FROM THE HOUSETOPS

BYGEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON

Author of "Ghaustark, " "The Hollow of Her Hand, ""The Prince of Graustark, " etc. 

With Illustrations byF. GRAHAM COOTES

Copyright, 1916By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC. _All rights reserved_Made in U. S. A. 

[Illustration: "Stop!" he cried eagerly. "Would you give upeverything—everything, mind you, —if I were to ask you to do so?"]

Contents========

CHAPTER I 1CHAPTER II 9CHAPTER III 16CHAPTER IV 27CHAPTER V 39CHAPTER VI 57CHAPTER VII 76CHAPTER VIII 90CHAPTER IX 101CHAPTER X 120CHAPTER XI 137CHAPTER XII 155CHAPTER XIII 169CHAPTER XIV 185CHAPTER XV 197CHAPTER XVI 213CHAPTER XVII 230CHAPTER XVIII 247CHAPTER XIX 260CHAPTER XX 273CHAPTER XXI 292CHAPTER XXII 310CHAPTER XXIII 329CHAPTER XXIV 345CHAPTER XXV 359CHAPTER XXVI 376CHAPTER XXVII 391CHAPTER XXVIII 405CHAPTER XXIX 421CHAPTER XXX 431

FROM THE HOUSETOPS

CHAPTER I

Mr. Templeton Thorpe was soon to be married for the second time. Back in1860 he married a girl of twenty-two, and now in the year 1912 he wastaking unto himself another girl of twenty-two. In the interim he hadachieved a grandson whose years were twenty-nine. In his seventy-seventhyear he was worth a great many millions of dollars, and for that and noother reason perhaps, one of the newspapers, in commenting on theapproaching nuptials, declared that nobody could now deny that he was aphilanthropist. 

 * * * * *

"I daresay you are right, Mrs. Tresslyn, " said old Templeton Thorpe'sgrandson, bitterly. "He hasn't many more years to live. "

The woman in the chair started, her eyes narrowing. The flush deepened inher cheeks. It had been faint before and steady, but now it was ominous. 

"I fear you are again putting words into my mouth, " she said coldly. "HaveI made any such statement?"

"I did not say that you had, Mrs. Tresslyn, " said the young man. "I merelyobserved that you were right. It isn't necessary to put the perfectlyobvious into words. He is a very old man, so you are right in believingthat he hasn't many years left to live. Nearly four times the age ofAnne, —that's how old he is, —and time flies very swiftly for him. "

"I must again remind you that you are in danger of becoming offensive, Braden. Be good enough to remember that this interview is not of mychoosing. I consented to receive you in—"

"You knew it was inevitable—this interview, as you call it. You knew Iwould come here to denounce this damnable transaction. I have nothing toapologise for, Mrs. Tresslyn. This is not the time for apologies. You mayorder me to leave your house, but I don't believe you will find anysatisfaction in doing so. You would still know that I have a right toprotest against this unspeakable marriage, even though it should meannothing more to me than the desire to protect a senile old man againstthe—"

"Your grandfather is the last man in the world to be described as senile, "she broke in, with a thin smile. 

"I could have agreed with you a month ago, but not now, " said he savagely. 

"Perhaps you would better go now, Braden, " said she, arising. She was atall, handsome woman, well under fifty. As she faced her visitor, hercold, unfriendly eyes were almost on a level with his own. The look shegave him would have caused a less determined man to quail. It was her wayof closing an argument, no matter whether it was with her butcher, hergrocer, of the bishop himself. Such a look is best described as imperious, although one less reserved than I but perhaps more potently metaphoricalwould say that she simply looked a hole through you, seeing beyond you asif you were not there at all. She had found it especially efficacious indealing with the butcher and even the bishop, to say nothing of the effectit always had upon the commonplace nobodies who go to the butcher and thebishop for the luxuries of both the present and the future life, and ithad seldom failed to wither and blight the most hardy of masculineopponents. It was not always so effective in crushing the members of herown sex, for there were women in New York society who could look straightthrough Mrs. Tresslyn without even appearing to suspect that she was inthe range of vision. She had been known, however, to stare an English dukeout of countenance, and it was a long time before she forgave herself fordoing so. It would appear that it is not the proper thing to do. Crushingthe possessor of a title is permissible only among taxi-drivers andgentlemen whose daughters are already married. 

Her stony look did not go far toward intimidating young Mr. Thorpe. He wasa rather sturdy, athletic looking fellow with a firm chin and a well-setjaw, and a pair of grey eyes that were not in the habit of wavering. 

"I came here to see Anne, " he said, a stubborn expression settling in hisface. "Is she afraid to see me, or is she obeying orders from you, Mrs. Tresslyn?"

"She doesn't care to see you, " said Mrs. Tresslyn. "That's all there is tobe said about it, Braden. "

"So far as I am concerned, she is still engaged to me. She hasn't brokenit off by word or letter. If you don't mind, I'd like to have it brokenoff in the regular way. It doesn't seem quite proper for her to remainengaged to me right up to the instant she marries my grandfather. Or is itpossible that she intends to remain bound to me during the lifetime of mygrandparent, with the idea of holding me to my bargain when he is gone?"

"Don't be ridiculous, " was all that Mrs. Tresslyn said in response to thissarcasm, but she said it scathingly. 

For a full minute they stood looking into each other's eyes, eachappraising the other, one offensively, the other defensively. She had theadvantage of him, for she was prepared to defend herself while he was inthe position of one who attacks without strategy and leaps from oneexposed spot to another. It was to her advantage that she knew that hedespised her; it was to his disadvantage that he knew she had always likedhim after a manner of her own, and doubtless liked him now despite thethings he had said to her. She had liked him from his boyhood days whenreport had it that he was to be the sole heir to his grandfather'smillions, and she had liked him, no doubt, quite as sincerely, after theold man had declared that he did not intend to ruin a brilliant career byleaving a lot of uninspiring money to his ambitious grandson. 

In so many words, old Templeton Thorpe had said, not two months before, that he intended to leave practically all of his money to charity! Allexcept the two millions he stood ready to settle upon his bride the dayshe married him! Possibly Mrs. Tresslyn liked the grandson all the morefor the treasures that he had lost, or was about to lose. It is easy tolike a man who will not be pitied. At any rate, she did not consider itworth while to despise him, now that he had only a profession to offer inexchange for her daughter's hand. 

"Of course, Mrs. Tresslyn, I know that Anne loves me, " he said, withforced calmness. "She doesn't love my grandfather. That isn't evendebatable. I fear that I am the only person in the world who does lovehim. I suspect, too, that if he loves any one, I am that one. If you thinkthat he is fool enough to believe that Anne loves him, you are vastlymistaken. He knows perfectly well that she doesn't, and, by gad, hedoesn't blame her. He understands. That's why he sits there at home andchuckles. I hope you will not mind my saying to you that he considers me avery lucky person. "

"Lucky?" said she, momentarily off her guard. 

"If you care to hear exactly how he puts it, he says I'm _damned_ lucky, Mrs. Tresslyn. Of course, you are not to assume that I agree with him. IfI thought all this was Anne's doing and not yours, I should say that I amlucky, but I can't believe—good heavens, I will not believe that she coulddo such a thing! A young, beautiful, happy girl voluntarily—oh, it isunspeakable! She is being driven into it, she is being sacrificed to—"

"Just one moment, Braden, " interrupted Mrs. Tresslyn, curtly. "I may aswell set you quite straight in the matter. It will save time and put anend to recriminations. My daughter does not care the snap of her fingersfor Mr. Thorpe. I think she loves you quite as dearly now as she ever did. At any rate, she says she does. But that is neither here nor there. She isgoing to marry Mr. Thorpe, and of her own volition. I have advised her todo so, I will admit, but I have not driven her to it, as you say. No onebut a fool would expect her to love that old man. He doesn't ask it ofher. He simply asks her to marry him. Nowadays people do not always marryfor love. In fact, they frequently marry to avoid it—at least for the timebeing. Your grandfather has told you of the marriage settlement. It is tobe two million dollars, set apart for her, to be hers in full right on theday that he dies. We are far from rich, Anne and I. My husband was afailure—but you know our circumstances quite well enough without my goinginto them. My daughter is her own mistress. She is twenty-three. She isable to choose for herself. It pleases her to choose the grandfatherinstead of the grandson. Is that perfectly plain to you? If it is, my boy, then I submit that there is nothing further to be said. The situation issurely clear enough for even you to see. We do not pretend to be doinganything noble. Mr. Thorpe is seventy-seven. That is the long and short ofit. "

"In plain English, it's the money you are after, " said he, with a sneer. 

"Obviously, " said she, with the utmost candour. "Young women of twenty-three do not marry old men of seventy-seven for love. You may imagine ayoung girl marrying a penniless youth for love, but can you picture hermarrying a penniless octogenarian for the same reason? I fancy not. Ispeak quite frankly to you, Braden, and without reserve. We have alwaysbeen friends. It would be folly to attempt to delude you into believingthat a sentimental motive is back of our—shall we say enterprise?"

"Yes, that is what I would call it, " said he levelly. "It is a morerefined word than scheme. "

"The world will be grateful for the opportunity to bear me out in all thatI have said to you, " she went on. "It will cheerfully, even gleefullysupply any of the little details I may have considered unnecessary orsuperfluous in describing the situation. You are at liberty, then, to goforth and assist in the castigation. You have my permission, —and Anne's, Imay add, —to say to the world that I have told you plainly why thismarriage is to take place. It is no secret. It isn't improbable that yourgrandfather will consent to back you up in your denunciation. He is thatkind of a man. He has no illusions. Permit me to remind you, therefore, that neither you nor the world is to take it for granted that we arehoodwinking Mr. Thorpe. Have I made myself quite clear to you, Braden?"

The young man drew a deep breath. His tense figure relaxed. "I did notknow there were such women in the world as you, Mrs. Tresslyn. There wereheartless, soulless women among the Borgias and the Medicis, but theylived in an age of intrigue. Their acts were mildly innocuous whencompared with—"

"I must ask you to remember that you are in my home, Braden, " sheinterrupted, her eyes ablaze. 

"Oh, I remember where I am, perfectly, " he cried. "It was in this veryroom that Anne promised to become my wife. It was here that you gave yourconsent, less than a year ago. "

He had been pacing the floor, back and forth across the space in front ofthe fireplace, in which logs were blazing on this raw February afternoon. Now he stopped once more to face her resolutely. 

"I insist that it is my right to see Anne, " he said. His eyes werebloodshot, his cheek pallid. "I must hear from her own lips that she nolonger considers herself bound to me by the promise made a year ago. Idemand that much of her. She owes it to me, if not to herself, to put anend to the farce before she turns to tragedy. I don't believe sheappreciates the wickedness of the thing she is about to do. I insist thatit is my right to speak with her, to urge her to reconsider, to point outto her the horrors of—"

"She will not see you, Braden, " broke in the mother, finality in hervoice. 

"She _must_ see me, " he shouted. "If not to-day, to-morrow; if not then, some other day, for, by the Eternal, Mrs. Tresslyn, I intend to speak withher if I have to wait until the accursed day you have selected, —at thevery altar, if necessary. She shall not go into this thing until she hashad the final word with me, and I with her. She does not know what she isdoing. She is carried away by the thought of all that money—Money! GoodGod, Mrs. Tresslyn, she has told me a hundred times that she would marryme if I were as poor as the raggedest beggar in the streets. She loves me, she cannot play this vile trick on me. Her heart is pure. You cannot makeme believe that she isn't honest and fair and loyal. I tell you now, onceand for all, that I will not stand idly by and see this vile sacrificemade in order to—"

"Rawson, " interrupted Mrs. Tresslyn, looking beyond him in the directionof the door, "Doctor Thorpe is going. Will you give him his hat and coat?"She had pressed a button beside the mantelpiece, and in response to thecall, the butler stood in the doorway. "Good day, Braden. I am sorry thatAnne is unable to see you to-day. She—"

"Good day, Mrs. Tresslyn, " he choked out, controlling himself with aneffort. "Will you tell her that I shall call to-morrow?"

She smiled. "When do you expect to return to London? I had hoped to haveyou stay until after the wedding. "

His smile was more of an effort than hers. "Thanks. My grandfather hasexpressed the same hope. He says the affair will not be complete withoutmy presence at the feast. To-morrow, at this hour, I shall come to seeAnne. Thank you, Rawson. "

CHAPTER II

His gaze swept the long, luxurious drawing-room, now filled with theshadows of late afternoon. A sigh that ended in an unvoiced imprecationescaped him. There was not an object in the room that did not possess forhim a peculiar claim of intimacy. Here he had dreamed of paradise withAnne, and here he had built upon his hopes, —a staunch future that demandedlittle of the imagination. He could never forget this room and all that ithad held for him. 

But now, in that brief, swift glance, he found himself estimating the costof all the treasures that it contained, and the price that was to be paidin order that they might not be threatened. These things representedgreed. They had always represented greed. They had been saved out of thewreck that befell the Tresslyn fortunes when Anne was a young girlentering her teens, the wreck that destroyed Arthur Tresslyn and left hiswidow with barely enough to sustain herself and children through the yearsthat intervened between the then and the now. 

He recalled that after the wreck had been cleared up, Mrs. Tresslyn had apaltry twenty-five thousand a year on which to maintain the house that, fortuitously, had been in her name at the time of the smash. A paltry sumindeed! Barely enough to feed and clothe one hundred less exactingfamilies for a year; families, however, with wheelbarrows instead ofautomobiles, and with children instead of servants. 

Ten years had elapsed since the death of Arthur Tresslyn, and still thehouse in the east Seventies held itself above water by means of thatmeagre two thousand a month! These rare, almost priceless objects uponwhich he now gazed had weathered the storm, proof against the temptationsthat beset an owner embarrassed by their richness; they had maintained asmug relationship to harmony in spite of the jangling of discordantinstruments, such as writs and attachments and the wails of insufferablecreditors who made the usual mistake of thinking that a man's home is hiscastle and therefore an object of reprisal. The splendid porcelains, theincomparable tapestries and the small but exquisite paintings remainedwhere they had been placed by the amiable but futile Arthur, and all theking's men and all the king's horses could not have removed them withoutMrs. Tresslyn's sanction. The mistress of the house subsisted as best shecould on the pitiful income from a sequestered half-million, and lived insplendour among objects that deluded even the richest and most arrogant ofher friends into believing that nothing was more remote from herunderstanding than the word poverty, or the equally disgusting wordthrift. 

Here he had come to children's parties in days when he was a lad and Annea child of twelve, and here he had always been a welcome visitor andplaymate, even to the end of his college years. The motherless, fatherlessgrandson of old Templeton Thorpe was cherished among heirlooms that neverhad had a price put upon them. Of all the boys who came to the Tresslynhouse, young Braden Thorpe was the heir with the most potent possibility. He did not know it then, but now he knew that on the occasion of hissmashing a magnificent porcelain vase the forgiving kiss that Mrs. Tresslyn bestowed upon his flaming cheek was not due to pity but tofarsightedness. Somehow he now felt that he could smash every fragile andinanimate thing in sight, and still escape the kiss. 

Not the least regal and imposing object in the room was the woman whostood beside the fireplace, smiling as she always smiled when a situationwas at its worst and she at her best. Her high-bred, aristocratic face wasas insensitive to an inward softness as a chiseled block of marble is tothe eye that gazes upon it in rapt admiration. She had trained herself tosmile in the face of the disagreeable; she had acquired the _art_ oftranquillity. This long anticipated interview with her daughter's cast-off, bewildered lover was inevitable. They had known that he would come, insistent. She had not kept him waiting. When he came to the house the dayafter his arrival from England, following close upon a cablegram sent theday after the news of Anne's defection had struck him like a thunderbolt, she was ready to receive him. 

And now, quite as calmly and indifferently, she was ready to say good-byeto him forever, —to this man who until a fortnight before had consideredhimself, and rightly too, to be the affianced husband of her daughter. Hemeant nothing to her. Her world was complete without him. He possessed herdaughter's love, —and all the love she would ever know perhaps, —but eventhat did not produce within her the slightest qualm. Doubtless Anne wouldgo on loving him to the end of her days. It is the prerogative of womenwho do not marry for love; it is their right to love the men they do notmarry provided they honour the men they do, and keep their skirts clearbesides. 

Mrs. Tresslyn felt, and honestly too, that her own assurances that Anneloved him would be quite as satisfactory as if Anne were to utter themherself. It all came to the same thing, and she had an idea that she couldmanage the situation more ably than her daughter. 

And Mrs. Tresslyn was quite sure that it would come out all right in theend. She hadn't the remotest doubt that Anne could marry Braden later on, if she cared to do so, and if nothing better offered; so what was there toworry about? Things always shape themselves after the easiest possiblefashion. It wasn't as if she was marrying a young man with money. Mrs. Tresslyn had seen things shape themselves before. Moreover, she ratherhated the thought of being a grandmother before she was fifty. And so itwas really a pleasure to turn this possible son-in-law out of her housejust at this time. It would be a very simple matter to open the door tohim later on and invite him in. 

She stood beside her hearth and watched him go with a calm and far fromuneasy eye. He would come again to-morrow, perhaps, —but even at his worsthe could not be a dangerous visitor. He was a gentleman. He was a bitdistressed. Gentlemen are often put to the test, and they invariablyremain gentlemen. 

He stopped at the door. "Will you tell Anne that I'll be here to-morrow, Mrs. Tresslyn?"

"I shall tell her, of course, " said Mrs. Tresslyn, and lifted her lorgnon. 

He went out, filled to the throat with rage and resentment. His strongbody was bent as if against a gale, and his hands were tightly clenched inhis overcoat pockets. In his haste to get away from the house, he hadfairly flung himself into the ulster that Rawson held for him, and thecollar of his coat showed high above the collar of the greatcoat, —a mostunusual lapse from orderliness on the part of this always careful dresser. 

He was returning to his grandfather's house. Old Templeton Thorpe would bewaiting there for him, and Mr. Thorpe's man would be standing outside thelibrary door as was his practice when his master was within, and therewould be a sly, patient smile on the servant's lips but not in his sombreeyes. He was returning to his grandfather's house because he had promisedto come back and tell the old man how he had fared at the home of hisbetrothed. The old man had said to him earlier in the afternoon that hewould know more about women than he'd ever known before by the time hisinterview was over, and had drily added that the world was full tooverflowing of good women who had not married the men theyloved, —principally, he was just enough to explain, because the men theyloved preferred to marry other women. 

Braden had left him seated in the library after a stormy half-hour; and ashe rushed from the room, he found Mr. Thorpe's man standing in the halloutside the door, just as he always stood, waiting for orders with thesly, patient smile on his lips. 

For sixty years Templeton Thorpe had lived in the house near WashingtonSquare, and for thirty-two of them Wade had been within sound of hisvoice, no matter how softly he called. The master never rang a bell, nightor day. He did not employ Wade to answer bells. The butler could do that, or the parlour-maid, if the former happened to be tipsier than usual. Wadealways kept his head cocked a little to one side, in the attitude of onelistening, and so long had he been at it that it is doubtful if he couldhave cocked it the other way without snapping something in his neck. Thatright ear of his was open for business twenty-four hours out of the day. The rest of his body may have slept as soundly as any man's, but his earwas always awake, on land or sea. It was his boast that he had never had avacation. 

Braden, after his long ride down Fifth Avenue on the stage, found Wade inthe hall. 

"Is my grandfather in the library, Wade?" he asked, surprised to find theman at the foot of the stairs, quite a distance from his accustomed post. 

"He is, sir, " said Wade. "He asked me to wait here until you arrived andthen to go upstairs for a little while, sir. I fancy he has something tosay to you in private. " Which was a naïve way of explaining that Mr. Thorpe did not want him to have his ear cocked in the hall during theconversation that was to be resumed after an advisable interval. Observingthe strange pallor in the young man's usually ruddy face, he solicitouslyadded: "Shall I get you a glass of—ahem!—spirits, sir? A snack of brandyis a handy thing to—"

"No, thank you, Wade. You forget that I am a doctor. I never takemedicine, " said Braden, forcing a smile. 

"A very good idea, sir, " said Wade. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Tresslyn had reported to Anne, in the cosy little boudoirat the top of the house in the Seventies. 

"It is just as well that you insisted on me seeing him, dear, " she said onentering the room. "He would have said things to you that you could nothave forgiven. As it is, you have nothing to forgive, and you have savedyourself a good many tears. He—but, my dear, what's this? Have you beencrying?"

Anne, tall and slender, stood with her back to the window, her exquisiteface in the shadows. Even in the dim, colourless light of the waning day, she was lovely—lovely even with the wet cheeks and the drooped, whimperinglips. 

"What did he say, mother?" she asked, her voice hushed and broken. "Howdid he look?" Her head was bent and she looked at her mother from beneathpain-contracted brows. "Was he angry? Was he desperate? Did—did he saythat he—that he loved me?"

"He looked very well, he was angry, he was desperate and he said that heloved you, " replied Mrs. Tresslyn, with the utmost composure. "So dry youreyes. He did just what was to have been expected of him, and just what youcounted upon. He—"

"He honestly, truly said that he loved me?" cried the girl, lifting herhead and drawing a deep breath. 

"Yes, —truly. "

Anne dried her eyes with a fresh bit of lace. 

"Sit down, mother, and tell me all about it, " she said, jerking a smallchair around so that it faced the couch. Then she threw herself upon thelatter and, reaching out with a slender foot, drew the chair closer. "Situp close, and let's hear what my future grandson had to say. "

CHAPTER III

Braden Thorpe had spent two years in the New York hospitals, aftergraduation from Johns Hopkins, and had been sent to Germany and Austria byhis grandfather when he was twenty-seven, to work under the advancedscientists of Vienna and Berlin. At twenty-nine he came back to New York, a serious-minded, purposeful man, wrapped up in his profession andheterodoxically humane, to use the words of his grandfather. The first dayafter his return he confided to his grim old relative the somewhatunprofessional opinion that hopelessly afflicted members of the human raceshould be put out of their misery by attending physicians, operating underthe direction of a commission appointed to consider such cases, and thatthe act should be authorised by law!

His grandfather, being seventy-six and apparently as healthy as any onecould hope to be at that age, said that he thought it would be just aswell to kill 'em legally as any other way, having no good opinion ofdoctors, and admitted that his grandson had an exceptionally soft heart inhim even though his head was a trifle harder and thicker than wasnecessary in one so young. 

"It's worth thinking about, anyhow, isn't it, granddaddy?" Braden hadsaid, with great earnestness. 

"It is, my boy, " said Templeton Thorpe; "especially when you haven't gotanything serious the matter with you. "

"But if you were hopelessly ill and suffering beyond all endurance you'dwelcome death, wouldn't you?"

"No, I wouldn't, " said Mr. Thorpe promptly. "The only time I ever wantedto shuffle off was when your grandmother first refused to marry me. Thesecond time she refused me I decided to do something almost but not quiteso terrible, so I went West. The third time I proposed, she accepted me, and out of sheer joy I very stupidly got drunk. So, you see, there isalways something to live for, " he concluded, with his driest smile. 

"I am quite serious about it, grandfather, " said Braden stiffly. 

"So I perceive. Well, you are planning to hang out your sign here in NewYork pretty soon, and you are going to become a licensed physician, theconfrère and companion of a lot of distinguished gentlemen who believejust as you do about putting sufferers out of their misery but whowouldn't think of doing it, so I'd advise you to keep your opinions toyourself. What do you suppose I sent you abroad for, and gave you aneducation that few young men have received? Just to see you kicked out ofyour profession before you've fairly well put a foot into it, or a knifeinto a plutocrat, or a pill into a pauper? No, sirree, my boy. You sittight and let the hangman do all the legal killing that has to be done. "

"Oh, I know perfectly well that if I advanced this theory, —or scheme, —atpresent, I'd be kicked out of the profession, notwithstanding the factthat it has all been discussed a million times by doctors in every part ofthe world. I can't help having the feeling that it would be a great andhumane thing—"

"Quite so, " broke in the old man, "but let us talk of something else. "

A month later Braden came to him and announced that he and Anne Tresslynwere betrothed. They had known each other for years, and from the timethat Anne was seventeen Braden had loved her. He had been a quiet, rathershy boy, and she a gay, self-possessed creature whose outlook upon lifewas so far advanced beyond his, even in those days of adolescence, that helooked upon her as the eighth wonder of the world. She had poise, manner, worldly wisdom of a pleasantly superficial character that stood forsophistication in his blissful estimate of her advantages over him, andshe was so adroit in the art of putting her finger upon the right spot atprecisely the right moment that he found himself wondering if he couldever bring himself up to her insuperable level. 

And when he came home after the two years in Europe, filled with greatthoughts and vast pretentions of a singularly unromantic nature, he foundher so much lovelier than before that where once he had shyly coveted henow desired with a fervour that swept him headlong into a panic of dreadlest he had waited too long and that he had irretrievably lost her whileengaged in the wretchedly mundane and commonplace pursuit of trifles. Hewas intensely amazed, therefore, to discover that she had loved him eversince she was a child in short frocks. He expected her to believe him whenhe said to her that she was the loveliest of all God's creatures, but itwas more than he could believe when she declared that he was as handsomeas a Greek god. That, of course, to him was a ludicrous thing to say, adelusion, a fancy that could not be explained, and yet he had seen himselfin a mirror a dozen times a day, perhaps, without even suspecting, in hissimplicity, that he was an extremely good-looking chap and well worth asecond glance from any one except himself. 

The announcement did not come as a surprise to old Mr. Thorpe. He had beenexpecting it. He realised that Braden's dilatory tactics alone wereaccountable for the delay in bringing the issue to a head. 

"And when do you expect to be married?" he had inquired, squinting at hisgrandson in a somewhat dubious manner. 

"Within the year, I hope, " said Braden. "Of course, I shall have to get abit of a start before we can think of getting married. "

"A bit of a start, eh? Expect to get enough of a practice in a year tokeep Anne going, do you?"

"We shall live very economically. "

"Is that your idea or hers?"

"She knows that I have but little more than two thousand a year, but, ofcourse, it won't take much of a practice to add something to that, youknow. "

"Besides, you can always depend upon me to help you out, Braden, —that is, within reason, " said the other, watching him narrowly out of his shrewdold eyes. 

Braden flushed. "You have done more than enough for me already, grandfather. I can't take anything more, you see. I'm going to fight myown way now, sir. "

"I see, " said Mr. Thorpe. "That's the way to talk, my boy. And what doesAnne say to that?"

"She thinks just as I do about it. Oh, she's the right sort, granddaddy, so you needn't worry about us, once we are married. "

"Perhaps I should have asked what her mother has to say about it. "

"Well, she gave us her blessing, " said his grandson, with a happy grin. 

"After she had heard about your plan to live on the results of yourpractice?"

"She said she wasn't going to worry about that, sir. If Anne was willingto wait, so was she. "

"Wait for what?"

"My practice to pick up, of course. What do you mean?"

"Just that, of course, " said the old man quickly. "Well, my boy, while Idaresay it isn't really necessary, I give my consent. I am sure you andAnne will be very happy in your cosy little five-room flat, and that shewill be a great help to you. You may even attain to quite a fashionablepractice, —or clientele, which is it?—through the Tresslyn position in thecity. Thousand dollar appendicitis operations ought to be quite commonwith you from the outset, with Anne to talk you up a bit among the peoplewho belong to her set and who are always looking for something to keepthem from being bored to death. I understand that anybody who has anappendix nowadays is looked upon as exceedingly vulgar and is not eventolerated in good society. As for a man having a sound liver, —well, thatkind of a liver is absolutely inexcusable. Nobody has one to-day if he canafford to have the other kind. Good livers always have livers, —and so dobad livers, for that matter. But, now, let us return to the heart. You arequite sure that Anne loves you better than she loves herself? That's quiteimportant, you know. I have found that people who say that they love someone better than anybody else in the world, usually forget themselves, —thatis to say, they overlook themselves. How about Anne?"

"Rather epigrammatic, aren't you, granddaddy? I have Anne's word for it, that's all. She wouldn't marry me if she loved any one more than she doesme, —not even herself, as you put it. I am sure if I were Anne I shouldlove myself better than all the rest of the world. "

"A very pretty speech, my boy. You should make an exceptionallyfashionable doctor. You will pardon me for appearing to be cynical, butyou see I am a very old man and somewhat warped, —bent, you might say, inmy attitude toward the tender passion as it is practised to-day. Still, Ishall take your word for it. Anne loves you devotedly, and you love her. The only thing necessary, therefore, is a professional practice, or, inother words, a practical profession. I am sure you will achieve both. Youhave my best wishes. I love you, my boy. You are the only thing left inlife for me to love. Your father was my only son. He would have been agreat man, I am sure, if he had not been my son. I spoiled him. I thinkthat is the reason why he died so young. Now, my dear grandson, I am notgoing to make the mistake with his son that I made with my own. I intendthat you shall fight your own battles. Among other things, you will haveto fight pretty hard for Anne. That is a mere detail, of course. You are aresolute, determined, sincere fellow, Braden, and you have in you themaking of a splendid character. You will succeed in anything youundertake. I like your eye, my boy, and I like the set of your jaw. Youhave principle and you have a sense of reverence that is quite uncommon inthese days of ours. I daresay you have been wicked in an essential sort ofway, and I fancy you have been just as necessarily honourable. I don'tlike a mollycoddle. I don't like anything invertebrate. I despise aChristian who doesn't understand Christ. Christ despised sin but he didn'tdespise sinners. And that brings us back to Mrs. Tresslyn, —Constance Blairthat was. You will have to be exceedingly well fortified, my boy, if youexpect to withstand the clever Constance. She is the refinement ofmaternal ambition. She will not be satisfied to have her daughter marriedto a mere practice. She didn't bring her up for that. She will ask me tocome and see her within the next few days. What am I to say to her whenshe asks me if I expect you and Anne to live on what you can earn out ofyour ridiculous profession?"

"I think that's all pretty well understood, " said Braden easily. "You doMrs. Tresslyn an injustice, granddaddy. She says it will be a splendidthing for Anne to struggle along as we shall have to do for a while. Character building, is the way she puts it. "

"Just the same, I shall expect a message from her before the engagement isannounced, " said the old man drily. 

A hard glitter had come into his eyes. He loved this good-looking, earnestgrandson of his, and he was troubled. He lay awake half the night thinkingover this piece of not unexpected news. 

The next morning at breakfast he said to Braden: "See here, my boy, youspoke to me recently about your desire to spend a year in and about theLondon hospitals before settling down to the real business of life. I'vebeen thinking it over. You can't very well afford to pay for thesefinishing touches after you've begun struggling along on your own hook, and trying to make both ends meet on a slender income, so I'd suggest thatyou take this next year as a gift from me and spend it on the other side, working with my good friend, Sir George Bascombe, the greatest of all theEnglish surgeons. I don't believe you will ever regret it. "

Braden was overjoyed. "I should like nothing better, grandfather. By jove, you are good to me. You—"

"It is only right and just that I should give to the last of my race thechance to be a credit to it. " There was something cryptic in the remark, but naturally it escaped Braden's notice. "You are the only one of theThorpes left, my boy. I was an only son and, strange as it may appear, Iwas singularly without avuncular relatives. It is not surprising, therefore, that I should desire to make a great man out of you. You shallnot be handicapped by any failure on my part to do the right thing by you. If it is in my power to safeguard you, it is my duty to exercise thatpower. Nothing must be allowed to stand in the way or to obstruct yourprogress. Nothing must be allowed to check your ambition or destroy yourcourage. So, if you please, I think you ought to have this chance to workwith Bascombe. A year is a short time to a chap of your age andexperience, and it may be the most valuable one in a long and successfullife. "

"If I can ever grow to be half as wise and half as successful as you, grandfather, I shall have achieved more than—"

"My boy, I inherited my success and I've been more of a fool than yoususpect. My father left me with two or three millions of dollars, and thelittle wisdom that I have acquired I would pass on to you instead of moneyif it were possible to do so. A man cannot bequeath his wisdom. He mayinherit it, but he can't give it away, for the simple reason that no onewill take it as a gift. It is like advice to the young: something todisregard. My father left me a great deal of money, and I was too much ofa coward to become a failure. Only the brave men are failures. They arethe ones who take the risks. If you are going to be a surgeon, be a greatone. Now, when do you think you can go to London?"

Braden, his face aglow, was not long in answering. "I'll speak to Anneabout it to-night. If she is willing to marry me at once, we'll startimmediately. By Jove, sir, it is wonderful! It is the greatest thing thatever happened to a fellow. I—"

"Ah, but I'm afraid that doesn't fit in with my plan, " interrupted the oldman, knitting his brows. "It is my idea that you should devote yourself toobservation and not to experimentation, —to study instead of honeymooning. A bride is out of the question, Braden. This is to be my year and notAnne's. "

They were a week thrashing it out, and in the end it was Mrs. Tresslyn whosettled the matter. She had had her talk with Mr. Templeton Thorpe, and, after hearing all that he had to say, expressed herself in no uncertainterms on the advisability of postponing the wedding for a year if notlonger. Something she said in private to Anne appeared to have alteredthat charming young person's notions in regard to an early wedding, soBraden found himself without an ally. He went to London early in the fall, with Anne's promises safely stowed away in his heart, and he came back inthe middle of his year with Sir George, dazed and bewildered by herfaithlessness and his grandfather's perfidy. 

Out of a clear sky had come the thunderbolt. And then, while he was stilldazed and furious, his grandfather had tried to convince him that he haddone him a deuce of a good turn in showing up Anne Tresslyn!

