WILD WINGS

 A ROMANCE OF YOUTH

 BY MARGARET REBECCA PIPER

 1921

CONTENTS

 I MOSTLY TONY

 II WITH ROSALIND IN ARDEN

 III A GIRL WHO COULDN'T STOP BEING A PRINCESS

 IV A BOY WHO WASN'T AN ASS BUT BEHAVED LIKE ONE

 V WHEN YOUTH MEETS YOUTH

 VI A SHADOW ON THE PATH

 VII DEVELOPMENTS BY MAIL

 VIII THE LITTLE LADY WHO FORGOT

 IX TEDDY SEIZES THE DAY

 X TONY DANCES INTO A DISCOVERY

 XI THINGS THAT WERE NOT ALL ON THE CARD

 XII AND THERE IS A FLAME

 XIII BITTER FRUIT

 XIV SHACKLES

 XV ON THE EDGE OF THE PRECIPICE

 XVI IN WHICH PHIL GETS HIS EYES OPENED

 XVII A WEDDING RING IT WAS HARD TO REMEMBER

 XVIII A YOUNG MAN IN LOVE

 XIX TWO HOLIDAYS MAKE CONFESSION

 XX A YOUNG MAN NOT FOR SALE

 XXI HARRISON CRESSY REVERTS

 XXII THE DUNBURY CURE

 XXIII SEPTEMBER CHANGES

 XXIV A PAST WHICH DID NOT STAY BURIED

 XXV ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE

 XXVI THE KALEIDOSCOPE REVOLVES

 XXVII TROUBLED WATERS

 XXVIII IN DARK PLACES

 XXIX THE PEDIGREE OF PEARLS

 XXX THE FIERY FURNACE

 XXXI THE MOVING FINGER CONTINUES TO WRITE

 XXXII DWELLERS IN DREAMS

 XXXIII WAITING FOR THE END OF THE STORY

 XXXIV IN WHICH TWO MASSEYS MEET IN MEXICO

 XXXV GEOFFREY ANNERSLEY ARRIVES

 XXXVI THE PAST AND FUTURE MEET

 XXXVII ALAN MASSEY LOSES HIMSELF

XXXVIII THE SONG IN THE NIGHT

 XXXIX IN WHICH THE TALE ENDS IN THE HOUSE ON THE HILL

CHAPTER I

MOSTLY TONY

Among the voluble, excited, commencement-bound crowd that boarded theNorthampton train at Springfield two male passengers were conspicuous fortheir silence as they sat absorbed in their respective newspapers whicheach had hurriedly purchased in transit from train to train. 

A striking enough contrast otherwise, however, the two presented. Theman next the aisle was well past sixty, rotund of abdomen, rubicundof countenance, beetle-browed. He was elaborately well-groomed, almost foppish in attire, and wore the obvious stamp of worldlysuccess, the air of one accustomed to giving orders and seeing themobeyed before his eyes. 

His companion and chance seat-mate was young, probably a scant five andtwenty, tall, lean, close-knit of frame with finely chiseled, almostascetic features, though the vigorous chin and generous sized mouthforbade any hint of weakness or effeminacy. His deep-set, clear gray-blueeyes were the eyes of youth; but they would have set a keen observer towondering what they had seen to leave that shadow of unyouthful gravityupon them. 

It happened that both men--the elderly and the young--had their papersfolded at identically the same page, and both were studying intently theface of the lovely, dark-eyed young girl who smiled out of the duplicateprinted sheets impartially at both. 

The legend beneath the cut explained that the dark-eyed young beautywas Miss Antoinette Holiday, who would play Rosalind that night in theSmith College annual senior dramatics. The interested reader wasfurther enlightened to the fact that Miss Holiday was the daughter ofthe late Colonel Holiday and Laura LaRue, a well known actress of ageneration ago, and that the daughter inherited the gifts as well asthe beauty of her famous mother, and was said to be planning to followthe stage herself, having made her debut as the charming heroine of "AsYou Like It. "

The man next the aisle frowned a little as he came to this last sentenceand went back to the perusal of the girl's face. So this was Laura'sdaughter. Well, they had not lied in one respect at least. She was awinner for looks. That was plain to be seen even from the crude newspaperreproduction. The girl was pretty. But what else did she have besideprettiness? That was the question. Did she have any of the rest ofit--Laura's wit, her inimitable charm, her fire, her genius? Pshaw! No, of course she hadn't. Nature did not make two Laura LaRue's in onecentury. It was too much to expect. 

Lord, what a woman! And what a future she had had and thrown away forlove! Love! That wasn't it. She could have had love and still kept onwith her career. It was marriage that had been the catastrophe--the fatalblunder. Marriage and domesticity for a woman like that! It wasasinine--worse--criminal! It ought to have been forbidden by law. And thestubbornness of her! After all these years, remembering, Max Hempel couldhave groaned aloud. Every stage manager in New York, including himself, had been ready to bankrupt himself offering her what in those days werealmost incredible contracts to prevent her from the suicidal folly onwhich she was bent. But to no avail. She had laughed at them all, laughedand quit the stage at six and twenty, and a few years later her beautyand genius were still--in death. What a waste! What a damnation waste!

At this point in his animadversions Max Hempel again looked at the girlin the newspaper, the girl who was the product of the very marriage hehad been cursing, LaRue's only daughter. If there had been no marriage, neither would there have been this glorious, radiant, vividly alive youngcreature. Men called Laura LaRue dead. But was she? Was she nottremendously alive in the life of her lovely young daughter? Was it nothe, and the other childless ones who had treated matrimony as the onesupreme mistake, that would soon be very much dead, dead past anyresurrection?

Pshaw! He was getting sentimental. He wasn't here for sentiment. He washere for cold, hard business. He was taking this confounded journey towitness an amateur performance of a Shakespeare play, when he loathedtraveling in hot weather, detested amateur performances of anything, particularly of Shakespeare, on the millionth of a chance thatAntoinette Holiday might be possessed of a tithe of her mother's talentand might eventually be starred as the new ingénue he was in need of, afar off, so to speak. It was Carol Clay herself who had warned him. Carol was wonderful--would always be wonderful. But time passes. Therewould come a season when the public would begin to count back andremember that Carol had been playing ingénue parts already for over adecade. There must always be youth--fresh, flaming youth in theoffing. That was the stage and life. 

As for this Antoinette Holiday girl, he had none too much hope. MaxHempel never hoped much on general principles, so far as potential starswere concerned. He had seen too many of them go off fizz bang intonothingness, like rockets. It was more than likely he was on a falsetrail, that people who had seen the girl act in amateur things hadexaggerated her ability. He trusted no judgment but his own, which wasperhaps one of the reasons why he was one of the greatest living stagemanagers. It was more than likely she had nothing but a pretty, shallowlittle talent for play acting and no notion under the sun of giving upsociety or matrimony or what-not for the devilish hard work of a stagecareer. Very likely there was some young galoot waiting even now, towhisk Laura LaRue's daughter off the stage before she ever got on. 

Moreover there was always her family to cope with, dyed in the wool NewEnglanders at that, no doubt with the heavy Puritan mortmain upon them, narrow as a shoe string, circumscribed as a duck pond, walled in byghastly respectability. Ten to one, if the girl had talent and ambition, they would smother these things in her, balk her at every turn. They hadregarded Ned Holiday's marriage to Laura a misalliance, he recalled. There had been quite a to-do about it at the time. Good God! It had beena misalliance all right, but not as they reckoned it. It had not beenconsidered suitable for a Holiday to marry an actress. Probably it wouldbe considered more unsuitable for a Holiday to _be_ an actress. Suitable!Bah! The question was not whether the career was fit for the girl, butwhether the girl could measure up to the career. And irascibly, unreasonably indignant as if he had already been contending in argumentwith legions of mythical, over-respectable Holidays, Max Hempel whippedhis paper open to another page, a page that told of a drive somewhere onthe western front that had failed miserably, for this was the yearnineteen hundred and sixteen and there was a war going on, "on the otherside. " Oh, typically American phrase!

Meanwhile the young man, too, had stopped staring at Antoinette Holiday'spictured face and was staring out of the window instead at the fastflying landscape. He had really no need anyway to look at a picture ofTony. His head and heart were full of them. He had been storing them upfor over eight years and it was a considerable collection by now and onein which he took great joy in lonely hours in his dingy little lodgingroom, or in odd moments as he went his way at his task as a reporter fora great New York daily. The perspicuous reader will not need to be toldthat the young man was in love with Tony Holiday--desperately in love. 

Desperately was the word. Slight as Max Hempel's hope may have been thatLaura LaRue's daughter was to prove the ingénue he sought, infinitelyslighter was Dick Carson's hope of ever making Tony his wife. How couldit be otherwise? Tony Holiday was as far above him in his own eyes as thetop of Mount Tom was high above the onion beds of the valley. The veryname he used was his only because she had given it to him. Dick Nobody hehad been. Richard Carson he had become through grace of Tony. 

Like his companion the young man went back into the past, though not sofar a journey. As vividly as if it were but yesterday he remembered themisery of flesh and spirit which had been his as he stowed himself awayin the hay loft in the Holiday's barn, that long ago summer dawn, toosick to take another step and caring little whether he lived or died, conscious vaguely, however, that death would be infinitely preferable togoing back to the life of the circus and the man Jim's coarse brutalityfrom which he had made his escape at last. 

And then he had opened his eyes, hours later, and there had beenTony--and there had been chiefly Tony ever since, for him. 

If ever he amounted to anything, and he meant to amount to something, itwould be all due to Tony and her Uncle Phil. The two of them had savedhim in more ways than one, had faith in him when he wasn't much but ascarecrow, ignorant, profane, unmoral, miserable, a "gutter brat" as someone had once called him, a phrase he had never forgotten. It had seemedto brand him, set him apart from people like the Holidays forever. ButTony and Doctor Phil had shown him a different way of looking at it, proved to him that nothing could really disgrace him but himself. Theyhad given him his chance and he had taken it. Please God he would makehimself yet into something they could be proud of, and it would all betheir doing. He would never forget that, whatever happened. 

A half hour later the train puffed and wheezed into the station atNorthampton. Dick Carson and Max Hempel, still close together, descendedinto the swarming, chattering crowd which was delightfully if confusinglycongested with pretty girls, more pretty girls and still more prettygirls. But Dick was not confused. Even before the train had come to afull stop he had caught sight of Tony. He had a single track mind so faras girls were concerned. From the moment his eyes discovered Tony Holidaythe rest simply did not exist for him. It is to be doubted whether heknew they were there at all, in spite of their manifest ubiquity andequally manifest pulchritude. 

Tony saw him, too, as he loomed up, taller than the others, bearingresistlessly down upon her. She waved a gay greeting and smiled herwelcome to him through the throng. Max Hempel, close behind, caught themessage, too, and recognized the face of the girl who smiled as theoriginal of the newspaper cut he had just been studying so assiduously. Deliberately he dogged the young man's heels. He wanted to get a close-upview of Laura LaRue's daughter. She was much prettier than the picture. Even from a distance he had made that out, as she stood there among thecrowd, vivacious, vivid, clad all in white except for the loosecoral-hued sweater which set off her warm brunette beauty and the slimbut charmingly rounded curves of her supple young body. Yes, she was likeLaura, like her and yet different, with a quality which he fanciedbelonged to herself and none other. 

Almost jealously Hempel watched the meeting between the girl and theyouth who up to now had been negligible enough, but suddenly emerged intosignificance as the possible young galoot already mentally warned off thepremises by the stage manager. 

"Dick! O Dick! I'm _so_ glad to see you, " cried the girl, holding outboth hands to the new arrival. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining. She looked quite as glad as she proclaimed. 

As for the young man who had set down his suitcase and taken possessionof both the proffered hands, there wasn't the slightest doubt that he wasin the seventh heaven of bliss wherever that may be. Next door to Fool'sParadise, Max Hempel hoped somewhat vindictively. 

"Just you wait, young man, " he muttered to himself. "Bet you'll have to, anyway. That glorious young thing isn't going to settle down to theshallows of matrimony without trying the deep waters first, unless I'mmightily mistaken. In the meantime we shall see what we shall seeto-night. " And the man of power trudged away in the direction of ataxicab, leaving youth alone with itself. 

"Everybody is here, " bubbled Tony. "At least, nearly everybody. Larrywent to a horrid old medical convention at Chicago, and can't be here forthe play; but he's coming to commencement. Of course, Granny isn't ableto travel and Aunt Margery couldn't come because the kiddies have beenmeasling, but Ted is here, and Uncle Phil--bless him! He brought thetwins over from Dunbury in the car. Phil Lambert and everybody arewaiting down the street. Carlotta too! To think you haven't ever met her, when she's been my roommate and best friend for two years! And, oh!Dicky! I haven't seen you myself for most a year and I'm so glad. " Shebeamed up at him as she made this rather ambiguous statement. "And youhaven't said a word but just 'hello!' Aren't you glad to see me, Dicky?"she reproached. 

He grunted at that. 

"About a thousand times gladder than if I were in Heaven, unless youhappened to be sitting beside me on the golden stairs. And if you think Idon't know how long it is since I've seen you, you are mightily mistaken. It is precisely one million years in round numbers. "

"Oh, it is?" Tony smiled, appeased. "Why didn't you say so before, andnot leave me to squeeze it out of you like tooth-paste?"

Dick grinned back happily. 

"Because you brought me up not to interrupt a lady. You seemed to havethe floor, so to speak. "

"So to speak, indeed, " laughed Tony. "Carlotta says I exist for thatsole purpose. But come on. Everybody's crazy to see you and I've amillion things to do. " And tucking her arm in his, Tony marshaled theprocession of two down the stairs to the street where the car and the oldHoliday Hill crowd waited to greet the newest comer to the ranks of thecommencement celebrants. 

With the exception of Carlotta Cressy, Tony's roommate, the occupants ofthe car are known already to those who followed the earlier tale ofHoliday Hill. [1]

[Footnote 1: The earlier experiences of the Holidays and their friendsare related in "The House on the Hill. "]

First of all there was the owner of the car, Dr. Philip Holidayhimself, a married man now, with a small son and daughter of his own, "Miss Margery's" children. A little thicker of build and thinner ofhair was the doctor, but possessed of the same genial friendliness ofmanner and whimsical humor, the same steady hand held out to helpwherever and whenever help was needed. He was head of the House ofHoliday now for his father, the saintly old pastor, had gone on toother fields and his soldier brother Ned, Tony's father, had also gone, in the prime of life, two years before, victim of typhus, leaving hisbeloved little daughter, and his two sons just verging into manhood, inthe care of the younger Holiday. 

As Dick and the doctor exchanged cordial greetings, the latter's friendlyeyes challenged the young man's and were answered. Plainly as if wordshad been spoken the doctor knew that Dick was keeping faith with the oldpact, living up to the name the little girl Tony had given him in herimpulsive generosity. 

"Something not quite right, though, " he thought. "The boy isn't allhappy. Wonder what the trouble is. Probably a girl. Usually is atthat age. "

At the wheel beside the doctor was his namesake and neighbor, PhilipLambert. Phil was graduating, himself, this year from the college acrossthe river, a sturdy athlete of some note and a Phi Beta Kappa man aswell. Out of a harum-scarum, willful boyhood he had emerged into a finelytempered, steady young manhood. The Dunbury wiseacres who had been wontto shake their heads over Phil's youthful escapades and prophesy a badend for such a devil-may-care youngster now patted themselvescomplacently on the back, as wiseacres will, and declared they had alwaysknown the boy would turn out a credit to his family and the town. 

On the back seat were Phil's sisters, the pretty twins, Charley andClare, still astonishingly alike at twenty, as they had been at twelve, and still full of the high spirits and ready laughter and wit that hadmade them the life of the Hill in the old days. Neither looked a day oversixteen, but Clare had already been teaching two years in a Dunburypublic school and Charley was to go into nurse's training in the fall. 

Larry, the young doctor, as Dunbury had taken to calling him indistinction from his uncle, was not yet arrived, as Tony had explained;but Ted, her younger brother, was very much on the scene, arrayed in allthe extravagant niceties of modish attire affected by universityundergraduates. At twenty, Ted Holiday was as handsome as the traditionalyoung Greek god and possessed of a godlike propensity to do as he likedand the devil take the consequences. Already Ned Holiday's younger sonhad acquired something of a reputation as a high flier among his own sex, and a heart breaker among the fairer one. Reckless, debonair, utterlyirresponsible, he was still "terrible Teddy" as his father had jocoselydubbed him long ago. Yet he was quite as lovable as he was irrepressible, and had a manifest grace to counterbalance every one of his many faults. His soberer brother Larry worried uselessly over Ted's misdeeds, and tookhim sharply to task for them; but even Larry admitted that there wassomething rather magnificent about Ted and that possibly in the end hewould come out the soundest Holiday of them all. 

There remains only Carlotta to be introduced. Carlotta was lovely to lookupon. A poet speaks somewhere of a face "made out of a rose. " Carlottahad that kind of a face and her eyes were of that deep, violet shadewhich works mischief and magic in the hearts of men. As for her hair, itmight well have been the envy of any princess, in or out of the covers ofa book, so fine spun was it in texture, so pure gold in color, like thewarm, vivid shimmer of tropical sunshine. She lifted an inquiring gazenow to Dick, as she held out her hand in acknowledgment of theintroduction, and Dick murmured something platitudinous, bowed politelyover the hand and never noticed what color her eyes were. A single trackmind is both a curse and a protection to a man. 

"Carlotta _would_ come, " Tony was explaining gaily, "though I told herthere wasn't room. Let me inform you all that Carlotta is the mostcompletely, magnificently, delightfully spoiled young person in theseUnited States of America. "

"Barring you?" teased her uncle. 

"Barring none. By comparison with Carlotta, I am all the noble army ofsaints, martyrs and seraphim on record combined. Carlotta is preordainedto have her own way. Everybody unites to give it to her. We can't helpit. She hypnotizes us. Some night you will miss the moon in itsaccustomed place and you will find that she wanted it for a few momentsto play with. "

Philip Lambert had turned around in his seat and was surveying Carlottarather curiously during this teasing tirade of Tony's. 

"Oh, well, " murmured Carlotta. "Your old moon can be put up again when Iam through with it. I shan't do it a bit of harm. Anyway, Mr. Carson mustnot be told such horrid things about me the very first time he meets me, must he, Phil? He might think they were true. " She suddenly lifted hereyes and smiled straight up into the face of the young man on the frontseat who was watching her so intently. 

"Well, aren't they?" returned the young man addressed, stooping toexamine the brake. 

Carlotta did not appear in the least offended at his curt comment. Indeed the smile on her lips lingered as if it had some inner reason forbeing there. 

"Hop in, Tony, " ordered Ted with brotherly peremptoriness. "Carlotta, youare one too many, my love. You will have to sit in my lap. "

"I'm getting out, " said Phil. "I'm due across the river. Want Ted to takethe wheel, Doctor?"

"I do not. I have a wife and children at home. I cannot afford to placemy life in jeopardy. " The doctor's eyes twinkled as they rested a momenton his youngest nephew. 

"Now, Uncle Phil, that's mean of you. You ought to see me drive. "

"I have, " commented Dr. Holiday drily. "Come on over here, one of youtwinnies, if Phil must go. See you to-night, my boy?" he turned to hisnamesake to ask as Charley accepted the invitation and clambered over theback of the seat while the doctor took her brother's vacated post. 

Phil shook his head. 

"No. I was in on the dress rehearsal last night. I've had my share. Butyou folks are going to see the jolliest Rosalind that ever grew in Ardenor out of it. That's one sure thing. "

Phil smiled at Tony as he spoke, and Dick, settling himself in the smallseat beside Ted, felt a small barbed dart of jealousy prick into him. 

Tony and Phil were obviously exceedingly good friends. They had, heknew, seen much of each other during the past four years, with only ariver between. Phil was Tony's own kind, college-trained, with acertified line of good old New England ancestry behind him. Moreover, hewas a darned fine fellow--one of the best, in fact. In spite of thathateful little jabbing dart, Dick acknowledged that. Ah well, there wasmore than a river between himself and Tony Holiday and there alwayswould be. Who was he, nameless as he was, to enter the lists againstPhilip Lambert or any one else?

The car sped away, leaving Phil standing bareheaded in the sunshine, staring after it. The mocking silver lilt of Carlotta Cressy's laughterdrifted back to him. He shrugged, jammed on his hat and strode off in thedirection of the trolley car. 

Dick Carson might just as well have spared himself the pain of jealousy. Phil had already forgotten Tony, was remembering only Carlotta, who wouldnever deliberately do a mite of harm to the moon, would merely want toplay with it at her fancy and leave it at her whim for somebody else toreplace, if anybody cared to take the pains. And what was a moon more orless anyway?

CHAPTER II

WITH ROSALIND IN ARDEN

Of course it is understood that every graduating class rightfullyasserts, and is backed up in its belief by doting and nobly partisanrelatives and blindly devoted, hyperbolic friends, that _its_ particular, unique and proper senior dramatics is the most glorious and unforgettableperformance in all the histrionic annals of the college, a thing to makeWill Shakespeare himself rise and applaud from his high and far off hillsof Paradise. 

Certainly Tony's class knew, past any qualms of doubt, and made no bonesof proclaiming its conviction that there never had been such a wonderful"As You Like It" and that never, so long as the stars kept their seats inthe heavens and senior classes produced Shakespeare--two practicallysynonymous conditions--would there ever be such another Rosalind as TonyHoliday, so fresh, so spontaneous, so happy in her acting, sobewitchingly winsome to behold, so boyish, yet so exquisitely feminine inher doublet and hose, so daring, so dainty, so full of wit and grace andsparkle, so tender, so merry, so natural, so all-in-all and utterly asWill himself would have liked his "right Rosalind" to be. 

So the class maintained and so they chanted soon and late, in many keys, "with a hey and a ho and a hey nonino. " And who so bold or malicious, orage cankered as to dispute the dictum? Is it not youth's privilege tofling enthusiasm and superlatives to the wind and to deal in gloriousarrogance?

It must be admitted, however, in due justice, that the class that played"As You Like It" that year had some grounds on which to base itspretensions and vain-glory. For had not a great stage manager beenpresent and applauded until his palms were purple and perspirationbeaded his beak of a nose? Had he not, as the last curtain, descended, blown his nose, mopped his brow, exclaimed "God bless my soul!" threetimes in succession and demanded to be shown without delay into thepresence of Rosalind?

As we know already, the great stage manager had not come over-willinglyor over-hopefully to Northampton to see Tony Holiday play Rosalind. Indeed, when it had been first suggested that he do so, he had objectedviolently and remarked with conviction that he would "beda--er--_blessed_ if he would. " But he had come and he had been blessedinvoluntarily. 

For he had seen something he had not expected to see--a real play, withreal magic to it, such magic as all his cunning stage artifice, all thestudied artistry of his fearfully and wonderfully salaried stellarattachments somehow missed achieving. He tried afterwards to explain toCarol Clay, his favorite star, just what the quality of the magic was, but somehow he could not get it into words. It wasn't exactly wordableperhaps. It was something that rendered negligible the occasionallycreaking mechanism and crudeness of stage business and rendition;something compounded of dew and sun and wind, such as could only be foundin a veritable Forest of Arden; something elusive, exquisite, iridescent;something he had supposed had vanished from the world about the time theyput Pan out of business and stopped up the Pipes of Arcady. It wasenchanting, elemental, genuine Elizabethan, had the spirit of MasterSkylark himself in it. Maybe it was the spirit of youth itself, immortalyouth, playing immortal youth's supreme play? Who knows or can lay fingerupon the secret of the magic? The great stage manager did not and couldnot. He only knew that, in spite of himself, he had drunk deep for amoment of true elixir. 

But as for Rosalind herself that was another matter. Max Hempel wasentirely capable of analyzing his impressions there and correlating themwith the cold hard business on which he had come. Even if the play hadproved a greater bore than he had anticipated, the trip from Broadway tothe Academy of Music would still have been materially worth while. Antoinette Holiday was a genuine find, authentic star stuff. They hadn'tspoiled her, plastered her over with meaningless mannerisms. She wasvirgin material--untrained, with worlds to learn, of course; but with aspark of the true fire in her--her mother's own daughter, which was themost promising thing anybody could say of her. 

No wonder Max Hempel had peremptorily demanded to be shown behind thescenes without an instant's delay. He was almost in a panic lest someother manager should likewise have gotten wind of this Rosalind and belurking in the wings even now to pounce upon his own legitimate prey. Hecouldn't quite forget either the tall young man of the afternoon'sencounter, his seatmate up from Springfield. He wasn't exactly afraid, however, having seen the girl and watched her live Rosalind. The childhad wings and would want to fly far and free with them, unless he wasmightily mistaken in his reading of her. 

Tony was still resplendent in her wedding white, and with her arms fullof roses, when she obeyed the summons to the stage door on being toldthat the great manager wished to see her. She came toward him, flushed, excited, adorably pretty. She laid down her roses and held out her hand, shy, but perfectly self-possessed. 

"'Well, this is the Forest of Arden, '" she quoted. "It must be or else Iam dreaming. As long as I can remember I have wanted to meet you, andhere you are, right on the edge of the forest. "

He bowed low over her hand and raised it gallantly to his lips. 

"I rather think I am still in Arden myself, " he said. "My dear, you havegiven me a treat such as I never expected to enjoy again in this world. You made me forget I knew anything about plays or was seeing one. Youcarried me off with you to Arden. "

"Did you really like the play?" begged Tony, shining-eyed at the praiseof the great man. 

"I liked it amazingly and I liked your playing even more amazingly. Is ittrue that you are going on the stage?" He had dropped Arden now, gottendown to what he would have called brass tacks. The difference was in hisvoice. Tony sensed it vaguely and was suddenly a little frightened. 

"Why, I--I don't know, " she faltered. "I hope so. Sometime. "

"Sometime is never, " he snapped. "That won't do. "

The Arden magic was quite gone by this time. He was scowling a little andthrust out his upper lip in a way Tony did not care for at all. Itoccurred to her inconsequentially that he looked a good deal like thewolf, in the story, who threatened to "huff and puff" until he blew inthe house of the little pigs. She didn't want her house blown in. Shewished Uncle Phil would come. She stooped to gather up her roses as ifthey might serve as a barricade between her and the wolf. But suddenlyshe forgot her misgivings again, for Max Hempel was saying incrediblethings, things which set her imagination agog and her pulses leaping. Hewas offering her a small role, a maid's part, in one of his roadcompanies. 

"Me!" she gasped from behind her roses. 

"You. "

"When?"

"To-morrow--the day after--next week at the latest. Chances like thatdon't go begging long, young lady. Will you take it?"

"Oh, I wish I could!" sighed Tony. "But I am afraid I can't. Oh, there isUncle Phil!" she interrupted herself to exclaim with perceptible relief. 

In a moment Doctor Holiday was with them, his arm around Tony while heacknowledged the introduction to the stage manager, who eyed him somewhatuncordially. The two men took each the other's measure. Possibly a sparkof antagonism flashed between them for an instant. Each wanted the lovelylittle Rosalind on his own side of the fence, and each suspected theother of desiring to lure her to the other side if he could. For themoment however, the advantage was all with the doctor, with hisprotecting arm around Tony. 

"Holiday!" muttered Hempel. "There was a Holiday once who married one ofthe finest actresses of the American stage--carried her off to nurse hisbabies. I never forgave that man. He was a brute. "

Tony stiffened. Her eyes flashed. She drew away from her uncle andconfronted the stage manager angrily. 

"He wasn't a brute, if you mean my father!" she burst out. "My mother wasLaura LaRue. "

"I know it, " grinned the manager, thoroughly delighted to have struckfire. The girl was better even than he had thought. She was magnificent, angry. "That's why I'm here, " he added. "I just offered this young persona part in a practically all-star cast, touring the West. Do you mind?" hechallenged Doctor Holiday. 

"I should mind her accepting, " said the other man tranquilly. "As it is, I am duly appreciative of the offer. Thank you. "

"What if I told you she had accepted?" the wolf snapped. 

Tony saw the swift shadow cloud her uncle's face and hated the managerfor hurting him like that. 

"I didn't, " she protested indignantly. "You know I wouldn't promiseanything without talking to you, Uncle Phil. I told him I couldn't go. "

"But you wanted to, " persisted the wolf, bound to get his fangs insomewhere. 

Tony smiled a little wistfully. 

"I wanted to most awfully, " she confessed, patting her uncle's arm totake the sting out of her admission. "Will you ask me again some day?"she appealed to the manager. 

He snorted at that. 

"You'll come asking me, young lady, and before long, too. Laura LaRue'sdaughter isn't going to settle down to being either a butterfly or ablue-stocking. You are going on the stage and you know it. No use, Holiday. You won't be able to hold her back. It's in the blood. You maybe able to dam the tide for a time, but not forever. "

"I don't intend to dam it, " said the doctor gravely. "If, when the timecomes, Tony wishes to go on the stage, I shall not try to prevent her. Infact I shall help her in every way in my power. "

"Uncle Phil!" Tony's voice had a tiny catch in it. She knew hergrandmother would be bitterly opposed to her going on the stage, and hadimagined she would have to win even her uncle over by slow degrees to thegratifying of this desire of her heart. It had hurt her even to think ofhurting him or going against him in any way--he who was, "father andmother and a'" to her. Dear Uncle Phil! How he always understood and tookthe big, broad viewpoint!

The manager grunted approval at that. His belligerency waned. 

"Congratulate you, sir. That's spoken like a man of sense. Evidently youare able to see over the wall farther than most of the witch-ridden NewEnglanders I've met. I should like the chance to launch this Rosalind ofyours. But don't make it too far off. Youth is the biggest drawing cardin the world and--the most transient. You have to get in the game earlyto get away with it. I'll start her whenever you say--next week--nextmonth--next year. Guarantee to have her ready to understudy a star inthree months and perhaps a star herself in six. She might jump into theheavens overnight. Stranger things have happened. What do you say? May Ihave an option on the young lady?"

"That is rather too big a question to settle off hand at midnight. Tonyis barely twenty-two and she has home obligations which will have to beconsidered. Her grandmother is old and frail and--a New Englander of theold school. "

"Too bad, " commiserated the manager. "But never mind all that. All I askis that you won't let her sign up with anybody else without giving me achance first. "

"I think we may safely promise that and thank you. Tony and I bothappreciate that you are doing her a good deal of honor for one smallschool girl, eh Tony?" The doctor smiled down at his flushed, starry-eyedniece. He understood precisely what a big moment it was for her. 

"Oh, I should think so!" sighed Tony. "You are awfully kind, Mr. Hempel. It is like a wonderful dream--almost too good to be true. "

Both men smiled at that. For youth no dream is quite too extravagant orincredible to be potentially true. No grim specters of failure anddisillusionment and frustration dog its bright path. All possibilitiesare its divine inheritance. 

"Mr. Hempel, did you know my mother?" Tony asked suddenly, with a shadowof wistfulness in her dark eyes. There were so few people whom she metthat had known her mother. It was as if Laura LaRue had moved in adifferent orbit from that of her daughter. It always hurt Tony to feelthat. But here was one who was of her mother's own world. No wonder hereyes were beseeching as they sought the great manager's. 

He bowed gravely. 

"I knew her very well. She was one of the most beautiful women I haveever seen--and one of the greatest actresses. Your father was a luckyman, my dear. Few women would have given up for any man what she gaveup for him. "

"Oh, but--she loved him, " explained Laura LaRue's daughter simply. 

Again Hempel nodded. 

"She did, " he admitted grimly. After all these years there was no useadmitting that that had been the deepest rub of all, that Laura had lovedNed Holiday and had never, for even the span of a moment, thought ofcaring for himself. "I repeat, your father was a very lucky man--adamnably lucky one. "

And with that they shook hands and parted. 

It was many months before Tony was to see Max Hempel again and manywaters were to run under the bridge before the meeting came to pass. 

Outside in the car, Ted, Dick and the twins waited the arrival of theheroine of the evening. The three latter greeted her with a burst ofprideful congratulation; the former, being merely a brother, wasdistinctly cross at having been kept waiting so long and did not hesitateto express his sentiments fully out loud. But Doctor Holiday cut shorthis nephew's somewhat ungracious speech by a quiet reminder that the carwas here primarily for Tony's use, and the boy subsided, having no moreto say until, having deposited the occupants of the car at their variousdestinations, he announced to his uncle with elaborate carelessness thathe would take the car around to the garage. 

But he did not turn in at the side street where the garage was. Insteadhe shot out Elm Street, "hitting her up" at forty. There had been areason for his impatience. Ted Holiday had important private business totransact ere cock crow. 

Tony lay awake a long time that night, dreaming dreams that carried herfar and far into the future, until Rosalind's happy triumph of theevening almost faded away in the glory of the yet-to-be. It wascharacteristic of the girl's stage of development that in all her dreams, no lovers, much less a possible husband, ever once entered. Tony Holidaywas in love with life and life alone that wonderful June night. As Hempelhad shrewdly perceived she was conscious of having wings and desirous offlying far and free with them ere she came to pause. 

She did remember, in passing however, how she had caught Dick's eyesonce as he sat in the box near the stage, and how his rapt gaze hadthrilled her to intenser playing of her part. And she remembered howdear he was afterward in the car when he held her roses and told hersoftly what a wonderful, wonderful Rosalind she was. But, on the whole, Dick, like most of the rest of the people with whom she had heldconverse since the curtain went down upon Arden, seemed unimportant andindistinct, like courtiers and foresters, not specifically named amongthe _dramatis personae_, just put in to fill out and make a moreeffective stage setting. 

Dick, too, in his room on Greene Street, was wakeful. He sat by thewindow far into the night. His heart was heavy within him. The gulfbetween him and Tony had suddenly widened immeasureably. She was a realactress. He hadn't needed a great manager's verdict to teach him that. Hehad seen it with his own eyes, heard it with his own ears, felt it withhis own heart. He had worshiped and adored and been made unutterably sadand lonely by her dazzling success, glad as he was that it had come toher. Tony would go on in her shining path. He would always lag behind inthe shadows. They would never come together as long as they both lived. She had started too far ahead. He could never overtake her. 

If only there were some way of finding out who he was, get some clue asto his parentage. He only knew that the man they called Jim, who hadkicked and beaten and sworn at him with foul oaths until he could bear itno longer, was no kin of his, though the other had claimed the authorityto abuse him as he abused his horses and dogs when drink and uglinesswere upon him. If only he could find Jim again after all these years, perhaps he could manage to get the truth out of him, find out what theman knew of himself, and how he had come to be in a circus troupe. Yetafter all, perhaps it was better not to know. The facts might separatehim from Tony even more than he was separated by his ignorance of them. As it was, he started even, with neither honor nor shame bequeathed himfrom the past. What he was, he was in himself. And if by any miracle offortune Tony ever did come to care for him it would be just himself, plain Dick, that she would love. He knew that. 

The thought was vaguely comforting and he, too, fell adreaming. Most ofus foiled humans learn to play the game of make-believe and to find suchconsolation as we may therein. Often and often in his lonely hours DickCarson had summoned Tony Holiday to his side, a Tony as bright andbeautiful and all adorable as the real Tony, but a dream Tony, withal, aTony who loved him even as he loved her. And in his make-believe he wasno longer a nameless, impecunious cub reporter, but a man who had arrivedsomewhere, made himself worthy, so far as any mere man could, of thesupreme gift of Tony's caring. 

To-night, too, Dick played the game determinedly, but somehow he foundits consolation rather meager, as cold and remote as the sparkle of theJune stars, millions of miles away up there in the velvet sky, afterhaving sat by the side of the living, breathing Tony and, looking intoher happy eyes, known how little, how very little, he was in herthoughts. She liked him to be near her, he knew, just as she liked herroses to be fragrant, but neither the roses nor himself was a vitalnecessity to her. She could do very well without either. That was thepity of it. 

At last he got up and went to bed. Falling into troubled sleep he dreamedthat he and Tony were wandering, hand in hand, in the Forest of Arden. From afar off came the sound of music, airy voices chanting:

"When birds do sing, hey ding a dingSweet lovers love the spring. "

And then somebody laughed mockingly, like Jacques, and somebody else, clad in motley like Touchstone, but who seemed to speak in Dick's ownvoice, murmured, "Ay, now am I in Arden, the more fool I. "

And even with these words the forest vanished and Tony with it and thedreamer was left alone on a steep and dusty road, lost and aching for themissing touch of her hand. 

But later he woke to the song of a thousand birds greeting the new daywith full-throated joy. And his heart, too, began to sing. For it wasindeed a new day--a day in which he should see Tony. He was irrationallycontent. Of such is the kingdom of lad's love!

CHAPTER III

A GIRL WHO COULDN'T STOP BEING A PRINCESS

In the lee of a huge gray bowlder on the summit of Mount Tom satPhilip Lambert and Carlotta Cressy. Below them stretched the widesweep of the river valley, amethyst and topaz and emerald, rich withlush June verdure, soft shadowed, tranquil, in the late afternoonsunshine. They had been silent for a little time but suddenly Carlottabroke the silence. 

"Phil, do you know why I brought you up here?" she asked. As she spokeshe drew a little closer to him and her hand touched his as softly as adrifting feather or a blown cherry blossom might have touched it. 

He turned to look at her. She was all in white like a lily, and otherwisecarried out the lily tradition of belonging obviously to thenon-toiling-and-spinning species, justifying the arrangement by lookingseraphically lovely in the fruits of the loom and labor of the rest ofthe world. And after all, sheer loveliness is an end in itself. Nobodyexpects a flower to give account of itself and flower-like Carlotta wasvery, very lovely as she leaned against the granite rock with the valleyat her feet. So Phil Lambert's eyes told her eloquently. The valley wasnot the only thing at Carlotta's feet. 

"I labored under the impression that I did the bringing up myself, " heremarked, his hand closing over hers. "However, the point is immaterial. You are here and I am here. Is there a cosmic reason?"

"There is. " Carlotta's voice was dreamy. She watched a cloud shadowcreep over the green-plumed mountain opposite. "I brought you up here sothat you could propose to me suitably and without interruption. "

"Huh!" ejaculated Phil inelegantly, utterly taken by surprise byCarlotta's announcement. "Do you mind repeating that? The altitude seemsto have affected my hearing. "

"You heard correctly. I said I brought you up here to propose to me. "

Phil shrugged. 

"Too much 'As You Like It, '" he observed. "These Shakespearean heroinesare a bad lot. May I ask just why you want me to propose to you, my dear?Do you have to collect a certain number of scalps by this particular rareday in June? Or is it that you think you would enjoy the exquisitepleasure of seeing me writhe and wriggle when you refuse me?"

Phil's tone was carefully light, and he smiled as he asked the questions, but there was a tight drawn line about his mouth even as he smiled. 

"Through bush, through briar, Through flood, through fire"

he had followed the will o' the wisp, Carlotta, for two years now, against his better judgment and to the undoing of his peace of mind andheart. And play days were over for Phil Lambert. The work-a-day worldawaited him, a world where there would be neither space nor time forchasing phantoms, however lovely and alluring. 

"Don't be horrid, Phil. I'm not like that. You know I'm not, " deniedCarlotta reproachfully. "I have a surprise for you, Philip, my dear. I amgoing to accept you. "

"No!" exclaimed Phil in unfeigned amazement. 

"Yes, " declared Carlotta firmly. "I decided it in church this morningwhen the man was telling us how fearfully real and earnest life is. Notthat I believe in the real-earnestness. I don't. It's bosh. Life was madeto be happy in and that is why I made up my mind to marry you. You mightmanage to look a little bit pleased. Anybody would think you were aboutto keep an appointment with a dentist, instead of having the inestimableprivilege of proposing to me with the inside information that I am goingto accept you. "

Phil drew away his hand from hers. His blue eyes were grave. 

"Don't, Carlotta! I am afraid the chap was right about thereal-earnestness. It may be a fine jest to you. It isn't to me. You see Ihappen to be in love with you. "

"Of course, " murmured Carlotta. "That is quite understood. Did you thinkI would have bothered to drag you clear up on a mountain top to proposeto me if I hadn't known you were in love with me and--I with you?" sheadded softly. 

"Carlotta! Do you mean it?" Phil's whole heart was in his honestblue eyes. 

"Of course, I mean it. Foolish! Didn't you know? Would I have tormentedyou so all these months if I hadn't cared?"

"But, Carlotta, sweetheart, I can't believe you are in earnest even now. Would you marry me really?"

"_Would_ I? _Will_ I is the verb I brought you up here to use. Mindyour grammar. "

Phil clasped his hands behind him for safe keeping. 

"But I can't ask you to marry me--at least not to-day. "

Carlotta made a dainty little face at him. 

"And why not? Have you any religious scruples about proposing onSunday?"

He grinned absent-mindedly and involuntarily at that. But he shook hishead and his hands stayed behind his back. 

"I can't propose to you because I haven't a red cent in the world--atleast not more than three red cents. I couldn't support an everyday wifeon 'em, not to mention a fairy princess. "

"As if that mattered, " dismissed Carlotta airily. "You are in love withme, aren't you?"

"Lord help me!" groaned Phil. "You know I am. "

"And I am in love with you--for the present. You had better ask me whilethe asking is good. The wind may veer by next week, or even by tomorrow. There are other young men who do not require to be commanded to propose. They spurt, automatically and often, like Old Faithful. "

Phil's ingenuous face clouded over. The other young men were nofabrication, as he knew to his sorrow. He was forever stumbling over themat Carlotta's careless feet. 

"Don't, Carlotta, " he begged again. "You don't have to scare me intosubjection, you know. If I had anything to justify me for asking you tomarry me I'd do it this minute without prompting. You ought to know that. And you know I'm jealous enough already of the rest of 'em, without yourrubbing it in now. "

"Don't worry, old dear, " smiled Carlotta. "I don't care a snap of myfingers for any of the poor worms, though I wouldn't needlessly setfoot on 'em. As for justifications I have a whole bag of them up mysleeve ready to spill out like a pack of cards when the time comes. Youdon't have to concern yourself in the least about them. Your businessis to propose. 'Come, woo me, woo, me, for now I am in a holiday humorand like enough to consent'"--she quoted Tony's lines and, leaningtoward him, lifted her flower face close to his. "Shall I count ten?"she teased. 

"Carlotta, have mercy. You are driving me crazy. Pretty thing it would befor me to propose to you before I even got my sheepskin. Jolly pleasedyour father would be, wouldn't he, to be presented with a jobless, penniless son-in-law?"

"Nonsense!" said Carlotta crisply. "It wouldn't matter if you didn't evenhave a fig leaf. You wouldn't be either jobless or penniless if you werehis son-in-law. He has pennies enough for all of us and enough jobs foryou, which is quite sufficient unto the day. Don't be stiff and silly, Phil. And don't set your jaw like that. I hate men who set their jaws. Itisn't at all becoming. I don't say my dear misguided Daddy wouldn't raisea merry little row just at first. He often raises merry little rows overthings I want to do, but in the end he always comes round to my way ofthinking and wants precisely what I want. Everything will be smooth assilk, I promise you. I know what I am talking about. I've thought it outvery carefully. I don't make up my mind in a hurry, but when I do decidewhat I want I take it. "

"You can't take this, " said Philip Lambert. 

Carlotta drew back and stared, her violet eyes very wide open. Never inall her twenty two years had any man said "can't" to her in that tone. It was a totally new experience. For a moment she was too astounded evento be angry. 

"What do you mean?" she asked a little limply. 

"I mean I won't take your father's pennies nor hold down a pseudo-jobI'm not fitted for, even for the sake of being his son-in-law. And Iwon't marry you until I am able to support you on the kind of job I amfitted for. "

"And may I inquire what that is?" demanded Carlotta sharply, recoveringsufficiently to let the thorns she usually kept gracefully concealedprick out from among the roses. 

Phil laughed shortly. 

"Don't faint, Carlotta. I am eminently fitted to be a villagestore-keeper. In fact that is what I shall be in less than two weeks. Iam going into partnership with my father. The new sign _Stuart Lambertand Son_ is being painted now. "

Carlotta gasped. 

"Phil! You wouldn't. You can't. "

"Oh yes, Carlotta. I not only could and would but I am going to. It hasbeen understood ever since I first went to college that when I was outI'd put my shoulder to the wheel beside Dad's. He has been pushing alonetoo long as it is. He needs me. You don't know how happy he and Mums areabout it. It is what they have dreamed about and planned, for years. I'mthe only son, you know. It's up to me. "

"But, Phil! It is an awful sacrifice for you. " For once Carlotta forgotherself completely. 

"Not a bit of it. It is a flourishing concern--not just a two-by-fourvillage shop--a real department store, doing real business and makingreal money. Dad built it all up himself, too. He has a right to be proudof it and I am lucky to be able to step in and enjoy the results of allhis years of hard work. I'm not fooling myself about that. Don't get theimpression I am being a martyr or anything of the sort. I mostdistinctly am not. "

Carlotta made a little inarticulate exclamation. Mechanically she countedthe cars of the train which was winding its black, snake-like trail fardown below them in the valley. It hadn't occurred to her that the moonwould be difficult to dislodge. Perhaps Carlotta didn't know much aboutmoons, after all. 

Phil went on talking earnestly, putting his case before her as best hemight. He owed it to Carlotta to try to make her understand if he could. He thought that, under all the whimsicalities, it was rather fine of herto lay down her princess pride and let him see she cared, that she reallywanted him. It made her dearer, harder to resist than ever. If only hecould make her understand!

"You see I'm not fitted for city life, " he explained. "I hate it. I liketo live where everybody has a plot of green grass in front of his houseto set his rocking chair in Sunday afternoons; where people can havetrees that they know as well as they know their own family and don't haveto go to a park to look at 'em; where they can grow tulips and greenpeas--and babies, too, if the lord is good to 'em. I want to plant myroots where people are neighborly and interested in each other as humanbeings, not shut away like cave dwellers in apartment houses, not knowingor caring who is on the other side of the wall. I should get to hatingpeople if I had to be crowded into a subway with them, day after day, treading on their toes, and they on mine. Altogether I am afraid I have asmall town mind, sweetheart. "

He smiled at Carlotta as he made the confession, but she did not respond. Her face gave not the slightest indication as to what was going on in hermind as he talked. 

"I wouldn't be any good at all in your father's establishment. I'venever wanted to make money on the grand scale. I wouldn't be my father'sson if I did. I couldn't be a banker or a broker if I tried, and I don'twant to try. "

"Not even for the sake of--having me?" Carlotta's voice was asexpressionless as her face. She still watched the train, almostvanishing from sight now in the far distance, leaving a cloud of uglyblack smoke behind it to mar the lustrous azure of the June sky. 

Phil, too, looked out over the valley. He dared not look at Carlotta. Hewas young and very much in love. He wanted Carlotta exceedingly. For aminute everything blurred before his gaze. It seemed as if he would tryanything, risk anything, give up anything, ride rough shod over anything, even his own ideals, to gain her. It was a tense moment. He came verynear surrendering and thereby making himself, and Carlotta too, unhappyforever after. But something stronger held him back. Oddly enough heseemed to see that sign _Stuart Lambert and Son_ written large all overthe valley. His gaze came back to Carlotta. Their eyes met. The hardnesswas gone from the girl's, leaving a wistful tenderness, a sweetsurrender, no man had ever seen there before. A weaker lad would havecapitulated under that wonderful, new look of Carlotta's. It onlystrengthened Philip Lambert. It was for her as well as himself. 

"I am sorry, Carlotta, " he said. "I couldn't do it, though I'd give youmy heart to cut up into pieces if it could make you happy. Maybe I wouldrisk it for myself. But I can't go back on my father, even for you. "

"Then you don't love me. " Carlotta's rare and lovely tenderness wasburned away on the instant in a quick blaze of anger. 

"Yes I do, dear. It is because I love you that I can't do it. I have togive you the best of me, not the worst of me. And the best of me belongsin Dunbury. I wish I could make you understand. And I wish with all myheart that, since I can't come to you, you could care enough to come tome. But I am not going to ask it--not now anyway. I haven't the right. Perhaps in two years time, if you are still free, I shall; but not now. It wouldn't be fair. "

"Two years from now, and long before, I shall be married, " saidCarlotta with a sharp little metallic note in her voice. She was tryingto keep from crying but he did not know that and winced both at herwords and tone. 

"That must be as it will, " he answered soberly. "I cannot do anydifferently. I would if I could. It--it isn't so easy to give you up. Oh, Carlotta! I love you. "

And suddenly, unexpectedly to himself and Carlotta, he had her in hisarms and was covering her face with kisses. Carlotta's cheeks flamed. Shewas no longer a lily, but a red, red rose. Never in her life had she beenso frightened, so ecstatic. With all her dainty, capricious flirtationsshe had always deliberately fenced herself behind barriers. No man hadever held her or kissed her like this, the embrace and kisses of a loverto whom she belonged. 

"Phil! Don't, dear--I mean, do, dear--I love you, " she whispered. 

But her words brought Phil back to his senses. His arms dropped and hedrew away, ashamed, remorseful. He was no saint. According to his way ofthinking a man might kiss a girl now and then, under impulsion ofmoonshine or mischief, but lightly always, like thistledown. A man didn'tkiss a girl as he had just kissed Carlotta unless he had the right tomarry her. It wasn't playing straight. 

"I'm sorry, Carlotta. I didn't mean to, " he said miserably. 

"I'm not. I'm glad. I think way down in my heart I've always wanted youto kiss me, though I didn't know it would be like that. I knew yourkisses would be different, because _you_ are different. "

"How am I different?" Phil's voice was humble. In his own eyes he seemedpitifully undifferent, precisely like all the other rash, intemperate, male fools in the world. 

"You are different every way. It would take too long to tell you all ofthem, but maybe you are chiefly different because I love you and I don'tlove the rest. Except for Daddy. I've never loved anybody but myselfbefore, and when you kissed me I just seemed to feel my _meness_ goingright out of me, as if I stopped belonging to myself and began to belongto you forever and ever. It scared me but--I liked it. "

"You darling!" fatuously. "Carlotta, will you marry me?"

It was out at last--the words she claimed she had brought him up themountain to say--the words he had willed not to speak. 

"Of course. Kiss me again, Phil. We'll wire Daddy tomorrow. "

"Wire him what?" The mention of Carlotta's father brought Phil back toearth with a jolt. 

"That we are engaged and that he is to find a suitable job for you so wecan be married right away, " chanted Carlotta happily. 

Phil's rainbow vanished almost as soon as it had appeared in the heavens. He drew a long breath. 

"Carlotta, I didn't mean that. I can't be engaged to you that way. Imeant--will you marry me when I can afford to have a fairy princessin my home?"

Carlotta stared at him, her rainbow, too, fading. 

"You did?" she asked vaguely. "I thought--"

"I know, " groaned Phil. "It was stupid of me--worse than stupid. Itcan't be helped now I suppose. The damage is done. Shall we take the nextcar down? It is getting late. "

He rose and put out both hands to help her to her feet. For a moment theystood silent in front of the gray bowlder. The end of the world seemed tohave come for them both. It was like Humpty Dumpty. All the King's horsesand all the King's men couldn't restore things to their old state norbring back the lost happiness of that one perfect moment when they hadbelonged to each other without reservations. Carlotta put out her handand touched Philip's. 

"Don't feel too badly, Phil, " she said. "As you say, it can't behelped--nothing can be helped. It just had to be this way. We can'teither of us make ourselves over or change the way we look at thingsand want things. I wish I were different for both our sakes. I wish Iwere big enough and brave enough and fine enough to say I would marryyou anyway, and stop being a princess. But I don't dare. I know myselftoo well. I might think I could do it up here where it is all still andpurple and sweet and sacred. But when we got down to the valley again Iam afraid I couldn't live up to it, nor to you, Philip, my king. Forgive me. "

Phil bent and kissed her again--not passionately this time, but with akind of reverent solemnity as if he were performing a rite. 

"Never mind, sweetheart. I don't blame you any more than you blame me. We've got to take life as we find it, not try to make it over intosomething different to please ourselves. If some day you meet the man whocan make you happy in your way, I'll not grudge him the right. I'm notsure I shall even envy him. I've had my moment. "

"But Phil, you aren't going to be awfully unhappy about me?" sighedCarlotta. "Promise you won't. You know I never wanted to hurt themoon, dear. "

Philip shook his head. 

"Don't worry about the moon. It is a tough old orb. I shan't be toounhappy. A man has a whole lot of things beside love in his life. I amnot going to let myself be such a fool as to be miserable because thingsstarted out a little differently from what I would like to have them. "His smile was brave but his eyes belied the smile and Carlotta's heartsmote her. 

"You will forget me, " she said. It was half a reproach, half a command. 

Again he shook his head in denial. 

"Do you remember the queen who claimed she had Calais stamped on herheart? Well, open mine a hundred years from now and you'll read_Carlotta_. "

"But won't you ever marry?" pursued Carlotta with youth's insistence onprobing wounds to the quick. 

"I don't know. Probably, " he added honestly. "A man is a poor stick inthis world without a home and kiddies. If I do it will be a long time yetthough. It will be many a year before I see anybody but you, no matterwhere I look. "

"But I am horrid--selfish, cowardly, altogether horrid. "

"Are you?" smiled Phil. "I wonder. Anyway I love you. Come on, dear. We'll have to hurry. The car is nearly due. "

And, as twilight settled down over the valley like a great bird broodingover its nest, Philip and Carlotta went down from the mountain. 

CHAPTER IV

A BOY WHO WASN'T AN ASS BUT BEHAVED LIKE ONE

Baccalaureate services being over and the graduates duly exhorted to thewisdom of the ages, the latter were for a time permitted to alight fromtheir lofty pedestal in the public eye and to revert temporarily to thecomfortable if less exalted state of being plain every day human girls. 

While Philip and Carlotta went up on the heights fondly believing theywere settling their destinies forever, Tony had been enjoying anafternoon _en famille_ with her uncle and her brother Ted. 

Suddenly she looked at her watch and sprang up from the arm of heruncle's chair on which she had been perched, chattering and content, fora couple of hours. 

"My goodness! It is most four o'clock. Dick will be here in a minute. MayI call up the garage and ask them to send the car around? I'm dying for aride. We can go over to South Hadley and get the twins, if you'd like. I'm sure they must have had enough of Mt. Holyoke by this time. "

"Car's out of commission, " grunted Ted from behind his sporting sheet. 

"Out of commission? Since when?" inquired Doctor Holiday. "It was allright when you took it to the garage last night. "

"I went out for a joy ride and had a smash up, " explained his nephewnonchalantly, and still hidden behind the newspaper. 

"Oh Ted! How could you when you know we want to use the car everyminute?" There was sharp dismay and reproach in Tony's voice. 

"Well, I didn't smash it on purpose, did I?" grumbled her brother, throwing down the paper. "I'm sorry, Tony. But it can't be helped now. You'd better be thankful I'm not out of commission myself. Came darnnear being. "

"Oh Ted!" There was only concern and sympathy in his sister's exclamationthis time. Tony adored her brothers. She went over to Ted now, scrutinizing him as if she half expected to see him minus an arm or aleg. "You weren't hurt?" she begged reassurance. 

"Nope--nothing to signify. Got some purple patches on my person and atwist to my wrist, but that's all. I was always a lucky devil. Got morelives than a cat. "

He was obviously trying to carry matters off lightly, but never oncedid he meet his uncle's eyes, though he was quite aware they werefixed on him. 

Tony sighed and shook her head, troubled. 

"I wish you wouldn't take such risks, " she mourned. "Some day you'll getdreadfully hurt. Please be careful. Uncle Phil, " she appealed to thehigher court, "do tell him he mustn't speed so. He won't listen to me. "

"If Ted hasn't learned the folly of speeding by now, I am afraid thatnothing I can say will have much effect. I wonder--"

Just here the telephone interrupted with an announcement that Mr. Carson was waiting downstairs. Tony flew from the phone to dab powderon her nose. 

"Since we can't go riding I think I'll take Dick for a walk in Paradise, "she announced into the mirror. "Will you come, too, Uncle Phil?"

"No, thank you, dear. Run along and tell Dick we expect him back tosupper with us. "

The doctor held open the door for his niece, then turned back toTed, who was also on his feet now, murmuring something about goingout for a stroll. 

"Wait a bit, son. Suppose you tell me first precisely what happenedlast night. "

"Did tell you. " The boy fumbled sulkily at the leaves of a magazine thatlay on the table. "I took the car out and, when I was speeding like SamHill out on the Florence road, I struck a hole. She stood up on her earand pitched u--er--_me_ out in the gutter. Stuck her own nose into atelephone pole. I telephoned the garage people to go after her thismorning. They told me a while ago she was pretty badly stove up and itwill probably take a couple of weeks to get her in order. " The story cameout jerkily and the narrator kept his eyes consistently floorward duringthe recital. 

"Is that all?"

"What more do you want?" curtly. "I said I was sorry, if that is whatyou mean. "

"It isn't what I mean, Ted. I assume you didn't deliberately go out tobreak my car and that you are not particularly proud of the outcome ofyour joy ride. I mean, exactly what I asked. Have you told me thewhole story?"

Ted was silent, mechanically rolling the corner of the, rug under hisfoot. His uncle studied the good-looking, unhappy young face. His mindworked back to that inadvertent "u--er--_me_" of the confession. 

"Were you alone?" he asked. 

A scarlet flush swept the lad's face, died away, leaving it alittle white. 

"Yes. "

The answer was low but distinct. It was like a knife thrust to thedoctor. In all the eight years in which he had fathered Ned's sons, bothbefore and since his brother's death, never once to his knowledge hadeither one lied to him, even to save himself discomfort, censure orpunishment. With all their boyish vagaries and misdeeds, it had been theone thing he could count on absolutely, their unflinching, invariablehonesty. Yet, surely as the June sun was shining outside, Ted had lied tohim just now. Why? Rash twenty was too young to go its way unchallengedand unguided. He was responsible for the lad whose dead father hadcommitted him to his charge. 

Only a few weeks before his death Ned had written with curiousprescience, "If I go out any time, Phil, I know you will look after thechildren as I would myself or better. Keep your eye on Ted especially. His heart is in the right place, but he has a reckless devil in him thatwill bring him and all of us to grief if it isn't laid. "

Doctor Holiday went over and laid a hand on each of the lad's hunchedshoulders. 

"Look at me, Ted, " he commanded gently. 

The old habit of obedience strong in spite of his twenty years, Tedraised his eyes, but dropped them again on the instant as if they werelead weighted. 

"That is the first time you ever lied to me, I think, lad, " said thedoctor quietly. 

A quiver passed over the boy's face, but his lips set tighter than everand he pulled away from his uncle's hands and turned, staring out of thewindow at a rather dusty and bedraggled looking hydrangea on the lawn. 

"I wonder if it was necessary, " the quiet voice continued. "I haven't theslightest wish to be hard on you. I just want to understand. You knowthat, son, don't you?"

The boy's head went up at that. His gaze deserted the hydrangea, for thefirst time that day, met his uncle's, squarely if somewhat miserably. 

"It isn't that, Uncle Phil. You have every right to come down on me. Ihadn't any business to have the car out at all, much less take foolchances with it. But honestly I have told you all--all I can tell. I didlie to you just now. I wasn't alone. There was a--a girl with me. "

Ted's face was hot again as he made the confession. 

"I see, " mused the doctor. "Was she hurt?"

"No--that is--not much. She hurt her shoulder some and cut her head abit. " The details came out reluctantly as if impelled by the doctor'ssteady eyes. "She telephoned me today she was all right. It's a miraclewe weren't both killed though. We might have been as easy as anything. You said just now nothing you could say would make me have sense aboutspeeding. I guess what happened last night ought to knock sense into meif anything could. I say, Uncle Phil--"

"Well?" as the boy paused obviously embarrassed. 

"If you don't mind I'd rather not say anything more about the girl. She--I guess she'd rather I wouldn't, " he wound up confusedly. 

"Very well. That is your affair and hers. Thank you for coming halfway tomeet me. It made it easier all around. "

The doctor held out his hand and the boy took it eagerly. 

"You are great to me, Uncle Phil--lots better than I deserve. Pleasedon't think I don't see that. And truly I am awfully ashamed of smashingthe car, and not telling you, as I ought to have this morning, andspoiling Tony's fun and--and everything. " Ted swallowed something downhard as if the "everything" included a good deal. "I don't see why I haveto be always getting into scrapes. Can't seem to help it, somehow. GuessI was made that way, just as Larry was born steady. "

"That is a spineless jellyfish point of view, Ted. Don't fool yourselfwith it. There is no earthly reason why you should keep drifting from oneescapade to another. Get some backbone into you, son. "

Ted's face clouded again at that, though he wasn't sulky this time. Hewas remembering some other disagreeable confessions he had to make beforelong. He knew this was a good opening for them, but somehow he could notdrive himself to follow it up. He could only digest a limited amount ofhumble pie at a time and had already swallowed nearly all he could stand. Still he skirted warily along the edge of the dilemma. 

"I suppose you think I made an awful ass of myself at college this year, "he averred gloomily. 

"I don't think it. I know it. " The doctor's eyes twinkled a little. Thenhe grew sober. "Why do you, Ted? You aren't really an ass, you know. Ifyou were, there might be some excuse for behaving like one. "

Ted flushed. 

"That's what Larry told me last spring when he was pitching into meabout--well about something. I don't know why I do, Uncle Phil, honest Idon't. Maybe it is because I hate college so and all the stale old stuffthey try to cram down our throats. I get so mad and sick and disgustedwith the whole thing that I feel as if I had to do something to offsetit--something that is real and live, even if it isn't according to rulesand regulations. I hate rules and regulations. I'm not a mummy and Idon't want to be made to act as if I were. I'll be a long time dead and Iwant to get a whole lot of fun out of life first. I hate studying. I wantto do things, Uncle Phil--"

"Well?"

"I don't want to go back to college. "

"What do you want to do?"

"Join the Canadian forces. It makes me sick to have a war going on andme not in it. Dad quit college for West Point and everybody thought itwas all right. I don't see why I shouldn't get into it. I wouldn't falldown on that. I promise you. I'd make you proud of me instead of ashamedthe way you are now. " The boy's voice and eyes were unusually earnest. 

His uncle did not answer instantly. He knew that there was some truth inhis nephew's analysis of the situation. It was his uneasy, superabundantenergy and craving for action that made him find the more or lessrestricted life of the college, a burden, a bore and an exasperation, anddrove him to crazy escapades and deeds of flagrant lawlessness. He neededno assurance that the boy would not "fall down" at soldiering. He wouldtake to it as a duck to water. And the discipline might be the making ofhim, prove the way to exorcise the devil. Still there were otherconsiderations which to him seemed paramount for the time at least. 

"I understand how you feel, Ted, " he said at last. "If we get into thewar ourselves I won't say a word against your going. I should expect youto go. We all would. But in the meantime as I see it you are not quite afree agent. Granny is old and very, very feeble. She hasn't gotten overyour father's death. She grieves over it still. If you went to war Ithink it would kill her. She couldn't bear the strain and anxiety. Patience, laddie. You don't want to hurt her, do you?"

"I s'pose not, " said Ted a little grudgingly. "Then it is no, Uncle Phil?"

"I think it ought to be no of your own will for Granny's sake. We don'tlive to ourselves alone in this world. We can't. But aside from Granny Iam not at all certain I should approve of your leaving college justbecause it doesn't happen to be exciting enough to meet your fancy andmeans work you are too lazy and irresponsible to settle down to doing. Looks a little like quitting to me and Holidays aren't usually quitters, you know. "

He smiled at the boy but Ted did not smile back. The thrust aboutHolidays and quitters went home. 

"I suppose it has got to be college again if you say so, " he saidsoberly after a minute. "Thank heaven there are three months ahead clearthough first. "

"To play in?"

"Well, yes. Why not? It is all right to play in vacation, isn't it?" theboy retorted, a shade aggressively. 

"Possibly if you have earned the vacation by working beforehand. "

Ted's eyes fell at that. This was dangerously near the ground of thoseuncomfortable, inevitable confessions which he meant to put off as longas possible. 

"Do you mind if I go out now?" he asked with unusual meekness after amoment's rather awkward silence. 

"No, indeed. Go ahead. I've had my say. Be back for supper with us?"

"Dunno. " And Ted disappeared into the adjoining room which connected withhis uncle's. In a moment he was back, expensive panama hat in one handand a lighted cigarette held jauntily in the other. "I meant to tell youyou could take the car repairs out of my allowance, " he remarked casuallybut with his eye shrewdly on his guardian as he made the announcement. 

"Very well, " replied the latter quietly. Then he smiled a little seeinghis nephew's crestfallen expression. "That wasn't just what you wanted meto say, was it?" he added. 

"Not exactly, " admitted the boy with a returning grin. "All right, UnclePhil. I'm game. I'll pay up. "

A moment later his uncle heard his whistle as he went down the drivewayapparently as care free as if narrow escapes from death were nothing inhis young life. The doctor shook his head dubiously as he watched himfrom the window. He would have felt more dubious still had he seen theboy board a Florence car a few minutes later on his way to keep arendezvous with the girl about whom he had not wished to talk. 

CHAPTER V

WHEN YOUTH MEETS YOUTH

Three quarters of an hour later Ted was seated on a log, near a smallrustic bridge, beneath which flowed a limpid, gurgling stream. On a logbeside him sat a girl of perhaps eighteen years, exceedingly handsomewith the flaming kind of beauty like a poppy's, striking to the eye, shallow-petaled. She was vividly effective against the background of deepgreen spruces and white birch in her bright pink dress and large droopingblack hat. Her coloring was brilliant, her lips full, scarlet, ripelysensuous. Beneath her straight black brows her sparkling, black eyesgleamed with restless eagerness. An ugly, jagged, still fresh woundshowed beneath a carefully curled fringe of hair on her forehead. 

"I don't like meeting you this way, " Ted was saying. "Are you sure yourgrandfather would have cut up rough if I had come to the house and calledproperly?"

"You betcher, " said his companion promptly. "You don't know grandpa. He'sdeath on young men. He won't let one come within a mile of me if he canhelp it. He'd throw a fit if he knew I was here with you now. We shouldworry. What he don't know won't hurt him, " she concluded with a toss ofher head. Then, as Ted looked dubious, she added, "You just leave grandpato me. If you had had your way you would have spilled the beans bytelephoning me this morning at the wrong time. See how much better Ifixed it. I told him a piece of wood flew up and hit me when I waschopping kindling before breakfast and that my head ached so I didn'tfeel like going to church. Then the minute he was out of the yard I ranto the 'phone and got you at the hotel. It was perfectly simple thatway--slick as grease. Easiest thing in the world to make a date. Wecouldn't have gotten away with it otherwise. "

Ted still looked dubious. The phrase "gotten away with it" jarred. At themoment he was not particularly proud of their mutual success in "gettingaway with it. " The girl wasn't his kind. He realized that, now he saw herfor the first time in daylight. 

She had looked all right to him on the train night before last. Indeed hehad been distinctly fascinated by her flashing, gypsy beauty, readylaughter and quick, keen, half "fresh" repartee when he had started acasual conversation with her when they chanced to be seat mates fromHolyoke on. 

Casual conversations were apt to turn into casual flirtations with TedHoliday. Afterward he wasn't sure whether she had dared him or he haddared her to plan the midnight joy ride which had so narrowly missedending in a tragedy. Anyway it had seemed a jolly lark at the time--atest of the mettle and mother wit of both of them to "get away with it. "

And she had looked good to him last night when he met her at theappointed trysting place after "As You Like It. " She had come out of theshadows of the trees behind which she had been lurking, wearing a scarlettam-o'-shanter and a long dark cloak, her eyes shining like Januarystars. He had liked her nerve in coming out like that to meet him aloneat midnight. He had liked the way she "sassed" him back and put him inhis place, when he had tried impudently enough to kiss her. He had likedthe way she laughed when he asked her if she was afraid to speed, on thehome stretch. It was her laugh that had spurred him on, intoxicated him, made him send the car leaping faster and still faster, obeying hisreckless will. 

Then the crash had come. It was indeed a miracle that they had not bothbeen killed. No thanks to the rash young driver that they had not been. It would be many a day before Ted Holiday would forget that nightmare ofdread and remorse which took possession of him as he pulled himself tohis feet and went over to where the girl's motionless form lay on thegrass, her face dead white, the blood flowing from her forehead. 

Never had he been so thankful for anything in his life as he was when hesaw her bright eyes snap open, and heard her unsteady little giggle asshe murmured, "My, but I thought I was dead, didn't you?"

Game to her fingertips she had been. Ted acknowledged that, even now thatthe glamour had worn off. Never once had she whimpered over her injuries, never hurled a single word of blame at him for the misadventure that hadcome within a hair's breadth of being the last for them both. 

"It wasn't a bit more your fault than mine, " she had waived aside hisapologies. "And it was great while it lasted. I wouldn't have missed itfor anything, though I'm glad I'm not dead before I've had a chance toreally live. All I ask is that you won't tell a soul I was out with you. Grandpa would think I was headed straight for purgatory if he knew. "

"I won't, " Ted had promised glibly enough, and had kept his promise evenat the cost of lying to his uncle, a memory which hurt like thetoothache even now. 

But looking at the girl now in her tawdry, inappropriate garb hesuffered a revulsion of feeling. What he had admired in her as good sportquality seemed cheap now, his own conduct even cheaper. His reactionagainst himself was fully as poignant as his reaction against her. He wassuddenly ashamed of his joy ride, ashamed that he had ever wished ortried to kiss her, ashamed that he had fallen in with her suggestion fora clandestine meeting this afternoon. 

Possibly Madeline sensed that he was cold to her charms at the moment. She flashed a shrewd glance at him. 

"You don't like me as well to-day as you did last night, " she challenged. 

Caught, Ted tried half-heartedly to make denial, but the effort wasscarcely a success. He had yet to learn the art of lying gracefullyto a lady. 

"You don't, " she repeated. "You needn't try to pretend you do. You can'tfool me. You're getting cold feet already. You're remembering I'mjust--just a pick-up. "

Ted winced again at that. He did not like the word "pick-up" either, though to his shame he hadn't been above the thing itself. 

"Don't talk like that, Madeline. You know I like you. You were immenselast night. Any other girl I know, except my sister Tony, would have hadhysterics and fainting fits and lord knows what else with half the excuseyou had. And you never made a bit of fuss about your head, though it musthave hurt like the deuce. I say, you don't think it is going to leave ascar, do you?"

He leaned forward with genuine concern to examine the red wound. 

"I think it is more than likely. Lot you'll care, Ted Holiday. You'llnever come back to see whether it leaves a scar or not. See that bee overthere nosing around that elderberry. Think he'll come back next week?Not much. I know your kind, " scornfully. 

