," Tavernake
+answered. "I was thinking of those days in London; I was thinking of
+Beatrice's horror when she discovered that I was wearing ready-made
+clothes, and the amazement of Elizabeth when she found that I hadn't a
+dress suit. It's odd how cramped life gets back there."
+
+Pritchard nodded, pressing the tobacco down into the bowl of his pipe
+with his forefinger.
+
+"You're right, Tavernake," he agreed. "One loses one's sense of
+proportion. Men in the cities are all alike. They go about in disguise."
+
+"I should like," Tavernake said, inconsequently, "to have Mr. Dowling
+out here."
+
+"Amusing fellow?" Pritchard inquired.
+
+Tavernake shook his head, smiling.
+
+"Not in the least," he answered, "only he was a very small man. Out
+here it is difficult to keep small. Don't you feel it, Pritchard? These
+mountains make our hills at home seem like dust-heaps. The skies seem
+loftier. Look down into that valley. It's gigantic, immense."
+
+Pritchard yawned.
+
+"There's a little place in the Bowery," he began,--
+
+"Oh, I don't want to know any more about New York," Tavernake
+interrupted. "Lean back and close your eyes, smell the cinnamon trees,
+listen to that night bird calling every now and then across the ravine.
+There's blackness, if you like; there's depth. It's like a cloak of
+velvet to look into. But you can't see the bottom--no, not in the
+daytime. Listen!"
+
+Pritchard sat up. For a few moments neither spoke. A dozen yards or so
+off, a scattered group--the rest of the party--were playing cards around
+a fire. The green wood crackled, an occasional murmur of voices, a laugh
+or an exclamation, came to their ears, but for the rest, an immense, a
+wonderful silence, a silence which seemed to spread far away over that
+weird, half-invisible world! Tavernake listened reverently.
+
+"Isn't it marvelous!" he exclaimed. "We haven't seen a human being
+except our own party, for three days. There probably isn't one within
+hearing of us now. Very likely no living person has ever set foot in
+this precise spot."
+
+"Oh, it's big," Pritchard admitted, "it's big and it's restful, but it
+isn't satisfying. It does for you for a time because you started life
+wrong and you needed a reaction. But for me--ah, well!" he added, "I
+hear the call right across these thousands of miles of forests and
+valley and swamp. I hear the electric cars and the clash of the overhead
+railway, I see the flaring lights of Broadway and I hear the babel of
+tongues. I am going back to it, Tavernake. There's plenty to go on with.
+We've done more than carry out our program."
+
+"Back to New York!" Tavernake muttered, disconsolately.
+
+"So you're not ready yet?" Pritchard demanded.
+
+"Heavens, no!" Tavernake answered. "Who would be? What is there in New
+York to make up for this?"
+
+Pritchard was silent for a moment.
+
+"Well," he said, "one of us must be getting back near civilization.
+The syndicate will be expecting to hear from us. Besides, we've reports
+enough already. It's time something was decided about that oil country.
+We've done some grand work there, Tavernake."
+
+Tavernake nodded. He was lying on his side and his eyes were fixed
+wistfully southward, over the glimmering moonlit valley, over the great
+wilderness of virgin pine woods which hung from the mountains on the
+other side, away through the cleft in the hills to the plains beyond,
+chaotic, a world unseen.
+
+"If you like to go on for a bit," Pritchard suggested, slowly, "there's
+no reason why you shouldn't take McCleod and Richardson with you, and
+Pete and half the horses, and strike for the tin country on the other
+side of the Yolite Hills. So long as we are here, it's quite worth it,
+if you can stick it out."
+
+Tavernake drew a long breath.
+
+"I'd like to go," he admitted, simply. "I know McCleod is keen about
+prospecting further south. You see, most of our finds so far have been
+among the oil fields."
+
+"Settled," Pritchard declared. "To-morrow, then, we part. I'm for the
+valley, and I reckon I'll strike the railway to Chicago in a week. Gee
+whiz! New York will seem good!"
+
+"You think that the syndicate will be satisfied with what we have done
+so far?" Tavernake asked.
+
+His companion smiled.
+
+"If they aren't, they'll be fools. I reckon there's enough oil fields
+here for seven companies. There'll be a bit for us, too, Tavernake, I
+guess. Don't you want to come back to New York and spend it?"
+
+Tavernake laughed once more, but this time his laugh was not wholly
+natural.
