[Illustration: "She was standing beside the fire with Quarrier, one footon the fender. "]

The Fighting Chance

By Robert W. Chambers

Author of "Cardigan, " "The Maid at Arms, " "The Firing Line, " etc. 

DEDICATED TO MY FATHER

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. Acquaintance II. Imprudence III. Shotover IV. The Season Opens V. A Winning Loser VI. Modus Vivendi VII. Persuasion VIII. Confidences IX. Confessions X. The Seamy Side XI. The Call of the Rain XII. The Asking Price XIII. The Selling Price XIV. The Bargain XV. The Enemy Listens

THE FIGHTING CHANCE

CHAPTER I. ACQUAINTANCE

The speed of the train slackened; a broad tidal river flashed into sightbelow the trestle, spreading away on either hand through yellowing levelmeadows. And now, above the roaring undertone of the cars, from farahead floated back the treble bell-notes of the locomotive; there camea gritting vibration of brakes; slowly, more slowly the cars glided toa creaking standstill beside a sun-scorched platform gay with the brightflutter of sunshades and summer gowns. 

"Shotover! Shotover!" rang the far cry along the cars; and anabsent-minded young man in the Pullman pocketed the uncut magazine hehad been dreaming over and, picking up gun case and valise, followed aline of fellow-passengers to the open air, where one by one they wereengulfed and lost to view amid the gay confusion on the platform. 

The absent-minded young man, however, did not seem to know exactly wherehe was bound for. He stood hesitating, leisurely inspecting the flashingranks of vehicles--depot wagons, omnibusses, and motor cars alreadyeddying around a dusty gravel drive centred by the conventional railroadflower bed and fountain. 

Sunshine blazed on foliage plants arranged geometrically, on scarletstars composed of geraniums, on thickets of tall flame-tinted cannas. And around this triumph of landscape gardening, phaeton, Tilbury, Mercedes, and Toledo backed, circled, tooted; gaily gowned women, whipsaslant, horses dancing, greeted expected guests; laughing young menclimbed into dog-carts and took the reins from nimble grooms; younggirls, extravagantly veiled, made room in comfortable touring-cars forfeminine guests whose extravagant veils were yet to be unpacked; slimyoung men in leather trappings, caps adorned with elaborate masks orgoggles, manipulated rakish steering-gears; preoccupied machinists werefussing with valve and radiator or were cranking up; and, through thejolly tumult, the melancholy bell of the locomotive sounded, and thelong train moved out through the September sunshine amid clouds of snowysteam. 

And all this time the young man, gun case in one hand, suit case inthe other, looked about him in his good-humoured, leisurely mannerfor anybody or any vehicle which might be waiting for him. His amiableinspection presently brought a bustling baggage-master within range ofvision; and he spoke to this official, mentioning his host's name. 

"Lookin' for Mr. Ferrall?" repeated the baggage-master, spinning a trunkdexterously into rank with its fellows. "Say, one of Mr. Ferrall'smen was here just now--there he is, over there uncrating that therebird-dog!"

The young man's eyes followed the direction indicated by the grimythumb; a red-faced groom in familiar livery was kneeling beside a dog'stravelling crate, attempting to unlock it, while behind the bars anexcited white setter whined and thrust forth first one silky paw thenthe other. 

The young man watched the scene for a moment, then:

"Are you one of Mr. Ferrall's men?" he asked in his agreeable voice. 

The groom looked up, then stood up:

"Yis, Sorr. "

"Take these; I'm Mr. Siward--for Shotover House. I dare say you haveroom for me and the dog, too. "

The groom opened his mouth to speak, but Siward took the crate key fromhis fingers, knelt, and tried the lock. It resisted. From the depths ofthe crate a beseeching paw fell upon his cuff. 

"Certainly, old fellow, " he said soothingly, "I know how you feelabout it; I know you're in a hurry--and we'll have you out in asecond--steady, boy!--something's jammed, you see! Only one moment now!There you are!"

The dog attempted to bolt as the crate door opened, but the young mancaught him by the leather collar and the groom snapped on a leash. 

"Beg pardon, Sorr, " began the groom, carried almost off his feet by thefrantic circling of the dog--"beg pardon, Sorr, but I'll be afther seem'if anny of Mr. Ferrall's men drove over for you--"

"Oh! Are you not one of Mr. Ferrall's men?"

"Yis, Sorr, but I hadn't anny orders to meet anny wan--"

"Haven't you anything here to drive me in?"

"Yis, Sorr--I'll look to see--"

The raw groom, much embarrassed, and keeping his feet with difficultyagainst the plunging dog, turned toward the gravel drive where nowonly a steam motor and a depot-wagon remained. As they looked the motorsteamed out, honking hoarsely; the depot-wagon followed, leaving thecircle at the end of the station empty of vehicles. 

"Didn't Mr. Ferrall expect me?" asked Siward. 

"Aw, yis, Sorr; but the gintlemen for Shotover House does ginerallyallways coom by Black Fells, Sorr--"

"Oh, Lord!" said the young man, "I remember now. I should have gone onto Black Fells Crossing; Mr. Ferrall wrote me!" Then, amused: "I supposeyou have only a baggage-wagon here?"

"No, Sorr--a phayton"--he hesitated. 

"Well? Isn't a phaeton all right?"

"Yis, Sorr--if th' yoong lady says so--beg pardon, Sorr, Miss Landis isdriving. "

"Oh--h! I see. … Is Miss Landis a guest at Shotover House?"

"Yis, Sorr. An' if ye would joost ask her--the phayton do be coming now, Sorr!"

The phaeton was coming; the horse, a showy animal, executed side-steps;blue ribbons fluttered from the glittering head-stall; a young girl inwhite was driving. 

Siward advanced to the platform's edge as the phaeton drew up; the younglady looked inquiringly at the groom, at the dog, and leisurely at him. 

So he took off his hat, naming himself in that well-bred and agreeablemanner characteristic of men of his sort, --and even his smile appearedto be part and parcel of a conventional ensemble so harmonious as toremain inconspicuous. 

"You should have gone on to Black Fells Crossing, " observed Miss Landis, coolly controlling the nervous horse. "Didn't you know it?"

He said he remembered now that such were the directions given him. 

The girl glanced at him incuriously, and with more curiosity at the dog. "Is that the Sagamore pup, Flynn?" she asked. 

"It is, Miss. "

"Can't you take him on the rumble with you?" And, to Siward: "There isroom for your gun and suit case. "

"And for me?" he asked, smiling. 

"I think so. Be careful of that Sagamore pup, Flynn. Hold him betweenyour knees. Are you ready, Mr. Siward?"

So he climbed in; the groom hoisted the dog to the rumble and sprang upbehind; the horse danced and misbehaved, making a spectacle of himselfand an agreeable picture of his driver; then the pretty little phaetonswung northward out of the gravel drive and went whirling along a roadall misty with puffs of yellow dust which the afternoon sun turned tofloating golden powder. 

"Did you send my telegram, Flynn?" she asked without turning her head. 

"I did, Miss. "

It being the most important telegram she had ever sent in all her life, Miss Landis became preoccupied, --quite oblivious to extraneous details, including Siward, until the horse began acting badly again. Her slightlydisdainful and perfect control of the reins interested the young man. Hemight have said something civil and conventional about that, but did notmake the effort to invade a reserve which appeared to embarrass nobody. 

A stacatto note from the dog, prolonged infinitely in hystericalcrescendo, demanded comment from somebody. 

"What is the matter with him, Flynn?" she asked. 

Siward said: "You should let him run, Miss Landis. "

She nodded, smiling, inattentive, absorbed in her own affairs, stilltheorising concerning her telegram. She drove on for a while, and mighthave forgotten the dog entirely had he not once more lifted his voice inmelancholy. 

"You say he ought to run for a mile or two? Do you think he'll bolt, Mr. Siward?"

"Is he a new dog?"

"Yes, fresh from the kennels; supposed to be house-and wagon-broken, steady to shot and wing--" She shrugged her pretty shoulders. "You seehow he's acting already!"

"Do you mind if I try him?" suggested Siward. 

"You mean that you are going to let him run?"

"I think so. "

"And if he bolts?"

"I'll take my chances. "

"Yes, but please consider my chances, Mr. Siward. The dog doesn't belongto me. "

"But he ought to run--"

"But suppose he runs away? He's a horridly expensive creature--if youcare to take the risk. "

"I'll take the risk, " said Siward, smiling as she drew rein. "Now Flynn, give me the leash. Quiet! Quiet, puppy! Everything is coming your way;that's the beauty of patience; great thing, patience!" He took theleader; the dog sprang from the rumble. "Now, my friend, look at me! No, don't twist and squirm and scramble; look me square in the eye; so! …Now we know each ether and we respect each other--because you are goingto be a good puppy … and obey … Down charge!"

The dog, trembling with eager comprehension, dropped like a shot, muzzlelaid flat between his paws. Siward unleashed him, looked down at him fora second, stooped and caressed the silky head, then with a laugh swunghimself into the phaeton beside the driver, who, pretty head turned, hadbeen looking on intently. 

"Your dog is yard-broken, " he said. "Look at him. "

"I see. Do you think he will follow us?"

"I think so. "

The horse started, Miss Landis looking back over her shoulder at the dogwho lay motionless, crouched flat in the road. 

Then Siward turned. "Come on, Sagamore!" he said gaily; and the dogsprang forward, circled about the moving phaeton, splitting the air withyelps of ecstasy, then tore ahead, mad with the delight of stretchingcramped muscles amid the long rank grass and shrubbery of the roadside. 

The girl watched him doubtfully; when he disappeared far away up theroad she turned the blue inquiry of her eyes on Siward. 

"He'll be back, " said the young fellow, laughing; and presently the dogreappeared on a tearing gallop, white flag tossing, glorious in his newliberty, enchanted with the confidence this tall young man had reposedin him--this adorable young man, this wonderful friend who had suddenlyappeared to release him from an undignified and abominable situation ina crate. 

"A good dog, " said Siward; and the girl looked around at him, partlybecause his voice was pleasant, partly because a vague memory wasbeginning to stir within her, coupling something unpleasant with thename of Siward. 

She had been conscious of it when he first named himself, but, absorbedin the overwhelming importance of her telegram, had left the analysis ofthe matter for the future. 

She thought again of her telegram, theorised a little, came to noconclusion except to let the matter rest for the present, and mentallyturned to the next and far less important problem--the question of thisrather attractive young man at her side, and why the name of Siwardshould be linked in her mind with anything disagreeable. 

Tentatively following the elusive mental dews that might awakensomething definite concerning her hazy impression of the man beside her, she spoke pleasantly, conventionally, touching idly any topic that mighthave a bearing; and, under a self-possession so detached as to give animpression of indifference, eyes, ears, and intelligence admittedthat he was agreeable to look at, pleasant of voice, and difficult toreconcile with anything unpleasant. 

Which gradually aroused her interest--the incongruous usuallyinteresting girls of her age--for he had wit enough to amuse her, sufficient inconsequence to please her, and something listless, at timesalmost absent-minded, almost inattentive, that might have piqued herhad it not inoculated her, as it always does any woman, with the nascentgerm of curiosity. Besides, there was, in the hint of his momentarypreoccupation, a certain charm. 

They discussed shooting and the opening of the season; dogs and thetraining of dogs; and why some go gun-shy and why some ace blinkers. From sport and its justification, they became inconsequential; and shewas beginning to enjoy the freshness of their chance acquaintance, hisnice attitude toward things, his irrelevancy, his gaiety. 

Laughter thawed her; for notwithstanding the fearless confidence she hadbeen taught for men of her own kind, self-possession and reserve, if notinherent, had also been drilled into her, and she required a great dealin a man before she paid him the tribute of one of her pretty laughs. 

Apparently they were advancing rather rapidly. 

"Don't you think we ought to call the dog in, Mr. Siward?"

"Yes; he's had enough!"

She drew rein; he sprang out and whistled; and the Sagamore pup, dustyand happy came romping back. Siward motioned him to the rumble, but thedog leaped to the front. 

"I don't mind, " said the girl. "Let him sit here between us. And youmight occupy yourself by pulling some of those burrs from his ears--ifyou will?"

"Of course I will. Look up here, puppy! No! Don't try to lick my face, for that is bad manners. Demonstrations are odious, as the poet says. "

"It's always bad manners, isn't it?" asked Miss Landis. 

"What? Being affectionate?"

"Yes, and admitting it. "

"I believe it is. Do you hear that--Sagamore? But never mind; I'll breakthe rules some day when we're alone. "

The dog laid one paw on Siward's knee, looking him wistfully in theeyes. 

"More demonstrations, " observed the girl. "Mr. Siward! You are hugginghim! This amounts to a dual conspiracy in bad manners. "

"Awfully glad to admit you to the conspiracy, " he said. "There's onevacancy--if you are eligible. "

"I am; I was discovered recently kissing my saddle-mare. "

"That settles it! Sagamore, give the young lady the grip. "

Sylvia Landis glanced at the dog, then impulsively shifting the whipto her left hand, held out the right. And very gravely the Sagamore puplaid one paw in her dainty white gloved palm. 

"You darling!" murmured the girl, resuming her whip. 

"I notice, " observed Siward, "that you are perfectly qualified formembership in our association for the promotion of bad manners. In factI should suggest you for the presidency--"

"I suppose you think all sorts of things because I gushed over thatdog. "

"Of course I do. "

"Well you need not, " she rejoined, delicate nose up-tilted. "I neverkissed a baby in all my life--and never mean to. Which is probably morethan you can say. "

"Yes, its more than I can say. 

"That admission elects you president, " she concluded. But aftera moment's silent driving she turned partly toward him with mockseriousness: "Is it not horridly unnatural in me to feel that way aboutbabies? And about people, too; I simply cannot endure demonstrations. As for dogs and horses--well, I've admitted how I behave; and, being soshamelessly affectionate by disposition, why can't I be nice to babies?I've a hazy but dreadful notion that there's something wrong about me, Mr. Siward. "

He scrutinised the pretty features, anxiously; "I can't see it, " hesaid. 

"But I mean it--almost seriously. I don't want to be so aloof, but--Idon't like to touch other people. It is rather horrid of me I suppose tobe like those silky, plumy, luxurious Angora cats who never are civil toyou and who always jump out of your arms at the first opportunity. "

He laughed--and there was malice in his eyes, but he did not know herwell enough to pursue the subject through so easy an opening. 

It had occurred to her, too, that her simile might invite elaboration, and she sensed the laugh in his silence, and liked him for remainingsilent where he might easily have been wittily otherwise. 

This set her so much at ease, left her so confident, that they were onterms of gayest understanding presently, she gossiping about the guestsat Shotover House, outlining the diversions planned for the two weeksbefore them. 

"But we shall see little of one another; you will be shooting mostof the time, " she said--with the very faintest hint of challenge--toodelicate, too impersonal to savour of coquetry. But the germ of it wasthere. 

"Do you shoot?"

"Yes; why?"

"I am reconciled to the shooting, then. "

"Oh, that is awfully civil of you. Sometimes I'd rather play Bridge. "

"So should I--sometimes. "

"I'll remember that, Mr. Siward; and when all the men are waiting foryou to start out after grouse perhaps I may take that moment to whisper:'May I play?'"

He laughed. 

"You mean that you really would stay and play double dummy when everyother living man will be off to the coverts? Double dummy--to improve mygame?"

"Certainly! I need improvement. "

"Then there is something wrong with you, too, Mr. Siward. "

She laughed and started to flick her whip, but at her first motion thehorse gave trouble. 

"The bit doesn't fit, " observed Siward. 

"You are perfectly right, " she returned, surprised. "I ought to haveremembered; it is shameful to drive a horse improperly bitted. " And, after a moment: "You are considerate toward animals; it is good in aman. "

"Oh, it's no merit. When animals are uncomfortable it worries me. It'sone sort of selfishness, you see. "

"What nonsense, " she said; and her smile was very friendly. "Why doesn'ta nice man ever admit he's nice when told so?"

It seems they had advanced that far. For she was beginning to find thisyoung man not only safe but promising; she had met nobody recently halfas amusing, and the outlook at Shotover House had been unpromisingwith only the overgrateful Page twins to practise on--the other mencollectively and individually boring her. And suddenly, welcome asmanna from the sky, behold this highly agreeable boy to play with--untilQuarrier arrived. Her telegram had been addressed to Mr. Quarrier. 

"What was it you were saying about selfishness?" she asked. "Oh, Iremember. It was nonsense. "

"Certainly. "

She laughed, adding: "Selfishness is so simply defined you know. "

"Is it? How. "

"A refusal to renounce. That covers everything, " she concluded. 

"Sometimes renunciation is weakness--isn't it?" he suggested. 

"In what case for example?"

"Well, suppose we take love. "

"Very well, you may take it if you like it. "

"Suppose you loved a man!" he insisted. 

"Let him beware! What then?"

"--And, suppose it would distress your family if you married him?"

"I'd give him up. "

"If you loved him?"

"Love? That is the poorest excuse for selfishness, Mr. Siward. "

"So you would ruin your happiness and his--"

"A girl ought to find more happiness in renouncing a selfish love thanin love itself, " announced Miss Landis with that serious convictioncharacteristic of her years. 

"Of course, " assented Siward with a touch of malice, "if you really dofind more happiness in renouncing love than in love itself, it would befoolish not to do it--"

"Mr. Siward! You are derisive. Besides, you are not acute. A woman isalways an opportunist. When the event takes place I shall know what todo. "

"You mean when you want to marry the man you mustn't?

"Exactly. I probably shall. "

"Marry him?

"Wish to!"

"I see. But you won't, of course. "

She drew rein, bringing the horse to a walk at the foot of a long hill. 

"We are going much too fast, " said Miss Landis, smiling. 

"Driving too fast for--"

"No, not driving, going--you and I. "

"Oh, you mean--"

"Yes I do. We are on all sorts of terms, already. "

"In the country, you know, people--"

"Yes I know all about it, and what old and valued friends one makes at aweek's end. But it has been a matter of half-hours with us, Mr. Siward. "

"Let us sit very still and think it over, " he suggested. And they bothlaughed. 

It was perhaps the reaction of her gaiety that recalled to her mind hertelegram. The telegram had been her promised answer after she had hadtime to consider a suggestion made to her by a Mr. Howard Quarrier. Thelast week at Shotover permitted reflection; and while her telegram wasno complete answer to the suggestion he had made, it contained materialof interest in the eight words: "I will consider your request when youarrive. 

"I wonder if you know Howard Quarrier?" she said. 

After a second's hesitation he replied: "Yes--a little. Everybody does. "

"You do know him?"

"Only at--the club. "

"Oh, the Lenox?"

"The Lenox--and the Patroons. "

Preoccupied, driving with careless, almost inattentive perfection, shethought idly of her twenty-three years, wondering how life could havepassed so quickly leaving her already stranded on the shoals of anengagement to marry Howard Quarrier. Then her thoughts, errant, wanderedhalf the world over before they returned to Siward; and when at lengththey did, and meaning to be civil, she spoke again of his acquaintancewith Quarrier at the Patroons Club--the club itself being sufficient tosettle Siward's status in every community. 

"I'm trying to remember what it is I have heard about you, " shecontinued amiably; "you are--"

An odd expression in his eyes arrested her--long enough to note theircolour and expression--and she continued, pleasantly; "--you are StephenSiward, are you not? You see I know your name perfectly well--" Herstraight brows contracted a trifle; she drove on, lips compressed, following an elusive train of thought which vaguely, persistently, coupled his name with something indefinitely unpleasant. And she couldnot reconcile this with his appearance. However, the train of unlinkedideas which she pursued began to form the semblance of a chain. Couplinghis name with Quarrier's, and with a club, aroused memory; vagueuneasiness stirred her to a glimmering comprehension. Siward? StephenSiward? One of the New York Siwards then;--one of that race--

Suddenly the truth flashed upon her, --the crude truth lacking definitedetail, lacking circumstance and colour and atmosphere, --merely the rawand ugly truth. 

Had he looked at her--and he did, once--he could have seen only theunruffled and very sweet profile of a young girl. Composure was one ofthe masks she had learned to wear--when she chose. 

And she was thinking very hard all the while; "So this is the man? Imight have known his name. Where were my five wits? Siward!--StephenSiward! … He is very young, too … much too young to be so horrid. …Yet--it wasn't so dreadful, after all; only the publicity! Dear me! Iknew we were going too fast. "

"Miss Landis, " he said. 

"Mr. Siward?"--very gently. It was her way to be gentle when generous. 

"I think, " he said, "that you are beginning to remember where you mayhave heard my name. "

"Yes--a little--" She looked at him with the direct gaze of a child, butthe lovely eyes were troubled. His smile was not very genuine, but hemet her gaze steadily enough. 

"It was rather nice of Mrs. Ferrall to ask me, " he said, "after the messI made of things last spring. "

"Grace Ferrall is a dear, " she replied. 

After a moment he ventured: "I suppose you saw it in the papers. "

"I think so; I had completely forgotten it; your name seemed to--"

"I see. " Then, listlessly: "I couldn't have ventured to remind youthat--that perhaps you might not care to be so amiable--"

"Mr. Siward, " she said impulsively, "you are nice to me! Why shouldn'tI be amiable? It was--it was--I've forgotten just how dreadfully you didbehave--"

"Pretty badly. "

"Very?"

"They say so. "

"And what is your opinion Mr. Siward?"

"Oh, I ought to have known better. " Something about him reminded her ofa bad small boy; and suddenly in spite of her better sense, in spiteof her instinctive caution, she found herself on the very vergeof laughter. What was it in the man that disarmed and invited aconfidence--scarcely justified it appeared? What was it now that movedher to overlook what few overlook--not the fault, but its publicity? Wasit his agreeable bearing, his pleasant badinage, his amiably listlessmoments of preoccupation, his youth that appealed to her--aroused hercharity, her generosity, her curiosity?

And had other people continued to accept him, too? What would Quarrierthink of his presence at Shotover? She began to realise that she wasa little afraid of Quarrier's opinions. And his opinions were alwaysjudgments. However Grace Ferrall had thought it proper to ask him, andthat meant social absolution. As far as that went she also was perfectlyready to absolve him if he needed it. But perhaps he didn't care!--Shelooked at him, furtively. He seemed to be tranquil enough in hisabstraction. Trouble appeared to slide very easily from his broadyoung shoulders. Perhaps he was already taking much for granted inher gentleness with him. And gradually speculation became interest andinterest a young girl's innocent curiosity to learn something of aman whose record it seemed almost impossible to reconcile with hispersonality. 

"I was wondering, " he said looking up to encounter her clear eyes, "whose house that is over there?"

"Beverly Plank's shooting-box; Black Fells, " she replied nodding towardthe vast pile of blackish rocks against the sky, upon which sprawled aheavy stone house infested with chimneys. 

"Plank? Oh yes. "

He smiled to remember the battering blows rained upon the ramparts ofsociety by the master of Black Fells. 

But the smile faded; and, glancing at him, the girl was surprised tosee the subtle change in his face--the white worn look, then the oldlistless apathy which, all at once to her, hinted of something graverthan preoccupation. 

"Are we near the sea?" he asked. 

"Very near. Only a moment to the top of this hill. … Now look!"

There lay the sea--the same grey-blue crawling void that had everfascinated and repelled him--always wrinkled, always in flat monotonousmotion, spreading away, away to the sad world's ends. 

"Full of menace--always, " he said, unconscious that he had spoken aloud. 

"The sea!"

He spoke without turning: "The sea is a relentless thing for a man tofight. … There are other tides more persistent than the sea, but likeit--like it in its menace. "

His face seemed thinner, older; she noticed his cheek bones for thefirst time. Then, meeting her eyes, youth returned with a laugh and atouch of colour; and, without understanding exactly how, she was aware, presently, that they had insensibly slipped back to their light badinageand gay inconsequences--back to a footing which, strangely, seemed to bealready an old footing, familiar, pleasant, and natural to return to. 

"Is that Shotover House?" he asked as they came to the crest of the lasthillock between them and the sea. 

"At last, Mr. Siward, " she said mockingly; "and now your troubles arenearly ended. "

"And yours, Miss Landis?"

"I don't know, " she murmured to herself, thinking of the telegram withthe faintest misgiving. 

For she was very young, and she had not had half enough out of life asyet; and besides, her theories and preconceived plans for the safeand sound ordering of her life appeared to lack weight--nay, they weredwindling already into insignificance. 

Theory had almost decided her to answer Mr. Quarrier's suggestion with a'Yes. ' However, he was coming from the Lakes in a day or two. She coulddecide definitely when she had discussed the matter with him. 

"I wish that I owned this dog, " observed Siward, as the phaeton enteredthe macadamised drive. 

"I wish so, too, " she said, "but he belongs to Mr. Quarrier. "

CHAPTER II IMPRUDENCE

A house of native stone built into and among weather-scarred rocks, onemassive wing butting seaward, others nosing north and south among cedarsand outcropping ledges--the whole silver-grey mass of masonry reddeningunder a westering sun, every dormer, every leaded diamond pane aflame;this was Shotover as Siward first beheld it. 

Like the craggy vertebrae of a half-buried fossil splitting the sod, aragged line of rock rose as a barrier to inland winds; the foreland, sethere and there with tiny lawns and pockets of bright flowers, fellaway to the cliffs; and here, sheer wet black rocks fronted the eternalbattering of the Atlantic. 

As the phaeton drew up under a pillared porte-cochere, one or twoservants appeared; a rather imposing specimen bowed them through thedoors into the hall where, in a wide chimney place, the embers of adrift-wood fire glimmered like a heap of dusty jewels. Bars of sunlightslanted on wall and rug, on stone floor and carved staircase, on thebronze foliations of the railed gallery above, where, in the goldengloom through a high window, sun-tipped tree tops against a sky of azurestirred like burnished foliage in a tapestry. 

"There is nobody here, of course, " observed Miss Landis to Siward asthey halted in front of the fire-place; "the season opens to-day in thiscounty, you see. " She shrugged her pretty shoulders: "And the women whodon't shoot make the first field-luncheon a function. "

She turned, nodded her adieux, then, over her shoulder, casually: "Ifyou haven't an appointment with the Sand-Man before dinner you may findme in the gun-room. "

"I'll be there in about three minutes, " he said; "and what about thisdog?"--looking down at the Sagamore pup who stood before him, wagging, attentive, always the gentleman to the tips of his toes. 

Miss Landis laughed. "Take him to your room if you like. Dogs have therun of the house. "

So he followed a servant to the floor above where a smiling and veryornamental maid preceded him through a corridor and into that heavy wingof the house which fronted the sea. 

"Tea is served in the gun-room, sir, " said the pretty maid, anddisappeared to give place to a melancholy and silent young man whoturned on the bath, laid out fresh raiment, and whispering, "Scotch orIrish, sir?" presently effaced himself. 

Before he quenched his own thirst Siward filled a bowl and set it on thefloor, and it seemed as though the dog would never finish gulping andslobbering in the limpid icy water. 

"It's the salt air, my boy, " commented the young man, gravely refillinghis own glass as though accepting the excuse on his own account. 

Then man and beast completed ablutions and grooming and filed outthrough the wide corridor, around the gallery, and down the broadstairway to the gun-room--an oaken vaulted place illuminated by the sun, where mellow lights sparkled on glass-cased rows of fowling pieces andrifles, on the polished antlers of shaggy moose heads. 

Miss Landis sat curled up in a cushioned corner under the open casementpanes, offering herself a cup of tea. She looked up, nodding invitation;he found a place beside her. A servant whispered, "Scotch or Irish, sir, " then set the crystal paraphernalia at his elbow. 

He said something about the salt air, casually; the girl gazedmeditatively at space. 

The sound of wheels on the gravel outside aroused her from a silencewhich had become a brown study; and, to Siward, presently, she said:"Here endeth our first rendezvous. "

"Then let us arrange another immediately, " he said, stirring the ice inhis glass. 

The girl considered him with speculative eyes: "I shouldn't exactly knowwhat to do with you for the next hour if I didn't abandon you. "

"Why bother to do anything with me? Why even give yourself the troubleof deserting me? That solves the problem. "

"I really don't mean that you are a problem to me, Mr. Siward, " shesaid, amused; "I mean that I am going to drive again. "

"I see. "

"No you don't see at all. There's a telegram; I'm not driving forpleasure--"

She had not meant that either, and it annoyed her that she had expressedherself in such terms. As a matter of fact, at the telegraphed requestof Mr. Quarrier, she was going to Black Fells Crossing to meet his trainfrom the Lakes and drive him back to Shotover. The drive, therefore, wasof course a drive for pleasure. 

"I see, " repeated Siward amiably. 

"Perhaps you do, " she observed, rising to her graceful height. He wason his feet at once, so carelessly, so good-humouredly acquiescent thatwithout any reason at all she hesitated. 

"I had meant to show you about--the cliffs--the kennels and stables; I'msorry, " she concluded, lingering. 

"I'm awfully sorry, " he rejoined without meaning anything in particular. That was the trouble, whatever he said, apparently meant so much. 

With the agreeable sensation of being regretted, she leisurely glovedherself, then walked through the gun-room and hall, Siward strollingbeside her. 

The dog followed them as they turned toward the door and passed outacross the terraced veranda to the driveway where a Tandem cart wasdrawn up, faultlessly appointed. Quarrier's mania was Tandem. Shethought it rather nice of her to remember this. 

She inspected the ensemble without visible interest for a few moments;the wind freshened from the sea, fluttering her veil, and she turnedtoward the east to face it. In the golden splendour of declining day thewhite sails of yachts crowded landward on the last leg before beatingwestward into Blue Harbour; a small white cruiser, steaming south, left a mile long stratum of rose-tinted smoke hanging parallel to thehorizon's plane; the westering sun struck sparks from her bright-work. 

The magic light on land and water seemed to fascinate the girl; shehad walked a little way toward the cliffs, Siward following silently, offering no comment on the beauty of sky and cliff. As they halted oncemore the enchantment seemed to spread; a delicate haze enveloped thesea; hints of rose colour tinted the waves; over the uplands a palemauve bloom grew; the sunlight turned redder, slanting on the rocks, and every kelp-covered reef became a spongy golden mound, sprayed withliquid flame. 

They had turned their backs to the Tandem; the grooms looked after them, standing motionless at the horses' heads. 

"Mr. Siward, this is too fine to miss, " she said. "I will walk as far asthe headland with you. … Please smoke if you care to. "

He did care to; several matches were extinguished by the wind until shespread her skids as a barrier; and kneeling in their shelter he got hislight. 

"Tobacco smoke diluted with sea breeze is delicious, " she said, asthe wind whirled the aromatic smoke of his cigarette up into her face. "Don't move, Mr. Siward; I like it; there is to me always a faint odourof sweet-brier in the mélange. Did you ever notice it?"

The breeze-blown conversation became fragmentary, veering ascapriciously as the purple wind-flaws that spread across the shoals. Butalways to her question or comment she found in his response the charm offreshness, of quick intelligence, or of a humourous and idle perversitywhich stimulates without demanding. 

Once, glancing back at the house where the T-cart and horses stood, shesaid that she had better return; or perhaps she only thought she saidit, for he made no response that time. And a few moments later theyreached the headland, and the Atlantic lay below, flowing azure fromhorizon to horizon--under a universe of depthless blue. And for a longwhile neither spoke. 

With her the spell endured until conscience began to stir. Then sheawoke, uneasy as always, under the shadow of restraint or pressure, until her eyes fell on him and lingered. 

A subtle change had come into his face; its leanness struck her forthe first time; that, and an utter detachment from his surroundings, asombre oblivion to everything--and to her. 

How curiously had his face altered, how shadowy it had grown, effacingthe charm of youth, in it. 

The slight amusement with which she had become conscious of her ownpersonal exclusion grew to an interest tinged with curiosity. 

The interest continued, but when his silence became irksome to hershe said so very frankly. His absent eyes, still clouded, met hers, unsmiling. 

"I hate the sea, " he said. 

"You--hate it!" she repeated, too incredulous to be disappointed. 

"There's no rest in it; it tires. A man who plays with it must be onhis guard every second. To spend a lifetime on it is ridiculous--awhole life of intelligent effort, against perpetual, brutal, inanimateresistance--one endless uninterrupted fight--a ceaseless human manoeuvreagainst senseless menace; and then the counter attack of the lifelessmonster, the bellowing advance, the shock--and no battle won--nothingfinal, nothing settled, no! only the same eternal nightmare ofsurveillance, the same sleepless watch for stupid treachery. "

"But--you don't have to fight it!" she said, astonished. 

"No; but it is no secret--what it does to those who do. … Some escape;but only by dying ashore before it gets them. That is the way some of usreach Heaven; we die too quick for the Enemy to catch us. "

He was laughing when she said: "It is not a fight with the sea; it isthe battle of Life itself you mean. "

"Yes, in a way, the battle of Life. "

"Oh, you are morbid then. Is there anybody ever born who has not a fighton his hands?"

"No; only I have known men tired out, unfairly, before life had declaredwar on them. "

"Just what do you mean?"

"Oh, something about fair play--what our popular idol summarises as a'square deal'. " He laughed again, easily, his face clearing. 

"Nobody worth a square deal ever laments because he hasn't had it, " shesaid. 

"I dare say that's true, too, " he admitted listlessly. 

"Mr. Siward, exactly what did you mean?"

"I was thinking of men I knew; for example a man who through generationshas inherited every impulse and desire that he should not harbour--a manwith intellect enough to be aware of it, with decency enough to desiredecency. … What chance has he with the storms which have been brewingfor him even before he opened his eyes on earth? Is that a square deal?"

The troubled concentration of her face was reflected now in his own; thewind came whipping and flicking at them from league-wide tossing wastes;the steady thunder of the sea accented the silence. 

She said: "I suppose everybody has infinite capacity for decency ormischief. I know that I have. And I fancy that this capacity alwaysremains, no matter how moral one's life may be. 'Watch and pray' was notaddressed to the guilty alone, Mr. Siward. "

"Oh, yes, of course. As for the balanced capacity for good and evil, howabout the inherited desire for the latter?"

"Who is free from that, too? Do you suppose anybody really desires to begood?"

"You mean most people are so afraid not to be, that virtue becomes ahabit?"

"Perhaps. It's a plain business proposition anyway. It pays. "

"Celestial insurance?" he asked, laughing. 

"I don't know, Mr. Siward; do you?"

But he, turning to the sea, had become engrossed in his own thoughtsagain; and again she was first curious, then impatient at the ease withwhich he excluded her. She remembered, too, that the cart was waiting;that she had scarcely time now to make the train. 

She stood irresolute, inert, disinclined to bestir herself. Aninborn aptitude for drifting, which threatened to become a talentfor indecision, had always alternated in her with sudden impulsiveconclusions; and when her pride was involved, in decisions whichsometimes scarcely withstood the analysis of reason. 

Physically healthy, mentally unawakened, sentimentally incredulous, totally ignorant of any master passion, and conventionally drilled, herbeauty and sweet temper had carried her easily on the frothy crest ofher first season, over the eligible and ineligible alike, leaving her atLenox, a rather tired and breathless girl, in love with pleasure and theworld which treated her so well. 

The death of her mother abroad had made little impression upon her--heruncle, Major Belwether, having cared for her since her father's deathwhen she was ten years old. So, although the scandal of her mother'sself-exile had been in a measure condoned by a tardy marriage to the manfor whom she had left everything, her daughter had grown up ignorant ofany particular feeling for a mother she could scarcely remember. 

However, she wore black and went nowhere for the second winter, duringwhich time she learned a great deal concerning the unconventionalproclivities of the women of her race and family, enough to impress herso seriously that on an exaggerated impulse she had come to one of hercharacteristic decisions. 

That decision was to break the unsavoury record at the first justifiableopportunity. And the opportunity came in the shape of Quarrier. Asthough wedlock were actually the sanctuary which an alarmed nationpretends it to be!

Now, approaching the threshold of a third and last season, and havingput away her almost meaningless mourning, there had stolen into hersense of security something irksome in the promise she had made to giveQuarrier a definite answer before winter. 

Perhaps it had been the lack of interest in the people at Shotover, perhaps a mental review of her ancestors' capricious records--perhaps acharacteristic impulse that had directed a telegram to Quarrier after amidnight confab with Grace Ferrall. 

However it may have been, she had summoned him. And now he was on hisway to get his answer, the best whip, the most eagerly discussed, andone of the wealthiest unmarried men in America. 

Lingering irresolutely, considering with idle eyes the shadowslengthening across the sun-shot moorland, the sound of Siward's evenvoice aroused her from a meditation bordering on lassitude. 

She answered vaguely. He spoke again; all the agreeable, gentle, humourous charm dominant once more--releasing her from the growingtension of her own thoughts, absolving her from the duty of immediatedecision. 

"I feel curiously lazy, " she said; "perhaps from our long drive. " Sheseated herself on the turf. "Talk to me, Mr. Siward--in that lazy way ofyours. "

What he had to say proved inconsequent enough, an irrelevant suggestionconcerning the training of field-dogs for close covert work and thereasons for not breaking such dogs on quail. Then the question ofcross-breeding came up, and he gave his opinion on the qualities of"droppers. " To which she replied, sleepily; and the conversation veeredagain toward the mystery of heredity, and the hopelessness of escapefrom its laws as illustrated now by the Sagamore pup, galloping nose inthe wind, having scented afar the traces of the forbidden rabbit. 

"His ancestors turned 'round and 'round to flatten the long reeds andgrasses in their lairs before lying down, " observed Siward. "He does it, too, where there is nothing to flatten out. Did you ever notice how manytimes a dog turns around before lying down? And there goes the carefullyschooled Sagamore, chasing rabbits! Why? Because his wild ancestorschased rabbits. … Heredity? It's a steady, unseen, pulling, draggingforce. Like lightning, too, it shatters, sometimes, where there isresistance. "

"Do you mean, Mr. Siward, that heredity is an excuse for moralweakness?"

"I don't know. Those inheriting nothing of evil say it is no excuse. "

"It is no excuse. "

"You speak with authority, " he said. 

"With more than you are aware of, " she murmured, not meaning to say it. 

She stood up impulsively, her fresh face turned to the distant house, her rounded young figure poised in relief against the sky. 

"Inherited or not, idleness, procrastination, are my besetting sins. Can't you suggest the remedy, Mr. Siward?"

"But they are only the thieves of Time; and we kill the poor oldgentleman. "

"Leagued assassins, " she repeated pensively. 

Her gown had caught on the cliff briers; he knelt to release it, shelooking down, noting an ugly tear in the fabric. 

"Payment for my iniquities--the first instalment, " she said, stilllooking down over his shoulder and watching his efforts to release her. "Thank you, Mr. Siward. I think we ought to start, don't you?"

He straightened up, smiling, awaiting her further pleasure. Her pleasurebeing capricious, she seated herself again, saying: "What I meant to saywas this: evils that spring from heredity are no excuse for misconductin people of our sort. Environment, not heredity, counts. And it's ourbusiness, who have every chance in the world, to make good!"

He looked down, amused at the piquant incongruity of voice andvernacular. 

"What time is it?" she asked irrelevantly. 

He glanced at his watch. She turned her eyes toward the level sun, conscious, and a little conscience-stricken that it was too late for herto drive to Black Fells Crossing--unless she started at once. 

The sun hung low over the pines; all the scrubby foreland ran moltengold in every tufted furrow; flock after flock of twittering littlebirds whirled into the briers and out again, scattering inland intoundulating flight. 

The zenith turned shell pink; through clotted shoals of clouds spreadspaces of palest green like calm lakes in the sky. 

It grew stiller; the wind went down with the sun. 

Doubtless he had forgotten to tell her the time; she had almostforgotten that she had asked him. With the silence of sunset a languor, the indolence of content, crept over her; she saw him close his watchwith the absent-minded air which she already associated with him, andshe let the question go from sheer disinclination for the effort ofrepetition--let the projected drive go--acquiescent, content thatmatters shape themselves without any interference from her. The sense ofease, of physical well-being invaded her with an agreeable relaxation asthough tension somewhere had slackened. 

They chatted on, casually, impersonally, in rather subdued tones. Thedog returned now and then to see that all was well. All was well enough, it appeared, for she sat beside Siward, quite content, knees clasped inher hands, exchanging impressions of life with a man who so far hadbeen sympathetically considerate in demanding from her no intellectualeffort. 

The conversation drifted illogically; sometimes he stirred her toamusement, even a hushed laughter; sometimes she smilingly agreed withhis views, sometimes she let them go, uncriticised; or, intent on herown ideas, shook her small head in amused disapproval. 

The stillness over all, the deepening mellow light, the blessedindolence of the young world--and their few years in it--Youth! That wasperhaps the key to it all, after all. 

"To-morrow, " she mused aloud, knees cradled in her clasped fingers, "to-morrow they'll shoot--with great circumstance and fuss--a few nativewoodcock--there's no flight yet from the north!--a few grouse, fewersnipe, a stray duck or two. Others will drive motor cars over bad roads;others will ride, sail, golf--anything to kill the eternal enemy. "

"And you?"

"Je n'en sais rien, monsieur. "

"Mais je voudrais savoir. "

"Pourquoi?"

"To lay a true course by the stars"; he looked at her blue eyes and shelaughed easily under the laughing flattery. 

"You must seek another compass--to-morrow, " she said. Then it occurredto her that nobody could guess her decision in regard to Quarrier; andshe partly raised her eyes, looking at him, indolent speculation underthe white lids. 

She liked him already; in fact she had liked few men as well on suchbrief acquaintance. 

"You know the majority of the people here, or coming, don't you?" sheinquired. 

"Who are they?"

She began: "The Leroy Mortimers?"

"Oh, yes. "

"Lord Alderdene and Captain Voucher, and the Page twins and Marion?"

"Yes. "

"Rena Bonnesdel, the Tassel girl, Agatha Caithness, Mrs. Vendenning--allsorts, all sets. " And, with an effort: "If I'm to drive, I shouldlike--to--to know what time it is?"

He informed her; and she, too indolent to pretend surprise, and findingreproach easier, told him that he had no business to permit her toforget. 

His smiling serenity under the rebuke aroused in her a slight resentmentas though he had taken something for granted. 

Besides, she had grown uneasy; she had wired Quarrier, saying she wouldmeet him and drive him over. He had replied at once, naming his train. He was an exact man and expected method and precision in others. Shedidn't exactly know how it might affect him if his reasonable demand wasunsatisfied. She did not know him very well yet, only well enough to beaware that he was a gentleman so precisely, so judiciously constructed, that, contemplating his equitable perfections, her awe and admirationgrew as one on whom dawns the exquisite adjustments of an almost humanmachine. 

And, thinking of him now, she again made up her mind to give him theanswer which he now had every reason to expect from her. This decisionappeared to lubricate her conscience; it ran more smoothly now, emittingfewer creaks. 

"You say that you know Mr. Quarrier?" she began thoughtfully. 

"Not well. "

"I--hope you will like him, Mr. Siward. "

"I do not think he likes me, Miss Landis. He has reasons not to. "

She looked up, suddenly remembering: "Oh--since that scrape? Whathas Mr. Quarrier to do--" She did not finish the sentence. A troubledsilence followed; she was trying to remember the details--something shehad paid small attention to at the time--something so foreign to her, so distant from her comprehension that it had not touched her closelyenough for her to remember exactly what this young man might have doneto forfeit the good-will of Howard Quarrier. 

She looked at Siward; it was impossible that anything very bad couldcome from such a man. And, pursuing her reasoning aloud: "It couldn'thave been very awful, " she argued; "something foolish about an actress, was it not? And that could not concern Mr. Quarrier. "

"I thought you did know; I thought you--remembered--while you weredriving me over from the station--that I was dropped from my club. "

She flushed up: "Oh!--but--what had Mr. Quarrier to do with that?"

"He is a governor of that club. "

"You mean that Mr. Quarrier had you--dropped?"

"What else could he do? A man who is idiot enough to risk making hisown club notorious, must take the consequences. And they say I took thatrisk. Therefore Mr. Quarrier, Major Belwether--all the governors didtheir duty. I--I naturally conclude that no governor of the PatroonsClub feels very kindly toward me. "

Miss Landis sat very still, her small head bent, a flush stillbrightening her fair face. 

She recalled a few of the details now--the scandal--something of thestory. Which particular actress it was she could not remember; but somemen who had dined too freely had made the wager, and this boy sittingbeside her had accepted it--and won it, by bringing into the sacredprecincts of the Patroons Club a foolish, shameless girl disguised in aman's evening dress. 

That was bad enough; that somebody promptly discovered it was worse; butworst of all was the publicity, the club's name smirched, the young manexpelled from one of the two best clubs in the metropolis. 

To read of such things in the columns of a daily paper had meant littleto her except to repell her; to hear it mentioned among people of herown sort had left her incurious and indifferent. But now she saw it ina new light, with the man who had figured in it seated beside her. Didsuch men as he--such attractive, well-bred, amusing men as he--do thatsort of thing?

There he sat, hat off, the sun touching his short, thick hair whichwaved a little at the temples--a boyish mould to head and shoulders, acleanly outlined check and chin, a thoroughbred ear set close--a goodface. What sort of a man, then, was a woman to feel at ease with? Whateye, what mouth, what manner, what bearing was a woman to trust?

"Is that the kind of man you are, Mr. Siward?" she said impulsively. 

"It appears that I was; I don't know what I am--or may be. "

"The pity of it!" she said, still swayed by impulse. "Why did youdo--didn't you know--realize what you were doing--bringing discredit onyour own club?"

"I was in no condition to know, Miss Landis. "

The crude brutality of the expression might merely have hurt ordisgusted her had she been less intelligent. Nor, as it was, did shefully understand why he chose to use it--unless that he meant it inself-punishment. 

"It's rather shameful!" she said hotly. 

"Yes, " he assented; "it's a bad beginning. "

"A--beginning! Do you mean to go on?"

He did not reply; his head was partly turned from her. She sat silentfor a while. The dog had returned to lie at Siward's feet, its browneyes tirelessly watching the man it had chosen for its friend; andthe man, without turning his eyes, dropped one hand on the dog's head, caressing the silky ears. 

Some sentimentalist had once said that no man who cared for animalscould be wholly bad. Inexperience inclined her to believe it. Then too, she had that inclination for overlooking offences committed againstprecept, which appears to be one of those edifying human traits peculiarto neither sex and common to both. Besides, her knowledge of suchmatters was as vague as her mind was healthy and body wholesome. Menwho dined incautiously were not remarkable for their rarity; the actresshabit, being incomprehensible to her, meant nothing; and she said, innocently: "What men like you can find attractive in a common woman Ido not understand; there are plenty of pretty women of your own sort. The actress cult is beyond my comprehension; I only know it is generallycondoned. But it is not for such things that we drop men, Mr. Siward. You know that, of course. "

"For what do you drop men?"

"For falsehood, deception, any dishonesty. "

"And you don't drop a man when you read in the papers that one of thetwo best clubs in town has expelled him?"

She gave him a troubled glance; and, naively: "But you are still amember of the other, are you not?" Then hardening: "It was common!common!--thoroughly disgraceful and incomprehensible!"--and with everyword uttered insensibly warming in her heart toward him whom she waschastening; "it was not even bad--it was worse than being simply bad; itwas stupid!"

He nodded, one hand slowly caressing the dog's head where it lay acrosshis knees. 

She watched him a moment, hesitated, then smiling a little: "So now Iknow the worst about you; do I not?" she concluded. 

He did not answer; she waited, the smile still curving her red mouth. Had she been too severe? She wondered. "You may help me to my feet, " shesaid sweetly. She was very young. 

He rose at once, holding out his hands to aid her in that pleasantlyimpersonal manner so suited to him; and now they stood together in thepurple dusk of the uplands--two people young enough to take one anotherseriously. 

"Let me tell you something, " she said, facing him, white hands looselylinked behind her. "I don't exactly understand how it has happened, butyou know as well as I do that we have formed a--an acquaintance--thesort that under normal conditions requires a long time and severalconventional and preliminary chapters. … I should like to know what youthink of our performance. "

"I think, " he said laughing, "that it is charming. "

"Oh, yes; men usually find the unconventional agreeable. What I want toknow is why I find it so, too?"

"Do you?" A dull colour stained his cheek-bones. 

"Certainly I do. Is it because I've had a delightful chance to admonisha sinner--and be--just a little sorry--that he had made such a sillyspectacle of himself?"

He laughed, wincing a trifle. 

"Hence this agreeably righteous glow suffusing me, " she concluded. "Sonow that I have answered my own question, I think that we had better go. … Don't you?"

They walked for a while, subdued, soberly picking their path through thedusk. After a few moments she began to feel doubtful, a little uneasy, partly from a reaction which was natural, partly because she was notat all sure what either Quarrier or Major Belwether would think of theterms she was already on with Siward. Suppose they objected? She hadnever thwarted either of these gentlemen. Besides she already had atemporary interest in Siward--the interest that women always cherish, quite unconsciously, for the man whose shortcomings they have consentedto overlook. 

As they crossed the headland, through the deepening dusk the acetylenelamps on a cluster of motor cars spread a blinding light across thescrub. The windows of Shotover House were brilliantly illuminated. 

"Our shooting-party has returned, " she said. 

They crossed the drive through the white glare of the motor lamps;people were passing, grooms with dogs and guns and fluffy bunches ofgame-birds, several women in motor costumes, veils afloat, a man or twoin shooting-tweeds or khaki. 

As they entered the hall together, she turned to him, an indefinablesmile curving her lips; then, with a little nod, friendly and sweet, sheleft him standing at the open door of the gun-room. 

CHAPTER III SHOTOVER

The first person he encountered in the gun-room was Quarrier, whofavoured him with an expressionless stare, then with a bow, quiteperfunctory and non-committal. It was plain enough that he had notexpected to meet Siward at Shotover House. 

Kemp Ferrall, a dark, stocky, active man of forty, was in the act ofdraining a glass, when, though the bottom he caught sight of Siward. He finished in a gulp, and advanced, one muscular hand outstretched:"Hello, Stephen! Heard you'd arrived, tried the Scotch, and bolted withSylvia Landis! That's all right, too, but you should have come forthe opening day. Lots of native woodcock--eh, Blinky?" turning to LordAlderdene; and again to Siward: "You know all these fellows--Mortimeryonder--" There was the slightest ring in his voice; and Leroy Mortimer, red-necked, bulky, and heavy eyed, emptied his glass and came over, followed by Lord Alderdene blinking madly though his shooting-gogglesand showing all his teeth like a pointer with a "tic. " Captain Voucher, a gentleman with the vivid colouring of a healthy groom on a cold day, came up, followed by the Page boys, Willis and Gordon, who shook handsshyly, enchanted to be on easy terms with the notorious Mr. Siward. Andlast of all Tom O'Hara arrived, reeking of the saddle and clinking apair of trooper's spurs over the floor--relics of his bloodless PortoRico campaign with Squadron A. 

It was patent to every man present that the Kemp Ferralls had determinedto ignore Siward's recent foolishness, which indicated that he mightreasonably expect the continued good-will of several sets, the orbits ofwhich intersected in the social system of his native city. Indeed, thefew qualified to snub him cared nothing about the matter, and it was notlikely that anybody else would take the initiative in being disagreeableto a young man, the fortunes and misfortunes of whose race were part ofthe history of Manhattan Island. Siwards, good or bad, were a matter ofcourse in New York. 

So everybody in the gun-room was civil enough, and he chose Scotchand found a seat beside Alderdene, who sat biting at a smoky pipe andfingering a tumbler of smokier Scotch, blinking away like mad throughhis shooting-goggles at everybody. 

"These little brown snipe you call woodcock, " he began; "we bagged ninebrace, d'you see? But of all the damnable bogs and covers--"

"Rotten, " said Mortimer thickly; "Ferrall, you're all calf and biceps, and it's well enough for you to go floundering into bogs--"

"Where do you expect to find native woodcock?" demanded Ferrall, laughing. 

"On the table hereafter, " growled Mortimer. 

"Oh, go and pot Beverly Plank's tame pheasants, " retorted Ferrallamiably; "Captain Voucher had a blank day, but he isn't kicking. "

"Not I, " said Voucher; "the sport is capital--if one can manage to hitthe beggars--"

"Oh, everybody misses in snap-shooting, " observed Ferrall; "that is, everybody except Stephen Siward with his unholy left barrel. Crack!and, " turning to Alderdene, "it's like taking money from you, Blinky--which reminds me that we've time for a little Preference beforedressing. "

His squinting lordship declined and took an easier position in hischair, extending a pair of little bandy legs draped in baggy tweedknickerbockers and heather-spats. Mortimer, industriously distending hisskin with whiskey, reached for the decanter. The aromatic perfume ofthe spirits aroused Siward, and he instinctively nodded his desire to aservant. 

"This salt air keeps one thirsty, " he observed to Ferrall; thensomething in his host's expression arrested the glass at his lips. Hehad already been using the decanter a good deal; except Mortimer, nobodywas doing that sort of thing as freely as he. 

He set his glass on the table thoughtfully; a tinge of colour had creptinto his lean checks. 

Ferrall, too, suddenly uncomfortable, stood up saying something aboutdressing; several men arose a trifle stiffly, feeling in every joint theresult of the first day's shooting after all those idle months. Mortimergot up with an unfeigned groan; Siward followed, leaving his glassuntouched. 

One or two other men came in from the billiard-room. All greeted Siwardamiably--all excepting one who may not have seen him--an elderly, pink, soft gentleman with white downy chop-whiskers and the profile of abenevolent buck rabbit. 

"How do you do, Major Belwether?" said Siward in a low voice withoutoffering his hand. 

Then Major Belwether saw him, bless you! yes indeed! And though Siwardcontinued not to offer his hand, Major Belwether meant to have it, blessyour heart! And he fussed and fussed and beamed cordiality until hesecured it in his plump white fingers and pressed it effusively. 

There was something about his soft, warm hands which had always remindedSiward of the temperature and texture of a newly hatched bird. It hadbeen some time since he had shaken hands with Major Belwether; it wasapparent that the bird had not aged any. 

"And now for the shooting!" said the Major with an arch smile. "Now forthe stag at bay and the winding horn--

 'Where sleeps the moon On Mona's rill--'

Eh, Siward?

 'And here's to the hound With his nose upon the ground--'

Eh, my boy? That reminds me of a story--" He chuckled and chuckled, his lambent eyes suffused with mirth; and slipping his arm through thepivot-sleeve of Lord Alderdene's shooting-jacket, hooking the other inSiward's reluctant elbow, and driving Mortimer ahead of him, he wentgarrulously away up the stairs, his lordship's bandy little legstrotting beside him, the soaking gaiters and shoes slopping at everystep. 

Mortimer, his mottled skin now sufficiently distended, greeted the storywith a yawn from ear to ear; his lordship, blinking madly, burst intothat remarkable laugh which seemed to reveal the absence of certainvocal cords requisite to perfect harmony; and Siward smiled in hislistless, pleasant way, and turned off down his corridor, unawarethat the Sagamore pup was following close at his heels until he heardQuarrier's even, colourless voice: "Ferrall, would you be good enough tosend Sagamore to your kennels?"

"Oh--he's your dog! I forgot, " said Siward turning around. 

Quarrier looked at him, pausing a moment. 

"Yes, " he said coldly, "he's my dog. "

For a fraction of a second the two men's eyes encountered; then Siwardglanced at the dog, and turned on his heel with the slightest shrug. And that is all there was to the incident--an anxious, perplexed puppylugged off by a servant, turning, jerking, twisting, resisting, lookingpiteously back as his unwilling feet slid over the polished floor. 

So Siward walked on alone through the long eastern wing to his roomoverlooking the sea. He sat down on the edge of his bed, glancing atthe clothing laid out for him. He felt tired and disinclined for theexertion of undressing. The shades were up; night quicksilvered thewindow-panes so that they were like a dark mirror reflecting hisface. He inspected his darkened features curiously; the blurred andsombre-tinted visage returned the stare. 

"Not a man at all--the shadow of a man, " he said aloud--"with no will, no courage--always putting off the battle, always avoiding conclusions, always skulking. What chance is there for a man like that?"

As one who raises a glass to drink wine and unexpectedly finds water, he shrugged his shoulders disgustedly and got up. A bath followed; hedressed leisurely, and was pacing the room, fussing with his collar, when Ferrall knocked and entered, finding a seat on the bed. 

"Stephen, " he said bluntly, "I haven't seen you since that break ofyours at the club. "

"Rotten, wasn't it?" commented Siward, tying his tie. 

"Perfectly. Of course it doesn't make any difference to Grace or to me, but I fancy you've already heard from it. "

"Oh, yes. All I care about is how my mother took it. "

"Of course; she was cut up I suppose?"

"Yes, you know how she would look at a thing of that sort; not that anyof the nine and seventy jarring sets would care, but those few thousandsinvading the edges, butting in--half or three-quarters inside--are thepeople who can't afford to overlook the victim of a fashionable club'sdispleasure--those, and a woman like my mother, and several otherdecent-minded people who happen to count in town. "

Ferrall, his legs swinging busily, thought again; then: "Who was thegirl, Stephen?"

"I don't think the papers mentioned her name, " said Siward gravely. 

"Oh--I beg your pardon; I thought she was some notoriousactress--everybody said so. … Who were those callow fools who put youup to it? … Never mind if you don't care to tell. But it strikes me theyare candidates for club discipline as well as you. It was up to them toface the governors I think--"

"No, I think not. "

Ferrall, legs swinging busily, considered him. 

"Too bad, " he mused; "they need not have dropped you--"

"Oh, they had to. But as long as the Lenox takes no action I can livethat down. "

Ferrall nodded: "I came in to say something--a message fromGrace--confound it! what was it? Oh--could you--before dinner--now--justsit down and with that infernal facility of yours make a sketch of a manchasing a gun-shy dog?"

"Why yes--if Mrs. Ferrall wishes--"

He walked over to the desk in his shirt-sleeves, sat down, drew a blanksheet of paper toward him, and, dipping his pen, drew carelessly agun-shy setter dog rushing frantically across the stubble, and afterhim, bare-headed, gun in hand, the maddest of men. 

"Put a Vandyke beard on him, " grinned Ferrall over his shoulder. "There!O Lord! but you have hit it! Put a ticked saddle on the cur--there!"

"Who is this supposed to be?" began Siward, looking up. But "Wait!"chuckled his host, seizing the still wet sketch, and made for the door. 

Siward strolled into the bath-room, washed a spot or two of ink fromhis fingers, returned and buttoned his waistcoat, then, completing anunhurried toilet, went out and down the stairway to the big living-room. There were two or three people there--Mrs. Leroy Mortimer, very fetchingwith her Japanese-like colouring, black hair and eyes that slanted justenough; Rena Bonnesdel, smooth, violet-eyed, blonde, and rather stunningin a peculiarly innocent way; Miss Caithness, very pale and slimlyattractive; and the Page boys, Willis and Gordon, delightfully shy andinterested, and having a splendid time with any woman who could affordthe intellectual leisure. 

Siward spoke pleasantly to them all. Other people drifted down--MarionPage who looked like a school-marm and rode like a demon; EileenShannon, pink and white as a thorn blossom, with the deuce to paylurking in her grey eyes; Kathryn Tassel and Mrs. Vendenning whom he didnot know, and finally his hostess Grace Ferrall with her piquant, almost boyish, freckled face and sweet frank eyes and the figure of anadolescent. 

She gave Siward one pretty sun-browned hand and laid the other abovehis, holding it a moment in her light clasp. 

"Stephen! Stephen!" she said under her breath, "it's because I've a fewthings to scold you about that I've asked you to Shotover. "

"I suppose I know, " he said. 

"I should hope you do. I've a letter to-night from your mother. "

"From my mother?"

"I want you to go over it--with me--if we can find a minute afterdinner. " She released his hand, turning partly around: "Kemp, dinner'sbeen announced, so cut that dog story in two! Will you give me your armMajor Belwether? Howard!"--to her cousin, Mr. Quarrier, who turned fromMiss Landis to listen--"will you please try to recollect whom you areto take in--and do it?" And, as she passed Siward, in a low voice, mischievous and slangy: "Sylvia Landis for yours--as she says she didn'thave enough of you on the cliffs. "

The others appeared to know how to pair according to some previousnotice. Siward turned to Sylvia Landis with the pleasure of his goodfortune so plainly visible in his face, that her own brightened inresponse. 

"You see, " she said gaily, "you cannot escape me. There is no use inlooking wildly at Agatha Caithness"--he wasn't--"or pretending you'repleased, " slipping her rounded, bare arm through the arm he offered. "You can't guess what I've done to-night--nobody can guess except GraceFerrall and one other person. And if you try to look happy beside me, I may tell you--somewhere between sherry and cognac--Oh, yes; I've donetwo things: I have your dog for you!"

"Not Sagamore?" he said incredulously as he was seating her. 

"Certainly Sagamore. I said to Mr. Quarrier, 'I want Sagamore, ' and whenhe tried to give him to me, I made him take my cheque. Now you maydraw another for me at your leisure, Mr. Siward. Tell me, are youpleased?"--for she was looking for the troubled hesitation in his faceand she saw it dawning. 

"Mr. Quarrier doesn't like me, you know--"

"But I do, " she said coolly. "I told him how much pleasure it would giveme. That is sufficient--is it not?--for everybody concerned. "

"He knew that you meant to--"

"No, that concerns only you and me. Are you trying to spoil my pleasurein what I have done?"

"I can't take the dog, Miss Landis--"

"Oh, " she said, vexed; "I had no idea you were vindictive--"

There was a silence; he bent forward a trifle, gravely scrutinising a"hand-painted" name card, though it might not have astonished him tolearn that somebody's foot had held the brush. Somewhere in the vicinityGrace Ferrall had discovered a woman who supported dozens of relativesby painting that sort of thing for the summer residents at VermillionPoint down the coast. So being charitable she left an order, and beingthrifty, insisted on using the cards, spite of her husband's gibes. 

People were now inspecting them with more or less curiosity; Siwardfound his "hand-painting" so unattractive that he had just tipped itover to avoid seeing it, when a burst of laughter from Lord Alderdenemade everybody turn. Mrs. Vendenning was laughing; so was Rena Bonnesdellooking over Quarrier's shoulder at a card he was holding--not one ofthe "hand"-decorated, but a sheet of note-paper containing a drawing ofa man rushing after a gun-shy dog. 

The extraordinary cackling laughter of his lordship obliterated othersounds for a while; Rena Bonnesdel possessed herself of the drawing andheld it up amid a shout of laughter. And, to his excessive annoyance, Siward saw that, unconsciously, he had caricatured Quarrier--Ferrall'smalicious request for a Vandyke beard making the caricature dreadfullyapparent. 

Quarrier had at first flushed up; then he forced a smile; but hissymmetrical features were never cordial when he smiled. 

"Who on earth did that?" whispered Sylvia Landis apprehensively. "Mr. Quarrier dislikes that sort of thing--but of course he'll take it well. "

"Did he ever chase his own dog?" asked Siward, biting his lip. 

"Yes--so Blinky says--in the Carolinas last season. It's Blinky!--that'shis notion of humour. Did you ever hear such a laugh? No wonder Mr. Quarrier is annoyed. "

The gay uproar had partly subsided, renewed here and there as the sketchwas passed along, and finally, making the circle, returned like a badpenny to Quarrier. He smiled again, symmetrically, as he received it, nodding his compliments to Alderdene. 

"Oh, no, " cackled his lordship; "I didn't draw it, old chap!"

"Nor I! I only wish I could, " added Captain Voucher. 

"Nor I--nor I--who did it?" ran the chorus along the table. 

"I didn't do it!" said Sylvia gravely, looking across at Quarrier. Andsuddenly Quarrier's large, handsome eyes met Siward's for the briefestfraction of a second, then were averted. But into his face there creptan expressionless pallor that did not escape Siward--no, nor SylviaLandis. 

Presently under cover of a rapid fire of chatter she said: "Did you drawthat?"

"Yes; I had no idea it was meant for him. You may imagine how likely I'dbe to take any liberty with a man who already dislikes me. "

"But it resembles him--in a very dreadful way. "

"I know it. You must take my word for what I have told you. "

She looked up at him: "I do. " Then: "It's a pity; Mr. Quarrier does notconsider such things humourous. He--he is very sensitive. … Oh, I wishthat fool Englishman had been in Ballyhoo!"

"But he didn't do it!"

"No, but he put you up to it--or Grace Ferrall did. I wish Grace wouldlet Mr. Quarrier alone; she has always been perfectly possessed toplague him; she seems unable to take him seriously and he simply hatesit. I don't think he'd tolerate her if she were not his cousin. 

"I'm awfully sorry, " was all Siward said; and for a while he gloomilybusied himself with whatever was brought to him. 

"Don't look that way, " came a low voice beside him. 

"Do I show everything as plainly as that?" he asked, curiously. 

"I seem to read you--sometimes. "

"It's very nice of you, " he said. 

"Nice?"

"To look at me--now and then. "

"Oh, " she cried resentfully, "don't be grateful. "

"I--really am not you know, " he said laughing. 

"That, " she rejoined slowly, "is the truth. You say conventional thingsin a manner--in an agreeably personal manner that interests women. Butyou are not grateful to anybody for anything; you are indifferent, andyou can't help being nice to people, so--some day--some girl will thinkyou are grateful, and will have a miserable time of it. "

"Miserable time?"

"Waiting for you to say what never will enter your head to say. "

"You mean I--I--"

"Flirt? No, I mean that you don't flirt; that you are always dreamilyoccupied with your own affairs, from which listlessly congenialoccupation, when drawn, you are so unexpectedly nice that a girlimmediately desires to see how nice you can be. "

"What a charming indictment you draw!" he said, amused. 

"It's a grave one I assure you. I've been talking about you to GraceFerrall; I asked to be placed beside you at dinner; I told her I hadn'thad half enough of you on the cliff. Now what do you think of yourselffor being too nice to a susceptible girl? I think it's immoral. "

They both were laughing now; several people glanced at them, smilingin sympathy. Alderdene took that opportunity to revert to the sketch, furnishing a specimen of his own inimitable laughter as a runningaccompaniment to the story of Quarrier and his dog in North Carolina, until he had everybody, as usual, laughing, not at the story but at him. All of which demonstration was bitterly offensive to Quarrier. He turnedhis eyes once on Miss Landis and on Siward, then dropped them. 

The hostess arose; a rustle and flurry of silk and lace and the scrapingof chairs, a lingering word or laugh, and the colour vanished from theroom leaving a circle of men in black standing around the table. 

Here and there a man, lighting a cigarette, bolted his coffee and cognacand strolled out to the gun-room. Ferrall, gesticulating vigorously, resumed his preprandial dog story to Captain Voucher; Belwetherbuttonholed Alderdene and bored him with an interminably facetioustale until that nobleman, threatened with maxillary dislocation, fairlywrenched himself loose and came over to Siward, squinting furiously. 

"Old ass!" he muttered; "his chop whiskers look like the chops of aSouthdown ram--and he's got the wits of one. Look here, Stephen, I hearyou fell into no end of a scrape in town--"

"Tu quoque, Blinky? Oh, read the newspapers and let it go at that!"

"Just as you like old chap!" returned his lordship unabashed. "All Imeant was--anything Voucher and I can do--of course--"

"You're very good. I'm not dead you know. "

"'Not dead, you know', " repeated Major Belwether coming up behind themwith his sprightly step; "that reminds me of a good one--" He sat downand lighted a cigar, then, vainly attempting to control his countenanceas though roguishly anticipating the treat awaiting them, he begananother endless story. 

Tradition had hallowed the popular notion that Major Belwether was awit. The sycophant of the outer world seldom even awaited his first wordbefore bursting into premature mirth. Besides he was very wealthy. 

Siward watched him with mixed emotions; the lambent-eyed, sheepyexpression had given place to the buck rabbit; his smooth baby-pink skinand downy white side whiskers quivered in premature sympathy with hislistener's overwhelming hilarity. 

The Page boys, very callow, very much delighted, and a little in awe ofsuch a celebrated personage, laughed heartily. And altogether there wassufficient attention and sufficient laughter to make a very respectablenoise. This, being the major's cue for an exit, he rose, one sleek handraised in sprightly protest as though to shield the invisible ladies, towhose bournes he was bound, from an uproar too masculine and mighty forthe ears of such a sex. 

"Ass!" muttered Alderdene, getting up and pattering about the room inhis big, shiny pumps. "Give me a peg--somebody!"

Mortimer swallowed his brandy, lingered, lifted the decanter, mechanically considering its remaining contents and his own capacity;then:

"Bridge, Captain?"

"Certainly, " said Captain Voucher briskly. 

"I'll go and shoo the major into the gun-room, " observedFerrall--"unless--" looking questioningly at Siward. 

"I've a date with your wife, " observed that young man, strolling towardthe hall. 

The Page boys, Rena Bonnesdel, and Eileen Shannon were seated at a cardtable together, very much engaged with one another, the sealed packlying neglected on the green cloth, a vast pink box of bon-bons besideit, not neglected. 

O'Hara and Quarrier with Marion Page and Mrs. Mortimer were immersed inthe game, already stony faced and oblivious to outer sounds. 

About the rooms were distributed girls en tête-à-tête, girls eatingbon-bons and watching the cards--among them Sylvia Landis, hands looselyclasped behind her, standing at Quarrier's elbow to observe and profitby an expert performance. 

As Siward strolled in she raised her dainty head for an instant, smiledin silence, and resumed a study of her fiancé's game. 

A moment later, when Quarrier had emerged brilliantly from the mêlée, she looked up again, triumphantly, supposing Siward was lingeringsomewhere waiting to join her. And she was just a trifle surprised anddisappointed to find him nowhere in sight. She had wished him to observethe brilliancy of Mr. Quarrier's game. 

But Siward, outside on the veranda, was saying at that moment to hishostess: "I shall be very glad to read my mother's letter at any timeyou choose. "

"It must be later, Stephen. I'm to cut in when Kemp sends for me. He hasa lot of letters to attend to. … Tell me, what do you think of SylviaLandis?"

"I like her, of course, " he replied pleasantly. 

Grace Ferrall stood thinking a moment: "That sketch you made proved agreat success, didn't it?" And she laughed under her breath. 

"Did it? I thought Mr. Quarrier seemed annoyed--"

"Really? What a muff that cousin of mine is. He's such a muff, you know, that the very sight of his pointed beard and pompadour hair and hiscomplacency sets me in fidgets to stir him up. "

"I don't think you'd best use me for the stick next time, " said Siward. "He's not my cousin you know. "

Mrs. Ferrall shrugged her boyish shoulders: "By the way"--she saidcuriously--"who was that girl?"

"What girl, " he asked coolly, looking at his hostess, now the veryincarnation of delicate mockery with her pretty laughing mouth, herboyish sunburn and freckles. 

"You won't tell me I suppose?"

"I'm sorry--"

"Was she pretty, Stephen?"

"Yes, " he said sulkily; "I wish you wouldn't--"

"Nonsense! Do you think I'm going to let you off without some sort ofconfession? If I had time now--but I haven't. Kemp has business letters:he'll be furious; so I've got to take his cards or we won't have anypennies to buy gasoline for our adored and shrieking Mercedes. "

She retreated backward with a gay nod of malice, turned to enter thehouse, and met Sylvia Landis face to face in the hallway. 

"You minx!" she whispered; "aren't you ashamed?"

"Very much, dear. What for?" And catching sight of Siward outside in thestarlight, divined perhaps something of her hostess' meaning, for shelaughed uneasily, like a child who winces under a stern eye. 

"You don't suppose for a moment, " she began, "that I have--"

"Yes I do. You always do. "

"Not with that sort of man, " she returned naïvely; "he won't. "

Mrs. Ferrall regarded her suspiciously: "You always pick out exactly thewrong man to play with--"

They had moved back side by side into the hall, the hostess' arm linkedin the arm of the younger girl. 

"The wrong man?" repeated Sylvia, instinctively freeing her arm, herstraight brows beginning to bend inward. 

"I didn't mean that--exactly. You know how much I care for hismother--and for him. " The obstinate downward trend of the brows, thenarrowing blue gaze signalled mutiny to the woman who knew her so well. 

"What is so wrong with Mr. Siward?" she asked. 

"Nothing. There was an affair--"

"This spring in town. I know it. Is that all?"

"Yes--for the present, " replied Grace Ferrall uncomfortably; then: "Forgoodness' sake, Sylvia, don't cross examine me that way! I care a greatdeal for that boy--"

"So do I. I've made him take my dog. "

There was an abrupt pause, and presently Mrs. Ferrall began to laugh. 

"I mean it--really, " said Sylvia quietly; "I like him immensely. "

"Dearest, you mean it generously--with your usual exaggeration. You haveheard that he has been foolish, and because he's so young, so likable, every instinct, every impulse in you is aroused to--to be nice to him--"

"And if that were--"

"There is no harm, dear--" Mrs. Ferrall hesitated, her grey eyessoftening to a graver revery. Then looking up: "It's rather pathetic, "she said in a low voice. "Kemp thinks he's foredoomed--like all theSiwards. It's an hereditary failing with him, --no, it's hereditarydamnation. Siward after Siward, generation after generation you know--"She bit her lip, thinking a moment. "His grandfather was a friend ofmy grand-parents, brilliant, handsome, generous, and--doomed! His ownfather was found dying in a dreadful resort in London where he hadwandered when stupefied--a Siward! Think of it! So you see what thatoutbreak of Stephen's means to those whose families have been NewYorkers since New York was. It is ominous, it is more than ominous--itmeans that the master-vice has seized on one more Siward. But I shallnever, never admit it to his mother. "

The younger girl sat wide-eyed, silent; the elder's gaze was upon her, but her thoughts, remote, centred on the hapless mother of such a son. 

"Such indulgence was once fashionable; moderation is the presentfashion. Perhaps he will fall into line, " said Mrs. Ferrallthoughtfully. "The main thing is to keep him among people, not todrop him. The gregarious may be shamed, but if anything, any incident, happens to drive him outside by himself, if he should become solitary, there's not a chance in the world for him. … It's a pity. I know hemeant to make himself the exception to the rule--and look! Already onecarouse of his has landed him in the daily papers!"

Sylvia flushed and looked up: "Grace, may I ask you a plain question?"

"Yes, child, " she answered absently. 

"Has it occurred to you that what you have said about this boy touchesme very closely?"

Mrs. Ferrall's wits returned nimbly from woolgathering, and she shot astartled, inquiring glance at the girl beside her. 

"You--you mean the matter of heredity, Sylvia?"

"Yes. I think my uncle Major Belwether chose you as his augustmouthpiece for that little sermon on the dangers of heredity--the dangerof being ignorant concerning what women of my race had done--before Icame into the world they found so amusing. "

"I told you several things, " returned Mrs. Ferrall composedly. "Youruncle thought it best for you to know. "

"Yes. The marriage vows sat lightly upon some of my ancestors, I gather. In fact, " she added coolly, "where the women of my race loved theyusually found the way--rather unconventionally. There was, if Iunderstood you, enough of divorce, of general indiscretion andirregularity to seriously complicate any family tree and coat of arms Imight care to claim--"

"Sylvia!"

The girl lifted her pretty bare shoulders. "I'm sorry, but could I helpit? Very well; all I can do is to prove a decent exception. Very well;I'm doing it, am I not?--practically scared into the first solidlysuitable marriage offered--seizing the unfortunate Howard with bothhands for fear he'd get away and leave me alone with only a queerfamily record for company! Very well! Now then, I want to ask you whyeverybody, in my case, didn't go about with sanctimonious faces anddolorous mien repeating: 'Her grand-mother eloped! Her mother ran away. Poor child, she's doomed! doomed!'"

"Sylvia, I--"

"Yes--why didn't they? That's the way they talk about that boy outthere!" She swept a rounded arm toward the veranda. 

"Yes, but he has already broken loose, while you--"

"So did I--nearly! Had it not been for you, you know well enough I mighthave run away with that dreadful Englishman at Newport! For I adoredhim--I did! I did! and you know it. And look at my endless escapes fromcompromising myself! Can you count them?--all those indiscretions whenmere living seemed to intoxicate me that first winter--and only my uncleand you to break me in!"

"In other words, " said Mrs. Ferrall slowly, "you don't think Mr. Siwardis getting what is known as a square deal?"

"No, I don't. Major Belwether has already hinted--no, not even that--buthas somehow managed to dampen my pleasure in Mr. Siward. "

Mrs. Ferrall considered the girl beside her--now very lovely and flushedin her suppressed excitement. 

"After all, " she said, "you are going to marry somebody else. So whybecome quite so animated about a man you may never again see?"

"I shall see him if I desire to!"

"Oh!"

"I am not taking the black veil, am I?" asked the girl hotly. 

"Only the wedding veil, dear. But after all your husband ought to havesomething to suggest concerning a common visiting list--"

"He may suggest--certainly. In the meantime I shall be loyal to my ownfriends--and afterward, too, " she murmured to herself, as her hostessrose, calmly dropping care like a mantle from her shoulders. 

"Go and be good to this poor young man then; I adore rows--and you'llhave a few on your hands I'll warrant. Let me remind you that your unclecan make it unpleasant for you yet, and that your amiable fiancé has awill of his own under his pompadour and silky beard. "

"What a pity to have it clash with mine, " said the girl serenely. 

Mrs. Ferrall looked at her: "Mercy on us! Howard's pompadour would stickup straight with horror if he could hear you! Don't be silly; don't foran impulse, for a caprice, break off anything desirable on account ofa man for whom you really care nothing--whose amiable exterior andprospective misfortune merely enlist a very natural and generoussympathy in you. "

"Do you suppose that I shall endure interference from anybody?--from myuncle, from Howard?"

"Dear, you are making a mountain out of a mole-hill. Don't be emotional;don't let loose impulses that you and I know about, knew about in ourschool years, know all about now, and which you and I have decided mustbe eliminated--"

"You mean subdued; they'll always be there. "

"Very well; who cares, as long as you have them in leash?"

Looking at one another, the excited colour cooling in the younger girl'scheeks, they laughed, one with relief, the other a little ashamed. 

"Kemp will be furious; I simply must cut in!" said Mrs. Ferrall, hastilyturning toward the gun-room. Miss Landis looked after her, subdued, vaguely repentant, the consciousness dawning upon her that she hadprobably made considerable conversation about nothing. 

"It's been so all day, " she thought impatiently; "I've exaggerated; I'veworked up a scene about a man whose habits are not the slightest concernof mine. Besides that I've neglected Howard shamefully!" She was walkingslowly, her thoughts outstripping her errant feet, but it seemed thatneither her thoughts nor her steps were leading her toward the neglectedgentleman within; for presently she found herself at the breezy verandadoor, looking rather fixedly at the stars. 

The stars, shining impartially upon the just and the unjust, illuminatedthe person of Siward, who sat alone, rather limply, one knee crossedabove the other. He looked up by chance, and, seeing her star-gazing inthe doorway, straightened out and rose to his feet. 

Aware of him apparently for the first time, she stepped across thethreshold meeting his advance half-way. 

"Would you care to go down to the rocks?" he asked. "The surf isterrific. "

"No--I don't think I care--"

They stood listening a moment to the stupendous roar. 

"A storm somewhere at sea, " he concluded. 

"Is it very fine--the surf?"

"Very fine--and very relentless--" he laughed; "it is an unfriendlycreature, the sea, you know. "

She had begun to move toward the cliffs, he fell into step beside her;they spoke little, a word now and then. 

The perfume of the mounting sea saturated the night with wild fragrance;dew lay heavy on the lawns; she lifted her skirts enough to clear thegrass, heedless that her silk-shod feet were now soaking. Then at thecliffs' edge, as she looked down into the white fury of the surf, thestunning crash of the ocean saluted her. 

For a long while they watched in silence; once she leaned a trifletoo far over the star-lit gulf and, recoiling, involuntarily steadiedherself on his arm. 

"I suppose, " she said, "no swimmer could endure that battering. "

"Not long. "

"Would there be no chance?"

"Not one. "

She bent farther outward, fascinated, stirred, by the splendid frenzy ofthe breakers. 

"I--think--, " he began quietly; then a firm hand fell over her lefthand; and, half encircled by his arm she found herself drawn back. Neither spoke; two things she was coolly aware of, that, urged, drawn bysomething subtly irresistible she had leaned too far out from the cliff, and would have leaned farther had he not taken matters into his ownkeeping without apology. Another thing; the pressure of his hand overhers remained a sensation still--a strong, steady, masterful imprintlacking hesitation or vacillation. She was as conscious of it as thoughher hand still tightened under his--and she was conscious, too, thatnothing of his touch had offended; that there had arisen in her notremor of instinctive recoil. For never before had she touched orsuffered a touch from a man, even a gloved greeting, that had not insome measure subtly repelled her, nor, for that matter, a caress from awoman without a reaction of faint discomfort. 

"Was I in any actual danger?" she asked curiously. 

"I think not. But it was too much responsibility for me. "

"I see. Any time I wish to break my neck I am to please do it alone infuture. "

"Exactly--if you don't mind, " he said smiling. 

They turned, shoulder to shoulder, walking back through the drenchedherbage. 

"That, " she said impulsively, "is not what I said a few moments ago to awoman. "

"What did you say a few moments ago to a woman?"

"I said, Mr. Siward, that I would not leave a--a certain man to go tothe devil alone!"

"Do you know any man who is going to the devil?"

"Do you?" she asked, letting herself go swinging out upon a tide ofintimacy she had never dreamed of risking--nor had she the slightestidea whither the current would carry her. 

They had stopped on the lawn, ankle deep in wet grass, the starsoverhead sparkling magnificently, and in their ears the outcrash of thesea. 

"You mean me, " he concluded. 

"Do I?"

He looked up into the lovely face; her eyes were very sweet, veryclear--clear with excitement--but very friendly. 

"Let us sit here on the steps a little while, will you?" she asked. 

So he found a place beside her, one step lower, and she leaned forward, elbows on knees, rounded white chin in her palms, the starlight givingher bare arms and shoulders a marble lustre and tinting her eyes adeeper amethyst. 

And now, innocently untethered, mission and all, she laid her heartquite bare--one chapter of it. And, like other women-errant who believein the influence of their sex individually and collectively, she beganwrong by telling him of her engagement--perhaps to emphasise her puredisinterestedness in a crusade for principle only. Which naturallydampened in him any nascent enthusiasm for being ministered to, and sopreoccupied him that he turned deaf ears to some very sweet platitudeswhich might otherwise have impressed him as discoveries in philosophy. 

Officially her creed was the fashionable one in town; privately she hadher own religion, lacking some details truly enough, but shaped uponyouthful notions of right and wrong. As she had not read very widely, she supposed that she had discovered this religion for herself; she wasnot aware that everybody else had passed that way--it being the firstimmature moult in young people after rejecting dogma. 

And the ripened fruit of all this philosophy she helpfully dispensed forSiward's benefit as bearing directly on his case. 

Had he not been immersed in the unexpected proposition of her impendingmatrimony, he might have been impressed, for the spell of her beautycounted something, and besides, he had recently formulated for himselfa code of ethics, tinctured with Omar, and slightly resembling her owndiscoveries in that dog-eared science. 

So it was, when she was most eloquent, most earnestly inspired--nay inthe very middle of a plea for sweetness and light and simple living, that his reasonings found voice in the material comment:

"I never imagined you were engaged!"

"Is that what you have been thinking about?" she asked, innocentlyastonished. 

"Yes. Why not? I never for one instant supposed--"

"But, Mr. Siward, why should you have concerned yourself with supposinganything? Why indulge in any speculation of that sort about me?"

"I don't know, but I didn't, " he said. 

"Of course you didn't; you'd known me for about three hours--there onthe cliff--"

"But--Quarrier--!"

Over his youthful face a sullen shadow had fallen--flickering, not yetsettled. He would not for anything on earth have talked freely to thewoman destined to be Quarrier's wife. He had talked too much anyway. Something in her, something about her had loosened his tongue. He hadmade a plain ass of himself--that was all, --a garrulous ass. And trulyit seemed that the girl beside him, even in the starlight, could followand divine what he had scarcely expressed to himself; or her instinctshad taken a shorter cut to forestall his own conclusion. 

"Don't think the things you are thinking!" she said in a fierce littlevoice, leaning toward him. 

"What do you mean?" he asked, taken aback. 