That bit into the lad's complacency. 

"Of course, I care and of course, I'll come back, " he protested, though amoment before he had had not the slightest wish or purpose to see heragain, rather to the contrary. 

"To see whether there is a scar?"

"To see you, " he played up gallantly. 

Her hard young face softened. 

"Will you, honest, Ted Holiday? Will you come back?"

She put out her hand and touched his. Her eyes were suddenly wistful, gentle, beseeching. 

"Sure I'll come back. Why wouldn't I?" The touch of her hand, the newsoftness, almost pathos of her mood touched him, appealed to the chivalryalways latent in a Holiday. 

He heard her breath come quickly, saw her full bosom heave, felt the warmpressure of her hand. He wanted to put his arm around her but he did notfollow the impulse. The code of Holiday "noblesse oblige" was operating. 

"I wish I could believe that, " Madeline sighed, looking down into thewater which whirled and eddied in white foam and splash over the rocks. "I'd like to think you really wanted to come--really cared about seeingme again. I know I'm not your kind. "

He started involuntarily at her voicing unexpectedly his ownrecent thought. 

"Oh, you needn't be surprised, " she threw at him half angrily. "Don't yousuppose I know that better than you do. Don't you suppose I know what thegirls you are used to look like? Well, I do. I've watched 'em, on thestreet, on the campus, in church, everywhere. I've even seen your sisterand watched her, too. Somebody pointed her out to me once when she hadmade a hit in a play and I've seen her at Glee Club concerts and atvespers in the choir. She is lovely--lovely the way I'd like to be. Itisn't that she's any prettier. She isn't. It's just that she'sdifferent--acts different--looks different--dresses different from me. Ican't make myself like her and the rest, no matter how I try. And I dotry. You don't know how hard I try. I got this dress because I saw yoursister Tony wearing a pink dress once. I thought maybe it would make melook more like her. But it doesn't. It makes me look more _not_ like herthan ever, doesn't it?" she appealed rather disconcertingly. "It'shorrid. I hate it. "

"I don't know much about girls' dresses, " said Ted. "But, now you speakof it, maybe it would be prettier if it were a little--" he paused for aword--"quieter, " he decided on. "Do you ever wear white? Tony wears it alot and I think she looks nice in it. "

"I've got a white dress. I thought about putting it on to-day. Butsomehow it didn't look quite nice enough. I thought--well, I thought Ilooked handsomer in the pink. I wanted to look pretty--for you. " The lastwas very low--scarcely audible. 

"You look good to me all right, " said the boy heartily and he meant it. He thought she looked prettier at the moment than she had looked at anytime since he had made her acquaintance. 

Perhaps he was right. She had laid aside for once her mask of hardboldness and was just a simple, humble, rather pathetic little girl, voicing secret aspirations toward a fineness life had denied her. 

"I say, Madeline, " Ted went on. "You don't--meet other chaps the way youmet me to-day, do you?" Set the blind to lead the blind! If there wasanything absurd in scapegrace Ted's turning mentor he was unconscious ofthe absurdity, was exceedingly in earnest. 

"What's that to you?" She snapped the mask back into place. 

"Nothing--that is--I wouldn't--that's all. "

She laughed shrilly. 

"You're a pretty one to talk, " she scoffed. 

Ted flushed. 

"I know I am. See here, Madeline. You're dead right. I ought not tohave taken you out last night. I ought not to have let you meet mehere to-day. "

"I made you--I made you do both those things. "

Ted shook his head at that. 

"A man's to blame always, " he asserted. 

"No, he isn't, " denied Madeline. "A girl's to blame always. "

They stared at each other a moment while the brook tinkled through thesilence. Then they both laughed at the solemnity of their contradictions. 

"But there isn't a bit of harm done, " went on Madeline. "You see, I knewthat first night on the train that you were a gentleman. "

"Some gentlemen are rotters, " said Ted Holiday, with a wisdom beyond histwenty years. 

"But you are not. "

"No, I'm not; but some other chap might be. That is why I wish you wouldpromise not to go in for this sort of thing. "

"With anybody but you, " she stipulated. 

"Not with anybody at all, " corrected Ted soberly, remembering his ownrecent restrained impulse to put his arm around her. 

"Well, I don't want to--at least not with anybody but you. I never did itbefore with anybody. Honest, Ted, I never did. "

"That's good. I felt sure that you hadn't. "

"Why?"

He grinned sheepishly and stooped to break off a dry twig from anearby bush. 

"By the way you didn't let me kiss you, " he admitted. "A fellow likesthat in a girl. Did you know it?" He tossed away the twig and looked backat the girl as he asked the question. 

"I thought they liked--the other thing. "

"They do and they don't, " said Ted, his paradox again betraying ascarcely to be expected wisdom. "But that is neither here nor there. WhatI started out to say was that I'm glad you don't make a practice of thispick-up business. It--it's no good, " he summed up. 

"I know. " Madeline nodded understanding of the import of his warning. Shewas far too handsome and too prematurely developed physically to bedevoid of experience of the ways of the opposite sex. Like Ophelia sheknew there were tricks in the world and she liked frank Ted Holiday thebetter for reminding her of them. "I won't do it, " she promised. "Thatis, unless you don't ever come back yourself. I don't know what I'll dothen--something awful, maybe. "

"I'll come fast enough. I'll come to-morrow. " he added obeying a suddenimpulse, Ted fashion. 

"Will you?" The girl's face flushed with delight. "When?"

"To-morrow afternoon. I can't dodge the ivy stuff in the morning. Willfour o'clock do all right?"

"Yes. Come here to this same place. "

"I say, Madeline, can't I come to the house? I hate doing it like this. "

"No, you can't. If you want to see me you'll have to do it this way. It'slots nicer here than in the house, anyway. "

Ted acquiesced, since he had no choice, and rose, announcing that it wastime to go now. 

"We don't have to go yet. I told Grandpa I was going to spend theevening with my friend, Linda Bates. He won't know. We can stay as longas we like. "

"I am afraid we can't, " said Ted decidedly. "Come on, my lady. " He heldout both hands and Madeline let him draw her to her feet, though she waspouting a little at his gainsaying of her wishes. 

"You may kiss me now, " she said suddenly, lifting her face to his. 

But Ted backed away. The code was still on. A girl of his own kind hewould have kissed in a moment at such provocation, or none. But he hadan odd feeling of needing to protect this girl from herself as well asfrom himself. 

"You had more sense than I did last night. Let's follow your lead insteadof mine, " he said. "It's better. "

"But Ted, you will come to-morrow?" she pleaded. "You won't forget or goback on your promise?"

"Of course, I'll come, " promised Ted again readily. 

Five minutes later they parted, he to take his car, and she to stroll inthe opposite direction toward her friend Linda's house. 

"He is a dear, " she thought. "I'm glad he wouldn't kiss me, so there, "she said aloud to a dusty daisy that peered up at her rather mockinglyfrom the gutter. 

An automobile horn honked behind her. She stepped aside, but thecar stopped. 

"Well, here is luck. Where are you going, my pretty maid?" called a gay, bold voice. 

She turned. The speaker was one Willis Hubbard, an automobile agent byprofession, lady's man and general Lothario by avocation. His handsomedark face stood out clearly in the dusk. She could see the avid shine inhis eyes. She hated him all of a sudden, though hitherto she had secretlyrather admired him, though she had always steadily refused hisinvitations. 

For Madeline was wary. She knew how other girls had gone out with Willisin his smart car and come back to give rather sketchy accounts of theevening's pleasure jaunt. Her friend Linda had tried it once and remarkedlater that Willis was some speed and that Madeline had the right hunch tokeep away from him. 

But it happened that Madeline Taylor was the particular peach that WillisHubbard hankered after. He didn't like them too easy, ready to drop fromthe bough at the first touch. All the same, he meant to have his way inthe end with Madeline. He had an excellent opinion of his powers as aconquering male. He had, alas, plenty of data to warrant it in hisrelations with the fair and sometimes weak sex. 

"What's your hurry, dearie?" he asked now. "Come on for a spin. It's thepink of the evening. "

But she thanked him stiffly and refused, remembering Ted Holiday's honestblue eyes. 

"What are you so almighty prunes and prisms for, all of a sudden? It'sthe wrong game to play with a man, I can tell you, if you want to have agood time in the world. I say, Maidie, be a good girl and come out withme to-morrow night. We'll have dinner somewhere and dance and make anight of it. Say yes, you beauty. A girl like you oughtn't to stay coopedup at home forever. It's against nature. "

But again Madeline refused and moved away with dignity. 

"Your grandfather will never know. You can plan to stay with Lindaafterward. I'll meet you by the sycamore tree just beyond the Bates'place at eight sharp--give you the best time you ever had in your life. Believe me, I'm some little spender when I get to going. "

"No, thank you, Mr. Hubbard. I tell you I can't go. "

He stared at the finality of her manner. He had no means of knowing thathe was being measured up, to his infinite disadvantage, with a blue eyedlad who had stirred something in the girl before him that he himselfcould never have roused in a thousand years. But he did know he was beingsnubbed and the knowledge disturbed his fond conceit of self. 

"Highty tighty with your 'Mr. Hubbards'! You will sing another tune byto-morrow night. I'll wait at the sycamore and you'll be there. See ifyou won't. You're no fool, Maidie. You want a good time and you know I'mthe boy to give it to you. So long! See you to-morrow night. " He startedhis motor, kissed his hand impudently to her and was off down the road, leaving Madeline to follow slowly, in his dust. 

CHAPTER VI

A SHADOW ON THE PATH

Across the campus the ivy procession wound its lovely length, flanked byrainbow clad Junior ushers immensely conscious of themselves and theirimportance as they bore the looped laurel chains between which walked theeven more important Seniors, all in white and each bearing an AmericanBeauty rose before her proudly, like a wand of youth. 

At the head of the procession, as president of the class, walkedAntoinette Holiday, a little lady of quality, as none who saw her couldhave helped recognizing. Her uncle, watching the procession from thesteps of a campus house, smiled and sighed as he beheld her. She was soyoung, so blithe-hearted, so untouched by the sad and sordid things oflife. If only he could keep her so for a little, preserve the shiningsplendor of her shield of innocent young joy. But, even as he thought, heknew the folly of his wish. Tony would be the last to desire to have lifetempered or kept from her. She would want to drain the whole cup, bitter, sweet and all. 

Farther back in the procession was Carlotta, looking as heavenly fair andethereal as if she had that morning been wafted down from the skies. Outof the crowd Phil Lambert's eyes met hers and smiled. Very sensibly andmodernly these two had decided to remain the best of friends since fateprevented their being lovers. But Phil's eyes were rather more thanfriendly, resting on Carlotta, and, underneath the diaphanous, exquisitewhite cloud of a gown that she wore, Carlotta's heart beat a littlefaster for what she saw in his face. The hand that held her rose trembledever so slightly as she smiled bravely back at him. She could not forgetthose "very different" kisses of his, nor, with all the will in theworld, could she go back to where she was before she went up the mountainand came down again in the purple dusk. She knew she had to get used to astrange, new world, a world without Philip Lambert, a rather empty world, it seemed. She wondered if this new world would give her anything sowonderful and sweet as this thing that she had by her own actsurrendered. Almost she thought not. 

Ted, standing beside his uncle, watching the procession, suddenly heard afamiliar whistle, a signal dating back to Holiday Hill days, asunmistakable as the Star Spangled Banner itself, though who should beusing it here and why was a mystery. In a moment his roving gazediscovered the solution. Standing upon a slight elevation on the campusopposite he perceived Dick Carson. The latter beckoned peremptorily. Tedwriggled out of the group, descended with one leap over the rail to thelawn, and made his way to where the other youth waited. 

"What in Sam Hill's chewing you?" he demanded upon arrival. "You've mademe quit the only spot I've struck to-day where I had room to stand on myown feet and see anything at the same time. "

"I say, Ted, what train was Larry coming on?" counterquestioned Dick. 

"Chicago Overland. Why?"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am sure. He wired Tony. What in thunder are you driving at?Get it out for Pete's sake?"

"The Chicago Overland smashed into a freight somewhere near Pittsburghthis morning. There were hundreds of people killed. Oh, Lord, Ted! Ididn't mean to break it to you like that. " Dick was aghast at his ownclumsiness as Ted leaned against the brick wall of the college building, his face white as chalk. "I wasn't thinking--guess I wasn't thinkingabout much of anything except Tony, " he added. 

Ted groaned. 

"Don't wonder, " he muttered. "Let's not let her get wind of it till wehave to. Are you sure there--there isn't any mistake?" Ted put up hishand to brush back a refractory lock of hair and found his forehead wetwith cold perspiration. "There's got to be a mistake. Larry--I won'tbelieve it, so there!"

"You don't have to believe it till you know. Even if he was on the trainit doesn't mean he is hurt. " Dick would not name the harsher possibilityto Larry Holiday's brother. 

"Of course, it doesn't, " snapped Ted. "I say, Dick, is it in thepapers yet?"

"No, it will be in an hour though, as soon as the evening editions getout. "

"Good! Dick, it's up to you to keep Tony from knowing. She is going tosing in the concert at five. That will keep her occupied until six. Butfrom now till then nix on the news. Take her out on the fool pond, walkher up Sunset Hill, quarrel with her, make love to her, anything, so shewon't guess. I don't dare go near her. I'd give it away in a minute, I'msuch an idiot. Besides I can't think of anything but Larry. Gee!" The boyswept his hand across his eyes. "Last time I saw him I consigned him tothe devil because he told me some perfectly true things about myself andtried to give me some perfectly sound advice. And now--I'm damned if Ibelieve it. Larry is all right. He's got to be, " fiercely. 

"Of course, he is, " soothed Dick. "And I'll try to do as you say aboutTony. I'm not much of an actor, but I guess I can carry it throughfor--for her sake. "

The little break in the speaker's voice made Ted turn quickly and stareat the other youth. 

"Dick, old chap, is it like that with you? I didn't know. "

Ted's hand went out and held the other's in a cordial grip. 

"Nobody knows. I--I didn't mean to show it then. It's no good. I knowthat naturally. "

"I'm not so sure about that. I know one member of the family that wouldbe mighty proud to have you for a brother. "

The obvious ring of sincerity touched Dick. It was a good deal comingfrom a Holiday. 

"Thank you, Ted. That means a lot, I can tell you. I'll never forget yoursaying it like that. You won't give me away, I know. "

"Sure not, old man. Tony is way up in the clouds just now, anyway. We areall mostly ants in our minor ant hills so far as she is concerned. Gee! Ihope it isn't this thing about Larry that is going to pull her down toearth. If anything had to happen to any of us why couldn't it have beenme instead of Larry. He is worth ten of me. "

"We don't know that anything has happened to Larry yet, " Dick reminded. "I say, Ted, they must have got the ivy planted. Everybody's coming back. Tony is lunching with me at Boyden's right away, and I'll see that shehas her hands full until it is time for the concert. You warn MissCarlotta, so she'll be on guard after I surrender her. I'm afraid youwill have to tell your uncle. "

"I will. Trot on, old man, and waylay Tony. I'll make a mess of thingssure as preaching if I run into her now. "

Tony thought she had never known Dick to be so entertaining or talkativeas he was during that luncheon hour. He regaled her with all kinds ofnewspaper yarns and related some of his own once semi-tragic but nowhumorous misadventures of his early cub days. He talked, too, on currentevents and world history, talked well, with the quiet poise andassurance of the reader and thinker, the man who has kept his eyes andears open to life. 

It was a revelation to Tony. For once their respective roles werereversed, he the talker, she the listener. 

"Goodness me, Dick!" she exclaimed during a pause in what had becomealmost a monologue. "Why haven't you ever talked like this before? Ialways thought I had to do it all and here you talk better than I everthought of doing because you have something to say and mine is justchatter and nonsense. "

He smiled at that. 

"I love your chatter. But you are tired to-day and it is my turn. Do youknow what we are going to do after luncheon?"

"No, what?"

"We are going to take a canoe out on your Paradise and get into a shadyspot somewhere along the bank and you will lean back against a whole lotof becoming cushions and put up that red parasol of yours so nobody butme can see your face and then--"

"Dicky! Dicky! Whatever is in you to-day? Paradise, pillows and parasolsare familiar symptoms. You will be making love to me next. "

"I might, at that, " murmured Dick. "But you did not hear the rest ofmy proposition. And then--I shall read you a story--a story that Iwrote myself. "

"Dick!" Tony nearly upset her glass of iced tea in her amazement at thisunexpected announcement. "You don't mean you have really and trulywritten a story!"

"Honest to goodness--such as it is. Please to remember it is my maideneffort and make a margin of allowance. But I want your criticism, too--all the benefit of your superior academic training. "

"Superior academic bosh!" scoffed Tony. "I'll bet it is a corkingstory, " she added unacademically. "Come on. Let's go, quick. I can'twait to hear it. "

Nothing loath to get away speedily before the newsboys began to cry theaccident through the streets, Dick escorted his pretty companion back tothe campus and on to Paradise, at which point they took a canoe and, finally selecting a shady point under an over-reaching sycamore tree, drifted in to shore where Tony leaned against the cushions, tilted herparasol as specified at the angle which forbade any but Dick to see hercharming, expressive young face and commanded him to "shoot. "

Dick shot. Tony listened intently, watching his face as he read, feelingas if this were a new Dick--a Dick she did not know at all, albeit a mostinteresting person. 

"Why Dick Carson!" she exclaimed when he finished. "It is great--a realstory with real laughter and tears in it. I love it. It is so--so human. "

The author flushed and fidgeted and protested that it wasn't much--just asketch done from life with a very little dressing up and polishing down. 

"I have a lot more of them in my head, though, " he added. "And I'mgoing to grind them out as soon as I get time. I wish I had a biggervocabulary and knew more about the technical end of the writing game. I am going to learn, though--going to take some night work at theUniversity next fall. Maybe I'll catch up a little yet if I keeppegging away. "

"Catch up! Dick, you make me so ashamed. Here Larry and Ted and I havehad everything done for us all our lives and we've slipped along with thecurrent, following the line of least resistance. And you have hadeverything to contend with and you are way ahead of the rest of usalready. But why didn't you tell me before about the story? I think youmight have, Dicky. You know I would be interested, " reproachfully. 

"I--I wasn't talking much about it to anybody till I knew it was anygood. But I--just took a notion to read it to you to-day. That's all. "

It wasn't all, but he wanted Tony to think it was. Not for anything wouldhe have betrayed how reading the story was a desperate expedient to keepher diverted and safe from news of the disaster on the Overland. 

He escorted Tony back to the campus house at the latest possible momentand Carlotta, in the secret, pretended to upbraid her roommate for hertardiness and flew about helping her to get dressed, talkingcontinuously the while and keeping a sharp eye on the door lest someintruder burst in and say the very thing Tony Holiday must not bepermitted to hear. It would be so ridiculously easy for somebody to ask, "Oh, did you hear about the awful wreck on the Overland?" and then thefat would be in the fire. 

But, thanks to Carlotta, nobody had a chance to say it and later TonyHoliday, standing in the twilight in front of College Hall's steps, sangher solo, Gounod's beautiful Ave Maria, smiled happily down into thefaces of the dear folks from her beloved Hill and only regretted thatLarry was not there with the rest--Larry who, for all the others knew, might never come again. 

After dinner Ted rushed off again to the telegraph office which he hadbeen haunting all the afternoon to see if any word had come from hisbrother, and Doctor Holiday went on up to the campus to escort his nieceto the informal hop. He had decided to go on just as if nothing waswrong. If Larry was safe then there was no need of clouding Tony's joy, and if he wasn't--well, there would be time enough to grieve when theyknew. By virtue of his being a grave and reverend uncle he was admittedto the sacred precincts of his niece's room and had hardly gotten seatedwhen the door flew open and Ted flew in waving two yellow telegraphblanks triumphantly, one in each hand, and announcing that everything wasall right--Larry was all right, had wired from Pittsburgh. 

Before Tony had a chance to demand what it was all about the door openedagain and a righteously indignant house mother appeared on the threshold, demanding by what right an unauthorized male had gone up her stairway andentered a girl's room, without permission or escort. 

"I apologize, " beamed Ted with his most engaging smile. "Come on outside, Mrs. Maynerd and I'll tell you all about it. " And tucking his arm in hersthe irrepressible youth conveyed the angry personage out into the hall, leaving his uncle to explain the situation to Tony. 

In a moment he was back triumphant. 

"She says I may stay since I'm here, and Uncle Phil is here to playdragon, " he announced. "She thought at first Carlotta would have to beexpunged to make it legal, but I overruled her, told her you and I hadplayed tiddle-de-winks with each other in our cradles, " he added with animpish grin at his sister's roommate. "Of course I never laid eyes onyou till two years ago, but that doesn't matter. I have a truetiddle-de-winks feeling for you, anyway, and that is what counts, isn'tit, sweetness?"

Carlotta laughed and averred that she was going to expunge herself anywayas Phil was waiting for her downstairs. She picked up a turquoise satinmandarin cloak from the chair and Ted sprang to put it around her bareshoulders, stooping to kiss the tip of her ear as he finished. 

"Lucky Phil!" he murmured. 

Carlotta shook her head at him and went over to Tony, over whom she bentfor an instant with unusual feeling in her lovely eyes. 

"Oh, my dear, " she whispered. "I wish I could tell you how I feel. I'm soglad--so glad. " And then she was gone before Tony could answer. 

"Oh me!" she sighed. "She has been so wonderful. You all have. Ted--UnclePhil! Come over here. I want to hold you tight. "

And, with her brother on one side of her and her uncle on the other, Tonygave a hand to each and for a moment no one spoke. Then Ted produced histelegrams one of which was addressed to Tony and one to her uncle. Bothannounced the young doctor's safety. "Staying over in Pittsburgh. Letterfollows, " was in the doctor's message. "Sorry can't make commencement. Love and congratulations, " was in Tony's. 

"There, didn't I tell you he was all right?" demanded Ted, as if hisbrother's safety were due to his own remarkably good management of theaffair. "Gee! Tony! If you knew how I felt when Dick told me thismorning. I pretty nearly disgraced myself by toppling over, just like agirl, on the campus. Lord! It was fierce. "

"I know. " Tony squeezed his hand sympathetically. "And Dick--why Dickmust have kept me out in Paradise on purpose. "

"Sure he did. Dick's a jim dandy and don't you forget it. "

"I shan't, " said Tony, her eyes a little misty, remembering how Dick hadfought all day to keep her care-free happiness intact. "I don't knowwhether to be angry at you all for keeping it from me or to fall on yournecks and weep because you were all so dear not to tell me. And oh! Ifanything had happened to Larry! I don't see how I could have stood it. Itmakes us all seem awfully near, doesn't it?"

"You bet!" agreed Ted with more fervor than elegance. "If the old chaphad been done for I'd have felt like making for the river, myself. Funny, now the scare is over and he is all safe, I shall probably cuss him outas hard as ever next time he tries to preach at me. "

"You had better listen to him instead. Larry is apt to be right and youare apt to be wrong, and you know it. "

"Maybe it is because I do know it and because he is so devilish rightthat I damn him, " observed the youngest Holiday sagely, his eyes meetinghis uncle's over his sister's head. 

It wasn't until he had danced and flirted and made merry for threeconsecutive hours at the hop, and proposed in the exuberance of his moodto at least three different charmers whose names he had forgotten by thenext day, that Ted Holiday remembered Madeline and his promise to keeptryst with her that afternoon. Other things of more moment had swept herclean from his mind. 

"Thunder!" he muttered to himself. "Wonder what she is thinking when Iswore by all that was holy to come. Oh well; I should worry. I couldn'thelp it. I'll write and explain how it happened. "

So said, so done. He scribbled off a hasty note of explanation andapology which he signed "Yours devotedly, Ted Holiday" and went out tothe corner mail box to dispatch the same so it would go out in theearly morning collection, and prepared to dismiss the matter from hismind again. 

Coming back into his room he found his uncle standing on the threshold. 

"Had to get a letter off, " murmured the young man as his uncle lookedinquiring. He turned to light a cigarette with an air of determinedcasualness. He didn't care to have Uncle Phil know any more about theMadeline affair. 

"It must have been important. "

"Was, " curtly. "Did you think I was joy riding again?"

"No, I heard you stirring and thought you might be sick. I haven't beenable to get to sleep myself. "

Seeing how utterly worn out his uncle looked, Ted's resentment tookquick, shamed flight. Poor Uncle Phil! He never spared himself, alwaysbore the brunt of everything for them all. And here he himself had justsnapped like a cur because he suspected his guardian of desiring tointerfere with his high and mighty private business. 

"Too bad, " he said. "Wish you'd smoke, Uncle Phil. It's great to cool offyour nerves. Honest it is! Have one?" He held out his case. 

Doctor Holiday smiled at that, though he declined the proffered weed. Heunderstood very well that the boy was making tacit amends for hisungraciousness of a moment before. 

"No, I'll get to sleep presently. It has been rather a wearing day. "

"Should say it had been. I hope Aunt Margery doesn't know about thewreck. She'll worry, if she knew Larry was coming east. "

"I wired her this evening. I didn't want to take any chance of herthinking he was in the smash. "

Ted laid down his cigarette. 

"You never forget anybody do you, Uncle Phil?" he said rathersoberly for him. 

"I never forget Margery. She is a very part of myself, lad. "

And when he was alone Ted pondered over that last speech of his uncle's. He wondered if there would ever be a Margery for him, and, if so, whatshe would think of the Madelines if she knew of them. 

CHAPTER VII

DEVELOPMENTS BY MAIL

After the family had reassembled on the Hill the promised letter fromLarry arrived. He was staying on so long as his services were needed. Theenormous number of victims of the wreck had strained to the uttermost thecity's supply of doctors and nurses, and there was more than enough workfor all. The writer spared them the details of the wreck so far aspossible; indeed, evidently was not anxious to relive the horrors on hisown account. He mentioned a few of the many sad cases only. One of thesewas the instant death of a famous surgeon whose loss to the world seemedtragic and pitifully wasteful to the young doctor. Another was thecrushing to death of a young mother who, with her two children, had beenhappily on their way to meet the husband who had been in South Americafor a year. Larry had made friends with her on the train and played withthe babies who reminded him of his small cousins, Eric and Hester, DoctorPhilip's children. 

A third case he went into more fully, that of a young woman--just a meregirl in appearance though she wore a wedding ring--who had received aterrible blow on the base of her brain which had driven out memoryentirely. She did not know who she was, where she was going, or whenceshe had come. Her physical injuries, otherwise, were not serious, abroken arm and some bad bruises, nothing but what she would easilyrecover from in a short time; but, for all her effort, the past remainedas something on the other side of a strange, blank wall. 

"She tries pitifully hard to remember, and is so sweet and brave we areall devoted to her. I always stop and talk to her when I go by her. Sheseems to cling to me, rather, as if I could help her get things back. Lord knows I wish I could. She is too dainty and fragile a morsel ofhumanity to be left to fight such a thing alone. She is a regular littleDresden shepherdess, with the tiniest feet and hands and the yellowesthair and bluest eyes I ever saw. Her husband must be about crazy, poorchap, not hearing from her. I suppose he will be turning up soon to claimher. I hope so. I don't know what will become of her if he does not. 

"It is late and I must turn in. I don't know when I shall get home. Idon't flatter myself Dunbury will miss me much when it has you. Giveeverybody my love and tell Tony I am awfully sorry I couldn't get tocommencement. I guess maybe she is glad enough to have me alive not tomind much. I'm some glad to be alive myself. "

The letter ended with affectionate greetings to the older doctor from hisnephew and junior assistant. With it came another epistle from the samecity from an old doctor friend who had watched Philip Holiday, himself, grow up, and had immediately set his eye on the younger Holiday, when hehad discovered the relationship. 

"You have a lad to be proud of in that Larry of yours, " he wrote. "He ison the job early and late, no smart Alecness, no shirking, no foolquestions, just there on the spot when you want him with cool head, steady nerves and a hand as gentle as a woman's. I like his quality, Phil. Quality shows up at a time like this. He is true Holiday, throughand through, and you can tell him I said so when you see him. "

The doctor smiled, well pleased at this tribute to Ned's son and thisletter, like Larry's, he handed to his wife Margery to read. 

The thirties had touched "Miss Margery" lightly. She was still slim andgirlish-looking. In her simple gown of that forgetmenot blue shade whichher husband particularly loved she seemed scarcely older than she had onthat day, some eight years earlier, when he had found her giving a Fourthof July party to the Hill youngsters, and had begun to lose his heart toher then and there. It was not by shedding care and responsibility, however, that she had kept her youth. It was by no means the easiestthing in the world to be a busy doctor's wife, the mother of two livelychildren and faithful daughter to an invalid and rather "difficult"mother-in-law, as well as to care for a big house and an elastichousehold, which in vacation time included Ned Holiday's children andtheir friends. Needless to say she did not do any painting these days. But there is more than one way of being an artist, and of the art ofsimple, lovely, human living Margery Holiday was past mistress. 

"Doesn't sound much like 'Lazy Larry' these days, does it?" shecommented, giving the letters back to her husband. "I know you are proudof Doctor Fenton's letter, Phil. You ought to be. It is more than alittle due to you that Larry is what he is. "

"We are advertised by our loving wives, " he misquoted teasingly. "I havealways observed that the things we approve of in the younger generationare the fruit of seeds we planted. The things we disapprove of slipped ininadvertedly like weeds. "

The same mail that brought Larry's letter brought one also to Ted fromMadeline Taylor, a letter which made him wriggle a little internally, and pull his forelock, as was his habit when things were a bitperturbing. 

Madeline had gone to bed that Sunday night after her meeting with Ted inthe woods, full of the happiest kind of anticipations and shy, foolish, impossible dreams. Her mind told her it was the rankest of nonsense todream about Ted Holiday, but her heart would do it. She knew the affairwith Ted had begun wrong, but she couldn't help hoping it would come outbeautifully right. She couldn't help making believe she had found herprince, a bonny laddie who liked her well enough to play straight withher and to come again to see her. 

She meant to try so hard, so very hard, to make herself into the kind ofgirl he was used to and liked. She cut out the picture of Tony Holidaythat Max Hempel and Dick Carson had studied that day on the train. Shestudied it even harder and hid it away among her very special treasureswhere she could take it out and look at it often and use it as a model. She even snatched her hitherto precious earrings from their pink cottonresting place and hurled them as far as she could into the night. She wasvery sure Tony Holiday did not wear earrings, and she was even surer shehad seen Ted's eyes resting disapprovingly on hers. The earrings had togo. They had gone. 

The next afternoon she had waited for a while patiently by the brook. Thedistant clock struck the half hour, the three quarters, the full hour. NoTed Holiday. By this time her patience had long since evaporated and nowblazed into blind rage. Ted had forgotten his promise, if indeed he hadever meant to keep it. He was with those other girls--his kind. Maybe hewas laughing at her, telling them how "easy" she had been, how gullible. No, he wouldn't! He would be ashamed to admit he had had anything to dowith her. Men did not boast of their conquest of one kind of girl toanother. She had read enough fiction to know that. 

In any case she hated Ted Holiday with a fine fury of resentment. Shewanted to make him suffer, even as she was suffering, though she sensedvaguely that men couldn't suffer that way. It was only women who werecapable of such fine-drawn torture. Men went free. 

From her rage against her recreant cavalier she went on to rage againstlife built on a man-made plan for the benefit of man. Women were hurt, nomatter what they did. Being good wasn't any use. You got hurt all theworse if you were good. It was silly even to try. It was better to shutyour eyes and have a good time. 

Pursuing this reasoning brought Madeline Taylor to the sycamore tree thatnight where Willis Hubbard's car waited. She went with Willis, not toplease him, not to please herself, but to spite Ted Holiday. She hadhinted to Ted she would do something desperate if he failed her. She haddone something desperate, but it was herself, not Ted, that had beenhurt. She discovered that too late. 

The next morning had brought Ted's pleasant, penitent note, explaininghis defection and expressing the hope that they might meet again soon, signed hers "devotedly. " Poor Madeline! The cup of her regret was verybitter to the taste as she read that letter of Ted Holiday's. 

Something of her misery and self-abasement crept into the letter to Ted, together with a passionate remorse for having doubted him and her evenmore vehement regret for having gone out with Willis Hubbard. The wholecomplex story of her emotional reactions was of course not written downfor Ted's eyes; but he read quite enough to permit him to guess more thanhe cared to know. Hubbard was evidently something of a rotter. Maybe hewas a bit of a rotter himself. If he hadn't taken the girl out joy ridinghimself she wouldn't have gone with the other two nights later. That wasplain to be seen with half an eye and Ted Holiday was man enough to lookat the fact straight and unblinking for a moment. 

Well! He should worry. It wasn't his fault if Madeline had been foolenough to go out with Hubbard, when she knew what kind of a chap he was. He wasn't her keeper. He didn't see why she had to ask him to forgiveher. It was none of his business. And he wished she hadn't begged soearnestly and humbly that he would see her again soon. He didn't want tosee her. Yet, down underneath, Ted Holiday had an uneasy feeling heought to want it, ought to try to make up to her in some way forsomething which was somehow his fault, even though he did disclaim theresponsibility. 

Two days later came another letter even more disturbing. It seemedMadeline was going to Holyoke again soon to visit her Cousin Emma andwanted Ted to join her. She was "dying" to see him. He could stay atCousin Emma's, but maybe he wouldn't like that because there was a raftof children always under foot and Fred, Emma's husband, was a dreadful"ordinary" person who smoked a smelly pipe and sat round in his shirtsleeves. But if he would come and stay at a hotel they could have awonderful time. She did want to see him so much. Besides, Willispestered her all the time and said if she went away he would come downin his car every night to see her. So if Ted didn't want her to runaround with Willis as he said in his last letter he had better comehimself. She didn't like Willis the way she did Ted, though. Some waysshe hated him and she wished awfully she hadn't ever had anything to dowith him. And finally she liked Ted better than anybody in the world, and would he please, please come to Holyoke, because she wanted him toso very, very much?

And then the postscript. "The cut is going to leave a scar, I am mostsure. I don't care. I like it. It makes me think of you and what awonderful time we had together that night. "

Ted read the letter coming up the Hill, and for once forebore to whistleas he made the ascent. His mind was busy. A week of Dunbury calm andsweet do-nothing had sufficed to make him undeniably restless. Madeline'sproposal struck him as rather a jolly idea accordingly. After all, shewas a dandy little girl, and he owed her a lot for not making any fussover his nearly killing her. He didn't like this Hubbard fellow, either. He rather thought it was his duty to go and send him about his business. Ted was a bit of a knight, at heart, and felt now the chivalric urge, combining with others less unselfish, to go to the rescue of the damseland set her free of the false besieger. 

Her undisguised admission of her caring for him was a bitdisconcerting, although perhaps also a little sweet to his youthfulmale vanity. Her caring was a complication, made him feel as if somehowhe ought to make up to her for failing her in the big thing by grantingher the smaller favor. 

By the time he had reached the top of the Hill he was rather definitelycommitted in his own mind to the Holyoke trip, if he could throw enoughdust in his uncle's eyes to get away with it. 

Arrived at the house he flung the other mail on the hall table and wentupstairs. As he passed his grandmother's room he noticed that the doorwas ajar and stepped in for a word with her. She looked very still andwhite as she lay there in the big, old fashioned four-poster bed! PoorGranny! It was awfully sad to be old. Ted couldn't quite imagine it forhimself, somehow. 

"'Lo, Granny dear, " he greeted, stooping to kiss the withered old cheek. "How goes it?"

"About as usual, dear. Any word from Larry?" There was a plaintive notein Madame Holiday's voice. She was never quite content unless all the"children" were under the family roof-tree. And Larry was particularlydear to her heart. 

"Yes, I just brought a letter for Uncle Phil. The very idea of yourwanting Larry when you have Tony and me, and you haven't had us forso long. " Ted pretended to be reproachful and his grandmother reachedfor his hand. 

"I know, dear boy. I am very glad to have you and Tony. But Larry is ahabit, like Philip. You mustn't mind my missing him. "

"Course I don't mind, Granny. I was just jossing. I don't blame you a bitfor missing Larry. He is a mighty good thing to have in the family. WishI were half as valuable. "

"You are, sonny. I am so happy to be having you here all summer. "

"Maybe not quite all summer. I'll be going off for little trips, " heprepared her gently. 

"Youth! Youth! Never still--always wanting to fly off somewhere!"

"We all fly back mighty quick, " comforted Ted. "There come the kiddies. "

A patter of small feet sounded down the hall. In the next moment theywere there--sturdy Eric, the six year old, apple-cheeked, incrediblyenergetic, already bidding fair to equal if not to rival his cousin Ted'sreputation for juvenile naughtiness; and Hester, two years younger, arose-and-snow creation, cherubic, adorable, with bobbing silver curls, delectably dimpled elbows and corn flower blue eyes. 

Fresh from the tub and the daily delightful frolic with Daddy, they nowappeared for that other ceremonial known as saying good-night to Granny. 

"Teddy! Teddy! Ride us to Granny, " demanded Eric hilariously, jubilant atfinding his favorite tall cousin on the spot. 

"'Es, wide us, wide us, " chimed in Hester, not to be outdone. 

"You fiends!" But Ted obediently got down on "all fours" while the smallfolks clambered up on his back and he "rode" them over to the bed, theirbathrobes flying as they went. Arrived at the destination Ted deftlydeposited his load in a giggling, squirming heap on the rug and thengathering up the small Hester, swung her aloft, bringing her down withher rose bud of a mouth close to Granny's pale cheeks. 

"Kiss your flying angel, Granny, before she flies away again. "

"Me! Me!" clamored Eric vociferously, hugging Ted's knees. "Me flyingangel, too!"

"Not much, " objected Ted. "No angel about you. Too, too much solid fleshand bones. Kiss Granny, quick. I hear your parents approaching. "

Philip and Margery appeared on the threshold, seeking their obstreperousoffspring. 

There was another stampede, this time in the direction of the "parents. "

"Ca'y me! Ca'y me, Daddy, " chirruped Hester. 

"No, me. Ride me piggy-back, " insisted Eric. 

"Such children!" smiled Margery. "Ted, you encourage them. They are morebarbarian than ever when you are here, and they are bad enough undernormal conditions. "

Ted chuckled at that. He and his Aunt Margery were the best of goodfriends. They always had been since Ted had refused to join her RoundTable on the grounds that he might have to be sorry for being bad if hedid, though he had subsequently capitulated, in view of the manifestadvantages accruing to membership in the order. 

"That's right. Lay it to me. I don't believe Uncle Phil was a saint, either, was he, Granny?" he appealed. "I'll bet the kids get some oftheir deviltry by direct line of descent. "

His grandmother smiled. 

"We forget a good deal about our children's naughtinesses when they aregrown up, " she said. "I've even forgotten some of yours, Teddy. "

"Lucky, " grinned her grandson, stooping to kiss her again. "_Allons, enfants_. "

Later, when the obstreperous ones were in bed and everything quiet Philipand Margery sat together in the hammock, lovers still after eight yearsof strenuous married life and discussed Larry's last letter, which hadcontained the rather astonishing request that he be permitted to bringthe little lady who had forgotten her past to Holiday Hill with him. 

"Queer proposition!" murmured the doctor. "Doesn't sound likesober Larry. "

"I am not so sure. There is a quixotic streak in him--in all youHolidays, for that matter. You can't say much. Think of the stray boysyou have taken in at one time or another, some of them rather dubiousspecimens, I infer. "

Margery's eyes smiled tender raillery at her husband. He chuckled at thearraignment, and admitted its justice. Still, boys were not mysteryladies. She must grant him that. Then he sobered. 

"It is only you that makes me hesitate, Margery mine. You are carryingabout as heavy a burden now as any one woman ought to take upon herself, with me and the house and the children and Granny. And here is this crazynephew of mine proposing the addition to the family of a stranger whohasn't any past and whose future seems wrapped mostly in a nebularhypothesis. It is rather a large order, my dear. "

"Not too large. It isn't as if she were seriously ill, or would be aburden in any way. Besides, it is Larry's home as well as ours, and he soseldom asks anything for himself, and is always ready to help anywhere. Do you really mind her coming, Phil?"

"Not if you don't. I am glad to agree if it is not going to be too hardfor you. As you say, Larry doesn't ever ask much for himself and I aminterested in the case, anyway. Shall we wire him to bring her, then?"

"Please do. I shall be very glad. "

"You are a wonder, Margery mine. " And the doctor bent and kissed his wifebefore going in to telephone the message to be sent his nephew thatnight, a message bidding him and the little stranger welcome, wheneverthey cared to come to the House on the Hill. 

And far away in Pittsburgh, Larry got the word that night and smiledcontent. Bless Uncle Phil and Aunt Margery! They never failed you, nomatter what you asked of them. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE LITTLE LADY WHO FORGOT

Larry Holiday was a rather startlingly energetic person when he once gotunder way. The next morning he overruled the "Mystery Lady's" faintdemurs, successfully argued the senior doctor into agreement with hissomewhat surprising plan of procedure, wired his uncle, engaged trainreservations for that evening, secured a nurse, preempted the services ofa Red Cap who promised to be waiting with a chair at the station so thatthe little invalid would not have to set foot upon the ground, andfinally carried the latter with his own strong young arms onto the trainand into a large, cool stateroom where a fan was already whirring and thewhite-clad nurse waiting to minister to the needs of the frail traveler. 

In a few moments the train was slipping smoothly out of the station andthe girl who had forgotten most things else knew that she was beingspirited off to a delightful sounding place called Holiday Hill in thecharge of a gray-eyed young doctor who had made himself personallyresponsible for her from the moment he had extricated her, more dead thanalive, from the wreckage. Somehow, for the moment she was quite contentwith the knowledge. 

Leaving his charge in the nurse's care, Larry Holiday ensconced himselfin his seat not far from the stateroom and pretended to read his paper. But it might just as well have been printed in ancient Sanscrit for allthe meaning its words conveyed to his brain. His corporeal self occupiedthe green plush seat. His spiritual person was elsewhere. 

After fifteen minutes of futile effort at concentration he flung down thepaper and strode to the door of the stateroom. A white linen arm answeredhis gentle knock. There was a moment's consultation, then the nurse cameout and Larry went in. 

On the couch the girl lay very still with half-closed eyes. Her longblonde braids tied with blue ribbons lay on the pillow on either side ofher sweet, pale little face, making it look more childlike than ever. 

"I can't see why I can't remember, " she said to Larry as he sat down onthe edge of the other cot opposite her. "I try so hard. "

"Don't try. You are just wearing yourself out doing it. It will be allright in time. Don't worry. "

"I can't help worrying. It is--oh, it is horrible not to have anypast--to be different from everybody in the world. "

"I know. It is mighty tough and you have been wonderfully brave about it. But truly I do believe it will all come back. And in the meanwhile youare going to one of the best places in the world to get well in. Take myword for it. "

"But I don't see why I should be going. It isn't as if I had any claimon you or your people. Why are you taking me to your home?" The blueeyes were wide open now, and looking straight up into Larry Holiday'sgray ones. 

Larry smiled and Larry's smile, coming out of the usual gravity andrepose of his face, was irresistible. More than one young woman, case andnon-case, had wished, seeing that smile, that its owner had eyes forgirls as such. 

"Because you are the most interesting patient I ever had. Don't begrudgeit to me. I get measles and sore throats mostly. Do you wonder I snatchedyou as a dog grabs a bone?" Then he sobered. "Truly, Ruth--you don't mindmy calling you that, do you, since we don't know your other name?--theHill is the one place in the world for you just now. You will forgive mykidnapping you when you see it and my people. You can't help liking itand them. "

"I am not afraid of not liking it or them if--" She had meant to say "ifthey are at all like you, " but that seemed a little too personal to sayto one's doctor, even a doctor who had saved your life and had the mostwonderful smile that ever was, and the nicest eyes. "If they will letme, " she substituted. "But it is such a queer, kind thing to do. Theother doctors were interested in me, too, as a case. But it didn't occurto any of them to offer me the hospitality of their homes and family foran unlimited time. Are you Holidays all like that?"

"More or less, " admitted Larry with another smile. "Maybe we are a bitvain-glorious about Holiday hospitality. It is rather a family tradition. The House on the Hill has had open doors ever since the first Holidaybuilt it nearly two hundred years ago. You saw Uncle Phil's wire. Hemeant that 'welcome ready. ' You'll see. But anyway it won't be very hardfor them to open the door to you. They will all love you. "

She shut her eyes again at that. Possibly the young doctor's expressionwas rather more un-professionally eloquent than he knew. 

"Tired?" he asked. 

"Not much--tired of wondering. Maybe my name isn't Ruth at all. "

"Maybe it isn't. But it is a name anyway, and you may as well use it forthe present until you can find your own. I think Ruth Annersley is apretty name myself, " added the young doctor seriously. "I like it. "

"Mrs. Geoffrey Annersley, " corrected the girl. "That is ratherpretty too. "

Larry agreed somewhat less enthusiastically. 

Ruth lifted her hand and fell to twisting the wedding ring which was veryloose on her thin little finger. 

"Think of being married and not knowing what your husband looks like. Poor Geoffrey Annersley! I wonder if he cares a great deal for me. "

"It is quite possible, " said Larry Holiday grimly. 

He had taken an absurd dislike to the very name of Geoffrey Annersley. Why didn't the man appear and claim his wife? Practically every paperfrom the Atlantic to the Pacific had advertised for him. If he was anygood and wanted to find his wife he would be half crazy looking for herby this time. He must have seen the newspaper notices. There wassomething queer about this Geoffrey Annersley. Larry Holiday detested himcordially. 

"You don't suppose he was killed in the wreck, do you?" Ruth's mindworked on, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 

"You were traveling alone. Your chair was near mine. I noticed youbecause I thought--" He broke off abruptly. 

"Thought what?"

"That you were the prettiest girl I ever saw in my life, " he admitted. "Iwanted to speak to you. Two or three times I was on the verge of it but Inever could quite get up the courage. I'm not much good at startingconversations with girls. My kid brother, Ted, has the monopoly of thatsort of thing in my family. "

"Oh, if you only had, " she sighed. "Maybe I would have told yousomething about myself and where I was going when I got to New York. "

"I wish I had, " regretted Larry. "Confound my shyness! I don't see whyanybody ever let you travel alone from San Francisco to New York anyway, "he added. "Your Geoffrey ought to have taken better care of you. "

"Maybe I haven't a Geoffrey. The fact that there was an envelope in mybag addressed to Mrs. Geoffrey Annersley doesn't prove that I am Mrs. Geoffrey Annersley. "

"No, still there is the ring. " Larry frowned thoughtfully. "If you aren'tMrs. Geoffrey Annersley you must be Mrs. Somebody Else, I suppose. Andthe locket says _Ruth from Geoffrey_. "

"Oh, yes, I suppose I am Mrs. Geoffrey Annersley. It seems as if I mustbe. But why can't I remember? It seems as if any one would remember theman she was married to--as if one couldn't forget that, no matter whathappened. But if there is a Geoffrey Annersley why doesn't he come andget me and make me remember him?"

Larry shook his head. 

"Don't worry, please. We'll keep on advertising. He is bound to comebefore long if he really is your husband. Some day he will be coming upour hill and run away with you, worse luck!"

Ruth's eyes were on the ring again. 

"It is funny, " she said. "But I can't make myself _feel_ married. I can'tmake the ring mean anything to me. I don't want it to mean anything. Idon't want to be married. Sometimes I dream that Geoffrey Annersley hascome and I put my hand over my eyes because I don't want to see him. Isn't that dreadful?" she turned to Larry to ask. 

"You can't help it. " Larry tried manfully to push back his own whollyunreasonable satisfaction in her aversion to her presumptive husband. "It is the blow and the shock of the whole thing. It will be all right intime. You will fall on your Geoffrey's neck and call him blessed when thetime comes. "

"I don't believe he is coming, " she announced suddenly with conviction. 

Larry got up and walked over to her couch. 

"What makes you say that?" he demanded. 

"I don't know. It was just a feeling I had. Something inside me saidright out loud: 'He isn't coming. He isn't your husband. ' Maybe it isbecause I don't want him to come and don't want him to be my husband. Oh, dear! It is all so queer and mixed up and horrid. It is awful not to beanybody--just a ghost. I wish I'd been killed. Why didn't you leave me?Why did you dig me out? All the others said I was dead. Why didn't youlet me _be_ dead? It would have been better. "

She turned her face away and buried it in the pillow, sobbing softly, suddenly like a child. 

This was too much for Larry. He dropped on his knees beside her and puthis arms around the quivering little figure. 

"Don't, Ruth, " he implored. "Don't cry and don't--don't wish you weredead. I--I can't stand it. "

There was a tap at the door. Larry got to his feet in guilty haste andwent to the door of the stateroom. 

"It is time for Mrs. Annersley's medicine, " announced the nurseimpersonally, entering and going over to the wash stand for a glass. 

The white linen back safely turned, Larry gave one swift look at Ruth andbolted, shutting the door behind him. The nurse turned to look at thepatient whose face was still hidden in the pillow and then her gazetraveled meditatively toward the door out of which the young doctor hadshot so precipitately. Larry had forgotten that there was a mirror overthe wash stand and that nurses, however impersonal, are still women witheyes in their heads. 

"H--m, " reflected the onlooker. "I wouldn't have thought he was thatkind. You never can tell about men, especially doctors. I wish him joyfalling in love with a woman who doesn't know whether or not she has ahusband. Your tablets, Mrs. Annersley, " she added aloud. 

 * * * * *

"Larry, I think your Ruth is the dearest thing I ever laid eyes on, "declared Tony next day to her brother. "Her name ought to be Titania. I'mnot very big myself, but I feel like an Amazon beside her. And her laughis the sweetest thing--so soft and silvery, like little bells. But shedoesn't laugh much, does she? Poor little thing!"

"She is awfully up against it, " said Larry with troubled eyes. "She can'tstop trying to remember. It is a regular obsession with her. And she isvery shy and sensitive and afraid of strangers. "

"She doesn't look at you as if you were a stranger. She adores you. "

"Nonsense!" said Larry sharply. 

Tony opened her eyes at her brother's tone. 

"Why, Larry! Of course, I didn't mean she was in love with you. Shecouldn't be when she is married. I just meant she adored you--well, theway Max adores me, " she explained as the tawny-haired Irish setter cameand rested his head on her knee, raising solemn worshipful brown eyes toher face. "Why shouldn't she? You saved her life and you have beenwonderful to her every way. "

"Nonsense!" said Larry again, though he said it in a different tone thistime. "I haven't done much. It is Uncle Phil and Aunt Margery who are thewonderful ones. It is great the way they both said yes right away when Iasked if I could bring her here. I tell you, Tony, it means something tohave your own people the kind you can count on every time. And it isgreat to have a home like this to bring her to. She is going to love itas soon as she is able to get downstairs with us all. "

Up in her cool, spacious north chamber, lying in the big bed with thesmooth, fine linen, Ruth felt as if she loved it already, though shefound these Holidays even more amazing than ever, now that she wasactually in their midst. Were there any other people in the world likethem she wondered--so kind and simple and unfeignedly glad to take astranger into their home and a queer, mysterious, sick stranger at that!

"If I have to begin living all over just like a baby I think I am theluckiest girl that ever was to be able to start in a place like this withsuch dear, kind people all around me, " she told Doctor Holiday, senior, to whom she had immediately lost her heart as soon as she saw his smileand felt the touch of his strong, magnetic, healing hand. 

"We will get you out under the trees in a day or two, " he said. "And thenyour business will be to get well and strong as soon as possible and notworry about anything any more than if you were the baby you were justtalking about. Can you manage that, young lady?"

"I'll try. I would be horrid and ungrateful not to when you are all sogood to me. I don't believe my own people are half as nice as youHolidays. I don't see how they could be. "

The doctor laughed at that. 

"We will let it go at that for the present. You will be singing anothertune when your Geoffrey Annersley comes up the Hill to claim you. "

The girl's expressive face clouded over at that. She did not quite dareto tell Doctor Holiday as she had his nephew that she did not want to seeGeoffrey Annersley nor to have to know she was married to him. It soundedhorrid, but it was true. Sometimes she hated the very thought of GeoffreyAnnersley. 

Later Doctor Holiday and his nephew went over the girl's case togetherfrom both the personal and professional angles. There was little enoughto go on in untangling her mystery. The railway tickets which had beenfound in her purse were in an un-postmarked envelope bearing the nameMrs. Geoffrey Annersley, but no address. The baggage train had beendestroyed by fire at the time of the accident, so there were no trunks togive evidence. The small traveling bag she had carried with her boreneither initial nor geographical designation, and contained nothing whichgave any clew as to its owner's identity save that she was presumably aperson of wealth, for her possessions were exquisite and obviouslycostly. A small jewel box contained various valuable rings, one or twopendants and a string of matched pearls which even to uninitiated eyesspelled a fortune. Also, oddly enough, among the rest was an absurdlittle childish gold locket inscribed "Ruth from Geoffrey. "

She had worn no rings at all except for a single platinum-set, and veryperfect, diamond and a plain gold band, obviously a wedding ring. Theinference was that she was married and that her husband's name wasGeoffrey Annersley, but where he was and why she was traveling across theUnited States alone and from whence she had come remained utterlyunguessable. Larry had seen to it that advertisements for GeoffreyAnnersley were inserted in every important paper from coast to coast butnothing had come of any of his efforts. 

As for the strange lapse of memory, there seemed nothing to do but waitin the hope that recovered health and strength might bring it back. 

"It may come bit by bit or by a sudden bound or never, " was DoctorHoliday's opinion. "There is nothing that I know of that she or you orany one can do except let nature take her course. It is a case of timeand patience. I am glad you brought her to us. Margery and I are veryglad to have her. "

"You are awfully good, Uncle Phil. I do appreciate it and it is great tohave you behind me professionally. I haven't got a great deal ofconfidence in myself. Doctoring scares me sometimes. It is such a fearfulresponsibility. "

"It is, but you are going to be equal to it. The confidence will comewith experience. You need have no lack of faith in yourself; I haven't. There is no reason why I should have, when I get letters like this. "

The senior doctor leaned over and extracted old Doctor Fenton's letterfrom a cubby hole in his desk and gave it to his nephew to read. Thelatter perused it in silence with slightly heightened color. Praisealways embarrassed him. 

"He is too kind, " he observed as he handed back the letter. "I didn't domuch out there, precious little in fact but what I was told to do. Ifigured it out that we young ones were the privates and it was up to usto take orders from the captains who knew their business better than wedid and get busy. I worked on that basis. "

"Sound basis. I am not afraid that a man who can obey well won't be ableto command well when the time comes. It isn't a small thing to berecognized as a true Holiday, either. It is something to be proud of. "

"I am proud, Uncle Phil. There is nothing I would rather hear--anddeserve. But, if I am anywhere near the Holiday standard, it is youmostly that brought me up to it. I don't mean any dispraise of Dad. Hewas fine and I am proud to be his son. But he never understood me. Ididn't have enough dash and go to me for him. Ted and Tony are bothmore his kind, though I don't believe either of them loved him as Idid. But you seemed to understand always. You helped me to believe inmyself. It was the best thing that could have happened to me, coming toyou when I did. "

Larry turned to the mantel and picked up a photograph of himself whichstood there, a lad of fifteen or so, facing the world with grave, sensitive eyes, the Larry he had been when he came to the House on theHill. He smiled at his uncle over the boy's picture. 

"You burned out the plague spots, too, with a mighty hot iron, some ofthem, " he added. "I'll never forget your sitting there in that very chairtelling me I was a lazy, selfish snob and that, all things considered, Ididn't measure up for a nickel with Dick. Jerusalem! I wonder if you knewhow that hit. I had a fairly good opinion of Larry Holiday in some waysand you rather knocked the spots out of it, comparing me to mydisadvantage with a circus runaway. "

He replaced the picture, the smile still lingering on his face. 

"It was the right medicine though. I needed it. I can see that now. Speaking of doses I wish you would make Ted tutor this summer. I don'tknow whether he has told you. I rather think not. But he flunked so manycourses he will have to drop back a year unless he makes up the work andtakes examinations in the fall. "

The senior doctor drummed thoughtfully on the desk. So that was what theboy had on his mind. 

"Why not speak to him yourself?" he asked after a minute. 

"And be sent to warm regions as I was last spring when I ventured to givehis lord highmightiness some advice. No good, Uncle Phil. He won't listento me. He just gets mad and swings off in the other direction. I don'thandle him right. Haven't your patience and tact. I wonder if he everwill get any sense into his head. He is the best hearted kid in theworld, and I'm crazy over him, but he does rile me to the limit with hisfifty-seven varieties of foolness. "

CHAPTER IX

TED SEIZES THE DAY

The next morning Ted strolled into his uncle's office to ask if thelatter had any objections to his accepting an invitation to a house-partyfrom Hal Underwood, a college classmate, at the latter's home nearSpringfield. 

The doctor considered a moment before answering. He knew all about theUnderwoods and knew that his erratic nephew could not be in a safer, pleasanter place. Also his quick wit saw a chance to put the screws onthe lad in connection with the tutoring business. 

"I suppose your June allowance is able to float your traveling expenses, "he remarked less guilelessly than the remark sounded. 

The June allowance was, it seemed, the missing link. 

"I thought maybe you would be willing to allow me a little extra thismonth on account of commencement stunts. It is darned expensive sendingnosegays to sweet girl graduates. I couldn't help going broke. Honest Icouldn't, Uncle Phil. " Then as his uncle did not leap at the suggestionoffered, the speaker changed his tack. "Anyway, you would be willing tolet me have my July money ahead of time, wouldn't you?" he ingratiated. "It is only ten days to the first. "

But Doctor Holiday still chose to be inconveniently irrelevant. 

"Have you any idea how much my bill was for repairing the car?" heasked. 

Ted shook his head shamefacedly, and bent to examine a picture in amagazine which lay on the desk. He wasn't anxious to have the carincident resurrected. He had thought it decently buried by this time, having heard no more about it. 

"It was a little over a hundred dollars, " continued the doctor. 

The boy looked up, genuinely distressed. 

"Gee, Uncle Phil! It's highway robbery. "

"Scarcely. All things considered, it was a very fair bill. A hundreddollars is a good deal to pay for the pleasure of nearly getting yourselfand somebody else killed, Ted. "

Ted pulled his forelock and had nothing to say. 

"Were you in earnest about paying up for that particular bit offolly, son?"

"Why, yes. At least I didn't think it would be any such sum as that, " Tedhedged. "I'll be swamped if I try to pay it out of my allowance. I can'tcome out even, as it is. Couldn't you take it out of my own money--what'scoming to me when I'm of age?"

"I could, if getting myself paid were the chief consideration. As ithappens, it isn't. I'm sorry if I seem to be hard on you, but I am goingto hold you to your promise, even if it pinches a bit. I think you knowwhy. How about it, son?"

"I suppose it has to go that way if you say so, " said Ted a littlesulkily. "Can I pay it in small amounts?"

"How small? Dollar a year? I'd hate to wait until I was a hundred andforty or so to get my money back. "

The boy grinned reluctantly, answering the friendly twinkle in hisuncle's eyes. He was relieved that a joke had penetrated what had begunto appear to be an unpleasantly jestless interview. He hated to becalled to account. Like many another older sinner he liked dancing, butfound paying the piper an irksome business. 

"Nonsense, Uncle Phil! I meant real paying. Will ten dollars a month do?"

"It will, provided you don't try to borrow ahead each month from thenext one. "

"I won't, " glibly. "If you will--" The boy broke off and had the grace tolook confused, realizing he had been about to do the very thing he hadpromised in the same breath not to do. "Then that means I can't go toHal's, " he added soberly. 

He felt sober. There was more than Hal and the house-party involved, though the latter had fallen in peculiarly fortuitous with his otherplans. He had rashly written Madeline he would be in Holyoke next week asshe desired, and the first of July and his allowance would still be justout of reach next week. It was a confounded nuisance, to say the least, being broke just now, with Uncle Phil turned stuffy. 

"No, I don't want you to give up your house-party, though that rests withyou. I'll make a bargain with you. I'll advance your whole July allowanceminus ten dollars Saturday morning. "

Ted's face cleared, beamed like sudden sunshine on a cloudy March day. 

"You will! Uncle Phil, you certainly are a peach!" And in his exuberancehe tossed his cap to the ceiling, catching it deftly on his nose as itdescended. 

"Hold on. Don't rejoice too soon. It was to be a bargain, you know. Youhave heard only one side. "

"Oh--h!" The exclamation was slightly crestfallen. 

"I understand that you fell down on most of your college work thisspring. Is that correct?"

This was a new complication and just as he had thought he was safelyout of the woods, too. Ted hung his head, gave consent to his uncle'squestion by silence and braced himself for a lecture, though he was alittle relieved that he need not bring up the subject of thatinconvenient flunking of his, himself; that his uncle was alreadyprepared, whoever it was that had told tales. The lecture did notcome, however. 

"Here is the bargain. I will advance the money as I said, providedthat as soon as you get back from Hal's you will make arrangements totutor with Mr. Caldwell this summer, in all the subjects you failed inand promise to put in two months of good, solid cramming, no half wayabout it. "

"Gee, Uncle Phil! It's vacation. "

"You don't need a vacation. If all I hear of you is true, or even half ofit, you made your whole college year one grand, sweet vacation. What isthe answer? Want time to think the proposition over?"

"No--o. I guess I'll take you up. I suppose I'll have to tutor anyway ifI don't want to drop back a class, and I sure don't, " Ted admittedhonestly. "Unless you'll let me quit and you won't. It is awfully tough, though. You never made Tony or Larry kill themselves studying invacations. I don't see--"

"Neither Tony or Larry ever flunked a college course. It remained for youto be the first Holiday to wear a dunce cap. "

Ted flushed angrily at that. The shot went home, as the doctor intendedit should. He knew when to hit and how to do it hard, as Larry hadtestified. 

"Fool's cap if you like, Uncle Phil. I am not a dunce. "

"I rather think that is true. Anyway, prove it to us this summer andthere is no one who will be gladder than I to take back the aspersion. Isit understood then? You have your house-party and when you come back youare pledged to honest work, no shirking, no requests for time off, nocomplaints. Have I your word?"

Ted considered. He thought he was paying a stiff price for hishouse-party and his lark with Madeline. He could give up the first, though a fellow always had a topping time at Hal's; but he couldn't quitesee himself owning ignominiously to Madeline that he couldn't keep hispromise to her because of empty pockets. Moreover, as he had admitted, hewould have to tutor anyway, probably, and he might as well get some gainout of the pain. 

"I promise, Uncle Phil. "

"Good. Then that is settled. I am not going to say anything more aboutthe flunking. You know how we all feel about it. I think you have senseenough and conscience enough to see it about the way the rest of us do. "

Ted's eyes were down again now. Somehow Uncle Phil always made him feelworse by what he didn't say than a million sermons from other peoplewould have done. He would have gladly have given up the projected journeyand anything else he possessed this moment if he could have had a cleanslate to show. But it was too late for that now. He had to take theconsequences of his own folly. 

"I see it all right, Uncle Phil, " he said looking up. "Trouble is I neverseem to have the sense to look until--afterward. You are awfully decentabout it and letting me go to Hal's and--everything. I--I'll be goneabout a week, do you mind?"

"No. Stay as long as you like. I am satisfied with your promise to makegood when you do come. "

Ted slipped away quickly then. He was ashamed to meet his uncle's kindeyes. He knew he was playing a crooked game with stacked cards. He hadn'texactly lied--hadn't said a word that wasn't strictly true, indeed. Hewas going to Hal's, but he had let his uncle think he was going to staythere the whole week whereas in reality he meant to spend the greaterpart of the time in Madeline Taylor's society, which was not in thebargain at all. Well he would make up later by keeping his promise aboutthe studying. He would show them Larry wasn't the only Holiday who couldmake good. The dunce cap jibe rankled. 

And so, having satisfied his sufficiently elastic conscience, he departedon Saturday for Springfield and adjacent points. 

He had the usual "topping" time at Hal's and tore himself away with theutmost reluctance from the house-party, had half a mind, indeed, to wireMadeline he couldn't come to Holyoke. But after all that seemed rather amean thing to do after having treated her so rough before, and in the endhe had gone, only one day later than he had promised. 

It was characteristic that, arrived at his destination, he straightwayforgot the pleasures he was foregoing at Hal's and plungedwhole-heartedly into amusing himself to the utmost with Madeline Taylor. _Carpe Diem_ was Ted Holiday's motto. 

Madeline had indeed proved unexpectedly pretty and attractive when sheopened the door to him on Cousin Emma's little box of a front porch, cladall in white and wearing no extraneous ornament of any sort, blushingdelightfully and obviously more than glad of his coming. He would nothave been Ted Holiday if he hadn't risen to the occasion. The last girlin sight was usually the only girl for him so long as she _was_ in sightand sufficiently jolly and good to look upon. 

A little later Madeline donned a trim tailored black sailor hat and apretty and becoming pale green sweater and the two went down the stepstogether, bound for an excursion to the park. As they descended Ted'shand slipped gallantly under the girl's elbow and she leaned on it everso little, reveling in the ceremony and prolonging it as much aspossible. Well she knew that Cousin Emma and the children were peeringout from behind the curtains of the front bedroom upstairs, and that Mrs. Bascom and her stuck up daughter Lily had their faces glued to the panenext door. They would all see that this was no ordinary beau, but a realswell like the magnificent young men in the movies. Perhaps as shedescended Cousin Emma's steps and went down the path between the tigerlilies and peonies that flanked the graveled path with Ted Holiday besideher, Madeline Taylor had her one perfect moment. 

Only the "ordinary" Fred, on hearing his wife's voluble descriptionslater of Madeline's "grand" young man failed to be suitably impressed. "Them swells don't mean no girl no good no time, " he had summed up hisviews with sententious accumulation of negatives. 

But little enough did either Ted or Madeline reck of Fred's or any otheropinion as they fared their blithe and care-free way that gala week. Therest of the world was supremely unimportant as they went canoeing andmotoring and trolley riding and mountain climbing and "movieing"together. Madeline strove with all her might to dress and act and _be_ asnearly like those other girls after whom she was modeling herself aspossible, to do nothing, which could jar on Ted in any way or remind himthat she was "different. " In her happiness and sincere desire to pleaseshe succeeded remarkably well in making herself superficially at leastvery much like Ted's own "kind of girl" and though with true masculineobtuseness he was entirely unaware of the conscious effort she wasputting into the performance nevertheless he enjoyed the results in fulland played up to her undeniable charms with his usual debonair andheedless grace and gallantry. 

The one thing that had been left out of the program for lack of suitableopportunity was dancing, an omission not to be tolerated by two strenuousand modern young persons who would rather fox trot than eat any day. Accordingly on Thursday it was agreed that they should repair to theWhite Swan, a resort down the river, famous for its excellent cuisine, its perfect dance floor and its "snappy" negro orchestra. Both Ted andMadeline knew that the Swan had also a reputation of another lessdesirable sort, but both were willing to ignore the fact for the sake ofenjoying the "jolliest jazz on the river" as the advertisement read. Thedance was the thing. 

It was, indeed. The evening was decidedly the best yet, as both averred, pirouetting and spinning and romping through one fox trot and one stepafter another. The excitement of the music, the general air ofexhilaration about the place and their own high-pitched mood made theoccasion different from the other gaieties of the week, merrier, madder, a little more reckless. 

Once, seeing a painted, over-dressed or rather under-dressed, girl in thearms of a pasty-faced, protruding-eyed roué, both obviously under thespell of too much liquid inspiration, Ted suffered a momentary revulsionand qualm of conscience. He shouldn't have brought Madeline here. Itwasn't the sort of place to bring a girl, no matter how good the musicwas. Oh, well! What did it matter just this once? They were there now andthey might as well get all the fun they could out of it. The musicstarted up, he held out his hand to Madeline and they wheeled into themaze of dancers, the girl's pliant body yielding to his arms, her eyesbrilliant with excitement. They danced on and on and it was amazingly andimprudently late when they finally left the Swan and went home to CousinEmma's house. 

Ted had meant to leave Madeline at the gate, but somehow he lingered andfollowed the girl out into the yard behind the house where they seatedthemselves in the hammock in the shade of the lilac bushes. And suddenly, without any warning, he had her in his arms and was kissing hertempestuously. 

It was only for a moment, however. He pulled himself together, hotcheeked and ashamed and flung himself out of the hammock. Madeline satvery still, not saying a word, as she watched him march to and frobetween the beds of verbena and love-lies-bleeding and portulaca. Presently he paused beside the hammock, looking down at the girl. 

"I am going home to-morrow, " he said a little huskily. 

Madeline threw out one hand and clutched one of the boy's in afeverish clasp. 

"No! No!" she cried. "You mustn't go. Please don't, Ted. "

"I've got to, " stolidly. 

"Why?"

"You know why. "

"You mean--what you did--just now?"

He nodded miserably. 

"That doesn't matter. I'm not angry. I--I liked it. "

"I am afraid it does matter. It makes a mess of everything, and it's allmy fault. I spoiled things. I've got to go. "

"But you will come back?" she pleaded. 

He shook his head. 

"It is better not, Madeline. I'm sorry. "

She snatched her hand away from his, her eyes shooting sparks of anger. 

"I hate you, Ted Holiday. You make me care and then you go away and leaveme. You are cruel--selfish. I hate you--hate you. "

Ted stared down at her, helpless, miserable, ashamed. No man knows whatto do with a scene, especially one which his own folly has precipitated. 

"Willis Hubbard is coming down to-morrow night and if you don't stay asyou promised I'll go to the Swan with him. He has been teasing me to gofor ages and I wouldn't, but I will now, if you leave me. I'll--I'll doanything. "

Ted was worried. He did not like the sound of the girl's threats thoughhe wasn't moved from his own purpose. 

"Don't go to the Swan with Hubbard, Madeline. You mustn't. "

"Why not? You took me. "

"I know I did, but that is different, " he finished lamely. 

"I don't see anything very different, " she retorted hotly. 

Ted bit his lip. Remembering his own recent aberration, he did not see asmuch difference as he would have liked to see himself. 

"I suppose you wouldn't have taken _your_ kind of girl to the Swan, "taunted Madeline. 

"No, I--"

It was a fatal admission. Ted hadn't meant to make it so bluntly, but itwas out. The damage was done. 

A demon of rage possessed the girl. Beside herself with anger she sprangto her feet and delivered a stinging blow straight in the boy's face. Then, her mood changing, she fell back into the hammock sobbing bitterly. 