+
+"Spend it!" he repeated. "What is there to spend it on? Uncomfortable
+clothes, false plays, drinks that are bad for you, food that's half
+poisoned, atmosphere that stifles. My God, Pritchard, is there anything
+in the world like this! Stretch out your arms, man. Lie on your back,
+look up at the stars, let that wind blow over your face. Listen."
+
+They listened, and again they heard nothing, yet again there seemed to
+be that peculiar quality about the silence which spoke of the vastness
+of space.
+
+Pritchard rose to his feet.
+
+"New York and the fleshpots for me," he declared. "Keep in touch, and
+good luck old man!"
+
+Next day at dawn they parted, and Tavernake, with his three companions,
+set his face towards an almost undiscovered tract of land. Their
+progress was slow, for they were all the time in a country rich with
+possibilities. For weeks they climbed, climbed till they reached the
+snows and the wind stung their faces and they shivered in their rugs at
+night. They came to a land of sparser vegetation, of fewer and wilder
+animals, where they heard the baying of wolves at night, and saw the
+eyes of strange animals glisten through the thicket as the flames of
+their evening fire shot up toward the sky. Then the long descent began,
+the long descent to the great plain. Now their faces were bronzed with
+a sun ever hotter, ever more powerful. No longer the snow flakes
+beat their cheeks. They came slowly down into a land which seemed to
+Tavernake like the biblical land of Canaan. Three times in ten days they
+had to halt and make a camp, while Tavernake prepared a geographical
+survey of likely-looking land.
+
+McCleod came up to Tavernake one day with a dull-looking lump in his
+hand, glistening in places.
+
+"Copper," he announced, shortly. "It's what I've been looking for all
+the time. No end to it. There's something bigger than oil here."
+
+They spent a month in the locality, and every day McCleod became more
+enthusiastic. After that it was hard work to keep him from heading
+homeward at once.
+
+"I tell you, sir," he explained to Tavernake, "there's millions there,
+millions between those four stakes of yours. What's the good of more
+prospecting? There's enough there in a square acre to pay the expenses
+of our expedition a thousand times over. Let's get back and make
+reports. We can strike the railway in ten days from here--perhaps
+sooner."
+
+"You go," Tavernake said. "Leave me Pete and two of the horses."
+
+The man stared at him in surprise.
+
+"What's the good of going on alone?" he asked. "You're not a mining
+expert or an oil man. You can't go prospecting by yourself."
+
+"I can't help it," Tavernake answered. "It's something in my blood, I
+suppose. I am going on. Think! You'll strike that railway and in a month
+you will be back in New York. Don't you imagine, when you're there, when
+you hear the clatter and turmoil of it, when you see the pale crowds
+chivvying one another about to pick the dollars from each other's
+pockets,--don't you believe you'll long for these solitudes, the big
+empty places, great possibilities, the silence? Think of it, man. What
+is there beyond those mountains, I wonder?"
+
+McCleod sighed.
+
+"You're right," he said. "One may never get so far out again. Our
+fortunes will keep, I suppose, and anyhow we ought to strike a telegraph
+station in about a fortnight. We'll go right ahead, then."
+
+In ten days they dropped ten thousand feet. They came to a land where
+their throats were always dry, where the trees and shrubs seemed like
+property affairs from a theatre, where they plunged their heads into
+every pool that came to wash their noses and mouths from the red dust
+that seemed to choke them up. They found tin and oil and more copper.
+Then, by slow stages, they passed on to a land of great grassy plains,
+of blue grass, miles and miles of it, and suddenly one day they came to
+the telegraph posts, rough pine trees unstripped of their bark, with
+a few sagging wires. Tavernake looked at them as Robinson Crusoe might
+have looked at Man Friday's footsteps. It was the first sign of human
+life which they had seen for months.
+
+"It's a real world we are in, after all!" he sighed. "Somehow or other,
+I thought--I thought we'd escaped."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. BACK TO CIVILIZATION
+
+
+Pritchard, trim and neat, a New Yorker from the careful arrangement
+of his tie to the tips of his patent boots, gazed with something like
+amazement at the man whom he had come to meet at the Grand Central
+Station. Tavernake looked, indeed, like some splendid bushman whose life
+has been spent in the kingdom of the winds and the sun and the rain.
+He was inches broader round the chest, and carried himself with a new
+freedom. His face was bronzed right down to the neck. His beard was
+fullgrown, his clothes travel-stained and worn. He seemed like a breath
+of real life in the great New York depot, surrounded by streams of
+black-coated, pale-cheeked men.