"You know! Don't! It is unfair--it is--is faithless--to me. I am yourfriend; why not? Does it make any difference to you whom I marry? Cannottwo people remain in accord anyway? Their friendship concerns each otherand--nobody else!" She was letting herself go now; she was conscious ofit, conscious that impulse and emotion were the currents unloosedand hurrying her onward. And with it all came exhilaration, a faintintoxication, a delicate delight in daring to let go all and trust toimpulse and emotions. 

"Why should you feel hurt because for a moment you let me see--gave mea glimpse of yourself--of life's battle as you foresee it? What ifthere is always a reaction from all confidences exchanged? What if thatmiserable French cynic did say that never was he more alone than afterconfessing to a friend? He died crazy anyhow. Is not a rare moment ofconfidence worth the reaction--the subsidence into the armored shell ofself? Tell me truly, Mr. Siward, isn't it?"

Breathless, confused, exhilarated by her own rapid voice she bent herface, brilliant with colour, and very sweet; and he looked up into it, expectant, uncertain. 

"If such a friendship as ours is to become worth anything to you--to me, why should it trouble you that I know--and am thinking of things thatconcern you? Is it because the confidence is one-sided? Is it becauseyou have given and I have listened and given nothing in return tobalance the account? I do give--interest, deep interest, sympathy if youask it; I give confidence in return--if you desire it!"

"What can a girl like you need of sympathy?" he said smiling. 

"You don't know! you don't know! If heredity is a dark vista, and ifyou must stare through it all your life, sword in hand, always on yourguard, do you think you are the only one?"

"Are you--one?" he said incredulously. 

"Yes"--with an involuntary shudder--"not that way. It is easier for me;I think it is--I know it is. But there are things to combat--impulses, a recklessness, perhaps something almost ruthless. What else I do notknow, for I have never experienced violent emotions of any sort--nevereven deep emotion. "

"You are in love!"

"Yes, thoroughly, " she added with conviction, "but not violently. I--"she hesitated, stopped short, leaning forward, peering at him throughthe dusk; and: "Mr. Siward! are you laughing?" She rose and he stood upinstantly. 

There was lightning in her darkening eyes now; in his something thatglimmered and danced. She watched it, fascinated, then of a sudden thestorm broke and they were both laughing convulsively, face to face thereunder the stars. 

"Mr. Siward, " she breathed, "I don't know what I am laughing at; do you?Is it at you? At myself? At my poor philosophy in shreds and tatters? Isit some infernal mirth that you seem to be able to kindle in me--for Inever knew a man like you before?"

"You don't know what you were laughing at?" he repeated. "It wassomething about love--"

"No I don't know why I laughed! I--I don't wish to, Mr. Siward. I donot desire to laugh at anything you have made me say--anything you mayinfer--"

"I don't infer--"

"You do! You made me say something--about my being ignorant of deep, of violent emotion, when I had just informed you that I am thoroughly, thoroughly in love--"

"Did I make you say all that, Miss Landis?"

"You did. Then you laughed and made me laugh too. Then you--"

"What did I do then?" he asked, far too humbly. 

"You--you infer that I am either not in love or incapable of it, or tooignorant of it to know what I'm talking about. That, Mr. Siward, is whatyou have done to me to-night. "

"I--I'm sorry--"

"Are you?"

"I ought to be anyway, " he said. 

It was unfortunate; an utterly inexcusable laughter seemed to bewitchthem, hovering always close to his lips and hers. 

"How can you laugh!" she said. "How dare you! I don't care for younearly as violently as I did, Mr. Siward. A friendship between us wouldnot be at all good for me. Things pass too swiftly--too intimately. There is too much mockery in you--" She ceased suddenly, watchingthe sombre alteration of his face; and, "Have I hurt you?" she askedpenitently. 

"No. "

"Have I, Mr. Siward? I did not mean it. " The attitude, the words, slackening to a trailing sweetness, and then the moment's silence, stirred him. 

"I'm rather ignorant myself of violent emotion, " he said. "I suspectnormal people are. You know better than I do whether love is usually asedative. "

"Am I normal--after what I have confessed?" she asked. "Can't love bewell-bred?"

"Perfectly I should say--only perhaps you are not an expert--"

"In what?"

"In self-analysis, for example. "

There was a vague meaning in the gaze they exchanged. 

"As for our friendship, we'll do the best we can for it, no matter whatoccurs, " he added, thinking of Quarrier. And, thinking of him, glancedup to see him within ear-shot and moving straight toward them from theveranda above. 

There was a short silence; a tentative civil word from Siward; then MissLandis took command of something that had a grotesque resemblance to asituation. A few minutes later they returned slowly to the house, thegirl walking serenely between Siward and her preoccupied affianced. 

"If your shoes are as wet as my skirts and slippers you had betterchange, Mr. Siward, " she said, pausing at the foot of the staircase. 

So he took his congé, leaving her standing there with Quarrier, andmounted to his room. 

In the corridor he passed Ferrall, who had finished his businesscorrespondence and was returning to the card-room. 

"Here's a letter that Grace wants you to see, " he said. "Read it beforeyou turn in, Stephen. "

"All right; but I'll be down later, " replied Siward passing on, theletter in his hand. Entering his room he kicked off his wet pumps andfound dry ones. Then moved about, whistling a gay air from some recentvaudeville, busy with rough towels and silken foot-gear, until, reshodand dry, he was ready to descend once more. 

The encounter, the suddenly informal acquaintance with this young girlhad stirred him agreeably, leaving a slight exhilaration. Even herengagement to Quarrier added a tinge of malice to his interest. Besideshe was young enough to feel the flattery of her concern for him--ofher rebuke, of her imprudence, her generous emotional and childishphilosophy. 

Perhaps, as like recognises like, he recognised in her the instincts ofthe born drifter, momentarily at anchor--the temporary inertia of theopportunist, the latent capacity of an unformed character for all thingsand anything. Add to these her few years, her beauty, and thewholesome ignorance so confidently acknowledged, what man could remainunconcerned, uninterested in the development of such possibilities? NotSiward, amused by her sagacious and impulsive prudence, worldliness, andinnocence in accepting Quarrier; and touched by her profitless, frank, and unworldly friendliness for himself. 

Not that he objected to her marrying Quarrier; he rather admired her forbeing able to do it, considering the general scramble for Quarrier. Butlet that take care of itself; meanwhile, their sudden and capriciousintimacy had aroused him from the morbid reaction consequent upon thecheap notoriety which he had brought upon himself. Let him sponge hisslate clean and begin again a better record, flattered by the solicitudeshe had so prettily displayed. 

Whistling under his breath the same gay, empty melody, he opened the topdrawer of his dresser, dropped in his mother's letter, and locking thedrawer, pocketed the key. He would have time enough to read the letterwhen he went to bed; he did not just now feel exactly like skimmingthrough the fond, foolish sermon which he knew had been preached at himthrough his mother's favourite missionary, Grace Ferrall. What wasthe use of dragging in the sad old questions again--of repeating hisassurances of good behaviour, of reiterating his promises of moderationand watchfulness, of explaining his own self-confidence? Better that theletter await his bed time--his prayers would be the sincerer the fresherthe impression; for he was old-fashioned enough to say the prayers thatan immature philosophy proved superfluous. For, he thought, if prayer isany use, it takes only a few minutes to be on the safe side. 

So he went down-stairs leisurely, prepared to acquiesce in anysuggestion from anybody, but rather hoping to saunter across SylviaLandis' path before being committed. 

She was standing beside the fire with Quarrier, one foot on the fender, apparently too preoccupied to notice him; so he strolled into thegun-room, which was blue with tobacco smoke and aromatic with thevolatile odours from decanters. 

There were a few women there, and the majority of the men. LordAlderdene, Major Belwether, and Mortimer were at a table by themselves;stacks of ivory chips and five cards spread in the centre of the greenexplained the nature of their game; and Mortimer, raising his heavyinflamed eyes and seeing Siward unoccupied, said wheezily: "Cut out that'widow, ' and give Siward his stack! Anything above two pairs for a jacktriples the ante. Come on, Siward, there's a decent chap!"

So he seated himself for a sacrifice to the blind goddess balanced uponher winged wheel; and the cards ran high--so high that stacks dwindledor toppled within the half-hour, and Mortimer grew redder and redder, and Major Belwether blander and blander, and Alderdene's face wore acontinual nervous snicker, showing every white hound's tooth, and theice in the tall glasses clinked ceaselessly. 

It was late when Quarrier "sat in, " with an expressionlessacknowledgment of Siward's presence, and an emotionless raid uponhis neighbour's resources with the first hand dealt, in which heparticipated without drawing a card. 

And always Siward, eyes on his cards, seemed to see Quarrier before him, his overmanicured fingers caressing his silky beard, the symmetricalpompadour dark and thick as the winter fur on a rat, tufting his smoothblank forehead. 

It was very late when Siward first began to be aware of his increasingdeafness, the difficulty, too, that he had in making people hear, theannoying contempt in Quarrier's woman-like eyes. He felt that he wasmaking a fool of himself, very noiselessly somehow--but with more racketthan he expected when he miscalculated the distance between his hand anda decanter. 

It was time for him to go--unless he chose to ask Quarrier for anexplanation of that sneer which he found distasteful. But there was toomuch noise, too much laughter. 

Besides he had a matter to attend to--the careful perusal of hismother's letter to Mrs. Ferrall. 

Very white, he rose. After an indeterminate interval he found himselfentering his room. 

The letter was in the dresser; several things seemed to fall andbreak, but he got the letter, sank down on the bed's edge and strove toread, --set his teeth grimly, forcing his blurred eyes to a focus. But hecould make nothing of it--nor of his toilet either, nor of Ferrall, whocame in on his way to bed having noticed the electricity still in fullglare over the open transom, and who straightened out matters for thestunned man lying face downward across the bed, his mother's lettercrushed in his nerveless hand. 

CHAPTER IV THE SEASON OPENS

Breakfast at Shotover, except for the luxurious sluggards to whomtrays were sent, was served in the English fashion--any other method orcompromise being impossible. 

Ferrall, reasonable in most things, detested customs exotic, and usuallyhad an Englishman or two about the house to tell them so, being unableto jeer in any language except his own. Which is partly why Alderdeneand Voucher were there. And this British sideboard breakfast was aconcession wrung from him through force of sheer necessity, althoughthe custom had already become practically universal in American countryhouses where guests were entertained. 

But at the British breakfast he drew the line. No army of servants, always in evidence, would he tolerate, either; no highly ornamentedhuman bric-à-brac decorating halls and corners; no exotic pheasantshustled into covert and out again; no fusillade at the wretched, frightened, bewildered aliens dumped by the thousand into unfamiliarcover and driven toward the guns by improvised beaters. 

"We walk up our game or we follow a brace of good dogs in this whiteman's country, " he said with unnecessary emphasis whenever his bad tasteand his wife's absence gave him an opportunity to express to the casualforeigner his personal opinions on field sport. "You'll load your ownguns and you'll use your own legs if you shoot with me; and your dogswill do their own retrieving, too. And if anybody desires a Yankee'sopinion on shooting driven birds from rocking-chairs or potting tamedeer from grand-stands, they can have it right now!"

Usually nobody wanted his further opinion; and sometimes they got itand sometimes not, if his wife was within earshot. Otherwise Ferrallappeared to be a normal man, energetically devoted to his business, hispleasures, his friends, and comfortably in love with his wife. And ifsome considered his vigour in business to be lacking in mercy, thatvigour was always exercised within the law. He never transgressed therules of war, but his headlong energy sometimes landed him close to thedead line. He had already breakfasted, when the earliest risers enteredthe morning room to saunter about the sideboards and investigate thesimmering contents of silver-covered dishes on the warmers. 

The fragrance of coffee was pleasantly perceptible; men in conventionalshooting attire roamed about the room, selected what they cared for, andcarried it to the table. Mrs. Mortimer was there consuming peaches thatmatched her own complexion; Marion Page, always more congruous in fieldcostume and belted jacket than in anything else, and always, like herown hunters, minutely groomed, was preparing a breakfast for her ownconsumption with the leisurely precision characteristic of her whetherin the saddle, on the box, or grassing her brace of any covey that everflushed. 

Captain Voucher and Lord Alderdene discussed prospects between bites, attentive to the monosyllabic opinions of Miss Page. Her twin brothers, Gordon and Willis, shyly consuming oatmeal, listened respectfully andwaited on their sister at the slightest lifting of her thinly archedeyebrows. 

Into this company sauntered Siward, apparently no worse for wear. Foras yet the Enemy had set upon him no proprietary insignia save a ratherbecoming pallor and faint bluish shadows under the eyes. He strolledabout, exchanging amiable greetings, and presently selected a chilledgrape fruit as his breakfast. Opposite him Mortimer, breakfasting uponhis own dreadful bracer of an apple soaked in port, raised his heavyinflamed eyes with a significant leer at the iced grape fruit. For hewas always ready to make room upon his own level for other men; but thewordless grin and the bloodshot welcome were calmly ignored, for as yetthat freemasonry evoked no recognition from the pallid man opposite, whose hands were steady as though that morning's sun had wakened himfrom pleasant dreams. 

"The most difficult shot in the world, " Alderdene was explaining, "is anincoming pheasant, sailing on a slant before a gale. "

"A woodcock in alders doing a jack-snipe twist is worse, " gruntedMortimer, drenching another apple in port. 

"Yes, " said Miss Page tersely. 

"Or a depraved ruffed cock-grouse in the short pines; isn't that thelimit?" asked Mortimer of Siward. 

But Siward only shrugged his comment and glanced out through the leadedcasements into the brilliant September sunshine. 

Outside he could see Major Belwether, pink skinned, snowy chop whiskersbrushed rabbit fashion, very voluble with Sylvia Landis, who listenedabsently, head partly averted. Quarrier in tweeds and gaiters, hismorning cigar delicately balanced in his gloved fingers, strolled nearenough to be within ear-shot; and when Sylvia's inattention to MajorBelwether's observations became marked to the verge of rudeness, he cameforward and spoke. But whatever it was that he said appeared to changeher passive inattention to quiet displeasure, for, as Siward rose fromthe table, he saw her turn on her heel and walk slowly toward a group ofdogs presided over by some kennel men and gamekeepers. 

She was talking to the head gamekeeper when he emerged from the house, but she saw him on the terrace and gave him a bright nod of greeting, soclose to an invitation that he descended the stone steps and crossed thedew-wet lawn. 

"I am asking Dawson to explain just exactly what a 'Shotover Drive'resembles, " she said, turning to include Siward in an animatedconference with the big, scraggy, head keeper. "You know, Mr. Siward, that it is a custom peculiar to Shotover House to open the season withwhat is called a Shotover Drive?"

"I heard Alderdene talking about it, " he said, smilingly inspecting thegirl's attire of khaki with its buttoned pockets, gun pads, and Cossackcartridge loops, and the tan knee-kilts hanging heavily pleated overgaiters and little thick-soled shoes. He had never cared very much tosee women afield, for, in a rare case where there was no affectation, there was something else inborn that he found unpleasant--somethinglacking about a woman who could take life from frightened wild things, something shocking that a woman could look, unmoved, upon a twitching, blood-soiled heap of feathers at her feet. 

Meanwhile Dawson, dog-whip at salute, stood knee deep among his restlesssetters, explaining the ceremony with which Mr. Ferrall ushered in theopening of each shooting season:

"It's our own idee, Miss Landis, " he said proudly; "onc't a season Mr. Ferrall and his guests likes it for a mixed bag. 'Tis a sort of picnic, Miss; the guns is in pairs, sixty yards apart in line, an' the rulesis, walk straight ahead, dogs to heel until first cover is reached; firestraight or to quarter, never blankin' nor wipin' no eyes; and groundgame counts as feathers for the Shotover Cup. "

"Oh! It's a skirmish line that walks straight ahead?" said Siward, nodding. 

"Straight ahead, Sir. No stoppin', no turnin' for hedges, fences, wateror rock. There is boats f'r deep water and fords marked and corduroy f'rto pass the Seven Dreens. Luncheon at one, Miss--an hour's rest--thenstraight on over hill, valley, rock, and river to the rondyvoo atopOsprey Ledge. You'll see the poles and the big nests, Sir. It's therethey score for the cup, and there when the bag is counted, the traps areready to carry you home again. " … And to Siward: "Will you draw for yourlady, Sir? It is the custom. "

"Are you my 'lady'?" he asked, turning to Sylvia. 

"Do you want me?"

In the smiling lustre of her eyes the tiniest spark flashed out athim--a hint of defiance for somebody, perhaps for Major Belwether whohad taken considerable pains to enlighten her as to Siward's conditionthe night before; perhaps also for Quarrier, who had naturally expectedto act as her gun-bearer in emergencies. But the gaily veiled maliceof the one had annoyed her, and the cold assumption of the other hadirritated her, and she had, scarcely knowing why, turned her shoulder toboth of these gentlemen with an indefinite idea of escaping a pressure, amounting almost to critical importunity. 

"I'm probably a poor shot?" she said, looking smilingly, straight intoSiward's eyes. "But if you'll take me--"

"I will with pleasure, " he said; "Dawson, do we draw for position? Verywell then"; and he drew a slip of paper from the box offered by the headkeeper. 

"Number seven!" said Sylvia, looking over his shoulder. "Come out to thestarting line, Mr. Siward. All the positions are marked with golf-discs. What sort of ground have we ahead, Dawson?"

"Kind o' stiff, Miss, " grinned the keeper. "Pity your gentleman ain'tdrawed the meadows an' Sachem Hill line. Will you choose your dog, Sir?"

"You have your dog, you know, " observed Sylvia demurely. And Siward, glancing among the impatient setters, saw one white, heavily feathereddog, straining at his leash, and wagging frantically, brown eyes fixedon him. 

The next moment Sagamore was free, devouring his master with caresses, the girl looking on in smiling silence; and presently, side by side, theman, the girl, and the dog were strolling off to the starting line wherealready people were gathering in groups, selecting dogs, fowling-pieces, comparing numbers, and discussing the merits of their respective linesof advance. 

Ferrall, busily energetic, and in high spirits, greeted them gaily, pointing out the red disc bearing their number, seven, where it stoodout distinctly above the distant scrub of the foreland. 

"You two are certainly up against it!" he said, grinning. "There's onlyone rougher line, and you're in for thorns and water and a scrambleacross the back-bone of the divide!"

"Is it any good?" asked Siward. 

"Good--if you've got the legs and Sylvia doesn't play baby--"

"I?" she said indignantly. "Kemp, you annoy me. And I will bet you now, "she added, flushing, "that your old cup is ours. "

"Wait, " said Siward, laughing, "we may not shoot straight. "

"You will! Kemp, I'll wager whatever you dare!"

"Gloves? Stockings?--against a cigarette case?" he suggested. 

"Done, " she said disdainfully, moving forward along the skirmish linewith a nod and smile for the groups now disintegrating into couples, thePage boys with Eileen Shannon and Rena Bonnesdel, Marion Page followedby Alderdene, Mrs. Vendenning and Major Belwether and the Tassel girlconvoyed by Leroy Mortimer. Farther along the line, taking post, shesaw Quarrier and Miss Caithness, Captain Voucher with Mrs. Mortimer, andothers too distant to recognise, moving across country with glitter andglint of sunlight on slanting gun barrels. 

And now Ferrall was climbing into his saddle beside his pretty wife, whosat her horse like a boy, the white flag lifted high in the sunshine, watching the firing line until the last laggard was in position. 

"All right, Grace!" said Ferrall briskly. Down went the white flag; thefar-ranged line started into motion straight across country, dogs atheel. 

From her saddle Mrs. Ferrall could see the advance, strung out farafield from the dark spots moving along the Fells boundary, to the twocouples traversing the salt meadows to north. Crack! A distant reportcame faintly over the uplands against the wind. 

"Voucher, " observed Ferrall; "probably a snipe. Hark! he's struck themagain, Grace. "

Mrs. Ferrall, watching curiously, saw Siward's gun fly up as two bigdark spots floated up from the marsh and went swinging over his head. Crack! Crack! Down sheered the black spots, tumbling earthward out ofthe sky. 

"Duck, " said Ferrall; "a double for Stephen. Lord Harry! how that mancan shoot! Isn't it a pity that--"

He said no more; his pretty wife astride her thoroughbred sat silent, grey eyes fixed on the distant figures of Sylvia Landis and Siward, nowshoulder deep in the reeds. 

"Was it--very bad last night?" she asked in a low voice. 

Ferrall shrugged. "He was not offensive; he walked steadily enoughup-stairs. When I went into his room he lay on the bed as if he'd beenstruck by lightning. And yet--you see how he is this morning?"

"After a while, " his wife said, "it is going to alter him someday--dreadfully--isn't it, Kemp?"

"You mean--like Mortimer?"

"Yes--only Leroy was always a pig. "

As they turned their horses toward the high-road Mrs. Ferrall said: "Doyou know why Sylvia isn't shooting with Howard?"

"No, " replied her husband indifferently; "do you?"

"No. " She looked out across the sunlit ocean, grave grey eyesbrightening with suppressed mischief. "But I half suspect. "

"What?"

"Oh, all sorts of things, Kemp. "

"What's one of 'em?" asked Ferrall, looking around at her; but his wifeonly laughed. 

"You don't mean she's throwing her flies at Siward--now that you'vehooked Quarrier for her! I thought she'd played him to the gaff--"

"Please don't be coarse, Kemp, " said Mrs. Ferrall, sending her horseforward. Her husband spurred to her side, and without turning her headshe continued: "Of course Sylvia won't be foolish. If they were onlysafely married; but Howard is such a pill--"

"What does Sylvia expect with Howard's millions? A man?"

Grace Ferrall drew bridle. "The curious thing is, Kemp, that she likedhim. "

"Likes him?"

"No, liked him. I saw how it was; she took his silences for intellectualmeditation, his gallery, his library, his smatterings for expressionsof a cultivated personality. Then she remembered how close she came torunning off with that cashiered Englishman, and that scared her intoclutching the substantial in the shape of Howard. … Still, I wish Ihadn't meddled. "

"Meddled how?"

"Oh, I told her to do it. We had talks until daylight. … She may marryhim--I don't know--but if you think any live woman could be contentedwith a muff like that!"

"That's immoral. "

"Kemp, I'm not. She'd be mad not to marry him; but I don't know what I'ddo to a man like that, if I were his wife. And you know what a terrificcapacity for mischief there is in Sylvia. Some day she's going to lovesomebody. And it isn't likely to be Howard. And, oh, Kemp! I do growso tired of that sort of thing. Do you suppose anybody will ever makedecency a fashion?"

"You're doing your best, " said Ferrall, laughing at his wife's pretty, boyish face turned back toward him over her shoulder; "you're presentingyour cousin and his millions to a girl who can dress the part--"

"Don't, Kemp! I don't know why I meddled! … I wish I hadn't--"

"I do. You can't let Howard alone! You're perfectly possessed to plaguehim when he's with you, and now you've arranged for another woman tokeep it up for the rest of his lifetime. What does Sylvia want witha man who possesses the instincts and intellect of a coachman? She isasked everywhere, she has her own money. Why not let her alone? Or is ittoo late?"

"You mean let her make a fool of herself with Stephen Siward? That iswhere she is drifting. "

"Do you think--"

"Yes, I do. She has a perfect genius for selecting the wrong man; andshe's already sorry for this one. I'm sorry for Stephen, too; but it'ssafe for me to be. "

"She might make something of him. "

"You know perfectly well no woman ever did make anything of a doomedman. He'd kill her--I mean it, Kemp! He would literally kill her withgrief. She isn't like Leila Mortimer; she isn't like most girls of hersort. You men think her a rather stunning, highly tempered, unreasonableyoung girl, with a reserve of sufficiently trained intelligence to marrythe best our market offers--and close her eyes;--a thoroughbred with thecaprices of one, but also with the grafted instinct for proper mating. "

"Well, that's all right, isn't it?" asked Ferrall. "That's the way Isize her up. Isn't it correct?"

"Yes, in a way. She has all the expensive training of thethoroughbred--and all the ignorance, too. She is cold-blooded becausewholesome; a trifle sceptical because so absolutely unawakened. Shenever experienced a deep emotion. Impulses have intoxicated her once ortwice--as when she asked my opinion about running off with Cavendish, and that boy and girl escapade with Rivington; nothing at all excepthigh mettle, the innocent daring lurking in all thoroughbreds, and agreat deal of very red blood racing through that superb young body. But, " Ferrall reined in to listen, "but if ever a man awakens her--Idon't care who he is--you'll see a girl you never knew, a brand-newcreature emerge with the last rags and laces of conventionality droppingfrom her; a woman, Kemp, heiress to every generous impulse, everyemotion, every vice, every virtue of all that brilliant race of hers. "

"You seem to know, " he said, amused and curious. 

"I know. Major Belwether told me that he had thought of Howard asan anchor for her. It seemed a pity--Howard with all his cold, heavynegative inertia. … I said I'd do it. I did. And now I don't know; Iwish, almost wish I hadn't. "

"What has changed your ideas?"

"I don't know. Howard is safer than Stephen Siward, already in the firstclutches of his master-vice. Would you mate what she inherits from hermother and her mother's mother, with what is that poor boy's heritagefrom the Siwards?"

"After all, " observed Ferrall dryly, "we're not in the angel-breedingbusiness. "

"We ought to be. Every decent person ought to be. If they were, inherited vice would be as rare in this country as smallpox!"

"People don't inherit smallpox, dear. "

"Never mind! You know what I mean. In our stock farms and kennels, weweed out, destroy, exterminate hereditary weakness in everything. Wepay the greatest attention to the production of all offspring except ourown. Look at Stephen! How dared his parents bring him into the world?Look at Sylvia! And now, suppose they marry!"

"Dearest, " said Ferrall, "my head is a whirl and my wits are spinninglike five toy tops. Your theories are all right; but unless you and Iare prepared to abandon several business enterprises and take to thelecture platform, I'm afraid people are going to be wicked enough tomarry whom they like, and the human race will he run as usual with moneythe favourite, and love a case of 'also-ran. ' … By the way, how daredyou marry me, knowing the sort of demon I am?"

The gathering frown on Mrs. Ferrall's brow faded; she raised her cleargrey eyes and met her husband's gaze, gay, humourous, and with a hint oftenderness--enough to bring the colour into her pretty face. 

"You know I'm right, Kemp. "

"Always, dear. And now that we have the world off our hands for a fewminutes, suppose we gallop?"

But she held her horse to a walk, riding forward, grave, thoughtful, preoccupied with a new problem, only part of which she had told herhusband. 

For that night she had been awakened in her bed to find standing besideher a white, wide-eyed figure, shivering, limbs a-chill beneath herclinging lace. She had taken the pallid visitor to her arms and warmedher and soothed her and whispered to her, murmuring the thousand littlewords and sounds, the breathing magic mothers use with children. And Sylvia lay there, chilled, nerveless, silent, ignorant why hersleeplessness had turned to restlessness, to loneliness, to an awakeningperception of what she lacked and needed and began to desire. For thatsad void, peopled at intervals through her brief years with a vaguemother-phantom, had, in the new crisis of her career, become suddenly anempty desolation, frightening her with her own utter isolation. Fill itnow she could not, now that she needed that ghost of child-comfort, that shadowy refuge, that sweet shape she had fashioned out of dreams tosymbolise a mother she had never known. 

Driven she knew not why, she had crept from her room in search of thestill, warm, fragrant nest and the whispered reassurance and the caressshe had never before endured. Yes, now she craved it, invited it, longed for safe arms around her, the hovering hand on her hair. Was thisSylvia?

And Grace Ferrall, clearing her sleepy eyes, amazed, incredulous of thecold, child-like hands upon her shoulders, caught her in her arms witha little laugh and sob and drew her to her breast, to soothe and caressand reassure, to make up to her all she could of what is every child'sjust heritage. 

And for a long while Sylvia, lying there, told her nothing--becauseshe did not know how--merely a word, a restless question half ashamed, barely enough to shadow forth the something stirring her toward anawakening in a new world, where with new eyes she might catch glimpsesof those dim and splendidly misty visions that float through sunlitsilences when a young girl dreams awake. 

And at length, gravely, innocently, she spoke of her engagement, and theworldly possibilities before her; of the man she was to marry, and hernew and unexpected sense of loneliness in his presence, now that she hadseen him again after months. 

She spoke, presently, of Siward--a fugitive question or two, offeredindifferently at first, then with shy persistence and curiosity, knowingnothing of the senseless form flung face downward across the sheets ina room close by. And thereafter the murmured burden of the theme wasSiward, until one, heavy eyed, turned from the white dawn silvering thewindows, sighed, and fell asleep; and one lay silent, head half buriedin its tangled gold, wide awake, thinking vague thoughts that had noending, no beginning. And at last a rosy bar of light fell across thewall, and the warm shadows faded from corner and curtain; and, turningon the pillow, her face nestled in her hair, she fell asleep. 

Nothing of this had Mrs. Ferrall told her husband. 

For the first time in her life had Sylvia suffered the caresses mostwomen invite or naturally lavish; for the first time had she attemptedconfidences, failing because she did not know how, but curiouslycontented with the older woman's arms around her. 

There was a change in Sylvia, a great change stealing in upon her as shelay there, breathing like a child, flushed lips scarcely parted. Throughthe early slanting sunlight the elder woman, leaning on one arm, lookeddown at her, grey eyes very grave and tender--wise, sweet eyes thatdivined with their pure clairvoyance all that might happen or might failto come to pass in this great change stealing over Sylvia. 

Nothing of this could her husband understand had she words to convey it. There was nothing he need understand except that his wife, meaning well, had meddled and regretted. 

And now, turning in her saddle with a pretty gesture of her shoulders:

"I meddle no more! Those who need me may come to me. Now laugh at mytardy wisdom, Kemp!"

"It's no laughing matter, " he said, "if you're going to stand back andlet this abandoned world spin itself madly to the bow-wows--"

"Don't be horrid. I repent. The mischief take Howard Quarrier!"

"Amen! Come on, Grace. "

She gathered bridle. "Do you suppose Stephen Siward is going to maketrouble?"

"How can he unless she helps him? Nonsense! All's well with Siward andSylvia. Shall we gallop?"

All was very well with Siward and Sylvia. They had passed therabbit-brier country scathless, with two black mallard, a jack-snipe, and a rabbit to the credit of their score, and were now advancingthrough that dimly lit enchanted land of tall grey alders where, in thesudden twilight of the leaves, woodcock after woodcock fluttered upwardtwittering, only to stop and drop, transformed at the vicious crack ofSiward's gun to fluffy balls of feather whirling earthward from mid-air. 

Sagamore came galloping back with a soft, unsoiled mass of chestnut andbrown feathers in his mouth. Siward took the dead cock, passed it backto the keeper who followed them, patted the beautiful eager dog andsignalled him forward once more. 

"You should have fired that time, " he said to Sylvia--"that is, if youcare to kill anything. "

"But I don't seem to be able to, " she said. "It isn't a bitlike shooting at clay targets. The twittering whirr takes me bysurprise--it's all so charmingly sudden--and my heart seems to stop inone beat, and I look and look and then--whisk! the woodcock is gone, leaving me breathless--"

Her voice ceased; the white setter, cutting up his ground ahead, hadstopped, rigid, one leg raised, jaws quivering and locking alternately. 

"Isn't that a stunning picture!" said Siward in a low voice. "What abeauty he is--like a statue in white and blue-veined marble. You maytalk, Miss Landis; woodcock don't flush at the sound of the human voiceas grouse do. "

"See his brown eyes roll back at us! He wonders why we don't dosomething!" whispered the girl. "Look, Mr. Siward! Now his head ismoving--oh so gradually to the left!"

"The bird is moving on the ground, " nodded Siward; "now the bird hasstopped. "

"I do wish I could see a woodcock on the ground, " she breathed. "Do youthink we might by any chance?"

Siward noiselessly sank to his knees and crouched, keen eyes minutelybusy among the shadowy browns and greys of wet earth and withered leaf. And after a while, cautiously, he signalled the girl to kneel besidehim, and stretched out one arm, forefinger extended. 

"Sight straight along my arm, " he said, "as though it were a riflebarrel. "

Her soft cheek rested against his shoulder; a stray strand of shininghair brushing his face. 

"Under that bunch of fern, " he whispered; "just the colour of the deadleaves. Do you see? … Don't you see that big woodcock squatted flat, bill pointed straight out and resting on the leaves?"

After a long while she saw, suddenly, and an exquisite little shocktightened her fingers on Siward's extended arm. 

"Oh, the feathered miracle!" she whispered; "the wonder of itscleverness to hide like that! You look and look and stare, seeing it allthe while and not knowing that you see it. Then in a flash it is there, motionless, a brown-shaped shadow among shadows. … The dear littlething! … Mr. Siward, do you think--are you going to--"

"No, I won't shoot it. "

"Thank you. … Might I sit here a moment to watch it?"

She seated herself soundlessly among the dead leaves; he sank into placebeside her, laying his gun aside. 

"Rather rough on the dog, " he said with a grimace. 

"I know. It is very good of you, Mr. Siward to do this for my pleasure. Oh--h! Do you see! Oh, the little beauty!"

The woodcock had risen, plumage puffed out, strutting with wings bowedand tail spread, facing the dog. The sudden pigmy defiance thrilled her. "Brave! Brave!" she exclaimed, enraptured; but at the sound of her voicethe bird crouched like a flash, large dark liquid eyes shining, longbill pointed straight toward them. 

"He'll fly the way his bill points, " said Siward. "Watch!"

He rose; she sprang lightly to her feet; there came a whirring flutter, a twittering shower of sweet notes, soft wings beating almost in theirvery faces, a distant shadow against the sky, and the woodcock was gone. 

Quieting the astounded dog, gun cradled in the hollow of his left arm, he turned to the girl beside him: "That sort of thing wins no cups, " hesaid. 

"It wins something else, Mr. Siward, --my very warm regard for you. "

"There is no choice between that and the Shotover Cup, " he admitted, considering her. 

"I--do you mean it?"

"Of course I do, vigorously!"

"Then you are much nicer than I thought you. … And after all, if theprice of a cup is the life of that brave little bird, I had rather shootclay pigeons. Now you will scorn me I suppose. Begin!"

"My ideal woman has never been a life-taker, " he said coolly. "Once, when I was a boy, there was a girl--very lovely--my first sweetheart. Isaw her at the traps once, just after she had killed her seventh pigeonstraight, 'pulling it down' from overhead, you know--very clever--thelittle thing was breathing on the grass, and it made sounds--" Heshrugged and walked on. "She killed her twenty-first bird straight; itwas a handsome cup, too. "

And after a silence, "So you didn't love her any more, Mr. Siward?"--mockingly sweet. 

They laughed, and at the sound of laughter the tall-stemmed aldersechoed with the rushing roar of a cock-grouse thundering skyward. Crack!Crack! Whirling over and over through a cloud of floating feathers, aheavy weight struck the springy earth. There lay the big mottled bird, splendid silky ruffs spread, dead eyes closing, a single tiny crimsonbead twinkling like a ruby on the gaping beak. 

"Dead!" said Siward to the dog who had dropped to shot; "Fetch!" And, signalling the boy behind, he relieved the dog of his burden and tossedthe dead weight of ruffled plumage toward him. Then he broke his gun, and, as the empty shells flew rattling backward, slipped in freshcartridges, locked the barrels, and walked forward, the flush ofexcitement still staining his sunburnt face. 

"You deal death mercifully, " said the girl in a low voice. "I wonderwhat your ci-devant sweetheart would think of you. "

"A bungler had better stick to the traps, " he assented, ignoring thebadinage. 

"I am wondering, " she said thoughtfully, "what I think of men who kill. "

He turned sharply, hesitated, shrugged. "Wild things' lives are brief atbest--fox or flying-tick, wet nests or mink, owl, hawk, weasel orman. But the death man deals is the most merciful. Besides, " he added, laughing, "ours is not a case of sweethearts. "

"My argument is purely in the abstract, Mr. Siward. I am asking youwhether the death men deal is more justifiable than a woman's gift ofdeath?"

"Oh, well, life-taking, the giving of life--there can be only one answerto the mystery; and I don't know it, " he replied smiling. 

"I do. "

"Tell me then, " he said, still amused. 

They had passed swale after swale of silver birches waist deep inperfumed fern and brake; the big timber lay before them. She movedforward, light gun swung easily across her leather-padded shoulder; andon the wood's sunny edge she seated herself, straight young back againsta giant pine, gun balanced across her flattened knees. 

"You are feeling the pace a little, " he said, coming up and standing infront of her. 

"The pace? No, Mr. Siward. "

"Are you a trifle--bored?" She considered him in silence, then leanedback luxuriously, rounded arms raised, wrists crossed to pillow herhead. 

"This is charmingly new to me, " she said simply. 

"What? Not the open?"

"No; I have camped and done the usual roughing it with only three guidesapiece and the champagne inadequately chilled. I have endured that sortof hardship several times, Mr. Siward. … What is that furry hunch upthere in that tall thin tree?"

"A raccoon, " he said presently. "Can you see the foxy head peeping soslyly down at us? Look at Sagamore nosing the air in that droll blindmole-like way. He knows there's something furry up aloft somewhere; andhe knows it's none of his business. "

They watched the motionless ball of fur in the crotch of a slim forestelm. Presently it uncurled, cautiously; a fluffy ringed tail unfolded;the rounded furry back humped up, and the animal, moving slowly into thetangent foliage of an enormous oak, vanished amid bronzing leafy depths. 

In the silence the birds began to reappear. A jay screamed somewheredeep in the yellowing woods; black-capped chickadees dropped from twigto twig, cheeping inquiringly. 

She sat listening, bright head pillowed in her arms, idly attentive tohis low running comment on beast and bird and tree, on forest stillnessand forest sounds, on life and the wild laws of life and death governingthe great out-world 'twixt sky and earth. Sunlight and shadows moving, speech and silence, waxed and waned. A listless contentment lay warmupon her, weighting the heavy white lids. The blue of her eyes was verydark now--almost purple like the colour of the sea when the wind-flawsturn the blue to violet. 

"Did you ever hear of the 'Lesser Children'?" she asked. "Listen then:

 "'Multitudes, multitudes, under the moon they stirred! The weakerbrothers of our earthly breed; All came about my head and at my feet A thousand thousand sweet, With starry eyes not even raised to plead: Bewildered, driven, hiding, fluttering, mute! And I beheld and saw them one by one Pass, and become as nothing in the night. '

"Do you know what it means?

 "'Winged mysteries of song that from the sky Once dashed long music down--'

"Do you understand?" she asked, smiling. 

 "'Who has not seen in the high gulf of light What, lower, was a bird!'"

She ceased, and, raising her eyes to his: "Do you know that plea formercy on the lesser children who die all day to-day because the seasonopens for your pleasure, Mr. Siward?"

"Is it a woodland sermon?" he inquired, too politely. 

"The poem? No; it is the case for the prosecution. The prisoner maydefend himself if he can. "

"The defence rests, " he said. "The prisoner moves that he bedischarged. "

"Motion denied, " she interrupted promptly. 

Somewhere in the woodland world the crows were holding a noisy session, and she told him that was the jury debating the degree of his guilt. 

"Because you're guilty of course, " she continued. "I wonder what yoursentence is to be?"

"I'll leave it to you, " he suggested lazily. 

"Suppose I sentenced you to slay no more?"

"Oh, I'd appeal--"

"No use; I am the tribunal of last resort. "

"Then I throw myself upon the mercy of the court. "

"You do well, Mr. Siward. This court is very merciful. … How much do youcare for bird murder? Very much? Is there anything you care for more?Yes? And could this court grant it to you in compensation?"

He said, deliberately, roused by the level challenge of her gaze:"The court is incompetent to compensate the prisoner or offer anycompromise. "

"Why, Mr. Siward?"

"Because the court herself is already compromised in her futureengagements. "

"But what has my--engagement to do with--"

"You offered compensation for depriving me of my shooting. There couldbe only one adequate compensation. "

"And that?" she asked, coolly enough. 

"Your continual companionship. "

"But you have it, Mr. Siward--"

"I have it for a day. The season lasts three months you know. "

"And you and I are to play a continuous vaudeville for three months? Isthat your offer?"

"Partly. "

"Then one day with me is not worth those many days of murder?" she askedin pretended astonishment. 

"Ask yourself why those many days would be doubly empty, " he said soseriously that the pointless game began to confuse her. 

"Then"--she turned lightly from uncertain ground--"then perhaps we hadbetter be about that matter of the cup you prize so highly. Are youready, Mr. Siward? There is much to be killed yet--including time, youknow. "

But the hinted sweetness of the challenge had aroused him, and he madeno motion to rise. Nor did she. 

"I am not sure, " he reflected, "just exactly what I should ask of you ifyou insist on taking away--" he turned and looked about him through theburnt gold foliage, "--if you took away all this out of my life. "

"I shall not take it; because I have nothing in exchange to offer … yousay, " she answered imprudently. 

"I did not say so, " he retorted. 

"You did--reminding me that the court is already engaged for acontinuous performance. "

"Was it necessary to remind you?" he asked with deliberate malice. 

She flushed up, vexed, silent, then looked directly at him withbeautiful hostile eyes. "What do you mean, Mr. Siward? Are you takingour harmless, idle badinage as warrant for an intimacy unwarranted?"

"Have I offended?" he asked, so impassively that a flash of resentmentbrought her to her feet, angry and self-possessed. 

"How far have we to go?" she asked quietly. 

He rose to his feet, turned, hailing the keeper, repeating the question. And at the answer they both started forward, the dog ranging aheadthrough a dense growth of beech and chestnut, over a high brown ridge, then down, always down along a leafy ravine to the water's edge--aforest pond set in the gorgeous foliage of ripening maples. 

"I don't see, " said Sylvia impatiently, "how we are going to obeyinstructions and go straight ahead. There must be a stupid boatsomewhere!"

But the game-laden keeper shook his head, pulled up his hip boots, andpointed out a line of alder poles set in the water to mark a crossing. 

"Am I expected to wade?" asked the girl anxiously. 

"This here, " observed the keeper, "is one of the most sportin' courseson the estate. Last season I seen Miss Page go through it like a scareddeer--the young lady, sir, that took last season's cup"--in explanationto Siward, who stood doubtfully at the water's edge, looking back atSylvia. 

Raising her dismayed eyes she encountered his; there was a little laughbetween them. She stepped daintily across the stones to the water'sedge, instinctively gathering her kilts in one hand. 

"Miles and I could chair you over, " suggested Siward. 

"Is that fair--under the rules?"

"Oh, yes, Miss; as long as you go straight, " said the keeper. 

So they laid aside the guns and the guide's game-sack, and formed achair with their hands, and, bearing the girl between them, they wadedout along the driven alder stakes, knee-deep in brown water. 

Before them herons rose into heavy flapping flight, broad wingsglittering in the sun; a diver, distantly afloat among the lily pads, settled under the water to his eyes as a submarine settles till theconning-tower is awash. 

Her arm, lightly resting around his neck, tightened a trifle as thewater rose to his thighs; then the faint pressure relaxed as theythrashed shoreward through the shallows, ankle deep once more, andlanded among the dry reeds on the farther bank. 

Miles, the keeper, went back for the guns. Siward stamped about in thesun, shaking the drops from water-proof breeches and gaiters, only to behalf drenched again when Sagamore shook himself vigorously. 

"I suppose, " said Sylvia, looking sideways at Siward, "your contempt formy sporting accomplishments has not decreased. I'm sorry; I don't liketo walk in wet shoes … even to gain your approval. "

And, as the keeper came splashing across the shallows: "Miles, you maycarry my gun. I shall not need it any longer--"

The upward roar of a bevey of grouse drowned her voice; poor Sagamore, pointing madly in the blackberry thicket all unperceived, cast adismayed glance aloft where the sunlit air quivered under the winnowingrush of heavy wings. Siward flung up his gun, heading a big quarteringbird; steadily the glittering barrels swept in the arc of fire, hesitated, wavered; then the possibility passed; the young fellowlowered the gun, slowly, gravely; stood a moment motionless with benthead until the rising colour in his face had faded. 

And that was all, for a while. The astonished and disgusted keeperstared into the thicket; the dog lay quivering, impatient for signal. Sylvia's heart, which had seemed to stop with her voice, silenced in thegusty thunder of heavy wings, began beating too fast. For the ringingcrack of a gun shot could have spoken no louder to her than theglittering silence of the suspended barrels; nor any promise of hisvoice sound as the startled stillness sounded now about her. For he hadmade something a trifle more than mere amends for his rudeness. He wasoverdoing everything--a little. 

He stood on the thicket's edge, absently unloading the weapon, scarcelyunderstanding what he had done and what he had not done. 

A moment later a far hail sounded across the uplands, and against thesky figures moved distantly. 

"Alderdene and Marion Page, " said Siward. "I believe we lunch yonder, dowe not, Miles?"

They climbed the hill in silence, arriving after a few minutes tofind others already at luncheon--the Page boys, eager, enthusiastic, recounting adventure by flood and field; Rena Bonnesdel tired andfrankly bored and decorated with more than her share of mud; EileenShannon, very pretty, very effective, having done more execution withher eyes than with the dainty fowling-piece beside her. 

Marion Page nodded to Sylvia and Siward with a crisp, business-likequestion or two, then went over to inspect their bag, noddingapprobation as Miles laid the game on the grass. 

"Eight full brace, " she commented. "We have five, and an oddcock-pheasant--from Black Fells, I suppose. The people to our left havebeen blazing away like Coney Island, but Rena's guide says the ferns arefull of rabbits that way, and Major Belwether can't hit fur afoot. You, "she added frankly to Siward, "ought to take the cup. The birches aheadof you are full of woodcock. If you don't, Howard Quarrier will. He'sinto a flight of jack-snipe I hear. "

Siward's eyes had suddenly narrowed; then he laughed, patting Sagamore'scheeks. "I don't believe I shall shoot very steadily this afternoon, "he said, turning toward the group at luncheon under the trees. "I wishQuarrier well--with the cup. "

"Nonsense, " said Marion Page curtly; "you are the cleanest shot I everknew. " And she raised her glass to him, frankly, and emptied it with theprecision characteristic of her: "Your cup! With all my heart!"

"I also drink to your success, Mr. Siward, " said Sylvia in a low voice, lifting her champagne glass in the sunlight. "To the Shotover Cup--ifyou wish it. " And as other glasses sparkled aloft amid a gay tumult ofvoices wishing him success, Sylvia dropped her voice, attuning it tohis ear alone: "Success for the cup, if you wish it--or, whatever youwish--success!" and she meant it very kindly. 

His hand resting on his glass he sat, smiling silent acknowledgment tothe noisy generous toasts; he turned and looked at Sylvia when her lowvoice caught his ear--looked at her very steadily, unsmiling. 

Then to the others, brightening again, he said a word or two, wittily, with a gay compliment well placed and a phrase to end it in good taste. And, in the little gust of hand-clapping and laughter, he turned againto Sylvia, smilingly, saying under his breath: "As though winning thecup could compensate me now for losing it!"

She leaned involuntarily nearer: "You mean that you will not try forit?"

"Yes. "

"That is not fair--to me!"

"Why not?"

"Because--because I do not ask it of you. "

"You need not, now that I know your wish. "

"Mr. Siward, I--my wish--"

But she had no chance to finish; already Rena Bonnesdel was lookingat them, and there was a hint of amused surprise in Eileen Shannon'smischievous eyes, averted instantly, with malicious ostentation. 

Then Marion Page took possession of him so exclusively, so calmly, thatsomething in her cool certainty vaguely irritated Sylvia, who had neverliked her. Besides, the girl showed too plainly her indifference toother people; which other people seldom find amusing. 

"Stephen, " called out Alderdene, anxiously counting the web loops inhis khaki vest, "what do you call fair shooting at these damnable ruffedgrouse? You needn't be civil about it, you know. "

"Five shells to a bird is good shooting, " answered Siward. "Don't youthink so, Miss Page?"

"You have a better score, Mr. Siward, " said Marion Page with a hostileglance at Alderdene, who had not made good. 

"That was chance--and this year's birds. I've taken ten shells to an olddrummer in hard wood or short pines. " He smiled to himself, adding:"A drove of six in the open got off scot free a little while ago. MissLandis saw it. "

That he was inclined to turn it all to banter relieved her at once. "Itwas pitiable, " she nodded gravely to Marion; "his nerve left him whenthey made such a din in the briers. "

Miss Page glanced at her indifferently. 

"What I need is practice like the chasseurs of Tarascon, " admittedSiward. 

"I willingly offer my hat, monsieur, " said Sylvia. 

Marion Page, impatient to start, had turned her tailor-made back to thecompany, and was instructing his crestfallen lordship very plainly:"You fire too quickly, Blinky; two seconds is what you must count when agrouse flushes. You must say 'Mark! Right!' or 'Mark! Left! Bang!'"

"I might as well say 'Bang!' for all I've done to-day, " he muttered, adjusting his shooting-goggles and snapping his eyes like fury. Thenexploding into raucous laughter he moved off southward with Marion Page, who had exchanged a swift handshake with Siward; the twins followed, convoying Eileen and Rena, neither maiden excitedly enthusiastic. And sothe luncheon party, lord and lady, twins and maidens, guides and dogs, trailed away across the ridge, distant silhouettes presently against thesky, then gone. And after a little while the far, dry, accentless reportof smokeless powder announced that the opening of the season had beenresumed and the Lesser Children were dying fast in the glory of aperfect day. 

"Are you ready, Mr. Siward?" She stood waiting for him at the edge ofthe thicket; Miles resumed his game sack and her fowling-piece; the dogcame up, looking him anxiously in the eyes. 

So he walked forward beside her into the dappled light of the thicket. 

Within a few minutes the dog stood twice; and twice the whirring twitterof woodcock startled her, echoed by the futile crack of his gun. 

"Beg pardon, sir--"

"Yes, Miles, " with a glint of humour. 

"Overshot, sir, --excusin' the liberty, Mr. Siward. Both marked downforty yard to the left if you wish to start 'em again. "

"No, " he said indifferently, "I had my chance at them. They're exempt. "

Then Sagamore, tail wildly whipping, came smack on the trail of anold stager of a cock-grouse--on, on over rock, log, wet gully, and dryridge, twisting, doubling, circling, every wile, every trick employedand met, until the dog crawling noiselessly forward, trembled and froze, and Siward, far to left, wheeled at the muffled and almost noiselessrise. For an instant the slanting barrels wavered, grew motionless;but only a stray sunbeam glinting struck a flash of cold fire fromthe muzzle, only the feathery whirring whisper broke the silence ofsuspense. Then far away over sunny tree tops a big grouse sailed up, rocketing into the sky on slanted wings, breasting the height of green;dipped, glided downward with bowed wings stiffened, and was engulfed inthe misty barriers of purpling woods. 

"Vale!" said Siward aloud, "I salute you!"

He came strolling back across the crisp leaves, the dappled sunshineplaying over his face like the flicker of a smile. 

"Miles, " he said, "my nerve is gone. Such things happen. I'm all in. Come over here, my friend, and look at the sun with me. "

The discomfited keeper obeyed. 

"Where ought that refulgent luminary to scintilate when I face OspreyLedge?"

"Sir?"

"The sun. How do I hold it?"

"On the p'int of your right shoulder, sir. --You ain't quittin', Mr. Siward, sir!" anxiously; "that Shotover Cup is easy yours, sir!"eagerly; "Wot's a miss on a old drummer, Mr. Siward? Wot's twiceover-shootin' cock, sir, when a blind dropper can see you are thecleanest, fastest, hard-shootin' shot in the null county!"

But Siward shook his head with an absent glance at the dog, and motionedthe astonished keeper forward. 

"Line the easiest trail for us, " he said; "I think we are already atrifle tired. Twigs will do in short cover; use a hatchet in the bigtimber. … And go slow till we join you. "

And when the unwilling and perplexed keeper had started, Siward, unlocking his gun, drew out the smooth yellow cartridges and pocketedthem. 

Sylvia looked up as the sharp metallic click of the locked breech rangout in the silence. 

"Why do you do this, Mr. Siward?"

"I don't know; really I am honest; I don't know. "

"It could not be because I--"

"No, of course not, " he said, too seriously to reassure her. 

"Mr. Siward, " in quick displeasure. 

"Yes?"

"What you do for your amusements cannot concern me. "

"Right as usual, " he said so gaily that a reluctant smile trembled onher lips. 

"Then why have you done this? It is unreasonable--if you don't feel as Ido about killing things that are having a good time in the world. "

He stood silent, absently looking at the fowling-piece cradled in hisleft arm. "Shall we sit here a moment and talk it over?" he suggestedlistlessly. 

Her blue gaze swept him; his vague smile was indifferently bland. 

"If you are determined not to shoot, we might as well start for OspreyLedge, " she suggested; "otherwise, what reason is there for our beinghere together, Mr. Siward?"

Awaiting his comment--perhaps expecting a counter-proposition--sheleaned against the tree beside which he stood. And after a while, as hisabsent-minded preoccupation continued:

"Do you think the leaves are dry enough to sit on?"

He slipped off his shooting-coat and placed it at the base of the tree. She waited for a second, uncertain how to meet an attitude which seemedto take for granted matters which might, if discussed, give her atleast the privilege of yielding. However, to discuss a triviality meantforcing emphasis where none was necessary. She seated herself; and, ashe continued to remain standing, she stripped off her shooting-glovesand glanced up at him inquiringly: "Well, Mr. Siward, I am literally atyour feet. "

"Which redresses the balance a little, " he said, finding a place nearher. 

"That is very nice of you. Can I always count on you for civilplatitudes when I stir you out of your day-dreams?"

"You can always count on stirring me without effort. "

"No, I can't. Nobody can. You are never to be counted on; you are tooabsent-minded. Like a veil you wrap yourself in a brown study, leavingeverybody outside to consider the pointed flattery of your withdrawal. What happens to you when you are inside that magic veil? Do you changeinto anything interesting?"

He sat there, chin propped on his linked fingers, elbows on knees; and, though there was always the hint of a smile in his pleasant eyes, alwaysthe indefinable charm of breeding in voice and attitude, something nowwas lacking. And after a moment she concluded that it was his attention. Certainly his wits were wool-gathering again; his eyes, edged with theshadow of a smile, saw far beyond her, far beyond the sunlit shadowswhere they sat. 

In his preoccupation she had found him negatively attractive. Sheglanced at him now from time to time, her eyes returning always to thebeauty of the subdued light where all about them silver-stemmed birchesclustered like slim shining pillars, crowned with their autumn canopy ofcrumpled gold. 

"Enchantment!" she said under her breath. "Surely an enchanted sleeperlies here somewhere. "

"You, " he observed, "unawakened. "

"Asleep? I?" She looked around at him. "You are the dreamer here. Youreyes are full of dreaming even now. What is your desire?"

He leaned on one arm, watching her; she had dropped her ungloved hand, searching among the newly fallen gold of the birch leaves drifted intoheaps. On the third finger a jewel glittered; he saw it, conscious ofits meaning--but his eyes followed the hand idly heaping up autumn gold, a white slim hand, smoothly fascinating. Then the little, restless handswept near to his, almost touching it; and then instinctively he tookit in his own, curiously, lifting it a little to consider its nearerloveliness. Perhaps it was the unexpectedness of it, perhaps it wassheer amazement that left her hand lying idly relaxed like a whitepetalled blossom in his. His bearing, too, was so blankly impersonalthat for a moment the whole thing appeared inconsequent. Then, as herhand lay there, scarcely imprisoned, their eyes encountered, --andhers, intensely blue now, considered him without emotion, studied himimpersonally without purpose, incuriously acquiescent, indifferentlyexpectant. 

After a little while the consciousness of the contact disconcerted her;she withdrew her fingers with an involuntary shiver. 

"Is there no chance?" he asked. 

Perplexed with her own emotion, the meaning of his low-voiced questionat first escaped her; then, like its own echo, came ringing back in herears, re-echoed again as he repeated it:

"Is there no chance for me, Miss Landis?"

The very revulsion of self-possession returning chilled her; then angercame, quick and hot; then pride. She deliberated, choosing her wordscoolly enough: "What chance do you mean, Mr. Siward?"

"A fighting chance. Can you give it to me?"

"A fighting chance? For what?"--very low, very dangerous. 

"For you. "

Then, in spite of her, her senses became unsteady; a sudden ringingconfusion seemed to deafen her, through which his voice, as if very faraway, sounded again:

"Men who are worth a fighting chance ask for it sometimes--but take italways. I take it. "

Her pallor faded under the flood of bright colour; the blue of her eyesdarkened ominously to velvet. 

"Mr. Siward, " she said, very distinctly and slowly, "I amnot--even--sorry--for you. "

"Then my chance is desperate indeed, " he retorted coolly. 

"Chance! Do you imagine--" Her anger choked her. 

"Are you not a little hard?" he said, paling under his tan. "I supposedwomen dismissed men more gently--even such a man as I am. "

For a full minute she strove to comprehend. 

"Such a man as you!" she repeated vaguely; "you mean--" a crimsonwave dyed her skin to the temples and she leaned toward him inhorror-stricken contrition; "I didn't mean that, Mr. Siward! I--I neverthought of that! It had no weight, it was not in my thoughts. I meantonly that you had assumed what is unwarranted--that you--your questionhumiliated me, knowing that I am engaged--knowing me so little--so--"

"Yes, I knew everything. Ask yourself why I risk everything to say thisto you? There can be only one answer. "

Then after a long silence: "Have I ever--" she began tremblingly--"everby word or look--"

"No. "

"Have I even--"

"No. I've simply discovered how I feel. That's what I was dreaming aboutwhen you asked me. I was afraid I might do this too soon; but I meant todo it anyway before it became too late. "

"It was too late from the very moment we met, Mr. Siward. " And, as hereddened painfully again, she added quickly: "I mean that I had alreadydecided. Why will you take what I say so dreadfully different from theway I intend it? Listen to me. I--I believe I am not very experiencedyet; I was a--astonished--quite stunned for a moment. Then it hurtme--and I said that I was not sorry for you … I am sorry, now. "

And, as he said nothing: "You were a little rough, a little sudden withme, Mr. Siward. Men have asked me that question--several times; butnever so soon, so unreasonably soon--never without some preliminary ofsome sort, so that I could foresee, be more or less prepared. … But yougave me no warning. I--if you had, I would have known how to be gentle. I--I wish to be now. I like you--enough to say this to you, enough tobe seriously sorry; if I could bring myself to really believethis--feeling--"

Still he said nothing; he sat there listlessly studying the sun spotsglowing, waxing, waning on the carpet of dead leaves at his feet. 

"As for--what you have said, " she added, a little smile curving thesensitive mouth, "it is impulsive, unconsidered, a trifle boyish, Mr. Siward. I pay myself the compliment of your sincerity; it is rather niceto be a girl who can awaken the romance in a man within a day or two'sacquaintance. … And that is all it is--a romantic impulse with a prettygirl. You see I am frank; I am really glad that you find me attractive. Tell me so, if you wish. We shall not misunderstand each other again. Shall we?"

He raised his head, considering her, forcing the smile to meet her own. 

"We shall be better friends than ever, " she asserted confidently. 

"Yes, better than ever. "

"Because what you have done means the nicest sort of friendship, yousee. You can't escape its duties and responsibilities now, Mr. Siward. I shall expect you to spend the greater part of your life in devotedlydoing things for me. Besides, I am now privileged to worry you withadvice. Oh, you have invested me with all sorts of powers now!"

He nodded. 

She sprang to her feet, flushed, smiling, a trifle excited. 

"Is it all over, and are we the very ideals of friends?" she asked. 

"The very ideals. "

"You are nice!" she said impulsively, holding out both gloveless hands. He held them, she looking at him very sweetly, very confidently. 

"Allons! Without malice?" she asked. 

"Without malice. "

"Without afterthoughts?"

"Without afterthoughts. "

"And--you are content?" persuasively. 

"Of course not, " he said. 

"Oh, but you must be. "

"I must be, " he repeated obediently. 

"And you are! Say it!"

"But it does not make me unhappy not to be contented--"

"Say it, please; or--do you desire me to be unhappy?"

Her small, smooth hands lying between his, they stood confronting oneanother in the golden light. She might easily have brought the matterto an end; and why she did not, she knew no more than a kitten waking toconsciousness under its first caress. 

"Say it, " she repeated, laughing uncertainly back into his smiling eyesof a boy. 

"Say what?"

"That you are contented. "

"I can't. "

"Mr. Siward, it is unkind, it is shameless--"

"I know it; I am that sort. "

"Then I am sorry for you. Look at that!" turning her left hand in his sothat the jewel on the third finger caught the light. 

"I see it. "

"And yet--"

"And yet. "

"That, " she observed with composure, "is sheer obstinacy. … Isn't it?"

"It is what I said it was: a hopeful discontent. "

"How can it be?" impatiently now, for the long, unaccustomed contact wasunnerving her--yet she made no motion to withdraw her hands. "How canyou really care for me? Do you actually believe that--devotion--comeslike that?"

"Exactly like that. "

"So suddenly? It is impossible!" with a twist of her pretty shoulders. 

"How did it come--to you?" he asked between his teeth. 

Then her face grew scarlet and her eyes grew dark, and her handscontracted in his--tightened, twisted fingers entangled, until, witha little sob, she swayed toward him and he caught her. An instant, aminute--more, perhaps, she did not know--she half lay in his arms, heruntaught lips cold against his. Lassitude, faint consciousness, thentiny shock on shock came the burning revulsion; and her voice came back, too, sounding strangely to her, a colourless, monotonous voice. 

He had freed her; she remembered that somebody had asked him to--perhapsherself. That was well; she needed to breathe, to summon strength andcommon-sense, find out what had been done, what reasonless madness shehad committed in the half-light of the silver-stemmed trees clusteringin shameful witness on every hand. 

Suddenly the hot humiliation of it overwhelmed her, and she coveredher face with her hands, standing, almost swaying, as wave on wave ofincredulous shame seemed to sweep her from knee to brow. That phasepassed after a while; out of it she emerged, flushed, outwardlycomposed, into another phase, in full self-possession once more, ableto understand what had happened without the disproportion of emotionalexaggeration. After all, she had only been kissed. Besides she was anovice, which probably accounted, in a measure, for the unreasonableemotion coincident with a caress to which she was unaccustomed. Withoutlooking up at him she found herself saying coolly enough to surpriseherself: "I never supposed I was capable of that. It appears that Iam. I haven't anything to say for myself … except that I feel fearfullyhumiliated. … Don't say anything now … I do not blame you, truly I donot. It was contemptible of me--to do it--wearing this--" she stretchedout her slender left hand, not looking at him; "it was contemptible!" …She slowly raised her eyes, summoning all her courage to face him. 

But he only saw in the pink confusion of her lovely face the dawningchallenge of a coquette saluting her adversary in gay acknowledgment ofhis fleeting moment of success. And as his face fell, then hardenedinto brightness, instantly she divined how he rated her, and in a flashrealized her weapons and her security, and that the control of thesituation was hers, not in the control of this irresolute young man whostood so silently considering her. Strange that she should be ashamedof her own innocence, willing that he believe her accomplished in sucharts, enchanted that he no longer perhaps suspected genuine emotion inthe swift, confused sweetness of her first kiss. If only all thatwere truly hidden from him, if he dare not in his heart convict her ofanything save perfection in a gay, imprudent rôle, what a weight lifted, what relief, what hot self-contempt cooled! What vengeance, too, shewould take on him for the agony of her awakening--the dazed chagrin, thedread of his wise, amused eyes--eyes that she feared had often lookedupon such scenes; eyes no doubt familiar with such unimportant detailsas the shamed demeanour of a novice. 

"Why do you take it so seriously?" she said, laughing and studying him, certain now of herself in this new disguise. 

"Do you take it lightly?" he asked, striving to smile. 

"I? Ah, I must, you know. You don't expect to marry me … do you, Mr. Siward?"

"I--" He choked up at that, grimly for a while. 

Walking slowly forward together she fell into step frankly beside him, near him--too near. "Try to be sensible, " she was saying gaily; "I likeyou so much--and it would be horrid to have you mope, you know. Andbesides, even if I cared for you, there are reasons, you know--reasonsfor any girl to marry the man I am going to marry. Does my cynicismshock you? What am I to do?" with a shrug. "Such marriages arereasonable, and far likelier to be agreeable than when fancy is the solemotive--certainly far more agreeable than an ill-considered yielding toabstract emotion with nothing concrete in view. … So, you see, I couldnot marry you even if I--" her voice was inclined to tremble, but shecontrolled it. Would she never learn her rôle? "even if I loved you--"

Then her tongue stumbled and was silent; and they walked on, side byside, through the fading splendour of the year, exchanging no furtherspeech. 

Toward sunset their guide hailed them, standing high among the rocks, a silhouette against the sky. And beyond him they saw the poles crownedwith the huge nests of the fish-hawks, marking the last rendezvous atOsprey Ledge. 

She turned to him as they started up the last incline, thanking him in asweet, natural voice for his care of her--quite innocently--until inthe questioning, unconvinced gaze that met hers she found her own eyessoftening and growing dim; and she looked away suddenly, lest he readher ere she had dared turn the first page in the book of self--ereshe had studied, pried, probed among the pages of a new chapter whosefamiliar title, so long meaningless to her, had taken on a suddentroubling significance. And for the first time in her life she glanceduneasily at the new page in the book of self, numbered according toher years with the figures 23, and headed with the unconvincing chaptertitle, "Love. "

CHAPTER V A WINNING LOSER

The week passed swiftly, day after day echoing with the steady fusilladefrom marsh to covert, from valley to ridge. Guns flashed at dawn anddusk along the flat tidal reaches haunted of black mallard and teal; thesmokeless powder cracked through alder swamp and tangled windfall wherethe brown grouse burst away into noisy blundering flight; where thewoodcock, wilder now, shrilled skyward like feathered rockets, and thebig northern hares, not yet flecked with snowy patches of fur, loped offinto swamps to the sad undoing of several of the younger setters. 

There was a pheasant drive at Black Fells to which the Ferralls'guests were bidden by Beverly Plank--a curious scene, where ladies andgentlemen stood on a lawn, backed by an army of loaders and gun-bearers, while another improvised army of beaters drove some thousands offrightened, bewildered, homeless foreign pheasants at the guns. Andthe miserable aliens that escaped the guns were left to perish in thedesolation of a coming winter which they were unfitted to withstand. 

So the first week of the season sped gaily, ending on Saturday with aheavy flight of northern woodcock and an uproarious fusillade among thesilver birches. 

Once Ferrall loaded two motor cars with pioneers for a day beyond hisown boundaries; and one day was spent ingloriously with the beagles; butotherwise the Shotover estate proved more than sufficient for good bagsor target practice, as the skill of the sportsmen developed. 

Lord Alderdene, good enough on snipe and cock, was driven almost franticby the ruffed grouse; Voucher did better for a day or two, and then lostthe knack; Marion Page attended to business in her cool and thoroughstyle, and her average on the gun-room books was excellent, and was alsoadorned with clever pen-and-ink sketches by Siward. 

Leroy Mortimer had given up shooting and established himself as ahaunter of cushions in sunny corners. Tom O'Hara had gone back to Lenox;Mrs. Vendenning to Hot Springs. Beverly Plank, master of Black Fells, began to pervade the house after a tentative appearance; and he andMajor Belwether pottered about the coverts, usually after luncheon--thelatter doing little damage with his fowling-piece, and nobody knewhow much with his gossiping tongue. Quarrier appeared in the fieldmethodically, shot with judgment, taking no chances for a brilliantperformance which might endanger his respectable average. As for thePage boys, they kept the river ducks stirring whenever Eileen Shannonand Rena Bonnesdel could be persuaded to share the canoes with them. Otherwise they haunted the vicinity of those bored maidens, sufferingsnubs sorrowfully, but persistently faithful. They were a great nuisancein the evening, especially as their sister did not permit them to losemore than ten dollars a day at cards. 

Cards--that is Bridge and Preference--ruled as usual; and the lattergame being faster suited Mortimer and Ferrall, but did not aid Siwardtoward recouping his Bridge losses. 

Noticing this, late in the week, Major Belwether kindly suggestedKlondyke for Siward's benefit, which proved more quickly disastrous tohim than anything yet proposed; and he went back to Bridge, preferringrather to "carry" Agatha Caithness at intervals than crumble intobankruptcy under the sheer deadly hazard of Klondyke. 

Two matters occupied him; since "cup day" he had never had anotheropportunity to see Sylvia Landis alone; that was the first matter. Hehad touched neither wine nor spirits nor malt since the night Ferrallhad found him prone, sprawling in a stupor on his disordered bed. Thatwas the second matter, and it occupied him, at times required allhis attention, particularly when the physical desire for it set in, steadily, mercilessly, mounting inexorably like a tide. … But, likethe tide, it ebbed at last, particularly when a sleepless night hadexhausted him. 

He had gone back to his shooting again after a cool review of theethics involved. It even amused him to think that the whimsicalsermon delivered him by a girl who had cleverness enough to marrymany millions, with Quarrier thrown in, could have so moved him tosentimentality. He had ceded the big cup of antique silver to Quarrier, too--a matter which troubled him little, however, as in the irritationof the reaction he had been shooting with the brilliancy of a demon; andthe gun-room books were open to any doubting guests' inspection. 

Time, therefore, was never heavy on his hands, save when the tidethreatened--when at night he stirred and awoke, conscious of itscrawling advance, aware of its steady mounting menace. Moments attable, when the aroma of wine made him catch his breath, moments inthe gun-room redolent of spicy spirits; a maddening volatile fragranceclinging to the card-room, too! Yes, the long days were filled with suchmoments for him. 

But afield the desire faded; and even during the day, indoors, heshrugged desire aside. It was night that he dreaded--the long hours, lying there tense, stark-eyed, sickened with desire. 

As for Sylvia, she and Grace Ferrall had taken to motoring, drivingaway into the interior or taking long flights north and south along thecoast. Sometimes they took Quarrier, sometimes, when Mrs. Ferrall drove, they took in ballast in the shape of a superfluous Page boy and a girlfor him. Once Grace Ferrall asked Siward to join them; but no definitetime being set, he was scarcely surprised to find them gone when hereturned from a morning on the snipe meadows. And Sylvia, leagues awayby that time, curled up in the tonneau beside Grace Ferrall, watched thedark pines flying past, cheeks pink, eyes like stars, while the rushingwind drove health into her and care out of her--cleansing, purifying, overwhelming winds flowing through and through her, till her very soulwithin her seemed shining through the beauty of her eyes. Besides, shehad just confessed. 

"He kissed you!" repeated Grace Ferrall incredulously. 

"Yes--a number of times. He was silly enough to do it, and I let him. "

"Did--did he say--"

"I don't know what he said; I was all nerves--confused--scared--aperfect stick in fact! … I don't believe he'd care to try again. "

Then Mrs. Ferrall deliberately settled down in her furs to extractfrom the girl beside her every essential detail; and the girl, frank atfirst, grew shy and silent--reticent enough to worry her friend into asilence which lasted a long while for a cheerful little matron of hersort. 

Presently they spoke of other matters--matters interesting to prettywomen with much to do in the coming winter between New York, HotSprings, and Florida; surmises as to dinners, dances, and the newcomersin the younger sets, and the marriages to be arranged or disarranged, and the scandals humanity is heir to, and the attitude of the bishoptoward divorce. 

And the new pavillion to be built for Saint Berold's Hospital, and thevarious states of the various charities each was interested in, and thechances of something new at the opera, and the impossibility of savingFifth Avenue from truck traffic, and the increasing importance ofWashington as a social centre, and the bad manners of a foreignambassador, and the better manners of another diplomat, and the lack ofdiscrimination betrayed by our ambassador to a certain great Powerin choosing people for presentation at court, and the latest unhappyBritish-American marriage, and the hopelessness of the French as decenthusbands, and the recent accident to the Claymores' big yacht, and thetendency of well-born young men toward politics, and the anything butdistinguished person of Lord Alderdene, which was, however, vastlysuperior to the demeanour and person of others of his rank recentlyimported, and the beauty of Miss Caithness, and the chance that CaptainVoucher had if Leila Mortimer would let him alone, and the absurdityof the Page twins, and the furtive coarseness of Leroy Mortimer and hisgeneral badness, and the sadness of Leila Mortimer's lot when she hadalways been in love with other people, --and a little scandalous surmiseconcerning Tom O'Hara, and the new house on Seventy-ninth Streetbuilding for Mrs. Vendenning, and that charming widow's success at lastyear's horse show--and whether the fashion of the function was reviving, and whether Beverly Plank had completely broken into the social setshe had besieged so long, or whether a few of the hunting and shootingpeople merely permitted him to drive pheasants for them, and whyKatharyn Tassel made eyes at him, having sufficient money of her own todie unwed, and--and--and then, at last, as the big motor car swung in acircle at Wenniston Cross-Roads, and poked its brass and lacquermuzzle toward Shotover, the talk swung back to Siward once more--havingtravelled half the world over to find him. 

"He is the sweetest fellow with his mother, " sighed Grace; "and thatcounts heavily with me. But there's trouble ahead for her--sorrow andtrouble enough for them both, if he is a true Siward. "

"Heredity again!" said Sylvia impatiently. "Isn't he man enough to winout? I'll bet you he settles down, marries, and--"

"Marries? Not he! How many girls do you suppose have believed that--werejustified in believing he meant anything by his attractive manner andnice ways of telling you how much he liked you? He had a desperateaffair with Mrs. Mortimer--innocent enough I fancy. He's had a dozenwithin three years; and in a week Rena Bonnesdel has come to making eyesat him, and Eileen gives him no end of chances which he doesn't see. Asfor Marion Page, the girl had been on the edge of loving him for years!You laugh? But you are wrong; she is in love with him now as much as sheever can be with anybody. "

"You mean--"

"Yes I do. Hadn't you suspected it?"

And as Sylvia had suspected it she remained silent. 

"If any woman in this world could keep him to the mark, she could, "continued Mrs. Ferrall. "He's a perfect fool not to see how she caresfor him. "

Sylvia said: "He is indeed. "

"It would be a sensible match, if she cared to risk it, and if he wouldonly ask her. But he won't. "

"Perhaps, " ventured Sylvia, "she'll ask him. She strikes me as thatsort. I do not mean it unkindly--only Marion is so tailor-made andcigaretteful--"

Mrs. Ferrall looked up at her. 

"Did he propose to you?"

"Yes--I think so. "

"Then it's the first time for him. He finds women only too willing toplay with him as a rule, and he doesn't have to be definite. I wonderwhat he meant by being so definite with you?"

"I suppose he meant marriage, " said Sylvia serenely; yet there was theslightest ring in her voice; and it amused Mrs. Ferrall to try her alittle further. 

"Oh, you think he really intended to commit himself?"

"Why not?" retorted Sylvia, turning red. "Do you think he found meover-willing, as you say he finds others?"

"You were probably a new sensation for him, " inferred Mrs. Ferrallmusingly. "You mustn't take him seriously, child--a man with hisrecord. Besides, he has the same facility with a girl that he has witheverything else he tries; his pen--you know how infernally clever he is;and he can make good verse, and write witty jingles, and he can carryhome with him any opera and play it decently, too, with the properharmonies. Anything he finds amusing he is clever with--dogs, horses, pen, brush, music, women"--that was too malicious, for Sylvia hadflushed up painfully, and Grace Ferrall dropped her gloved hand on thehand of the girl beside her: "Child, child, " she said, "he is not thatsort; no decent man ever is unless the girl is too. "

Sylvia, sitting up very straight in her furs, said: "He found meanything but difficult--if that's what you mean. "

"I don't. Please don't be vexed, dear. I plague everybody when I see anopening. There's really only one thing that worries me about it all. "

"What is that?" asked Sylvia without interest. 

"It's that you might be tempted to care a little for him, which, beinguseless, might be unwise. "

"I am … tempted. "

"Not seriously!"

"I don't know. " She turned in a sudden nervous impatience foreign toher. "Howard Quarrier is too perfectly imperfect for me. I'm gladI've said it. The things he knows about and doesn't know have been arevelation in this last week with him. There is too much surface, toomuch exterior admirably fashioned. And inside is all clock-work. I'vesaid it; I'm glad I have. He seemed different at Newport; he seemed niceat Lenox. The truth is, he's a horrid disappointment--and I'm bored todeath at my brilliant prospects. "

The low whizzing hum of the motor filled a silence that producedconsiderable effect upon Grace Ferrall. And, after mastering her wits, she said in a subdued voice:

"Of course it's my meddling. "

"Of course it isn't. I asked your opinion, but I knew what I wasgoing to do. Only, I did think him personally possible--which made theexpediency, the mercenary view of it easier to contemplate. "

She was becoming as frankly brutal as she knew how to be, which made therevolt the more ominous. 

"You don't think you could endure him for an hour or two a day, Sylvia?"

"It is not that, " said the girl almost sullenly. 

"But--"

"I'm afraid of myself--call it inherited mischief if you like! If I leta man do to me what Mr. Siward did when I was only engaged to Howard, what might I do--"

"You are not that sort!" said Mrs. Ferrall bluntly. "Don't be exotic, Sylvia. "

"How do you know--if I don't know? Most girls are kissed; I--well Ididn't expect to be. But I was! I tell you, Grace, I don't know what Iam or shall be. I'm unsafe; I know that much. "

"It's moral and honest to realize it, " said Mrs. Ferrall suavely; "andin doing so you insure your own safety. Sylvia dear, I wish I hadn'tmeddled; I'm meddling some more I suppose when I say to you, don't giveHoward his congé for the present. It is a horridly common thing to dwellupon, but Howard is too materially important to be cut adrift on theimpulse of the moment. "

"I know it. "

"You are too clever not to. Consider the matter wisely, dispassionately, intelligently, dear; then if by April you simply can't stand it--talkthe thing over with me again, " she ended rather vaguely and wistfully;for it had been her heart's desire to wed Sylvia's beauty and Quarrier'sfortune, and the suitability of the one for the other was apparentenough to make even sterner moralists wobbly in their creed. Quarrier, as a detail of modern human architecture, she supposed might fit insomewhere, and took that for granted in laying the corner stone for herfairy palace which Sylvia was to inhabit. And now!--oh, vexation!--theneglected but essentially constructive detail of human architecture hadbuckled, knocking the dream palace and its princess and its splendourabout her ears. 

"Things never happen in real life, " she observed plaintively; "onlyromances have plots where things work out. But we people in real life, we just go on and on in a badly constructed, plotless sort of way withno villains, no interesting situations, no climaxes, no ensemble. No, wegrow old and irritable and meaner and meaner; we lose our good looks anddigestions, and we die in hopeless discord with the unity required in adollar and a half novel by a master of modern fiction. "

"But some among us amass fortunes, " suggested Sylvia, laughing. 

"But we don't live happy ever after. Nobody ever had enough money inreal life. "

"Some fall in love, " observed Sylvia, musing. 

"And they are not content, silly!"

"Why? Because nobody ever had enough love in real life, " mocked Sylvia. 

"You have said it, child. That is the malady of the world, and nobodyknows it until some pretty ninny like you babbles the truth. And that iswhy we care for those immortals in romance, those fortunate lovers who, in fable, are given and give enough of love; those magic shapes in verseand tale whose hearts are satisfied when the mad author of their beinginks his last period and goes to dinner. "

Sylvia laughed awhile, then, chin on wrist, sat musing there, muffled inher furs. 

"As for love, I think I should be moderate in the asking, in the giving. A little--to flavour routine--would be sufficient for me I fancy. "

"You know so much about it, " observed Mrs. Ferrall ironically. 

"I am permitted to speculate, am I not?"

"Certainly. Only speculate in sound investments, dear. "

"How can you make a sound investment in love? Isn't it always sheerestspeculation?"

"Yes, that is why simple matrimony is usually a safer speculation thanlove. "

"Yes, but--love isn't matrimony. "

"Match that with its complementary platitude and you have the essenceof modern fiction, " observed Mrs. Ferrall. "Love is a subject talkedto death, which explains the present shortage in the market I suppose. You're not in love and you don't miss it. Why cultivate an artificialtaste for it? If it ever comes naturally, you'll be astonished at yourcapacity for it, and the constant deterioration in quantity and qualityof the visible supply. Goodness! my epigrams make me yawn--or is itage and the ill humour of the aged when the porridge spills over on thefamily cat?"

"I am the cat, I suppose, " asked Sylvia, laughing. 

"Yes you are--and you go tearing away, back up, fur on end, leaving meby the fire with no porridge and only the aroma of the singeing fur tocomfort me. … Still there's one thing to comfort me. "

"What?"

"Kitty-cats come back, dear. "

"Oh, I suppose so. … Do you believe I could induce him to wear his hairany way except pompadour? … and, dear, his beard is so dreadfully silky. Isn't there anything he could take for it?"

"Only a razor I'm afraid. Those long, thick, soft, eyelashes of his areominous. Eyes of that sort ruin a man for my taste. He might just asreasonably wear my hat. "

"But he can't follow the fashions in eyes, " laughed Sylvia. "Oh, this isatrocious of us--it is simply horrible to sit here and say such things. I am cold-blooded enough as it is--material enough, mean, covetous, contemptible--"

"Dear!" said Grace Ferrall mildly, "you are not choosing a husband; youare choosing a career. To criticise his investments might be bad taste;to be able to extract what amusement you can out of Howard is a directmercy from Heaven. Otherwise you'd go mad, you know. "

"Grace! Do you wish me to marry him?"

"What is the alternative, dear?"

"Why, nothing--self-respect, dowdiness, and peace. "

"Is that all?"

"All I can see. "

"Not Stephen Siward?"

"To marry? No. To enjoy, yes. … Grace, I have had such a good time withhim; you don't know! He is such a boy--sometimes; and I--I believe thatI am rather good for him. … Not that I'd ever again let him do thatsort of thing. … Besides, his curiosity is quenched; I am the sort hesupposed. Now he's found out he will be nice. … It's been days sinceI've had a talk with him. He tried to, but I wouldn't. Besides, themajor has said nasty things about him when Howard was present; nothingdefinite, only hints, smiling silences, innuendoes on the verge ofmatters rather unfit; and I had nothing definite to refute. I could noteven appear to understand or notice--it was all done in such a horridlyvague way. But it only made me like him; and no doubt that actress hetook to the Patroons is better company than he finds in nine places outof ten among his own sort. "

"Oh, " said Grace Ferrall slowly, "if that is the way you feel, I don'tsee why you shouldn't play with Mr. Siward whenever you like. "

"Nor I. I've been a perfect fool not to. … Howard hates him. "

"How do you know?"

"What a question! A woman knows such things. Then, you remember thatcaricature--so dreadfully like Howard? Howard has no sense of humour;he detests such things. It was the most dreadful thing that Mr. Siwardcould have done to him. "

"Meddled again!" groaned Grace. "Doesn't Howard know that I did that?"

"Yes, but nothing I can say alters his conviction that the likeness wasintended. You know it was a likeness! And if Mr. Siward had not toldme that it was not intended, I should never have believed it to be anaccident. "

After a prolonged silence Sylvia said, overcarelessly: "I don't quiteunderstand Howard. With me anger lasts but a moment, and then I'm opento overtures for peace … I think Howard's anger lasts. "

"It does, " said Grace. "He was a muff as a boy--a prig with a prig'smemory under all his shallow, showy surface. I'm frank with you; I nevercould take my cousin either respectfully or seriously, but I've knownhim to take his own anger so seriously that years after he has visitedit upon those who had really wronged him. And he is equipped forretaliation if he chooses. That fortune of his reaches far. … Not thatI think him capable of using such a power to satisfy a mere personaldislike. Howard has principles, loads of them. But--the weapon isthere. "

"Is it true that Mr. Siward is interested in building electric roads?"asked Sylvia curiously. 

"I don't know, child. Why?"

"Nothing. I wondered. "

"Why?"

"Mr. Mortimer said so. "

"Then I suppose he is. I'll ask Kemp if you like. Why? Isn't it allright to build them?"

"I suppose so. Howard is in it somehow. In fact Howard's company isbehind Mr. Siward's, I believe. "

Grace Ferrall turned and looked at the girl beside her, laughingoutright. 