For a moment Ted was too much astonished by this fish-wife exhibitionof temper even to be angry with himself. Then a hot wave of wrath andshame surged over him. He put up his hand to his cheek as if to brushaway the indignity of the blow. But he was honest enough to realizethat maybe he had deserved the punishment, though not for the reasonthe girl had dealt it. 

Looking down at her in her racked misery, his resentment vanished andan odd impersonal kind of pity for her possessed him instead, thoughher attraction was gone forever. He could see the scar on her forehead, and it troubled and reproached him vaguely, seemed a symbol of a deeperwound he had dealt her, though never meaning any harm. He bent overher, gently. 

"Forgive me, Madeline, " he said. "I am sorry--sorry foreverything. Goodby. "

In a moment he was gone, past the portulaca and love-lies-bleeding, pastCousin Emma's unlit parlor windows, down the walk between the tigerlilies and peonies, out into the street. And Madeline, suddenlyrealizing that she was alone, rushed after him, calling his name softlyinto the dark. But only the echo of his firm, buoyant young feet cameback to her straining ears. She fled back to the garden and, throwingherself, face down, on the dew drenched grass, surrendered to a passionof tearless grief. 

Ted astonished his uncle, first by coming home a whole day earlier thanhe had been expected and second, by announcing his intention of seeingRobert Caldwell and making arrangements about the tutoring that veryday. He was more than usually uncommunicative about his house-partyexperiences the Doctor thought and fancied too that just at first afterhis return the boy did not meet his eyes quite frankly. But this soonpassed away and he was delighted and it must be confessed considerablyastounded too to perceive that Ted really meant to keep his word aboutthe studying and settled down to genuine hard work for perhaps the firsttime, in his idle, irresponsible young life. He had been prepared to puton the screws if necessary. There had been no need. Ted had applied hisown screws and kept at his uncongenial task with such grim determinationthat it almost alarmed his family, so contrary was his conduct to hisusual light-hearted shedding of all obligations which he could, by hookor crook, evade. 

Among other things to be noted with relief the doctor counted the factthat there were no more letters from Florence. Apparently that flamewhich had blazed up rather brightly at first had died down as a good manyothers had. Doctor Holiday was particularly glad in this case. He had notliked the idea of his nephew's running around with a girl who would bewilling to go "joy-riding" with him after midnight, and still less had heliked the idea of his nephew's issuing such invitations to any kind ofgirl. Youth was youth and he had never kept a very tight rein on any ofNed's children, believing he could trust them to run straight in themain. Still there were things one drew the line at for a Holiday. 

CHAPTER X

TONY DANCES INTO A DISCOVERY

Tony was dressing for dinner on her first evening at Crest House. Carlotta was perched on the arm of a chair near by, catching up on mutualgossip as to events that had transpired since they parted a month beforeat Northampton. 

"I have a brand new young man for you, Tony. Alan Massey--the artist. Atleast he calls himself an artist, though he hasn't done a thing butphilander and travel two or three times around the globe, so near as Ican make out, since somebody died and left him a disgusting big fortune. Aunt Lottie hints that he is very improper, but anyway he is amusing anddifferent and a dream of a dancer. It is funny, but he makes me think alittle bit once in a while of somebody we both know. I won't tell youwho, and see if the same thing strikes you. "

A little later Tony met the "new young man. " She was standing with herfriend in the big living room waiting for the signal for dinner when shefelt suddenly conscious of a new presence. She turned quickly and saw astranger standing on the threshold regarding her with a ratherdisconcertingly intent gaze. He was very tall and foreign-looking, "different, " as Carlotta had said, with thick, waving blue-black hair, aclear, olive skin and deep-set, gray-green eyes. There was nothing abouthim that suggested any resemblance to anyone she knew. Indeed she had afeeling that there was nobody at all like him anywhere in the world. 

The newcomer walked toward her, their glances crossing. Tony stood verystill, but she had an unaccountable sensation of going to meet him, as ifhe had drawn her to him, magnet-wise, by his strange, sweeping look. Theywere introduced. He bowed low in courtly old world fashion over thegirl's hand. 

"I am enchanted to know Miss Holiday, " he said. His voice was as unusualas the rest of him, deep-throated, musical, vibrant--an unforgettablevoice it seemed to Tony who for a moment seemed to have lost her own. 

"I shall sit beside Miss Tony to-night, Carla, " he added. It was not aquestion, not a plea. It was clear assertion. 

"Not to-night, Alan. You are between Aunt Lottie and Mary Frances Day. You liked Mary Frances yesterday. You flirted with her outrageouslylast night. "

He shrugged. 

"Ah, but that was last night, my dear. And this is to-night. And I haveseen your Miss Tony. That alters everything, even your seatingarrangements. Change me, Carlotta. "

Carlotta laughed and capitulated. Alan's highhanded tactics alwaysamused her. 

"Not that you deserve it, " she said. "Don't be too nice to him, Tony. Heis not a nice person at all. "

So it happened that Tony found herself at dinner between Ted's friend, and her own, Hal Underwood, and this strange, impossible, arbitrary, new personage who had hypnotized her into unwonted silence at theirfirst meeting. 

She had recovered her usual poise by this time, however, and was quiteprepared to keep Alan Massey in due subjection if necessary. She did notlike masterful men. They always roused her own none too dormantwillfulness. 

As they sat down he bent over to her. 

"You are glad I made Carlotta put us together, " he said, and this, too, was no question, but an assertion. 

Tony was in arms in a flash. 

"On the contrary, I am exceedingly sorry she gave in to you. You seem tobe altogether too accustomed to having your own way as it is. " And ratherpointedly she turned her pretty shoulder on her too presuming neighborand proceeded to devote her undivided attention for two entire courses toHal Underwood. 

But, with the fish, Hal's partner on the other side, a slim young personin a glittering green sequined gown, suggesting a fish herself, or, atpolitest, a mermaid, challenged his notice and Tony returned perforce toher left-hand companion who had not spoken a single word since she hadsnubbed him as Tony was well aware, though she had seemed so entirelyabsorbed in her own conversation with Hal. 

His gray-green eyes smiled imperturbably into hers. 

"Am I pardoned? Surely I have been punished enough for my sins, whateverthey may have been. "

"I hope so, " said Tony. "Are you always so disagreeable?"

"I am never disagreeable when I am having my own way. I am always goodwhen I am happy. At this moment I am very, very good. "

"It hardly seems possible, " said Tony. "Carlotta said you were notgood at all. "

He shrugged, a favorite mannerism, it seemed. 

"Goodness is relative and a very dull topic in any case. Let us talk, instead, of the most interesting subject in the universe--love. Youknow, of course, I am madly in love with you. "

"Indeed, no. I didn't suspect it, " parried Tony. "You fall in loveeasily. "

"Scarcely easily, in this case. I should say rather upon tremendousprovocation. I suppose you know how beautiful you are. "

"I look in the mirror occasionally, " admitted Tony with a glimmer ofmischief in her eyes. "Carlotta told me you were a philanderer. Forewarned is forearmed, Mr. Massey. "

"Ah, but this isn't philandery. It is truth. " Suddenly the mockery haddied out of his voice and his eyes. "_Carissima, _ I have waited a verylong time for you--too long. Life has been an arid waste without you, but, Allah be praised, you are here at last. You are going to loveme--ah, my Tony--how you are going to love me!" The last words werespoken very low for the girl's ears alone, though more than one person atthe table seeing him bend over her, understood, that Alan Massey, thatprofessional master-lover was "off" again. 

"Don't, Mr. Massey. I don't care for that kind of jest. "

"Jest! Good God! Tony Holiday, don't you know that I mean it, that this, is the real thing at last for me--and for you? Don't fight it, Mademoiselle Beautiful. It will do no good. I love you and you are goingto love me--divinely. "

"I don't even like you, " denied Tony hotly. 

"What of that? What do I care for your liking? That is for others. Butyour loving--that shall be mine--all mine. You will see. "

"I am afraid you are very much mistaken if you do mean all you aresaying. Please talk to Miss Irvine now. You haven't said a word to hersince you sat down. I hate rudeness. "

Again Tony turned a cold shoulder upon her amazing dinner companion butshe did not do it so easily or so calmly this time. She was not unusedto the strange ways of men. Not for nothing had she spent so much of herlife at army posts where love-making is as familiar as brass buttons. Sudden gusts of passion were no novelty to her, nor was it a new thingto hear that a man thought he loved her. But Alan Massey was different. She disliked him intensely, she resented the arrogance of hisassumptions with all her might, but he interested her amazingly. And, incredible as it might seem and not to be admitted out loud, he wasspeaking the truth, just now. He did love her. In her heart Tony knewthat she had felt his love before he had ever spoken a word to her whentheir eyes had met as he stood on the threshold and she knew tooinstinctively, that his love--if it was that--was not a thing to betreated like the little summer day loves of the others. It was big, rather fearful, not to be flouted or played with. One did not play witha meteor when it crossed one's path. One fled from it or stayed and letit destroy one if it would. 

She roused herself to think of other people, to forget Alan Massey andhis wonderful voice which had said such perturbing things. Over acrossthe table, Carlotta was talking vivaciously to a pasty-visaged, narrow-chested, stoop-shouldered youth who scarcely opened his mouthexcept to consume food, but whose eyes drank in every movement ofCarlotta's. One saw at a glance he was another of that spoiled littlecoquette's many victims. Tony asked Hal who he was. He seemed scarcelyworth so many of Carlotta's sparkles, she thought. 

"Herb Lathrop--father is the big tea and coffee man--all rolled up inmillions. Carlotta's people are putting all the bets on him, apparently, though for the life of me I can't see why. Don't see why people withmoney are always expected to match up with somebody with a wholecaboodle of the same junk. Ought to be evened up I think, and a bit ofeugenics slipped in, instead of so much cash, for good measure. You cansee what a poor fish he is. In my opinion she had much better marry yourneighbor up there on the Hill. He is worth a gross of Herb Lathrops andshe knows it. Carlotta is no fool. "

"You mean Phil Lambert?" Tony was surprised. 

Hal nodded. 

"That's the chap. Only man I ever knew that could keep Carlotta inorder. "

"But Carlotta hasn't the slightest idea of marrying Phil, " objected Tony. 

"Maybe not. I only say he is the man she ought to marry. I say, Tony, does she seem happy to you?"

"Carlotta! Why, yes. I hadn't thought. She seems gayer than usual, ifanything. " Tony's eyes sought her friend's face. Was there something alittle forced about that gaiety of hers? For the first time it struck herthat there was a restlessness in the lovely violet eyes which wasunfamiliar. Was Carlotta unhappy? Evidently Hal thought so. "You havesharp eyes, Hal, " she commented. "I hadn't noticed. "

"Oh, I'm one of the singed moths you know. I know Carlotta pretty welland I know she is fighting some kind of a fight--maybe with herself. Irather think it is. Tell Phil Lambert to come down here and marry her outof hand. I tell you Lambert's the man. "

"You think Carlotta loves Phil?"

"I don't think. 'Tisn't my business prying into a girl's fancies. I'msimply telling you Phil Lambert is the man that ought to marry her, andif he doesn't get on to the job almighty quick that pop-eyed simpletonover there will be prancing down the aisle to Lohengrin with Carlottabefore Christmas, and the jig will be up. You tell him what I say. Andstudy the thing a bit yourself while you are here, Tony. See if you canget to the bottom of it. I hate to have her mess things up for herselfthat way. "

Whereupon Hal once more proceeded to do his duty to the mermaid, leavingTony to her other partner. 

"Well, " the latter murmured, seeing her free. "I have done the heavypolite act, discussed D'Annunzio, polo and psycho-analysis and finishedall three subjects neatly. Do I get my reward?"

"What do you ask?"

"The first dance and then the garden and the moon and you--all tomyself. "

Tony shook her head. She was on guard. 

"I shall want more than one dance and more than one partner. I am afraidI shan't have time for the moon and the garden to-night. I adore dancing. I never stop until the music does. "

A flash of exultancy leaped into his eyes. 

"So? I might have known you would adore dancing. You shall have yourfill. You shall have many dances, but only one partner. I shall suffice. I am one of the best dancers in the world. "

"And evidently one of the vainest men, " coolly. 

"What of it? Vanity is good when it is not misplaced. But I was notboasting. I _am_ one of the best dancers in the world. Why should I notbe? My mother was Lucia Vannini. She danced before princes. " He mighthave added, "She was a prince's mistress. " It had been the truth. 

"Oh!" cried Tony. She had heard of Lucia Vannini--a famous Italian beautyand dancer of three decades ago. So Alan Massey was her son. No wonder hewas foreign, different, in ways and looks. One could forgive hisextravagances when one knew. 

"Ah, you like that, my beauty? You will like it even better when youhave danced with me. It is then that you will know what it is to dance. We shall dance and dance and--love. I shall make you mine dancing, _Toinetta mia_. "

Tony shrank back from his ardent eyes and his veiled threat. She was apassionate devotee of her own freedom. She did not want to be made his orany man's--certainly not his. She decided not to dance with him at all. But later, when the violins began to play and Alan Massey came and stoodbefore her, uttering no word but commanding her to him with his eyes andhis out-stretched, nervous, slender, strong, artist hands, sheyielded--could scarcely have refused if she had wanted to. But she didnot want to, though she told herself it was with Lucia Vannini's sonrather than with Alan Massey that she desired to dance. 

After that she thought not at all, gave herself up to the very ecstasy ofemotion. She had danced all her life, but, even as he had predicted, shelearned for the first time in this man's arms what dancing really was. Itwas like nothing she had ever even dreamed of--pure poetry of motion, acurious, rather alarming weaving into one of two vividly alive persons ina kind of pagan harmony, a rhythmic rapture so intense it almost hurt. Itseemed as if she could have gone on thus forever. 

But suddenly she perceived that she and her partner had the floor alone, the others had stopped to watch, though the musicians still played onfrenziedly, faster and faster. Flushed, embarrassed at finding herselfthus conspicuous, she drew herself away from Alan Massey. 

"We must stop, " she murmured. "They are all looking at us. "

"What of it?" He bent over her, his passionate eyes a caress. "Did I nottell you, _carissima_ Was it not very heaven?"

Tony shook her head. 

"I am afraid there was nothing heavenly about it. But it was wonderful. Iforgive you your boasting. You are the best dancer in the world. I amsure of it. "

"And you will dance with me again and again, my wonder-girl. You must. You want to. "

"I want to, " admitted Tony. "But I am not going to--at least not againto-night. Take me to a seat. "

He did so and she sank down with a fluttering sigh beside Miss LottieCressy, Carlotta's aunt. The latter stared at her, a little oddly shethought, and then looked up at Alan Massey. 

"You don't change, do you, Alan?" observed Miss Cressy. 

"Oh yes, I change a great deal. I have been very different ever since Imet Miss Tony. " His eyes fell on the girl, made no secret of his emotionsconcerning her and her beauty. 

Miss Cressy laughed a little sardonically. 

"No doubt. You were always different after each new sweetheart, I recall. So were they--some of them. "

"You do me too much honor, " he retorted suavely. "Shall we not go out, Miss Holiday? The garden is very beautiful by moonlight. "

She bowed assent, and together they passed out of the room through theFrench window. Miss Cressy stared after them, the bitter little smilestill lingering on her lips. 

"Youth for Alan always, " she said to herself. "Ah, well, I was young, too, those days in Paris. I must tell Carlotta to warn Tony. It would bea pity for the child to be tarnished so soon by touching his kind tooclose. She is so young and so lovely. "

Alan and Tony strayed to a remote corner of the spacious gardens andcame to a pause beside the fountain which leaped and splashed and caughtthe moonlight in its falling splendor. For a moment neither spoke. Tonybent to dip her fingers in the cool water. She had an odd feeling ofneeding lustration from something. The man's eyes were upon her. She wasvery young, very lovely, as Miss Cressy had said. There was somethingstrangely moving to Alan Massey about her virginal freshness, hermoonshine beauty. He was unaccustomed to compunction, but for a fleetingsecond, as he studied Tony Holiday standing there with bowed head, laving her hands in the sparkling purity of the water, he had an impulseto go away and leave her, lest he cast a shadow upon her by hislingering near her. 

It was only for a moment. He was far too selfish to follow the brief urgeto renunciation. The girl stirred his passion too deeply, roused his willto conquer too irresistibly to permit him to forego the privilege of theplace and hour. 

She looked up at him and he smiled down at her, once more themaster-lover. 

"I was right, was I not, _Toinetta mia_? I did make you a little bitmine, did I not? Be honest. Tell me. " He laid a hand on each of her barewhite shoulders, looked deep, deep into her brown eyes as if he wouldread secret things in their depths. 

Tony drew away from his hands, dropped her gaze once more to the ripplingwhite of the water, which was less disconcerting than Alan Massey's tooardent green eyes. 

"You danced with me divinely. I shall also make you love me divinely evenas I promised. You know it dear one. You cannot deny it, " the magicallybeautiful voice which pulled so oddly at her heart strings went onsoftly, almost in a sort of chant. "You love me already, my whitemoonshine girl, " he whispered. "Tell me you do. "

"Ah but I don't, " denied Tony. "I--I won't. I don't want to loveanybody. "

"You cannot help it, dear heart. Nature made you for loving and beingloved. And it is I that you are going to love. Mine that you shallbe. Tell me, did you ever feel before as you felt in there when wewere dancing?"

"No, " said Tony, her eyes still downcast. 

"I knew it. You are mine, belovedest. I knew it the moment I saw you. Itis Kismet. Kiss me. "

"No. " The girl pulled herself away from him, her face aflame. 

"No? Then so. " He drew her back to him, and lifted her face gently withhis two hands. He bent over her, his lips close to hers. 

"If you kiss me I'll never dance with you again as long as I live!"she flashed. 

He laughed a little mockingly, but he lowered his hands, made no effortto gainsay her will. 

"What a horrible threat, you cruel little moonbeam! But you wouldn't keepit. You couldn't. You love to dance with me too well. "

"I would, " she protested, the more sharply because she suspected he wasright, that she would dance with him again, no matter what he did. "Anyway I shall not dance with you again to-night. And I shall not stay outhere with you any longer. " She turned to flee, but he put out his handand held her back. 

"Not so fast, my Tony. They have eyes and ears in there. If you run awayfrom me and go back with those glorious fires lit in your cheeks and inyour eyes they will believe I did kiss you-. "

"Oh!" gasped Tony, indignant but lingering, recognizing the probabletruth of his prediction. 

"We shall go together after a minute with sedateness, as if we had beenstudying the stars. I am wise, my Tony. Trust me. "

"Very well, " assented Tony. "How many stars are there in the Pleiades, anyway?" she asked with sudden imps of mirth in her eyes. 

Again she felt on safe ground, sure that she had conquered and put atoo presuming male in his place. She had no idea that the laurels hadbeen chiefly not hers at all but Alan Massey's, who was quite as wiseas he boasted. 

But she kept her word and danced no more with Alan Massey that night. She did not dare. She hated Alan Massey, disapproved of him heartily andknew it would be the easiest thing in the world to fall in love withhim, especially if she let herself dance often with him as they haddanced to-night. 

And so, her very first night at Crest House, Antoinette Holidaydiscovered that, there was such a thing as love after all, and that ithad to be reckoned with whether you desired or not to welcome it atyour door. 

CHAPTER XI

THINGS THAT WERE NOT ALL ON THE CARD

After that first night in the garden Alan Massey did not try to make openlove to Tony again, but his eyes, following her wherever she moved, madeno secret of his adoration. He was nearly always by her side, driving offother devotees when he chose with a cool high-handedness which sometimesamused, sometimes infuriated Tony. She found the man a baffling andfascinating combination of qualities, all petty selfishness and colossalegotisms one minute, abounding in endless charms and graces and smallendearing chivalries the next; outrageously outspoken at times, at othertimes, reticent to the point of secretiveness; now reaching the mostextravagant pitch of high spirits, and then, almost without warning, submerged in moods of Stygian gloom from which nothing could rouse him. 

Tony came to know something of his romantic and rather mottled careerfrom Carlotta and others, even from Alan himself. She knew perfectly wellhe was not the kind of man Larry or her uncle would approve or tolerate. She disapproved of him rather heartily herself in many ways. At times shedisliked him passionately, made up her mind she would have no more to dowith him. At other times she was all but in love with him, and suspectedshe would have found the world an intolerably dull place with Alan Masseysuddenly removed from it. When they danced together she was dangerouslynear being what he had claimed she was or would be--all his. She knewthis, was afraid of it, yet she kept on dancing with him night afternight. It seemed as if she had to, as if she would have danced with himeven if she knew the next moment would send them both hurtling throughspace, like Lucifer, down to damnation. 

It was not until Dick Carson came down for a week end, some time later, that Tony discovered the resemblance in Alan to some one she knew ofwhich Carlotta had spoken. Incredibly and inexplicably Dick and Alanpossessed a shadowy sort of similarity. In most respects they were asdifferent in appearance as they were in personality. Dick's hair wasbrown and straight; Alan's, black and wavy. Dick's eyes were steadygray-blue; Alan's, shifty gray-green. Yet the resemblance was there, elusive, though it was. Perhaps it lay in the curve of the sensitivenostrils, perhaps in the firm contour of chin, perhaps in the arch of thebrow. Perhaps it was nothing so tangible, just a fleeting trick ofexpression. Tony did not know, but she caught the thing just as Carlottahad and it puzzled and interested her. 

She spoke of it to Alan the next morning after Dick's arrival, as theyidled together, stretched out on the sand, waiting for the others to comeout of the surf. 

To her surprise he was instantly highly annoyed and resentful. 

"For Heaven's sake, Tony, don't get the resemblance mania. It's adisgusting habit. I knew a woman once who was always chasing likenessesin people and prattling about them--got her in trouble once and servedher right. She told a young lieutenant that he looked extraordinarilylike a certain famous general of her acquaintance. It proved later thatthe young man had been born at the post where the general was stationedwhile the presumptive father was absent on a year's cruise. It had beenquite a prominent scandal at the time. "

"That isn't a nice story, Alan. Moreover it is entirely irrelevant. Butyou and Dick do look alike. I am not the only or the first person who sawit, either. "

Alan started and frowned. 

"Good Lord! Who else?" he demanded. 

"Carlotta!"

"The devil she did!" Alan's eyes were vindictive. Then he laughed. "Commend me to a girl's imagination! This Dick chap seems to be head overheels in love with you, " he added. 

"What nonsense!" denied Tony crisply, fashioning a miniature sandmountain as she spoke. 

"No nonsense at all, my dear. Perfectly obvious fact. Don't you suppose Iknow how a man looks when he is in love? I ought to. I've been in loveoften enough. "

Tony demolished her mountain with a wrathful sweep of her hand. 

"And registered all the appropriate emotions before the mirror, Isuppose. You make me sick, Alan. You are all pose. I don't believe thereis a single sincere thing about you. "

"Oh, yes, there is--are--two. "

"What are they?"

"One is my sincere devotion to yourself, my beautiful. The other--anequally sincere devotion to--_myself_. "

"I grant you the second, at least. "

"Don't pose, yourself, my darling. You know I love you. You pretend youdon't believe it, but you do. And way down deep in your heart you love mylove. It makes your heart beat fast just to think of it. See! Did I nottell you?" He had suddenly put out his hand and laid it over her heart. 

"Poor little wild bird! How its wings flutter!"

Tony got up swiftly from the sand, her face scarlet. She was indignant, self-conscious, betrayed. For her heart had been beating at a fearfulclip and she knew it. 

"How dare you touch me like that, Alan Massey? I detest you. I don't seewhy I ever listen to you at all, or let you come near me. "

Alan Massey, still lounging at her feet, looked up at her as she stoodabove him, slim, supple, softly rounded, adorably pretty and feminine inher black satin bathing suit and vivid, emerald hued cap. 

"I know why, " he said and rose, too, slowly, with the indolent grace of aleopard. "So do you, my Tony, " he added. "We both know. Will you dancewith me a great deal to-night?"

"No. "

"How many times?"

"Not at all. "

"Indeed! And does his Dick Highmightiness object to your dancing withme?"

"Dick! Of course not. He hasn't anything to do with it. I am not going todance with you because you are behaving abominably to-day, and you didyesterday and the day before that. I think you are nearly alwaysabominable, in fact. "

"Still, I am one of the best dancers in the world. It is a temptation, isit not, my own?"

He smiled his slow, tantalizing smile and, in spite of herself, Tonysmiled back. 

"It is, " she admitted. "You are a heavenly dancer, Alan. There is nodenying it. If you were Mephisto himself I think I would dance withyou--occasionally. "

"And to-night?"

"Once, " relented Tony. "There come the others at last. " And she ran offdown the yellow sands like a modern Atalanta. 

"My, but Tony is pretty to-night!" murmured Carlotta to Alan, whochanced to be standing near her as her friend fluttered by with Dick. "She looks like a regular flame in that scarlet chiffon. It is awfullydaring, but she is wonderful in it. "

"She is always wonderful, " muttered Alan moodily, watching the slender, graceful figure whirl and trip and flash down the floor like a gay poppypetal caught in the wind. 

Carlotta turned. Something in Alan's tone arrested her attention. 

"Alan, I believe, it is real with you at last, " she said. Up to thatmoment she had considered his affair with Tony as merely another of hismany adventures in romance, albeit possibly a slightly more extravagantone than usual. 

"Of course it is real--real as Hell, " he retorted. "I'm mad over her, Carla. I am going to marry her if I have to kill every man in the path toget to her, " savagely. 

"I am sorry, Alan. You must see Tony is not for the like of you. Youcan't get to her. I wish you wouldn't try. "

Dick and Tony passed close to them again. Tony was smiling up at herpartner and he was looking down at her with a gaze that betrayed hiscaring. Neither saw Alan and Carlotta. The savage light gleamed brighterin Alan's green eyes. 

"Carlotta, is there anything between them?" he demanded fiercely. 

"Nothing definite. He adores her, of course, and she is very fond of him. She feels as if he sort of belonged to her, I think. You know the story?"

"Tell me. "

Briefly Carlotta outlined the tale of how Dick had taken refuge in theHoliday barn when he had run away from the circus, and how Tony had foundhim, sick and exhausted from fatigue, hunger and abuse; how the Holidayshad taken him in and set him on his feet, and Tony had given him her ownmiddle name of Carson since he had none of his own. 

Alan listened intently. 

"Did he ever get any clue as to his identity?" he asked asCarlotta paused. 

"Never. "

"Has he asked Tony to marry him?"

"I don't think so. I doubt if he ever does, so long as he doesn't knowwho he is. He is very proud and sensitive, and has an almostsuperstitious veneration for the Holiday tradition. Being a Holiday inNew England is a little like being of royal blood, you know. I don'tbelieve you will ever have to make a corpse of poor Dick, Alan. "

"I don't mind making corpses. I rather think I should enjoy making one ofhim. I detest the long, lean animal. "

Had Alan known it, Dick had taken quite as thorough a dislike to hismagnificent self. At that very moment indeed, as he and Tony strolled inthe garden, Dick had remarked that he wished Tony wouldn't dance with"that Massey. "

"And why not?" she demanded, always quick to resent dictatorial airs. 

"Because he makes you--well--conspicuous. He hasn't any business to dancewith you the way he does. You aren't a professional but he makes you looklike one. "

"Thanks. A left-hand compliment but still a compliment!"

"It wasn't meant for one, " said Dick soberly. "I hate it. Of course youdance wonderfully yourself. It isn't just dancing with you. It is poetry, stuff of dreams and all the rest of it. I can see that, and I know itmust be a temptation to have a chance at a partner like that. Lord! Tony!No man in every day life has a right to dance the way he can. Heout-classes Castle. I hate that kind of a man--half woman. "

"There isn't anything of a woman about Alan, Dick. He is the mostvirulently male man I ever knew. "

Dick fell silent at that. Presently he began again. 

"Tony, please don't be offended at what I am going to say. I know it isnone of my business, but I wish you wouldn't keep on with this affairwith Massey. "

"Why not?" There was an aggressive sparkle in Tony's eyes. 

"People are talking. I heard them last night when you were dancing withhim. It hurts. Alan Massey isn't the kind of a man for a girl like you toflirt with. "

"Stuff and nonsense, Dicky! Any kind of a man is the kind for a girl toflirt with, if she keeps her head. "

"But Tony, honestly, this Massey hasn't a good reputation. "

"How do you know?"

"Newspaper men know a great deal. They have to. Besides, Alan Massey is acelebrity. He is written up in our files. "

"What does that mean?"

"It means that if he should die to-morrow all we would have to do wouldbe to put in the last flip. The biographical data is all on the cardready to shoot. "

"Dear me. That's rather gruesome, isn't it?" shivered Tony. "I'm glad I'mnot a celebrity. I'd hate to be stuck down on your old flies. Will I geton Alan's card if I keep on flirting with him?"

"Good Lord! I should hope not. "

"I suppose I wouldn't be in very good company. I don't mean Alan. Imean--his ladies. "

"Tony! Then you know?"

"About Alan's ladies? Oh, yes. He told me himself. "

Dick looked blank. What was a man to do in a case like this, finding hisbig bugaboo no bugaboo at all?

"I know a whole lot about Alan Massey, maybe more than is on your oldcard. I know his mother was Lucia Vannini, so beautiful and so giftedthat she danced in every court in Europe and was loved by a prince. Iknow how Cyril Massey, an American artist, painted her portrait andloved her and married her. I know how she worshiped him and wasabsolutely faithful to him to the day he died, when the very light oflife went out for her. "

"She managed to live rather cheerfully afterward, even without light, ifall the stories about her are true, " observed Dick, with, for him, unusual cynicism. 

"You don't understand. She had to live. "

"There are other ways of living than those she chose. "

"Not for her. She knew only two things--love and dancing. She was thrownfrom a horse the next year after her husband died. Dancing was over forher. There was only--her beauty left. Her husband's people wouldn't haveanything to do with her because she had been a dancer and because of theprince. Old John Massey, Cyril's uncle, turned her and her baby from hisdoor, and his cousin John and his wife refused even to see her. She saidshe would make them hear of her before she died. She did. "

"They heard all right. She, and her son too, must have been a thorn inthe flesh of the Masseys. They were all rigid Puritans I understand, especially old John. "

"Serve him right, " sniffed Tony. "They were rolling in wealth. They mighthave helped her kept her from the other thing they condemned so. Shewanted money only for Alan, especially after he began to show that he hadmore than his father's gifts. She earned it in the only way she knew. Idon't blame her. "

"Tony!"

"I can't help it if I am shocking you, Dick. I can understand why she didit. She didn't care anything about the lovers. She never cared for anyoneafter Cyril died. She gave herself for Alan. Can't you see that there wassomething rather fine about it? I can. "

Dick grunted. He remembered hearing something about a woman whose sinswere forgiven her because she loved much. But he couldn't reconcilehimself to hearing such stories from Tony Holiday's lips. They wereremote from the clean, sweet, wholesome atmosphere in which she belonged. 

"Anyway, Alan was a wonderful success. He studied in Paris and he hadpictures on exhibition in salons over there before he was twenty. He wasfêted and courted and flattered and--loved, until he thought the worldwas his and everything in it--including the ladies. " Tony made a littleface at this. She did not care very-much for that part of Alan's story, herself. "His mother was afraid he was going to have his head completelyturned and would lose all she had gained so hard for him, so she made himcome back to America and settle down. He did. He made a great name forhimself before he was twenty-five as a portrait painter and he and hismother lived so happily together. She didn't need any more lovers then. Alan was all she needed. And then she died, and he went nearly crazy withgrief, went all to pieces, every way. I suppose that part of his careeris what makes you say he isn't fit for me to flirt with. "

Dick nodded miserably. 

"It isn't very pleasant for me to think of, either, " admitted Tony. "Idon't like it any better than you do. But he isn't like that any more. When old John Massey died without leaving any will Alan got all themoney, because his cousin John and his stuck-up wife had died, too, andthere was nobody else. Alan pulled up stakes and traveled all over theworld, was gone two years and, when he came back, he wasn't dissipatedany more. I don't say he is a saint now. He isn't, I know. But he gotabsolutely out of the pit he was in after his mother's death. "

"Lucky for him they never found the baby John Massey, who was stolen, "Dick remarked. "He would have been the heir if he could have appeared toclaim the money instead of Alan Massey, who was only a grand nephew. "

Tony stared. 

"There wasn't any baby, " she exclaimed. 

"Oh yes, there was. John Massey, Junior, had a son John who was kidnappedwhen he was asleep in the park and deserted by his nurse who had gone toflirt with a policeman. There was a great fuss made about it at the time. The Masseys offered fabulous sums of money for the return of the child, but he never turned up. I had to dig up the story a few years ago whenold John died, which is why I know so much about it. "

"I don't believe Alan knew about the baby. He didn't tell me anythingabout it. "

"I'll wager he knew, all right. It would be mighty unpleasant for him ifthe other Massey turned up now. "

"Dick, I believe you would be glad if Alan lost the money, "reproached Tony. 

"Why no, Tony. It's nothing to me, but I've always been sorry for thatother Massey kid, though he doesn't know what he missed and is probably ajail-bird or a janitor by this time, not knowing he is heir to one ofthe biggest properties in America. "

"Sorry to disturb your theories, Mr. --er Carson, " remarked Alan Massey, suddenly appearing on the scene. "My cousin John happens to be neither ajail-bird nor a janitor, but merely comfortably dead. Lucky John!"

"But Dick said he wasn't dead--at least that nobody knew whether he wasor not, " objected Tony. 

"Unfortunately your friend is in error. John Massey is entirely dead, Iassure you. And now, if he is quite through with me and my affairs, perhaps Mr. Carson will excuse you. Come, dear. "

Alan laid a hand on Tony's arm with a proprietorial air which made Dickwrithe far more than his insulting manner to himself had done. Tonylooked quickly from one to the other. She hated the way Alan wasbehaving, but she did not want to precipitate a scene and yielded, leaving Dick, with a deprecatory glance, to go with Alan. 

"I don't like your manner, " she told the latter. "You were abominablyrude just now. "

"Forgive me, sweetheart. I apologize. That young man of yours sets myteeth on edge. I can't abide a predestined parson. I'll wager anything hehas been preaching at you. " He smiled ironically as he saw the girlflush. "So he did preach, --and against me, I suppose. "

"He did, and quite right, too. You are not at all a proper person for meto flirt with, just as he said. Even Miss Lottie told me that and whenMiss Lottie objects to a man it means--"

"That she has failed to hold him herself, " said Alan cynically. "Stop, Tony. I want to say something to you before we go in. I am not a properperson. I told you that myself. There have been other women in my life--agood many of them. I told you that, too. But that has absolutely nothingto do with you and me. I love you. You are the only woman I ever haveloved in the big sense, at least the only one I have ever wanted tomarry. I am like my mother. She had many lesser loves. She had only onegreat one. She married him. And I shall marry you. "

"Alan, don't. It is foolish--worse than foolish to talk like that. Mypeople would never let me marry you, even if I wanted to. Dick wasspeaking for them just now when he warned me against you. "

"He was speaking for himself. Damn him!"

"Alan!"

"I beg your pardon, Tony. I'm a brute to-night. I am sorry. I won'ttrouble you any more. I won't even keep you to your promise to dance oncewith me if you wish to be let off. "

The music floated out to them, called insistently to Tony's rhythm-madfeet and warm young blood. 

"Ah, but I do want to dance with you, " she sighed. "I don't want to belet off. Come. "

He bent over her, a flash of triumph in his eyes. 

"My own!" he exulted. "You are my own. Kiss me, belovedest. "

But Tony pulled away from him and he followed her. A moment later thescarlet flame was in his arms whirling down the hall to the music of theviolins, and Dick, standing apart by the window watching, tasted thedregs of the bitterest brew life had yet offered him. Better, far betterthan Tony Holiday he knew where the scarlet flame was blowing. 

His dance with Tony over, Alan retired to the library where he used thetelephone to transmit a wire to Boston, a message addressed to one JamesRoberts, a retired circus performer. 

CHAPTER XII

AND THERE IS A FLAME

When Alan Massey strayed into the breakfast room, one of the latestarrivals at that very informal meal, he found a telegram awaiting him. Itwas rather an odd message and ran thus, without capitalization orpunctuation. "Town named correct what is up let sleeping dogs lie sick. "Alan frowned as he thrust the yellow envelope into his pocket. 

"Does the fool mean he is sick, I wonder, " he cogitated. "Lord, I wish Icould let well enough alone. But this sword of Damocles business isbeginning to get on my nerves. I have half a mind to take a run into townthis afternoon and see the old reprobate. I'll bet he doesn't know asmuch as he claims to, but I'd like to be sure before he dies. "

Just then Tony Holiday entered, clad in a rose hued linen and lookinglike a new blown rose herself. 

"You are the latest ever, " greeted Carlotta. 

"On the contrary I have been up since the crack of dawn, " denied Tony, slipping into a seat beside her friend. 

Carlotta opened her eyes wide. Then she understood. 

"You got up to see Dick off, " she announced. 

"I did. Please give me some strawberries, Hal, if you don't mean to eatthe whole pyramid yourself. I not only got up, but I went to thestation; not only went to the station, but I walked the whole mile and ahalf. Can anybody beat that for a morning record?" Tony challenged as shedeluged her berries with cream. 

Alan Massey uttered a kind of a snarling sound such as a lion disturbedfrom a nap might have emitted. He had thought he was through with Carsonwhen the latter had made his farewells the night before, sayinggoodnight to Tony before them all. But Tony had gotten up at someridiculously early hour to escort him to the station, and did not mindeverybody's knowing it. He subsided into a dense mood of gloom. Themorning had begun badly. 

Later he discovered Tony in the rose garden with a big basket on her armand a charming drooping sun hat shading her even more charming face. Shewaved him away as he approached. 

"Go away, " she ordered. "I'm busy. "

"You mean you have made up your mind to be disagreeable to me, " heretorted, lighting a cigarette and looking as if he meant to fight it outalong that line if it took all summer. 

Tony snipped off a rose with her big shears and dropped it into herbasket. It rather looked as if she were meaning to snip off Alan Masseyfiguratively in much the same ruthless manner. 

"Put it that way, if you like. Only stay away. I mean it. "

"Why?" he persisted. 

Thus pressed she turned and faced him. 

"It is a lovely morning--all blue and gold and clean-washed after lastnight's storm--a good morning. I'm feeling good, too. The clean morninghas got inside of me. And when you come near me I feel a pricking in mythumbs. You don't fit into my present, mood. Please go, Alan. I amperfectly serious. I don't want to talk to you. "

"What have I done? I am no different from what I was yesterday. "

"I know. It isn't anything you have done. It isn't you at all. It is Iwho am different--or want to be. " Tony spoke earnestly. She was perfectlysincere. She did want to be different. She had not slept well the nightbefore. She had thought a great deal about Holiday Hill and Uncle Philand her brothers and--well, yes--about Dick Carson. They all armed heragainst Alan Massey. 

Alan threw away his cigarette with an angry gesture. 

"You can't play fast and loose with me, Tony Holiday. You have beenleading me on, playing the devil with me for days. You know you have. Nowyou are scared, and want to get back to shallow water. It is too late. You are in deep seas and you've got to stay there--with me. "

"I haven't _got_ to do anything, Alan. You are claiming more than youhave any right to claim. "

But he came nearer, towered above her, almost menacingly. 

"Because that nameless fool of a reporter with his sanctimonious airs andimpeccable morals, has put you against me you want to sack me. You can'tdo it. Last night you were ready to go any lengths with me. You know it. Do you think I am going to be balked by a miserable circus brat--a merenobody? Not so long as I am Alan Massey. Count on that. "

Tony's dark eyes were ablaze with anger. 

"Stop there, Alan. You are saying things that are not true. And I forbidyou ever to speak of Dick like that again to me. "

"Indeed! And how are you going to prevent my saying what I please aboutyour precious protégé?" sneered Alan. 

"I shall tell Carlotta I won't stay under the same roof with anybody whoinsults my friends. You won't have to restrain yourself long in any case. I am leaving Saturday--perhaps sooner. "

"Tony!" The sneer died away from Alan's face, which had suddenly grownwhite. "You mustn't go. I can't live without you, my darling. If you knewhow I worshiped you, how I cannot sleep of nights for wanting you, youwouldn't talk of going away from me. I was brutal just now. I admit it. It is because I love you so. The thought of your turning from me, deserting me, maddened me. I am not responsible for what I said. You mustforgive me. But, oh my belovedest, you are mine! Don't try to deny it. Wehave belonged to each other for always. You know it. You feel it. I haveseen the knowledge in your eyes, felt it flutter in your heart. Will youmarry me, Tony Holiday? You shall be loved as no woman was ever loved. You shall be my queen. I will be true to you forever and ever, yourslave, your mate. Tony, Tony, say yes. You must!"

But Tony drew back from him, frightened, repulsed, shocked, by thestorm of his passion which shook him as mighty trees are shaken bytempests. She shrank from the hungry fires in his eyes, from theabandon and fierceness of his wooing. It was an alien, disturbing, dreadful thing to her. 

"Don't, " she implored. "You mustn't love me like that, Alan. Youmust not. "

"How can I help it, sweetheart? I am no iceberg. I am a man and you arethe one woman in the world for me. I love you--love you. I want you. I'mgoing to have you--make you mine--marry you, bell and book, what youwill, so long as you are mine--mine--mine. "

Tony set down her basket, clasped her hands behind her and stood lookingstraight up into his face. 

"Listen, Alan. I cannot marry you. I couldn't, even if I loved you, andI don't think I do love you, though you fascinate me and, when we aredancing, I forget all the other things in you that I hate. I have beenvery foolish and maybe unkind to let it go on so far. I didn't quite knowwhat I was doing. Girls don't know. That is why they play with men asthey do. They don't mean to be cruel. They just don't know. "

"But you know now, my Tony?" His dark, stormy face was very close tohers. Tony felt her heart leap but she did not flinch nor pull awaythis time. 

"Yes, Alan, I know, in a way, at least. We mustn't go on like this. It isbad for us both. I'll tell Carlotta I am going home to-morrow. "

"You want--to go away from me?" The haunting music of his voice, moremoving in its hurt than in its mastery of mood, stirred Tony Holidayprofoundly, but she steadied herself by a strong effort of will. She mustnot let him sweep her away from her moorings. She must not. She mustremember Holiday Hill very hard. 

"I have to, Alan, " she said. "I am very sorry if I have hurt you, amhurting you. But I can't marry you. That is final. The sooner we endthings the better. "

"By God! It isn't final. It never will be so long as you and I are bothalive. You will come to me of your own accord. You will love me. You dolove me now. But you are letting the world come in between where it hasno right to come. I tell you you are mine--mine!"

"No, no!" denied Tony. 

"And I say yes, my love. You are my love. I have set my seal upon you. You can go away, back to your Hill, but you will not be happy without me. You will never forget me for a waking moment. You cannot. You are a partof me, forever. "

There was something solemn, inexorable in Alan's tones. A strange fearclutched at Tony's heart. Was he right? Could she never forget him?Would he always be a part of her--forever? No, that was nonsense! Howcould it be true? How could he have set his seal upon her when he hadnever even kissed her? She would not let him hypnotize her intobelieving his prophecy. 

She stooped mechanically to pick up her roses and remembered the storyof Persephone gathering lilies in the vale of Enna and suddenly borneoff by the coal black horses of Dis to the dark kingdom of the lowerworld. Was she Persephone? Had she eaten of the pomegranate seeds whileshe danced night after night in Alan Massey's arms? No, she would notbelieve it. She was free. She would exile Alan Massey from her heart andlife. She must. 

This resolve was in her eyes as she lifted them to Alan's. The fire haddied out of his now, and his face was gray and drawn in the sunshine. Hismood had changed as his moods so often did swiftly. 

"Forgive me, Tony, " he said humbly. "I have troubled you, frightened you. I am sorry. You needn't go away. I will go. I don't want to spoil onemoment of happiness for you. I never shall, except when the devil is inme. Please try to remember that. Say always, 'Alan loves me. No matterwhat he does or says, he loves me. His love is real, if nothing elseabout him is. ' You do believe that, don't you, dearest?" he pleaded. 

"I do, Alan. I have always believed it, I think, ever since that firstnight, though I have tried not to. I am very sorry though. Love--yourkind of love is a fearful thing. I am afraid of it. "

"It is fearful, but beautiful too--very beautiful--like fire. Did youever think what a strange dual element fire is? It consumes--is a forceof destruction. But it also purifies, burns out dross. Love is likethat, my Tony. Mine for you may damn me forever, or it may take me to thevery gate of Heaven. I don't know myself which it will be. "

As he spoke there was a strange kind of illumination on his face, a lookalmost of spiritual exaltation. It awed Tony, bereft her of words. Thiswas a new Alan Massey--an Alan Massey she had never seen before, and shefound herself looking up instead of down at him. 

He stooped and kissed her hand reverently, as a devotee might pay homageat the shrine of a saint. 

"I shall not see you again until to-night, Tony. I am going into town. But I shall be back--for one more dance with you, heart's dearest. Andthen I promise I will go away and leave you tomorrow. You will dance withme, Tony--once? We shall have that one perfect thing to remember?"

Tony bowed assent. And in a moment she was alone with her roses. 

That afternoon she shut herself in her room to write letters to the homepeople whom she had neglected badly of late. Every moment had been sofull since she had come to Carlotta's. There had been so little time towrite and when she had written it had given little of what she was reallyliving and feeling--just the mere externals and not all of them, as shewas very well aware. They would never understand her relation with Alan. They would disapprove, just as Dick had disapproved. Perhaps she did notunderstand, herself, why she had let herself get so deeply entangled insomething which could not go on, something, which was the profoundestfolly, if nothing worse. 

The morning had crystallized her fear of the growing complication of thesituation. She was glad Alan was going away, glad she had had thestrength of will to deny him his will, glad that she could now--afterto-night--come back into undisputed possession of the kingdom of herself. But in her heart she was gladder that there was to-night and that onelast dance with Alan Massey before life became simple and sane and tameagain, and Alan and his wild love passed out of it forever. 

She finished her letters, which were not very satisfactory after all. How could one write real letters when one's pen was writing one thingand one's thoughts were darting hither and thither about very differentbusiness? She threw herself in the chaise longue, not yet ready todress and go down to join the others. There was nobody there she caredto talk to, somehow. Alan was not there. Nobody else mattered. It hadcome to that. 

Idly she picked up a volume of verse that lay beside her on the table andfluttered its pages, seeking something to meet her restless mood. Presently in her vagrant seeking she chanced upon a little poem--a poemshe read and reread, twice, three times. 

 "For there is a flame that has blown too near, And there is a name that has grown too dear, And there is a fear. And to the still hills and cool earth and far sky I make moan. The heart in my bosom is not my own!Oh, would I were free as the wind on wing!Love is a terrible thing!"

Tony laid the book face down upon the table, still open at the littleverse. The shadows were growing long out there in the dusk. The lateafternoon sun was pale honey color. A soft little breeze stirred thebranches of a weeping willow tree and set them to swaying languorously. Unseen birds twittered happily among the shrubbery. A golden butterflypoised for a moment above the white holly hocks and then drifted off overthe flaming scarlet poppies and was lost to sight. 

It was all so beautiful, so serene. She felt that it should have comelike a benediction, cooling the fever of her tired mind, but it did not. It could not even drive the words of the poem out of her head. 

Oh, would I were free as the wind on wing!Love is a terrible thing!

CHAPTER XIII

BITTER FRUIT

From the North Station in Boston Alan Massey directed his course to asmall cigar store on Atlantic Avenue. A black eyed Italian lad inattendance behind the counter looked up as he entered and surveyed himwith grave scrutiny. 

"I am Mr. Massey, " announced Alan. "Mr. Roberts is expecting me. Iwired. "

"Jim's sick, " said the boy briefly. 

"I am sorry. I hope he is not too sick to see me. "

"Naw, he'll see you. He wants to. " The speaker motioned Alan to followhim to the rear of the store. Together they mounted some narrow stairs, passed through a hallway and into a bedroom, a disorderly, dingy, obviously man-kept affair. On the bed lay a large framed, exceedinglyugly looking man. His flesh was yellow and sagged loosely away from hisbig bones. The impression he gave was one of huge animal bulk, shrivelingaway in an unlovely manner, getting ready to disintegrate entirely. Theman was sick undoubtedly. Possibly dying. He looked it. 

The door shut with a soft click. The two men were alone. 

"Hello, Jim. " Alan approached the bed. "Bad as this? I am sorry. " Hespoke with the careless, easy friendliness he could assume when itsuited him. 

The man grinned, faintly, ironically. The grin did not lessen theugliness of his face, rather accentuated it. 

"It's not so bad, " he drawled. "Nothing but death and what's that? Idon't suffer much--not now. It's cancer, keeps gnawing away like a rat inthe wall. By and by it will get up to my heart and then it's good-by Jim. I shan't care. What's life good for that a chap should cling to it like abarnacle on a rock?"

"We do though, " said Alan Massey. 

"Oh, yes, we do. It's the way we're made. We are always clinging tosomething, good or bad. Life, love, home, drink, power, money! Alwayssomething we are ready to sell our souls to get or keep. With you and meit was money. You sold your soul to me to keep money and I took it toget money. "

He laughed raucously and Alan winced at the sound and cursed the morbidcuriosity that had brought him to the bedside of this man who for threeyears past had held his own future in his dirty hand, or claimed to holdit. Alan Massey had paid, paid high for the privilege of not knowingthings he did not wish to know. 

"What kind of a trail had you struck when you wired me, Massey? I didn'tknow you were anxious for details about young John Massey's career Ithought you preferred ignorance. It was what you bought of me. "

"I know it was, " groaned Alan, dropping into a creaking rocker beside thebed. "I am a fool. I admit it. But sometimes it seems to me I can't standnot knowing. I want to squeeze what you know out of you as you wouldsqueeze a lemon until there was nothing left but bitter pulp. It isdriving me mad. "

The sick man eyed the speaker with a leer of malicious satisfaction. Itwas meat to his soul to see this lordly young aristocrat racked withmisery and dread, to hold him in his power as a cat holds a mouse, whichit can crush and crunch at any moment if it will. Alan Massey's moodfilled Jim Roberts with exquisite enjoyment, enjoyment such as a gourmandfeels on setting his teeth in some rare morsel of food. 

"I know, " he nodded. "It works like that often. They say a murderer can'tkeep away from the scene of his crime if he is left at large. There is anirresistible fascination to him about the spot where he damned hisimmortal soul. "

"I'm not a criminal, " snarled Alan. "Don't talk to me like that or youwill never see another cent of my money. "

"Money!" sneered the sick man. "What's that to me now? I've lost my tastefor money. It is no good to me any more. I've got enough laid by to buryme and I can't take the rest with me. Your money is nothing to me, AlanMassey. But you'll pay still, in a different way. I am glad you came. Itis doing me good. "

Alan made a gesture of disgust and got to his feet, pacing to and fro, his face dark, his soul torn, between conflicting emotions. 

"I'll be dead soon, " went on the malicious, purring voice from the bed. "Don't begrudge me my last fling. When I am in my grave you will be safe. Nobody in the living world but me knows young John Massey's alive. Youcan keep your money then with perfect ease of mind until you get to whereI am now and then, --maybe you will find out the money will comfort you nolonger, that nothing but having a soul can get you over the river. "

The younger man's march came to a halt by the bedside. 

"You shan't die until you tell me what you know about John Massey, " hesaid fiercely. 

"You're a fool, " said James Roberts. "What you don't know you are notresponsible for--you can forget in a way. If you insist on hearing thewhole story you will never be able to get away from it to your dying day. John Massey as an abstraction is one thing. John Massey as a live humanbeing, whom you have cheated out of a name and a fortune, is another. "

"I never cheated him of a name. You did that. "

The man grunted. 

"Right. That is on my bill. Lord knows, I wish it wasn't. Little enoughdid I ever get out of that particular piece of deviltry. I over-reachedmyself, was a darned little bit too smart. I held on to the boy, thinkingI'd get more out of it later, and he slid out of my hands like an eel andI had nothing to show for it, until you came along and I saw a chance tomake a new deal at your expense. You fell for it like a lamb to theslaughter. I'll never forget your face when I told you John Massey wasalive and that I could produce him in a minute for the courts. If I had, your name would have been Dutch, young man. You'd never have gotten alook in on the money. You had the sense to see that. Old John diedwithout a will. His grandson and not his grand-nephew was his heirprovided anybody could dig up the fellow, and I was the boy that could dothat. I proved that to you, Alan Massey. "

"You proved nothing. You scared me into handing you over a whole lot ofmoney, you blackmailing rascal, I admit that. But you didn't proveanything. You showed me the baby clothes you said John Massey wore whenhe was stolen. The name might easily enough have been stamped on thelinen later. You showed me a silver rattle marked 'John Massey. ' Theinscription might also easily enough have been added later at a crook'sconvenience. You showed me some letters purporting to have been writtenby the woman who stole the child and was too much frightened by her crimeto get the gains she planned to win from it. The letters, too, mighteasily have been forgery. The whole thing might have been a cock and bullstory, fabricated by a rotten, clever mind like yours, to apply the moneyscrew to me. "

"True, " chuckled Jim Roberts. "Quite true. I wondered at your credulityat the time. "

"You rat! So it was all a fake, a trap?"

"You would like to believe that, wouldn't you? You would like to have adying man's oath that there was nothing but a pack of lies to the wholething, blackmail of the crudest, most unsupportable variety?"

Alan bent over the man, shook his fist in the evil, withered old face. 

"Damn you, Jim Roberts! Was it a lie or was it not?"

"Keep your hands off me, Alan Massey. It was the truth. Sarah Nelson didsteal the child just as I told you. She gave the child to me when she wasdying a few months later. I'll give my oath on that if you like. "

Alan brushed his hand across his forehead, and sat down again limply inthe creaking rocker. 

"Oh, you are willing to believe that again now, are you?" mocked Roberts. 

"I've got to, I suppose. Go on. Tell me the rest. I've got to know. Didyou really make a circus brat of John Massey and did he really run awayfrom you? That is all you told me before, you remember. "

"It was all you wanted to know. Besides, " the man smiled his diabolicalgrin again, "there was a reason for going light on the details. At thetime I held you up I hadn't any more idea than you had where John Masseywas, nor whether he was even alive. It was the weak spot in my armor. But you were so panic stricken at the thought of having to give up yourgentleman's fortune that you never looked at the hollowness of the thing. You could have bowled over my whole scheme in a minute by being honestand telling me to bring on your cousin, John Massey. But you didn't. Youwere only too afraid I would bring him on before you could buy me off. Iknew I could count on your being blind and rotten. I knew my man. "

"Then you don't know now whether John Massey is alive or not?" Alan askedafter a pause during which he let the full irony of the man's confessionsink into his heart and turn there like a knife in a wound. 

"That is where you're dead wrong. I do know. I made it my business tofind out. It was too important to have an invulnerable shield not topatch up the discrepancy as early as possible. It took me a year to getmy facts and it cost a good chink of the filthy, but I got them. I notonly know that John Massey is alive but I know where he is and what he isdoing. I could send for him to-morrow, and cook your goose for youforever, young man. "

He pulled himself up on one elbow to peer into Alan's gloomy face. 

"I may do it yet, " he added. "You needn't offer me hush money. It's nogood to me, as I told you. I don't want money. I only want to pass thetime until the reaper comes along. You'll grant that it would be amusingto me to watch the see-saw tip once more, to see you go down and yourcousin John come up. "

Alan was on his feet again now, striding nervously from door to windowand back again. He had wanted to know. Now he knew. He had knowledgebitter as wormwood. The man had lied before. He was not lying now. 

"What made you send that wire? Were you on the track, too, trying tofind out on your own where your cousin is?"

"Not exactly. Lord knows I didn't want to know. But I had a queer hunch. Some coincidences bobbed up under my nose that I didn't like the looksof. I met a young man a few days ago that was about the age John wouldhave been, a chap with a past, who had run away from a circus. The thingstuck in my crop, especially as there was a kind of shadowy resemblancebetween us that people noticed. "

"That is interesting. And his name?"

"He goes under the name of Carson--Richard Carson. "

Roberts nodded. 

"The same. Good boy. You have succeeded in finding your cousin. Congratulations!" he cackled maliciously. 

"Then it really is he?"

"Not a doubt of it. He was taken up by a family named Holiday in Dunbury, Massachusetts. They gave him a home, saw that he got some schooling, started him on a country newspaper. He was smart, took to books, gotahead, was promoted from one paper to another. He is on a New York dailynow, making good still, I'm told. Does it tally?"

Alan bowed assent. It tallied all too well. The lad he had insulted, jeered at, hated with instinctive hate, was his cousin, John Massey, thethird, whom he had told the other was quite dead. John Massey was verymuch alive and was the rightful heir to the fortune which Alan Massey wasspending as the heavens had spent rain yesterday. 

It was worse than that. If the other was no longer nameless, had theright to the same fine, old name that Alan himself bore, and had toooften disgraced, the barrier between him and Tony Holiday was sweptaway. That was the bitterest drop in the cup. No wonder he hatedDick--hated him now with a cumulative, almost murderous intensity. He hadmocked at the other, but how should he stand against him in fair field?It was he--Alan Massey--that was the outcast, his mother a woman ofdoubtful fame, himself a follower of false fires, his life ignoble, wayward, erratic, unclean? Would it not be John rather than Alan MasseyTony Holiday would choose, if she knew all? This ugly, venomous, sin-scarred old rascal held his fate in the hollow of his evil old hand. 

The other was watching him narrowly, evidently striving to followhis thoughts. 

"Well?" he asked. "Going to beat me at my own game, give yourcousin his due?"

"No, " curtly. 

"Queer, " mused the man. "A month ago I would have understood it. It wouldhave seemed sensible enough to hold on to the cold cash at any risk. Nowit looks different. Money is filthy stuff, man. It is what they put ondead eye-lids to keep them down. Sometimes we put it on our own livinglids to keep us from seeing straight. You are sure the money's worth somuch to you, Alan Massey?"

The man's eyes burned livid, like coals. It was a strange and rathersickening thing, Alan Massey thought, to hear him talk like this afterhaving lived the rottenest kind of a life, sunk in slime for years. 

"The money is nothing to me, " he flung back. "Not now. I thought it wasworth considerable when I drove that devilish bargain with you to keepit. It has been worse than nothing, if you care to know. It killed myart--the only decent thing about me--the only thing I had a right to takehonest pride in. John Massey might have every penny of it to-morrow forall I care if that were all there were to it. "

"What else is there?" probed the old man. 

"None of your business, " snarled Alan. Not for worlds would he havespoken Tony Holiday's name in this spot, under the baleful gleam of thosedying eyes. 

The man chuckled maliciously. 

"You don't need to tell me, I know. There's always a woman in it when aman takes the path to Hell. Does she want money? Is that why you musthang on to the filthy stuff?"

"She doesn't want anything except what I can't give her, thanks to youand myself--the love of a decent man. "

"I see. When we meet _the_ woman we wish we'd sowed fewer wild oats. Iwent through that myself once. She was a white lily sort of girl andI--well, I'd gone the pace long before I met her. I wasn't fit to touchher and I knew it. I went down fast after that--nothing to keep me back. Old Shakespeare says something somewhere about our pleasant vices beingswhips to goad us with. You and I can understand that, Alan Massey. We'veboth felt the lash. "

Alan made an impatient gesture. He did not care to be lumped with thisrotten piece of flesh lying there before him. 

"I suppose you are wondering what my next move is, " went on Roberts. 

"I don't care. "

"Oh yes, you do. You care a good deal. I can break you, Alan Massey, andyou know it. "

"Go ahead and break and be damned if you choose, " raged Alan. 

"Exactly. As I choose. And I can keep you dancing on some mighty hotgridirons before I shuffle off. Don't forget that, Alan Massey. Andthere will be several months to dance yet, if the doctors aren't offtheir count. "

"Suit yourself. Don't hurry about dying on my account, " said Alan withironical courtesy. 

A few moments later he was on his way back to the station. His universereeled. All he was sure was that he loved Tony Holiday and would fight tothe last ditch to win and keep her and that she would be in his armsto-night for perhaps the last time. The rest was a hideous blur. 

CHAPTER XIV

SHACKLES

The evening was a specially gala occasion, with a dinner dance on, thelast big party before Tony went home to her Hill. The great ball room atCrest House had been decorated with a network of greenery and crimsonrambler roses. A ruinous-priced, _de luxe_ orchestra had been broughtdown from the city. The girls had saved their prettiest gowns and lookedtheir rainbow loveliest for the crowning event. 

Tony was wearing an exquisite white chiffon and silver creation, withsilver slippers and a silver fillet binding her dark hair. Alan had senther some wonderful orchids tied with silver ribbon, and these she wore;but no jewelry whatever, not even a ring. There was somethingparticularly radiant about her young loveliness that night. The young menhovered about her like honey bees about a rose and at every dance theycut in and cut in until her white and silver seemed to be drifting fromone pair of arms to another. 

Tony was very gay and bountiful and impartial in her smiles and favors, but all the time she waited, knowing that presently would come the onedance to which there would be no cutting in, the dance that would makethe others seem nothing but shadows. 

By and by the hour struck. She saw Alan leave his place by the windowwhere he had been moodily lounging, saw him come toward her, tallerthan any man in the room, distinguished--a king among the rest, itseemed to Tony, waiting, longing for his coming? yet half dreading it, too. For the sooner he came, the sooner it must all end. She was withHal at the moment, waiting for the music to begin, but as Alanapproached she turned to her companion with a quick appeal in her eyesand a warm flush on her cheeks. 

"I am sorry, Hal, " she said, low in his ear. "But this is Alan's. He isgoing away to-morrow. Forgive me. "

Hal turned, stared at Alan Massey, turned back to Tony, bowed andmoved away. 

"Hanged if there isn't something magnificent about the fellow, " hethought. "No matter how you detest him there is something about him thatgets you. I wonder how far he has gone with Tony. Gee! It's a rottencombination. But Lordy! How they can dance--those two!"

Never as long as she lived was Tony Holiday to forget that dance withAlan Massey. As a musician pours himself into his violin, as a poet putshis soul into his sonnet, as a sculptor chisels his dream in marble, soher companion flung his passion and despair and imploring into hisdancing. They forgot the others, forgot everything but themselves. Theymight have been dancing alone on the top of Olympus for all either knewor cared for the rest of the world. 

It was Alan, not Tony, who brought it to an end, however. He whisperedsomething in the girl's ear and their feet paused. In a moment he washolding open the French window for her to pass out into the night. Thewhite and silver vanished like a cloud. Alan Massey followed. The windowswung shut again. The music stopped abruptly as if now its inspirationhad come to an end. A single note of a violin quivered off into silenceafter the others, like the breath of beauty itself passing. 

Carlotta and her aunt happened to be standing near each other. The girl'seyes were troubled. She wished Alan had not come back at all from thecity. She hoped he really intended to go away to-morrow as he had toldher. More than all she hoped she was right in believing that Tony hadrefused to marry him. Like Dick, Carlotta had reverence for the Holidaytradition. She could not bear to think of Tony's marrying Alan. She feltwoefully responsible for having brought the two together. 

"Did you say he was going to-morrow?" asked her aunt. 

Carlotta nodded. 

"He won't go, " prophesied Miss Cressy. 

"Oh, yes. I think he will. I don't know for certain but I have an ideashe refused him this morning. "

"Ah, but that was this morning. Things look very different by star light. That child ought not to be out there with him. She is losing her head. "

"Aunt Lottie! Alan is a gentleman, " demurred Carlotta. 

Miss Lottie smiled satirically. Her smile repeated Ted Holiday's verdictthat some gentlemen were rotters. 

"You forget, my dear, that I knew Alan Massey when you and Tony were inshort petticoats and pigtails. You can't trust too much to hisgentlemanliness. "

"Of course, I know he isn't a saint, " admitted Carlotta. "But you don'tunderstand. It is real with Alan this time. He really cares. It isn'tjust--just the one thing. "

"It is always the one thing with Alan Massey's kind. I know what I amtalking about, Carlotta. He was a little in love with me once. I dare saywe both thought it was different at the time. It wasn't. It was prettymuch the same thing. Don't cherish any romantic notions about love, Carlotta. There isn't any love as you mean it. "

"Oh yes, there is, " denied Carlotta suddenly, a little fiercely. "There is love, but most of us aren't--aren't worthy of it. It is toobig for us. That is why we get the cheap _little_ stuff. It is all weare fit for. "

Miss Carlotta stared at her niece. But before she could speak HalUnderwood had claimed the latter for a dance. 

"H--m!" she mused looking after the two. "So even Carlotta isn't immune. I wonder who he was. "

Meanwhile, out in the garden Tony and Alan had strayed over to thefountain, just as they had that first evening after that first dance. 

"Tony, belovedest, let me speak. Listen to me just once more. You do loveme. Don't lie to me with your lips when your eyes told me the truth inthere. You are mine, mine, my beautiful, my love--all mine. "

He drew her into his arms, not passionately but gently. It was hisgentleness that conquered. A storm of unrestrained emotion would havedriven her away from him, but his sudden quiet strength and tendernessmelted her last reservation. She gave her lips unresisting to his kiss. And with that kiss, desire of freedom and all fear left her. For themoment, at least, love was all and enough. 

"Tony, my belovedest, " he whispered. "Say it just once. Tell me you loveme. " It was the old, old plea, but in Tony's ears it was immortally new. 

"I love you, Alan. I didn't want to. I have fought it all along as youknow. But it was no use. I do love you. "

"My darling! And I love you. You don't know how I love you. It is likesuddenly coming out into sunshine after having lived in a cave all mylife. Will you marry me to-morrow, _carissima_?"

But she drew away from his arms at that. 

"Alan, I can't marry you ever. I can only love you. "

"Why not? You must, Tony!" The old masterfulness leaped into his voice. 

"I cannot, Alan. You know why. "

She lifted her eyes to his and in their clear depths he saw reflected hisown willful, stained, undisciplined past. He bowed his head in real shameand remorse. Nothing stood between himself and Antoinette Holiday buthimself. He had sown the wind. He reaped the whirlwind. 

After a moment he looked up again. He made no pretence ofmisunderstanding her meaning. 

"You couldn't forgive?" he pleaded brokenly. Gone was the royal-willedAlan Massey. Only a beggar in the dust remained. 

"Yes, Alan. I could forgive. I do now. I think I can understand how suchthings can be in a man's life though it would break my heart to think Tedor Larry were like that. But you never had a chance. Nobody ever helpedyou to keep your eyes on the stars. "

"They are there now, " he groaned. "You are my star, Tony, and stars arevery, very far away from the like of me, " he echoed Carlotta's phrase. 

For almost the first time in his life humility possessed him. Had heknown it, it lifted him higher in Tony's eyes than all his arrogance andconceit of power had ever done. 

Gently she slid her hand into his. 

"I don't feel far away, Alan. I feel very near. But I can't marryyou--not now anyway. You will have to prove to them all--to me, too--thatyou are a man a Holiday might be proud to marry. I could forget thepast. I think I could persuade Uncle Phil and the rest to forget it, too. They are none of them self-righteous Puritans. They could understand, just as I understand, that a man might fall in battle and carry scars ofdefeat, but not be really conquered. Alan, tell me something. It isn'teasy to ask but I must. Are the things I have to forget far back in thepast or--nearer? I know they go back to Paris days, the days Miss Lottiebelongs to. Oh, yes, " as he started at that. "I guessed that. You mustn'tblame her. She was merely trying to warn me. She meant it for my good, not to be spiteful and not because she still cares, though I think shedoes. And I know there are things that belong to the time after yourmother died, and you didn't care what you did because you were sounhappy. But are they still nearer? How close are they, Alan?"

He shook his head despairingly. 

"I wish I could lie to you, Tony. I can't. They are too close to bepleasant to remember. But they never will be again. I swear it. Can youbelieve it?"

"I shall have to believe it--be convinced of it before I could marryyou. I can't marry you, not being certain of you, just because my heartbeats fast when you come near me, because I love your voice and yourkisses and would rather dance with you than to be sure of going toHeaven. Marriage is a world without end business. I can't rush into itblindfold. I won't. "

"You don't love me as I love you or you couldn't reason so coldly aboutit, " he reproached. "You would go blindfold anywhere--to Hell itselfeven, with me. "

"I don't know, Alan. I could let myself go. While we were dancing inthere I am afraid I would have been willing to go even as far as you saywith you. But out here in the star-light I am back being myself. I wantto make my life into something clean and sweet and fine. I don't want tolet myself be driven to follow weak, selfish, rash impulses and do thingsthat will hurt other people and myself. I don't want to make my peoplesorry. They are dearer than any happiness of my own. They would not letme marry you now, even if I wished it. If I did what you want and whatmaybe something in me wants too--run off and marry you tomorrow withouttheir consent--it would break their hearts and mine, afterward when I hadwaked up to what I had done. Don't ask me, dear. I couldn't do it. "

"But what will you do, Tony? Won't you marry me ever?" Alan's tone washelpless, desolate. He had run up against a power stronger than any hehad ever wielded, a force which left him baffled. 

"I don't know. It will depend upon you. A year from now, if you stillwant me and I am still free, if you can come to me and tell me you havelived for twelve months as a man who loves a woman ought to live, I willmarry you if I love you enough; and I think--I am sure, I shall, for Ilove you very much this minute. "

"A year! Tony, I can't wait a year for you. I want you now. " Alan's tonewas sharp with dismay. He was not used to waiting for what he desired. Hehad taken it on the instant, as a rule, and as a rule, his takings hadbeen dust and ashes as soon as they were in his hands. 

"You cannot have me, Alan. You can never have me unless you earn theright to win me--straight. Understand that once for all. I will not marrya weakling. I will marry--a conquerer--perhaps. "

"You mean that, Tony?"

"Absolutely. "

"Then, by God, I'll be a conquerer!" he boasted. 

"I hope you will. Oh, my dear, my dear! It will break my heart if youfail. I love you. " And suddenly Tony was clinging to him, just a womanwho cared, who wanted her lover, even as he wanted her. But in abreath she pulled herself away. "Take me in, Alan, now, " she said. "Kiss me once before we go. I shall not see you in the morning. Thisis really good-by. "

Later, Carlotta, coming in to say goodnight to Tony, found the lattersitting in front of the mirror brushing out her abundant red-brown hairand noticed how very scarlet her friend's cheeks were and what atell-tale shining glory there was in her eyes. 

"It was a lovely party, " announced Tony casually, unaware how muchCarlotta had seen over her shoulder in the mirror. 

"Tony, are you in love with Alan Massey?" demanded Carlotta. 

Tony whirled around on the stool, her cheeks flying deeper crimsonbanners at this unexpected challenge. 

"I am afraid I am, Carlotta, " she admitted. "It is rather a mess, isn't it?"