+
+Pritchard laughed softly as he passed his arm through his friend's.
+
+"Come, my Briton," he said, "my primitive man, I have rooms for you in
+a hotel close here. A bath and a mint julep, then I'll take you to
+a tailor's. What about the big country? It's better than your salt
+marshes, eh? Better than your little fishing village? Better than
+building boats?"
+
+"You know it," Tavernake answered. "I feel as though I'd been drawing
+in life for month after month. Have I got to wear boots like
+yours--patent?"
+
+"Got to be done," Pritchard declared.
+
+"And the hat--oh, my Heavens!" Tavernake groaned. "I'll never become
+civilized again."
+
+"We'll see," Pritchard laughed. "Say, Tavernake, it was a great trip of
+ours. Everything's turning out marvelously. The oil and the copper are
+big, man--big, I tell you. I reckon your five thousand dollars will be
+well on the way to half a million. I'm pretty near there myself."
+
+It was not until later on, when he was alone, that Tavernake realized
+with how little interest he listened to his companion's talk of their
+success. It was so short a time ago since the building up of a fortune
+had been the one aim upon which every nerve of his body was centered.
+Curiously enough, now he seemed to take it as a matter of course.
+
+"On second thoughts, I'll send a tailor round to the hotel," Pritchard
+declared. "I've rooms myself next yours. We can go out and buy boots and
+the other things afterwards."
+
+By nightfall, Tavernake's wardrobe was complete. Even Pritchard regarded
+him with a certain surprise. He seemed, somehow, to have gained a new
+dignity.
+
+"Say, but you look great!" he exclaimed. "They won't believe it at the
+meeting to-morrow that you are the man who crossed the Yolite Mountains
+and swam the Peraneek River. That's a wonderful country you were in,
+Tavernake, after you left the tracks."
+
+They were in Broadway, with the roar of the city in their ears, and
+Tavernake, lifting his face starwards, suddenly seemed to feel the
+silence once more, the perfume of the pine woods, the scent of nature
+herself, freed through all these generations of any presence of man.
+
+"I'll never keep away from it," he said, softly. "I'll have to go back."
+
+Pritchard smiled.
+
+"When your report's in shape and the dollars are being scooped in,
+they'll send you back fast enough--that is, if you still want to go," he
+remarked. "I tell you, Leonard Tavernake, our city men here are out for
+the dollars. Over on your side, a man makes a million or so and he's
+had enough. One fortune here only seems to whet the appetite of a New
+Yorker. By the way," he added, after a moment's hesitation, "does it
+interest you to know that an old friend of yours is in New York?"
+
+Tavernake's head went round swiftly.
+
+"Who is it?" he asked.
+
+"Mrs. Wenham Gardner."
+
+Tavernake set his teeth.
+
+"No," he said, slowly, "I don't know that that interests me."
+
+"Glad of it," Pritchard went on. "I can tell you I don't think things
+have been going extra well with the lady. She's spent most of what she
+got from the Gardner family, and she doesn't seem to have had the best
+of luck with it, either. I came across her by accident. She is staying
+at a flashy hotel, but it's in the wrong quarter--second-rate--quite
+second-rate."
+
+"I wonder whether we shall see anything of her," Tavernake remarked.
+
+"Do you want to?" Pritchard asked. "She'll probably be at Martin's for
+lunch, at the Plaza for tea, and Rector's for supper. She's not exactly
+the lady to remain hidden, you know."
+
+"We'll avoid those places, then, if you are taking me around," Tavernake
+said.
+
+"You're cured, are you?" Pritchard inquired.
+
+"Yes, I am cured," Tavernake answered, "cured of that and a great many
+other things, thanks to you. You found me the right tonic."
+
+"Tonic," Pritchard repeated, meditatively. "That reminds me. This way
+for the best cocktail in New York."...
+
+The night was not to pass, however, without its own especial thrill for
+Tavernake. The two men dined together at Delmonico's and went afterwards
+to a roof garden, a new form of entertainment for Tavernake, and one
+which interested him vastly. They secured one of the outside tables
+near the parapets, and below them New York stretched, a flaming
+phantasmagoria of lights and crude buildings. Down the broad avenues
+with their towering blocks, their street cars striking fire all the time
+like toys below, the people streamed like insects away to the Hudson,
+where the great ferry boats, ablaze with lights, went screaming across
+the dark waters. Tavernake leaned over and forgot. There was so much
+that was amazing in this marvelous city for a man who had only just
+begun to find himself.