"Oh, Howard doesn't do mysterious financial things to nice young menbecause they draw impudent pictures of him running after his dog--orfor any other reason. That, dear, is one of those skilfully developedportions of an artistic plot; and plots exist only in romance. So dovillains; and besides, my cousin isn't one. Besides that, if Howard isin that thing, no doubt Kemp and I are too. So your nice young man is invery safe company. "

"You draw such silly inferences, " said Sylvia coolly; but there was agood deal of colour in her cheeks; and she knew it and pulled her bigmotor veil across her face, fastening it under her chin. All of whichamused Grace Ferrall infinitely until the subtler significance of thegirl's mental processes struck her, sobering her own thoughts. Sylvia, too, had grown serious in her preoccupation; and the partie-à-deuxterminated a few minutes later in a duet of silence over the tea-cups inthe gun-room. 

The weather had turned warm and misty; one of those sudden sea-coastchanges had greyed the blue in the sky, spreading a fine haze over landand water, effacing the crisp sparkle of the sea, dulling the westeringsun. 

A few moments later Sylvia, glancing over her shoulder, noticed that afine misty drizzle had clouded the casements. That meant that her usualevening stroll on the cliffs with Quarrier, before dressing for dinner, was off. And she drew a little breath of unconscious relief as MarionPage walked in, her light woollen shooting-jacket, her hat, shoes, andthe barrels of the fowling-piece tucked under her left arm-pit, allglimmering frostily with powdered rain drops. 

She said something to Grace Ferrall about the mist promising goodpoint-shooting in the morning, took the order book from a servant, jotted down her request to be called an hour before sunrise, filled inthe gun-room records with her score--the species and number bagged, andthe number of shells used--and accepting the tea offered, drew out atiny cigarette-case of sweet-bay wood heavily crusted with rose-gold. 

"With whom were you shooting?" asked Grace, as Marion dropped onewell-shaped leg over the other and wreathed her delicately tannedfeatures in smoke. 

"Stephen Siward and Blinky. They're at it yet, but I had some lettersto write. " She glanced leisurely at Sylvia and touched the ash-tray withthe whitening end of her cigarette. "That dog you let Mr. Siward have isa good one. I'm taking him to Jersey next week for the cock-shooting. "

Sylvia returned her calm gaze blankly. 

An unreasonable and disagreeable shock had passed through her. 

"My North Carolina pointers are useless for close work, " observed Marionindifferently; and she leaned back, watching the blue smoke curlingupward from her cigarette. 

Sylvia, distrait, but with downcast eyes on fire under the fringedlids, was thinking of the cheque Siward had given her for Sagamore. Thetransaction, for her, had been a business one on the surface only. Shehad never meant to use the cheque. She had laid it away among a fewletters, relics, pleasant souvenirs of the summer. To her the affairhad been softened by a delicate hint of intimacy, --the delight he was totake in something that had once been hers had given her a faint tasteof the pleasure of according pleasure to a man. And this is what he haddone!

The drizzle had turned to fog, through which rain was now pelting thecliffs; people were returning from the open; a motor-car came whizzinginto the drive, and out of it tumbled Rena and Eileen and the faithfulPages, the girls irritable and ready for tea, and the boys like apair of eager, wagging, setter puppies, pleased with everything andeverybody, utterly oblivious to the sombre repose brooding above thetea-table. 

Their sister calmly refused them the use of her cigarettes. Eileenpresented her pretty shoulder, Rena nearly yawned at them, but, nothing dampened, they recounted a number of incidents with reciprocalenthusiasm to Sylvia, who was too inattentive to smile, and to GraceFerrall, who smiled the more sweetly through sheer inattention. 

Then Alderdene came in, blinking a greeting through his foggy goggles, sloppy, baggy, heavy shoes wheezing, lingered in the vicinity longenough to swallow his "peg" and acquire a disdainful opinion of hisshooting from Marion, and then took himself off, leaving the room noisywith his laugh, which resembled the rattle of a startled kingfisher. 

In ones and twos the guests reported as the dusk-curtained fog closed inon Shotover. Quarrier came, dry as a chip under his rain-coat, but hissilky beard was wet with rain, and moisture powdered his long, softeyelashes and white skin; and his flexible, pointed fingers, as hedrew off his gloves, seemed startling in their whiteness through thegathering gloom. 

"I suppose our evening walk is out of the question, " he said, standingby Sylvia, who had nodded a greeting and then turned her head ratherhastily to see who had entered the room. It was Siward, only a vagueshape in the gloom, but perfectly recognisable to her. At the samemoment Marion Page rose leisurely and strolled toward the billiard-room. 

"Our walk?" repeated Sylvia absently--"it's raining, you know. " Yet onlya day or two ago she had walked to church with Siward through the rain, the irritated Major feeling obliged to go with them. Her eyes followedSiward's figure, suddenly dark against the door of the lightedbilliard-room, then brilliantly illuminated, as he entered, noddedacceptance to Mortimer's invitation, and picked up the cue just laidaside by Agatha Caithness, who had turned to speak to Marion. ThenMortimer's bulk loomed nearer; voices became gay and animated in thebilliard-room. Siward's handsome face was bent toward Agatha Caithnessin gay challenge; Mortimer's heavy laugh broke out; there came therattle of pool-balls, and the dull sound of cue-butts striking thefloor; then, crack! and the game began, with Marion Page and Siwardfighting Mortimer and Miss Caithness for something or other. 

Quarrier had been speaking for some time before Sylvia became awareof it--something about a brisk walk in the morning somewhere; and shenodded impatiently, watching Marion's supple waist-line as she bent farover the illuminated table for a complicated shot at the enemy. 

His fiancée's inattention was not agreeable to Quarrier. A dozen thingshad happened since his arrival which had not been agreeable to him:her failure to meet him at the Fells Crossing, and the reason for herfailure; and her informal acquaintance with Siward, whose presence atShotover he had not looked for, and her sudden intimacy with the man hehad never particularly liked, and whom within six months he had come todetest and to avoid. 

These things--the outrageous liberty Siward had permitted himself incaricaturing him, the mortifying caprice of Sylvia for Siward on the dayof the Shotover cup-drive--had left indelible impressions in a cold andrather heavy mind, slow to waste effort in the indulgence of any vitalemotion. 

In a few years indifference to Siward had changed to passivedisapproval; that, again, to an emotionless dislike; and when thescandal at the Patroons Club occurred, for the first time in his lifehe understood what it was to fear the man he disliked. For if Siwardhad committed the insane imprudence which had cost him his title tomembership, he had also done something, knowingly or otherwise, whichawoke in Quarrier a cold, slow fear; and that fear was dormant, butpresent, now, and it, for the time being, dictated his attitude andbearing toward the man who might or might not be capable of usingviciously a knowledge which Quarrier believed that he must possess. 

For that reason, when it was not possible to avoid Siward, his bearingtoward him was carefully civil; for that reason he dampened MajorBelwether's eagerness to tell everybody all he knew about theshamelessly imprudent girl who had figured with Siward in the scandal, but whose identity the press had not discovered. 

Silence was always desirable to Quarrier; silence concerning all matterswas a trait inborn and congenially cultivated to a habit by him in everyaffair of life--in business, in leisure, in the methodical pursuits ofsuch pleasures as a limited intellect permitted him, in personal andfamily matters, in public questions and financial problems. 

He listened always, but never invited confidences; he had no opinion toexpress when invited. And he became very, very rich. 

And over it all spread a thin membrane of vanity, nervous, notintellectual, sensitiveness; for all sense of humour was absent in thisman, whose smile, when not a physical effort, was automatically andmethodically responsive to certain fixed cues. He smiled when he said"Good morning, " when declining or accepting invitations, when takinghis leave, when meeting anybody of any financial importance, andwhen everybody except himself had begun to laugh in a theatre or adrawing-room. This limit to any personal manifestation he considered agenerous one. And perhaps it was. 

A sudden rain-squall, noisy against the casements, had darkened theroom; then the electric lights broke out with a mild candle-like lustre, and Quarrier, standing beside Sylvia's chair, discovered it to be empty. 

It was not until he had dressed for dinner that he saw her again, seatedon the stairs with Marion Page--a new appearance of intimacy for bothwomen, who heretofore had found nothing except a passing civility incommon. 

Marion was discussing dog-breeding with that cool, crude, directinsouciance so unpleasant to some men. Sylvia was attentive, curious, and instinctively shrinking by turns, secretly dismayed at theoverplainness of terms employed in kennel lore by the girl at her side. 

The conversation veered toward the Sagamore pup. Marion explained thatSiward was too busy to do any Southern shooting, which was why he wasglad to have her polish Sagamore on Jersey woodcock. 

"I thought it was not good for a dog to be used by anybody except hismaster, " said Sylvia carelessly. 

"Only second-raters suffer. Besides, I have shot enough, now, with Mr. Siward to use his dog as he does. "

"He is an agreeable shooting companion, smiled Sylvia. 

"He is perfect, " answered Marion coolly. "The only test for athoroughbred is the field. He rings true. "

They exchanged carefully impersonal views on Siward's good qualitiesfor a moment or two; then Marion said bluntly: "Do you know anything inparticular about that Patroons Club affair?"

"No, " said Sylvia, "nothing in particular. "

"Neither do I; and I don't care to; I mean, that I don't care what hedid; and I wish that gossiping old Major would stop trying to hint it tome. "

"My uncle!"

"Oh! I forgot. Beg your pardon, you know, but--"

"I'm not offended, " observed Sylvia, with a shrug of her pretty, bareshoulders. 

Marion laughed. "Such a gadabout! Besides, I'm no prude, but he andLeroy Mortimer have no business to talk to unmarried women the way theydo. No matter how worldly wise we are, men have no right to suppose weare. "

"Pooh!" shrugged Sylvia. "I have no patience to study outdouble-entendre, so it never shocks me. Besides--"

She was going to add that she was not at all versed in doubtful worldlywisdom, but decided not to, as it might seem to imply disapproval ofMarion's learning. So she went on: "Besides, what have innuendoes to dowith Mr. Siward?"

"I don't know whether I care to understand them. The Major hintedthat the woman--the one who figured in it--is--rather exclusively Mr. Siward's 'property. '"

"Exclusively?" repeated Sylvia curiously. "She's a public actress, isn'tshe?"

"If you call the manoeuvres of a newly fledged chorus girl acting, yes, she is. But I don't believe Mr. Siward figures in that unfashionablerôle. Why, there are too many women of his own sort ready for mischief. "Marion turned to Sylvia, her eyes hard with a cynicism quite lost on theother. "That sort of thing might suit Leroy Mortimer, but it doesn't fitMr. Siward, " she concluded, rising as their hostess appeared from aboveand the butler from below. 

And all through dinner an indefinitely unpleasant remembrance of theconversation lingered with Sylvia, and she sat silent for minutes at atime, returning to actualities with a long, curious side-glance acrossat Siward, and an uncomprehending smile of assent for whatever Quarrieror Major Belwether had been saying to her. 

Cards she managed to avoid after dinner, and stood by Quarrier's chairfor half an hour, absently watching the relentless method and steadyadherence to rule which characterised his Bridge-playing, the eager, unslaked brutality of Mortimer, the set, selfish face of his prettywife, the chilled intensity of Miss Caithness. 

And Grace Ferrall's phrase recurred to her, "Nobody ever has enoughmoney!"--not even these people, whose only worry was to find investmentfor the surplus they were unable to spend. Something of the meannessof it all penetrated her. Were these the real visages of these people, whose faces otherwise seemed so smooth and human? Was Leila Mortimeraware of the shrillness of her voice? Did Agatha Caithness realise howpinched her mouth and nose had grown? Did even Leroy Mortimer dream howswollen the pouches under his eyes were; how red and puffy his hands, shuffling a new pack; how pendulous and dreadful his red under-lip whenabsorbedly making up his cards?

Instinctively she moved a step forward for a glimpse of Quarrier's face. The face appeared to be a study in blankness. His natural visage wasemotionless and inexpressive enough, but this face, from which everyvestige of colour had fled, fascinated her with its dead whiteness; andthe hair brushed high, the long, black lashes, the silky beard, struckher as absolutely ghastly, as though they had been glued to a face ofwax. 

She turned on her heel, restless, depressed, inclined for companionship. The Page boys had tempted Rena and Eileen to the billiard-room; Voucher, Alderdene, and Major Belwether were huddled over a table, immersed inPreference; Katharyn Tassel and Grace Ferrall sat together looking overthe announcements of Sylvia's engagement in a batch of New York papersjust arrived; Ferrall was writing at a desk, and Siward and Marion wereoccupied in the former's sketch for an ideal shooting vehicle, to bebuilt on the buckboard principle, with a clever arrangement for dogs, guns, ammunition, and provisions. Siward's profile, as it bent inthe lamplight over the paper, was very engaging. The boyish notepredominated as he talked while he drew, his eyes now smiling, nowseriously intent on the sketch which was developing so swiftly under hisfacile pencil. 

Marion's clean-cut blond head was close to his, her supple body twistedin her seat, one bare arm hanging over the back of the chair. Somethingin her attitude seemed to exclude intrusion; her voice, too, was hushedin comment, though his was pitched in his naturally agreeable key. 

Sylvia had taken a hesitating step toward them, but halted, turning irresolutely; and suddenly over her crept a sensation ofisolation--something of that feeling which had roused her at midnightfrom her bed and driven her to Grace Ferrall for a refuge from she knewnot what. 

The rustle of her silken dinner gown was scarcely perceptible as sheturned. Siward, moving his head slightly, glanced up, then brought hissketch to a brilliant finish. 

"Don't you think something of this sort is practicable?" he askedpleasantly, including Mrs. Ferrall and Katharyn Tassel in a generalappeal which brought them into the circle of two. Grace Ferrall leanedforward, looking over Marion's shoulder, and Siward rose and steppedback, with a quick glance into the hall--in time to catch a glimmer ofpale blue and lace on the stairs. 

"I suppose my cigarettes are in my room as usual, " he said aloud tohimself, wheeling so that he could not have time to see Marion's offerof her little gold-encrusted case, or notice her quickly raised eyes, bright with suspicion and vexation. For she, too, had observed Sylvia'sdistant entrance, had been perfectly aware of Siward's cognizanceof Sylvia's retreat; and when Siward went on sketching she had beencontent. Now she could not tell whether he had deliberately andskillfully taken his congé to follow Sylvia, or whether, in his questfor his cigarettes, chance might meddle, as usual. Even if he returned, she could not know with certainty how much of a part hazard had playedon the landing above, where she already heard the distant sounds ofSylvia's voice mingling with Siward's, then a light footfall or two, andsilence. 

He had greeted her in his usual careless, happy fashion, just as shehad reached her chamber door; and she turned at the sound of his voice, confused, unsmiling, a little pale. 

"Is it headache, or are you too in quest of cigarettes?" he asked, as hestopped in passing her where she stood, one slender hand on the knob ofher door. 

"I don't smoke, you know, " she said, looking up at him with a coollittle laugh. "It isn't headache either. I was--boring myself, Mr. Siward. "

"Is there any virtue in me as a remedy?"

"Oh, I have no doubt you have lots of virtues. … Perhaps you might doas a temporary remedy--first aid to the injured. " She laughed again, uncertainly. "But you are on a quest for cigarettes. "

"And you?"

"A rendezvous--with the Sand-Man. … Good night. "

"Good night … if you must say it. "

"It's polite to say something … isn't it?"

"It would be polite to say, 'With pleasure, Mr. Siward!'"

"But you haven't invited me to do anything--not even to accept acigarette. Besides, you didn't expect to meet me up here?"

The trailing accent made it near enough a question for him to say, "Yes, I did. "

"How could you?"

"I saw you leave the room. "

"You were sketching for Marion Page. Do you wish me to believe that younoticed me--"

"--And followed you? Yes, I did follow you. " She looked at him, thenpast him toward a corner of the wide hall where a maid in cap and apronsat pretending to be sewing. "Careful!" she motioned with smiling lips, "servants gossip. … Good night, again. "

"Won't you--"

"Oh, dear! you mustn't speak so loud, " she motioned, with her fresh, sweet lips curving on the edge of that adorable smile once more. 

"Couldn't we have a moment--"

"No--"

"One minute--"

"Hush! I must open my door"--lingering. "I might come out again, if youhave anything particularly important to communicate to me. "

"I have. There's a big bay-window at the end of the other corridor. Willyou come?"

But she opened her door, with a light laugh, saying "good night" again, and closed it noiselessly behind her. 

He walked on, turning into his corridor, but kept straight ahead, passing his own door, on to the window at the end of the hall, then north along a wide passageway which terminated in a bay-windowoverlooking the roof of the indoor swimming tank. 

Rain rattled heavily, against the panes and on the lighted roof ofopalescent glass below, through which he could make out the shadowyfronds of palms. 

It appeared that he had cigarettes enough, for he lighted one presently, and, leaving his chair, curled up in the cushioned and pillowedwindow-seat, gathering his knees together under his arm. 

The cigarette he had lighted went out. He had bitten into it and twistedit so roughly that it presently crumbled; and he threw the rags of itinto a metal bowl, locking his jaws in silence. For the night threatenedto be a bad one for him. A heavy fragrance from his neighbour'swine-glass at dinner had stirred up what had for a time lain dormant;and, by accident, something--some sweetmeat he had tasted--was saturatedin brandy. 

Now, his restlessness at the prospect of a blank night had quickened touneasiness, with a hint of fever tinting his skin, but, as yet, the dullache in his body was scarcely more than a premonition. 

He had his own devices for tiding him over such periods--reading, tobacco, and the long, blind, dogged tramps he took in town. But here, to-night, in the rain, one stood every chance of walking off the cliffs;and he was sick of reading himself sightless over the sort of books sentwholesale to Shotover; and he was already too ill at ease, physically, to make smoking endurable. 

Were it not for a half-defiant, half-sullen dread of the coming night, he might have put it from his mind in spite of the slowly increasingnervous tension and the steady dull consciousness of desire. He drewanother Sirdar from his case and sat staring at the rain-smeared night, twisting the frail fragrant cigarette to bits between his fingers. 

After a while he began to walk monotonously to and fro the length of thecorridor, like a man timing his steps to the heavy ache of body ormind. Once he went as far as his own door, entered, and stepping to thewash-basin, let the icy water run over hands and wrists. This sometimeshelped to stimulate and soothe him; it did now, for a while--long enoughto change the current of his thoughts to the girl he had hoped mighthave the imprudence to return for a tryst, innocent enough in itself, yet unconventional and unreasonable enough to prove attractive to themboth. 

Probably she wouldn't come; she had kept her fluffy skirts clear of himsince Cup Day--which simply corroborated his vague estimate of her. Had she done the contrary, his estimate would have been the same; for, unconsciously but naturally, he had prejudged her. A girl who couldcapture Quarrier at full noontide, and in the face of all Manhattan, was a girl equipped for anything she dared--though she was probably tooclever to dare too much; a girl to be interested in, to amuse and beamused by; a girl to be reckoned with. His restlessness and his feversubdued by the icy water, he stood drying his hands, thinking, coolly, how close he had come to being seriously in love with this young girl, whose attitude was always a curious temptation, whose smile was acharming provocation, whose youth and beauty were to him a perpetualchallenge. He admitted to himself, calmly, that he had never seen awoman he cared as much for; that for the brief moment of his declarationhe had known an utterly new emotion, which inevitably must have becomethe love he had so quietly declared it to be. He had never before feltas he felt then, cared as he cared then. Anything had been possiblefor him at that time--any degree of love, any devotion, any generousrenunciation. Clear-sighted, master of himself, he saw love before him, and knew it when he saw it; recognised it, was ready for it, offered it, emboldened by her soft hands so eloquent in his. 

And in his arms he held it for an instant, he thought, spite of thesudden inertia, spite of the according of cold lips and hands stillcolder, relaxed, inert; held it until he doubted. That was all; he hadbeen wise to doubt such sudden miracles as that. She, consummate andcharming, had soon set him right. And, after all, she liked him; andshe had been sure enough of herself to permit the impulse of a momentto carry her with him--a little way, a very little way--merely to theformal symbol of a passion the germ of which she recognised in him. 

Then she had become intelligent again, with a little laughter, a littlemalice, a becoming tint of hesitation and confusion; all the sense, allthe arts, all the friendly sweetness of a woman thorough in training, schooled in self-possession, clear enough to be audacious and perversewithout danger to herself, to the man, or to the main chance. 

Standing there alone in his lighted room, he wondered whether, had hertrained and inbred policy been less precise, less worldly, she mighthave responded to such a man as he. Perfectly conscious that he had beencapable of loving her; aware, too, that his experience had left him onthat borderland only through his cool refusal to cross it and face ahopeless battle already lost, he leisurely and mentally took the measureof his own state of mind, and found all well, all intact; found himselfstill master of his affections, and probably clear-minded enough toremain so under the circumstances. 

To such a man as he, impulse to love, capacity to love, did not meaninstant capsizing with a flop into sentimental tempests, where swamped, ardent and callow youth raises a hysterically selfish clamour forreciprocity or death. His nature partly, partly his character, accountedfor this balance; and, in part, a rather wide experience with women ofvarious degrees counted more. 

So, by instinct and experience, normally temperate, only whatwas abnormal and inherited might work a mischief in this man. Hislistlessness, his easy acquiescence, were but consequent upon theself-knowledge of self-control. But mastery of the master-vice requiredsomething different; he was sick of a sickness; and because, in thissickness, will, mind, and body are tainted too, reason and logic lackclarity; and, to the signals of danger his reply had always been eitheroverconfident or weak--and it had been always the same reply: "Not yet. There is time. " And now, this last week, it had come upon him thatthe time was now; the skirmish was already on; and it had alarmed himsuddenly to find that the skirmish was already a battle, and a roughone. 

As he stood there he heard voices on the stairs. People had alreadybegun to retire, because late cards and point-shooting at dawn donot agree. And a point-shooting picnic in snugly elaborate blinds waspopular with women--or was supposed to be. 

He could distinguish by their voices, by their laughter and step, the people who were mounting the stairway and lingering for gossip orpassing through the various corridors to court the sleep denied him;he heard Mortimer's heavy tread and the soft shuffling step of MajorBelwether as they left the elevator; and the patter of his hostess'ssatin slippers, and her gay "good night" on the stairs. 

Little by little the tumult died away. Quarrier's measured step came, passed; Marion Page's cool, crisp voice and walk, and the giggle andamble of the twins, and Rena and Eileen, --the last laggards, withFerrall's brisk, decisive tones and stride to close the procession. 

He turned and looked grimly at his bed, then, shutting off the lights, he opened his door and went out into the deserted corridor, where theelevator shaft was dark and only the dim night-lights burned at anglesin the passageways. 

He had his rain-coat and cap with him, not being certain of whathe might be driven to; but for the present he found the bay-windowoverlooking the swimming tank sufficient to begin the vigil. 

Secure from intrusion, as there were no bedrooms on that corridor, hetossed coat and cap into the window-seat, walked to and fro for a whilelistening to the rain, then sat down, his well-shaped head between hishands. And in silence he faced the Enemy. 

How long he had sat there he did not know. When he raised his face, all gray and drawn with the tension of conflict, his eyes were not veryclear, nor did the figure standing there in the dim light from the hallmean anything for a moment. 

"Mr. Siward?" in an uncertain voice, almost a whisper. 

He stood up mechanically, and she saw his face. 

"Are you ill? What is it?"

"Ill? No. " He passed his hand over his eyes. "I fancy I was close to theedge of sleep. " Some colour came back into his face; he stood smilingnow, the significance of her presence dawning on him. 

"Did you really come?" he asked. "This isn't a very lovely butimpalpable astral vision, is it?"

"It's horridly imprudent, isn't it?" she murmured, still considering therather drawn and pallid face of the man before her. "I came out of purecuriosity, Mr. Siward. "

She glanced about her. He moved a big bunch of hothouse roses so shecould pass, and she settled down lightly on the edge of the window-seat. When he had piled some big downy cushions behind her back, she made aquick gesture of invitation. 

"I have only a moment, " she said, as he seated himself beside her. "Partof my curiosity is satisfied in finding you here; I didn't suppose youso faithful. "

"I can be fairly faithful. What else are you curious about?"

"You said you had something important--"

"--To tell you? So I did. That was bribery, perjury, false pretences, robbery under arms, anything you will! I only wanted you to come. "

"That is a shameful confession!" she said; but her smile was gay enough, and she noiselessly shook out her fluffy skirts and settled herself atrifle more deeply among the pillows. 

"Of course, " she observed absently, "you are dreadfully mortified atyourself. "

"Naturally, " he admitted. 

The patter of the rain attracted her attention; she peered out throughthe blurred casements into the blackness. Then, picking up his cap andindicating his raincoat, "Why?" she asked. 

"Oh--in case you hadn't come--"

"A walk? By yourself? A night like this on the cliffs! You are notperfectly mad, are you?"

"Not perfectly. "

Her face grew serious and beautiful. 

"What is the matter, Mr. Siward?"

"Things. "

"Do you care to be more explicit?"

"Well, " he said, with a humourous glance at her, "I haven't seen you forages. That's not wholesome for me, you know. "

"But you see me now; and it does not seem to benefit you. "

"I feel much better, " he insisted, laughing; and her blue eyes grew verylovely as the smile broke from them in uncertain response. 

"So you had nothing really important to tell me, Mr. Siward?"

"Only that I wanted you. "

"Oh! … I said important. "

But he did not argue the question; and she leaned forward, broke a rosefrom its stem, then sank back a little way among the cushions, lookingat him, idly inhaling the hothouse perfume. 

"Why have you so ostentatiously avoided me, Mr. Siward?" she askedlanguidly. 

"Well, upon my word!" he said, with a touch of irritation. 

"Oh, you are so dreadfully literal!" she shrugged, brushing herstraight, sensitive nose with the pink blossom; "I only said it to giveyou a chance. … If you are going to be stupid, good night!" But shemade no movement to go. … "Yes, then; I have avoided you. And it doesn'tbecome you to ask why. "

"Because I kissed you?"

"You hint at the true reason so chivalrously, so delicately, " she said, "that I scarcely recognise it. " The cool mockery of her voice and thewarm, quick colour tinting neck and face were incongruous. He thoughtwith slow surprise that she was not yet letter-perfect in her rôle ofthe material triumphant over the spiritual. A trifle ashamed, too, hesat silent, watching the silken petals fall one by one as she slowlydetached them with delicate, restless lips. 

"I am sorry I came, " she said reflectively. "You don't know why I came, do you? Sheer loneliness, Mr. Siward; there is something of the child inme still, you see. I am not yet sufficiently resourceful to take it outin a quietly tearful obligato; I never learned how to produce tears. …So I came to you. " She had stripped the petals from the rose, and now, tossing the crushed branch from her, she leaned forward and broke fromits stem a heavy, perfumed bud, half unfolded. 

"It seems my fate to pass my life in bidding you good night, " she said, straightening up and turning to him with the careless laughter touchingmouth and eyes again. Then, resting her weight on one hand, her smooth, white shoulder rounded beside her cheek, she looked at him out ofhumourous eyes:

"What is it that women find so attractive in you? The man's experiencedinsouciance? The boy's unconscious cynicism? The mystery of yourself-sufficiency? The faulty humanity in you? The youth in you alreadyshowing traces of wear that hint of future scars? What will you be atthirty-five? At forty? … Ah, " she added softly, "what are you now? ForI don't know, and you cannot tell me if you would. … Out of these littlewindows called eyes we look at one another, and study surfaces, andtry to peep into neighbours' windows. But all is dark behind thewindows--always dark, in there where they tell us souls hide. "

She laid the shell-pink bud against her cheek that matched it, smilingwith wise sweetness to herself. 

"What counts with you?" he asked after a moment. 

"Counts? How?"

"In your affections. What prepossesses you?"

She laughed audaciously: "Your traits--some of them--all of themthat you reveal. You must be aware of that much already, consideringeverything--"

"Then, what is it I lack? Where do I fail?"

"But you don't lack--you don't fail! I ask nothing more of you, Mr. Siward. "

"A man from whom a woman desires nothing is already convicted ofinsufficiency. … You would recognise this very quickly if I made love toyou. "

"Is that the only way I am to discover your insufficiency, Mr. Siward?"

"Or my sufficiency. … Have you enough curiosity to try?"

"Oh! I thought you were to try. " Then, quickly: "But I think you havealready experimented; and I did not notice your shortcomings. So thereis no use in pursuing that line of investigation any farther--is there?"

And always with her the mischief lay in the trailing upward inflection;in the confused sweetness of her eyes, and their lovely uncertainty. 

One slim white hand held the rose against her cheek; the other lay idlyon her knee, fresh and delicate as a fallen petal; and he laid bothhands over it and lifted it between them. 

"Mr. Siward, I am afraid this is becoming a habit with you. " The gaymockery was not quite genuine; the curve of lips too sensitive for avoice so lightly cynical. 

He smiled, bending there, considering her hand between his; and after amoment her muscles relaxed, and bare round arm and hand lay abandoned tohim. 

"Quite flawless--perfect, " he said aloud to himself. 

"Do you--read hands?"

"Vaguely. " He touched the smooth palm: "Long life, clear mind, and"--helaughed--"heart supreme over reason! There is written a white lie--but apretty one. "

"It is no lie. "

He laughed again, unconvinced. 

"It is the truth, " she said, seriously insisting and bending sidewaysabove her own hand where it lay in his. "It is a miserable confession toadmit it, but I'm afraid intelligence would fight a losing battle withheart if the conflict ever came. You see, I know, having nobody to studyexcept myself all these years. … There is the proof of it--that selfish, smooth contour, where there should be generosity. Then, look at thetendency of imagination toward mischief!" She laid her right forefingeron the palm of the left hand which he held, and traced the developmentsarising in the Mount of Hermes. "Is it not a horrid hand, Mr. Siward? Idon't know how much you know about palms, but--" She suddenly flushed, and attempted to close her hand, doubling the thumb over. There wasa little half-hearted struggle, freeing one of his arms, which fell, settling about her slender waist; a silence, a breathless moment, and hehad kissed her. Her lips were warm, this time. 

She recovered herself, avoiding his eyes, and moved backward, shieldingher face with pretty upflung elbows out-turned. "I told you it wasbecoming a habit with you!" The loud beating of her pulses marred hervoice. "Must I establish a dead-line every time I commit the folly ofbeing alone with you?"

"I'll draw that line, " he said, taking her in his arms. 

"I--I beg you will draw it quickly, Mr. Siward. "

"I do; it passes through your heart and mine!"

"Is--do you mean a declaration--again? You are compromising yourself, you know. I warn you that you are committing yourself. "

"So are you. Look at me!"

In his arms, her own arms pressed against his breast, resisting, sheraised her splendid youthful eyes; and through and through her shotpulse on pulse, until every nerve seemed aquiver. 

"While I'm still sane, " he said with a dry catch in his throat, "beforeI tell you that I love you, look at me. "

"I will, if you wish, " she said with a trembling smile, "but it isuseless--"

"That is what I shall find out in time. … You must meet my eyes. That iswell; that is frank and sweet--"

"And useless--truly it is. … Please don't tell me--anything. "

"You will not listen?"

"There is no chance for you--if you mean love. I--I tell you in time, you see. … I am utterly frivolous--quite selfish and mercenary. "

"I take my chance!"

"No, I give you none! Why do you interfere! A--a girl's policy costs hersomething if it be worth anything; whatever it costs it is worth it tome. … And I do not love you. In so short a time how could I?"

Then in his arms she fell a-trembling. Something blinded her eyes, andshe turned her head sharply, only to encounter his lips on hers in adeep, clinging embrace that left her dazed, still resisting with thefragments of breath and voice. 

"Not again--I beg--you. Let me go now. It is not best. Oh! truly, trulyit is all wrong with us now. " She bent her head, blinded with tears, swaying, stunned; then, with a breathless sound, turned in his armsto meet his lips, her hands contracting in his; and, confronting, theypaused, suspending the crisis, young faces close, and hearts afire. 

"Sylvia, I love you. "

For an instant their lips clung; she had rendered him his kiss. Then, tremblingly, "It is useless … even though I loved you. "

"Say it!"

"I do. "

"Say it!"

"I--I cannot! … And it is no use--no use! I do not know myself--thisway. My eyes--are wet. It is not like me; there is nothing of me in thisgirl you hold so closely, so confidently. … I do care for you--how can Ihelp it? How could any woman help it? Is not that enough?"

"Until you are a bride, yes. "

"A bride? Stephen!--I cannot--"

"You cannot help it, Sylvia. "

"I must! I have my way to go. "

"My way lies that way. "

"No! no! I cannot do it; it is not best for me--not best for you. … Ido care for you; you have taught me how to say it. But--you know whatI have done--and mean to do, and must carry through. Then, how can youlove a girl like that?"

"Dear, I know the woman I love. "

"Silly, she is what her life has made her--material, passionatelyselfish, unable to renounce the root of all evil. … Even if this--thishappiness were ours always--I mean, if this madness could last ourwedded life--I am not good enough, not noble enough, to forget what Imight have had, and put away. … Is it not dreadful to admit it? Do younot know that self-contempt is part of the price? … I have no money. Iknow what you have. … I asked. And it is enough for a man who remainsunmarried. … For I cannot 'make things do'; I cannot 'contrive'; I willnot cling to the fringe of things, or play that heartbreaking rôle ofthe shabby expatriated on the Continent. … No person in this world everhad enough. I tell you I could find use for every flake of metal evermined! … You see you do not know me. From my pretty face and figure youmisjudge me. I am intelligent--not intellectual, though I might havebeen, might even be yet. I am cultivated, not learned; though I care forlearning--or might, if I had time. … My rôle in life is to mount to asecurity too high for any question as to my dominance. … Can you take methere?"

"There are other heights, Sylvia. "

"Higher?"

"Yes, dear. "

"The spiritual; I know. I could not breathe there, if I cared to climb. … And I have told you what I am--all silk and lace and smooth-skinnedselfishness. " She looked at him wistfully. "If you can change me, takeme. " And she rose, facing him. 

"I do not give you up, " he said, with a savage note hardening his voice;and it thrilled her to hear it, and every drop of blood in her bodyleaped as she yielded to his arms again, heavy-lidded, trembling, confused, under the piercing sweetness of contact. 

The perfume of her mouth, her hair, the consenting fingers locked inhis, palm against palm, the lips, acquiescent, then afire at last, responsive to his own; and her eyes opening from the dream under thewhite lids--these were what he had of her till every vein in him pulsedflame. Then her voice, broken, breathless:

"Good night. Love me while you can--and forgive me! … Good night. …Where are we? All--all this must have stunned me, blinded me. … Is thismy door, or yours? Hush! I am half dead with fear--to be here under thelight again. … If you take me again, my knees will give way. … And Imust find my door. Oh, the ghastly imprudence of it! … Good night … goodnight. I--I love you!"

CHAPTER VI MODUS VIVENDI

After the first few days of his arrival at Shotover time had threatenedto hang heavily on Mortimer's mottled hands. After the second day afieldhe recognised that his shooting career was practically over; he hadbecome too bulky during the last year to endure the physical exertion;his habits, too, had at length made traitors of his eyes; a half hour'ssnipe-shooting in the sun, and the veins in his neck swelled ominously. Panting, eyes inflamed, fat arms wobbly, he had scored miss after miss, and laboured onward, sullenly persistent to the end. But it was theend. That cup day finished him; he recognised that he was done for. And, following the Law of Pleasure, which finishes us before we are finishedwith it, he did not experience any particular sense of deprivation inthe prospect. Only the wholesome dread caging. But Mortimer, not yetdone with self-indulgence in more convenient forms, cast about himwithin his new limits for occupation between those hours consecrated tothe rites of the table and the card-room. 

He drove four, but found that it numbed his arms, and that the sea airmade him sleepy. Motor-cars agreed with him only when driving with apretty woman. Forced through ennui to fish off the rocks, he soon tiredof the sea-perch and rock-cod and the malodours of periwinkle and clam. 

Then he frankly took to Major Belwether's sunny side of the gun-room, with illustrated papers and apples and decanter. But Major Belwether, always as careful of his digestion as of his financial secrets, blandlydodged the pressing invitations to rum and confidence, until Mortimersulkily took up his headquarters in the reading-room, on the chanceof his wife's moving elsewhere. Which she did, unobtrusively carryingCaptain Voucher with her in a sudden zeal for billiard practice on rainymornings now too frequent along the coast. 

Mortimer possessed that mysterious talent, so common among thefinancially insolvent, for living lavishly on an invisible income. But, plan as he would, he had never been able to increase that incomethrough confidential gossip with men like Quarrier or Belwether, or evenFerrall. What information his pretty wife might have extracted he didnot know; her income had never visibly increased above the vanishingpoint, although, like himself, she denied herself nothing. One short, lively interview with her had been enough to drive all partnership ideasout of his head. If he wanted to learn anything financially advantageousto himself he must do it without her aid; and as he was perpetually inhopes of the friendly hint that never came, he still moused about whenopportunity offered; and this also helped to kill time. 

Besides, he was always studying women. Years before, Grace Ferrall hadsnapped her slim fingers in his face; and here, at Shotover, the fieldwas limited. Mrs. Vendenning had left; Agatha Caithness was still a paleand reticent puzzle; Rena, Katharyn, and Eileen tormented him; MarionPage, coolly au fait, yawned in his face. There remained Sylvia, who, knowing nothing about his species, met him half-way with the sweet andsensitive deference due a somewhat battered and infirm gentlemanof forty-eight--until a sleek aside from Major Belwether spoiledeverything, as usual, for her, leaving her painfully conscious andperplexed between doubt and disgust. 

Meanwhile, the wealthy master of Black Fells, Beverly Plank, had foundencouragement enough at Shotover to venture on tentative informality. There was no doubt that ultimately he must be counted on in New York;but nobody except him was impatiently cordial for the event; and so, atthe little house party, he slipped and slid from every attempt atcloser quarters, until, rolling smoothly enough, he landed without muchdiscomfort somewhere between Mr. And Mrs. Leroy Mortimer. And it was nota question as to "which would be good to him, " observed Major Belwether, with his misleading and benevolent mirth; "it was, which would begoodest quickest!"

And Mrs. Mortimer, abandoning Captain Voucher by the same token, displayed certain warning notices perfectly comprehensive to herhusband. And at first he was inclined to recognise defeat. 

But the general insuccess which had so faithfully attended him recentlyhad aroused the long-dormant desire for a general review of thesituation with his wife--perhaps even the furtive hope of some conjugalarrangement tending toward an exchange of views concerning possiblealliance. 

The evening previous, to his intense disgust, host, hostess, and guestshad retired early, in view of the point-shooting at dawn. For not onlywas there to be no point-shooting for him, but he had risen from thecard-table heavily hit; and besides, for the first time his apples andport had disagreed with him. 

As he had not risen until mid-day he was not sleepy. Books were anaversion equalled only by distaste for his own company. Irritated, bored, he had perforce sulkily entered the elevator and passed to hisroom, where there was nothing on earth for him to do except to thumbover last week's sporting periodicals and smoke himself stupid. 

But it required more than that to ensnare the goddess of slumber. He walked about the room, haunted of slow thoughts; he stood atthe rain-smeared pane, fat fingers resting on the glass. The richlyflavoured cigar grew distasteful; and if he could not smoke, what, inpity's name, was he to do?

Involuntarily his distended eyes wandered to his wife's locked andbolted door; then he thought of Beverly Plank, and his own failure tofasten himself upon that anxiously over-cordial individual with hishouses and his villas and his yachts and his investments!

He stepped to the switch and extinguished the lights in his room. Underthe door, along the sill, a glimmer came from his wife's bed-chamber. He listened; the maid was still there; so he sat down in the darknessto wait; and by-and-by he heard the outer bedroom door close, and thesubdued rustle of the departing maid. 

Then, turning on his lights, he moved ponderously and jauntily to hiswife's door and knocked discreetly. 

Leila Mortimer came to the door and opened it; her hair was coiled forthe night, her pretty figure outlined under a cascade of clinging lace. 

"What is the matter?" she asked quietly. 

"Are you point-shooting to-morrow?"

"I wanted to chat with you. "

"I'm sorry. I'm driving to Wenniston, after breakfast, with BeverlyPlank, and I need sleep. "

"I want to talk to you, " he repeated doggedly. 

She regarded him for a moment in silence, then, with an assentinggesture, turned away into her room; and he followed, heavilyapprehensive but resolved. 

She had seated herself among a pile of cushions, one knee crossed overthe other, her slim white foot half concealed by the silken toe of herslipper. And as he pulled a chair forward for himself, her pretty blackeyes, which slanted a little, took his measure and divined trouble. 

"Leila, " he said, "why can't we have--"

"A cigarette?" she interrupted, indicating her dainty case on the table. 

He took one, savagely aware of defiance somewhere. She lighted herown from a candle and settled back, studying the sequence of bluesmoke-rings jetting upward to the ceiling. 

"About this man Plank, " he began, louder than he had intended throughsheer self-mistrust; and his wife made a quick, disdainful sign ofcaution, which subdued his voice instantly. "Why can't we take himup--together, Leila?" he ended lamely, furious at his own uneasiness ina matter which might concern him vitally. 

"I see no necessity of your taking him up, " observed his wife serenely. "I can do what may be useful to him in town. "

"So can I. There are clubs where he ought to be seen--"

"I can manage such matters much better. "

"You can't manage everything, " he insisted sullenly. "There are chancesof various sorts--"

"Investments?" asked Mrs. Mortimer, with bright malice. 

"See here, Leila, you have your own way too much. I say little; I makedamned few observations; but I could, if I cared to. … It becomes youto be civil at least. I want to talk over this Plank matter with you; Iwant you to listen, too. "

A shade of faint disgust passed over her face. "I am listening, " shesaid. 

"Well, then, I can see several ways in which the man can be of use tome. … I discovered him before you did, anyway. And what I want to do isto have a frank, honourable--"

"A--what?"

"--An honourable understanding with you, I said, " he repeated, reddening. 

"Oh!" She snapped her cigarette into the grate. "Oh! I see. And whatthen?"

"What then?"

"Yes; what then?"

"Why, you and I can arrange to stand behind him this winter in town, can't we?"

"And then?"

"Then--damn it!--the beggar can show his gratitude, can't he?"

"How?" she asked listlessly. 

"By making good. How else?" he retorted savagely. "He can't welchbecause there's little to climb for beyond us; and even if he climbs, hecan't ignore us. I can do as many things for him in my way as you canin yours. What is the use of being a pig, Leila? Anything he does for meisn't going to cancel his obligations to you. "

"I know him better than you do, " she observed, bending her head andpleating the lace on her knee. "There is Dutch blood in him. "

"Not good Hollander, but common Dutch, " sneered Mortimer. "And you meanhe'll squeeze a dollar till the eagle screams-don't you?"

She sat silent, pleating her lace with steady fingers. 

"Well, that's all right, too, " laughed Mortimer easily; "let theAudubon Society worry over the eagle. It's a perfectly plain businessproposition; we can do for him in a couple of winters what he can't dofor himself in ten. Figure it out for yourself, Leila, " he said, wavinga mottled fat hand at her. 

"I--have, " she said under her breath. 

"Then, is it settled?

"Settled--how?"

"That we form ourselves into a benevolent society of two in behalf ofPlank?"

"I--I don't want to, Roy, " she said slowly. 

"Why not?"

She did not say why not, seated there nervously pleating the fragilestuff clinging to her knee. 

"Why not?" he repeated menacingly. Her unexpectedly quiescent attitudehad emboldened him to a bullying tone--something he had not latelyventured on. 

She raised her eyes to his: "I--rather like him, " she said quietly. 

"Then, by God! he'll pay for that!" he burst out, mask off, everyinflamed feature shockingly congested. 

"Roy! You dare not--"

"I tell you I--"

"You dare not!"

The palpitating silence lengthened; slowly the blood left the swollenveins. Heavy pendulous lip hanging, he stared at her from distendedeyes, realising that he had forgotten himself. She was right. He darednot. And she held the whip-hand as usual. 

For every suspicion he could entertain, she had evidence of a certaintyto match it; for every chance that he might have to prove anything, shehad twenty proven facts. And he knew it. Why they had, during all theseyears, made any outward pretence of conjugal unity they alone knew. Themodus vivendi suited them better than divorce: that was apparent, or hadbeen until recently. Recently Leila Mortimer had changed--become subduedand softened to a degree that had perplexed her husband. Her attitudetoward him lacked a little of the bitterness and contempt she usuallyreserved for him in private; she had become more prudent, almostcautious at times. 

"I'll tell you one thing, " he said with a sudden snarl: "You'd better becareful there is no gossip about you and Plank. "

She reddened under the insult. 

"Now we'll see, " he continued venomously, "how far you can go alone. "

"Do you suppose, " she asked calmly, "that I am afraid of a divorcecourt?"

The question so frankly astonished him that he sat agape, unable toreply. For years he had very naturally supposed her to be afraid ofit--afraid of not being qualified to obtain it. Indeed, he had takenthat for granted as the very corner-stone of their mutual toleration. Had he been an ass to do so? A vague alarm took possession of him;for, with that understanding, he had not been at all careful of his ownbehaviour, neither had he been at any particular pains to conceal hisdoings from her. His alarm increased. What had he against her, afterall, except ancient suspicions, now so confused and indefinite thatmemory itself outlawed the case, if it ever really existed. What had sheagainst him? Facts--unless she was more stupid than any of her sex hehad ever encountered. And now, this defiance, this increasing prudence, this subtle change in her, began to make him anxious for the permanencyof the small income she had allowed him during all these years--doledout to him, as he believed, though her dormant fear of him. 

"What are you talking about?" he said harshly. 

"I believe I mentioned divorce. "

"Well, cut it out! D'ye see? Cut it, I say. You'd stand as much chancebefore a referee as a snowball in hell. "

"There's no telling, " she said coolly, "until one tries. "

He glared at her, then burst into a laugh. "Rot!" he said thickly. "Talksense, Leila! And keep this hard-headed Dutchman for yourself, if youfeel that way about it. I don't want to butt in. I only thought--for oldtimes' sake--perhaps you'd--"

"Good night, " she managed to say, her disgust almost strangling her. 

And he went, furtively, heavy-footed, perplexed, inwardly cursing hisblunder in stirring up a sleeping lioness whom he had so long mistakenfor a dozing cat. 

For hours he sat in his room, or paced the four walls, doubtful, chagrined, furious by turns. Once he drew out a memorandum-book andstood under a lighted sconce, studying the figures. His losses atShotover staggered him, but he had looked to his wife heretofore in suchemergencies. 

Certainly the time had come for him to do something. But what?--if hiswife was going to strike such attitudes in the very face of decency?Certainly a husband in these days was without honour in his ownhousehold. 

His uneasiness had produced a raging thirst. He punched an electricbutton with his fleshy thumb, and prowled around, waiting. Nobody came;he punched again, and looked at his watch. It astonished him to findthe hour was three o'clock in the morning. That discovery, however, onlyappeared to increase his thirst. He opened the hall door, prepared todescend into the depths of the house and raid a sideboard; and as hethrust his heavy head out into the lighted corridor his eyes fell upontwo figures standing at the open door of a bedroom. One was Siward; thatwas plain. Who was the girl he had kissed? One of the maids? Somebody'swife? Who?

Every dull pulse began to hammer in Mortimer's head. In his excitementhe stepped half-way into the corridor, then skipped nimbly back, closinghis door without a sound. 

"Sylvia Landis, by all that's holy!" he breathed to himself, and satdown rather suddenly on the edge of the bed. 

After a while he rose and crept to the door, opened it, glued his eyesto the crack, in time to catch a glimpse of Siward entering his owncorridor alone. 

And that night, Mortimer, lying awake in bed, busy with schemes, becameconscious of a definite idea. It took shape and matured so suddenly thatit actually shocked his moral sense. Then it scared him. 

"But--but that is blackmail!" he whispered aloud. "A man can't do thatsort of thing. What the devil ever put it into my head? … And thereare men I know--women, too--scoundrelly blackguards, who'd use thatinformation somehow; and make it pay, too. The scoundrels!"

He squirmed down among the bedclothes with a sudden shiver; but thenight had turned warm. 

"Scoundrels!" he said, with milder emphasis. "Blackmailers! Contemptiblepups!"

He fell asleep an hour later, muttering something incoherent aboutscoundrels and blackmail. 

And meanwhile, in the darkened house, from all round came the noiseof knocking on doors, sounds of people stirring--a low voice here andthere, lights breaking out from transoms, the thud of rubber-shod heels, the rattle of cartridges from the echoing gun-room. For the guests atShotover were awaking, lest the wet sky, whitening behind the east, ring with the whimpering wedges of wild-fowl rushing seaward over emptyblinds. 

The unusual stillness of the house in the late morning sunshine waspleasant to Miss Landis. She had risen very late, unconscious of thestir and movement before dawn; and it was only when a maid told her, as she came from her bath, that she remembered the projectedpoint-shooting, and concluded, with an odd, happy sense of relief, thatshe was almost alone in the house. 

A little later, glancing from her bedroom window for a fulfilment of thepromise of the sun which a glimpse of blue sky heralded, she saw LeilaMortimer settling herself in the forward seat of a Mercedes, and BeverlyPlank climbing in beside her; and she watched Plank steer the bigmachine across the wet lawn, while the machinist swung himself intothe tonneau; and away they rolled, faster, faster, rushing out into themisty hinterland, where the long streak of distant forest already beganto brighten, edged with the first rays of watery sunshine. 

So she had the big house to herself--every bit of it and with it freedomfrom obligation, from comment, from demand or exaction; freedom fromrestraint; liberty to roam about, to read, to dream, to idle, toremember! Ah, that was what she needed--a quiet interval in thishurrying youth of hers to catch her breath once more, and stand still, and look back a day or two and remember. 

So, to breakfast all alone was delicious; to stroll, unhurried, to thesideboard and leisurely choose among the fresh cool fruits; to loiterover cream-jug and cereal; to saunter out into the freshness of theworld and breathe it, and feel the sun warming cheek and throat, andthe little breezes from a sunlit sea stirring the bright strands of herhair. 

In the increasing brilliancy of the sunshine she stretched out herhands, warming them daintily as she might twist them before the fire onthe hearth. And here, at the fragrant hearth of the world, she stood, sweet and fresh as the morning itself, untroubled gaze intensely bluewith the tint of the purple sea, sensitive lips scarcely parting in thedreaming smile that made her eyes more wonderful. 

As the warmth grew on land and water, penetrating her body, a faintlydelicious glow responded in her heart, --nothing at first wistful in theserene sense of well-being, stretching her rounded arms skyward inthe unaccustomed luxury of a liberty which had become the naivelyunconscious licence of a child. The poise of sheer health stretched herto tiptoe; then the graceful tension relaxed, and her smooth fingersuncurled, tightened, and fell limp as her arms fell and her superb youngfigure straightened, confronting the sea. 

Out over the rain-wet, odorous grass she picked her way, skirts swunghigh above the delicate contour of ankle and limb, following a littledescending path she knew full of rocky angles, swept by pendant spraysof blackberry, and then down under the jutting rock, south throughthickets of wild cherry along the crags, until, before her the wayopened downward again where a tiny crescent beach glimmered white hot inthe sun. 

From his bedroom window Mortimer peeped forth, following her progresswith a leer. 

As she descended, noticing the rifts of bronzing seaweed piled alongthe tide mark, her foot dislodged a tiny triangle of rock, which rolledclattering and ringing below; and as she sprang lightly to the sand, a man, lying full length and motionless as the heaped seaweed, raisedhimself on one arm, turning his sun-dazzled eyes on her. 

The dull shock of surprise halted her as Siward rose to his feet, stilldazed, the sand running from his brown shooting-clothes over his tightlystrapped puttees. 

"Have you the faintest idea that I supposed you were here?" she askedbriefly. Then, frank in her disappointment, she looked up at the cliffsoverhead, where her line of retreat lay. 

"Why did you not go with the others?" she added, unsmiling. 

"I--don't know. I will, if you wish. " He had coloured slowly, the frankdisappointment in her face penetrating his surprise; and now he turnedaround, instinctively, also looking for the path of retreat. 

"Wait, " she said, aware of her own crude attitude and confused by it;"wait a moment, Mr. Siward. I don't mean to drive you away. "

"It's self-exile, " he said quietly; "quite voluntary, I assure you. "

"Mr. Siward!"

And, as he looked up coolly, "Have you nothing more friendly to say tome? Is your friendship for me so limited that my first caprice overstepsthe bounds? Must I always be in dread of wounding you when I give youthe privilege of knowing me better than anybody ever knew me--of seeingme as I am, with all my faults, my failings, my impulses, my real self?… I don't know why the pleasure of being alone to-day should have meantexclusion for you, too. It was the unwelcome shock of seeing anybody--aselfish enjoyment of myself--that surprised me into rudeness. That isall. … Can you not understand?"

"I think so. I meant no criticism--"

"Wait, Mr. Siward!" as he moved slowly toward the path. "You force meto say other things, which you have no right to hear. … After lastnight"--the vivid tint grew in her face--"after such a night, is itnot--natural--for a girl to creep off somewhere by herself and try tothink a little?"

He had turned full on her; the answering colour crept to his forehead. 

"Is that why?" he asked slowly. 

"Is it not a reason?"

"It was my reason--for being here. "

She bit her bright lip. This trend to the conversation was ominous, andshe had meant to do her drifting alone in still sun-dreams, fearingno witness, no testimony, no judgment save her own self in court withherself. 

"I--I suppose you cannot go--now, " she reflected innocently. 

"Indeed I can, and must. "

"And leave me here to dig in the sand with my heels? Merci!"

"Do you mean--"

"I certainly do, Mr. Siward. I don't want to dream, now; I don't care toreflect. I did, but here you come blundering into my private world andupset my calculations and change my intentions! It's a shame, especiallyas you've been lying here doing what I wished to do for goodness knowshow long!"

"I'm going, " he said, looking at her curiously. 

"Then you are very selfish, Mr. Siward. "

"We will call it that, " he said with an odd laugh. 

"Very well. " She seated herself on the sand and calmly shook out herskirts. 

"About what time would you like to be called?" he asked smilingly. 

"Thank you, I shall do no sun-dreaming. "

"Please. It is good for you. "

"No, it isn't good at all. And I am grateful to you for waking me, " sheretorted with a sudden gay malice that subdued him. And she, delicatenose in the air, laughingly watching him, went on with her punishment:"You see what you've done, don't you?--saved me from an entire morningwasted in sentimental reverie over what might have been. Now you canappreciate it, can't you?--your wisdom in appearing in the flesh to savea silly girl the effort of evoking you in the spirit! Ah, Mr. Siward, Iam vastly obliged to you! Pray sit here beside me in the flesh, for fearthat in your absence I might commit the folly that tempted me here. "

His low running laughter accompanying her voice had stimulated her to agay audacity, which for the instant extinguished in her the little fearof him she had been barely conscious of. 

"Do you know, " he said, "that you also aroused me from my sun-dreams?"

"Did I? And can't you resume them?"

"You save me the necessity. "

"Oh, that is a second-hand compliment, " she said disdainfully--"a weakplagiarism on what I conveyed very wittily. You were probably reallyasleep, and dreaming of bird-murder. "

He waited for her to finish, then, amused eyes searching, he roamedabout until high on a little drifted sand dune he found a place forhimself; and while she watched him indignantly, he curled up in thesunshine, and, dropping his head on the hot sand, calmly closed hiseyes. 

"Upon--my word!" she breathed aloud. 

He unclosed his eyes. "Now you may dream; you can't avoid it, " heobserved lazily, and closed his eyes; and neither taunts nor jeers norquestions, nor fragments of shells flung with intent to hit, stirred himfrom his immobility. 

She tired of the attempt presently, and sat silent, elbows on herthighs, hands propping her chin. Thoughts, vague as the fitful breeze, arose, lingered, and, like the breeze, faded, dissolved into calm, through which, cadenced by the far beat of the ebb tide, her heartechoed, beating the steady intervals of time. 

She had not meant to dream, but as she sat there, the fine-spun goldenthreads flying from the whirling loom of dreams floated about her, settling over her, entangling her in unseen meshes, so that she stirred, groping amid the netted brightness, drawn onward along dim paths andthrough corridors of thought where, always beyond, vague splendoursseemed to beckon. 

Now lost, now restless, conscious of the perils of the shining path shefollowed, the rhythm of an ocean soothing her to false security, shedreamed on awake, unconscious of the tinted sea and sky which stainedher eyes to hues ineffable. A long while afterward a small cloud floatedacross the sun; and, in the sudden shadow on the world, doubt soundedits tiny voice, and her ears listened, and the enchantment faded anddied away. 

Turning, she looked across the sand at the man lying there; her eyesconsidered him--how long she did not know, she did not heed--until, stirring, he looked up; and she paled a trifle and closed her eyes, stunned by the sudden clamour of pulse and heart. 

When he rose and walked over, she looked up gravely, pouring the lasthandful of white sand through her stretched fingers. 

"Did you dream?" he asked lightly. 

"Yes. "

"Did you dream true?"

"Nothing of my dream can happen, " she said. "You know that, … don'tyou?"

"I know that we love … and that we dare not ignore it. "

She suffered his arm about her, his eyes looking deeply into hers--aclose, sweet caress, a union of lips, and her dimmed eyes' response. 

"Stephen, " she faltered, "how can you make it so hard for me? How canyou force me to this shame!"

"Shame?" he repeated vaguely. 

"Yes--this treachery to myself--when I cannot hope to be more toyou--when I dare not love you too much!"

"You must dare, Sylvia!"

"No, no, no! I know myself, I tell you. I cannot give up what isoffered--for you!--dearly, dearly as I do love you!" She turned andcaught his hands in hers, flushed, trembling, unstrung. "I cannot--Isimply cannot! How can you love me and listen to such wickedness?How can you still care for such a girl as I am--worse than mercenary, because I have a heart--or had, until you took it! Keep it; it is theonly part of me not all ignoble. "

"I will keep it--in trust, " he said, "until you give yourself with it. "

But she only shook her head wearily, withdrawing her hands from his, andfor a time they sat silent, eyes apart. 

Then--"There is another reason, " she said wistfully. 

He looked up at her, hesitated, and--"My habits?" he asked simply. 

"Yes. "

"I have them in check. "

"Are you--certain?"

"I think I may be--now. "

"Yet, " she said timidly, "you lost one fight--since you knew me. "

The dull red mantling his face wrung her heart. She turned impulsivelyand laid both hands on his shoulders. "That chance I would take, withall its uncertainty, all the dread inheritance you have come into. Ilove you enough for that; and if it turned out that--that you could notstem the tide, even with me to face it with you; and if the pity of it, the grief of it, killed me, I would take that chance--if you loved methrough it all. … But there is something else. Hush; let me have my saywhile I find the words--something else you do not understand. … Turnyour face a little; please don't look at me. This is what you do notknow--that, in three generations, every woman of my race has--gonewrong. … Every one! and I am beginning--with such a marriage! …deliberately, selfishly, shamelessly, perfectly conscious of thefrivolous, erratic blood in me, aware of the race record behind me. 

"Once, when I knew nothing--before I--I met you--I believed such amarriage would not only permit me mental tranquillity, but safely anchorme in the harbour of convention, leaving me free to become what I amfashioned to become--autocrat and arbiter in my own world. And now!and now! I don't know--truly I don't know what I may become. Yourlove forces my hand. I am displaying all the shallowness, falseness, pettiness, all the mean, and cruel and callous character which must betruly my real self. … Only I shall not marry you! You are not to runthe risk of what I might prove to be when I remember in bitterness allI have renounced. If I married you I should remember, unreconciled, whatyou cost me. Better for you and for me that I marry him, and let himbear with me when I remember that he cost me you!"

She bent over, almost double, closing her eyes with small clenchedhands; and he saw the ring shimmering in the sunshine, and her hair, heavily, densely gold, and the white nape of her neck, and the tinyclose-set ears, and the curved softness of cheek and chin; every smooth, childlike contour and mould--rounded arms, slim, flowing lines of bodyand limb--all valued at many millions by her as her own appraiser. 

Suddenly, deep within him, something seemed to fail, die out--perhaps atiny newly lighted flame of unaccustomed purity, the dawning flicker ofaspiration to better things. Whatever it was, material, spiritual, wasgone now, and where it had glimmered for a night, the old accustomedtwilit doubt crept in--the same dull acquiescence--the same uncertaintyof self, the familiar lack of will, of incentive, the congenial tendencyto drift; and with it came weariness--perhaps reaction from the recentskirmishes with that master-vice. 

"I suppose, " he said in a dull voice, "you are right. "

"No, I am wrong--wrong!" she said, lifting her lovely face and heavyeyes. "But I have chosen my path. … And you will forget. "

"I hope so, " he said simply. 

"If you hope so, you will. "

He nodded, unconvinced, watching a flock of sand-pipers whirling intothe cove like a gray snow-squall and fearlessly settling on the beach. 

After a while, with a long breath: "Then it is settled, " she concluded. 

If she expected corroboration from him she received none; and perhapsshe was not awaiting it. She sat very still, her eyes lost in thought. 

And Mortimer, peeping down at them over the thicket above, yawnedimpatiently and glanced about him for the most convenient avenue ofself-effacement when the time arrived. 

CHAPTER VII PERSUASION

The days of the house-party at Shotover were numbered. A fresh relay ofguests was to replace them on Monday, and so they were making the mostof the waning week on lawn and marsh, in covert and blind, or motoringmadly over the State, or riding in parties to Vermillion Light. Tennisand lawn bowls came into fashion; even water polo and squash alternatedon days too raw for more rugged sport. 

And during all these days Beverly Plank appeared with unflaggingpersistence and assiduity, until his familiar, big, round head andpatient, delft-blue, Dutch eyes became a matter of course at Shotover, indoors and out. 

It was not that he was either accepted, tolerated, or endured; he wassimply there, and nobody took the trouble to question his all-pervadingpresence until everybody had become too much habituated to him to thinkabout it at all. 

The accomplished establishment of Beverly Plank was probably due as muchto his own obstinate and good-tempered persistence as to Mrs. Mortimer. He was a Harvard graduate--there are all kinds of them--enormouslywealthy, and though he had no particular personal tastes to gratify, hewas willing and able to gratify the tastes of others. He did whateveranybody else did, and did it well enough to be amusing; and as lack ofintellectual development never barred anybody from any section of thefashionable world, it seemed fair to infer that he would land where hewanted to, sooner or later. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Mortimer led him about with the confidence that washer perquisite; and the chances were that in due time he would havehouse-parties of his own at Black Fells--not the kind he had wiselydenied himself the pleasure of giving, with such neighbours as theFerralls to observe, but the sort he desired. However, there were manythings to be accomplished for him and by him before he could expect touse his great yacht and his estates and his shooting boxes and the vastgranite mansion recently completed and facing Central Park just northof the new palaces built on the edges of the outer desert where FifthAvenue fringes the hundreds. 

Meanwhile, he had become in a measure domesticated at Shotover, andShotover people gradually came to ride, drive, and motor over theFells, which was a good beginning, though not necessarily a promise foranything definite in the future. 

Mortimer, riding a huge chestnut--he could still wedge himself intoa saddle--had now made it a regular practice to affect the jocularearly-bird squire, and drag Plank out of bed. And Plank, in no positionto be anything but flattered by such sans gêne, laboriously andgratefully splashed through his bath, wallowed amid the breakfastplates, and mounted a hunter for long and apparently aimless gallopswith Mortimer. 

His acquaintance among people who knew Mortimer being limited, he hadno means of determining the latter's social value except through hearsayand a toadying newspaper or two. Therefore he was not yet aware ofMortimer's perennial need of money; and when Mortimer laughingly alludedto his poverty, Plank accepted the proposition in a purely comparativesense, and laughed, too, his thrifty Dutch soul untroubled bymisgivings. 

Meanwhile, Mortimer had come, among other things, on information; howmuch, and precisely of what nature, he was almost too much ashamed toadmit definitely, even to himself. Still, the idea that had led him intothis sudden intimacy with Plank, vague or not, persisted; and he wasalways hovering on the edge of hinting at something which might elicit aresponsive hint from the flattered master of Black Fells. 

There was much about Plank that was unaffected, genuine, even simple, in one sense; he cared for people for their own sakes; and only stubbornadherence to a dogged ambition had enabled him to dispense with thesociety of many people he might easily have cultivated and liked--peoplenearer his own sort; and that, perhaps, was the reason he so readilyliked Mortimer, whose coarse fibre soon wore through the polish whenrubbed against by a closer, finer fibre. And Plank liked him asidefrom gratitude; and they got on famously on the basis of such mutualrecognition. Then, one day, very suddenly, Mortimer stumbled onsomething valuable--a thread, a mere clew, so astonishing that foran instant it absolutely upset all his unadmitted theories andcalculations. 

It was nothing--a vague word or two--a forced laugh--and the scaredsilence of this man Plank, who had blundered on the verge of aconfidence to a man he liked. 

A moment of amazement, of half-incredulous suspicion, of certainty; andMortimer pounced playfully upon him like a tiger--a big, fat, friendly, jocose tiger:

"Plank, is that what you're up to!"

"Up to! Why, I never thought of such a--"

"Haw! haw!" roared Mortimer. "If you could only see your face!"

And Beverly Plank, red as a beet, comfortably suffused with reassuranceunder the reaction from his scare, attempted to refute the other'sconclusions: "It doesn't mean anything, Mortimer. She's just thehandsomest girl I ever saw. I know she's engaged. I only admired her alot. "

"You're not the only man, " said Mortimer blandly, still striving toreconcile his preconceived theories with the awkward half-confession ofthis great, red-fisted, hulking horseman riding at his stirrup. 

"I wouldn't have her dream, " stammered Plank, "that I had ever thoughtof such a--"

"Why not? It would only flatter her. "

"Flatter a woman who is engaged to marry another man!" gasped Plank. 

"Certainly. Do you think any woman ever had enough admiration in thisworld?" asked Mortimer coolly. "And as for Sylvia Landis, she'd betickled to death if anybody hinted that you had ever admired her. "

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Plank, alarmed; "You wouldn't make a joke of it!you wouldn't be careless about such a thing! And there's Quarrier! I'mnot on joking terms with him; I'm on most formal terms. "

"Quarrier!" sneered the other, flicking at his stirrup with his crop. "He's on formal terms with everybody, including himself. He neverlaughed on purpose in his life; once a month only, to keep his mouthin; that's his limit. Do you suppose any woman would stand for him if abetter man looked sideways at her?" And, reversing his riding crop, hedeliberately poked Mr. Plank in the ribs. 

"A--a better man!" muttered Plank, scarce crediting his ears. 

"Certainly. A man who can make good, is good; but a man who can makebetter is it with the ladies--God bless 'em!" he added, displaying aheavy set of teeth. 

Beverly Plank knew perfectly well that, in the comparison so delicatelysuggested by Mortimer, his material equipment could be scarcely comparedto the immense fortune controlled by Howard Quarrier; and as he thoughtit, his reflections were put into words by Mortimer, airily enough:

"Nobody stands a chance in a show-down with Quarrier. But--"

Plank gaped until the tension became unbearable. 

"But--what?" he blurted out. 

"Plank, " said Mortimer solemnly, and his voice vibrated with feeling, "Let me do a little thinking before I ask you a--a vital question. "

But Plank had become agitated again, and he said something so bluntlythat Mortimer wheeled on him, glowering:

"Look here, Plank: you don't suppose I'm capable of repeating aconfidence, do you?--if you choose to make me understand it's aconfidence. "

"It isn't a confidence; it isn't anything; I mean it is confidential, ofcourse. All there's in it is what I said--or rather what you took me upon so fast, " ended Plank, abashed. 

"About your being in love with Syl--"

"Confound it!" roared Plank, crimson to his hair; and he set his heavyspurs to his mount and plunged forward in a storm of dust. Mortimerfollowed, silent, profoundly immersed in his own thoughts anddeductions; and as he pounded along, turning over in his mind all thevaried information he had so unexpectedly obtained in these last fewdays, a dull excitement stirred him, and he urged his huge horse forwardin a thrill of rising exhilaration such as seizes on men who hunt, nomatter what they hunt--the savage, swimming sense of intoxication whichmarks the man who chases the quarry not for its own value, but becauseit is his nature to chase and ride down and enjoy spoils. 

And all that afternoon, having taken to his room on pretence ofneuralgia, he lay sprawled on his bed, thinking, thinking. Not thathe meant harm to anybody, he told himself very frequently. He had, of course, information which certain degraded men might use in acontemptible way, but he, Mortimer, did not resemble such men in anyparticular. All he desired was to do Plank a good turn. There wasnothing disreputable in doing a wealthy man a favour. … And God knewa wealthy man's gratitude was necessary to him at that verymoment--gratitude substantially acknowledged. … He liked Plank--wishedhim well; that was all right, too; but a man is an ass who doesn't wishhimself well also. … Two birds with one stone. … Three! for he hatedQuarrier. Four! … for he had no love for his wife. … Besides, it wouldteach Leila a wholesome lesson--teach her that he still counted; serveher right for her disgusting selfishness about Plank. 

No, there was to be nothing disreputable in his proceedings; that hewould be very careful about. … Probably Major Belwether might expresshis gratitude substantially if he, Mortimer, went to him frankly andvolunteered not to mention to Quarrier the scene he had witnessedbetween Sylvia Landis and Stephen Siward at three o'clock in the morningin the corridor; and if, in playful corroboration, he displayed the capand rain-coat and the big fan, all crushed, which objects of interest hehad discovered later in the bay-window. … Yes, probably Major Belwetherwould be very grateful, because he wanted Quarrier in the family; heneeded Quarrier in his business. … But, faugh! that was close enoughto blackmail to rub off! … No! … No! He wouldn't go to Belwether andpromise any such thing! … On the contrary, he felt it his duty toinform Quarrier! Quarrier had a right to know what sort of a girl hewas threatened with for life! … A man ought not to let another man goblindly into such a marriage. … Men owed each other something, evenif they were not particularly close friends. … And he had always hada respect for Quarrier, even a sort of liking for him--yes, a distinctliking! … And, anyhow, women were devils! and it behooved men to gettogether and stand for one another!

Quarrier would give her her walking papers damned quick! … And, in herhumiliation, is there anybody mad enough to fancy that she wouldn't snapup Plank in such a fix? … And make it look like a jilt for Quarrier? …But Plank must do his part on the minute; Plank must step up in the verynick of time; Plank, with his millions and his ambitions, was bound tobe a winner anyway, and Sylvia might as well be his pilot and use hismoney. … And Plank would be very, very grateful--very useful, a verygood friend to have. … And Leila would learn at last that he, Mortimer, had cut his wisdom teeth, by God!

As for Siward, he amounted to nothing; probably was one of thatcontemptible sort of men who butted in and kissed a pretty girl when hehad the chance. He, Mortimer, had only disgust for such amateurs ofthe social by-ways; for he himself kept to the highways, like anyself-respecting professional, even when a tour of the highways sometimescarried him below stairs. There was no romantic shilly-shallyingfol-de-rol about him. Women learned what to expect from him in shortorder. En garde, Madame!--ou Mademoiselle--tant pis!

He laughed to himself and rolled over, digging his head into the pillowsand stretching his fat hands to ease their congestion. And most ofall he amused himself with figuring out the exact degree of his wife'sastonishment and chagrin when, without consulting her, he achieved thetriumph of Quarrier's elimination and the theatrical entry of BeverlyPlank upon the stage. He laughed when he thought of Major Belwether, too, confounded under the loss of such a nephew-in-law, humiliated, crushed, all his misleading jocularity, all his sleek pink-and-whitesuavity, all his humbugging bonhomie knocked out of him, leaving onlya rumpled, startled old gentleman, who bore an amusing resemblance to avery much mussed-up buck-rabbit. 

"Haw! haw!" roared Mortimer, rolling about in his bed and kicking theslippers from his fat feet. Then, remembering that he was supposed to besuffering silently in his room, he hunched up to a sitting posture andregarded his environment with a subdued grin. 

Everything seems easy when it seems funny. After all, the matter wassimple--absurdly simple. A word to Quarrier, and crack! the match wasoff! Girl mad as a hornet, but staggered, has no explanation to offer;man frozen stiff with rage, mute as an iceberg. Then, zip! Enter BeverlyPlank--the girl's rescuer at a pinch--her preserver, the saviour of her"face, " the big, highly coloured, leaden-eyed deus ex machina. Would shetake fifty cents on the dollar? Would she? to buy herself a new "face"?And put it all over Quarrier? And live happy ever after? Would she? Oh, not at all!

And Mortimer rolled over in another paroxysm; which wasn't good forhim, and frightened him enough to lie still awhile and think how best hemight cut down on his wine and spirits. 

The main thing, after all, was to promise Plank his opportunity, but nottell him how he was to obtain it; for Mortimer had an uneasy idea thatthere was something of the Puritan deep planted under the stolid youngman's hide, and that he might make some absurd and irrelevant objectionto the perfectly proper methods employed by his newly self-constitutedguide and mentor. No; that was no concern of Plank's. All he had to dowas to be ready. As for Quarrier, anybody could forecast his action whenonce convinced of Sylvia's behaviour. 

He lay there pondering several methods of imparting the sad butnecessary information to Quarrier. One thing was certain: there was notnow time enough before the house-party dissolved to mould Plank intoacquiescent obedience. That must be finished in town--unless Plankinvited him to stay at the Fells after his time was up at Shotover. ByHeaven! That was the idea! And there'd be a chance for him at cards! …Only, of course, Plank would ask Leila too. … But what did he care! Hewas no longer afraid of her; he'd soon be independent of her and herpittance. Let her go to the courts for her divorce! Let her--

He sat up rather suddenly, perplexed with a new idea which, curiouslyenough, had not appealed to him before. The astonishing hint so coollydropped by his wife concerning her fearlessness of divorce proceedingshad only awakened him to the consciousness of his own vulnerability andcarelessness of conduct. 

Now it occurred to him, for the first time, that if it were not a merebluff on Leila's part, this sudden coquetting with the question ofdivorce might indicate an ulterior object. Was Leila considering hiselimination in view of this ulterior object? Was there an ulteriorgentleman somewhere prepared to replace him? If so, where? And who?

His wife's possible indiscretions had never interested him; he simplydidn't care--had no curiosity, as long as appearances were maintained. And she had preserved appearances with a skill which required all theindifferent and easy charity of their set to pretend completely deceivedeverybody. Yes, he gave her credit for that; she had been clever. Nobodyoutside of the social register knew the true state of affairs in thehouse of Leroy Mortimer--which, after all, was all anybody cared about. 

And so, immersed in the details of his dirty little drama, he ponderedover the possibility of an ulterior gentleman as he moved heavily to andfro, dressing himself--his neuralgia being much better--and presentlydescended the stairs to find everybody absent, engaged, as a servantexplained, in a game of water basket-ball in the swimming pool. So hestrolled off toward the north wing of the house, which had been builtfor the squash-courts and swimming pool. 

There was a good deal of an uproar in the big gymnasium as Mortimerwalked in, threading his way through the palms and orange-trees; muchsplashing in the pool, cries and stifled laughter, and the quick rattleof applause from the gallery of the squash-courts. 

The Page boys and Rena and Eileen on one side were playing the lastmatch game against Sylvia, Marion Page, Siward, and Ferrall on theother; the big, slippery, glistening ball was flying about throughstorms of spray. Marion caught it, but her brother Gordon got itaway; then Ferrall secured it and dived toward the red goal; but RenaBonnesdel caught him under water; the ball bobbed up, and Sylvia flungboth arms around it with a little warning shout and hurled it back atSiward, who shot forward like an arrow, his opponents gathering abouthim in full cry, amid laughter and excited applause from the gallery, where Grace Ferrall and Captain Voucher were wildly offering odds on theblue, and Alderdene and Major Belwether were thriftily booking them. 

Mortimer climbed the slippery, marble stairway as fast as his lack ofbreath permitted, anxious for his share of the harvest if the odds wereright. He ignored his wife's smilingly ironical offer, seeing no sensein bothering about money already inside the family; but he managed tomake several apparently desirable wagers with Katharyn Tassel and onewith Beverly Plank, who was also obstinately backing the blues, thelosing side. Sylvia played forward for the blues. 

Agatha Caithness, sleeves rolled up, tall and slim and strangely palein her white flannels, came from the squash-court with Quarrier to watchthe finish; and Mortimer observed her sidewise, blinking, irresolute, for he had never understood her and was always a trifle afraid of her. A pair of icicles, she and Quarrier, with whom he had never beenon betting terms; so he made no suggestions in that direction, andpresently became absorbed in the splashing battle below. Indeed, such adashing of foam and showering of spray was taking place that the frondsof the big palms hung dripping amid drenched blossoms overweighted andprone on the wet marble edges of the pool. 

Suddenly, through the confused blur of foam and spray, the big, glistening ball shot aloft and remained. 

"Blue! Blue!" exclaimed Grace Ferrall, clapping her hands; and a littlewhirlwind of cries and hand clapping echoed from the gallery as thebreathless swimmers came climbing out of the pool, with scarcely windenough left for a word or strength for a gesture toward the laughingcrowd above. 

Mortimer, disgusted, turned away, already casting about him for somebodyto play cards with--it being his temperament and his temper to throwgood money after bad. But Quarrier and Miss Caithness had alreadyreturned to the squash-courts, the majority of the swimmers to theirseveral dressing-rooms, and Grace Ferrall's party, equipped formotoring, to the lawn, where they lost little time in disappearinginto the golden haze which a sudden shift of wind had spun out of thecloudless afternoon's sunshine. 

However, he got Marion, and also, as usual, the two men who had made apractice of taking away his money--Major Belwether and Lord Alderdene. He hadn't particularly wanted them; he wanted somebody he could playwith, like Siward, for example, or even the two ten-dollar Pages; notthat their combined twenty would do him much good, but it would at leastpermit him the pleasures of the card-table without personal loss. 

But the Pages had retired to dress, and Voucher was for motoring, and hehad no use for his wife, and he was afraid of Plank's game, and Siward, seated on the edge of the pool and sharing a pint of ginger-ale withSylvia Landis, shook his head at the suggestion and resumed his divisionof the ginger-ale. 

Plank and Leila Mortimer came down to congratulate them. Sylvia, alwaysinstinctively and particularly nice to people of Plank's sort whom sheoccasionally encountered, was so faultlessly amiable, that Plank, whohad never before permitted himself the privilege of monopolisingher, found himself doing it so easily that it kept him in a state ofpersistent mental intoxication. 

That slow, sweet, upward training inflection to a statement whichinstantly became a confided question was an unconscious trick whichhad been responsible, in Sylvia's brief life, for more mistakes thananything else. Like others before him, Beverly Plank made themistake that the sweetness of voice and the friendliness of eyes wereparticularly personal to him, in tribute to qualities he had foolishlyenough hitherto not suspected in himself. Now he suspected them, and whatever of real qualities desirable had been latent in him alsoappeared at once, confirming his modest suspicions. Certainly he wasa wit! Was not this perfectly charming girl's responsive and deliciouslaughter proof enough? Certainly he was epigrammatic! Certainly he couldbe easy, polished, amusing, sympathetic, and vastly interesting all thewhile. Could he not divine it in her undivided attention, the quick, amused flicker of recognition animating her beautiful face when he hadturned a particularly successful phrase or taken a verbal hurdle withouta cropper? And above all, her kindness to him impressed him; her naturaland friendly pleasure in being agreeable. Here he was already on aninformal footing with one of the persons of whom he had been most shyand uncertain. If people were going to be as considerate of him as shehad proved, why--why--

His dull, Dutch-blue eyes returned to her, fascinated. The conquest ofwhat he desired and meant to have became merged in a vague plan whichincluded such a marriage as he had dreamed of. 

Somebody had once told him that a man who could afford to dress fordinner could go anywhere; meaning that, being a man, nature had fittedhis feet with the paraphernalia for climbing as high as he cared toclimb. 

There was just enough truth in the statement to determine him to use hisclimbing irons; and he had done so, carrying his fortune with him, which had proved neither an impediment nor an aid so far. But now he hadconcluded that neither his god-sent climbing irons, his amiability, hisobstinacy, his mild, tireless persistency, nor his money counted. It hadcome to a crisis where personal worth and sterling character must carryhim through sheer merit to the inner temple--that inner temple of rawgold whose altars are served by a sexless skeleton in cap and bells!

Siward, inclined to be amused by the duration of the trance intowhich Plank had fallen, watched the progress of that bulky young man'sinfatuation as he sat there on the pool's marble edge, exchangingtrivial views on trivial subjects with Mrs. Leroy Mortimer. 

But her conversation, even when inconsequential, was never wearisomeexcept when she made it so for her husband's benefit. Features, person, personality, and temperament were warmly exotic; her dark eyes withtheir slight Japanese slant, the clear olive skin with its rose bloom, the temptation of mouth and slender neck, were always provocative of theaudacity in men which she could so well meet with amusement or surprise, or at times with a fascinating audacity of her own wholly charmingbecause of its setting. 

Once, in their history, during her early married life, Siward had beenvery sentimental about her; but neither he nor she had approached thedanger line closer than to make daring eyes at one another across thefrontiers of good taste. And their youthful enchantment had faded sonaturally, so pleasantly, that always there had remained to them bothan agreeable after-taste--a sort of gay understanding which almostinvariably led to mutual banter when they encountered. But now somethingappeared to be lacking in their rather listless badinage--something ofthe usual flavour which once had salted even a laughing silence withsignificance. Siward, too, had ceased to be amused at the spectacleof Plank's calf-like infatuation; and Leila Mortimer's bored smile hadlasted so long that her olive-pink cheeks were stiff, and she relaxedher fixed features with a little shrug that was also something of ashiver. Then, looking prudently around, she encountered Siward's eyes;and during a moment's hesitation they considered one another with anincreasing curiosity that slowly became tentative intelligence. And hereyes said very plainly and wickedly to Siward's: "Oho, my friend! So itbores you to see Mr. Plank monopolising an engaged girl who belongs toHoward Quarrier!"

And his eyes, wincing, denying, pretending ignorance too late, suddenlynarrowed in vexed retaliation: "Speak for yourself, my lady! You're nomore pleased than I am!"

The next moment they both regretted the pale flash of telepathy. Therehad been something wounded in his eyes; and she had not meant that. No; a new charity for the hapless had softened her wonderfully within afortnight's time, and a self-pity, not entirely ignoble, had subdued thebrilliancy of her dark eyes, and made her tongue more gentle in dealingwith all failings. Besides, she was not yet perfectly certain what ailedher, never having really cared for any one man before. No, she was notat all certain. … But in the meanwhile she was very sorry for herself, and for all those who drained the bitter cup that might yet pass fromher shrinking lips. Who knows! "Stephen, " she said under her breath, "Ididn't mean to hurt you. … Don't scowl. Listen. I have already entirelyforgotten the nature of my offense. Pax, if you please. "

He refused to understand; and she understood that, too; and she gazedcritically upon Sylvia Landis as a very young mother might inspect arival infant with whom her matchless offspring was coquetting. 

Then, without appearing to, she took Plank away from temptation; soskilfully that nobody except Siward understood that the young man hadbeen incontinently removed. He, Plank, never doubting that he was aperfectly free agent, decided that the time had arrived for triumphantretirement. It had; but Leila Mortimer, not he, had rendered thedecision, and so cleverly that it appeared even to Plank himself that hehad dragged her off with him rather masterfully. Clearly he was becominga devil of a fellow!

Sylvia turned to Siward, glanced up at him, hesitated, and began tolaugh consciously:

"What do you think of my latest sentimental acquisition?"

"He'd be an ornament to a stock farm, " replied Siward, out of humour. 

"How brutal you can be!" she mused, smiling. 

"Nonsense! He's a plain bounder, isn't he?"

"I don't know. … Is he? He struck me a trifle appealingly--evenpathetically; they usually do, that sort. … As though the trouble theytook could ever be worth the time they lose! … There are dozens of menI know who are far less presentable than this highly coloured and robustyoung human being; and yet they are part of the accomplished scheme ofthings--like degenerate horses, you know--always pathetic to me; butthey're still horses, for all that. Quid rides? Species of the samegenus can cross, of course, but I had rather be a donkey than a mule. … And if I were a donkey I'd sing and cavort with my own kind, andlet horses flourish their own heels inside the accomplished schemeof things. … Now I have been brutal. But--I'm easily coloured by myenvironment. "

She sat, smiling maliciously down at the water, smoothing out the soakedskirt of her swimming suit, and swinging her legs reflectively. 