Carlotta groaned and dropping into a chaise lounge encircled her kneeswith her arms, staring with troubled eyes at her guest. 

"A mess? I should say it was--worse than a mess--a catastrophe. You knowwhat Alan is--isn't--" She floundered off into silence. 

"Oh, yes, " said Tony, the more tranquil of the two. "I know what he isand isn't, better than most people, I think. I ought to. But I love him. I just discovered it to-night, or rather it is the first time I ever letmyself look straight at the fact. I think I have known it from thebeginning. "

"But Tony! You won't marry him. You can't. Your people will never letyou. They oughtn't to let you. "

Tony shook back her wavy mane of hair, sent it billowing over herrose-colored satin kimono. 

"It don't matter if the whole world won't let me. If I decide to marryAlan I shall do it. "

"Tony!"

There was shocked consternation in Carlotta's tone and Tony relentingburst into a low, tremulous little laugh. 

"Don't worry, Carlotta. I'm not so mad as I sound. I told Alan he wouldhave to wait a year. He has to prove to me he is--worth loving. "

"But you are engaged?" Carlotta was relieved, but not satisfied. 

Tony shook her head. 

"Absolutely not. We are both free as air--technically. If you were inlove yourself you would know how much that amounts to by way of freedom. "

Carlotta's golden head was bowed. She did not answer her friend'simplication that she could not be expected to comprehend the delicate, invisible, omnipotent shackles of love. 

"Don't tell anyone, Carlotta, please. It is our secret--Alan's and mine. Maybe it will always he a secret unless he--measures up. "

"You are not going to tell your uncle?"

"There is nothing to tell yet. "

"And I suppose this is the end of poor Dick. "

"Don't be silly, Carlotta. Dick never said a word of love to me inhis life. "

"That doesn't mean he doesn't think 'em. You have convenient eyes, Tonydarling. You see only what you wish to see. "

"I didn't want to see Alan's love. I tried dreadfully hard not to. But itset up a fire in my own house and blazed and smoked until I had to dosomething about it. See here, Carlotta. I'd like to ask you a question ortwo. You are not really going to marry Herbert Lathrop, are you?"

A queer little shadow, almost like a veil, passed over Carlotta's face atthis counter charge. 

"Why not?" she parried. 

"You know why not. He is exactly what Hal Underwood calls him, a poorfish. He is as close to being a nonentity as anything I ever saw. "

"Precisely why I selected him, " drawled Carlotta. "I've got to marrysomebody and poor Herbert hasn't a vice except his excess of virtue. Wecan't have another old maid in the family. Aunt Lottie is a shiningexample of what to avoid. I am not going to be 'Lottie the second' I havedecided on that. "

"As if you could, " protested Tony indignantly. 

"Oh, I could. You look at Aunt Lottie's pictures of fifteen years ago. She was just as pretty as I am. She had loads of lovers but somehow theyall slipped through her fingers. She has been sex-starved. She ought tohave married and had children. I don't want to be a hungry spinster. Theyare infernally miserable. "

"Carlotta!" Tony was a little shocked at her friend's bluntness, alittle puzzled as to what lay behind her arguments. "You don't have tobe a hungry spinster. There are other men besides Herbert that want tomarry you. "

"Certainly. Some of them want to marry my money. Some of them want tomarry my body. I grant you Herbert is a poor fish in some ways, but atleast he wants to marry me, myself, which is more than the others do. "

"That isn't true. Hal Underwood wants to marry you, yourself. "

"Oh, Hal!" conceded Carlotta. "I forgot him for a moment. You are right. He is real--too real. I should hurt him marrying him and not caringenough. That is why a nonentity is preferable. It doesn't know what itis missing. Hal would know. "

"But there is no reason why you shouldn't wait until you find somebodyyou could care for, " persisted Tony. 

"That is all you know about it, my dear. There is the best reason in theworld. I found him--and lost him. "

"Carlotta--is it Phil?"

Carlotta sprang up and went over to the window. She took the rose she hadbeen wearing, in her hands and deliberately pulled it apart letting thepetals drift one by one out into the night. Then she turned back to Tony. 

"Don't ask questions, Tony. I am not going to talk. " But she lingered amoment beside her friend. "You and I, Tony darling, don't seem to havevery much luck in love, " she murmured. "I hope you will be happy withAlan, if you do marry him. But happiness isn't exactly necessary. Thereare other things--" She broke off and began again. "There are otherthings in a man's life besides love. Somebody said that to me once and Ibelieve it is true. But there isn't so much besides that matters much toa woman. I wish there were. I hate love. " And pressing a rare kiss on herfriend's cheek Carlotta vanished for the night. 

Meanwhile Alan Massey smoked and thought and cursed the past that had himin its hateful toils. Like the guilty king in Hamlet, his soul, "struggling to be free" was "but the more engaged. " He honestly desiredto be worthy of Tony Holiday, to stand clear in her eyes, but he did notwant it badly enough, to the "teeth and forehead of his faults to give inevidence. " He did not want to bare the one worst plague spot of all andrun the risk not only of losing Tony himself but perhaps also of clearingthe way to her for his cousin, John Massey. Small wonder he smoked galland wormwood in his cigarettes that night. 

And far away in the heat and grime and din of the great city, Dick Carsonthe nameless, who was really John Massey and heir to a great fortune, satdreaming over a girl's picture, telling himself that Tony must care alittle to have gotten up in the silver gray of the morning to see him offso kindly. Happily for the dreamer's peace of mind he had no means ofknowing that that very night, in the starlit garden by the sea, TonyHoliday had taken upon herself the mad and sad and glad bondage of love. 

CHAPTER XV

ON THE EDGE OF THE PRECIPICE

Tony, getting off the train at Dunbury on Saturday, found her brotherswaiting for her with the car, and the kiddies on the back seat, "forballast" as Ted said. With one quick apprizing glance the girl took inthe two young men. 

Ted was brown and healthy looking, clear-eyed, steady-nerved, for once, without the inevitable cigarette in his mouth. He was oddly improvedsomehow, his sister thought, considering how short a time she had beenaway from the Hill. She noticed also that he drove the car much lessrecklessly than was his wont, took no chances on curves, slid by novehicles at hair-breadth space, speeded not at all, and though he keptup a running fire of merry nonsense, had his eye on the road as hedrove. So far so good. That spill out on the Florence road wasn't allloss, it seemed. 

Larry was more baffling. He was always quiet. He was quieter than everto-day. There was something in his gray eyes which spelled trouble, Tonythought. What was it? Was he worried about a case? Was Granny worse? WasTed in some scrape? Something there certainly was on his mind. Tony wassure of that, though she could not conjecture what. 

The Holidays had an almost uncanny way of understanding things about eachother, things which sometimes never rose to the surface at all. Perhapsit was that they were so close together in sympathy that a kind of smalltelepathic signal registered automatically when anything was wrong withany of them. So far as her brothers were concerned Tony's intuition wasall but infallible. 

She found the family gift a shade disconcerting, a little later, whenafter her uncle kissed her he held her off at arm's length and studiedher face. Tony's eyes fell beneath his questioning gaze. For almost thefirst time in her life she had a secret to keep from him if she could. 

"What have they been doing to my little girl?" he asked. "They have takenaway her sunshininess. "

"Oh, no, they haven't, " denied Tony quickly. "It is just that I am tired. We have been on the go all the time and kept scandalously late hours. I'll be all right as soon as I have caught up. I feel as if I could sleepfor a century and any prince who has the effrontery to wake me up willfare badly. "

She laughed, but even in her own ears the laughter did not sound quitenatural and she was sure Uncle Phil thought the same, though he asked nomore questions. 

"It is like living in a palace being at Crest House, " she went on. "I'veplayed princess to my heart's content--been waited on and fêted andflirted with until I'm tired to death of it all and want to be just plainTony again. "

She slid into her uncle's arms with a weary little sigh. It was good--ohso good--to have him again! She hadn't known she had missed him so untilshe felt the comfort of his presence. In his arms Alan Massey and all hestood for seemed very far away. 

"Got letters for you this morning, " announced Ted. "I forgot to give themto you. " He fished the aforesaid letters out of his pocket and examinedthem before handing them over. "One is from Dick--the other"--he held thelarge square envelope off and squinted at it teasingly. "Some scrawl!"he commented. "Reckless display of ink and flourishes, I call it. Who'sthe party?"

Tony snatched the letters, her face rosy. 

"Give me Dick's. I haven't heard from him but once since he went back toNew York and that was just a card. Oh-h! Listen everybody. The Universalhas accepted his story and wants him to do a whole series of them. Oh, isn't that just wonderful?"

Tony's old sparkles were back now. There were no reservations necessaryhere. Everybody knew and loved Dick and would be glad as she was herselfin his success. 

"Hail to Dicky Dumas!" she added, gaily waving the letter aloft. "Ialways knew he would get there. And that was the very story he read me. Wasn't it lucky I liked it really? If I hadn't, and it had turned out tobe good, wouldn't it have been awful?"

Everybody laughed at that and perhaps nobody but the doctor noticed thatthe other letter in the unfamiliar handwriting was tucked away veryquickly out of sight in her bag and no comments made. 

It was not until Tony had gone the rounds of the household and greetedeveryone from Granny down to Max that she read Alan's letter, as she satcurled up in the cretonned window seat, just as the little girl Tony hadbeen wont to sit and devour love stories. This was a love story, too--herown and with a sadly complicated plot at that. 

It was the first letter she had had from Alan and she found it verywonderful and exciting reading. It was brimming over, as might have beenexpected, with passionate lover's protests and extravagant endearmentswhich Tony could not have imagined her Anglo-Saxon relatives or friendseven conceiving, let alone putting on paper. But Alan was different. These things were no affectation with him, but natural as breathing, partand parcel of his personality. She could hear him now say "_carissima_"in that low, deep-cadenced, musical voice of his and the word seemed verysweet and beautiful to her as it sang in her heart and she read it in thedashing script upon the paper. 

He was desolated without her, he wrote. Nothing was worth while. Nothinginterested him. He was refusing all invitations, went nowhere. He justsat alone in the studio and dreamed about her or made sketches of herfrom memory. She was everywhere, all about him. She filled the studiowith her voice, her laughter, her wonderful eyes. But oh, he was solonely, so unutterably lonely without her. Must he really wait a wholeyear before he made her his? A year was twelve long, long months. Anything could happen in a year. One of them might die and the otherwould go frustrate and lonely forever, like a sad wind in the night. 

Tony caught her breath quickly at that sentence. The poetry of itcaptivated her fancy, the dread of what it conjured clutched like coldhands at her heart. She wanted Alan now, wanted love now. Already thosedear folks downstairs were beginning to seem like ghosts, she and Alanthe only real people. What if he should die, what if something shouldhappen to keep them forever apart, how could she bear it? How could she?

She turned back to her letter which had turned into an impassioned pleathat she would never forsake him, no matter what happened, never drivehim over the precipice like the Gadderene swine. 

"You and your love are the only thing that can save me, dear heart, " hewrote. "Remember that always. Without you I shall go down, down intoblacker pits than I ever sank before. With you I shall come out into thelight. I swear it. But oh, beloved, pray for me, if you know how to pray. I don't. I never had a god. "

There were tears in Tony's eyes as she finished her lover's letter. His unwonted humility touched her as no arrogance could ever havedone. His appeal to his desperate need moved her profoundly as suchappeals will always move woman. It is an old tale and one oftrepeated. Man crying out at a woman's feet, "Save me! Save me! MyselfI cannot save!" Woman, believing, because she longs to believe it, that salvation lies in her power, taking on herself the all butimpossible mission for love's high sake. 

Tony Holiday believed, as all the million other women have believed sincetime began, that she could save her lover, loved him tenfold the morebecause he threw himself upon her mercy, came indeed perhaps to trulylove him for the first time now with a kind of consecrated fervor whichbelonged all to the spirit even as the love that had come to her whilethey danced had belonged rather to the flesh. 

 * * * * *

And day by day Jim Roberts grew sicker and the gnawing thing crept upnearer to his heart. Day by day he gloated over the goading whips hebrandished over Alan Massey's head, amused himself with the variousdevelopments it lay in his power to give to the situation as he passedout of life. 

He wrote two letters from his sick bed. The first one was addressed toDick Carson, telling the full story of his own and Alan Massey's share inthe deliberate defraudment of that young man of his rightful name andestate. It pleased him to read and reread this letter and to reflect thatwhen it was mailed Alan Massey would drink the full cup of disgrace andexposure while he who was infinitely guiltier would be sleeping veryquietly in a cool grave where hate, nor vengeance, nor even pity couldtouch him. 

The other letter, which like the first he kept unmailed, was a lesshonest and less incriminating letter, filled with plausible half truths, telling how he had just become aware at last through coming intopossession of some old letters of the identity of the boy he had once hadin his keeping and who had run away from him, an identity which he nowhastened to reveal in the interests of tardy justice. The letter made nomention of Alan Massey nor of the unlovely bargain he had driven withthat young man as the price of silence and the bliss of ignorance. It wasaddressed to the lawyers who handled the Massey estate. 

Roberts had followed up various trails and discovered that AntoinetteHoliday was the girl Massey loved, discovered through the bribing of aCrest House servant, that the young man they called Carson was alsopresumably in love with the girl whose family had befriended him sogenerously in his need. It was incredibly good he thought. He couldhardly have thought out a more diabolically clever plot if he had tried. He could make Alan Massey writhe trebly, knowing these things. 

Pursuing his malignant whim he wrote to Alan Massey and told him of theexistence of the two letters, as yet unmailed, in his table drawer. Hemade it clear that one of the letters damned Alan Massey utterly whilethe other only robbed him of his ill-gotten fortune, made it clear alsothat he himself did not know which of the two would be mailed in the end, possibly he would decide it by a flip of a coin. Massey could only waitand see what happened. 

"I suppose you think the girl is worth going to Hell for, even if themoney isn't, " he had written. "Maybe she is. Some women are, perhaps. Butdon't forget that if she loves you, you will be dragging her down theretoo. Pretty thought, isn't it? I don't mean any future-life businesseither. That's rot. I heard enough of that when I was a boy to sicken meof it forever. It is the here and now Hell a man pays for his sins with, and that is God's truth, Alan Massey. "

And Alan, sitting in his luxurious studio reading the letter, crushedit in his hands and groaned aloud. He needed no commentary on the "hereand now Hell" from Jim Roberts. He was living it those summer days ifever a man did. 

It wasn't the money now. Alan told himself he no longer cared for that, hated it in fact. It was Tony now, all Tony, and the horrible fear lestRoberts betray him and shut the gates of Paradise upon him forever. Sometimes in his agony of fear he could almost have been glad to end itall with one shot of the silver-mounted automatic he kept always near, tobeat Jim Roberts to the bliss of oblivion in the easiest way. 

But Alan Massey had an incorrigible belief in his luck. Just as he hadhoped, until he had all but believed, that his cousin John was as dead ashe had told that very person he was, so now he hoped against all reasonthat he would be saved at the eleventh hour, that Roberts would go to hisdeath carrying with him the secret that would destroy himself if itceased to be a secret. 

Those unmailed letters haunted him, however, day and night, so much so, in fact, that he took a journey to Boston one day and sought out thelittle cigar store again. But this time he had not mounted the stairs. His business was with the black-eyed boy. With one fifty dollar bill hebought the lad's promise to destroy the letters and the packet inRobert's drawer in the event of the latter's death; secured also thepromise that if at any time before his death Roberts gave orders thateither letter should be mailed, the boy would send the same not to theaddress on the envelope but to Alan Massey. If the boy kept faith withhis pledges there would be another fifty coming to him after the death ofthe man. He bought the lad even as Roberts had once bought himself. Itwas a sickening transaction but it relieved his mind considerably andcatered in a measure to that incorrigible hope within him. 

But he paid a price too. Fifty miles away from Boston was Tony Holiday onher Heaven kissing hill. He was mad to go to her but dared not, lest thisfresh corruption in some way betray itself to her clear gaze. 

So he went back to New York without seeing her and Tony never knew he hadbeen so near. 

And that night Jim Roberts took an unexpected turn for the worse anddied, foiled of that last highly anticipated spice of malice in flippingthe coin that was to decide Alan Massey's fate. 

In the end the boy had not had the courage to destroy the letters as hehad promised to do. Instead he sent them both, together with the packetof evidence as to John Massey's identity, to Alan Massey. 

The thing was in Alan's own hands at last. Nothing could save or destroyhim but himself. And by a paradox his salvation depended upon his beingstrong enough to bring himself to ruin. 

CHAPTER XVI

IN WHICH PHIL GETS HIS EYES OPENED

At home on her Hill Tony Holiday settled down more or less happily afterher eventful sally into the great world. To the careless observer she wasquite the same Tony who went down the Hill a few weeks earlier. If attimes she was unusually quiet, had spells of sitting very still withfolded hands and far away dreams in her eyes, if she crept away byherself to read the long letters that came so often, from many addressesbut always in the same bold, beautiful script and to pen long answers tothese; if she read more poetry than was her wont and sang love songs witha new, exquisite, but rather heart breaking timbre in her lovelycontralto voice, no one paid much attention to these signs exceptpossibly Doctor Philip who saw most things. He perceived regretfully thathis little girl was slipping away from him, passing through someexperience that was by no means all joy or contentment and which wasmaking her grow up all too fast. But he said nothing, quietly bided thehour of confidence which he felt sure would come sooner or later. 

Tony puzzled much over the complexities of life these days, puzzled overother things beside her own perverse romance. Carlotta too was much onher mind. She wished she could wave a magic wand and make things comeright for these two friends of hers who were evidently made for eachother as Hal had propounded. She wondered if Phil were as unhappy asCarlotta was and meant to find out in her own time and way. 

She had seen almost nothing of him since her return to the Hill. He wasworking very hard in the store and never appeared at any of the littledances and picnics and teas with which the Dunbury younger set passedaway the summer days and nights, and which Ted and the twins and usuallyTony herself frequented. Larry never did. He hated things of that sort. But Phil was different. He had always liked fun and parties and hadalways been on hand and in great demand hitherto at every social functionfrom a Ladies' Aid strawberry festival to a grand Masonic ball. It wasn'tnatural for Phil to shut himself out of things like that. It was a badsign Tony thought. 

At any rate she determined to find out for herself how the land lay ifshe could. Having occasion to do some shopping she marched down the Hilland presented herself at Stuart Lambert and Son's, demanding to be servedby no less a person than Philip himself. 

"I want a pair of black satin pumps with very frivolous heels, " sheannounced. "Produce them this instant, slave. " She smiled at Phil and hesmiled back. He and Tony had always been the best of chums. 

"Cannzy ones?" he laughed. "That's what one of our customers calls them. "

And while he knelt before her with an array of shoe boxes around him, fitting a dainty slipper on Tony's pretty foot, Tony herself looked notat the slipper but at Philip, studying his face shrewdly. He lookedolder, graver. There was less laughter in his blue eyes, a grimmer lineabout his young mouth. Poor Phil! Evidently Carlotta wasn't the only onewho was paying the price of too much loving. Tony made up her mind torush in, though she knew it might be a case for angel hesitation. 

"I've never given you a message Hal Underwood sent you, " she observedirrelevantly. 

Philip looked up surprised. 

"Hal Underwood! What message did he send me? I hardly know him. "

"He seemed to know you rather well. He told me to tell you to come downand marry Carlotta, that you were the only man that could keep her inorder. That is too big, Phil. Try a smaller one. " The speaker kicked offthe offending slipper. Philip mechanically picked it up and replaced itin the box. 

"That is rather a queer message, " he commented. "I had an idea Underwoodwanted to marry Carlotta himself. Try this. " He reached for another pump. His eyes were lowered so Tony could not see them. She wished she could. 

"He does, " she said. "She won't have him. "

"Is--is there--anybody she is likely to have?" The words jerked out asthe young man groped for the shoe horn which was almost beside his handbut which apparently he did not see at all. 

"I am afraid she is likely to take Herbert Lathrop unless somebodystops her by main force. Why don't you play Lochinvar yourself, Phil?You could. "

Philip looked straight up at Tony then, the slipper forgotten in hishand. 

"Tony, do you mean that?" he asked. 

"I certainly do. Make her marry you, Phil. It is the only way withCarlotta. "

"I don't want to _make_ any girl marry me, " he said. 

"Oh, hang your silly pride, Phil Lambert! Carlotta wants to marry you Itell you though she would murder me if she knew I did tell you. "

"Maybe she does. But she doesn't want to live in Dunbury. I've goodreason to know that. We thrashed it out rather thoroughly on the top ofMount Tom last June. She hasn't changed her mind. "

Tony sighed. She was afraid Phil was right. Carlotta hadn't changed hermind. Was it because she was afraid she might, that she was determiningto marry Herbert?

"And you can't leave Dunbury?" she asked soberly. 

Just at that moment Stuart Lambert approached, a tall fine looking man, with the same blue eyes and fresh coloring as his son and brown hair onlyslightly graying around the temples. He had an air of vigor and agelessyouth. Indeed a stranger might easily have taken the two men for brothersinstead of father and son. 

"Hello, Tony, my dear, " he greeted cordially. "It is good to see youround again. We have missed you. This boy of mine getting you whatyou want?"

"He is trying, " smiled Tony. "A woman doesn't always know what she wants, Mr. Lambert. The store is wonderful since it was enlarged and I see lotsof other improvements too. " Her eyes swept her surroundings with sincereappreciation. 

"Make your bow to Phil for all that. It is good to get fresh brains intoa business. We old fogies need jerking out of our ruts. "

The older man's eyes fell upon Phil's bowed head and Tony realized howmuch it meant to him to have his son with him at last, pulling shoulderto shoulder. 

"New brains nothing!" protested Phil. "Dad's got me skinned going andcoming for progressiveness. As for old fogies he's the youngest man Iknow. Make all your bows to him, Tony. It is where they belong. " And Philgot to his feet and himself made a solemn obeisance in Stuart Lambert'sdirection. 

Mr. Lambert chuckled. 

"Phil was always a blarney, " he said. "Don't know where he got it. Don't you believe a word he says, my dear. " But Tony saw he wasimmensely pleased with Phil's tribute for all that. "How do you likethe sign?" he asked. 

"Fine. Looks good to me and I know it does to you, Mr. Lambert. "

"Well, rather. " The speaker rested his hand on Phil's shoulder a moment. "I tell you it _is_ good, young lady, to have the son part added, worthwaiting for. I'm mighty proud of that sign. Between you and me, MissTony, I'm proud of my son too. "

"Who is blarneying now?" laughed Phil. "Go on with you, Dad. You arespoiling my sale. "

The father chuckled again and moved away. Phil looked down at the girl. 

"I think your question is answered. I can't leave Dunbury, " he said. 

"Then Carlotta ought to come to you. "

"There are no oughts in Carlotta's bright lexicon. I don't blame her, Tony. Dunbury is a dead hole from most points of view. I am afraid shewouldn't be happy here. You wouldn't be yourself forever. Bet you areplanning to get away right now. "

Tony nodded ruefully. 

"I suppose I am, Phil. The modern young woman isn't much to pin one'sfaith to I am afraid. Do I get another slipper? Or is one enough?"

Phil came back from his mental aberration with a start and a grin at hisown expense. 

"I am afraid I am not a very good salesman today, " he apologized. "Honestly I do better usually but you hit me in a vulnerable spot. "

"You do care for Carlotta then?" probed Tony. 

"Care! I'm crazy over her. I'd go on my hands and knees to Crest House ifI thought I could get her to marry me by doing it. "

"You would much better go by train--the next one. That's my advice. Areyou coming to Sue Emerson's dance? That is why I am buying slippers. Youcan dance with 'em if you'll come. "

"Sorry. I don't go to dances any more. "

"That is nonsense, Phil. It is the worst thing in the world for you tomake a hermit of yourself. No girl's worth it. Besides there are othergirls besides Carlotta. "

Phil shook his head as he finished replacing Tony's trim brown oxfords. 

"Unfortunately that isn't true for me, " he said rising. "At present myworld consists of myself bounded, north, south, east and west byCarlotta. "

And Tony passing out under the sign of STUART LAMBERT AND SON a fewminutes later sighed a little. Here was Carlotta with a real man for thetaking and too stubborn and foolish to put out her hand and here washerself, Tony Holiday, tying herself all up in a strange snarl for thesake of somebody who wasn't a man at all as Holiday Hill standards ran. What queer creatures women were!

Other people besides Tony were inclined to score Phil's folly in making ahermit of himself. His sisters attacked him that very night on thesubject of Sue Emerson's dance and accused him of being a "GrumpyGrandpa" and a grouch and various other uncomplimentary things when heannounced that he wasn't going to attend the function. 

"I'm the authentic T. B. M. , " he parried from his perch on the porchrailing. "I've cut out dancing. "

"More idiot you!" retorted Charley promptly. "Mums, do tell Phil it isall nonsense making such an oyster in a shell of himself. "

Mrs. Lambert smiled and looked up at her tall young son, looked ratherhard for a moment. 

"I think the twins are right, Phil, " she said. "You are working too hard. You don't allow yourself any relaxation. "

"Oh, yes I do. Only my idea of relaxation doesn't happen to coincide withthe twins. Dancing in this sort of weather with your collar slumping andthe perspiration rolling in tidal waves down your manly brow doesn'tstrike me as being a particularly desirable diversion. "

"H-mp!" sniffed Charley. "You didn't object to dancing last summer whenit was twice as hot. You went to a dance almost every night when Carlottawas visiting Tony. You know you did. "

"I wasn't a member of the esteemed firm of Stuart Lambert and Son lastsummer. A lily of the field can afford to dance all night. I'm a workingman I'd have you know. "

"Well, I think you might come just this once to please us, " joined inClare, the other twin. "You are a gorgeous dancer, Phil. I'd rather havea one step with you than any man I know. " Clare always beguiled whereCharley bullied, a method much more successful in the long run as Charleysometimes grudgingly admitted after the fact. 

Phil smiled now at pretty Clare and promised to think about it and thetwins flew off across the street to visit with Tony and Ruth whom thewhole Hill adored. 

"Phil dear, aren't you happy?" asked Mrs. Lambert. "Have we asked toomuch of you expecting you to settle down at home with us?"

"Why yes, Mums. I'm all right. " Phil left his post on the rail anddropped into a chair beside his mother. Perhaps he did it purposely lestshe see too much. "Don't get notions in your head. I like living inDunbury. I wouldn't live in a city for anything and I like being with Dadnot to mention the rest of you. "

Mrs. Lambert shifted her position also. She wanted to see her son's face;just as much as he didn't want her to see it. 

"Possibly that is all so but you aren't happy for all that. You can'tfool mother eyes, my dear. "

Phil looked straight at her then with a little rueful smile. 

"I reckon I can't, " he admitted. "Very well then. I am not entirely happybut it is nobody's fault and nothing anybody can help. "

"Philip, is it a girl?"

How they dread the _girl_ in their sons' lives--these mothers! The verypossibility of her in the abstract brings a shadow across the path. 

"Yes, Mums, it is a girl. "

Mrs. Lambert rose and went over to where her son sat, running her fingersthrough his hair as she had been wont to do when the little boy Phil wasin trouble of any sort. 

"I am very sorry, dear boy, " she said. "It won't help to talk about it?"

"I am afraid not. Don't worry, Mums. It is just--well, it hurts a littlejust now that's all. "

She kissed his forehead and went back to her chair. It hurt her toknow her boy was being hurt, hurt her almost as much to know she couldnot help him, she must just let him close the door on his grief andbear it alone. 

Yet she respected his reserve and loved him the better for it. Phil waslike that always. He never cried out when he was hurt. She remembered howlong ago the little boy Phil had come to her with a small finger justreleased from a slamming door that had crushed it unmercifully, thetears streaming down his cheeks but uttering no sound. She recalledanother incident of years later, when the coach had been obliged to putsome one else in Phil's place on the team the last minute because hissprained ankle had been bothering. She and Stuart had come on for thegame. It had been a bitter disappointment to them all. To the boy it hadbeen little short of a tragedy. But he had smiled bravely at her in spiteof the trouble in his blue eyes. "Don't mind, Mums. It is all right, " hehad said steadily. "We've got to win. We can't risk my darned ankle'sflopping. It's the bleachers for me. The game's the thing. "

The game had always been the thing for Phil. Even in his blundering, willful boyhood he had played hard and played fair and taken defeat likea man when things had gone against him. 

There was a moment's silence. Then Mrs. Lambert spoke again. 

"Phil, I wish you would go to the dance with the girls. It will pleasethem and be good for you. You can't shut yourself away from everythingthe way you are doing, if you are going to make Dunbury your home. Yourfather never has. He has always given himself freely to it, worked withit, played with it, made it a real part of himself. You mustn't start outby building a wall around yourself. "

"Am I doing that, Mums?" Phil's voice was sober. 

"I am afraid you are, Phil. It troubles your father. He was sodisappointed when you wouldn't serve on the library committee. They weredisappointed too. They didn't expect it of your father's son. "

"I--I wasn't interested. "

"No, you weren't interested. That was the trouble. You ought to havebeen. You have had your college training, the world of books has beenthrown wide open for you. You come back here and aren't interested inseeing that others less fortunate get the right kind of books into theirhands and heads. I don't want to preach, dear. But education isn't only aprivilege. It is a responsibility. "

"Maybe you are right, Mums. I didn't think of it that way. I justdidn't want to bother. I was--well, I was thinking too much aboutmyself I suppose. "

"Youth is apt to. There were other things too. When they asked you totake charge of the Fourth of July pageant, to dig up Dunbury's pasthistory and make it live for us again, your father and I both thought youwould enjoy it. He was tremendously excited about it, full of ideas tohelp. But the project fell through because nobody would undertake theleadership. You were too busy. Every one was too busy. "

"But, Mums, I was busy, " Phil defended himself. "It is no end of a job toput things like that through properly. "

"Most things worth doing are no end of a job. Your father would havetaken it with all the rest he has on his hands and made a success of it. But he was hurt by your high handed refusal to have anything to do withit and he let it go, though you know having Fourth of July communitycelebrations is one of his dearest hobbies--always has been since he usedto fight so hard to get rid of the old, wretched noise, law breaking androwdyism kind of village celebration you and the other young Dunburyvandals delighted in. "

Phil flushed at that. The point went home. He remembered vividly hisboyish self tearing reluctantly from Doctor Holiday's fireworks impelledby an unbearably guilty conscience to confess to Stuart Lambert that hisown son had been a transgressor against the law. Boy as he was, he hadgotten out of the interview with his father that night a glimpse into theideal citizenship which Stuart Lambert preached and lived and worked for. He had understood a little then. He understood better now having stoodbeside his father man to man. 

"I am sorry, Mums. I would have done the thing if I'd known Dad wanted meto. Why didn't he say so?"

Mrs. Lambert smiled. 

"Dad doesn't say much about what he wants. You will have to learn to keepyour eyes open and find out for yourself. I did. "

"Any more black marks on my score? I may as well eat the whole darnedpie at once. " Phil's smile was humorous but his eyes were troubled. Itwas a bit hard when you had been thinking you had played your partfairly creditably to discover you had been fumbling your cues wretchedlyall along. 

"Only one other thing. We were both immensely disappointed when youwouldn't take the scout-mastership they offered you. Father believestremendously in the movement. He thinks it is going to be the making ofthe next generation of men. He would have liked you to be a Scoutmasterand when you wouldn't he went on the Scout Troop Committee himself thoughhe really could not spare the time. "

"I see, " said Phil. "I guess I've been pretty blind. Funny part of it isI really wanted to take the Scoutmaster job but I thought Dad would thinkit took too much of my time. Anything more?" he asked. 

"Not a thing. Haven't you had quite enough of a lecture for once?" hismother smiled back. 

"I reckon I needed it. Thank you, Mums. I'll turn over a new leaf if itisn't too late. I'll go to the dance and I'll ask them if there is stilla place for me on the library committee and I'll start a troop of Scoutsmyself--another bunch I've had my eyes on for some time. "

"That will please Dad very much. It pleases me too. Boys are very dear tomy heart. I wonder if you can guess why, Philip, my son?"

"I wish I'd been a better son, Mums. Some chaps never seem to causetheir-mothers any worry or heart ache. I wasn't that kind. I am afraid Iam not even yet. "

"No son is, dear, unless there is something wrong with him or the mother. Mothering means heart ache and worries, plus joy and pride and the joyand pride more than makes up for the rest. It has for me a hundred timesover even when I had a rather bad little boy on my hands and now I have aman--a man I am glad and proud to call my son. "

CHAPTER XVII

A WEDDING RING IT WAS HARD TO REMEMBER

It was a grilling hot August afternoon. The young Holidays were keepingcool as best they could out in the yard. Ruth lay in the canopied hammockagainst a background of a hedge of sweet peas, pink and white andlavender, looking rather like a dainty, frail little flower herself. Tonyin cool white was seated on a scarlet Navajo blanket, leaning against theapple tree. Around her was a litter of magazines and an open box ofbonbons. Ted was stretched at his ease on the grass, gazing skyward, acigarette in his lips, enjoying well-earned rest after toil. Larryoccupied the green garden bench in the lee, of the hammock. He wasunsolaced either by candy or smoke and looked tired and not particularlyhappy. There were dark shadows under his gray eyes which betrayed that hewas not getting the quota of sleep that healthy youth demands. His eyeswere downcast now, apparently absorbed in contemplation of a belateddandelion at his feet. 

"Ruth, why don't you come down to the dance with us tonight?" demandedTony suddenly dropping her magazine. "You are well enough now and Iknow you would enjoy it. It is lovely down on the island where thepavilion is--all quiet and pine-woodsy. You needn't dance if you don'twant to. You could just lie in the hammock and listen to the music andthe water. We'd come and talk to you between dances so you wouldn't belonesome. Do come. "

"Oh, I couldn't. " Ruth's voice was dismayed, her blue eyes filled withalarm at the suggestion. 

"Why couldn't you?" persisted Tony. "You aren't going to just hide awayforever are you? It is awfully foolish, isn't it, Larry?" she appealed toher brother. 

He did not answer, but he did transfer his gaze from the dandelion toRuth as if he were considering his sister's proposition. 

"Sure, it's foolish, " Ted replied for him, sitting up. "Come on down anddance the first foxtrot with me, sweetness. You'll like it. Honest youwill, when you get started. "

"Oh, I couldn't" reiterated Ruth. 

"That is nonsense. Of course, you could, " objected Tony. "It is just yournotion, Ruthie. You have kept away from people so long you are scared. But you would get over that in a minute and truly it would be lots betterfor you. Tell her it would, Larry. She is your patient. "

"I don't know whether it would or not, " returned Larry in his deliberateway, which occasionally exasperated the swift-minded, impulsive Tony. 

"Then you are a rotten doctor, " she flung back. "I know better than thatmyself and Uncle Phil agrees with me. I asked him. "

"Ruth's my patient, as you reminded me a moment ago. She isn't UnclePhil's. " There was an unusual touchiness in the young doctor's voice. Hewas not professionally aggressive as a rule. 

"Well, I wouldn't be a know-it-all, if she is, " snapped Tony. "MaybeUncle Phil knows a thing or two more than you do yet. And anyway you areonly a man and I am a girl and I know that girls need people and fun anddancing. It isn't good for anybody to hide away by herself. I believe youare keeping Ruth away from everybody on purpose. "

The hot weather and other things were setting Tony's nerves a bit onedge. She felt slightly belligerent and not precisely averse topicking a quarrel with her aggravatingly quiet brother, if he gave herhalf an opening. 

Larry flushed and scowled at that and ordered her sharply not to talknonsense. Whereupon Ted intervened. 

"I'm all on your side, Tony. Of course it is bad for Ruth not to seeanybody but us. Any fool would know that. Dancing may be the very thingfor her anyhow. You can't tell till you try. Maybe when you arefoxtrotting with me, goldilocks, you'll remember how it seemed to havesome other chap's arm around you. It might be like laying a fuse. "

"I'm glad you all know so much about my business, " said Larry testily. "You make me tired, both of you. "

"Oh, " begged Ruth, her blue eyes full of trouble. "Please, please, don'tquarrel about me. "

"I beg your pardon, " apologized Larry. "See here, would you be willing totry it, just as an experiment? Would you go down there for a little whiletonight with us?"

The blue eyes met the gray ones. 

"If you--wanted me to, " faltered the blue-eyes. 

"Would you mind it very much?" Larry leaned forward. His voice was low, solicitous. Tony, listening, resented it a little. She didn't see whyLarry had to keep his good manners for somebody outside the family. Hemight have spoken a little more politely to herself, she thought. She hadonly been trying to be nice to Ruth. 

"Not--if you would take care of me and not let people talk to me toomuch, " Ruth answered the solicitous tone. 

"I will, " promised Larry. "You needn't talk to a soul if you don'twant to. I'll ward 'em off. And you can dance if you want to--onedance anyway. "

"With me, " announced Ted complacently from the grass. "My bid was infirst. Don't you forget, Miss Peaseblossom. " Ted had a multitude of petnames for Ruth. They slipped off his tongue easily, as water fallingover a cliff. 

"No, with me, " said his brother shortly. 

"Gee, I wish I were a doctor! It gives you a hideous advantage. "

"But I haven't anything to wear, " exclaimed Ruth, coming next to thereally sole and only supreme woman question. 

"We'll fix that easy as easy, " said Tony, amicable again now. "I've adarling blue organdy that will look sweet on you--just the color of youreyes. Don't you worry a minute, honey. Your fairy godmother will see toall that. All I ask is that you won't let that old ogre of an M. D. Changehis mind and say you can't go. It isn't good for Larry to obey him someekly. He is getting to be a regular tyrant. "

A moment later Doctor Holiday joined the group, dropped on the benchbeside Larry and was informed by Tony that Ruth was to go on an adventuredown the Hill; to Sue Emerson's dance in fact. 

"Isn't that great?" she demanded. 

"Superb, " he teased. Then he smiled approval at Ruth. "Good idea, Larry, "he added to his nephew. "Glad you thought of it. "

"I didn't think of it. Tony did. You really approve?" The gray eyes werea little anxious. Larry was by no means a know-it-all doctor, as hissister accused him. He had too little rather than too much confidence inhis own judgment in fact. 

"I certainly do. Go to it, little lady. May be the best medicine in theworld for you. "

"Now you are talking, " exulted Ted. "That's what Tony and I saidand Larry wanted to execute us on the spot for daring to have anopinion at all. "

"Scare you much to think of it?" Doctor Holiday asked Ruth, prudentlyignoring this last sally. 

"A good deal, " sighed Ruth. "But I'll try not to be too much scared ifLarry will go too and not let people ask questions. "

The young doctor had long since become Larry to Ruth. It was tooconfusing talking about two Doctor Holidays. Everybody in Dunbury saidLarry or Doctor Larry or at most, respectfully, Doctor Laurence. 

"I'll let nobody talk to you but myself, " said Larry. 

"There you are!" flashed Tony. "You might just as well keep her penned uphere in the yard. You want to keep her all to yourself. "

She didn't mean anything in particular, only to be a little disagreeable, to pay Larry back for being so snappy. But to her amazement Ruth wassuddenly blushing a lovely but startling blush and Larry was bending overto examine the hammock-hook in obvious confusion. 

"Good gracious!" she thought in consternation. "Is that what's up? Itcan't be. I'm just imagining it. Larry wouldn't fall in love with any onewho wore a wedding ring. He mustn't. "

But she knew in her heart that whether Larry must or must not he had. Athousand signs betrayed the truth now that her eyes were open. PoorLarry! No wonder he was cross and unlike himself. And Ruth was sosweet--just the girl for him. And poor Uncle Phil! She herself washurting him dreadfully keeping her secret about Alan and nobody knew whatTed had up his sleeve under his cloak of incredible virtue. And now herewas Larry with a worse complication still. Oh dear! Would the three ofthem ever stop getting into scrapes as long as they lived? It was badenough when they were children. It was infinitely worse now they weregrown up and the scrapes were so horribly serious. 

"I suppose you can't tear yourself away from your studies to attend amere dance?" Doctor Holiday was asking of his younger nephew with atwinkle in his eyes when Tony recovered enough to listen again. 

Ted sent his cigarette stub careening off into the shrubbery and grinnedback at his uncle, a grin half merry, half defiant. 

"Like fun, I can't!" he ejaculated. "I'm a union man, I am. I've done mystunt for the day. If anybody thinks I'm going to stick my nose inbetween the covers of a book before nine A. M. Tomorrow he has a wholeorchard of brand new little thinks growing up to stub his toes on, that's all. "

"So the student life doesn't improve with intimate acquaintance?" Thedoctor's voice was still teasing, but there was more than teasing behindhis questions. He was really interested in his nephew's psychology. 

"Not a da--ahem--darling bit. If I had my way every book in existencewould be placed on a huge funeral pyre and conflagrated instantly. Moreover, it would be a criminal offence punishable by the death sentencefor any person to bring another of the infernal nuisances into the world. That is my private opinion publicly expressed. " So saying Ted pickedhimself up from the grass and sauntered off toward the house. 

His uncle chuckled. He was sorry the boy did not take more cordially tobooks, since it looked as if there were a good two years of them ahead atthe least. But he liked the honesty that would not pretend to anythingit did not feel, and he liked even better the spirit that had kept thelad true to his pledge of honest work without a squirm or grumble throughall these weeks of grilling summer weather when sustained effort of anysort, particularly mental effort, was undoubtedly a weariness andabomination to flesh and soul, to his restless, volatile, ease-addicted, liberty loving young ward. The boy had certainly shown more grit andgrace than he had credited him with possessing. 

The village clock struck six. Tony sprang up from her blanket and beganto gather up her possessions. 

"I never get over a scared, going-to-be-scolded feeling running down myspine when the clock strikes and I'm not ready for supper, " she said. "Poor dear Granny! She certainly worked hard trying to make truly properpersons out of us wild Arabs. It isn't her fault if she didn't succeed, is it Larry?" She smiled at her brother--a smile that meant in Tonylanguage "I am sorry I was cross. Let's make up. "

He smiled back in the same spirit. He rose taking the rug and magazinesfrom his sister's hand and walked with her toward the house. 

Ruth sat up in her hammock and smoothed her disarrayed blonde hair. 

"I am glad you are going down the Hill, " said the doctor to her. "It is afine idea, little lady. Do you lots of good. "

"Doctor Holiday, I think I ought to go away, " announced Ruth suddenly. "Iam perfectly well now, and there is no reason why I should stay. "

"Tired of us?"

"Oh no! I could never be that. I love it here and love all of you. Butafter all I am only a stranger. "

"Not to us, Ruthie. Listen. I would like to explain how I feel aboutthis, not from your point of view but from ours. "

Tony would be going away soon. They needed a home daughter very much, needed Ruth particularly as she had such a wonderful way with thechildren, who adored her, and because Granny loved her so well, thoughshe did not love many people who were not Holidays. And he and Larryneeded her good fairy ministrations. They had not been unmindful, thoughperhaps manlike they had not expressed their appreciation of the wayfresh flowers found their way to the offices daily, and they were keptfrom being snowed under by the newspapers of yester week. In short DoctorHoliday made it very clear that, if Ruth cared to stay she was wanted andneeded very much in the House on the Hill. And Ruth touched and gratefuland happy promised to remain. 

"If you think it is all right--" she added with rather sudden blush, "forme to stay when I am married or not married and don't know which. "

Whereupon Doctor Holiday, who happened not to observe the blush, remarkedthat he couldn't see what that had to do with it. Anyway she seemed likesuch a child to them that they hardly remembered the wedding ring at all. 

Ruth blushed again at that and wished she dared confess that she wasafraid the wedding ring had a good deal to do with the situation in theeyes of one Holiday at least. But she could not bring herself to speakthe fatal word which might banish her from the dear Hill and from Larry, who had come to be even dearer. 

A dozen times, while she was dressing for the dance later, Ruth felt likecrying out to Tony in the next room that she could not go, that she darednot face strangers, that it was too hard. But she set her lips firmlyand did nothing of the sort. Larry wanted her to do it. She wouldn'tdisappoint him if it killed her. 

Oh dear! Why did she always have to do everything as a case, never justas a girl. She couldn't even be natural as a girl. She had to be maybemarried. She hated the ring which seemed to her a symbol of bondage to apast that was dead and yet still clutched her with cold hands. She had achildish impulse to fling the ring out of the window where she couldnever--never see it again. If it wasn't for the ring--

She interrupted her own thoughts, blushing hotly again. She knew she hadmeant to go on, "If it were not for the ring she could marry LarryHoliday. " She mustn't think about that. She must not forget the ring, norlet Larry forget it. She must not let him love her. It was a terriblething she was doing. He was unhappy--dreadfully unhappy and it was allher fault. And by and by they would all see it. Tony had seen it today, she was almost sure. And Doctor Holiday would see it. He saw so much itwas a wonder he had not seen it long before this. They would hate her forhurting Larry and spoiling his life. She could not bear to have them hateher when she loved them so and they had been so kind and good to her. Shemust go away. She must. Maybe Larry would forget her if she wasn't alwaysthere right under his eyes. 

But how could she go? Doctor Philip would think it queer and ungratefulof her after she had promised to stay. How could she desert him and thechildren and dear Granny? And if she went what could she do? What use wasshe anyway but to be a trouble and a burden to everybody? It would havebeen better, much better, if Larry had left her to die in the wreck. 

Why didn't Geoffrey Annersley come and get her, if there was a GeoffreyAnnersley? She knew she would hate him, but she wished he would come forall that. Anything was better than making Larry suffer, making all theHolidays suffer through him. Oh why hadn't she died, why hadn't she?

But in her heart Ruth knew she did not want to die. She wanted to live. She wanted life and love and happiness and Larry Holiday. 

And then Tony stood on the threshold, smiling friendly encouragement. 

"Ready, hon? Oh, you look sweet! That blue is lovely for you. It neversuited me at all. Blue is angel color and I have too much--well, of theother thing in my composition to wear it. Come on. The boys have beenwhistling impatience for half an hour and I don't want to scare Larry outof going. It is the first function he has condescended to attend in ablue moon. "

On the porch Ted and Larry waited, two tall, sturdy, well-groomed, fine-looking youths, bearing the indefinable stamp of good birth andbreeding, the inheritance of a long line of clean strong men and gentlewomen--the kind of thing not forged in one generation but in many. 

They both rose as the girls appeared. Larry crossed over to Ruth. Hisquick gaze took in her nervousness and trouble of mind. 

"Are you all right, Ruth? You mustn't let us bully you into going if youreally don't want to. "

"No, I am all right. I do want to--with you, " she added softly. 

"We'll all go over in the launch, " announced Ted, but Larry interposedthe fact that he and Ruth were going in the canoe. Ruth would get tootired if she got into a crowd. 

"More professional graft, " complained Ted. He was only joking but Tonywith her sharpened sight knew that it was thin ice for Larry andsuspected he had non-professional reasons for wanting Ruth alone in thecanoe with him that night. Poor Larry! It was all a horrible tangle, justas her affair with Alan was. 

It was a night made for lovers, still and starry. Soft little breezescame tiptoeing along the water from fragrant nooks ashore and stoppedin their course to kiss Ruth's face as she lay content and lovely amongthe scarlet cushions, reading the eloquent message of Larry Holiday'sgray eyes. 

They did not talk much. They were both a little afraid of words. Theyfelt as if they could go on riding in perfect safety along the edge ofthe precipice so long as neither looked over or admitted out loud thatthere was a precipice. 

CHAPTER XVIII

A YOUNG MAN IN LOVE

The dance was well in progress when Larry and Ruth arrived. The latterwas greeted cordially and not too impressively by gay little Sue Emerson, their hostess, and her friends. Ruth was ensconced comfortably in a bigchair where she could watch the dancers and talk as much or little as shepleased. Everybody was so pleasant and natural and uncurious that she didnot feel frightened or strange at all, and really enjoyed the littlecourt she held between dances. Pretty girls and pleasant lads came totalk with her, the latter besieging her with invitations to dance whichshe refused so sweetly that they found the little Goldilocks morecharming than ever for her very denial. 

They rallied Larry however on his rigorous dragonship and finally Ruthherself dismissed him to dance with his hostess as a proper guest should. She never meant he must stick to her every moment anyway. That wasabsurd. He rose to obey reluctantly; but paused to ask if she wouldn'tdance with him just once. No, she couldn't--didn't even know whether shecould. He mustn't try to make her. And seeing she was in earnest, Larryleft her. But Ted came skating down the floor to her and he begged forjust one dance. 

"Oh, I couldn't, Ted, truly I couldn't, " she denied. 

But obeying a sudden impulse Ted had swooped down upon her, picked her upand before she really knew what was happening she had slid into stepwith him and was whirling off down the floor in his arms. 

"Didn't I tell you, sweetness?" he exulted. "Of course you can dance. What fairy can't? Tired?" He bent over to ask with the instinctivegentleness that was in all Holiday men. 

Ruth shook her head. She was exhilarated, excited, tense, happy. Shecould dance--she could. It was as easy and natural as breathing. She didnot want to stop. She wanted to go on and on. Then suddenly somethingsnapped. They came opposite Sue and Larry. The former called a gaygreeting and approval. Larry said nothing. His face was dead white, hisgray eyes black with anger. Both Ted and Ruth saw and understood and thelilt went out of the dance for both of them. 

"Oh Lord!" groaned Ted. "Now I've done it. I'm sorry, Ruth. I didn'tsuppose the old man would care. Don't see why he should it you arewilling. Come on, just one more round before the music stops and we'reboth beheaded. "

But Ruth shook her head. There was no more joy for her after that oneglimpse of Larry's face. 

"Take me to a seat, Ted, please. I'm tired. "

He obeyed and she sank down in the chair, white and trembling, utterlyexhausted. She was hurt and aching through and through. How could she?How could she have done that to Larry when he loved her so? How could shehave let Ted make her dance with him when she had refused to dance withLarry? No wonder he was angry. It was terrible--cruel. 

But he mustn't make a scene with Ted. He mustn't. She cast anapprehensive glance around the room. Larry was invisible. A forlornnesscame over her, a despair such as she had never experienced even in thatdreadful time after the wreck when she realized she had forgotteneverything. She felt as if she were sinking down, down in a fearfulblack sea and that there was no help for her anywhere. Larry had desertedher. Would he never come back?

In a minute Tony and the others were beside her, full of sympatheticquestions. How had it seemed to dance again? Wasn't it great to find shecould still do it? How had she dared to do it while Larry was off guard?Why wouldn't she, couldn't she dance with this one or that one if shecould dance with Ted Holiday? But they were quick to see she was reallytired and troubled and soon left her alone to Tony's ministrations. 

"Ruth, what is the trouble? Where is Larry? And Ted is gone, too. Whathappened?" Tony's voice was anxious. She hadn't seen Larry's face, butshe knew Larry and could guess at the rest. 

"Ted made me dance with him. I didn't mean to. But when we got started Icouldn't bear to stop, it was so wonderful to do it and to find I could. I--am afraid Larry didn't like it. "

"I presume he didn't, " said Larry's sister drily. "Let him be angry if hewants to be such a silly. It was quite all right, Ruthie. Ted has just asmuch right to dance with you as Larry has. "

"I am afraid Larry doesn't think so and I don't think so either. "

Tony squeezed the other girl's hand. 

"Never mind, honey. You mustn't take it like that. You are all of atremble. Larry has a fearful temper, but he will hang on to it for yoursake if for no other reason. He won't really quarrel with Ted. He neverdoes any more. And he won't say a word to you. "

"I'd rather he would, " sighed Ruth. "You are all so good to me and I--ammaking a dreadful lot of trouble for you all the time, though I don'tmean to and I love you so. "

"It isn't your fault, Ruthie, not a single speck of it. Oh, yes. I meanjust what you mean. Not simply Larry's being so foolish as to lose histemper about this little thing, but the whole big thing of your caringfor each other. It is all hard and mixed up and troublesome; but you arenot to blame, and Larry isn't to blame, and it will all come out rightsomehow. It has to. "

As soon as Ted had assured himself that Ruth was all right in hissister's charge he had looked about for Larry. Sue was perched on a tableeating marshmallows she had purloined from somewhere with Phil Lambertbeside her, but there was no Larry to be seen. 

Ted stepped outside the pavilion. He was honestly sorry his brother washurt and angry. He realized too late that maybe he hadn't behaved quitefairly or wisely in capturing Ruth like that, though he hadn't meant anyharm, and had had not the faintest idea Larry would really care, careenough to be angry as Ted had not seen him for many a long day. Larry'stemper had once been one of the most active of the family skeletons. Ithad not risen easily, but when it did woe betide whatever or whomever itmet in collision. By comparison with Larry's rare outbursts of rageTony's frequent ebullitions were as summer zephyrs to whirlwinds. 

But that was long past history. Larry had worked manfully to conquer hisfamiliar demon and had so far succeeded that sunny Ted had all butforgotten the demon ever existed. But he remembered now, had rememberedwith consternation when he saw the black passion in the other's face asthey met on the floor of the dance hall. 

Puzzled and anxious he stared down the slope toward the water. Larry wasjust stepping into the canoe. Was he going home, leaving Ruth to themercies of the rest of them, or was he just going off temporarily byhimself to fight his temper to a finish as he had been accustomed to dolong ago when he had learned to be afraid and ashamed of giving into it?Ted hesitated a moment, debating whether to call him back and get the rowover, if row there was to be, or to let him get away by himself as heprobably desired. 

"Hang it! It's my fault. I can't let him go off like that. It just aboutkills him to take it out of himself that way. I'd rather he'd take itout of me. "

With which conclusion Ted shot down the bank whistling softly the oldHoliday Hill call, the one Dick had used that day on the campus to summonhimself to the news that maybe Larry was killed. 

Larry did not turn. Ted reached the shore with one stride. 

"Larry, " he called. "I say, Larry. "

No answer. The older lad picked up the paddle, prepared grimly to pushoff, deaf, to all intents and purposes to the appeal in the youngerone's voice. 

But Ted Holiday was not an easily daunted person. With one flying leaphe landed in the canoe, all but upsetting the craft in his suddendescent upon it. 

The two youths faced each other. Larry was still white, and his sombreeyes blazed with half subdued fires. He looked anything but hospitable toadvances, however well meant. 

"Better quit, " he advised slowly in a queer, quiet voice which Ted knewwas quiet only because Larry was making it so by a mighty effort ofwill. "I'm not responsible just now. We'll both be sorry if you don'tleave me alone. "

"I won't quit, Larry. I can't. It was my fault. Confound it, old man!Please listen. I didn't mean to make you mad. Come ashore and punch myfool head if it will make you feel any better. "

Still Larry said nothing, just sat hunched in a heap, running hisfingers over the handle of the paddle. He no longer even looked at Ted. His mouth was set at its stubbornest. 

Ted rushed on, desperately in earnest, entirely sincere in hiswillingness to undergo any punishment, himself, to help Larry. 

"Honest, I didn't mean to make trouble, " he pleaded. "I just picked herup and made her dance on impulse, though she told me she wouldn't andcouldn't. I never thought for a minute you would care. Maybe it was amean trick. I can see it might have looked so, but I didn't intend itthat way. Gee, Larry! Say something. Don't swallow it all like that. Getit out of your system. I'd rather you'd give me a dozen black eyes thansit still and feel like the devil. "

Larry looked up then. His face relaxed its sternness a little. Even thehottest blaze of wrath could not burn quite so fiercely when exposed to agenerous penitence like his young brother's. He understood Ted wasworking hard not only to make peace but to spare himself the sharp battlewith the demon which, as none knew better that Larry Holiday, did, indeed, half kill. 

"Cut it, Ted, " he ordered grimly. "'Nough said. I haven't theslightest desire to give you even one black eye at present, though Imay as well admit if you had been in my hands five minutes agosomething would have smashed. "

"Don't I know it?" Ted grinned a little. "Gee, I thought my hourhad struck!"

"What made you come after me then?"

Ted's grin faded. 

"You know why I came, old man. You know I'd let you pommel my head offany time if it could help you anyhow. Besides it was my fault as I toldyou. I didn't mean to be mean. I'll do any penance you say. "

Larry picked up the paddle. 

"Your penance is to let me absolutely alone for fifteen minutes. You hadbetter go ashore though. You will miss a lot of dances. "

"Hang the dances! I'm staying. "

Ted settled down among the cushions against which Ruth's blonde head hadnestled a few hours ago. He took out his watch, struck a match, looked atthe time, lit a cigarette with the same match, replaced the watch andrelapsed into silence. 

The canoe shot down the lake impelled by long, fierce strokes. Larry wasworking off the demon. Far away the rhythmic beat of dance music reachedthem faintly. Now and then a fish leaped and splashed or a bull frogbellowed his hoarse "Better go home" into the silence. Otherwise therewas no sound save the steady ripple of the water under the canoe. 

Presently Ted finished his cigarette, sent its still ruddy remainsflashing off into the lake where it fell with a soft hiss, took out hiswatch again, lit another match, considered the time, subtracted gravely, looked up and announced "Time's up, Larry. "

Larry laid down the paddle and a slow reluctant smile played around thecorners of his mouth, though there was sharp distress still in hiseyes. He loathed losing his temper like that. It sickened him, filledhim with spiritual nausea, a profound disgust for himself and hismastering weakness. 

"I've been a fool, kid, " he admitted. "I'm all right now. You were atrump to stand by me. I appreciate it. "

"Don't mention it, " nonchalantly from Ted "Going back to the pavilion?"

His brother nodded, resumed the paddle and again the canoe shot throughthe waters, this time toward the music instead of away from it. 

"I suppose you know why your dancing with Ruth made me go savage, " saidLarry after a few moments of silence. 

"Damned if I do, " said Ted cheerfully. "It doesn't matter. I don't need aglossary and appendix. Suit yourself as to the explanations. I put myfoot in it. I've apologized. That is the end of it so far as I amconcerned unless you want to say something more yourself. You don't haveto you know. "

"It was plain, fool movie stuff jealousy. That is the sum andsubstance of it. I'm in love with her. I couldn't stand her dancingwith you when she had refused me. I could almost have killed you for aminute. I am ashamed but I couldn't help it. That is the way it was. Now--forget it, please. "

Ted swallowed hard and pulled his forelock in genuine perturbation. 

"Good Lord, Larry!" he blurted. "I--"

His brother held up an imperious warning hand. 

"I said 'forget it. ' Don't make me want to dump you now, after comingthrough the rest. "

Ted saluted promptly. 

"Ay, ay, sir! It's forgot. Only perhaps you'll let me apologize again, underscored, now I understand. Honest, I'm no end sorry, Larry. "

The other nodded acceptance of the underscored apology and again silencehad its way. 

As they landed Ted fastened the canoe and for a moment the two brothersstood side by side in the starlight. Larry put out his hand. Ted took it. Their eyes met, said more than any words could have expressed. 

"Thank you, Ted. You've been great--helped a lot. "

Larry's voice was a little unsteady, his eyes were full of troubleand shame. 

"Ought to, after starting the conflagration, " said Ted. "I'll attend tothe general explanations. You go to Ruth. "

More than one person had wondered at the mysterious disappearance of thetwo Holidays. It is quite usual, and far from unexpected, when two youngpersons of the opposite sex drift off somewhere under the stars on asummer night without giving any particular account of themselves; but onescarcely looks for that sort of social--or unsocial--eccentricity fromtwo youths, especially two brothers. Nobody but Ruth and Tony, andpossibly shrewd-eyed Sue, suspected a quarrel, but everybody was curiousand ready to burst into interrogation upon the simultaneous return of thetwo young men which was quite as sudden as their vanishing had been. 

"Larry and I had a wager up, " announced Ted to Sue in a perfectly clear, distinct voice which carried across the length of the small hall now thatthe music was silent. "He said he could paddle down to the point, currentagainst him, faster than I could paddle back, current with me. We took anotion to try it out tonight. Please forgive us, Susanna, my dear. AHoliday is a creature of impulse you know. "

Sue made a little face at the speaker. She was quite sure he was lyingabout the wager, but she was a good hostess and played up to his game. 

"You don't deserve to be forgiven, either of you, " she sniffed. "Especially Larry who never comes to parties and when he does has to gooff and do a silly thing like that. Who won though? I will ask that. " Shesmiled at Ted and he grinned back. 

"Larry, of course. Give me a dance, Sue. I've got my second wind. "

"Bless Ted!" thought Tony, listening to her brother's glib excuses. "Thank goodness he can lie like that. Larry never could. " And as her eyesmet Ted's a moment later when they passed each other in the maze ofdancers he murmured "All right" in her ear and she was well content. Bless Ted, indeed!

Meanwhile Larry had gone, as Ted bade him, straight to Ruth. He bent overher tired little white face, an agony of remorse in his own. 

"Ruth, forgive me. I'll never forgive myself. "

"Don't, Larry. It is I who ought to be sorry and I am--oh so sorry--youdon't know. Ted didn't mean any harm. I ought not to have let him do it. It was my fault. "

"There was nobody at fault except me and my fool temper. I am desperatelyashamed of myself Ruth. I've left you all alone all this time and Ipromised I wouldn't. You'll never trust me again and I don't deserve tobe trusted. It doesn't do any good to say I am sorry. It can't undo whatI did. I didn't dare stay and that's the fact. I didn't know what I'd doto Ted if he got in my way. I felt--murderous. "

"Larry!"

"I know it sounds awful. It is awful. It is an old battle. I thought I'dwon it, but I haven't. Don't look so scared though. Nothing happened. Tedcame after me like the corking big-hearted kid he is and brought me to, in half the time I could have done it for myself. It is thanks to him I'mhere now. But never mind that. It is only you that matters. Shall I takeyou home? I don't deserve it, but if you will let me it will show youforgive me a little bit anyway, " he finished humbly. 

"Don't look so dreadfully unhappy, Larry. It is over now, and of course Iforgive you if you think there is anything to forgive. I'm so thankfulyou didn't quarrel with Ted. I was awfully worried and so was Tony. Shewatched the door every minute till you came back. "

"I suppose so, " groaned Larry. "I made one horrible mess of everythingfor you all. Are you ready to go?"

"I'd like to dance with you once first, Larry, if--if you would like to. "

"Would I like to!" Larry's face lost its mantle of gloom, was suddensunshine all over. "Will you really dance with me--after the rotten wayI've behaved?"

"Of course, I will. I wanted to all the time, but I was afraid. But whenTed made me it all came back and I loved it, only it was you I wanted todance with most. You know that, don't you, Larry, dear?" The last wordwas very low, scarcely more than a breath, but Larry heard it and itnearly undid him. A flood of long-pent endearments trembled on his lips. But Ruth held up a hand of warning. 

"Don't, Larry. We mustn't spoil it. We've got to remember the ring. "

"Damn the ring!" he exploded. "I beg your pardon. " Larry was genuinelyshocked at his own bad manners. "I don't know why I'm such a brutetonight. Let's dance. "

And to the delight and relief of the younger Holidays, Larry and Ruthjoined the dancers. 

The dance over, they made their farewells. Larry guided Ruth down theslope, his arm around her ostensibly for her support, and helped her intothe canoe. Once more they floated off over the quiet water, under thequiet stars. But their young hearts were anything but quiet. Their lovewas no longer an unacknowledged thing. Neither knew just what was to bedone with it; but there it was in full sight, as both admitted in joyand trepidation and silence. 

As Larry held open the door for her to step inside the quiet hall he bentover the girl a moment, taking both her hands in his. Then he drew awayabruptly and bolted into the living room, leaving her to grope her way upstairs in the dark alone. 

"I wonder, " she murmured to herself later as she stood before her mirrorshaking out her rippling golden locks from their confining net. "I wonderif it would have been so terrible if he had kissed me just that once. Sometimes I wish he weren't quite so--so Holidayish. "

CHAPTER XIX

TWO HOLIDAYS MAKE CONFESSION

The next evening Doctor Holiday listened to a rather elaborate argumenton the part of his older nephew in favor of the latter's leaving Dunburyimmediately in pursuit of his specialist training that he had planned togo in for eventually. 

"You are no longer contented here with me--with us?" questioned the olderman when the younger had ended his exposition. 

Larry's quick ear caught the faint hurt in his uncle's voice and hastenedto deny the inference. 

"It isn't that, Uncle Phil. I am perfectly satisfied--happier here withyou that I would be anywhere else in the world. You have been wonderfulto me. I am not such an ungrateful idiot as not to understand andappreciate what a start it has given me to have you and your name andwork behind me. Only--maybe I've been under your wing long enough. MaybeI ought to stand on my feet. "

Doctor Holiday studied the troubled young face opposite him. He wasfairly certain that he wasn't getting the whole or the chief reasonswhich were behind this sudden proposition. 

"Do you wish to go at once?" he asked. "Or will the first of the year besoon enough. "

Larry flushed and fell to fumbling with a paper knife that lay on thedesk. 

"I--I meant to go right away, " he stammered. 

"Why?"

Larry was silent. 

"I judge the evidence isn't all in, " remarked the older doctor a littledrily. "Am I going to hear the rest of it--the real reason for yourdecision to go just now?"

Still silence on Larry's part, the old obstinate set to his lips. 

"Very well then. Suppose I take my turn. I think you haven't quite allthe evidence yourself. Do you know Granny is dying?"

The paper knife fell with a click to the floor. 

"Uncle Phil! No, I didn't know. Of course I knew it was coming but youmean--soon?"

"Yes, Larry, I mean soon. How soon no one can tell, but I should saythree months would be too long to allow. "

The boy brushed his hand across his eyes. He loved Granny. He had alwaysseemed to understand her better than the others had and had been himselfalways the favorite. Moreover he was bound to her by a peculiar tie, having once saved her life, conquering his boyish fear to do so. It washard to realize she was really going, that no one could save her now. 

"I didn't know, " he said again in a low voice. 

"Ted will go back to college. I shall let Tony go to New York to study asshe wishes, just as you had your chance. It isn't exactly the time foryou to desert us, my boy. "

"I won't, Uncle Phil. I'll stay. "

"Thank you, son. I felt sure you wouldn't fail us. You never have. But Iwish you felt as if you could tell me the other reason or reasons forgoing which you are keeping back. If it is they are stronger than the oneI have given you for staying it is only fair that I should have them. "

Larry's eyes fell. A slow flush swept his face, ran up to his very hair. 

"My boy, is it Ruth?"

The gray eyes lifted, met the older man's grave gaze unfalteringly. 

"Yes, Uncle Phil, it is Ruth. I thought you must have seen it beforethis. It seemed as if I were giving myself away, everything I did ordidn't do. "

"I have thought of it occasionally, but dismissed the idea as toofantastic. It hasn't been so obvious as it seemed to you no doubt. Youhave not made love to her?"

"Not in so many words. I might just as well have though. She knows. If itweren't for the ring--well, I think she would care too. "

"I am very sorry, Larry. It looks like a bad business all round. Yet Ican't see that you have much to blame yourself for. I withdraw myobjections to your going away. If it seems best to you to go I haven't aword to say. "

"I don't know whether it is best or not. I go round and round in circlestrying to work it out. It seems cowardly to run away from it, particularly if I am needed here. A man ought not to pull up stakes justbecause things get a little hard. Besides Ruth would think she had drivenme away. I know she would go herself if she guessed I was even thinkingof going. And I couldn't stand that. I'd go to the north pole myself andstay forever before I would send her away from you all. I was so gratefulto you for asking her to stay and making her feel she was needed. She wasawfully touched and pleased. She told me last night. "

The senior doctor considered, thought back to his talk with Ruth. Poorchild! So that was what she had been trying to tell him. She had thoughtshe ought to go away on Larry's account, just as he was thinking he oughtto go on hers. Poor hapless youngsters caught in the mesh ofcircumstances! It was certainly a knotty problem. 

"It isn't easy to say what is right and best to do, " he said after amoment. "It is something you will have to decide for yourself. When youcame to me you had decided it was best to go, had you not? Was there aspecially urgent reason?"

Larry flushed again and related briefly the last night's unhappyincident. 

"I'm horribly ashamed of the way I acted, " he finished. "And the wholething showed me I couldn't count on my self-control as I thought I could. I couldn't sleep last night, and I thought perhaps maybe the thing to dowas to get out quick before I did any real damage. It doesn't matterabout me. It is Ruth. "

"Do you think you can stay on and keep a steady head for her sake andfor ours?"

"I can, Uncle Phil. It is up to me to stick and I'll do it. UnclePhil, how long must a woman in Ruth's position wait before she canlegally marry?"

"Ruth's position is so unique that I doubt if there is any legalprecedent for it. Ordinarily when the husband fails to put in appearanceand the presumption is he is no longer living, the woman is consideredfree in the eyes of the law, after a certain number of years, varying Ibelieve, in different states. With Ruth the affair doesn't seem to be acase of law at all. She is in a position which requires the utmostprotection from those who love her as we do. The obligation is moralrather than legal. I wouldn't let my mind run on the marrying aspects ofthe case at present my boy. "

"I--Uncle Phil, sometimes I think I'll just marry her anyway and let therest of it take care of itself. There isn't any proof she is married--notthe slightest shadow of proof, " Larry argued with sudden heat. 

His uncle's eyebrows went up. "Steady, Larry. A wedding ring is usuallyconsidered presumptive evidence of marriage. "

"I don't care, " flashed the boy, the tension of the past weeks suddenlysnapping. "She loves me. I don't see what right anything has to comebetween us. What is a wedding ceremony when a man and woman belong toeach other as we belong? Hanged if I don't think I'd be justified inmarrying her tomorrow! There is nothing but a ring to prevent. "

"There is a good deal more than a ring to prevent, " said Doctor Holidaywith some sternness. "What if you did do just that and her husbandappeared in two months or six?"

"I don't believe she has a husband. If she had he would have come afterher before this. We've waited. He's had time. "

"You have waited scarcely two months, Larry. That is hardly enough timeupon which to base finalities. "

"What of it? I'm half crazy sometimes over the whole thing. I can't seethings straight. I don't want to. I don't want anything but Ruth, whethershe is married or not. I want her. Some day I'll ask her to go off withme and she will go. She will do anything I ask. "

"Hold on, Larry lad. You are saying things you don't mean. You are thelast man in the world to take advantage of a girl's defenseless positionand her love for you to gratify your own selfish desires and perhapswreck her life and your own. "

Larry bit his lip, wheeled and went over to the window, staring out intothe night. At last he turned back, white, but master of himself again. 

"I beg your pardon, Uncle Phil. You are right. I was talking like a fool. Of course I'll do nothing of the kind. I won't do anything to harm Ruthanyway. I won't even make love to her--if I can help it, " he qualified ina little lower tone. 