+
+The orchestra, stationed within a few yards of him, commenced to play
+a popular waltz, and Pritchard to talk. Tavernake turned his fascinated
+eyes from the prospect below.
+
+"My young friend," Pritchard said, "you are up against it to-night. Take
+a drink of your wine and then brace yourself."
+
+Tavernake did as he was told.
+
+"What is this danger?" he asked. "What's wrong, anyway?"
+
+Pritchard had no need to answer. As Tavernake set his glass down, his
+eyes fell upon the little party who had just taken the table almost next
+to theirs. There were Walter Crease, Major Post, two men whom he had
+never seen before in his life--heavy of cheek, both, dull-eyed, but
+dressed with a rigid observance of the fashion of the city, in short
+dinner coats and black ties. And between them was Elizabeth. Tavernake
+gripped the sides of his chair and looked. Yes, she had altered. Her
+eyebrows were a trifle made up, there was a tinge in her hair which he
+did not recognize, a touch of color in her cheeks which he doubted. Yet
+her figure and her wonderful presence remained, that art of wearing
+her clothes as no other woman could. She was easily the most
+noticeable-looking of her sex among all the people there. Tavernake
+heard the sound of her voice and once more the thrill came and passed.
+She was the same Elizabeth. Thank God, he thought, that he was not the
+same Tavernake!
+
+"Do you wish to go?" Pritchard asked.
+
+Tavernake shook his head.
+
+"Not I!" he answered. "This place is far too fascinating. Can't we have
+some more wine? This is my treat. And, Pritchard, why do you look at
+me like that? You are not supposing for a moment that I am capable of
+making an ass of myself again?"
+
+Pritchard smiled in a relieved fashion.
+
+"My young friend," he said, "I have lived in the world so long and seen
+so many strange things, especially between men and women, that I am
+never surprised at anything. I thought you'd shed your follies as your
+grip upon life had tightened, but one is never sure."
+
+Tavernake sighed.
+
+"Oh, I have shed the worst of my follies!" he answered. "I only wish--"
+
+He never finished his sentence. Elizabeth had suddenly seen him. For a
+moment she leaned forward as though to assure herself that she was not
+mistaken. Then she half sprang to her feet and sat down again. Her lips
+were parted--she was once more bewilderingly beautiful.
+
+"Mr. Tavernake," she cried, "come and speak to me at once."
+
+Tavernake rose without hesitation, and walked firmly across the few
+yards which separated them. She held out both her hands.
+
+"This is wonderful!" she exclaimed. "You in New York! And I have
+wondered so often what became of you."
+
+Tavernake smiled.
+
+"It is my first night here," he said. "For two years I have been
+prospecting in the far west."
+
+"Then I saw your name in the papers," she declared. "It was for the
+Manhattan Syndicate, wasn't it?"
+
+Tavernake nodded, and one of the men of the party leaned forward with
+interest.
+
+"You're going to make millions and millions," she assured him. "You
+always knew you would, didn't you?"
+
+"I am afraid that I was almost too confident," he answered. "But
+certainly we have been quite fortunate."
+
+One of Elizabeth's companions intervened--he was the one who had pricked
+up his ears at the mention of the Manhattan Syndicate.
+
+"Say, Elizabeth," he remarked, "I'd like to meet your friend."
+
+Elizabeth, with a frown, performed the introduction.
+
+"Mr. Anthony Cruxhall--Mr. Tavernake!"
+
+Mr. Cruxhall held out a fat white hand, on the little finger of which
+glittered a big diamond ring.
+
+"Say, are you the Mr. Tavernake that was surveyor to the prospecting
+party sent out by the Manhattan Syndicate?" he inquired.
+
+"I was," Tavernake admitted, briefly. "I still am, I hope."
+
+"Then you're just the man I was hoping to meet," Mr. Cruxhall declared.
+"Won't you sit down with us right here? I'd like to talk some about that
+trip. I'm interested in the Syndicate."
+
+Tavernake shook his head.
+
+"I've had enough of work for a time," he said. "Besides, I couldn't talk
+about it till after my report to the meeting to-morrow."
+
+"Just a few words," Mr. Cruxhall persisted. "We'll have a bottle of
+champagne, eh?"