"Are you reconciled?" she asked presently. 

"To what?"

"To leaving Shotover. To-day is our last day, you know. To-morrow we allgo; and next day these familiar walls will ring with other voices, mypoor friend:

"'Yon rising moon that looks for us again--How oft hereafter will shewax and wane; How oft hereafter, rising, look for us Through this samemansion--and for one in vain!'"

"That is I--the one, you know. You may be here again; but I--I shall notbe I if I ever come to Shotover again. "

Her stockinged heels beat the devil's tattoo against the marble sides ofthe pool. She reached up above her head, drawing down a floweringbranch of Japanese orange, and caressed her delicate nose with the whiteblossoms, dreamily, then, mischievously: "I'm accustoming myself to thismost significant perfume, " she said, looking at him askance. And shedeliberately hummed the wedding march, watching the colour rise in hissullen face. 

"If you had the courage of a sparrow you'd make life worth something forus both, " he said. 

"I know it; I haven't; but I seem to possess the remainder of hislordship's traits--inconsequence, self-centred selfishness, the instinctfor Fifth Avenue nest-building--all the feathered vices, all theunlovely personality and futility and uselessness of my prototype. …Only, as you observe, I lack the quality of courage. "

"I don't know how much courage it requires to do what you're going todo, " he said sulkily. 

"Don't you? Sometimes, when you wear a scowl like that, I think thatit may require no more courage than I am capable of. … And sometimes--Idon't know. "

She crossed her knees, one slender ankle imprisoned in her hand, leaningforward thoughtfully above the water. 

"Our last day, " she mused; "for we shall never be just you and Iagain--never again, my friend, after we leave this rocky coast of Eden. … I shall have hints of you in the sea-wind and the sound of the sea; inthe perfume of autumn woods, in the whisper of stirring leaves when thewhite birches put on their gold crowns next year. " She smiled, turningto him, a little gravely: "When the Lesser Children return with April, I shall not forget you, Mr. Siward, nor forget your mercy of a day onthem; nor your comradeship, nor your sweetness to me. … Nor your charityfor me, nor all that you overlook so far in me, --under the glamour ofa spell that seems to hold you still, and that still holds me. … I cananswer for my constancy so far, until one more spring and summer havecome and gone--until one more autumn comes, and while it lasts--as longas any semblance of the setting remains which had once framed you; I cananswer for my constancy as long as that. … Afterwards, the snow!--symbolof our separation. I am to be married a year from November first. "

He looked up at her in dark surprise, for he had heard that theirwedding date had been set for the coming winter. 

"A year's engagement?" he repeated, unconvinced. 

"It was my wish. I think that is sufficient for everybody concerned. "Then, averting her face, which had suddenly lost a little of its colour:"A year is little enough, " she said impatiently. "I--what has happenedto us requires an interval--a decent interval for its burial. … Deathis respectable in any form. What dies between you and me can have noresurrection under the snow. … So I bring to the burial my tribute--ayear of life, a year of constancy, my friend; symbol of an eternity Icould have given you had I been worth it. " She looked up, flushed, theforced smile stamped on lips still trembling. "Sentiment in such a womanas I! 'A spectacle for Gods and men, ' you are saying--are you not?And perhaps sentiment with me is only an ancient instinct, a latentancestral quality for which I, ages later, have no use. " She waslaughing easily. "No use for sentiment, as our bodies have no use forthat fashionable little cul-de-sac, you know, though wise men say itonce served its purpose, too. … Stephen Siward, what do you think of menow?"

"I am learning, " he replied simply. 

"What, if you please?"

"Learning a little about what I am losing. "

"You mean--me?"

"Yes. "

She bent forward impulsively, balancing her body on the pool's rim withboth arms, dropping her knee until her ankles swung interlocked abovethe water. "Listen, " she said in a low, distinct voice: "What you loseis no other man's gain! If I warm and expand in your presence--if Isay clever things sometimes--if I am intelligent, sympathetic, andamusing--it is because of you. You inspire it in me. Normally I am thesort of girl you first met at the station. I tell you that I don't knowmyself now--that I have not known myself since I knew you. Qualitiesof understanding, ability to appreciate, to express myself withoutemploying the commonplaces, subtleties of intercourse--all, maybe, werelatent in me, but sterile, until you came into my life. … And whenyou go, then, lacking impulse and incentive, the new facility, the newsensitive alertness, the unconscious self-confidence, all will smoulderand die out in me. … I know it; I realise that it was due to you--partof me that I should never have known, of which I should have remainedtotally ignorant, had it not blossomed suddenly, stimulated by youalone. "

Slowly the clouded seriousness of her blue eyes cleared, and the smilebegan to glimmer again. "That is your revenge; you recommit me to mycommonplace self; you restore me to my tinsel career, practically adolt. Shame on you, Stephen Siward, to treat a poor girl so! … But it'sjust as well. Blunted perceptions, according to our needs, you know; andso life is tempered for us all, else we might not endure it long. … Apleasantly morbid suggestion for a day like this, is it not? … Shall wetake a farewell plunge, and dress? You know we say good-bye to-morrow. "

"Where do you go from here?"

"To Lenox; the Claymores have asked us for a week; after that, HotSprings for another two weeks or so; after that, to Oyster Bay. … Mr. Quarrier opens his house on Sedge Point, " she added demurely, "but Idon't think he expects to invite you to 'The Sedges. '"

"How long do you stay there?" asked Siward irritably. 

"Until we go to town in December. "

"What will you find to do all that time in Oyster Bay?" he asked moreirritably. 

"What a premature question! The yacht is there. Besides, there's theusual neighbourhood hunting, with the usual packs and inevitable set;the usual steeple-chasing; the usual exchange of social amenities; theusual driving and riding; the usual, my poor friend, the usual, in allits uncompromising certainty. … And what are you to do?"

"When?"

"After you leave here?"

"I don't know. "

"You don't know where you are going?"

"I'm going to town. "

"And then?"

"I don't know. "

"Oh, but haven't you been asked somewhere? You have, of course. "

"Yes, and I have declined. "

"Matters of business, " she inferred. "Too bad!"

"Oh, no. "

"Then, " she concluded, laughing, "you don't care to tell me where youare going. "

"No, " he said thoughtfully, "I don't care to tell you. "

She laughed again carelessly, and, placing one hand on the tiledpavement, sprang lightly to her feet. 

"A last plunge?" she asked, as he rose at her side. 

"Yes, one last plunge together. Deep! Are you ready?"

She raised her white arms above her head, finger-tips joined, poisedan instant on the brink, swaying forward; then, at his brief word, theyflashed downward together, cutting the crystalline sea-water, shootinglike great fish over the glass-tiled bed, shoulder to shoulder underthe water; and opening their eyes, they turned toward one another witha swift outstretch of hands, an uncontrollable touch of lips, the veryshadow of contact; then cleaving upward, rising to the surface to liebreathlessly floating, arms extended, and the sun filtering down throughthe ground-glass roof above. 

"We are perfectly crazy, " she breathed. "I'm quite mad; I see that. Onland it's bad enough for us to misbehave; but submarine sentiment! We'llbe growing scales and tails presently. … Did you ever hear of a Southernbird--a sort of hawk, I think--that almost never alights; that lives andeats and sleeps its whole life away on the wing? and even its courtship, and its honeymoon? Grace Ferrall pointed one out to me last winter, nearPalm Beach--a slender bird, part black, part snowy white, with long, pointed, delicate wings like an enormous swallow; and all day, allnight, it floats and soars and drifts in the upper air, never resting, never alighting except during its brief nesting season. … Think of theexquisite bliss of drifting one's life through in mid-air--to sleep, balanced on light wings, upborne by invisible currents flowing under thestars--to sail dreamily through the long sunshine, to float under themoon! … And at last, I suppose, when its time has come, down it whirlsout of the sky, stone dead! … There is something thrilling in sucha death--something magnificent. … And in the exquisitely spiritualhoneymoon, vague as the shadow of a rainbow, is the very essence andaroma of that impalpable Paradise we women prophesy in dreams! … Moresentiment! Heigho! My brother is the weeping crocodile, and the fivewinds are my wits. … Shall we dress? Even with a maid and the electricair-blast it will take time to dry my hair and dress it. "

When he came out of his dressing-room she was apparently still in thehands of the maid. So he sauntered through the house as far as thelibrary, and drawing a cheque-book from one pocket, fished out amemorandum-book from another, and began to cast up totals with a view tolearning something about the various debts contracted at Shotover. 

He seemed to owe everybody. Fortune had smitten him hip and thigh; and, a trifle concerned, he began covering a pad with figures until he knewwhere he stood. Then he drew a considerable cheque to Major Belwether'sorder, another to Alderdene. Others followed to other people for variousamounts; and he was very busily at work when, aware of another presencenear, he turned around in his chair. Sylvia Landis was writing at a deskin the corner, and she looked up, nodding the little greeting that shealways reserved for him even after five minutes' separation. 

"I'm writing cheques, " she said. "I suppose you're writing to yourmother. "

"Why do you think so?" he asked curiously. 

"You write to her every day, don't you?"

"Yes, " he said, "but how do you know?"

She looked at him with unblushing deliberation. "You wrote every day. …If it was to a woman, I wanted to know. … And I told Grace Ferrall thatit worried me. And then Grace told me. Is there any other confession ofmy own pettiness that I can make to you. "

"Did you really care to whom I was writing?" he asked slowly. 

"Care? I--it worried me. Was it not a pitifully common impulse? 'Sistersunder our skin, ' you know--I and the maid who dresses me. She would havesnooped; I didn't; that's the only generic difference. I wanted to knowjust the same. … But--that was before--"

"Before what?"

"Before I--please don't ask me to say it. … I did, once, when you askedme. "

"Before you cared for me. Is that what you mean?"

"Yes. You are so cruelly literal when you wish to punish me. … You areinterrupting me, too. I owe that wretched Kemp Ferrall a lot of money, and I'm trying to find out how much seven and nine are, to closeaccounts with Marion Page. "

Siward turned and continued his writing. And when the little sheaf ofcheques was ready he counted them, laid them aside, and, drawing a flatpacket of fresh bank-notes from his portfolio, counted out the tipsexpected of him below stairs. These arranged for, he straightened up andglanced over his shoulder at Sylvia, but she was apparently absorbed incounting something on the ends of her fingers, so he turned smilinglyto his desk and wrote a long letter to his mother--the same tender, affectionately boyish letter he had always written her, full ofconfidences, full of humour, gaily anticipating his own return to her onthe heels of the letter. 

In his first letter to her from Shotover he had spoken casually of aMiss Landis. It seemed the name was familiar enough to his mother, whoasked about her; and he had replied in another letter or two, a trifleemphatic in his praise of her, because from his mother's letters itwas quite evident that she knew a good deal concerning the veryunconventional affairs of Sylvia's family. 

Of his swift and somewhat equivocal courtship he had had nothing to sayin his letters; in fact recently he had nothing to say about Sylviaat all, reserving that vital confidence for the clear sympathy andunderstanding which he looked forward to when he should see her, andwhich, through dark days and bitter aftermaths, through struggle anddefeat by his master-vice, had never failed him yet, never faltered foran instant. 

So he brought his letter to a close with a tender and uneasy inquiryconcerning her health, which, she had intimated, was not exactlysatisfactory, and for that reason she had opened the house in town inorder to be near Dr. Grisby, their family doctor. 

Sealing and directing the letter, he looked up to see Sylvia standing athis elbow. She dropped a light hand on his shoulder for a second, barelytouching him--a fugitive caress, delicate as the smile hovering on herlips, as the shy tenderness in her eyes. 

"More letters to your sweetheart?" she asked, abandoning her hand tohim. 

"One more--the last before I see her. … I wish you could see her, Sylvia. "

"I wish so, too, " she answered simply, seating herself on the arm of hischair as though it were a side-saddle. 

They sat there very silent for a few moments, curiously oblivious to thechance curiosity of any one who might enter or pass. 

"Would she--care for me--do you think?" asked the girl in a low voice. 

"I think so, --for your real self. "

"I know. She could only feel contempt for me--as I am. "

"She is old-fashioned, " he said reverently. 

"That means all that is best in a woman. … The old fashion of truthand faith; the old fashion of honour, and faith in honour; the old, oldfashion of--love. … All that is best, Stephen; all that is worth thelove of a man. … Some day somebody will revive those fashions. "

"Will you?"

"Dear, they would not become me, " she said, the tenderness in hereyes deepening a little; and she touched his head lightly in humourouscaress. 

"What shall we do with the waning daylight?" she asked. "It is my lastday with you. I told Howard it was my last day with you, and I did notcare to be disturbed. "

"You probably didn't say it that way, " he commented, amused. 

"I did. "

"How much of that sort of thing is he prepared to stand?" asked Siwardcuriously. 

"How much? I don't know. I don't believe he cares. It is my uncle, MajorBelwether, who is making things unpleasant for me. I had to tell Howard, you know. "

"What!" exclaimed Siward incredulously. 

"Certainly. Do you think my conduct has passed without protest?"

"You told Quarrier!" he repeated. 

"Did you imagine I could do otherwise?" she asked coolly. "I have thatmuch decency left. Certainly I told him. Do you suppose that, after whatwe did--what I admitted to you--that I could meet him as usual? Do youthink I am afraid of him?"

"I thought you were afraid of losing him, " muttered Siward. 

"I was, dreadfully. And the morning after you and I had been imprudentenough to sit up until nearly daylight--and do what we did--I made himtake a long walk with me, and I told him plainly that I cared foryou, that I was too selfish and cowardly to marry you, and that if hecouldn't endure the news he was at liberty to terminate the engagementwithout notice. "

"What did he say?" stammered Siward. 

"A number of practical things. "

"You mean to say he stands it!"

"It appears so. What else is there for him to do, unless he breaks theengagement?"

"And he--hasn't?"

"No. I was informed that he held me strictly and precisely to mypromise; that he would never release me voluntarily, though I was, ofcourse, at liberty to do what I chose. … My poor friend, he cares nomore for love than do I. I happen to be the one woman in New York whomhe considers absolutely suitable for him; by race, by breeding, byvirtue of appearance and presence, eminently fitted to complete thematerial portion of his fortune and estate. "

Her voice had hardened as she spoke; now it rang a little at the end, and she laughed unpleasantly. 

"It appears that I was a little truer to myself than you gave me creditfor--a little truer to you--a little less treacherous, less shameless, than you must have thought me. But I have gone to my limit of decency;… and, were I ten times more in love with you than I am, I could not putaway the position and power offered me. But I will not lie for it, norbetray for it. … Do you remember, once you asked me for what reasons Idropped men from my list? And I told you, because of any falsehood ortreachery, any betrayal of trust--and for no other reason. You remember?And did you suppose that elemental standard of decency did not includewomen--even such a woman as I?"

She dropped one arm on the back of his chair and rested her chin on it, staring at space across his shoulders. 

"That's how it had to be, you see, when I found that I cared for you. There was nothing to do but to tell him. I was quite certain that itwas all off; but I found that I didn't know the man. I knew he wassensitive, but I didn't know he was sensitive to personal ridicule only, and to nothing else in all the world that I can discover. I--I suppose, from my frankness to him, he has concluded that no ridicule could evertouch him through me. I mean, he trusts me enough to marry me. … He willbe safe enough, as far as my personal conduct is concerned, " she addednaively. "It seems that I am capable of love; but I am incapable of itsdegradation. "

Siward, leaning heavily forward over his desk, rested his head in bothhands; and she stooped from her perch on the arm of the chair, pressingher hot cheeks against his hands--a moment only; then slipping to herfeet, she curled up in a great arm-chair by the fire, head tipped back, blue gaze concentrated on him. 

"The thing for you to do, " she said, "is to ambush me some night, andthrow me into a hansom, and drive us both to the parson's. I'd hate youfor it as much as I'd love you, but I'd make you an interesting wife. "

"I may do that yet, " he said, lifting his head from his hands. 

"You've a year to do it in, " she observed. … "By the way, you're to takeme in to dinner, as you did the first night. Do you remember? I askedGrace Ferrall then. I asked her again to-day. Heigho! It was years ago, wasn't it, that I drove up to the station and saw a very attractive andperplexed young man looking anxiously about for somebody to take him toShotover. Ahem! the notorious Mr. Siward! Dear, … I didn't mean tohurt you! You know it, silly! Mayn't I have my little joke about yourbadness--your redoubtable badness of reputation? There! You had justbetter smile. … How dare you frighten me by making me think I had hurtyou! … Besides, you are probably unrepentant. "

She watched him closely for a moment or two, then, "Are youunrepentant?"

"About what?"

"About your general wickedness? About--" she hesitated--"about thatgirl, for example. "

"What girl?" he asked coldly. 

"That reminds me that you have told me absolutely nothing about her. "

"There is nothing to tell, " he said, in a tone so utterly new to her inits finality that she sat up as though listening to an unknown voice. 

Tone and words so completely excluded her from the new intimacy intowhich she had imperceptibly drifted that both suddenly developed asignificance from sheer contrast. Who was this girl, then, of whom hehad absolutely nothing to say? What was she to him? What could she be tohim--an actress, a woman of common antecedents?

She had sometimes idly speculated in an indefinitely innocent way as tojust what a well-born man could find to interest him in such women; whathe could have to talk about to persons of that sort, where community oftastes and traditions must be so absolutely lacking. 

Gossip, scandal of that nature, hints, silences, innuendoes, the wiseshrugs of young girls oversophisticated, the cool, hard smiles ofmatrons, all had left her indifferent or bored, partly from distaste, partly from sheer incredulity; a refusal to understand, an innatedelicacy that not only refrains from comprehension, but also deniesitself even the curiosity to inquire or the temptation of vaguestsurmise on a subject that could not exist for her. 

But now, something of the uncomfortable uneasiness had come over herwhich she had been conscious of when made aware of Marion Page's worldlywisdom, and which had imperceptibly chilled her when Grace Ferrall spokeof Siward's escapade, coupling this woman and him in the same scandal. 

She took it for granted that there must be, for men, an attractiontoward women who figured publicly behind the foot-lights, thoughit appeared very silly to her. In fact it all was silly andundignified--part and parcel, no doubt, of that undergraduatefoolishness which seemed to cling to some men who had otherwise attaineddiscretion. 

But it appeared to her that Siward had taken the matter with aseriousness entirely out of proportion in his curt closure of thesubject, and she felt a little irritated, a little humiliated, a littlehurt, and took refuge in a silence that he did not offer to break. 

Early twilight had fallen in the room; the firelight grew redder. 

"Sylvia, " he said abruptly, reverting to the old, light tone hinting ofthe laughter in his eyes which she could no longer see, "Suppose, as yousuggested, I did ambush you--say after the opera--seize you under thevery nose of your escort and make madly for a hansom?"

"I know of no other way, " she said demurely. 

"Would you resist, physically?"

"I would, if nobody were looking. "

"Desperately?

"How do I know? Besides, it couldn't last long, " she said, thinking ofhis slimly powerful build as she had noticed it in his swimming costume. Smiling, amused, she wondered how long she could resist him with her ownwholesome supple activity strengthened to the perfection of health insaddle and afoot. 

"I should advise you to chloroform me, " she said defiantly. "You don'trealise my accomplishments with the punching-bag. "

"So you mean to resist?"

"Yes, I do. If I were going to surrender at once, I might as well go offto church with you now. "

"Wenniston church!" he said promptly. "I'll order the Mercedes. "

She laughed, lazily settling herself more snugly by the fire. "Supposeit were our fire?" she smiled. "There would be a dog lying across thatrug, and a comfortable Angora tabby dozing by the fender, and--you, cross-legged, at my feet, with that fascinating head of yours tippedback against my knees. "

The laughter in her voice died out, and he had risen, saying unsteadily:"Don't! I--I can't stand that sort of thing, you know. "

She had made a mistake, too; she also had suddenly become aware of herown limits in the same direction. 

"Forgive me, dear! I meant no mockery. "

"I know. … After a while a man finds laughter difficult. "

"I was not laughing at--anything. I was only pretending to be happy. "

"Your happiness is before you, " he said sullenly. 

"My future, you mean. You know I am exchanging one for the other. … Andsome day you will awake to the infamy of it; you will comprehend thedepravity of the monstrous trade I made. … And then--and then--"

She passed one slim hand over her face--"then you will shake yourselffree from this dream of me; then, awake, my punishment at your handswill begin. … Dear, no man in his right senses can continue to love agirl such as I am. All that is true and ardent and generous in you hasinvested my physical attractiveness and my small intellect with amagic that cannot last, because it is magic; and you are the magician, enmeshed for the moment in the mists of your own enchantment. When thisfades, when you unclose your eyes in clear daylight, dear, I dread tothink what I shall appear to you--what a dreadful, shrunken, bloodlessshell, hung with lace and scented, silken cerements--a jewelledmummy-case--a thing that never was! … Do you understand my punishment alittle, now?"

"If it were true, " he said in a dull voice, "you will have forgotten, too. "

"I pray I may, " she said under her breath. 

And, after a long silence: "Do you think, before the year is out, thatyou might be granted enough courage?" he asked. 

"No. I shall not even pray for it. I want what is offered me! I desireit so blindly that already it has become part of me. I tell you thepoison is in every vein; there is nothing else but poison in me. I amwhat I tell you, to the core. It is past my own strength of will to stopme, now. If I am stopped, another must do it. My weakness for you, being a treachery if not confessed, I was obliged to confess, horriblyfrightened as I was. He might have stopped me; he did not. … And now, what is there on earth to halt me? Love cannot. Common decency andcourage cannot. Fear of your unhappiness and mine cannot. No, even thecertitude of your contempt, some day, is powerless to halt me now. Icould not love; I am utterly incapable of loving you enough to balancethe sacrifice. And that is final. "

Grace Ferrall came into the room and found a duel of silence in progressunder the dull fire-glow tinting the ceiling. 

"Another quarrel, " she commented, turning on the current of thedrop-light above the desk from which Siward had risen at her entrance. "You quarrel enough to marry. Why don't you?"

"I wish we could, " said Sylvia simply. 

Grace laughed. "What a little fool you are!" she said tenderly, seatingherself in Siward's chair and dropping one hand over his where it restedon the arm. "Stephen, can't you make her--a big, strong fellow like you?Oh, well; on your heads be it! My conscience is now clear for the firsttime, and I'll never meddle again. " She gave Siward's hand a perfunctorypat and released him with a discreetly stifled yawn. "I'm disgracefullysleepy; the wind blew like fury along the coast. Sylvia, have you had agood time at Shotover--the time of your life?"

Sylvia raised her eyes and encountered Siward's. 

"I certainly have, " she said faintly. 

"C'est bien, chérie. Can you be as civil, Stephen--conscientiously? Oh, that is very nice of you! But there's one thing: why on earth didn't youmake eyes at Marion? Life might be one long, blissful carnival of horseand dog for you both. Oh, dear! there, I'm meddling again! Pinch me, Sylvia, if I ever begin to meddle again! How did you come out at Bridge, Stephen? What--bad as that? Gracious! this is disgraceful--this gamblingthe way people do! I'm shocked and I'm going up to dress. Are youcoming, Sylvia?"

The dinner was very gay. The ceremony of christening the Shotover Cup, which Quarrier had won, proceeded with presentation speech and a speechof acceptance faultlessly commonplace, during which Quarrier wore hissmile--which was the only humorous thing he contributed. 

The cup was full. Siward eyed it, perplexed, deadly afraid, yet seeingno avenue of escape from what must appear a public exhibition ofcontempt for Quarrier if he refused to taste its contents. That meant abad night for him; yet he shrank more from the certain misinterpretationof a refusal to drink from the huge loving-cup with its heavy wreath ofscented orchids, now already on its way toward him, than he feared thewaking struggle so sure to follow. 

Marion received the cup, lifted it in both hands, and said distinctly, "Good Hunting!" as she drank to Quarrier. Her brother Gordon took it, and drank entirely too much. Then Sylvia lifted it, her white hands halfburied among the orchids: "To you!" she murmured for Siward's ear alone;then drank gaily, mischievously, "To the best shot at Shotover!" AndSiward took the cup: "I salute victory, " he said, smiling, "always, andeverywhere! To him who takes the fighting chance and wins out! To thebest man! Health!" And he drank as a gentleman drinks, with a gay bow toQuarrier, and with death in his heart. 

Later, the irony of it struck him so grimly that he laughed; and Sylvia, beside him, looked up, dismayed to see the gray change in his face. 

"What is it?" she faltered, catching his eye; "why do you--why are youso white?"

But he only smiled, as though he had misunderstood, saying:

"The survival of the fittest; that is the only test, after all. The manwho makes good doesn't whine for justice. There's enough of it in theworld to go round, and he who misses it gets all that's due him just thesame. "

Later, at cards, the aromatic odour from Alderdene's decanter roused himto fierce desire, but he fought it down until only the deadened, tearing ache remained to shake and loosen every nerve. And when Ferrall, finishing his usual batch of business letters, arrived to cut in ifneeded, Siward dropped his cards with a shudder, and rose so utterlyunnerved that Captain Voucher, noticing his drawn face, asked him if hewere not ill. 

He was leaving on an earlier train than the others, having decided topass through Boston and Deptford, at which latter place he meant toleave Sagamore for the winter in care of the manager of his mother'sfarm. So he took a quiet leave of those to whom the civility might notprove an interruption--a word to Alderdene and Voucher as he passedout, a quick clasp for Ferrall and for Grace, a carefully and cordiallyformal parting from the Page boys, which pleased them ineffably. 

Eileen and Rena, who had never had half a chance at him, took it now, delighted to discipline their faithful Pages; and he submitted in hisown engagingly agreeable way, and so skilfully that both Eileen and Renafelt sorry that they had not earlier understood how civilly anxious hehad been to devote himself to them alone. And they looked at the Pages, exasperated. 

In the big hall he passed Marion, and stopped to take his leave. 

No, he would do no hunting this season either at Carysford or with thetwo trial packs at Eastwood. Possibly at Warrenton later, but probablynot; business threatened to detain him in town more or less. … Of coursehe'd come to see her when she returned to town. … And it had been ajolly party, and it was a shame to sound "lights out" so soon! Good-bye. … Good night. And that was all. 

And that was all, unless he disturbed Sylvia, seated at cards withQuarrier and Major Belwether and Leila Mortimer--and very intent on thedummy, very still, and a trifle pallid with the pallor of concentration. 

So--that was all, then. 

Ascending the stairs, a servant handed him a letter bearing the crest ofthe Lenox Club. He pocketed it unopened and continued his way. 

In the darkness of his own room he sat down, the devil's own clutch onhis shrinking nerves, a deathly desire tearing at his very vitals, andevery vein a tiny trail of fire run riot. He had been too long withoutit, too long to endure the craving aroused by that gay draught fromQuarrier's loving-cup. 

The awakened fury of his desire appalled him, and for a while thatoccupied him, enabling him to endure. But fear and dismay soon passedin the purely physical distress; he walked the floor, haggard, the sweatstarting on his face; he lay with clenched hands, stiffened out acrossthe bed, deafened by the riotous clamour of his pulses, conscious thathe was holding out, unconscious how long he could hold out. 

Crisis after crisis swept him; sometimes he found his feet and movedblindly about the room. 

Strange periods of calm intervened; sensation seemed deadened; and hestood as a man who listens, scarcely daring to breathe lest the enemyawake and seize him. 

He turned on the light, later, to look for his pipe, and he caught aglimpse of himself in the mirror. It was a sick man who stared backat him out of hollow eyes, and the physical revulsion shocked him intosomething resembling self-command. 

"Damn you!" he said fiercely, setting his teeth and staring back at hisreflected face, "I'll kill you yet before I've finished with you!"

Then he filled his pipe, and opening his bedroom window, sat down, resting his arm on the sill. A splendid moon silvered the sea; throughthe intense stillness he heard the surf, magnificently dissonant amongthe reefs, and he listened, fascinated, loathing the tides as he fearedand loathed the inexorable tides that surged and ebbed with his accurseddesire. 

Once he said to himself, weakly--for he was deadly tired--"What am Imaking the fight for, anyway?" And "Who are you making the fight for?"echoed his heavy pulses. 

He had asked that question and received that answer before. After all, it had been for his mother's sake alone. And now--and now?--his heartbeat out another answer; and before his eyes two other eyes seemed toopen, fearlessly, sweetly, divinely tender. But they were no longer hismother's grave, gray eyes. 

After the second pipe he remembered his letter. It gave him something todo, so he opened it and tried to read it, but for a long while, in hisconfused physical and mental condition, he could make no sense of it. 

Little by little he began to comprehend its purport that his resignationwas regretfully requested by the governors of the Lenox Club for reasonsunassigned. 

The shock of the thing came to him after a while, like a distant, dullreport long after the flash of the explosion. Well, the affair, badenough at first, was turning worse, that was all. How much of that sortof discredit could a man stand and keep his balance? … And what wouldhis mother say?

Confused from his own physical suffering, the blow had fallen witha deadened force on nerves already numbed; but his half-stupefiedacquiescence had suddenly become a painful recoil when he rememberedwhere the brunt of the disgrace would fall--where the centre ofsuffering must always be, and the keenest grief concentrated. Roused, appalled, almost totally unnerved, he stood staring at the letter, beginning to realise what it would mean to his mother. A passion ofremorse and resentment swept him. She must be spared that! There mustbe some way--some punishment for his offence that could not strike herthrough him! It was wicked, it was contemptible, insane, to strikeher! What were the governors of the Lenox about--a lot of snivellinghypocrites, pandering to the horrified snobbery at the Patroons! Whowere they, anyway, to discipline him! Scarce one in fifty among themembers of the two clubs was qualified to sit in judgment on a Siward!

But that tempest of passion and mortification passed, too, leaving himstanding there, dumb, desperate, staring at the letter crushed in hisshaking hand. 

He must see somebody, some member of the Lenox, and dosomething--something! Ferrall! Was that Ferrall's step on the landing?

He sprang to the door and opened it. Quarrier, passing the corridor, turned an expressionless visage toward him, and passed on with a nodalmost imperceptible. 

"Quarrier!" he called, swept by a sudden impulse. 

Quarrier halted and turned. 

"Could you give me a moment--here in my room? I won't detain you. "

The faint trace of surprise faded from Quarrier's face; he quietlyretraced his steps, and, entering Siward's room, stood silentlyconfronting its pallid tenant. 

"Will you sit down a moment?"

Quarrier seated himself in the arm-chair by the window, and Siward founda chair opposite. 

"Quarrier, " said the younger man, turning a tensely miserable face onhis visitor, "I want to ask you something. I'll not mince matters. Youknow that the Patroons have dropped me, and you know what for. "

"Yes, I know. "

"When I was called before the Board of Governors to explain the matter, if I could, you were sitting on that Board. "

"Yes. "

"I denied the charge, but refused to explain. … You remember?"

Quarrier nodded coldly. 

"And I was dropped by the club!"

A slight inclination of Quarrier's symmetrical head corroborated him. 

"Now, " said Siward, slowly and very distinctly, "I shall tell youunofficially what I refused to tell the other governors officially. "And, as he began speaking, Quarrier's face flushed, then the featuresbecame immobile, set, and inert, and his eyes grew duller and duller, asthough, under a smooth surface the soul inside of him was shrinkingback into some dark corner, silent, watchful, suspicious, and perhapsdefiant. 

"Mr. Quarrier, " said Siward quietly, "I did not take that girl to thePatroons Club--and you know it. "

Quarrier was all surface now; he had drawn away internally so far thateven his eyes seemed to recede until they scarcely glimmered through theslits in his colourless mask. And Siward went on:

"I knew perfectly well what sort of women I was to meet at that foolsupper Billy Fleetwood gave; and you must have, too, for the girl youtook in was no stranger to you. … Her name is Lydia Vyse, I believe. "

The slightest possible glimmer in the elder man's eyes was all theanswer he granted. 

"What happened, " said Siward calmly, "was this: She bet me she could sodisguise herself that I could safely take her into any club in New York. I bet her she couldn't. I never dreamed of trying. Besides, she wasyour--dinner partner, " he added with a shrug. 

His concentrated gaze seemed at length to pierce the expressionlesssurface of the other man, who moved slightly in his chair and moistenedhis thin lips under the glossy beard. 

"Quarrier, " said Siward earnestly, "What happened in the club lobby Idon't exactly know, because I was not in a condition to know. I admitit; that was the trouble with me. When I left Fleetwood's rooms I leftwith a half dozen men. I remember crossing Fifth Avenue with them; andthe next thing I remember distinctly was loud talking in the club lobby, and a number of men there, and a slim young fellow in Inverness andtop hat in the centre of a crowd, whose face was the face of that girl, Lydia Vyse. And that is absolutely all. But I couldn't do more than denythat I took her there unless I told what I knew; and of course that wasnot possible, even in self-defence. But it was for you to admit that Iwas right. And you did not. You dared not! You let another man blunderinto your private affairs and fall a victim to circumstantial evidencewhich you could have refuted; and it was up to you to say something!And you did not! … And now--what are you going to do? The Lenox Club hastaken this thing up. A man can't stand too much of that sort of thing. What am I to do? I can't defend myself by betraying my accidentalknowledge of your petty, private affairs. So I leave it to you. I askyou what are you going to do?"

"Do you mean"--Quarrier's voice was not his own, and he brought itharshly under command--"do you mean that you think it necessary for meto say I knew her? What object would be attained by that? I did not takeher to the Patroons'. "

"Nor did I. Ask her how she got there. Learn the truth from her, man!"

"What proof is there that I ever met her before I took her into supperat Fleetwood's?"

"Proof! Are you mad? All I ask of you is to say to the governors what Icannot say without using your name. "

"You wish me, " asked Quarrier icily, "to deny that you made that wager?I can do that. "

"You can't do it! I did make that bet. "

"Oh! Then, what is it you wish me to say?"

"Tell them the truth. Tell them you know I did not take her to the club. You need not tell them why you know it. You need not tell them how muchyou know about her, whose brougham she drove home in. I can't defendmyself at your expense--intrench myself behind your dirty littleromance. What could I say? I denied taking her to the club. Then MajorBelwether confronted me with my wager. Then I shut up. And so did you, Quarrier--so did you, seated there among the governors, between LeroyMortimer and Belwether. It was up to you, and you did not stir!"

"Stir!" echoed the other man, exasperated. "Of course I did not stir. What did I know about it? Do you think I care to give a man likeMortimer a hold on me by admitting I knew anything?--or Belwether--doyou think I care to have that man know anything about my private andpersonal business? Did you expect me to say that I was in a positionto prove anything one way or another? And, " he added with increasingharshness, "how do you know what I might or might not prove? If she wentto the Patroons Club, I did not go with her; I did not see her; I don'tknow whether or not you took her. "

"I have already told you that I did not take her, " said Siward, turningwhiter. 

"You told that to the governors, too. Tell them again, if you like. Idecline to discuss this matter with you. I decline to countenance yourunwarranted intrusion into what you pretend to believe are my privateaffairs. I decline to confer with Belwether or Mortimer. It's enoughthat you are inclined to meddle--" His cold anger was stirring. He roseto his full, muscular height, slow, menacing, his long, pale fingerstwisting his silky beard. "It's enough that you meddle!" he repeated. "As for the matter in question, a dozen men, including myself, heard youmake a wager; and later I myself was a witness that the terms of thatwager had been carried out to the letter. I know absolutely nothingexcept that, Mr. Siward; nor, it appears, do you, for you were drunk atthe time, and you have admitted it to me. "

"I have asked you, " said Siward, rising, and very grave, "I have askedyou to do the right thing. Are you going to do it?"

"Is that a threat?" inquired Quarrier, showing the edges of hiswell-kept teeth. "Is this intimidation, Mr. Siward? Do I understandthat you are proposing to bespatter others with scandal unless I amfrightened into going to the governors with the flimsy excuse youattempt to offer me? In other words, Mr. Siward, are you bent on makingme pay for what you believe you know of my private life? Is it reallyintimidation?"

And still Siward stared into his half-veiled, sneering eyes, speechless. 

"There is only one name used for this kind of thing, " added Quarrier, taking a quick involuntary step backward to the door as the blaze offury broke out in Siward's eyes. 

"Good God! Quarrier, " whispered Siward with dry lips, "what a cur youare! What a cur!"

And long after Quarrier had passed the door and disappeared in thecorridor, Siward stood there, frozen motionless under the icy waves ofrage that swept him. 

He had never before had an enemy worth the name; he knew he had one now. He had never before hated; he now understood something of that, too. The purely physical craving to take this man and crush him into eternalquiescence had given place to a more terrible mental desire to punish. His brain surged and surged under the first flood of a mortal hatred. That the hatred was sterile made it the more intense, and, blindedby it, he stood there or paced the room minute after minute, hearingnothing but the wild clamour in his brain, seeing nothing but thesmooth, expressionless face of the man whom he could not reach. 

Toward midnight, seated in his chair by the window, a deathly lassitudeweighing his heart, he heard the steps of people on the stairway, theclick of the ascending elevator, gay voices calling good night, a rippleof laughter, the silken swish of skirts in the corridor, doors openingand closing; then silence creeping throughout the house on the recedingheels of departure--a stillness that settled like a mist throughhall and corridor, accented for a few moments by distant sounds, thenabsolute, echoless silence. And for a long while he sat there listening. 

The cool wind from the ocean blew his curtains far into the room, wherethey bellied out, fluttering, floating, subsiding, only to rise againin the freshening breeze. He sat watching their silken convolutions, stupidly, for a while, then rose and closed his window, and raised thewindow on the south for purposes of air. 

As he turned to adjust his transom, something white thrust under thedoor caught his eye, and he walked over and drew it across the sill. It was a sealed note. He opened it, reading it as he walked back to thedrop-light burning beside his bed:

"Did you not mean to say good-bye? Because it is to be good-bye for along, long time--for all our lives--as long as we live--as long as theworld lasts, and longer. … Good-bye--unless you care to say it to me. "

He stood studying the note for a while; presently, lighting a match, he set fire to it and carried it blazing to the grate and flung it in, watching the blackened ashes curl up, glow, whiten, and fall in flakesto the hearth. Then he went out into the corridor, and traversed thehall to the passage which led to the bay-window. There was nobody there. The stars looked in on him, twinkling with a frosty light; beneath, theshadowy fronds of palms traced a pale pattern on the glass roof of theswimming pool. He waited a moment, turned, retraced his steps to his owndoor and stood listening. Then, moving swiftly, he walked the length ofthe corridor, and, halting at her door, knocked once. 

After a moment the door swung open. He stepped forward into the room, closing the door behind him, and confronted the tall girl standing theresilhouetted against the lamp behind her. 

"You are insane to do this!" she whispered. "I let you in for fear you'dknock again!"

"I went to the bay-window, " he said. 

"You went too late. I was there an hour ago. I waited. Do you know whattime it is?"

"Come to the bay-window, " he said, "if you fear me here. "

"Do you know it is nearly three o'clock?" she repeated. "And you leaveat six. 

"Shall we say good-bye here?" he asked coolly. 

"Certainly. I dare not go out. And you--do you know the chances we arerunning? You must be perfectly mad to come to my room. Do you thinkanybody could have seen--heard you--"

"No. Good night. " He offered his hand; she laid both of hers in it. Hecould scarcely distinguish her features where she stood dark against thebrilliant light behind her. 

"Good-bye, " he whispered, kissing her hands where they lay in his. 

"Good-bye. " Her fingers closed convulsively, retaining his hands. "Ihope--I think that--you--" Her head was drooping; she could not controlher voice. 

"Good-bye, Sylvia, " he said again. 

It was quite useless, she could not speak; and when he took her in hisarms she clung to him, quivering; and he kissed the wet lashes, and thehot, trembling lips, and the smooth little hands crushed to his breast. 

"We have a year yet, " she gasped. "Dear, take me by force before itends. I--I simply cannot endure this. I told you to take me--to tearme from myself. Will you do it? I will love you--truly, truly! Oh, mydarling, my darling! Don't--don't give me up! Can't you do something forus? Can't you--"

"Will you come with me now?"

"How can--"

"Will you?"

A sudden sound broke out in the night--the distant pealing of thelodge-gate bell. Startled, she shrank back; somebody in the adjoiningroom had sprung to the floor and was opening the window. 

"What is it?" she motioned with whitening lips. "Quick! oh, quick, before you are seen! Grace may come! I--I beg of you to go!"

As he stepped into the corridor he heard, below, a sound at the greatdoor, and the stirring of the night watchman on post. At his own doorhe turned, listening to the movement and whispering. Ferrall, indressing-gown and slippers, stepped into the corridor; below, the chainswere rattling as the wicket swung open. There was a brief parley atthe door, sounds of retreating steps on the gravel outside, sounds ofapproaching steps on the stairway. 

"What's that? A telegram?" said Ferrall sharply. "Here, give it to me. …Wait! It isn't for me. It's for Mr Siward!"

Siward, standing at his open door, swayed slightly. A thrill of purefear struck him through and through. He laid one hand on the door tosteady himself, and stepped forward as Ferrall came up. 

"Oh! You're awake, Stephen. Here's a telegram. " He extended his hand. Siward took the yellow envelope, fumbled it, tore it open. 

"Good God!" whispered Ferrall; "is it bad?"

And Siward's glazed eyes stared and stared at the scrawled and inkymessage:

"YOUR MOTHER IS VERY ILL. COME AT ONCE. "

The signature was the name of their family physician, Grisby. 

CHAPTER VIII CONFIDENCES

By January the complex social mechanism of the metropolis was whirlingsmoothly again; the last ultra-fashionable December lingerer hadreturned from the country; those of the same caste outward bound fora Southern or exotic winter had departed; and the glittering machine, every part assembled, refurbished, repolished, and connected, havingbeen given preliminary speed-tests at the horse show, and a tuning up atthe opera, was now running under full velocity; and its steady, subdued whir quickened the clattering pulse of the city, keying it to asublimely syncopated ragtime. 

The commercial reaction from the chaos of the holidays had become acarnival of recovery; shop windows grew brighter and gayer than ever, bursting into gaudy winter florescence; the main arteries of the townroared prosperity; cross streets were packed; Fifth Avenue, almostimpassible in the morning, choked up after three o'clock; and allthe afternoon through, and late into the night, mounted police of thetraffic squad, adrift in the tide of carriages, stemmed the flashingcurrents pouring north and south from the white marble arch to thegilded bronze battle-horse and its rider on guard at the portals of therichest quarter of the wealthiest city in the world. 

So far, that winter, snow had fallen only twice, lasting but a dayor two each time; street and avenue remained bone dry where thewhite-uniformed cleaning squads worked amid clouds of dust; and all daylong the flinty asphalt echoed the rattling slap of horses' feet; allday long the big, shining motor-cars sped up town and down town, droning their distant warnings. It was an open winter in New York, and, financially, a prosperous one; and that meant a brilliant social season. Like a set piece of fireworks, with its interdependent parts taking firein turn, function after function, spectacle after spectacle, glittered, fizzed, and was extinguished, only to give place to newer and moresplendid spectacles; separate circles, sets, and groups belonging to thesocial solar system whizzed, revolved, rotated, with edifying effectson everybody concerned, unconcerned, and not at all concerned; and atintervals, when for a moment or two something hung fire, the twinkle ofsimilar spectacles sputtering away in distant cities beyond thehorizon was faintly reflected in the social sky above the incandescentmetropolis. For the whole nation was footing it, heel and toe, to theechoes of strains borne on the winds from the social capital of therepublic; and the social arbiter at Bird Centre was more of a facsimileof his New York confrère than that confrère could ever dream of even inthe most realistic of nightmares. 

Three phenomena particularly characterised that metropolitan winter:the reckless rage for private gambling through the mediums of bridgeand roulette; the incorporation of a company known as The Inter-CountyElectric Company, capitalised at a figure calculated to disturb nobody, and, so far, without any avowed specific policy other than that whichserved to decorate a portion of its charter which otherwise might haveremained ornately and comparatively blank; the third phenomenon was theretirement from active affairs of Stanley S. Quarrier, the father ofHoward Quarrier, and the election of the son to the presidency of thegreat Algonquin Loan and Trust Company, with its network system ofdependent, subsidiary, and allied corporations. 

The day that the newspapers gave this interesting information to theWestern world, Leroy Mortimer, on being bluntly notified that hehad overdrawn his account with the Algonquin Loan and Trust, begantelephoning in every direction until he located Beverly Plank at theSaddle Club--an organisation of wealthy men, and sufficiently exclusivenot to compromise Plank's possible chances for something better; infact, the Saddle Club, into which Leroy Mortimer had already managed topilot him, was one riser and tread upward on the stair he was climbing, though it was more of a lobby for other clubs than a club in itself. Tobe seen there was, perhaps, rather to a man's advantage, if he did notloaf there in the evenings or use it too frequently. As Plank carefullyavoided doing either, Mortimer was fortunate in finding him there; andhe crawled out of his hansom, saying that the desk clerk would pay, andentered the reading-room, where Plank sat writing a letter. 

Beverly Plank had grown stouter since he had returned to town from BlackFells; but the increase of weight was evenly distributed over hissix feet odd, which made him only a trifle more ponderous and notabdominally fat. But Mortimer had become enormous; rolls of fleshcrowded his mottled ear-lobes outward and bulged above his collar;cushions of it padded the backs of his hands and fingers; shaving lefthis heavy, distended face congested and unpleasantly shiny. But he wasas minutely groomed as ever, and he wore that satiated air of prosperitywhich had always been one of his most important assets. 

The social campaign inaugurated by Leila Mortimer in behalf of BeverlyPlank had, so far, received no serious reverses. His box at the horseshow, of course, produced merely negative results; his box at the operamight mean something some day. His name was up at the Lenox and thePatroons; he had endowed a ward in the new pavilion of St. Berold'sHospital; he had presented a fine Gainsborough--The Countess ofWythe--to the Metropolitan Museum; and it was rumoured that he hadconsulted several bishops concerning a new chapel for that huge bastionof the citadel of Faith looming above the metropolitan wilderness in thenorth. 

So far, so good. If, as yet, he had not been permitted to go where hewanted to go, he at least had been instructed where not to go and whatnot to do; and he was as docile as he was dogged, understanding how muchlonger it takes to shuffle in by way of the mews and the back door thanto sit on the front steps and wait politely for somebody to unchain thefront door. 

Meanwhile he was doggedly docile; his huge house, facing the wintry parkmidway between the squat palaces of the wealthy pioneers and the outerhundreds, remained magnificently empty save for certain afternoonconferences of very solemn men, fellow directors and associates inbusiness and financial matters--save for the periodical presence of theMortimers: a mansion immense and shadowy, haunted by relays of yawning, livened servants, half stupefied under the vast silence of the twilitsplendour. He was patient, not only because he was told to be, but alsobecause he had nothing better to do. Society stared at him as blanklyas the Mountain confronted Mahomet. But the stubborn patience of the manwas itself a strain on the Mountain; he was aware of that, and he waitedfor it to come to him. As yet, however, he could detect no symptoms ofmobility in the Mountain. 

"Things are moving all the same, " said Mortimer, as he entered thereading room of the Saddle Club. "Quarrier and Belwether have listeneda damned sight more respectfully to me since they read that column aboutyou and the bishops and that chapel business. "

Plank turned his heavy head with a disturbed glance around the room; forhe always dreaded Mortimer's indiscretions of speech--was afraid of hiscynical frankness in the presence of others; even shrank from the brutalbonhomie of the man when alone with him. 

"Can't you be careful?" he said; "there was a man here a moment ago. "He picked up his unfinished letter, folded and pocketed it, touched anelectric bell, and when a servant came, "Take Mr. Mortimer's order, "he said, supporting his massive head on his huge hands and resting hiselbow on the writing-desk. 

"I've got to cut out this morning bracer, " said Mortimer, eyeing theservant with indecision; but he gave his order nevertheless, and lateraccepted a cigar; and when the servant had returned and again retired, he half emptied his tall glass, refilled it with mineral water, and, settling back in the padded arm-chair, said: "If I manage this thing asit ought to be managed, you'll go through by April. What do you think ofthat?"

Plank's phlegmatic features flushed. "I'm more obliged to you than Ican say, " he began, but Mortimer silenced him with a gesture: "Don'tinterrupt. I'm going to put you through The Patroons Club by April. That's thirty yards through the centre; d'ye see, you dunderheadedDutchman? It's solid gain, and it's our ball. The Lenox will takelonger; they're a 'holier-than-thou' bunch of nincompoops, and it alwayshorrifies them to have any man elected, no matter who he is. They'drather die of dry rot than elect anybody; it shocks them to think thatany man could have the presumption to be presented. They requirethe spectacle of fasting and prayer--a view of a candidate seated insackcloth and ashes in outer darkness. You've got to wait for the Lenox, Plank. "

"I am waiting, " said Plank, squaring his massive jaws. 

"You've got to, " growled Mortimer, emptying his glass aggressively. 

Plank looked out of the window, his shrewd blue eyes closing inretrospection. 

"Another thing, " continued Mortimer thickly; "the Kemp Ferrallsare disposed to be decent. I don't mean in asking you to meet someintellectual second-raters, but in doing it handsomely. I don't knowwhether it's time yet, " he added, with a sidelong glance at Plank'sstolid face; "I don't want to push the mourners too hard … Well, I'llsee about it … And if it's the thing to do, and the time to do it"--heturned on Plank with his boisterous and misleading laugh and clappedhim on the shoulder--"it will be done, as sure as snobs are snobs; andthat's the surest thing you ever bet on. Here's to them!" and he emptiedhis glass and fell back into his chair, wheezing and sucking at hisunlighted cigar. 

"I want to say, " began Plank, speaking the more slowly because he wasdeeply in earnest, "that all this you are doing for me is very handsomeof you, Mortimer. I'd like to say--to convey to you something of how Ifeel about the way you and Mrs. Mortimer--"

"Oh, Leila has done it all. "

"Mrs. Mortimer is very kind, and you have been so, too. I--I wish therewas something--some way to--to--"

"To what?" asked Mortimer so bluntly that Plank flushed up andstammered:

"To be--to do a--to show my gratitude. "

"How? You're scarcely in a position to do anything for us, " saidMortimer, brutally staring him out of countenance. 

"I know it, " said Plank, the painful flush deepening. 

Mortimer, fussing and growling over his cigar, was neverthelessstealthily intent on the game which had so long absorbed him. Hiswits, clogged, dulled by excesses, were now aroused to a sort of grossactivity through the menace of necessity. At last Plank had given him anopening. He recognised his chance. 

"There's one thing, " he said deliberately, "that I won't stand for, andthat's any vulgar misconception on your part of my friendship for you. Do you follow me?"

"I don't misunderstand it, " protested Plank, angry and astonished; "Idon't--"

"--As though, " continued Mortimer menacingly, "I were one of those needysocial tipsters, one of those shabby, pandering touts who--"

"For Heaven's sake, Mortimer, don't talk like that! I had nointention--"

"--One of those contemptible, parasitic leeches, " persisted Mortimer, getting redder and hoarser, "who live on men like you. Confound you, Plank, what the devil do you mean by it?"

"Mortimer, are you crazy, to talk to me like that?"

"No, I'm not, but you must be! I've a mind to drop the whole cursedbusiness! I've every inclination to drop it! If you haven't horse-senseenough--if you haven't innate delicacy sufficient to keep you frommaking such a break--"

"I didn't! It wasn't a break, Mortimer. I wouldn't have hurt you--"

"You did hurt me! How can I feel the same again? I never imagined youthought I was that sort of a social mercenary. Why, so little did Idream that you looked on our friendship in that light that I was--on myword of honour!--I was just now on the point of asking you for threeor four thousand, to carry me to the month's end and square my bridgebalance. "

"Mortimer, you must take it! You are a fool to think I meant anything bysaying I wanted to show my gratitude. Look here; be decent and fair withme. I wouldn't offer you an affront--would I?--even if I were a cad. Iwouldn't do it now, just when you're getting things into shape for me. I'm not a fool, anyway. This is in deadly earnest, I tell you, Mortimer, and I'm getting angry about it. You've got to show your confidence inme; you've got to take what you want from me, as you would from anyfriend. I resent your failure to do it now, as though you drew a linebetween me and your intimates. If you're really my friend, show it!"

There was a pause. A curious and unaccustomed sensation had silencedMortimer, something almost akin to shame. It astonished him a little. He did not quite understand why, in the very moment of success over thisstolid, shrewd young man and his thrifty Dutch instincts, he should feeluncomfortable. Were not his services worth something? Had he not earnedat least the right to borrow from this rich man who could afford to payfor what was done for him? Why should he feel ashamed? He had not beentreacherous; he really liked the fellow. Why shouldn't he take hismoney?

"See here, old man, " said Plank, extending a huge highly coloured hand, "is all square between us now?"

"I think so, " muttered Mortimer. 

But Plank would not relinquish his hand. 

"Then tell me how to draw that cheque! Great Heaven, Mortimer, whatis friendship, anyhow, if it doesn't include little matters likethis--little misunderstandings like this? I'm the man to be sensitive, not you. You have been very good to me, Mortimer. I could almost wishyou in a position where the only thing I possess might square somethingof my debt to you. "

A few minutes later, while he was filling in the cheque, a dusty youthin riding clothes and spurs came in and found a seat by one of thewindows, into which he dropped, and then looked about him for a servant. 

"Hello, Fleetwood!" said Mortimer, glancing over his shoulder to seewhose spurs were ringing on the polished floor. 

Fleetwood saluted amiably with his riding-crop; including Plank, whom hedid not know, in a more formal salute. 

"Will you join us?" asked Mortimer, taking the cheque which Plankoffered and carelessly pocketing it without even a nod of thanks. "Youknow Beverly Plank, of course? What! I thought everybody knew BeverlyPlank. "

Mr. Fleetwood and Mr. Plank shook hands and resumed their seats. 

"Ripping weather!" observed Fleetwood, replacing his hat and rebuttoningthe glove which he had removed to shake hands with Plank. "Lot of jollypeople out this morning. I say, Mortimer, do you want that roan hunterof mine you looked over? I mean King Dermid, because Marion Page wantshim, if you don't. She was out this morning, and she spoke of it again. "

Mortimer, lifting a replenished glass, shook his head, and drankthirstily in silence. 

"Saw you at Westbury, I think, " said Fleetwood politely to Plank, as thetwo lifted their glasses to one another. 

"I hunted there for a day or two, " replied Plank, modestly. "If it'sthat big Irish thoroughbred you were riding that you want to sell I'dlike a look in, if Miss Page doesn't fancy him. "

Fleetwood laughed, and glanced amusedly at Plank over his glass. "Itisn't that horse, Mr. Plank. That's Drumceit, Stephen Siward's famoushorse. " He interrupted himself to exchange greetings with several menwho came into the room rather noisily, their spurs resounding across theoaken floor. One of them, Tom O'Hara, joined them, slamming his crop onthe desk beside Plank and spreading himself over an arm-chair, from theseat of which he forcibly removed Mortimer's feet without excuse. 

"Drink? Of course I want a drink!" he replied irritably toFleetwood--"one, three, ten, several! Billy, whose weasel-bellied pintowas that you were kicking your heels into in the park? Some of thesquadron men asked me--the major. Oh, beg pardon! Didn't know you weretrying to stick Mortimer with him. He might do for the troop ambulance, inside! … What? Oh, yes; met Mr. Blank--I mean Mr. Plank--at Shotover, I think. How d'ye do? Had the pleasure of potting your tame pheasants. Rotten sport, you know. What do you do it for, Mr. Blank?"

"What did you come for, if it's rotten sport?" asked Plank so simplythat it took O'Hara a moment to realise he had been snubbed. 

"I didn't mean to be offensive, " he drawled. 

"I suppose you can't help it, " said Plank very gently; "some peoplecan't, you know. " And there was another silence, broken by Mortimer, whose entire hulk was tingling with a mixture of surprise and amusementover his protégé's developing ability to take care of himself. "Did yousay that Stephen Siward is in Westbury, Billy?"

"No; he's in town, " replied Fleetwood. "I took his horses up to huntwith. He isn't hunting, you know. "

"I didn't know. Nobody ever sees him anywhere, " said Mortimer. "I guesshis mother's death cut him up. "

Fleetwood lifted his empty glass and gently shook the ice in it. "That, and--the other business--is enough to cut any man up, isn't it?"

"You mean the action of the Lenox Club?" asked Plank seriously. 

"Yes. He's resigned from this club, too, I hear. Somebody told me thathe has made a clean sweep of all his clubs. That's foolish. A man may bean ass to join too many clubs but he's always a fool to resign from anyof 'em. You ask the weatherwise what resigning from a club forecasts. It's the first ominous sign in a young man's career. "

"What's the second sign?" asked O'Hara, with a yawn. 

"Squadron talk; and you're full of it, " retorted Fleetwood--"'I said tothe major, ' and 'The captain told the chief trumpeter'--all that sortof thing--and those Porto Rico spurs of yours, and the ewe-neckedglyptosaurus you block the bridle-path with every morning. You're anawful nuisance, Tom, if anybody should ask me. "

Under cover of a rapid-fire exchange of pleasantries between Fleetwoodand O'Hara, Plank turned to Mortimer, hesitating:

"I rather liked Siward when I met him at Shotover, " he ventured. "I'mvery sorry he's down and out. "

"He drinks, " shrugged Mortimer, diluting his mineral water with Irishwhisky. "He can't let it alone; he's like all the Siwards. I could havetold you that the first time I ever saw him. We all told him to cut itout, because he was sure to do some damfool thing if he didn't. He'sdone it, and his clubs have cut him out. It's his own funeral. … Well, here's to you!"

"Cut who out?" asked Fleetwood, ignoring O'Hara's parting shotconcerning the decadence of the Fleetwood stables and their owner. 

"Stephen Siward. I always said that he was sure, sooner or later, toland in the family ditch. He has a right to, of course; the gutter ispublic property. "

"It's a damned sad thing, " said Fleetwood slowly. 

After a pause Plank said: "I think so, too. … I don't know him verywell. "

"You may know him better now, " said O'Hara insolently. 

Plank reddened, and, after a moment: "I should be glad to, if he caresto know me. "

"Mortimer doesn't care for him, but he's an awfully good fellow, allthe same, " said Fleetwood, turning to Plank; "he's been an ass, but whohasn't? I like him tremendously, and I feel very bad over the mess hemade of it after that crazy dinner I gave in my rooms. What? You hadn'theard of it? Why man, it's the talk of the clubs. "

"I suppose that is why I haven't heard, " said Plank simply; "myclub-life is still in the future. "

"Oh!" said Fleetwood with an involuntary stare, surprised, a trifleuncomfortable, yet somehow liking Plank, and not understanding why. 

"I'm not in anything, you see; I'm only up for the Patroons and theLenox, " added Plank gravely. 

"I see. Certainly. Er--hope you'll make 'em; hope to see you there soon. Er--I see by the papers you've been jollying the clergy, Mr. Plank. Awfully handsome of you, all that chapel business. I say: I've acousin--er--young architect; Beaux Arts, and all that--just over. I'dawfully like to have him given a chance at that competition; invited totry, you see. I don't suppose it could be managed, now--"

"Would you like to have me ask the bishops?" inquired Plank, naivelyshrewd. And the conversation became very cordial between the two, whichMortimer observed, keeping one ironical eye on Plank, while he continueda desultory discussion with O'Hara concerning a very private dinnerwhich somebody told somebody that somebody had given to Quarrier and theInter-County Electric people; which, if true, plainly indicated who wasfinancing the Inter-County scheme, and why Amalgamated stock had tumbledagain yesterday, and what might be looked for from the Algonquin TrustCompany's president. 

"Amalgamated Electric doesn't seem to like it a little bit, " saidO'Hara. "Ferrall, Belwether, and Siward are in it up to their necks; andif Quarrier is really the god in the machine, and if he really is doingstunts with Amalgamated Electric, and is also mixing feet with theInter-County crowd, why, he is virtually paralleling his own road;and why, in the name of common sense, is he doing that? He'll kill it;that's what he'll do. "

"He can afford to kill it, " observed Mortimer, punching the electricbutton and making a significant gesture toward his empty glass as theservant entered; "a man like Quarrier can afford to kill anything. "

"Yes; but why kill Amalgamated Electric? Why not merge? Why, it's acrazy thing to do, it's a devil of a thing to do, to parallel your ownline!" insisted O'Hara. "That is dirty work. People don't do such thingsthese days. Nobody tears up dollar bills for the pleasure of tearing. "

"Nobody knows what Quarrier will do, " muttered Mortimer, who had triedhard enough to find out when the first ominous rumours arose concerningAmalgamated, and the first fractional declines left the streetspeechless and stupefied. 

O'Hara sat frowning, and fingering his glass. "As a matter of fact, " hesaid, "a little cold logic shows us that Quarrier isn't in it at all. No sane man would ruin his own enterprise, when there is no need to. His people are openly supporting Amalgamated and hammering Inter-County;and, besides, there's Ferrall in it, and Mrs. Ferrall is Quarrier'scousin; and there's Belwether in it, and Quarrier is engaged to marrySylvia Landis, who is Belwether's niece. It's a scrap with Harrington'scrowd, and the wheels inside of wheels are like Chinese boxes. Who knowswhat it means? Only it's plain that Amalgamated is safe, if Quarrierwants it to be. And unless he does he's crazy. "

Mortimer puffed stolidly at his cigar until the smoke got into his eyesand inflamed them. He sat for a while, wiping his puffy eyelids with hishandkerchief; then, squinting sideways at Plank, and seeing him stilloccupied with Fleetwood, turned bluntly on O'Hara:

"See here: what do you mean by being nasty to Plank?" he growled. "I'mbacking him. Do you understand?"

"It is curious, " mused O'Hara coolly, "how much of a cad a fairly decentman can be when he's out of temper!"

"You mean Plank, or me?" demanded Mortimer, darkening angrily. 

"No; I mean myself. I'm not that way usually. I took him for a bounder, and he's caught me with the goods on. I've been thinking that the menwho bother with such questions are usually open to suspicion themselves. Watch me do the civil, now. I'm ashamed of myself. "

"Wait a moment. Will you be civil enough to do something for him at thePatroons? That will mean something. "

"Is he up? Yes, I will;" and, turning in his chair, he said to Plank:"Awfully sorry I acted like a bounder just now, after having acceptedyour hospitality at the Fells. I did mean to be offensive, and I'm sorryfor that, too. Hope you'll overlook it, and be friendly. "

Plank's face took on the dark-red hue of embarrassment; he lookedquestioningly at Mortimer, whose visage remained non-committal, thendirectly at O'Hara. 

"I should be very glad to be friends with you, " he said with aningenuous dignity that surprised Mortimer. It was only the nativesimplicity of the man, veneered and polished by constant contactwith Mrs. Mortimer, and now showing to advantage in the grain. Andit gratified Mortimer, because he saw that it was going to make manymatters much easier for himself and his protégé. 

The tall glasses were filled and drained again before they departed tothe cold plunge and dressing-rooms above, whence presently they emergedin street garb to drive down town and lunch together at the Lenox Club, Plank as Fleetwood's guest. 

Mortimer, very heavy and inert after luncheon, wedged himself into agreat stuffed arm-chair by the window, where he alternately nodded overhis coffee and wheezed in his breathing, and leered out at Fifth Avenuefrom half-closed, puffy eyes. And there he was due to sit, sodden andreplete, until the fashionable equipages began to flash past. He'dprobably see his wife driving with Mrs. Ferrall or with Miss Caithness, or perhaps with some doddering caryatid of the social structure; andhe'd sit there, leering with gummy eyes out of the club windows, whileservants in silent processional replenished his glass from time to time, until in the early night the trim little shopgirls flocked out intothe highways in gossiping, fluttering coveys, trotting away acrossthe illuminated asphalt, north and south to their thousand dingydestinations. And after they had gone he would probably arouse himselfto read the evening paper, or perhaps gossip with Major Belwether andother white-haired familiars, or perhaps doze until it was time tosummon a cab and go home to dress. 

That afternoon, however, having O'Hara and Fleetwood to give himcountenance, he managed to arouse himself long enough to make Plankknown personally to several of the governors of the club and to a dozenmembers, then left him to his fate. Whence, presently, Fleetwoodand O'Hara extracted him--fate at that moment being personified by agarrulous old gentleman, one Peter Caithness, who divided with MajorBelwether the distinction of being the club bore--and together theypiloted him to the billiard room, where he beat them handily for adollar a point at everything they suggested. 

"You play almost as pretty a game as Stephen Siward used to play, " saidO'Hara cordially. "You've something of his cue movement--something ofhis infernal facility and touch. Hasn't he, Fleetwood?"

"I wish Siward were back here, " said Fleetwood thoughtfully, returninghis cue to his own rack. "I wonder what he does with himself--where hekeeps himself all the while? What the devil is there for a man to do, ifhe doesn't do anything? He's not going out anywhere since his mother'sdeath; he has no clubs to go to, I understand. What does he do--go tohis office and come back, and sit in that shabby old brick house all dayand blink at the bum portraits of his bum and distinguished ancestors?Do you know what he does with himself?" to O'Hara. 

"I don't even know where he lives, " observed O'Hara, resuming his coat. "He's given up his rooms, I understand. "

"What? Don't know the old Siward house?"

"Oh! does he live there now? Of course; I forgot about his mother. Hehad apartments last year, you remember. He gave dinners--corkers theywere. I went to one--like that last one you gave. "

"I wish I'd never given it, " said Fleetwood gloomily. "If I hadn't, he'dbe a member here still. … What do you suppose induced him to take thatlittle gin-drinking cat to the Patroons? Why, man, it wasn't even anundergraduate's trick! it was the act of a lunatic. "

For a while they talked of Siward, and of his unfortunate story and thepity of it; and when the two men ceased, "Do you know, " said Plank mildly, "I don't believe he ever did it. "

O'Hara looked up surprised, then shrugged. "Unfortunately he doesn'tdeny it, you see. "

"I heard, " said Fleetwood, lighting a cigarette, "that he did deny it;that he said, no matter what his condition was, he couldn't have doneit. If he had been sober, the governors would have been bound to takehis word of honour. But he couldn't give that, you see. And after theypointed out to him that he had been in no condition to know exactly whathe did do, he shut up. … And they dropped him; and he's falling yet. "

"I don't believe that sort of a man ever would do that sort of thing, "repeated Plank obstinately, his Delft-blue eyes partly closing, so thatall the Dutch shrewdness and stubbornness in his face disturbed itshighly coloured placidity. And he walked away toward the wash-room tocleanse his ponderous pink hands of chalk-dust. 

"That's what's the matter with Plank, " observed O'Hara to Fleetwood asPlank disappeared. "It isn't that he's a bounder; but he doesn't knowthings; he doesn't know enough, for instance, to wait until he's amember of a club before he criticises the judgment of its governors. Yetyou can't help tolerating the fellow. I think I'll write a letter forhim, or put down my name. What do you think?"

"It would be all right, " said Fleetwood. "He'll need all the support hecan get, with Leroy Mortimer as his sponsor. … Wasn't Mortimer rathernasty about Siward though, in his rôle of the alcoholic prophet? Whew!"

"Siward never had any use for Mortimer, " observed O'Hara. 

"I'll bet you never heard him say so, " returned Fleetwood. "You knowStephen Siward's way; he never said anything unpleasant about any man. I wish I didn't either, but I do. So do you. So do most men. … Lord!I wish Siward were back here. He was a good deal of a man, after all, Tom. "

They were unconsciously using the past tense in discussing Siward, asthough he were dead, either physically or socially. 

"In one way he was always a singularly decent man, " mused O'Hara, walking toward the great marble vestibule and buttoning his overcoat. 

"How exactly do you mean?"

"Oh, about women. "

"I believe it, too. If he did take that Vyse girl into the Patroons, itwas his limit with her--and, I believe his limit with any woman. He wasabsurdly decent that way; he was indeed. And now look at the reputationhe has! Isn't it funny? isn't it, now?"

"What sort of an effect do you suppose all this business is going tohave on Siward?"

"It's had one effect already, " replied Fleetwood, as Plank came up, ready for the street. "Ferrall says he looks sick, and Belwether sayshe's going to the devil; but that's the sort of thing the major islikely to say. By the way, wasn't there something between that prettyLandis girl and Siward? Somebody--some damned gossiping somebody--talkedabout it somewhere, recently. "

"I don't believe that, either, " said Plank, in his heavy, measured, passionless voice, as they descended the steps of the white portico andlooked around for a cab. 

"As for me, I've got to hustle, " observed O'Hara, glancing at his watch. "I'm due to shine at a function about five. Are you coming up-towneither of you fellows? I'll give you a lift as far as Seventy-secondStreet, Plank. "

"Tell you what we'll do, " said Fleetwood, impulsively, turning to Plank:"We'll drive down town, you and I, and we'll look up poor old Siward!Shall we? He's probably all alone in that God-forsaken red brick familytomb! Shall we? How about it, Plank?"

O'Hara turned impatiently on his heel with a gesture of adieu, climbedinto his electric hansom, and went buzzing away up the avenue. 

"I'd like to, but I don't think I know Mr. Siward well enough to dothat, " said Plank diffidently. He hesitated, colouring up. "He mightmisunderstand my going with you--as a liberty--which perhaps I might nothave ventured on had he been less--less unfortunate. "

Again Fleetwood warmed toward the ruddy, ponderous young man beside him. "See here, " he said, "you are going as a friend of mine--if you care tolook at it that way. "

"Thank you, " said Plank; "I should be very glad to go in that way. "

The Siward house was old only in the comparative Manhattan meaning ofthe word; for in New York nothing is really very old, except the facesof the young men. 

Decades ago it had been considered a big house, and it was still sospoken of--a solid, dingy, red brick structure, cubical in proportions, surmounted by heavy chimneys, the depth of its sunken windows hintingof the thickness of wall and foundation. Window-curtains of obsoletepattern, all alike, and all drawn, masked the blank panes. Three massivewistaria-vines, the gnarled stems as thick as tree-trunks, crawledupward to the roof, dividing the façade equally, and furnishing somerelief to its flatness, otherwise unbroken except by the deep revealsof window and door. Two huge and unsymmetrical catalpa trees stoodsentinels before it, dividing curb from asphalt; and from the centres ofthe shrivelled, brown grass-plots flanking the stoop under the basementwindows two aged Rose-of-Sharon trees bristled naked to the height ofthe white marble capitals of the flaking pillars supporting the stainedportico. 

An old New York house, in the New York sense. Old in another sense, too, where in a rapid land Time outstrips itself, painting, with theantiquity of centuries, the stone and mortar which were new scarce tenyears since. 

"Nice old family mausoleum, " commented Fleetwood, descending from thehansom, followed by Plank. The latter instinctively mounted the stoop ontiptoe, treading gingerly as one who ventures into precincts unknown butlong respected; and as Fleetwood pulled the old-fashioned bell, Plankstole a glance over the façade, where wisps of straw trailed fromsparrows' nests, undisturbed, wedged between plinth and pillar; where, behind the lace pane-screens, shadowy edges of heavy curtains framedthe obscurity; where the paint had blistered and peeled from the ironrailings, and the marble pillars of the portico glimmered, scarred byfrosts of winters long forgotten. 

"Cheerful monument, " repeated Fleetwood with a sarcastic nod. Thenthe door was opened by a very old man wearing the black "swallow-tail"clothes and choker of an old-time butler, spotless, quite immaculate, but cut after a fashion no young man remembers. 

"Good evening, " said Fleetwood, entering, followed on tiptoe by Plank. 

"Good evening, sir. " … A pause; and in the unsteady voice of age: "Mr. Fleetwood, sir. … Mr. --. " A bow, and the dim eyes peering up at Plank, who stood fumbling for his card-case. 

Fleetwood dropped both cards on the salver unsteadily extended. Thebutler ushered them into a dim room on the right. 

"How is Mr. Siward?" asked Fleetwood, pausing on the threshold anddropping his voice. 

The old man hesitated, looking down, then still looking away fromFleetwood: "Bravely, sir, bravely, Mr. Fleetwood. "

"The Siwards were always that, " said the young man gently. 

"Yes, sir. … Thank you. Mr. Stephen--Mr. Siward, " he corrected, quaintly, "is indisposed, sir. It was a--a great shock to us all, sir!"He bowed and turned away, holding his salver stiffly; and they heard himmuttering under his breath, "Bravely, sir, bravely. A--a great shock, sir! … Thank you. "

Fleetwood turned to Plank, who stood silent, staring through the fadinglight at the faded household gods of the house of Siward. The dim lighttouched the prisms of a crystal chandelier dulled by age, and edged thecarved foliations of the marble mantel, above which loomed a tarnishedmirror reflecting darkness. Fleetwood rose, drew a window-shade higher, and nodded toward several pictures; and Plank moved slowly from one toanother, peering up at the dead Siwards in their crackled varnish. 

"This is the real thing, " observed Fleetwood cynically, "all this FourthAvenue antique business; dingy, cumbersome, depressing. Good God! I seemyself standing it. … Look at that old grinny-bags in a pig-tail overthere! To the cellar for his, if this were my house. … We've got some, too, in several rooms, and I never go into 'em. They're like a scenein a bum play, or like one of those Washington Square rat-holes, whereartists eat Welsh-rabbits with dirty fingers. Ugh!"

"I like it, " said Plank, under his breath. 

Fleetwood stared, then shrugged, and returned to the window to watch abrand-new French motor-car drawn up before a modern mansion across theavenue. 

The butler returned presently, saying that Mr. Siward was at home andwould receive them in the library above, as he was not yet able to passup and down stairs. 

"I didn't know he was as ill as that, " muttered Fleetwood, as he andPlank followed the old man up the creaking stairway. But Gumble, thebutler, said nothing in reply. 

Siward was sitting in an arm-chair by the window, one leg extended, hisleft foot, stiffly cased in bandages, resting on a footstool. 

"Why, Stephen!" exclaimed Fleetwood, hastening forward, "I didn't knowyou were laid up like this!"

Siward offered his hand inquiringly; then his eyes turned toward Plank, who stood behind Fleetwood; and, slowly disengaging his hand fromFleetwood's sympathetic grip, he offered it to Plank. 

"It is very kind of you, " he said. "Gumble, Mr. Fleetwood prefers rye, for some inscrutable reason. Mr. Plank?" His smile was a question. 

"If you don't mind, " said Plank, "I should like to have some tea--thatis, if--"

"Tea, Gumble, for two. We'll tipple in company, Mr. Plank, " he added. "And the cigars are at your elbow, Billy, " with another smile atFleetwood. 

"Now, " said the latter, after he had lighted his cigar, "what is thematter, Stephen?"

Siward glanced at his stiffly extended foot. "Nothing much. " He reddenedfaintly, "I slipped. It's only a twisted ankle. "

For a moment or two the answer satisfied Fleetwood, then a sudden, curious flash of suspicion came into his eyes; he glanced sharply atSiward, who lowered his eyes, while the red tint in his hollow cheeksdeepened. 

Neither spoke for a while. Plank sipped the tea which Wands, the secondman, brought. Siward brooded over his cup, head bent. Fleetwood mademore noise than necessary with his ice. 

"I miss you like hell!" said Fleetwood musingly, measuring out theold rye from the quaint decanter. "Why did you drop the Saddle Club, Stephen?"

"I'm not riding; I have no use for it, " replied Siward. 

"You've cut out the Proscenium Club, too, and the Owl's Head, and theTrophy. It's a shame, Stephen. "

"I'm tired of clubs. "

"Don't talk that way. "

"Very well, I won't, " said Siward, smiling. "Tell me what ishappening--out there, " he made a gesture toward the window; "all thegossip the newspapers miss. I've talked Dr. Grisby to death; I've talkedGumble to death; I've read myself stupid. What's going on, Billy?"

So Fleetwood sketched for him a gay cartoon of events, caricaturingvarious episodes in the social kaleidoscope which might interest him. He gossiped cynically, but without malice, about people they both knew, about engagements, marriages, and divorces, plans and ambitions; aboutthose absent from the metropolis and the newcomers to be welcomed. He commented briefly on the opera, reviewed the newer plays at thetheatres, touched on the now dormant gaiety which had made the season atnearby country clubs conspicuous; then drifted into the hunting field, gossiping pleasantly in the vernacular about horses and packs anddrag-hunts and stables, and what people thought of the new Englishhounds of the trial pack, and how the new M. F. H. , Maitland Gray, hadmanaged to break so many bones at Southbury. 

Politics were touched upon, and they spoke of the possibility ofFerrall going to the Assembly, the sport of boss-baiting having becomefashionable among amateurs, and providing a new amusement for the idlerich. 

So city, State, and national issues were run through lightly, businessconditions noticed, the stock market speculated upon; and presentlyconversation died out, with a yawn from Fleetwood as he looked into hisempty glass at the last bit of ice. 

"Don't do that, Billy, " smiled Siward. "You haven't discoursed upon art, literature, and science yet, and you can't go until you've adjusted theaffairs of the nation for the next twenty-four hours. "

"Art?" yawned Fleetwood. "Oh, pictures? Don't like 'em. Nobody everlooks at 'em except débutantes, who do it out of deviltry, to floor aman at a dinner or a dance. "

"How about literature?" inquired Siward gravely. "Anything doing?"

"Nothing in it, " replied Fleetwood more gravely still. "It's anotherfeminine bluff--like all that music talk they hand you after the opera. "

"I see. And science?"

"Spider Flynn is matched to meet Kid Holloway; is that what you mean, Stephen? Somebody tumbled out of an air-ship the other day; is that whatyou mean? And they're selling scientific jewelry on Broadway at a dollara quart; is that what you want to know?"

Siward rested his head on his hand with a smile. "Yes, that's aboutwhat I wanted to know, Billy--all about the arts and sciences. … Muchobliged. You needn't stay any longer, if you don't want to. "

"How soon will you be out?" inquired Fleetwood. 

"Out? I don't know. I shall try to drive to the office to-morrow. "

"Why the devil did you resign from all your clubs? How can I see youif I don't come here?" began Fleetwood impatiently. "I know, of course, that you're not going anywhere, but a man always goes to his club. Youdon't look well, Stephen. You are too much alone. "

Siward did not answer. His face and body had certainly grown thinnersince Fleetwood had last seen him. Plank, too, had been shocked at thechange in him--the dark, hard lines under the eyes; the pallor, thecurious immobility of the man, save for his fingers, which were alwaysrestless, now moving in search of some small object to worry and turnover and over, now nervously settling into a grasp on the arm of hischair. 

"How is Amalgamated Electric?" asked Fleetwood, abruptly. 

"I think it's all right. Want to buy some?" replied Siward, smiling. 

Plank stirred in his chair ponderously. "Somebody is kicking it topieces, " he said. 

"Somebody is trying to, " smiled Siward. 

"Harrington, " nodded Fleetwood. Siward nodded back. Plank was silent. 

"Of course, " continued Fleetwood, tentatively, "you people need notworry, with Howard Quarrier back of you. "

Nobody said anything for a while. Presently Siward's restless hands, moving in search of something, encountered a pencil lying on the tablebeside him, and he picked it up and began drawing initials and scrollson the margin of a newspaper; and all the scrolls framed initials, and all the initials were the same, twining and twisting into endlessvariations of the letters S. L. 

"Yes, I must go to the office to-morrow, " he repeated absently. "I ambetter--in fact I am quite well, except for this sprain. " He looked downat his bandaged foot, then his pencil moved listlessly again, continuingthe endless variations on the two letters. It was plain that he wastired. 

Fleetwood rose and made his adieux almost affectionately. Plank movedforward on tiptoe, bulky and noiseless; and Siward held out his hand, saying something amiably formal. 

"Would you like to have me come again?" asked Plank, red withembarrassment, yet so naively that at first Siward found no words toanswer him; then--

"Would you care to come, Mr. Plank?"

"Yes. "

Siward looked at him curiously, almost cautiously. His first impressionsof the man had been summed up in one contemptuous word. Besides, barringthat, what was there in common between himself and such a type as Plank?He had not even troubled himself to avoid him at Shotover; he had merelybeen aware of him when Plank spoke to him; never otherwise, except thatafternoon beside the swimming pool, when he had made one of his rarecriticisms on Plank. 

Perhaps Plank had changed, perhaps Siward had; for he found nothingoffensive in the bulky young man now--nothing particularly attractive, either, except for a certain simplicity, a certain direct candour in theheavy blue eyes which met his squarely. 

"Come in for a cigar when you have a few moments idle, " said Siwardslowly. 

"It will give me great pleasure, " said Plank, bowing. 

And that was all. He followed Fleetwood down the stairs; Wands heldtheir coats, and bowed them out into the falling shadows of the wintertwilight. 

Siward, sitting beside his window, watched them enter their hansom anddrive away up the avenue. A dull flush had settled over his cheeks; thearoma of spirits hung in the air, and he looked across the room at thedecanter. Presently he drank some of his tea, but it was lukewarm, andhe pushed the cup from him. 

The clatter of the cup brought the old butler, who toddled hitherand thither, removing trays, pulling chairs into place, fussing andpattering about, until a maid came in noiselessly, bearing a lamp. Shepulled down the shades, drew the sad-coloured curtains, went to themantelpiece and peered at the clock, then brought a wineglass and aspoon to Siward, and measured the dose in silence. He swallowedit, shrugged, permitted her to change the position of his chair andfootstool, and nodded thanks and dismissal. 

"Gumble, are you there?" he asked carelessly. 

The butler entered from the hallway. "Yes, sir. "

"You may leave that decanter. "

But the old servant may have misunderstood, for he only bowed andambled off downstairs with the decanter, either heedless or deaf to hismaster's sharp order to return. 

For a while Siward sat there, eyes fixed, scowling into vacancy; thenthe old, listless, careworn expression returned; he rested one elbowon the window-sill, his worn cheek on his hand, and with the other handfell to weaving initials with his pencil on the margin of the newspaperlying on the table beside him. 

Lamplight brought out sharply the physical change in him--the angularshadows flat under the cheek-bones, the hard, slightly swollen fleshin the bluish shadows around the eyes. The mark of the master-vice wasthere; its stamp in the swollen, worn-out hollows; its imprint in thefine lines at the corners of his mouth; its sign manual in the faintestrelaxation of the under lip, which had not yet become a looseness. 

For the last of the Siwards had at last stepped into the highway whichhis doomed forebears had travelled before him. 

"Gumble!" he called irritably. 

A quavering voice, an unsteady step, and the old man entered again. "Mr. Stephen, sir?"

"Bring that decanter back. Didn't you hear me tell you just now?"

"Sir?"

"Didn't you hear me?"

"Yes, Mr. Stephen, sir. "

There was a silence. 

"Gumble!"

"Sir?"

"Are you going to bring that decanter?"

The old butler bowed, and ambled from the room, and for a long whileSiward sat sullenly listening and scoring the edges of the paper withhis trembling pencil. Then the lead broke short, and he flung it fromhim and pulled the bell. Wands came this time, a lank, sandy, silentman, grown gray as a rat in the service of the Siwards. He received hismaster's orders, and withdrew; and again Siward waited, biting his underlip and tearing bits from the edges of the newspaper with fingers neverstill; but nobody came with the decanter, and after a while his tensemuscles relaxed; something in his very soul seemed to snap, and he sankback in his chair, the hot tears blinding him. 

He had got as far as that; moments of self-pity were becoming almost asfrequent as scorching intervals of self-contempt. 

So they all knew what was the matter with him--they all knew--thedoctor, the servants, his friends. Had he not surprised the quicksuspicion in Fleetwood's glance, when he told him he had slipped, andsprained his ankle? What if he had been drunk when he fell--fell on hisown doorsteps, carried into the old Siward house by old Siward servants, drunk as his forefathers? It was none of Fleetwood's business. It wasnone of the servants' business. It was nobody's business except his own. Who the devil were all these people, to pry into his affairs and doctorhim and dose him and form secret leagues to disobey him, and hidedecanters from him? Why should anybody have the impertinence to meddlewith him? Of what concern to them were his vices or his virtues?