"If you can't you had better go at once, " said his uncle still abit sternly. Then more gently. "I know you don't want to play thecad, Larry. "

"I won't, Uncle Phil. I promise. "

"Very well. I am satisfied with your word. Remember I am ready tohelp any way and if it gets too hard I'll make it easy at any timefor you to go. But in the mean time we won't talk about it. The leastsaid the better. "

Larry nodded his assent to that and suddenly switched to another subject, asking his uncle what he knew about this Alan Massey with whom Tony washaving such an extensive correspondence. 

His uncle admitted that he didn't know much of anything about him, exceptthat he was the inheritor of the rather famous Massey property and anartist of some repute. 

"He has plenty of repute of other kinds, " said Larry. "He is athorough-going rotter, I infer. I made some inquiries from a chap whoknows him. He has gone the pace and then some. It makes me sick to haveTony mixed up with a chap like that. "

"You haven't said anything to her yourself?"

"No. Don't dare. It would only make it worse for me to tackle her. Neither she nor Ted will stand any interference from me. We are a crankylot I am afraid. We all have what Dad used to call the family devil. Sofar as I know you are the only person on record that can manage him. "

And Larry smiled rather shame-facedly at his uncle. 

"I am afraid you will all three have to learn to manage your ownparticular familiar. Devils are rather personal property, Larry. "

"Don't I know it? I got into mighty close range with mine last night, andjust now for that matter. Anyway I am not prepared to do any preaching atanybody at present; but I would be awfully grateful to you if you willspeak to Tony. Somebody has to. And you can do it a million times betterthan anyone else. "

"Very well. I will see what I can do. " And thus quietly Doctor Holidayaccepted another burden on his broad shoulders. 

The next day he found Tony on the porch reading one of the long letterswhich came to her so frequently in the now familiar, dashing script. 

"Got a minute for me, niece o' mine?" he asked. 

Tony slid Alan's letter back into its envelope and smiled up ather uncle. 

"Dozens of them, nice uncle, " she answered. 

"It is getting well along in the summer and high time we decided a fewthings. Do you still want to go in for the stage business in the fall?"

"I want to very much, Uncle Phil, if you think it isn't too much likedeserting Granny and the rest of you. "

"No, you have earned it. I want you to go. I don't suppose because youhaven't talked about Hempel's offer that it means you have forgotten it?"

"Indeed, I haven't forgotten it. For myself I would much rather getstraight on the stage if I could and learn by doing it, but you wouldprefer to have me go to a regular dramatic school, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Tony, I would. A year of preparation isn't a bit too much to getyour bearings in before you take the grand plunge. I want you to be verysure that the stage is what you really want. "

"I am sure of that already. I've been sure for ages. But I am perfectlywilling to do the thing any way you want and I am more grateful than Ican tell you that you are on my side about it. Are you going to tellGranny? It will about break her heart I am afraid. " Tony's eyes weretroubled. She did hate to hurt Granny; but on the other hand she couldn'twait forever to begin. 

She did not see the shadow that crept over her uncle's face. Well he knewthat long before Tony was before the footlights, Granny would be whereprejudices and misunderstandings were no more; but he had no wish to marthe girl's happiness by betraying the truth just now. 

"I think we are justified in indulging in a little camouflage there, " hesaid. "We will tell Granny you are going to study art. Art covers amultitude of sins, " he added with a lightness he was far from feeling. "One thing more, my dear. I have waited a good while to hear somethingabout the young man who writes these voluminous letters. "' He nodded atthe envelope in Tony's lap. "I like his writing; but I should like toknow something about him, --himself. "

Tony flushed and averted her eyes for a moment. Then she looked upfrankly. 

"I haven't said anything because I didn't know what to say. He is AlanMassey, the artist. I met him at Carlotta's. He wants to marry me. "

"But you have not already accepted him?"

"No, I couldn't. He--he isn't the kind of man you would want me to marry. He is trying to be, for my sake though. I think he will succeed. I toldhim if he wanted to ask me again next summer I would tell him what myanswer would be. "

"He is on probation then?"

"Yes. "

"And you care for him?"

"I--think so. "

"You don't know it?"

"No, Uncle Phil. I don't. He cares so much for me--so terribly much. AndI don't know whether I care enough or not. I should have to care a greatdeal to overlook what he has been and done. Maybe it wasn't anything butmidsummer madness and his wonderful dancing. We danced almost every nightuntil I sent him away. And when we danced we seemed to be just oneperson. Aside from his dancing he fascinated me. I couldn't forget him orignore him. He was--is--different from any man I ever knew. I feeldifferently about him from what I ever felt about any other man. Maybe itis love. Maybe it isn't. I--I thought it was last month. "

Doctor Holiday shook his head dubiously. 

"And you are not so sure now?" he questioned. 

"Not always, " admitted Tony. "I didn't want to love him. I fought it withall my might. I didn't want to be bothered with love. I wanted to behappy and free and make a great success of my work. But after Alan cameall those things didn't seem to matter. I am afraid it goes rather deep, Uncle Phil. Sometimes I think he means more to me than even you and Larryand Ted do. It is strange. It isn't kind or loyal or decent. But that isthe way it is. I have to be honest, even if it hurts. "

Her dark eyes were wistful and beseeched forgiveness as they sought heruncle's. He did not speak and she went on swiftly, earnestly. 

"Please don't ask me to break off with him, Uncle Phil. I couldn't do it, not only because I care for him too much, but because it would be cruelto him. He has gotten out of his dark forest. I don't want to drive himback into it. And that is what it would mean if I deserted him now. Ihave to go on, no matter what you or Larry or any one thinks about it. "

She had risen now and stood before her uncle earnestly pleading herlover's cause and her own. 

"It isn't fair to condemn a man forever because he has made mistakes backin the past. We don't any of us know what we would have been like ifthings had been different. Larry and Ted are fine. I am proud of theirclean record. It would be horrible if people said things about either ofthem such as they say about Alan. But Larry and Ted have every reason tobe fine. They have had you and Dad and Grandfather Holiday and the restof them to go by. They have lived all their lives in the Holidaytradition of what a man should be. Alan has had nobody, nothing. Nobodyever helped him to see the difference between right and wrong and why itmattered which you chose. He does see now. He is trying to begin all overagain and begin right. And I'm going to stand by him. I have to--even ifI have to go against you, Uncle Phil. "

There was a quiver--almost a sob in Tony's voice Her uncle drew herinto his arms. 

"All right, little girl. It is not an easy thing to swallow. I hate tohave your shining whiteness touch pitch even for a minute. No, wait, dear. I am not going to condemn your lover. If he is sincerely in earnestin trying to clean the slate, I have only respect for the effort. You areright about much of it. We can none of us afford to do over much judging. We are all sinners, more or less. And there are a million things to betaken into consideration before we may dare to sit in judgment upon anyhuman being. It takes a God to do that. I am not going to ask you to givehim up, or to stop writing or even seeing him. But I do want you to goslow. Marriage is a solemn thing. Don't wreck your life from pity ormistaken devotion. Better a heart-ache now than a life-long regret. Letyour lover prove himself just as you have set him to do. A woman can'tsave a man. He has to save himself. But if he will save himself for loveof her the chances are he will stay saved and his love is the real thing. I shall accept your decision. I shan't fight it in any way, whatever itis. All I ask is that you will wait the full year before you make anydefinite promise of marriage. "

"I will, " said Tony. "I meant to do that any way. I am not such a foolishchild as maybe you have been thinking I was. I am pretty much grown up, Uncle Phil. And I have plenty of sense. It I hadn't--I should be marriedto Alan this minute. "

He smiled a little sadly at that. 

"Youth! Youth! Yes, Tony, I believe you have sense. Maybe I haveunder-estimated it. Any way I thank the good Lord for it. No moresecrets? Everything clear?"

He lifted her face in his hands and looked down into her eyes with tendersearching. 

"Not a secret. I am very glad to have you know. We all feel better themoment we dump all our woes on you, " she sighed. 

He smiled and stroked her hair. 

"I had much rather be a dumping ground than be shut out of the confidenceof any one of you. That hurts. We all have to stand by Larry, just now. Not in words but in--well, we'll call it moral support. The poor ladneeds it. "

"Oh, Uncle Phil! Did he tell you or did you guess?"

"A little of both. The boy is in a bad hole, Tony. But he will keep outof the worst of the bog. He has grit and chivalry enough to pull throughsomehow. And maybe before many weeks the mystery will be cleared forbetter or worse. We can only hope for the best and hold on tight toLarry, and Ruth too, till they are out of the woods. "

CHAPTER XX

A YOUNG MAN NOT FOR SALE

Philip Lambert was rather taken by surprise when Harrison Cressy appearedat the store one day late in August, announcing that he had come to talkbusiness and practically commanding the young man to lunch with him thatnoon. It was Saturday and Phil had little time for idle conjecture, buthe did wonder every now and then that morning what business Carlotta'sfather could possibly have with himself, and if by any chance Carlottahad sent him. 

Later, seated in the dining-room of the Eagle Hotel, Dunbury's onehostelry, it seemed to Phil that his host was distinctly nervous, withconsiderably less than his usual brusque, dogmatic poise of manner. 

Having left soup the waiter shuffled away with the congenital air ofdiscouragement which belongs to his class, and Harrison Cressy got downto business in regard both to the soup and his mission in Dunbury. He wasstarting a branch brokerage concern in a small city just out of Boston. He needed a smart young man to put at the head of it. The smart young manwould get a salary of five thousand a year, plus his commissions to startwith. If he made good the salary would go up in proportion. In fact thesky would be the limit. He offered the post to Philip Lambert. 

Phil laid down his soup spoon and stared at his companion. After a momenthe remarked that it was rather unusual, to say the least, to offer asalary like that to an utter greenhorn in a business as technical asbrokerage, and that he was afraid he was not in the least fitted for theposition in question. 

"That is my look out, " snapped Mr. Cressy. "Do I look like a born fool, Philip Lambert? You don't suppose I am jumping in the dark do you? I havegone to some pains to look up your record in college. I found out youmade good no matter what you attempted, on the gridiron, in theclassroom, everywhere else. I've been picking men for years and I've goneon the principle that a man who makes good in one place will make good inanother if he has sufficient incentive. "

"I suppose the five thousand is to be considered in the light of anincentive, " said Phil. 

"It is five times the incentive and more than I had when I started out, "grunted his host. "What more do you want?"

"Nothing. I don't want so much. I couldn't earn it. And in any case Icannot consider any change at present. I have gone in with my father. "

"So I understood. But that is not a hard and fast arrangement. A youngman like you has to look ahead. Your father won't stand in the way ofyour bettering yourself. " Harrison Cressy spoke with conviction. Well hemight. Though Philip had not known it his companion had spent an hour inearnest conversation with his father that morning. Harrison Cressy knewhis ground there. 

"Go ahead, Mr. Cressy, " Stewart Lambert had said at the close of theinterview. "You have my full permission to offer the position to theboy and he has my full permission to accept it. He is free to gotomorrow if he cares to. If it is for his happiness it is what hismother and I want. "

But the younger Lambert was yet to be reckoned with. 

"It is a hard and fast arrangement so far as I am concerned, " he saidquietly now. "Dad can fire me. I shan't fire myself. "

Mr. Cressy made a savage lunge at a fly that had ventured to light on thesugar bowl, not knowing it was for the time being Millionaire Cressy'ssugar bowl. He hated being balked, even temporarily. He had supposed thehardest sledding would be over when he had won the father's consent. Hehad authentic inside information that the son had stakes other thanfinancial. He counted on youth's imperious urge to happiness. The lad haddone without Carlotta for two months now. It had seemed probable he wouldbe more amenable to reason in August than he had been in June. But it didnot look like it just now. 

"You are a darn fool, my young man, " he gnarled. 

"Very likely, " said Phil Lambert, with the same quietness which hadmarked his father's speech earlier in the day. "If you had a son, Mr. Cressy, wouldn't you want him to be the same kind of a darn fool? Wouldyou expect him to take French leave the first time somebody offered himmore money?"

Harrison Cressy snorted, beckoned to the waiter his face purple withrage. Why in blankety blank blank et cetera, et cetera, didn't he bringthe fish? Did he think they were there for the season? Philip did notknow he had probed an old wound. The one great disappointment of HarrisonCressy's career was the fact that he had no son, or had had one for sucha brief space of hours that he scarcely counted except as a patheticmight-have-been And even as Phil had said, so he would have wanted hisson to behave. The boy was a man, every inch of him, just such a man asHarrison Gressy had coveted for his own. 

"Hang the money part. " he snapped back at Phil, after the interlude withthe harrassed waiter. "Let's drop it. "

"With all my heart, " agreed Phil. "Considering the money part hanged whatis left to the offer? Carlotta?"

Mr. Cressy dropped his fork with a resounding clatter to the floor andswore muttered monotonous oaths at the waiter for not beinginstantaneously on the spot to replace the implement. 

"Young man, " he said to Phil. "You are too devilish smart. Carlotta--iswhy I am here. "

"So I imagined. Did she send you?"

"Great Scott, no! My life wouldn't be worth a brass nickel if she knew Iwas here. "

"I am glad she didn't. I wouldn't like Carlotta to think I couldbe--bribed. "

"She didn't. Carlotta has perfectly clear impressions as to where youstand. She gives you entire credit for being the blind, stubborn, pigheaded jack-ass that you are. "

Phil grinned faintly at this accumulation of epithets, but his blue eyeshad no mirth in them. The interview was beginning to be something of astrain. He wished it were over. 

"That's good, " he said. "Apparently we all know where we all stand. Ihave no illusions about Carlotta's view-point either. There is no reasonI should have. I got it first hand. "

"Don't be an idiot, " ordered Mr. Cressy. "A woman can have as manyview-points as there are days in the year, counting Sundays double. Youhave no more idea this minute where Carlotta stands than--than I have, "he finished ignominiously, wiping his perspiring forehead with animported linen handkerchief. 

"Do you mind telling me just why you are here, if Carlotta didn't sendyou? I don't flatter myself you automatically selected me for your newpost without some rather definite reason behind it. "

"I came because I had a notion you were the best man for another job--ajob that makes the whole brokerage business look like a game ofjack-straws--the job of marrying my daughter Carlotta. "

Phil stared. He had not expected Mr. Cressy to take this position. He hadbeen ready enough to believe Carlotta's prophecy that her parent wouldraise a merry little row if she announced to him her intention ofmarrying that obscure individual, Philip Lambert, of Dunbury, Massachusetts. He thought that particular way of behavior on the parent'spart not only probable but more or less justifiable, all thingsconsidered. He saw no reason now why Mr. Cressy should feel otherwise. 

Harrison Cressy drained a deep draught of water, once more wiped hishighly shining brow and leaned forward over the table toward hispuzzled guest. 

"You see, Philip, " he went on using the young man's first name for thefirst time. "Carlotta is in love with you. "

Philip flushed and his frank eyes betrayed that this, though not entirelynew news, was not unwelcome to hear. 

"In fact, " continued Carlotta's father grimly, "she is so much in lovewith you she is going to marry another man. "

The light went out of Phil's eyes at that, but he said nothing to thisany more than he had to the preceding statement. He waited for the otherman to get at what he wanted to say. 

"I can't stand Carlotta's being miserable. I never could. It is why I amhere, to see if I can't fix up a deal with you to straighten things out. I am in your hands, boy, at your mercy. I have the reputation of beinghard as shingle nails. I'm soft as putty where the girl is concerned. Itkills me by inches to have her unhappy. "

"Is she--very unhappy?" Phil's voice was sober. He thought that he toowas soft as putty, or softer where Carlotta was concerned. It made himsick all over to think of her being unhappy. 

"She is--damnably unhappy. " Harrison Cressy blew his nose with a sound asof a trumpet. "Here you, " he bellowed at the waiter who was timidlyapproaching. "Is that our steak at last? Bring it here, quick and don'tjibber. Are you deaf and dumb as well as paralyzed?"

The host attacked the steak with ferocity, slammed a generous section ona plate and fairly threw it at the young man opposite. Phil wasn'tinterested in steak. He scarcely looked at it. His eyes were on Mr. Cressy, his thoughts were on that gentleman's only daughter. 

"I am sorry she is unhappy, " he said. "I don't know how much you knowabout it all; but since you know so much I assume you also know that Icare for Carlotta just as much as she cares for me, possibly more. Iwould marry her tomorrow if I could. "

"For the Lord Harry's sake, do it then. I'll put up the money. "

Phil's face hardened. 

"That is precisely the rock that Carlotta and I split on, Mr. Cressy. Shewanted to have you put up the money. I love Carlotta but I don't love herenough to let her or you--buy me. "

The old man and the young faced each other across the table. There was adeadlock between them and both knew it. 

"But this offer I've made you is a bona fide one. You'll make good. Youwill be worth the five thousand and more in no time. I know your kind. Itold you I was a good picker. It isn't a question of buying. Can themovie stuff. It's a fair give and take. "

"I have refused your offer, Mr. Cressy. "

"You refused it before you knew Carlotta was eating her heart out foryou. Doesn't that make any difference to you, my lad? You said you lovedher, " reproachfully. 

A huge blue-bottle fly buzzed past the table, passed on to the windowwhere it fluttered about aimlessly, bumping itself against the pane hereand there. Mechanically Phil watched its gyrations. It was one of thehardest moments of his life. 

"In one way it makes a great difference, Mr. Cressy, " he answered slowly. "It breaks my heart to have her unhappy. But it wouldn't make her happyto have me do something I know isn't right or fair or wise. I knowCarlotta. Maybe I know her better than you do; I know she doesn't want methat way. "

"But you can't expect her to live in a hole like this, on a yearlyincome that is probably less than she spends in one month just fornothing much. "

"I don't expect it, " explained Phil patiently. "I've never blamedCarlotta for deciding against it. But there is no use going over it all. She and I had it out together. It is our affair, not yours, Mr. Cressy. "

"Philip Lambert, did you ever see Carlotta cry?"

Phil winced. The shot went home. 

"No. I'd hate to, " he admitted. 

"You would, " seconded Harrison Cressy. "I hated it like the devil myself. She cried all over my new dress suit the other night. "

Phil's heart was one gigantic ache. The thought of Carlotta in tears wasalmost unbearable. Carlotta--his Carlotta--was all sunshine and laughter. 

"It was like this, " went on Carlotta's parent. "Her aunt told me she wasgoing to marry young Lathrop--old skin-flint tea-and-coffee Lathrop'sson. I couldn't quite stomach it. The fellow's an ass, an unobjectionableass, it is true, but with all the ear marks. I tackled Carlotta about it. She said she wasn't engaged but might be any minute. I said some foolthing about wanting her to be happy, and the next thing I knew she was inmy arms crying like anything. I haven't seen her cry since she was alittle tot. She has laughed her way through life always up to now. Icouldn't bear it. I can't bear it now, even remembering it. I squeezedthe story out of her, drop at a time, till I got pretty much the wholebucket full. I tell you, Phil Lambert, you've got to give in. I can'thave her heart broken. You can't have her heart broken. God, man, it'syour funeral too. "

Phil felt very much as if it were his own funeral. But he did not speak. He couldn't. The other forged on, his big, mumbling bass mingled with thebuzz of the blue-bottle in the window. 

"I made up my mind something had to be done and done quick. I wasn'tgoing to have my little girl run her head into the noose by marryingLathrop when it was you she loved. I got busy, made inquiries about youas I said. I had to before I offered you the job naturally, but it wasmore than that. I had to find out whether you were the kind of man Iwanted my Carlotta to marry. I found out, and came up here to put theproposition to you. I talked to your father first, by the way, and gothis consent to go ahead with my plans. "

"You went to my father!" There was concern and a trace of indignation inPhil's voice. 

"Naturally I was playing to win. I had to hold all the trumps. I wantedyour father on my side--had to have him in fact. He came without amurmur. He is a good sport. Said all he wanted was your happiness, sameas all I wanted was Carlotta's. We quite understood each other. "

Phil sat silent with down cast eyes on his almost untasted salad. Hecouldn't bear to think of his father's being attacked like that, hit witha lightning bolt out of a clear sky. The more he thought about it themore he resented it. Of course Dad would agree. He was a good sport asMr. Cressy said. Rut that didn't make the thing any easier or morejustifiable. 

"Your father is willing. I want it. Carlotta wants it. You want it, yourself. Lord, boy, be honest. You know you do. You'll never regretgiving in. Remember it is for Carlotta's happiness we are both lookingfor. " There was an almost pleading note in Harrison Cressy's voice--anote few men had heard. He was more used to command than to sue for whathe desired. 

Phil rose from the table. His face was a little white as he stood there, tall, quiet, perfectly master of himself and the situation. Even beforethe young man spoke Harrison Cressy knew he had failed. 

"I am sorry, Mr. Cressy. If Carlotta wants happiness with me I am afraidshe will have to come to Dunbury. "

"You won't reconsider?"

"There is nothing to reconsider. There never was any question. I am sorryyou even raised one in Dad's mind. You shouldn't have gone to him in thefirst place. You should have come to me. It was for me to settle. "

"Highty, tighty!" fumed the exasperated magnate. "People don't tell mewhat I should and should not do. They do what I tell 'em. "

"I don't, " said Philip Lambert in much the same tone he had once said toCarlotta, "You can't have this. " "I am sorry, Mr. Cressy. I don't want tobe rude, or unkind or obstinate; but there are some things no man candecide for me. And there are some things I won't do even to winCarlotta. "

Harrison Cressy's head drooped for a moment. He was beaten foronce--beaten by a lad of twenty-three whose will was quite as strong ashis own. The worst of it was he had never liked any young man in hislife so well as he liked Philip Lambert at this minute, never so covetedany thing for his daughter Carlotta as he coveted her marriage withPhilip Lambert. 

"That is final, I suppose, " he asked after a moment, looking up at theyoung man. 

"Absolutely, Mr. Cressy. I am sorry. "

Harrison Cressy lumbered to his feet. 

"I am sorry too, " he said, "damnably sorry for Carlotta and formyself. Will you shake hands with me, Philip? It is good to meet a mannow and then. "

CHAPTER XXI

HARRISON CRESSY REVERTS

Left to himself, Harrison Cressy discovered to his annoyance that therewas no train out of Dunbury for two hours. That was the worst of theselittle one-horse towns. You might as well be dead as alive in 'em. By thetime he had smoked his after-dinner cigar he felt as if he might as wellbe dead himself. He felt suddenly heavy, old, almost decrepit, thoughthat morning when he had left Boston he had considered himself in theprime of life and vigor. Hang it! He was sixty-nine. A man was about donefor at sixty-nine, all but ready to turn into his grave. And he withoutson or grandson. Lord! What a swindle life was anyway!

Well, there was no use sitting still groaning. He would get up and take alittle walk until train time. Maybe it was his liver that made him feelso confoundedly rotten and no count. A little exercise would do him good. 

Absentmindedly he noted, as he strolled down the elm-shaded streets, theneatness of the lawns, the gay flower beds, the hammocks and swings outunder the trees as if people really lived out of doors here. There wereanimate evidences of the fact everywhere. Children played here and therein shady spaces under big trees. Pretty girls on wide, hospitable-lookingporches chatted and drank lemonade and knitted. A lithe, red-haired lassin white played tennis on a smooth dirt court with a tall, clean lookingyouth. As Mr. Cressy passed the girl cried out, "Love all" and themillionaire smiled. It occurred to him it was not so hard to love all ina village like this. It was only in cities that you hated your neighborand did him first lest you be done yourself. 

He hadn't been loose in a country town like this for years. He had almostforgotten what they were like when you didn't shoot through them in amotor car, rushing always to get somewhere else. His casual saunter downthe quiet street was oddly soothing to his nerves, awoke happy, yethalf-sad memories. 

He had met and loved Carlotta's mother in a country town. The lilacs hadbeen in bloom and the orioles had stood sponsor for his first Sundaycall. They had become engaged by the time the asters were out. The nextlilac time they had been married. A third spring and the little Carlottahad come. They had both been disappointed at its not being a boy, but thelittle girl was a wonder, with hair as gold as buttercups, eyes like woodviolets and a laugh that lilted and gurgled like the little brook down inthe meadow. 

And then, two years later, the boy had come, come and drifted off to somefar place. It had been a bitter blow to Rose as well as to HarrisonCressy, especially as they said there never could be any more children. Rose grew frail, did not rally or regain her strength. They advised asanitarium in the Adirondacks for her. She had gone, but it had been ofno use. By the time they brought in the first gentians Rose had driftedoff after her little son. Carlotta and her father were alone. 

By this time Harrison Cressy had begun to show the authentic Midastouch. Only the little Carlotta stood between him and sheer, sordidmoney grubbing. And even she was an excuse for the getting of alwaysmore and more wealth. He told himself Carlotta should be a veritableprincess, should go always clad in the finest, have of the best, besurrounded always by the most beautiful. She should know only joy andlight and laughter. 

Thinking these thoughts, Carlotta's father sighed. For now at lastCarlotta wanted something he could not give her, was learning aftertwenty-two years of cloudless joy the bitter way of tears. Why hadn'tthat stubborn boy surrendered?

For that matter why didn't Carlotta surrender? This was a new idea toHarrison Cressy. All the time he had been talking to Philip Lambert hehad been seeing Carlotta only in relation to Crest House and the BeaconStreet mansion. But just now he had been recalling her mother under verydifferent associations. Rose had been content with a tiny little cottageset in a green yard gay with bright old fashioned flowers. He and Rosehad nested as happily as the orioles in the maples, especially after thegold-haired baby came. Was Carlotta so different from Rose? Was herhappiness such a different kind of thing? Were women not pretty muchalike at heart? Did they not want about the same things?

Carlotta loved this lad of hers as Rose had loved himself. Was it her ownfather who was cheating her out of happiness because he had taught her tobelieve that money and limousines and great houses and many servants andsilken robes are happiness? If he had talked to her of other things, toldher about her mother and the happy old days among the lilacs and orioles, with little but love to nest with, couldn't he have made her see thingsmore truly, shown her that love was the main thing, that money could notbuy happiness? One could not buy much of anything that was worth buyingHarrison Cressy thought. One could purchase only the worthless. That wasthe everlasting failure of money. 

He remembered the boy's, "I love Carlotta. But I don't love her enough tolet her or you buy me. " It was true. Neither he nor his daughter had beenable to purchase the lad's integrity, his good faith, his ideals. AndHarrison Cressy was thankful from the bottom of his heart that it was so. 

He turned his steps back to the village and as he did so an orioleflashed out of the shrubbery near him, and passed like a flame out ofsight among the trees. This was a good sign. Orioles had nested everyyear in the maple tree by the little white house where Carlotta had beenborn. Carlotta herself had always loved them. "Pretty, pretty, birdie!"she had been wont to call out. "Come, daddy, let's follow him and seewhere he goes. "

He would go home and tell Carlotta all this, make her see that herhappiness was in her own hands. No, it was the boy's story. If Carlottawould not follow the orioles and her own heart for Philip Lambert shewould not for any argument of his. 

By this time a distant puff of smoke gave evidence that the Boston trainwas already on its way, leaving Harrison Cressy in Dunbury. Not that hecared. He had business still to transact ere he departed, a new battle tofight. He walked with the firm elastic step of a youth back to town. Whatdid it matter if you were sixty-nine when the best things of life werestill ahead of you?

Accordingly Phil was a second time that day surprised by the unheraldedarrival of Carlotta's father, a rather dusty, weary and limp-lookinggentleman this time, but exuding a sort of benignant serenity that hadnot been there early in the day. 

"Hello, " greeted the millionaire blandly. "Missed my train--got tobrowsing round the town like an old billy goat. Not sorry though. It is anice little town. Mind if I sit down? I'm a bit blown. " And dropping on astool Mr. Cressy fanned himself with his panama and grinned at Philip, agrin the young man could not quite fathom. What new trick had the cleverold financier at the bottom of his mind? Phil hoped he had not got to gothrough the thing again. Once had been quite enough for one day. 

"Let me send out for something cool to drink, Mr. Cressy. You must behorribly hot. It is warm in here, even with all the fans going. Hi, there, Tommy!" Philip summoned a freckled, red-haired youth fromsomewhere in the background. "Run over to Greene's and get a lemonade forthis gentleman, will you?"

"Right, Mr. Phil. " The boy saluted--an odd salute, Mr. Cressy noted. Itwas rendered with the right hand, the three middle fingers held up, thethumb bent over touching the nail of the little finger. The saluter stoodvery straight as he went through the ceremony and looked very seriousabout it. "Queer!" thought the onlooker. The messenger boys he knew didnot behave like that when you gave them an order. 

Philip excused himself to attend to a customer and in a moment thered-haired lad was back with a tall glass of lemonade clinkingdelightfully with ice. Mr. Cressy took it and set it down on the counterwhile he fumbled for his wallet and produced a dollar bill. 

To his amazement the boy's grin faded, and he drew himself up withdignity. 

"No, thank you, sir, " he said to the proffered greenback. "I'm a Scoutand Scouts don't take tips. "

"What!" gasped Harrison Cressy. In all his life he did not recall meetinga boy who ever refused money before. He began to think there wassomething uncanny about this town of Dunbury. First a young man who couldnot be bought at any price. And now a boy who wouldn't take a tip forservice rendered. 

"I said I was a Scout, " repeated the lad patiently. "And Scouts don'ttake tips. We are supposed to do one good turn every day, anyway, and Ihadn't gotten mine in before. I'm only a Tenderfoot but I'm most readyfor my second class tests. Mr. Phil's going to try me out in first aid assoon as he gets time. "

"Mr. Phil! What's he got to do with it?" inquired Mr. Cressy, after along, satisfying swig of lemonade. 

"He is our Scout-master and a peach of a one too. He is going to take uson a hike tomorrow. "

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow is Sunday, young man. " The Methodist in HarrisonCressy rose to the surface. 

"I know. We all go to church and Sunday school in the morning. Mr. Philwon't take us unless we do. But in the afternoon he thinks it is allright to go on a hike. We don't practise signaling and things like that, but we get in a lot of nature study. I can identify all my ten trees nowand a whole lot more besides, and I've got a bird list of over sixty. "

"You don't say so?" Harrison Cressy was plainly impressed. "So your Mr. Phil gives a good deal of time to that sort of thing, does he?" he added, his eyes seeking Philip Lambert in the distance. 

"Should say he did. I guess he gives about all the time he has outsideof the store. He's a dandy Scout-master. What he says goes, you betcher. "

Remembering the scene at the luncheon table that day, Harrison Cressythought it quite probable. What Philip had said had gone "you betcher" onthat occasion with a vengeance. So young Lambert gave his off hours tobusiness of this sort. Most of Carlotta's male friends gave most oftheirs to polo, jazz, and chorus girls. He began to covet Philip morethan ever for a possible, and he hoped probable, son-in-law. 

It played into his purposes excellently that Philip on returning invitedhim to supper on the Hill that night. He wanted to meet the boy's people, especially the mother. Carlotta had told him once that Philip's motherwas the most wonderful person in the world. 

Seated at the long table in the Lambert dining-room Harrison Cressyenjoyed a meal such as his chef-ridden soul had almost forgotten couldexist--a meal so simple yet so delectable that he dreamed of it for daysafterward. 

But the food, excellent as it was, was only a small part of thesignificance of the occasion. It was a revelation to the millionaire toknow that a family could gather around the board like this and have sucha thoroughly delightful time all round. There was gay talk and readylaughter, a fine flavor of old-fashioned courtesy and hospitality andgood will in everything that was said or done. 

The Lambert girls--the pretty twins and the younger, slim slip of alassie, Elinor--were charming, fresh, natural, unspoiled, very differentfrom and far more to his taste than most of the young women who came toCrest House--hot-house products, over-sophisticated, cynical, toofamiliar with rouge and cigarettes and the game of love and lure, huntresses more or less, the whole pack of them. It seemed girls couldstill be plain girls on this enchanted Hill--girls who would makewonderful wives some day for some lucky men. 

But the mother! She was the secret of it all, quite as remarkable asCarlotta had said. She was extraordinarily well read, talked well on adozen subjects as to which he was himself but vaguely informed, and shewas evidently even more extraordinarily busy. There was talk of a BetterBabies movement in which she was interested, of a Red Cross Chapter atwhich she had spent the afternoon, of a committee meeting of the localWoman's Club which was bringing a noted English poet-lecturer to town. There were Chatauqua plans in view, and a new children's reading room inthe public library with a story-telling hour of which Clare was to be incharge. A hundred things indicated that Mrs. Lambert was by no meansconfined to the four walls of her home for interests and activities. Yether home was exquisitely kept and she was a mother first of all. Onecould see that every moment. It was "Mums, this" and "Mums, that" fromthem all. The life of the home clearly pivoted about her. 

Harrison Cressy found himself wishing that Carlotta could have known amotherhood like that. Rose had gone so soon. Carlotta had never knownwhat she missed. Perhaps Mr. Cressy himself had not known until he sawMrs. Lambert and realized what a mother might be. Poor Carlotta! He hadgiven her a great deal. At least, until this, afternoon, he had thoughthe had. But he had never given her anything at all comparable to whatthis quiet village store-keeper and his wife had given to their son anddaughters. He hadn't had it to give. He had been poor, after all, allalong. Though he hadn't suspected it until now. 

After supper Stuart Lambert had slipped quickly away, bidding his sonstay up on the Hill a little longer with their guest. Phil had demurred, but had been quietly overruled and had acquiesced perforce. Poor Dad!There had not been a moment all day to relieve his mind about Mr. Cressy's offer. Not once had the father and son been alone. Phil wasafraid his father was taking the thing a good deal to heart, and itworried him. He had counted on talking it over together as they went backto the store but his father had willed otherwise. 

It was with Carlotta's father instead of his own that Philip talked firstafter all. 

"See here, Philip, " began Mr. Cressy as they descended the Hill in"Lizzie. " "I went at this all wrong. So did Carlotta. I understandbetter now. I've been back in the past this afternoon, remembering whatit means to live in the country and love and mate there in the goodold-fashioned way as Carlotta's mother and I did. It is what I want herto do with you. Do you get that, boy? I want her to come to Dunbury. Iwant her to have a piece of your mother. Carlotta never knew what it wasto have a mother. It is mostly my fault she doesn't see any clearer. Youmustn't blame her, lad. "

"I don't, " said Phil. "I love her. "

"I know you do. And she loves you. Go to her. Make her see. Make hermarry you and be happy. "

Phil was silent, not because he was not moved by the older man's plea butbecause he was almost too moved to speak. It rather took his breath awayto have Harrison Cressy on his side like this. It was almost tooincredible, and yet there was no mistaking the sincerity in the other'swords or on his face. Carlotta's father did want Carlotta to come to himon his Hill. 

But would Carlotta want it? That was the question. For himself hesought no higher road to follow than the one where his father andmother had blazed the trail through fair weather and stormy these manyyears. But would Carlotta be content to travel so with him? He did notknow. At any rate he could ask her, try once more to make her see, asher father put it. 

He turned to his companion with a sober smile at this point in hisreflections. 

"Thank you, Mr. Cressy. I will try again and I know it is going to make agreat deal of difference to Carlotta--and to me--to have you on my side. Perhaps she will see it differently this time. I--hope so. "

"Lord, boy, so do I!" groaned Mr. Cressy. "You will come back to CrestHouse tomorrow with me?"

Phil hesitated, considered, shook his head. 

"I'll come next Saturday. I can't get away tomorrow, " he said. 

"Why not? For the Lord's sake, boy, get it over!"

Phil smiled but shook his head. He too wanted to get it over. He couldhardly wait to get to Carlotta, would have started that moment if hecould have done so. But there were clear-cut reasons why he could not gotomorrow, obligations that held him fast in Dunbury. 

"I can't go tomorrow because I have promised my boys a hike, " heexplained. 

Harrison Cressy nearly exploded. 

"Heavens, man! What does a parcel of kids amount to when it comes togetting you a wife? You can call off your hike, can't you?"

"I could, but it would be hard on a good many of them. They count on it agood deal. Some of them have given up other pleasures they might have hadon account of it. Tommy has, for instance. His uncle asked him to go toWorcester with him in his car, and he refused because of his date withme. They are all bribed to church and Sunday School by the means. One ofthe things Scouting stands for is sticking to your job and your word. Idon't think it is exactly up to the Scoutmaster to dodge hisresponsibilities when he preaches the other kind of thing. Of course, ifit were a life and death matter, it would be different. It isn't. I havewaited a good many weeks to see Carlotta. I can wait one more. "

Harrison Cressy grunted. He hardly knew whether to fly into a rage withthis extraordinary young man or to clap him on the back and tell him heliked him better and better every minute. He contented himself byrepeating a remark he had made earlier in the day. 

"You are a darn fool, young man. " Then he added, half against his will, "But I like your darnfoolness, hang me if I don't!"

Phil had a strenuous two hours in the store with never a minute to get athis father. It was not until the last customer had departed, the lastclerk fled away and the clock striking eleven that the father and sonwere alone. 

Philip came over to where the older man stood. His heart smote him whenhe saw how utterly worn and weary the other looked, as if he had suddenlyadded a full ten years to his age since morning. His characteristicbuoyancy seemed to have deserted him for once. 

"Dad, I've not had a minute alone with you all day. I am sorry Mr. Cressybothered you about that blue sky proposition of his. I never would havelet him if I had known. Of course there was nothing in it. I didn'tconsider it for a minute. "

Stuart Lambert smiled wearily and sat down on the counter. 

"I am afraid you have given up more than we realized, Philip, in cominginto the store. Mr. Cressy gave me a glimpse into things that I knewnothing about. You should have told us. "

"There was nothing to tell. I've given up nothing that was mine. I toldCarlotta all along she would have to come to me. I couldn't come to her. My whole life is here with you. It is what I have wanted ever since I hadthe sense to want anything but to enjoy my fool self. But even then Ididn't appreciate what it would be like to be here with you. I couldn't, till I had tried it and found out first hand what kind of a man my dadwas. I am absolutely satisfied. If Mr. Cressy had offered me a million ayear I wouldn't have taken it. It wouldn't have been the slightesttemptation even--" he smiled a little sadly--"even with Carlotta thrownin. I don't want to get Carlotta that way. "

"You say you are satisfied, Philip. Maybe that is so. But you arenot happy. "

"I wasn't, just at first. I was a fool. I let the thing swamp me forawhile. Mums helped pull me out of the slough and since then I've beenfinding out that happiness is--well, a kind of by-product. Like thekingdom of heaven it doesn't come for observation. I have had about asmuch happiness here with you, and with Mums and the girls at home, andwith my Scouts in the woods, as I deserve, maybe more. I'm going to tryto get Carlotta. I haven't given up hope. I'm going down to Sea View nextweek to ask her again and maybe things will be different this time. Herfather is on my side now, which is a great help. He has got the HolidayHill viewpoint all at once. He wants Carlotta to come to me--us. So do I, with all my heart. But whether she does or doesn't, I am here with you aslong as you want me, first last and all the time and glad to be. Pleasebelieve that, Dad, always. "

Stuart Lambert rose. 

"Philip, you don't know what it means to me to hear you say this. " Therewas a little break in the older man's voice, the suggestion of pentemotion. "It nearly killed me to think I ought to give you up. You aresure you are not making too much of a sacrifice?"

"Dad! Please don't say that word to me. There isn't any sacrifice. It iswhat I want. I haven't been a very good son always. Even this summer I amafraid I haven't come up to all you expected of me, especially just atfirst when I was wrapped up in myself and my own concerns too much to seethat doing a good job in the store was only a small part of what I washere in Dunbury to do. But anyway I am prouder than I can tell you to beyour son and I am going to try my darndest to live up to the sign if youwill let me stay on being the minor part of it. "

He held out his hand and his father took it. There were tears in theolder man's eyes. A moment later the store was dark as the two passed outshoulder to shoulder beneath the sign of STUART LAMBERT AND SON. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE DUNBURY CURE

Harrison Cressy awoke next morning to the cheerful chirrup of robins andthe pleasant far-off sound of church bells. He liked the bells. Theysounded different in the country he thought. You couldn't hear them inthe city anyway. There were too many noises to distract you. There was noSabbath stillness in the city. For that matter there wasn't much Sabbath. 

He got up out of bed and went and looked out of the window. There was aheavenly hush everywhere. It was still very early. It had been theCatholic bells ringing for mass that he had heard. The dew was a-dazzleon every grass blade. The robins hopped briskly about at their businessof worm-gathering. The morning glories all in fresh bloom climbedcheerfully over the picket fence. He hadn't seen a morning glory inyears. It set him dreaming again, took him back to his boyhood days. 

If only Carlotta would be sensible and yield to the boy's wooing. Dunburyhad cast a kind of spell upon him. He wanted his daughter to live here. He wanted to come here to visit her. In his imagination he saw himselfcoming to Carlotta's home--not too big a home--just big enough to liveand grow in and raise babies in. He saw himself playing with Carlotta'slittle golden-haired violet-eyed daughters, and walking hand in hand withher small son Harrison, just such a sturdy, good-looking, wide-awakeyoungster as Philip Lambert had no doubt been. Harrison Cressy's minddwelt fondly upon this grandson of his. That was a boy indeed!

Carlotta's son should not be permitted to grow up a money grubber. Therewould be money of course. One couldn't very well avoid that under thecircumstances. The boy would be trained to the responsibilities of beingHarrison Cressy's heir. But he should be taught to see things in theirtrue values and proportions. He must not grow up money-blinded likeCarlotta. He should know that money was good--very good. But he shouldknow it was not the chief good, was never for an instant to be classedwith the abiding things--the real things, not to be purchased at a price. 

Mr. Cressy sighed a little at that point and crept back to bed. Itoccurred to him he would have to leave this latter part of his grandson'seducation to the Lambert side of the family. That was their business, just as the money part was his. 

He fell asleep again and presently re-awoke in a kind of shivering panic. What if Carlotta would not marry Philip after all? What if it was toolate already? What if his grandson turned out to be a second HerbertLathrop, an unobjectionable, possibly even an objectionable ass. Perspiration beaded on the millionaire's brow. Why was that young idioton the Hill waiting? What were young men made of nowadays? Didn't PhilipLambert know that you could lose a woman forever if you didn't jumplively? Hanged if he wouldn't call the boy this minute and tell him hejust had to change his mind and go to Crest House that very morningwithout a moment's delay. Delay might be fatal. Harrison Cressy sat up inbed, fumbled for his slippers, shook his head gloomily and returned tohis place under the covers. 

It wasn't any use. He might as well give up. He couldn't make PhilipLambert do anything he did not want to do. He had tried it twice andfailed ignominiously both times. He wouldn't tackle it again. The boy wasstronger than he was. He had to lie back and let things take their courseas best they might. 

"Cheer up! Cheer up!" counseled the robins outside, but millionaireCressy heeded not their injunctions. The balloon of his hopes lay prickedand flat in the dust. 

He rose, dressed, breakfasted and discovered there was an eleven o'clocktrain for Boston. He discovered also that he hadn't the slightest wish totake it. He did not want to go to Boston. He did not want to go to CrestHouse. And very particularly and definitely he did not want to see hisdaughter Carlotta. Carlotta might ferret out his errand to Dunbury and bebitterly angry at his interference with her affairs. Even if she were notangry how could he meet her without telling her everything, includingthings that were the boy's right to tell? It was safer to stay away fromCrest House entirely. That was it. He would telegraph Carlotta his goutwas worse, that he had gone to the country to take a cure. He would behome Saturday. 

Immensely heartened he dispatched the wire. By this time it wasten-thirty and the dew on the grass was all dry, the morning glories shuttight and the robins vanished. The church bells were ringing againhowever and Harrison Cressy decided to go to church, the white Methodistchurch on the common. He wouldn't meet any of the Hill people there. TheHolidays were Episcopal, the Lamberts Unitarian--a loose, heterodox kindof creed that. He wished Phil were Methodist. It would have given himsomething to go by. Then he grinned a bit sheepishly at his own expenseand shook his head. He had had the Methodist creed to go by himself andmuch good had it done him. Maybe it did not make so much difference whatyou believed. It was how you acted that mattered. Why that wasUnitarianism itself, wasn't it? Queer. Maybe there was something in itafter all. 

Seated in the little church Harrison Cressy hardly listened to thepreacher's droning voice. He followed his own trend of thought instead, recalling long-forgotten scriptural passages. "What shall it profit a manthough he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" was one of therecurring phrases. He applied it to Philip Lambert, applied it sadly tohimself and with a shake of his head to his daughter, Carlotta. Heremembered too the story of the rich young man. Had he made Carlotta asthe rich young man, cumbered her with so many worldly possessions andstandards that by his own hand he was keeping her out of the heaven ofhappiness she might have otherwise inherited? He feared so. 

He bowed his head with the others but he did not pray. He could not. Hewas too unhappy. And yet who knows? Perhaps his unwonted clarity ofvision and humility of soul were acceptable that morning in lieu ofprayer to Sandalphou. 

As he ate his solitary dinner his despondency grew upon him. He feltalmost positive Philip would fail in his mission, that Carlotta would goher willful way to regret and disillusionment, and all these things goneirretrievably wrong would be at bottom his own fault. 

Later he endeavored to distract himself from his dreary thoughts bydiscoursing with his neighbor on the veranda, a tall, grizzled, soldierlylooking gentleman with shrewd but kind eyes and the brow of a scholar. 

As they talked desultorily a group of khaki clad youngsters filed past, Philip Lambert among them, looking only an older and taller boy in theirmidst. The lads looked happy, alert, vigorous, were of clean, upstandingtype, the pick of the town it seemed probable to Harrison Cressy who saidas much to his companion. 

The other smiled and shook his head. 

"You are mistaken, sir, " he said. "Three months ago most of those fellowswere riffraff--the kind that hang around street corners smoking andindulging in loose talk and profanity. Young Lambert, the chap with them, their Scout-master, picked that kind from choice, turned down arespectable church-mothered bunch for this one, left the other for a manwho wanted an easier row to hoe. It was some stunt, as the boys say. Ittook a man like Phil Lambert to put it through. He has the crowd where hewants them now though. They would go through fire and water if he ledthem and he is a born leader. "

Harrison Cressy's eyes followed the departing group. Here was a new lighton his hoped-for son-in-law. So he picked "publicans-and sinners" to eatwith. Mr. Cressy rather liked that. He hated snobs and pharisees, couldn't stomach either brand. 

"It means a good deal to a town like this when its college-bred boys comeback and lend a hand like that, " the other man went on. "So many of themrush off to the cities thinking there isn't scope enough for theirineffable wisdom and surpassing talents in their own home town. A numberof people prophesied that young Lambert would do the same instead ofsettling down with his father as we all wanted him to do. I wasn't muchafraid of that myself. Phil has sense enough to see rather straightusually. He did about that. And then the kickers put up a howl that hehad a swelled head, felt above the rest of Dunbury because he had acollege education and his father was getting to be one of the mostprosperous men in town. They complained he wouldn't go in for things therest of the town was interested in, kept to himself when he was out ofthe store. There were some grounds for the kick I will admit. But itwasn't a month before he got his bearings, had his head out of the cloudsand was in the thick of everything. They swear by him now almost as muchas they do by his father which is saying a good deal for Dunbury hasrevolved about Stuart Lambert for years. It is beginning to revolve aboutStuart Lambert and Son now. But I am boring you with all this. Philhappens to be rather a favorite of mine. "

"You know him well?" questioned Mr. Cressy. 

"I ought to. I am Robert Caldwell, principal of the High School here. I've known Phil since he was in knickerbockers and had him under mydirect eye for four years. He kept my eye sufficiently busy at that, " headded with a smile. "There wasn't much mischief that youngster and aneighbor of his, young Ted Holiday, didn't get into. Maybe that is why heis such a success with the black sheep, " he added with a nod in thedirection in which the khaki-clad lads had gone. 

"H-mm, " observed Mr. Cressy. "I am rather glad to hear all this. You seeit happens that I came to Dunbury to offer Philip Lambert a position. Myname's Cressy--Harrison Cressy, " he explained. 

His companion lifted his eye-brows a little dubiously. 

"I see. I didn't know I was discussing a young man you knew well enoughto offer a position to. May I ask if he accepted it?" "He did not, "admitted Harrison Cressy grimly. 

"Turned it down, eh?" The school man looked interested. 

"Turned it down, man? He made the proposition look flatter than a lastyear's pan-cake and it was a mighty good proposition. At least I thoughtit was, " the magnate added with a faint grin remembering all that wentwith that proposition. 

Robert Caldwell smiled. He rather liked the idea of one of his boysmaking a proposition of millionaire Cressy's look like a last year'span-cake. It was what he would have expected of Phil Lambert. 

"I am sorry for you, Mr. Cressy, " he said. "But I am glad for Dunbury. Philip is the kind we need right here. "

"He is the kind we need right everywhere, " grunted Mr. Cressy. "Only wecan't get 'em. They aren't for sale. "

"No, " agreed Robert Caldwell. "They are not for sale. Ah, the Bostontrain must be in. There is the stage. "

Mr. Cressy allowed his eyes to stray idly to the arriving bus and thedescending passengers. 

Suddenly he stiffened. 

"Good Lord!" he ejaculated, an exclamation called forth by the fact thatthe last person to alight from the bus was a slim young person in a trim, tailored, navy blue suit and a tiny black velvet toque whose air bespokeParis, a person with eyes which were precisely the color of violets whichgrow in the deepest woods. 

A little later Harrison Cressy sat in a deep leather upholstered chair inhis bedroom with his daughter Carlotta in his lap. 

"Don't try to deceive me, Daddy darling, " Carlotta was saying. "You wereworried--dreadfully worried because your little Carlotta wept salt tearsall over your shirt bosom. You thought that Carlotta must not be allowedto be unhappy. Wars, earthquakes, ship sinkings, wrecks--anything mightbe allowed to go on as usual but not Carlotta unhappy. You thought that, didn't you, Daddy darling?"

Daddy darling pleaded guilty. 

"Of course you did, you old dear. The moment I knew you were in Dunbury Iknew what you were up to. I understand perfectly how your mind works. Iought to. Mine works very much the same way. It is a simple three stageoperation. First we decide we want a thing. Next we decide the surest, quickest way to get it and third--we get it. At least we usually do. Wemust do ourselves that much justice, must we not, Daddy darling?"

Daddy darling merely grunted. 

"You came to Dunbury to tell Phil he had to marry me because I was inlove with him and wanted to marry him. He couldn't very well marry me andkeep on living in Dunbury because I wouldn't care to live in Dunbury. Therefore he would have to emigrate to a place I would care to live inand he couldn't very well do that unless he had a very considerableincome because spending money was one of my favorite sports both indoorand outdoor and I wouldn't be happy if I didn't keep right on playing itto the limit. Therefore, again, the very simple solution of the wholething was for you to offer Phil a suitable salary so that we could marryat once and live in the suitable place and say, 'Go to it. Bless you mychildren. Bring on your wedding bells--I mean bills. I'll foot 'em. ' Putin the rough, that was the plan wasn't it, my dear parent?"

"Practically, " admitted the dear parent with a wry grin. "How did youwork it out so accurately?"

Carlotta made a face at him. 

"I worked it out so accurately because it was all old stuff. The planwasn't at all original with you. I drew the first draft of it myself lastJune up on the top of Mount Tom, took Phil up there on purpose indeed toexhibit it to him. "

"Humph!" muttered Harrison Cressy. 

"Unfortunately Phil didn't at all care for the exhibit because ithappened that I had fallen in love with a man instead of a puppet. Icould have told you coming to Dunbury was no earthly use if you hadconsulted me. Phil did not take to your plan, did he?"

"He did not. "

"And he told you--he didn't care for me any more?" Carlotta's voice wassuddenly a little low. 

"He did not. In fact I gathered he was fair-to-middling fond of youstill, in spite of your abominable behavior. "

"Phil, didn't say I had behaved abominably Daddy. You know he didn't. Hemight think it but he wouldn't ever say it--not to you anyway. "

"He didn't. That is my contribution and opinion. Carlotta, I wish to theLord Harry you would marry Philip Lambert!"

Carlotta's lovely eyes flashed surprise and delight before shelowered them. 

"But, Daddy, " she said. "He hasn't got very much money. And it takes agreat deal of money for me. "

"You had better learn to get along with less then, " snapped HarrisonCressy. "I tell you, Carlotta, money is nothing--the stupidest, mostuseless, rottenest stuff in the world. "

Carlotta opened her eyes very wide. 

"Is that what you thought when you came to Dunbury?" she asked gravely. 

"No. It is what I have learned to think since I have been in Dunbury. "

"But you--you wouldn't want me to live here?" probed Carlotta. 

"My child, I would rather you would live here than any place in the wholeworld. I've traveled a million miles since I saw you last, been back inthe past with your mother. Things look different to me now. I don't wantwhat I did for you. At least what I want hasn't changed. That is the samealways--your happiness. But I have changed my mind as to what makes forhappiness. "

"I am awfully glad, Daddy darling, " sighed Carlotta snuggling closer inhis arms. "Because I came up here on purpose to tell you that I'vechanged my mind too. If Dunbury is good for gout maybe--maybe it will begood for what ails me. Do you think it might, Daddy?" For answer he heldher very tight. 

"Do you mean it, child? Are you here to tell that lad of yours you areready to come up his Hill to him?"

"If--if he still wants me, " faltered Carlotta. "I'll have to find thatout for myself. I'll know as soon as I see Phil. There won't anythinghave to be said. I am afraid there has been too much talking already. Youshouldn't have told him I cried, " reproachfully. 

"How could I help it? That is, how the deuce did you know I did?"floundered the trapped parent. 

"Daddy! You know you played on Phil's sympathy every way you could. Itwas awful. At least it would have been awful if you had bought himwith my silly tears after you failed to buy him with your silly money. But he didn't give in even for a moment--even when you told him Icried, did he?"

"Not even then. But that doesn't mean he doesn't care. He--"

But Carlotta's hand was over his mouth at that. How much Phil cared shewanted to hear from nobody but from Phil himself. 

Philip Lambert found a queer message waiting for him when he came in fromhis hike. Some mysterious person who would give no name had telephonedrequesting him to be at the top of Sunset Hill at precisely seven o'clockto hear some important information which vitally concerned the firm ofStuart Lambert and Son. 

"Sounds like a hoax of some sort, " remarked Phil. "But Lizzie has beenchafing at the bit all day in the garage and I don't mind a ride. Comeon, Dad, let's see what this bunk means. "

Stuart Lambert smiled assent. And at precisely seven o'clock when duskwas settling gently over the valley and the glory in the western sky wasbeginning to fade into pale heliotrope and rose tints Lizzie brought thetwo Lamberts to the crest of Sunset Hill where another car waited, ahired car from the Eagle garage. 

From the tonneau of the other car Harrison Cressy stepped out, somewhatponderously, followed by some one else, some one all in white with hairthat shone pure gold even in the gathering twilight. 

Phil made one leap and in another moment, before the eyes of his fatherand Carlotta's, not to mention the interested stare of the Eagle garagechauffeur, he swept his far-away princess into his arms. There was noneed of anybody's trying to make Carlotta see. Love had opened hereyes. The two fathers smiled at each other, both a little glad and alittle sad. 

"Brother Lambert, " said Mr. Cressy. "Suppose you and I ride down thehill. I rather think this spot belongs to the children. "

"So it seems, " agreed Stuart Lambert. "We will leave Lizzie forchaperone. I think there will be a moon later. "

"Exactly. There always was a moon, I believe. It is quite customary. "

As Stuart Lambert got out of the small car Philip and Carlotta came tohim hand-in-hand like happy children. 

Carlotta slipped away from Phil, put out both hands to his father. Hetook them with a happy smile. 

"I have a good many daughters, my dear, " he said. "But I have alwayswanted to welcome one more. Do you think you could take in another Dad?"

"I know I could, " said Carlotta lifting her flower face to him for adaughterly kiss. 

"Come, come! Where do I come in on this deal? Where is my son, I'd liketo know?" demanded Mr. Cressy. 

"Right here at your service--darnfoolness and all, " said Phil holdingout his hand. 

"Don't rub it in, " snapped Harrison Cressy, though he gripped theproffered hand hard. "Come on, Lambert. This is no place for us. "

And the two fathers went down the hill in the hired car leaving Lizzieand the lovers in possession of the summit with the world which the moonwas just turning to silver at their feet. 

CHAPTER XXIII

SEPTEMBER CHANGES

When September came Carlotta, who had been ostensibly visiting Tonythough spending a good deal of her time "in the moon with Phil" as sheput it, departed for Crest House, carrying Philip with her "forinspection, " as he dubbed it somewhat ruefully. He wasn't particularlyenamored of the prospect of being passed upon by Carlotta's friends andrelatives. It was rather incongruous when you came to think of it thatthe lovely Carlotta, who might have married any one in the world, shouldelect an obscure village store keeper for a husband. But Carlotta herselfhad no qualms. She was shrewd enough to know that with her father on herside no one would do much disapproving. And in any case she had no fearthat any one even just looking at Phil would question her choice. Carlotta was not the woman to choose a man she would have to apologizefor. Phil would hold his own with the best of them and she knew it. Hewas a man every inch of him, and what more could any woman ask?

Ted went up for his examinations and came back so soberly that the familyheld its composite breath and wondered in secret whether he couldpossibly have failed after all his really heroic effort. But presentlythe word came that he had not only not failed but had rather coveredhimself with glory. The Dean himself, an old friend of Doctor Holiday's, wrote expressing his congratulations and the hope that this performanceof his nephew's was a pledge of better things in the future and that thisfourth Holiday to pass through the college might yet reflect credit uponit and the Holiday name. 

Ted himself emphatically disclaimed all praise whatsoever in the matterand cut short his uncle's attempt at expressing his appreciation not onlyof the successful finish of the examinations but the whole summer's hardwork and steadiness. 

"I am glad if you are satisfied, Uncle Phil, " he said. "But there isn'tany credit coming to me. It was the least I could do after making such aconfounded mess of things. Let's forget it. "

But Ted Holiday was not quite the same unthinking young barbarian inSeptember that he had been in June. Nobody could work as he had workedthat summer without gaining something in character and self-respect. Moreover, being constantly as he was with his brother and uncle, hewould have been duller than he was not to get a "hunch, " as he wouldhave called it, of what it meant to be a Holiday of the authentic sort. Larry's example was particularly salutary. The younger Holiday couldnot help comparing his own weak-willed irresponsibility of conduct withthe older one's quiet self-control and firmness of principle. Larry'slove for Ruth was the real thing. Ted could see that, and it made hisown random, ill-judged attraction to Madeline Taylor look crude andcheap if nothing worse. He hated to remember that affair in CousinEmma's garden. He made up his mind there would be no more things likethat to have to remember. 

"You can tell old Bob Caldwell, " he wrote from college to his uncle, "that he'll sport no more caddies and golf balls at my expense. Flunkingis too damned expensive every way, saving your presence, Uncle Phil. Nomore of it for this child. But don't get it into your head I am aviolently reformed character. I am nothing of the kind and don't want tobe. If I see any signs of angel pin-feathers cropping out I'll shave 'em. I'd hate to be conspicuously virtuous. All the same if I have a fewgrains more sense than I had last year they are mostly to your credit. Fact is, Uncle Phil, you are a peach and I am just beginning to realizeit, more fool I. "

Tony also flitted from the Hill that September for her new work and lifein the big city. Rather against her will she had ensconced herself in aStudent Hostelry where Jean Lambert, Phil's older sister, had been livingseveral years very happily, first as a student and later as a successfulillustrator. Tony had objected that she did not want anything so"schooly, " and that the very fact that Jean liked the Hostelry would beproof positive that she, Tony, would not like it. What she really wantedto do was either to have a studio of her own or accept Félice Norman'sinvitation to make her home with her. Mrs. Norman was a cousin of Tony'smother, a charming widow of wealth and wide social connections whom Tonyhad always adored and admired extravagantly. Just visiting her had alwaysbeen like taking a trip to fairy land and to live with her--well, itwould be just too wonderful, Tony thought. But Doctor Holiday had vetoeddecidedly both these pleasant and impractical propositions. Tony was fartoo young and pretty to live alone. That was out of the question. And hewas scarcely more willing that she should go to Mrs. Norman, though heliked the latter very well and was glad that his niece would have her togo to in any emergency. He knew Tony, and knew that in such anenvironment as Mrs. Norman's home offered the girl would all butinevitably drift into being a gay little social butterfly and forget sheever came to the city to do serious work. Life with Mrs. Norman would be"too wonderful" indeed. 

So Tony went to the Hostelry with the understanding that if after a fewmonths' trial she really did dislike it as much as she declared she knewshe would they would make other arrangements. But rather to her chagrinshe found herself liking the place very much and enjoying the society ofthe other girls who were all in the city as she and Jean were, pursuingsome art or other. 

The dramatic school work was all she had hoped and more, stimulating, engrossing, altogether delightful. She made friends easily as always, among teachers and pupils, slipped naturally here as in college into aposition of leadership. Tony Holiday was a born queen. 

She had plenty of outside diversion too. Cousin Félice was kind anddelighted to pet and exhibit her pretty little kinswoman. There werefascinating glimpses into high society, delightful private dancingparties in gorgeous ball rooms, motor trips, gay theater parties inresplendent boxes, followed by suppers in brilliant restaurants--all thepomp and glitter of life that youth loves. 

There were other no less genuinely happy occasions spent with DickCarson, way up near the roof in the theaters and opera house or in queer, fascinating out-of-the-way foreign restaurants. The two had the jolliestkind of time together, always like two children at a picnic. Tony wasvery nice to Dick these days. He kept her from being too homesick for theHill and anyway she felt a wee bit sorry for him because he did not knowabout Alan and those long letters which came so frequently from theretreat in the mountains where the latter was sketching. She knew sheought to tell Dick how far things had gone but somehow she couldn't quitedrive herself to do it. She didn't want to hurt him. And she did not wantto banish him from her life. She wanted him, needed him just where hewas, at her feet, and never bothering her with any inconvenient demandsor love-making. It was selfish but it was true. And in any case it wouldbe soon enough to worry Dick when Alan came back to town. 

And then without warning he was back, very much back. And with his returnthe pleasant nicely balanced, casual scheme of things which she had beenfollowing so contentedly was knocked sky high. She had to adjust herselfto a new heaven and a new earth with Alan Massey the center of both. Inher delight and intoxication at having her lover near her again, morefascinating and lover-like than ever, Tony lost her head a little, neglected her work, snubbed her friends, refused invitations from Dickand Cousin Félice, and indeed from everybody except Alan. She wenteverywhere with him, almost nowhere without him, spent her days and moreof her nights than was at all prudent or proper in his absorbing society, had, in short, what she afterward described to Carlotta as a "perfectorgy of Alan. "

At the end of ten days she called a halt, sat down and took honestaccount of herself and her proceedings and found that this sort of thingwould not do. Alan was too expensive every way. She could not afford somuch of him. Accordingly with her usual decision and frankness sheexplained the situation to him as she saw it and announced thathenceforth she would see him only twice a week and not as often if shewere especially busy. 

To this ultimatum she kept rigidly in spite of her lover's protests andpleas and threats. She was inexorable. If Alan wanted to see her at allhe must do it on her terms. He yielded perforce and was madder over herthan ever, fêted and worshiped and adored her inordinately when he waswith her, deluged her with flowers and poetry and letters between times, called her up daily and nightly by telephone just to hear her voice, ifhe might not see her face. 

So superficially Tony conquered. But she was not over-proud of hervictory. She knew that whether she saw Alan or not he was always in theunder-current of her thoughts and feelings. In the midst of otheroccupations she caught herself wondering whether he had written her, whether she would find his flowers when she got home, where he was, what he was doing, if he was thinking of her as she of him. She wantedhim most irrationally when she forbade his coming to her. She lookedforward to those few hours spent with him as the only time when she wasfully alive, dreamed them over afterward, knew they meant a hundredfoldmore to her than those she spent with any other man or woman. She worehis flowers, pored over his long, beautiful, impassioned letters, devoured the books of poetry he sent her, danced with him as often andas long as she dared, gave her soul more and more into his keeping, themore so perhaps in that he was so tenderly reverential of her body, never even touching her lips with his, though his eyes often told aless moderate story. 

The orgy over she was again doing well with her work at the school. Sheknew that. Her teachers praised her gifts and her progress. Without anyvanity she could not help seeing that she was forging ahead of others whohad started even with her, had more real talent perhaps than most ofthose with whom she worked and played. But she took no pride in thesethings. For equally clearly she saw that she was not doing half what shemight have done, would have done, had there been no Alan Massey in thecity and in her heart. She had a divided allegiance and a dividedallegiance is a hard thing to live with as a daily companion. 

But she would not have had it otherwise. Not for a moment did she everwish to go back to those free days when love was but a name and the flamehad not blown so dangerously near. 

As for Alan Massey himself, he alternated between moods which were starrypinnacles of ecstasy and others which were bottomless pits of despair. Helived for two things only--his hours with Tony and his work. For he hadbegun to paint again, magnificently, furiously, with all his old powerand a new almost godlike one added to it. As an artist it was his supremehour. He painted as he had never painted before. 

His love for Tony ran the whole gamut. He loved her passionately, foundit exquisite torture to have her in his arms when they danced and tohave still to bank the fires which consumed him and of which she onlydimly guessed. He loved her humbly, worshipfully as a moth might look toa star. He loved her tenderly, protectingly, longed to shield her by hisown might from all griefs, troubles and petty annoyances, to guard herday and night, lest any rough, unlovely or unseemly thing press near hershining sphere. He desired to wrap her about with a magic mantle ofbeauty and luxury and the quintessence of life, to keep her in a placeapart as he kept his priceless collection of rubies and emeralds. Heloved her jealously, was sick at the thought that some other man mightbe near her when he might not, might dance with her, covet her, kissher. He hated all men because of her and particularly he hated withblack hate the man whom he was wronging daily by his silence, hiscousin, John Massey. 

Beneath all this strange, sad welter of emotion deeper still in AlanMassey's heart lay the tragic conviction that he would never win Tony, that his own sins would somehow rise to strike at him like a snake out ofthe grass. He had lost faith in his luck, had lost it strangely enoughwhen luck had laid at his feet that most desirable of all gifts, JimRoberts' timely death. 

In the House on the Hill, things were very quiet, missing the gaypresence of the two younger Holidays and with those at home cumbered withcares and perplexity and grief. 

Things were easier for Ruth than for Larry. It was less difficult for herto play the part of quiet friendship than for him, partly because herlove was a much less tempestuous affair and partly because a woman nearlyalways plays a part of any kind with more facility than a man does. AndLarry Holiday was temperamentally unfit to play any part whatsoever. Hewas a Yea-Yea and Nay-Nay person. 

The simplicity of the girl's role was also very largely created by herlover's rigid self control. She took her cue from his quietness and feltthat things could not be so bad after all. At least they were together. Neither had driven the other away from the Hill by any unconsidered actor word. Ruth had no idea that being with her under the tormentingcircumstances was scarcely undivided happiness for poor Larry or that herpeace of mind was more or less purchased at cost of his. 

Larry kept the promise he had made to his uncle more literally than thelatter had had any idea he would or could. He never sought out Ruth'ssociety, was never alone with her if he could help it, never so much astouched her hand. Ruth being a very human and feminine little personsometimes wished he were not quite so consistently, "Holidayish" in hisconduct. She missed the ardent gaze of those wonderful gray eyes which henow kept studiously averted from hers. Privately she thought it would nothave mattered so fearfully if just once in a while he had forgotten thering. Life was very, very drab when you never forgot and let yourself gothe tiniest little bit. Child like little Ruth never guessed that a manlike Larry Holiday does not dare let himself go the tiniest little bit, lest he go farther, far enough to regret. 

Doctor Holiday watching in silence out of the tail of his eye understoodbetter what was going on behind his nephew's quiet exterior demeanor, and wondered sometimes if it had not been a mistake to keep the boybound to the wheel like that, if he should not rather have packed himoff to the uttermost parts of the earth, far away from the little ladywith the wedding ring who was so little married. And yet there wasGranny, growing perceptibly weaker day by day, clinging pathetically toLarry's young strength. Poor Granny! And poor Larry! How little onecould do for either!

Ruth's memory did not return. She remembered, or at least found familiar, books she had read, songs she must have sung, drifted into doing ahundred little simple everyday things she must have done before, sincethey came to her with no effort. She could sew and knit and play thepiano exquisitely. But all this seemed rather a trick of the fingers thanof the mind. The people, the places, the life that lay behind that crashon the Overland never returned to her consciousness for all her anxiousstruggle to get them back. 

It began to look as if her husband, if she had one, were not going toclaim her. No one claimed her. Not a single response came from all theextensive advertising which Larry still kept up in vain hope of success. Apparently no one had missed the little Goldilocks. Precious as she wasnone sought her. 

In the meanwhile she was an undisguised angel visitant to the House onthe Hill. If in his kindly hospitality Doctor Holiday had stretched apoint or two in the first place to make the little stranger feel at homethe case was different now. She was needed, badly needed and she playedthe part of house daughter so sweetly and unselfishly that her presenceamong them was a double blessing to them all, except perhaps to poorLarry who loved her best of all. 

CHAPTER XXIV

A PAST WHICH DID NOT STAY BURIED

Coming in from a lively game of tennis with Elsie Hathaway, his newestsweetheart, the Ancient History Prof's pretty daughter, Ted Holiday foundawaiting him a letter from Madeline Taylor. He turned it over in hishands with a keen distaste for opening it, had indeed almost a mind tochuck it in the waste paper basket unread. Hang it all! Why had shewritten? He didn't want to hear from her, didn't want to be reminded ofher existence. He wanted instead distinctly to forget there was aMadeline Taylor and that he had been fool enough to make love to heronce. Nevertheless he opened the letter and pulled his forelock inperturbation as he read it. 

She had quarrelled with her grandfather and he would not let her comeback home. She was with Emma just now but she couldn't stay. Fred wasbehaving very nastily and he might tell Emma any day that she, Madeline, had to go. They were all against her. Everything was against a girlanyway. They never had a chance as a man did. She wished she had beenkilled when she had been thrown out of the car that night. It would havebeen much better for her than being as miserable as she was now. Sheoften wished she was dead. But what she had written to Ted Holiday forwas because she thought perhaps he could help her to find a job in thecollege town. She had to earn some money right away. She would doanything. She didn't care what and would be very grateful to Ted if hewould or could help her to find work. 

That was all. There was not a single personal note in the whole thing, noreference to their flirtation of the early summer except the one allusionto the accident, no attempt to revive such frail ties as had existedbetween them, no reproaches to Ted for having broken these off sosummarily. It was simply and exclusively a plea for help from one humanbeing to another. 