+
+"You will excuse me, I am sure," Tavernake replied, "when I tell you
+that it would not be correct on my part to discuss my trip until after I
+have handed in my report to the company. I am very glad to have seen you
+again, Mrs. Gardner."
+
+"But you are not going!" she exclaimed, in dismay.
+
+"I have left Mr. Pritchard alone," Tavernake answered.
+
+Elizabeth smiled, and waved her hand to the solitary figure.
+
+"Our friend Mr. Pritchard again," she remarked. "Well, it is really a
+curious meeting, isn't it? I wonder,"--she lifted her head to his and
+her eyes called him closer to hers--"have you forgotten everything?"
+
+He pointed over the roofs of the houses. His back was to the river and
+he pointed westward.
+
+"I have been in a country where one forgets," he answered. "I think
+that I have thrown the knapsack of my follies away. I think that it
+is buried. There are some things which I do not forget, but they are
+scarcely to be spoken of."
+
+"You are a strange young man," she said. "Was I wrong, or were you not
+once in love with me?"
+
+"I was terribly in love with you," Tavernake confessed.
+
+"Yet you tore up my cheque and flung yourself away when you found out
+that my standard of morals was not quite what you had expected," she
+murmured. "Haven't you got over that quixoticism a little, Leonard?"
+
+He drew a deep sigh.
+
+"I am thankful to say," he declared, earnestly, "that I have not got
+over it, that, if anything, my prejudices are stronger than ever."
+
+She sat for a moment quite still, and her face had become hard and
+expressionless. She was looking past him, past the line of lights, out
+into the blue darkness.
+
+"Somehow," she said, softly, "I always prayed that you might remember.
+You were the one true thing I had ever met, you were in earnest. It is
+past, then?"
+
+"It is past," Tavernake answered, bravely.
+
+The music of a Hungarian waltz came floating down to them. She half
+closed her eyes. Her head moved slowly with the melody. Tavernake looked
+away.
+
+"Will you come and see me just once?" she asked, suddenly. "I am staying
+at the Delvedere, in Forty-Second Street."
+
+"Thank you very much," Tavernake replied. "I do not know how long I
+shall be in New York. If I am here for a few days, I shall take my
+chance at finding you at home."
+
+He bowed, and returned to Pritchard, who welcomed him with a quiet
+smile.
+
+"You're wise, Tavernake," he said, softly. "I could hear no words, but I
+know that you have been wise. Between you and me," he added, in a lower
+tone, "she is going downhill. She is in with the wrong lot here. She
+can't seem to keep away from them. They are on the very fringe
+of Bohemia, a great deal nearer the arm of the law than makes for
+respectable society. The man to whom I saw you introduced is a
+millionaire one day and a thief the next. They're none of them any good.
+Did you notice, too, that she is wearing sham jewelry? That always looks
+bad."
+
+"No, I didn't notice," Tavernake answered.
+
+He was silent for a moment. Then he leaned a little forward.
+
+"I wonder," he asked, "do you know anything about her sister?"
+
+Pritchard finished his wine and knocked the ash from his cigar.
+
+"Not much," he replied. "I believe she had a very hard time. She took
+on the father, you know, the old professor, and did her best to keep him
+straight. He died about a year ago and Miss Beatrice tried to get back
+into the theatre, but she'd missed her chance. Theatrical business has
+been shocking in London. I heard she'd come out here. Wherever she is,
+she keeps right away from that sort of set," he wound up, moving his
+head towards Elizabeth's friends.
+
+"I wonder if she is in New York," Tavernake said, with a strange thrill
+at his heart.
+
+Pritchard made no reply. His eyes were fixed upon the little group at
+the next table. Elizabeth was leaning back in her chair. She seemed
+to have abandoned the conversation. Her eyes were always seeking
+Tavernake's. Pritchard rose to his feet abruptly.
+
+"It's time we were in bed," he declared. "Remember the meeting
+to-morrow."
+
+Tavernake rose to his feet. As they passed the next table, Elizabeth
+leaned over to him. Her eyes pleaded with his almost passionately.
+
+"Dear Leonard," she whispered, "you must--you must come and see me.
+I shall stay in between four and six every evening this week. The
+Delvedere, remember."
+
+"Thank you very much," Tavernake answered. "I shall not forget."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. FOR ALWAYS
+
+
+Once again it seemed to Beatrice that history was repeating itself.