The tears dried in his hot eyes; he jerked the old-fashioned bellsavagely; and after a long while he heard servants whispering togetherin the passageway outside his door. 

He lay very still in his chair; his hearing had become abnormallyacute, but he could not make out what they were saying; and as the dull, intestinal aching grew sharper, parching, searing every strained musclein throat and chest, he struck the table beside him, and clenched histeeth in the fierce rush of agony that swept him from head to foot, crying out an inarticulate menace on his household. And Dr. Grisby cameinto the room from the outer shadows of the hall. 

He was very small, very meagre, very bald, and clean-shaven, with a facelike a nut-cracker; and the brown wig he wore was atrocious, and curledforward over his colourless ears. He wore steel-rimmed spectacles, each glass divided into two lenses; and he stood on tiptoe to look outthrough the upper lenses on the world, and always bent almost double touse the lower or reading lenses. 

Besides that, he affected frilled shirts, and string ties, which nobodyhad ever seen snugly tied. His loose string tie was the first thingSiward could remember about the doctor; and that the doctor hadpermitted him to pull it when he had the measles, at the age of six. 

"What's all this racket?" said the little old doctor harshly. "Gotcolic? Got the toothache? I'm ashamed of you, Stephen, cutting capersand pounding the furniture! Look up! Look at me! Out with your tongue!Well, now, what the devil's the trouble?"

"You--know, " muttered Siward, abandoning his wrist to the little man, who seated himself beside him. Dr. Grisby scarcely noted the pulse; thedelicate pressure had become a strong caress. 

"Know what?" he grunted. "How do I know what's the matter with you? Hey?Now, now, don't try to explain, Steve; don't fly off the handle! Allright; grant that I do know what's bothering you; I want to see thatankle first. Here, somebody! Light that gas. Why the mischief don'tyou have the house wired for electricity, Stephen? It's wholesome. Gas isn't. Lamps are worse, sir. Do as I tell you!" And he went onloquaciously, grumbling and muttering, and never ceasing his talk, whileSiward, wincing as the dressing was removed, lay back and closed hiseyes. 

Half an hour later Gumble appeared, to announce dinner. 

"I don't want any, " said Siward. 

"Eat!" said Dr. Grisby harshly. 

"I--don't care to. "

"Eat, I tell you! Do you think I don't mean what I say?"

So he ate his broth and toast, the doctor curtly declining to join him. He ate hurriedly, closing his eyes in aversion. Even the iced tea wasflat and distasteful to him. 

And at last he lay back, white and unstrung, the momentarily deadeneddesperation glimmering under his half-closed eyes. And for a long whileDr. Grisby sat, doubled almost in two, cuddling his bony little kneesand studying the patterns in the faded carpet. 

"I guess you'd better go, Stephen, " he said at length. 

"Up the river--to Mulqueen's?"

"Yes. Let's try it, Steve. You'll be on your feet in two weeks. Thenyou'd better go--up the river--to Mulqueen's. "

"I--I'll go, if you say so. But I can't go now. "

"I didn't say go now. I said in two weeks. "

"Perhaps. "

"Will you give me your word?" demanded the doctor sharply. 

"No, doctor. "

"Why not?"

"Because I may have to be here on business. There seems to be some sortof crisis coming which I don't understand. "

"There's a crisis right here, Steve, which I understand!" snapped Dr. Grisby. "Face it like a man! Face it like a man! You're sick--to yourbones, boy--sick! sick! Fight the fight, Steve! Fight a good fight. There's a fighting chance; on my soul of honour, there is, Steve, afighting chance for you! Now! now, boy! Buckle up tight! Tuck up yoursword-sleeve! At 'em, Steve! Give 'em hell! Oh, my boy, my boy, I know;I know!" The little man's voice broke, but he steadied it instantly witha snap of his nut-cracker jaws, and scowled on his patient and shook hislittle withered fist at him. 

His patient lay very still in the shadow. 

"I want you to go, " said the doctor harshly, "before your self-controlgoes. Do you understand? I want you to go before your decision isundermined; before you begin to do devious things, sly things, cheatingthings, slinking things--anything and everything to get at the thingyou crave. I've given you something to fight with, and you won't take itfaithfully. I've given you free rein in tobacco and tea and coffee. I'vehelped you as much as I dare to weather the nights. Now, you help me--doyou hear?"

"Yes … I will. "

"You say so; now do it. Do something for yourself. Do anything! Ifyou're sick of reading--and I don't blame you, considering the stuffyou read--get people down here to see you; get lots of people. Telephone'em; you've a telephone there, haven't you? There it is, by your elbow. Use it! Call up people. Talk all the time. "

"Yes, I will. "

"Good! Now, Steve, we know what's the matter, physically, don't we? Ofcourse we do! Now, then, what's the matter mentally?"

"Mentally?" repeated Siward under his breath. 

"Yes, mentally. What's the trouble? Stocks? Bonds? Lawsuits? Love?" theslightest pause, and a narrowing of the gimlet eyes behind the lenses. "Love?" he repeated harshly. "Which is it, boy? They're all good to letalone. "

"Business, " said Siward. But, being a Siward, he was obliged to add"partly. "

"Business--partly, " repeated the doctor. "What's the matter withbusiness--partly?"

"I don't know. There are rumours. Hetherington is poundingus--apparently. That Inter-County crowd is acting ominously, too. There's something underhand, somewhere. " He bent his head and fell toplucking at the faded brocade on the arm of his chair, muttering tohimself, "somewhere, somehow, something underhand. I don't know what; Ireally don't. "

"All right--all right, " said the doctor testily; "let it go at that!There's treachery, eh? You suspect it? You're sure of it--as reasonablysure as a gentleman can be of something he is not fashioned tounderstand? That's it, is it? All right, sir--all right! Verywell--ver-y well. Now, sir, look at me! Business symptoms admitted, whatabout the 'partly, ' Stephen?--what about it, eh? What about it?"

But Siward fell silent again. 

"Eh? Did you say something? No? Oh, very well, ver-y well, sir. …Perfectly correct, Stephen. You have not earned the right to admitfurther symptoms. No, sir, you have not earned the right to admit themto anybody, not even to yourself. Nor to--her!"

"Doctor!"

"Sir?"

"I have--admitted them. "

"To yourself, Steve? I'm sorry. You have no right to--yet. I'm sorry--"

"I have admitted them--admitted them--to her. "

"That settles it, " said the doctor grimly, "that clinches it! That locksyou to the wheel! That pledges you. The squabble is on, now. It's yourhonour that's engaged now, not your nerves, not your intestines. It'sa good fight--a very good fight, with no chance of losing anything butlife. You go up the river to Mulqueen's. That's the strategy in thiscampaign; that's excellent manoeuvring; that's good generalship! Eh?Mask your purpose, Steve; make a feint of camping out here under myguns; then suddenly fling your entire force up the Hudson and fortifyyourself at Mulqueen's! Ho, that'll fix 'em! That's going to astonishthe enemy!"

His harsh, dry, crackling laughter broke out like the distant rattle ofmusketry. 

The ghost of a smile glimmered in Siward's haunted eyes, then faded ashe leaned forward. 

"She has refused me, " he said simply. 

The little doctor, after an incredulous stare, began chatteringwith wrath. "Refused you! Pah! Pooh! That's nothing! That signifiesabsolutely nothing! It's meaningless! It's a detail. You get well--doyou hear? You go and get well; then try it again! Then you'll see! Andif she is an idiot--in the event of her irrational persistence in anincredible and utterly indefensible attitude"--he choked up, then fairlybarked at Siward--"take her anyway, sir! Run off with her! Dominatecircumstances, sir! take charge of events! … But you can't do it tillyou've clapped yourself into prison for life. … And God help you if youlet yourself escape!"

And after a long while Siward said: "If I should ever marry--and--and--"

"Had children, eh? Is that it? Oh, it is, eh? Well, I say, marry! I say, have children! If you're a man, you'll breed men. The chances are theymay not inherit what you have. It skips some generations--some, now andthen. But if they do, good God! I say it's better to be born and havea chance to fight than never to come into the arena at all! By winningout, the world learns; by failure, the world is no less wise. Theimportant thing is birth. The main point is to breed--to produce--toreproduce! but not until you stand, sword in hand, and your armed heelon the breast of your prostrate and subconscious self!"

He jumped up and began running about the room with short little bantamsteps, talking all the while. 

"People say, 'Shall criminals be allowed to mate and produce young?Shall malefactors be allowed to beget? No!' And I say no, too. Never solong as they remain criminals and malefactors; so long as the evil inthem is in the ascendant. Never, until they are cured. That's what Isay; that's what I maintain. Crime is a disease; criminals are sickpeople. No marriage for them until they're cured; no children for themuntil they're well. If they cure themselves, let 'em marry; let 'embreed; for then, if their children inherit the inclination, they alsoinherit the grit to cauterise the malady. "

He produced a huge handkerchief from the tails of his coat, and wipedhis damp features and polished his forehead so violently that his wigtook a new and jaunty angle. 

"I'm talking too much, " he said fretfully; "I'm talking a greatdeal--all the time--continually. I've other patients--several--plenty!Do you think you're the only man I know who's trying to disfigure hisliver and make spots come out all over inside him? Do you?"

Siward smiled again, a worn, pallid smile. 

"I can stand it while you are here, doctor, but when I'm aloneit's--hard. One of those crises is close now. I've a bad night ahead--abad outlook. Couldn't you--"

"No!"

"Just enough--"

"No, Stephen. "

"--Enough to dull it--just a little? I don't ask for enough to makeme sleep--not even to make me doze. You have your needle; haven't you, doctor?"

"Yes. "

"Then, just this once--for the last time. "

"No. "

"Why? Are you afraid? You needn't be, doctor. I don't care for it exceptto give me a little respite, a little rest on a night like this. I'm sotired of this ache. If I could only have some sleep, and wake up in goodshape, I'd stand a better chance of fighting. … Wait, doctor! Just onemoment. I don't mean to be a coward, but I've had a hard fight, and--I'mtired. … If you could see your way to helping me--"

"I dare not help you any more that way. "

"Not this once?"

"Not this once. "

There was a dead silence, broken at last by the doctor with a violentgesture toward the telephone. "Talk to the girl! Why don't you talk tothe girl! If she's worth a hill o' beans she'll help you to hang on. What's she for, if she isn't for such moments? Tell her you need hervoice; tell her you need her faith in you. Damn central! Talk out inchurch! Don't make a goddess of a woman. The men who want to marry her, and can't, will do that! The nincompoop can always be counted on todeify the commonplace. And she is commonplace. If she isn't, she's nogood! Commend me to sanity and the commonplace. I take off my hat to it!I honour it. God bless it! Good-night!"

Siward lay still for a long while after the doctor had gone. More thanan hour had passed before he slowly sat up and groped for the telephonebook, opened it, and searched in a blind, hesitating way until he foundthe number he was looking for. 

He had never telephoned to her; he had never written her except once, in reply to her letter in regard to his mother's death--that strange, timid, formal letter, in which, grief-stunned as he was, he saw onlythe formality, and had answered it more formally still. And that was allthat had come of the days and nights by that northern sea--a letter andits answer, and silence. 

And, thinking of these things, he shut the book wearily, and lay back inthe shadow of the faded curtain, closing his sunken eyes. 

CHAPTER IX CONFESSIONS

In a city in transition, where yesterday is as dead as a dead century, where those who prepare the old year for burial are already taking theante-mortem statement of the new, the future fulfils the functionsof the present. Time itself is considered merely as a by-product ofhorse-power, discounted with flippancy as the unavoidable frictionclogging the fly-wheel of progress. 

Memory, once a fine art, is becoming a lost art in Manhattan. 

His world and his city had almost ceased to think of Siward. 

For a few weeks men spoke of him in the several clubs of which he hadlately been a member--spoke of him always in the past tense; and after alittle while spoke of him no more. 

In that section of the social system which he had inhabited, his absenceon account of his mother's death being taken for granted, people laidhim away in their minds almost as ceremoniously as they had laid awaythe memory of his mother. Nothing halted because he was not present;nothing was delayed, rearranged, or abandoned because his familiarpresence chanced to be missing. There remained only one more place tofill at a cotillion, dinner, or bridge party; only another man for operabox or week's end; one man the more to be counted on, one more man tobe counted out--transferred to the credit of profit and loss, and theledger closed for the season. 

They who remembered him, among those who had not yet lost thatold-fashioned art, were very few--a young girl here and there, overwhom he had been absent-mindedly sentimental; a débutante or two who hadadored him from a distance as a friend of elder sister or brother; hereand there an old, old lady to whom he had been considerate, and whoperhaps remembered something of the winning charm of the Siwards whenthe town was young--his father, perhaps, perhaps his grandfather--thesethought of him at intervals; the remainder had no leisure to remembereven if they had not forgotten how to do it. Several cabmen missed himfor a while; now and then a privileged café waiter inquired about himfrom gay, noisy parties entering some old haunt of his. Mr. Desmond, ofart gallery and roulette notoriety, whose business is not to forget, waspolitely regretful at his absence from certain occult ceremonies whichhe had at irregular intervals graced with votive offerings. And the listended there--almost, not quite; for there were two people who had notforgotten Siward: Howard Quarrier and Beverly Plank; and one other, athird, who could not yet forget him if she would--but, as yet, she hadnot tried very desperately. 

The day that Siward left New York to visit everybody's friend, Mr. Mulqueen, in the country, Plank called on him for the second time in hislife, and was presently received in the south drawing-room, the librarybeing limited to an informality and intimacy not for Mr. Plank. 

Siward, still lame, and using unskilfully two shiny new crutches, camedown the stairs and stumped into the drawing-room, which, in spite ofthe sombre, clustering curtains, was brightly illuminated by the wintersunshine reflected from the snow in the street. Plank was shocked at thechange in him--at the ghost of a voice, listlessly formal; at the thin, nerveless hand offered; startled, so that he forgot his shyness, andretained the bony hand tightly in his, and instinctively laid his othergreat cushion-like paw over it, holding it imprisoned, unable to speak, unconscious, in the impulse of the moment, of the liberty he permittedhimself, and which he had never dreamed of taking with such a man asSiward. 

The effect on Siward was composite; his tired voice ceased; surprise, inability to understand tinged with instinctive displeasure, weresucceeded by humourous curiosity; and, very slowly it became plain tohim that this beefy young man liked him, was naively concerned abouthim, felt friendly toward him, and was showing it as spontaneously as achild. Because he now understood something of how it is with a man whois in the process of being forgotten, his perceptions were perhaps thefiner in these days, and the direct unconsciousness of Plank touched himmore heavily than the pair of heavy hands enclosing his. 

"I thought I'd come, " began Plank, growing redder and redder as he beganto realise the enormity of familiarity committed only on the warrant ofimpulse. "You don't look well. "

"It was good of you to think of me, " said Siward. "Come up to thelibrary, if you've a few minutes to spare an invalid. Please go first;I'm a trifle lame yet. "

"I--I am sorry, " muttered Plank, "very, very sorry. "

At first, in the library, Plank was awkward and silent, finding nothingto say, and nowhere to dispose of his hands, until Siward gave hima cigar to occupy his fingers. Even then he continued to situncomfortably, his bulk balanced on a rickety, spindle-legged chair, which he stubbornly refused to exchange for another, at Siward'ssuggestion, out of sheer embarrassment, and with a confused idea thathis refusal would somehow ultimately put him at his ease with hissurroundings. 

Siward, secretly amused, rang for tea, although the hour was early. After a little while, either the toast or the tea appeared to act onPlank as a lingual laxative, for he began suddenly to talk, which ischaracteristic of bashful men; and Siward gravely helped him on when hefloundered and turned shy. After a little, matters went very well withthem, and Plank, much more at ease than he had ever dared to hope hecould be with Siward, talked and talked; and Siward, his crutchesacross his knees, lay back in his arm-chair, chatting with that winninginformality so becoming to men who are unconscious of their charm. 

Watching Plank, it occurred to him gradually that this great, cumbersomecreature was not a shrewd, thrifty, self-made and self-finished adult atall; only a big, wistful, lonely boy, without comrades and with nowhereto play. On Plank's round face there remained no trace of shrewdness, ofstubbornness, nothing even of the heavy, saturnine placidity of a doggedman who waits his turn. 

Plank spoke of himself after a while, sounding the personal note withtentative timidity. Siward gravely encouraged him, and in a littlewhile the outlines of his crude autobiography appeared, embodying hiseventless boyhood in a Pennsylvania town; his career at the high school;the dawning desire for college equipment, satisfied by his father, whoowned shares in the promising Deepvale Steel Plank Company; the unhappyyears at Harvard--hard years, for he learned with difficulty; solitaryyears, for he was not sought by those whom he desired to know. Then heventured to speak of his father's growing interest in steel; the mergingand absorbing of independent plants; his own entry upon the scene onthe death of his father; and--the rest--material fortune and prosperity, which, perhaps, might stand substitute as a social sponsor for him;stand, perhaps, for something of what he lacked in himself, which onlylong residence amid the best, long-formed habits for the best, or a longinheritance of the best could give. Did Siward think so? Was the bestbeyond his reach? Was it hopeless for such a man as he to try? And why?

The innocent snobbery, the abashed but absolute simplicity of thisponderous pilgrim from the smelting pits clambering upward through thehigh school of the smoky town, groping laboriously through the chillyhalls of Harvard toward the outer breastworks of Manhattan, interestedSiward; and he said so in his pleasant way, without offence, and with asmiling question at the end. 

"Worth while?" repeated Plank, flushing heavily, "it is worth while tome. I have always desired to be a part of the best that there is in myown country; and the best is here, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily, " said Siward, still smiling. "The noisiest is here, and some of the best. "

"Which is the best?" inquired Plank naively. 

"Why, all plain people, whose education, breeding, and fortune permitthem the luxury of thinking, and whose tastes, intelligence, and sanityenable them to express their thoughts. There are such people here, andsome of them form a portion of the gaudier and noisier galaxy we callsociety. "

"That is what I wish to be part of, " said Plank. "Could you tell me whatare the requirements?"

"I don't believe I could, exactly, " said Siward, amused. "With us, thesocial system, as an established and finished system, has too recentlybeen evolved from outer chaos to be characteristic of anything exceptthe crudity and energy of the chaos from which it emerged. Thebalance between wealth, intelligence, and breeding has not yet beenestablished--not from lack of wealth or intelligence. The formula hasnot been announced, that is all. "

"What is the formula?" insisted Plank. 

"The formula is the receipt for a real society, " replied Siward, laughing. "At present we have its uncombined ingredients in theraw--noisy wealth and flippant fashion, arrogant intelligence anddowdy breeding--all excellent materials, when filtered and fused in theretort; and many of our test tubes have already precipitated pure metalbesides, and our national laboratory is turning out fine alloys. Someday we'll understand the formula, and we'll weld the entire mass; andthat will be society, Mr. Plank. "

"In the meanwhile, " repeated Plank, unsmiling, "I want to be part ofthe best we have. I want to be part of the brightness of things. I mean, that I cannot be contented with an imitation. "

"An imitation?"

"Of the best--of what you say is not yet society. I ask no more thanyour footing among the people of this city. I wish to be able to gowhere such men as you go; be permitted, asked, desired to be part ofwhat you always have been part of. Is it a great deal I ask? Tell me, Mr. Siward--for I don't know--is it too much to expect?"

"I don't think it is a very high ambition, " said Siward, smiling. "Whatyou ask is not very much to ask of life, Mr. Plank. "

"But is there any reason why I may not hope to go where I wish to go?"

"I think it depends upon yourself, " said Siward, "upon your capacity forbeing, or for making people believe you to be exactly what they require. You ask me whether you may be able to go where you desire; and I answeryou that there is no limit to any journey except the sprinting abilityof the pilgrim. "

Plank laughed a little, and his squared jaws relaxed; then, after a fewmoments' thought:

"It is curious that what you cast away from you so easily, I am waitingfor with all the patience I have in me. And yet it is always yours topick up again whenever you wish; and I may never live to possess it. "

He was so perfectly right that Siward said nothing; in fact, he couldhave no particular interest or sympathy for a man's quest of whathe himself did not understand the lack of. Those born without a tagunmistakably ticketing them and their positions in the world wereperforce ticketed. Siward took it for granted that a man belonged wherehe was to be met; and all he cared about was to find him civil, whetherhe happened to be a policeman or a master of fox-hounds. 

He was, now that he knew Plank, contented to accept him anywhere he methim; but Plank's upward evolutions upon the social ladder were of nointerest to him, and his naïve snobbery was becoming something of abore. 

So Siward directed the conversation into other channels, and Plank, accepting another cup of tea, became very communicative about hisstables and his dogs, and the preservation of game; and after a while, looking up confidently at Siward, he said:

"Do you think it beastly to drive pheasants the way I did at BlackFells? I have heard that you were disgusted. "

"It isn't my idea of a square deal, " said Siward frankly. 

"That settles it, then. "

"But you should not let me interfere with--"

"I'll take your opinion, and thank you for it. It didn't seem to me tobe the thing; only it's done over here, you know. The De Coursay's andthe--"

"Yes, I know. … Glad you feel that way about it, Plank. It's prettyrotten sportsmanship. Don't you think so?"

"I do. I--would you--I should like to ask you to try some squareshooting at the Fells, " stammered Plank, "next season, if you would careto. "

"You're very good. I should like to, if I were going to shoot at all;but I fancy my shooting days are over, for a while. "

"Over!"

"Business, " nodded Siward, absently grave again. "I see no prospect ofmy idling for the next year or two. "

"You are in--in Amalgamated Electric, I think, " ventured Plank. 

"Very much in, " replied the other frankly. "You've read the papers andheard rumours, I suppose?"

"Some. I don't suppose anybody quite understands the attacks onAmalgamated. "

"I don't--not yet. Do you?"

Plank sat silent, then his shrewd under lip began to protrude. 

"I'm wondering, " he began cautiously, "how much the Algonquin crowdunderstands about the matter?"

Siward's troubled eyes were on him as he spoke, watching closely, narrowly. 

"I've heard that rumour before, " he said. 

"So have I, " said Plank, "and it seems incredible. " He looked warilyat Siward. "Suppose it is true that the Algonquin Trust Company isgodfather to Inter-County. That doesn't explain why a man should kickhis own door down when there's a bell to ring and servants to let himin--and out again, too. "

"I have wondered, " said Siward, "whether the door he might be inclinedto kick down is really his own door any longer. "

"I, too, " said Plank simply. "It may belong to a personal enemy--if hehas any. He could afford to have an enemy, I suppose. "

Siward nodded. 

"Then, hadn't you better--I beg your pardon! You have not asked me toadvise you. "

"No. I may ask your advice some day. Will you give it when I do?"

"With pleasure, " said Plank, so warmly disinterested, so plainly proudand eager to do a service that Siward, surprised and touched, found noword to utter. 

Plank rose. Siward attempted to stand up, but had trouble with hiscrutches. 

"Please don't try, " said Plank, coming over and offering his hand. "MayI stop in again soon? Oh, you are off to the country for a month or two?I see. … You don't look very well. I hope it will benefit you. Awfullyglad to have seen you. I--I hope you won't forget me--entirely. "

"I am the man people are forgetting, " returned Siward, "not you. It wasvery nice of you to come. You are one of very few who remember me atall. "

"I have very few people to remember, " said Plank; "and if I had as manyas I could desire I should remember you first. "

Here he became very much embarrassed. Siward offered his hand again. Plank shook it awkwardly, and went away on tiptoe down the stairs whichcreaked decorously under his weight. 

And that ended the first interview between Plank and Siward in the firstdays of the latter's decline. 

The months that passed during Siward's absence from the city began toprove rather eventful for Plank. He was finally elected a member of thePatroons Club, without serious opposition; he had dined twice withthe Kemp Ferralls; he and Major Belwether were seen together atthe Caithness dance, and in the Caithness box at the opera. Once arespectable newspaper reported him at Tuxedo for the week's end; hisname, linked with the clergy, frequently occupied such space under thecolumn headed "Ecclesiastical News" as was devoted to the progress ofthe new chapel, and many old ladies began to become familiar with hisname. 

At the right moment the Mortimers featured him between two fashionablebishops at a dinner. Mrs. Vendenning, who adored bishops, immediatelyremembered him among those asked to her famous annual bal poudré; acelebrated yacht club admitted him to membership; a whole shoal ofexcellent minor clubs which really needed new members followed suit, andeven the rock-ribbed Lenox, wearied of its own time-honoured immobility, displayed the preliminary fidgets which boded well for the stolidcandidate. The Mountain was preparing to take the first stiff steptoward Mohammed. It was the prophet's cue to sit tight and yawnoccasionally. 

Meanwhile he didn't want to; he was becoming anxious to do things forhimself, which Leila Mortimer, of course, would not permit. It wasdifficult for him to understand that any effort of his own wouldprobably be disastrous; that progress could come only through hisown receptive passivity; that nothing was demanded, nothing required, nothing permitted from him as yet, save a capacity for assimilating suchopportunities as sections of the social system condescended to offer. 

For instance, he wanted to open his art gallery to the public; he saidit was good strategy; and Mrs. Mortimer sat upon the suggestion witha shrug of her pretty shoulders. Well, then, couldn't he possibly dosomething with his great, gilded ball-room? No, he couldn't; and theless in evidence his galleries and his ball-rooms were at present thebetter his chances with people who, perfectly aware that he possessedthem, were very slowly learning to overlook the insolence of theaccident that permitted him to possess what they had never known thewant of. First of all people must tire of repeating to each other thathe was nobody, and that would happen when they wearied of explaining toone another why he was ever asked anywhere. There was time enough forhim to offer amusement to people after they had ceased to find amusementin snubbing him; plenty of time in the future for them to lash him toa gallop for their pleasure. In the meanwhile he was doing very well, because he began to appear regularly in the Caithness-Bonnesdel box, andold Peter Caithness was already boring him at the Patroons; which meantthat the thrifty old gentleman considered Plank's millions as a possibleunderpinning for the sagging house of Caithness, of which his palliddaughter Agatha was the sole sustaining caryatid in perspective. 

Yes, he was doing well; for that despotic beauty, Sylvia Landis, whosecapricious perversity had recently astonished those who remembered herin her first season as a sweet, reasonable, and unspoiled girl, wasalways friendly with him. That must be looked upon as important, considering Sylvia's unassailable position, and her kinship to theautocratic old lady whose kindly ukase had for generations remained theundisputed law in the social system of Manhattan. 

"There is another matter, " said Leila Mortimer innocently, as Plank, lingering after a disastrous rubber of bridge with her, her husband, andAgatha Caithness, had followed her into her own apartments to write hischeque for what he owed. "You've driven with me so much and you comehere so often and we are seen together so frequently that the clans aresharpening up their dirks for us. And that helps some. "

"What!" exclaimed Plank, reddening, and twisting around in his chair. 

"Certainly. You didn't suppose I could escape, did you?"

"Escape! What?" demanded Plank, getting redder. 

"Escape being talked about, savagely, mercilessly. Can't you see how ithelps? Oh dear, are you stupid, Beverly?

"I don't know, " replied Plank, staring, "just how stupid I am. If youmean that I'm compromising you--"

"Oh, please! Why do you use back-stairs words? Nobody talks aboutcompromising now; all that went out with New Year's calls andbrown-stone stoops. "

"What do they call it, then?" asked Plank seriously. 

"Call what? you great boy!"

"What you say I'm doing?"

"I don't say it. "

"Who does?"

Leila laughed, leaned back in her big, padded chair, dropping one kneeover the other. Her dark eyes with the Japanese slant to them restedmockingly on Plank, who had now turned completely around in his chair, leaving his half-written cheque on her escritoire behind him. 

"You're simply credited with an affair with a pretty woman, " she said, watching the dull colour mounting to his temples, "and that is certainto be useful to you, and it doesn't affect me. What on earth are youblushing about?" And as he said nothing, she added, with a daring littlelaugh: "You are credited with being very agreeable, you see. "

"If--if that's the way you take it--" he began. 

"Of course! What do you expect me to do--call for help before I'm hurt?"

"You mean that this talk--gossip--doesn't hurt?"

"How silly!" She looked at him, smiling. "You know how likely I am torequire protection from your importunities. " She dropped her prettyhead, and began plaiting with her fingers the silken gown over her knee. "Or how likely I would be to shriek for it even if"--she looked up withchildlike directness--"even if I needed it. "

"Of course you can take care of yourself, " said Plank, wincing. 

"I could, if I wanted to. "

"Everybody knows that. I know it, Leroy knows it; only I don't care tofigure as that kind of man. "

Already he had lost sight of her position in the matter; and she drew along, quiet breath, almost like a sigh. 

"Time enough after you marry, " she said deliberately, and lighted acigarette from a candle, recreating her knees the other way. 

He considered her, started to speak, checked himself, and swung aroundto the desk again. His pen hovered over the space to be filled in. Hetried to recollect the amount, hesitated, dated the cheque and affixedhis signature, still trying to remember; then he looked at her over hisshoulder. 

"I forget the exact amount. "

She surveyed him through the haze of her cigarette, but made no answer. 

"I forget the amount, " he repeated. 

"So do I, " she nodded indolently. 

"But I--"

"Let it go. Besides, I shall not accept it. "

He flushed up, astonished. "You can't refuse to take a gambling debt. "

"I do, " she retorted coolly. "I'm tired of taking your money. "

"But you won it. "

"I'm tired of winning it. It is all I ever do win … from you. "

Her pretty head was wreathed in smoke. She tipped the ashes from thecigarette's end, watching them fall to powder on the rug. 

"I don't know what you mean, " he persisted doggedly. 

"Don't you? I don't believe I do, either. There are intervals in mycareer which might prove eloquent if I opened my lips. But I don't, except to make floating rings and cabalistic signs out of cigarettesmoke. Can you read their meaning? Look! There goes one, and there'sanother, and another--all twisting and uncurling into hieroglyphics. They are very significant; they might tell you a lot of things, if youwould only translate them. But you haven't the key--have you?"

There was a heavy, jarring step in the main living-room, and Mortimer'sbulk darkened the doorway. 

"Entrez, mon ami, " nodded Leila, glancing up. "Where is Agatha?"

"I'm going to Desmond's, " he grunted, ignoring his wife's question; "doyou want to try it again, Beverly?"

"I can't make Leila take her own winnings, " said Plank, holding out thesigned but unfilled cheque to Mortimer, who took it and scrutinised itfor a moment, rubbing his heavy, inflamed eyes; then, gesticulating, thecheque fluttering in his puffy fingers:

"Come on, " he insisted. "I've a notion that I can give Desmond a whirlthat he won't forget in a hurry. Agatha's asleep; she's going to thatball--where is it?" he demanded, turning on his wife. "Yes, yes; thePage blow-out. You're going, I suppose?"

Leila nodded, and lighted another cigarette. 

"All right, " continued Mortimer impatiently; "you and Agatha won't startbefore one. And if you think Plank had better go, why, we'll be backhere in time. "

"That means you won't be back at all, " observed his wife coolly; "andit's good policy for Beverly to go where he's asked. Can't you turn inand sleep, now, and amuse your friend Desmond to-morrow night?"

"No, I can't. What a fool I'd be to let a chance slip when I feel like awinner!"

"You never feel otherwise when you gamble, " said Leila. 

"Yes, I do, " he retorted peevishly. "I can tell almost every time whatthe cards are going to do to me. Leila, go to sleep. We'll be back herefor you by one, or half past. "

"Look here, Leroy, " began Plank, "there's one thing I can't stand for, and that's this continual loss of sleep. If I go with you I'll not befit to go to the Pages. "

"What a farmer you are!" sneered Mortimer. "I believe you roost on thefoot-board of your bed, like a confounded turkey. Come on! You'd betterbegin training, you know. People in this town are not going to stand forthe merry ploughboy game, you see!"

But Plank was shrewdly covering his principal reason for declining;he had too often "temporarily" assisted Mortimer at Desmond's andBurbank's, when Mortimer, cleaned out and unable to draw against abalance non-existent, had plucked him by the sleeve from the faro tablewith the breathless request for a loan. 

"I tell you I can wring Desmond dry to-night, " repeated Mortimersullenly. "It isn't a case of 'want to, ' either; it's a case of 'gotto. ' That old pink-and-white rabbit, Belwether, got me into a game thisafternoon, and between him and Voucher and Alderdine I'm stripped cleanas a kennel bone. "

But Plank shook his head, pretending to yawn; and Mortimer, gloweringand lingering, presently went off, his swollen hands thrust into histrousers' pockets, his gross features dark with disgust; and presentlythey heard the front door slam, and a rattling tattoo of horses' feeton the asphalt; and Leila sprang up impatiently, and, passing Plank, traversed the passage to the windows of the front room. 

"He's taken the horses--the beast!" she said calmly, as Plank joinedher at the great windows and looked out into the night, where the round, drooping, flower-like globes of the electric lamps spread a lake ofsilver before the house. 

It was rather rough on Leila. The Mortimers maintained one pair ofhorses only; and the use given them at all hours resulted in endlessscenes, and an utter impossibility for Leila to retain the same coachmanand footman for more than a few weeks at a time. 

"He won't come back; he'll keep Martin and the horses standing in frontof Delmonico's all night. You'd better call up the stables, Beverly. "

So Plank called up a livery and arranged for transportation at one;and Leila seated herself at a card-table and began to deal herself colddecks, thoughtfully. 

"That bit in 'Carmen, '" she said, "it always brings the shudder; itnever palls on me, never grows stale. " She whipped the ominous spadefrom the pack and held it out. "La Mort!" she exclaimed in mock tragedy, yet there was another undertone ringing through it, sounding, too, inher following laugh. "Draw!" she commanded, holding out the pack; andPlank drew a diamond. 

"Naturally, " she nodded, shuffling the pack with her smooth, savantfingers and laying them out as she repeated the formula: "Qui frappe?Qui entre? Qui prend chaise? Qui parle? Oh, the deuce! it's always thesame! Tiens! je m'ennui!" There was a flash of her bare arm, a flutter, and the cards fell in a shower over them both. 

Plank flipped a card from his knee, laughing uncertainly, aware ofsymptoms in his pretty vis-à-vis which always made him uncomfortable. For months, now, at certain intervals, these recurrent symptoms had madehim wary; but what they might portend he did not know, only that, alonewith her, moments occurred when he was heavily aware of a tensionwhich, after a while, affected even his few thick nerves. One of thoseintervals was threatening now: her flushed cheeks, her feverish activitywith her hands, the unconscious reflex movement of her silken kneesand restless slippers, all foreboded it. Next would come the nervouslaughter, the swift epigram which bored and puzzled him, the veiledbadinage he was unequal to; and then the hint of weariness, the curiouspathos of long silences, the burnt-out beauty of her eyes from which thefire had gone as though quenched by invisible tears within. 

He ascribed it--desired to ascribe it--to her relations with herhusband. He had naturally learned and divined how matters stood withthem; he had learned considerable in the last month or two--somethingof Mortimer's record as a burly brother to the rich; something of hisposition among those who made no question of his presence anywhere. Something of Leila, too, he had heard, or rather deduced from hintedword or shrug or smiling silence, not meant for him, but indifferent towhat he might hear and what he might think of what he heard. 

He did listen; he did patiently add two and two in the long solitudes ofhis Louis XV chamber; and if the results were not always four, at leastthey came within a fraction of the proper answer. And this did not alterhis policy or weaken his faith in his mentors; nor did it impair hisreal gratitude to them, and his real and simple friendship for themboth. He was faithful in friendship once formed, obstinately so, forbetter or for worse; but he was shrewd enough to ignore opportunitiesfor friendships which he foresaw could do him no good on his ploddingpilgrimage toward the temple of his inexorable desire. 

Lifting, now, his Delft-coloured eyes furtively, he studied thesilk-and-lace swathed figure of the young matron opposite, flung backinto the depths of her great chair, profile turned from him, her chinimprisoned in her ringed fingers. The brooding abandon of the attitudecontrasted sharply with the grooming of the woman, making both the moreeffective. 

"Turn in, if you want to, " she said, her voice indistinct, smothered byher pink palm. "You're to dress in Leroy's quarters. "

"I don't want to turn in just yet. "

"You said you needed sleep. "

"I do. But it's not eleven yet. "

She slipped into another posture, reaching for a cigarette, and, settingit afire from the match he offered, exhaled a cloud of smoke and lookeddreamily through it at him. 

"Who is she?" she asked in a colourless voice. "Tell me, for I don'tknow. Agatha? Marion Page? Mrs. Vendenning? or the Tassel girl?"

"Nobody--yet, " he admitted cheerfully. 

"Nobody--yet, " she repeated, musing over her cigarette. "That's goodpolitics, if it's true. "

"Am I untruthful?" he asked simply. 

"I don't know. Are you? You're a man. "

"Don't talk that way, Leila. "

"No, I won't. What is it that you and Sylvia Landis have to talk aboutso continuously every time you meet?"

"She's merely civil to me, " he explained. 

"That's more than she is to a lot of people. What do you talk about?"

"I don't know--nothing in particular; mostly about Shotover, and thepeople there last summer. "

"Doesn't she ever mention Stephen Siward?"

"Usually. She knows I like him. "

"She likes him, too, " said Leila, looking at him steadily. 

"I know it. Everybody likes him--or did. I do, yet. "

"I do, too, " observed Mrs. Mortimer coolly. "I was in love with him. Hewas only a boy then. "

Plank nodded in silence. 

"Where is he now--do, you know?" she asked. "Everybody says he's gone tothe devil. "

"He's in the country somewhere, " replied Plank cautiously. "I stoppedin to see him the other day, but nobody seemed to know when he wouldreturn. "

Mrs. Mortimer tossed her cigarette onto the hearth. For a long intervalof silence she lay there in her chair, changing her position restlesslyfrom moment to moment; and at length she lay quite still, so long thatPlank began to think she had fallen asleep in her chair. 

He rose. She did not stir, and, passing her, he instinctively glanceddown. Her cheeks, half buried against the back of the chair, wereoverflushed; under the closed lids the lashes glistened wet in thelamplight. 

Surprised, embarrassed, he halted, as though afraid to move; and she satup with a nervous shake of her shoulders. 

"What a life!" she said, under her breath; "what a life for a woman tolead!"

"Wh-whose?" he blurted out. 

"Mine!"

He stared at her uneasily, finding nothing to say. He had never beforeheard anything like this from her. 

"Can't anybody help me out of it?" she said quietly. 

"Who? How? … Do you mean--"

"Yes, I mean it! I mean it! I--"

And suddenly she broke down, in a strange, stammering, tearlessway, opening the dry flood-gates over which rattled an avalanche ofwords--bitter, breathless phrases rushing brokenly from lips that shrankas they formed them. 

Plank sat inert, the corroding echo of the words clattering in his ears. And after a while he heard his own altered voice sounding persistentlyin repetition:

"Don't say those things, Leila; don't tell me such things. "

"Why? Don't you care?"

"Yes, yes, I care; but I can't do anything! I have no business tohear--to see you this way. "

"To whom can I speak, then, if I can not speak to you? To whom can Iturn? Where am I to turn, in all the world?"

"I don't know, " he said fearfully; "the only way is to go on. "

"What else have I done? What else am I doing?" she cried. "Go on? Am Inot trudging on and on through life, dragging the horror of it behindme through the mud, except when the horror drags me? To whom am I toturn--to other beasts like him?--sitting patiently around, grinning andslavering, awaiting their turn when the horror of it crushes me to themud?"

She stretched out a rounded, quivering arm, and laid the small fingersof the left hand on its flawless contour. "Look!" she said, exasperated, "I am young yet; the horror has not yet corrupted the youth in me. I amfashioned for some reason, am I not?--for some purpose, some happiness. I am not bad; I am human. What poison has soaked into me can beeliminated. I tell you, no woman is capable of being so thoroughlypoisoned that the antidote proves useless. 

"But I tell you men, also, that unless she find that antidote she willsurely reinfect herself. A man can not do what that man has done to meand expect me to recover unaided. People talk of me, and I have giventhem subjects enough! But--look at me! Straight between the eyes! Everylaw have I broken except that! Do you understand? That one, which youmen consider yourselves exempt from, I have not broken--yet! Shall Ispeak plainer? It is the fashion to be crude. But--I can't be; I amunfashionable, you see. "

She laughed, her haunted eyes fixed on his. 

"Is there no chance for me? Because I drag his bedraggled name aboutwith me is there no decent chance, no decent hope? Is there onlyindecency in prospect, if a man comes to care for a married woman? Can'ta decent man love her at all? I--I think--"

Her hands, outstretched, trembled, then flew to her face; and she stoodthere swaying, until Plank perforce stepped to her side and steadied heragainst him. 

So they remained for a while, until she looked up dazed, weary, ashamed, expecting nothing of him; and when it came, leaving her stillincredulous, his arms around her, his tense, flushed face recoiling fromtheir first kiss, she did not seem to comprehend. 

"I can't turn on him, " he stammered, "I--we are friends, you see. Howcan I love you, if that is so?"

"Could you love me?" she asked calmly. 

"I--I don't know. I did love--I do care for--another woman. I can'tmarry her, though I am given to understand there is a chance. Perhapsit is partly ambition, " he said honestly, "for I am quite sure she hasnever cared for me, never thought of me in that way. I think a man can'tstand that long. "

"No; only women can. Who is she?"

"You won't ask me, will you?"

"No. Are you sorry that I am in love with you?"

His arms unclasped her body, and he stepped back, facing her. 

"Are you?" she asked violently. 

"No. "

"You speak like a man, " she said tremulously. "Am I to be permitted toadore you in peace, then--decently, and in peace?"

"Don't speak that way, Leila. I--there is no woman, no friend, I carefor as much as I do you. It is easy, I think, for a woman, like you, tomake a man care for her. You will not do it, will you?"

"I will, " she said softly. 

"It's no use; I can't turn on him. I can't! He is my friend, you see. "

"Let him remain so. I shall do what I can. Let him remain a monumentto his fellow-beasts. What do I care? Do you think I desire to turn youinto his image? Do you think I hope for your degradation and mine? Areyou afraid I should not recognise love unaccompanied by the attendantbeast? I--I don't know; you had better teach me, if I prove blind. Ifyou can love me, do so in charity before I go blind forever. "

She laid one hand on his arm, looked at him, then turned and passedslowly through the doorway. 

"If you are going to sleep before we start you had better be about it!"she said, looking back at him from the stairs. 

But he had no further need of sleep; and for a long while he stood atthe windows watching the lamps of cabs and carriages sparkling throughthe leafless thickets of the park like winter fire-flies. 

At one o'clock, hearing Agatha Caithness speak to Leila's maid, he leftthe window, and sitting down at the desk, telephoned to Desmond's; andhe was informed that Mortimer, hard hit, had signified his intention ofrecouping at Burbank's. Then he managed to get Burbank's on the wire, and finally Mortimer himself, but was only cursed for his pains and cutoff in the middle of his pleading. 

So he wandered up-stairs into Mortimer's apartments, where he tubbed anddressed, and finally descended, to find Agatha Caithness alone inthe library, spinning a roulette wheel and whistling an air from "LaBacchante. "

"That's pretty, " he said; "sing it. "

"No; it's better off without the words; and so are you, " added Agathacandidly, relinquishing the wheel and strolling with languid grace aboutthe room, hands on her hips, timing her vagrant steps to the indolent, wicked air. And, "'Je rougirais de men ivresse Si tu conservais ta raison!'"

she hummed deliberately, pivoting on her heels and advancing againtoward Plank, her pretty, pale face delicate as an enamelled cameo underthe flood of light from the crystal chandeliers. 

"I understand that Mr. Mortimer is not coming with us, " she saidcarelessly. "Are you going to dance with me, if I find nobody better?"

He expressed himself flattered, cautiously. He was one of many who neverunderstood this tall, white, low-voiced girl, with eyes too pale forbeauty, yet strangely alluring, too. Few men denied the indefinableenchantment of her; few men could meet her deep-lidded, transparentgaze unmoved. In the sensitive curve of her mouth there was a kind ofsensuousness; in her low voice, in her pallor, in the slim grace of hera vague provocation that made men restless and women silently curiousfor something more definite on which to base their curiosity. 

She was wearing, over the smooth, dead-white skin of her neck, a collarof superb diamonds and aquamarines--almost an effrontery, as the latterwere even darker than her eyes; yet the strange and effective harmonywas evident, and Plank spoke of the splendour of the gems. 

She nodded indifferently, saying they were new, and that she had pickedthem up at Tiffany's; and he mentally sketched out the value of thediamonds, a trifle surprised, because Leila Mortimer had carefullyinformed him about the condition of the Caithness exchequer. 

That youthful matron herself appeared in a few moments, very lustrous, very lovely in her fragrant, exotic brightness, and Plank for the firsttime thought that she was handsome--the vigorous, youthful incarnationof Life itself, in contrast to Agatha's almost deathly beauty. Shegreeted him not only without a trace of embarrassment, but with such afriendly, fresh, gay confidence that he scarcely recognised in her thedry-eyed, feverish woman of an hour ago, whose very lips shrank back, scorched by the torrent of her own invective. 

And so they drove the three short blocks to the Page's in their hiredlivery; the street was inadequate for the crush of vehicles; and theglittering pressure within the house was outrageous; all of whichconfused Plank, who became easily confused by such things. 

How they got in--how they managed to present themselves--who took Leilaand Agatha from him--where they went--where he himself might be--hedid not understand very clearly. The house was large, strange, fullof strangers. He attempted to obtain his bearings by wandering aboutlooking for a small rococo reception-room where he remembered he hadonce talked kennel talk with Marion Page, and had on another occasionperspired freely under the arrogant and strabismic glare of her mother. That good lady had really rather liked him; he never suspected it. 

But he couldn't find the rococo room--or perhaps he didn't recognise it. So many people--so many, many people whom he did not know, whom he hadnever before laid eyes on--high-bred faces hard as diamonds; young, gay, laughing faces; brilliant eyes encountering his without a softeningof recognition; clean-cut, attractive men in swarms, all animated, allamused, all at home among themselves and among the silken visions ofloveliness passing and repassing, with here an extended gloved arm andthe cordial greeting of camaraderie, there a quick smile, a swift turnin passing, a capricious bending forward for a whisper, a compliment, a jest--all this swept by him, around him, enveloping him with itsbrightness, its gaiety, its fragrance, and left him more absolutelyalone than he had ever been in all his life. 

He tried to find Leila, and gave it up. He saw Quarrier talking toAgatha, but the former saluted him so coldly that he turned away. 

After a while he found Marion, but she hadn't a dance left for him;neither had Rena Bonnesdel, whom he encountered while she was adroitlyavoiding one of the ever-faithful twins. The twin caught up with her inconsequence, and she snubbed Plank for his share in the disaster, whichdepressed him, and he started for the smoking-room, wherever that havenmight be found. He got into the ball-room, however, by mistake, and adorned the wall, during the cotillon, as closely as his girthpermitted, until an old lady sent for him; and he went and talked aboutbishops for nearly an hour to her, until his condition bordered onfrenzy, the old lady being deaf and peevish. 

Later, Alderdene used him to get rid of an angular, old harridan whoseemed to be one solid diamond-mine, and who drove him into a cornerand talked indelicacies until Plank's broad face flamed like the settingsun. Then Captain Voucher unloaded a frightened débutante on him whotried to talk about horses and couldn't; and they hated each other fora while, until, looking around her in desperation, she found he hadvanished--which was quick work for a man of his size. 

Kathryn Tassel employed him for supper, and kept him busy while sheherself was immersed in a dawning affair with Fleetwood. She dideverything to him except to tip him; and her insolence was the laststraw. 

Then, unexpectedly in the throng, two wonderful sea-blue eyesencountered his, deepening to violet with pleasure, and the trailingsweetness of a voice he knew was repeating his name, and a slim, white-gloved hand lay in his own. 

Her escort, Ferrall, nodded to him pleasantly. She leaned forward fromFerrall's arm, saying, under her breath, "I have saved a dance for you. Please ask me at once. Quick! do you want me?"

"I--I do, " stammered Plank. 

Ferrall, suspicious, stepped forward to exchange civilities, thenturning to the girl beside him: "See here, Sylvia, you've dragged me allover this house on one pretext or another. Do you want any supper, ordon't you? If you don't, it's our dance. "

"No, I don't. No, it isn't. Kemp, you annoy me!"

"That's a nice thing to say! Is it your delicately inimitable way ofgiving me my congé?"

"Yes, thank you, " nodded Miss Landis coolly; "you may go now. "

"You're spoiled, that's what's the matter, " retorted Ferrall wrathfully. "I thought I was to have this dance. You said--"

"I said 'perhaps, ' because I didn't see Mr. Plank coming to claim it. Thank you, Kemp, for finding him. "

Her nod and smile took the edge from her malice. Ferrall, who reallyadored dancing, glared about for anybody, and presently cornered thefrightened and neglected debutante who had hated Plank. 

Sylvia, standing beside Plank, looked up at him with her confident andfriendly smile. 

"You don't care to dance, do you? Would you mind if we sat out thisdance?"

"If you'd rather, " he said, so wistfully that she hesitated; then witha little shrug laid one hand on his arm, and they swung out across thefloor together, into the scented whirl. 

Plank, like many heavy men, danced beautifully; and Sylvia, who stillloved dancing with all the ardour of a schoolgirl, permitted a momentor two of keen delight to sweep her dreamily from her purpose. But thatpurpose must have been a strong one, for she returned to it in a fewminutes, and, looking up at Plank, said very gently that she cared todance no more. 

Her hand resting lightly on his arm, it did not seem possible that anypressure of hers was directing them to the conservatory; yet he did notknow where he was going, and she was familiar with the house, and theysoon entered the conservatory, where, in the shadow of various palmsvarious youths looked up impatiently as they passed, and various maidenssat up very straight in their chairs. 

Threading their dim way into the farther recesses they found seats amongthickets of forced lilacs over-hung by early wistaria. A spring-likeodour hung in the air; somewhere a tiny fountain grew musical in thesemi-darkness. 

"Marion told me you had been asked, " she said. "We have been sofriendly; you've always asked me to dance whenever we have met; so Ithought I'd save you one. Are you flattered, Mr. Plank?"

He said he was, very pleasantly, perfectly undeceived, and convinced ofher purpose--a purpose never even tacitly admitted between them; and theold loneliness came over him again--not resentment, for he was willingthat she should use him. Why not? Others used him; everybody usedhim; and if they found no use for him they let him alone. Mortimer, Fleetwood, Belwether--all, all had something to exact from him. It wasfor that he was tolerated--he knew it; he had slowly and unwillinglylearned it. His intrusion among these people, of whom he was not one, would be endured only while he might be turned to some account. Thehospital used him, the clergy found plenty for him to do for them, themuseum had room for other pictures of his. Who among them all had eversought him without a motive? Who among them all had ever found unselfishpleasure in him? Not one. 

Something in the dull sadness of his face, as he sat there, checkedthe first elaborately careless question her lips were already framing. Leaning a little nearer in the dim light she looked at him inquiringlyand he returned her gaze in silence. 

"What is it, Mr. Plank, " she said; "is anything wrong?"

He knew that she did not mean to ask if anything was amiss with him. Shedid not care. Nobody cared. So, recognising his cue, he answered: "No, nothing is wrong that I have heard of. "

"You wear a very solemn countenance. "

"Gaiety affects me solemnly, sometimes. It is a reaction from frivolity. I suppose that I am over-enjoying life; that is all. "

She laughed, using her fan, although the place was cool enough and theyhad not danced long. To and fro flitted the silken vanes of her fan, nowclosing impatiently, now opening again like the wings of a nervous mothin the moonlight. 

He wished she would come to her point, but he dared not lead her to ittoo brusquely, because her purpose and her point were supposed to beabsolutely hidden from his thick and credulous understanding. Ithad taken him some time to make this clear to himself; passing fromsuspicion, through chagrin and overwounded feeling, to dull certaintythat she, too, was using him, harmlessly enough from her standpoint, buthow bitterly from his, he alone could know. 

The quickened flutter of her fan meant impatience to learn from him whatshe had come to him to learn, and then, satisfied, to leave him aloneagain amid the peopled solitude of clustered lights. 

He wished she would speak; he was tired of the sadness of it all. Whenever in his isolation, in his utter destitution of friendship, heturned guilelessly to meet a new advance, always, sooner or later, thefriendly mask was lifted enough for him to divine the cool, fixed gazeof self-interest inspecting him through the damask slits. 

Sylvia was speaking now, and the plumy fan was under savant control, waving graceful accompaniment to her soft voice, punctuating hersentences at times, at times making an emphasis or outlining a gesture. 

It was the familiar sequence; topics that led to themes which adroitlyskirted the salient point; returned capriciously, just avoiding it--asubtly charming pattern of words which required so little in replythat his smile and nod were almost enough to keep her aria and hisaccompaniment afloat. 

It began to fascinate him to watch the delicacy of her strategy, thecoquetting with her purpose; her naive advance to the very edges ofit, the airy retreat, the innocent detour, the elaborate and circuitousreturn. And at last she drifted into it so naturally that it seemedimpossible that fatuous man could have the most primitive suspicion ofher premeditation. 

And Plank, now recognising his cue, answered her: "No, I have not heardthat he is in town. I stopped to see him the other day, but nobody thereknew how soon he intended to return from the country. "

"I didn't know he had gone to the country, " she said without apparentinterest. 

And Plank was either too kind to terminate the subject, or too anxiousto serve his turn and release her; for he went on: "I thought I told youat Mrs. Ferrall's that Mr. Siward had gone to the country. "

"Perhaps you did. No doubt I've forgotten. "

"I'm quite sure I did, because I remember saying that he looked veryill, and you said, rather sharply, that he had no business to be ill. Doyou remember?"

"Yes, " she said slowly. "Is he better?"

"I hope so. "

"You hope so?"--with the controlled emphasis of impatience. 

"Yes. Don't you, Miss Landis? When I saw him at his home, he waslame--on crutches--and he looked rather ghastly; and all he said wasthat he expected to leave for the country. I asked him to shoot nextyear at Black Fells, and he seemed bothered about business, and said itmight keep him from taking any vacation. "

"He spoke about his business?"

"Yes, he--"

"What is the trouble with his business? Is it anything about Amalgamatedand Inter-County?"

"I think so. "

"Is he worried?"

Plank said deliberately: "I should be, if my interests were locked up inAmalgamated Electric. "

"Could you tell me why that would worry you?" she asked, smilingpersuasively across at him. 

"No, " he said, "I can't tell you. "

"Because I wouldn't understand?"

"Because I myself don't understand. "

She thought awhile, brushing the rose velvet of her mouth with the fan'sedge, then, looking up confidently:

"Mr. Siward is such a boy. I'm so glad he has you to advise him in suchmatters. "

"What matters?" asked Plank bluntly. 

"Why, in--in financial matters. "

"But I don't advise him. "

"Why not?"

"Because he hasn't asked me to, Miss Landis. "

"He ought to ask you. … He must ask you. … Don't wait for him, Mr. Plank. He is only a boy in such things. "

And, as Plank was silent:

"You will, won't you?"

"Do what--make his business my business, without an invitation?" askedPlank, so quietly that she flushed with annoyance. 

"If you pretend to be his friend is it not your duty to advise him?" sheasked impatiently. 

"No; that is for his business associates to do. Friendship comes togrief when it crosses the frontiers of business. "

"That is a narrow view to take, Mr. Plank. "

"Yes, straight and narrow. The boundaries of friendship are straight andnarrow. It is best to keep to the trodden path; best not to walk on thegrass or trample the flowers. "

"I think you are sacrificing friendship for an epigram, " she said, careless of the undertone of contempt in her voice. 

"I have never sacrificed friendship. " He turned, and looked at herpleasantly. "I never made an epigram consciously, and I have neverrequired of a friend more than I had to offer in return. Have you?"

The flush of hot displeasure stained her cheeks. 

"Are you really questioning me, Mr. Plank?"

"Yes. You have been questioning me rather seriously--have you not?"

"I did not comprehend your definition of friendship. I did not agreewith it. I questioned it, not you! That is all. "

Plank rested his head on one big hand and stared at the clusters ofdim blossoms behind her; and after a while he said, as though thinkingaloud:

"Many have taken my friendship for granted, and have never offered theirown in return. I do not know about Mr. Siward. There is nothing I can dofor him, nothing he can do for me. If there is to be friendship betweenus it will be disinterested; and I would rather have that than anythingin the world, I think. "

There was a pause; but when Sylvia would have broken it his gesturecommitted her to silence with the dignity one might use in checking apersistent child. 

"You question my definition of friendship, Miss Landis. I should havelet your question pass, however keenly it touched me, had it not alsotouched him. Now I am going to say some things which lie within thestraight and narrow bounds I spoke of. I never knew a man I cared for asmuch as I care for Mr. Siward. I know why, too. He is disinterested. Ido not believe he wastes very many thoughts on me. Perhaps he will. Iwant him to like me, if it's possible. But one thing you and I may besure of: if he does not care to return the friendship I offer him hewill never accept anything else from me, though he might give at myrequest; and that is the sort of a man he is; and that is why he isevery inch a man; and so I like him, Miss Landis. Do you wonder?"

She did not reply. 

"Do you wonder?" he repeated sharply. 

"No, " she said. 

"Then--" He straightened up, and the silent significance of his waitingattitude was plain enough to her. 

But she shook her head impatiently, saying: "I don't know whose danceit is, and I don't care. Please go on. It is--is pleasant. I like Mr. Siward; I like to hear men speak of him as you do. I like you for doingit. If you should ever come to care for my friendship that is the bestpassport to it--your loyalty to Mr. Siward. "

"No man can truthfully speak otherwise than I have spoken, " he saidgravely. 

"No, not of these things. But--you know w-what is--is usually said whenhis name comes up among men. "

"Do you mean about his habits?" he asked simply. 

"Yes. Is it not an outrage to drag in that sort of thing? It angers meintensely, Mr. Plank. Why do they do it? Is there a single one amongthem qualified to criticise Mr. Siward? And besides, it is not true anymore! … is it?--what was once said of him with--with some truth? Is it?"

The dull red blood mantled Plank's heavy visage. The silence grewgrim as he did his slow, laborious thinking, the while his eyes, expressionless and almost opaque in the dim light, never left her's, until, under the unchanging, merciless inspection, the mask dropped foran instant from her anxious face, and he saw what he saw. 

He was no fool. What he had come to believe she at last had onlyconfirmed; and now the question became simple: was she worthenlightening? And by what title did she demand his confidence?

"You ask me if it is true any more. You mean about his habits. If Ianswer you it is because I cannot be indifferent to what concerns him. But before I answer I ask you this: Would your interest in his fortunesmatter to him?"

She waited, head bent; then:

"I don't know, Mr. Plank, " very low. 

"Did your interest in his fortunes ever concern him?"

"Yes, once. "

He looked at her sternly, his jaw squaring until his heavy under lipprojected. "Within my definition of friendship, is he your friend?"

"You mean he--"

"No, I mean you! I can answer for him. How is it with you? Do you returnwhat he gives--if there is really friendship between you? Or do you takewhat he offers, offering nothing in return?"

She had turned rather white under the direct impact of the questions. The jarring repetition of his voice itself was like the dull echoof distant blows. Yet it never occurred to her to resent it, nor hisattitude, nor his self-assumed privilege. She did not care; she nolonger cared what he said to her or thought about her; nor did she carethat her mask had fallen at last. It was not what he was saying, butwhat her own heart repeated so heavily that drove the colour from herface. Not he, but she herself had become the pitiless attorney for theprosecution; not his voice, but the clamouring conscience within herdemanded by what right she used the name of friendship to characterisethe late relations between her and the man to whom she had deniedherself. 

Then a bitter impatience swept her, and a dawning fear, too; for she hadset her foot on the fallen mask, and the impulse rendered her reckless. 

"Why don't you speak?" she said. "Yes, I have a right to know. I carefor him as much as you do. Why don't you answer me? I tell you I carefor him!"

"Do you?" he said in a dull voice. "Then help me out, if you can, forI don't know what to do; and if I did, I haven't the authority offriendship as my warrant. He is in New York. He did go to the country;and, at his home, the servants suppose he is still away. But he isn't;he is here, alone, and sick--sick of his old sickness. I saw him, and"--Plank rested his head on his hand, dropping his eyes--"and hedidn't know me. I--I do not think he will remember that he met me, orthat I spoke. And--I could do nothing, absolutely nothing. And I don'tknow where he is. He will go home after a while. I call--every day--tosee--see what can be done. But if he were there I would not know what todo. When he does go home I won't know what to say--what to try to do. …And that is an answer to your question, Miss Landis. I give it, becauseyou say you care for him as I do. Will you advise me what to do?--you, who are more entitled than I am to know the truth, because he has givenyou the friendship which he has as yet not accorded to me. "

But Sylvia, dry-eyed, dry-lipped, could find no voice to answer; andafter a little while they rose and moved through the fragrant gloomtoward the sparkling lights beyond. 

Her voice came back as they entered the brilliant rooms: "I shouldlike to find Grace Ferrall, " she said very distinctly. "Please keep theothers off, Mr. Plank. "

Her small hand on his arm lay with a weight out of all proportion to itssize. Fair head averted, she no longer guided him with that impalpablecontrol; it was he who had become the pilot now, and he steered his ownway through the billowy ocean of silk and lace, master of the course hehad set, heavily bland to the interrupter and the importunate from whomshe turned a deaf ear and dumb lips, and lowered eyes that saw nothing. 

Fleetwood had missed his dance with her, but she scarcely heard hiseager complaints. Quarrier, coldly inquiring, confronted them; waspassed almost without recognition, and left behind, motionless, lookingafter them out of his narrowing, black-fringed eyes of a woman. 

Then Ferrall came, and hearing his voice, she raised her colourlessface. 

"Will you take me home with you, Kemp, when you take Grace?" she asked. 

"Of course. I don't know where Grace is. Are you in a hurry to go? It'sonly four o'clock. "

They were at the entrance to the supper-room. Plank drew up a chairfor her, and she sank down, dropping her elbows on the small table, andresting her face between her fingers. 

"Pegged out, Sylvia?" exclaimed Ferrall incredulously. "You? What's theyounger set coming to?" and he motioned a servant to fill her glass. Butshe pushed it aside with a shiver, and gave Plank a strange look whichhe scarcely understood at the moment. 

"More caprices; all sorts of 'em on the programme, " muttered Ferrall, looking down at her from where he stood beside Plank. "O tempora! OSylvia! … Plank, would you mind hunting up my wife? I'll stay and seethat this infant doesn't fall asleep. "

But Sylvia shook her head, saying: "Please go, Kemp. I'm a littletired, that's all. When Grace is ready, I'll leave with her. " And ather gesture Plank seated himself, while Ferrall, shrugging his squareshoulders, sauntered off in quest of his wife, stopping a moment ata neighbouring table to speak to Agatha Caithness, who sat there withCaptain Voucher, the gemmed collar on her slender throat a pale blaze ofsplendour. 

Plank was hungry, and he said so in his direct fashion. Sylvia nodded, and exchanged a smile with Agatha, who turned at the sound of Plank'svoice. For a while, as he ate and drank largely, she made the effort tokeep up a desultory conversation, particularly when anybody to whom sheowed an explanation hove darkly in sight on the horizon. But Plank'sappetite was in proportion to the generous lines on which nature hadfashioned him, and she paid less and less attention to convention and atrifle more to the beauty of Agatha's jewels, until the silence at thesmall table in the corner remained unbroken except by the faint tinkleof silver and crystal and the bubbling hiss of a glass refilled. 

Major Belwether, his white, fluffy, chop-whiskers brushed rabbitfashion, peeped in at the door, started to tiptoe out again, caughtsight of them, and came trotting back, beaming rosy effusion. He leanedroguishly over the table, his moist eyes a-twinkle with suppressedmirth; then, bestowing a sprightly glance on Plank, which said veryplainly, "I'm up to one of my irrepressible jokes again!" he held up asmooth, white, and over-manicured forefinger:

"I was in Tiffany's yesterday, " he said, "and I saw a young man in therewho didn't see me, and I peeped over his shoulder, and what do you thinkhe was doing?"

She lifted her eyes a little wearily:

"I don't know, " she said. 

"I do, " he chuckled. "He was choosing a collar of blue diamonds and aquamarines!--Te-he!--probably to wear himself!--Te-he! Or perhaps hewas going to be married!--He-he-he!--next winter--ahem!--nextNovember--Ha-ha! I don't know, I'm sure, what he meant to do with thatcollar. I only--"

Something in Sylvia's eyes stopped him, and, following their direction, he turned around to find Quarrier standing at his elbow, icy andexpressionless. 

"Oh, " said the aged jester, a little disconcerted, "I'm caught talkingout in church, I see! It was only a harmless little fun, Howard. "

"Do you mean you saw me?" asked Quarrier, pale as a sheet. "You are inerror. I have not been in Tiffany's in months. "

Belwether, crestfallen under the white menace of Quarrier's face, nodded, and essayed a chuckle without success. 

Sylvia, at first listless and uninterested, looked inquiringly from themajor to Quarrier, surprised at the suppressed feeling exhibited over sotrivial a gaucherie. If Quarrier had chosen a collar like Agatha's forher, what of it? But as he had not, on his own statement, what didit matter? Why should he look that way at the foolish major, to whosegarrulous gossip he was accustomed, and whose inability to refrain fromprying was notorious enough. 

Turning disdainfully, she caught a glimpse of Plank's shocked andaltered face. It relapsed instantly into the usual inert expression; anda queer, uncomfortable perplexity began to invade her. What had happenedto stir up these three men? Of what importance was an indiscretion of anold gentleman whose fatuous vanity and consequent blunders everybodywas familiar with? And, after all, Howard had not bought anything atTiffany's; he said so himself. … But it was evident that Agatha hadchanced on the collar that Belwether thought he saw somebody elseexamining. 

She turned, and looked at the dead-white neck of the girl. The collarwas wonderful--a miracle of pale fire. And Sylvia, musing, let herthoughts run on, dreamy eyes brooding. She was glad that Agatha's meanspermitted her now to have such things. It had been understood, for someyears, that the Caithness fortune was in rather an alarming condition. Howard had been able recently to do a favour or two for old PeterCaithness. She had heard the major bragging about it. Evidently Mr. Caithness must have improved the chance, if he was able to present suchgems to his daughter. And now somebody would marry her; perhaps CaptainVoucher; perhaps even Alderdene; perhaps, as rumour had it now and then, Plank might venture into the arena. … Poor Plank! More of a man thanpeople understood. She understood. She--

And her thoughts swung back like the returning tide to Siward, and herheart began heavily again, and the slightly faint sensation returned. She passed her ungloved, unsteady fingers across her eyelids andforehead, looking up and around. The major and Howard had disappeared;Plank, beside her, sat staring stupidly into his empty wine-glass. 

"Isn't Mrs. Ferrall coming?" she said wearily. 

Plank gathered his cumbersome bulk and stood up, trying to see throughthe entrance into the ball-room. After a moment he said: "They're inthere, talking to Marion. It's a good chance to make our adieux. "

As they passed out of the supper-room Sylvia paused behind Agatha'schair and bent over her. "The collar is beautiful, " she said, "and soare you, Agatha"; and with a little impulsive caress for the jewels shepassed on, unconscious of the delicate flush that spread from Agatha'sshoulders to her hair. And Agatha, turning, encountered only the stupidgaze of Plank, moving ponderously past on Sylvia's heels. 

"If you'll find Leila, I'm ready at any time, " she said carelessly, andresumed her tête-à-tête with Voucher, who had plainly been annoyed atthe interruption. 

Plank went on, a new trouble dawning on his thickening mental horizon. He had completely forgotten Leila. Even with all the demands made uponhim; even with all the time he had given to those whose use of himhe understood, how could he have forgotten Leila and the recent scenebetween them, and the new attitude and new relations with her that hemust so carefully consider and ponder over before he presented himselfat the house of Mortimer again!

Ferrall and his wife and Sylvia were making their adieux to Marion andher mother when he came up; and he, too, took that opportunity. 

Later, on his quest for Leila, Sylvia, passing through the great hall, shrouded in silk and ermine, turned to offer him her hand, saying in alow voice: "I am at home to you; do you understand? Always, " she addednervously. 

He looked after her with an unconscious sigh, unaware that anythingin himself had claimed her respect. And after a moment he swung on hisbroad heels to continue his search for Mrs. Mortimer. 

CHAPTER X THE SEAMY SIDE

About four o'clock on the following afternoon Mrs. Mortimer's maid, whohad almost finished drying and dressing her mistress' hair, was calledto the door by a persistent knocking, which at first she had been biddento disregard. 

It was Mortimer's man, desiring to know whether Mrs. Mortimer couldreceive Mr. Mortimer at once on matters of importance. 

"No, " said Leila petulantly. "Tell Mullins to say that I can not seeanybody, " and catching a glimpse of the shadowy Mullins dodging aboutthe dusky corridor: "What is the matter? Is Mr. Mortimer ill?"

But Mullins could not say what the matter might be, and he went away, only to return in a few moments bearing a scratchy note from his master, badly blotted and still wet; and Leila, with a shrug of resignation, took the blotched scrawl daintily between thumb and forefinger andunfolded it. Behind her, the maid, twisting up the masses of dark, fragrant hair, read the note very easily over her mistress' shoulder. Itran, without preliminaries:

"I'm going to talk to you, whether you like it or not. Do you understandthat? If you want to know what's the matter with me you'll find out fastenough. Fire that French girl out before I arrive. "

She closed the note thoughtfully, folding and double-folding it intoa thick wad. The ink had come off, discolouring her finger-tips; shedropped the soiled paper on the floor, and held out her hands, plumpfingers spread. And when the maid had finished removing the stainsand had repolished the pretty hands, her mistress sipped her chocolatethoughtfully, nibbled a bit of dry toast, then motioned the maid to takethe tray and her departure, leaving her the cup. 

A few minutes later Mortimer came in, stood a moment blinking aroundthe room, then dropped into a seat, sullen, inert, the folds of his chincrowded out on his collar, his heavy abdomen cradled on his short, thicklegs. He had been freshly shaved; linen and clothing were spotless, yetthe man looked unclean. 

Save for the network of purple veins in his face, there was no colourthere, none in his lips; even his flabby hands were the hue of clay. 

"Are you ill?" asked his wife coolly. 

"No, not very. I've got the jumps. What's that? Tea? Ugh! it'schocolate. Push it out of sight, will you? I can smell it. "

Leila set the delicate cup on a table behind her. 

"What time did you return this morning?" she asked, stifling a yawn. 

"I don't know; about five or six. How the devil should I know what timeI came in?"

Sitting there before the mirror of her dresser she stole a second glanceat his marred features in the glass. The loose mouth, the smeared eyes, the palsy-like tremors that twitched the hands where they tightened onthe arms of his chair, became repulsive to the verge of fascination. Shetried to look away, but could not. 

"You had better see Dr. Grisby, " she managed to say. 

"I'd better see you; that's what I'd better do, " he retorted thickly. "You'll do all the doctoring I want. And I want it, all right. "

"Very well. What is it?"

He passed his swollen hand across his forehead. 

"What is it?" he repeated. "It's the limit, this time, if you want toknow. I'm all in. "

"Roulette?" raising her eyebrows without interest

"Yes, roulette, too. Everything! They got me upstairs at Burbank's. The game's crooked! Every box, every case, every wheel, every pack iscrooked! crooked! crooked, by God!" he burst out in a fever, strugglingto sit upright, his hands always tightening on the arms of the chair. "It's nothing but a creeping joint, run by a bunch of hand-shakers!I--I'll--"

Stuttering, choking, stammering imprecations, his hoarse clamourdied away after a while. She sat there, head bent, silent, impassive, acquiescent under the physical and mental strain to which she had neverbecome thoroughly hardened. How many such scenes had she witnessed! Shecould not count them. They differed very little in detail, and not atall in their ultimate object, which was to get what money she had. Thiswas his method of reimbursing himself for his losses. 

He made an end to his outburst after a while. Only his dreadful fatbreathing now filled the silence; and supposing he had finished, shefound her voice with an effort:

"I am sorry. It comes at a bad time, as you know--"

"A bad time!" he broke out violently. "How can it come at any other sortof time? With us, all times are bad. If this is worse than the averageit can't be helped. We are in it for keeps this time!"

"We?"

"Yes, we!" he repeated; but his face had grown ghastly, and hisuncertain eyes were fastened on her's in the mirror. 

"What do you mean--exactly?" she asked, turning from the dresser toconfront him. 

He made no effort to answer; an expression of dull fright was growingon his visage, as though for the first time he had begun to realise whathad happened. 

She saw it, and her heart quickened, but she spoke disdainfully: "Well, I am ready to listen--as usual. How much do you want?"

He made no sign; his lower lip hung loose; his eyes blinked at her. 

"What is it?" she repeated. "What have you been doing? How much have youlost? You can't have lost very much; we hadn't much to lose. If you havegiven your note to any of those gamblers, it is a shame--a shame! Leroy, look at me! You promised me, on your honour, never to do that again. Have you lied, after all the times I have helped you out, strippedmyself, denied myself, put off tradesmen, faced down creditors? Afterall I have done, do you dare come here and ask for more--ask for whatI have not got--with not one bill settled, not one servant paid sinceDecember--"

"Leila, I--I've got--to tell you--"

"What?" she demanded, appalled by the change in his face. If he wasoverdoing it, he was overdoing it realistically enough. 

"I--I've used Plank's cheque!" he mumbled, and moistened his lips withhis tongue. 

She stared back at him, striving to comprehend. "Plank's!" she repeatedslowly, "Plank's cheque? What cheque? What do you mean?"

"The one he gave you last night. I've used that. Now you know!"

"The one he--But you couldn't! How could you? It was not filled in. "

"I filled it. "

Her dawning horror was reacting on him, as it always did, like a fiercetonic; and his own courage came back in a sort of sullen desperation. 

"You … You are trying to frighten me, Leroy, " she stammered. "You aretrying to make me do something--give you what you want--force me to giveyou what you want! You can't frighten me. The cheque was made out tome--to my order. How could you have used it, if I had not indorsed it?"

"I indorsed it. Do you understand that!" he said savagely. 

"No, I don't; because, if you did, it's forgery. "

"I don't give a damn what you think it is!" he broke in fiercely. "AllI'm worried over is what Plank will think. I didn't mean to do it; Ididn't dream of doing it; but when Burbank cleaned me up I fished about, and that cursed cheque came tumbling out!"

In the rising excitement of self-defence the colour was coming back intohis battered face; he sat up straighter in his chair, and, graspingthe upholstered arms, leaned forward, speaking more distinctly and withincreasing vigour and anger:

"When I saw that cheque in my hands I thought I'd use ittemporarily--merely as moral collateral to flash at Burbank--somethingto back my I. O. U. 's. So I filled it in. "

"For how much?" she asked, not daring to believe him; but he ignored thequestion and went on: "I filled it and indorsed it, and--"

"How could you indorse it?" she interrupted coolly, now unconvincedagain and suspicious. 

"I'll tell you if you'll stop that fool tongue a moment. The cheque wasmade to 'L. Mortimer, ' wasn't it? So I wrote 'L. Mortimer' on the back. Now do you know? If you are L. Mortimer, so am I. Leila begins with L;so does Leroy, doesn't it? I didn't imitate your two-words-to-a-pageautograph. I put my own fist to a cheque made out to one L. Mortimer;and I don't care what you think about it as long as Plank can stand it. Now put up your nose and howl, if you like. "

But under her sudden pallor he was taking fright again, and he began tobolster up his courage with bluster and noise, as usual:

"Howl all you like!" he jeered. "It won't alter matters or squareaccounts with Plank. What are you staring at? Do you suppose I'm notsorry? Do you fancy I don't know what a fool I've been? What are youturning white for? What in hell--"

"How much have you--" She choked, then, resolutely: "How much haveyou--taken?"

"Taken!" he broke out, with an oath. "What do you mean? I've borrowedabout twenty thousand dollars. Now yelp! Eh? What?--no yelps? Probablysome weeps, then. Turn 'em on and run dry; I'll wait. " And he managed tocross one bulky leg over the other and lean back, affecting resignation, while Leila, bolt upright in her low chair, every curved outline rigidunder the flowing, silken wrap, stared at him as though stunned. 

"Well, we're good for it, aren't we?" he said threateningly. "If he'sgoing to turn ugly about it, here's the house. "

"My--house?"

"Yes, your house! I suppose you'd rather raise something on the housethan have the thing come out in the papers. "

"Do you think so?" she asked, staring into his bloodshot eyes. 

"Yes, I do. I'm damn sure of it!"

"You are wrong. "

"You mean that you are not inclined to stand by me?" he demanded. 

"Yes, I mean that. "

"You don't intend to help me out?"

"I do not intend to--not this time. "

He began to show his big teeth, and that nervous snickering "tick"twitched his upper lip. 

"How about the courts?" he sneered. "Do you want to figure in them withPlank?"

"I don't want to, " she said steadily, "but you can not frighten me anymore by that threat. "

"Oh! Can't frighten you! Perhaps you think you'll marry Plank when I geta decree? Do you? Well, you won't for several reasons; first, becauseI'll name other corespondents and that will make Plank sick; second, because Plank wants to marry somebody else and I'm able to assist him. So where do you come out in the shuffle?"

"I don't know, " she said, under her breath, and rested her head againstthe back of the chair, as though suddenly tired. 

"Well, I know. You'll come out smirched, and you know it, " saidMortimer, gazing intently at her. "Look here, Leila: I didn't come hereto threaten you. I'm no black-mailer; I'm no criminal. I'm simply adecent sort of a man, who is pretty badly scared over what he's done ina moment of temptation. You know I had no thought of anything except toborrow enough on my I. O. U. 's to make a killing at Burbank's. I had toshow them something big, so I filled in that cheque, not meaning to useit; and before I knew it I'd indorsed it, and was plunging against it. Then they stacked everything on me--by God, they did! and if I had notbeen in the condition I was in I'd have stopped payment. But it was toolate when I realised what I was against. Leila, you know I'm not a badman at heart. Can't you help a fellow?"

His manner, completely changed, had become the resentful and fretfulappeal of the victim of plot and circumstance. All the savage brutalityhad been eliminated; the sneer, the truculent attempts to browbeat, thepitiful swagger, the cynical justification, all were gone. It was reallythe man himself now, normally scared and repentant; the frightened, overfed pensioner on his wife's bounty; not the human beast maddened byfear and dissipation, half stunned, half panic-stricken, driven by sheerterror into a rôle which even he shrank from--had shrunk from all theseyears. For, leech and parasite that he was, Mortimer, however muchthe dirty acquisition of money might tempt him in theory, had not yetbrought himself to the point of attempting the practice, even when insorest straits and bitterest need. He didn't want to do it; he wished toget along without it, partly because of native inertia and an aversionto the mental nimbleness that he would be required to show as alaw-breaker, partly because the word "black-mail" stood for what he didnot dare suggest that he had come to, even to himself. His distaste wasgenuine; there were certain things which he didn't want to commit, andextortion was one of them. He could, at a pinch, lie to his wife, or tryto scare her into giving him money; he could, when necessary, "borrow"from such men as Plank; but he had never cheated at cards, and he hadnever attempted to black-mail anybody except his wife--which, of course, was purely a family matter, and concerned nobody else. 

Now he was attempting it again, with more sincerity, energy, anddetermination than he ever before had been forced to display. Even inhis most profane violence the rage and panic were only partly real. Hewas, it is true, genuinely scared, and horribly shaken physically, buthe had counted on violence, and he stimulated his own emotions and madethem serve him, knowing all the while that in the reaction his endswould be accomplished, as usual. This policy of alternately frightening, dragooning, and supplicating Leila had carried him so far; and thoughit was true that this was a more serious situation than he had ever yetfaced, he was convinced that his wife would pull him out somehow; andhow that was to be accomplished he did not very much care, as long as hewas pulled out safely. 

"What this household requires, " he said, "is economy. " He spread hislegs, denting the Aubusson carpet with his boot-heels, and glancedaskance at his wife. "Economy, " he repeated, furtively wetting his lipswith a heavily coated tongue; "that's the true solution; economicaladministration in domestic matters. Retrenchment, Leila! retrenchment!Fewer folderols. I've a notion to give up that farm, and stop trying tobreed those damfool sheep. They cost a thousand apiece, and do you knowwhat I got for those six I sent to Westbury? Just twelve hundred dollarsfrom Fleetwood--the bargaining shopkeeper! Twelve hundred! Think ofthat! And along comes Granby and sells a single ram for six thousandplunks!"

Leila's head was lowered. He could not see her expression, but he hadalways been confident of his ability to talk himself out of trouble, so he rambled on in pretence of camaraderie, currying favour, as hebelieved, ingratiating himself with the coarse bluntness that served himamong some men, even among some women. 

"We'll fix it somehow, " he said reassuringly; "don't you worry, Leila. I've confidence in you, little girl! You've got me out of sticky messesbefore, eh? Well, we've weathered a few, haven't we?"

Even the horrible parody on wedded loyalty left her silent, unmoved, dark eyes brooding; and he began to grow a little restless and anxiousas his jocularity increased without a movement in either response oraversion from his wife. 

"You needn't be scared, if I'm not, " he said reproachfully. "The houseis worth two hundred and fifty thousand, and there's only fifty on itnow. If that fat, Dutch skinflint, Plank, shows his tusks, we can clapon another fifty. " And as she made no sound or movement in reply: "Asfar as Plank goes, haven't I done enough for him to square it? What havewe ever got out of him, except a thousand or two now and then when thecards went against me? If I took it, it was practically what he owesme. And if he thinks it's too much--look here, Leila! I've a trick up mysleeve. I can make good any time I wish to. I'm in a position to marrythat man to the girl he's mad about--stark, raving mad. "

Mrs. Mortimer slowly raised her head and looked at her husband. 

"Leroy, are you mad?"

"I! Not much!" he exclaimed gleefully. "I can make him the husband ofthe most-run-after girl in New York--if I want to. And at the sametime I can puncture the most arrogant, the most cold-blooded, selfish, purse-proud, inflated nincompoop that ever sat at the head of adirector's table. O-ho! Now you're staring, Leila. I can do it; I canmake good. What are you worrying about? Why, I've got a hundred ways tosquare that cheque, and each separate way is a winner. "

He rose, shook out the creases in his trousers, and adjusted the squat, gold fob which ornamented his protruding waistcoat. 

"So you'll fix it, won't you, Leila?" he said, apparently oblivious thathe had expressed himself as able to adjust the matter in one hundredequally edifying and satisfactory manners. 

She did not answer. He lingered a moment at the door, looking back withan ingratiating leer; but she paid him no attention, and he tookhimself off, confident that her sulkiness could not result in anythingunpleasant to anybody except herself. 

Nor did it, as far as he could see. The days brought no noticeablechange in his wife's demeanour toward him. Plank, when he met him, wascivil enough, though it did occur to Mortimer that he saw very little ofPlank in these days. 

"Ungrateful beggar!" he thought bitterly; "he's toadying to Belwethernow. I can't do anything more for him, so I don't interest him. "

And for a while he wore either a truculent, aggrieved air inPlank's presence, or the meeker demeanour of a martyr, sentimentallymisunderstood, but patient under the affliction. 

Then there came a time when he needed money. During the few days hespent circling tentatively and apprehensively around his wife he learnedenough to know that there was nothing to be had from her at present. Nodoubt the money she raised to placate Plank--if she had placated him inthat fashion--was a strain on her resources, whatever those resourceswere. 

One thing was certain: Plank had not remained very long in ignorance ofthe cheque drawn against his balance, if indeed, as Mortimer feared, thebank itself had not communicated with Plank as soon as the cheque waspresented for payment. Therefore Plank must have been placated by Leila;how, Mortimer was satisfied not to know. 

"Some of these days, " he said to himself, "I'll catch her tripping, and then there'll be a decent division of property, or--there'll be adivorce. " But, as usual, Mortimer found such practices more attractivein theory than in execution, and he was really quite contented to goon as things were going, if somebody would see that he had some moneyoccasionally. 