In patience the old man had listened to his grandson's tirade, hisravings, his anathemas. He had heard himself called a traitor. He hadsmiled grimly on being described as a satyr! When words and breath at lastfailed the stalwart Braden, the old gentleman, looking keenly out frombeneath his shaggy brows, and without the slightest trace of resentment inhis manner, suggested that they leave the matter to Anne. 

"If she really wants you, my boy, she'll chuck me and my two-million-dollar purse out of the window, so to speak, and she'll marry you in spiteof your poverty. If she does that, I'll be satisfied. I'll step down andout and I'll praise God for his latest miracle. If she looks at it fromthe other point of view, —the perfectly safe and secure way, youunderstand, —and confirms her allegiance to me, I'll still be exceedinglyhappy in the consciousness that I've done you a good turn. I will enter myextreme old age in the race against your healthy youth. I will proffer mythree or four remaining years to her as against the fifty you may be ableto give her. Go and see her at once. Then come back here to me and tell mewhat she says. "

And so it was that Braden Thorpe returned, as he had agreed to do, to thehome of the man who had robbed him of his greatest possession, —faith inwoman. He found his grandfather seated in the library, in front of a half-dead fire. A word, in passing, to describe this remarkable old man. He wastall and thin, and strangely erect for one of his years. His gaunt, seamedface was beardless and almost repellent in its severity. In his deep-set, piercing eyes lurked all the pains of a lifetime. He had been a strong, robust man; the framework was all that remained of the staunch house inwhich his being had dwelt for so long. His hand shook and his kneerebelled against exertion, but his eye was unwavering, his chinunflinching. White and sparse was the thatch of hair upon his shrunkenskull, and harsh was the thin voice that came from his straight, colourless lips. He walked with a cane, and seldom without the patient, much-berated Wade at his elbow, a prop against the dreaded day when hislegs would go back on him and the brink would appear abruptly out ofnowhere at his very feet. And there were times when he put his hand to hisside and held it there till the look of pain softened about his mouth andeyes, though never quite disappeared. 

CHAPTER IV

It was Templeton Thorpe's contention that Braden was a family investment, and that a good investment will take care of itself if properly handled. He considered himself quite capable of making a man of Braden, but he didnot allow the boy to think that the job was a one-sided undertaking. Braden worked for all that he received. There was no silver platter, nogolden spoon in Mr. Thorpe's cupboard. They understood each otherperfectly and Templeton Thorpe was satisfied with his investment. 

That is why his eyes twinkled when Braden burst into the library after hisfruitless appeal to Mrs. Tresslyn. He smiled as one smiles with reliefwhen a craft he is watching glides safely but narrowly past a projectingabutment. 

"Calm yourself, " he remarked after Braden's somewhat wild and incoherentbeginning. "And sit down. You will not get anywhere pacing this twenty bythirty room, and you are liable to run into something immovable if youdon't stop glaring at me and watch out where you are going instead. "

"Sit down?" shouted Braden, stopping before the old man in the chair, hishands clinched and his teeth showing. "I'll never sit down in your houseagain! What do you think I am? A snivelling, cringing dog that has to lickyour hand for—"

"Now, now!" admonished the old man, without anger. "If you will not sitdown, at least be kind enough to stand still. I can't understand half yousay while you are stamping around like that. This isn't a china shop. Control yourself. Now, let's have it in so many words and not so manygesticulations. So Anne declined to see you, eh?"

"I don't believe Anne had a voice in the matter. Mrs. Tresslyn is at theback of all this. She is the one who has roped you in, —duped you, orwhatever you choose to call it without resorting to profanity. She'sforcing Anne into this damnable marriage, and she is making a perfect foolof you. Can't you see it? Can't you see—but, my God, how can I ask thatquestion of you? When a man gets to be as old as you, he—" He broke offabruptly, on the point of uttering the unforgivable. 

"Go on, my boy, " said Templeton Thorpe quietly. "Say it. I shan't mind. "

"Oh, what's the use?" groaned the miserable lover. "I cannot say anythingmore to you, sir, than I said early this afternoon. I told you then justwhat I think of your treachery. There isn't anything more for me to say, but I'd like you to know that Anne despises you. Her mother acknowledgesthat much at least, —and, curse her, without shame!"

"I am quite well aware of the fact, Braden, " said the old man. "Youcouldn't expect her to love me, could you?"

"Then, why in God's name are you marrying her? Why are you spoiling mylife? Why are you—"

"Is it spoiling your life to have the girl you love turn to and marry anold wreck such as I am, just because I happen to be willing to pay her twomillion dollars, —in advance, you might say? Is that spoiling your life orsaving it?"

Mr. Thorpe had dropped the cynical, half-amused air, and was now speakingwith great intensity. Braden, struck by the change, turned suddenly toregard the old man with a new and puzzled light in his lowering eyes. 

"See here, my lad, you've had your chance. I knew what I was about when Isent you to see her. I knew precisely what would happen. She wants tomarry you, but she prefers to marry me. That isn't as ambiguous as itsounds. Just think it over, —later on, not now, for I have something elseto say to you. Do me the honour to be seated. Thank you. Now, you've gotquite a good-sized, respectable nose upon your face. I submit that thesituation is quite as plain as that nose, if you look at it in the broadlight of understanding. If you think that I am marrying Anne because Ilove her, or because I am in my dotage and afflicted with senility, youare very much mistaken. If you think I am giving her two million dollarsas a wedding gift because I expect it to purchase her love and esteem, youdo my intelligence an injustice. If you think that I relish the prospectof having that girl in my house from now till the day I die, worrying thesoul out of me, you are too simple for words. I am marrying her, notbecause I love her, my lad, but—but because I love _you_. God forbid thatI should ever sink so low as to steal from my own flesh and blood. Stealing is one thing, bartering another. I expect to convince you that Ihave not taken anything from you that is of value, hence I am not amalefactor. "

Braden, seated opposite him, his elbows on the arms of the chair, leanedforward and watched the old man curiously. A new light had come into hiseyes when Mr. Thorpe uttered those amazing words—"but because I love_you_. " He was beginning to see, he was beginning to analyse the old man'smotives, he was groping his way out of the fog. 

"You will have hard work to convince me that I have not been treated mostunfairly, most vilely, " said he, his lips still compressed. 

"Many years ago, " said Mr. Thorpe, fixing his gaze on the lazy fire, "Iasked Anne's grandmother to marry me. I suppose I thought that I wasunalterably in love with her. I was the very rich son of a very rich man, and—pardon my conceit—what you would call an exceedingly good catch. Well, in those days things were not as they are now. The young lady, a greatbeauty and amazingly popular, happened to be in love with Roger Blair, agood-looking chap with no fortune and no prospects. She took the advice ofher mother and married the man she loved, disdaining my riches and me aswell. Roger wasn't much of a success as a husband, but he was a source ofenlightenment and education to his wife. Not in the way you would suspect, however. He managed in very short order to convince her that it is a veryignorant mother who permits her daughter to marry a man without means. They hadn't been married three years when his wife had learned her lesson. It was too late to get rid of Roger, and by that time I was happilymarried to a girl who was quite as rich as I, and could afford to do asshe pleased. So, you see, Anne's grandmother had to leave me out of thecase, even though Roger would have been perfectly delighted to have givenher sufficient grounds for divorce. I think you knew Anne's grandmother, Braden?" He paused for an answer, a sly, appraising look in his eyes. Receiving no response except a slight nod of the head, he chuckled softlyand went on with the history. 

"Poor soul, she's gone to her reward. Now we come to Anne's mother. Shewas an only child, —and one was quite enough, I assure you. No mother everhad greater difficulty in satisfactorily placing a daughter than had Mrs. Blair. There was an army of young but not very dependable gentlemen whowould have married her like a flash, notwithstanding her own poverty, hadit not been for the fact that Mrs. Blair was so thoroughly educated bythis time that she couldn't even contemplate a mistake in hercalculations. She had had ample proof that love doesn't keep the wolf fromthe door, nor does it draw five per cent, as some other bonds do. Shebrought Constance up in what is now considered to be the most approvedfashion in high society. The chap who had nothing but health and ambitionand honour and brains to offer, in addition to that unprofitable thingcalled love, was a viper in Mrs. Blair's estimation. He was very properlyand promptly stamped upon by the fond mother and doubtless was very gladto crawl off into the high grass, out of danger. He—"

"What has all this got to do with your present behaviour?" demanded Bradenharshly. "Speaking of vipers, " he added, by way of comment. 

"I am coming to that, " said Mr. Thorpe, resenting the interruption but notits sting. "After a careful campaign, Arthur Tresslyn was elected. He hada great deal of money, a kind heart and scarcely any brains. He was anideal choice, everybody was agreed upon that. The fellow that Constancewas really in love with at the time, Jimmy Gordon, was a friend of yourfather's. Well, the gentle Arthur went to pieces financially a good manyyears ago. He played hob with all the calculations, and so we findConstance, his wife, lamenting in the graveyard of her hopes and cursingJimmy Gordon for his unfaithfulness in marrying before he was in aposition to do so. If Jimmy had remained single for twelve years longerthan he did, I daresay Arthur's widow would have succeeded in nabbing himwhether or no. Arthur managed to die very happily, they say, quite wellpleased with himself for having squandered the fortune which brought himso much misery. Now we come to Anne, Arthur's daughter. She became deeplyenamoured of a splendid, earnest young chap named Braden Thorpe, grandsonof the wealthy and doddering Templeton Thorpe, and recognised as his soleheir. Keep your seat, Braden; I am coming to the point. This young Thorpetrusted the fair and beautiful Anne. He set out to make a name and fortunefor himself and for her. He sought knowledge and experience in distantlands, leaving his poor old grandfather at home with nothing to amusehimself with except nine millions of dollars and his dread of death. WhileBraden was experimenting in London, this doddering, senile old gentlemanof Washington Square began to experiment a little on his own account. Heset out to discover just what sort of stuff this Anne Tresslyn was made ofand to prove to himself that she was worthy of his grandson's love. Hebegan with the girl's mother. As soon as possible, he explained to herthat money is a curse. She agreed that money is a curse if you haven't gotit. In time, he confessed to her that he did not mean to curse hisgrandson with an unearned fortune, and that he intended to leave him inhis will the trifling sum of fifty thousand dollars, thereby endowing himwith the ambition and perhaps the energy to earn more and at the same timebe of great benefit to the world in which he would have to struggle. Also, he let it be known that he was philanthropically inclined, that hepurposed giving a great many millions to science and that his death wouldbe of untold value to the human race. Are you attending, Braden? If youare not, I shall stop talking at once. It is very exhausting and I haven'tmuch breath or time to waste. "

"I am listening. Go on, " said Braden, suddenly sitting up in his chair andtaking a long, deep breath. The angry, antagonistic light was gone fromhis eyes. 

"Well, the clever Mrs. Tresslyn was interested—deeply interested in mydisclosures. She did not hesitate to inform me that Anne couldn't begin tolive on the income from a miserable fifty thousand, and actually laughedin my face when I reminded her of the young lady's exalted preference forlove in a cottage and joy at any price. Biding my time, I permitted thedistressing truth to sink in. You will remember that Anne's letters beganto come less frequently about four months ago, and—"

"How do you happen to know about that?" broke in the young man, insurprise. 

"Where she had been in the habit of writing twice and even three times aweek, " went on Mr. Thorpe, "she was content to set herself to the task ofdropping you a perfunctory letter once in a fortnight. You will alsorecall that her letters were not so full of intensity—or enthusiasm: theylacked fervour, they fell off considerably in many ways. I happen to knowabout all this, Braden, because putting two and two together has alwaysbeen exceedingly simple for me. You see, it was about three months agothat Anne began to reveal more than casual interest in Percy Wintermill. She—"

"Percy Wintermill!" gasped Braden, clutching the arms of his chair. "Why, she has always looked upon him as the stupidest, ugliest man in town. Hisattentions have been a standing joke between us. He is crazy about her, Iknow, but—oh, well, go on with the story. "

"To be sure he is crazy about her, as you say. That isn't strange. Halfthe young men in town think they are in love with her, and most of thembelieve she could make them happy. Now, no one concedes physical beauty orallurement to Percy. He is as ugly as they grow, but he isn't stupid. Heis just a nice, amiable, senseless nincompoop with a great deal of moneyand a tremendous amount of health. He—"

"I like Wintermill. He is one of my best friends. He is as square as anyman I know and he would be the last person to try to come between Anne andme. He is too fond of me for that, sir. You—"

"Unfortunately he was not aware of the fact that you and Anne wereengaged. You forget that the engagement was to be kept under cover for thetime being. But all this is beside the question. Mrs. Tresslyn had lookedthe field over pretty carefully. No one appeared to be so well qualifiedto take your place as Percy Wintermill. He had everything that isdesirable in a husband except good looks and perhaps good manners. So shebegan fishing for Percy. Anne was a delightful bait. Of course, Percy'srobust health was objectionable, but it wasn't insurmountable. I could seethat Anne loathed the thought of having him for a husband for thirty orforty years. Anybody could see that, —even Percy must have possessedintelligence enough to see it for himself. Finally, about six weeks ago, Anne rose above her environment. She allowed Percy to propose, asked for afew days in which to make up her mind, and then came out with a point-blank refusal. She defied her mother, openly declaring that she wouldmarry you in spite of everything. "

"And that is just what she shall do, poor girl, " cried Braden joyously. "She shall not be driven into—"

"Just a moment, please. When I discovered that young Wintermill couldn'tbe depended upon to rescue his best friend, I stepped into the arena, soto speak, " said Mr. Thorpe with fine irony. "I sensed the situationperfectly. Percy was young and strong and enduring. He would be a longtime dying in the natural order of things. What Anne was looking for—now, keep your seat, my boy!—what she wanted was a husband who could bedepended upon to leave her a widow before it was too late. Now, I amseventy-seven, and failing pretty rapidly. It occurred to me that I wouldbe just the thing for her. To make the story short, I began to dilate uponmy great loneliness, and also hinted that if I could find the right sortof companion I would jump at the chance to get married. That's putting itrather coarsely, my boy, but the whole business is so ugly that it doesn'tseem worth while to affect delicacy. Inside of two weeks, we had come toan understanding, —that is, an arrangement had been perfected. I think thateverything was agreed upon except the actual day of my demise. As youknow, I am to set aside for Anne as an ante-nuptial substitute for alldower rights in my estate, the sum of two million dollars. I may add thatthe securities guaranteeing this amount have been submitted to Mrs. Tresslyn and she has found them to be gilt-edged. These securities are tobe held in trust for her until the day I die, when they go to her at once, according to our contract. She agrees to—"

"By gad, sir, it is infamous! Absolutely infamous!" exclaimed youngThorpe, springing to his feet. "I cannot—I will not believe it of her. "

"She agrees to relinquish all claims to my estate, " concluded the old man, with a chuckle. "Inasmuch as I have made it quite clear that all of mymoney is to go to charity, —scientific charity, —I imagine that theTresslyns feel that they have made a pretty good bargain. "

"I still maintain that she will renounce the whole detestable—"

"She would go back on her contract like a shot if she thought that Iintended to include you among my scientific charities, " interrupted theold man. 

"Oh, if I could only have an hour—half an hour with her, " groaned Braden. "I could overcome the vile teaching of her mother and bring her to arealisation of what is ahead of her. I—"

"Do you honestly, —in your heart, Braden, —believe that you could do that?"demanded Mr. Thorpe, arising from his chair and laying his hand upon theyoung man's shoulder. He forced the other's eyes to meet his. "Do youbelieve that she would be worthy of your love and respect even though shedid back out of this arrangement? I want an honest answer. "

"God help me, I—I don't know what to think, " cried Braden miserably. "I amshocked, bewildered. I can't say what I believe, grandfather. I only knowthat I have loved her better than my own soul. I don't know what to thinknow. "

"You might also say that she loves herself better than she loves her ownsoul, " said the old man grimly. "She will go on loving you, I've no doubt, in a strictly physical way, but I wouldn't put much dependence in hersoulfulness. One of these fine days, she will come to you and say that shehas earned two million dollars, and she will ask you if it is too late tostart all over again. What will you say to that?"

"Good Lord, sir, what would you expect me to say?" exploded Braden. "Ishould tell her to—to go to hell!" he grated between his teeth. 

"Meanwhile, I want you to understand that I have acted for your bestinterests, Braden. God knows I am not in love with this girl. I know herkind, I know her breed. I want to save you from—well, I want to give you afighting chance to be a great, good man. You need the love of a fine, unselfish woman to help you to the heights you aspire to reach. AnneTresslyn would not have helped you. She cannot see above her own level. There are no heights for her. She belongs to the class that never looks upfrom the ground. They are always following the easiest path. I am doingyou a good turn. Somewhere in this world there is a noble, self-sacrificing woman who will make you happy, who will give strength to you, who will love you for yourself and not for _herself_. Go out and find her, my boy. You will recognise her the instant you see her. "

"But you—what of you?" asked Braden, deeply impressed by the old man'sunsuspected sentiment. "Will you go ahead and—and marry her, knowing thatshe will make your last few years of life unhappy, un—"

"I am under contract, " said Templeton Thorpe grimly. "I never go back on acontract. "

"I shall see her, nevertheless, " said Braden doggedly. 

"It is my desire that you should. In fact, I shall make it my business tosee that you do. After that, I fancy you will not care to remain here forthe wedding. I should advise you to return to London as soon as you havehad it out with her. "

"I shall remain here until the very hour of the wedding if it is to takeplace, and up to that very hour I shall do my best to prevent it, grandfather. "

"Your failure to do so will make me the happiest man in New York, " saidMr. Thorpe, emotion in his voice, "for I love you dearly, Braden. "

CHAPTER V

A conspicuous but somewhat unimportant member of the Tresslyn family was ayoung man of twenty-four. He was Anne's brother, and he had preceded herinto the world by the small matter of a year and two months. Mrs. Tresslynhad set great store by him. Being a male child he did not present thegrave difficulties that attend the successful launching and disposal ofthe female of the species to which the Tresslyn family belonged. He wasborn with the divine right to pick and choose, and that is something thatat present appears to be denied the sisters of men. But the amiableGeorge, at the age of one and twenty and while still a freshman incollege, picked a girl without consulting his parent and in a jiffy put anend to the theory that man's right is divine. 

It took more than half of Mrs. Tresslyn's income for the next two years, the ingenuity of a firm of expensive lawyers, the skill of nearly a dozenprivate detectives, and no end of sleepless nights to untie the loathsomeknot, and even then George's wife had a shade the better of them in thatshe reserved the right to call herself Mrs. Tresslyn, quite permanentlydisgracing his family although she was no longer a part of it. 

The young woman was employed as a demonstrator for a new brand of mustardwhen George came into her life. The courtship was brief, for she was apretty girl and virtuous. She couldn't see why there should be anythingwrong in getting married, and therefore was very much surprised, and not alittle chagrined, to find out almost immediately after the ceremony thatshe had committed a heinous and unpardonable sin. She shrank for a whileunder the lashings, and then, like a beast driven to cover, showed herteeth. 

If marriage was not sanctuary, she would know the reason why. With asingle unimposing lawyer and not the remotest suggestion of a detective toreinforce her position, she took her stand against the unhappy George andhis mother, and so successful were her efforts to make divorce difficultthat she came out of chambers with thirty thousand dollars in cash, anaristocratic name, and a valuable claim to theatrical distinction. 

All this transpired less than two years prior to the events which were toculminate in the marriage of George's only sister to the HonourableTempleton Thorpe of Washington Square. Needless to say, George was nowlooked upon in the small family as a liability. He was a never-presenthelp in time of trouble. The worst thing about him was his obstinateregard for the young woman who still bore his name but was no longer hiswife. At twenty-four he looked upon himself as a man who had nothing tolive for. He spent most of his time gnashing his teeth because the prettylittle divorcee was receiving the attentions of young gentlemen in his ownset, without the slightest hint of opposition on the part of theirparents, while he was obliged to look on from afar off. 

It appears that parents do not object to young women of insufficientlineage provided the said young women keep at a safe distance from themarriage altar. 

It is interesting to note in this connection, however, that little Mrs. George Tresslyn was a model of propriety despite her sprightlyexplorations of a world that had been strange to her up to the time shewas cast into it by a disgusted mother-in-law, and it is still moreinteresting to find that she nourished a sly hope that some day Georgewould kick over the traces in a very manly fashion and marry her all overagain!

Be that as it may, the bereft and humiliated George favoured his motherand sister with innumerable half-hours in which they had to contend withscornful and exceedingly bitter opinions on the iniquity of marriage as itis practised among the elect. He fairly bawled his disapproval of the saleof Anne to the decrepit Mr. Thorpe, and there was not a day in the weekthat did not contain at least one unhappy hour for the women in his home, for just so often he held forth on the sanctity of the marriage vows. 

He was connected with a down-town brokerage firm and he was as near tobeing a failure in the business as an intimate and lifelong friend of thefamily would permit him to be and still allow him to remain in the office. His business was the selling of bonds. The friend of the family was thehead of the firm, so no importance should be attached to the fact thatGeorge did not earn his salt as a salesman. It is only necessary to reportthat the young man made frequent and determined efforts to sell his wares, but with so little success that he would have been discouraged had it notbeen for the fact that he was intimately acquainted with himself. He knewhimself too well to expect people to take much stock in the publicendeavours of one whose private affairs were so far beneath notice. Menwere not likely to overlook the disgraceful treatment of the little"mustard girl, " for even the men who have mistreated women in their timeoverlook their own chicanery in preaching decency over the heads of otherswho have not played the game fairly. George looked upon himself as amarked man, against whom the scorn of the world was justly directed. 

Strange as it may appear, George Tresslyn was a tall, manly lookingfellow, and quite handsome. At a glance you would have said that he had agreat deal of character in his make-up and would get on in the world. Thenyou would hear about his matrimonial delinquency and instantly you wouldtake a second glance. The second and more searching look would haverevealed him as a herculean light-weight, —a man of strength and beauty andstature spoiled in the making. And you would be sorry that you had madethe discovery, for it would take you back to his school days, and then youwould encounter the causes. 

He had gone to a preparatory school when he was twelve. It was eight yearsbefore he got into the freshman class of the college that had beenselected as the one best qualified to give him a degree, and there is notelling how long he might have remained there, faculty willing, had it notbeen for the interfering "mustard girl. " He could throw a hammer fartherand run the hundred faster than any youth in the freshman class, and hecould handle an oar with the best of them, but as he had spent nearlyeight years in acquiring this proficiency to the exclusion of anythingelse it is not surprising that he excelled in these pursuits, nor is itsurprising that he possessed a decided aversion for the things that arecommonly taught in college by studious-looking gentlemen who do not evenbelong to the athletic association and have forgotten their college yell. 

George boasted, in his freshman year, that if the faculty would let himalone he could easily get through the four years without flunking a singlething in athletics. It was during the hockey season, just after theChristmas holidays, that he married the pretty "mustard girl" and put anabrupt end to what must now be regarded as a superficial education. 

He carried his athletic vigour into the brokerage offices, however. No onecould accuse him of being lazy, and no one could say that he did not makean effort. He possessed purpose and determination after a fashion, for hewas proud and resentful; but he lacked perspective, no matter which way helooked for it. Behind him was a foggy recollection of the things he shouldhave learned, and ahead was the dark realisation that the world is made upprincipally of men who cannot do the mile under thirty minutes but whopossess amazing powers of endurance when it comes to running circlesaround the man who is trained to do the hundred yard dash in ten secondsflat. 

A few minutes after Braden Thorpe's departure from the Tresslyn drawing-room, young George entered the house and stamped upstairs to hiscombination bed-chamber and sitting-room on the top floor. He always wentupstairs three steps at a time, as if in a hurry to have it over with. Hehad a room at the top of the house because he couldn't afford one lowerdown. A delayed sense of compunction had ordered Mrs. Tresslyn to insistupon George's paying his own way through life, now that he was of age andworking for himself. 

When George found it impossible to pay his week's reckoning out of hisearnings, he blithely borrowed the requisite amount—and a little over—fromfriends down-town, and thereby enjoyed the distinction of being uncommonlyprompt in paying his landlady on the dot. So much for character-building. 

And now one of these "muckers" down-town was annoying him with persistentdemands for the return of numerous small loans extending over a period ofnineteen months. That sort of thing isn't done among gentlemen, accordingto George Tresslyn's code. For a month or more he had been in thehumiliating position of being obliged to dodge the fellow, and he wasgetting tired of it. The whole amount was well under six hundred dollars, and as he had made it perfectly plain to the beggar that he was drawingten per cent. On the loans, he couldn't see what sense there was in beingin such a hurry to collect. On the other hand, as the beggar wasn'treceiving the interest, it is quite possible that he could not look at thesituation from George's point of view. 

Young Mr. Tresslyn finally had reached the conclusion that he would haveto ask his mother for the money. He knew that the undertaking would provea trying one, so he dashed up to his room for the purpose of fortifyinghimself with a stiff drink of benedictine. 

Having taken the drink, he sat down for a few minutes to give it a chanceto become inspirational. Then he skipped blithely down to his mother'sboudoir and rapped on the door, —not timidly or imploringly but withconsiderable authority. Receiving no response, he moved on to Anne'ssitting-room, whence came the subdued sound of voices in conversation. Hedid not knock at Anne's door, but boldly opened it and advanced into theroom. 

"Hello! Here you are, " said George amiably. 

He was met by a cold, disapproving stare from his mother and a little gaspof dismay from Anne. It was quite apparent that he was an intruder. 

"I wish you would be good enough to knock before entering, George, " saidMrs. Tresslyn severely. 

"I did, " said George, "but you were not in. I always knock at your door, mother. You can't say that I've ever forgotten to do it. " He lookedaggrieved. "You surely don't mean that I ought to knock at Anne's door?"

"Certainly. What do you want?"

"Well, " he began, depositing his long body on the couch and preparing tostretch out, "I'd like to kiss both of you if you'll let me. "

"Don't be silly, " said Anne, "and don't put your feet on that cleanchintz. "

"All right, " said he cheerfully. "My, how lovely the bride is looking to-day! I wish old Tempy could see you now. He'd—"

"If you are going to be disagreeable, George, you may get out at once, "said Mrs. Tresslyn. 

"I never felt less like being objectionable in my life, " said he, "so ifyou don't mind I'll stay awhile. By the way, Anne, speaking ofdisagreeable things, I am sure I saw Brady Thorpe on the avenue a bit ago. Has your discarded skeleton come back with a key to your closet?"

"Braden is in New York, " said his mother acidly. "Is it necessary for youto be vulgar, George?"

"Not at all, " said he. "When did he arrive? I hope you don't see anythingvulgar in that, mother, " he made haste to add. 

"He reached New York to-day, I think. He has been here to see me. He hasgone away. There is nothing more to be said, so please be good enough toconsider the subject—"

"Gee! but I'd like to have heard what he had to say to you!"

"I am glad that you didn't, " said Anne, "for if you had you might havebeen under the painful necessity of calling him to account for it, and Idon't believe you'd like that. "

"Facetious, eh? Well, my mind is relieved at any rate. He spoke up like alittle man, didn't he, mother? I thought he would. And I'll bet you gavehim as good as he sent, so he's got his tail between his legs now andyelping for mercy. How does he look, Anne? Handsome as ever?"

"Anne did not see him. "

"Of course she didn't. How stupid of me. Where is he stopping?"

"With his grandfather, I suppose, " said Mrs. Tresslyn, as tolerant aspossible. 

"Naturally. I should have known that without asking. Getting the old boybraced up for the wedding, I suppose. Pumping oxygen into him, and allthat sort of thing. And that reminds me of something else. I may givemyself the pleasure of a personal call upon my prospective brother-in-lawto-morrow. "

"What?" cried his mother sharply. 

"Yep, " said George blithely. "I may have to do it. It's purely a businessmatter, so don't worry. I shan't say a word about the wedding. Far be itfrom me to distress an old gentleman about—"

"What business can you have with Mr. Thorpe?" demanded his mother. 

"Well, as I don't believe in keeping secrets from you, mother, I'llexplain. You see, I want to see if I can't negotiate the sale of athousand dollar note. Mr. Thorpe may be in the market to buy a good, safe, gilt-edge note—"

"Come to the point. Whose note are you trying to sell?"

"My own, " said George promptly. 

Anne laughed. "You would spell gilt with a letter u inserted before the i, in that case, wouldn't you?"

"I give you my word, " said George, "I don't know how to spell it. The twowords sound exactly alike and I'm always confusing them. "

His mother came and stood over him. "George, you are not to go to Mr. Thorpe with your pecuniary difficulties. I forbid it, do you understand?"

"Forbid it, mother? Great Scot, what's wrong in an honest little businesstransaction? I shall give him the best of security. If he doesn't care tolet me have the money on the note, that's his affair. It's business, notfriendship, I assure you. Old Tempy knows a good thing when he sees it. Ishall also promise to pay twenty per cent. Interest for two years fromdate. Two years, do you understand? If anything should happen to himbefore the two years are up, I'd still owe the money to his estate, wouldn't I? You can't deny that—"

"Stop! Not another word, sir! Am I to believe that I have a son who isentirely devoid of principle? Are you so lacking in pride that—"

"It depends entirely on how you spell the word, princi_pal_ or with a_ple_. I am entirely devoid of the one ending in pal, and I don't see whatpride has to do with it anyway. Ask Anne. She can tell you all that isnecessary to know about the Tresslyn pride. "

"Shut up!" said Anne languidly. 

"It's just this way, mother, " said George, sitting up, with a frown. "I'vegot to have five or six hundred dollars. I'll be honest with you, too. Iowe nearly that much to Percy Wintermill, and he is making himselfinfernally obnoxious about it. "

"Percy Wintermill? Have you been borrowing money from him?"

"In a way, yes. That is, I've been asking him for it and he's been lendingit to me. I don't think I've ever used the word borrow in a singleinstance. I hate the word. I simply say: 'Percy, let me take twenty-fivefor a week or two, will you?' and Percy says, 'All right, old boy, ' andthat's all there is to it. Percy's been all right up to a few weeks ago. In fact, I don't believe he would have mentioned the matter at all if Annehadn't turned him down on New Year's Eve. Why the deuce did you refusehim, Anne? He'd always been decent till you did that. Now he's perfectlyimpossible. "

"You know perfectly well why I refused him, " said Anne, lifting hereyebrows slightly. 

"Right-o! It was because you were engaged to Brady Thorpe. I quite forgot. I apologise. You were quite right in refusing him. Be that as it may, however, Percy is as sore as a crab. I can't go around owing money to achap who has been refused by my sister, can I? One of the Wintermills, too. By Jove, it's awful!" He looked extremely distressed. 

"You are not to go to Mr. Thorpe, " said his mother from the chair intowhich she had sunk in order to preserve a look of steadiness. A finemoisture had come out upon her upper lip. "You must find an honourable wayin which to discharge your debts. "

"Isn't my note as good as anybody's?" he demanded. 

"No. It isn't worth a dollar. "

"Ah, but it _will_ be if Mr. Thorpe buys it, " said he in triumph. "Hecould discount it for full value, if he wanted to. That's precisely whatmakes it good. I'm afraid you don't know very much about high finance, mother dear. "

"Please go away, George, " complained Anne. "Mother and I have a great dealto talk about, and you are a dreadful nuisance when you discover a reasonfor coming home so long before dinner-time. Can't you pawn something?"

"Don't be ridiculous, " said George. 

"Why did you borrow money from Percy Wintermill?" demanded Mrs. Tresslyn. 

"There you go, mother, using that word 'borrow' again. I wish youwouldn't. It's a vulgar word. You might as well say, 'Why did you _swipe_money from Percy Wintermill?' He lent it to me because he realised howdarned hard-up we are and felt sorry for me, I suppose. "

"For heaven's sake, George, don't tell me that you—"

"Don't look so horrified, mother, " he interrupted. "I didn't tell him wewere hard-up. I merely said, from time to time, 'Let me take fifty, Percy. ' I can't help it if he _suspects_, can I? And say, Anne, he was soterribly in love with you that he would have let me take a thousand anytime I wanted it, if I'd had occasion to ask him for it. You ought to bethankful that I didn't. "

"Don't drag me into it, " said Anne sharply. 

"I admit I was fooled all along, " said he, with a rueful sigh. "I had anidea that you'd be tickled to death to marry into the Wintermill family. Position, money, family jewels, and all that sort of thing. Everythingdesirable except Percy. And then, just when I thought something might comeof it, you up and get engaged to Brady Thorpe, keeping it secret from thepublic into the bargain. Confound it, you didn't even tell me till lastfall. Your stupid secretiveness allowed me to go on getting into Percy'sdebt, when a word from you might have saved me a lot of trouble. "

"Will you kindly leave the room, George?" said his mother, arising. 

"Percy is making himself fearfully obnoxious, " went on George ominously. "For nearly three weeks I've been dodging him, and it can't go on muchlonger. One of these fine days, mother, a prominent member of theWintermill family is going to receive a far from exclusive thrashing. That's the only way I can think of to stop him, if I can't raise the moneyto pay him up. Some day I'm going to refrain from dodging and he is goingto run right square into this. " He held up a brawny fist. "I'm going tohold it just so, and it won't be too high for his nose, either. Then I'mgoing to pick him up and turn him around, with his face toward theBattery, and kick just as hard as I know how. I'll bet my head he'll notbother me about money after that—unless, of course, he's cad enough to sueme. I don't think he'll do that, however, being a proud and haughtyWintermill. I suppose we'll all be eliminated from the Wintermillinvitation list after that, and it may be that we'll go without afashionable dinner once in awhile, but what's all that to the preservationof the family dignity?"