+The dingy, oblong dining-room, with its mosquito netting, stained
+tablecloth, and hard cane chairs, expanded until she fancied herself
+in the drawing-room of Blenheim House. Between the landladies there
+was little enough to choose. Mrs. Raithby Lawrence, notwithstanding her
+caustic tongue and suspicious nature, had at least made some pretense
+at gentility. The woman who faced her now--hard-featured, with narrow,
+suspicious eyes and a mass of florid hair--was unmistakably and brutally
+vulgar.
+
+"What's the good of your keeping on saying you hope to get an engagement
+next week?" she demanded, with a sneer. "Who's likely to engage you?
+Why, you've lost your color and your looks and your weight since you
+came to stay here. They don't want such as you in the chorus. And for
+the rest, you're too high and mighty, that's my opinion of you. Take
+what you can get, and how you can get it, and be thankful,--that's my
+motto. Day after day you tramp about the streets with your head in the
+air, and won't take this and won't take that, and meanwhile my bill gets
+bigger and bigger. Now where have you been to this morning, I should
+like to know?"
+
+Beatrice, who was faint and tired, shaking in every limb, tried to pass
+out of the room, but her questioner barred the way.
+
+"I have been up town," she answered, nervously.
+
+"Hear of anything?"
+
+Beatrice shook her head.
+
+"Not yet. Please let me go upstairs and lie down. I am tired and I need
+to rest."
+
+"And I need my money," Mrs. Selina P. Watkins declared, without quitting
+her position, "and it's no good your going up to your room because the
+door's locked."
+
+"What do you mean?" Beatrice faltered.
+
+"I mean that I've done with you," the lodging-house keeper announced.
+"Your room's locked up and the key's in my pocket, and the sooner you
+get out of this, the better I shall be pleased."
+
+"But my box--my clothes," Beatrice cried.
+
+"I'll keep 'em a week for you," the woman answered. "Bring me the
+money by then and you shall have them. If I don't hear anything of you,
+they'll go to the auction mart."
+
+Something of her old spirit fired the girl for a moment. She was angry,
+and she forgot that her knees were trembling with fatigue, that she was
+weak and aching with hunger.
+
+"How dare you talk like that!" she exclaimed. "You shall have your money
+shortly, but I must have my clothes. I cannot go anywhere without them."
+
+The woman laughed harshly.
+
+"Look here, my young lady," she said, "you'll see your box again when
+I see the color of your money, and not before. And now out you go,
+please,--out you go! If you're going to make any trouble, Solly will
+have to show you the way down the steps."
+
+The woman had opened the door, and a colored servant, half dressed, with
+a broom in her hand, came slouching down the passage. Beatrice turned
+and fled out of the greasy, noisome atmosphere, down the wooden, uneven
+steps, out into the ugly street. She turned toward the nearest elevated
+as though by instinct, but when she came to the bottom of the stairs she
+stopped short with a little groan. She knew very well that she had not
+a nickel to pay the fare. Her pockets were empty. All day she had eaten
+nothing, and her last coin had gone for the car which had brought her
+back from Broadway. And here she was on the other side of New York, in
+the region of low-class lodging houses, with the Bowery between her and
+Broadway. She had neither the strength nor the courage to walk. With
+a half-stifled sob she took off her one remaining ornament, a cheap
+enameled brooch, and entered a pawnbroker's shop close to where she had
+been standing.
+
+"Will you give me something on this, please?" she asked, desperately.
+
+A man who seemed to be sorting a pile of ready-made coats, paused in
+his task for a moment, took the ornament into his hand, and threw it
+contemptuously upon the counter.
+
+"Not worth anything," he answered.
+
+"But it must be worth something," Beatrice protested. "I only want a
+very little."
+
+Something in her voice compelled the man's attention. He looked at her
+white face.
+
+"What's the trouble?" he inquired.
+
+"I must get up to Fifth Avenue somehow," she declared. "I can't walk and
+I haven't a nickel."
+
+He pushed the brooch back to her and threw a dime upon the counter.
+
+"Well," he said, "you don't look fit to walk, and that's a fact, but the
+brooch isn't worth entering up. There's a dime for you. Now git, please,
+I'm busy."