Ted thrust the letter soberly in his pocket and went off for a shower. But the thing went with him. He wished Madeline hadn't written, wishedshe hadn't besought his aid, wished most of all she hadn't been such adevilish good sport in it all. If she had whined, cast things up againsthim as she might have done, thrown herself in any way upon him, he couldperhaps have ignored her and her plea. But she had done nothing of thesort. She was deucedly game now just as she had been the night of thesmash. And by a queer trick of his mind her very gameness made TedHoliday feel more quiet and responsible, a frame of mind he heartilyresented. Hanged if he could see why it was his funeral! If that oldHottentot of a grandfather of hers chose to turn her out without a centit wasn't his fault. For that matter he wasn't to blame for what Madelineherself had done. He didn't suppose the old man would have cut so roughwithout plenty of cause. Why did she have to bob up now and make him feelso darned rotten?

Unfortunately, even the briefest of episodes have a way of not erasingthemselves as conveniently as most of us would like to have them. Thething was there and Ted Holiday had to look at it whether it made himfeel "darned rotten" or not. He did not want to help the girl, did noteven want to renew their acquaintance by even so much as a letter. Thewhole thing was an infernal nuisance. But infernal nuisance or not, hehad to deal with it, could not funk it. He was a Holiday and no Holidayever shirked obligations he himself had incurred. He was a Holiday and noHoliday ever let a woman ask for help, and not give It. By the time hewas back from the shower Ted knew precisely where he stood. Perhaps hehad known all along. 

The next day he bestirred himself, went to Berry the florist who hehappened to know was in need of a clerk, got the burly Irishman's consentto give the girl a job at excellent wages, right away, the sooner thebetter. Ted opened his mouth to ask for an advance of salary but thoughtbetter of it before the words came out. Madeline might not like to haveanybody know she was up against it like that. He would have to see tothat part of it himself somehow. 

"You're a good customer, Mr. Holiday, " the genial florist was saying. "I'm tickled to be obligin' ye and mesilf at the same time. Anything inthe flower line, to-day, Mr. Holiday? Some roses now or violets? Got someJim dandies just in. Beauties, I'm tellin' you. Want to see 'em?"

Ted hesitated. His exchecquer was low, very low. The first of the monthwas also far away--too far, considering all things. His bill at Berry'salready passed the bounds of wisdom and the possibility of being paid infull out of the next month's allowance without horribly crippling thedebtor. It was exceedingly annoying to have to forfeit that ten dollarsto Uncle Phil every month for that darned automobile business which itseemed as if he never would get free of one way or another. He certainlyought not to buy any more flowers this month. 

Still, there was the hop to-night. Elsie was going with him. He had runa race with three other applicants for the privilege of escorting her andbeing victor it behooved him to prove he appreciated his gains. He didn'twant Elsie to think he was a tight-wad, or worse still suspect him ofbeing broke. He fell, let Berry open the show case, debated seriously therespective merits of roses and violets, having reluctantly relinquishedorchids as a little too ruinous even for a ruined young man. 

"If they are for Miss Hathaway, " murmured a pretty, sympathetic clerk inhis ear, "Mr. Delany sent roses this morning and she likes violets best. I've heard her say so. "

That settled it. Ted Holiday wasn't going to be beaten by a poor fishlike Ned Delany. The violets were bought and duly charged along withthose other too numerous items on Ted Holiday's account. Going home Tedwrote a cheerful, friendly letter to Madeline Taylor reporting hissuccess in getting her a job and enclosing a check for twenty livedollars, "just to tide you over, " he had put in lightly, forbearing tomention that the gift made his bank balance even lighter, so light infact that it approached complete invisibility. He added that he was sorrythings were in a mess for her but they would clear up soon, bound to, youknow. And nix on the wish-I-were-dead-stuff! It was really a jolly oldworld as she would say herself when her luck turned. He remained herssincerely and so forth. 

This business off his mind, young Mr. Holiday felt highly relieved andpleased with himself and the world which was such a jolly old affair ashe had just assured Madeline. Later he went to the hop and had a corkingtime, stayed till the last violin swooned off into silence, thensauntered with deliberate leisureliness toward Prof. Hathaway's housewith Elsie on his arm. On the Prof's porch he had lingered as long as wasprudent, perhaps a little longer, spooning discreetly the while as onemay, even with an Ancient History Prof's daughter. There was nothingsuggestive of Ancient History about Elsie. She was slim and young as thelittle new moon they had both nearly broken their necks to see over theirright shoulders a few minutes before. Moreover she was exceedingly prettyand as provocative as the dickens. In the end Ted stole a saucy kiss andleft her pretending to be as indignant as if a dozen other impudentyouths had not done precisely the same thing since the opening of thecollege year. It was the lady's privilege to protest. Ted granted that, but neither was he much taken in by injured innocence airs. Elsie wasquite as sophisticated as he was himself as he knew very well. No firstkiss business for either of them, he reflected as he went whistling backto the frat house. It was all in the game and both knew it was nothingbut a game which made it perfectly pleasant and harmless. 

At the frat house he found a quiet little game of another sort inprogress, slid in, took a hand, got interested, played until three A. M. And on quitting found himself in possession of some thirty odd dollars hehad not had when he sat in. Considering his recent financial depressionthe thirty dollars was all to the good, covered Madeline's check andElsie's violets. It was indeed a jolly old world if you treated it rightand did not take it or yourself too seriously. 

Inasmuch as playing cards for money was strictly against college rulesand gambling had been the one vice of all vices the late Major Holidayhad hated with unrelenting hate, it might be a satisfaction to recordthat the late Major's son took an uneasy conscience to bed that night, orrather that morning, but truth is truth and we are compelled to statethat Ted Holiday did not suffer the faintest twinge of remorse and wentto sleep the moment his head touched the pillow as peacefully as aguileless new born babe might have done. 

Moreover when he woke the next morning at an unconscionably late hour heturned over, looked at the clock, grunted and grinned sleepily and lapsedoff again into blissful oblivion, thereby cutting all his morning classesand generally submerging himself in the unregenerate ways of hisgraceless sophomoric year. He had never contracted to be conspicuouslyvirtuous it will be recalled. 

The next day he secured a suitable lodging place for Madeline in aninexpensive but respectable neighborhood and the day after that betookhimself to the station to meet the girl herself. Ted never did things byhalves. Having made up his mind to stand by he did it thoroughly, perhapsthe more punctiliously because in his heart he loathed the whole businessand wished he were well out of it. 

For a moment as Madeline came toward him he hardly recognized her. Shelooked years older. The brilliancy of her beauty was curiously dimmed asan electric light might be dimmed inside a dusty globe. There were hardlines about her full lips and a sharp, driven look in her black eyes. Thetwo had met in June on equal terms of blithe youth. Now, only a fewmonths later, Ted was still a careless boy but Madeline Taylor had beenforced into premature womanhood and wore on her haggard young face, thestamp of a woman's hard won wisdom. 

To the girl Ted Holiday appeared more the bonny Prince Charming thanever only infinitely farther removed from her than he had seemed inthose happy summer days which were a million years ago to all intentsand purposes now. How good looking he was--how tall and clean andmanly looking! Her heart gave a quick jump seeing him again after allthese dreary months. But oh, she must be very careful--must neverforget for a moment that things were very, very different now from whatthey were in June!

There was a moment's slightly embarrassed silence as they shook hands. Both were remembering all too vividly the scene in Cousin Emma's gardenupon the occasion of their last meeting. It was Ted who first foundtongue and announced casually that he was going to take her straight tothe house of Mrs. Bascom, her landlady to be. 

"She's a good sort, " he added. "Mothery like you know. You'll like her. "

Madeline did not answer. She couldn't. Something choked in her throat. The phrase, "mothery like" was almost too much for the girl who hadnever had a mother to remember and wanted one now as she never hadwanted one in her life. Ted's kindness--the first she had received fromany one these many days--touched her deeply. For the first time inmonths the tears brimmed up into her eyes as she followed her companionto the cab and let him help her in. As the door closed upon them Tedturned and faced the girl and seeing the tears put out his hand andtouched hers gently. 

"Don't worry, Madeline, " he said. "Things are going to look up. Andplease don't cry, " he pleaded earnestly. 

She wiped away the tears and summoned a wan little smile to meet his. 

"I won't, " she said. "Crying is silly and won't help anything. It is justthat I was awfully tired and your being so good to me upset me. You'vealways been good even--when I thought you weren't. I understand betternow. And oh, Ted, you don't know how ashamed I am of the way I behavedthat night! It was awful--my striking you like that. It made me sick tothink of it afterward. "

"It needn't have. If anybody has any call to be ashamed of that nightit's yours truly. See here, Madeline, I've worried a lot about you thoughmaybe you won't believe it because I didn't write or act as if I weresorry about things. I kept still because it seemed the straightest thingto do all round, but I did think a great deal about you, honest I did, and I've wondered millions of times if my darn-foolness set things goingwrong for you. Did it, Madeline?" he demanded. 

"No, " she answered her gaze away from his out the cab window. "You mustn't worry, Ted, or blame yourself. It--it's all myfault--everything. "

"It's good of you to let me out but I am not so sure I ought to be letout. I'd give a good deal this minute if I could go back and not takeUncle Phil's car that night. " Ted leaned forward suddenly and for astartled instant Madeline thought he meant to kiss her. But nothing wasfarther from his wish or thought. It was the scar he was looking for. Hehad almost forgotten it, just as he had almost forgotten the episode itrepresented. But there it was on her forehead. Even in the gatheringdarkness it showed with perfect distinctness. "I hoped it had gone, " headded. "But it is still there, isn't it?"

"The scar? Yes, it is still there. " For a moment the ghost of asmile played about the girl's lips. "I've always liked it. I'd missit if it went. "

"Well, I don't like it. I hate it, " groaned the boy. "Why, Madeline Imight have killed you!"

"I know. Sometimes I wish it had come out so. It--it would havebeen better. "

"Don't Madeline. That is an awful thing to say. Things can't be as bad asall that, you know they can't. By the way, can you tell me the wholebusiness or would you rather not?"

The girl shivered. 

"No. Don't ask me, Ted. It--it's too awful. Don't bother about me. You have done quite enough as it is. I am very grateful but truly Iwould rather you wouldn't have anything more to do with me. Justforget I am here. "

And because this injunction was precisely in line with his owninclination Ted suspected its propriety and swung counterwise in trueTed fashion. 

"I'll do just exactly as I please about that. I won't pester you but youneedn't think I'm going to leave you all soul alone in a strange placewhen you are feeling rotten anyway. I'm pretty doggoned selfish but notquite that bad. "

CHAPTER XXV

ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE

Although Max Hempel had not openly sought out Tony Holiday he wasentirely aware of her presence in the city and in the dramatic school. Whenever she played a role in the course of the latter's program he hadhis trusted aides on the spot to watch her, gauge her progress, reporttheir finding to himself. Once or twice he had come himself, sat in adark corner and kept his eye unblinking from first to last upon the girl. 

In November it had seemed good to the school to revive The KillarneyRose, a play which ten years ago had had a phenomenal run and ended as itbegan with packed houses. It was past history now. Even the roadcompanies had lapsed, and its name was all but forgotten by the ficklepublic which must and will have ever new sensations. 

Hempel was glad the school had made this particular selection, doublyglad it had given Antoinette Holiday the title role. The play would showwhether the girl was ready for his purposes as he had about decided shewas. He would send Carol Clay to see her do the thing. Carol would know. Who better? It was she who created the original Rose. 

Tony Holiday behind the scene on that momentous evening, on beinginformed that Carol Clay--the famous Carol Clay herself--the realRose--was out there in a box, was paralyzed with fear, for the firsttime in her life, victim of genuine stage fright. She was cold. She washot. She was one tremendous shake and shiver. She was a very lump ofstone. The orchestra was already playing. In a moment her call wouldcome and she was going to fail, fail miserably. And with Carol Claythere to see. 

Some flowers and a card were brought in. The flowers were from Alan ofcourse, great crimson roses. It was dear of him to send them. Later shewould appreciate it. But just now not even Alan mattered. She glanced atthe card which had come separately, was not with the flowers. It wasDick's. Hastily she read the pencil-written scrawl. "Am covering theRose. Will be close up. See you after the show. Best o' luck and love. "

Tony could almost have cried for joy over the message. Somehow theknowledge of Dick's nearness gave her back her self-possession. She hadrefused to let Alan come. His presence in the audience always distractedher, made her nervous. But Dick was different. It was almost like havingUncle Phil himself there. She wouldn't fail now. She couldn't. It was forthe honor of the Hill. 

A moment later, still clutching Dick's comforting card, she ran in on thestage, swinging her sun-bonnet from its green ribbons with hoydenishgrace, chanting a gay little lilt of an Irish melody. Her fear had goneeven as the dew might have disappeared at the kiss of the sun upon theKillarney greensward. 

Almost at once she discovered Dick and sang a part of her song straightdown at him. A little later she dared to let her eyes stray to the boxwhere Carol Clay sat. The actress smiled and Tony smiled back and thenforgot she was Tony, was henceforth only Rose of Killarney. 

It was a winsome, old-timey sort of play, with an almost Barriesquecharm and whimsicality to it. The witching little Rose laughed and dancedand sang and flirted and wept and loved her way through it and in the endthrew herself in the right lover's arms, presumably there to dwell happyforever after. 

After the last curtain went down and she had smiled and bowed and kissedher hand to the kindly audience over and over Tony fled to the dressingroom where she could still hear the intoxicating, delightful thunder ofapplause. It had come. She could act. She could. Oh! She couldn't liveand be any happier. 

But, after all she could stand a little more joy without coming to anuntimely end, for there suddenly smiling at her from the threshold wasCarol Clay congratulating her and telling her what a pleasure to-night'sRose had been to the Rose of yesterday. And before Tony could get herbreath to do more than utter a rather shy and gasping word of gratitude, the actress had invited her to take tea with her on the next day and shehad accepted and Carol Clay was gone. 

It was in a wonderful world of dreams that Tony Holiday dwelt as sheremoved a little of her makeup, gave orders to have all her flowers sentto a near-by hospital, except Alan's, which she gathered up in her armsand drawing her velvet cloak around her, stepped out into thewaiting-room. 

But it was a world of rather alarming realities that she went into. Therewas Dick Carson waiting as she had bidden him to wait in the message shehad sent him. And there was Alan Massey, unbidden and unexpected. Andboth these males with whom she had flirted unconscionably for weeks pastwere ominously belligerent of manner and countenance. She would havegiven anything to have had a wand to wave the two away, keep them fromspoiling her perfect evening. But it was too late. The hour of reckoningwhich comes even to queens was here. 

"Hello, you two, " she greeted, putting on a brave front for all hersinking heart. She laid down the roses and gave a hand impartially toeach. "Awfully glad to see you, Dicky. Alan, I thought I told you not tocome. Were you here all the same?"

"I was. I told you so in my note. Didn't you get it? I sent it in withthe roses. " He nodded at the flowers she had just surrendered. 

Dick's eyes shadowed. Massey had scored there. He had not thought offlowers. Indeed there had been no time to get any he had gotten theassignment so late. There had been quantities of other flowers, he knew. The usher had carried up tons of them it seemed to the popular Rose, butshe carried only Alan Massey's home with her. 

"I am sorry, Alan. I didn't see it. Maybe it was there; I didn't halflook at the flowers. Your message did me so much good, Dicky. I wasscared to death because they had just said Miss Clay was outside. Andsomehow when I knew you were there I felt all right again. I carried yourcard all through the first act and I know it was your wishing me the besto' luck that brought it. "

She smiled at Dick and it was Alan's turn to glower. She had not lookedat his roses, had not cared to look for his message; but she carried theother man's card, used it as a talisman. And she was glad. The other wasthere, but she had forbidden himself--Alan Massey--to come, had evenreproached him for coming. 

A group of actors passed through the reception room, calling gaygoodnights and congratulations to Tony as they went and shooting glancesof friendly curiosity at the two, tall frowning men between whom thevivacious Rose stood. 

"Tony Holiday doesn't keep all her lovers on the stage, " laughed thenear-heroine as she was out of hearing. "Did you ever see two gentlementhat hated each other more cordially?"

"She is an arrant little flirt, isn't she, Micky?" The speaker challengedthe Irish lover of the play who had had the luck to win the sweet, thornylittle Killarney Rose in the end and to get a real, albeit a play kissfrom the pretty little heroine, who as Tony Holiday as well as Rose wasprone to make mischief in susceptible male hearts. 

"She can have me any minute, on the stage or off, " answered Mickypromptly. "She's a winner. Got me going all right. Most forgot my linesshe was so darned pretty. "

Dick took advantage of the confusion of the interruption to get in hisword. 

"Will you come out with me for a bite somewhere, Tony. I won't keep youlate, but there are some things I want to talk over with you. "

Tony hesitated. She had caught the ominous flash of Alan's eyes. She wasdesperately afraid there would be a scene if she said yes to Dick now inAlan's hearing. The latter strode over to her instantly, and laid hishand with a proprietorial air on her arm. From this point of vantage hefaced Dick insolently. 

"Miss Holiday is going out with me, " he asserted. "You--clear out. "

The tone and manner even more than the words were deliberate insult. Dick's face went white. His mouth set tight. There was almost as ugly alook in his eyes as there was in Alan's. Tony had never seen him looklike that and was frightened. 

"I'll clear out when Miss Holiday asks me to and not before, " he said ina significantly quiet voice. "Don't go too far, Mr. Massey. I have takena good deal from you. There's a limit. Tony, I repeat my question. Willyou go out with me to-night?"

Before Tony could speak Alan Massey's long right arm shot out in Dick'sdirection. Dick dodged the blow coolly. 

"Hold on, Massey, " he said. "I'm perfectly willing to smash your head anytime it is convenient. Nothing would afford me greater pleasure in fact. But you will kindly keep from making trouble here. You can't get awoman's name mixed up with a cheap brawl such as you are trying to start. You know, it won't do. "

Alan Massey's white face turned a shade whiter. His arm fell. He turnedback to Tony, real anguish in his fire-shot eyes. 

"I beg your pardon, Tony dearest, " he bent over to say. "Carson is right. We'll fight it out elsewhere when you are not present. May I take you tothe taxi? I have one waiting outside. "

Another group of people passed through the vestibule, said goodnight andwent on out to the street exit. It made Tony sick to think of what theywould have seen if Dick had lost his self control as Alan had. Shethought she had never liked Dick as she did that moment, never despisedAlan Massey so utterly. Dick was a man. Alan was a spoiled child, aweakling, the slave of his passions. It was no thanks to him that hername was not already bandied about on people's lips, the name of a girl, about whom men came to fist blows like a Bowery movie scene. She washumiliated all over, enraged with Alan, enraged with herself forstooping to care for a man like that. She waited until they wereabsolutely alone again and then said what she had to say. She turned toface Alan directly. 

"You may take me nowhere, " she said. "I don't want to see you again aslong as I live. "

For an instant Alan stared at her, dazed, unable to grasp the force ofwhat she was saying, the significance of her tone. As a matter of factthe artist in him had leaped to the surface, banished all otherconsiderations. He had never seen Tony Holiday really angry before. Shewas magnificent with those flashing eyes and scarlet cheeks--a gloriouslittle Fury--a Valkyrie. He would paint her like that. She wasstupendous, the most vividly alive thing he had ever seen, like flameitself, in her flaming anger. Then it came over him what she had said. 

"But, Tony, " he pleaded, "my belovedest--"

He put out both hands in supplication, but Tony whirled away from them. She snatched the great bunch of red roses from the table, ran to thewindow, flung up the sash, hurled them out into the night. Then sheturned back to Alan. 

"Now go, " she commanded, pointing with a small, inexorable hand to thedoor. 

Alan Massey went. 

Tony dropped in a chair, spent and trembling, all but in tears. Thedisagreeable scene, the piled up complex of emotions coming on top of thestress and strain of the play were almost too much for her. She was aquivering bundle of nerves and misery at the moment. 

Dick came to her. 

"Forgive me, Tony. I shouldn't have forced the issue maybe. But Icouldn't stand any more from that cad. "

"I am glad you did exactly what you did do, Dick, and I am more gratefulthan I can ever tell you for not letting Alan get you into a fight herein this place with all these people coming and going. I would never havegotten over it if anything like that had happened. It would have beenterrible. I couldn't ever have looked any of them in the face again. "She shivered and put her two hands over her eyes ashamed to the quick atthe thought. 

Dick sat down on the arm of her chair, one hand resting gently on thegirl's shoulder. 

"Don't cry, Tony, " he begged. "I can't stand it. You needn't haveworried. There wasn't any danger of anything like that happening. I caretoo much to let you in for anything of that sort. So does he for thatmatter. He saw it in a minute. He really wouldn't want to do you any harmanyway, Tony. Even I know that, and you must know it better than I. "

Tony put down her hands, looked at Dick. "I suppose that is true, " shesighed. "He does love me, Dick. "

"He does, Tony. I wish he didn't. And I wish with all my heart I weresure you didn't love him. "

Tony sighed again and her eyes fell. 

"I wish--I were sure, too, " she faltered. 

Dick winced at that. He had no answer. What was there to say?

"I don't see why I should care. I don't see how I can care afterto-night. He is horrid in lots of ways--a cad--just as you called him. Iknow Larry would feel just as you do and hate to have him come near me. Larry and I have almost quarreled about it now. He thinks Uncle Phil isall wrong not to forbid my seeing Alan at all. But Uncle Phil is toowise. He doesn't want to have me marry Alan any more than the rest of youdo but he knows if he fights it it would put me on the other side in aminute and I'd do it, maybe, in spite of everybody. "

"Tony, you aren't engaged to him?"

She shook her head. 

"Not exactly. I am afraid I might as well be though. I said I didn'tever want to see him again, but I didn't mean it. I shall want to see himagain by to-morrow. I always do no matter what he does. I always shall Iam afraid. It is like that with me. I'm sorry, Dicky. I ought to havetold you that before. I've been horrid not to, I know. Take me home now, please. I'm tired--awfully tired. "

Going home in the cab neither spoke until just as they were within a fewblocks of the Hostelry when Dick broke the silence. 

"I am sorry all this had to happen to-night, " he said. "Because, well, Iam going away tomorrow. "

"Going away! Dick! Where?" It was horribly selfish of her, Tony knew;but it didn't seem as if she could bear to have Dick go. It seemed as ifthe only thing that was stable in her reeling life would be gone if hewent. If he went she would belong to Alan more and more. There would benothing to hold her back. She was afraid. She clung to Dick. He alone ofthe whole city full of human beings was a symbol of Holiday Hill. Withhim gone it seemed to her as if she would be hopelessly adrift onperilous seas. 

"To Mexico--Vera Cruz, I believe, " he answered her question. 

"Vera Cruz! Dick, you mustn't! It is awful down there now. Everybody saysso. " He smiled a little at that. 

"It is because it is more or less awful that they are sending me, " hesaid. "Journalism isn't much interested in placidity. A newspaper man hasto be where things are happening fast and plenty. If things are hot downthere so much the better. They will sizzle more in the copy. "

"Dick! I can't have you go. I can't bear it. " Tony's hand crept intohis. "Something dreadful might happen to you, " she wailed. 

He pressed her hand, grateful for her real trouble about him and forher caring. 

"Oh no, dear. Nothing dreadful will happen to me. You mustn't worry, "he soothed. 

"But I do. I shall. How can I help it? It is just as if Larry or Ted weregoing. It scares me. "

Dick drew away his hand suddenly. 

"For heaven's sake, Tony, please don't tell me again that I'm just likeLarry and Ted to you. It is bad enough to know it without your rubbing itin all the time. I can't stand it--not to-night. "

"Dick!" Tony was startled, taken aback by his tone. Dick rarely lethimself go like that. 

In a moment he was all contrition. 

"Forgive me, Tony. I'm sorry I said that. I ought to be thankful you carethat much, and I am. It is dear of you and I do appreciate it. "

"Oh me!" sighed Tony. "Everything I do or say is wrong. I wish I did carethe other way for you, Dicky dear. Truly I do. It would be so much nicerand simpler than caring for Alan, " she added naïvely. 

"Life isn't fixed nice and simple, Tony. At least it never hasbeen for me. "

"Oh, Dick! Everything has been horribly hard for you always, and I'mmaking it harder. I don't want to, Dicky dear. You know I don't. It isjust that I can't help it. "

"I know, Tony. You mustn't bother about me. I'm all right. Will you tellme just one thing though? If you hadn't cared for Massey--no I won't putit like that. If you had cared for me would my not having any name havemade any difference?"

"Of course it wouldn't have made any difference, Dicky. What does a namematter? You are you and that is what I would care for--do care for. Therest doesn't matter. Besides, you are making a name for yourself. "

"I am doing it under your name--the one you gave me. "

"I am proud to have it used that way. Why wouldn't I be? It is honored. You have not only lived up to it as you promised Uncle Phil. You havemade it stand for something fine. Your stories are splendid. You aregoing to be famous and I--Why, Dicky, just think, it will be my name youwill take on up to the stars. Oh, we're here, " as the cab jolted to ahalt in front of the Hostelry. 

The cabby flung open the door. Tony and Dick stepped out, went up thesteps. In a moment they were alone in the dimly lit hall. 

"Tony, would you mind letting me kiss you just once as you would Larry orTed if one of them were going off on a long journey away from you?"

Dick's voice was humble, pleading. It touched Tony deeply, and sent thequick tears welling up into her eyes as she raised her face to his. 

For a moment he held her close, kissed her on the cheek and thenreleased her. 

"Good-by, Tony. Thank you and God bless you, " he said a little huskily ashe let her go. 

"Good-by, Dick. " And then impulsively Tony put up her lips and kissedhim, the first time he ever remembered a woman's lips touching his. 

A second later the door closed upon him, shutting him out in the night. He dismissed the cab driver and walked blindly off, not knowing or caringin what direction he went. It was hours before he let himself into hislodging house. It seemed as if he could have girdled the earth on thestrength of Tony Holiday's kiss. The next morning he was off for Mexico. 

CHAPTER XXVI

THE KALEIDOSCOPE REVOLVES

Tony slept late next morning and when she did open her eyes they fellupon a huge florist box by the door and a special delivery letter on topof it. The maid had set the two in an hour ago and tiptoed away lest shewaken the weary little sleeper. 

Tony got up and opened the box. Roses--dozens of them, worth the price ofa month's wages to many a worker in the city! Frail, exquisite, shell-pink beauties, with gold at their hearts! Tony adored roses but shealmost hated these because it seemed to her Alan was bribing herforgiveness by playing upon her worship of their beauty and fragrance. 

Still kneeling by the flowers she glanced at the clock. Ten-thirty! Dickwas already miles away on his hateful journey, had gone sad and hopelessbecause she loved Alan Massey. Why did it have to be so? Why was love soperverse and unreasonable a thing? Alan was not worthy to touch Dick'shand, though in his arrogance he affected to despise the other. But itwas Alan she loved, not Dick. There must be something wrong with her, dreadfully wrong that it should be so. After last night there could be nodoubt of that. 

She sat down on the floor, opened Alan's letter, despised herself forletting its author's spell creep over her anew with every word. It was anabject plea for mercy, for forgiveness, for restoration to favor. It hadbeen a devil of jealousy that had possessed him, he had not known whathe was doing. Surely she must know that he would not willingly harm orhurt or anger her in any way. He loved her too much. Carson had behavedlike a man. Alan would apologize to him if the other man would accept theapology. It was Tony really who had driven him mad by being so muchkinder to the other than to himself. She must realize what he was, notdrive him too far. 

"I am sending you roses, " he ended. "Please don't throw them away as youdid the others. Keep them and let them plead for me. And don't ah Tony, don't ever, ever say again what you said last night, that you neverwanted to see me again! You don't mean it, I know. But don't say it. Itkills me to hear you. If you throw me over I'll blow my brains out assure as I am a living man this moment. But you won't, you cannot, Tonydearest. You will forgive me, stand by me, rotten as I am. You are mine. You love me. You won't push me down to Hell. "

It was a cowardly letter Tony thought, a letter calculated to frightenher, bring her to subjection again as well as to gratify the writer's ownByronic instinct for pose. He had behaved badly. He acknowledged it butclaimed forgiveness on the grounds of love, his love for her which hadbeen goaded to mad jealousy by her thoughtless unkindness, her love forhim which would not desert him no matter what he did. 

But pose or not, Tony was obliged to admit there was some truth in itall. Perhaps it was all true-too true. Even if he did not resort to thepistol as he threatened he would find other means of slaying his soul ifnot his body if she forsook him now. She could not do it. As he said sheloved him too well. She had gone too far in the path to turn back now. 

Ah why, why had she let it go so far? Why had she not listened to Dick, to Uncle Phil, to Carlotta, even to Miss Lottie? They had all told herthere was no happiness for her in loving Alan Massey. She knew it herselfbetter than any of them could possibly know it. And yet she had to go on, for his sake, for her own because she loved him. 

By this time she was no longer angry or resentful. She was justsorry--sorry for Alan--sorry for herself. She knew just as she had knownall along that last night's incident would not really make anydifference. It would be put away in time with all the other things shehad to forgive. She had eaten her pomegranate seeds. She could not escapethe dark kingdom. She did not wish to. 

Later came violets from Dick which she put in a vase on her desk besideUncle Phil's picture. But it was the fragrance and color of Alan's rosesthat filled the room, and presently she sat down and wrote herill-behaved lover a sweet, forgiving little note. She was sorry if shehad been unkind. She had not meant to be. As for what happened it was toolate to worry about it now. They had best forget it, if they could. Hecouldn't very well apologize to Dick in person because he was already onhis way to Mexico. There was no need of any penance. Of course sheforgave him, knew he had not meant to hurt her, though he had horribly. If he cared to do so he might take her to dinner tomorrownight--somewhere where they could dance. And in conclusion she was alwayshis, Tony Holiday. 

Both Dick and Alan were driven out of her mind later that day by thedelightful and exciting interview over the tea table with Carol Clay. Miss Clay was a charming hostess, drew the girl out without appearing todo so, got her to talk naturally about many things, her life with herfather at army barracks, and with her uncle on her beloved Hill, of herfriends and brothers, her college life, of books and plays. Plays tookthem to the Killarney Rose and once more Miss Clay expressed her pleasurein the girl's rendering of one of her own favorite roles. 

"You acted as if you had been playing Rose all your life, " she addedwith a smile. 

"Maybe I have, " said Tony. "Rose is--a good deal like me. Maybe that iswhy I loved playing her so. "

"I shouldn't wonder. You are a real little actress, my dear. I wonder ifyou are ready to pay the price of it. It is bitterly hard work and itmeans giving up half the things women care for. "

The speaker's lovely eyes shadowed a little. Tony wondered whatCarol Clay had given up, was giving up for her art to bring thatlook into them. 

"I am not afraid. I am willing to work. I love it. And I--I am willing togive up a good deal. "

"Lovers?" smiled Miss Clay. 

"Must I? I thought actresses always had lovers, at least worshipers. Can't I keep the lovers, Miss Clay?" There was a flash of mischief inTony's eyes as she asked the important question. 

"Better stick to worshipers. Lovers are risky. Husbands--fatal. "

Tony laughed outright at that. 

"I am willing to postpone the fatality, " she murmured. 

"I am glad to hear it for I lured you here to take you into a deep-laidplot. I suppose you did not suspect that it was Max Hempel who sent me tosee you play Rose?"

"Mr. Hempel? I thought he had forgotten me. "

"He never forgets any one in whom he is interested. He has had his eyeon you ever since he saw you play Rosalind. He told me when he came backfrom that trip that I had a rival coming on. "

"Oh, no!" Tony objected even in jest to such desecration. 

"Oh, yes, " smiled her hostess. "Max Hempel is a brutally frank person. Henever spares one the truth, even the disagreeable truth. He has had hiseye out for a new ingénue for a long time. Ingénues do get old--at leastolder you know. "

"Not you, " denied Tony. 

"Even I, in time. I grant you not yet. It takes a degree of age andsophistication to play youth and innocence. We do it better as a rule atthirty than at twenty. We are far enough away from it to stand off andobserve how it behaves and can imitate it better than if we still had it. That is one reason I was interested in your Rose last night. You playedlike a little girl as Rose should. You looked like a little girl. But youcouldn't have given it that delightfully sure touch if you hadn't been alittle bit grown up. Do you understand?"

Tony nodded. 

"I think so. You see I am--a little bit grown up. "

"Don't grow up any more. You are adorable as you are. But to business. Have you seen my Madge?"

"In the 'End of the Rainbow?' Yes, indeed. I love it. You like the parttoo, don't you? You play it as if you did. "

"I do. I like it better than any I have had since Rose. Did it occur toyou that you would like to play Madge yourself?"

Tony blushed ingenuously. 

"Well, yes, it did, " she admitted half shyly. "Of course, I knew Icouldn't play it as you did. It takes years of experience and a real artlike yours to do it like that, but I did think I'd like to try it and seewhat I could do. "

Miss Clay nodded, well pleased. 

"Of course you did. Why not? It is your kind of a role, just as Rose is. You and I are the same types. Mr. Hempel has said that all along, eversince he saw your Rosalind. But I won't keep you in suspense. The longand short of all this preliminary is--how would you like to be myunderstudy for Madge?"

"Oh, Miss Clay!" Tony gasped. "Do you think I could?"

"I know you could, my dear. I knew it all the time while I waswatching you play Rose. Mr. Hempel has known it even longer. I went tosee Rose to find out if there was a Madge in you. There is. I told Mr. Hempel so this morning. He is brewing his contracts now so beprepared. Will you try it?"

"I'd love to if you and Mr. Hempel think I can. I promised Uncle Phil Iwould take a year of the school work though. Will I have to drop that?"

"I think so--most of it at least. You would have to be at the rehearsalsusually which are in the morning. You might have to play Madge quiteoften then. There are reasons why I have to be away a great deal justnow. " Again the shadow, darkened the star's eyes and a droop came to hermouth. "It isn't even so impossible that you would be called upon toplay before the real Broadway audience in fact. Understudies sometimesdo you know. "

Miss Clay was smiling now, but the shadow in her eyes had notlifted Tony saw. 

"I am particularly anxious to get a good understudy started inimmediately, " the actress continued. "The one I had was impossible, didnot get the spirit of the thing at all. It is absolutely essential tohave some one ready and at once. My little daughter is in a sanitariumdying with an incurable heart leakage. There will be a time--probablywithin the next two months--when I shall have to be away. "

Tony put out her hand and let it rest upon the other woman's. There wascompassion in her young eyes. 

"I am so sorry, " she said simply. "I didn't know you had a daughter. Ofcourse, I did know you weren't really Miss Clay, that you were Mrs. Somebody, but I didn't think of your having children. Somehow we don'tremember actresses may be mothers too. "

"The actresses remember it--sometimes, " said Miss Clay with a tremulouslittle smile. "It isn't easy to laugh when your heart is heavy, MissAntoinette. It is all I can do to go on with 'Madge' sometimes. I justhave to forget--make myself forget I am a mother and a wife. CaptainCarey, my husband, is in the British Army. He is in Flanders now, or waswhen I last heard. "

"Oh, I don't see how you can do it--play, I mean, " sighed Tony aghast atthis new picture the actress's words brought up. 

"One learns, my dear. One has to. An actress is two distinct persons. One of her belongs to the public. The other is just a plain woman. Sometimes I feel as if I were far more the first than I am the second. There wouldn't be any more contracts if I were not. But never mind that. To come back to you. Mr. Hempel will send you a contract to-morrow. Willyou sign it?"

"Yes, if Uncle Phil is willing. I'll wire him to-night. I am almostpositive he will say yes. He is very reasonable and he will see what awonderful, wonderful chance this is for me. I can't thank you enough, Miss Clay. It all takes my breath away. But I am grateful and so happy;you can't imagine it. "

Miss Clay smiled and drew on her gloves. The interview was over. 

"There is really nothing to thank me, for, " she said. "The favor is onthe other side. It is I who am lucky. The perfect understudy like abecoming hat is hard to find, but when found is absolutely beyond price. May I send you a pass for to-morrow night to the 'End of the Rainbow'?Perhaps you would like to see it again and play 'Madge' with me from abox. The pass will admit two. Bring one of the lovers if you like. "

Tony wired her uncle that night. In the morning mail arrived Max Hempel'scontract as Miss Clay had promised. Tony regarded it with superstitiousawe. It was the first contract she had ever seen in her life, much lesshad offered for her signature. The terms were, generous--appallingly soit seemed to the girl who knew little of such things and was not inclinedto over-rate her powers financially speaking. She wisely took thecontract over to the school and got the manager's advice to "Go ahead. "

"We've nothing comparable to offer you, Miss Tony. With Hempel and MissClay both behind you you are practically made. You are a lucky littlelady. I know a dozen experienced actresses in this city who would givetheir best cigarette cases to be in your shoes. "

Arrived home at the Hostelry, armed with this approval, Tony found herUncle's answering wire bidding her do as she thought best and sendingheartiest love and congratulations. Dear Uncle Phil!

And then she sat down and signed the impressive document that made herCarol Clay's understudy and a real wage-earning person. 

All the afternoon she spent in long, delicious, dreamless slumber. Atfive she was wakened by the maid bringing a letter from Alan, awonderful, extravagant lover-note such as only he could pen. Later shebathed and dressed, donning the white and silver gown she had worn thenight when she had first admitted to Alan in Carlotta's garden that sheloved him, first took his kisses. It was rather a sacred little gown toTony, sacred to Alan and her own surrender to love. He called it herstarlight dress and loved it especially because it brought out thespringlike, virginal quality of her youth and loveliness as her othermore sophisticated gowns did not. Tony wore it for Alan to-night, wanted him to think her lovely, to love her immensely. She wanted totaste all life's joy at once, have a perfect deluge of happiness. Youthmust be served. 

Alan, graceful for being forgiven so easily, fell in with her mood andwas at his best, courtly, considerate, adoring. He exerted all themagic of his not inconsiderable charm to make Tony forget that otherunfortunate night when he had appeared in other, less attractivecolors. And Tony was ready enough to forget beneath his worshipinggreen eyes and under the spell of his wonderful voice. She meant toshut out the unwelcome guests of fear and doubt from her heart, letlove alone have sway. 

They dined at a gorgeous restaurant in a great hotel. Tony reveled in thesplendor and richness of the setting, delighted in the flawless service, the perfection of the strange and delectable viands which Alan orderedfor their consumption. Particularly she delighted in Alan himself and theway he fitted into the richness and luxury. It was his rightful setting. She could not imagine him in any of the shabby restaurants where she andDick had often dined so contentedly. Alan was a born aristocrat, patrician of the patricians. His looks, his manner, everything about himbetrayed it. Most of all it was revealed in the way the waiters scurriedto do his bidding, bowed obsequiously before him, recognized him as theauthentic master, lord of the purple. 

"So Carson really has gone to Mexico, " Alan murmured as they dallied overtheir salads, looking mostly into each other's eyes. 

"Yes, he went yesterday. I hated to have him go. It is awfullydisagreeable and dangerous down there they say. He might get a fever orget killed or something. " Tony absent-mindedly nibbling a piece of rollalready saw Dick in her mind's eye the victim of an assassin's blade. 

"No such luck!" thought Alan Massey bitterly. The thought brought a flashof venom into his eyes which Tony unluckily caught. 

"Alan! Why do you hate Dick so? He never did you any harm. "

Tony Holiday did not know what outrageous injury Dick had done hiscousin, Alan Massey. 

Alan was already suavely master of himself, the venom expungedfrom his eyes. 

"Why wouldn't I hate him, _Antoinetta mia_? You are half in lovewith him. "

"I am not, " denied Tony indignantly. "He is just like Lar--. " She brokeoff abruptly, remembering Dick's flare of resentment at that familiarformula, remembering too the kiss she had given him in the dimly-lit hallin the Hostelry, the kiss which had not been precisely such a one as shewould have given Larry. 

Alan's face darkened again. 

"Oh, yes, you are. You are blushing. "

"I am not. " Then putting her hands up to her face and feeling it warmshe changed her tactics. "Well, what, if I am? I do care a lot aboutDick. I found out the other night that I cared a whole lot more than Iknew. It isn't like caring for Larry and Ted. It's different. For afterall he isn't my brother--never was--never will be. I'm a wretched flirt, Alan. You know it as well as I do. I've let Dick keep on loving me, knowing all the time I didn't mean to marry him. And I'm not a bit sure Iam going to marry you either. "

"Tony!"

"Well, anyway not for a long, long time. I want to go on the stage. Ican't put all of myself into my work and give it to you at the same time. I don't want to get married. I don't dare to. I don't dare even letmyself care too much. I want to be free. "

"You want to be loved. "

"Of course. Every woman does. "

Alan made an impatient gesture. 

"I don't mean lip-worship. You are a woman, not a piece of statuary. Comeon now. Let's dance. "

They danced. In her lover's arms, their feet keeping time to thesyncopated, stirring rhythms of the violins, their hearts beating to amightier harmony of nature's own brewing, Tony Holiday was far from beinga piece of statuary. She was all woman, a woman very much alive and verymuch in love. 

Alan bent over her. 

"Tony, belovedest. There are more things than art in the world, " he saidsoftly. "Don't you know it, feel it? There is life. And life is biggerthan your work or mine. We're both artists, but we'll be bigger artiststogether. Marry me now. Don't make me wait. Don't make yourself wait. Youwant it as much as I do. Say yes, sweetheart, " he implored. 

Tony shook her head vehemently. She was afraid. She knew that just nowall her dreams of success in her chosen art, all her love for the dearones at home were as nothing in comparison with this greater thing whichAlan called life and which she felt surging mightily within her. But shealso knew that this way lay madness, disloyalty, regret. She must bestrong, strong for Alan as well as for herself. 

"Not yet, " she whispered back. "Be patient, Alan. I love you, dear. Wait. "

The music came to an end. Many eyes followed the two as they went back totheir places at the table. They were incomparable artists. It was worthmissing one's own dance to see them have theirs. Aside from his wonderfuldancing and striking personality Alan was at all times a marked figure, attracting attention wherever he went and whatever he did. The publicknew he had a superlative fortune which he spent magnificently as aprince, and that he had a superlative gift which for all they were awarehe had flung wantonly away as soon as the money came into his hands. Moreover he was even more interesting because of his superlatively badreputation which still followed him. The public would have found it hardto believe that at last Alan Massey was leading the most temperate andarduous of lives and devoting himself exclusively to one woman whom hetreated as reverently as if she were a goddess. The gazes focussed uponAlan now inevitably included the girl with him, as lovely and young asspring itself. 

"Who was she?" they asked each other. "What was a girl like that doingin Alan Massey's society?" To most of the observers it meant but onething, eventually if not now. Even the most cynical and world-hardenedthought it a pity, and these would have been confounded if they couldhave heard just now his passionate plea for marriage. One did notassociate marriage with Alan Massey. One had not associated it too muchwith his mother, one recalled. 

CHAPTER XXVII

TROUBLED WATERS

Ted Holiday drifted into Berry's to buy floral offerings for thereigning goddess who chanced still to be pretty Elsie Hathaway. Thingshad gone on gayly since that night a month ago when he had stolen thatimpudent kiss beneath the crescent moon. Not that there was anything atall serious about the affair. College coquettes must have lovers, andTed Holiday would not have been himself if there had not been a prettysweetheart on hand. 

By this time Ted had far outdistanced the other claimants for Elsie'sfavor. But the victory had come high. His bank account was again sadlyhumble in porportions and his bills at Berry's and at the candy shopswere things not to be looked into too closely. Nevertheless he was in agala humor that November morning. Aside from chronic financialcomplications things were going very well with him. He was working justhard enough to satisfy his newly-awakened common sense or conscience, orwhatever it was that was operating. He was having a jolly good time withElsie and basket ball and other things and college life didn't seem quitesuch a bore and burden as it had hitherto. Moreover Uncle Phil had justwritten that he would waive the ten dollar automobile tax for December inconsideration of the approach of Christmas, possibly also inconsideration of his nephew's fairly creditable showing on the new leafof the ledger though he did not say so. In any case it was a jolly oldworld if anybody asked Ted Holiday that morning as he entered Berry's. 

He made straight for Madeline as he invariably did. He was alwaysfriendly and gay and casual with her, always careful to let no onesuspect he had ever known her any more intimately than at present--notbecause he cared on his own account--Ted Holiday was no snob. But becausehe had sense to see it was better for Madeline herself. 

He was genuinely sorry for the girl. He could not help seeing how herdespondency grew upon her from week to week and that she appearedmiserably sick as well as unhappy. She looked worse than usual to-day, hethought, white and heavy-eyed and unmistakably heavy-hearted. It troubledhim to see her so. Ted had the kindest heart in the world and alwayswanted every one else to be as blithely content with life as he washimself. Accordingly now under cover of his purchase of chrysanthemumsfor Elsie he managed to get in a word in her ear. 

"You look as if you needed cheering up a bit. How about the moviesto-night? Charlie's on. He'll fix you. "

"No, thank you, I couldn't. " The girl's voice was also prudently low, and she busied herself with the flowers instead of looking at Ted asshe spoke. 

"Why not?" he challenged, always impelled to insistence by denial. 

"Because I--" And then to Ted's consternation the flowers flew out of herhands, scattering in all directions, her face went chalky white and shefell forward in a heavy faint in Ted Holiday's arms. 

Ted got her to a chair, ordered another clerk to get water and spirits ofammonia quick. His arm was still around her when Patrick Berry strayedin from the back room. Berry's eyes narrowed. He looked the girl overfrom head to foot, surveyed Ted Holiday also with sharp scrutiny andknitted brows. The clerk returned with water and dashed off for theammonia as ordered. Madeline's eyes opened slowly, meeting Ted's anxiousblue ones as he bent over her. 

"Ted!" she gasped. "Oh, Ted!"

Her eyes closed again wearily. Berry's frown deepened. His bestcustomer had hitherto in his hearing been invariably addressed by thegirl as Mr. Holiday. 

In a moment Madeline's eyes opened again and she almost pushed Ted awayfrom her, shooting a frightened, deprecating glance at her employer asshe did so. 

"I--I am all right now, " she said, rising unsteadily. 

"You are nothing of the sort, Madeline, " protested Ted, also forgettingcaution in his concern. "You are sick. I'll get a taxi and take youhome. Mr. Berry won't mind, will you Berry?" appealed the bestcustomer, completely unaware of the queer, sharp look the florist wasbending upon him. 

"No, she'd better go, " agreed Berry shortly. "I'll call a cab. " He walkedover to the telephone but paused, his hand on the receiver and lookedback at Ted. "Where does she live?" he asked. "Do you know?"

"Forty-nine Cherry, " returned Ted still unconsciously revelatory. 

The big Irishman got his number and called the cab. The clerk came backwith the ammonia and vanished with it into the back room. Berry walkedover to where Ted stood. 

"See here, Mr. Holiday, " he said. "I don't often go out of my way to givecollege boys advice. Advice is about the one thing in the world nobodywants. But I'm going to give you a bit. I like you and I liked yourbrother before you. Here's the advice. Stick to the campus. Don't getmixed up with Cherry Street. You wanted the chrysanthemums sent to MissHathaway, didn't you?"

"I did. " There was a flash in Ted's blue eyes. "Send 'em and send a dozenof your best roses to Miss Madeline Taylor, forty-nine Cherry and mindyour business. There is the cab. Ready, Madeline?" As the girl appearedin the doorway with her coat and hat on. "I'll take you home. "

"Oh, no, indeed, it isn't at all necessary, " protested Madeline. "Youhave done quite enough as it is, Mr. Holiday. You mustn't bother. " Thespeaker's tone was cool, almost cold and very formal. She did not knowthat Patrick Berry had heard that very different, fervid, "Ted! Oh, Ted!"if indeed she knew it had ever passed her lips as she came reluctantlyback to the world of realities. 

Ted held the door open for her. They passed out. But a moment later whenBerry peered out the window he saw the cab going in one direction and hisbest customer strolling off in the other and nodded his satisfaction. 

Sauntering along his nonchalant course, Madeline Taylor already halfforgotten, Ted Holiday came face to face with old Doctor Hendricks, arosy cheeked, white bearded, twinkling eyed Santa Claus sort of personwho had known his father and uncle and brother and had pulled himselfthrough various minor itises and sprains. Seeing the doctor reminded himof Madeline. 

"Hello, Doc. Just the man I wanted to see. Want a job?"

"Got more jobs than I can tend to now, young man. Anything the matterwith you? You look as tough as a two year old rooster. "

The old man's small, kindly, shrewd eyes scanned the lad's faceas he spoke. 

"Smoking less, sleeping more, nerves steadier, working harder, playingthe devil lighter, " he gummed up silently with satisfaction. "Good, he'llcome out a Holiday yet if we give him time. "

"I am tough, " Ted grinned back, all unconscious that he had beendiagnosed in that flitting instant of time. "Never felt better in mylife. Always agrees with me to be in training. "

The old doctor nodded. 

"I know. You young idiots will mind your coaches when you won't yourfathers and your doctors. What about the job?"

"There's a girl I know who works at Berry's flower shop. I am afraid sheis sick though she won't see a doctor. She fainted away just now while Iwas in the store, keeled over into my arms, scared me half out of mywits. I'm worried about her. I wish you would go and see her. She livesdown on Cherry Street. "

"H-m!" The doctor's eyes studied the boy's face again but with lesscomplacency this time. Like Patrick Berry he thought a young Holidaywould better stick to the campus, not run loose on Cherry Street. 

"Know the girl well?" he queried. 

Ted hesitated, flushed, looked unmistakably embarrassed. 

"Yes, rather, " he admitted. "I ran round with her quite a little thefirst of the summer. I got her the job at Berry's. Her grandfather, apious old stick in the mud, turned her out of his house. She had to dosomething to earn her living. I hope she isn't going to be sick. It wouldbe an awful mess. She can't have much saved up. Go and see her, will you, Doc? Forty-nine Cherry. Taylor is the name. "

"H-m. " The doctor made a note of these facts. "All right, I'll go. Butyou had better keep away from Cherry Street, young man. It is not theenvironment you belong in. "

"Environment be--blessed!" said Ted. "Don't you begin on that sort ofrot, please, Doc. Old Pat Berry's just been giving me a lecture on thesame subject. You make me tired both of you. As if the girls on CherryStreet weren't as good any day as the ones on the campus, just becausethey work in shops and stores and the girls on the campus work--us, " heconcluded with a grin. "I'm not an infant that has to be kept in a Kiddiecoop you know. "

"Look out you don't land in a chicken coop, " sniffed the doctor. "Verywell, you young sinner. Don't listen to me if you don't want to. I know Imight as well talk to the wind. You always were open to all the foolgerms going, Ted Holiday. Some day you'll own the old Doc knew best. "

"I wouldn't admit to being so hanged well up on the chicken-roostproposition myself if I were you, " retorted Ted impudently. "So long. I'mmuch obliged for your kind favors all but the moral sentiments. You canhave those back. You may need 'em to use over again. "

So Ted went on his way, dropped in to see Elsie, had a cup of tea andinnumerable small cakes, enjoyed a foxtrot to phonograph music with therug rolled up out of the way, conversed amicably with the Ancient HistoryProf himself, who wasn't such a bad sort as Profs go and had the merit ofbeing one of the few instructors who had not flunked Ted Holiday in hiscourse the previous year. 

The next morning Ted found a letter from Doctor Hendricks in his mailwhich he opened with some curiosity wondering what the old Doc could haveto say. He read the communication through in silence and tucking it inhis pocket walked out of the room as if he were in a dream, paying noattention to the question somebody called after him as he went. He wenton to his classes but he hardly knew what was going on about him. Hismind seemed to have stopped dead like a stop watch with the reading ofthe old doctor's letter. 

He understood at last the full force of the trouble which engulfedMadeline Taylor and why she had said that it would have been better forher if that mad joy ride with him had ended life for her. The doctor hadgone to her as he had promised and had extracted the whole miserablestory. It seemed Madeline had married, or thought she had married, Willis Hubbard against her grandfather's express command, a few weeksafter Ted had parted from her in Holyoke. In less than two monthsHubbard had disappeared leaving behind him the ugly fact that he alreadyhad one wife living in Kansas City in spite of the pretense of a weddingceremony which he had gone through with Madeline. Long sincedisillusioned but still having power and pride to suffer intensely thelatter found herself in the tragic position of being-a wife and yet nowife. In her desperate plight she besought her grandfather's clemencyand forgiveness but that rigid old covenanter had declared that even asshe had made her bed in willful disobedience to his command so sheshould lie on it for all of him. 

It was then that she had turned as a last resort to Ted Holiday thoughalways hoping against hope that she could keep the real truth of herunhappy situation from him. 

"It is a bad affair from beginning to end, " wrote the doctor. "I'd liketo break every rotten bone in that scoundrel's body but he has takenmighty good care to effect a complete disappearance. That kind is neverwilling to foot the bills for their own villainy. I am telling you thestory in order to make it perfectly clear that you are to keep out of thebusiness from now on. You have burned your fingers quite enough as it isI gather. Don't see the girl. Don't write her. Don't telephone her. Lether alone absolutely. Mind, these aren't polite requests. They areorders. And if you don't obey them I'll turn the whole thing over to youruncle double quick and I don't think you want me to do that. Don't worryabout the girl. I'll look after her now and later when she is likely toneed me more. But you keep hands off. That is flat--the girl's wish aswell as my orders. "

And this was what Ted Holiday had to carry about with him all that bleakday and a half sleepless, uneasy night. And in the morning he wassummoned home to the House on the Hill. Granny was dying. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

IN DARK PLACES

The House on the Hill was a strange place to Tony and Ted those Novemberdays, stranger than to the others who had walked day by day with thesense of the approaching shadow always with them. Death itself was anawesome and unaccustomed thing to them. They did not see how the othersbore it so well, took it all so calmly. To make matters worse, Uncle Philwho never failed any one was stricken down with a bad case of influenzaand was unable to leave his bed. This of course made Margery alsopractically _hors de combat_. The little folks spent most of their timeacross the street in motherly Mrs. Lambert's care. Upon Ned Holiday'schildren rested the chief burden of the hour. 

Granny was rarely conscious and all three of her grandchildren covetedthe sad privilege of being near her when these brief moments of luciditycame though Tony and Ted could not stand long periods of watching besidethe still form as Larry could and did. It was Larry that she most oftenrecognized. Sometimes though he was his father to her and she called him"Ned" in such tones of yearning tenderness that it nearly broke down hisself control. Sometimes too he was Philip to her and this also wasbitterly hard for Larry missed his uncle's support woefully in this darkhour. Ruth, Granny seemed to know, oftener indeed, than she did Tony tothe latter's keen grief though she acknowledged the justice of the stab. For she had gone her selfish way leaving the stranger to play the lovinggranddaughter's part. 

One night when the nurse was resting and Larry too had flung himself uponthe couch in the living room to snatch a little much needed relaxation, leaving Ruth in charge of the sickroom, Ted drifted in and demanded totake his turn at the watch, giving Ruth a chance to sleep. She demurredat first, knowing how hard these vigils were for the restless, unhappylad. But seeing he was really in earnest she yielded. As she passed outof the room her hand rested for a moment on the boy's bowed head. She hadcome to care a great deal for sunny, kind-hearted Teddy, loved him forhimself and because she knew he loved Larry with deep devotion. 

He looked up with a faint smile and gave her hand a squeeze. 

"You are a darling, Ruthie, " he murmured. "Don't know what we would everdo without you. "

And then he was alone with death and his own somber thoughts. He couldnot get away from the memory of Madeline, could not help feeling with aterrible weight of responsibility that he was more than a little to blamefor her plight. Whether he liked to think it or not he couldn't helpknowing that the whole thing had started with that foolish joy ride withhimself. Madeline had never risked her grandfather's displeasure till sherisked it for him. She had never gone anywhere with Hubbard till she wentbecause she was bitterly angry with himself because he had not kept hispromise--a promise which never should have been made in the first place. And if he had not gone to Holyoke, hadn't behaved like an idiot that lastnight, hadn't deserted her like a selfish cad to save his own preciousself--if none of these things had happened would Madeline still havegone to Hubbard? Perhaps. But in his heart Ted Holiday had a hatefulconviction that she would not, that her wretchedness now was indirectlyif not directly chargeable to his own folly. It was terrible that suchlittle things should have such tremendous consequences but there it was. 

All his life Ted Holiday had evaded responsibility and had found selfextenuation the easiest thing in the world. But somehow all at once heseemed to have lost the power of letting himself off. He had no plea tooffer even to himself except "guilty. " Was he going to do as DoctorHendricks commanded and let Madeline pay the price of her own folly aloneor was he going to pay with her? The night was full of the question. 

The quiet figure on the bed stirred. Instantly the boy had forgottenhimself, remembered only Granny. 

He bent over her. 

"Granny, don't you know me? It's Teddy, " he pleaded. 

The white lips quivered into a faint smile. The frail hand on the coverlid groped vaguely for his. 

"I know--Teddy, " the lips formed slowly with an effort. 

Ted kissed her, tears in his eyes. 

"Be--a man, dear, " the lips breathed softly. "Be--" and Granny was offagain to a world of unconsciousness from which she had returned a momentto give her message to the grief stricken lad by her side. 

To Ted in his overwrought condition the words were almost like a voicefrom heaven, a sacred command. To be a man meant to face the hardestthing he had ever had to face in his life. It meant marrying MadelineTaylor, not leaving her like a coward to pay by herself for somethingwhich he himself had helped to start. He rose softly and went to thewindow, staring out into the night. A few moments later he turned backwearing a strange uplifted sort of look, a look perhaps such, as Percivalbore when he beheld the Grail. 

Strange forces were at work in the House on the Hill that night. Ruthhad gone to her room to rest as Ted bade her but she had not slept inspite of her intense weariness. She had almost lost the way of sleeplatterly. She was always so afraid of not being near when Larry neededher. The night watches they had shared so often now had brought themvery, very close to each other, made their love a very sacred as well asvery strong thing. 

Ruth knew that the time was near now when she would have to go away fromthe Hill. After Granny went there would be no excuse for staying on. Ifshe did not go Larry would. Ruth knew that very well and did not intendthe latter should happen. 

She had laid her plans well. She would go and take a secretarial coursesomewhere. She had made inquiries and found that there was always demandfor secretaries and that the training did not take so long as otherprofessional education did. She could sell her rings and live on themoney they brought her until she was self supporting. She did not want todispose of her pearls if she could help it. She wanted to hold on to themas the link to her lost past. Yes, she would leave the Hill. It was quitethe right thing to do. 

But oh, what a hard thing it was! She did not see how she was ever goingto face life alone under such hard, queer conditions without DoctorPhilip, without dear Mrs. Margery and the children, without Larry, especially without Larry. For that matter what would Larry do withouther? He needed her so, loved her so much. Poor Larry!

And suddenly Ruth sat up in bed. As clearly as if he had been in theroom with her she heard Larry's voice calling to her. She sprang upand threw a dark blue satin negligee around her, went out of the room, down the stairs, seeming to know by an infallible instinct where herlover was. 

On the threshold of the living room she paused. Larry was pacing thefloor nervously, his face drawn and gray in the dim light of theflickering gas. Seeing her he made a swift stride in her direction, tookboth her hands in his. 

"Ruth, why did you come?" There was an odd tension in his voice. 

"You called me, didn't you? I thought you did. " Her eyes were wondering. "I heard you say 'Ruth' as plain as anything. "

He shook his head. 

"No, I didn't call you out loud. Maybe I did with my heart though. Iwanted you so. "

He dropped her hands as abruptly as he had taken them. 

"Ruth, I've got to marry you. I can't go on like this. I've tried tofight it, to be patient and hang on to myself as Uncle Phil wanted me to. But I can't go on. I'm done. "

He flung himself into a chair. His head went down on the table. The clockticked quietly on the mantel. What was Death upstairs to Time? What wereYouth and Love and Grief down here? These things were merely eddies inthe great tide of Eternity. 

For a moment Ruth stood very still. Then she went over and laid a hand onthe bowed head, the hand that wore the wedding ring. 

"Larry, Larry dear, " she said softly. "Don't give up like that. Itbreaks my heart. " There was a faint tremor in her voice, a hint of tearsnot far off. 

He lifted his head, the strain of his long self mastering wearing thinalmost to the breaking point at last, for once all but at the mercy ofthe dominant emotion which possessed him, his love for the girl at hisside who stood so close he could feel her breathing, got the faint violetfragrance of her. And yet he must not so much as touch her hand. 

The clock struck three, solemn, inexorable strokes. Ruth and Larry andthe clock seemed the only living things in the quiet house. Larry brushedhis hand over his eyes, got to his feet. 

"Ruth, will you marry me?"

"Yes, Larry. "

The shock of her quiet consent brought Larry back a little to realities. 

"Wait, Ruth. Don't agree too soon. Do you realize what it means to marryme? You may be married already. Your husband may return and find youliving--illegally--with me. "

"I know, " said Ruth steadily. "There must be something wrong with me, Larry. I can't seem to care. I can't seem to make myself feel as if Ibelonged to any one else except to you. I don't think I do belong to anyone else. I was born over in the wreck. I was born yours. You saved me. Iwould have died if you hadn't gotten me out from under the beams andworked over and brought me back to life when everybody else gave me up asdead. I wouldn't have been alive for my husband if you hadn't saved me. Iam yours, Larry. If you want me to marry you I will. If you want me--anyway--I am yours. I love you. "

"Ruth!"

Larry drew her into his arms and kissed her--the first time he had everkissed any girl in his life except his sister. She lay in his arms, herfragrant pale gold hair brushing his cheek. He kissed her over and overpassionately, almostly roughly in the storm of his emotion suddenlyunpent. Then he was Larry Holiday again. He pushed her gently from him, remorse in his gray eyes. 

"Forgive me, Ruth. It's all wrong. I'm all wrong. We can't do it. Ishouldn't have kissed you. I shouldn't have touched you--shouldn't havelet you come to me like this. You must go now, dear. I am sorry. "

Ruth faced him in silence a moment then bowed her head, turned and walkedaway to the door meekly like a chidden child. Her loosened hair fell likea golden shower over her shoulders. It was all Larry could do to keepfrom going after her, taking her in his arms again. But he stood grimlyplanted by the table, gripping its edge as if to keep himself anchored. He dared not stir one inch toward that childish figure in the dark robe. 

On the threshold Ruth turned, flung back her hair and looked back at him. There was a kind of fearless exaltation and pride on her lovely youngface and in her shining eyes. 

"I don't know whether you are right or wrong, Larry, or rather when youare right and when you are wrong. It is all mixed up. It seems as if itmust be right to care or we wouldn't be doing it so hard, as if Godcouldn't let us love like this if he didn't mean we should be happytogether, belong to each other. Why should He make love if He didn't wantlovers to be happy?"

It was an argument as old as the garden of Eden but to Ruth and Larry itwas as if it were being pronounced for the first time for themselves, here in the dead of night, in the old House on the Hill, as they feltthemselves drawn to each other by the all but irresistible impulse oftheir mutual love. 

"Maybe, " went on Ruth, "I forgot my morals along with the rest I forgot. I don't seem to care very much about right and wrong to-night. Youcalled me. I heard you and I came. I am here. " Her lovely, proud littlehead was thrown back, her eyes still shining with that fearless elation. 

"Ruth! Don't, dear. You don't know what you are saying. I've got to careabout right and wrong for both of us. Please go. I--I can't stand it. "

He left his post by the table then came forward and held open the doorfor her. She passed out, went up the stairs, her hair falling in a waveof gold down to her waist. She did not turn back. 

Larry waited at the foot of the stairs until he heard the door of herroom close upon her and then he too went up, to Granny's room. Ted methim at the threshold in a panic of fear and grief. 

"Larry--I think--oh--" and Ted bolted unable to finish what he had begunto say or to linger on that threshold of death. 

The nurse was bending over Madame Holiday forcing some brandy between theblue lips. Larry was by the bedside in an instant. The nurse stepped backwith a sad little shake of the head. There was nothing she could do andshe knew it, knew also there was nothing the young doctor could doprofessionally. He knelt, chafed the cold hands. The pale lips quivered alittle, the glazed eyes opened for a second. 

"Ned--Larry--give Philip love--" That was all. The eyes closed. There wasa little flutter of passing breath. Granny was gone. 

It was two days after Granny's funeral. Ted had gone back to college. Tony would leave for New York on the morrow. Life cannot wait ondeath. It must go on its course as inevitably as a river must go itsway to the sea. 

Yet to Tony it seemed sad and heartless that it should be so. She wastroubled by her selfishness, first to Granny living and now to Grannydead. She said as much to her uncle sorrowfully. 

"It isn't really heartless or unkind, " he comforted her. "We have to goon with our work. We can't lay it down or scamp it just because dearGranny's work is done. It is no more wrong for you to go back to yourplay than it is for me to go back to my doctoring. "

"I know, " sighed Tony. "But I can't help feeling remorseful. I had somuch time and Granny had so little and yet I wasn't willing to give hereven a little of mine. I would have if I had known though. I knew I wasselfish but I didn't know how selfish. I wish you had told me, UnclePhil. Why didn't you? You told Ruth. You let her help. Why wouldn't youlet me?" she half reproached. 

"I tried to do what was best for us all. I wanted to find a reason forkeeping Ruth with us and I did not think then and I don't think now thatit was right or necessary to keep you back for the little comfort itcould have brought to Granny. You must not worry, dear child. The blameif there is any is mine. I know you would have stayed if I had let you. "

Back in college Ted sorted out his personal letters from the sheaf ofbills. Among them was one from Madeline Taylor, presumably the answer tothe one Ted had written her from the House on the Hill. He stared at theenvelope, dreading to open it. He was too horribly afraid of what itmight contain. Suddenly he threw the letter down on the table and hishead went down on top of it. 

"I can't do it, " he groaned. "I can't. I won't. It's too hard. "

But in a moment his head popped up again fiercely. 

"Confound you!" he muttered. "You can and you will. You've got to. You've made your bed. Now lie on it. " And he opened the letter. 

"I can't tell you, " wrote the girl, "how your letter touched me. Don'tthink I don't understand that it isn't because you love me or really wantto marry me that you are asking me to do it. It is all the finer and morewonderful because you don't and couldn't, ever. You had nothing togain--everything to lose. Yet you offered it all as if it were the mostordinary gift in the world instead of the biggest. 

"Of course, I can't let you sacrifice yourself like that for me. Did youreally think I would? I wouldn't let you be dragged down into my lifeeven if you loved me which you don't. Some day you will want to marry agirl--not somebody like me--but your own kind and you can go to her cleanbecause you never hurt me, never did me anything but good ever. Youlifted me up always. But there must have been something still strongerthat pulled me down. I couldn't stay up. I was never your kind though Iloved you just as much as if I were. Forgive my saying it just this once. It will be the last time. This is really good-by. Thank you over and overfor everything, "Madeline. "

A mist blurred Ted Holiday's eyes as he finished the letter. He was free. The black winged vulture thing which had hovered over him for days wasgone. By and by he would be thankful for his deliverance but just nowthere was room only in his chivalrous boy's heart for one overmasteringemotion, pity for the girl and her needlessly wrecked life. What ahopeless mess the whole thing was! And what could he do to help her sinceshe would not take what he had offered in all sincerity? He must thinkout a way somehow. 

CHAPTER XXIX

THE PEDIGREE OF PEARLS

"Where is Larry?" asked Doctor Holiday a few days later coming into thedining room at supper time. "I haven't seen him all the afternoon. "

Margery dropped into her chair with a tired little sigh. 

"There is a note from him at your place. I think he has gone out of town. John told me he took him to the three ten train. "

"H--m!" mused the doctor. "Where is Ruth?" he looked up to ask. 

"Ruth went to Boston at noon. At least so Bertha tells me. " Berthawas the maid. "She did not say good-by to me. I thought possibly shehad to you!"

Her husband shook his head, perplexed and troubled. 

"Dear Uncle Phil, " ran Larry's message. 

"Ruth has gone to Boston. She left a letter for me saying good-by andasking me to say good-by to the rest of you for her. Said she would writeas soon as she had an address and that no one was to worry about her. Shewould be quite all right and thought it was best not to bother us bytelling us about her plans until she was settled. "

"Of course I am going after her. I don't know where she is but I'll findher. I've got to, especially as I was the one who drove her away. I brokemy promise to you. I did make love to her and asked her to marry me thenight Granny died. She said she would and then of course I said shecouldn't and we've not seen each other alone since so I don't know whatshe thinks now. I don't know anything except that I'm half crazy. "

"I know it is horribly selfish to go off and leave you like this when youneed me especially. Please forgive me. I'll be back as soon as I can orsend Ruth or we'll both come. And don't worry. I'm not going to doanything rash or wrong or anything that will hurt you or Ruth. I am sorryabout the other night. I didn't mean to smash up like that. "

The doctor handed the letter over to his wife. 

"Why didn't he wait until he had her address? How can he possibly findher in a city like Boston with not the slightest thing to go on?"

Doctor Holiday smiled wearily. 

"Wait! Do you see Larry waiting when Ruth is out of his sight? My dear, don't you know Larry is the maddest of the three when he gets under way?"

"The maddest and the finest. Don't worry, Phil. He is all right. He won'tdo anything rash just as he tells you. "

"You can't trust a man in love, especially a young idiot who waited afull quarter century to get the disease for the first time. But you areright. I'd trust him anywhere, more rather than less because of thatconfession of his. I've wondered that he didn't break his promise longbefore this. He is only human and his restraint has been pretty nearlysuper-human. I don't believe he would have smashed up now as he calls itif his nerves hadn't been strained about to the limit by taking all theresponsibility for Granny at the end. It was terrible for the poor lad. "

"It was terrible for you too, Phil. Larry isn't the only one who hassuffered. I do wish those foolish youngsters could have waited a littleand not thrown a new anxiety on you just now. But I suppose we can'tblame them under the circumstances. Isn't it strange, dear? Except forthe children sleeping up in the nursery you and I are absolutely alonefor the first time since I came to the House on the Hill. "

He nodded a little sadly. His father was gone long since and now Grannytoo. And Ned's children were all grown up, would perhaps none of themever come again in the old way. Their wings were strong enough now tomake strange flights. 

"We've filled your life rather full, Margery mine, " he said. "I hopethere are easier days ahead. "

"I don't want any happier ones, " said Margery as she slipped herhand into his. 