Mrs. Tresslyn leaned suddenly against a chair, and even Anne turned toregard her tall brother with a look of real dismay. 

"How much do you owe him?" asked the former, controlling her voice with aneffort. 

"Five hundred and sixty-five dollars, including interest. A pitiful sum toget thrashed for, isn't it?"

"And you were planning to get the money from Mr. Thorpe to pay Percy?"

"To keep Percy from getting licked, would be the better way to put it. Ithink it's uncommonly decent of me. "

"You are—you are a bully, George, —a downright bully, " flared Anne, confronting him with blazing eyes. "You have no right to frighten motherin this way. It's cowardly. "

"He doesn't frighten me, dear, " said Mrs. Tresslyn, but her lips quivered. Turning to her son, she continued: "George, if you will mail a check toPercy this minute, I will draw one for you. A Tresslyn cannot owe money toa Wintermill. We will say no more about it. The subject is closed. Sitdown there and draw a check for the amount, and I will sign it. Rawsonwill post it. "

George turned his head away, and lowered his chin. A huskiness camequickly into his voice. 

"I'm—I'm ashamed of myself, mother, —I give you my word I am. I came hereintending to ask you point-blank to advance me the money. Then the ideacame into my head to work the bluff about old Mr. Thorpe. That grew intoPercy's prospective thrashing. I'm sorry. It's the first time I've evertried to put anything over on you. "

"Fill in the check, please, " she said coldly. "I've just been drawing afew for the dressmakers—a few that Anne has just remembered. I shan't inthe least mind adding one for Percy. He isn't a dressmaker but if I wereasked to select a suitable occupation for him I don't know of one he'd bebetter qualified to pursue. Fill it in, please. "

Her son looked at her admiringly. "By Jove, mother, you are a wonder. Younever miss fire. I'd give a thousand dollars, if I had it, to see old Mrs. Wintermill's face if that remark could be repeated to her. "

A faint smile played about his mother's lips. After all, there was honesttribute in the speech of this son of hers. 

"It would be worse than a bloody nose for Percy, " said Anne, slipping anarm around her mother's waist. "But I don't like what you said about _me_and the dressmakers. I must have gowns. It isn't quite the same asGeorge's I. O. U. To Percy, you know. "

"Don't be selfish, Anne, " cried George, jerking a chair up to theescritoire and scrambling among the papers for a pen. "You won't have toworry long. You'll soon be so rich that the dressmakers won't dare to sendyou a bill. "

"Wait a moment, George, " said Mrs. Tresslyn abruptly. "If you do notpromise to refrain from saying disagreeable things to Anne, I shallwithdraw my offer to help you out of this scrape. "

George faced her. "Does that mean that I am to put my O. K. Upon thiswedding of Anne's?" His look of good-nature disappeared. 

"It means that you are not to comment upon it, that's all, " said hismother. "You have said quite enough. There is nothing more that you canadd to an already sufficiently distasteful argument. "

George swallowed hard as he bent over the checkbook. "All right, mother, I'll try to keep my trap closed from now on. But I don't want you to thinkthat I'm taking this thing pleasantly. I'll say for the last time, —Ihope, —that it's a darned crime, and we'll let it go at that. "

"Very well. We will let it go at that. "

"Great Scot!" burst from his lips as he whirled in the fragile chair toface the women of the house. "I just can't help feeling as I do about it. I can't bear to think of Anne, —my pretty sister Anne, —married to that oldrummy. Why, she's fit to be the wife of a god. She's the prettiest girl inNew York and she'd be one of the best if she had half a chance. A fellowlike Braden Thorpe would make a queen of her, and that's just what sheought to be. Oh, Lord! To think of her being married to that burnt-out, shrivelled-up—"

"George! That will do, sir!"

His sister was staring at him in utter perplexity. Something like wonderwas growing in her lovely, velvety eyes. Never before had she heard suchwords as these from the lips of her big and hitherto far from consideratebrother, the brother who had always begrudged her the slightest sign offavour from their mother, who had blamed her for securing by unfair meansmore than her share of the maternal peace-offerings. 

Suddenly the big boy dug his knuckles into his eyes and turned away, muttering an oath of mortification. Anne sprang to his side. Her handsfell upon his shoulders. 

"What are you doing, George? Are—are you crazy?"

"Crazy _nothing_, " he choked out, biting his lip. "Go away, Anne. I'm justa damned fool, that's all. I—"

"Mother, he's—he's crying, " whispered Anne, bewildered. "What is it, George?" For the first time in her life she slipped an affectionate armabout him and laid her cheek against his sleek, black hair. "Buck up, little boy; don't take it like this. I'll—I'll be all right. I'll—oh, I'llnever forget you for feeling as you do, George. I didn't think you'dreally care so much. "

"Why, —why, Anne, of course I care, " he gulped. "Why shouldn't I care?Aren't you my sister, and I your brother? I'd be a fine mess of a thing ifI didn't care. I tell you, mother, it's awful! You know it is! It is aqueer thing for a brother to say, I suppose, but—but I _do_ love Anne. Allmy life I've looked upon her as the finest thing in the world. I've beenmean and nasty and all that sort of thing and I'm always saying rottenthings to her, but, darn it, I—I do love my pretty sister. I ought to hateyou, Anne, for this infernal thing you are determined to do—I ought to, doyou understand, but I can't, I just can't. It's the rottenest thing a girlcan do, and you're doing it, I—oh, say, what's the matter with me?Sniffling idiot! I say, where the devil _do_ you keep your pen?"Wrathfully he jerked a pile of note paper and blotters off the desk, scattering them on the floor. "I'll write the check, mother, and I'llpromise to do my best hereafter about Anne and old Tempy. And what's more, I'll not punch Percy's nose, so you needn't be afraid he'll turn it up atus. "

The pen scratched vigorously across the check. His mother was regardinghim with a queer expression in her eyes. She had not moved while he wasexpressing himself so feelingly about Anne. Was it possible that after allthere was something fine in this boy of hers? His simple, genuine outburstwas a revelation to her. 

"I trust this may be the last time that you will come to me for money inthis way, George, " she said levelly. "You must be made to realise that Icannot afford such luxuries as these. You have made it impossible for meto refuse you this time. I cannot allow a son of mine to be in debt to aWintermill. You must not borrow money. You—"

He looked up, grinning. "There you go again with that middle-class word, mother. But I'll forgive you this once on condition that you never use itagain. People in our walk of life never _borrow_ anything but trouble, youknow. We don't borrow money. We arrange for it occasionally, but Godforbid that we should ever become so common as to borrow it. There youare, filled in and ready for your autograph—payable to Percy Reginald VanAlstone Wintermill. I put his whole name in so that he'd have to go to theexertion of signing it all on the back. He hates work worse than poison. I'm glad you didn't accept him, Anne. It would be awful to have to look upto a man who is so insignificant that you'd have to look down upon him atthe same time. "

Mrs. Tresslyn signed the check. "I will have Rawson post it to him atonce, " she said. "There goes one of your gowns, Anne, —five hundred andsixty-five dollars. "

"I shan't miss it, mother dear, " said Anne cheerfully. She had linked anarm through one of George's, much to the surprise and embarrassment of thetall young man. 

"Bully girl, " said he awkwardly. "Just for that I'll kiss the bride nextmonth, and wish her the best of luck. I—I certainly hope you'll havebetter luck than I had. "

"There's still loads of luck ahead for you, George, " said she, a littlewistfully. "All you've got to do is to keep a sharp lookout and you'llfind it some day—sooner than I, I'm sure. You'll find the right girland—zip! Everything will be rosy, old boy!"

He smiled wryly. "I've lost the right girl, Anne. "

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Tresslyn sharply. Her eyes narrowed as shelooked into his. "You ought to get down on your knees and thank God thatyou are not married to that—"

"Wait a second, mother, " he broke in. "I'm afraid I shall have to ask youto let her alone, now that you're rid of her, just as I'm expected to letold Tempy slide by without noticing him. "

"Nonsense, " again said Mrs. Tresslyn, but this time with less confidencein her voice. She looked intently into her son's set face and fear wasrevived in her soul, an ever-present fear that slept and roused itselfwith sickening persistency. 

"We'll hang her up in the family closet, if you don't mind, alongside ofBrady Thorpe, and we'll never mention her again if I can help it. I mustsay, though, that our skeletons are uncommonly attractive, aren't they, Anne? No dry, rattling bones in our closets, are there?" He squeezed herarm playfully, and was amazed when she jerked it away. 

"I was nice to you, George, and this is the way you—"

"Forgive me, please. I didn't mean it in an offensive way. I just took itfor granted that we'd understand each other. At any rate, we've got onething to be thankful for. There are no Wintermill skeletons hanging in ourclosets. We've both succeeded in dodging them, praise the Lord. "

It so happened that Percy's excessively homely sister had been consideredat one time as a most desirable helpmate for the rapidly developingGeorge, and it is barely possible that the little mustard girl upset asocial dynasty. 

CHAPTER VI

Mr. Thorpe was as good as his word. He arranged for the meeting betweenBraden and Anne, but with characteristic astuteness laid his plans so thatthey were to come upon each other unexpectedly. It happened on the secondday after his talk with Braden. 

Mr. Thorpe's plan involved other people as well as the two most vitallyinterested. There was to be a meeting at his house late in the afternoonfor the purpose of signing the ante-nuptial contract already agreed upon. Five o'clock was the hour set for the gathering. Lawyers representing bothparties were to be there, with Mrs. Tresslyn, George and Anne, and Mr. Thorpe's private secretary, who, with Dr. Bates, was to serve as a witnessto the instrument. 

At noon Wade delivered a letter to Miss Tresslyn in which Mr. Thorpe saidthat he would be pleased if she would accompany him to Tiffany's for thepurpose of selecting a string of pearls. He made it quite clear that shewas to go alone with him, playfully mentioning his desire to be the onlywitness to her confusion when confronted by the "obsequious salesman andhis baubles from the sea. " If quite agreeable to her he would make anappointment with the jeweller for 3. 30 and would call for her in person. After that, he continued, the signing of a contract for life would notseem such a portentous undertaking, and they could go to the meeting withhearts as light as air. It was a cheerful, even gay little missive, butshe was not for an instant blind to the irony that lay between the lines. 

Anne selected the pearls that he had chosen in advance of their visit toTiffany's. He did not tell her that he had instructed the jeweller to makeup a string of pearls for her inspection, with the understanding that shewas to choose for herself from an assortment of half-a-dozen beautifulofferings, no price to be mentioned. He was quite sure that she would noteven consider the cost. He credited her with an honest scorn forsentimentality; she would make no effort to glorify him for an act thatwas so obviously a part of their unsentimental compact. There would be nogushing over this sardonic tribute to her avarice. She would have herselftoo well in hand for that. 

They were about her neck when she entered the house near Washington Squarealmost an hour before the time appointed for the conference. In her secretbut subdued pleasure over acquiring the costly present, she had lost allcount of time. That was a part of Mr. Thorpe's expensive programme. 

All the way down in the automobile she had been estimating the value ofher new possession. On one point she was satisfied: there were fewhandsomer strings in New York than hers. She would have to keep them in asafe place, —a vault, no doubt. Nearly every matron of her acquaintancemade a great deal of the fact that she had to buy a safe in which to storeher treasures. There was something agreeable—subtly agreeable—in owningjewels that would have to be kept in one of those staunch, opulent lookingsafes. She experienced a thrill of satisfaction by describing herself inadvance, as one of the women with pearls. And there was additionalgratification in the knowledge that she could hardly be called a matron inthe strict sense of the word. She was glad that she was too young forthat. She tried to recall the names of all the women who possessed pearlslike these, and the apparent though undeclared age of each. There was notone among them who was under forty. Most of them had endured many years ofmarried life before acquiring what she was to have at the outset. Mrs. Wintermill, for instance: she was sixty-two or three, and had but recentlycome into a string of pearls not a whit more valuable than the one thatnow adorned her neck and lay hidden beneath the warm fur collar of hercoat. 

Her calculations suddenly hit upon something that could be used as abasis. Mrs. Wintermill's pearls had cost sixty-five thousand dollars. Sixty-five thousand dollars! She could not resist the impulse to shoot aswift, startled look out of the corners of her eyes at the silent old manbeside her. That was a lot of money! And it was money that he was under noobligation to expend upon her. It was quite outside the contract. She waspuzzled. Why this uncalled for generosity? A queer, sickening doubtassailed her. 

"Are—are these pearls really and truly to be mine?" she asked. "Mine tokeep forever?"

"Certainly, my dear, " he said, looking at her so oddly that she flushed. He had read the thought that was in her mind. "I give and bequeath them toyou this day, to have and to hold forever, " he added, with a smile thatshe could not fail to understand. 

"I wanted to be sure, " she said, resorting to frankness. 

When they entered the Thorpe home, Wade was waiting in the hall with thebutler. His patient, set smile did not depart so much as the fraction ofan inch from its habitual condition. His head was cocked a little to oneside. 

"Are we late, Wade?" inquired Mr. Thorpe. 

"No, sir, " said Wade. "No one has come. " He glanced up at the tall clockon the landing. "It is a quarter past four, sir. Mrs. Tresslyn telephoneda few minutes ago, sir. "

"Ah! That she would be late?"

"No, sir. To inquire if—ahem!—if Mr. Braden was likely to be here thisafternoon. "

Anne started violently. A quick, hunted expression leaped into her eyes asshe looked about her. Something rushed up into her throat, something thatsmothered. 

"You informed her, of course, that Mr. Braden declines to honour us withhis presence, " said Mr. Thorpe suavely. 

"Yes, sir, in a way. "

"Ahem! Well, my dear, make yourself quite at home. Go into the library, do. You'll find a roaring fire there. Murray, take Miss Tresslyn's coat. Make her comfortable. Come, Wade, your arm. Forgive me, Anne, if I leaveyou to yourself for a few minutes. My joy at having you here is shorn ofits keenness by a long-established age that demands house-boots, an eider-down coat and—Murray, what the devil do you mean by letting the house getso cold as all this? It's like a barn. Are the furnaces out. What am Ipaying that rascally O'Toole for? Tell him to—"

"It is quite comfortable, Mr. Thorpe, " said Anne, with a slight shiverthat was not to be charged to the defective O'Toole. 

The long, wide hall was dark and grim. Wade was dark and grim, and Murraytoo, despite his rotundity. There were lank shadows at the bottom of thehall, grim projections of objects that stood for ornamentation: a suit ofarmour, a gloomy candlestick of prodigious stature, and a thin Italiancabinet surmounted by an urn whose unexposed contents might readily havesuggested something more sinister than the dust of antiquity. The door tothe library was open. Fitful red shadows flashed dully from the fireplaceacross the room, creeping out into the hall and then darting back again asif afraid to venture. The waning sunlight struggled through a curtainedwindow at the top of the stairs. There was dusk in the house. Evening hadfallen there. 

Anne stood in the middle of the library, divested of her warm fur coat. Murray was poking the fire, and cheerful flames were leaping upward inresponse to the call to wake. She had removed one of her gloves. With theslim, bared fingers she fondled the pearls about her neck, but herthoughts were not of baubles. She was thinking of this huge room full ofshadows, shadows through which she would have to walk for many a day, where night would always be welcome because of the light it demanded. 

It was a man's room. Everything in it was massive, substantial. Bigchairs, wide lounges, and a thick soft carpet of dull red that deprivedthe footfall of its sound. Books mounted high, —almost to theceiling, —filling all the spaces left unused by the doors and windows. Heavy damask curtains shut out the light of day. She wondered why they hadbeen drawn so early, and whether they were always drawn like this. Nearthe big fireplace, with its long mantelpiece over which hung suspended theportrait of an early Knickerbocker gentleman with ruddy, even convivialcountenance, stood a long table, a reading lamp at the farther end. Books, magazines, papers lay in disorder upon this table. 

She recalled something that Braden once had told her: his grandfatheralways "raised Cain" with any one who happened to be guilty of what hecalled criminal orderliness in putting the table to rights. He wanted thepapers and magazines left just as they were, so that he could put his handupon them without demanding too much of a servant's powers of divination. More than one parlour-maid had been dismissed for offensive neatness. 

She closed her eyes for a second. A faint line, as of pain, appearedbetween them. In this room Braden Thorpe had been coddled and scolded, inthis room he had romped and studied—She opened her eyes quickly. 

"Murray, " she said, in a low voice; "you are quite sure that Mr. Bradenis—is out?"

The old butler straightened up from his task, his hand going to his backas if to keep it from creaking. "Yes, Miss Tresslyn, quite sure. " Hehesitated for a moment. "I think he said that he intended to give himselfthe pleasure of a call—ahem! I beg pardon. Yes, he is quite out—I shouldsay, I'm quite sure he is out. " He was confused, a most unheard of thingin Murray. 

"But he will return—soon?" She took a step or two nearer the door, possessed of a sudden impulse to run, —to run swiftly away. 

"I think not, miss, " said he. "He is not expected to be here duringthe—er—you might say, the—ahem!"

"I'll have a look about the room, " said Anne softly. She felt that she wasgoing to like Murray. She wanted him to like her. The butler may havecaught the queer little note in her voice, or he may have seen the huntedlook in her eyes before she turned them away. At any rate, he poked thefire vigorously once more. It was his way of saying that she might dependupon him. Then he went out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

She started violently, and put her hand to her heart. She had the queer, uncanny feeling that she was locked in this sombre room, that she wouldnever be free again. 

In a room upstairs, Mr. Templeton Thorpe was saying to Wade:

"Is my grandson in his room?"

"Yes, sir. He came in at four and has been waiting for you, as youdirected, sir. "

"Tell him that I would like to see him at once in the library, " said Mr. Thorpe. 

"Yes, sir, " said Wade, and for the first time in years his patient smileassumed the proportions of a grin. He did not have to be told that Anne'spresence in the house was not to be made known to Braden. All that he wasexpected to do was to inform the young man that his grandfather wanted tosee him in the library, —at once. 

And so it came to pass that three minutes later, Braden and Anne were faceto face with each other, and old Mr. Thorpe had redeemed his promise. 

Of the two, Braden was the more surprised. The girl's misgivings hadprepared her for just such a crisis as this. Something told her theinstant she set foot inside the house that she was to be tricked. In aflash she realised that Mr. Thorpe himself was responsible for theencounter she had dreaded. It was impossible to suspect Braden of being aparty to the scheme. He was petrified. There could be no doubt that he hadbeen tricked quite as cleverly as she. 

But what could have been in the old man's design? Was it a trap? Did heexpect her to rush into Braden's arms? Was he lurking behind some near-bycurtain to witness her surrender? Was he putting her to the test, or wasit his grandson who was on trial?

Here was the supreme crisis in the life of Anne Tresslyn: the turningpoint. Her whole being cried out against this crafty trick. One word nowfrom Braden would have altered the whole course of her life. In eagersilence she stood on the thin edge of circumstance, ready to fall as thewind blew strongest. She was in revolt. If this stupefied, white-facedyoung man had but called out to her: "Anne! Anne, my darling! Come!" shewould have laughed in triumph over the outcome of the old man's test, andall the years of her life would have been filled with sweetness. She wouldhave gone to him. 

But, alas, those were not the words that fell from his lips, and the fateof Anne Tresslyn was sealed as she stood there watching him with wide-spread eyes. 

"I prefer to see you in your own home, " he said, a flush of angerspreading over his face; "not here in my grandfather's house. "

There was no mistaking his meaning. He thought she had come there to seehim, —ay, conceivably had planned this very situation! She started. It waslike a slap in the face. Then she breathed once more, and realised thatshe had not drawn a breath since he entered the room. Her life had beenstanding still, waiting till these few stupendous seconds were over. Nowthey were gone and she could take up life where it had left off. Thetightness in her throat relaxed. The crisis was over, the turning pointwas behind her. He had failed her, and he would have to pay. He would haveto pay with months, even years of waiting. For it had never occurred toAnne Tresslyn to doubt that he would come to her in good and proper time!

She could not speak at once. Her response was not ready. She wascollecting herself. Given the time, she would rise above the mischief thatconfounded her. To have uttered the words that hung unuttered on her lipswould have glorified him and brought shame to her pride forever more. Fivewords trembled there awaiting deliverance and they were good and honestwords—"Take me back, Braden darling!" They were never spoken. They wereformed to answer a different call from him. She checked them in time. 

"I did not come here to see you, " she said at last, standing very straightbeside the table. He was just inside the door leading to the hall. "Whosetrick is this, —yours or Mr. Thorpe's?"

Enlightenment flashed into his eyes. "By Jove!" he exclaimed. "He said hewould do it, and he has made good. This is his way of—" He broke off inthe middle of the sentence. In an instant he had whirled about and thedoor was closed with a bang. 

She started forward, her hand pressed to her quick-beating heart, realfear in her eyes. What was in his mind? Was this insanity? She had read ofmen driven mad by disappointment who brutally set upon and killed—But hewas facing her now, and she stopped short. His jaw was set but there wasno insane light in the eyes that regarded her so steadily. Somehow—andsuddenly—her composure was restored. She was not afraid of him. She wasnot afraid of the hands and arms that had caressed her so tenderly, norwas she afraid of the words that were to fall from the lips that hadkissed hers so many times. He was merely going to plead with her, and shewas well prepared for that. 

For weeks and weeks she had been preparing herself for this unhappymoment. She knew that the time would come when she would have to face himand defend herself. She would have to deny the man she loved. She wouldhave to tell him that she was going for a higher price than he could pay. The time had come and she was ready. The weakness of the minute before hadpassed—passed with his failure to strike when, with all her heart andsoul, she wanted him to strike. 

"You need not be frightened, " he said, subduing his voice with an effort. "Let us take time to steady ourselves. We have a good deal to say to eachother. Let's be careful not to waste words, now that we're face to face atlast. "

"I am quite calm, " she said, stock-still beside the table. "Why should Ibe frightened? I am the last person in the world that you would strike, Braden. " She was that sure of him!

"Strike? Good God, why should that have entered your head?"

"One never knows, " she said. "I was startled. I was afraid—at first. Youimplied a moment ago that I had arranged for this meeting. Surely youunderstand that I—"

"My grandfather arranged it, " he interrupted. "There's no use beatingabout the bush. I told him that I would not believe this thing of youunless I had it from your own lips. You would not see me. You were notpermitted to see me. I told him that you were being forced into thishorrible marriage, that your mother was afraid to let me have a singleword with you. He laughed at me. He said that you were going into it withyour eyes open, that you were obeying your mother willingly, that you—"

"Pardon me, " she interrupted coldly. "Is your grandfather secretedsomewhere near so that he may be able to enjoy the—"

"I don't know, and I don't care. Let him hear if he wants to. Why shouldeither of us care? He knows all there is to know about you and hecertainly appreciates my position. We may as well speak freely. It willnot make the slightest difference, one way or the other, so far as he isconcerned. He knows perfectly well that you are not marrying him for love, or respect, or even position. So let's speak plainly. I say that hearranged this meeting between us. He brought you here, and he sentupstairs for me to join him in this room. Well, you see he isn't here. Weare quite alone. He is fair to both of us. He is giving me my chance andhe is giving you yours. It only remains for us to settle the matter hereand now. I know all of the details of this disgusting compact. I know thatyou are to have two million dollars settled upon you the day you aremarried—oh, I know the whole of it! Now, there's just one thing to besettled between you and me: are you going ahead with it or are you goingto be an honest woman and marry the man you love?"

He did not leave her much to stand upon. She had expected him to go aboutit in an entirely different way. She had counted upon an impassioned pleafor himself, not this terse, cold-blooded, almost unemotional summing upof the situation. For an instant she was at a loss. It was hard to lookinto his honest eyes. A queer, unformed doubt began to torment her, adoubt that grew into a question later on: was he still in love with her?

"And what if I do not care to discuss my private affairs with you?" shesaid, playing for time. 

"Don't fence, Anne, " he said sternly. "Answer the question. Wait. I'll putit in another form, and I want the truth. If you say to me that yourmother is deliberately forcing you into this marriage I'll believe you, and I'll—I'll fight for you till I get you. I will not stand by and seeyou sacrificed, even though you may appear to—"

"Stop, please. If you mean to ask _that_ question, I'll answer it inadvance. It is I, not my mother, who expects to marry Mr. Thorpe, and I amquite old enough and wise enough to know my own mind. So you need not putthe question. "

He drew nearer. The table separated them as they looked squarely into eachother's eyes through the fire-lit space that lay between. 

"Anne, Anne!" he cried hoarsely. "You must not, you shall not do thisunspeakable thing! For God's sake, girl, if you have an atom of self-respect, the slightest—"

"Don't begin that, Braden!" she cut in, ominously. "I cannot permit you orany man to _say_ such things to me, no matter what you may think. Bearthat in mind. "

"Don't you mind what I think about it, Anne?" he cried, his voicebreaking. 

"See here, Braden, " she said, in an abrupt, matter-of-fact manner, "itisn't going to do the least bit of good to argue the point. I am pledgedto marry Mr. Thorpe and I shall do so if I live till the twenty-third ofnext month. Provided, of course, that he lives till that day himself. Ihave gone into it with my eyes open, as he says, and I am satisfied withmy bargain. I suppose you will hate me to the end of your days. But if youthink that I expect to hate myself, you are very much mistaken. Look! Doyou see these pearls? They were not included in the bargain, and I couldhave gone on very well without them to the end of my term as the mistressof this house, but I accepted them from my fiancé to-day in precisely thesame spirit in which they were given: as alms to the undeserving. Yourgrandfather did not want me to marry you. He is merely paying me to keepmy hands _off_. That's the long and the short of it. I am not in the leastdeceived. You will say that I could—and should have told him to go to thedevil. Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you that I couldn't see my wayclear to doing that. I hope he _is_ listening behind the curtains. Wedrove a hard bargain. He thought he could get off with a million. You mustremember that he had deliberately disinherited you, —that much I know. Hiswill is made. It will not be altered. You will be a poor man as wealth isreckoned in these days. But you will be a great man. You will be famous, distinguished, honoured. That is what he intends. He set out to sacrificeme in order that you might be spared. You were not to have a millstoneabout your neck in the shape of a selfish, unsacrificing wife. What rot!From the bottom of my heart, Braden, —if you will grant me a heart, —I hopeand pray that you may go to the head of your profession, that you may be agreat and good man. I do not ask you to believe me when I say that I loveyou, and always—"

"For God's sake, don't ask me to believe it! Don't add to the degradationyou are piling up for yourself. Spare yourself that miserable confession. It is quite unnecessary to lie to me, Anne. "

"Lie? I am telling you the truth, Braden. I do love you. I can't helpthat, can I? You do not for an instant suspect that I love this dodderingold man, do you? Well, I must love some one. That's natural, isn't it?Then, why shouldn't it be you? Oh, laugh if you will! It doesn't hurt mein the least. Curse me, if you like. I've made up my mind to go on withthis business of marrying. We've had one unsuccessful marriage in ourfamily of late. Love was at the bottom of it. You know how it has turnedout, Braden. It—"

"I believe I know how it might have turned out if they had been left tothemselves, " said he bluntly. 

"She would have been a millstone, nevertheless, " she argued. 

"I don't agree with you. George found his level in that little nobody, asyou all have called her. Poor little thing, she was not so lucky as I. Shedid not have her eyes opened in time. She had no chance to escape. Butwe're not here to talk about Lutie Carnahan. I have told my grandfatherthat I intend to break this thing off if it is in my power to do so. Ishall not give up until I know that you are actually married. It is acrime that must not—"

"How do you purpose breaking it off?" she inquired shrilly. Visions of astrong figure rising in the middle of the ceremony to cry out against thefinal words flashed into her mind. Would she have that to look forward toand dread?

"I shall go on appealing to your honour, your decency, your self-respect, if not to the love you say you bear for me. "

She breathed easier. "And will you confine your appeals to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you might take it into your head to appeal to Mr. Thorpe'shonour, decency, self-respect and love for you, " she said, sullenly. "Heis quite as guilty as I, remember. "

"He has quite a different object in view. He seems to feel that he isdoing me a good turn, not an evil one. "

"Bosh!" She was angry. "And what will be your attitude toward me if you_do_ succeed in preventing the marriage? Will you take me back as I wasbefore this thing came up? Will you make me your wife, just as if nothinghad happened? In view of my deliberate intention to deny you, will youforget everything and take me back?"

He put his hand to his throat, and for a moment appeared to be strugglingagainst himself. "I will take you back, Anne, as if nothing had happened, if you will say to me here and now that you will marry me to-morrow. "

She stared at him, incredulous. Her heart began to beat rapidly once moreand the anger died away. "You would do that, knowing me to be what I am?"

"Knowing you to be what you _were_, " he amended eagerly. "Oh, Anne, youare worth loving, you are pure of heart and—"

"If I will marry you to-morrow?" she went on, watching his face closely. 

"Yes. But you must say it now—this instant. I will not grant you amoment's respite. If you do not say the word now, your chance is goneforever. It has to be now, Anne. "

"And if I refuse—what then?"

"I would not marry you if you were the only woman on earth, " he saidflatly. 

She smiled. "Are you sure that you love me, Braden?"

"I will love you when you become what you were, —a month ago, " he saidsimply. "A girl worth the honour of being loved, " he added. 

"Men sometimes love those who are not worth the honour, " she said, feelingher way. "They cannot help themselves. "

"Will you say the word _now_?" he demanded hoarsely. 

She sighed. It was a sigh of relief, —perhaps of triumph. He was safe forall time. He would come to her in the end. She was on solid ground oncemore. 

"I am afraid, Braden, that I cannot play fast and loose with a man as oldas Mr. Thorpe, " she said lightly. 

He muttered an oath. "Don't be a fool! What do you call your treatment ofme? Fast and loose! Good Lord, haven't you played fast and loose with me?"

"Ah, but you are young and enduring, " she said. "You will get over it. Hewouldn't have the time or strength to recover from the shock of—"

"Oh, for God's sake, don't talk like that! What do you call yourself?What—" He checked the angry words and after a moment went on, morequietly: "Now, see here, Anne, I'm through parleying with you. I shall goon trying to prevent this marriage, but succeed or fail, I don't want tosee your face again as long as I live. I'm through with you. You _are_like your mother. You are a damned vampire. God, how I have loved andtrusted you, how I have believed in you. I did not believe that the womanlived who could degrade herself as you are about to degrade yourself. Ihave had my eyes opened. All my life I have loved you without even knowingyou. All my life I—"

"All my life I have loved you, " she broke in cringingly. 

He laughed aloud. "The hell you have!" he cried out. "You have allowed meto hold you in my arms, to kiss you, to fondle you, and you have trembledwith joy and passion, —and now you call it love! Love! You have never lovedin your life and you never will. You call self-gratification by the nameof love. Thank God, I know you at last. I ought to pity you. In allhumanity I ought to pity a fellow creature so devoid of—"

"Stop!" she cried, her face flaming red. "Go! Go away! You have saidenough. I will hate you if you utter another word, and I don't want tohate you, Braden. I want to go on loving you all my life. I _must_ go onloving you. "

"You have my consent, " he said, ironically, bowing low before her. "Humanity compels me to grant you all the consolation you can find indeceiving yourself. "

"Wait!" she cried out, as he turned toward the door. "I—I am hurt, Braden. Can't you see how you have hurt me? Won't you—"

"Of course, you are hurt!" he shouted. "You squeal when you are hurt. Youthink only of yourself when you cry 'I am hurt'! Don't you ever think ofany one else?" His hand grasped the big silver door-knob. 

"I want you to understand, if you can, why I am doing this thing yourevile me for. "

"I understand, " he said curtly. 

She hurried her words, fearful that he might rush from the room before shecould utter the belated explanation. 

"I don't want to be poor. I don't want to go through life as my mother hasgone, always fighting for the things she most desired, always being behindthe game she was forced to play. You can't understand, —you are too big andfine, —you cannot understand the little things, Braden. I want love andhappiness, but I want the other, too. Don't you see that with all thismoney at my command I can be independent, I can be safe for all time, Ican give more than myself in return for the love that I must have? Don'tyou understand why—"

She was quite close to him when he interrupted the impassioned appeal. Hishand shook as he held it up to check her approach. 

"It's all over, Anne. There is nothing more to be said. I understandeverything now. May God forgive you, " he said huskily. 

She stopped short. Her head went up and defiance shone in her face. 

"I'd rather have your forgiveness than God's, " she said distinctly, "andsince I may not ask for it now, I will wait for it, my friend. We loveeach other. Time mends a good many breaks. Good-bye! Some day I hopeyou'll come to see your poor old granny, and bring—"

"Oh, for the love of heaven, have a little decency, Anne, " he cried, hislip curling. 

But her pride was roused, it was in revolt against all of the finerinstincts that struggled for expression. 

"You'd better go now. Run upstairs and tell your grandfather that hisscheme worked perfectly. Tell him everything I have said. He will notmind. I am sorry you will not remain to see the contract signed. I shouldlike to have you for a witness. If you—"

"Contract? What contract?"

"Oh, " she said lightly, "just a little agreement on his part to make lifeendurable for me while he continues to live. We are to sign the paper atfive o'clock. Yes, you'd better run along, Braden, or you'll find yourselfthe centre of a perplexed crowd. Before you go, please take a last look atme in my sepulchre. Here I stand! Am I not fair to look upon?"

"God, I'd sooner see you in your grave than here, " he grated out. "You'dbe better off, a thousand times. "

"This is my grave, " she said, "or will be soon. I suppose I am not tocount you among the mourners?"