One of these occasions when he needed it was approaching. He had madea "killing" at Desmond's, and had used the money to stop up themore threatening gaps in the tottering financial fabric known as his"personal accounts. " The fabric would hold for a while, but meantimehe needed money to go on with. And Leila evidently had none. He triedeverybody except Plank. He had scarcely the impudence to go to Plankjust yet; but when, completing the vicious circle, he found hisborrowing capacity exhausted, and himself once more face to face withthe only hope, Plank, he sat down to consider seriously the possibilityof the matter. 

Of course Plank owed him more than he could ever pay--the ungratefulparvenu!--but what Plank had thought of that cheque transaction he hadnever been able to discover. 

Somehow or other he must put Plank under fresh obligations; and thatmight have been possible had not Leila invaded the ground, leavingnothing, now that Plank was secure in club life. 

Of course the first thing that presented itself to Mortimer'sconsideration was the engineering of Plank's matrimonial ambitions. Clearly the man had not changed. He was always at Sylvia's heels; he wasseen with her in public; he went to the Belwether house a great deal. Nopossible doubt but that he was as infatuated as ever. And Quarrier wasgoing to marry her next November--that is, if he, Mortimer, chose tokeep silent about a certain midnight episode at Shotover. 

It was his inclination, except in theory, to keep silent, partly becauseof his native inertia and unwillingness to go to the physical andintellectual exertion of being a rascal, partly because he didn't reallywant to be a rascal of that sort. 

Like a man with premonitions of toothache, who walks down to thedentist's just to see what the number of the house looks like, and thenwalks around the block to think it over, so Mortimer, suffering fromlack of money, walked round and round the central idea, unable to bringhimself to the point. 

Several times he called up Quarrier on the 'phone and made appointmentsto lunch with him; but these meetings never resulted in anything exceptluncheons which Mortimer paid for, and matters were becoming desperate. 

So one day, after having lunched too freely, he sat down and wrote Plankthe following note:

My Dear Beverly: You will remember that I once promised you my aid insecuring what, to you, is the dearest object of your existence. I havethought, I have pondered, I have given the matter deep and, I may addwithout irreverence, prayerful consideration, knowing that the life'shappiness of my closest friend depended on my judgment and wisdom andintelligence to secure for him the opportunity to crown his life'swork by the acquisition of the brightest jewel in the diadem of oldManhattan. 

"By George! that's wickedly good, though!" chuckled Mortimer, refreshinghimself with his old stand-by, an apple, quartered, and soaked in veryold port. So he sopped his apple and swallowed it, and picked up his penagain, chary of overdoing it. 

All I say to you is, be ready! The time is close at hand when youmay boldly make your avowal. But be ready! All depends upon thepsychological moment. An instant too soon, an instant too late, and youare lost. And she is lost forever. Remember! Be faithful; trust in me, and wait. And the instant I say, "Speak!" pour out your soul, my dearfriend, and be certain you are not pouring it out in vain. L. M. 

Writing about "pouring out" made him thirsty, so he fortified himselfseveral times, and then, sealing the letter, went out to a letter-boxand stood looking at it. 

"If I mail it I'm in for it, " he muttered. After a while he put theletter in his pocket and walked on. 

"It really doesn't commit me to anything, " he reflected at last, haltingbefore another letter-box. And as he stood there, hesitating, he glancedup and saw Quarrier entering the Lenox Club. The next moment he flung upthe metal box lid, dropped in his letter, and followed Quarrier into theclub. 

Then events tumbled forward almost without a push from him. Quarrier wasalone in a window corner, drinking vichy and milk and glancing overthe afternoon papers. He saw Mortimer, and invited him to join him; andMortimer, being thirsty, took champagne. 

"I've been trying a new coach, " said Quarrier, in his colourless andrather agreeable voice; and he went on leisurely explaining the pointsof the new mail-coach which had been built in Paris after plans of hisown, while Mortimer gulped glass after glass of chilled wine, whichseemed only to make him thirstier. Meantime he listened, reallyinterested, except that his fleshy head was too full of alcohol andhis own project to contain additional statistics concerning coaching. Besides, Quarrier, who had never been over-cordial to him, was more sonow--enough for Mortimer to venture on a few tentative suggestions of afinancial nature; and though, as usual, Quarrier was not responsive, hedid not, as usual, get up and go away. 

A vague hope stirred Mortimer that it might not be beyond his persuasivetongue to make this chilly, reticent young man into a friend some day--ahelpful friend. For Mortimer all his life had trusted to his tongue; andthough poorly enough repaid, the few lingual victories remained in hismemory, along with an inexhaustible vanity and hope; while his countlessdefeats and the many occasions on which his tongue had played him falsewere all forgotten. Besides, he had been drinking more heavily all daythan was his custom. 

So Quarrier talked, sparingly, about his new coach, about BillyFleetwood's renowned string of hunters, about Ashley Spencer's newstable and his chances at Saratoga with Roy-a-neh, for which he had paida fabulous sum--the sum and the story probably equally fabulous. 

Mortimer's head was swimming with ideas; he was also talking a greatdeal, much more than he had intended; he was saying things he had notexactly intended to say, either, in just that way. He realised it, but he went on, unable to stop his own tongue, the noise of whichintoxicated him. 

Once or twice he thought Quarrier looked at him rather strangely; but hewould show Quarrier that he was nobody's fool; he'd show Quarrier thathe was a friend, a good, staunch friend; and that Quarrier had long, long undervalued him. Waves of sentiment spread through and through him;his affection for Quarrier dampened his eyes; and still he blabbed onand on, gazing with brimming eyes upon Quarrier, who sat back silentand attentive as Mortimer circled and blundered nearer and nearer to thecrucial point of his destination. 

Midway in one of his linguistic ellipses Quarrier leaned forward andcaught his arm in a grip of steel. Another man had entered the room. Mortimer, made partly conscious by the pain of Quarrier's vise-likegrip, was sober enough to recognise the impropriety of his continuingaloud the veiled story he had been constructing with what he supposed tobe a cunning as matchless as it was impenetrable. 

Later he found himself upstairs in a private card-room, facing Quarrieracross a table, and still talking and quenching his increasing thirst. He knew now what he was telling Quarrier; he was unveiling the parable;he was stripping metaphor from a carefully precise story. He usedSiward's name presently; presently he used Sylvia's name. A momentlater--or was it an hour?--Quarrier stopped him, coldly, without atrace of passion, demanding corroborative detail. And Mortimer gave it, wagging his head and one fat forefinger as emphasis. 

"You saw that?" repeated Quarrier, deadly white of a sudden. 

"Yes; an' I--"

"At three in the morning?"

"Yes; an' I want--"

"You saw him enter her room?"

"Yes; an' I wan' tersay thish to you, because I'm your fr'en'. Don' wan'anny fr'en's mine get fooled on women! See? Thash how I feel. I respec'the sect! See! Women, lovely women! See? Respec' sect! Gimme y'han', buzzer--er--brother Quar'er! Your m' fr'en'; I'm your fr'en'. I knowhow it is. Gotter wife m'own. Rotten one. Stingy! Takes money outter m'pockets. Dam 'stravagant. Ruin me! … Say, old boy, what about dividenddue 'morrow on Orange County Eclectic--mean Erlextic--no!--mean 'Letric!Damn!--Wasser masser tongue?"

Opening his fond and foggy eyes, and finding himself alone in thecard-room, he began to cry; and a little later, attempting to push theelectric button, he fell over a lounge and lay there, his shirt-frontsoiled with wine, one fat leg trailing to the floor; not the idealposition for slumber, perhaps, but what difference do attitudes andpostures and poses make when a gentleman, in the sacred seclusion ofhis own club, is wooing the drowsy goddess with blasts of votive musicthrough his empurpled nose?

In the meantime, however, he was due to dine at the Belwether house; andwhen eight o'clock approached, and he had not returned to dress, Leilacalled up Sylvia Landis on the telephone:

"My dear, Leroy hasn't returned, and I suppose he's forgotten about theBridge. I can bring Mr. Plank, if you like. "

"Very well, " said Sylvia, adding, "if Mr. Plank is there, may I speak tohim a moment?"

So Leila rose, setting the receiver on the desk, and Plank came in fromthe library and settled himself heavily in the chair:

"Did you wish to speak to me, Miss Landis?"

"Is that you, Mr. Plank? Yes; will you dine with us at eight? Bridgeafterward, if you don't mind. "

"Thank you. "

"And, Mr. Plank, you had a note from me this morning?"

"Yes. "

"Please disregard it. "

"If you wish. "

"I do. It is not worth while. " And as Plank made no comment, "I have nofurther interest in the matter. Do you understand?"

"No, " said Plank doggedly. 

"I have nothing more to say. I am sorry. We dine at eight, " concludedSylvia hurriedly. 

Plank hung up the receiver and sat eyeing it for a while in silence. Then his jaw began to harden and his under lip protruded, and he foldedhis great hands, resting them in front of him on the edge of the desk, brooding there, with eyes narrowing like a sleepy giant at prayer. 

When Leila entered, in her evening wraps, she found him there, soimmersed in reverie that he failed to hear her; and she stood a momentat the doorway, smiling to herself, thinking how pleasant it was to comedown ready for the evening and find him there, as though he belongedwhere he sat, and was part of the familiar environment. 

Recently she had grown younger in a smooth-skinned, full-lipped way--somuch younger that it was spoken of. Something girlish in figure, inspontaneity, in the hesitation of her smile, in the lack of that hard, brilliant confidence which once characterised her, had developed; asthough she were beginning her début again, reverting to a softnessand charm prematurely checked. Truly, her youth's discoloured blossom, forced by the pale phantom of false spring, was refolding to a bud oncemore; and the harsher tints of the inclement years were fading. 

"Beverly, " she said, "I am ready. "

Plank stood up, dazed from his reverie, and walked toward her. Hiswhite tie had become disarranged; she raised her hands, halting him, andpulled it into shape for him, consciously innocent of the intimacy. 

"Thank you, " he said. "Do you know how pretty you are this evening?"

"Yes; I was very happy at my mirror. Do you know, the withered yearsseem to be dropping from me like leaves from an autumn sapling. And Ifeel young enough to say so poetically. … Did Sylvia try to flirt withyou over the wire?"

"Yes, as usual, " he said drily, descending the stairs beside her. 

"And really you don't love her any more?" she queried. 

"Scarcely. " His voice was low and rather disagreeable, and she lookedup. 

"I wish I knew what you and Sylvia find to talk about so frequently, ifyou're not in love. "

But he made no answer; and they drove away to the Belwether house, arather wide, old-style mansion of brown stone, with a stoop dividingits ugly façade, and a series of unnecessary glass doors blockading thevestibule. 

A drawing-room and a reception-room flanked the marble-tiled hall;behind these the dining-room ran the width of the rear. It was a typicalgentlefolk's house of the worst period of Manhattan, and Major Belwetherbelonged in it as fittingly as a melodeon belongs in a west-side flat. The hall-way was made for such a man as he to patter through; thevelvet-covered stairs were as peculiarly fitted for him as a runway isfor a rabbit; the suave pink-and-white drawing-room, the discreet, grayreception-room, the soft, fat rugs, the intricacies of banisters andalcoves and curtained cubby-holes--all reflected his personality, allcorroborated the ensemble. It was his habitat, his distinctly, from thepronounced but meaningless intricacy of the architecture to the studiedbut unconvincing tints, like a man who suddenly starts to speak, butchecks himself, realising he has nothing in particular to say. 

There were half a dozen people there lounging informally between theliving-room on the second floor and Sylvia's apartments in the rear--theresidue from a luncheon and Bridge party given that afternoon by Sylviato a score or so of card-mad women. A few of these she had asked toremain for an informal dinner, and a desperate game later--the sortof people she knew well enough to lose to heavily or win from withoutremorse--Grace Ferrall, Marion Page, Agatha Caithness. Trusting to thetelephone that morning, she had secured the Mortimers and Quarrier, failing three men; and now the party, with Plank as Mortimer'ssubstitute, was complete, all thorough gamesters--sex mattering nothingin the preparation for such a séance. 

In Sylvia's boudoir Grace Ferrall and Agatha Caithness sat before thefire; Sylvia, at the mirror of her dresser, was correcting the pallorincident to the unbroken dissipation of a brilliant season; Marion, withher inevitable cigarette, wandered between Sylvia's quarters and thelibrary, where Quarrier and Major Belwether were sitting in low-voicedconfab. 

Leila, greeted gaily from the boudoir, went in. Plank entered thelibrary, was mauled effusively by the major, returned Quarrier's firmhand shake, and sat down with an inquiring smile. 

"Oh, yes, we're out for blood to-night, " tittered Major Belwether, grasping Quarrier's arm humourously and shaking it to emphasise hiswords--a habit that Quarrier thoroughly disliked. "Sylvia had a lot ofwomen here playing for the season score, so I suggested she keep thepick of them for dinner, and call in a few choice ones to make a nightof it. "

"It's agreeable to me, " said Plank, still looking at Quarrier withthe same inquiring expression, which that gentleman presently chose tounderstand. 

"I haven't had a chance to look into that matter, " he said carelessly. "Some day, when you have time to go over it--"

"I have time now, " said Plank; "there's nothing to go over; there's noreason for any secrecy. All I wrote you was that I proposed to controlthe stock of Amalgamated Electric and that I wished your advice in thematter. "

"I could not give you any advice off-hand on such an extraordinarysuggestion, " returned Quarrier coldly. "If you know where the stock is, you'll understand. "

"Do you mean what it is quoted at, or who owns it?" interrupted Plank. 

"Who owns it. Everybody knows where it has dropped to, I suppose. Mostpeople know, too, where it is held. "

"Yes; I do. "

"And who is manipulating it, " added Quarrier indifferently. 

"Do you mean Harrington's people?"

"I don't mean anybody in particular, Mr. Plank. "

"Oh!" said Plank, staring, "I was sure you couldn't have meantHarrington; because, " he went on deliberately, "there are other theoriesfloating about that mysterious pool, one of which I've proved. "

Quarrier looked at him out of his velvety-lidded eyes:

"What have you proved?"

"I'll tell you, if you'll appoint an interview. "

"I'll come too, " began Belwether, who had been listening, loose-mouthedand intent; "we're all in it--Howard, Kemp Ferrall, and I--"

"And Stephen Siward, " observed Plank, so quietly that Quarrier nevereven raised his eyes to read the stolid face opposite. 

Presently he said: "Do you know anybody who can deliver you anyconsiderable block of Amalgamated Electric at the market figures?"

"I could deliver you several blocks, if you care to bid, " said Plankbluntly. 

Belwether grew red, then pale. Quarrier stiffened in his chair, but hiseyes were only sceptical. Plank's under lip had begun to protrude again;he swung his massive head, looking from Belwether back to Quarrier:

"Pool or no pool, " he continued, "you Amalgamated people will want tosee the stock climb back into the branches from which somebody shook itout; and I propose to put it there. That is all I had meant to say toyou, Mr. Quarrier. I'm not averse to saying it here to you, and I do. There's no secrecy about it. Figure out for yourself how much stock Icontrol, and who let it go. Settle your family questions and put yourhouse in order; then invite me to call, and I'll do it. And I have anidea that we are going to stand on our own legs again, and recover ourself-respect and our fighting capacity; and I rather think we'll stopthis hold-up business, and that our Inter-County friend will let go thesand-bag and pocket the jimmy, and talk business across the line-fence. "

Quarrier's characteristic pallor was no index to his feelings, nor washis icy reticence. All hell might be boiling below. 

When anybody gave Quarrier a letter to read he took a long time readingit; but if he was slow he was also minute; he went over every wordagain and again, studying, absorbing each letter, each period, theconformation of every word. And when he ended he had in his brain aphotograph of the letter which he would never forget. 

And now, slowly, minutely, methodically, he was going over and overPlank's words, and his manner of saying them, and their surface import, and the hidden one, if any. 

If Plank had spoken the truth--and there was no reason to doubtit--Plank had quietly acquired a controlling interest in AmalgamatedElectric. That meant treachery in somebody. Who? Probably Siward, perhaps Belwether. He would not look at the latter just yet; not fora minute or two. There was time enough to see through that withered, pink-and-white old fraud. But why had Plank done this? And why did Planksuspect him of any desire to wreck his own property? He did suspect him, that was certain. 

After a silence, he spoke quietly and without emotion:

"Everybody concerned will be glad to see Amalgamated Electric declaringdividends. This is a shock to us, " he glanced impassively at theshrunken major, "but a pleasant shock. I think it well to arrange ameeting as soon as possible. "

"To-morrow, " said Plank, with a manner of closing discussion. And in hisbrusque ending of the matter Quarrier detected the ringing undertone ofan authority he never had and never would endure; and though his pale, composed features betrayed not the subtlest shade of emotion, he wasaware that a new element had come into his life--a new force was growingout of nothing to confront him, an unfamiliar shape loomed vaguelyahead, throwing its huge distorted shadow across his path. He sensed itwith the instinct of kind for kind, not because Plank's millions meantanything to him as a force; not because this lumbering, red-facedmeddler had blundered into a family affair where confidence consisted injoining hands lest a pocket be inadvertently picked; not because Plankhad knocked at the door, expecting treachery to open, and had found it, but because of the awful simplicity of the man and his methods. 

If Plank suspected him, he must also suspect him of complicity in theInter-County grab; he must suspect him of the ruthless crushingpower that corrupts or annihilates opposition, making a mockeryof legislation, a jest of the courts, and an epigram of a people'sindignation. 

And yet, in the face of all this, careless, fearless, frank to theouter verge of stupidity--which sometimes means the inability to beafraid--this man Plank was casually telling him things which men regardas secrets and as weapons of defence--was actually averting him of hisperil, and telling him almost contemptuously to pull up the drawbridgeand prepare for siege, instead of rushing the castle and giving it tothe sack. 

As Quarrier sat there meditating, his long, white fingers caressing hissoft, pointed beard, Sylvia came in, greeting the men collectively witha nod, and offering her hand to Plank. 

"Dinner is announced, " she said; "please go in farm fashion. Wait!" asPlank, following the major and Quarrier, stood aside for her to pass. "No, you go ahead, Howard; and you, " to the major. 

Left for a moment in the room with Plank, she stood listening to theothers descending the stairs; then:

"Have you seen Mr. Siward?"

"Yes, " said Plank. 

"Oh! Is he well?"

"Not very. "

"Is he well enough to read a letter, and to answer one?"

"Oh, yes; he's well enough in that way. "

"I supposed so. That is why I said to you, over the wire, not to troublehim with my request. "

"You mean that I am not to say anything about your offer to buy thehunter?"

"No. If I make up my mind that I want the horse I'll writehim--perhaps. "

Lingering still, she let one hand fall on the banisters, turning backtoward Plank, who was following:

"I understood you to mean that--that Mr. Siward's financial affairswere anything but satisfactory?"--the sweet, trailing, upward inflectionmaking it a question. 

"When did I say that?" demanded Plank. 

"Once--a month ago. "

"I didn't, " said Plank bluntly. 

"Oh, I had inferred it, then, from something you said, or something youwere silent about. Is that it?"

"I don't know. "

"Am I quite wrong, then?" she asked, looking him in the eyes. 

And Plank, who never lied, found no answer. Considering him for a momentin silence, she turned again and descended the stairs. 

The dinner was one of those thoroughly well-chosen dinners of fewcourses and faultless service suitable for card-players, who neithercare to stuff themselves as a preliminary to a battle royal, nor todawdle through courses, eliminating for themselves what is not good forthem. The men drank a light, sound, aromatic Irish of the major's; thewomen--except Marion, who took what the men took--used claret sparingly. Coffee was served where they sat; the men smoking, Agatha and Marionproducing their own cigarettes. 

"Don't you smoke any more?" asked Grace Ferrall of Leila Mortimer, andat the smiling negative, "Oh, that perhaps explains it. You're growingpositively radiant, you know. You'll he wearing a braid and a tuck inyour skirt if you go on getting younger. "

Leila laughed, colouring up as Plank turned in his chair to look at hercloser. 

"No, it won't rub off, Mr. Plank, " said Marion coolly, "but mine will. This, " touching a faint spot of colour under her eyes, "is art. "

"Pooh! I'm all art!" said Grace. "Observe, Mr. Plank, that under thisbecoming flush are the same old freckles you saw at Shotover. " And shelaughed that sweet, careless laugh of an adolescent and straightenedher boyish figure, pretty head held high, adding: "Kemp won't let me'improve' myself, or I'd do it. "

"You are perfect, " said Sylvia, rising from the table, her ownlovely, rounded, youthful figure condoning the exaggeration; "you'resufficiently sweet as you are. Good people, if you are ready, we willgo through the ceremony of cutting for partners--unless otherwise youdecide. How say you?"

"I don't care to enter the scramble for a man, " cried Grace. "If it's tochoose, I'd as soon choose Marion. "

Plank looked at Leila, who laughed. 

"All right; choose, then!" said Sylvia. "Howard, you're dying, ofcourse, to play with me, but you're looking very guiltily at Agatha. "

The major asked Leila at once; so Plank fell to Sylvia, pitted againstMarion and Grace Ferrall. 

A few moments later the quiet of the library was broken by the butlerentering with decanters and ice, and glasses that tinkled frostily. 

Play began at table Number One on a passed make of no trumps by Sylvia, and at the other table on a doubled and redoubled heart make, whichsent a delicate flush into Agatha's face, and drove the last vestige oflingering thoughtfulness from Quarrier's, leaving it a tense, pallid, and expressionless mask, out of which looked the velvet-fringed eyes ofa woman. 

Of all the faces there at the two tables, Sylvia's alone had notchanged, neither assuming the gambler's mask nor the infatuated glareof the amateur. She was thoughtful, excited, delighted, or dismayed byturns, but always wholesomely so; the game for its own sake, and not thestakes, absorbing her, partly because she had never permitted herself toweigh money and pleasure in the same balance, but kept a mental pair ofscales for each. 

As usual, the fever of gain was fiercest in those who could afford tolose most. Quarrier, playing to rule with merciless precision, coldlyexacted every penalty that a lapse in his opponents permitted. Agatha, her teeth set in her nether lip, her eyes like living jewels, answeredQuarrier's every signal, interpreted every sign, her play fitting inexactly with his, as though she were his subconscious self balancing theperfectly adjusted mechanism of his body and mind. 

Now and then lifting her eyes, she sent a long, limpid glance atQuarrier like a pale shaft of light; and under his heavy-fringed lashes, at moments, his level gaze encountered her's with a slow narrowing oflids--as though there was more than one game in progress, more than onestake being played for under the dull rose glow of the clustered lights. 

Sylvia, sitting dummy at the other tables mechanically alert to Plank'scards dropping in rapid sequence as he played alternately from hisown hand and the dummy, permitted her thoughtful eyes to wander towardAgatha from moment to moment. How alluring her subtle beauty, in its ownstrange way! How perfect her accord with her partner! How faultlessher intelligence, divining the very source of every hidden motivecontrolling him, forestalling his intent--acquiescent, delicate, marvellous intelligence--the esoteric complement of two parts of asingle mind. 

The collar of diamonds and aqua marines shimmered like the reflection ofshadowy lightning across her throat; a single splendid jewel glowed onher left hand as her fingers flashed among the cards for the make-up. 

"A hundred aces, " broke in Plank's heavy voice as he played the lasttrick and picked up the scoring card and pencil. 

Sylvia's blue eyes were laughing as Plank cut the new pack. Marion Pagecoolly laid aside her cigarette, dealt, and made it "without" in theoriginal. 

"May I play?" asked Sylvia sweetly. 

"Please, " growled Plank. 

So Sylvia serenely played from the "top of nothing, " and Grace Ferrallwhisked a wonderful dummy across the green; and Plank's thick under lipbegan to protrude, and he lowered his heavy head like a bull at bay. 

Once Marion, over-intent, touched a card in the dummy when she shouldhave played from her own hand; and Sylvia would have let it pass, hadnot Plank calmly noted the penalty. 

"Oh, dear! It's too much like business, " sighed Sylvia. "Can't we playfor the sake of the sport? I don't think it good sportsmanship to profitby a blunder. "

"Rule, " observed Marion laconically. "'Ware barbed wire, if you want thebrush. "

"I myself never was crazy for the brush, " murmured Sylvia. 

Grace whispered maliciously: "But you've got it, with the mask andpads, " and her mischievous head barely tipped backward in the directionof Quarrier. 

"Especially the mask, " returned Sylvia, under her breath, and laid onthe table the last card of a Yarborough. 

Plank scored without comment. Marion cut, and resumed her cigarette. Sylvia dealt with that witchery of rounded wrists and slim fingersfascinating to men and women alike. Then, cards en règle, passed themake. Plank, cautiously consulting the score, made it spades, whichbeing doubled, Grace led a "singleton" ace, and Plank slapped down astrong dummy and folded his great arms. 

Toward midnight, Sylvia, absorbed in her dummy, fancied she heard theelectric bell ringing at the front door. Later, having barely made theodd, she was turning to look at the major, when, beyond him, she sawLeroy Mortimer enter the room, sullen, pasty-skinned, but perfectlysober and well groomed. 

"You are a trifle late, " observed Sylvia carelessly. Grace Ferrall andMarion ignored him. Plank bade him good evening in a low voice. 

The people at the other table, having completed their rubber, lookedaround at Mortimer in disagreeable surprise. 

"I'll cut in, if you want me. If you don't, say so, " observed Mortimer. 

It was plain that they did not; so he settled himself in an arm-chair, with an ugly glance at his wife and an insolent one at Quarrier; and thegame went on in silence; Leila and the major still losing heavily underthe sneering gaze of Mortimer. 

At last, "Who's carrying you?" he broke out, exasperated; and in theshocked silence Leila, very white, made a movement to rise, but Quarrierlaid his long fingers across her arm, pressing her backward. 

"You don't know what you're saying, " he remarked, looking coldly atMortimer. 

Plank laid down his cards, rose, and walked over to Mortimer:

"May I have a word with you?" he asked bluntly. 

"You may. And I'll help myself to a word or two with you, " retortedMortimer, following Plank out of the room, down the stairs to thelighted reception-room, where they wheeled, confronting one another. 

"What is the matter?" demanded Plank. "At the club they told me you wereasleep in the card-room. I didn't tell Leila. What is wrong?"

"I'm--I'm dead broke, " said Mortimer harshly. "Billy Fleetwood took mypaper. Can you help me out? It's due to-morrow. "

Plank looked at him gravely, but made no answer. 

"Can you?" repeated Mortimer violently. "Haven't I done enough for you?Haven't I done enough for everybody? Is anybody going to show me anyconsideration? Look at Quarrier's manner to me just now! And this veryday I did him a service that all his millions can't repay. And thereyou stand, too, staring at me as though I were some damned importuningshabby-genteel, hinting around for an opening to touch you. Yes, youdo! And this very day I have done for you the--the most vital thing--themost sacred favour one man can do for another--"

He halted, stammered something incoherent, his battered eyes wet withtears. The man was a wreck--nerves, stamina, mind on the very verge ofcollapse. 

"I'll help you, of course, " said Plank, eyeing him. "Go home, now, andsleep. I tell you I'll help you in the morning. … Don't give way! Haveyou no grit? Pull up sharp, I tell you!"

But Mortimer had fallen into a chair, his ravaged face cradled in hishands. "I've got all that's c-coming to me, " he said hoarsely; "I'm allin--all in! God! but I've got the jumps this trip. … You'll stand forthis, won't you, Plank? I was batty, but I woke up in time to grasp thelive wire Billy Fleetwood held--three shocks in succession--and his werequeens full to my jacks--aces to kings twice!--Alderdene and Vouchersitting in until they'd started me off hiking hellward!"

He began to ramble, and even to laugh weakly, passing his puffy, shakinghands across his eyes. 

"It's good of you, Beverly; I appreciate it. But I've been good to you. You're all to the good, my boy! Understand? All to the good. I fixed it;I did it for you. You can have your innings now. You can have her whenyou want her, I tell you. "

"What do you mean?" said Plank menacingly. 

"Mean! I mean what I told you that day at Black Fells, when we wereriding. I told you you had a chance to win out. Now the chance hascome--same's I told you. Start in, and by the time you're ready to say'When?' she'll be there with the bottle!"

"I don't think you are perfectly sane yet, " said Plank slowly. 

"Let it go at that, then, " sniggered Mortimer, struggling to his feet. "Bring Leila back; I'm all in; I'm going home. You'll be around in themorning, won't you?"

"Yes, " said Plank. "Have you got a cab?"

Mortimer had one. The glass and iron doors clanged behind him, andPlank, waiting a moment, sighed, raised his head, and, encountering thecurious gaze of a servant, trudged off up-stairs again. 

The game had ended at both tables. Quarrier and Agatha stood by thewindow together, conversing in low voices. Belwether, at a desk, satmuttering and fussing with a cheque-book. The others were in Sylvia'sapartments. 

A few moments later Kemp Ferrall arrived, in the best of spirits, verymuch inclined to consider the night as still young; but his enthusiasmmet with no response, and presently he departed with his wife and Marionin their big Mercedes, wheeling into the avenue at a reckless pace, andstreaming away through the night like a meteor run mad. 

Leila, in her wraps, emerged in a few moments, looking at Plank out ofserious eyes; and they made their brief adieux and went away in Plank'sbrougham. 

When Agatha's maid arrived, Quarrier also started to take his leave; butSylvia, seated at a card-table, idly arranging the cards in geometricaldesigns and fanciful arabesques, looked up at him, saying:

"I wanted to say something to you, Howard. "

Agatha passed them, going into Sylvia's room for her wraps; and Quarrierturned to Sylvia:

"Well?" he said, with the slightest hint of impatience. 

"Can't you stay a minute?" asked Sylvia, surprised. 

"Agatha is going in the motor with me. Is it anything important?"

She considered him without replying. She had never before detected thatmanner, that hardness in a voice always so even in quality. 

"What is it?" he repeated. 

She thought a moment, putting aside for the time his manner, which shecould not comprehend; then:

"I wanted to ask you a question--a rather ignorant one, perhaps. It'sabout your Amalgamated Electric Company. May I ask it, Howard?"

After a second's stare, "Certainly, " he said. 

"It's only this: If the other people--the Inter-County, I mean--areslowly ruining Amalgamated, why don't you stop it?"

Quarrier's eyes narrowed. "Oh! And who have you been discussing thematter with?"

"Mr. Plank, " she said simply. "I asked him. He shook his head, and saidI'd better ask you. And I do ask you. "

For a moment he stood mute; then his lips began to shrink back over hisbeautiful teeth in one of his rare laughs. 

"I'll be very glad to explain it some day, " he said; but there wasno mirth in his voice or eyes, only the snickering lip wrinkling thepallor. 

"Will you not answer now?" she asked. 

"No, not now. But I desire you to understand it some day--some daybefore November. And one or two other matters that it is necessary foryou to understand. I want to explain them, Sylvia, in such a manner thatyou will never be likely to forget them. And I mean to; for they arenever out of my mind, and I wish them to be as ineffaceably impressed onyours. … Good night. "

He took her limp hand almost briskly, released it, and stepped down thestairs as Agatha entered, cloaked, to say good night. 

They kissed at parting--"life embracing death"--as Mortimer had sneeredon a similar occasion; then Sylvia, alone, stood in her bedroom, handslinked behind her, her lovely head bent, groping with the very ghosts ofthought which eluded her, fleeing, vanishing, reappearing, to peep outat her only to fade into nothing ere she could follow where they flittedthrough the dark labyrinths of memory. 

The major, craning his neck in the bay-window, saw Agatha and Quarrierenter the big, yellow motor, and disappear behind the limousine. And itworried him horribly, because he knew perfectly well that Quarrier hadlied to him about a jewelled collar precisely like the collar wornby Agatha Caithness; and what to do or what to say to anybody onthe subject was, for the first time in his life, utterly beyond hisgarrulous ability. So, for the first time also in his chatteringcareer, he held his tongue, reassured at moments, at other momentspanic-stricken lest this marriage he had engineered should go amiss, andhis ambitions be nipped at the very instant of triumphant maturity. 

"This sort of thing--in your own caste--among your own kind, " hispanicky thoughts ran on, "is b-bad form--rotten bad taste on both sides. If they were married--one of them, anyway! But this isn't right; no, bygad! it's bad taste, and no gentleman could countenance it!"

It was plain that he could, however, his only fear being that somebodymight whisper something to turn Sylvia's innocence into a terriblewisdom which would ruin everything, and knock the underpinning from thenew tower which his inflated fancy beheld slowly growing heavenward, surmounting the house of Belwether. 

Another matter: he had violated his word, and had been caught at it byhis prospective nephew-in-law--broken his pledged word not to sell hisAmalgamated Electric holdings, and had done it. Yet, how could Plankdominate, unless another also had done what he had done? And it madehim a little more comfortable to know he was sharing the fault withsomebody--probably with Siward, whom he now had the luxury of despisingfor the very thing he himself had done. 

"Drunkard!" he muttered to himself; "he's in the gutter at last!"

And he repeated it unctuously, almost reconciled to his own shortcoming, because it was the first time, as far as he knew, that a Belwether mightlegitimately enjoy the pleasures of holding the word of a Siward incontempt. 

Sylvia had dismissed her maid, the old feeling of distaste for the touchof another had returned since the last mad, crushed embrace in Siward'sarms had become a memory. More and more she was returning to oldinstincts, old habits of thought, reverting to type once more, virgin oflip and thought and desire, save when the old memory stopped her heartsuddenly, then sent it racing, touching her face with quick, crimsonimprint. 

Now, blue eyes dreaming under the bright masses of her loosened hair, she sat watching the last glimmer amid the ashes whitening on thehearth, thinking of Siward and of what had been between them, and ofwhat could never be--never, never be. 

One red spark among the ashes--her ambition, deathless amid the ashes oflife! When that, too, went out, life must be extinct. 

What he had roused in her had died when he went away. It could neverawake again, unless he returned to awaken it. And he never would; hewould never come again. 

One brief interlude of love, of passion, in her life could neither tintnor taint the cool, normal sequence of her days. All that life held fora woman of her caste--all save that--was hers when she stretched out herhand for it--hers by right of succession, of descent; hers by warrantunquestioned, by the unuttered text of the ukase to be launched, ifnecessary, by that very, very old lady, drowsing, enthroned, as theendless pageant wound like a jewelled river at her feet. 

So Siward could never come again, sauntering toward her through thesunlight, smiling his absent smile. She caught her breath painfully, straightening up; a single ash fell in the fire; the last spark wentout. 

CHAPTER XI THE CALL OF THE RAIN

The park was very misty and damp and still that morning. 

There was a scent of sap and new buds in the February haze, a glimmerof green on southern slopes, a distant bird note, tentative, thenconfident, rippling from the gray tangle of naked thickets. Here andthere in hollows the tips of amber-tinted shoots pricked the soil's darksurface; here and there in the sparse woodlands a withered leaf stillclinging to oak or beech was forced to let go by the swelling bud at itsbase and fell rustling stiffly in the silence. 

Far away on the wooded bridle-path the dulled double gallop of horsessounded, now muffled in a hollow, now louder, jarring the rising ground, nearer, heavier, then suddenly checked to a trample, as Sylvia drewbridle by the reservoir, and, straightening in her saddle, raised herflushed face to the sky. 

"Rain?" she asked, as Quarrier, controlling his beautiful, restivehorse, ranged up beside her. 

"Probably, " he said, scarcely glancing at the sky, where, above thegreat rectangular lagoons, hundreds of sea-gulls, high in the air, hungflapping, stemming some rushing upper gale unfelt below. 

She walked her mount, head lifted, watching the gulls; he followed, uninterested, imperturbable in his finished horsemanship. With horses healways appeared to advantage, whether on the box of break or coach, orsilently controlling a spike or tandem, or sitting his saddle in hislong-limbed, faultless fashion, maintaining without effort the veryessence of form. Here he was at his best, perfectly informal, informallyperfect. 

They had ridden every day since the weather permitted--even before itpermitted--thrashing and slashing through the rotting ice and snow, galloping over the frozen, gravelly loam, amid leafless trees and awinter-smitten perspective--drearier for the distant, eastern glimpse ofthe avenue's marble and limestone façades and the vast cliffs of masonryand brick looming above the west and south. 

On these daily rides together it was her custom to discuss practicalmatters concerning their future; and it was his custom to listen untilpressed for a suggestion, an assent, or a reply. 

Sparing words--cautious, chary of self-commitment, and seldom offeringto assume the initiative--this was the surface character which she hadcome to recognise and acquiesce in; this was Quarrier as he had beendeveloped from her hazy, preconceived ideas of the man before she hadfinally accepted him at Shotover the autumn before. She also knew himas a methodical man, exacting from others the orderly precision whichcharacterised his own dealings; a man of education and little learning, of attainments and little cultivation, conversant with usages, formal, intensely sensitive to ridicule, incapable of humour. 

This was Quarrier as she knew him or had known him. Recently she had, little by little, become aware of an indefinable change in the man. Forone thing, he had grown more reticent. At times, too, his reserve seemedto have something almost surly about it; under his cold composure a hintof something concealed, watchful, and very quiet. 

Confidences she had never looked for in him nor desired. It appalled herat moments to realise how little they had in common, and that onlyon the surface--a communion of superficial interest incident to thefulfilment of social duties and the pursuit of pleasure. Beyond that sheknew nothing of him, required nothing of him. What was there to know?what to require?

Now that the main line of her route through life had been surveyed andcarefully laid out, what was there more for her in life than to setout upon her progress? It was her own road. Presumptive leader already, logical leader from the day she married--leader, in fact, when theukase, her future legacy, so decreed; it was a royal road laid out forher through the gardens and pleasant places; a road for her alone, andover it she had chosen to pass. What more was there to desire?

From the going of Siward, all that he had aroused in her of love, ofintelligence, of wholesome desire and sane curiosity--the intellectualrestlessness, the capacity for passion, the renaissance of the simplerinnocence--had subsided into the laissez faire of dull quiescence. Ifin her he had sown, imprudently, subtle, impulsive, unworldlyideas, flowering into sudden brilliancy in the quick magic of hiscompanionship, now those flowers were dead under the inexorable winterof her ambition, where all such things lay; her lonely childhood, withits dimmed visions of mother-love ineffable; the strange splendour ofthe dreams haunting her adolescence--pageants of bravery and theglitter of the cross, altars of self-denial and pure intent, serviceand sacrifice and the scorn of wrong; and sometimes, seen dimly withenraptured eyes through dissolving mists--the man! glimmering for aninstant, then fading, resolved into the starry void which fashioned him. 

Riding there, head bent, her pulses timing the slow pacing of herhorse, she presently became aware, without looking up, that Quarrier waswatching her. Dreams vanished. A perfectly unreasonable sense of beingspied upon, of something stealthy about it all, flashed to her mind andwas gone, leaving her grave and perplexed. What a strange suspicion!What an infernal inference! What grotesque train of thought could haveculminated in such a sinister idea!

She moved slightly in her saddle to look at him, and for an instantfancied that there was something furtive in his eyes; only for aninstant, for he quietly picked up the thread of conversation whereshe had dropped it, saying that it had been raining for the last tenminutes, and that they might as well turn their horses toward shelter. 

"I don't mind the rain, " she said; "there is a spring-like odour in it. Don't you notice it?"

"Not particularly, " he replied. 

"I was miles away a moment ago, " she said; "years away, I mean--a littlegirl again, with two stiff yellow braids, trying to pretend that a bigarm-chair was my mother's lap and that I could hear her whispering tome. And there I sat, on a day like this, listening, pretending, cuddledup tight, and looking out at the first rain of the year falling in thebackyard. There was an odour like this about it all. Memory, they say, is largely a matter of nose!" She laughed, fearing that he might havethought her sentimental, already regretting the familiarity of thrustingsuch trivial and personal incidents upon his notice. He was probably tooindifferent to comment on it, merely nodding as she ended. 

Then, without reason, through and through her shot a shiver ofloneliness--utter loneliness and isolation. Without reason, because fromhim she expected nothing, required nothing, except what he offered--theemotionless reticence of indifference, the composure of perfectformality. What did she want, then--companions? She had them. Friends?She could scarcely escape from them. Intimates? She had only to chooseone or a hundred attuned responsive to her every mood, every caprice. Lonely? With the men of New York crowding, shouldering, crushing theirway to her feet? Lonely? With the women of New York struggling alreadyfor precedence in her favour?--omen significant of the days to come, ofthose future years diamond-linked in one unbroken, triumphant glitter. 

Lonely!

The rain was falling out of the hanging mist, something more than adrizzle now. Quarrier spoke of it again, but she shook her head, walkingher horse slowly onward. The train of thought she followed was slowerstill, winding on and on, leading her into half light and shadow, and inand out through hidden trails she should have known by this time--alwayson, skirting the objective, circling it through sudden turns. And nowshe was becoming conscious of the familiar way; now she recognised thequiet, still by-ways of the maze she seemed doomed to wander in forever. But, for that matter, all paths of thought were alike to her, for, sooner or later, all ultimately led to him; and this she was alreadyaware of as a disturbing phenomenon to consider and account for and toprovide against--when she had leisure. 

"About that Amalgamated Electric Company, " she began without prelude;"would you mind answering a question or two, Howard?"

"You could not understand it, " he said, unpleasantly disturbed by herabruptness. 

"As you please. It is quite true I can make nothing of what thenewspapers are saying about it, except that Mr. Plank seems to be doinga number of things. "

"Injunctions, and other matters, " observed Quarrier. 

"Is anybody going to lose any money in it?"

"Who, for example?"

"Why--you, for example, " she said, laughing. 

"I don't expect to. "

"Then it is going to turn out all right? And Mr. Plank and Kemp Ferralland the major and--the other people interested, are not going to bealmost ruined by the Inter-County people?"

"Do you think a man like Plank is likely to be ruined, as you say, byAmalgamated Electric?"

"No. But Kemp and the major--"

"I think the major is out of danger, " replied Quarrier, looking at herwith the new, sullen narrowing of his eyes. 

"I am glad of that. Is Kemp--and the others?"

"Ferrall could stand it if matters go wrong. What others?"

"Why--the other owners and stockholders--"

"What others? Who do you mean?"

"Mr. Siward, for example, " she said in an even voice, leaning over topat her horse's neck with her gloved hand. 

"Mr. Siward must take the chances we all take, " observed Quarrier. 

"But, Howard, it would really mean ruin for him if matters went badly. Wouldn't it?"

"I am not familiar with the details of Mr. Siward's investments. "

"Nor am I, " she said slowly. 

He made no reply. 

Lack of emotion in the man beside her she always expected, and thereforethis new, sullen note in his voice perplexed her. Too, at times, inhis increasing reticence there seemed to be almost a hint of coldeffrontery. She felt it now--an indefinite suggestion of displeasure andthe power to retaliate; something evasive, watchful, patiently hostile;and, try as she might, she could not rid herself of the discomfort ofit, and the perplexity. 

She spoke about other things; he responded in his impassive manner. Presently she turned her horse and Quarrier wheeled his, facing a warm, fine rain, slanting thickly from the south. 

His silky, Vandyke beard was all wet with the moisture. She noticed it, and unbidden arose the vision of the gun-room at Shotover: Quarrier'ssoft beard wet with rain; the phantoms of people passing and repassing;Siward's straight figure swinging past, silhouetted against the glare oflight from the billiard-room. And here she made an effort to efface thevision, shutting her eyes as she rode there in the rain. But clearlyagainst the closed lids she saw the phantoms passing--spectres of deadhours, the wraith of an old happiness masked with youth and wearingSiward's features!

She must stop it! What was all this crowding in upon her as she rodeforward through the driving rain--all this resurgence of ghosts longlaid, long exorcised? Had the odour of the rain stolen her senses, awakening memory of childish solitude? Was it that which was druggingher with remembrance of Siward and the rattle of rain in the bay-windowabove the glass-roofed swimming-pool?

She opened her eyes wide, staring straight ahead into the thickeningrain; but her thoughts were loosened now, tuned to the increasing rhythmof her heart: and she saw him seated there, his head buried in his handsas she stole through the dim corridors to her first tryst; saw himlook up; saw herself beside him among the cushions; tasted again therose-petals that her lips had stripped from the blossoms; saw once morethe dawn of something in his steady eyes; felt his arm about her, hisbreath--

Her horse, suddenly spurred, bounded forward through the rain, and sherode breathless, with lips half parted, as if afraid, turning her headto look behind--as though she could outride the phantom clinging to herstirrup, masked like youth, wearing the shadowy eyes of Love!

In her drenched habit, standing before her dressing-room fire, sheheard her maid soliciting entrance, and paid no heed, the door beinglocked--as though a spectre could be bolted out of rooms and houses!Pacing the floor, restless, annoyed, and dismayed by turns, she flungher wet skirt and coat from her, piece by piece, and stood for awhile, like some slender youth in riding breeches and shirt, facing the fire, her fingers resting on her hips. 

In the dull light of a rainy noon-day the fire reddened the ceiling, throwing her giant shadow across the wall, where it towered, swaying, like a ghost above her. She caught sight of it over her shoulder, andwatched it absently; then gazed into the coals again, her chin droppingon her bared chest. 

At her maid's repeated knocking she turned, her boots and the singlespur sparkling in the firelight, and opened the door. 

An hour later, fresh from her bath, luxurious in loose and filmy lace, her small, white feet shod with silk, she lunched alone, cradled amongthe cushions of her couch. 

Twice she strolled through the rooms leisurely, summoned by her maidto the telephone; the first time to chat with Grace Ferrall, who, itappeared, was a victim of dissipation, being still abed, and out ofhumour with the rainy world; the second time to answer in the negativeMarion's suggestion that she motor to Lakewood with her for the week'send before they closed their house. 

Sauntering back again, she sipped her milk and vichy, tasted thestrawberries, tasted a big black grape, discarded both, and lay backamong the cushions, her naked arms clasped behind her head, and droppingone knee over the other, stared at the ceiling. 

Restlessness and caprice ruled her. She seldom smoked, but seeing on thetable a stray cigarette of the sort she kept for any intimates who mightdesire them, she stretched out her arm, scratched a match, and lightedit with a dainty grimace. 

Lying there, she tried to make rings; but the smoke only got into herdelicate uptilted nose and stung her tongue, and she very soon hadenough of her cigarette. 

Watching the slow fire consume it between her fingers she lay supine, following the spirals of smoke with inattentive eyes. By-and-by thelengthening ash fell, powdering her, and she threw the cigarette intothe grate, flicked the ashes from her bare, round arm, and, clasping herhands under her neck, turned over and closed her eyes. 

Sleep?--with every pulse awake and throbbing, every heart-beat sendingthe young blood rushing out through a body the incarnation of youthand life itself! There was a faint flush in the hollow of each upturnedpalm, where the fingers like relaxed petals curled inward; a deepeningtint in the parted lips; and under the lids, through the dusk of thelashes, a glimmer of blue. 

Lying there, veiled gaze conscious of the rose-light which glowed andwaned on the ceiling, she awaited the flowing tide on which so oftenshe had embarked and drifted out into that golden gloom serene, where, spirit becalmed, Time and Grief faded, and Desire died out upon theunshadowed sea of dreams. 

It is long waiting for the tide when the wakeful heart beats loudly, when the pulses quicken at a memory, and the thousand idle littlecellules of the brain, long sealed, long unused, and consigned to thearchives of What Is Ended, open one by one, releasing each its ownforgotten ghost. 

And how can the heart rest, the pulse sleep, startled to a flutter, asone by one the tiny cells unclose unbidden, and the dead remembrance, from its cerements freed, brightens to life?

Words he had used, the idle lifting of his head, the forgotteninflection of his voice, the sunlight on his hair and the sea-windstirring it; his figure as it turned to move away, the half-caught echoof his laugh, faint, faint!--so that her own ears, throbbing, strainedto listen; the countless unimportant moments she had thought unmarked, yet carefully stored up, without her knowledge, in the magic cellulesof her brain--all, all were coming back to life, more and more distinct, startlingly clear. 

And she lay like one afraid to move, lest her stirring waken a vaguesomething that still slept, something she dared not arouse, dared notmeet face to face, even in dreams. An interval--perhaps an hour, perhapsa second--passed, leaving her stranded so close to the shoals of slumberthat sleep passed only near enough to awaken her. 

The room was very still and dim, but the clamour in her brain unnervedher, and she sat up among the cushions, looking vacantly about her withthe blue, confused eyes, the direct, unseeing gaze of a child roused bya half-heard call. 

The call--low, imperative, sustained--continued softly persistentagainst her windows--the summons of the young year's rain. 

She went to the window and stood among the filmy curtains, looking outinto the mist; a springlike aroma penetrated the room. She opened thewindow a little way, and the sweet, virile odour enveloped her. 

A thousand longings rose within her; unnumbered wistful questionsstirred her, sighing, unanswered. 

Aware that her lips were moving unconsciously, she listened to the wordsforming automatic repetitions of phrases long forgotten:

"And those that look out of the windows be darkened, And the door shallbe shut in the streets. "

What was it she was repeating?

"Also they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fear shall be inthe way. "

What echo of the past was this?

"And desire shall fail: because--"

Intent, absorbed in retracing the forgotten sequence to its source, shestood, breathing the thickening incense of the rain; and every breathwas drawing her backward, nearer, nearer to the source of memory. Ah, the cliff chapel in the rain!--the words of a text mumbled deafly--theyearly service for those who died at sea! And she, seated there in thechapel dusk thinking of him who sat beside her, and how he feared aheavier, stealthier, more secret tide crawling, purring about his feet!

Enfin! Always, always at the end of everything, He! Always, reckoningstep by step, backward through time, He! the source, the inception, themeaning of all!

Unmoored at last, her spirit swaying, enveloped in memories of him, shegave herself to the flood--overwhelmed, as tide on tide rose, rushingover her--body, mind, and soul. 

She closed her eyes, leaning there heavily amid the cloudy curtains; shemoved back into the room and stood staring at space through wet lashes. The hard, dry pulse in her throat hurt her till her under lip, freedfrom the tyranny of her small teeth, slipped free, quivering rebellion. 

She had been walking her room to and fro, to and fro, for a long timebefore she realised that she had moved at all. 

And now, impulse held the helm; a blind, unreasoning desire for reliefhurried into action on the wings of impulse. 

There was a telephone at her elbow. No need to hunt through lists tofind a number she had known so long by heart--the three figures whichhad reiterated themselves so often, monotonously insistent, slylypersuasive; repeating themselves even in her dreams, so that sheawoke at times shivering with the vision in which she had listened totemptation, and had called to him across the wilderness of streets andmen. 

"Is he at home?"

"--!"

"Would you ask him to come to the telephone?"

"--!"

"Please say to him that it is a--a friend. … Thank you. "

In the throbbing quiet of her room she heard the fingers of the pryingrain busy at her windows; the ticking of the small French clock, verydull, very far away--or was it her heart? And, faintly ringing in thereceiver pressed against her ear, millions of tiny stirrings, soundslike instruments of an elfin orchestra tuning, echoes as of stepspassing through the halls of fairy-land, a faint confusion of human-liketones; then:

"Who is it?"

Her voice left her for an instant; her dry lips made no answer. 

"Who is it?" he repeated in his steady, pleasant voice. 

"It is I. "

There was absolute silence--so long that it frightened her. But beforeshe could speak again his voice was sounding in her ears, patient, unconvinced:

"I don't recognise your voice. Who am I speaking to?"

"Sylvia. "

There was no response, and she spoke again:

"I only wanted to say good morning. It is afternoon now; is it too lateto say good morning?"

"No. I'm badly rattled. Is it you, Sylvia?"

"Indeed it is. I am in my own room. I--I thought--"

"Yes, I am listening. "

"I don't know what I did think. Is it necessary for me to telephone youa minute account of the mental processes which ended by my calling youup--out of the vasty deep?"

The old ring in her voice hinting of the laughing undertone, the sametrailing sweetness of inflection--could he doubt his senses any longer?

"I know you, now, " he said. 

"I should think you might. I should very much like to know how youare--if you don't mind saying?"

"Thank you. I seem to be all right. Are you all right, Sylvia?"

"Shamefully and outrageously well. What a season, too! Everybody else isin rags--make-up rags! Isn't that a disagreeable remark? But I'll cometo the paint-brush too, of course. … We all do. Doesn't anybody ever seeyou any more?"

She heard him laugh to himself unpleasantly; then: "Does anybody wantto?"

"Everybody, of course! You know it. You always were spoiled to death. "

"Yes--to death. "

"Stephen!"

"Yes?"

"Are you becoming cynical?"

"I? Why should I?"

"You are! Stop it! Mercy on us! If that is what is going on in a certainhouse on lower Fifth Avenue, facing the corner of certain streets, it'stime somebody dropped in to--"

"To--what?"

"To the rescue! I've a mind to do it myself. They say you are not well, either. "

"Who says that?"

"Oh, the usual little ornithological cockatrice--or, rather, cantatrice. Don't ask me, because I won't tell you. I always tell you too much, anyway. Don't I?"

"Do you?"

"Of course I do. Everybody spoils you and so do I. "

"Yes--I am rather in that way, I suppose. "

"What way?"

"Oh--spoiled. "

"Stephen!"

"Yes?"

And in a lower voice: "Please don't say such things--will you?"

"No. "

"Especially to me. "

"Especially to you. No, I won't, Sylvia. "

And, after a hesitation, she continued sweetly:

"I wonder what you were doing, all alone in that old house of yours, when I called you up?"

"I? Let me see. Oh, I was superintending some packing. "

"Are you going off somewhere?"

"I think so. "

"Where?"

"I don't know, Sylvia. "

"Stephen, how absurd! You must know where you are going! If you meanthat you don't care to tell me--"

"I mean--that. "

"I decline to be snubbed. I'm shameless, and I wish to be informed. Please tell me. "

"I'd rather not tell you. "

"Very well. … Good-bye. … But don't ring off just yet, Stephen. … Do youthink that, sometime, you would care to see--any people--I mean when youbegin to go out again?"

"Who, for example?"

"Why, anybody?"

"No; I don't think I should care to. "

"I wish you would care to. It is not well to let go every tie, dropeverybody so completely. No man can do that to advantage. It would be somuch better for you to go about a bit--see and be seen, you know; justto meet a few people informally; go to see some pretty girl you knowwell enough to--to--"

"To what? Make love to?"

"That would he very good for you, " she said. 

"But not for the pretty girl. Besides, I'm rather too busy to go about, even if I were inclined to. "

"Are you really busy, Stephen?"

"Yes--waiting. That is the very hardest sort of occupation. And I'mobliged to be on hand every minute. "

"But you said that you were going out of town. "

"Did I? Well, I did not say it, exactly, but I am going to leave town. "

"For very long?" she asked. 

"Perhaps. I can't tell yet. "

"Stephen, before you go--if you are going for a very, very longwhile--perhaps you will--you might care to say good-bye?"

"Do you think it best?"

"No, " she said innocently; "but if you care--"

"Do you care to have me?"

"Yes, I do. "

There was a silence; and when his voice sounded again it had altered:

"I do not think you would care to see me, Sylvia. I--they say I am--Ihave--changed--since my--since a slight illness. I am not over it yet, not cured--not very well yet; and a little tired, you see--a littleshaken. I am leaving New York to--to try once more to be cured. I expectto be well--one way or another--"

"Stephen, where are you going? Answer me!"

"I can't answer you. "

"Is your illness serious?"

"A--it is--it requires some--some care. "

Her fingers tightening around the receiver whitened to the delicatenails under the pressure. Mute, struggling with the mounting impulse, voice and lip unsteady, she still spoke with restraint:

"You say you require care? And what care have you? Who is there withyou? Answer me!"

"Why--everybody; the servants. I have care enough. "

"Oh, the servants! Have you a physician to advise you?"

"Certainly--the best in the world. Sylvia, dea--, Sylvia, I didn't meanto give you an impression--"

"Stephen, I will have you truthful with me! I know perfectly well youare ill. I--if I could only--if there was something, some way--Listen: Iam--I am going to do something about it, and I don't care very much whatI do!"

"What sweet nonsense!" he laughed, but his voice was no steadier thanhers. 

"Will you drive with me?" she asked impulsively, "some afternoon--"

"Sylvia, dear, you don't really want me to do it. Wait, listen: I--I'vegot to tell you that--that I'm not fit for it. I've got to be honestwith you; I am not fit, not in physical condition to go out just yet. I've really been ill--for weeks. Plank has been very nice to me. Iwant to get well; I mean to try very hard. But the man youknew--is--changed. "

"Changed?"

"Not in that way!" he said in a slow voice. 

"H-how, then?" she stammered, all a-thrill. 

"Nerve gone--almost. Going to get it back again, of course. Feel amillion times better already for talking with you. "

"Do--does it really help?"

"It's the only panacea for me, " he said too quickly to consider hiswords. 

"The only one?" she faltered. "Do you mean to say that yourtrouble--illness--has anything to do with--"

"No, no! I only--"

"Has it, Stephen?"

"No!"

"Because, if I thought--"

"Sylvia, I'm not that sort! You mustn't talk to me that way. There'snothing to be sorry for about me. Any man may lose his nerve, and, ifhe is a man, go after it and get it back again. Every man has a fightingchance. You said it yourself once--that a man mustn't ask for a fightingchance; he must take it. And I'm going to take it and win out one way oranother. "

"What do you mean by 'another, ' Stephen?"

"I--Nothing. It's a phrase. "

"What do you mean? Answer me!"

"It's a phrase, " he said again; "no meaning, you know. "

"Stephen, Mr. Plank says that you are lame. "

"What did he say that for?" demanded Siward wrathfully. 

"I asked him. Kemp saw you on crutches at your window. So I asked Mr. Plank, and he said you had discarded your crutches too soon and hadfallen and lamed yourself again. Are you able to walk yet?"

"Yes, of course. "

"Outdoors?"

"A--no, not just yet. "

"In other words, you are practically bedridden. "

"No, no! I can get about the room very well. "

"You couldn't go down-stairs--for an hour's drive, could you?"

"Can't manage that for awhile, " he said hastily. 

"Oh, the vanity of you, Stephen Siward! the vanity! Ashamed to let mesee you when you are not your complete and magnificently attractiveself! Silly, I shall see you! I shall drive down on the first sunnymorning and sit outside in my victoria until you can't stand thetemptation another instant. I'm going to do it. You cannot stop me;nobody can stop me. I desire to do it, and that is sufficient, I think, for everybody concerned. If the sun is out to-morrow, I shall be outtoo! … I am so tired of not seeing you! Let central listen! I don'tcare. I don't care what I am saying. I've endured it so long--I--There'sno use! I am too tired of it, and I want to see you. … Can't we see eachother without--without--thinking about things that are settled once andfor all?"

"I can't, " he said. 

"Then you'd better learn to! Because, if you think I'm going throughlife without seeing you frequently you are simple! I've stood it toolong at a time. I won't go through this sort of thing again! You'dbetter be amiable; you'd better be civil to me, or--or--nobody on earthcan tell what will happen! The idea of you telling me you had lost yournerve! You've got to get it back--and help me find mine! Yes, it's gone, gone, gone! I lost it in the rain, somewhere, to-day. … Does the scentof the rain come in at your window? … Do you remember--There! I can'tsay it. … Good-bye. Good-bye. You must get well and I must, too. Good-bye. "

The fruit of her imprudence was happiness--an excited happiness, whichlasted for a day. The rain lasted, too, for another day, then turned tosnow, choking the city with such a fall as had not been seen since thegreat blizzard--blocking avenues, barricading cross-streets, buryingsquares and circles and parks, and still falling, drifting, whirlinglike wind-whipped smoke from cornice and roof-top. The electric carshalted; even the great snow-ploughs roared impotent amid the snowywastes; waggons floundered into cross-streets and stuck until dug out;and everywhere, in the thickening obscurity, battalions of emergencymen with pick and shovel struggled with the drifts in Fifth Avenue andBroadway. Then the storm ended at daybreak. 

All day long squadrons of white gulls wheeled and sailed in the skyabove the snowy expanse of park where the great, rectangular sheets ofwater glimmered black in their white setting. As she sat at her desk shecould see them drifting into and out of the gray squares of sky framedby her window-panes. Two days ago she had seen them stemming the skyblasts, heralding the coming of unfelt tempests, flapping steadilythrough the fragrant rain. Now, the false phantom which had mimickedspring turned on the world the glassy glare of winter, stupefying hope, stunning desire, clogging the life essence in all young, living things. The first vague summons, the restlessness of awakening aspiration, thefirst delicate, indrawn breath, were stilled to deathly immobility. 

Sylvia, at her escritoire, chin cradled in her hollowed hand, sat listlessly inspecting her mail--the usual pile of bills andadvertisements, social demands and interested appeals, with here andthere a frivolous note from some intimate to punctuate the endlessimportunities. 

Her housekeeper had come and gone; the Belwether establishment could jogthrough another day. Various specialists, who cared for the health andbeauty of her body, had entered and made their unctuous exits. The majorhad gone to Tuxedo for the week's end; her maid had bronchitis; twohorses required the veterinary, and the kitchen range a new water-back. 

Cards had come for the Caithness function; cards for young AustinWadsworth's wedding to a Charleston girl of rumoured beauty; Caragniniwas to sing for Mrs. Vendenning; a live llama, two-legged, had consentedto undermine Christianity for Mrs. Pyne-Johnson and her guests. 

"Would Sylvia be ready for the inspection of imported head-gears toharmonise with the gowns being built by Constantine?

"When--

"Would she receive the courteous agent of 'The Reigning Beauties ofManhattan, ' to arrange for her portrait and biographical sketch?

"When--

"Would she realise that Jefferson B. Doty could turn earth into heavenfor any young chatelaine by affixing to the laundry his anti-microbedrying machine emitting sixty sterilised hot-air blasts in thirtyseconds, at a cost of one-tenth of one mill per blast?

"And when--"

But she turned her head, looking wearily across the room at the brightlyburning fire beside which Mrs. Ferrall sat, nibbling mint-paste, veryserious over one of those books that "everybody was reading. "

"How far have you read?" inquired Sylvia without interest, turning overa new letter to cut with her paper-knife. 

Grace ruffled the uncut pages of her book without looking up, thenyawned shamelessly: "She's decided to try living with him for awhile, and if they find life agreeable she'll marry him. … Pleasant situation, isn't it? Nice book, very; and they say that somebody is making a playof it. I"--She yawned again, showing her small, brilliant teeth--"Iwonder what sort of people write these immoral romances!"

"Probably immoral people, " said Sylvia indifferently. "Drop it on thecoals, Grace. "

But Mrs. Ferrall reopened the book where she had laid her finger to markthe place. "Do you think so?" she asked. 

"Think what?"

"That rotten books and plays come from morally rotten people?"

"I don't think about it at all, " observed Sylvia, opening another letterimpatiently. 

"You're probably not very literary, " said Grace mischievously. 

"Not in that way, I suppose. "

Mrs. Ferrall took another bonbon: "Did you see 'Mrs. Lane'sExperiment'?"

"I did, " said Sylvia, looking up, the pink creeping into her cheeks. 

"You thought it very strong, I suppose?" asked Grace innocently. 

"I thought it incredible. "

"But, dear, it was sheer realism! Why blink at truth? And when an authorhas the courage to tell facts why not have the courage to applaud?"

"If that is truth, it doesn't concern me, " said Sylvia. "Grace, why willyou pose, even if you are married? for you have a clean mind, and youknow it!"

"I know it, " sighed Mrs. Ferrall, closing her book again, but keepingthe place with her finger; "and that's why I'm so curious about allthese depraved people. I can't understand why writers have not found outthat we women are instinctively innocent, even after we are obliged tomake our morality a profession and our innocence an art. They all hangtheir romances to motives that no woman recognises as feminine; theyascribe to us instincts which we do not possess, passions of which weare ignorant--a ridiculous moral turpitude in the overmastering presenceof love. Pooh! If they only knew what a small part love plays with us, after all!"

Sylvia said slowly: "It sometimes plays a small part, after all. "

"Always, " insisted Grace with emphasis. "No carefully watched girl knowswhat it is, whatever her suspicions may be. When she marries, ifshe doesn't marry from family pressure or from her own motives ofcommon-sense ambition, she marries because she likes the man, notbecause she loves him. "

Sylvia was silent. 

"Because, even if she wanted to love him, " continued Grace, "she wouldnot know how. It's the ingrained innocence which men encounter thatthey don't allow for or understand in us. Even after we are married, andwhether or not we learn to love our husbands, it remains part of usas an educated instinct; and it takes all the scientific, selfishruthlessness of a man to break it down. That's why I say so few amongus ever comprehend the motives attributed to us in romance or in thatparody of it called realism. Love is rarer with us than men could everbelieve--and I'm glad of it, " she said maliciously, with a final snap ofher pretty teeth. 

"It was on that theory you advised me, I think, " said Sylvia, lookinginto the fire. 

"Advised you, child?"

"Yes--about accepting Howard. "

"Certainly. Is it not a sound theory? Doesn't it stand inspection?Doesn't it wear?"

"It--wears, " said Sylvia indifferently. Grace looked up from her openbook. "Is anything amiss?" she asked. 

"I don't know. "

"Of course you know, child. What is wrong? Has Howard made himselfinsufferable? He's a master at it. Has he?"

"No; I don't remember that he has. … I'm tired, physically. I'm tired ofthe winter. "

"Go to Florida for Lent. "

"Horror! It's as stupid as a hothouse. It isn't that, either, dear--only, when it was raining so deliciously the other day I was sillyenough to think I scented the spring in the park. I was glad of a changeyou know--any excuse to stop this eternal carnival I live in. "

"What is the matter?" demanded Mrs. Ferrall, withdrawing her finger fromthe pages and plumping the closed book down on her knee. "You'd bettertell me, Sylvia; you might just as well tell me now as later when mypersistence has vexed us both. Now, what has happened?"

"I have been--imprudent, " said Sylvia, in a low voice. 

"You mean, "--Mrs. Ferrall looked at her keenly--"that he has been here?"

"No. I telephoned him; and I asked him to drive with me. "

"Oh, Sylvia, what nonsense! Why on earth do you stir yourself up by thatsort of silliness at this late date? What use is it? Can't you let himalone?"

"I--No, I can't, it seems. Grace, I was--I felt so--so strangely aboutit all. "

"About what, little idiot?"

"About leaving him--alone. "

"Are you Stephen Siward's keeper?" demanded Mrs. Ferrall, exasperated. 

"I felt as though I were, for awhile. He is ill. "

"With an illness that, thank God, you are not going to nurse throughlife. Don't look at me that way, dear. I'm obliged to speak harshly;I'm obliged to harden my heart to such a monstrous idea. You know I loveyou; you know I care deeply for that poor boy--but do you think I couldbe loyal to either of you and not say what I do say? He is doomed, assure as you sit there! He has fallen, and no one can help him. Linkafter link he has broken with his own world; his master-vice holds himfaster, closer, more absolutely, than hell ever held a lost soul!"

"Grace, I cannot endure--"

"You must! Are you trying to drug your silly self with romance so youwon't recognise truth when you see it? Are you drifting back into oldimpulses, unreasoning whims of caprice? Have you forgotten what I knowof you, and what you know of yourself? Is the taint of your transmittedinheritance beginning to show in you--the one woman of your race who isfashioned to withstand it and stamp it out?"

"I am mistress of my emotions, " said Sylvia, flushing. 

"Then suppress them, " retorted Grace Ferrall hotly, "before they beginto bully you. There was no earthly reason for you to talk to Stephen. No disinterested impulse moved you. It was a sheer perverse, sentimentalrestlessness--the delicate, meddlesome deviltry of your race. And ifthat poison is in you, it's well for you to know it. "

"It is in me, " said Sylvia, staring at the fire. 

"Then you know what to do for it. "

"No, I don't. "

"Well, I do, " said Grace decisively; "and the sooner you marry Howardand intrench yourself behind your pride, the better off you'll be. That's where, fortunately enough, you differ from your ancestors; youare unable to understand marital treachery. Otherwise you'd make itlively for us all. "

"It is true, " said Sylvia deliberately, "that I could not be treacherousto anybody. But I am wondering; I am asking myself just what constitutestreachery to myself. "

"Sentimentalising over Stephen might fill the bill, " observed Gracetartly. 

"But it doesn't seem to, " mused Sylvia, her blue gaze on the coals. "That is what I do not understand. I have no conscience concerning whatI feel for him. "

"What do you feel?"

"I was in love with him. You knew it. "

"You liked him, " insisted Grace patiently. 

"No--loved him. I know. Dear, your theories are sound in a general way, but what is a girl going to do about it when she loves a man? You saya young girl can't love--doesn't know how. But I do love, though itis true that I don't know how to love very wisely. What is the use indenying it? This winter has been a deafening, stupefying fever to me. The sheer noise of it stunned me until I forgot how I did feel aboutanything. Then--I don't know--somehow, in the rain out there, I beganto wake … Dear, the old instincts, the old desires, the old truths, cameback out of chaos; that full feeling here"--she laid her fingers onher throat--"the sense of expectancy, the restless hope growing outof torpid acquiescence--all returned; and, dearest, with them all camememories of him. What am I to do? Could you tell me?"

For a long while Mrs. Ferrall sat in troubled silence, her hand shadingher eyes. Sylvia, leaning over her desk, idling with pen and pencil, looked around from time to time, as though awaiting the opinion ofsome specialist who, in full possession of the facts, now had becomeresponsible for the patient. 

"If you marry him, " said Mrs. Ferrall quietly, "your life will become ahell. "

"Yes. But would it make life any easier for him?" asked Sylvia. 

"How--to know that you had been dragged down?"

"No. I mean could I do anything for him?"

"No woman ever did. That is a sentimental falsehood of the emotional. No woman ever did help a man in that way. Sylvia, if love were the onlyquestion, and if you do truly love him, I--well, I suppose I'd be foolenough to advise you to be a fool. Even then you'd be sorry. You knowwhat your future may be; you know what you are fitted for. What canyou do without Howard? In this town your rôle would be a very minor onewithout Howard's money, and you know it. "

"Yes, I know it. "

"And your sacrifice could not help that doomed boy. "

Sylvia nodded assent. 

"Then, is there any choice? Is there any question of what to do?"

Sylvia looked out into the winter sky, through the tops of snowy trees;everywhere the stark, deathly rigidity of winter. Under it, frozen, laythe rain that had scented the air. Under her ambition lay the ghosts ofyesterday. 

"No, " she said, "there is no question of choice. I know what must be. "

Grace, seated in the firelight, looked up as Sylvia rose from her deskand came across the room; and when she sank down on the rug at her feet, resting her cheek against the elder woman's knees, nothing was saidfor a long time--a time of length sufficient to commit a memory to itsgrave, lay it away decently and in quiet befitting. 

Sore doubt assailed Grace Ferrall, guiltily aware that once againshe had meddled; and in the calm tenor of her own placid, maritalsatisfaction, looking backward along the pleasant path she had troddenwith its little monuments to love at decent intervals amid the agreeablemonotony of content, her heart and conscience misgave her lest shehad counselled this young girl wrongly, committing her to the aridlovelessness which she herself had never known. 

Leaning there, her fingers lingering in light caress on Sylvia's brighthair, for every doubt she brought up argument, to every sentimentalwavering within her heart she opposed the chilling reason of commonsense. Destruction to happiness lay in Sylvia's yielding to hercaprice for Siward. There was other happiness in the world besides thenon-essential one of love. That must be Sylvia's portion. And afterall--and after all, love was a matter of degree; and it was well forSylvia that she had the malady so lightly--well for her that it hadadvanced so little, lest she suspect what its crowning miracles might beand fall sick of a passion for what she had forever lost. 

For a week or more the snow continued; colder, gloomier weather set in, and the impending menace of Ash Wednesday redoubled the social pace, culminating in the Westervelt ball on the eve of the forty days. And Sylvia had not yet seen Siward or spoken to him again across thewilderness of streets and men. 

In the first relaxation of Lent she had instinctively welcomed anopportunity for spiritual consolation and a chance to take her spiritualbearings; not because of bodily fatigue--for in the splendour of heryouthful vigour she did not know what that meant. 

Saint Berold was a pretty good saint, and his church was patronised byMajor Belwether's household. The major liked two things high: his gameand his church. Sylvia cared for neither, but had become habituated toboth the odours of sanctity and of pheasants; so to Saint Berold's shewent in cure of her soul. Besides, she was fond of Father Curtis, who, if he were every inch a priest, was also every foot of his six feet aman--simple, good, and brave. 

However, she found little opportunity, save at her brief confession, fora word with Father Curtis. His days were full days to the overbrimming, and a fashionable pack was ever at his heels, fawning and shoving andimportuning. It was fashionable to adore Father Curtis, and for thatreason she shrank from venturing any demand upon his time, and nobodyelse at Saint Berold's appealed to her. Besides, the music was hard, commonplace, even blatant at times, and, having a delicate ear, sheshrank from this also. It is probable then that what comfort she foundunder Saint Berold's big, brand-new Episcopal cross she extracted fromobserving the rites, usages, and laws of a creed that had been acceptedfor her by that Christian gentleman, Major Belwether. Also, she may havefound some solace from the still intervals devoted to an inventory ofher sins and the wistful searching of a heart too young for sadness. Ifshe did it was her own affair, not Grace Ferrall's, who went with herto Saint Berold's determined always to confess to too much gambling, butletting it go from day to day so that the penance could not interferewith the next séance. 

Agatha Caithness was there a great deal, looking like a saint in hersubdued plumage; and very devout, dodging nothing--neither confessionnor Quarrier's occasionally lifted eyes, though their gaze, meeting, seemed lost in dreamy devotion or drowned in the contemplation of thespiritual and remote. 

Plank came docilely from his Dutch Reformed church to sit besideLeila. As for Mortimer, once a vestryman, he never came at all--made nopretence or profession of what he elegantly expressed as "caring a damn"for anything "in the church line, " though, he added, there were "somegood lookers to be found in a few synagogues. " His misconception of theattractions of the church amused the new set of men among whom he hadrecently drifted, to the unfeigned disgust of gentlemen like MajorBelwether; "club" men, in the commoner and more sinister interpretationof the word; unfit men, who had managed to slip into good clubs;men, once fit, who had deteriorated to the verge of ostracism; heavy, over-fed, idle, insolent men in questionable financial situation, hardcard players, hard drinkers, hard riders, negative in their virtues, merciless in their vices, and whose cynical misconduct formed thesources of the stock of stories told where such men foregather. 

Mortimer had already furnished his world with sufficient material forjests of that flavour; now they were telling a new one: how, as Leilawas standing before Tiffany's looking for her carriage, a masheraccosted her, and, at her haughty stare, said sneeringly: "Oh, you can'tplay that game on me; I've seen you with Leroy Mortimer!"

The story was repeated frequently enough. Leila heard it with a shrug;but such things mattered to her now, and she cried over it at night, burning that Plank should hear her name used jestingly to emphasise thedepth of her husband's degradation. 

Mortimer stayed out at night very frequently now. Also, he appearedto make his money go farther, or was luckier at his "card killings, "because he seldom attempted to bully Leila, being apparently contentwith his allowance. 

Once or twice Plank saw him with an unusually attractive girl belongingto a world very far removed from Leila's. Somebody said she wasan actress when she did anything at all--one Lydia Vyse, somewhatcelebrated for an audacity not too delicate. But Plank was no moreinterested than any man who can't afford to endanger his prospects by acloser acquaintance with that sort of pretty woman. 

Meanwhile Mortimer kept away from home, wife, and church, and Plankfrequented them, so the two men did not meet very often; and the lessthey met the less they found to say to one another. 

Now that the forty days had really begun, Major Belwether becamerestless for the flesh-pots of the south, although Lenten duties satlightly enough upon the house of Belwether. These decent observanceswere limited to a lax acknowledgment of fast days, church in moderation, and active participation in the succession of informal affairscalculated to sustain life in those intellectually atrophied and wealthypeople entirely dependent upon others for their amusements. 

To these people no fear of punishment hereafter can equal the terrorof being left to their own devices; and so, though the opera was over, theatres unfashionable, formal functions suspended and dances ended, thepace still continued at a discreet and decorous trot; and those who hadnot fled to California or Palm Beach, remained to pray and play Bridgewith an unction most edifying. 

And all this while Sylvia had not seen Siward. 

Sylvia was changing. The characteristic amiability, the sensitivereserve, the sweet composure which the world had always counted on inher, had become exceptions and no longer the rules which governed thecaprice and impulse always latent. An indifference so pointed as toverge on insolence amazed her intimates at times; a sudden, flushedimpatience startled the habitués of her shrine. There was a new, unseeing hardness in her eyes; in her attitude the faintest hintof cynicism. She acquired a habit of doing selfish things coldly, indifferent to the canons of the art; and true selfishness, the mostdelicate of all the arts, requires an expert. 

That which had most charmed--her unfeigned pleasure in pleasure, herunfailing consideration for all, her gentleness with ignorance, hergenerous unconsciousness of self--all these still remained, it is true, though no longer characteristic, no longer to be counted on. 

For the first time a slight sense of fear tinctured the generaladmiration. 

In public her indifference and growing impatience with Quarrier had notreached the verge of bad taste, but in private she was scarcely at painsto conceal her weariness and inattention, showing him less and lessof the formal consideration which had been their only medium ofcoexistence. That he noticed it was evident even to her who carelesslyignored the consequences of her own attitude. 

Once, speaking of the alterations in progress at The Sedges, his placenear Oyster Bay, he casually asked her opinion, and she as casuallyobserved that if he had an opinion about anything he wouldn't know whatto do with it. 

Once, too, she had remarked in Quarrier's hearing to Ferrall, who wascomplaining about the loss of his hair, that a hairless head was avisitation from Heaven, but a beard was a man's own fault. 

Once they came very close to a definite rupture, close enough to scareher after all the heat had gone out of her and the matter was ended. Quarrier had lingered late after cards, and something was said about theimpending kennel show and about Marion Page judging the English setters. 

"Agatha tells me that you are going with Marion, " continued Quarrier. "As long as Marion has chosen to make herself conspicuous there isnothing to be said. But do you think it very good taste for you tofigure publicly on the sawdust with an eccentric girl like Marion?"

"I see nothing conspicuous about a girl's judging a few dogs, " saidSylvia, merely from an irritable desire to contradict. 

"It's bad taste and bad form, " remarked Quarrier coldly; "and Agathathought it a mistake for you to go there with her. "

"Agatha's opinions do not concern me. "

"Perhaps mine may have some weight. "

"Not the slightest. "

He said patiently: "This is a public show; do you understand? Not one ofthose private bench exhibitions. "

"I understand. Really, Howard, you are insufferable at times. "

"Do you feel that way?"

"Yes, I do. I am sorry to be rude, but I do feel that way!" Flushed, impatient, she looked him squarely between his narrowing, woman's eyes:"I do not care for you very much, Howard, and you know it. I am marryingyou with a perfectly sordid motive, and you know that, too. Thereforeit is more decent--if there is any decency left in either of us--tointerfere with one another as little as possible, unless you desire adefinite rupture. Do you?"

"I? A--a rupture?"

"Yes, " she said hotly; "do you?"

"Do you, Sylvia?"

"No; I'm too cowardly, too selfish, too treacherous to myself. No, Idon't. "

"Nor do I, " he said, lifting his furtive eyes. 

"Very well. You are more contemptible than I am, that is all. "

Her voice had grown unsteady; an unreasoning rush of anger had set herwhole body a-thrill, and the white heat of it was driving her to provokehim, as though that might cleanse her of the ignominy of the bargain--asthough a bargain did not require two of the same mind to make it. 

"What do you want of me?" she said, still stinging under the angry wavesof self-contempt. "What are you marrying me for? Because, divided, we are likely to cut small figures in our tin-trumpet world? Because, united, we can dominate the brainless? Is there any other reason?"

Showing his teeth in that twitching snicker that contracted the musclesof his upper lip: "Children!" he said, looking at her. 

She turned scarlet to her hair; the deliberate grossness stunned her. Confused, she stood confronting him, dumb under a retort the coarsenessof which she had never dreamed him capable. 

"I mean what I say, " he repeated calmly. "A man cares for two things:his fortune, and the heirs to it. If you didn't know that you havelearned it now. You hurt me deliberately. I told you a plain truth verybluntly. It is for you to consider the situation. "

But she could not speak; anger, humiliation, shame, held hertongue-tied. The instinctive revolt at the vague horror--the monstrous, meaningless threat--nothing could force words from her to repudiate, todeny what he had dared to utter. 

Except as the effrontery of brutality, except as a formless menace bornof his anger, the reason he flung at her for his marrying her conveyednothing to her in its grotesque impossibility. Only the intentionalcoarseness of it was to be endured--if she chose to endure it; for therest was empty of concrete meaning to her. 

Lent was half over before she saw him again. Neither he nor she hadtaken any steps to complete the rupture; and at the Mi-carême dance, given by the Siowa Hunt, Quarrier, who was M. F. H. , took up the threadof their suspended intercourse as methodically and calmly as thoughit had never quivered to the breaking point. He led the cotillon withagreeable precision and impersonal accuracy, favouring her at intervals;and though she wasted no favours on him, she endured his, which wassufficient evidence that matters were still in statu quo. 

She returned to town next morning with Grace Ferrall, irritable, sulky, furious with herself at the cowardly relief she felt. For, spite of herburning anger against Quarrier, the suspense at times had been wearing;and she would not make the first move--had not decided even to accepthis move if it came--at least, had not admitted to herself that shewould accept it. It had come and the tension was over, and now, enteringMrs. Ferrall's brougham which met them at Thirty-fourth Street Ferry, she was furious with herself for her unfeigned feeling of relief. 

All hot with self-contempt she lay back in the comfortably upholsteredcorner of the brougham, staring straight before her, sullen red mouthunresponsive to the occasional inconsequent questions of Grace Ferrall. 

"After awhile, " observed Grace, "people will begin to talk about thediscontented beauty of your face. "

Sylvia's eyebrows bent still farther inward. 

"A fretful face, but rather pretty, " commented Grace maliciously. "It won't do, dear. Your rôle is dignified comedy. O dear! O my!" Shestifled a yawn behind her faultlessly gloved hand. "I'm feeling theselate hours in my aged bones. It wasn't much of a dance, was it? Or amI disillusioned? Certainly that Edgeworth boy fell in love with me--thedepraved creature--trying his primitive wiles there in the conservatory!Little beast! There are no nice boys any more; they're all too young ortoo sophisticated. … Howard does lead well, I admit that. … You're onthe box seat together again I see. Pooh! I wasn't a bit alarmed. "

"I was, " said Sylvia, curling her lip in biting self-contempt. 

"Well, that's a wholesome confession, anyway. O dear, how I do yawn! andLent only half over. … Sylvia, what are you staring at? Oh, I--see. "

They had driven south to Washington Square, where Mrs. Ferrall haddesired to leave a note, and were now returning. Sylvia had leanedforward to look up at Siward's house, but with Mrs. Ferrall's first wordshe sank back, curiously expressionless and white; for she had seen awoman entering the front door and had recognised her as Marion Page. 

"Well, of all indiscretions!" breathed Grace, looking helplessly atSylvia. "Oh, no, that sort of thing is sheer effrontery, you know! It'srotten bad taste; it's no worse, of course--but it's bad taste. I don'tcare what privileges we concede to Marion, we're not going to concedethis--unless she puts on trousers for good. It's all very well for herto talk her plain kennel talk, and call spades by their technicalnames, and smoke all over people's houses, and walk all over people'sprejudices; but there's no sense in her hunting for trouble; and she'llget it, sure as scandal is scandal!"

And still Sylvia remained pale and silent, eyes downcast, shrinkingclose into her upholstered corner, as though some reflex instinct ofself-concealment was still automatically dominating her. 

"She ought to be spanked!" said Grace viciously. "If she were mydaughter I'd do it, too!"

Sylvia did not stir. 

"Little idiot! Going into a man's house in the face of all Fifth Avenueand the teeth of decency!"

"She has courage, " said Sylvia, still very white. 

"Courage! Do you mean fool-hardiness?"

"No, courage--the courage I lacked. I knew he was too ill to leave hisroom and I lacked the courage to go and see him. "

"You mean, alone?"

"Certainly, alone. "

"You dare tell me you ever contemplated--"

"Oh, yes. I think I should have done it yet, but--but Marion--"

Suddenly she bent forward, resting her face in her hands; and betweenthe fingers a bright drop ran, glimmered, and fell. 