The next few days were a perfect nightmare to Larry. Naturally he foundno trace of Ruth, did not know indeed under what name she had chosen togo. The city had swallowed her up and the saddest part of it was she hadwanted to be swallowed, to get away from himself. She had gone for hissake he knew, because he had told her he could endure things no longer. She had taken him at his word and vanished utterly. For all hergentleness and docility Ruth had tremendous fortitude. She had taken thishard, rash step alone in the dark for love's sake, just as she was readythat unforgettable night to take that rasher step with him to marriage orsomething less than marriage had he permitted it. She would havepreferred to marry him, not to bother with abstractions of right andwrong, to take happiness as it offered but since he would not have it soshe had lost herself. 

Despair, remorse, anxiety, loneliness held him-in thrall while he roamedthe streets of the old city, almost hopeless now of finding her but stilldoggedly persistent in his search. Another man under such a strain ofmind and body would have gone on a stupendous thought drowning carouse. Larry Holiday had no such refuge in his misery. He took it straightwithout recourse to anaesthetic of any sort. And on the fourth day whenhe had been about to give up in defeat and go home to the Hill to waitfor word of Ruth a crack of light dawned. 

Chancing to be strolling absent mindedly across the Gardens he ran into acollege classmate of his, one Gary Eldridge, who shook his hand withcrushing grip and announced that it was a funny thing Larry's bobbing uplike that because he had been hearing the latter's name prettyconsecutively all the previous afternoon on the lips of the daintiestlittle blonde beauty it had been his luck to behold in many a moon, aregular Greuze girl in fact, eyes and all. 

Naturally there was no escape for Eldridge after that. Larry Holidaygrabbed him firmly and demanded to know if he had seen Ruth Annersley andif he had and knew where she was to tell him everything quick. It wasimportant. 

Considering Larry Holiday's haggard face and tense voice Eldridgeadmitted the importance and spun his yarn. No, he did not know where RuthAnnersley was nor if the Greuze girl was Ruth Annersley at all. He didknow the person he meant was in the possession of the famous Farringdonpearls, a fact immensely interesting to Fitch and Larrabee, the jewelersin whose employ he was. 

"Your Ruth Annersley or Farringdon or whoever she is brought the pearlsin to our place yesterday to have them appraised. You can bet we sat upand took notice. We didn't know they had left Australia but here theywere right under our noses absolutely unmistakable, one of the finestsets of matched pearls in the world. You Holidays are so hanged smart. Iwonder it didn't occur to you to bring 'em to us anyway. We're the boysthat can tell you who's who in the lapidary world. Pearls have pedigrees, my dear fellow, quite as faithfully recorded as those of prize pigs. "

Larry thumped his cranium disgustedly. It did seem ridiculous now thatthe very simple expedient of going to the master jewelers for informationhad not struck any of them. But it hadn't and that was the end of it. Hemade Eldridge sit down in the Gardens then and there however to tell himall he knew about the pearls but first and most important did the otherhave any idea where the owner of the pearls was? He had none. The girlwas coming in again in a few days to hear the result of a cable they hadsent to Australia where the pearls had been the last Larrabee and Fitchknew. She had left no address. Eldridge rather thought she hadn't caredto be found. Larry bit his lip at that and groaned inwardly. He too wasafraid it was only too true, and it was all his fault. 

This was the story of the pearls as his friend briefly outlined it forLarry Holiday's benefit. The Farringdon pearls had originally belonged toa Lady Jane Farringdon of Farringdon Court, England. They had been thegift of a rejected lover who had gone to Africa to drown hisdisappointment and had died there after having sent the pearls home tothe woman he had loved fruitlessly and who was by this time the wife ofanother man, her distant cousin Sir James Farringdon. At her death LadyJane had given the pearls to her oldest son for his bride when he shouldhave one. He too had died however before he had attained to the bride. The pearls went to his younger brother Roderick a sheep raiser inAustralia who had amassed a fortune and discarded the title. The sheepraiser married an Australian girl and gave her the pearls. They had twochildren, a girl and a boy. Roderick was since deceased. Possibly hiswife also was dead. They had cabled to find out details. But it looked asif the little blonde lady who possessed the pearls although she did notknow where she got them was in all probability the daughter of RoderickFarringdon, the granddaughter of the famous beauty, Lady Jane. She wasprobably also a great heiress. The sheep raiser and his father-in-law hadboth been reported to be wallowing in money. "Oh boy!" Eldridge had endedsignificantly. 

"But if Ruth is a person of so much importance why did they let hertravel so far alone with those valuable pearls in her possession? Whyhaven't they looked her up? I suppose she told you about the wreckand--the rest of it?"

"She did, sang the praises of the family of Holiday in a thousand keys. Your advertisements were all on the Annersley track you see and theywould all be out on the Farringdon one. The paths didn't happen to crossI suppose. "

"You don't know anything about, Geoffrey Annersley do you?" Larry askedanxiously. 

"Not a thing. We are jewelers not detectives or clairvoyants. It is onlythe pearls we are up on and we've evidently slipped a cog on them. Weshould have known when they came to the States but we didn't. "

"I'll cable the American consul at Australia myself. It's the firstreal clue we have had--the rest has been working in the dark. The firstthing though is to find Ruth. " And Larry Holiday looked so verydetermined and capable of doing anything he set out to do that GaryEldridge grinned a little. 

"Wonderful what falling in love will do for a chap, " he reflected. "Usedto think old Larry was rather a slow poke but he seems to have developedinto some whirlwind. Don't wonder considering what a little peach thegirl is. Hope the good Lord has seen fit to recall Geoffrey Annersley tohis heaven if he really did marry her. "

Aloud he promised to telephone Larry the moment the owner of the pearlscrossed the threshold of Larrabee and Fitch and to hold her by main forceif necessary until Larry could get there. In the meantime he suggestedthat she had seemed awfully interested in the Australia part of the storyand it was very possible she had gone to the--

"Library. " Larry took the words out of his mouth and bolted without anyformality of farewell into the nearest subway entrance. 

His friend gazed after him. 

"And this is Larry Holiday who used to flee if a skirt fluttered in hisdirection, " he murmured. "Ah well, it takes us differently. But it getsus all sooner or later. "

Larry's luck had turned at last. In the reading room of the PublicLibrary he discovered a familiar blonde head bent over a book. He strodeto the secluded corner where she sat "reading up" on Australia. 

"Ruth!" Larry tried to speak quietly though he felt like raising theechoes of the sacred scholarly precincts. 

The reader looked up startled, wondering. Her face lit with quickdelight. 

"Larry, oh Larry, I'm finding myself, " she whispered breathlessly. 

"I'm glad but I'm gladder that I'm finding--yourself. Come on outsidesweetheart. I want to shout. I can't whisper and I won't. I'll get usboth put out if you won't come peaceably. "

"I'll come, " said Ruth meekly. 

Outside in the corridor she raised blue eyes to gray ones. 

"I didn't mean you to find me--yet, " she sighed. 

"So I should judge. I didn't think a mite of a fairy girl like you couldbe so cruel. Some day I'll exact full penance for all you've made mesuffer but just now we'll waive that and go over to the Plaza and have ahigh tea and talk. But first I'm going to kiss you. I don't care ifpeople are looking. All Boston can look if it likes. I'm going to do it. "

But it was only a scrub woman and not all Boston who witnessed that kiss, and she paid no attention to the performance. Even had she seen it ishardly probable that she would have been vastly startled at the sight. She was a very old woman and more than likely she had seen such sightsbefore. Perhaps she had even been kissed by a man herself, once upon atime. We hope so. 

The next day Larry and Ruth came home to the Hill, radiantly happy andfull of their strange adventures. Ruth was wearing an immensely becomingnew dark blue velvet suit, squirrel furs and a new hat which to Margery'sshrewd feminine eyes betrayed a cost all out of proportion to itsminuteness. She was looking exquisitely lovely in her new finery. Scantwonder Larry could not keep his eyes off of her. Margery and Philip weresomething in the same state. 

"On the strength of my being an heiress maybe Larry thought I mightafford some new clothes, " Ruth confessed. "Of course he paid forthem--temporarily, " she had added with a charming blush and a side long, deprecating glance at Doctor Holiday, senior. She did not want him todisapprove of her for letting Larry buy her pretty clothes nor blameLarry for doing it. 

But he only laughed and remarked that he would have gone shopping withher himself if he had any idea the results would be so satisfactory. 

It was only when he was alone with Margery that he shook his head. 

"Those crazy children behave as if everything were quite all right and asif they could run right out any minute and get married. She doesn't evenwear her ring any more and they both appear to think the fact itpresumably represents can be disposed of as summarily. "

"Let them alone, " advised his wife. "They are all right. It won't do thema bit of harm to let themselves go a bit. Larry does his worshiping withhis eyes and maybe with his tongue when they are alone. I don't blamehim. She is a perfect darling. And it is much better for him not topretend he doesn't care when we all know he does tremendously. It wascrushing it all back that made him so miserable and smash up as he wroteyou. I don't believe he smashed very irretrievably anyway. He is too muchof a Holiday. "

The doctor smiled a little grimly. 

"You honor us, my dear. Even Holidays are men!"

"Thank heaven, " said Margery. 

CHAPTER XXX

THE FIERY FURNACE

A few days after the return of Larry and Ruth to the Hill Doctor Holidayfound among his mail an official looking document bearing the seal of thecollege which Ted attended and which was also his own and Larry's almamater. He opened it carelessly supposing it to be an alumni appeal ofsome sort but as his-eyes ran down the typed sheet his face grew graveand his lips set in a tight line. The communication was from thepresident and informed its recipient that his nephew Edward Holiday wasexpelled from the college on the confessed charge of gambling. 

"We are particularly sorry to be obliged to take this action, " wrote thepresident, "inasmuch as Edward has shown recently a marked improvementboth in class-room work and general conduct which has gone far toeradicate the unfortunate impression made by the lawlessness of hisearlier career. But we cannot overlook so flagrant an offense and areregretfully forced to make an example of the offender. As you knowgambling is strictly against the rules of the institution and your nephewplayed deliberately for high stakes as he admits and made a considerablesum of money--three hundred dollars to be precise--which he disposed ofimmediately for what purpose he refuses to tell. Again regretting, " etcetera, et cetera, the letter closed. 

But there was also a hand written postscript and an enclosure. 

The postscript ran as follows:

"As a personal friend and not as the president of the college I amsending on the enclosed which may or may not be of importance. A younggirl, Madeline Taylor by name, of Florence, Massachusetts, who has untilrecently been employed in Berry's flower shop, was found dead thismorning with the gas jet fully turned on, the inference being clearlysuicide. A short time ago a servant from the lodging house where thedead girl resided came to me with a letter addressed to your nephew. Itseems Miss Taylor had given the girl the letter to mail the previousevening and had indeed made a considerable point of its being mailed. Nevertheless the girl had forgotten to do so and the next day was toofrightened to do it fearing the thing might have some connection withthe suicide. She meant to give it to Ted in person but finding him outdecided at the last moment to deliver it to me instead. I am sending theletter to you, as I received it, unopened, and have not and shall notmention the incident to any one else. I should prefer and am sure thatyou will also wish that your nephew's name shall not be associated inany way with the dead girl's. Frankly I don't believe the thing containsany dynamite whatever but I would rather you handled the thing insteadof myself. 

"Believe me, my dear Holiday, I am heartily sick, and sorry over thewhole matter of Ted's expulsion. If we had not had his own word for it Ishould not have believed him guilty. Even now I have a feeling that therewas more behind the thing than we got, something perhaps more to hiscredit than he was willing to tell. "

Philip Holiday picked up the enclosed letter addressed to Ted and lookedat it as dubiously as if indeed it might have contained dynamite. Thescrawling handwriting was painfully familiar. And the mention ofFlorence as the dead girl's home was disagreeably corroborating evidence. What indeed was behind it all?

Steeling his will he tore open the sealed envelope. Save for a foldedslip of paper it was quite empty. The folded slip was a check for threehundred dollars made payable to Madeline Taylor and signed with TedHoliday's name. 

Here was dynamite and to spare for Doctor Holiday. Beside the uneasyquestions this development conjured the catastrophe of the boy'sexpulsion took second place. And yet he forced himself not to judge untilhe had heard Ted's own story. What was love for if it could not findfaith in time of need?

He said nothing to any one, even his wife, of the president's letter andthat disconcerting check which evidently represented the results of theboy's law breaking. All day he looked for a letter from Ted himself andhoped against hope that he would appear in person. His anxiety grew as heheard nothing. What had become of the boy? Where had he betaken himselfwith his shame and trouble? How grave was his trouble? It was a bad dayfor Philip Holiday and a worse night. 

But the morning brought a letter from his nephew, mailed ominously enoughfrom a railway post office in northern Vermont. The doctor tore it openwith hands that trembled a little. One thing at least he was certain of. However bad the story the lad had to tell it would be the truth. He couldcount on that. 

"Dear Uncle Phil--" it ran. "By the time you get this I shall be over theborder and enlisted, I hope, with the Canadians. I am horribly sorry toknife you like this and go off without saying good-by and leaving such amess behind but truly it is the best thing I could do for the rest ofyou as well as myself. 

"They will write you from college and tell you I am fired--for gambling. But they won't tell you the whole story because they don't know it. Icouldn't tell them. It concerned somebody else besides myself. But youhave a right to know everything and I am going to tell it to you andthere won't be anything shaved off or tacked on to save my face either. It will be straight stuff on my honor as a Holiday which means as much tome as it does to you and Larry whether you believe it or not. "

Then followed a straightforward account of events from the firstill-judged pick-up on the train and the all but fatal joy ride to theequally ill-judged kisses in Cousin Emma's garden. 

"I hate like the mischief to put such things down on paper, " wrote theboy, "but I said I'd tell the whole thing and I will, even if it doescome out hard, so you will know it isn't any worse than it is. It is badenough I'll admit, I hadn't any business to make fool love to her when Ireally didn't care a picayune. And I hadn't any business to be there inHolyoke at all when you thought I was at Hal's. I did go to Hal's but Ionly stayed two days. The rest of the time I was with Madeline and knew Iwas going to be when I left the Hill. That part can't look any worse toyou than it does to me. It was a low-down trick to play on you when youhad been so white about the car and everything. But I did it and I can'tundo it. I can only say I am sorry. I did try afterward to make up alittle bit by keeping my word about the studying. Maybe you'll let thatcount a little on the other side of the ledger. Lord knows I needanything I can get there. It is little enough, more shame to me!"

Then followed the events of the immediately preceding months fromMadeline Taylor's arrival in the college town on to the stunningrevelation of old Doctor Hendricks' letter. 

"You don't know how the thing made me feel. I couldn't help feeling moreor less responsible. For after all I did start the thing and thoughMadeline was always too good a sport to blame me I knew and I am sure sheknew that she wouldn't have taken up with Hubbard if I hadn't left her inthe lurch just when she had gotten to care a whole lot too much for me. Besides I couldn't help thinking what it would have been like if Tony hadbeen caught in a trap like that. It didn't seem to me I could stand offand let her go to smash alone though I could see Doc Hendricks had commonsense on his side when he ordered me to keep out of the whole business. 

"I had all this on my mind when I came home that last time when Grannywas dying. I had it lodged in my head that it was up to me to straightenthings out by marrying Madeline myself though I hated the idea like deathand destruction and I knew it would about kill the rest of you. I wroteand asked her to marry me that night after Granny went. She wouldn't doit. It wasn't because she didn't love me either. I guess it was ratherbecause she did that she wouldn't. She wouldn't pull me down in the quicksands with her. Whatever you may think of what she was and did you willhave to admit that she was magnificent about this. She might have savedherself at my expense and she wouldn't. Remember that, Uncle Phil, anddon't judge her about the rest. "

Doctor Holiday ceased reading a moment and gazed into the fire. By themeasure of his full realization of what such a marriage would have meantto his young nephew he paid homage to the girl in her fine courage inrefusing to take advantage of a chivalrous boy's impulsive generosityeven though it left her the terrible alternative which later she hadtaken. And he thought with a tender little smile that there was somethingalso rather magnificent about a lad who would offer himself thusvoluntarily and knowingly a living sacrifice for "dear Honor's sake. " Hewent back to the letter. 

"But I still felt I had to do something to help though she wouldn'taccept the way I first offered. I knew she needed money badly as shewasn't able to work and I wanted to give her some of mine. I knew I hadplenty or would have next spring when I came of age. But I was sure youwouldn't let me have any of it now without knowing why and Larry wouldn'tlend me any either, sight unseen. I wouldn't have blamed either of youfor refusing. I haven't deserved to be taken on trust. 

"The only other way I knew of to get money quick was to play for it. Ihave fool's luck always at cards. Last year I played a lot for money. Larry knew and rowed me like the devil for it last spring. No wonder. Heknew how Dad hated it. So did I. I'd heard him rave on the subject oftenenough. But I did it just the same as I did a good many other things I amnot very proud to remember now. But I haven't done it this year--at leastonly a few times. Once I played when I'd sent Madeline all the money Ihad for her traveling expenses and once or twice beside I did it on myown account because I was so darned sick of toeing a chalk mark I had togo on a tangent or bust. I am not excusing it. I am not excusinganything. I am just telling the truth. 

"Anyhow the other night I played again in good earnest. There were quitea number of fellows in the game and we all got a bit excited and plungedmore than we meant to especially myself and Ned Delany who was out toget me if he could. He hates me like the seven year itch anyway because Icaught him cheating at cards once and said so right out in meeting. I hadabsolutely incredible luck. I guess the devil or the angels were on myside. I swept everything, made about three hundred dollars in all. Thefellows paid up and I banked the stuff and mailed Madeline a check forthe whole amount the first thing. I don't know what would have happenedif I had lost instead of winning. I didn't think about that. A truegambler never does I reckon. 

"But I want to say right here and now, Uncle Phil, that I am through withthe business. The other night sickened me of gambling for good and all. Even Dad couldn't have hated it any more than I do this minute. It isrotten for a man, kills his nerves and his morals and his common sense. I'm done. I'll never make another penny that way as long as I live. ButI'm not sorry I did it this once no matter how hard I'm paying for it. IfI had it to do over again I'd do precisely the same thing. I wonder ifyou can understand that, Uncle Phil, or whether you'll think I'm justplain unregenerate. 

"I thought then I was finished with the business but as a matter of factI was just starting on it. Somebody turned state's evidence. I imagine itwas Delany though I don't know. Anyhow somebody wrote the president ananonymous letter telling him there was a lot of gambling going on and Iwas one of the worst offenders, and thoughtfully suggested the old boyshould ask me how much I made the other night and what I did with it. Ofcourse that finished me off. I was called before the board and putthrough a holy inquisition. Gee! They piled up not only the gamblingbusiness but all the other things I'd done and left undone for two yearsand a half and dumped the whole avalanche on my head at once. Whew! Itwas fierce. I am not saying I didn't deserve it. I did, if not for thisparticular thing for a million other times when I've gone scot-free. 

"They tried to squeeze out of me who the other men involved were but Iwouldn't tell. I could have had a neat little come back on Delany if Ihad chosen but I don't play the game that way and I reckon he knew it andbanked on my holding my tongue. I'd rather stand alone and take what wascoming to me and I got it too good and plenty. They tried to make me tellwhat I did with the money. That riled me. It was none of their businessand I told 'em so. Anyway I couldn't have told even if it would have doneme any good on Madeline's account. I wouldn't drag her into it. 

"Finally they dismissed me and said they would let me know later whatthey would do about my case. But there wasn't any doubt in my mind whatthey were going to do nor in theirs either, I'll bet. I was damned. Theyhad to fire me--couldn't help it when I was caught with the goods undertheir very noses. I think a good many of them wished I hadn't beencaught, that they could have let me off some way, particularly Prof. Hathaway. He put out his hand and patted my shoulder when I went out andI knew he was mighty sorry. He has been awfully decent to me alwaysespecially since I have been playing round with his daughter Elsie thisfall and I guess it made him feel bad to have me turn out such a blacksheep. I wished I could tell him the whole story but I couldn't. I justhad to let him think it was as bad as it looked. 

"I had hardly gotten back into the Frat house when I was called to thetelephone. It was Madeline. She thanked me for sending her the money butsaid she was sending the check back as she didn't need it, had found away out of her difficulties. She was going on a long, long journey infact, and wouldn't see me again. Said she wanted to say good-by and wishme all kinds of luck and thank me for what she was pleased to call mygoodness to her. And then she hung up before I could ask any questions orget it through my head what she meant by her long, long journey. My brainwasn't working very lively after what I'd been through over there at theboard meeting anyway and I was too wrapped up in my own troubles tobother much about hers at the moment, selfish brute that I am. 

"But the next morning I understood all right. She had found her way outand no mistake, just turned on the gas and let herself go. She was deadwhen they found her. I don't blame her, Uncle Phil. It was too hard forher. She couldn't go through with it. Life had been too hard for her fromthe beginning. She never had half a chance. And in the end we killed herbetween us, her pious old psalm singing hypocrite of a grandfather, therotter who ruined her, and myself, the prince of fools. 

"I went to see her with the old Doc. And, Uncle Phil, she was beautiful. Not even Granny looked more peaceful and happy than she did lying theredead with the little smile on her lips as if she were having a pleasantdream. But the scar was there on her forehead--the scar I put there. I'vegot a scar of my own too. It doesn't show on the surface but it is therefor all that and always will be. I shan't talk about it but I'll neverforget as long as I live that part of the debt she paid was mine. It is_mea culpa_ for me always so far as she is concerned. 

"Her grandfather arrived while I was there. If ever there was a manbroken, mind and body and spirit he was. I couldn't help feeling sorryfor him. Of the two I would much rather have been Madeline lying theredead than that poor old chap living with her death on his conscience. 

"Later I got my official notice from the board. I was fired. I wanted toget out of college. I'm out for better or worse. Uncle Phil, don't thinkI don't care. I know how terribly you are going to be hurt and that itwill be just about the finish of poor old Larry. I am not very proud ofit myself--being catapulted out in disgrace where the rest of you lefttrailing clouds of glory. It isn't only what I have done just now. It isall the things I have done and haven't done before that has smashed me inthe end--my fool attitude of have a good time and damn the expense. Ididn't pay at the time. I am paying now compound interest accumulated. Worst of it is the rest of you will have to pay with me. You told me oncewe couldn't live to ourselves alone. I didn't understand then. I do now. I am guilty but you have to suffer with me for my mistakes. It is thatthat hurts worst of all. 

"You have been wonderful to me always, had oceans of patience when Idisappointed you and hurt you and worried you over and over again. Andnow here is this last, worst thing of all to forgive. Can you do it, Uncle Phil? Please try. And please don't worry about me, nor let theothers. I'll come through all right. And if I don't I am not afraid ofdeath. I have found out there are lots of worse things in the world. Ihaven't any pipe dreams about coming out a hero of any sort but I do meanto come out the kind of a man you won't be ashamed of and to try mydarnedest to live up a little bit to the Holiday specifications. Again, dear Uncle Phil, please forgive me if you can and write as soon as I cansend an address. " Then a brief postscript. "The check Madeline sent backnever got to me. If it is forwarded to the Hill please send it or ratherits equivalent to the president. I wouldn't touch the money with a tenfoot pole. I never wanted it for myself but only for Madeline and she isbeyond needing anything any of us can give her now. "

CHAPTER XXXI

THE MOVING FINGER CONTINUES TO WRITE

Having read and reread the boy's letter Doctor Holiday sat long with itin his hand staring into the fire. Poor Teddy for whom life had hithertobeen one grand and glorious festival! He was getting the other, the seamyside of things, at last with a vengeance. Knowing with the sure intuitionof love how deeply the boy was suffering and how sincerely he repentedhis blunders the doctor felt far more compassion than condemnation forhis nephew. The fineness and the folly of the thing were so inextricablyconfused that there was little use trying to separate the two even if hehad cared to judge the lad which he did not, being content with the boy'sown judgment of himself. Bad as the gambling business was and deeply ashe regretted the expulsion from college the doctor could not help seeingthat there was some extenuation for Ted's conduct, that he had in themain kept faith with himself, paid generously, far more than he owed, andtraveling through the fiery furnace had somehow managed to come outunscathed, his soul intact. After all could one ask much more?

It was considerably harder for Larry to accept the situationphilosophically than it was for the senior doctor's more tolerant andmature mind. Larry loved Ted as he loved no one else in the world notperhaps even excepting Ruth. But he loved the Holiday name too with afine, high pride and it was a bitter dose to swallow to have his youngerbrother "catapulted in disgrace, " as Ted himself put it, out of thecollege which he himself so loved and honored. He was inclined to resentwhat looked in retrospect as entirely unnecessary and uncalled forgenerosity on Ted's part. 

"Nobody but Ted would ever have thought of doing such a fool thing, " hegroaned. "Why didn't he pull out in the first place as Hendricks wantedhim to? He would have been entirely justified. "

But the older man smiled and shook his head. 

"Some people could have done it, not Ted, " he said. "Ted isn't built thatway. He never deserted anybody in trouble in his life. I don't believe heever will. We can't expect him to have behaved differently in this oneaffair just because we would have liked it better so. I am not sure butwe would be wrong and he right in any case. "

"Maybe. But it is a horrible mess. I can't get over the injustice of thepoor kid's paying so hard when he was just trying to do the decent, hard, right thing. "

"You have it less straight than Ted has, Larry. He knows he is paying notfor what he did and thought right but for what he did and knew was wrong. You can't feel worse than I do about it. I would give anything I have tosave Ted from the torture he is going through, has been going throughalone for days. But I would rather he learned his lesson thoroughly now, suffering more than he deserves than have him suffer too little and fallworse next time. No matter how badly we feel for him I think it is up tous not to try to dilute his penitence and to leave a generous share ofthe blame where he puts it himself--on his own shoulders. "

"I suppose you are right, Uncle Phil, " sighed Larry. "You usually are. But it's like having a piece taken right out of me to have him go offlike that. And the Canadians are the very devil of fighters. Always inthe thick of things. "

"That is where Ted would want to be, Larry. Let us not cross thatbridge until we have to. As he says himself there are worse things thandeath anyway. "

"I know. Marrying the girl would have been worse. She was rathermagnificent, wasn't she, just as he says, not saving herself when shemight have at his expense?"

"I think she was. I am almost glad the poor child is where she can sufferno more at the hands of men. "

The next day came a wire from Ted announcing his acceptance in theCanadian army and giving his address in the training camp. 

The doctor answered at once, writing a long, cheerful letter full of homenews especially the interesting developments in Ruth's romantic story. Itwas only at the end that he referred to the big thing that had to befaced between them. 

"I am not going to say a word that will add in any way to the burden youare already carrying, Teddy, my lad. You know how sadly disappointed weall are in your having to leave college this way but I understand andsympathize fully with your reasons for doing what you did. Even though Ican't approve of the thing itself. I haven't a single reproach to offer. You have had a harsh lesson. Learn it so well that you will never bringyourself or the rest of us to such pain and shame again. Keep your scar. I should be sorry to think you were so callous that you could passthrough an experience like that without carrying off an indelible markfrom it. But it isn't going to ruin your life. On the contrary it isgoing to make a man of you, is doing that already if I may judge fromthe spirit of your letter which goes far to atone for the rest. Theforgiveness is yours always, son, seventy times seven if need be. Neverdoubt it. We shall miss you very much. I wonder if you know how dear tous you are, Teddy lad. But we aren't going to borrow trouble of thefuture. We shall say instead God speed. May he watch over you whereveryou are and bring you safe back to us in His good time!"

And Ted reading the letter later in the Canadian training camp was notashamed of the tears that came stinging up in his eyes. He was woefullyhomesick, wanted the home people, especially Uncle Phil desperately. But the message from the Hill brought strength and comfort as well asheart ache. 

"Dear Uncle Phil, " he thought. "I will make it up to him somehow. I will. He shan't ever have to be ashamed of me again. "

And so Ted Holiday girded on manhood along with his khaki and his SamBrowne belt and started bravely up out of the pit which his own willfulfolly had dug for him. 

Tony was not told the full story of her brother's fiasco. She onlyknew that he had left college for some reason or other and had takenFrench leave for the Canadian training camp. She was relieved todiscover that even in Larry's stern eyes the escapade, whatever itwas, had not apparently been a very damaging one and acceptedthankfully her uncle's assurance that there was nothing at all toworry about and that Ted was no doubt very much better off where hewas than if he had stayed in college. 

As for the going to war part small blame had she for Ted in that. Sheknew well it was precisely what she would have done herself in his caseand teemed with pride in her bonny, reckless, beloved soldier brother. 

She had small time to think much about anybody's affairs beside her ownjust now. Any day now might come the word that little Cecilia had goneand that Tony Holiday would take her place on the Broadway stage as areal star if only for a brief space of twinkling. 

She saw very little even of Alan. He was tremendously busy and seemed, oddly enough, to be drawing a little away from her, to be less jealouslyexacting of her time and attention. It was not that he cared less, rathermore, Tony thought. His strange, tragic eyes rested hungrily upon herwhenever they were together and it seemed as if he would drink deep ofher youth and loveliness and joy, a draught deep enough to last a long, long time, through days of parching thirst to follow. He was very gentle, very quiet, very loveable, very tender. His stormy mood seemed to havepassed over leaving a great weariness in its wake. 

A very passion of creation was upon him. Seeing the canvases thatflowered into beauty beneath his hand Tony felt very small and humble, knew that by comparison with her lover's genius her own facile gifts werebut as a firefly's glow to the light of a flaming torch. He was of themasters. She saw that and was proud and glad and awed by the fact. Butshe saw also that the artist was consuming himself by the very fire ofhis own genius and the knowledge troubled her though she saw no way tocheck or prevent the holocaust if such it was. 

Sometimes she was afraid. She knew that she would never be happy in theevery day way with Alan. Happiness did not grow in his sunless garden. Married to him she would enter dark forests which were not her naturalenvironment. But it did not matter. She loved him. She came always backto that. She was his, would always be his no matter what happened. Shewas bound by the past, caught in its meshes forever. 

And then suddenly a new turn of the wheel took place. Word came justbefore Christmas that Dick Carson was very ill, dying perhaps down inMexico, stricken with a malarial fever. 

A few moments after Tony received this stunning news Alan Massey's cardwas brought to her. She went down to the reception room, gave him a limpcold little hand in greeting and asked if he minded going out with her. She had to talk with him. She couldn't talk here. 

Alan did not mind. A little later they were walking riverward toward abrilliant orange sky, against which the Soldiers' and Sailors' Monumentloomed gray and majestic. It was bitter cold. A stinging wind lashed thegirl's skirts around her and bit into her cheeks. But somehow shewelcomed the physical discomfort. It matched her mood. 

Then the story came out. Dick was sick, very sick, going to die maybe andshe, Tony Holiday couldn't stand it. 

Alan listened in tense silence. So Dick Carson might be going to be sounexpectedly obliging as to die after all. If he had known how to pray hewould have done it, beseeched whatever gods there were to let the thingcome to an end at last, offered any bribe within his power if they wouldset him free from his bondage by disposing of his cousin. 

But there beside him clinging to his arm was Tony Holiday aquiver withgrief for this same cousin. He saw that there were tears on her cheeks, tears that the icy wind turned instantly to frosted silver. And suddenlya new power was invoked--the power of love. 

"Tony, darling, don't cry, " he beseeched. "I--can't stand it. He--hewon't die. "

And then and there a miracle took place. Alan Massey who had neverprayed in his life was praying to some God, somewhere to save John Masseyfor Tony because she loved him and his dying would hurt her. Tony mustnot be hurt. Any God could see that. It must not be permitted. 

Tony put up her hand and brushed away the frosted silver drops. 

"No, he isn't going to die. I'm not going to let him. I'm going to Mexicoto save him. "

Alan stopped short, pulling her to a halt beside him. 

"Tony, you can't, " he gasped, too astonished for a moment even to beangry. 

"I can and I am going to, " she defied him. 

"But my dear, I tell you, you can't. It would be madness. Your unclewouldn't let you. I won't let you. "

"You can't stop me. Nobody can stop me. I'm going. Dick shan't die alone. He shan't. "

"Tony, do you love him?"

"I don't know. I don't want to talk about love--your kind. I do love himone way with all my heart. I wish it were the way I love you. I'd go downand marry him if I did. Maybe I'll marry him anyway. I would in a minuteif it would save him. "

"Tony!" Alan's face was dead white, his green eyes savage. "You promisedto stick to me through everything. Where is your Holiday honor that youcan talk like that about marrying another man?" Maddened, he branishedhis words like whips, caring little whether they hurt or not. 

"I can't help it, Alan. I am sorry if I am hurting you. But I can't thinkabout anybody but Dick just now. "

"Forgive me, sweetheart. I know you didn't mean it, what you said aboutmarrying him and you didn't mean it about going to Mexico. You know youcan't. It is no place for a woman like you. "

"If Dick is there dying, it _is_ the place for me. I love you, Alan. Butthere are some things that go even deeper, things that have their veryroots in me, the things that belong to the Hill. And Dick is a very bigpart of them, sometimes I think he is the biggest part of all. I have togo to him. Please don't try to stop me. It will only make us both unhappyif you try. "

A bitter blast struck their faces with the force of a blow. Tonyshivered. 

"Let's go back. I'm cold--so dreadfully cold, " she moaned clingingto his arm. 

They turned in silence. There was nothing to say. The sunset glory hadfaded now. Only a pale, cold mauve tint was left where the flame hadblazed. A star or two had come out. The river flowed sinister black, showing white humps of foam here and there. 

At the Hostelry Jean Lambert met them in the hall. 

"Tony, where have you been? We have been trying everywhere to locate you. Cecilia died this afternoon. You have to take Miss Clay's place tonight. "

Tony's face went white. She leaned against the wall trembling. 

"I forgot--I forgot about the play. I can't go to Mexico. Oh, what shallI do? What shall I do?"

CHAPTER XXXII

DWELLERS IN DREAMS

The last curtain had gone down on the "End of the Rainbow" and TonyHoliday had made an undeniable hit, caught the popular fancy by her youngcharm and vivid personality and fresh talents to such a degree that forthe moment at least even its idol of many seasons, Carol Clay, wasforgotten. The new arriving star filled the whole firmament. Broadway wasready to worship at a new shrine. 

But Broadway did not know that there were two Tony Holidays that night, the happy Tony who had taken its fickle, composite heart by storm and theother Tony half distracted by grief and trapped bewilderment. Tony hadwilled to exile that second self before she stepped out behind the footlights. She knew if she did not she never could play Madge as Madge hadthe right to be played. For her own sake, for Max Hempel's sake becausehe believed in her, for Carol Clay's sake because Tony loved her, shemeant to forget everything but Madge for those few hours. Later she wouldremember that Dick was dying in Mexico, that she had hurt Alan cruellythat afternoon, that she had a sad and vexed problem to solve to whichthere seemed no solution. These things must wait. And they had waited butthey came crowding back upon her the moment the play was over and she sawAlan waiting for her in the little room off the wings. 

He rose to meet her and oblivious of curious eyes about them drewher into his arms and kissed her. And Tony utterly miserable in adaze of conflicting emotions nestled in his embrace unresisting for asecond, not caring any more than Alan himself what any one saw orthought upon seeing. 

"You were wonderful, belovedest, " he whispered. "I never saw them gomadder over anybody, not even Carol herself. "

Tony glowed all over at his praise and begged that they might drive alittle in the park before they went home. She had to think. She couldn'tthink in the Hostelry. It stifled her. Nothing loath Alan acquiesced, hailed a cab and gave the necessary orders. For a moment they rode insilence Tony relaxing for the first time in many hours in the comfort ofher lover's presence, his arm around her. Things were hard, terribly hardbut you could not feel utterly disconsolate when the man you loved bestin all the world was there right beside you looking at you with eyes thattold you how much you were beloved in return. 

"Tony, dear, I am going to surprise you, " he said suddenly breaking thesilence. "I have decided to go to Mexico. "

"To go to Mexico! Alan! Why?"

Tony drew away from her companion to study his face, with amazementon her own. 

"To find Carson and look after him. Why else?"

"But your exhibition? You can't go away now, Alan, even if I would letyou go to Dick that way. "

"Oh, yes I can. The arrangements are all made. Van Slyke can handle thelast stages of the thing far better than I can. I loathe hanging roundand hearing the fools rant about my stuff and wonder what the devil Imeant by this or that or if I didn't mean anything. I am infinitelybetter off three thousand miles away. "

"But even so--I don't want to hurt you or act as if I didn't appreciatewhat you are offering to do--but you hate Dick. I don't see how you couldhelp him. "

"I don't hate him any more, Tony. At least I don't think I do. At anyrate whether I do or don't won't make the slightest bit of difference. Ishall look after him as well as your uncle or your brothers would--betterperhaps because I know Mexico well and how to get things done down there. I know how to get things done in most places. "

"Oh, I know. I have often thought you must have magic at your command theway people fly to do your bidding. It is startling but it is awfullyconvenient. "

"Money magic mostly, " he retorted grimly. 

"Partly, not mostly. You are a born potentate. You must have been asultan or a pashaw or something in some previous incarnation. I don'tcare what you are if you will find Dick and see that he gets well. Alan, don't you think--couldn't I--wouldn't it be better--if I went too?"

There was a sudden gleam in Alan's eyes. The hour was his. He could takeadvantage of the situation, of the girl's anxiety for his cousin, herlove for himself while it was at high tide as it was at this overstimulated hour of excitement. He could marry her. And once the rite wasspoken--not John Massey--not all Holiday Hill combined could take herfrom him. She would be his and his alone to the end. Tony was ripe formadness to-night, overwrought, ready to take any wild leap in the darkwith him. He could make her his. He felt the intoxicating truth quiver inthe touch of her hand, read it in her eager, dark eyes lifted to his forhis answer. 

Alan Massey was unused to putting away temptation but this, perhaps thebiggest and blackest that had ever assailed him he put by. 

"No, dear I'll go alone, " he said. "You will just have to trust me, Tony. I swear I'll do everything in the world that can be done for Carson. Letus have just one dance though. I should like it to remember--in Mexico. "

Tony hesitated. It was very late. The Hostelry would ill approve of hergoing anywhere to dance at such an hour. It ill approved of Alan Masseyany way. Still--

"I am going to-morrow. It is our last chance, " he pleaded. "Just onedance, _carissima_. It may have to last--a long, long time. "

And Tony yielded. After all they could not treat this night as if it werelike all the other nights in the calendar. They had the right to theirone more hour of happiness before Alan went away. They had the right tothis one last dance. 

The one dance turned into many before they were through. It seemed toboth as if they dared not stop lest somehow love and happiness shouldstop too with the end of the music. They danced on and on "divinely" asAlan had once called it. Tony thought the rest of his prophecy wasfulfilled at last, that they also loved each other divinely, as no man orwoman had ever loved since time began. 

But at last this too had to come to an end as perfect moments must inthis finite world and Alan and Tony went out of the brilliantly lightedrestaurant into white whirls of snow. For a storm had started while theyhad been inside and was now well in progress. All too soon the cabdeposited them at the Hostelry. In the dimly lit hall Alan drew the girlinto his arms and kissed her passionately then suddenly almost flung herfrom him, muttered a curt good-by and before Tony hardly realized he wasgoing, was gone, swallowed up in the night and storm. Alone Tony put herhands over her hot cheeks. So this was love. It was terrible, but oh--itwas wonderful too. 

Soberly after a moment she went to change the damning OUT opposite hername in the hall bulletin just as the clock struck the shocking hour ofthree. But lo there was no damning OUT visible, only a meek and proper INafter her name. For all the bulletin proclaimed Antoinette Holiday mighthave been for hours wrapt in innocent slumber instead of speeding awaythe wee' sma' hours in a public restaurant in the arms of a lover at whomMadame Grundy and her allies looked awry. Somebody had tampered with thething to save Tony a reprimand or worse. But who? Jean? No, certainly notJean. Jean's conscience was as inelastic as a yard stick. Whoever hadcommitted the charitable act of mendacity it couldn't have been Jean. 

But when Tony opened her own door and switched on the light there wasJean curled up asleep in the big arm chair. The sudden flare of lightroused the sleeper and she sat up blinking. 

"Wherever have you been, Tony? I have been worried to death about you. I've been home from the theater for hours. I couldn't think what hadhappened to you. "

"I am sorry you worried. You needn't have. I was with Alan, of course. "

"Tony, people say dreadful things about Mr. Massey. Aren't you everafraid of him yourself?" Jean surveyed the younger girl withtroubled eyes. 

Tony flung off her cloak impatiently. 

"Of course I am not afraid. People don't know him when they say suchthings about him. You needn't ever worry, Jean. I am safer with Alan thanwith any one else in the world. I'd know that to-night if I never knew itbefore. We were dancing. I knew it was late but I didn't care. Iwouldn't have missed those dances if they had told me I had to pack mytrunk and leave to-morrow. " Thus spoke the rebel always ready to fly outlike a Jack-in-the box from under the lid in Tony Holiday. 

"They won't, " said Jean in a queer, compressed little voice. 

"Jean! Was it you that fixed that bulletin?"

"Yes, it was. I know it wasn't a nice thing to do but I didn't want themto scold you just now when you were so worried about Dick andeverything. I thought you would be in most any minute any way and Iwaited up myself to tell you how I loved the play and how proud I was ofyou. Then when you didn't come for so long I got really scared and thenI fell asleep and--"

Tony came over and stopped the older girl's words with a kiss. 

"You are a sweet peach, Jean Lambert, and I am awfully grateful to youfor straining your conscience like that for my sake and awfully sorry Iworried you. I am afraid I always do worry good, sensible, proper people. I'm made that way, mad north north west like Hamlet, " she addedwhimsically. "Maybe we Holidays are all mad that much, excepting UnclePhil of course. He's all that keeps the rest of us on the track of sanityat all. But Alan is madder still. Jean, he is going to Mexico to takecare of Dick. "

"Mr. Massey is going to Mexico to take care of Dick!" Jean' stared. "Why, Tony--I thought--"

"Naturally. So did I. Who wouldn't think him the last person in the worldto do a thing like that? But he is going and it is his idea not mine. Iwanted to go too but he wouldn't let me, " she added. 

Jean gasped. 

"Tony! You would have married him when your uncle--when everybodydoesn't want you to?"

To Jean Lambert's well ordered, carefully fenced in mind such wild mentalleaps as Tony Holiday's were almost too much to contemplate. But worsewas to come. 

"Married him! Oh, I don't know. I didn't think about that. I would justhave gone with him. There wouldn't have been time to get a license. Ofcourse I couldn't though on account of the play. "

Jean gasped again. If it hadn't been for the play this astounding youngperson before her would have gone gallivanting off with one man to whomshe was not married to the bedside, thousands of miles away, of anotherman to whom she was also not married. Such simplicity of mental processessurpassed any complexity Jean Lambert could possibly conceive. 

"Alan wouldn't let me, " repeated the astounding Tony. "I suppose it isbetter so. By to-morrow I will probably agree with him. When the wind issoutherly I know a hawk from a handsaw too. But the wind isn't southerlyto-night. It wasn't when I was dancing nor afterward, " she added with aflaming color in her cheeks remembering that moment in the Hostelry hallwhen wisdom had mattered very little to her in comparison with love. "Oh, Jean, what if something dreadful should happen to him down there! I can'tlet him go. I can't. But Dick mustn't die alone either. Oh, what shall Ido? What shall I do?"

And suddenly Tony threw herself face down on the bed sobbing great, heartrending sobs, but whether she was crying for Dick or Alan or herself orall three Jean was unable to decipher. Perhaps Tony did not know herself. 

The next morning when Tony awoke Alan had already left for his longjourney, but a great box full of roses told her she had been his lastthought. One by one she lifted them out of the box--great, gorgeous, blood red beauties, royal, Tony thought, like the royal lover who hadsent them. The only message with the flowers was a bit of verse, a poemof Tagore's whom Alan loved and had taught Tony to love too. 

 You are the evening cloud floating in the sky of my dreams. I paint you and fashion you with my love longings. You are my own, my own, Dweller in my endless dreams!

 Your feet are rosy-red with the glow of my heart's desire, Gleaner of my sunset songs! Your lips are bitter-sweet with the taste of my wine of pain. You are my own, my own, Dweller in my lonesome dreams!

 With the shadow of my passion have I darkened your eyes, Haunter of the depth of my gaze! I have caught you and wrapt you, my love, in the net of my music. You are my own, my own, Dweller in my deathless dreams!

As she read the exquisite lines Antoinette Holiday knew it was alltrue. The poet might have written his poem for her and Alan. Her lipswere indeed bitter-sweet with the taste of his wine of pain, her eyeswere darkened by his shadows. He had caught her and wrapt her in thenet of his love, which was a kind of music in itself--a music onedanced to. She was his, dweller in his dreams as he was always to dwellin hers. It was fate. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

WAITING FOR THE END OF THE STORY

At home on the Hill Ruth's affairs developed slowly. It was in timeascertained from Australia that the Farringdon pearls had come to Americain the possession of Miss Farringdon who was named Elinor Ruth, daughterof Roderick and Esther Farringdon, both deceased. What had become of herand her pearls no one knew. Grave fears had been entertained as to thegirl's safety because of her prolonged silence and the utter failure ofall the advertising for her which had gone on in English and Americanpapers. She had come to America to join an aunt, one Mrs. Robert Wright, widow of a New York broker, but it had been later ascertained that Mrs. Wright had left for England before her niece could have reached her andhad subsequently died having caught a fever while engaged in nursing in amilitary hospital. Roderick Farringdon, the brother of Elinor Ruth, anaviator in His Majesty's service, was reported missing, believed to bedead or in a German prison somewhere. The lawyers in charge of the hugebusiness interests of the two young Farringdons were in grave distressbecause of their inability to locate either of the owners and begged thatif Doctor Laurence Holiday knew anything of the whereabouts of MissFarringdon that he would communicate without delay with them. 

So far so good. Granted that Ruth was presumably Elinor Ruth Farringdonof Australia. Was she or was she not married? There had been noopportunity in the cables to make inquiry about one Geoffrey Annersleythough Larry had put that important question first in his letter to theconsul which as yet had received no answer. The lawyers stated that whenMiss Farringdon had left Australia she was not married butunsubstantiated rumors had reached them from San Francisco hinting at herpossible marriage there. 

All this failed to stir Ruth's dormant memory in any degree. There wasnothing to do but wait until further information should be forthcoming. 

Not unnaturally these facts had a somewhat different effect upon the twoindividuals most concerned. Ruth was frankly elated over the whole thingand found it by no means impossible to believe that she was a princess indisguise though she had played Cinderella contentedly enough. 

On the strength of her presumable princessship she had gone on anotherexcursion to Boston carrying the Lambert twins with her this time and hadreturned laden with all manner of feminine fripperies. She had anexquisite taste and made unerringly for the softest and finest offabrics, the hats with an "air, " the dresses that were the simplest, themost ravishing and it must be admitted also the most extravagant. If sheremembered nothing else Ruth remembered how to spend royally. 

She had consulted the senior doctor before making the splendid plunge. She did not want to have Larry buy her anything more and she didn't wantDoctor Philip and Margery to think her stark mad to go behaving like aprincess before the princess purse was actually in her hands. But she hadto have pretty things, a lot of them, had to have them quick. Did thedoctor mind very much advancing her some money? He could keep her ringsas security. 

He had laughed indulgently and declared as the rings and the pearls toofor that matter were in his possession in the safe deposit box he shouldworry. He also told her to go ahead and be as "princessy" as she liked. He would take the risk. Whereupon he placed a generous sum of money ather account in a Boston bank and sent her away with his blessing and anamused smile at the femininity of females. And Ruth had gone and playedprincess to her heart's content. But there was little enough of heart'scontent in any of it for poor Larry. Day by day it seemed to him he couldsee his fairy girl slipping away from him. Ruth was a great lady andheiress. Who was Larry Holiday to take advantage of the fact thatcircumstances had almost thrown her into his willing arms?

Moreover the information afforded as to Roderick Farringdon had put a newidea into his head. Roderick was reported "missing. " Was it not possiblethat Geoffrey Annersley might be in the same category? Missing mensometimes stayed missing in war time but sometimes also they returned asfrom the dead from enemy prisons or long illnesses. What if this shouldbe the case with the man who was presumably Ruth's husband? Certainly itput out of the question, if there ever had been a question in Larry'smind, his own right to marry the girl he loved until they knew absolutelythat the way was clear. 

Considering these things it was not strange that the new year found LarryHoliday in heavy mood, morose, silent, curt and unresponsive even to hisuncle, inclined at times to snap even at his beloved little Goldilockswhose shining new happiness exasperated him because he could not shareit. Of course he repented in sack cloth and ashes afterward, butrepentance did not prevent other offenses and altogether the young doctorwas ill to live with during those harrassed January days. 

It was not only Ruth. Larry could not take Ted's going with the quietfortitude with which his uncle met it. Those early weeks of nineteenhundred and seventeen were black ones for many. The grim Moloch Wardemanded more and ever more victims. Thousands of gay, brave, highspirited lads like Ted were mown down daily by shrapnel and machine gunor sent twisted and writhing to still more hideous death in theunspeakable horror of noxious gases. It was all so unnecessary--sosenseless. Larry Holiday whose life was dedicated to the healing andsaving of men's bodies hated with bitter hate this opposing force whichwas all for destruction and which held the groaning world in itsrelentless grip. It would not have been so bad he thought if the Molochwould have been content to take merely the old, the life weary, thediseased, the vile. Not so. It demanded the young, the strong, the cleanand gallant hearted, took their bodies, maimed and tortured them, killedthem sooner or later, hurled them undiscriminatingly into the bottomlesspit of death. 

To Larry it all came back to Ted. Ted was the embodiment, the symbol ofthe rest. He was the young, the strong, the clean and gallanthearted--the youth of the world, a vain sacrifice to the cruel blindnessof a so called civilization which would not learn the futility of war andall the ways of war. 

So while Ruth bought pretty clothes and basked in happy anticipationswhich for her took the place of memories, poor Larry walked in darkplaces and saw no single ray of light. 

One afternoon he was summoned to the telephone to receive the word thatthere was a telegram for him at the office. It was Dunbury's informalhabit to telephone messages of this sort to the recipient instead ofdelivering them in person. Larry took the repeated word in silence. Aquestion evidently followed from the other end. 

"Yes, I got it, " Larry snapped back and threw the receiver back in placewith vicious energy. His uncle who had happened to be near looked up toask a question but the young doctor was already out of the room leavingonly the slam of the door in his wake. A few moments later the older mansaw the younger start off down the Hill in the car at a speed which wasnot unlike Ted's at his worst before the smash on the Florence road. Evidently Larry was on the war path. Why?

The afternoon wore on. Larry did not return. His uncle began to beseriously disturbed. A patient with whom the junior doctor had had anappointment came and waited and finally went away somewhat indignant inspite of all efforts to soothe her not unnatural wrath. Worse andworse! Larry never failed his appointments, met every obligationinvariably as punctiliously as if for professional purposes he wasoperated by clock work. 

At supper time Phil Lambert dropped in with the wire which had alreadybeen reported to Larry and which the company with the same informalityalready mentioned had asked him to deliver. Doctor Holiday was tempted toread it but refrained. Surely the boy would be home soon. 

The evening meal was rather a silent one. Ruth was wearing a charmingdark blue velvet gown which Larry especially liked. The doctor guessedthat she had dressed particularly for her lover and was sadlydisappointed when he failed to put in his appearance. She droopedperceptibly and her blue eyes were wistful. 

An hour later when the three, Margery, her husband, and Ruth, weresitting quietly engaged in reading in the living room they heard thesound of the returning car. All three were distinctly conscious of aninvoluntary breath of relief which permeated the room. Nobody had said aword but every one of them had been filled with foreboding. 

Presently Larry entered with the yellow envelope in his hand. He was paleand very tired looking but obviously entirely in command of himselfwhatever had been the case earlier in the day. He crossed the room towhere his uncle sat and handed him the telegram. 

"Please read it aloud, " he said. "It--it concerns all of us. "

The older doctor complied with the request. 

_Arrive Dunbury January 18 nine forty_ A. M. So ran the brief thoughpregnant message. It was signed _Captain Geoffrey Annersley_. 

The color went out of Ruth's face as she heard the name. She put herhands over her eyes and uttered a little moan. Then abruptly she droppedher hands, the color came surging back into her cheeks and she ran toLarry, fairly throwing herself into his arms. 

"I don't want to see him. Don't let him come. I hate him. I don't want tobe Elinor Farringdon. I want to be just Ruth--Ruth Holiday, " shewhispered the last in Larry's ear, her head on his shoulder. 

Larry kissed her for the first time before the others, then meeting hisuncle's grave eyes he put her gently from him and walked over to thedoor. On the threshold he turned and faced them all. 

"Uncle Phil--Aunt Margery, help Ruth. I can't. " And the doorclosed upon him. 

Philip and Margery did their best to obey his parting injunction but itwas not an easy task. Ruth was possessed by a very panic of dread ofGeoffrey Annersley and an even more difficult to deal with flood of lovefor Larry Holiday. 

"I don't want anybody but Larry, " she wailed over and over. "It is LarryI love. I don't love Geoffrey Annersley. I won't let him be my husband. Idon't want anybody but Larry. "

In vain they tried to comfort her, entreat her to wait until to-morrowbefore she gave up. Perhaps Geoffrey Annersley wasn't her husband. Perhaps everything was quite all right. She must try to have patience andnot let herself get sick worrying in advance. 

"He _is_ my husband, " she suddenly announced with startling conviction. "I remember his putting the ring on my finger. I remember his saying'You've got to wear it. It is the only thing to do. You must. ' I rememberwhat he looks like--almost. He is tall and he has a scar on his cheek--here. " She patted her own face feverishly to show the spot. "He made mewear the ring and I didn't want to. I didn't want to. Oh, don't let meremember. Don't let me, " she implored. 

At this point the doctor took things in his own hands. The child wasobviously beginning to remember. The shock of the man's coming hadsnapped something in her brain. They must not let things come backtoo disastrously fast. He packed her off to bed with a stiff dose ofnerve quieting medicine. Margery sat with her arms tight around theforlorn little sufferer and presently the dreary sobbing ceased andthe girl drifted off to exhausted sleep, nature's kindest panacea forall human ills. 

Meanwhile the doctor sought out Larry. He found him in the officeapparently completely absorbed in the perusal of a medical magazine. Helooked up quickly as the older man entered and answered the question inhis eyes giving assurance that Ruth was quite all right, would soon beasleep if she was not already. He made no mention of that disconcertingflash of memory. Sufficient unto the day was the trouble thereof. 

He came over and laid a kindly, encouraging hand on the boy's shoulder. 

"Keep up heart a little longer, " he said. "By tomorrow you willknow where you stand and that will be something, no matter whichway it turns. "

"I should say it would, " groaned Larry. "I'm sick of being in alabyrinth. Even the worst can't be much worse than not knowing. You don'tknow how tough it has been, Uncle Phil. "

"I can make a fairly good guess at it, my boy. I've seen and understoodmore than you realize perhaps. You have put up a magnificent fight, son. And you are the boy who once told me he was a coward. "

"I am afraid I still am, Uncle Phil, --sometimes. "

"We all are, Larry, cowards in our hearts, but that does not matter solong as the yellow streak doesn't get into our acts. You have not letthat happen I think. "

Larry was silent. He was remembering that night when Ruth had come tohim. He wasn't very proud of the memory. He wondered if his uncle guessedhow near the yellow streak had come to the surface on that occasion. 

"I don't deserve as much credit as you are giving me, " he said humbly. "There have been times--at least one time--" He broke off. 

"You would have been less than a man if there had not been, Larry. Iunderstand all that. But on the whole you know and I know that you have aclean slate to show. Don't let yourself get morbid worrying about thingsyou might have done and didn't. They don't worry me. They needn't worryyou. Forget it. "

"Uncle Phil! You are great the way you always clear away the fogs. But myclean slate is a great deal thanks to you. I don't know where I wouldhave landed if you hadn't held me back, not so much by what you said aswhat you are. Ted isn't the only one who has learned to appreciate what apillar of strength we all have in you. However this comes out I shan'tforget what you did for me, are doing all the time. "

"Thank you, Larry. It is good to hear things like that though I think youunderestimate your own strength. I am thankful if I have helped in anydegree. I have felt futile enough. We all have. At any rate the strain isabout over. The telegram must have been a knock down blow though. Wherewere you this afternoon?"

"I don't know. I just drove like the devil--anywhere. Did you worry? I amsorry. Good Lord! I cut my appointment with Mrs. Blake, didn't I? I neverthought of it until this minute. Gee! I am worse than Ted. Used to thinkI had some balance but evidently I am a plain nut. I'm disgusted withmyself and I should think you would be more disgusted with me. " The boylooked up at his uncle with eyes that were full of shamed compunction. 

But the latter smiled back consolingly. 

"Don't worry. There are worse things in the world than cutting anappointment for good and sufficient reasons. You will get back yourbalance when things get normal again. I have no complaint to make anyway. You have kept up the professional end splendidly until now. What you needis a good long vacation and I am going to pack you off on one at theearliest opportunity. Do you want me to meet Captain Annersley for youtomorrow?" he switched off to ask. 

Larry shook his head. 

"No, I'll meet him myself, thank you. It is my job. I am not going toflunk it. If he is Ruth's husband I am going to be the first to shakehands with him. "

CHAPTER XXXIV

IN WHICH TWO MASSEYS MEET IN MEXICO

And while things were moving toward their crisis for Larry and Ruthanother drama was progressing more or less swiftly to its conclusiondown in Vera Cruz. Alan Massey had found his cousin in a wretched, vermin haunted shack, nursed in haphazard fashion by a slovenly, ignorant half-breed woman under the ostensible professional care of amercenary, incompetent, drunken Mexican doctor who cared little enoughwhether the dog of an American lived or died so long as he himselfcontinued to get the generous checks from a certain newspaper in NewYork City. The doctor held the credulity of the men who mailed thosechecks in fine contempt and proceeded to feather his nest valiantlywhile his good luck continued, going on many a glorious spree at thepaper's expense while Dick Carson went down every day deeper into thevalley of the shadow of death. 

With the coming of Alan Massey however a new era began. Alan was apt toleave transformation of one sort or another in his wake. It was notmerely his money magic though he wielded that magnificently as was hishabit and predilection, spent Mexican dollars with a superb disregard oftheir value which won from the natives a respect akin to awe and wroughtmiracles wherever the golden flow touched. But there was more than moneymagic to Alan Massey's performance in Vera Cruz. There was also themagic of his dominating, magnetic personality. He was a born master andevery one high or low who crossed his path recognized his rightfulascendency and hastened to obey his royal will. 

His first step was to get the sick man transferred from the filthy hovelin which he found him to clean, comfortable quarters in an ancient adobepalace, screened, airy, spacious. The second step was to secure theservices of two competent and high priced nurses from Mexico City, one anAmerican, the other an English woman, both experienced, intrepid, efficient. The third step taken simultaneously with the other two was todismiss the man who masqueraded as a physician though he was nothing inreality but a cheap charlatan fattening himself at the expense ofweakness and disease. The man had been inclined to make trouble at firstabout his unceremonious discharge. He had no mind to lose without aprotest such a convenient source of unearned increment as those checksrepresented. He had intended to get in many another good carouse beforethe sick man died or got well as nature willed. But a single interviewwith Alan Massey sufficed to lay his objections to leaving the case. Inconcise and forcible language couched in perfect Spanish Alan had made itclear that if the so-called doctor came near his victim again he would beshot down like a dog and if Carson died he would in any case be tried forman slaughter and hanged on the spot. The last point had been furtherpunctuated by an expressive gesture on the speaker's part, pointing tohis own throat accompanied by a significant little gurgling sound. Thegesture and the gurgle had been convincing. The man surrendered the casein some haste. He did not at all care for the style of conversationindulged in by this tall, unsmiling, green-eyed man. Consequently heimmediately evaporated to all intents and purposes and was seen no more. The new physician put in charge was a different breed entirely, a man whohad the authentic gift and passion for healing which the born doctoralways possesses, be he Christian or heathen, gypsy herb mixer or tenthousand dollar specialist. Alan explained to this man precisely what wasrequired of him, explained in the same forcible, concise, perfect Spanishthat had banished the other so completely. His job was to cure the sickman. If he succeeded there would be a generous remuneration. If he failedthrough no fault of his there would still be fair remuneration thoughnothing like what would be his in case of complete recovery. If he failedthrough negligence--and here the expressive gesture and the gurgle wererepeated--. The sentence had not needed completion. The matter wassufficiently elucidated. The man was a born healer as has been recordedbut even if he had not been he would still have felt obliged to moveheaven and earth so far as in him lay to cure Dick Carson. Alan Massey'smanner was persuasive. One did one's best to satisfy a person who spokesuch Spanish and made such ominous gestures. One did as one wascommanded. One dared do no other. 

As for the servants whom Alan rallied to his standard they were slavesrather than servants. They recognized in him their preordained master, were wax to his hands, mats to his feet. They obeyed his word asobsequiously, faithfully and unquestioningly as if he could by a clap ofhis lordly hands banish them to strange deaths. 

They talked in low tones about him among themselves behind his back. This was no American they said. No American could command as thisgreen-eyed one commanded. No American had such gift of tongues, suchgestures, such picturesque and varied and awesome oaths. No Americancarried small bright flashing daggers such as he carried in his innerpockets, nor did Americans talk glibly as he talked of weird poisons, not every day drugs, but marvelous, death dealing concoctions done up inlustrous jewel-like capsules or diluted in sparkling, insidious gorgeoushued fluids. The man was too wise--altogether too wise to be anAmerican. He had traveled much, knew strange secrets. They ratherthought he knew black art. Certainly he knew more of the arts of healingthan the doctor himself. There was nothing he did not know, thegreen-eyed one. It was best to obey him. 

And while Alan Massey's various arts operated Dick Carson passed througha series of mental and physical evolutions and came slowly back toconsciousness of what was going on. 

At first he was too close to the hinterland to know or care as to whatwas happening here, though he did vaguely sense that he had left thelower levels of Hell and was traversing a milder purgatorial region. Hedid not question Alan's presence or recognize him. Alan was at firstsimply another of those distrusted foreigners whose point of view andcharacter he comprehended as little as he did their jibbering tongues. 

Gradually however this one man seemed to stand out from the others andfinally took upon himself a name and an entity. By and by, Dick thought, when he wasn't so infernally-tired as he was just now he would wonder whyAlan Massey was here and would try to recall why he had disliked him so, some time a million years ago or so. He did not dislike him now. He wastoo weak to dislike anybody in any case but he was beginning to connectAlan vaguely but surely with the superior cleanliness and comfort andcare with which he was now surrounded. He knew now that he had beensick, very sick and that he was getting better, knew that before long hewould find himself asking questions. Even now his eyes followed AlanMassey as the latter came and went with an ever more insistent wondermentthough he had not yet the force of will or body to voice that pursuingquestion as to why Alan Massey was here apparently taking charge of hisown slow return to health and consciousness. 

Meanwhile Alan wired Tony Holiday every day as to his patient's conditionthough he wrote not at all and said nothing in his wires of himself. Letters from Tony were now beginning to arrive, letters full of eagergratitude and love for Alan and concern for Dick. 

And one day Dick's mind got suddenly very clear. He was alone with thenurse at the time, the sympathetic American one whom he liked better andwas less afraid of than he was of the stolid, inexorable British lady. And he began to ask questions, many questions and very definite ones. Heknew at last precisely what it was he wanted to know. 

He got a good deal of information though by no means all he sought. Hefound out that he had been taken desperately ill, that he had beensummarily removed from his lodging place because of the owner'ssuperstitious dread of contagion into the miserable little thatchroofed hut in which he had nearly died thanks to the mal-practice ofthe rascally, drunken doctor and the ignorant half-breed nurse. Helearned how Alan Massey had suddenly appeared and taken things in hisown hands, discovered that in a nutshell the fact was he owed his lifeto the other-man. But why? That was what he had to find out from AlanMassey himself. 

The next day when Alan came in and the nurse went out he askedhis question. 

"That is easy, " said Alan grimly. "I came on Tony's account. "

Dick winced. Of course that was it. Tony had sent Massey. He was here asher emissary, naturally, no doubt as her accepted lover. It was kind. Tony was always kind but he wished she had not done it. He did not wantto have his life saved by the man who was going to marry Tony Holiday. Herather thought he did not want his life saved anyway by anybody. Hewished they hadn't done it. 

"I--I am much obliged to you and to Tony, " he said a little stiffly. "Ifear it--it was hardly worth the effort. " His eyes closed wearily. 

"Tony didn't send me though, " observed Alan Massey as if he had read theother's thought. "I sent myself. "

Dick's eyes opened. 

"That is odd if it is true, " he said slowly. 

Alan dropped into a chair near the bed. 

"It is odd, " he admitted. "But it happens to be true. It came aboutsimply enough. When Tony heard you were sick she went crazy, sworeshe was coming down here in spite of us all to take care of you. ThenMiss Clay's child died and she had to go on the boards. You canimagine what it meant to her--the two things coming at once. Sheplayed that night--swept everything as you'd know she would--got 'emall at her feet. "

Dick nodded, a faint flash of pleasure in his eyes. Down and out as hewas he could still be glad to hear of Tony's triumph. 

"She wanted to come to you, " went on Alan. "She let me come insteadbecause she couldn't. I came for--for her sake. "

Dick nodded. 

"Naturally--for her sake, " he said. "I could hardly have expected you tocome for mine. I would hardly have expected it in any case. "

"I would hardly have expected it of myself, " acknowledged Alan with a wrysmile. "But I've had rather a jolly time at your expense. I've alwaysenjoyed working miracles and if you could have seen yourself the way youwere when I got here you would think there was a magic in it somehow. "

"I evidently owe you a great deal, Mr. Massey. I am grateful or at leastI presume I shall be later. Just now I feel a little--dumb. "

"My dear fellow, nothing would please me better than to have you continuedumb on that subject. I did this thing as I've done most things in mylife to please myself. I don't want your thanks. I would like a little ofyour liking though. You and I are likely to see quite a bit of each otherthese next few weeks. Could you manage to forget the past and call a kindof truce for a while? You have a good deal to forgive me--perhaps morethan you know. If you would be willing to let the little I have done downhere--and mind you I don't want to magnify that part--wipe off the slateI should be glad. Could you manage it, Carson?"

"It looks as if it hardly could be magnified, " said Dick with suddenheartiness. "I spoke grudgingly just now I am afraid. Please overlook it. I am more than grateful for all you have done and more than glad to befriends if you want it. I don't hate you. How could I when you have savedmy life and anyway I never hated you as you used to hate me. I've oftenwondered why you did, especially at first before you knew how much Icared for Tony. And even that shouldn't have made you hate mebecause--you won. "

"Never mind why I hated you. I don't any more. Will you shake hands withme, Carson, so we can begin again?"

Dick pulled himself weakly up on the pillow. Their hands met. 

"Hang it, Massey, " Dick said. "I am afraid I am going to like you. I'veheard you were hypnotic. I believe on my soul you came down here to makeme like you? Did you?"

But Alan only smiled his ironic, noncommital smile and remarked it wastime for the invalid to take a nap. He had had enough conversation forthe first attempt. 

Dick soon drifted off to sleep but Alan Massey prowled the streets of theMexican city far into the night, with tireless, driven feet. The demonswere after him again. 

And far away in another city whose bright lights glow all night TonyHoliday was still playing Madge to packed houses, happy in her triumphbut with heart very pitiful for her beloved Miss Clay whose sorrow andcontinued illness had made possible the fruition of her own eager hopes. Tony was sadly lonely without Alan, thought of him far more often andwith deeper affection even than she had while she had him at her beck andcall in the city, loved him with a new kind of love for his generouskindness to Dick. She made up her mind that he had cleared the shieldforever by this splendid act and saw no reason why she should keep himany longer on probation. Surely she knew by this time that he was a maneven a Holiday might be proud to marry. 

She wrote this decision to her uncle and asked to be relieved fromher promise. 

"I am sorry, " she wrote, "if you cannot approve but I cannot help it. Ilove him and I am going to be engaged to him as soon as he comes back toNew York if he wants it. I am afraid I would have married him and goneto Mexico with him, given up the play and broken my promise to you, if hewould have let me. It goes that far and deep with me. 

"People are crazy over his pictures. The exhibition came off last weekand they say he is one of the greatest living painters with a wonderfulfuture ahead of him. I am so proud and happy. He is fine everyway now, has really sloughed off the past just as he promised he would. So please, dear Uncle Phil, forgive me if I do what you don't want me to. I have tomarry him. In my heart I am married to him already. "

And this was the letter Philip Holiday found at his place at breakfast onthe morning of the day Geoffrey Annersley was expected. He read itgravely. Rash, loving, generous-hearted Tony. Where was she going? Ahwell, she was no longer a child to be protected from the storm and stressof life. She was a woman grown, woman enough to love and to be lovedgreatly, to sacrifice and suffer if need be for love's mighty sake. Shemust go her way as Ted had gone his, as their father had gone his beforethem. He could only pray that she was right in her faith that for love ofher Alan Massey had been born anew. 

His own deep affection for Ned's children seemed at the moment a sadlypowerless thing. He had coveted the best things of life for them, happy, normal ways of peace and gentle living. Yet here was Ted at twentyalready lived through an experience, tragic enough to leave its scarletmark for all the rest of his life and even now on the verge ofvoluntarily entering a terrific conflict from which few returned aliveand none came back unchanged. Here was Tony taking upon herself thethraldom of a love, which try as he would Philip Holiday could not seein any other light but as at best a cataclysmic risk. And at this veryhour Larry might be learning that the desire of his heart was dust andashes, his hope a vain thing, himself an exile henceforth from the thingsthat round out a man's life, make it full and rich and satisfying. 

And yet thinking of the three Philip Holiday found one clear ray ofcomfort. With all their vagaries, their rash impulsions, their willfulblindness, their recklessness, they had each run splendidly true to type. Not one of the three had failed in the things that really count. He hadfaith that none of them ever would. They might blunder egregiously, suffer immeasurably, pay extravagantly, but they would each keep thatvital spirit which they had in common, untarnished and undaunted, anunconquerable thing. 

CHAPTER XXXV

GEOFFREY ANNERSLEY ARRIVES

There were few passengers alighting from the south bound train fromCanada. Larry Holiday had no difficulty in picking out Geoffrey Annersleyamong these, a tall young man, wearing the British uniform and supportinghimself with a walking stick. His face was lean and bronzed and lined, the face of a man who has seen things which kill youth and laughter andyet a serene face too as if its owner had found that after all nothingmattered very much if you looked it square in the eye. 

Larry went to the stranger at once. 

"Captain Annersley?" he asked. "I am Laurence Holiday. "

The captain set down his bag, leaned on his stick, deliberatelyscrutinized the other man. Larry returned the look frankly. They were ofnearly the same age but any one seeing them would have set the Englishmanas at least five years the senior of the young doctor. Geoffrey Annersleyhad been trained in a stern school. A man does not wear a captain's barsand four wound stripes for nothing. 