He slammed the door behind him, and she was alone. 

"How I hate people who slam doors, " she said to herself. 

CHAPTER VII

A fortnight passed. Preparations for the wedding went on in the Tresslynhome with little or no slackening of the tension that had settled upon theinmates with the advent of the disturber. Anne was now sullenly determinedthat nothing should intervene to prevent the marriage, unless an unkindProvidence ordered the death of Templeton Thorpe. She was bitter towardBraden. Down in her soul, she knew that he was justified in the stand hehad taken, and in that knowledge lay the secret of her revolt against oneof the commands of Nature. He had treated her with the scorn that she knewshe deserved; he had pronounced judgment upon her, and she confessed toherself that she was guilty as charged. That was the worst of it; shecould pronounce herself guilty, and yet resent the justice of her owndecision. 

In her desperation, she tried to hold old Mr. Thorpe responsible for thefresh canker that gnawed at her soul. But for that encounter in hislibrary, she might have proceeded with confidence instead of theuneasiness that now attended her every step. She could not free herself ofthe fear that Braden might after all succeed in his efforts to persuadethe old man to change his mind. True, the contract was signed, butcontracts are not always sacred. They are made to be broken. Moreover, byno stretch of the imagination could this contract be looked upon as sacredand it certainly would not look pretty if exposed to a court of law. Hersole thought now was to have it all safely over with. Then perhaps shecould smile once more. 

In the home of the bridegroom, preparations for the event were scant andof a perfunctory nature. Mr. Templeton Thorpe ordered a new suit ofclothes for himself—or, to be quite precise, he instructed Wade to orderit. He was in need of a new suit anyway, he said, and he had put offordering it for a long, long time, not because he was parsimonious butbecause he did not like going up town for the "try-on. " He also had a newsilk hat made from his special block, and he would doubtless be compelledto have his hair trimmed up a bit about the nineteenth or twentieth, ifthe weather turned a trifle warmer. Of course, there would be the trip toCity Hall with Anne, for the licence. He would have to attend to that inperson. That was one thing that Wade couldn't do for him. Wade bought thewedding-ring and saw to the engraving; he attended to the buying of a giftfor the best man, —who under one of the phases of an all-enveloping ironywas to be George Dexter Tresslyn!—and in the same expedition to thejewellers' purchased for himself a watch-fob as a self-selected gift froma master who had never given him anything in all his years of serviceexcept his monthly wage and a daily malediction. 

Braden Thorpe made the supreme effort to save his grandfather. Believinghimself to be completely cured of his desire for Anne, he took the standthat there was no longer a necessity for the old gentleman to sacrificehimself to the greed of the Tresslyns. But Mr. Thorpe refused to listen tothis new and apparently unprejudiced argument. He was firm in hisdetermination to clip Anne's claws; he would take no chances with youth, ultimate propinquity, and the wiles of a repentant sinner. 

"You can guard against anything, " said he in his wisdom, "except thebeautiful woman who repents. You never can tell what she'll do to make herrepentance satisfactory to everybody concerned. So we'll take no chanceswith Anne. We'll put her in irons, my boy, so to speak. "

And so it was that Braden, worn and disspirited, gave up in despair andprepared for his return to London. He went before an examining board inNew York first and obtained his licence to become a practising physicianand surgeon, and, with a set expression in his disillusioned eyes, peeredout into the future in quest of the fame that was to take the place of ayoung girl's love. 

He met his first patient in the Knickerbocker Café. Lunching alone thereone day, a week before the date selected for sailing, he was accosted byan extremely gay and pretty young woman who came over from a table of fourin a distant corner of the room. 

"Is this Dr. Braden Thorpe?" she inquired, placing her hands on the backof the chair opposite and leaning forward with a most agreeable, eveninviting smile. 

Her face was familiar. "Since day before yesterday, " he replied, risingwith a self-conscious flush. 

"May I sit down? I want to talk to you about myself. " She sat down in thechair that an alert waiter pulled out for her. 

"I am afraid you are labouring under a misapprehension, " he said. "I—I amnot what you would call a practising physician as yet. "

"Aren't you looking for patients?" she inquired. "Sit down, please. "

"I haven't even an office, so why should I feel that I am entitled to apatient?" he said. "You see, I've just got my licence to practice. Asthings go, I shouldn't have a client for at least two years. Are youlooking for a doctor?"

"I saw by the papers this morning that the grandson of Mr. TempletonThorpe was a regular doctor. One of my friends over there pointed you outto me. What is your fee for an appendicitis operation, Dr. Thorpe?"

"Good—ahem! I beg your pardon. You really startled me. I—"

"Oh, that's all right. I quite understand. Hard to grasp at first, isn'tit? Well, I've got to have my appendix out sooner or later. It's beenbothering me for a year, off and on. Everybody tells me I ought to have itout sometime when it isn't bothering me and—"

"But, my dear young lady, I'm not the man you want. You ought to go tosome—"

"You'll do just as well as any one, I'm sure. It's no trick to take out anappendix in these days. The fewer a doctor has snipped off, the less hecharges, don't you know. So why shouldn't I, being quite poor, takeadvantage of your ignorance? The most intelligent surgeon in New Yorkcouldn't do any more than to snip it off, now could he? And he wouldn't beone-tenth as ignorant as you are about prices. "

She was so gay and naïve about it that he curbed his amazement, and, tosome extent, his embarrassment. 

"I suppose that it is also ignorance on my part that supplies me withoffice hours in a public restaurant from one to three o'clock, " he said, with a very unprofessional grin. 

"What hospital do you work in?" she demanded, in a business-like tone. 

Humouring her, he mentioned one of the big hospitals in which he hadserved as an interne. 

"That suits me, " she said. "Can you do it to-morrow?"

"For heaven's sake, madam, I—are you in earnest?"

"Absolutely. I want to have it done right away. You see, I do a good dealof dancing, and—now, listen!" She leaned farther across the table, aserious little line appearing between her brows. "I want you to do itbecause I've always heard that you are one of the most earnest, capableand ambitious young men in the business. I'd sooner trust you than any oneelse, Dr. Thorpe. It has to be done by some one, so if I'm willing to takea chance with you, why shouldn't you take one with me?"

"I have been in Europe for nearly three years. How could you possibly haveheard all this about me?"

"See that fellow over there facing us? The funny little chap with the babymoustache? He—"

"Why, it's Simmy Dodge, " cried Braden. "Are—are you—"

"Just a friend, that's all. He's one of the finest chaps in New York. He'sa gentleman. That's Mr. And Mrs. Rumsey Fenn, —the other two, I mean. Youcan't see them for the florist shop in between. They know you too, so—"

"May I inquire why one of my friends did not bring you over and introduceme to you, Miss—er—"

"Miss, in a sort of way, Doctor, but still a Missus, " she said amiably. "Well, I told them that I knew you quite well and I wouldn't let them comeover. It's all right, though. We'll be partially related to each other bymarriage before long, I understand; so it's all right. You see, I am Mrs. George Dexter Tresslyn. "

"You—you are?" he gasped. "By Jove, I thought that your face was familiar. I—"

"One of the best advertised faces in New York about two years ago, " shesaid, and he detected a plaintive note in the flippant remark. "Not sowell-known nowadays, thank God. See here, Dr. Thorpe, I hope you won'tthink it out of place for me _to_ congratulate you. "

"Congratulate me? My dear Mrs. Tresslyn, it is not I who am to be married. You confuse me with—"

"I'm congratulating you because you're not the one, " said she, her eyesnarrowing. "Bless your soul, I know what I'm talking about. But say nomore. Let's get back to the appendix. Will you do the job for me?"

"Now that we are acquainted with each other, " he said, suppressing anatural excitement, "may we not go over and join Simmy and the Fenns?Don't you think you'd better consult with them before irrevocablycommitting yourself to me?"

"Fine! We'll talk it over together, the whole lot of us. But, I say, don'tforget that I've known you for years—through the family, of course. I wantto thank you first for one thing, Dr. Thorpe. George used to tell me howyou took my part in the—the smash-up. He said you wrote to him from Europeto be a man and stand by me in spite of everything. That's really whatI've been wanting to say to you, more than the other. Still, I've got tohave it out, so come on. Let's set a day. Mrs. Fenn will go up to thehospital with me. She's used to hospitals. Says she loves them. She'strying her best to have Mr. Fenn go in next week to have his out. She'shad five operations and a baby. I'm awfully glad to know you, Dr. Thorpe. I've always wanted to. I'd like better than anything I know of to be yourfirst regular patient. It will always be something to boast about in yearsto come. It will be splendid to say to people, 'Oh, yes, I am the firstperson that ever had her appendix removed by the celebrated Dr. Thorpe. 'It will—"

"But I have removed a great many, " he said, carried away by her sprightlygood humour. "In my training days, so to speak. "

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, " she cried, disappointed. Then her facebrightened: "Still, I suppose you had to learn just where the thing is. Itwouldn't do to go about stabbing people in the wrong place, just as if theappendix might be any little old where, would it?"

"I should say not, " said he, arising and bowing very profoundly. Then hefollowed close behind her trim, smart figure as they threaded their wayamong the tables. 

So this was the "pretty little mustard girl" that all fashionable New Yorkhad talked about in the past and was dancing with in the present. This wasthe girl who refused to go to the dogs at the earnest behest of theredoubtable Mrs. Tresslyn. Somehow he felt that Fate had provided him withan unexpected pal!

And, to his utter astonishment, he was prevailed upon to perform theoperation! The Fenns and Simeon Dodge decided the matter for him. 

"I shall have to give up sailing next week, " he said, as pleased as Punchbut contriving to project a wry face. "I can't go away and leave my firstbona-fide patient until she is entirely out of the woods. "

"I have engagements for to-morrow and Wednesday, " said Mrs. Rumsey Fenn, after reflection. She was a rather pallid woman of thirty-five who mighthave been accused of being bored with life if she had not made so manysuccessful efforts to prolong it. 

"It doesn't happen to be your appendix, my dear, " said her husband. 

"Goodness, I wish it were, " said she, regretfully. "What I mean is that Ican't go to the hospital with Lutie before, —let me see, —before Thursday. Can you wait that long, dear?"

"Ask Dr. Thorpe, " said young Mrs. Tresslyn. "He is my doctor, you know. "

"Of course, you all understand that I cannot go ahead and perform anoperation without first determining—"

"Don't you worry, " said the patient. "My physician has been after me for ayear to have it out. He'll back me up. I'll telephone him as soon as I getback home, and I'll have him call you up, Dr. Thorpe. Thanks ever so much. And, before I forget it, what is the fee to be? You see, I pay my ownbills, so I've got to know the—the worst. "

"My fee will be even more reasonable than you hope, Mrs. Tresslyn, " saidBraden, smiling. "Just guess at the amount you'd feel able to pay and thendivide it by two, and you'll have it. "

"Dear me, " cried Mrs. Fenn, "how perfectly satisfactory! Rumsey, you_must_ have yours out this week. You're always talking about not beingable to afford things, and here's a chance to save money in a way younever would have suspected. "

"Good Lord, Madge, " exclaimed her husband, "I've never had a pain in mylife. I wish you wouldn't keep nagging at me all the time to have anoperation performed, whether I need it or not. Let my appendix alone. It'salways treated me with extreme loyalty and respect, so why the deuceshould I turn upon the poor thing and assassinate it?"

"See here, Rumsey, " said Simmy Dodge sagely, "if I were in your place I'dhave a perfectly sound tooth pulled some time, just to keep it from achingwhen you're an old man. Or you might have your left leg amputated so thatit couldn't be crushed in a railroad accident. You ought to do somethingto please Madge, old chap. She's been a thoughtful, devoted wife to youfor twelve or thirteen years, and what have you ever done to please her?Nothing! You've never so much as had a crick in your neck or a pain thatyou couldn't account for, so do be generous, Rumsey. Besides, maybe youhaven't got an appendix at all. Just think how you could crow over her ifthey couldn't find one, even after the most careful and relentless searchover your entire system. "

"She's always wanting me to die or something like that, " growled Fenn;"but when I talked of going to the Spanish War she went into hysterics. "

"We'd only been married a month, Rumsey, " said his wife reproachfully. 

"But how could I have known that war was to be declared so soon?" hedemanded. 

Braden and Simeon Dodge left the restaurant together. They were oldfriends, college-mates, and of the same age. Dodge had gone into the law-school after his academic course, and Thorpe into the medical college. Their ways did not part, however. Both were looked upon as heirs to hugefortunes, and to both was offered the rather doubtful popularity thatusually is granted to affluence. Thorpe accepted his share with thecaution of the wise man, while Dodge, not a whit less capable, took his asa philanderer. He now had an office in a big down-town building, but henever went near it except when his partner took it into his head to goaway for a month's vacation at the slack season of the year. At suchperiods Mr. Dodge, being ages younger than the junior member of the firm, made it his practice to go down to the office and attend to the businesswith an earnestness that surprised every one. He gave over frolicking andstuck resolutely to the "knitting" that Johnson had left behind. Possessedof a natural though thrifty intelligence, —one that wasted little inpublic, —and a latent energy that could lift him occasionally above aperfectly normal laziness, he made as much of his opportunities as onecould expect of a young man who has two hundred thousand a year and anamiable disposition. 

No one in the city was more popular than Simmy Dodge, and no one moredeservedly so, for his bad qualities were never so bad that one needhesitate about calling him a good fellow. His habits were easy butgenteel. When intoxicated he never smashed things, and when sober, —whichwas his common condition, —he took extremely good care of other people'sreputations. Women liked him, which should not be surprising; and menliked him because he was not to be spoiled by the women who liked him, which is saying a great deal for an indolent young man with money. He hada smile that always appeared at its best in the morning, and survived theday with amazing endurance. And that also is saying a great deal for ayoung man who is favoured by both sexes and a _supposedly_ neutral DameFortune at the same time. He had broken many of the laws of man and someof those imposed by God, but he always paid without apology. He wasinevitably pardoned by man and paroled by his Maker, —which is as much asto say that he led a pretty decent sort of existence and enjoyedexceedingly good health. 

He really wasn't much to look at. Being a trifle under medium height, weighing less than one hundred and twenty pounds stripped, as wiry as acat and as indefatigable as a Scotch terrier, and with an abnormally largepair of ears that stood out like oyster shells from the sides of a round, sleek head, he made no pretentions to physical splendour, —unless, bychance, you would call the perky little straw-coloured moustache thatadorned his long upper lip a tribute to vanity. His eyes were blue andmerry and set wide apart under a bulging, intellectual looking forehead, and his teeth were large and as white as snow. When he laughed the worldlaughed with him, and when he tried to appear downcast the laughter wenton just the same, for then he was more amusing than ever. 

"I didn't know you were a friend of hers, " said he as they stood in frontof the hotel waiting for the taxi that was to take Thorpe to a hospital. 

Thorpe remembered the admonition. "I tried to put a little back-bone intoGeorge Tresslyn at the time of the rumpus, if that's what you'd call beinga friend to her, " he said evasively. 

"She's a nice little girl, " said Simmy, "and she's been darned badlytreated. Mrs. Tresslyn has never gotten over the fact that Lutie made herpay handsomely to get the noble Georgie back into the smart set. Pluckylittle beggar, too. Lot of people like the Fenns and the Roush girls havetaken her up, primarily, I suppose, because the Tresslyns threw her down. She's making good with them, too, after a fashion all her own. Must besomething fine in a girl like that, Brady, —I mean something worth while. Straight as a string, and a long way from being a disgrace to the name ofTresslyn. Quaint, isn't she?"

"Amazingly so. I think George would marry her all over again if she'd havehim, mother or no mother. "

"Well, she's quaint in another respect, " said Dodge. "She still considersherself to be George Tresslyn's wife. "

"Religion?"

"Not a bit of it. She just says she is, that's all, and what God joinedtogether no woman can put asunder. She means Mrs. Tresslyn, of course. Bythe way, Brady, I wonder if I'm still enough of a pal to be allowed to saysomething to you. " The blue eyes were serious and there was a sort ofcaressing note in his voice. 

"We've always been pals, Simmy. "

"Well, it's just this: I'm darned sorry things have turned out as theyhave for you. It's a rotten shame. Why don't you choke that oldgrandparent of yours? Put him out of his misery. Anne has told me of yourdiabolical designs upon the hopelessly afflicted. She used to talk aboutit for hours while you were in London, —and I had to listen with shiversrunning up and down my back all the time. Nobody on earth could blame youfor putting the quietus on old Templeton Thorpe. He is about as hopelesslyafflicted as any one I know, —begging your pardon for treading on thefamily toes. "

"He's quite sane, Simmy, " said Braden, with a smile that was meant to bepleasant but fell short of the mark. 

"He's an infernal old traitor, then, " said Simmy hotly. "I wouldn't treata dog as he has treated you, —no kind of a dog, mind you. Not even aPekinese, and I hate 'em worse than snakes. What the devil does Anne mean?Lordy, Lordy, man, she's always been in love with you. She—but, forgiveme, old chap, I oughtn't to run on like this. I didn't mean to open asore—"

"It's all right, Simmy. I understand. Thanks, old boy. It was a prettystiff blow, but—well, I'm still on my pins, as you see. "

Dodge was hanging onto the door of the taxi, impeding his friend'sdeparture. "She's too fine a girl to be doing a rotten thing like this. Idon't mind telling you I've always been in—er—that is, I've always had atender spot for Anne. I suppose you know that?"

"I know that, Simmy. "

"Hang it all, I never dreamed that she'd look at any one else but you, soI never even peeped a word to her about my own feelings. And here shegoes, throwing you over like a shot, and spilling everything. Confound it, man, if I'd thought she could possibly want to marry anybody else but you, I'd have had my try. The good Lord knows I'm not much, but by thunder, I'mnot decrepit. I—I suppose it was the money, eh?"

"That's for you to say, Simmy; certainly not for me. "

"If it's money she's after and not an Adonis, I don't see why the deuceshe didn't advertise. I would have answered in a minute. I can't helpsaying it, old man, but I feel sorry for Anne, 'pon my soul, I do. I don'tthink she's doing this of her own free will. See what her mother did toGeorge and that little girl in there? I tell you there's something nastyand—"

"I may as well tell you that Anne _is_ doing this thing of her own freewill, " said Braden gravely. 

"I don't believe it, " said Dodge. 

"At any rate, Simmy, I'm grateful to you for standing clear while therewas still a chance for me. So long! I must be getting up to the hospital, and then around to see her doctor. "

"So long, Brady. See you on Thursday. " He meant, good soul, that he wouldbe at the hospital on that day. 

CHAPTER VIII

An hour later, Mr. Simeon Dodge appeared at the home of Anne Tresslyn. Inplace of his usual care-free manner there now rested upon him an air ofextreme gravity. This late afternoon visit was the result of aninspiration. After leaving Thorpe he found himself deeply buried inreflection which amounted almost to abstraction. He was disturbed by thepersistency of the thoughts that nagged at him, no matter whither hisaimless footsteps carried him. For the life of him, he could not put fromhis mind the conviction that Anne Tresslyn was not responsible for heractions. 

He was convinced that she had been bullied, cowed, coerced, or whateveryou like, into this atrocious marriage, and, of course, there could be noone to blame but her soulless mother. The girl ought to be saved. (Theseare Simmy's thoughts. ) She was being sacrificed to the greed of anunnatural mother. Admitting, for the sake of argument, that she was nolonger in love with Braden Thorpe, there still remained the positiveconviction that she could not be in love with any one else, and certainlynot with that treacherous old man in Washington Square. That, of course, was utterly impossible, so there was but the one alternative: she wasbeing forced into a marriage that would bring the most money into thehands of the designing and, to him, clearly unnatural parent. 

He knew nothing of the ante-nuptial settlement, nor was he aware of theold man's quixotic design in coming between Braden and the girl he loved. To Simmy it was nothing short of brigandage, a sort of moral outlawry. OldTempleton Thorpe deserved a coat of tar and feathers, and there was noword for the punishment that ought to be meted out to Mrs. Tresslyn. Hetried to think of what ought to be done to her, and, getting as far asboiling oil, gave up in despair, for even that was too much likecompassion. 

Money! The whole beastly business was money! He thought of his ownunestimated wealth. Nothing but money, —horrible, insensate, devastatingmoney! He shuddered as he thought of what his money was likely to bring tohim in the end: a loveless wife; avarice in place of respect; miseryinstead of joy; destruction! How was he ever to know whether a girl wasmarrying him for himself or for the right to lay hands upon the money hisfather had left to him when he died? How can any rich man know what he isgetting into when he permits a girl to come into his home? To burglariseit with the sanction of State and Church, perhaps, and to escape with theconnivance of both after she's got all she wants. That's where the poorman has an advantage over the unprotected rich: he is never confronted bya problem like this. He doesn't have to stop and wonder why the womanmarries him. He knows it's love, or stupidity, or morality, but it isnever duplicity. 

Before he got through with it, Simmy had worked himself into a state ofdesperation. Regarding himself with unprejudiced eyes he saw that he wasnot the sort of man a girl would choose for a husband unless he hadsomething besides a happy, loving disposition to offer. She would marryhim for his money, of course; certainly he would be the last to suspecther of marrying him for his beauty. He had never thought of it in thislight before, and he was wet with the sweat of anguish. He could never besure! He could love a woman with all his heart and soul, and still neverbe sure of her! Were all the girls he had loved in his college days—Buthere he stopped. It was too terrible to even contemplate, this unmeritedpopularity of his! If only one of them had been honest enough to make funof his ears, or to snicker when he became impassioned, or to smilecontemptuously from her superior height when he asked her to dance, —ifonly one of them had turned her back upon him, then he would have graspedthe unwelcome truth about himself. But, now that he thought of it, not oneof them had ever turned a deaf ear to his cajoleries, not one had failedto respond to his blandishments, not one had been sincere enough to frownupon him when he tried to be witty. And that brought him to anothersickening standstill: was he as bright and clever and witty as people madehim out to be? Wasn't he a dreadful bore, a blithering ass, after all? Hefelt himself turning cold to the marrow as he thought of the real valuethat people placed upon him. He even tried to recall a single thing thathe had ever said that he could now, in sober judgment, regard as bright oreven fairly clever. He couldn't, so then, after all, it was quite clearthat he was tolerated because he had nothing but money. 

Just as he was about to retire from his club where he had gone for solace, an inspiration was born. It sent him forthwith to Anne Tresslyn's home, dogged, determined and manfully disillusioned. 

"Miss Tresslyn is very busy, Mr. Dodge, " said Rawson, "but she says shewill see you, sir, if you will wait a few moments. "

"I'll wait, " said Simmy, and sat down. 

He had come to the remarkable conclusion that as long as some one had tomarry him for his money it might as well be Anne. He was fond of her andhe could at least spare her the ignominy and horror of being wedded to oldTempleton Thorpe. With his friend Braden admittedly out of the running, there was no just cause why he should not at least have a try at savingAnne. She might jump at the chance. He was already blaming himself for nothaving recognised her peril, her dire necessity, long before this. Andsince he had reached the dismal conclusion that no one could possibly lovehim, it would be the sensible thing on his part to at least marry some onewhom he loved, thereby securing, in a way, half of a bargain when he mightotherwise have to put up with nothing at all. At any rate, he would bedoing Anne a good turn by marrying her, and it was reasonably certain thatshe would not bring him any more unhappiness than any other woman whomight accept him. 

As he sat there waiting for her he began to classify his financialholdings, putting certain railroads and industrials into class one, othersinto class two, and so on to the best of his ability to recollect whatreally comprised his fortune. It was rather a hopeless task, for to savehis life he could not remember whether he had Lake Shore stock or WestShore stock, and he did not know what Standard Oil was selling at, nor anyof the bank stocks except the Fifth Avenue, which seldom went below forty-five hundred. There might be a very awkward situation, too, if he couldn'tjustify his proposal with facts instead of conjectures. Suppose that shecame out point blank and asked him what he was worth: what could he say?But then, of course, she wouldn't have to ask such a question. If sheconsidered it possible to marry him, she would _know_ how much he wasworth without inquiring. As a matter of fact, she probably knew to adollar, and that was a great deal more than he knew. 

Half an hour passed before she came down. She was wearing her hat and wasbuttoning her gloves as she came hurriedly into the room. Simmy had astartling impression that he had seen a great many women putting on theirgloves as they came into rooms where he was waiting. The significance ofthis extraordinary custom had never struck him with full force before. Inthe gloom of his present appraisal of himself, he now realised withshocking distinctness that the women he called upon were always on thepoint of going somewhere else. 

"Hello, Simmy, " cried Anne gaily. He had never seen her looking morebeautiful. There was real colour in her smooth cheeks and the sparkle ofenthusiasm in her big, dark eyes. 

He shook hands with her. "Hello, " he said. 

"I can spare you just twenty minutes, Simmy, " she said, peering at thelittle French clock on the mantelpiece with the frankest sort ofcalculation. "Going to the dressmaker's at five, you know. It's a greatbusiness, this getting married, Simmy. You ought to try it. "

"I know I ought, " said he, pulling a chair up close to hers. "That's whatI came to see you about, Anne. "

She gave a little shriek of wonder. "For heaven's sake, Simmy, don't tellme that _you_ are going to be married. I can't believe it. "

He made note of the emphasis she put upon the pronoun, and secretlyresented it. 

"Depends entirely on you, Anne, " he said. He looked over his shoulder tosee if any one was within the sound of his voice, which he took theprecaution to lower to what had always been a successful tone in days whenhe was considered quite an excellent purveyor of sweet nothings in dimhallways, shady nooks and unpopulated stairways. "I want you to marry meright away, " he went on, but not with that amazing confidence of yester-years. 

Anne blinked. Then she drew back and stared at him for a moment. A merrysmile followed her brief inspection. 

"Simmy, you've been drinking. "

He scowled, and at that she laughed aloud. "'Pon my soul, not more thanthree, Anne. I rarely drink in the middle of the day. Almost never, Iswear to you. Confound it, why should you say I've been drinking? Can't Ibe serious without being accused of drunkenness? What the devil do youmean, Anne, by intimating that I—"

"Don't explode, Simmy, " she cried. "I wasn't intimating a thing. I waspositively asserting it. But go on, please. You interest me. Don't try tolook injured, Simmy. You can't manage it at all. "

"I didn't come here to be insulted, " he growled. 

"Did you come here to insult me?" she inquired, the smile suddenly leavingher eyes. 

"Good Lord, no!" he gasped. "Only I don't like what you said a minute ago. I never was more serious or more sober in my life. You've been proposed toa hundred times, I suppose, and I'll bet I'm the only one you've everaccused of drinking at the time. It's just my luck. I—"

"What in the world are you trying to get at, Simmy Dodge?" she cried. "Areyou really asking me to marry you?"

"Certainly, " he said, far from mollified. 

She leaned back in the chair and regarded him in silence for a moment. "Isit possible that you have not heard that I am to be married this month?"she asked, and there was something like pity in her manner. 

"Heard it? Of course, I've heard it. Everybody's heard it. That's justwhat I've come to see you about. To talk the whole thing over. To see ifwe can't do something. Now, there is a way out of it, dear girl. It maynot be the best way in the world but it's infinitely—"

"Are you crazy?" she cried, staring at him in alarm. 

"See here, Anne, " he said gently, "I am your friend. It will not make anydifference to you if I tell you that I love you, that I've loved you foryears. It's true nevertheless. I'm glad that I've at last had the courageto tell you. Still I suppose it's immaterial. I've come up here thisafternoon to ask you to be my wife. I don't ask you to _say_ that you loveme. I don't want to put you in such a position as that. I know you don'tlove me, but—"

"Simmy! Oh, Simmy!" she cried out, a hysterical laugh in her throat thatdied suddenly in a strange, choking way. She was looking at him now withwide, comprehending eyes. 

"I can't bear to see you married to that old man, Anne, " he went on. "Itis too awful for words. You are one of the most perfect of God'screations. You shall not be sacrificed on this damned altar of—I beg yourpardon, I did not mean to begin by accusing any one of deliberatelyforcing you into—into—" He broke off and pulled fiercely at his littlemoustache. 

"I see now, " she said presently. "You are willing to sacrifice yourself inorder that I may be spared. Is that it?"

"It isn't precisely a sacrifice. At least, it isn't quite the same sort ofsacrifice that goes with your case as it now stands. In this instance, oneof us at least is moved by a feeling of love;—in the other, there is nolove at all. If you will take me, Anne, you will get a man who adores youfor yourself. Isn't there something in that? I can give you everythingthat old man Thorpe can give, with love thrown in. I understand thesituation. You are not marrying that old man because you love him. There'ssomething back of it all that you can't tell me, and I shall not ask youto do so. But listen, dear; I'm decent, I'm honest, I'm young and I'mrich. I can give you everything that money will buy. Good Lord, I wish Icould remember just what I've got to offer you in the way of—But, nevermind now. If you'd like it, I'll have my secretary make out a completelist of—"

"So you think I am marrying Mr. Thorpe for his money, —is that it, Simmydear?" she asked. 

"I know it, " said he promptly. "That is, you are marrying him because someone else—ahem! You can't expect me to believe that you love the oldcodger. "

"No, I can't expect that of any one. Thank you, Simmy. I think Iunderstand. You really want to—to save me. Isn't that so?"

"I do, Anne, God knows I do, " he said fervently. "It's the most beastly, diabolical—"

"You have been fair with me, Simmy, " she broke in seriously, "so I'll befair with you. I am marrying Mr. Thorpe for his money. I ought to beashamed to confess it openly in this way, but I'm not. Every one knowsjust why I am going into this thing, and every one is putting the blameupon my mother. She is not wholly to blame. I am not being driven into it. It's in the blood of us. We are that kind. We are a bad lot, Simmy, wewomen of the breed. It goes a long way back, and we're all alike. Don'task me to say anything more, dear old boy. I'm just a rotter, so let it goat that. "

"You're nothing of the sort, " he exclaimed, seizing her hand. "You'renothing of the sort!"

"Oh, yes, I am, " she said wearily. 

"See here, Anne, " he said earnestly, "why not take me? If it's a matter ofmoney, and nothing else, why not take me? That's what I mean. That's justwhat I wanted to explain to you. Think it over, Anne. For heaven's sake, don't go on with the other thing. Chuck it all and—take me. I won't botheryou much. You can have all the money you need—and more, if you ask for it. Hang it all, I'll settle a stipulated amount upon you before we takeanother step. A million, two millions, —I don't care a hang, —only don'tspoil this bright, splendid young life of yours by—Oh, Lordy, it'sincomprehensible!"

She patted the back of his hand, gently, even tremblingly. Her eyes werevery bright and very solemn. 

"It has to go on now, Simmy, " she said at last. 

For a long time they were silent. 

"I hope you have got completely over your love for Braden Thorpe, " hesaid. "But, of course, you have. You don't care for him any more. Youcouldn't care for him and go on with this. It wouldn't be human, youknow. "

"No, it wouldn't be human, " she said, her face rigid. 

He was staring intently at the floor. Something vague yet sure was formingin his brain, something that grew to comprehension before he spoke. 

"By Jove, Anne, " he muttered, "I am beginning to understand. You wouldn'tmarry a _young_ man for his money. It has to be an old man, an incrediblyold man. I see!"

"I would not marry a young man, Simmy, for anything but love, " she saidsimply. "I would not live for years with a man unless I loved him, be hepoor or rich. Now you have it, my friend. I'm a pretty bad one, eh?"

"No, siree! I'd say it speaks mighty well for you, " he criedenthusiastically. His whimsical smile returned and the points of hislittle moustache went up once more. "Just think of waiting for a goldenwedding anniversary with a duffer like me! By Jove, I can see the horrorof that myself. You just couldn't do it. I get your idea perfectly, Anne. Would it interest you if I were to promise to be extremely reckless withmy life? You see, I'm always taking chances with my automobiles. Had threeor four bad smash-ups already, and one broken arm. I _could_ be a littlemore reckless and _very_ careless if you think it would help. I've neverhad typhoid or pneumonia. I could go about exposing myself to all sorts ofthings after a year or two. Flying machines, too, and long distanceswimming. I might even try to swim the English Channel. North Poleexpeditions, African wild game hunts, —all that sort of thing, Anne. I'llpromise to do everything in my power to make life as short as possible, ifyou'll only—"

"Oh, Simmy, you are killing, " she cried, laughing through her tears. "Ishall always adore you. "

"That's what they all say. Well, I've done my best, Anne. If you'll runaway with me to-night, or to-morrow, or any time before the twenty-third, I'll be the happiest man in the world. You can call me up any time, —at theclub or at my apartment. I'll be ready. Think it over. Good-bye. I wish Icould wish you good luck in this other—but, of course, you couldn't expectthat. We're a queer lot, all of us. I've always had a sneaking suspicionthat if my mother had married the man she was truly in love with, I'd be amuch better-looking chap than I am to-day. "

She was standing beside him at the door, nearly a head taller than he. 

"Or, " she amended with a dainty grimace, "you might be a very beautifulgirl, and that would be dreadful. "

CHAPTER IX

The day before the wedding, little Mrs. George Dexter Tresslyn, satisfactorily shorn of her appendix and on the rapid road to recoverythat is traveled only by the perfectly healthy of mankind, confided to herdoctor that the mystery of the daily bunch of roses was solved. Theyrepresented the interest and attention of her ex-husband, and, while theywere unaccompanied by a single word from him, they also signifieddevotion. 

"Which means that he is still making love to you?" said Thorpe, with mockseverity. 