"O Lord!" breathed Mrs. Ferrall, and sank back, nerveless, into her owncorner of the rocking brougham. 

CHAPTER XII THE ASKING PRICE

Siward, at his desk, over which the May sunshine streamed, his crutcheslaid against his chair, sat poring over the piles of papers left thereby Beverly Plank some days before with a curt recommendation that hemaster their contents. 

Some of the papers were typewritten, some appeared to be engravedcertificates of stock, a few were in Plank's heavy, squat handwriting. There were several packages tied in pink tape, evidently legal papers ofsome sort; and also a pile of scrap-books containing newspaper clippingsto which Siward referred occasionally, or read them at length, restinghis thin, fatigued face between two bony hands. 

The curious persistence of youth in his features seemed unaccountable inview of the heavy marks imprinted there; but they were marks, notlines; bluish hollows under eyes still young, marred contours of thecheek-bone; a hardness about the hollow temples above which his short, bright hair clustered with all its soft, youthful allure undimmed; andin every movement, every turn of his head, there still remained muchof that indefinable attractiveness which had always characterised hisrace--much of the unconscious charm usually known as breeding. 

In men of Mortimer's fibre, dissipation produced coarsersymptoms--distended veins, and sagging flesh--where in Siward it seemedto bruise and harden, driving the colour of blood out of him and leavingthe pallor of marble, and the bluish shadows of it staining the hollows. Only the eyes had begun to change radically; something in them had beenquenched. 

That he could never hope to become immune he had learned at last whenhe had returned, physically wholesome, from his long course of trainingunder the famous Irish specialist on the Hudson. He had expected to beimmune, spite of the blunt and forcible language of Mulqueen when heturned him out into the world again:

"Ye'll be afther notin', " said Mr. Mulqueen, "that a poonch in theplexis putts a man out; but it don't kill him. That's you! Whin a manmixes it up wid the booze, l'ave him come here an' I'll tache him athrick. But it's not murther I tache; it's the hook on the jaw thatshtops, an' the poonch in the plexis that putts the booze-divil on thebum! L'ave him take the count; he'll niver rise to the chune o' the bellav ye l'ave him lie. But he ain't dead, Misther Sayward; mark that, meson! An' don't ye be afther sayin', 'Th' inimy is down an' out fur good!Pore lad! Sure, I'll shake hands over a dhrink wid him, for he can do meno hurrt anny more!' No, sorr! L'ave him lie, an' l'ave the years av verlife count him out; fur the day you die, he dies, an' not wan shake o'the mixer sooner! G'wan, now, fur the rub-down. Ye've faught yer lashtround, if ye ain't a fool!"

He had been a fool. He had imagined that he could control himself, andpractise the moderation that other men practised when they chose. Thepuerile restraint annoyed him; his implied inability to master himselfhumiliated him, the more so because, secretly, he was horribly afraid inthe remote depths of his heart. 

Exactly how it happened he did not remember, except that he had gonedown town on business and had lunched with several men. There wasclaret. Later he remembered another café, farther up town, and another, more brilliantly lighted. After that there were vague hours--the fiercefever of debauch wrapping night and day in flame through which he moved, unseeing, unheeding, deafened, drenched soul and body in the livingfire; or dreaming, feeling the subsiding fury of desire pulse and ebband flow, rocking him to unconsciousness. 

His father's old servants had found him again, this time in the area;and this time the same ankle, not yet strong, had been broken. 

Through the waning winter days, as he lay brooding in bitterness, realising that it was all to do over again, Plank's shy visits becamegradually part of the routine. But it was many days before Siwardperceived in the big, lumbering, pink-fisted man anything to attracthim beyond the faintly amused curiosity of one man for another who is inprocess of establishing himself as the first of a race. 

As for reciprocation in other forms except the most superficial, or ofpermitting a personal note to sound ever so discreetly, Siwardtolerated no such idea. Even the tentative advances of Plank hintingon willingness, and perhaps ability, to help Siward in the Amalgamatedtangle were pleasantly ignored. Unpaid services rendered by men likePlank were impossible; any obligation to Plank was utterly out of thequestion. Meanwhile they began to like one another--at least Siwardoften found himself looking forward with pleasure to a visit fromPlank. There had never been any question of the latter's attitude towardSiward. 

Plank began to frequent the house, but never informally. It is doubtfulwhether he could have practised informality in that house even atSiward's invitation. Something of the attitude of a college lowerclassman for a man in a class above seemed to typify their relations;and that feeling is never entirely eradicated between men, no matter howclose their relationship in after-life. 

One very bad night Plank came to the house and was admitted byGumble. Wands, the second man, stood behind the aged butler; both wereapparently frightened. 

That something was amiss appeared plainly enough; and Plank, instinctively producing a card, dropped it on a table and turned to go. It may have been that the old butler recognised the innate delicacyof the motive, or it may have been a sudden confidence born of thenecessities of the case, for he asked Plank to see his young master. 

And Plank, looking him in the eyes, considered, until his courage beganto fail. Then he went up-stairs. 

It was a bad night outside, and it was a bad night for Siward. Themaster-vice had him by the throat. He sat there, clutching the arms ofhis chair, his broken leg, in its plaster casing, extended in front ofhim; and when he saw Plank enter he glared at him. 

Hour after hour the two men sat there, the one white with rage, buthelpless; the other, stolid, inert, deaf to demands for intercessionwith the arch-vice, dumb under pleadings for a compromise. He refused tointerfere with the butler, and Siward insulted him. He refused to go andfind the decanters himself, and Siward deliberately cursed him. 

Outside the storm raged all night. Inside that house Plank faced a moreawful tempest. There was a sedative on the mantel and he offered it toSiward, who struck it from his hand. 

Once, toward morning, Siward feigned sleep, and Plank, heavy head on hisbreast, feigned it, too. Then Siward bent over stealthily and opened adrawer in his desk; and Plank was on his feet like a flash, jerking themorphine from Siward's fingers. 

The doctor arrived at daylight, responding to Plank's summons bytelephone, and Plank went away with the morphine and Siward's revolverbulging in the side-pockets of his dinner coat. 

He did not come again for a week. A short note from Siward started himtoward lower Fifth Avenue. 

There was little said when he came into the room:

"Hello, Plank! Glad to see you. "

"Hello! Are you all right?"

"All right. … Much obliged for pulling me through. Wish you'd pull methrough this Amalgamated Electric knot-hole, too--some day!"

"Do--do you mean it?" ventured Plank, turning red with delight. 

"Mean it? Indeed I do--if you do. Sit here; ring for whatever youwant--or perhaps you'd better go down to the sideboard. I'm not to betrusted with the odour in the room just yet. "

"I don't care for anything, " said Plank. 

"Whenever you please, then. You know the house, and you don't mind mybeing unceremonious, do you?"

"No, " said Plank. 

"Good!" rejoined Siward, laughing. "I expect the same friendly lack ofceremony from you. "

But that, for Plank, was impossible. All he could do was to care themore for Siward without crossing the border line so suddenly made free;all he could do was to sit there rolling and unrolling his gloves intowads with his clumsy, highly coloured hands, and gaze consciously ateverything in the room except Siward. 

On that day, at Plank's shy suggestion, they talked over Siward'sbusiness affairs for the first time. After that day, and for many days, the subject became the key-note to their intercourse; and Siward atlast understood that this man desired to do him a service absolutely andpurely from a disinterested liking for him, and as an expression of thatliking. Also he was unexpectedly made aware of Plank's serenely unerringbusiness sagacity. 

That surface cynicism which all must learn, sooner or later, or remainthe victims of naive credulity, was, in Siward, nothing but an outerskin, as it is in all who acquire wisdom with their cynicism. It was notlong proof against Plank's simple attitude and undisguised pleasure indoing something for a man he liked. Under that simplicity no motive, noself-interest could skulk; and Siward knew it. 

As for the quid pro quo, Siward had insisted from the first on abusiness arrangement. The treachery of Major Belwether through sheerfright had knocked the key-stone from the syndicate, and the dam whichmade the golden pool possible collapsed, showering Plank's brokers whoworked patiently with buckets and mops. 

The double treachery of Quarrier was now perfectly apparent to Plank. Siward, true to his word, held his stock in the face of ruin. KempFerrall, furious with the major, and beginning to suspect Quarrier, cameto Plank for consultation. 

Then the defence formed under Plank. Legal machinery was set in motion, meeting followed meeting, until Harrington cynically showed his hand andQuarrier smiled his rare smile; and the fight against Inter-Countywas on in the open, preceded by a furious clamour of charge andcounter-charge in the columns of the daily press. 

That Quarrier had been guilty of something or other was the vagueimpression of that great news-reading public which, stunned by thereiteration of figures in the millions, turns to the simpler pleasuresof a murder trial. Besides, whatever Quarrier had done was no doubt donewithin the chalk-marked courts of the game, though probably his shoesmay have become a little dusty. 

But who could hope to bring players like Quarrier before the ordinaryumpire, or to investigate his methods with the everyday investigationsreserved for everyday folk, whose road through business life lay alwaysbetween State's prison and the penitentiary and whose guide-posts werepolicemen?

Let the great syndicates join in battle; they could only slay eachother. Let the millions bury their millions; the public, though poorer, could never be the wiser. 

Siward, at his desk, the May sunshine pouring over him, sat conning theheaps of typewritten sheets, striving to see between the lines somesign of fortune for his investments, some promise of release from theincreasing financial stringency, some chance of justice being done onthose high priests who had been performing marvellous tricks upon theiraltar so that by miracle, mine and thine spelled "ours, " and all thetablets of the law were lettered upside down and hind-side before, likethe Black Mass. 

Gumble knocked presently. Siward raised his perplexed eyes. 

"Miss Page, sir. "

"Oh, " said Siward doubtfully; then, "Ask Miss Page to come up. "

Marion strolled in a moment later, exchanged a vigorous hand shake withSiward, pulled up a chair and dropped into it. She was in riding-habitand boots, faultlessly groomed as usual, her smooth, pale hair sleek inits thick knot, collar and tie immaculate as her gloves. 

"Well, " she said, "any news of your ankle, Stephen?"

"I inquired about my ankle, " said Siward, amused, "and they tell me itis better, thank you. "

"Sit a horse pretty soon?" she asked, dropping one leg over the otherand balancing the riding-crop across her knee. 

"Not for awhile. You have a fine day for a gallop, Marion, " lookingaskance at the sunshine filtering through the first green leaves of thetree outside his window. 

"It's all right--the day. I'm trying Tom O'Hara's new mare. They sayshe's a little devil. I never saw a devil of a horse--did you? There maybe some out West. "

"Don't break that pretty neck of yours, Marion, " he said. 

She lifted her eyes; then, briefly, "No fear. "

"Yes, there is, " he said. "There's no use looking for trouble in ahorse. Women who hunt as you hunt take all that's legitimately coming tothem. Why doesn't Tom ride his own mare?"

"She rolled on him, " said Marion simply. 

"Oh. Is he hurt?"

"Ribs. "

"Well, he's lucky. "

"Isn't he! He'll miss a few drills with his precious squadron, that'sall. "

She was looking about her, preoccupied. "Where are your cigarettes, Stephen? Oh, I see. Don't try to move--don't be silly. "

She leaned over the desk, her fresh young face close to his, and reachedfor the cigarettes. The clean-cut head, the sweetness of her youth andfemininity, boyish in its allure, were very attractive to him--more so, perhaps, because of his isolation from the atmosphere of women. 

"It's all very well, Marion, your coming here--and it's very sweet ofyou, and I enjoy it immensely, " he said: "but it's a deuced imprudentthing for you to do, and I feel bound to say so for your sake every timeyou come. "

She leaned back in her chair and coolly blew a wreath of smoke at him. 

"All right, " he said, unconvinced. 

"Certainly it's all right. I've done what suited me all my life. Thissuits me. "

"It suits me, too, " he said, "only I wish you'd tell your mother beforesomebody around this neighbourhood informs her first. "

"Let 'em. You'll be out by that time. Do you think I'm going to tell mymother now and have her stop it?"

"Oh, Marion, you know perfectly well that it won't do for a girl toignore first principles. I'm horribly afraid somebody will talk aboutyou. "

"What would you do, then?"

"I?" he asked, disturbed. "What could I do?"

"Why, I suppose, " she said slowly, "you'd have to marry me. "

"Then, " he rejoined with a laugh, "I should think you'd be scared intoprudence by the prospect. "

"I am not easily--scared, " she said, looking down. 

"Not at that prospect?" he said jestingly. 

She looked up at him; and he remembered afterward the poise of her smallhead, and the slow, clear colour mounting; remembered that it conveyedto him, somehow, a hint of courage and sincerity. 

"I am not frightened, " she said gravely. 

Gravity fell upon him, too. In this young girl's eyes there was noevasion. For a long while he had felt vaguely that matters were notperfectly balanced between them. At moments, even, he had felt anindefinable uneasiness in her presence. The situation troubled him, too;and though he had known her from childhood and had long ago learnedto discount her vagaries of informality, her manners sans façon, hercareless ignoring of convention, and the unembarrassed terms of herspeech, his common-sense could not countenance this defiance of socialusage, sure to involve even such a privileged girl as she in someunpleasantness. 

This troubled him; and now, partly sceptical, yet partly conscious, too, of her very frank liking for himself, he looked at her, perplexed, apprehensive, unwilling to credit her with any deeper meaning than herwords expressed. 

She had grown pink and restless under his gaze, using her cigarettefrequently, and continually flicking the ashes to the floor, until thelittle finger of her glove was blackened. 

But courage characterised her race. It had required more than he knewfor her to come into his house; and now that she was there loyalty toher professed principles--that a man and a woman were by right endowedwith equal privileges--forced her to face the consequences of her theoryin the practise. 

She had, with calm face and quivering heart, given him an opening. Thatwas a concession to her essential womanhood and a cowardice on her part;and, lest she turn utterly traitor to herself, she faced him again, cool, quiet, and terror in her heart:

"I'd be very glad to marry you--if you c-cared to, " she said. 

"Marion!"

"Yes?"

"Oh--I--it is--of course it's a joke. "

"No; I'm serious. "

"Serious! Nonsense!"

"Please don't say that. "

He looked at her, appalled. 

"But I--but you don't love--can't be in love with me!" he stammered. 

"I am. "

Gloved hands tightening on either end of her riding-crop, she bent herknee against it, balancing there, looking straight at him. 

"I meant to tell you so, " she said, "if you didn't tell me first. So--Iwas rather--tired waiting. So I've told you. "

"It is only a fancy, " he said, scarcely knowing what he was saying. 

"I don't think so, Stephen. "

But he could not meet her candour, and he sat, silent, miserable, staring at the papers on his desk. 

After a while she drew a deep, even breath, and rose to her feet. 

"I'm sorry, " she said simply. 

"Marion--I never dreamed that--"

"You should dream truer, " she said. There was a suspicion of mist in herclear eyes; she turned abruptly to the window and stood there for a fewmoments, looking down at her brougham waiting in front of the house. "Itcan't be helped, can it!" she said, turning suddenly. 

He found no answer to her question. 

"Good-bye, " she said, walking to him with outstretched hand; "it's allin a lifetime, Steve, and that's too short for a good, clean friendshiplike ours to die in. I don't think I'd better come again. Look me up fora gallop when you're fit. And you might drop me a line to say how you'regetting on. Is it all right, Stephen?"

"All right, " he said hoarsely. 

Their hands tightened in a crushing clasp; then she swung on her spurredheel and walked out, leaving him haggard, motionless. He heard the frontdoor close, and he swayed forward, dropping his face in his hands, armshalf buried among the papers on his desk. 

Plank found him there, an hour later, fumbling among the papers, andat first feared that he read in Siward's drawn and sullen face apremonition of the ever-dreaded symptoms. 

"Quarrier has telephoned asking for a conference at last, " he saidabruptly, sitting down beside Siward. 

"Well, " inquired Siward, "how do you interpret that--favourably?"

"I am inclined to think he is a bit uneasy, " said Plank cautiously. "Harrington made a secret trip to Albany last week. You didn't knowthat. "

"No. "

"Well, he did. It looks to me as though there were going to be a ghostof a chance for an investigation. That is how I am inclined to considerHarrington's trip and Quarrier's flag of truce. But--I don't know. There's nothing definite, of course. You are as conversant with thesituation as I am. "

"No, I am not. That is like you, Plank, to ascribe to me the samebusiness sense that you possess, but I haven't got it. It's very niceand considerate of you, but I haven't it, and you know it. "

"I think you have. "

"You think so because you think generously. That doesn't alter thefacts. Now tell me what you have concluded that we ought to do and I'llsay 'Amen, ' as usual. "

Plank laughed, and looked over several sheets of the typewritten matteron the desk beside him. 

"Suppose I meet Quarrier?" he said. 

"All right. Did he suggest a date?"

"At four, this afternoon. "

"Do you think you had better go?"

"I think it might do no harm, " said Plank. 

"Amen!" observed Siward, laughing, and touched the electric button forthe early tea, which Plank adored at any hour. 

For a while they dropped business and discussed their tea, chatting verycomfortably together. Long ago Siward had found out something of themental breadth of the man beside him, and that he was worth listening toas well as talking to. For Plank had formed opinions upon a great manysubjects; and whatever culture he possessed was from sheer desire forself-cultivation. 

"You know, Siward, " he was accustomed to say with a smile, "you inheritwhat I am qualifying myself to transmit. "

"It will be all one in a thousand years, " was Siward's usual rejoinder. 

"That is not going to prevent my efforts to become a good ancestor tomy descendants, " Plank would say laughingly. "They shall have a chance, every one of them. And it will be up to them if they don't make good. "

Sipping their tea in the pleasant, sunny room, they discussed mattersof common interest--Plank's recent fishing trip on Long Island and thedegeneracy of liver-fed trout; the North Side Club's Experiments withEuropean partridges; Billy Fleetwood's new stables; forestry, and thechance of national legislation concerning it--a subject of which Plankwas very fond, and on which he had exceedingly sound ideas. 

Drifting from one topic to another through the haze of their cigars, silent when it pleased them to be so, there could be no doubt of theirliking for each other upon a basis at least superficially informal; andif Plank's manner retained at times a shade of quaint reserve, Siward'swas perhaps the more frankly direct for that reason. 

"I think, " observed Plank, laying his half-consumed cigar on the silvertray, "that I'd better go down town and see what our pre-glacial friendQuarrier wants. I may be able to furnish him with a new sensation. "

"I wonder if Quarrier ever experienced a genuine sensation, " musedSiward, arranging the papers before him into divisional piles. 

"Plenty, " said Plank drily. 

"I don't think so. "

"Plenty, " repeated Plank. "It's your thin-lipped, thin-nosed, pasty-pale, symmetrical brother who is closer to the animal under hismask than any of us imagine. I--" He hesitated. "Do you want to knowmy opinion of Quarrier? I've never told you. I don't usually talk aboutmy--dislikes. Do you want to know?"

"Certainly, " said Siward curiously. 

"Then, first of all, he is a sentimentalist. "

"Oh! oh!" jeered Siward. 

"A sentimentalist of the weakest type, " continued Plank obstinately;"because he sentimentalises over himself. Siward, look out for the manwith elaborate whiskers! Look out for a pallid man with eccentric hairand a silky beard! He's a sentimentalist of the sort I told you, and isusually utterly remorseless in his dealings with women. I suppose youthink me a fool. "

"I think Quarrier is indifferent concerning women, " said Siward. 

"You are wrong. He is a sensualist, " insisted Plank. 

"Oh, no, Plank--not that!"

"A sensualist. His sentimental vanity he lavishes upon himself--theanimal in him on women. His caution, born of self-consideration, is thecaution of a beast. Such men as he believe they live in the focus of amillion eyes. Part of his vanity is to deceive those eyes and be what heis under the mask he wears; and to do that one must be the very masterof caution. That is Quarrier's vanity. To conceal, is his monomania. "

"I cannot see how you draw that conclusion. "

"Siward, he is a bad man, and crafty--every inch of him. "

"Oh, come, now! Only characters in fiction have no saving qualities. Younever heard of anybody in real life being entirely bad. "

"No, I didn't; and Quarrier isn't. For example, he is kind to valuableanimals--I mean, his own. "

"Good to animals! The bad man's invariable characteristic!" laughedSiward. "I'm kind to 'em, too. What else is he good to?"

"Everybody knows that he hasn't a poor relation left; not one. He isloyal to them in a rare way; he filled one subsidiary company full ofthem. It is known down town as the 'Home for Destitute Nephews. '"

"Seriously, Plank, the man must have something good in him. "

"Because of your theory?"

"Yes. I believe that nobody is entirely bad. So do the great masters offiction. "

Plank said gravely: "He is a good son to his father. That is perfectlytrue--kind, considerate, dutiful, loyal. The financial world isperfectly aware that Stanley Quarrier is to-day the most unscrupulousold scoundrel who ever crushed a refinery or debauched a railroad! andhis son no more believes it than he credits the scandalous history ofthe Red Woman of Wall Street. Why, when I was making arrangementsfor that chapel Quarrier came to me, very much perturbed, because heunderstood that all the memorial chapels for the cathedral had beenarranged for, and he had desired to build one to the memory of hisfather! His father! Isn't it awful to think of!--a chapel to the memoryof the briber of judges and of legislatures, the cynical defier oflaw!--this hoary old thief, who beggared the widow and stripped theorphan, and whose only match, as a great unpunished criminal, was thatsinister little predecessor of his, who dreamed even of debauching theexecutive of these United States!"

Siward had never before seen Plank aroused, and he said so, smiling. 

"That is true, " said Plank earnestly; "I waste little temper over mylikes and dislikes. But what I know, and what I legitimately inferconcerning the younger Quarrier is enough to rouse any man's anger. I won't tell you what I know. I can't. It has nothing to do with hisfinancial methods, nothing to do with this business; but it is bad--badall through! The blow his father struck at the integrity of the benchthe son strikes at the very key-stone of all social safeguard. It isn'tmy business; I cannot interfere; but Siward, I'm a damned restlesswitness, and the old, primitive longing comes back on me to strike--totake a stick and use it to splinters on that man whom I am going downtown to politely confer with! … And I must go now. Good-bye. … Takecare of that ankle. Any books I can send you--anything you want? No? Allright. And don't worry over Amalgamated Electric, for I really believewe are beginning to frighten them badly. "

"Good-bye, " said Siward. "Don't forget that I'm always at home. "

"You must get out, " muttered Plank; "you must get well, and get out intothe sunshine. " And he went ponderously down-stairs to the square hall, where Gumble held his hat and gloves ready for him. 

He had come in a big yellow and black touring-car; and now, with a briefword to his mechanic, he climbed into the tonneau, and away they speddown town--a glitter of bull's-eye, brass, and varnish, with the mellow, horn notes floating far in their wake. 

It was exactly four o'clock when he was ushered into Quarrier's privatesuite in the great marble Algonquin Loan and Trust Building, the upperstories of which were all golden in the sun against a sky of sapphire. 

Quarrier was alone, gloved and hatted, as though on the point ofleaving. He showed a slight surprise at seeing Plank, as if he hadnot been expecting him; and the manner of offering his hand subtlyemphasised it as he came forward with a trace of inquiry in hisgreeting. 

"You said four o'clock, I believe, " observed Plank bluntly. 

"Ah, yes. It was about that--ah--matter--ah--I beg your pardon; can yourecollect?"

"I don't know what it is you want. You requested this meeting, " saidPlank, yawning. 

"Certainly. I recollect it perfectly now. Will you sit here, Mr. Plank--for a moment--"

"If it concerns Inter-County, it will take longer than a moment--unlessyou cannot spare the time now, " said Plank. "Shall we call it off?"

"As a matter of fact I am rather short of time just now. "

"Then let us postpone it. I shall probably be at my office if you areanxious to see me. "

Quarrier looked at him, then laid aside his hat and sat down. There waslittle to be done in diplomacy with an oaf like that. 

"Mr. Plank, " he said, without any emphasis at all, "there should be someway for us to come together. Have you considered it?"

"No, I haven't, " replied Plank. 

"I mean, for you and me to try to understand each other. "

"For us?" asked Plank, raising his blond eyebrows. "Do you meanAmalgamated Electric and Inter-County, impersonally?"

"I mean for us, personally. "

"There is no way, " said Plank, with conviction. 

"I think there is. "

"You are wasting time thinking it, Mr. Quarrier. "

Quarrier's velvet-fringed eyes began to narrow, but his calm voiceremained unchanged: "We are merely wasting energy in this duel, " hesaid. 

"Oh, no; I don't feel wasted. "

"We are also wasting opportunities, " continued Quarrier slowly. "Thiswhole matter is involving us in a tangle of litigation requiring ourconstant effort, constant attention. "

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Quarrier, but you take it too seriously. Ihave found, in this affair, nothing except a rather agreeable mentalexhilaration. "

"Mr. Plank, if you are not inclined to be serious--"

"I am, " said Plank so savagely that Quarrier, startled, could not doubthim. "I like this sort of thing, Mr. Quarrier. Anything that is hardto overcome, I like to overcome. The pleasure in life, to me, is towin out. I am fighting you with the greatest possible satisfaction tomyself. "

"Perhaps you see victory ahead, " said Quarrier calmly. 

"I do, Mr. Quarrier, I do. But not in the manner you fear I may hope forit. "

"Do you mind saying in what manner you are already discounting yourvictory, Mr Plank?"

"No, I don't mind telling you. I have no batteries to mask. I don't carehow much you know about my resources; so I'll tell you what I see, Mr. Quarrier. I see a parody of the popular battle between razor-back andrattler. The rattler only strives to strike and kill, not to swallow. Mr. Quarrier, that old razor-back isn't going home hungry; but--he'sgoing home. "

"I'm afraid I am not familiar enough with the natural history you quoteto follow you, " said Quarrier with a sneer, his long fingers busy withthe silky point of his beard. 

"No, you won't follow me home; you'll come with me, when it's all over. Now is it very plain to you, Mr. Quarrier?"

Quarrier said, without emotion: "I repeat that it would be easy for youand me to merge our differences on a basis absolutely satisfactory toyou and to me--and to Harrington. "

"You are mistaken, " said Plank, rising. "Good afternoon. "

Quarrier rose, too. "You decline to discuss the matter?" he asked. 

"It has been discussed sufficiently. "

"Then why did you come here?"

"To see for myself how afraid of me you really are, " said Plank. "Now Iknow, and so do you. "

"You desire to make it a personal matter?" inquired Quarrier, in a lowvoice, his face dead white in the late sunlight which illuminated theroom. 

"Personal? No--impersonal; because there could be absolutely nothingpersonal between us, Mr. Quarrier; and the only thing in the world thatthere ought to be between us are a few stout, steel bars. Beg pardonfor talking shop. I'm a shopkeeper, and I'm in the steel business, and Ilack opportunities for cultivation. Good day. "

"Mr. Plank--"

"Mr. Quarrier, I want to tell you something. Never before, in businessdifferences, has private indignation against any individual interferedor modified my course of action. It does now; but it does not dictatemy policy toward you; it merely, as I say, modifies it. I am perfectlyaware of what I am doing; what social disaster I am inviting by thisattitude toward you personally; what financial destruction I am courtingin arousing the wrath of the Algonquin Trust Company and of the powerfulinterests intrenched behind Inter-County Electric. I know what thelobby is; I know what judge cannot be counted on; I know my peril and mychances, every one; and I take them--every one. For it is a good fight, Mr. Quarrier; it will be talked of for years to come, wonderingly; notbecause of your effrontery, not because of my obstinacy, but becausesuch monstrous immorality could ever have existed in this land of ours. Your name, Harrington's, mine, will have become utterly forgotten long, long before the horror of these present conditions shall cease to beremembered. "

He stretched out one ponderous arm, pointing full between Quarrier'sunwinking eyes. 

"Take your fighting chance--it is the cleanest thing you ever touched;and use it cleanly, or there'll be no mercy shown you when your timecomes. Let the courts alone--do you hear me? Let the legislature alone. Keep your manicured hands off the ermine. And tell Harrington to shovehis own cold, splay fingers into his own pockets for a change. They'llbe warmer than his feet by this time next year. "

For a moment he towered there, powerful, bulky, menacing; then his armdropped heavily--the old stolid expression came back into his face, leaving it calm, bovine, almost stupid again. And he turned, movingslowly toward the door, holding his hat carefully in his gloved hand. 

Stepping out of the elevator on the ground floor he encounteredMortimer, and halted instinctively. He had not seen Mortimer for weeks;neither had Leila; and now he looked at him inquiringly, disturbed athis battered and bloodshot appearance. 

"Oh, " said Mortimer, "you down here?"

"Have you been out of town?" asked Plank cautiously. 

Mortimer nodded, and started to pass on toward the bronze cage of theelevator, but something seemed to occur to him suddenly; he checked hispace, turned, and waddled after Plank, rejoining him on the marble stepsof the rotunda. 

"See here, " he panted, holding Plank by the elbow and breathing heavilyeven after the short chase across the lobby, "I meant to tell yousomething. Come over here and sit down a moment. "

Still grasping Plank's elbow in his puffy fingers, he directed himtoward a velvet seat in a corner of the lobby; and here they sat down, while Mortimer mopped his fat neck with his handkerchief, swearing atthe heat under his breath. 

"Look here, " he said; "I promised you something once, didn't I?"

"Did you?" said Plank, with his bland, expressionless stare of anovergrown baby. 

"Oh, cut that out! You know damn well I did; and when I say a thing Imake good. D'ye see?"

"I don't see, " said Plank, "what you are talking about. "

"I'm talking about what I said I'd do for you. Haven't I made good?Haven't I put you into everything I said I would? Don't you goeverywhere? Don't people ask you everywhere?"

"Yes--in a way, " said Plank wearily. "I am very grateful; I always willbe. … Can I do anything for you, Leroy?"

Mortimer became indignant at the implied distrust of the purity of hismotives; and Plank, failing to stem the maudlin tirade, relapsed intopatient silence, speculating within himself as to what it could be thatMortimer wanted. 

It came out presently. Mortimer had attended a "killing" at Desmond's, and, as usual, had provided the pièce de résistance for his soft-voicedhost. All he wanted was a temporary deposit to tide over matters. He hadnever approached Plank in vain, and he did not do so now, for Plank hada pocket cheque-book and a stylograph. 

"It's damn little to ask, isn't it?" he muttered resentfully. "That willonly square matters with Desmond; it doesn't leave me anything to go onwith, " and he pocketed his cheque with a scowl. 

Plank was discreetly silent. 

"And that is not what I chased you for, either, " continued Mortimer. "Ididn't intend to say anything about Desmond; I was going to fix itin another way!" He cast an involuntary and sinister glance at theelevators gliding ceaselessly up and down at the end of the vast marblerotunda; then his protruding eyes sought Plank's again:

"Beverly, old boy, I've got a certain mealy-faced hypocrite where anydecent man would like to have him--by the scruff of his neck. He's fitonly to kick; and I'm going to kick him good and plenty; and in theprocess he's going to let go of several things. " Mortimer leered, pleased with his own similes, then added rather hastily: "I mean, he'sgoing to drop several things that don't belong to him. Leave it to me toshake him down; he'll drop them all right. … One of 'em's yours. "

Plank looked at him. 

"I told you once that I'd let you know when to step up and say 'Goodevening' didn't I?"

Plank continued to stare. 

"Didn't I?" repeated Mortimer peevishly, beginning to lose countenance. 

"I don't understand you, " said Plank, "and I don't think I want tounderstand you. "

"What do you mean?" demanded Mortimer thickly; "don't you want to marrythat girl!" but he shrank dismayed under the slow blaze that lightedPlank's blue eyes. 

"All right, " he stammered, struggling to his fat legs and instinctivelybacking away; "I thought you meant business. I--what the devil do I carewho you marry! It's the last time I try to do anything for you, or foranybody else! Mark that, my friend. I've plenty to worry over; I'vea lot to keep me busy without lying awake to figure out how to dokindnesses to old friends. Damn this ingratitude, anyway!"

Plank gazed at him for a moment; the anger in his face had died out. 

"I am not ungrateful, " he said. "You may say almost anything exceptthat, Leroy. I am not disloyal, no matter what else I may be. But youhave made a bad mistake. You made it that day at Black Fells when youoffered to interfere. I supposed you understood then that I could nevertolerate from anybody anything of such a nature. It appears that youdidn't. However, you understand it now. So let us forget the matter. "

But Mortimer, keenly appreciative of the pleasures of beingmisunderstood, squeezed some moisture out of his distended eyes, and satdown, a martyr to his emotions. "To think, " he gulped, "that you, of allmen, should turn on me like this!"

"I didn't mean to. Can't you understand, Leroy, that you hurt me?"

"Hurt hell!" retorted Mortimer vindictively. "You've had sensationbattered out of you by this time. I guess society has landed you a fewwhile I was boosting you over the outworks. Don't play that old con gameon me! You tried to get her and you couldn't. Now I come along andoffer to put you next and you yell about your hurt feelings! Oh, splash!There's another lady, that's all. "

"Let it go at that, then, " said Plank, reddening. 

"But I tell you--"

"Drop it!" snapped Plank. 

"Oh, very well! if you're going to take it that way again--"

"I am. Cut it! And now let me ask you a question: Where were you goingwhen I met you?"

"What do you want to know for?" asked Mortimer sullenly. 

"Why, I'll tell you, Leroy. If you have any idea of identifying yourselfwith Quarrier's people, of seeking him at this juncture with theexpectation of investing any money in his schemes, you had better not doso. "

"Investing!" sneered Mortimer. "Well, no, not exactly, having nothingto invest, thanks to my being swindled into joining his AmalgamatedElectric gang. Don't worry. If there's any shaking down to be done, I'lldo it, my friend, " and he rose, and started toward the elevators. 

"Wait, " said Plank. "Why, man, you can't frighten Quarrier! What did yousell your holdings for? Why didn't you come to us--to me? What's theuse of going to Quarrier now, and scolding? You can't scare a man likethat. "

Mortimer fairly grinned in his face. 

"Your big mistake, " he sneered, "is in undervaluing others. You don'tthink I amount to very much, do you, Beverly? But I'm going to try totake care of myself all the same. " He laughed, showing his big teeth, and the vanity in him began to drug him. "No, you think I don't knowmuch. But men like you and Quarrier will damn soon find out! I want youto understand, " he went on excitedly, forgetting the instinctive cautionwhich in saner moments he was only too certain that his present businessrequired--"I want you to understand a few things, my friend, and one ofthem is that I'm not afraid of Quarrier, and another is, I'm not afraidof you!"

"Leroy--"

"No, not afraid of you, either!" repeated Mortimer with an ugly stare. "Don't try any of your smug, aint-it-a-shame-he-drinks ways on me, Beverly! I'm getting tired of it; I'm tired of it now, by God! You keepa civil tongue in your head after this--do you understand?--and we'llget on all right. If you don't, I've the means to make you!"

"Are you crazy?"

"Not a bit of it! Too damn sane for you and Leila to hoodwink!"

"You are crazy!" repeated Plank, aghast. 

"Am I? You and Leila can take the matter into court, if you wantto--unless I do. And"--here he leaned forward, showing his teethagain--"the next time you kiss her, close the door!"

Then he went away up the marble steps and entered an elevator; andPlank, grave and pale, went out into the street and entered his bigtouring-car. But the drive up town and through the sunlit park gave himno pleasure, and he entered his great house with a heavy, lifeless step, head bent, as though counting every crevice in the stones under hislagging feet. For the first time in all his life he was afraid of a man. 

The man he was afraid of had gone directly to Quarrier's office, missingthe gentleman he was seeking by such a small fraction of a minutethat he realised they must have passed each other in the elevators, heascending while Quarrier was descending. 

Mortimer turned and hurried to the elevator, hoping to come up withQuarrier in the rotunda, or possibly in the street outside; but he wastoo late, and, furious to think of the time he had wasted with Plank, hecrawled into a hansom and bade the driver take him to a number he gave, designating one of the new limestone basement houses on the upper westside. 

All the way up town, as he jolted about in his seat, he angrilyregretted the meeting with Plank, even in spite of the cheque. Whatdemon had possessed him to boast--to display his hand when therehad been no necessity? Plank was still ready to give him aid at acrisis--had always been ready. Time enough when Plank turned stingy touse persuasion; time enough when Plank attempted to dodge him to employa club. And now, for no earthly reason, intoxicated with his own vanity, catering to his own long-smouldering resentment, he had used his club ona willing horse--deliberately threatened a man whose gratitude had beengood for many a cheque yet. 

"Ass that I am!" fumed Mortimer; "now when I'm stuck I'll have to go athim with the club, if I want any money out of him. Confound him, he's putting me in a false position! He's trying to make it look likeextortion! I won't do it! I'm no blackmailer! I'll starve, before I goto him again! No blundering, clumsy Dutchman can make a blackmailer outof me by holding hands with that scoundrelly wife of mine! That's thereason he did it, too! Between them they are trying to make my loansfrom Plank look like blackmail! It would serve them right if I took themup--if I called their bluff, and stuck Plank up in earnest! But I won't, to please them! I won't do any dirty thing like that, to humour them!Not much!"

He lay back, rolling about in the jouncing cab, scowling at space. 

"Not much!" he repeated. "I'll shake down Quarrier, though! I'll makehim pay for his treachery--scaring me out of Amalgamated! That will berestitution, not extortion!"

He was the angrier because he had been for days screwing up his courageto the point of seeking Quarrier face to face. He had not wished to doit; the scene, and his own attitude in it, could only be repugnantto him, although he continually explained to himself that it wasrestitution, not extortion. 

But whatever it was, he didn't like to figure in it, and he had hungback as long as circumstances permitted. But his new lodgings and hisnew friends were expensive; and Plank, he supposed, was off somewherefishing; so he hung on as long as it was possible; then, exasperatedby necessity, started for Quarrier's office, only to miss him by afew seconds because he was fool enough to waste his temper and hisopportunity in making an enemy out of a friend!

"Oh, " he groaned, "what an ass I am!" And he got out of his cab in frontof a very new limestone basement house with red geraniums blooming onthe window-sills, and let himself in with a latch-key. 

The interior of the house was attractive in a rather bright, new, cleanfashion. There seemed to be a great deal of white wood-work about, awilderness of slender white spindles supporting the dark, rich mahoganyhandrail of the stairway; elaborate white grilles between snowy, Corinthian pillars separating the hall from the drawing-room, wherea pale gilt mirror over a white, colonial mantel reflected a glasschandelier and panelled walls hung with pale blue silk. 

All was new, very clean, very quiet; the maid, too, who appeared atthe sound of the closing door and took his hat and gloves was asnewly groomed as the floors and wood-work, and so noiseless as to beconspicuous in her swift, silent movements. 

Yet there was something about it all--about the bluish silveryhalf-light, the spotless floors and walls, the abnormally noiseless maidin her flamboyant cap and apron--that arrested attention and fixed it. The soundless brightness of the house was as conspicuous as the contrastbetween the maid's black gown and her snow-white cuffs. There wasnothing subdued about anything, although the long, silvery blue curtainswere drawn over the lace window hangings; no shadows anywhere, nohalf-lights. The very stillness was gay with suspense, like a prettywoman's suppressed laughter glimmering in her eyes. 

And into this tinted light, framed in palest blue and white, waddledMortimer, appropriate as a June-bug scrambling in a Sèvres teacup. 

"Anybody here?" he growled, leering into the drawing-room at a tinygrand piano cased in unvarnished Circassian walnut. 

"There is nobody at home, sir, " said the maid. 

"Music lesson over?"

"Yes, sir, at three. "

He began to ascend the stairway, breathing heavily, thud, thud over thedeep velvet strip, his fat hand grasping the banister rail. 

Somewhere on the second floor a small dog barked, and Mortimer traversedthe ball and opened the door into a room hung with gold Spanish leatherand pale green curtains. 

"Hello, Tinto!" he said affably as a tiny Japanese spaniel hurledherself at him, barking furiously, then began writhing and weavingherself about him, gurgling recognition and welcome. 

He sat down heavily in a padded easy-chair. The spaniel sprang into hislap, wheezing, sniffling, goggling its protruding eyes. Mortimer likedthe dog, but he didn't like what the owner of the dog said about theresemblance between his own and Tinto's eyes. 

"Get down!" he said; "you're shedding black and white hairs all overme. " But the dog didn't want to get down, and Mortimer's good naturepermitted her to curl up on his fat knees and sleep that nervous, twitching sleep peculiar to overpampered toy canines. 

The southern sun was warm in the room; the windows open, but not asilken hanging stirred. 

Presently another maid entered, with an apple cut into thin wafers and adecanter of port; and Mortimer lay back in his chair, sopping his applein the thick, crimson wine, and feeding morsels of the combination tohimself and to Tinto at intervals until the apple was all gone and thedecanter three-fourths empty. 

It was very still in the room--so still, that Mortimer, opening his eyesat longer and longer intervals to peer at the door, finally opened themno more. 

The droning gurgle that he made kept Tinto awake. When his lower jawsagged, and he began to really show what snoring could be, Tinto, verynervous, got up and hopped down. 

It was still daylight when Mortimer awoke, conscious of people abouthim. As he opened his eyes, a man laughed; several people seated bythe windows joined in. Then, straightening up with an effort, somethingtumbled from his head to the floor and he started to rise. 

"Oh, look out, Leroy! Don't step on my hat!" cried a girl's voice; andhe sank back in his chair, gazing stupidly around. 

"Hello! you people!" he said, amused; "I guess I've been asleep. Oh, isthat you Millbank? Whose hat was that--yours, Lydia?"

He yawned, laughed, turning his heavy eyes from one to another, recognising a couple of young girls at the window. He didn't want toget up; but there is, in the society he now adorned, a stringency ofetiquette known as "re-finement, " and which, to ignore, is to becomeunpopular. 

So he got onto his massive legs and went over to shake hands with agravity becoming the ceremony. 

"How d'ye do, Miss Hutchinson? Thought you were at Asbury Park. How dedo, Miss Del Garcia. Have you been out in Millbank's motor yet?"

"We broke down at McGowan's Pass, " said Miss Del Garcia, laughing thelaugh that had made her so attractive in "A Word to the Wise. "

"Muddy gasoline, " nodded Millbank tersely--an iron-jawed, over-groomedman of forty, with a florid face shaved blue. 

"We passed Mr. Plank's big touring-car, " observed Lydia Vyse, shiftingTinto to the couch and brushing the black and white hairs from herautomobile coat. "How much does a car like that cost, Leroy?"

"About twenty-five thousand, " he said gloomily. Then, looking up, "Holdon, Millbank, don't be going! Why can't you all dine with us? Nevermind your car; ours is all right, and we'll run out into the country fordinner. How about it, Miss Del Garcia?"

But both Miss Del Garcia and Miss Hutchinson had accepted anotherinvitation, in which Millbank was also included. 

They stood about, veils floating, leather decorated coats thrown back, lingering for awhile to talk the garage talk which fascinates people oftheir type; then Millbank looked at the clock, made his adieux to Lydia, nodded significantly to Mortimer, and followed the others down-stairs. 

There was something amiss with his motor, for it made a startling racketin the street, finally plunging forward with a kick. 

Lydia laughed as the two young girls in the tonneau turned to nod to herin mock despair; then she came running back up-stairs, holding her skirtfree from her hurrying little feet. 

"Well?" she inquired, as Mortimer turned back from the window toconfront her. 

"Nothing doing, little girl, " he said with a sombre smile. 

She looked at him, slowly divesting herself of her light leather-trimmedcoat. 

"I missed him, " said Mortimer. 

She flung the coat over a chair, stood a moment, her fingers busy withher hair-pegs, then sat down on the couch, taking Tinto into her lap. She was very pretty, dark, slim, marvellously graceful in her everymovement. 

"I missed him, " repeated Mortimer. 

"Can't you see him to-morrow?" she asked. 

"I suppose so, " said Mortimer slowly. "Oh, Lord! how I hate thisbusiness!"

"Hasn't he misused your confidence? Hasn't he taken your money?" sheasked. "It may be unpleasant for you to make him unbelt, but you're acoward if you don't!"

"Easy! easy, now!" muttered Mortimer; "I'm going to shake it out of him. I said I would, and I will. "

"I should hope so; it's yours. "

"Certainly it's mine. I wish I'd held fast now. I never supposed Plankwould take hold. It was that drivelling old Belwether who scared mestiff! The minute I saw him scurrying to cover like a singed cat I wasfool enough to climb the first tree. I've had my lesson, little girl. "

"I hope you'll give Howard his. Somebody ought to, " she said quietly. 

Then gathering up her hat and coat she went into her own apartments. Mortimer picked up a cheap magazine, looked over the portraits ofthe actresses, then, hunching up into a comfortable position, settledhimself to read the theatrical comment. 

Later, Lydia not appearing, and his own valet arriving to turn onthe electricity, bring him his White Rock and Irish and the EveningTelegraph, he hoisted his legs into another chair and sprawled thereluxuriously over his paper until it was time to dress. 

About half past eight they dined in a white and pink dining-roomfurnished in dull gray walnut, and served by a stealthy, white-haired, pink-skinned butler, chiefly remarkable because it seemed utterlyimpossible to get a glimpse of his eyes. Nobody could tell whether therewas anything the matter with them or not--and whether they were onlyvery deep set or were weak, like an albino's, or were slightly crossed, the guests of the house never knew. Lydia herself didn't know, and hadgiven up trying to find out. 

They had planned to go for a spin in Mortimer's motor after dinner, butin view of the Quarrier fiasco neither was in the mood for anything. 

Mortimer, as usual, ate and drank heavily. He was a carnivorous man, andliked plenty of thick, fat, underdone meat. As for Lydia, her appetitewas as erratic as her own impulses. Her table, always wastefullyelaborate, no doubt furnished subsistence for all the relatives of herhousehold below stairs, and left sufficient for any ambitious butler tomake a decent profit on. 

"Do you know, Leroy, " she observed, as they left the table and saunteredback into the pale blue drawing-room, "do you know that the servantshaven't been paid for three months?"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, " he expostulated, "don't begin that sort ofthing! I get enough of that at home; I get it every time I show mynose!"

"I only mentioned it, " she said carelessly. 

"I heard you all right. It isn't any pleasanter for me than for you. Infact, I'm sick of it; I'm dead tired of being up against it every dayof my life. When a man has anything somebody gets it before he cansidestep. When a man's dead broke there's nobody in sight to touch. "

"You had an opportunity to make Howard pay you back. "

"Didn't I tell you I missed him?"

"Yes. What are you going to do?"

"Do?"

"Of course. You are going to do something, I suppose. "

They had reached the gold and green room above. Lydia began pacing thelength of a beautiful Kermanshah rug--a pale, delicate marvel of roseand green on a ground of ivory--lovely, but doomed to fade sooner thanthe pretty woman who trod it with restless, silk-shod feet. 

Mortimer had not responded to her last question. She said presently:"You have never told me how you intend to make him pay you back. "

"What?" inquired Mortimer, turning very red. 

"I said that you haven't yet told me how you intend to make Howardreturn the money you lost through his juggling with your stock. "

"I don't exactly know myself, " admitted Mortimer, still overflushed. "I mean to put it to him squarely, as a debt of honour that he owes. Iasked him whether to invest. Damn him! he never warned me not to. He ismorally responsible. Any man who would sit there and nod monotonouslylike a mandarin, knowing all the while what he was doing to wreck thecompany, and let a friend put into a rotten concern all the cash hecould scrape together, is a swindler!"

"I think so too, " she said, studying the rose arabesques in the rug. 

There was a little click of her teeth when she ended her inspection andlooked across at Mortimer. Something in her expressionless gaze seemedto reassure him, and give him a confidence he may have lacked. 

"I want him to understand that I won't swallow that sort of contemptibletreatment, " asserted Mortimer, lighting a thick, dark cigar. 

"I hope you'll make him understand, " she said, seating herself andresting her clasped, brilliantly ringed hands in her lap. 

"Oh, I will--never fear! He has abused my confidence abominably; he haspractically swindled me, Lydia. Don't you think so?"

She nodded. 

"I'll tell him so, too, " blustered Mortimer, shaking himself into anupright posture, and laying a pudgy, clinched fist on the table. "I'mnot afraid of him! He'll find that out, too. I know enough to staggerhim. Not that I mean to use it. I'm not going to have him think that mydemands on him for my own property resemble extortion. "

"Extortion?" she repeated. 

"Yes. I don't want him to think I'm trying to intimidate him. I won'thave him think I'm a grafter; but I've half a mind to shake that moneyout of him, in one way or another. "

He struck the table and looked at her for further sign of approval. 

"I'm not afraid of him, " he repeated. "I wish to God he were here, andI'd tell him so!"

She said coolly: "I was wishing that too. "

For a while they sat silent, preoccupied, avoiding each other's directgaze. When she rose he started, watching her in a dazed way as shewalked to the telephone. 

"Shall I?" she asked quietly, turning to him, her hand on the receiver. 

"Wait. W-what are you going to do?" he stammered. 

"Call him up. Shall I?"

A dull throb of fright pulsed through him. 

"You say you are not afraid of him, Leroy. "

"No!" he said with an oath, "I am not. Go ahead!"

She unhooked the receiver. After a second or two her low, even voicesounded. There came a pause. She rested one elbow on the walnut shelf, the receiver tight to her ear. Then:

"Mr. Quarrier, please. … Yes, Mr. Howard Quarrier. … No, no name. Say itis on business of immediate importance. … Very well, then; you may saythat Miss Vyse insists on speaking to him. … Yes, I'll hold the wire. "

She turned, the receiver at her ear, and looked narrowly at Mortimer. 

"Won't he speak to you?" he demanded. 

"I'm going to find out. Hush a moment!" and in the same calm, almostchildish voice: "Oh, Howard, is that you? Yes, I know I promised not todo this, but that was before things happened! … Well, what am I to dowhen it is necessary to talk to you? … Yes, it is necessary! … I tellyou it is necessary! … I am sorry it is not convenient for you to talkto me, but I really must ask you to listen! … No, I shall not write. Iwant to talk to you to-night--now! Yes, you may come here, if you careto! … I think you had better come, Howard. … Because I am liable tocontinue ringing your telephone until you are willing to listen. … No, there is nobody here. I am alone. What time? … Very well; I shall expectyou. Good-bye. "

She hung up the receiver and turned to Mortimer:

"He's coming up at once. Did I say anything to scare him particularly?"

"One thing's sure as preaching, " said Mortimer; "he's a coward, and I'mdammed glad of it, " he added naively, relighting his cigar, which hadgone out. 

"If he comes up in his motor he'll be here in a few minutes, " she said. "Suppose you take your hat and go out. I don't want him to think whathe will think if he walks into the room and finds you waiting. You haveyour key, Leroy. Walk down the block; and when you see him come in, givehim five minutes. "

Her voice had become a little breathless, and her colour was high. Mortimer, too, seemed apprehensive. Things had suddenly begun to workthemselves out too swiftly. 

"Do you think that's best?" he faltered, looking about for his hat. "Tell Merkle that nobody has been here, if Quarrier should ask him. Doyou think we're doing it in the best way, Lydia? By God, it smells of aput-up job to me! But I guess it's all right. It's better for me to justhappen in, isn't it? Don't forget to put Merkle wise. "

He descended the stairs hastily. Merkle, of the invisible eyes, held hishat and gloves and opened the door for him. 

Once on the dark street, his impulse was to flee--get out, get away fromthe whole business. A sullen shame was pumping the hot blood up into hisneck and cheeks. He strove to find an inoffensive name for what he wasproposing to do, but ugly terms, synonym after synonym, crowded in tocharacterise the impending procedure, and he walked on angrily, halffrightened, looking back from moment to moment at the house he had justleft. 

On the corner he halted, breathing spasmodically, for he had struck asmarter pace than he had been aware of. 

Few people passed him. Once he caught a glimmer of a policeman's buttonsalong the park wall, and an unpleasant shiver passed over him. At thesame moment an electric hansom flew noiselessly past him. He shrankback into the shadow of a porte-cochere. The hansom halted before thelimestone basement house. A tall figure left it, stood a moment inthe middle of the sidewalk, then walked quickly to the front door. Itopened, and the man vanished. 

The hansom still waited at the door. Mortimer, his hands shaking, lookedat his watch by the light of the electric bulbs flanking the gatewayunder which he stood. 

There was not much time in which to make up his mind, yet his frightwas increasing to a pitch which began to enrage him with that coward'scourage which it is impossible to reckon with. 

He had missed Quarrier once to-day when he had been keyed to theencounter. Was he going to miss him again through sheer terror? Besides, was not Quarrier a coward? Besides, was it not his own money? Had he notbeen vilely swindled by a pretended friend? Urging, lashing himself intoa heavy, shuffling motion, he emerged from the porte-cochere and lurchedoff down the street. No time to think now, no time for second thought, for hesitation, for weakness. He had waited too long already. He hadwaited ten minutes, instead of five. Was Quarrier going to escape again?Was he going to get out of the house before--

Fumbling with his latch-key, but with sense enough left to make nonoise, he let himself in, passed silently through the reception-halland up to the drawing-room floor, where for a second he stood listening. Then something of the perverted sportsman sent the blood quivering intohis veins. He had him! He had run him down! The game was at bay. 

An inrush of exhilaration steadied him. He laid his hand on the banisterand mounted, gloves and hat-brim crushed in the other hand. When heentered the room he pretended to see only Lydia. 

"Hello, little girl!" he said, laughing, "are you surprised to--"

At that moment he caught sight of Quarrier, and the start he gavewas genuine enough. Never had he seen in a man's visage such whiteconcentration of anger. 

"Quarrier!" he stammered, for his acting was becoming real enough tosupplant art. 

Quarrier had risen; his narrowing eyes moved from Mortimer to Lydia, then reverted to the man in the combination. 

"Rather unexpected, isn't it?" said Mortimer, staring at Quarrier. 

"Is it?" returned Quarrier in a low voice. 

"I suppose so, " sneered Mortimer. "Did you expect to find me here?"

"No. Did you expect to find me?" asked the other, with emphasisunmistakable. 

"What do you mean?" demanded Mortimer hoarsely. "What the devil do youmean by asking me if I expected to find you here? If I had, I'd not havetravelled down to your office to-day to see you; I'd have come here foryou. Naturally people suppose that an engaged man is likely to give upthis sort of thing. "

Quarrier, motionless, white to the lips, turned his eyes from one to theother. 

"It doesn't look very well, does it?" asked Mortimer; and he stoodthere, smiling, danger written all over him. "It's beginning ratherearly, " he continued, with a sneer. "Most engaged men with a consciencewait until they're married before they return to the gay and frivolous. But here you are, it seems, handsome, jolly, and irresistible as ever!"

Quarrier looked at Lydia, and his lips moved: "You asked me to come, " hesaid. 

"No; you offered to. I wished to talk to you over the wire, but "--herlip curled, and she shrugged her shoulders--"you seemed to be afraid ofsomething or other. "

"I couldn't talk to you in my own house, with guests in the room. "

"Why not? Did I say anything your fashionable guests might takeexception to? Am I likely to do anything of that kind?--you coward!"

Quarrier stood very still, then noiselessly turned and made one steptoward the door. 

"One moment, " interposed Mortimer blandly. "As long as I travelled downtown to see you, and find you here so unexpectedly, I may as well takeadvantage of this opportunity to regulate a little matter. You don'tmind our talking shop for a moment, Lydia? Thank you. It's just a littlebusiness matter between Mr. Quarrier and myself--a matter concerning afew shares of stock which I once held in one of his companies, bought atpar, and tumbled to ten and--What is the fraction, Quarrier? I forget. "

Quarrier thought deeply for a moment; then he raised his head, lookingfull at Mortimer, and under his silky beard an edge of teeth glimmered. "Did you wish me to take back those shares at par?" he asked. 

"Exactly! I knew you would! I knew you'd see it in that way!" criedMortimer heartily. "Confound it all, Quarrier, I've always said you werethat sort of man--that you'd never let a friend in on the top floor, andkick him clear to the cellar! As a matter of fact, I sold out at ten andthree-eighths. Wait! Here's a pencil. Lydia, give me that pad on yourdesk. Here you are, Quarrier. It's easy enough to figure out how muchyou owe me. "

And as Quarrier slowly began tracing figures on the pad, Mortimerrambled on, growing more demonstrative and boisterous every moment. "It's white of you, Quarrier--I'll say that! Legally, of course, youcould laugh at me; but I've always said your business conscience wouldnever let you stand for this sort of thing. 'You can talk and talk, 'I've told people, many a time, 'but you'll never convince me that HowardQuarrier hasn't a heart. ' No, by jinks! they couldn't make me believeit. And here's my proof--here's my vindication! Lydia, would you mindhunting up that cheque-book I left here before dinn--"

He had made a mistake. The girl flushed. He choked up, and cast astartled glance at Quarrier. But Quarrier, if he heard, made no motionof understanding. Perhaps it had not been necessary to convince him ofthe conspiracy. 

When he had finished his figures he reviewed them, tracing each totalwith his pencil's point; then quietly handed the pad to Mortimer whowent over it, and nodded that it was correct. 

Lydia rose. Quarrier said, without looking at her: "I have a blankcheque with me. May I use one of these pens?"

So he had brought a cheque! Had he supposed that a cheque might benecessary when Lydia called him up? Was he prepared to meet any demandof hers, too, even before Mortimer appeared on the scene?

"As long as you have a cheque with you, Howard, " said Lydia quietly, "suppose you simply add to Mr. Mortimer's amount what you had intendedto offer me?"

He stared at her without answering. 

"That little remembrance for old time's sake. Don't you recollect?"

"No, " said Quarrier. 

"Why, Howard! Didn't you promise me all sorts of things when I wantedto go to your friend Mr. Siward, and explain that it was not his fault Igot into the Patroons Club? Don't you remember I felt dreadfully that hewas expelled--that I was simply wild to write to the governors and tellthem how I took Merkle's clothes and drove to the club and waited untilI saw a lot of men go in, and then crowded in with the push?"

Mortimer was staring at Quarrier out of his protruding eyes. The girlleaned forward, deliberate, self-possessed, the red lips edged withgrowing scorn. 

"That was a dirty trick!" said Mortimer heavily. He took the pad, addeda figure, passed it to Lydia, and she coolly wrote a total, underscoringit heavily. 

"That is the amount, " she said. 

Quarrier looked at the pad which she had tossed upon the desk. Then heslowly wetted his pen with ink, and, laying the loose cheque flat, beganto fill it in. Afterward he dried it, and, reading it carefully, pushedit aside and rose. 

"It wouldn't be advisable for you to stop payment, you know, " observedMortimer insolently, lying back in his chair and stretching his legs. 

"I know, " said Quarrier, pausing to turn on them a deathly stare. Thenhe went away. After awhile they heard the door close. But there wasno sound from the electric hansom, and Mortimer rose and walked to thewindow. 

"He's gone, " he said. 

Lydia stood at the desk, examining the cheque. 

"We ought to afford a decent touring-car now, " she suggested--"like thatyellow and black Serin-Chanteur car of Mr. Plank's. "

CHAPTER XIII THE SELLING PRICE

The heat, which had been severe in June, driving the last fashionableloiterer into the country, continued fiercely throughout July. Augustwas stifling; the chestnut leaves in the parks curled up and grewbrittle; the elms were blotched; brown stretches scarred the lawns; theblazing colour of the geranium beds seemed to intensify the heat, like abed of living coals. 

Nobody who was anybody remained in town--except some wealthy businessmen and their million odd employés; but the million, being nobodies, didn't count. 

Nobody came into town; that is to say that a million odd strangers cameas usual, swelling the sweltering, resident population sufficiently toanimate the main commercial thoroughfares morning and evening, but theydidn't count; the money they spent was, however, very carefully counted. 

The fashionable columns of the newspapers informed the fashionableex-urbanated that the city was empty--though the East Side reeked likea cattle-pen, and another million or two gasped on the hot, tin roofsunder the stars, or buried their dirty faces in the parched park grass. 

What the press meant to say was that the wealthy section of the citywithin the shadow of St. Patrick's twin white spires and north ofFifty-ninth Street was as empty and silent as an abandoned gold-mine. Which was true. Miles of elaborate, untenanted dwellings glimmered blankunder the moon and stood tomb-like in barren magnificence against theblazing blue of noon. Miles of plate-glass windows, boarded, or bearingbetween lowered shade and dusty pane the significant parti-colouredplacard warning the honest thief, stared out at the heated park or, inthe cross streets, confronted each other with inert hauteur, awaitingthe pleasure of their absent owners. 

The humidity increased; the horses' heads hung heavily under theirridiculously pitiful straw bonnets. When the sun was vertical nobodystirred; when the bluish shadows began to creep out over bakedsidewalks, broadening to a strip of superheated shade, a few stirredabroad in the deserted streets; here a policeman, thin blue summer tunicopen, helmet in hand, swabbing the sweat from forehead and neck; therea white uniformed street sweeper dragging his rubber-edged mop or asection of wet hose; perhaps a haggard peddler of lemonade making forthe Park wall around the Metropolitan Museum where, a little later, theEast Side would venture out to sit on the benches, or the great electrictourists' busses would halt to dump out a living cargo--perhaps onlythe bent figure of a woman, very shabby, very old, dragging her ancientbones along the silent splendour of Fifth Avenue, and peering about thegutters for something she never finds--always peering, always mumblingthe endless, wordless, soundless miserere of the poor. 

Quarrier's huge limestone mansion, looming golden in the sun, wastenantless; its owner, closing even The Sedges, his Long Island house, and driven northward for a breath of air, was expected at Shotover. 

The house of Mrs. Mortimer was closed and boarded up; the Caithnessmansion was closed; the Ferralls', the Bonnesdels', the Pages', the Shannons', Mrs. Vendenning's, all were sealed up like vaults. Acaretaker apparently guarded Major Belwether's house, peeping out atintervals from behind the basement windows. As for Plank's great pile ofmasonry, edging the outer Hundreds in the north, several lighted windowswere to be seen in it at night, and a big yellow and black touring-carwhizzed down town from its bronze gateway every morning with perfectregularity. 

For there was a fight on that had steadily grown hotter with theweather, and Plank had little time to concern himself with thetemperature or to mop his red features over the weather bureau report. Harrington and Quarrier were after him, horse, foot, and dragoons;Harrington had even taken a house at Seabright in order to be near inperson; and Quarrier's move from Long Island to Shotover House was notas flippant as it might appear, for he had his private car there and alocomotive at Black Fells Crossing station, and he was within strikingdistance of Rochester, Utica, Syracuse, and Albany. Which was whatHarrington thought necessary. 

The vast unseen machinery set in motion by Harrington and Quarrier hadbegun to grind in May; and, at the first audible rumble, the aspectof things financial in the country changed. A few industrials began torocket, nobody knew why; but the market's first tremor left it baggy andspineless, and the reaction, already overdue, became a sodden and soggyslump. Nobody knew why. 

The noise of the fray in the papers, which had first excited thenstunned the outside public, continued in a delirium of rumour, report, forecast, and summing up at the week's end. 

Scare heads, involving everybody and everything, from theDistrict-Attorney to Plank's office boy, succeeded one another. Plank'sname headed column after column. Already becoming familiar in thesociety and financial sections, it began to appear in neighbouringparagraphs. Who was Plank? And the papers told people with more or lessinaccuracy, humour, or sarcasm. What was he trying to do? The paperstried to tell that, too, making a pretty close guess, with commentsgood-natured or ill-natured according to circumstances over whichsomebody ought to have some control. What was Harrington trying to do toPlank--if he was trying to do anything? They told that pretty clearly. What was Quarrier going to do to Plank? That, also, they explained inlively detail. A few clergymen who stuck to their churches beganto volunteer pulpit opinions concerning the ethics of the battle. Aminister who was generally supposed to make an unmitigated nuisance ofhimself in politics dealt Plank an unexpected blow by saying that he wasa "hero. " Some papers called him "Hero" Plank for awhile, but soon tiredof it or forgot it under the stress of the increasing heat. 

Besides Plank scarcely noticed what the press said of him. He wastoo busy; his days were full days, brimming over deep into the night. Brokers, lawyers, sycophants, tipsters, treacherous ex-employés ofQuarrier, detectives, up-State petty officials, lobbyists from Albany, newspaper men, men from Wall Street, Broad Street, MulberryStreet, Forty-second Street--all these he saw in units, relays, regiments--either at his offices or after dinner--and sometimes aftermidnight in his own house. And these were only a few, picked from theinterested or disinterested thousands who besieged him with advice, importunity, threats, and attempted blackmail. And he handled them allin turn, stolidly but with decision. His obstinate under lip protrudedfurther and further with rare recessions; his heavy head was like thelowered head of a bull. Undaunted, inexorable, slow to the verge ofstupidity at times, at times swift as a startled tiger, this new, amazing personality steadily developing, looming higher, heavier, athwart the financial horizon--in stature holding his own among giants, then growing, gradually, inch by inch, dominated his surrounding levelsky line. 

The youth in him was the tragedy to the old; the sudden silence of theman the danger to the secretive. Harrington was already an old man;Quarrier's own weapon had always been secrecy; but the silence of Plankconfused him, for he had never learned to parry well another's use ofhis own weapon. The left-handed swordsman dreads to cross with a manwho fights with the left hand. And Harrington, hoary, seamed, scarred, maimed in onslaughts of long forgotten battles, looked long and hardupon this weird of his own dead youth which now rose towering toconfront him, menacing him with the armed point of the same shieldbehind which he himself had so long found shelter--the Law!

The closing of the courts enforced armed truces along certain lines ofPlank's battle front; the adjournment of the legislature emptied Albany. Once it was rumoured that Plank had passed an entire morning with theGovernor of the greatest State in the Union and that the conference wasto be repeated. A swarm of newspaper men settled about the Governor'ssummer cottage at Saratoga, but they learned nothing, nor could theyfind a trace of Plank's tracks in the trodden trails of the great Spa. 

Besides, the racing had begun; Desmond, Burbank, Sneed, and others ofthe gilded guild had opened new club-houses; the wretched, half-starvednatives in the surrounding hills were violating the game-laws to distendthe paunches of the overfed with five-inch troutlings and grouse andwoodcock slaughtered out of season; so there was plenty of copy fornewspaper men without the daily speculative paragraph devoted to thedoings of Beverly Plank. Some scandal, too--but newspapers never touchthat; and after all it was nobody's affair that Leroy Mortimer drove alarge yellow and black Serin-Chanteur touring-car, new model, all overSaratoga county. Perhaps the similarity of machines gave rise to therumour of Plank's presence; perhaps not, because the car was oftendriven by a tall, slender girl with dark eyes and hair; and nobody eversaw that sort of pretty woman in Plank's Serin, or saw Leroy Mortimerfor many days without a companion of that species. 

Mortimer's health was excellent. The races had not proved remunerativehowever, and his new motor-car was horribly expensive. So was Lydia. Andhe began to be seriously afraid that by the end of August he would beobliged to apply to Quarrier once more for some slight temporary tokenof that gentleman's goodwill. He told Lydia this, and she seemed toagree with him. This pleased him. She had not pleased him very muchrecently. For one thing she was becoming too friendly with some of hisfriends--Desmond in particular. 

Plank, it was known, had opened his great house at Black Fells. Hisservants, gamekeepers, were there; his stables, kennels, greenhouses, model stock-farm--all had been put in immaculate condition pending theadvent of the master. But Plank had not appeared; his new sea-goingsteam yacht still lay in the East River, and, at rare intervals, asignificant glimmer of bunting disclosed the owner's presence aboardfor an hour or two. That was all, however; and the cliff-watchers atShotover House and the Fells looked seaward in vain for the big Siwanoa, as yacht after yacht, heralded by the smudge on the horizon, turned froma gray speck to a white one, and crept in from the sea to anchor. 

The Ferralls were at Shotover with their first instalment of guests. Sylvia was there, Quarrier expected--because Kemp Ferrall's break withhim was not a social one, and Grace's real affection for Sylvia blindedneither her nor her husband to the material and social importance of theintimacy. Siward was not invited; neither had an invitation to him beeneven discussed in view of what Grace was aware of, and what everybodyknew concerning the implacable relations existing between him, personally, and Howard Quarrier. 

Bridge, yachting, and motoring were the August sports; the shooting sethad not yet arrived, of course; in fact there was still another relayexpected before the season opened and brought the shooting coterie forthe first two weeks. But Sylvia was expected to last through and holdover with a brief interlude for a week's end at Lenox. So was Quarrier;and Grace, always animated by a lively but harmless malice, hoped toHeaven that Plank might arrive before Quarrier left, because she adoredthe tension of situations and was delightedly persuaded that Plank wasmore than able to hold his own with her irritating cousin. 

"Oh, to see them together in a small room, " she sighed ecstatically inSylvia's ear; "I'd certainly poke them up if they only turned aroundsulkily in the corners of the cage and evinced a desire to lie down. "

"What a mischief-maker you are, " said Sylvia listlessly; and thoughGrace became very vivacious in describing her plans to extract amusementout of Plank's hoped-for presence Sylvia remained uninterested. 

There seemed, in fact, little to interest her that summer at ShotoverHouse; and, though she never refused any plans made for her, and herattitude was one of quiet acquiescence always--she never expressed apreference for anything, a desire to do anything; and, if let alone, wasprone to pace the cliffs or stretch her slim, rounded body on the sandof some little, sheltered, crescent beach, apparently content with thethunderous calm of sea and sky. 

Her interest, too, in people had seemingly been extinguished. Once ortwice she did inquire as to Marion's whereabouts, and learned that MissPage was fishing in Minnesota somewhere but would return to Shotoverwhen the shooting opened. Somebody, Captain Voucher, perhaps, mentionedto somebody in her hearing that Siward was still in New York. If sheheard she made no sign, no inquiry. The next morning she remained abedwith a headache, and Grace motored to Wendover without her; but Sylviaspent the balance of the day on the cliffs, and played Bridge withthe devil's own luck till dawn, piling up a score that staggered Mr. Fleetwood, who had been instructing her in adversary play a day or twobefore. 

The hot month dragged on; Quarrier came; Agatha Caithness arrived a fewdays later--scheme of the Ferralls involving Alderdene!--but the Siwanoadid not come, and Plank remained invisible. Leila Mortimer arrived fromSwan's Harbour toward the middle of the month, offering no informationas to the whereabouts of what Major Belwether delicately designated asher "legitimate. " But everybody knew he was at last to be crossedoff and struck clean out, and the ugly history of the winter, now soimpudently corroborated at Saratoga, gave many a hostess the opportunitylong desired. Mortimer, as far as his own particular circle wasconcerned, was down and out; Leila, accepted as a matter of coursewithout him, remained quietly uncommunicative. If the outward physicalchange in her was due to her marital rupture people thought it was wellthat it had come in time, for she bloomed like a lovely exotic; and hersilences and enthusiasms, and the fragrant freshness of her developingattitude toward the world first disconcerted, then amused, then touchedthose who had supposed themselves to be so long a buckler for herfoibles and a shield for her caprice. 

"Gad, " said Alderdene, "she's well rid of him if he's been choking herthis long--the rank, rotten weed that he is, sapping the life from herso when she hung over toward another fellow's bush we thought shewas frail in the stem--God bless us all for a simpering lot ofblatherskites!"

And if, in the corner of the gun-room, there was a man among them whohad ever ventured to hold Leila's smooth little hand, unrebuked, in daysgone by, none the less he knew that Alderdene spoke truth; and none theless he knew that what witness he might be called to bear at the end ofthe end of all must only incriminate himself and not that young matronwho now, before their very eyes, was budding again, reverting to theesoteric charm of youth reincarnated. 

"A suit before a referee would settle him, " mused Voucher; "he hasn't aleg to stand on. Lord! The same cat that tripped up Stephen Siward!"

Fleetwood's quick eyes glimmered for an instant in Quarrier's direction. Quarrier was in the billiard-room, out of earshot, practising balk-lineproblems with Major Belwether; and Fleetwood said: "The same cat thattripped up Stephen Siward. Yes. But who let her loose?"

"It was your dinner; you ought to know, " said Voucher bluntly. 

"I do know. He brought her"--nodding toward the billiard-room. 

"Belwether?"

"No, " yawned Fleetwood. 

Somebody said presently: "Isn't he one of the Governors? Oh, I say, thatwas rather rough on Siward though. "

"Yes, rough. The law of trespass ought to have operated; a man's liablefor the damage done by his own live-stock. "

"That's a brutal way of talking, " said somebody. And the subject wasclosed with the entrance of Agatha in white flannels on her way to thesquash court where she had an appointment with Quarrier. 

"A strange girl, " said somebody after she had disappeared with Quarrier. 

"That pallor is stunning, " said a big, ruddy youth, with sunburn on hisneck and forehead. 

"It isn't healthy, " said Fleetwood. 

"It attracts me, " persisted the ruddy young man, voicing naively thatcurious truth concerning the attraction that disease so often exerts onhealth--the strange curiosity the normal has for the sub-normal--thatfascination of the wholesome for the unhealthy. It is, perhaps, morecuriosity than anything, unless, deep hidden under the normal, there lieone single, perverted nerve. 

Sylvia, passing the hall, glanced in through the gun-room door with anabsentminded smile at the men and their laughing greeting, as they rosewith uplifted glasses to salute her. 

"The sweetest of all, " observed a man, disconsolately emptying hisglass. "Oh irony! What a marriage!"

"Do you know any girl who would not change places with her?" askedanother. 

Every man there insisted that he knew one girl at least who would notexchange Sylvia's future for her own. That was very nice of them; it isto be hoped they believed it. Some of them did--for the moment, anyhow. Then Alderdene, blinking furiously, emitted one of his ear-rackinglaughs; and everybody, as usual, laughed too. 

"You damned cynic, " observed Voucher affectionately. 

"Somebody, " said Fleetwood, "insists that she doubled up poor Siward. "

"She never met Siward until she was engaged to Howard, " remarkedVoucher. 

"Well?"

"Oh, don't you consider that enough to squelch the story?"

"Engaged girls, " mused Alderdene, "never double up except at Bridge. "

"Everybody has been or is in love with Sylvia Landis, " said Voucher, "and it's a man's own fault if he's hit. Once she did it, innocentlyenough, and enjoyed it, never realising that it hurt a man to be doubledup. "

Fleetwood yawned again and said: "She can have me to-morrow. But shewon't. She's tired of the sport. Any girl would get enough with thepack at her heels day in and day out. Besides she's done for--unless shelooses Quarrier and starts on a duke-hunt over in Blinky's country! …Is anybody on for a sail? Is anybody on for anything? No? Oh, very well. Shove that decanter north by west, Billy. "

This was characteristic of the dog-days at Shotover. The dog-days intown were very different; the city threw open the parks to the poor atnight; horses fell dead in the streets; pallid urchins, stripped naked, splashed and rolled and screeched in the basin of the City Hall fountainunder the indifferent eyes of the police. 

As for Plank he was too busy to know what the thermometer was about; hehad no time for anything outside of his own particular business exceptto go every day to the big, darkened house in lower Fifth Avenue wherethe days had been hard on Siward and the nights harder. 

Siward, however, could walk now, using his crutches still, but oftenstopping to gently test his left foot and see how much weight he wasable to bear on it--even taking a tentative step or two without crutchsupport. He drove when he thought it prudent to use the horses in theheat, usually very early in the morning, though sometimes at night withPlank when the latter had time to run his touring-car through the parkand out into the Bronx or Westchester for a breath of air. 

But Plank wanted him to go away, get out of the city for hisconvalescence, and Siward flatly declined, demanding that Plank permithim to do his share in the fight against the Inter-County people. 

And Plank, utterly unable to persuade him, and the more hampered becauseof his anxiety about Siward--though that young man did not know it--worehimself out providing Siward with such employment in the matter as wouldlightly occupy him without doing any good to the enemy. 

So Siward, stripped to his pajamas, pored over reams of typewrittenmatter and took his brief walking exercise in the comparative cool ofthe evening and drove when he dared use his horses; or, sitting besidePlank, whizzed northward through the starry darkness of the suburbs. 

When it was that he first began to like Plank very much he could notexactly remember. He was not, perhaps, aware of how much he liked him. Plank's unexpected fits of shyness, of formality, often and often amusedhim. But there was a subtler feeling under the unexpressed amusement, and, beneath all, a constantly increasing sub-stratum of respect. Too, he found himself curiously at ease with Plank, as with one born to hisown caste. And this feeling, unconscious, but more and more apparent, meant more to Plank than anything that had ever happened to him. Itwas a tonic in hours of doubt, a pleasure in his brief leisure, a pridenever to be hinted at, never to be guessed, never to be dreamed of byany living soul save Plank alone. 

Then, one sultry day toward the last week in August, a certain judge ofa certain court, known among some as "Harrington's judge, " sentsecretly for Plank. And Plank knew that the crisis was over. But neitherHarrington nor Quarrier dreamed of such a thing. 

Fear sat heavy on that judge's soul--the godless, selfish fear thatsends the first coward slinking from the councils of conspiracy to seekimmunity from those slowly grinding millstones that grind exceedingfine. 

Quarrier at Shotover, with his private car and his locomotive within anhour's drive, strolled with Sylvia on the eve of her departure for Lenoxwith Leila Mortimer; then, when their conference was ended, he returnedto Agatha, calmly unconscious of impending events. 

Harrington, at Seabright, paced his veranda, awaiting this same judge, annoyed as two boats came in without the expected guest. And never forone instant did he dream that his creature sat closeted with Plank, tremulous, sallow, nearing the edge of cringing avowal--only held backfrom utter collapse by the agonising necessity of completing a bargainthat might save himself from the degradation of the punishment that hadseemed inevitable. All day long he sat with Plank. Nobody except thosetwo knew he was there. And after a very long time Plank consented thatnobody else except Siward and Harrington and Quarrier should ever know. So he called up Harrington on the telephone, saying that there was, inthe office, somebody who desired to speak to him. And when Harringtoncaught the judge's first faint, stammered word he reeled where he stood, ashen, unbelieving, speechless. The shaking but remorseless voice wenton, dinning horribly in his ear, then ceased, and Plank's heavy voicesounded the curt coup de grâce. 

Harrington was an old man, a very old man, mortally hurt; but hesteadied himself along the wall of his study to the desk and sank intothe chair. 

There he sat, feeling the scars of old wounds throbbing, feeling his ageand the tragedy of it, and the new sensation of fear--fear of the wraithof his own youth, wearing the mask of Plank, and menacing him with themenace he had used on others so long ago--so very long ago. 

After a little while he passed a thin hand over his eyes, over his grayhead, over the mouth that all men watched with fear, over the shavenjaw now grimly set, but trembling. His hand, too, shook with palsy ashe wrote, painfully picking out the words and figures of the cipher fromhis code-book; but he closed his thin lips and squared his unsteady jawand wrote his message to Quarrier:

"It is all up. Plank will take over Inter-County. Come at once. "

And that was all there was to be done until he could come into Plank'scamp with arms and banners, a conquered man, cynical of the mercy hedared not expect and which, in all his life, he had never, never shownto man, to woman, or to child. 

Plank slept the sleep of utter exhaustion that night; the morning foundhim haggard but strong, cool in his triumph, serious, stern faced, almost sad that his work was done, the battle won. 

From his own house he telegraphed a curt summons to Harrington and toQuarrier for a conference in his own office; then, finishing whateverbusiness his morning mail required, put on his hat and went to see theone man in the world he was most glad for. 

He found him at breakfast, sipping coffee and wrinkling his brows overthe eternal typewritten pages. And Plank's face cleared at the sight andhe sat down, laughing aloud. 

"It's all over, Siward, " he said. "Harrington knows it; Quarrier knowsit by this time. Their judge crawled in yesterday and threw himselfon our mercy; and the men whose whip he obeyed will be on their way tosurrender by this time. … Well! Haven't you a word?"

"Many, " said Siward slowly; "too many to utter, but not enough toexpress what I feel. If you will take two on account, here they are inone phrase: thank you. "

"Debt's cancelled, " said Plank, laughing. "Do you want to hear thedetails?"

They talked for an hour, and, in the telling, even Plank's stoliditygave way sufficient to make his heavy voice ring at moments, and theglimmer of excitement edge his eyes. Yet, in the telling, he scarcelymentioned himself, never hinted of the personal part--the inspirationwhich was his alone; the brunt of the battle which centred in him; thetireless vigilance; the loneliness of the nights when he lay awake, perplexed with doubt and nobody to counsel him--because men who wagesuch wars are lonely men and must work out their own salvation. No, nobody but his peers could advise him; and he had thought that his enemywas his peer, until that enemy surrendered. 

The narrative exchanged by Plank in return for Siward's intenselyinterested questions was a simple, limpid review of a short but terrificcampaign that only yesterday had threatened to rage through courtafter court, year after year. In the sudden shock of the cessation frombattle, Plank himself was a little dazed. Yet he himself had expectedthe treason that ended all; he himself had foreseen it. He had countedon it as a good general counts on such things, confidently, but witha dozen plans as substitutes in case that plan failed--each plan aselaborately worked out to the last detail as though it alone existed asthe only hope of victory. But if Siward suspected something of this itwas not from Plank that he learned it. 

"Plank, " he said at last, "there is nothing in the world that men admiremore than a man. It is a good deal of a privilege for me to tell youso. "

Plank turned red with surprise and embarrassment, stammering outsomething incoherent. 

That was all that was said about the victory. Siward, unusually gay forawhile, presently turned sombre; and it was Plank's turn to lift him outof it by careless remarks about his rapid convalescence, and the chancefor vacation he so much needed. 

Once Siward looked up vacantly: "Where am I to go?" he asked. "I'd assoon stay here. "

"But I'm going, " insisted Plank. "The Fells is all ready for us. "

"The Fells! I can't go there!"

"W-what?" faltered Plank, looking at Siward with hurt eyes. 

"Can't you--don't you understand?" said Siward in a low voice. 

"No. You once promised--"

"Plank, I'll go anywhere except there with you. I'd rather be with youthan with anybody. Can I say more than that?"

"I think you ought to, Siward. A--a fellow feels the refusal of hisoffered roof-tree. "

"Man! man! it isn't your roof I am refusing. I want to go; I'd giveanything to go. If it were anywhere except where it is, I'd go fastenough. Now do you understand? If--if Shotover House and Shotover peoplewere not next door to the Fells, I'd go. Now do you understand?"

Plank said: "I don't know whether I understand. If you mean Quarrier, he's on his way here, and he'll have business to keep him here for thenext few months, I assure you. But"--he looked very gravely across atSiward--"if you don't mean Quarrier--" He hesitated, ill at ease underthe expressionless scrutiny of the other. 

"Do you know what's the matter with me, Plank?" he asked at length. 

"I think so. "

"I have wondered. I wonder now how much you know. "

"Very little, Siward. "

"How much?"

Plank looked up, hesitated, and shook his head: "One infers from whatone hears. "

"Infers what?"

"The truth, I suppose, " replied Plank simply. 

"And what, " insisted Siward, "have you inferred that you believe tobe the truth? Don't parry, Plank; it isn't easy for me, and I--I neverbefore spoke this way to any man. … It is likely I should have spokento my mother about it. … I had expected to. It may be weakness--I don'tknow; but I'd like to talk a little about it to somebody. And there'snobody fit to listen, except you. "

"If you feel that way, " said Plank slowly, "I will be very glad tolisten. "

"I feel that way. I've been through--some things; I've been pretty sick, Plank. It tires a man out; a man's head and shoulders get tired. Oh, Idon't mean the usual reaction from self-contempt, disgust--the dreadful, aching sadness of it all which lasts even while desire, stunned for themoment, wakens into craving. I don't mean that. It is something else--adeathly, mental solitude that terrifies. I tell you, no man except a mansmitten by my malady knows what solitude can be! … There! I didn't meanto be theatrical; I had no intention of--"

"Go on, " cut in Plank heavily. 

"Go on! … Yes, I want to. You know what a pillow is to a tired man'sshoulders. I want to use your sane intelligence to rest on a moment. It's my brain that's tired, Plank. "

Although everybody had cynically used Plank, nobody had ever beforefound him a necessity. 

"Go on, " he said unsteadily. "If I can be of use to you, Siward, inGod's name let me be, for I have never been necessary to anybody in allmy life. "

Siward rested his head on one clinched hand: "How much chance do youthink I have?" he asked wearily. 