Then the Englishman held out his hand with a pleasant and unexpectedlyboyish smile. 

"So you are Larry, " he said. "Your brother sent me to you. "

"Ted! You have seen him?" For a minute Larry forgot who GeoffreyAnnersley was, forgot Ruth, forgot himself, remembered only Ted andgave his guest a heartier handshake than he had willed for his "Kid"brother's sake. 

"Yes, I was with him day before yesterday and the night before that. Hewas looking jolly well and sent all kinds of greetings to you all. Seehere, Doctor Holiday, I have no end of things to say to you. Can we gosomewhere and talk?"

"My car is outside. You will come up to the house will you not? We areall expecting you. " Larry tried hard to keep his voice quiet andemotionless. Not for anything would he have had this gallant soldiersuspect how his knees were trembling. 

"Delighted, " bowed the captain suavely and permitted Larry to take hisbag and lead the way to the car. Nothing more was said until the two menwere seated and the car had left the station yard. 

"I am afraid I should have made my wire a bit more explicit, " observedthe captain turning to Larry. "My wife says I am too parsimonious with mywords in telegrams--a British trait possibly. " He spoke deliberately andhis keen eyes studied his companion's face as he made the casual remarkwhich set Larry's brain reeling. "See here, Holiday, I'm a blunt brute. Idon't know how to break things gently to people. But I am here to tellyou if you care to know that Elinor Ruth Farringdon is no more marriedthan you are unless she is married to you. That was her mother's weddingring. Lord, man, do you always drive a car like this? I've been all butkilled once this year and I don't care to repeat the experiment. "

Larry grinned, flushed, apologized and moderated the speed of his motor. He wondered that he could drive at all. He felt strangely light as if hewere stripped of his body and were nothing but spirit. 

"Do you mind if we drive about a bit and talk things over before I seeElinor--Ruth, as you call her? I'm funking that a little though I'vebeen trying ever since your brother told me the story to get used tothe idea of her being, well not quite right, you know. But I can'tstick it somehow. "

"She is all right, perfectly normal every way except that she hadforgotten things. " Larry's voice was faintly indignant. He resentedanybody's implying that Ruth was queer, unbalanced in any way. Shewasn't. She was absolutely sane, as sane as Captain Annersley himself, considerably more sane than Larry Holiday could take oath he was atthis moment. 

"Good heavens! Isn't that enough?" groaned Annersley almost equallyindignant. "You forget or rather you don't know all she has forgotten. Iknow. I was brought up with her. Her father was my uncle and guardian. Weplayed together, had the same tutor, rode the same ponies, got into thesame jolly old scrapes. Why, Elinor's like my own sister, man. I can'tswallow her forgetting me and her brother Rod and all the rest as easilyas you seem to do. It--well, it's the limit as you say in the states. "The captain wiped his forehead on which great drops of perspiration stoodin spite of the January chill in the air. There was agitation, suppressedvehemence in his tone. 

"I suppose it is natural that you should feel that way. " Larry spokethoughtfully as he turned the car away from the Hill in response to hisguest's request that he be permitted to postpone meeting Elinor RuthFarringdon a little while. "The remembering part hasn't bothered me somuch. Maybe I wasn't very keen on having her remember. Maybe I was afraidshe would remember too much, " he added coloring a little. 

The frown on his companion's stern young face melted at that. Thefrank, boyish smile appeared again. He liked Larry Holiday none the lessfor his lack of pretense. He understood all that. The younger Holidayhad taken pains to make things perfectly clear to him. He knew preciselywhat the young doctor was afraid of and why in case Elinor Farringdon'smemory returned. 

"My uncle thinks and I think too that her memory will come back now thatit has the external stimulus to waken it, " Larry continued. "I shouldn'tbe surprised if seeing you would give the necessary impetus. In fact I amcounting on that very thing happening, hoping for it with all my might. That was one of the reasons I was glad to have you come. Please believethat I should have been glad even if your coming had made her remembershe was your wife. Of course her recovery is the main thing. The restis--a side issue. "

"A jolly important side issue I take it for her and for you. I'm not astranger, Doctor Holiday. I am Elinor Ruth Farringdon's cousin, in herbrother's absence I represent her family and in that capacity I wouldlike to say before I am a minute older that what you and the rest of youHolidays have done for Elinor passes anything I know of for sheerfineness and generosity. I'm not a man of words. War would have knockedthem out of me if I had been but when I remember that you not only savedElinor's life but took care of her afterward when she apparently hadn't afriend in the world--well, there isn't anything I can say but thank youand tell you that if there is ever anything I can do in return for you oryours you have only to ask. Neither Elinor nor I can ever repay you. Itis the sort of thing that is--unpayable. " And again the captain wiped hisperspiring brow. He was deeply moved and emotion went hard with hisAnglo-Saxon temperament. 

"We did nothing but what anybody would have been glad to do. If thereare any thanks coming they are chiefly due to my uncle and his wife. Butwe don't any of us want thanks. We love Ruth. Please forget the rest. Wewould rather you would. "

The captain nodded quick approval. He had been told Americans wereboasters, given to Big-Itis. But either people got the Americans wrong orthese Holidays were an exception to the general run. He remembered thatother young Holiday whom he had met rather intimately in the Canadiancamp. There had been no side there either. His modesty had been one ofhis chief charms. And here was the brother quietly putting aside creditfor a course of conduct which was simply immense in its quixoticgenerosity. He liked these Holidays. There was something rathermagnificent about their simplicity--something almost British he thought. 

"That is all very well, " he made answer. "I won't talk about it if youprefer but you will pardon me if I don't forget that you saved mycousin's life and looked after her when she was in a desperately unhappysituation and her own people seemed to have utterly deserted her. And Iconsider my running into your brother at camp one of the sheerest piecesof good luck I've had these many days on all counts. "

"How did it happen?" asked Larry. 

"I was doing some recruiting work in the vicinity and they asked me tosay a few words to the lads in training. I did. Your brother was thereand lost no time in getting in touch with me when he heard who I was. Andjolly pleased I was to hear his story--all of it. "

The speaker smiled at his companion. 

"I mean that, Larry Holiday. Elinor and I were kid sweethearts. We usedto swear we were going to get married when we grew up. That was when shewas eight and I a man of twelve or so. I gave her the locket which madesome of the trouble as a sort of hostage for the future. We called herRuth in those days. It was her own fancy to change it to Elinor later. She thought it more grown up and dignified I remember. Then I went backto England to school. I didn't see her again until we were both grown upand then I married her best friend with her blessing and approval. Butthat is another story. Just now I am trying to tell you that I am readyto congratulate my cousin with all my heart if it happens that you wantto marry her as your brother seems to think. "

"There is no doubt about what I want, " said Larry grimly. "Whether it iswhat she wants is another matter. We haven't been exactly in a positionto discuss marriage. "

"I understand. I'm beastly sorry to have been such an infernal dog in themanger unwittingly. The only thing I can do to make, up is to give myblessing and wish you best of luck in your wooing. Shall we shake on it, Larry Holiday, and on the friendship I hope you and I are going to have?"

And with a cordial man to man grip there was cemented a friendship whichwas to last as long as they both lived. 

To relate briefly the links of the story some of which Larry Holiday nowheard as the car sped over the smooth, frost hardened roads which theopen winter had left unusually snowless and clean. Geoffrey Annersley hadbeen going his careless, happy go lucky way as an Oxford undergraduatewhen the sudden firing of a far off shot had startled the world and madewar the one inevitable fact. The young man had enlisted promptly and hadbeen in practically continuous service of one sort or another ever since. He had gone through desperate fighting, been four times wounded, and wasnow at last definitely eliminated from active service by a semi-paralyzedleg, the result of his last visit to "Blighty. " He had been invalided theprevious spring and had been sent to Australia on a recruiting mission. Here he had renewed his acquaintance with his cousins whom he had notseen for years and promptly fell in love with and married pretty NancyHallinger, his cousin Elinor's chum. 

The speedy wooing accomplished as well as the recruiting job which wasdispatched equally expeditiously and thoroughly Geoffrey prepared toreturn to France to get in some more good work against the Huns while hiswife planned to enter Red Cross service as a nurse for which she had beenin training for some time. Roderick had entered the Australian airservice and was already in Flanders where he had the reputation of beingone of the youngest and most reckless aviators flying which was sayingconsiderable. 

It was imperative that some arrangement be made for Elinor who obviouslycould not be left alone in Sydney. It was decided in family conclave thatshe should go to America and accept the often proffered hospitality ofher aunt for a time at least. A cable to this effect had been dispatchedto Mrs. Wright which as later appeared never reached that lady as she wasalready on her way to England and died there shortly after. 

Geoffrey had been exceedingly reluctant to have his young cousin take thelong journey alone though she had laughed at his fears and his wife hadabetted her in her disregard of possible disastrous consequences, tellinghim that women no longer required wrapping in tissue paper. The war hadchanged all that. 

At his insistence however Ruth had finally consented to wear her mother'swedding ring as a sort of shadowy protection. He had an idea that thesmall gold band, being presumptive evidence of an existing male guardiansomewhere in the offing might serve to keep away the ill intentioned orover bold from his lovely little heiress cousin about whom he worried tono small degree. 

They had gone their separate ways, he to the fierce fighting of May, nineteen hundred and sixteen, she to her long journey and subsequentstrange adventures. At first no one had thought it unnatural that theyheard nothing from Elinor. Letters went easily astray those days. Geoffrey was weeks without news even from his wife and poor Roderickwas by this time beyond communication of any kind, his name labeledwith that saddest of all tags--missing. It was not until Geoffrey wasout of commission with that last worst knock out, lying insensible, more dead than alive in a hospital "somewhere in France" that theothers began to realize that Elinor had vanished utterly from the kenof all who knew her. Some one who knew her by sight had chanced to seeher in California and had noted the wedding ring, hence the"unsubstantiated rumor" of her marriage in San Francisco, a rumor whichNancy half frantic over her husband's desperate illness was the onlyperson who was in a position to explain. 

When Geoffrey came slowly back to the land of the living it was to learnthat his cousin Roderick was still reported missing and that Elinor waseven more sadly and mysteriously vanished from the face of the earth inspite of all effort to discover her fate. It had been a tragic comingback for the sick man. But an Englishman is hard to down and gradually hegot back health and a degree of hope and happiness. There would be nomore fighting for him but the War Department assured him there wereplenty of other ways in which he could serve the cause and he hadreadily placed himself at their disposal for the recruiting work in whichhe had already demonstrated his power to success in Australia. 

Which brings us to the Canadian training camp and Ted Holiday. CaptainAnnersley had been asked as he had told Larry to speak to the boys. Hehad done so, given a little straight talk of what lay ahead of them andwhat they were fighting for, bade them get in a few extra licks for himsince he was out of it for good, done for, "crocked. " In conclusion hehad begged them give the Huns hell. It was all he asked of them and fromthe look of them he jolly well knew they would do it. 

While he was speaking he was aware all the time of a tall, blue-eyedyouth who stood leaning against a post with a kind of nonchalant grace. The boy's pose had been indolent but his eyes had been wide awake, earnest, responsive. Little by little the captain found himself talkingdirectly to the lad. What he was saying might be over the heads of someof them but not this chap's. He got you as the Americans say. He had thevision, would go wherever the speaker could take him. One saw that. 

Afterwards the boy had sought out the recruiter to ask if by any chancehe knew a girl named Elinor Ruth Farringdon. It had been rather atremendous moment for both of them. Each had plenty to say that the otherwanted to hear. But the full story had to wait. Corporal Holiday couldn'trun around loose even talking to a distinguished British officer. Therewould have to be special dispensation for that and special dispensationstake time in an army world. It would be forthcoming however--to-morrow. 

In the meantime Geoffrey Annersley had heard enough to want to know agreat deal more and thought he might as well make some inquiries on hisown. He wanted to find out who these American Holidays were, one of whomhad apparently saved his cousin Elinor's life and all of whom had, oneconcluded, been amazingly kind to her though the blue-eyed boy hadgracefully made light of that side of the thing in the brief synopsis ofevents he had had time to give to the Englishman. The captain had taken afancy to the narrator and was not averse to beginning his investigationas to the Holiday family with the young corporal himself. 

Accordingly he tackled the boy's commanding officer, a young colonel withwhom he chanced to be dining. The colonel was willing to talk andGeoffrey Annersley discovered that young Holiday was rather by way ofbeing a top-notcher. He had enlisted as a private only a short time agobut had been shot speedily into his corporalship. Time pressed. Officerswere needed. The boy was officer stuff. He wouldn't stay a corporal. Ifall went well he would go over as a sergeant. 

"We put him through though, just at first handled him rather nasty, " thecolonel admitted with a reminiscent twinkle. "We do put the Americansthrough somehow, though it isn't that we have any grudge against 'em. Wehaven't. We like 'em--most of 'em and we have to admit it's rather decentof them to be here at all when they don't have to. All the same we give'em an extra twist of the discipline crank on general principles just tosee what they are made of. We found out mighty quick with this youngster. He took it all and came back for more with a 'sir, ' and a salute and adevilish debonair, you-can't-down-me kind of grin that would havedisarmed a Turk. "

"He doesn't look precisely meek to me, " Annersley had said rememberingthe answering flash he had caught in those blue eyes when he was beggingthe boys to get in an extra lick against the Huns for his sake. 

"Meek nothing! He has more spirit than any cub we've had to get intoshape this many a moon. It isn't that. It is just that he has the rightidea, had it from the start however he came by it. You know what it is, captain. It is obedience, first, last and all the time, the will to bewilled. A soldier's job is to do what he is told whether he likes it ornot, whether it is his job or not, whether it makes sense or not, whetherhe gets his orders from a man he looks up to and respects or whether hegets them from a low down cur that he knows perfectly well isn't fit toblack his boots--none of that makes any difference. It is up to him to dowhat he is told and he does it without a kick if he's wise. Young Holidayis wise. He'd had his medicine sometime. One sees that. I don't know whyhe dropped down on us like a shooting star the way he did, some collegefiasco I understand. He doesn't talk about himself or his affairs thoughhe is a frank outspoken youngster in other ways. But there was a look inhis eyes when he came to us that most boys of twenty don't have, thankthe Lord! And it is that look or what is behind it that has made him acehigh here. That boy struck bottom somewhere and struck it hard. I'll betmy best belt on that. "

This interested Geoffrey Annersley. He thought he understood what thecolonel meant. There was something in Ted Holiday's eyes which betrayedthat he had already been under fire somehow. He had seen it himself. 

"He is as smart as they make 'em, " went on the colonel. "Quick as a flashto think and to see and to act, never loses his head. And he's a wonderwith the men, jollies 'em along when they are grousing or homesick, sets'em grinning from ear to ear when they are down-hearted, has a pat on theshoulder for this one and a jeer for that one. Old and young they areall crazy about him. They'd go anywhere he led. I tell you he's the stuffthat will take 'em over the top and make the boches feel cold in the pitof their fat tumtums when they see him coming. Lord, but the uselessnessof it though! He'll get killed. His kind always does. They are always infront. They are made that way. Can't help it. Sometimes they do comethrough though. " The colonel flashed a quick admiring glance at his guestwho had also been the kind that was always in front and yet had somehowby the grace of something come through in spite of the hazards he had runand the deaths he had all but died. "You are a living witness to thatlittle fact, " he added. "Lord love us! It's all in the game anyway and aman can die but once. "

The next day Corporal Holiday was given a brief leave of absence fromcamp at the request of the distinguished British officer. Together thetwo went over the strange story of Elinor Ruth Farringdon and theHolidays' connection with the later chapters thereof. They decided not towrite to the Hill as Annersley was planning to go to Boston next daywhence he was to return soon to England his mission accomplished, andcould easily stop over in Dunbury on his way and set things right inperson, perhaps even by his personal presence renew Ruth's memory ofthings she had forgotten. 

All through the pleasant dinner hour Ted kept wishing he could get thecaptain to talking about himself and his battle experiences and had noidea at all that he himself was being shrewdly studied as they talked. "Good breeding, good blood-quality, " the captain summed up. "If he is afair sample of young America then young America is a bit of all right. "And if he is a fair sample of the Holiday family then Elinor had indeedfallen into the best of hands. Praise be! He wondered more than once whatthe young-corporal's own story was, what was the nature of the fiascowhich had driven him into the Canadian training camp and what was behindthat unboyish look which came now and then into his boyish eyes. 

Later during the intimate evening over their cigarettes both had theircuriosity gratified. Captain Annersley was moved to relate some of hishair breadth escapes and thrilling moments to an alert and heroworshiping listener. And later still Ted too waxed autobiographical inresponse to some clever baiting of which he was entirely unaware thoughhe did wonder afterward how he had happened to tell the thing he had keptmost secret to an entire stranger. It was an immense relief to the boy totalk it all out. It would never haunt him again in quite the same way nowhe had once broken the barriers of his reserve. Geoffrey Annersley servedhis purpose for Ted as well as Larry Holiday. 

Annersley was immensely interested in the confession. It matched verywell he thought with that other story of a gallant young Holiday to whomhis cousin Elinor owed so much in more than one way. They were a queerlot these Holidays. They had the courage of their convictions and tiltedat windmills right valiantly it seemed. 

And then he fell to talking straight talk to Ted Holiday, saying thingsthat only a man who has lived deeply can say with any effect. He urgedthe boy not to worry about that smash of his. It was past history, overand done with. He must look ahead not back and be thankful he had comeout as well as he had. 

"There is just one other thing I want to say, " he added. "You think youhave had your lesson. Maybe it is enough but you'll find it a jolly loteasier to slip up over there than it is at home. You lose your sense ofvalues when there is death and damnation going all around you, get tofeeling you have a right to take anything that comes your way to even itup. Anyway I felt that way until I met the girl I wanted to marry. Thenthe rest looked almighty different. I've given Nancy the best I had togive but it wasn't good enough. She deserved more than I could give her. That is plain speaking, Holiday. Men say war excuses justify anything. Itdoesn't do anything of the sort. Some day you will be wanting to marry agirl yourself. Don't let anything happen in this next year over therethat you will regret for a life-time. That is a queer preachment and I'ma jolly rotten preacher. But somehow I felt I had to say it. You canremember it or forget it as you like. "

Ted lit another cigarette, looked up straight into Geoffrey Annersley'swar lined face. 

"Thank you, " he said. "I think I'll remember it. Anyway I appreciate yoursaying it to me that way. "

The subject dropped then, went back to war and how men feel on the edgeof death, of the unimportance of death anyway. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE PAST AND FUTURE MEET

Larry knocked at Ruth's door. It opened and a wan and patheticallydrooping little figure stood before him. Ever since she had been awakeRuth, had been haunted by that unwelcome bit of memory illumination whichhad come the night before. No wonder she drooped and scarcely dared tolift her eyes to her lover's face. But in a moment he had her in hisarms, a performance which banished the droop and brought a lovely colorback into the pale cheeks. 

"Larry, oh Larry, is it all right? I'm not his wife? He didn't marry me?"

Larry kissed her. 

"He didn't marry you. Nobody's going to marry you but me. No, I didn'tmean to say that now. Forget it, sweetheart. You are free, and if youwant to say so I'll let you go. If you don't want--"

"But I do want, " she interrupted. "I want Larry Holiday and he is all Iwant. Why won't you ever, ever believe I love you? I do, more thananything in the world. "

"You darling! Will you marry me? I shouldn't have asked you that othertime. I hadn't the right. But I have now. Will you, Ruth? I want you so. And I've waited so long. "

"Listen to me, Larry Holiday. " Ruth held up a small warning forefinger. "I'll marry you if you will promise never, never to be cross to me again. I have shed quarts of tears because you were so unkind and--faithless. Iought to make you do some terrible penance for thinking the money oranything but you mattered to me. Not even the wedding ring mattered. Itold you so but still you wouldn't believe. "

Larry shook his head remorsefully. 

"Rub it in, sweetheart, if you must. I deserve it. But don't you think Ihave had purgatory enough because I didn't dare believe to punish me foranything? As for the rest I know I've been behaving like a brute. I've adevil of a disposition and I've been half crazy anyway. Not that that isany excuse. But I'll behave myself in the future. Honest I will, Ruthie. All you have to do is to lift this small finger of yours--" He indicatedthe digit by a loverly kiss "and I'll be as meek and lowly as--as an ashcan, " he finished prosaically. 

Ruth's happy laughter rang out at this and she put up her lips for akiss. 

"I'll remember, " she said. "You're not a brute, Larry. You're a darlingand I love you--oh immensely and I'll marry you just as quick as ever Ican and we'll be so happy you won't ever remember you have adisposition. "

Another interim occurred, an interim occupied by things which arenobody's business and which anybody who has ever been in love can supplyad lib by exercise of memory and imagination. Then hand in hand the twowent down to where Geoffrey Annersley waited to bring back the past toElinor Farringdon. 

"Does he know me?" queried Ruth as they descended. 

"He surely does. He knows all there is to know about you, Miss ElinorRuth Farringdon. He ought to. He is your cousin and he married your bestfriend, Nan--"

"Wait!" cried Ruth excitedly, "it's coming back. He married NancyHollinger and she gave me some San Francisco addresses of some friends ofhers just before I sailed. They were in that envelope. I threw away theaddresses when I left San Francisco and tucked my tickets into it. Why, Larry, I'm remembering--really remembering, " she stopped short on thestairs to exclaim in a startled incredulous tone. 

"Of course you are remembering, sweetheart, " echoed Larry happily. "Comeon down and remember the rest with Annersley's help. He is some cousin. You'd better be prepared to be horribly proud of him. He is a captain andwears all kinds of honorable and distinguished dingle dangles anddecorations as well as a romantic limp and a magnificent gash on hischeek which he evidently didn't get shaving. "

Larry jested because he knew Ruth was growing nervous. He could feel hertremble against his arm. He was more than a little anxious as to theoutcome of the thing itself. The shock and the strain of meeting GeoffreyAnnersley were going to be rather an ordeal he knew. 

They entered the living room and paused on the threshold, Larry's armstill around the girl. Doctor Holiday and the captain both rose. Thelatter limped gallantly toward Ruth who stared at him an instant and thenflung herself away from Larry into the other man's arms. 

"Geoff! Geoff!" she cried. 

For a moment nothing more was said then Ruth drew herself away. 

"Geoffrey Annersley, why did you ever, ever make me wear that horridring?" she demanded reproachfully. "Larry and I could have married eachother months ago if you hadn't. It was the silliest idea anyway and it'sall your fault--everything. "

He laughed at that, a, big whole-souled hearty laugh that came from thedepths of him. 

"That sounds natural, " he said. "Every scrape you ever enticed me into asa kid was always my fault somehow. Are you real, Elinor? I can't helpthinking I am seeing a ghost. Do you really remember me?" anxiously. 

"Of course I remember you. Listen, Geoff. Listen hard. "

And unexpectedly Ruth pursed her pretty lips and whistled a merry, lilting bar of melody. 

"By Jove!" exulted the captain. "That does sound like old times. "

"Don't tell me I don't remember, " she flashed back happy and excitedbeyond measure at playing this new remembering game. "That was ourspecial call, yours and Rod's and mine. Oh Rod!" And at that all the joywent out of the eager, flushed face. She went back into her cousin'sarms again, sobbing in heart breaking fashion. The turning tide ofmemory had brought back wreckage of grief as well as joy. In GeoffreyAnnersley's arms Ruth mourned her brother's loss for the first time. Larry sent his uncle a quick look and went out of the room. The olderdoctor followed. Ruth and her cousin were left alone to pick up thedropped threads of the past. 

They all met again at luncheon however, Ruth rosy cheeked, excited andred-eyed but on the whole none the worse for her journey back into theland of forgotten things. As Larry had hoped the external stimulus ofactually seeing and hearing somebody out of that other life was enough tostart the train. What she did not yet remember Geoffrey supplied andlittle by little the past took on shape and substance and Elinor RuthFarringdon became once more a normal human being with a past as well as apresent which was dazzlingly delightful, save for the one dark blur ofher dear Rod's unknown fate. 

In the course of the conversation at table Geoffrey addressed his cousinas Elinor and was promptly informed that she wasn't Elinor and was Ruthand that he was to call her by that name or run the risk of beingdisapproved of very heartily. 

He laughed, amused at this. 

"Now I know you are real, " he said. "It is exactly the tone you used whenyou issued the contrary command and by Jove almost the same words exceptfor the reversed titles. 'Don't call me Ruth, Geoff, '" he mimicked. "'Iam not going to be Ruth any more. I am going to be Elinor. It is a muchprettier name. '"

"Well, I don't think so now, " retorted Ruth. "I've changed my mind again. I think Ruth is the nicest name there is because--well--" She blushedadorably and looked across the table at the young doctor, "because Larrylikes it, " she completed half defiantly. 

"Is that meant to be an official publishing of the bans?" teased hercousin when the laugh that Ruth's naïve confession had raised subsidedleaving Larry as well as Ruth a little hot of cheek. 

"If you want to call it that, " said Ruth. "Larry, I think you might saysomething, not leave me everything to do myself. Tell them we are engagedand are going to be married--"

"To-morrow, " put in Larry suddenly pushing back his chair and goingover to stand behind Ruth, a hand on either shoulder, facing theothers gallantly if obviously also embarrassedly over her shyly bentblonde head. 

The blonde head went up at that, and was shaken very decidedly. 

"No indeed. That isn't right at all, " she objected. "Don't listen to himanybody. It isn't going to be tomorrow. I've got to have a wedding dressand it takes at least a week to dream a wedding dress when it is the onlytime you ever intend to be married. I have all the otherthings--everything I need down to the last hair pin and powder puff. That's why I went to Boston. I knew I was going to want pretty clothesquick. I told Doctor Holiday so. " She sent a charming, half merry, halfdeprecating smile at the older doctor who smiled back. 

"She most assuredly did, " he corroborated. "I never suspected it was partof a deep laid plot however. I thought it was just femininity croppingout after a dull season. How was I to know it was because you wereplanning to run off with my assistant that you wanted all the gayplumage?" he teased. 

Ruth made a dainty little grimace at that. 

"That isn't a fair way to put it, " she declared. "If I had beenplanning to run away with Larry or he with me we would have done itmonths ago, plumage or no plumage. I wanted to but he wouldn't anyway, "she confessed. "I like this way much, much better though. I don't wantto be married anywhere except right here in the heart of the House onthe Hill. "

She slipped out of her chair and away from Larry's hands at that and wentover to where Doctor Philip sat. 

"May we?" she asked like a child asking permission to run out and play. 

"It is what we all want more than anything in the world, dear child, " hesaid. "You belong with Larry in our hearts as well as in the heart of theHouse. You know that, don't you?"

"I know you are the dearest man that ever was, not even excepting Larry. And I am going to kiss you, Uncle Phil, so there. I can call you thatnow, can't I? I've always wanted to. " And fitting the deed to the wordRuth bent over and gave Doctor Philip a fluttering little butterfly kiss. 

They rose from the table at that and Ruth was bidden go off to her roomand get a long rest after her too exciting morning. Larry soberlyrepaired to the office and received patients and prescribed gravely forthem just as if his inner self were not executing wild fandangoes of joy. Perhaps his patients did get a few waves of his happiness however forthere was not one of them who did not leave the office with greater hopeand strength and courage than he brought there. 

"The young doctor's getting to be a lot like his uncle, " one of them saidto his wife later. "Just the very touch of his hand made me feel bettertoday, sort of toned up as if I had had an electrical treatment. Queerhow human beings can shoot sparks sometimes. "

Not so queer. Larry Holiday had just been himself electrified by love andjoy. No wonder he had new power that day and was a better healer than hehad ever been before. 

In the living room Doctor Philip and Captain Annersley held converse. Thecaptain expressed his opinion that Ruth should go at once to Australia. 

"If her brother is dead as we have every reason to fear, Elinor--Ruth--isthe sole owner of an immense amount of property. The lawyers are aboutcrazy trying to keep things going without either Roderick or Ruth. Theyhave been begging me to come out and take charge of things for months butI haven't been able to see my way clear owing to one thing or another. Somebody will have to go at once and of course it should be Ruth. "

"How would it do for her and Laurence both to go?"

"Magnificent. I was hoping you would think that was a feasible project. They will be glad to have a man to represent the family. My cousin knowsnothing about the business end of the thing. She has always approached itexclusively from the spending side. Do you think your nephew would careto settle there?"

"Possibly, " said the Doctor. "That will develop later. They will have towork that out for themselves. I am rather sorry he is going to marry agirl with so much money but I suppose it cannot be helped. "

"Some people wouldn't look at it that way, Doctor Holiday, " grinned thecaptain. "But I am prepared to accept the fact that you Holidays are in aclass by yourselves. We have always been afraid that Elinor would be avictim of some miserable fortune hunter. I can't tell you what a reliefit is to have her marry a man like your nephew. I am only sorry he had togo through such a punishing period of suspense waiting for his happiness. Since there wasn't really the slightest obstacle I rather wish he had cuthis scruples and married her long ago. "

"I don't agreed with you, Captain Annersley. . They are neither of themworse off for waiting and being absolutely sure that this is what theyboth want. If he had taken the risk and married her when he knew hehadn't the full right to do it he would have been miserable and made hermore so. Larry is an odd chap. There is a morbid streak in him. Hewouldn't have forgiven himself if he had done it. And losing his ownself-respect would have been the worst thing that could have happened tohim. No amount of actual legality could have made up for starting out ona spiritually illegal basis. We Holidays have to keep on moderately goodterms with ourselves to be happy, " he added with a quiet smile. 

"I suppose you are right, " admitted the Englishman. "Anyway the thing isstraight and clear now. He has earned every bit of happiness that iscoming to him and I hope it is going to be a great deal. My own sense ofindebtness for all you Holidays have done for Ruth is enormous. I wishthere were some way of making adequate returns for it all. But it is toobig to be repaid. I may be able to keep an eye on your other nephew whenhe gets over. I certainly should like to. I don't know when I've takensuch a fancy to a lad. My word he is a ripping sort. "

"Ted?" Doctor Holiday smiled a little. "Well, yes, I suppose he is whatyou Britishers call ripping. It has been rather ripping in another sensebeing his guardian sometimes. "

"I judge so by his own account of himself. Yoxi mustn't let that smash ofhis worry you. He'll find something over there that will be worth ahundred times what any college can give him, and as for the rest half thelads of mettle in the world come to earth with a jolt over a girl sooneror later and they don't all rise up out of the dust as clean as he didby, a long shot. "

"So he told you about that affair? You must have gotten under his skinrather surprisingly Ted doesn't talk much about himself and I fancy hehasn't talked about that thing at all to any one. It went deep. "

"I know. He shows that in a hundred ways. But it hasn't crushed him ormade him reckless. It simply steadied him and I infer he needed somesteadying. "

Doctor Holiday nodded assent to that and asked if he thought the boy wasdoing well up there. 

"Not a doubt of it, " said the Englishman heartily. And he added a briefsynopsis of the things that the colonel had said in regard to hisyoungest corporal. 

"That is rather astonishing, " remarked Doctor Holiday. "Obediencehasn't ever been one of Ted's strong points. In fact he has been arebel always. "

"Most boys are until they perceive that there is sense instead of tyrannyin law. Your nephew has had that knocked into him rather hard and he isall the better for it tough as it was in the process. He is making goodup there. He will make good over seas. He is a born leader--a betterleader of men than his brother would be though maybe Larry is finerstuff. I don't know. "

"They are very different but I like to think they are both rather finestuff. Maybe that is my partial view but I am a bit proud of them both, Ted as well as Larry. "

"You have every reason, " approved the captain heartily. "I have seen agood many splendid lads in the last four years and these two measure upin a way which is an eye opener to me. In my stupid insular prejudicemaybe I had fallen to thinking that the particular quality that marksthem both was a distinctly British affair. Apparently you can breed it inAmerica too. I'm glad to see it and to own it. And may I say one otherthing, Doctor Holiday? I have the D. S. C. And a lot of other junk likethat but I'd surrender every bit of it this minute gladly if I thoughtthat I would ever have a son that would worship me the way those lads ofyours worship you. It is an honor any man might well covet. "

CHAPTER XXXVII

ALAN MASSEY LOSES HIMSELF

While Ruth and Larry steered their storm tossed craft of love into smoothhaven at last; while Ted came into his own in the Canadian training campand Tony played Broadway to her heart's content, the two Masseys down inMexico drifted into a strange pact of friendship. 

Had there been no other ministrations offered save those of creaturecomfort alone Dick would have had cause to be immensely grateful to AlanMassey. To good food, good nursing and material comfort the young manreacted quickly for he was a healthy young animal and had no bad habitsto militate against recovery. 

But there was more than creature comfort in Alan's service. Without thelatter's presence loneliness, homesickness and heartache would havegnawed at the younger man retarding his physical gains. With AlanMassey life even on a sick bed took on fascinating colors like a prismin sunlight. 

For the sick lad's delectation Alan spun long thrilling tales, many ofthem based on personal experience in his wide travels in many lands. Hewas a magnificent raconteur and Dick propped up among his pillows drankit all in, listening like another Desdemona to strange moving accidentsof fire and flood which his scribbling soul recognized as superb copy. 

Often too Alan read from books, called in the masters of the pen to setthe listener's eager mind atravel through wondrous, unexplored worlds. Best of all perhaps were the twilight hours when Alan quoted longpassages of poetry from memory, lending to the magic of the poet's arthis own magic of voice and intonation. These were wonderful moments toDick, moments he was never to forget. He drank deep of the soul vintagewhich the other man offered him out of the abundance of his experience asa life long pilgrim in the service of beauty. 

It was a curious relation--this growing friendship between the two men. In some respects they were as master and pupil, in others were as man andman, friend and friend, almost brother and brother. When Alan Massey gaveat all he gave magnificently without stint or reservation. He did now. And when he willed to conquer he seldom if ever failed. He did not now. He won, won first his cousin's liking, respect, and gratitude and finallyhis loyal friendship and something else that was akin to reverence. 

Tony Holiday's name was seldom mentioned between the two. Perhaps theyfeared that with the name of the girl they both loved there might returnalso the old antagonistic forces which had already wrought too muchhavoc. Both sincerely desired peace and amity and therefore the woman whoheld both their hearts in her keeping was almost banished from the talkof the sick room though she was far from forgotten by either. 

So things went on. In time Dick was judged by the physician well enoughto take the long journey back to New York. Alan secured the tickets, madeall the arrangements, permitting Dick not so much as the lifting of afinger in his own behalf. And just then came Tony Holiday's letter toAlan telling him she was his whenever he wanted her since he had clearedthe shield forever in her eyes by what he had done for Dick. She trustedhim, knew he would not ask her to marry him unless he was quite freemorally and every other way to ask her. She wanted him, could not besurer of his love or her own if she waited a dozen years. He meant moreto her than her work, more than her beloved freedom more even thanHoliday Hill itself although she felt that she was not so much desertingthe Hill as bringing Alan to it. The others would learn to love him too. They must, because she loved him so much! But even if they did not shehad made her choice. She belonged to him first of all. 

"But think, dear, " she finished. "Think well before you take me. Don'tcome to me at all unless you can come free, with nothing on your soulthat is going to prevent your being happy with me. I shall ask noquestions if you come. I trust you to decide right for us both becauseyou lave me in the high way as well as all the other ways. "

Alan took this letter of Tony's out into the night, walked with itthrough flaming valleys of hell. She was his. Of her own free will shehad given herself to him, placed him higher in her heart at last thaneven her sacred Hill. And yet after all the Hill stood between them, inthe challenge she flung at him. She was his to take if he could comefree. She left the decision to him. She trusted him. 

Good God! Why should he hesitate to take what she was willing to give? Hehad atoned, saved his cousin's life, lived decently, honorably as he hadpromised, kept faith with Tony herself when he might perhaps have won heron baser terms than he had made himself keep to because he loved her asshe said "in the high way as well as all the other ways. " He wouldcontrive some way of giving his cousin back the money. He did not wantit. He only wanted Tony and her love. Why in the name of all the devilsshould he who had sinned all his life, head up and eyes open, balk atthis one sin, the negative sin of mere silence, when it would give himwhat he wanted more than all the world? What was he afraid of? The answerhe would not let himself discover. He was afraid of Tony Holiday's cleareyes but he was more afraid of something else--his own soul which somehowTony had created by loving and believing in him. 

All the next day, the day before they were to leave on the northernjourney, Alan behaved as if all the devils of hell which he had invokedwere with him. The old mocking bitterness of tongue was back, an evenmore savage light than Dick remembered that night of their quarrel was inhis green eyes. The man was suddenly acidulated as if he had over nightsuffered a chemical transformation which had affected both mind and body. A wild beast tortured, evil, ready to pounce, looked out of his drawn, white face. 

Dick wondered greatly what had caused the strange reaction and seeingthe other was suffering tremendously for some reason or otherunexplained and perhaps inexplicable was profoundly sorry. Hisfriendship for the man who had saved his life was altogether too strongand deep to be shaken by this temporary lapse into brutality which hehad known all along was there although held miraculously in abeyancethese many weeks. The man was a genius, with all the temperamentalfluctuations of mood which are comprehensible and forgivable in agenius. Dick did not begrudge the other any relief he might find in hisdebauch of ill humor, was more than willing he should work it off on hishumble self if it could do any good though he would be immenselyrelieved when the old friendly Alan came back. 

Twilight descended. Dick turned from the mirror after a critical surveyof his own lean, fever parched, yellow countenance. 

"Lord! I look like a peanut, " he commenced disgustedly. "I say, Massey, when we get back to New York I think I should choke anybody if I were youwho dared to say we looked alike. One must draw the line somewhere atwhat constitutes a permissible insult. " He grinned whimsically at his ownexpense, turned back to the mirror. "Upon my word, though, I believe itis true. We do look alike. I never saw it until this minute. Funnythings--resemblances. "

"This isn't so funny, " drawled Alan. "We had the same great grandfather. "

Dick whirled about staring at the other man as if he thought himsuddenly gone mad. 

"What! What do you know about my great grandfather? Do you knowwho I am?"

"I do. You are John Massey, old John's grandson, the chap I told you oncewas dead and decently buried. I hoped it was true at the time but itwasn't a week before I knew it was a lie. I found out John Massey wasalive and that he was going under the name of Dick Carson. Do you wonderI hated you?"

Dick sat down, his face white. He looked and was utterly dazed. 

"I don't understand, " he said. "Do you mind explaining? It--it is alittle hard to get all at once. "

And then Alan Massey told the story that no living being save himselfknew. He spared himself nothing, apologised for nothing, expressed noregret, asked for no palliation of judgment, forgiveness or evenunderstanding. Quietly, apparently without emotion, he gave back to theother man the birthright he had robbed him of by his selfish anddishonorable connivance with a wicked old man now beyond the power of anyvengeance or penalty. Dick Carson was no longer nameless but as helistened tensely to his cousin's revelations he almost found it in hisheart to wish he were. It was too terrible to have won his name at such acost. As he listened, watching Alan's eyes burn in the dusk in strangecontrast to his cool, liquid, studiously tranquil voice, Dick remembereda line Alan himself had read him only the other day, "Hell, the shadow ofa soul on fire, " the Persian phrased it. Watching, Dick Carson saw beforehim a sadder thing, a soul which had once been on fire and was now butgray ashes. The flame had blazed up, scorched and blackened its path. Itwas over now, burnt out. At thirty-three Alan Massey was through, hadlived his life, had given up. The younger man saw this with a pang whichhad no reactive thought of self, only compassion for the other. 

"That is all, I think, " said Alan at last. "I have all the proofs of youridentity with me. I never could destroy them somehow though I have meantto over and over again. On the same principle I suppose that the sinningmonk sears the sign of the cross on his breast though he makes no outwardconfession to the world and means to make none. I never meant to makemine. I don't know why I am doing it now. Or rather I do. I couldn'tmarry Tony with this thing between us. I tried to think I could, that I'dmade up to you by saving your life, that I was free to take my happinesswith her because I loved her and she loved me. And she does love me. Shewrote me yesterday she would marry me whenever I wished. I could have hadher. But I couldn't take her that way. I couldn't have made her happy. She would have read the thing in my soul. She is too clean and honest andtrue herself not to feel the presence of the other thing when it camenear her. I have tried to tell myself love was enough, that it would makeup to her for the rest. It isn't enough. You can't build life orhappiness except on the quarry stuff they keep on Holiday Hill, right, honor, decency. You know that. Tony forgave my past. I believe she isgenerous enough to forgive even this and go on with me. But I shan't askher. I won't let her. I--I've given her up with the rest. "

The speaker came over to where Dick sat, silent, stunned. 

"Enough of that. I have no wish to appeal to you in any way. The nextmove is yours. You can act as you please. You can brand me as acriminal if you choose. It is what I am, guilty in the eyes of the lawas well as in my own eyes and yours. I am not pleading innocence. I ampleading unqualified guilt. Understand that clearly. I knew what I wasdoing when I did it. I have known ever since. I've never been blind tothe rottenness of the thing. At first I did it for the money because Iwas afraid of poverty and honest work. And then I went on with it forTony, because I loved her and wouldn't give her up to you. Now I'vegiven up the last ditch. The name is yours and the money is yours andif you can win Tony she is yours. I'm out of the face for good and all. But we have to settle just how the thing is going to be done. And thatis for you to say. "

"I wish I needn't do anything about it, " said Dick slowly after a moment. "I don't want the money. I am almost afraid of it. It seems accursedsomehow considering what it did to you. Even the name I don't seem tocare so much about just now thought I have wanted a name as I have neverwanted anything else in the world except Tony. It was mostly for her Iwanted it. See here, Alan, why can't we make a compromise? You sayRoberts wrote two letters and you have both. Why can't we destroy the oneand send the other to the lawyers, the one that lets you out? It isnobody's business but ours. We can say that the letter has just falleninto your hands with the other proof that I am the John Massey that wasstolen. That would straighten the thing out for you. I've no desire tobrand you in any way. Why should I after all I owe you? You have made upa million times by saving my life and by the way you have given the thingover now. Anyway one doesn't exact payment from one's friends. And youare my friend, Alan. You offered me friendship. I took it--was proud totake it. I am proud now, prouder than ever. "

And rising Dick Carson who was no longer Dick Carson but John Massey heldout his hand to the man who had wronged him so bitterly. The paraquet inthe corner jibbered harshly. Thunder rumbled heavily outside. An eerilyvivid flash of lightning dispelled for a moment the gloom of the dusk asthe two men clasped hands. 

"John Massey!" Alan's voice with its deep cello quality was vibrant withemotion. "You don't know what that means to me. Men have called me manythings but few have ever called me friend except in lip service for whatthey thought they could get out of it. And from you--well, I can onlysay, I thank you. "

"We are the only Masseys. We ought to stand together, " said Dick simply. 

Alan smiled though the room was too dark for Dick to see. 

"We can't stand together. I have forfeited the right. You chose the highroad long ago and I chose the other. We have both to abide by ourchoices. We can't change those things at will. Spare me the publicrevelation if you care to. I shall be glad for Tony's sake. For myself itdoesn't matter much. I don't expect to cross your path or hers again. Iam going to lose myself. Maybe some day you will win her. She will beworth the winning. But don't hurry her if you want to win. She will haveto get over me first and that will take time. "

"She will never get over you, Alan. I know her. Things go deep with her. They do with all the Holidays. You shan't lose yourself. There is no needof it. Tony loves you. You must stay and make her happy. You can now youare free. She need never know the worst of this any more than the rest ofthe world need know. We can divide the money. It is the only way I amwilling to have any of it. "

Alan shook his head. 

"We can divide nothing, not the money and not Tony's love. I told you Iwas giving it all up. You cannot stop me. No man has ever stopped me fromdoing what I willed to do. I have a letter or two to write now and soI'll leave you. I am glad you don't hate me, John Massey. Shall we shakehands once more and then--good-night?"

Their hands met again. A sharp glare of lightning lit the room withominous brilliancy for a moment. The paraquet screamed raucously. Andthen the door closed on Alan Massey. 

An hour later a servant brought word to Dick that an American was belowwaiting to speak to him. He descended with the card in his hand. The namewas unfamiliar, Arthur Hallock of Chicago, mining engineer. 

The stranger stood in the hall waiting while Dick came down the stairs. He was obviously ill at ease. 

"I am Hallock, " announced the visitor. "You are Richard Carson?"

Dick nodded. Already the name was beginning to sound strange on his ears. In one hour he had gotten oddly accustomed to knowing that he was JohnMassey. And no longer needed Tony's name, dear as it was. 

"I am sorry to be the bearer of ill news, Mr. Carson, " the strangerproceeded. "You have a friend named Alan Massey living here with you?"

Again Dick nodded. He was apprehensive at the mention of Alan's name. 

"There was a riot down there. " The speaker pointed down the street. "Afuss over an American flag some dirty German dog had spit at. It didn'ttake long to start a life sized row. We are all spoiling for a chance tostick a few of the pigs ourselves whether we're technically at war ornot. A lot of us collected, your friend Massey among the rest. Iremember particularly when he joined the mob because he was so muchtaller than the rest of us and came strolling in as if he was going toan afternoon tea instead of getting into an international mess withnearly all the contracting parties drunk and disorderly. There was agood deal of excitement and confusion. I don't believe anybody knowsjust what happened but a drunken Mexican drew a dagger somewhere in themix up and let it fly indiscriminate like. We all scattered likemischief when we saw the thing flash. Nobody cares much for that kind ofplaything at close range. But Massey didn't move. It got him, clean inthe heart. He couldn't have suffered a second. It was all over in abreath. He fell and the mob made itself scarce. Another fellow and Iwere the first to get to him but there wasn't anything to do but look inhis pockets and find out who he was. We found his name on a card withthis address and your name scribbled on it in pencil. I say, Mr. Carson, I am horribly sorry, " suddenly perceiving Dick's white face. "You care alot, don't you?"

"I care a lot, " said Dick woodenly. "He was my cousin and--my bestfriend. "

"I am sorry, " repeated the young engineer. "Mr. Carson, there issomething else I feel as if I had to say though I shan't say it to anyone else. Massey might have dodged with the rest of us. He saw it comingjust as we did. He waited for it and I saw him smile as it came--a queersmile at that. Maybe I'm mistaken but I have a hunch he wanted thatdagger to find him. That was why he smiled. "

"I think you are entirely right, Mr. Hallock, " said Dick. "I haven't anydoubt but that was why he smiled. He would smile just that way. Where--where is he?" Dick brushed his hands across his eyes as he asked thequestion. He had never felt so desolate, so utterly alone in his life. 

"They are bringing him here. Shall I stay? Can I help anyway?"

Dick shook his head sadly. 

"Thank you. I don't think there is anything any one can do. I--I wishthere was. "

A little later Alan Massey's dead body lay in austere dignity in thehouse in which he had saved his cousin's life and given him back his nameand fortune together with the right to win the girl he himself had lovedso well. The smile was still on his face and a strange serenity ofexpression was there too. He slept well at last. He had lost himself ashe had proclaimed his intent to do and in losing had found himself. Onecould not look upon that calm white sculptured face without feeling that. Alan Massey had died a victor undaunted, a master of fate to the end. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE SONG IN THE NIGHT

Tony Holiday sat in the dressing room waiting her cue to go on the stage. It was only a rehearsal however. Miss Clay was back now and Tony was oncemore the humble understudy though with a heart full of happy knowledge ofwhat it is like to be a real actress with a doting public at her feet. 

While she waited she picked up a newspaper and carelessly scanned itspages. Suddenly to the amazement and consternation of the other girl whowas dressing in the same room she uttered a sharp little cry and for thefirst time in her healthy young life slid to the floor in a mercifulfaint. Her frightened companion called for help instantly and it was onlya moment before Tony's brown eyes opened and she pulled herself up fromthe couch where they had laid her. But she would not speak or tell themwhat had happened and it was only when they had gotten her off in a cabwith a motherly, big hearted woman who played shrew's and villainess'parts always on the stage but was the one person of the whole cast towhom every one turned in time of trouble that the rest searched the paperfor the clew to the thing which had made Tony look like death itself. Itwas not far to seek. Tony looked like death because Alan Massey was dead. 

They all knew Alan Massey and knew that he and Tony Holiday were intimatefriends, perhaps even betrothed. More than one of them had seen andremembered how he had kissed her before them all on the night of Tony'sfirst Broadway triumph and some of them had wondered why he had not beenseen since with her. So he had been in Mexico and now he was dead, hisheart pierced by a Mexican dagger. And Tony--Tony of the gay tongue andthe quick laughter--had the dagger gone into her heart too? It looked so. The "End of the Rainbow" cast felt very sad and sober that day. Theyloved Tony and just now she was not an actress to them but a girl who hadloved a man, a man who was dead. 

Jean Lambert telegraphed at once for Doctor Holiday to come to Tony whowas in a bad way. She wouldn't talk. She wouldn't eat. She did not sleep. She did not cry. Jean thought if she cried her grief would not have beenso pitiful to behold. It was the stony, white silence of her that wasintolerable to witness. 

In her uncle's arms Tony's terrible calm gave way and she sobbed herselfto utter weariness and finally to sleep. But even to him she would nottalk much about Alan. He had not known Alan. He had neverunderstood--never would understand now how wonderful, how lovable, howsplendid her lover had been. For several days she was kept in bed and thedoctor hardly left her. It was a hard time for him as well as hisstricken niece. Even their love for each other did not serve to lightenthe pain to any great extent. It was not the same sorrow they had. DoctorHoliday was suffering because his little girl suffered. Tony wassuffering because she loved Alan Massey who would never come to heragain. Neither could entirely share the grief of the other. Alan Masseywas between them still. 

Finally Dick came and was able to give what Doctor Philip could not. Hecould sing Alan's praises, tell her how wonderful he had been, howgenerous and kind. He could share her grief as no one else could becausehe had learned to love Alan Massey almost as well as she did herself. 

Dick talked freely of Alan, told her of the strange discovery which theyhad made that he and Alan were cousins and that he himself was JohnMassey, the kidnapped baby whom he had been so sorry for when he hadlooked up the Massey story at the time of the old man's death. Dick wasnot an apt liar but he lied gallantly now for Alan's sake and for Tony's. He told her that it was only since Alan had been in Mexico that he hadknown who his cousin was and had immediately possessed the other of thefacts and turned over to him the proofs of his identity as John Massey. 

It was a good lie, well conceived and well delivered but the liar had notreckoned on that fatal Holiday gift of intuition. Tony listened to thestory, shut her eyes and thought hard for a moment. Then she opened hereyes again and looked straight at Dick. 

"That is not the truth, " she said. "Alan knew before he went to Mexico. He knew long before. That was the other ghost--the one he could not lay. Don't lie to me. I know. "

And then yielding to her command Dick began again and told her the truth, serving Alan's memory well by the relation. One thing only he kept back. After all he had no proof that the young engineer had been right in hisconjecture that Alan had wanted the dagger to find him. There was no needof hurting Tony with that. 

"Dick--I can't call you John yet. I can't even think about you to-nightthough I am so thankful to have you back safe and well. I can't be gladyet for you. I can't remember any one but Alan. You will forgive me, Iknow. But tell me. It was a terrible thing he did to you. Do you forgivehim really?" The girl's deep shadowed eyes searched the young man's face, challenging him to speak the truth and only that. 

He met the challenge willingly. He had nothing to conceal here. Tonymight read him through and through and she would find in him neither hatenor rancor, nor condemnation. 

"Of course I forgive him, Tony. He did a terrible thing to me you say. He did a much more terrible thing to himself. And he made up foreverything over and over by what he did for me in Mexico. He might havelet me die. I should have died if he had not come. There is no doubt inthe world of that. He could not have done more if he had been my ownbrother. He meant me to like him. He did more. He made me love him. Hewas my friend. We parted as friends with a handshake which was hisgood-by though I didn't know it. "

It was a fatal speech. Too late Dick realized it as he saw Tony's face. 

"Dick, he meant to let himself get killed. I've thought so all along andnow I know you think so too. "

"I didn't mean to let that out. Maybe I am mistaken. We shall never know. But I believe he was not sorry to let the dagger get him. He had given upeverything else. It wasn't so hard for him to give up the one thingmore--the thing he didn't want anyway--life. Life wasn't much to himafter he gave you up, Tony. His love was the biggest thing about him. Ilove you myself but I am not ashamed to say that his love was a biggerthing than mine every way, finer, more magnificent, the love of a geniuswhereas mine is just the love of an every day man. It was love thatsaved him. "

"Dick, do you believe that the real Alan is dust--nothing but dust downin a grave?" demanded Tony suddenly. 

"No, Tony, I don't. I can't. The essence of what was best in him is alivesomewhere. I know it. It must be. His love for you--for all beauty--theycouldn't die, dear. They were big enough to be immortal. "

"And his dancing, " sighed Tony. "His dancing couldn't die. It had asoul. "

If she had not been sure already that Alan had meant to go out of herlife even if he had not meant to go to his death when he left New Yorkshe would have been convinced a little later. Alan's Japanese servantbrought two gifts to her from his honorable master according to hishonorable master's orders should he not return from his journey. Hishonorable master being unfortunately dead his unworthy servant laid thegifts at Mees Holiday's honorable feet. Whereupon the bearer had departedas quietly as death itself might come. 

One of the gifts was a picture, a painting which Tony had seen, and whichwas she thought the most beautiful of all his beautiful creations. Itssheer loveliness would have hurt her even if it had had no othersignificance and it did have a very real message. 

At first sight the whole scene seemed enveloped in translucent, silvermist. As one looked more closely however there was revealed the figure ofa man, black clad in pilgrim guise, kneeling on the verge of aprecipitous cliff which rose out of a seemingly bottomless abyss ofterrific blackness. Though in posture of prayer the pilgrim's head waslifted and his face wore an expression of rapt adoration. Above a filmof fog in the heavens stretched a clear space of deep blue black sky inwhich hung a single luminous star. From the star a line of golden lightof unearthly radiance descended and finding its way to the upliftedtransfigured face of the kneeling pilgrim ended there. 

Tony Holiday understood, got the message as clearly as if Alan himselfstood beside her to interpret it. She knew that he was telling herthrough the picture that she had saved his soul, kept him out of theabyss, that to the end she was what he had so often called her--his star. 

With tear blinded eyes she turned from the canvas to the little silverbox which the servant had placed in her hands together with a sealedenvelope. In the box was a gorgeous, unset ruby, the gem of Alan'scollection as Tony well knew having worshiped often at its shrine. It laythere now against the austere purity of its white satin background--thesymbol of imperishable passion. 

Reverently Tony closed the little box and opened the sealed envelopedreading yet longing to know its contents. Alan had sent her no word offarewell, had not written to her that night before he went out into thestorm to meet his death, had made no response to the letter she herselfhad written offering herself and her love and faith for his taking. Atfirst these things had hurt her. But these gifts of his were beginning tomake her understand his silence. Selfish and spectacular all his life athis death Alan Massey had been surpassingly generous and simple. He hadchosen to bequeath his love to her not as an obsession and a bondage butas an elemental thing like light and air. 

The message in the envelope was in its way as impersonal as the ruby hadbeen but Tony found it more hauntingly personal than she had ever foundhis most impassioned love letter. Once more the words were couched in thesymbol tongue of the poet in India--in only two sentences, but sentencesso poignant that they stamped themselves forever on Tony Holiday's mindas they stood out from the paper in Alan's beautiful, strikinghandwriting. 

"When the lighted lamp is brought into the room I shall go. And then perhaps you will listen to the night, and hear my song when I am silent. "

The lines were dated on that unforgettable night when Tony had playedBroadway and danced her last dance with her royal lover. So he had knowneven then that he was giving her up. Realizing this Tony realized as shenever had before the high quality of his love. She could guess a littleof what that night had meant to him, how passionately he must havedesired to win through to the full fruition of his love before he gaveher up for all the rest of time. And she herself had been mad that nightTony remembered. Ah well! He had been strong for them both. And now theirlove would always stay upon the high levels, never descend to the ways ofearth. There would never be anything to regret, though Tony loving herlover's memory as she did that moment was not so sure but she regrettedthat most of all. 

Yet tragic as Alan's death was and bitterly and sincerely as she mournedhis loss Tony could see that he had after all chosen the happiest wayout for himself as well as for her and his cousin. It was not hard toforgive a dead lover with a generous act of renunciation his last deed. It would have been far less easy to forgive a living lover with such astain upon his life. Even though he tried to wash it away by hissurrender and she by her forgiveness the stain would have remainedineradicable. There would always have been a barrier between them forall his effort and her own. 

And his love would ill have borne denial or frustration. Without her hewould have gone down into dark pits if he had gone on living. Perhaps hehad known and feared this himself, willing to prevent it at any cost. Perhaps he had known that so long as he lived she, Tony, would never havebeen entirely her own again. His bondage would have been upon her even ifhe never saw her again. Perhaps he had elected death most of all for thisreason, had loved her well enough to set her free. He had told her oncethat love was twofold, a force of destruction and damnation but also aforce of purification and salvation. Alan had loved her greatly, perhapsin the end his love had taken him in his own words "to the gate ofHeaven. " Tony did not know but she thought if there really was a God hewould understand and forgive the soul of Alan Massey for that lastsplendid sacrifice of his in the name of love. 

And whatever happened Tony Holiday knew that she would bear forever themark of Alan Massey's stormy, strange, and in the end all-beautiful love. Perhaps some day the lighted lamp might be brought in. She did not know, would not attempt to prophesy about that. She did not know that she wouldalways listen to the night for Alan Massey's sake and hear his songthough he was silent forever. 

The next day Richard Carson officially disappeared from the world andJohn Massey appeared in his place. The papers made rather a strikingstory of his romantic history and its startling denouement which hadcome they said through the death bed confessions of the man Roberts whichhad only just reached the older Massey's hands, strangely enough on theeve of his own tragic death, which was again related to make the tale alittle more of a thriller. That was all the world knew, was ever to knowfor the Holidays and John Massey kept the dead man's secret well. 

And the grass grew green on Alan Massey's grave. The sun and dew and rainlaid tender fingers upon it and great crimson and gold hearted rosesstrewed their fragrant petals upon it year by year. The stars he hadloved so well shone down upon the lonely spot where his body slept quietat last after the torment of his brief and stormy life. But otherwise, asJohn Massey and Tony Holiday believed, his undefeated spirit fared onsplendidly in its divine quest of beauty. 

CHAPTER XXXIX

IN WHICH THE TALE ENDS IN THE HOUSE ON THE HILL

The winter had at last decided to recapture its forsaken role of the SnowKing. For two days and as many nights the air had been one swirl of snowwhich shut out earth and sky. But on the third morning the Hill woke to adazzling world of cloudless blue and trackless white. A resplendentbride-like day it was and fitly so for before sundown the old House onthe Hill was to know another bride. Elinor Ruth Farringdon's affairsrequired her immediate attention in Australia and she was leavingto-night for that far away island which was again now dear to her heartas the home of her happy childhood, the memory of which had now allreturned after months of strange obliteration. But she would not go asElinor Ruth Farringdon. That name was to be shed as absolutely as herrecollection of it had once been shed. She would go as Mrs. LaurenceHoliday with a real wedding ring all her own and a real husband also allher own by her side. 

There were to be no guests outside the family except for the Lamberts, Carlotta and Dick--John Massey, as they were now trying to learn to callhim. The wedding was to be very quiet not only because of Granny butbecause they were all very pitiful of Tony's still fresh grief, the moreso because she bore it so bravely and quietly, anxious lest she cast anyshadow upon the happiness of the others, especially that of Larry andRuth. In any case a quiet wedding would have been the choice of the twowho were most concerned. They wanted only their near and dear about themwhen they took upon themselves the rites which were to unite them for therest of their two lives. 

Aside from Tony's sorrow the only two regrets which marred the householdjoy that bride white day were Ted's absence and imminent departure forFrance and that other even soberer remembrance of that other gallantyoung soldier, Ruth's brother Roderick of whom no news had come, thoughRuth insisted that Rod wasn't dead, that he would came back just as hervivid memory of him had returned. 

And it happened that her faith was rewarded and on the very day of dayswhen one drop more of happiness made the cup fairly spill over. Larry wassummoned to the telephone just as he had been once before on a certainmemorable occasion to be told that a cabled message awaited him. Themessage was from Geoffrey Annersley and bore besides his love andcongratulations the wonderful news that Roderick Farringdon had escapedfrom a German prison camp and was safe in England. 

Ruth shed many happy tears over this best of all bridal gifts, not enoughto dim the shining blue of her eyes but enough to give them a lovely, misty tenderness which made her sweeter than ever Larry thought, and whoshould have magic eyes if not a bridegroom?

A little later came Carlotta and Dick, the latter well and strong againbut thin and pale and rather sober. Tony loved him for grieving for Alanas she knew he did. He too had known and loved the dead man andunderstood him perhaps better than she had herself. For after all no manand woman can ever fully understand each other especially if they are inlove. So many faint nuances of doubt and fear and pride and passion andjealousy are forever drifting between lovers obscuring clarity of vision. 

Carlotta was prettier than ever with a new sweetness and womanlinesswhich her love had wrought in her during the year. People who had knownher mother said she was growing daily more like Rose though always beforethey had traced a greater resemblance to the other side of the house, toher Aunt Lottie particularly. She and Philip were to be married in thespring. "When the orioles come" Carlotta had said remembering herfather's story of that other brief mating. 

Tony and Carlotta slipped away from the others to talk bythemselves. Carlotta too had known and liked Alan and to all suchTony clung just now. 

"He was so different at the end, " she said to her friend. "I wish youcould have known him that way--so dear and gentle and wonderful. He kepthis promise everyway, lived absolutely straight and clean and fine. "

"He did it for you, Tony. He never could have done it for himself. Hewouldn't have thought it worth while. Don't tell me if you don't want tobut I have guessed a good many things since I knew about Dick and I havewondered if he wasn't rather glad--to get killed. "

"Yes, Dick thinks and I think too that he let the dagger find him. Ihave always called him my royal lover. His death was the most royalpart of all. "

Carlotta was silent. She hoped that somewhere Alan was finding thehappiness he seemed always to have missed on earth. Then seeing herfriend's lovely eyes with the heavy shadow in them where there had beenonly sunshine before her heart rebelled. Poor Tony! Why must she sufferlike this? She was so young. Was life really over for her? For Carlottain her own happiness life and love were synonymous terms. Something ofwhat was in her mind she said to her friend. 

"I don't know, " confessed Tony. "It is too soon to tell. Just now Alanfills every nook and cranny of me. I can't think of any other man orimagine myself loving anybody else as I loved him. But I am a very muchalive person. I don't believe I shall give myself to death forever. Alanhimself wouldn't want it so. A part of me will always be his but thereare other margins of me that Alan never touched and these maybe I shallgive to some one else when the time comes. "

"Does that mean Dick--John Massey?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I have told him not to speak of love for a long, longtime. We must both be free. He is going to France as a war correspondentnext week. "

"Don't you hate to have him go?"

"Yes, I do. But I can't be selfish enough to keep him hanging round meforever on the slim chance that some time I shall be willing to marryhim. He is too fine to be treated like that. He wants to go overseasunless I will marry him now and I can't do that. It is better that weshould be apart for a while. As for me I have my work and I am going toplunge into it as deep and hard as I can. I am not going to be unhappy. You can't be unhappy when you love your work as I love mine. Don't besorry for me, Carlotta. I am not sorry for myself. Even if I never lovedagain and never was loved I should still have had enough for a life time. It is more than many women have, more than I deserve. "

The bride white day wore on to twilight and as the clock struck the hourof five Ruth Farringdon came down the broad oak staircase clad in theshining splendor of the bridal gown she had "dreamed, " wearing hergrandmother's pearls and the lace veil which Larry's lovely mother hadworn as Ned Holiday's bride long and long ago. At the foot of the stairsLarry waited and took her hand. Eric and Hester flanking the living roomdoor pushed aside the curtains for the two who still hand in hand walkedpast the children into the room where the others were assembled. Gravelyand brimming with importance the guard of honor followed, the latterbearing the bride's bouquet, the former squeezing the wedding ring in hissmall fist. Ruth took her place beside the senior doctor. The ministeropened his mouth to proceed with the ceremony, shut it again with alittle gasp. 

For suddenly the curtains were swept aside again, this time with abreezier and less stately sweep and Ted Holiday in uniform and sergeant'sregalia plunged into the room, a thinner, browner, taller Ted, with a newkind of dignity about him but withal the same blue-eyed lad with the oldheart warming smile, still always Teddy the beloved. 

"Don't mind me, " he announced. "Please go on. " And he slipped intoa place beside Tony drawing her hand in his with a warm pressure ashe did so. 

They went on. Laurence LaRue Holiday and Elinor Ruth Farringdon were mademan and wife till death did them part. The old clock on the mantel whichhad looked down on these two on a less happy occasion looked on still, ticking away calmly, telling no tales and asking no questions. What was amarriage more or less to time?

The ceremony over it was the newly arrived sergeant rather than the brideand groom who was the center of attraction and none were better pleasedthan Larry and Ruth to have it so. 

It was a flying visit on Ted's part. He had managed to secure a lastminute leave just before sailing from Montreal at which place he had toreport the day after to-morrow. 

"So let's eat, drink, and be merry, " he finished his explanation gayly. "But first, please, Larry, may I kiss the bride?"

"Go to it, " laughed his brother. "I'm so hanged glad to see you Kid, I'vehalf a mind to kiss you myself. "

Needing no further urging Ted availed himself of the proffered privilegeand kissed the bride, not once but three times, once on each rosy cheek, and last full on her pretty mouth itself. 

"There!" he announced standing off to survey her, both her hands still inhis possession. "I've always wanted to do that and now I've done it. Ifeel better. "

Everybody laughed at that not because what he said was so veryamusing as because their hearts were so full of joy to have theirrepressible youngest Holiday at home again after the long anxiousweeks of his absence. 

Under cover of the laugh he whispered in Ruth's ear, "Gee! But I'mglad you are all right again, sweetness. And your Geoffrey Annersleyis some peach of a cousin, I'm telling you, though I'm confoundedlyglad he decided he was married to somebody else and left the coastclear for Larry. "

He squeezed her hand again, a pressure which meant more than his wordsas Ruth knew and then he turned to Larry. The hands of the two brothersmet and each looked into the other's face, for once unashamed of theemotion that mastered them. Characteristically Ted was the first torecover speech. 

"Larry, dear old chap, I wish I could tell you how happy I am that ithas come out so ripping right for you and Ruth. You deserve all the luckand love in the world. I only wish mother and dad could be here now. Maybe they are. I believe they must know somehow. Dad seems awfully closeto me lately especially since I've been in this war business. " Thenseeing Larry's face shadow he added, "And you mustn't worry about me, oldman. I am going to come through and it is all right anyway whateverhappens. You know yourself death isn't so much--not such a horriblecalamity as we talk as if it were. "

"I know. But it is horribly hard to reconcile myself to your going. Ican't seem to make up my mind to accept it especially as you needn'thave gone. "

"Don't let that part bother you. The old U. S. A. Will be in it herselfbefore you know it and then I'd have gone anyway. Nothing would have keptme. What is the odds? I am glad to be getting in on the front row myself. I am going to be all right I tell you. Going to have a bully time andwhen we have the Germans jolly well licked I'm coming home and find me aspretty a wife as Ruth if there is one to be found in America and marryher quick as lightning. "

Larry smiled at that. It was so like Ted it was good to hear. Andirrationally enough he found himself more than a little reassured andcomforted because the other lad declared he was going to be all right andhave a bully time and come back safe when the job was done. 

"And I say, Larry. " Ted's voice was soberer now. "I have always wantedto tell you how I appreciated your standing by me so magnificently inthat horrible mess of mine. I wouldn't have blamed you if you had feltlike throwing me over for life after my being such a tarnation idiotand disgracing the family like that. I'll never forget how white you andUncle Phil both were about it every way and maybe you won't believe itbut there'll never be anything like that again. There are some thingsI'm through with--at least if I'm not I'm even more of a fool than Ithink I am. "

"Don't, Ted. I haven't been such a model of virtue and wisdom that I canafford to sit in judgment on you. I've learned a few things myself thisyear and I am not so cock sure in my views as I was by a long shot. Anyway you have more than made up by what you have done since and whatyou are going to do over there. Let's forget the rest and just rememberthat we are both Holidays, and it is up to both of us to measure up toDad and Uncle Phil, far as we can. "

"Some stunt, what?" Thus Ted flippantly mixed his familiar American andnewly acquired British vernacular. "You are dead right, Larry. I amafraid I'm doomed to land some nine miles or so below the mark but I'mgoing to make a stab at it anyway. "

Later there was a gala dinner party, an occasion almost as gay as thatRound Table banquet over eight years ago had been when Dick Carson hadbeen formally inducted into the order and Doctor Holiday had announcedthat he was going to marry Miss Margery. And as before there waslaughter and gay talk and teasing, affectionate jest and prophecymingled with the toasting. 

There were toasts to the reigning bride and groom, Larry and Ruth, to thecoming bride and groom Philip and Carlotta, to Tony, the understudy thatwas, the star that was to be; to Dick Carson that had been, John Masseythat was, foreign correspondent, and future famous author. There was aparticularly stirring toast to Sergeant Ted who would some day bereturning to his native shore at least a captain if not a major with allkinds of adventures and honors to his credit. Everybody smiled gallantlyover this toast. Not one of them would let a shadow of grief or dread forTeddy the beloved cloud this one happy home evening of his before he leftthe Hill perhaps forever. The Holidays were like that. 

And then Larry on his feet raised his hand for silence. 

"Last and best of all, " he said, "I give you--the Head of the House ofHoliday--the best friend and the finest man I know--Uncle Phil!"

Larry smiled down at his uncle as he spoke but there was deepfeeling in his fine gray eyes. Better than any one else he knew howmuch of his present happiness he owed to that good friend and fineman Philip Holiday. 

The whole table rose to this toast except the doctor, even to the smallEric and Hester who had no idea what it was all about but found it allvery exciting and delightful and beautifully grown up. As they drankthe toast Ted's free hand rested with affectionate pressure on hisuncle's and Tony on the other side set down her glass and squeezed hishand instead. They too were trying to tell him that what Larry hadspoken in his own behalf was true for them also. They wanted to havehim know how much he meant to them and how much they wanted to do andbe for his dear sake. 

Perhaps Philip Holiday won his order of distinguished service then andthere. At any rate with his own children and Ned's around him, with thewife of his heart smiling down at him from across the table with proud, happy, tear wet eyes, the Head of the House of Holiday was content. 

THE END