"Clandestinely, " said she, with a lovely blush and a curious softening ofher eyes. She was wondering how this big, strong friend of hers would takethe information, and how far she could go in her confidences withoutadventuring upon forbidden territory. Would he close the gates in the wallthat guarded his own opinions of the common foe, or would he let herinside long enough for a joint discussion of the condition that confrontedboth of them: the Tresslyn nakedness? "He has been inquiring about metwice a day by telephone, Doctor, and this morning he was down stairs. Mynight nurse knows him by sight. He was here at half-past seven. That'svery early for George, believe me. This hospital is a long way from wherehe lives. I would say that he got up at six or half-past, wouldn't you?"

"If he went to bed at all, " said Thorpe, with a grim smile. 

"Anyhow, it proves something, doesn't it?" she persisted. 

"Obviously. He is still in love with you, if that's what you want me tosay. "

"That's just what I wanted you to say, " she cried, her eyes sparkling. "Poor George! He's a dear, and I don't care who hears me say it. If he'dhad any kind of a chance at all we wouldn't be—Oh, well, what's the usetalking about it?" She sighed deeply. 

Braden watched her flushed, drawn face with frowning eyes. He realisedthat she had suffered long in silence, that her heart had been wrung inthe bitter stretches of a thousand nights despite the gay indifference ofthe thousand days that lay between them. For nearly three years she hadkept alive the hungry thing that gnawed at her heart and would not bedenied. He was sorry for her. She was better than most of the women heknew in one respect if in no other: she was steadfast. She had made abargain and it was not her fault that it was not binding. He had butlittle pity for George Tresslyn. The little he had was due to the beliefthat if the boy had been older he would have fought a better fight for thegirl. As she lay there now, propped up against the pillows, he could nothelp contrasting her with the splendid, high-bred daughter of ConstanceTresslyn. That she was a high-minded, honest, God-fearing girl he couldnot for an instant doubt, but that she lacked the—there is but one wordfor it—_class_ of the Tresslyn women he could not but feel as well as see. There was a distinct line between them, a line that it would takegenerations to cross. Still, she was a loyal, warm-hearted enduringcreature, and by qualities such as these she mounted to a much higherplane than Anne Tresslyn could ever hope to attain, despite her positionon the opposite side of the line. He had never seen George's wife inanything but a blithe, confident mood; she was an unbeaten little warriorwho kept her colours flying in the face of a despot called Fate. In fact, she was worthy of a better man than young Tresslyn, worthy of the steel ofa nobler foe than his mother. 

He was eager to comfort her. "It is pretty fine of George, sending youthese flowers every day. I am getting a new light on him. Has he eversuggested to you in any way the possibility of—of—well, you know what Imean?"

"Fixing it up again between us?" she supplied, an eager light in her eyes. "No, never, Dr. Thorpe. He has never spoken to me, never written a line tome. That's fine of him too. He loves me, I'm sure of it, and he wants me, but it _is_ fine of him not to bother me, now isn't it? He knows he coulddrag me back into the muddle, he knows he could make a fool of me, and yethe will not take that advantage of me. "

"Would you go back to him if he asked you to do so?"

"I suppose so, " she sighed. Then brightly: "So, you see, I shall refuse tosee him if he ever comes to plead. That's the only way. We must go ourseparate ways, as decreed. I am his wife but I must not so far forgetmyself as to think that he is my husband. I know, Dr. Thorpe, that if wehad been left alone, we could have managed somehow. He was young, but sowas I. I am not quite impossible, am I? Don't these friends of yours likeme, don't they find something worth while in me? If I were as common, asundesirable as Mrs. Tresslyn would have me to be, why do people of yourkind like me, —take me up, as the saying is? I know that I don't reallybelong, I know I'm not just what they are, but I'm not so awfullyhopeless, now am I? Isn't Mrs. Fenn a nice woman? Doesn't she go about inthe smart set?"

She appeared to be pleading with him. He smiled. 

"Mrs. Fenn is a very nice woman and a very smart one, " he said. "You havemany exceedingly nice women among your friends. So be of good cheer, ifthat signifies anything to you. " He was chaffing her in his most amiableway. 

"It signifies a lot, " she said seriously. "By rights, I suppose, I shouldhave gone to the devil. That's what was expected of me, you know. When Itook all that money from Mrs. Tresslyn, it wasn't for the purpose ofbeating my way to the devil as fast as I could. I took it for an entirelydifferent reason: to put myself where I could tell other people to go tohim if I felt so inclined. I took it so that I could make of myself, ifpossible, the sort of woman that George Tresslyn might have marriedwithout stirring up a row in the family. I've taken good care of all thatmoney. It is well invested. I manage to live and dress on the income. Rather decent of me, isn't it? Surprisingly decent, you might say, eh?"

"Surprisingly, " he agreed, smiling. 

"What George Tresslyn needs, Dr. Thorpe, is something to work for, something to make work an object to him. What has he got to work for now?Nothing, absolutely nothing. He's merely keeping up appearances, and he'llnever get anywhere in God's world until he finds out that it's a waste oftime working for a living that's already provided for him. "

Thorpe was impressed by this quaint philosophy. "Would you, in yourwisdom, mind telling me just what you think George would be capable ofdoing in order to earn a living for two people instead of one?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Why, isn't he big and strong and hasn't hea brain and a pair of hands? What more can a man require in this littleold age? A big, strapping fellow doesn't have to sit down and say 'What inheaven's name am I to do with these things that God has given me?' Doesn'ta blacksmith earn enough for ten sometimes, and how about the carpenter, the joiner and the man who brings the ice? Didn't I earn a living up tothe time I burnt my fingers and had to be pensioned for dishonourableservice? It didn't take much strength or intelligence to demonstratemustard, did it? And you sit there and ask me what George is capable ofdoing! Why, he could do _anything_ if he had to. "

"You are really a very wonderful person, " said he, with conviction. "Ibelieve you could have made a man of George if you'd had the chance. "

She looked down. "I suppose the world thinks I made him what he is now, sowhat's the use speculating? Let's talk about you for awhile. Miss McKanewon't be back for a few minutes, so let's chat some more. Didn't I hearyou tell her yesterday that you expect to leave for London about thefirst?"

"If you are up and about, " said he. 

She hesitated, a slight frown on her brow. "Do you know that you are paleand tired-looking, Dr. Thorpe? Have you looked in the glass at yourselflately?"

"Regularly, " he said, forcing a smile. "I shave once a day, and I—"

"I'm serious. You don't look happy. You may confide in me, Doctor. I thinkyou ought to talk to some one about it. Are you still in love with MissTresslyn? Is that what's taking the colour out—"

"I am not in love with Miss Tresslyn, " he said, meeting her gaze steadily. "That is all over. I will confess that I have been dreadfully hurt, terribly shocked. A man doesn't get over such things easily or quickly. Iwill not pretend that I am happy. So, if that explains my appearance toyou, Mrs. Tresslyn, we'll say no more about it. "

Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, I'm sorry if I've—if I've meddled, —ifI've been too—"

"Don't worry, " he broke in quickly. "I don't in the least mind. In fact, I'm glad you gave me the opportunity to say in so many words that I do notlove her. I've never said it before. I'm glad that I have said it. Ithelps, after all. "

"You'll be happy yet, " she sniffled. "I know you will. The world is fullof good, noble women, and there's one somewhere who will make you gladthat this thing has happened to you. Now, we'll change the subject. MissMcKane may pop in at any moment, you know. Have you any new patients?"

He smiled again. "No. You are my sole and only, Mrs. Fenn can't persuadeRumsey to have a thing done to him, and Simmy Dodge refuses to break hisneck for scientific purposes, so I've given up hope. I shall take no morecases. In a year I may come back from London and then I'll go snoopingabout for nice little persons like you who—"

"Simmy Dodge says you are not living at your grandfather's house anylonger, " she broke, irrelevantly. 

"I am at a hotel, " he said, and no more. 

"I see, " she said, frowning very darkly for her. 

He studied her face for a moment, and then arose from the chair beside herbed. "You may be interested to hear that while I am invited to attend thewedding to-morrow afternoon I shall not be there, " he said, divining herthoughts. 

"I didn't like to ask, " she said. The nurse came into the room. "He saysI'm doing as well as could be expected, Miss McKane, " she said glibly, "and if nothing unforeseen happens I'll be dodging automobiles in FifthAvenue inside of two weeks. Good-bye, Doctor. "

"Good-bye. I'll look in to-morrow—afternoon, " he said. 

 * * * * *

The marriage of Anne Tresslyn and Templeton Thorpe took place at the homeof the bridegroom at four o'clock on the afternoon of the twenty-third. Adeparture from the original plans was made imperative at the eleventh hourby the fact that Mr. Thorpe had been quite ill during the night. Hiscondition was in no sense alarming, but the doctors announced that apostponement of the wedding was unavoidable unless the ceremony could beheld in the Thorpe home instead of at Mrs. Tresslyn's as originallyplanned. Moreover, the already heavily curtailed list of guests would haveto be narrowed to even smaller proportions. The presence of so many as thescore of selected guests might prove to be hazardous in view of the oldgentleman's state of nerves, not to say health. Mr. Thorpe was able to beup and about with the aid of the imperturbable Wade, but he wasexceedingly irascible and hard to manage. He was annoyed with Braden. Whenthe strange illness came early in the night, he sent out for his grandson. He wanted him to be there if anything serious was to result from thestroke, —he persisted in calling it a stroke, scornfully describing hisattack as a "rush of blood to the head from a heart that had been squeezedtoo severely by old Father Time. " Braden was not to be found. What annoyedMr. Thorpe most was the young man's unaccountable disposition to deserthim in his hour of need. In his querulous tirade, he described hisgrandson over and over again as an ingrate, a traitor, a good-for-nothingwithout the slightest notion of what an obligation means. 

He did not know, and was not to know for many days, that his grandson hadpurposely left town with the determination not to return until the ill-mated couple were well on their way to the Southland, where the ludicroushoneymoon was to be spent. And so it was that the old family doctor had tobe called in to take charge of Mr. Thorpe in place of the youngster onwhom he had spent so much money and of whom he expected such great andglorious things. 

He would not listen to a word concerning a postponement. Miss Tresslyn wascalled up on the telephone by Wade at eight o'clock in the morning, andnotified of the distressing situation. What was to be done? At first noone seemed to know what _could_ be done, and there was a tremendous flurrythat for the time being threatened to deprive Mr. Thorpe of a mother-in-law before the time set for her to actually become one. Doctors weresummoned to revive the prostrated Mrs. Tresslyn. She went all to pieces, according to reports from the servants' hall. In an hour's time, however, she was herself once more, and then it was discovered that a postponementwas the last thing in the world to be considered in a crisis of suchmagnitude. Hasty notes were despatched hither and thither; caterers andguests alike were shunted off with scant ceremony; chauffeurs werecommandeered and motors confiscated; everybody was rushing about insystematic confusion, and no one paused to question the commands of thedistracted lady who rose sublimely to the situation. So promptly andeffectually was order substituted for chaos that when the clock in Mr. Thorpe's drawing-room struck the hour of four, exactly ten people werethere and two of them were facing a minister of the gospel, —one in an armchair with pillows surrounding him, the other standing tall and slim andas white as the driven snow beside him.... 

Late that night, Mr. George Tresslyn came upon Simmy Dodge in the buffetat the Plaza. 

"Well, you missed it, " he said thickly. His high hat was set far back onhis head and his face was flushed. 

"Come over here in the corner, " said Simmy, with discernment, "and forheaven's sake don't talk above a whisper. "

"Whisper?" said George, annoyed. "What do I want to whisper for? I don'twant to whisper, Simmy. I never whisper. I hate to hear people whisper. Irefuse to whisper to anybody. "

Simmy took him by the arm and led him to a table in a corner remote fromothers that were occupied. 

"Maybe you'd rather go for a drive in the Park, " he said engagingly. 

"Nonsense! I've been driven all day, Simmy. I don't want to be driven anymore. I'm tired, that's what's the matter with me. Dog-tired, understand?Have a drink? Here, boy!"

"Thanks, George, I don't care for a drink. No, not for me, thank you. Strictly on the wagon, you know. Better let it alone yourself. Take myadvice, George. You're not a drinking man and you can't stand it. "

George glowered at him for a moment, and then let his eyes fall. "Guessyou're right, Simmy. I've had enough. Never mind, waiter. First time I'vebeen like this in a mighty long time, Simmy. But don't think I'mcelebrating, because I ain't. I'm drowning something, that's all. " He wasalmost in tears by this time. "I can't help thinking about her standin'there beside that old—Oh, Lord! I can't talk about it. "

"That's right, " said Simmy, persuasively. "I wouldn't if I were you. Comealong with me. I'll walk home with you, George. A good night's rest willput—"

"Rest? My God, Simmy, I'm never going to rest again, not even in my grave. Say, do you know who I blame for all this business? Do you?"

"Sh!"

"I won't shoosh! I blame myself. I am to blame and no one else. If I'dbeen any kind of a man I'd have put my foot down—just like that—andstopped the thing. That's what I'd have done if I'd been a man, Simmy. Andinstead of stoppin' it, do you know what I did? I went down there andstood up with old Thorpe as his best man. Can you beat that? His best man!My God! Wait a minute. See, he was sittin' just like you are—lean back alittle and drop your chin—and I was standing right here, see—on this sideof him. Just like this. And over here was Anne—oh, Lord! And here wasKatherine Browne, —best maid, you know, —I mean maid of honour. Standin'just like this, d'you see? And then right in front here was the preacher. Say, where do all these preachers come from? I've never seen that fellerin all my life, and still they say he's an old friend of the family. Finebusiness for a preacher to be in, wasn't it? Fi-ine bus-i-ness! He oughtto have been ashamed of himself. By Gosh, come to think of it, I believehe was worse than I. He might have got out of it if he'd tried. He lookedlike a regular man, and I'm nothing but a fish-worm. "

"Not so loud, George, for heaven's sake. You don't want all these men inhere to—"

"Right you are, Simmy, right you are. I'm one of the fellers that talkslouder than anybody else and thinks he's as big as George Washingtonbecause he's got a bass voice. " He lowered his voice to a hoarse, raucouswhisper and went on. "And mother stood over there, see, —right about wherethat cuspidor is, —and looked at the preacher all the time. Watchin' to seethat he kept his face straight, I suppose. Couple of old rummies standin'back there where that table is, all dressed up in Prince Alberts andshaved within an inch of their lives. Lawyers, I heard afterwards. OldMrs. Browne and Doc. Bates stood just behind me. Now you have it, just asit was. Curtains all down and electric lights going full blast. Itwouldn't have been so bad if the lights had been out. Couldn't have seenold Tempy, for one thing, and Anne's face for another. I'll never forgetAnne's face. " His own face was now as white as chalk and convulsed withgenuine emotion. 

Simmy was troubled. There was that about George Tresslyn that suggested asubsequent catastrophe. He was in no mood to be left to himself. There wasthe despairing look of the man who kills in his eyes, but who kills onlyhimself. 

"See here, George, let's drop it now. Don't go on like this. Come along, do. Come to my rooms and I'll make you comfortable for the—"

But George was not through with his account of the wedding. Hestraightened up and, gritting his teeth, went on with the story. "Thenthere were the responses, Simmy, —the same that we had, Lutie and I, —justthe same, only they sounded queer and awful and strange to-day. Only youngpeople ought to get married, Simmy. It doesn't seem so rotten when youngpeople lie like that to each other. Before I really knew what had happenedthe preacher had pronounced them husband and wife, and there I stood likea block of marble and held my peace when he asked if any one knew of ajust cause why they shouldn't be joined in holy wedlock. I never evenopened my lips. Then everybody rushed up and congratulated Anne! Andkissed her, and made all sorts of horrible noises over her. And then whatdo you think happened? Old Tempy up and practically ordered everybody outof the house. Said he was tired and wanted to be left alone. 'Good-bye, 'he said, just like that, right in our faces—right in mother's face, andthe preacher's, and old Mrs. Browne's. You could have heard a pin drop. 'Good-bye, ' that's what he said, and then, will you believe it, he turnedto one of the pie-faced lawyers and said to him: 'Will you turn over thatpackage to my wife, Mr. Hollenback?' and then he says to that man of his:'Wade, be good enough to hand Mr. Tresslyn the little acknowledgment forhis services?' Then and there, that lawyer gave Anne a thick envelope andWade gave me a little box, —a little bit of a box that I wish I'd kept tobury the old skinflint in. It would be just about his size. I had it in myvest pocket for awhile. 'Wade, your arm, ' says he, and then with what heprobably intended to be a sweet smile for Anne, he got to his feet andwent out of the room, holding his side and bending over just as if he washaving a devil of time to keep from laughing out loud. I heard the doctorsay something about a pain there, but I didn't pay much attention. What doyou think of that? Got right up and left his guests, his bride andeverybody standing there like a lot of goops. His bride, mind you. I'mdead sure that so-called stroke of his was all a bluff. He just put oneover on us, that's all. Wasn't any more sick than I am. Didn't you hearabout the stroke? Stroke of luck, I'd call it. And say, what do you thinkhe gave me as a little acknowledgment for my services? Look! Feast youreyes upon it!" He turned back the lapel of his coat and fumbled for amoment before extracting from the cloth a very ordinary looking scarf-pin, a small aqua-marine surrounded by a narrow rim of pearls. "Great, isn'tit? Magnificent tribute! You could get a dozen of 'em for fifty dollars. That's what I got for being best man at my sister's funeral, and, by God, it's more than I deserved at that. He had me sized up properly, I'll saythat for him. "

He bowed his head dejectedly, his lips working in a sort of spasmodicsilence. Dodge eyed him with a curious, new-born commiseration. The boy'sself-abasement, his misery, his flouting of his own weakness were notaltogether the result of maudlin reaction. He presented a combination ofmanliness and effectiveness that perplexed and irritated Simeon Dodge. Hedid not want to feel sorry for him and yet he could not help doing so. George's broad shoulders and splendid chest were heaving under the strainof a genuine, real emotion. Drink was not responsible for his presentestimate of himself; it had merely opened the gates to expression. 

Simmy's scrutiny took in the fine, powerful body of this incompetentgiant, —for he was a giant to Simmy, —and out of his appraisal grew a freshcomplaint against the Force that fashions men with such cruelinconsistency. What would not he perform if he were fashioned like thissplendid being? Why had God given to George Tresslyn all this strength andbeauty, to waste and abuse, when He might have divided His gifts with akindlier hand? To what heights of attainment in all the enterprises of manwould not he have mounted if Nature had but given to him the shell thatGeorge Tresslyn occupied? And why should Nature have put an incompetent, useless dweller into such a splendid house when he would have got on justas well or better perhaps in an insignificant body like his own?Proportions were wrong, outrageously wrong, grieved Simmy as he studiedthe man who despised the strength God had given him. And down in hishonest, despairing soul, Simmy Dodge was saying to himself that he wouldcheerfully give all of his wealth, all of his intelligence, all of hisprospects, in exchange for a physical body like George Tresslyn's. Hewould court poverty for the privilege of enjoying other triumphs along theroad to happiness. 

"Why don't you say something?" demanded George, suddenly looking up. "Callme whatever you please, Simmy; I'll not resent it. Hang it all, I'll letyou kick me if you want to. Wouldn't you like to, Simmy?"

"Lord love you, no, my boy, " cried the other, reaching out and laying ahand on George's shoulder. "See here, George, there's a great deal more toyou than you suspect. You've got everything that a man ought to haveexcept one thing, and you can get that if you make up your mind to goafter it. "

"What's that?" said George, vaguely interested. 

"Independence, " said Simmy. "Do you know what I'd do if I had that bodyand brain of yours?"

"Yes, " said George promptly. "You'd go out and lick the world, Simmy, because you're that kind of a feller. You've got character, you have. You've got self-respect, and ideals, and nerve. I ought to have been putinto your body and you into mine. "

Simmy winced. "Strike out for yourself, George. Be somebody. Buck up, and—"

George sagged back into the chair as he gloomily interrupted the speaker. "That's all very fine, Simmy, that sort of talk, but I'm not in the moodto listen to it now. I wasn't through telling you about the wedding. Wherewas I when I stopped? Oh, yes, the scarf-pin. Hey, waiter! Come here asecond. "

A waiter approached. With great solemnity George arose and grasped him bythe shoulder, and a moment later had removed the nickel-plated badge fromthe man's lapel. The waiter was tolerant. He grinned. It was what he wasexpected to do under the circumstances. But he was astonished by the nextact of the tall young man in evening clothes. George proceeded to jam thescarf-pin into the fellow's coat where the badge of service had rested theinstant before. Then, with Simmy looking on in disgust, he pinned thewaiter's badge upon his own coat. "There!" he said, with a sneer. "That issupposed to make a gentleman of you, and this makes a man of me. On yourway, gentleman! I—"

"For heaven's sake, George, " cried Simmy, arising. "Don't be an ass. " Hetook the tag from Tresslyn's coat and handed it back to the waiter. "Givehim the scarf-pin if you like, old man, but don't rob him of his badge ofhonour. He earns an honest living with that thing, you know. "

George sat down. He was suddenly abashed. "What an awful bounder you mustthink I am, Simmy. "

"Nonsense. You're a bit tight, that's all. " He slipped the waiter a bank-note and motioned him away. "Now, let's go home, George. "

"Yes, sir; he turned and walked out of the room, leaving all of usstanding there, " muttered George, with a mental leap backward. "I'll neverforget it, long as I live. He simply scorned the whole lot of us. I wentaway as quickly as I could, but the others beat me to it. I left motherand Anne there all alone, just wandering around the room as if they werehalf-stunned. Never, never will I forget Anne's white, scared face, andI've never seen mother so helpless, either. Anne gripped, that bigenvelope so tight that it crumpled up into almost nothing. Mother took itaway from her and opened it. Nobody was there but us three. I shan't tellyou what was in the envelope. I'm not drunk enough for that. "

"Never mind. It's immaterial, in any event. " Simmy had called for hischeck. 

George's mind took a new twist. Suddenly he sprang to his feet. "By theway, before I forget it, do you know where I can find Braden Thorpe?"

A black scowl disfigured his face. There was an ugly, ominous glare in hisfast clearing eyes. Simmy, coming no higher than his shoulder, linked hisarm through one of George's and started toward the door with him. He washeaded for the porters' entrance. 

"He's out of town, George. Don't bother about Braden. "

"I'm going to kill Brady Thorpe, Simmy, " said George hoarsely. Simmy feltthe big right arm swell and become as rigid as steel. 

"Don't talk like a fool, " he whispered. 

"He didn't act right by Anne, " said George. "He's got to account to me. He's—"

They were in the narrow hallway by this time. Simmy called to a porter. 

"Get me a taxi, will you?"

"I say he didn't act right by Anne. It's his fault that she—Let go my arm, Simmy!" He gave it a mighty wrench. 

"All right, " said Simmy, maintaining his equilibrium with some difficultyafter the jerk he had received. "Don't you want me to be your friend, George?"

George glared at him, and then broke into a shamed, foolish laugh. "Forgive me, Simmy. Of course, I want you as my friend. I depend uponyou. "

"Then stop this talk about going after Braden. In heaven's name, you kid, what has he done to you or Anne? He's the one who deserves sympathy and—"

"I've got it in for him because he's a coward and a skunk, " explainedGeorge, lowering his voice with praiseworthy consideration. "You see, it'sjust this way, Simmy. He didn't do the right thing by Anne. He ought tohave come back here and _made_ her marry him. That's where he's to blame. He ought to have gone right up to the house and grabbed her by the throatand choked her till she gave in and went with him to a justice-of-the-peace or something. He owed it to her, Simmy, —he was in duty bound to saveher. If he hadn't been a sneakin' coward, he'd have choked her till shewas half-dead and then she would have gone with him gladly. Women like abrave man. They like to be choked and beaten and—"

Simmy laughed. "Do you call it bravery to choke a woman into submission, and drag her off to—"

"I call it cowardice to give up the woman you love if she loves you, " saidGeorge. "I know what I'm talking about, too, because I'm one of thesneakingest cowards on earth. What do you think of me, Simmy? What doeseverybody think of me? Wouldn't call me a brave man, would you?"

"The cases are not parallel. Braden's case is different. He couldn't forceAnne to—"

"See here, Simmy, " broke in George, wonderingly, "I hadn't noticed itbefore, but, by giminy, I believe you're tipsy. You've been drinking, Simmy. No sober man would talk as you do. When you sober up, you'll thinkjust as I do, —and that is that Brady Thorpe ought to have been a man whenhe had the chance. He ought to have stuck his fist under Anne's nose andsaid 'Come on, or I'll smash you, ' and she'd have gone with him like alittle lamb, and she'd have loved him a hundred times more than she everloved him before. He didn't do the right thing by her, Simmy. He didn't, curse him, and I'll never forgive him. I'm going to wring his neck, sohelp me Moses. I've been a coward just as long as I intend to be. Take agood look at me, Simmy. If you watch closely you may see me turning into aman. "

"Get in, " said Simmy, pushing him toward the door of the taxi-cab. "Alittle sleep is what you need. "

"And say, there's another thing I've got to square up with Brady Thorpe, "protested George, holding back. "He took Lutie up there to that beastlyhospital and slashed her open, curse him. A poor, helpless little girllike that! Call that brave? Sticking a knife into Lutie? He's got tosettle with me for that, too. "

And then Simmy understood. 

CHAPTER X

Much may happen in a year's time. The history of the few people involvedin the making of this narrative presents but few new aspects, and yetthere is now to be disclosed an unerring indication of great and perhapsenduring changes in the lives of every one concerned. 

To begin with, Templeton Thorpe, at the age of seventy-eight, is lying atthe edge of his grave. On the day of his marriage with Anne Tresslyn, heput down his arms in the long and hopeless conflict with an enemy thatknows no pity, a foe so supremely confident that man has been powerless todo more than devise a means to temporarily check its relentless fury. Thething in Mr. Thorpe's side was demanding the tolls of victory. There wasno curbing its wrath: neither the soft nor the harsh answer of science hadserved to turn it away. The hand with the gleaming, keen-edged knife hadbeen offered against it again and again, but the stroke had never fallen, for always there stood between it and the surgeon who would slay theravager, the resolute fear of Templeton Thorpe. Time there was when thekeen-edged knife might have vanquished or at least deprived it of itsearly venom, but the body of a physical coward housed it and deniedadmittance to all-comers. Templeton Thorpe did not fear death. He wantedto die, he implored his Maker to become his Destroyer. The torture of aslow, inevitable death, however, was as nothing to the horror of the knifethat is sharp and cold. 

When he went upstairs with Wade on that memorable twenty-third of March, he said to his enemy: "Be quick, that's all I ask of you, " and thenprepared to wait as patiently as he could for the friendly end. 

From that day on, he was to the eyes of the world what he had long been tohimself in secret: a sick man without hope. Weeks passed before his briderecognised the revolting truth, and when she came to know that he wasdoomed her pity was _so_ vast that she sickened under its weight. She hadcome prepared to see him die, as all men do when they have lived out theirtime, but she had not counted on seeing him die like this, with sufferingin his bleak old eyes and a smile of derision on his pallid lips. 

Old Templeton Thorpe's sufferings were for himself, and he guarded themjealously with all the fortitude he could command. His irascibilityincreased with his determination to fight it out alone. He disdained everymove on her part to extend sympathy and help to him. To her credit, be itsaid, she would have become his nurse and consoler if he had let down thebars, —not willingly, of course, but because there was in Anne Thorpe, after all, the heart of a woman, and of such it must be said there israrely an instance where its warmth has failed to respond to the call ofhuman suffering. She would have tried to help him, she would have tried todo her part. But he was grim, he was resolute. She could not bridge thegulf that lay between them. His profound tolerance did not deceive her; itwas scorn of the most poignant character. 

Braden was in Europe. He was expected in New York by the middle of March. His grandfather would not consent to his being sent for, although it wasplain to be seen that he lived only for the young man's return. 

Anne had once suggested, timorously, that Braden's place was at thesufferer's bedside, but the smile that the old man bestowed upon her wasso significant, so full of understanding, that she shrank within herselfand said no more. She knew, however, that he longed for the sustaininghand of his only blood relation, that he looked upon himself as utterlyalone in these last few weeks of life; and yet he would not send out theappeal that lay uppermost in his thoughts. In his own good time Bradenwould come back and there would be perhaps' one long, farewell grip of thehand. 

After that, ironic peace. 

He could not be cured himself, but he wanted to be sure that Braden wascured before he passed away. He knew that his grandson would not come homeuntil the last vestige of love and respect for Anne Tresslyn was gone; notuntil he was sure that his wound had healed beyond all danger of bleedingagain. Mr. Thorpe was satisfied that he had served his grandson well. Hewas confident that the young man would thank him on his death-bed forturning the hand of fate in the right direction, so that it pointed tocontentment and safety. Therefore, he felt himself justified in forbiddingany one to acquaint Braden of the desperate condition into which he hadfallen. He insisted that no word be sent to him, and, as in all things, the singular power of old Templeton Thorpe prevailed over the forces thatwere opposed. Letters came to him infrequently from the youngman, —considerate, formal letters in which he never failed to find thetouch of repressed gratitude that inspired the distant writer. Soon hewould be coming home to "set up for himself. " Soon he would be fightingthe battle of life on the field that no man knew and yet was traversed byall. 

Dr. Bates and the eminent surgeons who came to see the important invalid, discussed among themselves, but never in the presence of Mr. Thorpe, theremarkable and revolutionary articles that had been appearing of late inone of the medical journals over the signature of Braden Thorpe. Therewere two articles, one in answer to a savage, denunciatory communicationthat had been drawn out by the initial contribution from the pen of youngThorpe. 

In his first article, Braden had deliberately taken a stand in favour ofthe merciful destruction of human life in cases where suffering isunendurable and the last chance for recovery or even relief is lost. Hehad the courage, the foolhardiness to sign his name to the article, thereby irrevocably committing himself to the propaganda. A storm ofsarcasm ensued. The great surgeons of the land ignored the article, amiably attributing it to a "young fool who would come to his senses oneday. " Young and striving men in the profession rushed into print, —or atleast tried to do so, —with the result that Braden was excoriated by athousand pens. Only one of these efforts was worthy of notice, and itinspired a calm, dispassionate rejoinder from young Thorpe, who merelycalled attention to the fact that he was not trying to "make murderers outof God's commissioners, " but was on the other hand advocating a plan bywhich they might one day, —a far-off day, no doubt, —extend by Man's law, the same mercy to the human being that is given to the injured beast. 

Anne was shocked one day by a callous observation on the lips of old Dr. Bates, a sound practitioner and ordinarily as gentle as the average familydoctor one hears so much about. Mr. Thorpe was in greater pain than usualthat day. Opiates were of little use in these cruel hours. It was nowimpossible to give him an amount sufficient to produce relief withoutendangering the life that hung by so thin a thread. 

"I suppose this excellent grandson of his would say that Mr. Thorpe oughtto be killed forthwith, and put out of his misery, " said the doctor, discussing his patient's condition with the young wife in the libraryafter a long visit upstairs. 

Anne started violently. "What do you mean by that, Dr. Bates?" sheinquired, after a moment in which she managed to subdue her agitation. 

"Perhaps I shouldn't have said it, " apologised the old physician, reallydistressed. "I did it quite thoughtlessly, my dear Mrs. Thorpe. I forgotthat you do not read the medical journals. "

"Oh, I know what Braden has always preached, " she said hurriedly. "But itnever—it never occurred to me that—" She did not complete the sentence. Aghastly pallor had settled over her face. 

"That his theory might find application to the case upstairs?" suppliedthe doctor. "Of course it would be unthinkable. Very stupid of me to havespoken of it. "

Anne leaned forward in her chair. "Then you regard Mr. Thorpe's case asone that might be included in Braden's—" Again she failed to complete asentence. 

"Yes, Mrs. Thorpe, " said Dr. Bates gravely. "If young Braden's pet theorywere in practice now, your husband would be entitled to the mercy heprescribes. "

"He has no chance?"

"Absolutely no chance. "

"All there is left for him is to just go on suffering until—until lifewears out?"

"We are doing everything in our power to alleviate thesuffering, —everything that is known to science, " he vouchsafed. "We can dono more. "

"How long will he live, Dr. Bates?" she asked, and instantly shrank fromthe fear that he would misinterpret her interest. 

"No man can answer that question, Mrs. Thorpe. He may live a week, he maylive six months. I give him no more than two. "

"And if he were to consent to the operation that you once advised, whatthen?"

"That was a year ago. I would not advise an operation now. It is too late. In fact, I would be opposed to it. There are men in my profession whowould take the chance, I've no doubt, —men who would risk all on themillionth part of a chance. "

"You think he would die on the operating table?"

"Perhaps, —and perhaps not. That isn't the point. It would be useless, that's all. "

"Then why isn't Braden's theory sound and humane?" she demanded sharply. 

He frowned. "It is humane, Mrs. Thorpe, " said he gravely, "but it isn'tsound. I grant you that there is not one of us who would not rejoice inthe death of a man in Mr. Thorpe's condition, but there is not one whowould deliberately take his life. "

"It is all so cruel, so horribly cruel, " she said. "The savages in theheart of the jungle can give us lessons in humanity. "

"I daresay, " said he. "By the same reasoning, is it wise for us to receivelessons in savagery from them?"