+
+Beatrice clutched the coin and, almost forgetting to thank him, found
+her way up the iron stairs on to the platform of the elevated. Soon she
+was seated in the train, rattling and shaking on its way through the
+slums into the heart of the wonderful city. There was only one thing
+left for her to try, a thing which she had had in her mind for days. Yet
+she found herself, even now she was committed to it, thinking of
+what lay before her with something like black horror. It was her last
+resource, indeed. Strong though she was, she knew by many small
+signs that her strength was almost at an end. The days and weeks of
+disappointments, the long fruitless trudges from office to office, the
+heart-sickness of constant refusals, poor food, the long fasts, had all
+told their tale. She was attractive enough still. Her pallor seemed to
+have given her a wonderful delicacy. The curve of her lips and the soft
+light in her gray eyes, were still as potent as ever. When she thought,
+though, what a poor asset her appearance had been, the color flamed in
+her cheeks.
+
+In Broadway she made her way to a very magnificent block of buildings,
+and passing inside took the lift to the seventh floor. Here she got out
+and knocked timidly at a glass-paneled door, on which was inscribed the
+name of Mr. Anthony Cruxhall. A very superior young man bade her enter
+and inquired her business.
+
+"I wish to see Mr. Cruxhall for a moment, privately," she said. "I
+shall not detain him for more than a minute. My name is Franklin--Miss
+Beatrice Franklin."
+
+The young man's lips seemed about to shape themselves into a whistle,
+but something in the girl's face made him change his mind.
+
+"I guess the boss is in," he admitted. "He's just got back from a big
+meeting, but I am not sure about his seeing any one to-day. However,
+I'll tell him that you're here."
+
+He disappeared into an inner room. Presently he came out again and held
+the door open.
+
+"Will you walk right in, Miss Franklin?" he invited.
+
+Beatrice went in bravely enough, but her knees began to tremble when
+she found herself in the presence of the man she had come to visit. Mr.
+Anthony Cruxhall was not a pleasant-looking person. His cheeks were fat
+and puffy, he wore a diamond ring upon the finger of his too-white hand,
+and a diamond pin in his somewhat flashily arranged necktie. He was
+smoking a black cigar, which he omitted to remove from between his teeth
+as he welcomed his visitor.
+
+"So you've come to see me at last, little Miss Beatrice!" he said, with
+a particularly unpleasant smile. "Come and sit down here by the side of
+me. That's right, eh? Now what can I do for you?"
+
+Beatrice was trembling all over. The man's eyes were hateful, his smile
+was hideous.
+
+"I have not a cent in the world, Mr. Cruxhall," she faltered, "I cannot
+get an engagement, I have been turned out of my rooms, and I am hungry.
+My father always told me that you would be a friend if at any time it
+happened that I needed help. I am very sorry to have to come and beg,
+yet that is what I am doing. Will you lend or give me ten or twenty
+dollars, so that I can go on for a little longer? Or will you help me to
+get a place among some of your theatrical people?"
+
+Mr. Cruxhall puffed steadily at his cigar for a moment, and leaning back
+in his chair thrust his hand into his trousers' pocket.
+
+"So bad as that, is it?" he remarked. "So bad as that, eh?"
+
+"It is very bad indeed," she answered, looking at him quietly, "or you
+know that I should not have come to you."
+
+Mr. Cruxhall smiled.
+
+"I remember the last time we talked together," he said, "we didn't
+get on very well. Too high and mighty in those days, weren't you,
+Miss Beatrice? Wouldn't have anything to say to a bad lot like Anthony
+Cruxhall. You're having to come to it, eh?"
+
+She began to tremble again, but she held herself in.
+
+"I must live," she murmured. "Give me a little money and let me go
+away."
+
+He laughed.
+
+"Oh, I'll do better than that for you," he answered, thrusting his hand
+into his waistcoat pocket and drawing out a pile of dollar bills. "Let's
+look at you. Gee whiz! Yes, you're shabby, aren't you? Take this," he
+went on, slamming some notes down before her. "Go and get yourself a
+new frock and a hat fit to wear, and meet me at the Madison Square roof
+garden at eight o'clock. We'll have some dinner and I guess we can fix
+matters up."
+
+Then he smiled at her again, and Beatrice, whose hand was already upon
+the bills, suddenly felt her knees shake. A great black horror was upon
+her. She turned and fled out of the room, past the astonished clerk,
+into the lift, and was downstairs on the main floor before she
+remembered where she was, what she had done. The clerk, after gazing at
+her retreating form, hurried into the inner office.
+
+"Young woman hasn't bolted with anything, eh?" he asked.
+
+Mr. Cruxhall smiled wickedly.