"Chance to get well?"

"Yes. "

Plank considered for a moment, then: "You are not trying, Siward. "

"I have been trying since--since March. "

"Since March?"

"Yes. "

Plank looked at him curiously: "What happened in March?"

"Had I better tell you?"

"You know better than I. "

Siward, cheek crushed against his fist, his elbow on the desk, gazed athim steadily:

"In March, " he said, "Miss Landis spoke to me. I've made a better fightsince. "

Plank's serious face darkened. "Is she the only anchor you have?"

"Plank, I am not even sure of her. I have made a better fight sincethen; that is all I dare say. I know what men think about a man likeme; I knew they demand character, pride, self-denial. But, Plank, I amdriving faster and faster toward the breakers, and these anchors aredragging. For it is not, in my case, the physical failure to obey thewill; it is the will itself that has been attacked from the first. That is the horror of it. And what is there behind the will-power tostrengthen it? Only the source of will-power--the mind. It is the mindthat cannot help me. What am I to do?"

"There is a spiritual strength, " said Plank timidly. 

"I have never dreamed of denying it, " said Siward. "I have tried to findit through the accepted sources--accepted by me, too. God has not helpedme in the conventional way or through traditional methods; but that hasnot inclined me to doubt Him as the tribunal of last resort, " he addedhastily. "I don't for a moment waver in faith because I am ignorantof the proper manner to approach Him. The Arbiter of all knows that Idesire to be decent. He must be aware, too, that all anchors save onehave failed to hold me. "

"You mean--Miss Landis?"

"Yes. It may be weakness; it may be to my shame that the cables of prideand self-respect, even the spiritual respect for the Highest, cannothold me when this one anchor holds. All I know is that it holds--so far. It held me at Shotover; it holds me again, now. And the rocks were closeabeam, Plank--very close--when she spoke to me over the wires, throughthe rain, that dark day in March. "

He moistened his lips feverishly. 

"She said that I might see her. I have waited a long time. I have takenmy fighting chance again and I've won out, so far. "

He looked up at Plank, curiously embarrassed:

"Your body is normal; your intelligence wholesome, balanced, sane; and Iwant to ask you if you think that perhaps, without understanding how, I have found in her, or through her, in some way, the spiritual sourcethat I think might help me to help myself?"

And, as Plank made no reply:

"Or am I talking sentimental cant? Don't answer, if you think that. I can't trust my own mind any more, anyway; and, " with an ugly laugh, "I'll know it all some day--the sooner the better!"

"Don't say that!" growled Plank. "You were sane a moment ago. "

Siward looked up sharply, but the other silenced him with a gesture. 

"Wait! You asked me a perfectly sane question--so wholesome, so normal, that I'm trying to frame an answer worthy of it! I intimated that afterthe physical, the mental, the ethical phenomena, there remained alwaysthe spiritual instinct. Like a wireless current, if a man can establishcommunication it is well for him, whatever the method. You assented, Ithink. "

"Yes. "

"And you ask me if I believe it possible that she can be the medium?"

"Yes. "

Plank said deliberately: "Yes, I do think so. "

The silence was again broken by Plank: "Siward, you have asked me whatI think. Now you must listen to the end. If you believed that throughher--her love, marrying her--you stood the best chance in the world towin out, it would be cowardly to ask her to take the risk. As much as Icare for you I had rather see you lose the fight than accept such a riskfrom her. Now you know what I think--but you don't know all. Siward, Isay to you that if you are man enough to take her, take her! And I saythat of the two risks she is running to-day, the chance she might takewith you is infinitely the lesser risk. For with you, if you continueslowly losing your fight, the mental suffering only will be hers. Butif she closes this bargain with Quarrier, selling to him her body, thelight will go out of her soul for ever. "

He leaned heavily toward Siward, stretching out his powerful arm:

"You marry her; and keep open your spiritual communication through her, if that is the way it has been established, and hang on to your God thatway until your body is dead! I tell you, Siward, to marry her. I don'tcare how you do it; I don't care how you get her. Take her! Yours, ofthe two, is the stronger character, or she would not be where she is. Does she want what you cannot give her? Cure that desire--it is morecontemptible than the craving that shatters you! I say, let the one-eyedlead the blind. Miracles are worked out by mathematics--if you havefaith enough. "

He rose, striding the length of the room once or twice, turned, holdingout his broad hand:

"Good-bye, " he said. "Harrington is about due at my office; Quarrierwill probably turn up to-night. I am not vindictive; I shall be justwith them--as just as I know how, which is to be as merciful as I darebe. Good-bye, Siward. I--I believe you and she are going to get well. "

When he had gone, Siward lay back in his chair, very still, eyes closed. A faint colour had mounted to his face and remained there. 

It was late in the afternoon when he went down-stairs, using hiscrutches lightly. Gumble handed him a straw hat and opened the door, andSiward cautiously descended the stoop, stood for a few moments on thesidewalk, looking up at the blue sky, then wheeled and slowly made hisway toward Washington Square. The avenue was deserted; his ownhouse appeared to be the only remaining house still open in all thatold-fashioned but respectable quarter. 

He swung leisurely southward, a slim, well-built young fellow, strangelyout of place on crutches. The poor always looked at him; beggars neverimportuned him, yet found him agreeable to watch. Children, who seldomlook up into the air far enough to notice grown people, always becameconscious of him when he passed; often smiled, sometimes spoke. As forstray curs and tramp cats, they were for ever making advances. Aslong as he could remember, there was scarcely a week in town but somehomeless dog attached himself to Siward's heels, sometimes trottingseveral blocks, sometimes following him home--where the outcast wasalways cared for, washed, fed, and ultimately shipped out to the farm, where scores of these "fresh-air" dogs resided on his bounty and rolledin luxury on his lawns. 

Cats, too, were prone to notice him, rising as he passed to hoist aninterrogative tail and make tentative observations. 

In Washington Square, these, and the ragged children, knew him best ofall. The children came from Minetta Lane and the purlieus south andwest of it; the cats from the Mews, which Siward always thought mostappropriate. 

And now, as he passed the marble arch and entered the square, glancingbehind him he saw the inevitable cat trotting, and, at his left, avery dirty little girl pretending to trundle a hoop, but plainly enoughkeeping sociable pace with him. 

"Hello!" said Siward. The cat stopped; the child tossed her clusteringcurls, gave him a rapid but fearless sidelong glance, laughed, and ranon in the wake of her hoop. When she caught it she sat down on a benchopposite the fountain and looked around at Siward. 

"It's pretty warm, isn't it?" said Siward, coming up and seating himselfon the same bench. 

"Are you lame?" asked the child. 

"Oh, a little. "

"Is your leg broken?"

"Oh, no, not now. "

"Is that your cat?"

Siward looked around; the cat was seated on the bench beside him. But hewas accustomed to that sort of thing, and he caressed the creature withhis gloved hand. 

"Are you rich?" asked the child, shaking her blond curls from her eyesand staring up solemnly at him. 

"Not very, " he answered, smiling. "Why do you ask?"

"You look rich, somehow, " said the child shyly. 

"What! With these old and very faded clothes?"

She shook her head, swinging her plump legs: "You look it, somehow. Itisn't the clothes that matter. "

"I'll tell you one thing, " said Siward, laughing "I'm rich enough to buyall the hokey-pokey you can eat!" and he glanced meaningly at the pedlarof that staple who had taken station between a vender of peaches and aGreek flower-seller. 

The child looked, too, but made no comment. 

"How about it?" asked Siward. 

"I'd rather have something to remember you by, " said the girlinnocently. 

"What?" he said, perplexed. 

"A rose. They are five cents, and hokey-pokey costs that much--I mean, for as much as you can eat. "

"Do you really want a rose?" he said amused. 

But the child fell shy, and he beckoned the Greek and selected a dozenbig, perfumed jacks. 

Then, as the child sat silent, her ragged arms piled with roses, heasked her jestingly what else she desired. 

"Nothing. I like to look at you, " she answered simply. 

"And I like to look at you. Will you tell me your name?"

"Molly. "

But that is all the information he could extract. Presently she said shewas going, hesitated, looked a very earnest good-bye, and darted awayacross the park, her hoop over one arm, the crimson roses bobbing aboveher shoulders. Something in her flight attracted the errant cat, forshe, too, jumped down and bounded after the little flying feet, but, catlike, halted half-way to scratch, and then forgetting what she wasabout, wandered off toward the Mews again, whence she had been lured byinstinctive fascination. 

Siward, intensely amused, sat there in the late sunlight which streamedthrough the park, casting long shadows from the elms and sycamores. Itwas that time of the day, just before sunset, when the old square lookedto him as he remembered it as a child. Even the marble arch, pink inthe evening sun, did not disturb the harmony of his memories. He saw hisfather once more, walking home from down town, tall, slim, laughinglystopping to watch him as he played there with the other children--thenurses, seated in a row, crocheting under the sycamores; he saw theold-fashioned carriage pass, Mockett on the box, Wands beside him, and his pretty mother leaning forward to wave her hand to him asthe long-tailed, long-maned horses wheeled into Fifth Avenue. Littleunimportant scenes, trivial episodes, grew in the spectral garden ofmemory: the first time he ever saw Marion Page, when, aged five, she wasattempting to get into the fountain, pursued by a shrieking nurse; and acertain flight across the grass he had indulged in with Leila Mortimer, then Leila Egerton, aged six, in hot pursuit, because she found that itbored him horribly to be kissed, and she was bound to do it. He had afight once, over by that gnarled, old, silver poplar-tree, with KempFerrall--he could not remember what about, only that they ended byunanimously assaulting their nurses and were dragged howling homeward. 

He turned, looking across to where the gray towers of the Universityonce stood. There had been an old stone church there, too; and, southof that, old, old houses with hip-roofs and dormers where now the highwhite cliffs of modern architecture rose, riddled with tiny windows, every vane glittering in the sun. South, the old houses still remained, now degraded to sordid uses. North, the square, red-brick mansions, with their white pillars and steps, still faced the sunset--the lastpractically unbroken rank of the old régime, the last of the old guard, standing fast and still confronting, still resisting the Inevitablelooming in limestone and granite, story piled on story, aloft in thekindling, southern sky. 

A cab, driven smartly, passed through the park, the horses' feetslapping the asphalt till the echoes rattled back from the marble arch. He followed it idly with his eyes up Fifth Avenue; saw it suddenly haltin the middle of the street; saw a woman spring out, stand for a momenttalking to her companion, then turn and look toward the square. 

She stood so long, and she was so far away, that he presently grewtired of watching her. A dozen ragged urchins were prowling around thefountain, casting sidelong glances at a distant policeman. But it wasnot hot enough that evening to permit the children to splash in thewater, and the policeman drove them off. 

"Poor little devils!" said Siward to himself; and he rose, adjusted hiscrutches, and started through the park with a vague idea of seeing whatcould be done. 

As he limped onward, the sun level in his eyes, he heard somebody speakbehind him, but did not catch the words or apply the hail to himself. Then, "Mr. Siward!" came the low, breathless voice at his elbow. 

His heart stopped as he did. The sun had dazzled his eyes, and when heturned on his crutches he could not see clearly for a second. Thatpast, he looked at Sylvia, looked at her outstretched hand, took itmechanically, still staring at her with only a dazed unbelief in hiseyes. 

"I am in town for a day, " she said. "Leila Mortimer and I were drivingup town from the bank when we saw you; and the next thing that happenedwas me, on Fifth Avenue, running after you--no, the next thing was myflying leap from the hansom, and my standing there looking down thestreet and across the square where you sat. Then Leila told me I wasprobably crazy, and I immediately confirmed her diagnosis by runningafter you!"

She stood laughing, flushed, sunburned, and breathless, her left handstill in his, her right hand laid over it. 

"Oh, " she said, with a sudden change to anxiety, "does it tire you tostand?"

"No. I was going to saunter along. "

"May I saunter with you for a moment? I mean--I only mean, I am glad tosee you. "

"Do you think I am going to let you go now?" he asked, astonished. 

She looked at him, then her eyes evaded his: "Let us walk a little, " shesaid, withdrawing her hand, "if you think you are strong enough. "

"Strong! Look, Sylvia!" and he stood unsupported by his crutches, thenwalked a little way, slowly, but quite firmly. "I am rather a cowardabout my foot, that is all. I shall not lug these things about afterto-day. "

"Did the doctor say you might?"

"Yes, after to-day. I could walk home now without them. I could do agood many things I couldn't do a few minutes ago. Isn't that curious?"

"Very, " she said, avoiding his eyes. 

He laughed. She dared not look at him. The excitement and impetus ofsheer impulse had carried her this far; now all the sadness of it wasclutching hard at her throat and for awhile she could not speak--walkingthere in her dainty, summer gown beside him, the very incarnation ofyouth and health, with the sea-tan on wrist and throat, and he, white, hollow-eyed, crippled, limping, at her elbow!

Yet at that very moment his whole frame seemed to glow and his heartclamour with the courage in it, for he was thinking of Plank's wordsand he knew Plank had spoken the truth. She could not give herself toQuarrier, if he stood firm. His was the stronger will after all; his wasthe right to interfere, to stop her, to check her, to take her, draw herback--as he had once drawn her from the fascination of destruction whenshe had swayed out too far over the cliffs at Shotover. 

"Do you remember that?" he asked, and spoke of the incident. 

"Yes, I remember, " she replied, smiling. 

"Doctors say" he continued, "that there is a weak streak in people whoare affected by great heights, or who find a dizzy fascination drawingthem toward the brink of precipices. "

"Do you mean me?" she asked, amused. 

But he continued serenely: "You have seen those pigeons called 'tumblerpigeons' suddenly turn a cart-wheel in mid-air? Scientists say it's notfor pleasure they do it; it's because they get dizzy. In other words, they are not perfectly normal. "

She said, laughing: "Well, you never saw me turn a cart-wheel!"

"Only a moral one, " he replied airily. 

"Stephen, what on earth do you mean? You're not going to bedisagreeable, are you?"

"I am going to be so agreeable, " he said, laughing, "that you will findit very difficult to tear yourself away. "

"I have no doubt of it, but I must, and very soon. "

"I'm not going to let you. "

"It can't be helped, " she said, looking up at him. "I came in withLeila. We're asked to Lenox for the week's end. We go to Stockbridge onthe early train to-morrow morning. 

"I don't care, " he said doggedly; "I'm not going to let you go yet. "

"If I took to my heels here in the park would you chase me, Stephen?"she asked with mock anxiety. 

"Yes; and if I couldn't run fast enough I'd call that policeman. Now doyou begin to understand?"

"Oh, I've always understood that you were spoiled. I'm partly guilty ofthe spoiling process, too. Listen: I'll walk with you a little way"--shelooked at him--"a little way, " she continued gently; "then I must go. There is only a caretaker in our house and Leila will be furious if Ileave her all alone. Besides, we're going to dine there and it won't bevery gay if I don't give a few orders first. "

"But you brought your maid?"

"Naturally. "

"Then telephone her that you and Leila are dining out. "

"Where, silly? Do you want us to dine somewhere with you?"

"Want you! You've got to!"

"Stephen, it isn't best. "

"It is best. "

She turned to him impulsively: "Oh, I do want to so much! Do you thinkI might? It is perfectly delicious to see you again. I--you have noidea--"

"Yes, I have, " he said sternly. 

They turned, walking past the fountain toward Fifth Avenue again. Furtively she glanced at his hands with the city pallor on them as theygrasped the cross-bars of the crutches, then looked up at his worn face. He was much thinner, but now in the softly fading light the shadowsunder the eyes and cheek-bones seemed less sharp, his face fuller andmore boyish; the contour of head and shoulders, the short, crisp hairwere as she remembered--and the old charm held her, the old fascinationgrew, tightening her throat, stealing through every vein, stirring herpulses, awakening imperceptibly once more the best in her. The twilightof a thousand years seemed to slip from the world as she looked out atit through eyes opening from a long, long sleep; the marble arch burnedrosy in the evening glow; a fairy haze hung over the enchanted avenue, stretching away, away into the blue magic of the city of dreams. 

"There is no use, " she said under her breath; "I can't go back to Leila. Stephen, the dreadful part of it is that I--I wish she were in Jericho!I wish the whole world were in Ballyhoo, and you and I alone once more!"

Under their gay laughter quivered the undertone of excitement. Sylviasaid:

"I'd like to talk to you all alone. It won't do, of course; but I maysay what I'd like--mayn't I? What time is it? If I'm dining with youwe've got to have Leila for convention's sake, if not from motives ofsheer decency, which you and I seem to lack, Stephen. "

"We lack decency, " said Siward, "and we're proud of it. As for Leila, Iam going to arrange for her very simply but very beautifully. Plank willtake care of her. Sylvia! There's not a soul in town and we can be asimprudent as we please. "

"No, we can't. Agatha's at the Santa Regina. She came down with us. "

"But we are not going to dine at the Santa Regina. We're goingwhere Agatha wouldn't intrude her colourless nose--to a thoroughlyunfashionable and selectly common resort overlooking the classic Harlem;and we're going to whiz thither in Plank's car, and remain thither untilyou yawn for mercy, whence we will return thence--"

"Stephen, you silly! I'm perfectly mad to go with you!"

"You'll be madder when you get there, if the table has not improved. "

"Table! As though tables mattered on a night like this!" Then withsudden self-reproach and quick solicitude: "Am I making you walk toofar? Wouldn't you like to go in now?"

"No, I'm not tired; I'm millions of years younger, and I'm as strongas the nine gods of your friend Porsena. Besides, haven't I waited forthis?" and under his breath, fiercely, "Haven't I waited!" he repeated, turning on her. 

"Do--do you mean that as a reproach?" she asked, lowering her eyes. 

"No. I knew you would not come on 'the first sunny day. '"

"Why did you think I would not come? Did you know me for the coward Iam?"

"I did not think you would come, " he repeated, halting to rest on hiscrutches. He stood, balanced, staring dreamily into the dim perspective;and again her fascinated eyes ventured to rest on the worn, white face, listless, sombre in its fixedness. 

The tears were very near her eyes; the spasm in her throat checkedspeech. At length she stammered: "I did not come b-because I simplycouldn't stand it!"

His face cleared as he turned quietly: "Child, you must not confusematters. You must not think of being sorry for me. The old order ispassing--ticking away on every clock in the world. All that invertedorder of things is being reversed. You don't know what I mean, do you?Ah, well; you will know when I grow into something of what you think youremember in me, and when I grow out of what I really was. "

"Truly I don't understand, Stephen. But then--I am out of training sinceyou went--went out of things. Have I changed? Do I seem more dull? I--ithas not been very gay with me. I don't see--looking back across all thenoise, all the chaos of the winter--I do not see how I stood it alone. "

"Alone?"

"N-not seeing you--sometimes. "

He looked at her with smiling, sceptical eyes. "Didn't you enjoy thewinter?"

"Do you enjoy being drugged with champagne?"

His face altered so quickly that, confused, she only stared at him, thefixed smile stamped on her lips; then, overwhelmed in the revelation:

"Stephen, surely, surely you know what I meant! I did not mean that!Dear, do you dream for one moment that--that I could--"

"No. You have not hurt me. Besides, I know what you mean. "

After a moment he swung forward on his crutches, biting his lip, thefrown gathering between his temples. 

They were passing the big, old-fashioned hotel with its white façade andgreen blinds, a lingering landmark of the older city. 

"We'll telephone here, " he said. 

Side by side they went up the great, broad stoop and entered the lobby. 

"If you'll speak to Leila, I'll get Plank on the wire. Say that we'llstop for you at seven. "

She gave her number; then, at the nod of the operator, entered a smallbooth. Siward was given another booth in a few moments. 

Plank answered from his office; his voice sounded grave and tired but itquickened, tinged with surprise, when Siward made known his plan for theevening. 

"Is Mrs. Mortimer in town?" he demanded. "I had a wire from her that sheexpected to be here and I hoped to see her at the station to-morrow onher way to Lenox. "

"She's stopping with Miss Landis. Can't you manage to come?" askedSiward anxiously. 

"I don't know. Do you wish it particularly? I have just seen Quarrierand Harrington. I can't quite understand Quarrier's attitude. There'sa certain hint of defiance about it. Harrington is all caved in. He isready to thank us for any mercies. But Quarrier--there's something Idon't fancy, don't exactly understand about his attitude. He's like adangerous man whom you've searched for concealed weapons, and who knowsyou've overlooked the knife up his sleeve. That's why I've expectedto spend a quiet evening, studying up the matter and examining everyloophole. "

"You've got to dine somewhere, " said Siward. "If you could fix it todine with us--But I won't urge you. "

"All right. I don't know why I shouldn't. I don't know why I feel thisway about things. I--I rather felt--you'll laugh, Siward!--that somehowI'd better not go out of my own house to-night; that I was safer, betteroff in my own house, studying this Quarrier matter out. I'm tired, Isuppose; and this man Quarrier has come close to worrying me. But it'sall right, of course, if you wish it. You know I haven't any nerves. "

"If you are tired--" began Siward. 

"No, no, I'm not. I'll go. Will you say that we'll stop for them atseven? Really, it's all right, Siward. "

"I don't want to urge you, " repeated Siward. 

"You're not. I'll go. But--wait one moment tell me, did Quarrier knowthat Mrs. Mortimer was to stop with Miss Landis?"

"Wait a moment. Hold the wire. "

He opened the door of the booth and saw Sylvia waiting for him, seatedby the operator's desk. She rose at once when she saw he wished to speakwith her. 

"Tell me something, " he said in a low voice; "did Mr. Quarrier know thatLeila was to stay overnight with you?"

"Yes, " she answered quietly, surprised. "Why?"

Siward nodded vaguely, closed the door again, and said to Plank:

"Yes, Quarrier knows it. Do you think he'll be there to-night? I don'tsuppose Miss Landis and Mrs. Mortimer know he is in town. "

Plank's troubled voice came back over the wire: "I don't know. I don'tknow what to think. I suppose I'm a little, just a trifle, overworked. Somebody once said that I had one nerve in me somewhere, and Quarrier'sprobably found it; that's all. "

"If you think it better not to come--"

"I'll come. I'll stop for you in the motor. Don't worry, old fellow!And--take your fighting chance! Good-bye!"

Siward, absorbed in his own thoughts, rose and walked slowly out of thebooth, utterly unconscious that he had left his crutches leaning uprightin the corner. It was only the surprise dawning into tremulous delighton Sylvia's face that at last arrested him. 

"See what you have done!" he said, laughing through his own surprise. "I've a mind to leave them there now, and trust to your new cure. "

But she was instantly concerned and anxious, and entering the boothbrought out the crutches and forced him to take them. 

"No risks now!" she said decisively. "We have too much at stake thisevening. Leila is coming. Isn't it perfectly delightful?"

"Perfectly, " he said, his eyes full of the old laughing confidenceagain; "and the most delightful part of it all is that you don't knowhow delightful it is going to be. "

"Don't I? Very well. Only I inform you that I mean to be perfectlyhappy! And that means that I'm going to do as I please! And thatmeans--oh, it may mean anything! What are you laughing at, Stephen? Iknow I'm excited. I don't care! What girl wouldn't be? And I don't knowwhat's ahead of me at all; and I don't want to know--I don't care!"

Her reckless, little laugh rang sweetly in the old-fashioned, desertedhall; her lovely, daring eyes met his undaunted. 

"You won't make love to me, will you, Stephen?"

"Will you promise me the same?"

"I don't know, silly! How do I know what I might say to you, you big, blundering boy, who can't take care of himself? I don't know at all; Iwon't promise. I'm likely to do anything to-night--even before Leilaand Mr. Plank--when you are with me. Shame on you for the shamelessgirl you've educated!" Her voice fell, tremulously, and for an instantstanding there she remembered her education and his part in it. 

The slow colour in his face reflected the pink confusion in hers. 

"O tongue! tongue!" she stammered, "I can't hold you in! I can't curbyou, and I can't make you say what you ought to be saying to that boy. There's trouble coming for somebody; there's trouble here already! Callme a cab, Stephen, or I'll be dragging you into that big, old-fashionedparlour and planting you on a chair and placing myself opposite, tomoon over you until somebody puts us out! There! Now will you call me ahansom? … And I will be all ready at seven. … And don't dare to keep mewaiting one second! … Come before seven. You don't want to frightenme, do you? Very well then, at a quarter to seven--so I shall not befrightened. And, Stephen, Stephen, we're doing exactly what we oughtnot to do. You know it, don't you? So do I. Nothing can stop us, can it?Good-bye!"

CHAPTER XIV THE BARGAIN

If a man's grief does not awaken his dignity, then he has none. In thatevent, grief is not even respectable. And so it was with Leroy Mortimerwhen Lydia at last turned on him. If you caress an Angora too long andtoo persistently it runs away. And before it goes it scratches. 

Under all the physical degeneration of mind and flesh there had stillremained in Mortimer the capacity for animal affection; and that doesnot mean sensuality alone, but generosity and a sort of routine devotionas characteristic components of a character which had now disintegratedinto the simplest and most primitive elements. 

Lydia Vyse left Saratoga when the financial stringency began to make itunpleasant for her to remain. She told Mortimer without the slightestcompunction that she was going. 

He did not believe her and he gave her the new car--the bigyellow-and-black Serin-Chanteur. She sold it the same day to abookmaker--an old friend of hers; withdrew several jewels fromlimbo--gems which Mortimer had given her--and gathered togethereverything for which, if he turned ugly, she might not be criminallyliable. 

She had never liked him--she had long disliked him. Such women have aninstinct for their own kind, and no matter how low in the scale a manof the other kind sinks he can never entirely supply the type of runningmate that such women require, understand, and usually conceive a passionfor. 

Not liking him she had no hesitation in the matter; disliking him, whatever unpleasant had occurred during their companionship remained asan irritant to poison memory. She resented a thousand little incidentsthat he scarcely knew had ever existed, but which she treasured withoutwasting emotion until the sum total and the time coincided to retaliate. Not that she would have cared to harm him seriously; she was willingenough to disoblige him, however--decorate him, before she left him, with one extra scratch for the sake of auld lang syne. So she wrote anote to the governors of the Patroons Club, saying that both Quarrierand Mortimer were aware that the guilt of her escapade could not beattached to Siward; that she knew nothing of Siward, had accepted hiswager without meaning to attempt to win it, had never again seen him, and had, on the impulse of the moment, made her entry in the wake ofseveral men. She added that when Quarrier, as governor, had concurredin Siward's expulsion he knew perfectly well that Siward was not guilty, because she herself had so informed Quarrier. Since then she had alsotold Mortimer, but he had taken no steps to do justice to Siward, although he, Mortimer, was still a governor of the Patroons Club. 

This being about all she could think of to make mischief for two menwhose recent companionship had nourished and irritated her, she shippedher trunks by express, packed her jewel-case and valise, and met Desmondat the station. 

Desmond had business in Europe; Lydia had as much business thereas anywhere; and, although she had been faithless to Mortimer for acomparatively short time, within that time Desmond already had sworn ather and struck her. So she was quite ready to follow Desmond anywherein this world or the next. And that, too, had not made her the moreconsiderate toward Mortimer. 

When the latter returned from the races to find her gone the lastriddled props to what passed for his manhood gave way and the rottenfabric came crashing into the mud. 

He had loved her as far as he had been capable of imitating that passionon the transposed plane to which he had fallen; he was stupefied atfirst, then grew violent with the furniture, then hysterically profane, then pitiable in the abandoned degradation of his grief. And, suspectingDesmond, he started to find him. They put him out of Desmond'sclub-house when he became noisy; they refused him admittance to severalsimilar resorts where his noise threatened to continue; his landlordlost no time in interviewing him upon the subject of damage to furniturefrom kicks and to the walls and carpets from the contents of smashedbottles. 

Creditors with sharp noses scented the whirlwind afar off and hemmed himin with unsettled accounts, mostly hers. Somebody placed a lien on hishorses; a deputy sheriff began to follow him about; all credit ceasedas by magic, and men crossed the street to avoid meeting with an oldcompanion in direst need. 

Still, alternately stupefied by his own grief and maddened into thenecessity for action, he packed a suitcase, crawled out of the reardoor, toiled across country and found a farmer to drive him twenty milesover a sandy road to a local railroad crossing, where he managed toboard a train for Albany. 

At Albany, as he stood panting and sweating on the long, concreteplatform which paralleled track No. 1, he saw a private car, switchedfrom a Boston and Albany train, shunted to the rear of the Merchants'Express. 

The private car was lettered in gold on the central panel, "Algonquin. "He boarded the Pullman coupled to it forward, pushed through thevestibule, shoved aside the Japanese steward and darky cook, forcing hisway straight into the private car. Quarrier, reading a magazine, looked up at him in astonishment. For a full moment neither spoke. Then Mortimer dropped his suit-case, sat down in an armchair oppositeQuarrier, and leisurely mopped his reeking face and neck. 

"Scotch and lithia!" he said hoarsely; the Japanese steward looked atQuarrier; then, at that gentleman's almost imperceptible nod, went awayto execute the commission. 

He executed a great many similar commissions during the trip to NewYork. When they arrived there at five o'clock, Quarrier offered Mortimerhis hand, and held the trembling, puffy fingers as he leaned closer, saying with cold precision and emotionless emphasis something thatappeared to require the full concentration of Mortimer's half-druggedfaculties. 

And when at length Mortimer drove away in a hansom, Quarrier's Japanesesteward went with him--perhaps to carry his suit case--a courtesy thatdid credit to Quarrier's innate thoughtfulness and considerationfor others. He was very considerate; he even called Agatha up on thetelephone and talked with her for ten minutes. Then he telephoned toPlank's office, learned that Harrington was already there, telephonedthe garage for a Mercedes which he always kept ready in town, andpresently went bowling away to a conference on which the last few hourshad put an entirely new aspect. 

It had taken Plank only a few minutes to perceive that something hadoccurred to change a point of view which he had believed it impossiblefor Quarrier to change. Something had gone wrong in his own carefulcalculations; some cog had slipped, some rivet given way, some bed-platecracked. And Harrington evidently had not been aware of it; but Quarrierknew it. There was something wrong. 

It was too late now to go tinkering in the dark for trouble. Plankunderstood that. Coolly, as though utterly unaware that the machinerymight not stand the strain, he started it full speed. And when hestopped it at last Harrington's grist had been ground to atoms, andQuarrier had looked on without comment. There seemed to be little morefor them to do except to pay the miller. 

"To-morrow, " said Quarrier, rising to go. It was on the edge of Plank'slips to say, "to-day!"--but he was silent, knowing that Harrington wouldspeak for him. And the old man did, without words, turning his ironvisage on Quarrier with the silent dignity of despair. But Quarriercoldly demanded a day before they reckoned with Plank. And Plank, profoundly disturbed, shrugged his massive shoulders in contemptuousassent. 

So Quarrier and Harrington went away--the younger partner taking leaveof the older with a sneer for an outworn prop which no man could everagain have use for. Old and beaten--that was all Harrington now stoodfor in Quarrier's eyes. Never a thought of the past undaunted courage, never a memory of the old victories which had made the Quarrier fortunepossible--only contempt for age, a sneer for the mind and body thathad failed at last. The old robber was done for, his armour rotten, hisbuckler broken, his sword blade rusted to the core. The least of hisvictims might now finish him with a club where he swayed in his loosenedsaddle, or leave him to that horseman on the pale horse watching himyonder on the horizon. 

For now, whether Harrington lived or died, he must be counted as nothingin this new struggle darkly outlining its initial strategy in Quarrier'sbrain. What was coming was coming between himself and Plank alone; andwhatever the result--whether an armed truce leaving affairs indefinitelyin statu quo, or the other alternative, an alliance with Plank, leavingHarrington like a king in his mail, propped upon his throne, dead eyesdoubly darkened under the closed helmet--the result must be attainedswiftly, with secrecy, and with the aid of no man. For he did not countMortimer a man. 

So Quarrier's thin lips twitched and the glimmer of teeth showedunder the silky beard as he listened without comment to the oldman's hesitating words--a tremulous suggestion for a conference thatevening--and he said again, "to-morrow, " and left him there alone, groping with uncertain hands toward the door of the hired coupé whichhad brought him to the place of his earthly downfall; the place wherehe had met his own weird face to face--the wraith that bore the mask ofPlank. 

Quarrier, brooding sullenly in his Mercedes, was already far up town onhis way to Major Belwether's house. 

At the door, Sylvia's maid received him smilingly, saying that hermistress was not at home but that Mrs. Mortimer was--which savedQuarrier the necessity of asking for the private conference with Leilawhich was exactly what he had come for. But her first unguarded words onreceiving him as he rose at her entrance into the darkened drawing-roomchanged that plan, too--changed it all so utterly, and so much forthe better, that he almost smiled to think of the crudity of humancombinations and inventions as compared to the masterly machinations ofFate. No need for him to complicate matters when here were pawns enoughto play the game for him. No need for him to do anything except givethem their initial velocity and let them tumble into one another andtotter or fall. Leila said, laughingly: "Oh, you are too late, Howard. We are dining with Mr. Plank at Riverside Inn. What in the world are youdoing in town so suddenly?"

"A business telegram. I might have come down with you and Sylvia if Ihad known. … Is Plank dining with you alone?"

"I haven't seen him, " smiled Leila evasively. "He will tell us his plansof course when he comes. "

"Oh, " said Quarrier, dropping his eyes and glancing furtively toward thecurtained windows through which he could see the street and his Mercedeswaiting at the curb. At the same instant a hansom drove up; Sylviasprang out, ran lightly up the low steps, and the silent, shrouded houserang with the clamour of the bell. 

Leila looked curiously at Quarrier, who sat motionless, head partlyaverted, as though listening to something heard by him alone. Hebelieved perhaps that he was listening to the voice of Fate again, andit may have been so, for already, for the third time, all his plans werechanging to suit this new ally of his--this miraculous Fate which wasshaping matters for him as he waited. Sylvia had started up-stairs likea fragrant whirlwind, but her flying feet halted at Leila's constrainedvoice from the drawing-room, and she spun around and came into thedarkened room like an April breeze. 

"Leila! They'll be here at a quarter to seven--"

Her breath seemed to leave her body as a shadowy figure rose in theuncertain light and confronted her. 

"You!"

He said: "Didn't you recognise the Mercedes outside?"

She had not even seen it, so excited, so deeply engaged had she beenwith the riotous tumult of her own thoughts. And still her hurt, unbelieving gaze widened to dismay as she stood there halted onthe threshold; and still his eyes, narrowing, held her under theirexpressionless inspection. 

"When did you come? Why?" she asked in an altered voice. 

"I came on business. Naturally, being here, I came to see you. Iunderstand you are dining out?"

"Yes, we are dining out. "

"I'm sorry I didn't wire you because we might have dined together. I sawPlank this afternoon. He did not say you were to dine with him. Shall Isee you later in the evening, Sylvia?"

"I--it will be too late--"

"Oh! To-morrow then. What train do you take?"

Sylvia did not answer; he picked up his hat, repeating the questioncarelessly, and still she made no reply. 

"Shall I see you to-morrow?" he asked, swinging on her rather suddenly. 

"I think--not. I--there will be no time--"

He bowed quietly to Leila, offering his hand. "Who did you say was todine with you--besides Plank?"

Leila stood silent, then, withdrawing her fingers, walked to the window. 

Quarrier, his hat in his gloved hands, looked from one to the other, hisinquiring eyes returning and focused on Sylvia. 

"Who are you dining with?" he asked with authority. 

"Mr. Plank and Mr. Siward. "

"Mr. Siward!" he repeated in surprised displeasure, as though he had notalready divined it. 

"Yes. A man I like. "

"A man I dislike, " he rejoined with the slightest emphasis. 

"I am sorry, " she said simply. 

"So am I, Sylvia. And I am going to ask you to make him an excuse. Anyexcuse will do. "

"Excuse? What do you mean, Howard?"

"I mean that I do not care to have you seen with Mr. Siward. Have I everdemanded very much of you, Sylvia? Very well; I demand this of you now. "

And still she stood there, her eyes wide, her colour gone, repeating:"Excuse? What excuse? What do you mean by 'excuse, ' Howard?"

"I have told you. You know my wishes. If he has a telephone you cancommunicate with him--"

"And say that I--that you forbid me--"

"If you choose. Yes; say that I object to him. Is there anythingextraordinary in a man objecting to his future wife dining in thecountry at a common inn with a notorious outcast from every decent cluband circle in New York?"

"What!" she whispered, white as death. "What did you say?"

"Shall I repeat what everybody except you seems to be aware of? Do youcare to have me explain to you exactly why decent people have ostracisedthis man with whom you are proposing to figure in a public resort?"

He turned to Leila, who stood at the window, her back turned towardthem: "Mrs. Mortimer, when Mr. Plank arrives, you will be kind enough toexplain why Sylvia is unable to accompany you. "

If Leila heard she neither turned nor made sign of comprehension. 

"We will dine at the Santa Regina, " he said to Sylvia. "Agatha is thereand I'll find somebody at the club to--"

"Why bother to find anybody?" said Leila, wheeling on him, exasperated. "Why not dine there with Agatha alone? It will not be the first time Ifancy!"

"What do you mean?" he said fiercely, under his breath. The colour hadleft his face, too, and in his eyes Leila saw for the first time anexpression that she had never before surprised in any eyes except herhusband's. It was the expression of fright; she recognised it. ButSylvia stared, unenlightened, at an altered visage she scarcely knew forQuarrier's. 

"What do I mean?" repeated Leila; "I mean what I say; and if you don'tunderstand it you can find the key to it, I fancy. Nor shall I answer toyou for my guests. I invite whom I choose. Mr. Siward is one, Mr. Plankis another. Sylvia, if you care to come I shall be delighted. "

"I do care to come, " said Sylvia. Her heart was beating violently, hereyes were on Quarrier. 

"If you go, " said Quarrier, showing the glimmering edge of teeth underhis beard, "you will answer to me for it. "

"I will answer you now, Howard; I am going with Mrs. Mortimer. What haveyou to say?"

"I'll say it to-morrow, " he replied, contemplating her in a dull, impassive manner as though absorbed in other things. 

"Say what there is to be said now!" she insisted, the hot colourstaining her cheeks again. "Do you desire me to free you? Is that all? Iwill if you wish. "

"No. And I shall not free you, Sylvia. This--all this can be adjusted intime. "

"As you please, " she said slowly. 

"In time, " he repeated, his passionless voice now under perfect control. He turned and looked at Leila; all the wickedness of his anger wasconcentrated in his gaze. Then he took his leave of them as formally, asprecisely as though he had forgotten the whole scene; and a minute laterthe big Mercedes ran out into a half-circle, backed, wheeled, and rolledaway through the thickening dusk, the glare of the acetylenes sweepingthe deserted street. 

Into the twilight sped Quarrier, head bent, but his soft, dark-lashedeyes of a woman fixed steadily ahead. Every energy, every thought wasnow bent to this newest phase of the same question which he and Fatewere finding simpler to solve every minute. Of all the luxuries hepermitted himself openly or furtively, one--the rarest of them all--hisself-denial had practically eliminated from the list: the luxuryof punishing where no end was served save that of mere personalsatisfaction. The temptation of this luxury now presented itself;and the means of gratification were so simple, so secret, so easy tocommand, that the temptation became almost a duty. 

Siward he had not turned out of his way to injure; Siward had been inthe way, that was all, and his ruin was to have been merely an agreeablecoincidence with the purposed ruin of Amalgamated Electric beforeInter-County absorbed the fragments. But here was a new phase; Mrs. Mortimer, whom he had expected to use, and if necessary sacrifice, hadsuddenly turned vicious. And he now hated her as coldly as he hatedMajor Belwether for betraying suspicions of a similar nature. As forPlank, fear and hatred of him was becoming hatred and contempt. Hehad the means of checking Plank if Mortimer did not drop dead beforemidnight. There remained Sylvia, whom he had selected as the fittestobject attainable to transmit his name. Long ago, whatever of liking, of affection, of passion he had ever entertained for her had quieted toindifference and the unemotional contemplation of a future methodicallyarranged for. Now of a sudden, this young girl he had bought--he knowingwhat she sold and what he was paying for--had become exposed to theinfection of a suspicion concerning himself and another woman; a womanunmarried, and of his own caste, and numbered among her own friends. 

And he knew enough of Sylvia to know that if anybody could once arouseher suspicion nothing on earth could induce her to look into his faceagain. Suppose Leila should do so this evening?

Certainly Quarrier had several matters to ponder over and provide for;and first and foremost of all to provide for his own security and thevital necessity of preserving his name and his character untainted. Inthis he had to deal with that miserable judge who had betrayed him; withMortimer, who had once black-mailed him and who now was temporarily inhis service; with Mrs. Mortimer, who--God knew how, when, or where--hadbecome suspicious of Agatha and himself; with Major Belwether, who haddeserted him before he could sacrifice the major, and whom he nowhated and feared for having stumbled over suspicions similar to Mrs. Mortimer's. He had to deal with Sylvia herself, and with Siward--reckonwith Siward's knowledge of matters which it were best that Sylvia shouldnot know. 

But first of all, and most important of all, he had to deal with BeverlyPlank. And he was going to do it in a manner that Plank could not haveforeseen; he was going to stop Plank where he stood, and to do this hewas deliberately using his knowledge of the man and paying Plank thecompliment of counting on his sense of honour to defeat him. 

For he had suddenly found the opportunity to defend himself; he haddiscovered the joint in Plank's old-fashioned armour--the armour of theold paladins--who placed a woman's honour before all else in the world. Now, through his creature, Mortimer, he could menace Plank with a threatto involve him and Leila in a vile publicity; now he was in a positionto demand a hearing and a compromise through his new ambassador, Mortimer, knowing that he could at last halt Plank by threatening Leilawith this shameful danger. Plank must sign the truce or face with Leilaan action for damages and divorce. 

First of all he went to the Lenox Club and dressed. Then he dinedsparingly and alone. The Mercedes was waiting when he came out readyto run down to the great Hotel Corona, whither the Japanese steward hadconducted Mortimer. Mortimer had dined heavily, but his disorganisedphysical condition was such that it had scarcely affected him at all. 

Again Quarrier went over patiently and carefully the very simple part hehad reserved for Mortimer that evening, explaining exactly what to sayto Leila and what to say to Plank in case of insolent interruption. Thenhe told Mortimer to be ready at nine o'clock, turned on his heel witha curt word to the Japanese, descended to the street, entered hismotor-car again, and sped away to the Hotel Santa Regina. 

Miss Caithness was at home, came the message in exchange for his cardsfor Agatha and Mrs. Vendenning. He entered the gilded elevator, steppedout on the sixth floor into a tiny, rococo, public reception-room. Nobody was there besides himself; Agatha's maid came presently, andhe turned and followed her into the large and very handsome parlourbelonging to the suite which Agatha was occupying with Mrs. Vendenningfor the few days that they were to stop in town. 

"Hello, " she said serenely, sauntering in, her long, pale handsbracketed on her narrow hips, her lips disclosing her teeth in a smileso like that nervous muscular recession which passed for a smile onQuarrier's visage that for one moment he recognised it and thought shewas mocking him. But she strolled up to him, meeting his eye calmly, andlifted her slim neck, lips passive under his impetuous kiss. 

"Is Mrs. Vendenning out?" he asked, laying his hands on the bareshoulders of the tall, pallid girl--tall as he, and as pallid. 

"No, Mrs. Ven. Is in, Howard. "

"Now? You mean she is coming in to interrupt--"

"Oh no; she isn't fond of you, Howard. "

"You said--" he began almost angrily, but she laid her fingers acrosshis lips. 

"I said a very foolish thing, Howard. I said that I'd manage to dispensewith Mrs. Ven. This evening. "

"You mean that you couldn't manage it?"

"Not at all; I could easily have managed it. But--I didn't care to. "

She looked at him calmly at close range as he held her embraced, liftedher arms and, with slender, white fingers patted her hair into placewhere his arm around her head had disarranged it, watching him all thewhile out of her pale, haunted eyes. 

"You promised me, " he said, "that you--"

"Oh Howard! Do men still believe in promises?"

Quarrier's face had colour enough now; his voice, too, had lost itspassionless, monotonous precision. Whatever was in the man of emotionwas astir; his impatient voice, his lack of poise, the almost human lackof caution in his speech betrayed him in a new and interesting light. 

"Look here, Agatha, how long is this going to last? Are you trying tomake a fool of me? What is the matter? Is there anything wrong?"

"Wrong? Oh dear no! How could there be anything wrong between you andme--"

"Agatha, what is the matter! Look here; let's settle this thing now andsettle it one way or the other! I won't stand it; I--I can't!"

"Very well, " she said, releasing herself from his tightening arms andstepping back with another glance at the mirror and another light touchof her finger-tips on her burnished hair. "Very well, " she repeated, gazing again into the mirror; "what am I to understand, Howard?"

"You know what to understand, " he said in a low voice; "you know what weboth understood when--when--"

"When what?"

"When I--when you--"

"Oh what, Howard?" she prompted indolently; and he answered in brutalexasperation, and for the first time so plainly that a hint of rosetinted her strange, pale beauty and between her lips the breath cameless regularly as she stood there looking at the dull, silvery rug underher feet. 

"Did you ever misunderstand me?" he demanded hotly. "Did I give you anychance to? Were you ignorant of what that meant, " with a gesture towardthe splendid crescent of flashing gems, scintillating where the low, lace bodice met the silky lustre of her skin. "Did you misinterpret thecollar? Or the sudden change of fortune in your own family's concerns?Answer me, Agatha, once for all. But you need not answer after all: Iknow you have never misunderstood me!"

"I misunderstood nothing, " she said; "you are quite right. "

"Then what are you going to do?"

"Do?" she asked in slow surprise. "What am I to do, Howard?"

"You have said that you loved me. "

"I said the truth, I think. "

"Then--"

"Well?"

"How long are you going to keep me at arm's length?" he asked violently. 

"That lies with you, " she said, smiling. She looked at him for a moment, then, resting her hands on her hips, she began to pace the floor, to andfro, to and fro, and at every turn she raised her head to look at him. All the strange grace of her became insolent provocation--her pale eyes, clear, limpid, harbouring no delusions, haunted with the mockery ofwisdom, challenged and checked him. "Howard, " she said, "why should I bethe fool you want me to be because I love you? Why should I be even ifI wished to be? You desire an understanding? Voilà! You have it. I loveyou; I never misunderstood you from the first; I could not afford to. You know what I am; you know what you arouse in me?"

Slim, pale, depraved in all but body she stood, eyeing him a moment, thevery incarnation of vicious perversity. 

"You know what you arouse in me, " she repeated. "But don't count on it!"

"You have encouraged--permitted me to count--" His anger choked him--orwas it the haunting wisdom of her eyes that committed him to silence. 

"I don't know, " she said, musingly, "what it is in you that I am so madabout--whether it is your brutality, or the utter corruption of you thatholds me, or your wicked eyes of a woman, or the fascination of the maskyou turn on the world, and the secret visage, naked in its vice, thatyou reserve for me. But I love you--in my own fashion. Count on that, Howard; for that is all you can surely count on. And now, at last, youknow. "

As he stood there, it came to him slowly that, deep within him he hadalways known this; that he had never really counted on anything elsethough he had throttled his doubts by covering her throat with diamonds. Her strangeness, her pallor, her acquiescence, the delicate hint ofdepravity in her, the subtle response to all that was worst in himhad attracted him, only to learn, little by little, that the taint ofcorruption was only a taint infecting others, not her; that the promiseof evil was only a promise; that he had to deal with a young body butan old intelligence, and a mind so old that at moments her faded gazealmost appalled him with its indolent clairvoyance. 

Long since he knew, too, that in all the world he could never againfind such a mate for him. This had, unadmitted even to himself, alwaysremained a hidden secret within this secret man--an unacknowledged, undrawn-on reserve in case of the failure which he, even in sanguinemoods, knew in his inmost corrupted soul that his quest was doomed to. 

And now he had no more need of secrets from himself; now, turning hisgaze inward, he looked upon all with which he had chosen to deceivehimself. And there was nothing left for self-deception. 

"If I marry you!" he said calmly "at least I know what I am getting. "

"I will marry you, Howard. I've got to marry somebody pretty soon. Youor Captain Voucher. "

For an instant a vicious light flashed in his narrowing eyes. She saw itand shook her head with weary cynicism:

"No, not that. It could not attract me even with you. It is reallyvulgar--that arrangement. Noblesse oblige, mon ami. There is a depravityin marrying you that makes all lesser vices stale as virtues. "

He said nothing; she looked at him, lazily amused; then, inattentive, turned and paced the floor again. 

"Shall I see you to-morrow?" he demanded. 

"If you wish. Captain Voucher came down on the same train with me. I'llset him adrift if you like. "

"Is he preparing for a declaration?" sneered Quarrier. 

"I think so, " she said simply. 

"Well if he comes to-night after I'm gone, you wait a final word fromme. Do you understand?" he repeated with repressed violence. 

"No, Howard. Are you going to propose to me to-morrow?"

"You'll know to-morrow, " he retorted angrily. "I tell you to wait. I'vea right to that much consideration anyway. "

"Very well, Howard, " she said, recognising in him the cowardice whichshe had always suspected to be there. 

She bade him good night; he touched her hand but made no offer to kissher. She laughed a little to herself, watching him striding toward theelevator, then, closing the door, she stood still in the centre ofthe room, staring at her own reflection, full length, in the gildedpier-glass, her lips edged with a sneer so like Quarrier's that, thenext moment she laughed aloud, imitating Quarrier's rare laugh fromsheer perversity. 

"I think, " she said to her reflected figure in the glass, "I think thatyou are either mentally ill or inherently a kind of devil. And I don'tmuch care which. "

And she turned leisurely, her slim hands balanced lightly on her narrowhips, and strolled into the second dressing-room, where Mrs. Vendenningsat sullenly indulging in that particular species of solitaire known as"The Idiot's Delight. "

"Well?" inquired Mrs. Vendenning, looking up at the tall, pale girl shewas chaperoning so carefully during their sojourn in town. 

"Oh, you know the rhyme to that, " yawned Agatha; "let's ring upsomebody. I'm bored stiff. "

"What did Howard Quarrier want?"

"He knows, I think, but he hasn't yet informed me. "

"I'll tell you one thing, Agatha, " said Mrs. Vendenning, gatheringup the packs for a new shuffle: "Grace Ferrall doesn't fancy Howard'sattention to you and she's beginning to say so. When you go back toShotover you'd better let him alone. "

"I'm not going back to Shotover, " said Agatha. 

"What?"

"No; I don't think so. However, I'll let you know to-morrow. It alldepends--but I don't expect to. " She turned as her maid tapped onthe door. "Oh, Captain Voucher. Are you at home to him?" flipping thepasteboard onto the table among the scattered cards. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. Vendenning aggressively, "unless you expect him to flopdown on his knees to-night. Do you?"

"I don't--to-night. Perhaps to-morrow. I don't know; I can't tell yet. "And to her maid she nodded that they were at home to Captain Voucher. 

Quarrier had met him, too, just as he was leaving the hotel lobby. Theyexchanged the careful salutations of men who had no use for one another. On the Englishman's clean-cut face a deeper hue settled as he passed; onQuarrier's, not a trace of emotion; but when he entered his motor hesat bolt upright, stiff-backed and stiff-necked, his long gray-glovedfingers moving restlessly over his pointed heard. 

The night was magnificent; myriads of summer stars spangled the heavens. Even in the reeking city itself a slight freshness grew in the air, although there was no wind to stir the parched leaves of the park trees, among which fire-flies floated--their intermittent phosphorescencebreaking out with a silvery, star-like brilliancy. 

Plank, driving his big motor northward through the night, Leila Mortimerbeside him, twice mistook the low glimmer of a fire-fly for the distantlamp of a motor, which amused Leila, and her clear, young laughterfloated back to the ears of Sylvia and Siward, curled up in theircorners of the huge tonneau. But they were too profoundly occupied witheach other to heed the sudden care-free laughter of the young matron, though in these days her laughter was infrequent enough to set the moremerciless tongues wagging when it did sound. 

Plank had never seen fit to speak to her of her husband's scarcelyveiled menace that day he had encountered him in the rotunda of theAlgonquin Trust Company. His first thought was to do so--to talk it overwith her, consider the threat and the possibility of its seriousness, and then come to some logical and definite decision as to what theirfuture relations should be. Again and again he had been on the pointof doing this when alone with Leila--uncomfortable, even apprehensive, because of their frank intimacy; but he had never had the opportunityto do so without deliberately dragging in the subject by the ears in allits ugliness and implied reproach for her imprudence, and seeing thatdreadful, vacant change in Leila's face, which the mere mention of herhusband's name was sure to bring, turn into horror unspeakable. 

A man not prone to fear his fellows, he now feared Mortimer, but thatfear struck him only through Leila--or had so reached him until thedays of his closing struggle with Quarrier. Whether the long strain hadunnerved him, whether minutely providing against every possible dangerhe had been over-scrupulous, over-anxious, morbidly exact--or whether aforesight almost abnormal had evoked a sinister possibility--he did notknow; but that threat of Mortimer's to involve Plank with Leila in onecommon ruin, that boast that he was able to do so could not be ignoredas a possible weapon if Quarrier should by any chance learn of it. 

In all his life he had taken Leila into his arms but once; had kissedher but once--but that once had been enough to arm Mortimer withdanger from head to foot. Some prying servant had either listened orseen--perhaps a glimmer of a mirror had betrayed them. At all events, whoever had seen or heard had informed Mortimer, and now the man wasequipped; the one and only man in all the world who could with truthaccuse Plank; the only man of whom he stood in honest fear. 

And it was characteristic of Plank that never for one moment had itoccurred to him that the sheer fault of it all lay with Leila; that itwas her imprudence alone that now threatened herself and the man sheloved--that threatened his very success in life as long as Mortimershould live. 

All this, Plank, in his thorough, painstaking review of the subject, hadtaken into account; and he could not see how it could possibly bear uponthe matters now finally to be adjusted between Quarrier and himself, because Quarrier was in New York and Mortimer in Saratoga, and unlessthe latter had already sold his information the former could not strikeat him through knowledge of it. 

And yet a curious reluctancy, a hesitation inexplicable--unless overworkexplained it--had come over him when Siward had proposed their diningtogether on the very eve of his completed victory over Quarrier. 

It seemed absurd, and Plank was too stolid to entertain superstitions, but he could not, even with Leila laughing there beside him, shake offthe dull instinct that all was not well--that Quarrier's attitude wasstill the attitude of a dangerous man; that he, Plank, should havehad this evening in his room alone to study out the matters he had sopatiently plodded through in the long hours while Siward slept. 

Yet not for one instant did he dream of shifting the responsibility--ifresponsibility entailed blame--on Siward, who, against Plank's judgmentand desire, had on the very eve of consummation drawn him away from thatsleepless vigilance which must for ever be the price of a business man'ssafety. 

Leila, gay and excited as a schoolgirl, chattered on ceaselessly toPlank; all the silence, all the secrecy of the arid years turning tolaughter on her red lips, pouring out, in broken phrases of delight, words strung together for the sheer pleasure of speech and the happinessof her lot to be with him unrestrained. 

He remembered once listening to the song of a wild bird on the edge of aclearing at night, and how, standing entranced, the low, distant jarof thunder sounded at moments, scarcely audible--like his heart now, atintervals, dully persistent amid the gaiety of her voice. 

"And would you believe it, Beverly, " she said, "I formed the habitat Shotover of walking across the boundary and strolling into yourgreenhouses and deliberately helping myself. And every time I did it Iwas certain one of your men would march me out!"

He laughed, but did not tell her that his men had reported the firstepisode and that he had instructed them that Mrs. Mortimer and herfriends were to do exactly as they pleased at the Fells. However sheknew it, because a garrulous gardener, proud of his service with Plank, had informed her. 

"Beverly, " she said, "you are a dear. If people only knew what I know!"

He began to turn red; she could see it even in the flickering, lamp-shotdarkness. And she teased him for a while, very gently, even tenderly;and their voices grew lower in a half-serious badinage that ended with aquiet, indrawn breath, a sigh, and silence. 

And now the river swept into view, a darkly luminous sheet set withreflected stars. Mirrored lights gleamed in it; sudden bright, yellowflashes zigzagged into its sombre depths; the foliage edged it witha deeper gloom over which, on the heights, twinkled the multicolouredlights of Riverside Inn. 

Up the broad, gentle grade they sped, curving in and out among theclumps of trees and shrubbery, then on a level, sweeping in a greatcircle up to the steps of the inn. 

Now all about them from the brilliantly lighted verandas the gay tumultbroke out like an uproarious welcome after the swift silence of theirjourney; the stir of jolly people keen for pleasure; the clatter ofcrockery; the coming and going of waiters, of guests, of hansoms, coupés, victorias, and scores of motor-cars wheeling and turning throughthe blinding glare of their own headlights. 

Somewhere a gipsy orchestra, full of fitful crescendoes and throbbingsuspensions of caprice, furnished resonant accompaniment to the joyousclamour; the scent of fountain spray and flowers was in the air. 

"I didn't know you had telephoned for a table, " said Siward, as ahead-waiter came up smiling and bowing to Plank. "I confess, in the newexcitement of things, I clean forgot it! What a man you are to think ofother people!"

Plank reddened again, muttering something evasive, and went forward withLeila. 

Sylvia, moving leisurely beside Siward who was walking slowly butconfidently without crutches, whispered to him: "I never really likedMr. Plank before I understood his attitude toward you. "

"He is a man, every inch, " said Siward simply. 

"I think that generally includes what men of your sort demand, doesn'tit?" she asked. 

"Men of my sort sometimes demand in others what they themselves arelacking in, " said Siward, laughing. "Sylvia, look at this jolly crowd!Look at all those tables! It seems an age since I have done anythingof this sort. I feel like a boy of eighteen--the same funny, quickeningfascination in me toward everything gay and bright and alive!" Helooked around at her, laughingly. "As for you, " he said, "you look aboutsixteen. You certainly are the most beautiful thing this beautiful worldever saw!"

"Schoolboy courtship!" she mocked him, lingering as he made his slow waythrough the crowded place. The tint of excitement was in her eyes andcheeks; the echo of it in her low, happy voice. "Where on earth is Mr. Plank? Oh, I see them! They have a table by the balcony rail, in thecorner; and it seems to be rather secluded, Stephen, so I shall, ofcourse, expect you to say nothing further about beauty of any species. … Are you a trifle tired? No? … Well, you need not be indignant. Idon't care whether you tumble. Indeed, I don't believe there is reallyanything the matter with you--you are walking with the same old carelesssaunter. Mr. Plank, " as they arrived and seated themselves, "Mr. Siward has just admitted that he uses crutches only because they areornamental. Leila, isn't this air delicious? All sorts of people, too, aren't there, Mr. Plank? Such curious-looking women, some of them--quitepretty, too, in a certain way. Are you hungry, St--Mr. Siward?"

"Are you, St--Mr. Siward?" mimicked Leila promptly. 

"I am, " said Siward, laughing at Sylvia's significant colour and notingPlank's direct gaze as the waiter filled Leila's slender-stemmed glass. And "nothing but Apollinaris, " he said coolly, as the waiter approachedhim; but though his voice was easy enough, a dull patch of colour cameout under the cheek-bones. 

"That is all I care for, either, " said Sylvia with elaboratecarelessness. 

Plank and Leila immediately began to make conversation. Siward, his eyesbent on the glass of mineral water at his elbow, looked up in silence atSylvia questioningly. 

There was something in her face he did not quite comprehend. She madeas though to speak, looked at him, hesitated, her lovely face eloquentunder the impulse. Then, leaning toward him, she said:

"'And thy ways shall be my ways. '"

"Sylvia, you must not deny yourself, just because I--"

"Let me. It is the happiest thing I have ever done for myself. "

"But I don't wish it. "

"Ah, but I do, " she said, the low excited laughter scarcely flutteringher lips. "Listen: I never before, in all my life, gave up anything foryour sake, only this one little pitiful thing. "

"I won't let you!" he breathed; "it is nonsense to--"

"You must let me! Am I to be on friendly terms with--with your mortalenemy?" She was still smiling, but now her sensitive mouth quiveredsuddenly. 

He sat silent, considering her, his restless fingers playing with hisglass in which the harmless bubbles were breaking. 

"I drink to your health, Stephen, " she said under her breath. "I drinkto your happiness, too; and--and to your fortune, and to all thatyou desire from fortune. " And she raised her glass in the star-light, looking over it into his eyes. 

"All I desire from fortune?" he repeated significantly. 

"All--almost all--"

"No, all, " he demanded. 

But she only raised the glass to her lips, still looking at him as shedrank. 

They became unreasonably gay almost immediately, though the beveragescarcely accounted for the delicate intoxication that seemed to creepinto their veins. Yet it was sufficient for Siward to say an amusingthing wittily, for Sylvia to return his lead with all the delightful, unconscious brilliancy that he seemed to inspire in her--as thoughawaking into real life once more. All that had slumbered in her throughthe winter and spring, and the long, arid summer now crumbling to theedge of autumn, broke out into a delicate riot of exquisite florescence;the very sounds of her voice, every intonation, every accent, everypause, were charming surprises; her laughter was a miracle, her beauty arevelation. 

Leila, aware of it, exchanged glance after glance with Plank. Siward, alternately the leader in it all, then the enchanted listener, bewitched, enthralled, felt care slipping from his shoulders like amantle, and sadness exhaling from a heart that was beating strongly, steadily, fearlessly--as a heart should beat in the breast of him whohas taken at last his fighting chance. He took it now, under her eyes, for honour, for manhood, and for the ideal which had made manhood nolonger an empty term muttered in desperation by a sick body, and a mindtoo sick to control it. 

Yes, at last the lifelong battle was on. He knew it. He knew, too, whatever his fate with her or without her, he must always go on with thebattle for the safe-guarding of that manhood the consciousness of whichshe had aroused. 

All he knew was that, through the medium of his love for her, whateverin him of the spiritual remained, or had been generated, was now awake, alive, strong, vital, indestructible--an impalpable current flowing froma sane intelligence, through medium of her, back to the eternal truth, returning always, always, to the deathless source from whence it came. 

Lingering over the fruit, the champagne breaking in the glasses standingon the table between them, rim to rim, Leila and Plank had fallen into alow, desultory, yet guarded exchange of words and silences. 

Sylvia sprang up and pushed her chair into the farther corner againstthe balcony rail, where no light fell except the radiance of the stars. Here Siward joined her, dragging his chair around so that it faced heras she leaned back, tilted against a shadowy column. 

"Is this Bohemianism, Stephen? If it is, I rather like it. Don'tyou? You are going to smoke now, aren't you? Ah, that is delightful!"daintily sniffing the aroma from his cigarette. "It always reminds meof you--there on the cliffs, that first day. Do you remember?--the smokefrom your cigarette whirling up in my face? … You say you remember. … Oh, of course there's nothing else to say when a girl asks you … isthere? Oh, I won't argue with you, if you insist that you do remember. You will not be like any other man if you do, that's all. … The littlethings that women remember! … And believe that men remember! It ispitiful in a way. There! I am not going to spill over, and I don't carea copper penny whether you really do remember or not! … Yes, I do care!… Oh, all women care. It is their first disappointment to learn howmuch a man can forget and still remember to care for them--a little! …Stephen, I said a little; and that is all that you are permitted to carefor me; isn't it? … Please, don't. You are deliberately beginning to saythings! … Stephen, you silly! you are making love to me!"

In the darkness his hand encountered hers on the wooden rail, and thetremor of the contact silenced her. She freed one finger, then let itrest with its slender fellow-prisoners. There was no use in trying tospeak just then--utterly useless her voice in the soft, rounded throatimprisoned by the swelling pulses that tightened and hammered andtightened. 

Years seemed to fall away from her, slipping back, back into girlhood, into childhood, drawing not her alone on the gliding tide, but carryinghim with her. An exquisite languor held her. Through it vague hints ofthose splendid visions of her lonely childhood rose, shaping themselvesin the starry darkness--the old mystery of dreams, the old, innocentdesires, the old simplicity of clairvoyance wherein right was right andwrong, wrong--in all the conventional significance of right and wrong, in all the old-fashioned, undisturbed faith of childhood. 

Drifting deliciously, her eyes sometimes meeting his, sometimes lost inthe magic of her reverie, she lay there in her chair, her unresistingfingers locked in his. 

Odd little thoughts came hovering into her reverie--thoughts that seemeddistantly familiar, the direct, unconscious impulses of a child. To feelwas once more the only motive for expression; to think fearlessly wasonce more inherent; to desire was to demand--unlock her lips, naively, and ask for what she wished. 

Under the spell, she turned her blue gaze on him, and her lips partedwithout a tremor:

"What do you offer for what you ask? And do you still ask it? Is it meyou are asking me for? Because you love me? And what do you give--love?"

"Weigh it with the--other, " he said. 

"I have--often--every moment since I have known you. And what a winter!"Her voice was almost inaudible. "What a winter--without you!"

"That hell is ended for me, too. Sylvia, I know what I ask. And I ask. Iknow what I offer. Will you take it?"

"Yes, " she said. 

He rose, blindly. She stood up, pale, wide-eyed, confronting him, stammering out the bargain:

"I take all--all! every virtue, every vice of you. I give all--all! allI have been, all I am, all I shall be! Is that enough? Oh, if there wereonly more to give! Stephen, if there were only more!"

Her hands had fallen into his, and they looked each other in the eyes. 

Suddenly, through the hush of the enchanted moment, a sullen soundbroke--the sound of a voice they knew, threateningly raised, louder andlouder, growling, profanely menacing. 

Aghast, they turned in the darkness, peering toward the lighted spacebeyond. Leroy Mortimer, his face shockingly congested, stood unsteadilybalancing there, confronting his wife, who sat staring at him in horror. At the same instant Plank rose and laid a hand on Mortimer's shoulder, but Mortimer shook him off with a warning oath. 

"You and I will settle with each other to-morrow!" he said thickly, pointing a puffy finger at Plank. "You'll find me at the AlgonquinTrust. Do you hear? That's where you'll settle this matter--in thepresident's office!" He stood swaying and leering at Plank, repeatingloudly: "In Quarrier's office! Understand? That's where you'll settleup! See?"

Leila, white face quivering, shrank as though he had struck her, and heturned on her again, grinning: "As for you, you come home! And that'llbe about all for yours. "

"Are you insane, to make a scene like this?" whispered Plank. 

But Mortimer swung on him insultingly: "That's about all from you, too!"he said. "Leila, are you coming?"

He stepped heavily toward her; but Plank's sudden crushing grip was onhis fat arm above the elbow, and he emitted a roar of surprise and pain. 

"Don't touch him! Don't, in Heaven's name!" stammered Leila, as Plank, releasing him, stepped back beside her chair. "Can't you see that I mustgo with him! I--I must go. " She cast one terrified glance around her, where scores of strange faces met hers; and at every table people werestanding up to see better. 

Plank, who had dropped Mortimer's arm as the latter emitted his bellowof amazement, stepped toward him again, dropping his voice as he spoke:

"You go! Do you hear?" he said quietly. "I'll do what you ask me, to-morrow! I will do what you ask, if you'll go now!"

"You come--do you hear!" snarled Mortimer, turning on his wife, who hadalready risen. "If you don't I'll make a row here that you'll never hearthe end of as long as you live! And there'll be nothing to talk over inQuarrier's office, if I do. "

Leila looked at Plank, rose, and moved swiftly toward the veranda steps, her head resolutely lowered, the burning shame flaming in her face. Mortimer cast one triumphant glance at Plank, then waddled unsteadilyafter his wife. 

"Hold on, " he growled; "I've a Mercedes here! I'll drive you back--wait!Here it is! Here we are!" And to Quarrier's machinist he said: "You getinto the tonneau. I want to show Mrs. Mortimer what night-driving is. Doyou hear? I tell you I'm going to drive this machine and show you how!"

Leila scarcely heard him. She obeyed the impulse of his hand on her arm, and mounted to the seat, staring straight ahead of her with dazed andstraining eyes that saw nothing. 

Then Mortimer clambered to his seat, and, without an instant's warning, opened up and seized the wheel. 

Unprepared, the machinist attempted to swing aboard, missed his footingin the uncertain light, and fell sprawling on the gravel. Plank saw himfrom the veranda and instantly vaulted the rail to the lawn below. 

"You damn fool!" yelled Mortimer, looking around, "what in hell do youthink you'll do?" And he clapped on full speed as Plank made a leap forthe car and missed. 

Mortimer laughed, and turned his head to look back, and the next instantsomething seemed to wrench the steering-wheel from its roots. There wasa blinding glare of light, a scream, and the great machine boundedinto the air full length, turned completely over, and lay across aflower-bed, partly on one side. 

Something was afire, too. Men were rushing from the verandas, womenscreamed, and stood up wringing their hands; a mounted policeman camegalloping through the darkness; people shouted: "Throw sand on it! Getshovels, for God's sake! Lift that tonneau! There's a woman under it. "

But they were mistaken, for Leila lay at the foot of the slope, onelittle bloody hand clutching the dead grass; and Plank knelt beside her, giving his orders quietly to those who came running down the hillfrom the roadway above, which was now fiercely illuminated by burninggasoline. At last they got sand enough to quench the fire and mensufficient to lift the weight from the dead man's neck, and drag whatwas left of him onto the grass. 

"Don't look, " whispered Siward, drawing Sylvia back. 

He and she both had put their shoulders to the tonneau along with theothers; and now they stood there together in the shifting lantern-light, sickened, shivering under the summer stars, staring at the gatheringcrowd around that shapeless lump on the grass. 

Plank passed them, walking beside an improvised stretcher, calm, almostsmiling, as Sylvia sprang forward with a little sob of inquiry. 

"There's the doctor, over there; that man is a doctor; he knows, "repeated Plank with studied deliberation, looking down at Leila'sdeathly face. "He says it's all right; he says he'll get a candle, andthat he can tell by the flame's effect on the pupils of the eyes whatexactly is the matter. No, " to Siward beside him, pressing forwardthrough the crowd which eddied from the dead man to the stretcher; "no, there is not a bone broken. She is stunned, that's all; she fell in theshrubbery. We'll have an ambulance here pretty quick. Stephen, " usinghis first name unconsciously, "won't you look out for Sylvia? I'm goingback on the ambulance. If you'll find somebody to drive my machine, I wish you would take Sylvia back. No, I don't want you to drive, Stephen--if you don't mind. Get that machinist, please. I'm rattled, andI don't want you to drive. "

Leila lay on the stretcher, her bloodless face upturned to the stars. Beyond, under a blanket, something else lay very still on the lawn. 

Plank beckoned a policeman, and whispered to him. 

Then, far away in the darkness, a distant clamour grew on the night air, nearer, nearer. 

Plank, standing beside the stretcher, raised his head, listening to theambulance arriving at full speed. 

CHAPTER XV THE ENEMY LISTENS

In September, her marriage to Siward excitingly imminent, Sylviahad been seized with a passion for wholesale renunciation and rigidself-chastisement. All that had been so materially desirable to her inlife, all that she had heretofore worshipped, in and belonging to herown world, she now denied. Down went the miniature golden calf from thealtar in her private shrine, its tiny crashing fall making considerableracket throughout her world, and the planets and satellites adjacent tothat section of the social system which she had long been expected todominate. 

The spectacle of their youthful ruler-elect in sackcloth as the futurebride of a business man had more than disconcerted them. The amazingannouncement of Quarrier's engagement to Agatha Caithness stupefied theelect, rendering in one harrowing instant null and void the thousandpetty plans and plots, intrigues and schemes, upon which future socialconstructions on the social structure had been based. 

The grief and amazement of Major Belwether, already distracted by hisnon-participation, through his own fault, in Plank's consolidationof Amalgamated with Inter-County, was pitiable to the verge of theunpleasant. Like panic-stricken rabbits, his thoughts ran in circles, and he skipped in their wake, scurrying from Quarrier to Harrington, from Harrington to Plank, from Plank to Siward, in distracted hope ofrecovering his equilibrium and squatting safely somewhere in somebody'sluxuriantly perpetual cabbage-patch. He even squeezed under the fenceand hopped humbly about old Peter Caithness, who suddenly assumedmonumental proportions among those who had so long tolerated him. 

But Quarrier coldly drove him away and the increasing crowds besiegingpoor, bewildered old Peter Caithness trod upon the major, and therewas nothing for him to do but to scuttle back to his own brush-heap andhuddle there, squeaking pitifully. 

As for Grace Ferrall, she lost no time in tears, but took Agathapublicly to her bosom, turned furiously on Quarrier in private, and forthe first time in her life permitted herself the luxury of telling himexactly what she thought of him. 

"You had your chance, " she said; "but you are all surface! There'snothing to you but soft beard and manicuring, and the reticence ofstupidity! The one girl for you--and you couldn't hold on to her!The one chance of your life--and it's escaped you, leaving a tuft ofpompadour hair and a pair of woman's eyes protruding from the goldendust-heap your father buried you in. Now you'd better sit there and letit cover your mouth, and try to breathe through your nose. Agatha islooking for a new sensation; she's tried everything, now she's going totry you, that's all. She will be an invaluable leader, Howard, and weshall not yawn, I assure you. But, oh! the chance you've lost, for lackof a drop of red blood, and a barber to give you the beard of a man!"

Which merely deepened the fear and hatred which Quarrier had entertainedfor his pretty cousin from the depths of his silk-wadded cradle. As forKemp Ferrall, now third vice-president of Inter-County, he only laughedwith the tolerance of a man in safety; and, looking at Quarrier throughthe pickets of the financial fence, not only forgot how close his escapehad been, but, being a busy and progressive young man, began to considerhow he might ultimately extract a little profit from the expensivetenant of the enclosure. 

Grace made the journey to town to express herself freely for Sylvia'sbenefit; but when she saw Sylvia, the girl's radiant beauty checked her, and all she could say was: "My dear! my dear, I knew you would do it!I knew you would fling him on his head. It's in your blood, you littlejade! you little jilt! you mix of a baggage! I knew you'd behave likeall the women of your race!"

Sylvia held Mrs. Ferrall's pretty face impressed between both her hands, and looking her mischievously in the eyes, she whispered:

"'Comme vous, maman, faut-il faire?--Eh! mes petits-enfants, pourquoi, Quand j'ai fait comme ma grand' mère, Ne feriez-vous pas comme moi?'"

"O Lord!" said Mrs. Ferrall, "I'll never meddle again--and the entireworld may marry and take the consequences!" Then she drove to the SantaRegina, where Marion was to join her in her return to Shotover; and shewas already trying to make up her disturbed mind as to which might provethe more suitable for Marion--Captain Voucher, gloomily recovering fromhis defeat by Quarrier, or Billy Fleetwood, who didn't want to marryanybody. 

In the meanwhile, Siward's new duties as second vice-president ofInter-County had given him scant leisure for open-air convalescence. He was busy with Plank; he was also busy with the private investigationstirred up at the Patroons' Club and the Lenox, and which was slowly butinevitably resulting in clearing him, so that his restoration to goodstanding and full membership remained now only a matter of formalprocedure. 

So Siward was becoming a very busy man among men; and Plank, stillcarrying on his broad shoulders burdens unbearable by any man save sucha man as he, shook his heavy head, and ordered Siward into the open. AndSiward, who had learned to obey, obeyed. 

But September had nearly ended, when Leila, in Plank's private car, attended by Siward and Sylvia and two trained nurses, arrived at theFells. The nurses--Plank's idea--were a surprise to Leila; and the dayafter her arrival at the Fells she dismissed them, got out of bed, and dressed and came downstairs all alone, on a pair of sound thoughfaltering legs. 

Sylvia and Siward were in the music-room, very busily figuring outthe probable cost of a house in that section of the city east of ParkAvenue, where the newly married imprudent are forming colonies--a justpunishment for those reckless brides who marry for love, and areobliged to drive over two car-tracks to reach their wealthy friends andrelatives of the Golden Zone. 

And Leila, in her pretty invalid's gown of lace, stood silently at themusic-room door, watching them. Her thick, dark hair was braided, andlooped up under a black bow behind; and she looked like a curious andimpertinent schoolgirl peeping at them there through the crack of thedoor, bending forward, her joined hands flattened between her knees. 

"Oh, " she said at length, in a frankly disappointed voice, "is that allyou do when your chaperone is abed?"

"Angel!" cried Sylvia, springing up, "how in the world did you evermanage to come downstairs?"

"On the usual number of feet. If you think it's very gay up there--"She laid her hands in Sylvia's, and looked at Siward with all theold mockery in her eyes--eyes which slanted a little at the corners, Japanese-wise: "Stephen, you are growing positively plump. You'd betternot do that until Sylvia marries you. Look at him, dear! He's gettingall smooth in the cheeks, like a horrid undergraduate boy!"

She released one hand and greeted Siward. "Thank you, " she saidserenely, replying to his inquiry, "I am perfectly well. You pay meno compliment when you ask me, after you have seen me. " And to Sylvia, looking at her white flannels: "What have you been playing? What do youfind to do with yourself, Sylvia, with that plump sun-burned boy at yourheels all day long? Are there no men about?"

"One's coming to-day, " said Sylvia, laughing; and slipping her armaround Leila's waist, she strolled with her out through the tall glassdoors to the terrace, with a backward glance of airy dismissal forSiward. 

Plank had wired from New York, the night before, that he was coming; inanother hour he would be there. Leila knew it perfectly well, and shelooked into the wickedly expressive young face of the girl beside her, eyes soft but unsmiling. 

"Child, child, " she murmured, "you do not know how much of a man a mancan be!"

"Yes, I do!" said Sylvia hotly. 

Leila smiled. "Hush, you little silly! I've talked Stephen and praisedStephen to you for days and days, and the moment I dare mention anotherman you fly at me, hair on end!"

"Oh, Leila, I know it! I'm perfectly mad about him, that's all. Butdon't you think he is looking like himself again? And, Leila, isn't hestrangely attractive?--I don't mean just because I happen to be in lovewith him, but give me a perfectly cold and unbiassed opinion, dear, because there is simply no use in a girl's blinding herself to facts, or in ignoring certain fixed laws of symmetry, which it is perfectlyobvious that Mr. Siward fulfils in those well-known and establishedproportions which--"

"Sylvia!"

"What?" she asked, startled. 

"Nothing. Only for two solid weeks--"

"Of course, if you are not interested--"

"But I am, child--I am! desperately interested! He is handsome! I knewhim before you did, and I thought so then!"

"Did you?" said Sylvia, troubled. 

"Yes, I did. When I wore short skirts I kissed him, too!"

"Did you? W--what did he wear?"

"Knickerbockers, silly! You don't think he was still in the cradle, doyou? I'm not as aged as that!"

"I missed a great deal in my childhood, " said Sylvia naïvely. 

"By not knowing Stephen? Pooh! He used to pinch me, and then we'd putout our tongues in mutual derision. Once--"

"Stop!" said Sylvia faintly. "And anyhow, you probably taught him. …Look at him as he saunters across the lawn, Leila--look at him!"

"Well? I see him. "

"Isn't he almost an ideal?"

"He is. He certainly is, dear. "

"Do you think he walks as though he were perfectly well?"

"Well, I don't know, " said Leila thoughtfully. "Sometimes people whosewalk is a gracefully languid saunter develop adipose tissue afterforty. "

"Nonsense! Really, Leila, do you think he walks like a perfectly wellman?"

"He may be coming down with whooping-cough--"

Sylvia rose indignantly, but Leila pulled her back to the sun-warmedmarble bench:

"A girl in love loses her sense of humour temporarily. Sit down, youlittle vixen!"

"Leila, you laugh at everything when I don't feel like it. "

"I'm not in love, and that's why. "

"You are in love!"

Leila looked at her, then under her breath: "In love, am I--with thewhole young world ringing with the laughter I had forgotten the verysound of? Do you call that love?--with the sea and sky laughing back atme, and the wind in my ears fairly tremulous with laughter? Do you, wholook out upon the pretty world so seriously through those sea-blue eyesof yours, think that I can be in love?"

"Oh, Leila, a girl's happiness is serious enough, isn't it? Dear, itfrightens me! I was so close to losing it--once. "

"I lost mine, " said Leila, closing her eyes for a moment. "I shall notsigh if I find it again. "

They sat there in the sun, Leila's hand lying idly in Sylvia's, the softsea-wind stirring their hair, and in their ears the thunderous undertoneof the mounting sea. 

"Look at Stephen!" murmured Sylvia, her enraptured eyes following himas he strolled hatless and coatless along the cliff's edge, the sunglimmering on his short hair, a tall, slim, well-coupled, strongly knitshape against the sky and sea. 

But Leila's quick ear had caught a significant sound from the graveldrive behind her, and she stood up, a delicious colour tinting her face. 

"Are you going in?" asked Sylvia. Then she, too, heard the subduedwhirring of a motor from the front of the house, and she looked at Leilaas she turned and recrossed the terrace, walking slowly but erect, herpretty head held high. 

Then Sylvia faced the sea again and presently descended the terrace, crossing the long lawn toward the headland, where Siward stood lookingout across the water. 

Leila, from the music-room, watched her; then she heard Plank's voice, and his step on the stair, and she called out to him gaily:

"I am downstairs, thank you. How dared you send me those foolishnurses!"

She was laughing when he came into the room, standing there erect, headhigh, a brilliant colour in her cheeks; and she offered him both handswhich he took between his own, holding them strongly, and looking intoher face with steady, questioning eyes. 

"Well?" she said, still smiling, but her scarlet under-lip trembled alittle; then: "Yes, you may say what you wish--what I--I wish you tosay. … There can be no harm in talking about it. But--will you be verygentle with me? Don't m-make me cry; I h-have--I am t-trying to rememberhow it feels to laugh once more. "

Sylvia, lying in the hot sand on the tiny crescent beach under thecliffs, listened gravely to Siward's figures, as, note-book in hand, he went over the real-estate problem, commenting thoughtfully as hediscussed the houses offered. 

"Twenty by a hundred and two; good rear, north side of the street--nextdoor to the Tommy Barclays, you know, Sylvia; only they're askingforty-two-five. "

"That is an outrage!" said Sylvia seriously; "besides, I remember therewas a wretched cellar, and only a butler's pantry extension. I'dmuch rather have that little house in Sixty-fourth Street, where theFetherbraynes live--next house on the west, you know. Then we can pullit down and build--when we want to. "

"We won't be able to afford to build for a while, you know, " said Siwarddoubtfully. 

"What do we care, dear? We'll have millions of things to do, anyway, andwhat is the use of building?"

"As many things to do as that?" he said, looking over his note-book witha smile. 

"More! Are we not just beginning to live, and open our eyes, silly?Listen: Books, books, books, from top to bottom of the house, that iswhat I want first of all--except my piano. "

"Do let us have a little plumbing, dear, " he said so seriously that fora fraction of a second she was on the verge of taking him seriously. 

"Why extravagant plumbing when books furnish sufficient circulation forthe flow of soul, dear?" she retorted gravely. 

"Nobody we know will ever come to see us, if they think we read books, "said Siward. 

"Isn't it delightful!" sighed Sylvia. "We're going to become frumps!I mustn't forget the blue stockings for my trousseau, and you mustn'tforget the California claret for the cellar, dear. We will need it whenwe read Henry James to each other. "

Siward, resting his weight on one hand, laughed, and looked out at thesurf drenching the reefs with silver. 

"To think, " he said, "that I could ever have been enough afraid of thesea to hate it! After all, at low tide the reef is always there in thesame place and none the worse for the drenching. All that surf onlyshows how strong a rock can be. "

He smiled, and turned to look at Sylvia; and she lay there, silent, blueeyes looking back into his. Suddenly they glimmered with tears, and shestretched out both arms, drawing his head down to hers convulsively, herquivering mouth crushed against his lips. Then she rose to her knees, toher feet, dazed, brushing the tears from her eyes. 

"To think--to think, " she stammered, "that I might have let you face theworld alone! Dearest, dearest, we must fight a good fight. The sea isalways there--always, always there!"

He looked straight into her eyes, fearlessly, tenderly, and she lookedback with the divine, untroubled gaze of a child, laying her slender, sun-tanned hands in his. 

And, deep in his body, as he stood there, he heard the low challenge ofhis soul on guard; and he knew that the Enemy listened. 

THE END