Anne was silent for a time. She felt called upon to utter a defence forBraden but hesitated because she could not choose her words. At last shespoke. "I have known Braden Thorpe all my life, Dr. Bates. He is sincereon this question. I think you might grant him that distinction. "

"Lord love you, madam, I haven't the faintest doubt as to his sincerity, "cried the old doctor. "He is voicing the sentiment of every honest man inmy profession, but he overlooks the fact that sentiment has a very smallplace among the people we serve, —in other words, the people who love lifeand employ us to preserve it for them, even against the will of God. "

"They say that soldiers on the field of battle sometimes mercifully put anend to the lives of their mutilated comrades, " she mused aloud. 

"And they make it their business to put an end to the lives of theperfectly sound and healthy men who confront them on that same field ofbattle, " he was quick to return. "There is a wide distinction between aweapon and an instrument, Mrs. Thorpe, and there is just as muchdifference between the inspired soldier and the uninspired doctor, orbetween impulse and decision. "

"I believe that Mr. Thorpe would welcome death, " said she. 

Dr. Bates shook his head. "My dear, if that were true he could obtainrelief from his suffering to-day, —this very hour. "

"What do you mean?" she cried, with a swift shudder, as one suddenlyassailed by foreboding. 

"There is a very sharp razor blade on his dressing-table, " said Dr. Bateswith curious deliberation. "Besides that, there is sufficient poison infour of those little—But there, I must say no more. You are alarmed, —andneedlessly. He will not take his own life, you may be sure of that. Byreaching out his hand he can grasp death, and he knows it. A month ago Isaid this to him: 'Mr. Thorpe, I must ask you to be very careful. If youdo not sleep well to-night, take one of these tablets. If one does notgive you relief, you may take another, but no more. Four of them wouldmean certain, almost instant death. ' For more than a month that little boxof tablets has lain at his elbow, so to speak. Death has been within reachall this time. Those tablets are still there, Mrs. Thorpe, so now youunderstand. "

"Yes, " she said, staring at him as if fascinated; "they are still there. Iunderstand. "

The thick envelope that Mr. Hollenback handed to Anne on the day of herwedding contained a properly executed assignment of securities amountingto two million dollars, together with an order to the executors under hiswill to pay in gold to her immediately after his death an amountsufficient to cover any shrinkage that may have occurred in the value ofthe bonds by reason of market fluctuations. In plain words, she was tohave her full two millions. There was also an instrument authorising acertain Trust Company to act as depository for these securities, all ofwhich were carefully enumerated and classified, with instructions tocollect and pay to her during his lifetime the interest on said bonds. Athis death the securities were to be delivered to her without recourse tothe courts, and were to be free of the death tax, which was to be paidfrom the residue of the estate. There was a provision, however, that shewas to pay the state, city and county taxes on the full assessed value ofthese bonds during his lifetime, and doubtless by premeditation on hispart all of them were subject to taxation. This unsuspected "joker" in thearrangements was frequently alluded to by Anne's mother as a "direct slapin the face, " for, said she, it was evidently intended as a reflectionupon the Tresslyns who, as a family, it appears, were very skilful inavoiding the payment of taxes of any description. (It was a notorious factthat the richest of the Tresslyns was little more than a mendicant whenthe time came to take his solemn oath concerning taxable possessions. )

Anne took a most amazing stand in respect to the interest on these bonds. Her income from them amounted to something over ninety thousand dollars ayear, for Mr. Thorpe's investments were invariably sound and sure. Hepreferred a safe four or four and a half per cent, bond to an "attractivesix. " With the coming of each month in the year, Anne was notified by theTrust Company that anywhere from seven to eight thousand dollars had beencredited to her account in the bank. She kept her own private account inanother bank, and it was against this that she drew her checks. She didnot withdraw a dollar of the interest arising from her matrimonialinvestment!

Mrs. Tresslyn, supremely confident and self-assured, sustained thegreatest shock of her life when she found that Anne was behaving in thisquixotic manner about the profits of the enterprise. At first she couldnot believe her ears. But Anne was obdurate, She maintained that hercontract called for two million dollars and no more, and she refused toconsider this extraneous accumulation as rightfully her own. Her motherberated her without effect. She subjected her to countless attacks from asmany angles, but Anne was as "hard as nails. "

"I'm not earning this ninety thousand a year, mother, " she declared hotly, "and I shall not accept it as a gift. If I were Mr. Thorpe's wife in everysense of the term, it might be different, but as you happen to know I amnothing more than a figure of speech in his household. I am not even hisnurse, nor his housekeeper, nor his friend. He despises me. I despisemyself, for that matter, so he's not quite alone in his opinion. I've soldmyself for a price, mother, but you must at least grant me the privilegeof refusing to draw interest on my infamy. "

"Infamy!" gasped Mrs. Tresslyn. "Infamy? What rot, —what utter rot!"

"Just the same, I shall confine myself to the original bargain. It is badenough. I shan't make it any worse by taking money that doesn't belong tome. "

"Those bonds are yours, " snapped Mrs. Tresslyn. "You are certainlyentitled to the interest. You—"

"They are _not_ mine, " returned Anne decisively. "Not until Mr. Thorpe isdead, if you please. I am to have my pay after he has passed away, nosooner. That was the bargain. "

"You did not hesitate to accept some rather expensive pearls if I remembercorrectly, " said Mrs. Tresslyn bitingly. 

"That was his affair, not mine, " said Anne coolly. "He despises me sothoroughly that he thought he could go beyond his contract and tempt mewith this interest we are quarrelling about, mother. He was sure that Iwould jump at it as a greedy fish snaps at the bait. But I disappointedhim. I shall never forget the look of surprise, —no, it was wonder, —thatcame into his eyes when I flatly refused to take this interest. That wasnearly a year ago. He began to treat me with a little respect after that. There is scarcely a month goes by that he does not bring up the subject. Ithink he has never abandoned the hope that I may give in, after all. Lately he has taken to chuckling when I make my monthly protest againstaccepting this money. He can't believe it of me. He thinks there issomething amusing about what I have been foolish enough to call my senseof honour. Still, I believe he has a little better opinion of me than hehad at first. And now, mother, once and for all, let us consider thematter closed. I will not take the interest until the principal isindisputably mine. "

"You are a fool, Anne, " said her mother, in her desperation; "a simple, ridiculous fool. Why shouldn't you take it? It is yours. You can't affordto throw away ninety thousand dollars. The bank has orders to pay it overto you, and it is deposited to your account. That ought to settle thematter. If it isn't yours, may I enquire to whom does it belong?"

"Time enough to decide that, mother, " said Anne, so composedly that Mrs. Tresslyn writhed with exasperation. "I haven't quite decided who is tohave it in the end. You may be sure, however, that I shall give it to someworthy cause. It shan't be wasted. "

"Do you mean to say that you will give it away—give it to charity?"groaned her mother. 

"Certainly. "

Words failed Mrs. Tresslyn. She could only stare in utter astonishment atthis incomprehensible creature. 

"I may have to ask your advice when the time comes, " went on Anne, complacently. "You must assist me in selecting the most worthy charity, mother dear. "

"I suppose it has never occurred to you that there is some justice in themuch abused axiom that charity begins at home, " said Mrs. Tresslynfrigidly. 

"Not in our home, however, " said Anne. "That's where it ends, if it endsanywhere. "

"I have hesitated to speak to you about it, Anne, but I am afraid I shallnow have to confess that I am sorely pressed for money, " said Mrs. Tresslyn deliberately, and from that moment on she never ceased to employthis argument in her crusade against Anne's ingratitude. 

There was no estrangement. Neither of them could afford to go to suchlengths. They saw a great deal of each other, and, despite the constantbickerings over the idle money, there was little to indicate that theywere at loggerheads. Mrs. Tresslyn was forced at last to recognise thefutility of her appeals to Anne's sense of duty, and contented herselfwith occasional bitter references to her own financial distress. Shecouldn't understand the girl, and she gave up trying. As a matter of fact, she began to fear that she would never be able to understand either one ofher children. She could not even imagine how they could have come by theextraordinary stubbornness with which they appeared to be afflicted. 

As for George Tresslyn, he was going to the dogs as rapidly and asaccurately as possible. He took to drink, and drink took him to cards. Theefforts of Simmy Dodge and other friends, including the despised PercyWintermill, were of no avail. He developed a pugnacious capacity forresenting advice. It was easy to see what was behind the big boy'sbehaviour: simple despair. He counted himself among the failures. In duetime he lost his position in Wall Street and became a complainingdependent upon his mother's generosity. He met her arguments with thefurious and constantly reiterated charge that she had ruined his life. That was another thing that Mrs. Tresslyn could not understand. How, inheaven's name, had she ruined his life?

He took especial delight in directing her attention to the upward progressof the discredited Lutie. 

That attractive young person, much to Mrs. Tresslyn's disgust, actuallyhad insinuated her vulgar presence into comparatively good society, andwas coming on apace. Blithe, and gay, and discriminating, the former"mustard girl" was making a place for herself among the moderately smartpeople. Now and then her name appeared in the society columns of thenewspapers, where, much to Mrs. Tresslyn's annoyance, she was alwaysspoken of as "Mrs. George Dexter Tresslyn. " Moreover, in severalinstances, George's mother had found her own name printed next to Lutie'sin the alphabetical list of guests at rather large entertainments, andonce, —heaven forfend that it should happen again!—the former "mustardgirl's" picture was published on the same page of a supplement with thatof the exclusive Mrs. Tresslyn and her daughter, Mrs. Templeton Thorpe, over the caption: "The Tresslyn Triumvirate, " supplied by a subsequentlydisengaged art editor. 

George came near to being turned out into the street one day when he sofar forgot himself as to declare that Lutie was worth the whole Tresslynlot put together, and she ought to be thankful she had had "the can tiedto her" in time. His mother was livid with fury. 

"If you ever mention that person's name in this house again, you will haveto leave it forever. If she's worth anything at all it is because she hasappropriated the Tresslyn name that you appear to belittle. You—"

"She didn't appropriate it, " flared George. "I remember distinctly ofhaving given it to her. I don't care what you say or do, mother, shedeserves a lot of credit. She's made a place for herself, she's decent, she's clever—"

"She hasn't earned a place for herself, let me remind you, sir. She madeit out of the proceeds of a sale, the sale of a husband. Don't forget, George, that she sold you for so much cash. "

"A darned good bargain, " said he, "seeing that she got me at my ownvalue, —which was nothing at all. "

Lutie went on her way serenely, securely. If she had a thought for GeorgeTresslyn she succeeded very well in keeping it to herself. Men would havemade love to her, but she denied them that exquisite distraction. Back inher mind lurked something that guaranteed immunity. 

The year had dealt its changes to Lutie as well as to the others, but theywere not important. Discussing herself frankly with Simmy Dodge oneevening, she said:

"I'm getting on, am I not, Simmy? But, after all, why shouldn't I? I'm arather decent sort, and I'm not a real vulgarian, am I? Like those peopleover there at the next table, I mean. The more I go about, the more Irealise that class is a matter of acquaintance. If you know the right sortof people, and have known them long enough, you unconsciously form habitsthat the other sort of people haven't got, so you're said to have 'class. 'Of course, you've got to be imitative, you've got to be able to mimic thereal ones, but that isn't difficult if you're half way bright, don't youknow. "

"Lord love you, Lutie, you don't have to imitate any one, " said Simmy. "You're in a class by yourself. "

"Thanks, Simmy. Don't let any one else at the table hear you say suchthings to me, though. They would think that I'd just come in from thecountry. Why shouldn't I get on? How many of the girls that you meet inyour day's walk have graduated from a high-school? How many of the greatladies who rule New York society possess more than a common schooleducation, outside of the tricks they've learned after they put on longfrocks? Not many, let me tell you, Simmy. Four-fifths of them can't spellConnecticut, and they don't know how many e's there are in 'separate. ' Igraduated from a high school in Philadelphia, and my mother did the samething before me. I also played on the basket-ball team, if that meansanything to you. My parents were poor but respectable, God-fearing people, as they say in the novels, and they were quite healthy as parents go inthese days, when times are hard and children so cheap that nobody'swithout a good sized pack of them. I was born with a brain that was meantto be used. "

"What are you two talking about so secretively?" demanded Mrs. RumseyFenn, across the table from them. 

"Ourselves, of course, " said Lutie. "Bright people always have somethingin reserve, my dear. We save the very best for an extremity. Simmydelights in talking about me, and I love to talk about him. It's thesimplest kind of small talk and doesn't disturb us in the least if weshould happen to be thinking of something else at the time. "

"Have you heard when Braden Thorpe is expected home, Simmy?"

"Had a letter from him yesterday. He sails next week. Is there anytinkering to be done for your family this season, Madge? Any little oldrepairs to be made?"

"I'm afraid not, " said Mrs. Fenn desolately, "Rumsey positively refuses toimagine he's got a pain anywhere, and the baby's tonsils are disgustinglyhealthy. "

"Old Templeton Thorpe's in a critical condition, I hear, " put in RumseyFenn. "There'll be a choice widow in the market before long, I pledgeyou. "

"Can't they operate?" inquired his wife. 

"Not for malignant widows, " said Mr. Fenn. 

"Oh, don't be silly. I should think old Mr. Thorpe would let Bradenoperate. Just think what a fine boost it would give Braden if theoperation was a success. "

"And also if it failed, " said one of the men, sententiously. "He's theprincipal heir, isn't he?"

Simmy scowled. "Brady would be the last man in the world to tackle thejob, " he said, and the subject was dropped at once. 

And so the end of the year finds Templeton Thorpe on his death bed, Anne aquixotic ingrate, George among the diligently unemployed, Lutie on thecrest of popularity, Braden in contempt of court, and Mrs. Tresslyn sorelytried by the vagaries of each and every one of the aforesaid persons. 

Simmy Dodge appears to be the only one among them all who stands just ashe did at the beginning of the year. He has neither lost nor gained. Hehas merely stood still. 

CHAPTER XI

When Dr. Braden Thorpe arrived in New York City on the fourteenth of Marchhe was met at the pier by a horde of newspaper men. For the first time, hewas made to appreciate "the importance of being earnest. " These men, through a frequently prompted spokesman, put questions to him that were sostartling in their boldness that he was staggered by the misconceptionthat had preceded him into his home land. 

He was asked such questions as these: "But, doctor, would you do that sortof thing to a person who was dear to you, —say a wife, a mother or an onlychild?" "How could you be sure that a person was hopelessly afflicted?""Have you ever put this theory of yours into practice on the other side?""How many lives have you taken in this way, doctor, —if it is a fairquestion?" "Do you expect to practise openly in New York?" "And if you dopractise, how many patients do you imagine would come to you, knowing yourviews?" "How would you kill 'em, —with poison or what?" And so on, almostwithout end. 

He was to find that a man can become famous and infamous in a singlenewspaper headline, and as for the accuracy of the interviews there wasbut one thing to be said: the questions were invariably theirs and theanswers also. He did his best to make them understand that he was merelyadvancing a principle and not practising a crime, that his hand had neverbeen brought down to kill, that his heart was quite as tender as any otherman's, and that he certainly was not advocating murder in any degree. Norwas he at present attempting to proselyte. 

When he finally escaped the reporters, his brow was wet with the sweat ofone who finds himself confronted by a superior force and with no means ofdefence. He knew that he was to be assailed by every paper in New York. They would tear him to shreds. 

Wade was at the pier. He waited patiently in the background while thereturned voyager dealt with the reporters, appearing abruptly at Braden'selbow as he was giving his keys to the inspector. 

"Good morning, sir, " said Wade, in what must be recorded as a confidentialtone. He might have been repeating the salutation of yesterday morning forall that his manner betrayed. 

"Hello, Wade! Glad to see you. " Braden shook hands with the man. "How ismy grandfather?"

"Better, sir, " said the other, meaning that his master was morecomfortable than he had been during the night. 

Wade was not as much of an optimist as his reply would seem to indicate. It was his habit to hold bad news in reserve as long as possible, doubtless for the satisfaction it gave him to dribble it out sparingly. Hehad found it to his advantage to break all sorts of news hesitatingly tohis master, for he was never by way of knowing what Mr. Thorpe wouldregard as bad news. For example, early in his career as valet, he hadrushed into Mr. Thorpe's presence with what he had every reason to believewould be good news. He had been sent over to the home of Mr. Thorpe's sonfor an important bit of information, and he supplied it by almost shoutingas he burst into the library: "It's a fine boy, sir, —a splendid ten-pounder, sir. " But Mr. Thorpe, instead of accepting the good news gladly, spoiled everything by anxiously inquiring, "And how is the poor littlemother getting along?"—a question which caused Wade grave annoyance, forhe had to reply: "I'm sorry, sir, but she's not expected to live the hourout. "

All of which goes to show that Mr. Thorpe never regarded any news as goodwithout first satisfying himself that it wasn't bad. 

"I have the automobile outside, sir, " went on Wade, "and I am to lookafter your luggage. "

"Thank you, Wade. If you'll just grab these bags and help the porter outto the car with them, I'll be greatly obliged. And then you may drop me atthe Wolcott. I shall stop there for a few days, until I get my bearings. "

Wade coughed insinuatingly. "Beg pardon, sir, but I was to fetch youstraight home. "

"Do you mean to my grandfather's?" demanded the young man sharply. 

"Yes, sir. Those were the orders. "

"Orders to be disobeyed, I fear, Wade, " said Braden darkly. "I am notgoing to Mr. Thorpe's house. "

"I understand, sir, " said Wade patiently. "I quite understand. Still it ismy duty to report to you that Mr. Thorpe is expecting you. "

"Nevertheless, I shall not—"

"Perhaps I should inform you that your grandfather is—er—confined to hisbed. As a matter of fact, Mr. Braden, he is confined to his death-bed. "

Braden was shocked. Later on, as he was being rushed across town in thecar, he drew from Wade all of the distressing details. He had neversuspected the truth. Indeed, his grandfather had kept the truth from himso successfully that he had come to look upon him as one of the fortunatefew who arrive at death in the full possession of health, those who diebecause the machinery stops of its own accord. And now the worst possibledeath was stalking his benefactor, driving, —always driving without pity. Braden's heart was cold, his face pallid with dread as he hurried up thesteps to the front door of the familiar old house. 

He had forgotten Anne and his vow never to enter the house so long as shewas mistress of it. He forgot that her freedom was about to become anaccomplished fact, that the thing she had anticipated was now at hand. Hehad often wondered how long it would be in coming to her, and how shewould stand up under the strain of the half score of years or more thatconceivably might be left to the man she had married. There had been timeswhen he laughed in secret anticipation of the probabilities that attendedher unwholesome adventure. Years of it! Years of bondage before she couldlay hands upon the hard-earned fruits of freedom!

As he entered the hall Anne came out of the library to greet him. Therewas no hesitation on her part, no pretending. She came directly to him, her hand extended. He had stopped stock-still on seeing her. 

"I am glad you have come, Braden, " she said, letting her hand fall to herside. Either he had ignored it or was too dismayed to notice it at all. "Mr. Thorpe has waited long and patiently for you. I am glad you havecome. "

He was staring at her, transfixed. There was no change in her appearance. She was just as he had seen her on that last, never-to-be-forgottenday, —the same tall, slender, beautiful Anne. And yet, as he stared, he sawsomething in her eyes that had not been there before: the shadow of fear. 

"I must see him immediately, " said he, and was at once conscious of aregret that he had not first said something kind to her. She had thestricken look in her eyes. 

"You will find him in his old room, " she said quietly. "The nurse is afriend of yours, a Miss McKane. "

"Thank you. " He turned away, but at the foot of the staircase paused. "Isthere no hope?" he inquired. "Is it as bad as Wade—"

"There is only one hope, Braden, " she said, "and that is that he may diesoon. " Curiously, he was not shocked by this remark. He appreciated thedepth of feeling behind it. She was thinking of Templeton Thorpe, not ofherself. 

"I—I can't tell you how shocked, how grieved I am, " he said. "Itis—terrible. "

She drew a few steps nearer. "I want you to feel, Braden, that you arefree to come and go—and to stay—in this house. I know that you have saidyou would not come here while I am its mistress. I am in no sense itsmistress. I have no place here. If you prefer not to see me, I shall makeit possible by remaining in my room. It is only fair that I should speakto you at once about—about this. That is why I waited here to see you. Imay as well tell you that Mr. Thorpe does not expect me to visit hisroom, —in fact, he undoubtedly prefers that I should not do so. I havetried to help him. I have done my best, Braden. I want you to know that. It is possible that he may tell you as much. Your place is here. You mustnot regard me an obstacle. It will not be necessary for you to communicatewith me. I shall understand. Dr. Bates keeps me fully informed. " She spokewithout the slightest trace of bitterness. 

He heard her to the end without lifting his gaze from the floor. When shewas through, he looked at her. 

"You _are_ the mistress of the house, Anne. I shall not overlook the fact, even though you may. If my grandfather wishes me to do so, I shall remainhere in the house with him—to the end, not simply as his relative, but todo what little I can in a professional way. Why was I not informed of hiscondition?" His manner was stern. 

"You must ask that question of Mr. Thorpe himself, " said she. "As I havetold you, he is the master of the house. The rules are his, not mine; and, by the same token, the commands are his. "

He hesitated for a moment. "You might have sent word to me. Why didn'tyou?"

"Because I was under orders, " she said steadily. "Mr. Thorpe would notallow us to send for you. There was an excellent purpose back of hisdecision to keep you on the other side of the Atlantic until you wereready to return of your own accord. I daresay, if you reflect for amoment, you will see through his motives. "

His eyes narrowed. "There was no cause for apprehension, " he said coldly. 

"It was something I could not discuss with him, however, " she returned, "and so I was hardly in a position to advise him. You must believe me, Braden, when I say that I am glad for his sake that you are here. He willdie happily now. "

"He has suffered—so terribly?"

"It has been too horrible, —too horrible, " she cried, suddenly covering hereyes and shivering as with a great chill. 

The tears rushed to Braden's eyes. "Poor old granddaddy, " he murmured. Then, after a second's hesitation, he turned and swiftly mounted thestairs. 

Anne, watching him from below, was saying to herself, over and over again:"He will never forgive me, he will never forgive me. " Later on, alone inthe gloomy library, she sat staring at the curtained window through whichthe daylight came darkly, and passed final judgment upon herself aftermonths of indecision: "I have been too sure of myself, too sure of him. What a fool I've been to count on a thing that is so easily killed. What afool I've been to go on believing that his love would survive in spite ofthe blow I've given it. I've lost him. I may as well say farewell to thesilly hope I've been coddling all these months. " She frowned as sheallowed her thoughts to run into another channel. "But they shall notlaugh at me. I'll play the game out. No whimpering, old girl. Stand up toit. "

Wade was waiting outside his master's door, his ear cocked as of old. Thesame patient, obsequious smile greeted Braden as he came up. 

"He knows you are here, Mr. Braden. I sent in word by the nurse. "

"He is conscious?"

"Yes, sir. That's the worst of it. Always conscious, sir. "

"Then he can't be as near to death as you think, Wade. He—"

"That's a pity, sir, " said Wade frankly. "I was in hopes that it wouldsoon be all over for him. "

"Am I to go in at once?"

"May I have a word or two with you first, sir?" said Wade, lowering hisvoice to a whisper and sending an uneasy glance over his shoulder. "Comethis way, sir. It's safer over here. Uncommonly sharp ears he has, sir. "

"Well, what is it? I must not be delayed—"

"I shan't keep you a minute, Mr. Braden. It's something I feel I ought totell you. Mr. Thorpe is quite in his right mind, sir, so you'll appreciatemore fully what a shock his proposition was to me. In a word, Mr. Braden, he has offered me a great sum of money if I'll put four of those littlepills into a glass of water to-night and give it to him to drink. There'senough poison in them to kill three men in a flash, sir. My God, Mr. Braden, it was—it was terrible!" The man's face was livid. 

"A great sum of money—" began Braden dumbly. Then the truth struck himlike a blow in the face. "Good God, Wade, —he—he wanted you to _kill_ him!"

"That's it, sir, that's it, " whispered Wade jerkily. "He has an envelopeup there with fifty thousand dollars in it. He had me count them a weekago, right before his eyes, and hide the envelope in a drawer. You see howhe trusts me, sir? He knows that I could rob him to-night if I wanted todo so. Or what's to prevent my making off with the money after he's gone?Nobody would ever know. But he knows me too well. He trusts me. I was togive him the poison the night after you got home, and I would never besuspected of doing it because the pills have been lying on his table forweeks, ready for him to take at any time. Every one might say that he tookthem himself, don't you see?"

"Then, in God's name, why doesn't he take them, —why does he ask you togive them to him?" cried Braden, an icy perspiration on his brow. 

"That's the very point, sir, " explained Wade. "He says he has tried to doit, but—well, he just can't, sir. Mr. Thorpe is a God-fearing man. He willnot take his own life. He—he says he believes there is a hell, Mr. Braden. I just wanted to tell you that I—I can't do what he asks me to do. Not forall the money in the world. He seems to think that I don't believe thereis a hell. Anyhow, sir, he appears to think it would be quite all rightfor me to kill a fellow man. Beg pardon, sir; I forgot that you have beenwriting all these articles about—"

"It's all right, Wade, " interrupted Braden. "Tell me, has he made thisproposition to any one else? To the nurses, to Murray—any one?"

Wade hesitated. "I'm quite sure he hasn't appealed to any one but me, sir, except—that is to say—"

"Who else?"

"He told me plainly that he couldn't ask any of the nurses to do it, because he thought it ought to be done by a friend or a—member of thefamily. The doctors, of course, might do it unbeknownst to him, but theywon't, sir. "

"Whom else did he speak to about it?" insisted Braden. 

"I can't be sure, but I think he has spoken to Mrs. Thorpe a good manytimes about it. Every time she is alone with him, in fact, sir. I've heardhim pleading with her, —yes, and cursing her, too, —and her voice is alwaysfull of horror when she says 'No, no! I will not do it! I cannot!' Yousee, sir, I always stand here by the door, waiting to be called, so Icatch snatches of conversation when their voices are raised. Besides, she's always as white as a sheet when she comes out, and two or threetimes she has actually run to her room as if she was afraid he waspursuing her. I can't help feeling, Mr. Braden, that he considers her amember of the family, and so long as I won't do it, he—"

"Good God, Wade! Don't say anything more! I—" His knees suddenly seemedabout to give way under him. He went on in a hoarse whisper: "Why, I—I ama member of the family. You don't suppose he'll—you don't suppose—"

"I just thought I'd tell you, sir, " broke in Wade, "so's you might beprepared. Will you go in now, sir? He is most eager to see you. "

Braden entered the room, sick with horror. A member of the family! Amember of the family to do the killing!

He was shocked by the appearance of the sick old man. Templeton Thorpe hadwasted to a thin, greyish shadow. His lips were as white as his cheek, andthat was the colour of chalk. Only his eyes were bright and gleaming withthe life that remained to him. The grip of his hand was strong and firm, and his voice, too, was steady. 

"I've been waiting for you, Braden, my boy, " said Mr. Thorpe, some timeafter the greetings. He turned himself weakly in the bed and, drawing alittle nearer to the edge, lowered his voice to a more confidential tone. His eyes were burning, his lips drawn tightly across his teeth, —for evenat his age Templeton Thorpe was not a toothless thing. They were alone inthe room. The nurse had seized upon the prospect of a short respite. 

"I wish I had known, granddaddy, " lamented Braden. "You should have sentfor me long ago. "

"That is the fifth or sixth time you've made that remark in the last tenminutes, " said Mr. Thorpe, a querulous note stealing into his voice. "Don't say it again. By the way, suppose that I had sent for you: whatcould you have done? What good could you have done? Answer me that. "

"There is no telling, sir. At least, I could have done my share ofthe—that is to say, I might have been useful in a great many ways. You maybe sure, sir, that I should have been in constant attendance. I shouldhave been on hand night and day. "

"You would have assisted Anne in the death watch, eh?" said Mr. Thorpe, with a ghastly smile. 

"Don't say that, sir, " cried Braden, flinching. 

"I may not have the opportunity to speak with you again, Braden, —privately, I mean, —and, as my time is short, I want to confess toyou that I have been agreeably surprised in Anne. She has tried to do herbest. She has not neglected me. She regards me as a human being in greatpain, and I am beginning to think that she has a heart. There is the barepossibility, my boy, that she might have made you a good wife if I had notput temptation in her way. In any event, she would not have dishonouredyou. It goes without saying that she has been wife to me in name only. Youmay find some comfort in that. In the past few weeks I have laid evengreater temptations before her and she has not fallen. I cannot explainfurther to you, but—" here he smiled wanly—"some day she may tell you inthe inevitable attempt to justify herself and win back what she has lost. Don't interrupt me, please. She _will_ try, never fear, and you will haveto be strong to resist her. I know what you would say to me, so don't sayit. You are horrified by the thought of it, but the day will come when youmust again raise your hand against the woman who loves you. Make nomistake, Braden; she loves you. "

"I believe I would strike her dead if she made the slightest appeal to—"

"Never mind, " snapped the old man. "I know you well enough to credit youwith self-respect, if not self-abnegation. What I am trying to get at isthis: do you hold a grudge against me for revealing this girl's truecharacter to you?"

"I must ask you to excuse me from answering that question, grandfather, "said Braden, compressing his lips. 

The old man eyed him closely. "Is that an admission that you think I havewronged you in saving you from the vampires?" he persisted ironically. 

"I cannot discuss your wife with you, sir, " said the other. 

Mr. Thorpe continued to regard his grandson narrowly for a moment or twolonger, and then a look of relief came into his eyes. "I see. I shouldn'thave asked it of you. Nevertheless, I am satisfied. My experiment is asuccess. You are qualified to distinguish between the Tresslyn greed andthe Tresslyn love, so I have not failed. They put the one above the otherand so far they have trusted to luck. If Anne had spurned my money Ihaven't the slightest doubt that she would have married you and made you agood wife. The fact that she did not spurn my money would seem to provethat she wouldn't make anybody a good wife. I know all this is painful toyou, my boy, but I must say it to you before I die. You see I am dying. That's quite apparent, even to the idiots who are trying to keep me alive. They do not fool me with their: 'Aha, Mr. Thorpe, how are we to-day?Better, eh?' I am dying by inches, —fractions of inches, to be precise. " Hestopped short, out of breath after this long speech. 

Braden laid his hand upon the bony fore-arm. "How long have you known, granddaddy, that you had this—this—"

"Cancer? Say it, my boy. I'm not afraid of the word. Most people are. It'sa dreadful word. How can I answer your question? Years, no doubt. Itbecame active a year and a half ago. I knew what it was, even then. "

"In heaven's name, sir, why did you let it go on? An operation at thattime might have—"

"You forget that I could afford to wait. When a man gets to be as old as Iam he can philosophise even in the matter of death. What is a year or two, one way or the other, to me? An operation is either an experiment or alast resort, isn't it? Well, my boy, I preferred to look upon it as a lastresort, and as such I concluded to put it off until the last minute, whenit wouldn't make any difference which way it resulted. If it had resultedfatally a year and a half ago, what would I have gained? If it should takeplace to-morrow, with the same result, haven't I cheated Time out ofeighteen months?"

"But the pain, the suffering, " cried Braden. "You might at least havespared yourself the whole lifetime of pain that you have lived in theselast few months. You haven't cheated pain out of its year and a half. "

"True, " said Mr. Thorpe, his lips twitching with the pain he was trying todefy; "I have not been able to laugh at the futility of pain. Ah!" It wasalmost a scream that issued from between his stretched lips. He began towrithe.... 

"Come in again to-night, " he said half an hour later, whispering the wordswith difficulty. The two nurses and the doctor's assistant, who had beenstaying in the house for more than a week, now stood back from thebedside, dripping with perspiration. The paroxysm had been one of theworst he had experienced. They had believed for a time that it was also tobe the last. Braden Thorpe, shaking like a leaf because of the veryinactivity that was forced upon him by the activity of others, wiped thesweat from his brow, and nodded his head in speechless despair. "Come into-night, after you've talked with Anne and Dr. Bates. I'm easier now. Itcan't go on much longer, you see. Bates gives me a couple of weeks. Thatmeans a couple of centuries of pain, however. Go now and talk it over withAnne. "

With this singular admonition pounding away at his senses, Braden went outof the room. Wade, —the ever-present Wade, —was outside the door. Hisexpression was as calmly attentive as it would have been were his masteryawning after a healthy nap instead of screaming with all the tortures ofthe damned. As Braden hurried by, hardly knowing whither he went, theservant did something he had never done before in his life. He ventured tolay a detaining hand upon the arm of a superior. 

"Did he ask you to—to do it, Master Braden?" he whispered hoarsely. Theman's eyes were glazed with dread. 

Braden stopped. At first he did not comprehend. Then Wade's meaning wassuddenly revealed to him. He drew back, aghast. 

"Good Lord, no! No, no!" he cried out. 

"Well, " said Wade deliberately, "he will, mark my words, sir. I don't mindsaying to you, Mr. Braden, that he _depends_ upon you. "

"Are you crazy, Wade?" gasped Braden, searching the man's face with anintentness that betrayed his own fear that the prophecy would come true. Something had already told him that his grandfather would depend upon himfor complete relief, —and it was that something that had gripped his heartwhen he entered the sick-room, and still gripped it with all the infernaltenacity of inevitableness. 

He hurried on, like one hunted and in search of a place in which to hideuntil the chase had passed. At the foot of the stairs he came upon Murray, the butler. 

"Mrs. Thorpe says that you are to go to your old room, Mr. Braden, " saidthe butler. "Will you care for tea, sir, or would you prefer something alittle stronger?"