+
+"Why, no," he replied, "I guess she'll come back!"
+
+Tavernake left the meeting on that same afternoon with his future
+practically assured for life. He had been appointed surveyor to the
+company at a salary of ten thousand dollars a year, and the mine in
+which his savings were invested was likely to return him his small
+capital a hundredfold. Very kind things had been said of him and to him.
+
+Pritchard and he had left the place together. When they had reached the
+street, they paused for a moment.
+
+"I am going to make a call near here," Pritchard said. "Don't forget
+that we are dining together, unless you find something better to do,
+and in the meantime"--he took a card from his pocket and handed it to
+Tavernake--"I don't know whether I am a fool or not to give you this,"
+he added. "However, there it is. Do as you choose about it."
+
+He walked away a little abruptly. Tavernake glanced at the address upon
+the card: 1134, East Third Street. For a moment he was puzzled. Then the
+light broke in upon him suddenly. His heart gave a leap. He turned back
+into the place to ask for some directions and once more stopped short.
+Down the stone corridor, like one who flies from some hideous fate, came
+a slim black figure, with white face and set, horrified stare. Tavernake
+held out his hands and she came to him with a great wondering sob.
+
+"Leonard!" she cried. "Leonard!"
+
+"There's no doubt about me," he answered, quickly. "Am I such a very
+terrifying object?"
+
+She stood quite still and struggled hard. By and by the giddiness
+passed.
+
+"Leonard," she murmured, "I am ill."
+
+Then she began to smile.
+
+"It is too absurd," she faltered, "but you've got to do it all over
+again."'
+
+"What do you mean?" he asked.
+
+"Get me something to eat at once," she begged. "I am starving. Somewhere
+where it's cool. Leonard, how wonderful! I never even knew that you were
+in New York."
+
+He called a carriage and took her off to a roof garden. There, as it was
+early, they got a seat near the parapet. Tavernake talked clumsily about
+himself most of the time. There was a lump in his throat. He felt all
+the while that tragedy was very near. By degrees, though, as she ate and
+drank, the color came back to her cheeks, the fear of a breakdown seemed
+to pass away. She became even cheerful.
+
+"We are really the most amazing people, Leonard," she declared. "You
+stumbled into my life once before when I was on the point of being
+turned out of my rooms. You've come into it again and you find me once
+more homeless. Don't spend too much money upon our dinner, for I warn
+you that I am going to borrow from you."
+
+He laughed.
+
+"That's good news," he remarked, "but I'm not sure that I'm going to
+lend anything."
+
+He leaned across the table. Their dinner had taken long in preparing and
+the dusk was falling now. Over them were the stars, the band was playing
+soft music, the hubbub of the streets lay far below. Almost they were in
+a little world by themselves.
+
+"Dear Beatrice," he said, "three times I asked you to marry me and you
+would not, and I asked you because I was a selfish brute, and because
+I knew that it was good for me and that it would save me from things of
+which I was afraid. And now I am asking you the same thing again, but I
+have a bigger reason, Beatrice. I have been alone most of the last two
+years, I have lived the sort of life which brings a man face to face
+with the truth, helps him to know himself and others, and I have found
+out something."
+
+"Yes?" she faltered. "Tell me, Leonard."
+
+"I found out that it was you I cared for always," he continued, "and
+that is why I am asking you to marry me now, Beatrice, only this time I
+ask you because I love you, and because no one else in the world could
+ever take your place or be anything at all to me."
+
+"Leonard!" she murmured.
+
+"You are not sorry that I have said this?" he begged.
+
+She opened her eyes again.
+
+"I always prayed that I might hear you say it," she answered, "but it
+seems--oh, it seems so one-sided! Here am I starving and penniless,
+and you--you, I suppose, are well on the way towards the success you
+worshiped."
+
+"I am well on the way," he said, earnestly, "towards something greater,
+Beatrice. I am well on the way towards understanding what success
+really is, what things count and what don't. I have even found out," he
+whispered, "the thing which counts for more than anything else in the
+world, and now that I have found it out, I shall never let it go again."
+
+He pressed her hand and she looked across the table at him with swimming
+eyes. The waiter, who had been approaching, turned discreetly away. The
+band started to play a fresh tune. From down in the streets came the
+clanging of the cars. A curious, cosmopolitan murmur of sounds, but
+between those two there was the wonderful silence.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Tempting of Tavernake, by E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
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