"Nothing, Murray, thank you, " replied Braden, cold with a strange newterror. He could not put aside the impression that Murray, the bibulousMurray, was also regarding him in the light of an executioner. Somewhereback in his memory there was aroused an old story about the citizens whosat up all night to watch for the coming of the hangman who was to do agrewsome thing at dawn. He tried to shake off the feeling, he tried tolaugh at the fantastic notion that had so swiftly assailed him. "I think Ishall go to my room. Call me, if I am needed. "

He did not want to see Anne. He shrank from the revelations that werecertain to come from the harassed wife of the old man who wanted to die. As he remounted the stairs, he was subtly aware that some one opened adoor below and watched him as he fled. He did not look behind, but he knewthat the watcher was white-faced and pleading, and that she too wascounting on him for support. 

An hour later, a servant knocked at his door. The afternoon was far goneand the sky was overcast with sinister streaks of clouds that did notmove, but hung like vast Zeppelins over the harbour beyond: long, blue-black clouds with white bellies. Mournful clouds that waited for the timeto come when they could burst into tears! He had been watching them asthey crept up over the Jersey shores, great stealthy birds of ill-omen, giving out no sound yet ponderous in their flight. He started at thegentle tapping on his door; a strange hope possessed his soul. Was this afriendly hand that knocked? Was its owner bringing him the word that theend had come and that he would not be called upon to deny the greatrequest? He sprang to the door. 

"Dr. Bates is below, sir, " said the maid. "He would like to see you beforehe goes. "

Braden's heart sank. "I'll come at once, Katie. "

There were three doctors in the library. Dr. Bates went straight to thepoint. 

"Your grandfather, Braden, has a very short time to live. He has justdismissed us. Our services are no longer required in this case, if I—"

"Dismissed you?" cried Braden, unbelievingly. 

Dr. Bates smiled. "We can do nothing more for him, my boy. It is just aswell that we should go. He—"

"But, my God, sir, you cannot leave him to die in—"

"Have patience, my lad. We are not leaving him to die alone. By hisexpress command, we are turning the case over to you. You are to be hissole—"

"I refuse!" shouted Braden. 

"You cannot refuse, —you will not, I am sure. For your benefit I may saythat the case is absolutely hopeless. Not even a miracle can save him. Ifyou will give me your closest attention, I will, with Dr. Bray's support, describe his condition and all that has led up to this unhappy crisis. Sitdown, my boy. I am your good friend. I am not your critic, nor yourtraducer. Sit down and listen calmly, if you can. You should know justwhat is before you, and you must also know that every surgeon who has beencalled in consultation expresses but one opinion. In truth, it is not anopinion that they venture, but an unqualified decision. "

For a long time Braden sat as if paralysed and listened to the words ofthe fine old doctor. At last the three arose and stood over him. 

"You understand everything now, Braden, " said Dr. Bates, a tremor in hisvoice. "May God direct your course. We shall not come here again. You arenot to feel that we are deserting you, however, for that is not true. Wego because you have come, because you have been put in sole charge. Andnow, my boy, I have something else to say to you as an old friend. I knowyour views. Not I alone, but Dr. Bray and thousands of others, have feltas you feel about such things. There have been countless instances, likethe one at hand, when we have wished that we might be faithless to thetenets of a noble profession. But we have never faltered. It is not ourprovince to be merciful, if I may put it in that way, but to beconscientious. It is our duty to save, not to destroy. That is what bindsevery doctor to his patient. Take the advice of an old man, Braden, anddon't allow your pity to run away with your soul. Take my advice, lad. LetGod do the deliberate killing. He will do it in his own good time, for allof us. I speak frankly, for I know you consider me your friend and well-wisher. "

"Thank you, Dr. Bates, " said Braden, hoarsely. "The advice is not needed, however. I am not a murderer. I could not kill that poor old man upstairs, no matter how dreadfully he suffers. I fear that you have overlooked thefact that I am an advocate, not a performer, of merciful deeds. You shouldnot confuse my views with my practice. I advocate legalising thedestruction of the hopelessly afflicted. Inasmuch as it is not a legalthing to do at present, I shall continue to practise my profession as allthe rest of you do: conscientiously. " He was standing before them. Hisface was white and his hands were clenched. 

"I am glad to hear you say that, Braden, " said Dr. Bates gently. "Forgiveme. One last word, however. If you need me at any time, I stand ready tocome to you. If you conclude to operate, I—I shall advise against it, ofcourse, —you may depend upon me to be with you when you—"

"But you have said, Dr. Bates, that you do not believe an operation wouldbe of—"

"In my opinion it would be fatal. But you must not forget that God rules, not we mortals. We do not know everything. I am frank to confess thatthere is not one among us who is willing to take the chance, if that is aguide to you. That's all, my boy. Good-bye. God be with you!"

They passed out of and away from the house. 

CHAPTER XII

In the course of the evening, desolated by the ugly responsibility thathad been thrust upon him, Braden put aside his scruples, his antipathy, and sent word to Anne that he would like to discuss the new situation withher. She had not appeared for dinner, which was a doleful affair; she didnot even favour him with an apology for not coming down. Distasteful asthe interview promised to be for him, he realised that it should not bepostponed. His grandfather's wife would have to be consulted. It was herright to decide who should attend the sick man. While he was acutelyconfident that she would not oppose his solitary attendance, there stillstruggled in his soul the hope that she might, for the sake of appearancesat least, insist on calling in other physicians. It was a hope that hedared not encourage, however. Fate had settled the matter. It was ordainedthat he should stand where he now stood in this unhappy hour. 

He recalled his grandfather's declaration that she still loved him. Thethought turned him sick with loathing, for he believed in his heart thatit was true. He knew that Anne loved him, and always would love him. Buthe also knew that every vestige of love and respect for her had gone outof his heart long ago and that he now felt only the bitterness ofdisillusionment so far as she was concerned. He was not afraid of her. Shehad lost all power to move a single drop of blood in his veins. But he wasafraid _for_ her. 

She came downstairs at nine o'clock. He had not gone near the sick-roomsince his initial visit, earlier in the day, literally obeying the commandof the sick man: to talk matters over with Anne before coming again to seehim. 

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, " she said simply, as she advancedinto the room. "I have been talking over the telephone with my mother. Shedoes not come here any more. It has been nearly three weeks since she lastcame to see me. The dread of it all, don't you know. She is positive thatshe has all of the symptoms. I suppose it is a not uncommon fault of theimagination. Of course, I go to see her every afternoon. I see no oneelse, Braden, except good old Simmy Dodge. He stops in nearly every day toinquire, and to cheer me up if possible. "

She was attired in a simple evening gown, —an old one, she hastily wouldhave informed a woman visitor, —and it was hard for him to believe thatthis was not the lovely, riant Anne Tresslyn of a year ago instead of thehardened mistress of Templeton Thorpe's home. There was no sign ofconfusion or uncertainty in her manner, and not the remotest indicationthat her heart still owned love for him. If she retained a spark of theold flame in that beautiful body of hers, it was very carefully secretedbehind a mask of indifference. She met his gaze frankly, unswervingly. Herpoise was perfect, —marvellously so in the face of his ill-concealedantipathy. 

"I suppose you know that I have been left in sole charge of the case, " hesaid, without preface. 

"Oh, yes, " she replied calmly. "It was Mr. Thorpe's desire. "

"And yours?"

"Certainly. Were you hoping that I would interpose an objection?"

"Yes. I am not qualified to take charge of—"

"Pardon me, Braden, if I remind you, that so far as Mr. Thorpe's chancesfor recovery are concerned, he might safely be attended by the simplestnovice. The result would be the same. " She spoke without a trace of irony. "Dr. Bates and the others were willing to continue, but what was the use?They do not leave you a thing to stand on, Braden. There is nothing thatyou can do. I am sorry. It seems a pity for you to have come home tothis. "

He smiled faintly, whether at her use of the word "home" or the prospectshe laid down for him it would be difficult to say. 

"Shall we sit down, Anne, and discuss the situation?" he said. "It is oneof my grandfather's orders, so I suppose we shall have to obey. "

She sank gracefully into a deep chair at the foot of the library table, and motioned for him to take one near-by. The light from the chandelierfell upon her brown hair, and glinted. 

"It is very strange, Braden, that we should come into each other's livesagain, and in this manner. It seems so long ago—"

"Is it necessary to discuss ourselves, Anne?"

She regarded him steadily. "Yes, I think so, " she said. "We must at leastconvince ourselves that the past has no right to interfere with orovershadow what we may choose to call the present, —or the future, for thatmatter, if I may look a little farther ahead. The fact remains that we arehere together, Braden, in spite of all that has happened, and we must makethe best of it. The world, —our own little world, I mean, —will be watchingus. We must watch ourselves. Oh, don't misconstrue that remark, please. Wemust see to it that the world does not judge us entirely by our past. " Shewas very cool about it, he thought, —and confident. 

"As I said before, Anne, I see no occasion to—"

"Very well, " she interrupted. "I beg your pardon. You asked me to see youto-night. What is it that you wish to say to me?"

He leaned forward in the chair, his elbows on the arms of it, and regardedher fixedly. "Has my grandfather ever appealed to you to—to—" He stopped, for she had turned deathly pale; she closed her eyes tightly as if to shutout some visible horror; a perceptible shudder ran through her slenderbody. As Braden started to rise, she raised her eye-lids, and in herlovely eyes he saw horror, dread, appeal, all in one. "I'm sorry, " hemurmured, in distress "I should have been more—"

"It's all right, " she said, recovering herself with an effort. "I thoughtI had prepared myself for the question you were so sure to ask. I havebeen through hell in the past two weeks, Braden. I have had to listen tothe most infamous proposals—but perhaps it would be better for me torepeat them to you just as they were made to me, and let you judge foryourself. "

She leaned back in the chair, as if suddenly tired. Her voice was low andtense, and at no time during her recital did she raise it above the levelat which she started. Plainly, she was under a severe strain and wasafraid that she might lose control of herself. 

It appeared that Mr. Thorpe had put her to the supreme test. In brief, hehad called upon his young wife to put him out of his misery! Cunningly, hehad beset her with the most amazing temptations. Her story was one ofthose incredible things that one cannot believe because the mind refusesto entertain the utterly revolting. In the beginning the old man, consumedby pain, implored her to perform a simple act of mercy. He told her of thefour little pellets and the glass of water. At that time she treated thematter lightly. The next day he began his sly, persistent campaign againstwhat he was pleased to call her inhumanity; he did not credit her withscruples. There was something Machiavellian in the sufferer's scheming. Hedeclared that there could be no criminal intent on her part, therefore herconscience would never be afflicted. The fact that he consented to the actwas enough to clear her conscience, if that was all that restrained her. She realised that he was in earnest now, and fled the room in horror. 

Then he tried to anger her with abuse and calumny to such an extent thatshe would be driven to the deed by sheer rage. Failing in this, he resumedhis wheedling tactics. It would be impossible, he argued, for any one toknow that she had given him the soothing poison. The doctors would alwaysbelieve that he had overcome his prejudice against self-destruction andhad taken the tablets, just as they intended and evidently desired him todo. But he would not take his own life. He would go on suffering for yearsbefore he would send his soul to purgatory by such an act. He believed indamnation. He had lived an honourable, upright life and he maintained thathis soul was entitled to the salvation his body had earned for it by itsresistance to the evils of the flesh. What, said he, could be moreincompatible with a lifelong observance of God's laws than the commissionof an act for which there could be no forgiveness, what more terrible thangoing into the presence of his maker with sin as his guide and advocate?His last breath of life drawn in sin!

Day after day he whispered his wily arguments, and always she fled inhorror. Her every hour was a nightmare, sleeping or waking. Her strengthwas shattered, yet she was compelled to withstand his daily attacks. Henever failed to send for her to sit with him while the nurse took herexercise. He would have no one else. Ultimately he sought to tempt herwith offers of gold! He agreed to add a codicil to his will, giving her anadditional million dollars if she would perform a "simple service" forhim. That was the way he styled it: a simple service! Merely the droppingof four little tablets into a tumbler of water and holding it to his lipsto drain! Suicide with a distinction, murder by obligation! One of hisarguments was that she would be free to marry the man she loved if he wasout of the way. He did not utter the name of the man, however. 

Anne spoke to no one of these shocking encounters in the darkened sick-room. She would not have spoken to Braden but for her husband's commandgiven no later than the hour before that she should do so. 

"Twice, Braden, I was tempted to do what he asked of me, " she said inconclusion, almost in a whisper. "He was in such fearful agony. You willnever know how he has suffered. My heart ached for him. I cannotunderstand how a good and gentle God can inflict such pain upon one of hiscreatures. Why should this Christian be crucified? But I must not say suchthings. Twice I came near to putting those tablets in the glass and givingit to him to drink, but both times I shrank even as I took them up fromthe table. I shall never forget the look of joy that came into his eyeswhen he saw me pick them up, nor shall I ever forget the look he gave mewhen I threw them down and put my fingers to my ears to shut out the soundof his moans. It would have been so easy to end it all for him. No onecould have known, and he would have died thanking me for one good deed atleast. Yesterday when I failed him for the second time, he made the mosthorrible confession to me. He said that when he married me a year ago heknew that this very crisis would come and that he had counted on me thenas his deliverer! He actually said to me, Braden, that all this was in hismind when he married me. Can't you understand? If the time ever came whenhe wanted to die, who would be more likely to serve his purpose than theyoung, avaricious wife who loved another man? Oh, he was not thinking ofyour good, my friend, —at least, not entirely. He did not want you to throwyourself away on me, that's true, but your preservation was not his soleobject, let me assure you. He planned deeper than we knew. He looked aheadfor one year and saw what was coming, and he counted on me, —he counted onthe wife he had bought. Once he asked me if I had the faintest idea howmany wives have killed strong and healthy husbands in order that theymight wed the men they loved better. If murderesses can do that, said he, why should I hesitate, when there could be no such thing as murder inmy—oh, it was too terrible! Thank God, he thinks better of me now than hedid on the day he married me. Even though he is your grandfather, Braden, I can say to you frankly that if taking his own life means going to hellfor him, I would see him in hell before I would—"

"Anne, Anne!" cried he, shaken. "Don't say it! It is too horrible. Thinkof what you were about to say and—"

"Oh, I've thought, my friend, " she broke in fiercely. "It is time for youto think of what he would have done for me. He would have sent me to hellin his place. Do you understand? Do you suppose that if I had killed him, even with mercy and kindness in my heart, I could ever have escaped from ahell on earth, no matter what God's judgment may have been hereafter?Would heaven after death affect the hell that came before?"

"Do you believe that there is life beyond the grave?" he demanded. "Do youstill believe that there is a heaven and a hell?"

"Yes, " she said firmly, "and down in your soul, Braden, you believe ittoo. We all believe it, even the scientists who scoff. We can't helpbelieving it. It is that which makes good men and women of us, which keepsus as children to the end. It isn't honour or nobility of character thatmakes us righteous, but the fear of God. It isn't death that we dread. Weshrink from the answer to the question we've asked all through life. Canyou answer that question now?"

"Of course not, " he said, "nor can I solve the riddle of life. That is thegreat mystery. Death is simple. We know why we die but we don't know whywe live. "

"The same mystery that precedes life also follows it, " she saidstubbornly. "The greatest scientist in the world was once a lifeless atom. He acknowledges that, doesn't he? So, my friend, there is something evenvaster than the greatest of all intelligences, and that is ignorance. Butwe are wasting time. I have told you everything. You know just what I'vebeen through. I don't ask for your sympathy, for you would be quite rightin refusing to give it me. I made my bed, so there's the end of it. I amglad that you are here. The situation is in your hands, not mine. "

"What is there for me to do except to sit down, like you, and wait?" hegroaned, in desperation. 

She was silent for a long time, evidently weighing her next remark. "Whathave you to say for your pet theory now, Braden?" she inquired, haltingly. 

"You may rest assured, Anne, that even were it legally possible, I shouldnot put it into practice in this instance, " he said coldly. 

Her face brightened. "Do you really mean it?"

"I wish you and all the rest of them would understand that I am notsetting myself up as a butcher—" he began hotly. 

"That is all I want to know, " she cried, tremulously. "I have beendreading the—I have found myself wondering if _you_ would give him thosetablets. Look me straight in the eye, Braden. You will not do that, willyou?"

"Never!" he exclaimed. 

"You don't know what that means to me, " she said in a low voice. Againthere was a long silence. He was studying her face, and queer notions wereentering his brain. "Another question, please, and that is all. Can hislife be prolonged by an operation?"

"I am assured that he could not survive an operation. "

"He may ask you to—to perform one, " she said, watching him closely. 

He hesitated. "You mean that he is willing to take the chance?"

"I mean that he realises it will make no difference, one way or the other. The other doctors have refused to operate. "

"He will not ask me to operate, " said Braden, but his soul shook withinhim as he spoke. 

"We shall see, " said she strangely, and then arose. She came quite closeto him. "I do not want you to operate, Braden. Any one but you. You mustnot take the—the chance. Now you would better go up to him. Tell him youhave talked with me. He will understand. He may even speak a good word forme. Good night. Thank you for—for letting me speak with you to-night. "

She left the room. He stood quite still for a full minute, staring at theclosed door. Then he passed his hand over his eyes as if to shut out thevision that remained. He knew now that his grandfather was right. 

In the hall upstairs he found Wade. 

"Time you were in bed, " said Braden shortly. "Get a little rest, man. I amhere now. You needn't worry. "

"He's been asking for you, sir. The nurse has been out here twice withinthe last ten minutes. Excuse me, Mr. Braden; may I have another word withyou?" He did not lower his voice. Wade's voice was of a peculiarlyunpenetrating character. Unless one _observed_ his speech it was scarcelyaudible, and yet one had a queer impression, at a glance, that he wasspeaking a little above the ordinary tone of voice. "Did Mrs. Thorpe tellyou that her brother has been here to see Mr. Thorpe three times within aweek?"

Braden started. "She did not, Wade. "

"Why didn't she tell you, sir?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sir, it is just this way: Mr. Thorpe sent for young Mr. Tresslynlast Friday afternoon. Considerable difficulty was had in finding him. Hewas just a wee bit tipsy when he got here at eight o'clock. Mrs. Thorpedid not see him, although Murray went to her room to tell her of hisarrival. Young Mr. Tresslyn was in Mr. Thorpe's room for ten or fifteenminutes, and then left the house in a great hurry, sir. He came again onSaturday evening, and acted very queerly. Both times he was alone with Mr. Thorpe. Again he fairly rushed out of the house as if he was pursued bydevils. Then he came on Sunday night, and the same thing happened. As hewas going out, I spoke to him, and this is what he said to me, —scared-likeand shaking all over, sir, —'I'm not coming here again, Wade. No more of itfor me. Damn him! You tell my sister that I'm not coming again!' Then hewent out, mumbling to himself. Right after that I went up to Mr. Thorpe. He was very angry. He gave orders that Mr. Tresslyn was not to be admittedagain. It was then, sir, that he spoke to me about the money in theenvelope. I have had a notion, sir, that the money was first intended forMr. George Tresslyn, but he didn't like that way of earning it any morethan I did. Rather strange, too, when you stop to think how badly he needsmoney and how low he's been getting these past few months. Poor chap, he—"

"Now, Wade, you are guessing, " interrupted Braden, with a sinking heart. "You have no right to surmise—"

"Beg pardon, sir; I was only putting two and two together. I'm sorry. Idare say I am entirely wrong, perhaps a little bit out of my head becauseof the—Please, sir, do not misunderstand me. I would not for the worldhave you think that I connect Mrs. Thorpe with the business. I am surethat she had nothing whatever to do with her brother's visitshere, —nothing at all, sir. "

Braden's blood was like ice water as he turned away from the man andentered his grandfather's room. The nurse was reading to the old man. Withthe young man's entrance, Mr. Thorpe cut her off brusquely and told her toleave the room. 

"Come here, Braden, " he said, after the door had closed behind the woman. "Have you talked with Anne?"

"Yes, grandfather. "

"She told you everything?"

"I suppose so. It is terrible. You should not have made such demands—"

"We won't go into that, " said the other harshly, gripping his side withhis claw-like hand. His face was contorted by pain. After a moment, hewent on: "She's better than I thought, and so is that good-for-nothingbrother of hers. I shall never forgive this scoundrel Wade though. He hasbeen my servant, my slave for more than thirty years, and I know that hehasn't a shred of a conscience. While I think of it, I wish you would takethis key and unlock the top drawer in my dressing table. See if there isan envelope there, will you? There is, eh? Open it. Count the bills, Braden. "

He lay back, with tightly closed eyes, while Braden counted the package offive hundred dollar bank-notes. 

"There are fifty thousand dollars here, grandfather, " said the young manhuskily. 

"'Pon my soul, they are more honest than I imagined. Well, well, the worldis getting better. "

"What shall I do with this money, sir? You shouldn't have it lying aroundloose with all these—"

"You may deposit it to my account in the Fifth Avenue Bank to-morrow. Itis of absolutely no use to me now. Put it in your pocket. It will be quitesafe with you, I dare say. You are all so inexcusably honest, confoundyou. Sit down. I want to tell you what I've finally decided to do. Thesesurgeons say there is about one chance in a million for me, my boy. I'vedecided to take it. "

"Take it?" muttered Braden, knowing full well what was to come. 

"I have given you the finest education, the finest training that any youngman ever had, Braden. You owe a great deal to me, I think you will admit. Never mind now. Don't thank me. I would not trust my one chance to any ofthese disinterested butchers. They would not care a rap whether I pulledthrough or not. With you, it is different. I believe you would—"

"My God, grandfather, you are not going to ask me to—"

"Sit still! Yes, I am going to ask you to give me that one chance in amillion. If you fail, I shall not be here to complain. If yousucceed, —well, you will have performed a miracle. You—"

"But there is no possible chance, —not the slightest chance of success, "cried Braden, the cold sweat running down his face. "I can tell you inadvance that it means death to—"

"Nevertheless, it is worth trying, isn't it, my boy?" said TempletonThorpe softly. "I demand it of you. You are my flesh and blood. You willnot let me lie here and suffer like this for weeks and months. It is yourduty to do what you can. It is your time to be merciful, my lad. "

Braden's face was in his hands. His body was shaking as if in convulsions. He could not look into the old man's eyes. 

"Send for Bates and Bray to-morrow. Tell them that you have decided tooperate, —with my consent. They will understand. It must be done at once. You will not fail me. You will do this for your poor old granddaddy whohas loved you well and who suffers to-day as no man in all this world hasever suffered before. I am in agony. Nothing stops the pain. Everythinghas failed. You _will_ do this for me, Braden?"

The young man raised his haggard face. Infinite pity had succeeded horrorin his eyes. 

CHAPTER XIII

Simmy Dodge emerged from Sherry's at nine-thirty. He was leaving Mrs. Fenwick's dinner-dance in response to an appeal from Anne Thorpe, who hadsent for him by messenger earlier in the evening. Simmy was reluctantabout going down to the house off Washington Square; he was constituted asone of those who shrink from the unwholesomeness of death rather than fromits terrors. He was fond of Anne, but in his soul he was abusing her forsummoning him to bear witness to the final translation of old TempletonThorpe from a warm, sensitive body, into a cold, unpleasant hulk. He hadno doubt that he had been sent for to see the old man die. While he wouldnot, for the world, have denied Anne in her hour of distress, he could nothelp wishing that she had put the thing off till to-morrow. Death doesn'tappear so ugly in the daytime. One is spared the feeling that it isstealing up through the darkness of night to lay claim to its prey. 

Simmy shivered a little as he stood in front of Sherry's waiting for hiscar to come up. He made up his mind then and there that when it came timefor him to die he would see to it that he did not do it in the night. For, despite the gay lights of the city, there were always sombre shadows forone to be jerked into by the relentless hand of death; there was somethingappalling about being dragged off into a darkness that was to bedissipated at sunrise, instead of lasting forever. 

He left behind him in one of the big private diningrooms a brilliant, high-spirited company of revellers. One of Mrs. Fenwick's guests was LutieTresslyn. He sat opposite her at one of the big round tables, and for anhour he had watched with moody eyes her charming, vivacious face as sheconversed with the men on either side of her. She was as cool, as self-contained as any woman at the table. There was nothing to indicate thatshe had not been born to this estate of velvet, unless the freshness ofher cheek and the brightness of her eye betrayed her by contrast with theunmistakable haggardness of "the real thing. "

She was unafraid. All at once Simmy was proud of her. He felt the thrillof something he could not on the moment define, but which he afterwardsput down as patriotism! It was just the sort of thrill, he argued, thatyou have when the band plays at West Point and you see the cadets comemarching toward you with their heads up and their chests out, —the thrillthat leaves a smothering, unuttered cheer in your throat. 

He thought of Anne Tresslyn too, and smiled to himself. This was AnneTresslyn's set, not Lutie's, and yet here she was, a trim little warrior, inside the walls of a fortified place, hobnobbing with the formidable armyof occupation and staring holes through the uniforms of the General Staff!She sat in the Tresslyn camp, and there were no other Tresslyns there. Shesat with the Wintermills, and—yes, he had to admit it, —she had winked athim slyly when she caught his eye early in the evening. It was a verysmall wink to be sure and was not repeated. 

The night was cold. His chauffeur was not to be found by the door-men whoran up and down the line from Fifth to Sixth Avenue for ten minutes beforeSimmy remembered that he had told the man not to come for him until threein the morning, an hour at which one might reasonably expect a dance toshow signs of abating. 

He was on the point of ordering a taxi-cab when his attention was drawn toa figure that lurked well back in the shadows of the Berkeley Theatre downthe street—a tall figure in a long ulster. Despite the darkness, Simmy'sintense stare convinced him that it was George Tresslyn who stood overthere and gazed from beneath lowered brows at the bright doorway. Heexperienced a chill that was not due to the raw west wind. There wassomething sinister about that big, motionless figure, something portentousof disaster. He knew that George had been going down the hill withstartling rapidity. On more than one occasion he had tried to stay thisdownward rush, but without avail. Young Tresslyn was drinking, but he wasnot carousing. He drank as unhappy men drink, not as the happy ones do. Hedrank alone. 

For a few minutes Simmy watched this dark sentinel, and reflected. Whatwas he doing over there? What was he up to? Was he waiting for Lutie tocome forth from the fortified place? Was there murder and self-murder inthe heart of this unhappy boy? Simmy was a little man but he was nocoward. He did not hesitate long. He would have to act, and act promptly. He did not dare go away while that menacing figure remained on guard. Thepolice, no doubt, would drive him away in time, but he would come backagain. So Simmy Dodge squared his shoulders and marched across the street, to face what might turn out to be a ruthless lunatic—the kind one readsabout, who kill their best friends, "and all that sort of thing. "

It was quite apparent that the watcher had been observing him. As Simmycame briskly across the street, Tresslyn moved out of his position nearthe awning and started westward, his shoulders hunched upward and his chinlowered with the evident desire to prevent recognition. Simmy called outto him. The other quickened his steps. He slouched but did not stagger, acircumstance which caused Simmy a sharp twinge of uneasiness. He was notintoxicated. Simmy's good sense told him that he would be more dangeroussober than drunk, but he did not falter. At the second shout, youngTresslyn stopped. His hands were thrust deep into his overcoat pockets. 

"What do you want?" he demanded thickly, as the dapper little man came upand extended his hand. Simmy was beaming, as if he suddenly had found along lost friend and comrade. George took no notice of the friendly hand. He was staring hard, almost savagely at the other's face. Simmy wassurprised to find that his cheeks, though sunken and haggard, were cleanlyshaved, and his general appearance far from unprepossessing. In the lightfrom a near-by window, the face was lowering but not inflamed; the eyeswere heavy and tired-looking—but not bloodshot. 

"I thought I recognised you, " said Simmy glibly. 

"Much obliged, " said George, without the semblance of a smile. 

Simmy hesitated. Then he laid his hand on George's arm. "See here, George, this will not do. I think I know why you are here, and—it won't do, oldchap. "

"If you were anybody else, Dodge, I'd beat your head off, " said Georgeslowly, as if amazed that he had not already done so. "Better go away, Simmy, and let me alone. I'm all right. I'm not doing any harm, am I, standing out here?"

"What do you gain by standing here in the cold and—"

"Never mind what I gain. That's my affair, " said George, his voice shakingin spite of its forced gruffness. 

Simmy was undaunted. "Have you been drinking to-night?"

"None of your damned business. What do you mean by—"

"I am your friend, George, " broke in Simmy earnestly. "I can see now thatyou've had a drink or two, and you—"

"I'm as sober as you are!"

"More so, I fear. I've had champagne. You—"

"I am not drunk all of the time, you know, " snarled George. 

"Well, I'm glad to hear it, " said Simmy cheerfully. 

"I hate the stuff, —hate it worse than anything on earth except beingsober. Good night, Simmy, " he broke off abruptly. 

"That dance in there won't be over before three o'clock, " said Simmyshrewdly. "You're in for a long wait, my lad. "

George groaned. "Good Lord, is it—is it a dance? The papers said it was adinner for Lord and Lady—"

"Better come along with me, George, " interrupted Simmy quietly. "I'm goingdown to Anne's. She has sent for me. It's the end, I fancy. That's whereyou ought to be to-night, Tresslyn. She needs you. Come—"

Young Tresslyn drew back, a look of horror in his eyes. "Not if I knowmyself, " he muttered. "You'll never get me inside that house again. Why, —why, it's more than I could stand, Simmy. That old man tried—but, never mind. I can't talk about it. There's one thing sure, though: Iwouldn't go near him again for all the money in New York, —not I. "

"I sha'n't insist, of course. But I do insist on your getting away fromhere. You are not to annoy Lutie. She's had trouble enough and you oughtto be man enough to let her alone. "

George stared at him as if he had not heard aright. "Annoy her? What thedevil are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Oh, don't glare at me like that. I'm notafraid of you, big as you are. I'm trying to put sense into your head, that's all, and you'll thank me for it later on, too. "

"Why, I—I wouldn't annoy her for all the world, Simmy, " said George, jerkily. "What do you take me for? What kind of a—"

"Then, why are you here?" demanded Simmy "It looks bad, George. If itisn't Lutie, who is it you're after?"

The other appeared to be dazed. "I'm not after any one, " he mumbled. Suddenly he gripped Simmy by the shoulders and bent a white, scowling facedown to the little man's level. "My God, Simmy, I—I can't help it. That'sall there is to it. I just want to see her—just want to look at her. Can'tyou understand? But of course you can't. You couldn't know what it meansto love a girl as I love her. It isn't in you. Annoy her? I'd cut my heartout first. What business is it of yours if I choose to stand out here allnight just for a glimpse of her in all her happiness, all her triumph, allthat she's got because she deserves it? Oh, I'm sober enough, so don'tthink it's that. Now, you let me alone. Get out of this, Simmy. I knowwhat I'm doing and I don't want any advice from you. She won't know I'mover here when she comes out of that place, and what she doesn't knowisn't going to bother her. She doesn't know that I sneak around like thisto get a look at her whenever it's possible, and I don't want her to knowit. It would worry her. It might—frighten her, Simmy, and God knows Iwouldn't harm her by word or deed for anything on earth. Only she wouldn'tunderstand. D'you see?" He shook Simmy as a dog would have shaken a rat, not in anger but to emphasise his seriousness. 

"By Jove, George, —I'd like to believe that of you, " chattered Simmy. 

"Well, you can believe it. I'm not ashamed to confess what I'm doing. Youmay call me a baby, a fool, a crank or whatever you like, —I don't care. I've just got to see her, and this is the only way. Do you think I'd spoilthings for her, now that she's made good? Think I'd butt in and queer itall? I'm no good, I'm a rotter, and I'm going to the devil as fast as Iknow how, Simmy. That's my affair, too. But I'm not mean enough tobegrudge her the happiness she's found in spite of all us damnedTresslyns. Now, run along, Simmy, and don't worry about anything happeningto her, —at least, so far as I'm concerned. She'll probably have her workcut out defending herself against some of her fine gentlemen, some of therespectable rotters in there. But she'll manage all right. She's the rightsort, and she's had her lesson already. She won't be fooled again. "

Simmy's amazement had given way to concern. "Upon my word, George, I'msorry for you. I had no idea that you felt as you do. It's too darned bad. I wish it could have been different with you two. "

"It could have been, as I've said before, if I'd had the back-bone of acaterpillar. "

"If you still love her as deeply as all this, why—"

"Love her? Why, if she were to come out here this instant and smile on me, Simmy, I'd—I'd—God, I don't know what I'd do!" He drooped his headdejectedly, and Simmy saw that he was shaking. 

"It's too bad, " said Simmy again, blinking. For a long time the two ofthem stood there, side by side, looking at the bright doorway across thestreet. Simmy was thinking hard. "See here, old fellow, " he said at last, profoundly moved, "why don't you buck up and try to make something ofyourself? It isn't too late. Do something that will make her proud of you. Do—"

"Proud of me, eh?" sneered George. "The only thing I could do would be tojump into the river with my hands tied. She'd be proud of me for that. "

"Nonsense. Now listen to me. You don't want her to know that you've beenput in jail, do you?"

"What am I doing that would get me into jail?"

"Loitering. Loafing suspiciously. Drinking. A lot of things, my boy. They'll nab you if you hang around here till three o'clock. You saw her goin, didn't you?"

"Yes. She—she happened to turn her face this way when she got to the topof the steps. Saying something to the people she was with. God, I—she'sthe loveliest thing in—" He stopped short, and put his hand to his eyes. 

Simmy's grip tightened on George's arm, and then for five minutes heargued almost desperately with the younger man. In the end, Tresslynagreed to go home. He would not go to Anne's. 

"And you'll not touch another drop to-night?" said Dodge, as they crossedover to the line of taxi-cabs. 

George halted. "Say, what's on your mind, Simmy? Are you afraid I'll gooff my nut and create a scene, —perhaps mop up the sidewalk with some onelike Percy Wintermill or—well, any one of those nuts in there? That theidea you've got? Well, let me set you right, my boy. If I ever do anythinglike that it will not be with Lutie as the excuse. I'll not drag her nameinto it. Mind you, I'm not saying I'll never smash some one's head, but—"

"I didn't mean that, at all, " said Simmy. 

"And you needn't preach temperance to me, " went on George. "I know thatliquor isn't good for me. I hate the stuff, as a matter of fact. I knowwhat it does to a man who has been an athlete. It gets him quicker than itgets any one else. But the liquor makes me forget that I'm no good. Itmakes me think I'm the biggest, bravest and best man in the world, and Godknows I'm not. When I get enough of the stuff inside of me, I imagine thatI'm good enough for Lutie. It's the only joy I have, this thinking thatI'm as decent as anybody, and the only time I think I'm decent is when I'mso damned drunk that I don't know anything at all. Tell him to take me toMeikelham's hotel. Good night. You're all right, Simmy. "

"To Meikelham's? I want you to go home, George. "

"Well, that's home for me at present. Rotten place, believe me, but it'sthe best I can get for a dollar a day, " grated George. 

"I thought you were living with your mother?"

"No. Kicked out. That was six weeks ago. Couldn't stand seeing me around. I don't blame her, either. But that's none of your business, Simmy, sodon't say another word. "

"It's pretty rough, that's all. "

"On me—or her?"

"Both of you, " said Simmy sharply. "I say, come over and see me to-morrowafternoon, George, —at three o'clock. Sober, if you don't mind. I've gotsomething to say to you—"

"No use, Simmy, " sighed George. 

"You are fond of Anne, aren't you?"

"Certainly. What's that got to do with it?"

"She may need you soon. You must be ready, that's all. See what I mean?"

"Moral support, eh?" scoffed George. 

"You are her brother. "

"Right you are, " said the other soberly. "I'll be on hand, Simmy, if I'mneeded. Tell Anne, will you? I'll stick it out for a few days if it willhelp her. "

"There is a lot of good in you, George, " said Simmy, engagingly. "I don'tmind telling you that Lutie says the same thing about you. She has said tome more than once that—"

"Oh, don't lie to me!" snarled young Tresslyn, but Simmy did not fail tonote the quickening of interest in his sullen eyes. 

"More than once, " he went on, following up the advantage, "she hasexpressed the opinion that with half a chance you would have been morethan half a man. "

"'Gad, " said George, wonderingly, "I—I can almost believe you now. That'sjust the way she would have put it. God knows, Simmy, you are not smartenough to have said it out of your own head. She really thinks that, doesshe?"

"We'll talk it over to-morrow, " said the other, quite well pleased withhimself. Young Tresslyn was breathing heavily, as if his great lungs hadexpanded beyond their normal capacity. "Move along now. "

"If I thought—" began George, but Simmy had slammed the door and wasdirecting the chauffeur where to take his fare. 

Half an hour later, Mrs. Fenwick's tables were deserted and the dance wason. Simmy Dodge, awaiting the moment of dispersion, lost no time inseeking Lutie. He had delayed his departure for Anne's home, and had beenchafing through a long half-hour in the lounge downstairs. She was dancingwith Percy Wintermill. 

"Hello, Dodge, " said that young man, halting abruptly and somewhataggressively when Simmy, without apology, clutched his arm as they swungby; "thought you'd gone. What d'you come back for?"

"I haven't gone, so I couldn't come back, " answered Simmy easily. "I wanta word or two with Mrs. Tresslyn, old boy, so beat it. "

"Oh, I say, you've got a lot of cheek—"

"Come along, Mrs. Tresslyn; don't mind Percy. _This_ is important. " WithLutie at his side, he made his way through the crowd about the door andled her, wondering and not a little disturbed, into one of the ante-rooms, where he found a couple of chairs. 

She listened to his account of the meeting with her former husband, hereyes fixed steadily on his homely little face. There was alarm at first inthose merry eyes of hers, but his first words were reassuring. Heconvinced her that George was not bent on any act of violence, nor did heintend to annoy or distress her by a public encounter. 

"As a matter of fact, " he said, "he's gone off to bed, and I am quitecertain that he will not change his mind. I waited here to tell you abouthim, Lutie, because I felt you ought to be prepared in case he does comeback and you happen to see him skulking around in—"

"This isn't news to me, Simmy, " she said seriously. "A half dozen times inthe past two weeks I have caught sight of him, always in some convenientspot where he could watch me without much prospect of being seen. He seemsto possess an uncanny knowledge of my comings and goings. I never see himin the daytime. I felt sure that he would be outside this place to-night, so when I came in I made it a point to look up and down thestreet, —casually, of course. There was a man across the street. I couldn'tbe sure, but I thought it was George. It has been getting on my nerves, Simmy. " Her hand shook slightly, but what he had taken for alarm was gonefrom her eyes. Instead they were shining brightly, and her lips remainedparted after she had finished speaking. 

"Needn't have any fear of him, " said he. "George is a gentleman. He stillworships you, Lutie, —poor devil. He'll probably drink himself to deathbecause of it, too. Of course you know that he is completely down and out?Little more than a common bum and street loafer. "

"He—he doesn't like whiskey, " said she, after a moment. 

"One doesn't have to like it to drink it, you know. "

"He could stop it if he tried. "

"Like a flash. But he isn't going to try. At least, not until he feelsthat it's worth while. "

She looked up quickly. "What do you mean by that?" Without waiting for himto answer, she went on: "How can you expect me to do anything to help him?I am sorry for him, but—but, heavens and earth, Simmy, I can't preachtemperance to a man who kicked me out of his house when he was sober, canI?"

"You loved him, didn't you?"

She flushed deeply. "I—I—oh, certainly. "

"Never have quite got over loving him, as a matter of fact, " said he, watching her closely. 

She drew a long breath. "You're right, Simmy. I've never ceased to carefor him. That's what makes it so hard for me to see him going to the dogs, as you say. "

"I said 'going to the devil, '" corrected Simmy resolutely. 

She laid her hand upon his arm. Her face was white now and her eyes weredark with pain. 

"I shiver when I think of him, Simmy, but not with dread or revulsion. Iam always thinking of the days when he held me tight in those big, strongarms of his, —and that's what makes me shiver. I adored being in his arms. I shall never forget. People said that he would never amount to anything. They said that he was too strong to work and all that sort of thing. Hedidn't think much of himself, but I _know_ he would have come through allright. He is the best of his breed, I can tell you that. Think how younghe was when we were married! Little more than a boy. He has never had achance to be a man. He is still a boy, puzzled and unhappy because hecan't think of himself as anything but twenty, —the year when everythingstopped for him. He's twenty-five now, but he doesn't know it. He is stillliving in his twenty-first year. "

"I've never thought of it in that light, " said Simmy, considerablyimpressed. "I say, Lutie, if you care so much for him, why not—" Hestopped in some confusion. Clearly he had been on the point of trespassingon dangerous ground. He wiped his forehead. 

"I can finish it for you, Simmy, by answering the question, " she said, with a queer little smile. "I want to help him, —oh, you don't know how myheart aches for him!—but what can I do? I am his wife in the sight of God, but that is as far as it goes. The law says that I am a free woman andGeorge a free man. But don't you see how it is? The law cannot say that weshall not love each other. Now can it? It can only say that we are free tolove some one else if we feel so inclined without being the least bittroubled by our marriage vows. But George and I are still married to eachother, and we are still thinking of our marriage vows. The simple factthat we love each other proves a whole lot, now doesn't it, Simmy? We aredivorced right enough, —South Dakota says so, —but we refuse to think ofourselves as anything but husband and wife, lover and sweetheart. Down inour hearts we loved each other more on the day the divorce was grantedthan ever before, and we've never stopped loving. I have not spoken a wordto George in nearly three years—but I know that he has loved me everyminute of the time. Naturally he does not think that I love him. He thinksthat I despise him. But I don't despise him, Simmy. If he had followed histeachings he would now be married to some one else—some one of hismother's choosing—and I should be loathing him instead of feeling sorryfor him. That would have convinced me that he was the rotter the worldsaid he was when he turned against me. I tell you, Simmy, it is gratifyingto know that the man you love is drinking himself to death because he'strue to you. "

"That's an extraordinary thing to say, " said Simmy, squinting. "You arehappy because that poor devil is—"

"Now don't say that!" she cried. "I didn't say I was happy. I said I wasgratified—because he is true to me in spite of everything. I suppose it'smore than you can grasp, Simmy, —you dear old simpleton. " Her eyes wereshining very brightly, and her cheeks were warm and rosy. "You see, it'smy husband who is being true to me. Every wife likes to have that thingproved to her. "

"Quixotic, " said Simmy. "He isn't your husband, my dear. "

"Oh, yes, he is, " said Lutie earnestly. "Just as much as he ever was. "

"The law says he is not. "

"What are you trying to get me to say?"

"I may as well come to the point. Would you marry him again if he were tocome to you, —now?"

"Do you mean, would I live with him again?"

"You couldn't do that without marrying him, you know. "

"I am already married to him in the sight of God, " said she, stubbornly. 

"Good Lord! Would you go back to him without a ceremony of—"

"If I made up my mind to live with him, yes. "

"Oh, I see. And may I inquire just what your state of mind would be if hecame to you to-morrow?"

"You have got me cornered, Simmy, " she said, her lip trembling. There wasa hunted look in her eyes. "I—I don't know what I should do. I want him, Simmy, —I want my man, my husband, but to be perfectly honest with you, Idon't believe he has sunk low enough yet for me to claim the completevictory I desire. "

"Victory?" gasped Simmy. "Do you want to pick him out of the gutter? Isthat your idea of triumph over the Tresslyns? Are you—"

"When the time comes, Simmy, " said she cryptically, "I will hold out myhand to him, and then we'll have a _real_ man before you can say JackRobinson. He will come up like a cork, and he'll be so happy that he'llstay up forever. "

"Don't be too sure of that. I've seen better men than George stay downforever. "

"Yes, but George doesn't want to stay down. He wants me. That's all hewants in this world. "

"Do you imagine that he will come to you, crawling on his knees, to pleadfor forgiveness or—"

"By no means! He'd never sink so low as that. That's why I tell you thathe is a man, a real man. There isn't one in a thousand who wouldn't bebegging, and whining, and even threatening the woman if he were inGeorge's position. That's why I'm so sure. "

"What do you expect?"

"When his face grows a little thinner, and the Tresslyn in him is drowned, I expect to ask him to come and see me, " she said slowly. 

"Good Lord!" muttered Simmy. 

She sprang to her feet, her face glowing. "And I don't believe I can standseeing it grow much thinner, " she cried. "He looks starved, Simmy. I can'tput it off much longer. Now I must go back. Thank you for the warning. Youdon't understand him, but—thank you, just the same. I never miss seeinghim when he thinks he is perfectly invisible. You see, Simmy, I too haveeyes. "

CHAPTER XIV

The next afternoon but one Templeton Thorpe was on the operating table. Ina private sitting-room on the third floor of the great hospital, threepeople sat waiting for the result—two women and a man. They were theTresslyns, mother, son and daughter. There were unopened boxes of flowerson the table in the middle of the room. The senders of these flowers weremen, and their cards were inside the covers, damp with the waters ofpreservation. They were for Anne Thorpe, and they were from men who lookedahead even as she had looked ahead. But the roses and orchids they sentwere never to be seen by Anne Thorpe. They were left in the boxes withtheir little white envelopes attached, for Anne was not thinking of rosesas she sat there by the window, looking down into the street, waiting forthe word from upstairs, —the inevitable word. Later on the free wards wouldbe filled with the fragrance of American Beauties, and certain smuggentlemen would never be thanked. No one had sent flowers to TempletonThorpe, the sick man. 

There had been a brief conference on the day before between Anne andBraden. The latter went to her with the word that he was to operate, provided she offered no objection. 

"You know what an operation will mean, Anne, " he said steadily. 

"The end to his agony, " she remarked. Outwardly she was calm, inwardly sheshivered. 

"It is absurd to say that he has one chance in a million to pull through. He hasn't a single chance. I appreciate that fact and—so does he. "

"You are willing to do this thing, Braden?"

"I am willing, " he said. His face was like death. 

"And if I should object, what then?" she asked, almost inaudibly. 

"I should refuse to operate. I cannot pretend that an operation is theonly means left to save his life. It is just the other way round. We aresupposed to take extreme measures in extreme cases, but always with theidea of prolonging human life. In this instance, I am bound to tell you, that I don't believe there is a chance to save him. We must look thematter squarely in the face. "

"You said that there was absolutely no chance. " She leaned heavily againstthe table. 

"I believe there is no chance, but I am not all-seeing, Anne. We neverknow, —absolutely. Miracles happen. They are not performed by man, however. "

"Have you spoken to Dr. Bates?"

"Yes. He is coming to the hospital, to—to be with me. "

"He will not attempt to prevent the operation?"

"No. He does not advise or sanction it, but he—understands. "

"And you will be held responsible for everything?"

"I suppose so, " said he bitterly. 

She was silent for a long time. "I think I shall object to the operation, Braden, " she said at last. 

"For my sake and not for his, I take it, " he said. 

"I may as well give him the tablets myself, as to consent to your methodof—of—" She could not finish the sentence. 

"It isn't quite the same, " he said. "I act with the authority of the lawbehind me. You would be violating the law. "

"Still you would be killing a fellow creature, " she protested. "I—I cannotallow you to sacrifice yourself, Braden. "

"You forget that I have no false notions as to the question of right andwrong in cases of this kind. I assure you that if I undertake thisoperation it will be with a single purpose in mind: to save and prolongthe life of my patient. The worst you can say of me is that I am convincedbeforehand that I shall fail. If I were to act upon the principles Iadvocate, I should not feel obliged to go through the travesty of anoperation. The time may come when cases of this sort will be laid before acommission, and if in their judgment it is deemed humane to do so, a drugwill be administered and the horrors that are likely to attend my effortsof to-morrow will be impossible. There is no such law to sustain me now, no commission, no decision by experts and familiars to back me up, so Ican only obey the commands of the patient himself, —and do the best I canfor him. He insists on having the operation performed—and by me. I am oneof the family. I am his only blood relative. It is meet and just, says he, that I should be the one, and not some disinterested, callous outsider. That is the way he puts it, and I have not denied him. "

"It is horrible, " she moaned, shuddering. "Why do you ask me to consent?Why do you put it up to me?"

"You now place me in the position of the surgeon who advises a prompt—Imean, who says that an operation is imperative. "

"But that isn't the truth. You do not advise it. "

He drew a long breath. "Yes, I do advise it. There is no other way. Ishall try to save him. I _do_ advise it. "

She left him and went over to the fireplace, where she stood with her backtoward him for many minutes, staring into the coals. He did not change hisposition. He did not even look at her. His eyes were fixed on the rug nearthe closed door. There was a warm, soft red in that rare old carpet. Finally she turned to him. 

"I shall not let you take all of the responsibility, Braden, " she said. "It isn't fair. I shall not oppose you. You have my consent to go on withit. "

"I assume all responsibility, " he said, abruptly, almost gruffly. 

"You are wrong there, Braden, " she said, slowly. "My husband assumes theresponsibility. It is his act, not yours. I shall always regard it in thatlight, no matter what may happen. It is his command. "

He tried to smile. "Perhaps that is the right way to look at it, " he said, "but it is a poor way, after all. " For a full minute they stood lookinginto each other's eyes. "Then I shall go ahead with the—arrangements, " hesaid, compressing his lips. 

She nodded her head. 

"Before I go any farther, Anne, I want to tell you what happened thismorning when his lawyer was here. I sent for him. There is a clause in mygrandfather's will bequeathing to me the sum of one hundred thousanddollars. I insisted that a codicil be added to the instrument, revokingthat clause. My grandfather was obstinate at first. Finally he agreed todiscuss the matter privately with Judge Hollenback. A couple of hours agoWade and Murray witnessed the codicil which deprives me of any interest inmy grandfather's estate. I renounce everything. There will be no conteston my part. Not a penny is to come to me. "

She stared at him. "You refuse to take what rightfully belongs to you? Nowthat _is_ quixotic, Braden. You shall not—"

"The matter is closed, Anne. We need not discuss it, " he said firmly. "Ihad to tell you, that's all. The reason should be obvious. You know, ofcourse, that the bulk of his estate, apart from the amount to be paid toyou—" She winced perceptibly—"aside from that amount is to go to variouscharities and institutions devoted to the betterment of the human race. Ineed not add that these institutions are of a scientific character. Iwanted you to know beforehand that I shall profit in no way by the deathof my grandfather. " After a significant pause he repeated distinctly: "Ishall profit _in no way_. "

She lowered her eyes for an instant. "I think I understand, Braden, " shesaid, looking up to meet his gaze unwaveringly. Her voice was low, evenhusky. She saw finality in his eyes. 

"He seemed to feel that I ought to know of the clause I mention, "explained Braden dully. "Perhaps he thought it would—it might be aninducement to me to—to go ahead. God! What a thought!"

"He allowed you to read it?"

"A copy, last night. The real instrument was produced to-day by JudgeHollenback at my request, and the change was made in the presence ofwitnesses. "

"Where is it now?"

"Judge Hollenback took it away with him. That's all I know about it. "

"I am sorry, " she said, a queer glint in her eyes. "Sorry he took it awaywith him, I mean. There is nothing I can do—now. "

She sent for her mother that night. The next morning Simmy Dodge came downwith George Tresslyn, who steadfastly refused to enter the house but rodeto the hospital with his mother and sister in Simmy's automobile. Anne didnot see Braden again after that momentous interview in the library. He hadeffaced himself. 

Now she sat in the window looking down into the street, dull and listlessand filled with the dread of the future that had once looked so engagingto her. The picture that avarice and greed had painted was gone. In itsplace was an honest bit of colour on the canvas, —a drab colour andnoteless. 

Mrs. Tresslyn, unmoved and apparently disinterested, ran idly through thepages of an illustrated periodical. Her furs lay across a chair in thecorner of the room. They were of chinchilla and expressed a certainarrogance that could not be detached by space from the stately figure withthe lorgnon. The year had done little toward bending that proud head. Thecold, classic beauty of this youngish mother of the other occupants of theroom was as yet absolutely unmarred by the worries that come withdisillusionment. If she felt rebellious scorn for the tall disappointmentwho still bore and always would bear the honoured name of Tresslyn shegave no sign: if the slightest resentment existed in her soul toward thedaughter who was no longer as wax in her hands, she hid the fact securelybehind a splendid mask of unconcern. As for the old man upstairs she hadbut a single thought: an insistent one it was, however, and based itselfupon her own dread of the thing that was killing him. 

George Tresslyn, white-faced and awed, sat like a graven image, looking atthe floor. He was not there because he wanted to be, but because a ratherpraiseworthy allegiance to Anne had mastered his repugnance. Somewhere inhis benumbed intelligence flickered a spark of light which revealed to himhis responsibility as the head of the family. Anne was his sister. She waslovely. He would have liked to be proud of her. If it were not for themillions of that old man upstairs he could have been proud of her, and byan odd reasoning, even more ashamed of himself than he was now. He was notthinking of the Thorpe millions, however, as he sat there brooding; he wasnot wondering what Anne would do for him when she had her pay in hand. Hewas dumbly praising himself for having refused to sell his soul toTempleton Thorpe in exchange for the fifty thousand dollars with which theold man had baited him on three separate occasions, and wishing that Lutiecould know. It was something that she would have to approve of in him! Itwas rather pitiful that he should have found a grain of comfort in thefact that he had refused to kill a fellow man!

Anne took several turns up and down the room. There was a fine linebetween her dark, brooding eyes, and her nostrils were distended as ifbreathing had become difficult for her. 

"I told him once that if such a thing ever happened to me, I'd put an endto myself just as soon as I knew, " she said, addressing no one, butspeaking with a distinctness that was startling. "I told him that onewould be justified in taking one's life under such circumstances. Whyshould one go on suffering—"

"What are you saying, Anne?" broke in her mother sharply. George lookedup, astonishment struggling to make its way through the dull cloud on hisface. 

Anne stopped short. For a moment she appeared to be dazed. She went palerthan before, and swayed. Her brother started up from his chair, alarmed. 

"I say, Anne old girl, get hold of yourself!" he exclaimed. "None of that, you know. You mustn't go fainting or anything like that. Walk around withme for a couple of minutes. You'll be all right in—"

"Oh, I'm not going to faint, " she cried, but grasped his arm just thesame. 

"They always walked us around on the football field when we got woozy—"

"Go out and see if you can find out anything, George, " said she, pullingherself together. "Surely it must be over by this time. "

"Simmy's on the lookout, " said George. "He'll let us know. "

"Be patient, my dear, " said Mrs. Tresslyn, wiping a fine moisture from herupper lip, where it had appeared with Anne's astounding observation. "Youwill not have to wait much longer. Be—"

Anne faced her, an unmistakable sneer on her lips. "I'm used to waiting, "she said huskily. 

"She has waited a year and more, " said George aggressively, glowering athis mother. It was a significant but singularly unhappy remark. 

For the first time in their lives, they saw their mother in tears. It wasso incomprehensible that at first both Anne and her brother laughed, notin mirth, but because they were so stupefied that they did not know whatthey were doing, and laughter was the simplest means of expressing anacute sense of embarrassment. Then they stood aloof and watched theamazing exposition, fascinated, unbelieving. It did not occur to either ofthem to go to the side of this sobbing woman whose eyes had always beendry and cold, this mother who had wiped away their tears a hundred timesand more with dainty lace handkerchiefs not unlike the one she now pressedso tightly to her own wet cheeks. They could not understand this thinghappening to her. They could not believe that after all their motherpossessed the power to shed tears, to sob as other women do, to choke andsnivel softly, to blubber inelegantly; they had always looked upon her asproof against emotion. Their mother was crying! Her back was toward them, evidence of a new weakness in her armour. It shook with the effort shemade to control the cowardly spasmodic sobs. And why was she in tears?What had brought this amazing thing to pass? What right had she to cry?

They watched her stupidly as she walked away from them toward the window. They were not unfeeling; they simply did not know how to act in the faceof this marvel. They looked at each other in bewilderment. What hadhappened? Only the moment before she had been as cold and as magnificentlycomposed as ever she had been, and now! Now she was like other people. Shehad come down to the level of the utterly commonplace. She was just aplain, ordinary woman. It was unbelievable. 

They did not feel sorry for her. A second time, no doubt, would find themhumanly sympathetic, troubled, distressed, but this first time they couldonly wonder, they could only doubt their senses. It would have been mostoffensive in them to have let her see they noticed anything unusual in herbehaviour. At least that is the way they felt about it in their failure tounderstand. 

For five minutes Mrs. Tresslyn stood with her back to them. Gradually theilly-stifled sobs subsided and, as they still looked on curiously, theconvulsive heaving of her shoulders grew less perceptible, finally ceasingaltogether. Her tall figure straightened to its full, regal height; herchin went up to its normal position; her wet handkerchief was stuffed, with dignified deliberateness, into the gold mesh bag. A minute more toprove that she had completely mastered her emotions, and then she facedher children. It was as if nothing had happened. She was the calm andimperious mother they had always known. Involuntarily, Anne uttered a deepsigh of relief. George blinked his eyes and also fell to wondering if theyhad served him honestly, or if, on the other hand, he too had merelyimagined something incredible. 

They did not question her. The incident was closed. They were never to askher why she had wept in their presence. They were never to know what hadmoved her to tears. Instinctively and quite naturally they shrank from thecloser intimacy that such a course would involve. Their mother was herselfonce more. She was no longer like other women. They could not be in touchwith her. And so they were never to know why she had cried. They only knewthat for a brief space she had been as silly as any ordinary mortal couldbe, and they were rather glad to have caught her at it. 

Years afterward, however, George was to say to Anne: "Queer thing, wasn'tit, that time she cried? Do you remember?" And Anne was to reply: "I'venever forgotten it. It _was_ queer. "

Nor did Mrs. Tresslyn offer the slightest explanation for her conduct. Shedid not even smile shamefacedly, as any one else certainly would have donein apology. She was, however, vaguely pleased with her children. They hadbehaved splendidly. They were made of the right stuff, after all! She hadnot been humbled. 

Apathy was restored. George slumped down in his chair and set his jawshard. Mrs. Tresslyn glanced idly through the pages of a magazine, whileAnne, taking up her position once more at the window, allowed her thoughtsto slip back into the inevitable groove. They were not centred uponTempleton Thorpe as an object of pity but as a subject for speculation:she was thinking of the thing that Braden was doing, and of his part inthis life and death affair. She was trying to picture him up there in thatglaring little room cutting the life out of a fellow creature under thevery eyes of the world. 

The door was opened swiftly but softly. Simmy Dodge, white as a sheet, came into the room.... Mrs. Tresslyn went over to the window, where Annewas sitting, white and dry-eyed. 

"It is no more than we expected, dear, " said she quietly. "He had nochance. You were prepared. It is all over. You ought to be thankful thathis sufferings are over. He—"

Anne was not listening. She broke in with a question to Simmy. 

"What was it that you said happened while you were in the room? Before theether, I mean. Tell me again, —and slowly. "

Simmy cleared his throat. It was very tight and dry. He was now afraid ofdeath. 

"It was awfully affecting, " he said, wiping the moisture from his brow. "Awfully. That young interne fellow told me about it. Just before theygave the ether, Mr. Thorpe shook hands with Brady. He was smiling. Theyall heard him say 'Good-bye, my boy, —and thank you. ' And Brady leaned overand kissed him on the forehead. The chap couldn't quite hear, but says hethinks he whispered, 'Good-bye, granddaddy. ' Awfully affecting scene—"

"'Good-bye, granddaddy, '" Anne repeated, dully. Then she covered her eyeswith her hands. 

Simmy fidgeted. He wanted to help, but felt oddly that he was very muchout of place. George's big hand gripped his arm. At any other time hewould have winced with pain, but now he had no thought for himself. Moreover, there was something wonderfully sustaining in the powerful handthat had been laid upon his. 

"She ought not to take it so hard, George, " he began. 

"They told you he never came out of the anæsthetic, " said George, in ahalf-whisper. "Just died—like that?"

"That's what he said. Little chap with blond hair and nose-glasses. Youremember seeing him—Yes, he told me. He was in there. Saw it all. Gosh, Idon't see how they can do it. This fellow seemed to be very much upset, atthat. He looked scared. I say, George, do you know what the pylorus is?"

"Pylorus? No. "

"I wish I knew. This fellow seemed to think that Brady made some sort of amistake. He wouldn't say much, however. Some sort of a slip, I gathered. Something to do with the pylorus, I know. It must be a vital spot. "

CHAPTER XV

The day after the funeral, George Tresslyn called to see his sister. Hefound that it required a new sort of courage on his part to enter thehouse, even after his hesitation about pressing the door-bell. He was notafraid of any living man, and yet he was oppressed by the uncanny fearthat Templeton Thorpe was still alive and waiting somewhere in the darkold house, ready to impose further demands upon his cupidity. The youngman was none too steady beforehand, and now he was actually shaking. WhenMurray opened the door, he was confronted by an extremely pallid visitorwho shot a furtive look over his head and down the hall before inquiringwhether Mrs. Thorpe was at home. 

"She is, Mr. George, " said Murray. "You telephoned half an hour ago, sir. "

"So I did, " said George nervously. He was not offended by Murray's obviouscomment upon his unstable condition, for he knew—even though Murray didnot—that no drop of liquor had passed his lips in four days. 

"Mrs. Thorpe is expecting you. "

"Is she alone, Murray?"

"Yes, sir. Would you mind stepping inside, sir? It's a raw wind that isblowing. I think I must have taken a bit of a cold yesterday during—ahem!Thank you, sir. I will tell Mrs. Thorpe that you are here. " Murray wasrather testy. He had been imbibing. 

George shivered. "I say, Murray, would you mind giving me a drop ofsomething to warm me up? I—"

The butler regarded him fixedly, even severely. "You have had quite enoughalready, sir, " he said firmly, but politely. 

"Oh, come now! I haven't had a drink in God knows how long. I—but nevermind! If that's the way you feel about it, I withdraw my request. Keepyour darned old brandy. But let me tell you one thing, Murray; I don'tlike your impertinence. Just remember that, will you?"

"I beg your pardon, sir, " said Murray, unoffended. He was seeing with aclearer vision. "You are ill. I mistook it for—"

"No, I'm not ill. And I'll forgive you, too, Murray, " he addedimpulsively. "I daresay you were justified. My fame has preceded me. TellMrs. Thorpe I'm here, will you? Run along; the decanter is quite safe. "

A few minutes later he was ushered into Anne's sitting-room upstairs. Hestopped short just inside the door, struck by the pallor, the haggardnessof his sister's face. 

"Oh, I say, Anne!" he exclaimed. "You're not taking it so hard as allthis, I hope. My Lord, girlie, you look—you look—why, you can't possiblyfeel like this about him. What the deuce are—"

"Close the door, George, " she commanded. Her voice sounded hollow, lifeless to him. She was sitting bolt upright on the huge, comfortablecouch in front of the grate fire. He had dreaded seeing her in black. Shehad worn it the day before. He remembered that she had worn more of itthan seemed necessary to him. It had made her appear clumsy and over-fed. He was immensely relieved to find that she now wore a rose-colouredpignoir, and that it was wrapped very closely about her slim, long figure, as if she were afflicted by the cold and was futilely trying to protecther shivering flesh. He shuffled across the room and sat down beside her. "I'm glad you came. It is—oh, it is horribly lonely here in this dreadfulhouse. You—"

"Hasn't mother been down to see you?" he demanded. "She ought to be here. You need her. Confound it, Anne, what sort of a woman is—"

"Hush! She telephoned. I said that I preferred to be alone. But I'm gladyou came, George. " She laid her hand on his. "You are able to feel sorryfor me. Mother isn't. "

"You're looking awfully seedy, Anne. I still say she ought to be here tolook after you. It's her place. "

"I'm all right. Of course, I look like the dickens, but who wouldn't? Ithas been terrible. Weeks and weeks of it. You'll never know what—" Sheshuddered so violently that he threw his arm about her and drew her close. 

"Well, it's all over now, girlie. Brace up. Sunshine from now on. It was abad day's work when you let yourself in for it, but that's all over now. "

"Yes, it's all over, " she said slowly. "Everything's all over. " Her wide, sombre eyes fixed their gaze upon the rippling blue flames in the grate. 

"Well, smile a little. It's time some one of us Tresslyns had a chance togrin a little without bearing it. "

She raised her eyes and slowly inspected this big brother of hers. Seemingly she had not taken him in as a whole up to that moment ofconsideration. A slight frown appeared on her brow. 

"I've been hearing rather bad things about you, George, " she said, after amoment. "Now that I look at you, you do look pretty shaky, —and pretty wellthreshed out. Is it true? Have you been as bad as they say?"

He flushed. "Has Simmy Dodge been talking?"

"Simmy is your friend, George, " she said sharply. 

"It's always a fellow's friends who do the most talking, " said he, "andthat's what hurts. You don't mind what your enemies say. "

"Simmy has not mentioned your name to me in weeks. "

"Well, I don't call that being friendly. He knows everything. He ought tohave told you just how rotten I've been, because you could believe Simmy. You can't believe every one, Anne, but I know Simmy would give it to youstraight. Yes, I've been all that could be expected. The only thing Ihaven't been is a liar. "

"Can't you brace up, George? You are really the best of the lot, if youonly knew it. You—"

"I don't drink because I like it, you know, Anne, " he said earnestly. 

"I see, " she said, nodding her head slowly. "You drink because it's thesurest way to prove to Lutie that you are still in love with her. Isn'tthat it?" She spoke ironically. 

"When I think how much you would have liked Lutie if she'd had a chanceto—"

"Don't tell it to me, George, " she interrupted. "I didn't in the leastcare whom you married. As a matter of fact, I think you married the rightgirl. "

"You do?" he cried eagerly. 

"Yes. But she didn't marry the right man. If you had been the right manand had been taken away from her as you were, she would have died of abroken heart long before this. Logic for you, isn't it?"

"She's got too much sense to die of a broken heart. And that isn't sayingshe wasn't in love with me, either. "

"Oh, well, " she sighed, "it doesn't matter. She didn't die, she didn't goto the bad, she didn't put on a long face and weep her eyes out, —as Irecall them they were exceedingly pretty eyes, which may account for herdetermination to spare them, —and she didn't do anything that a sensiblewoman would have done under the circumstances. A sensible woman would haveset herself up as a martyr and bawled her eyes out. But Lutie, being anignoramus, overlooked her opportunities, and now see where she is! I amtold that she is exasperatingly virtuous, abstemious and exceedingly well-dressed, and all on an income derived from thirty thousand dollars thatcame out of the Tresslyn treasure chest. Almost incomprehensible, isn'tit? Nothing sensible about Lutie, is there?"

"Are you trying to be sarcastic, Anne?" demanded George, contriving to situp a little straighter on the sofa. He was not in the habit of exertinghimself in these days of unregeneration. Anne was always smarter than he;he never knew just how much smarter she was but he knew when to feelapprehensive. 

"You wanted to see me, George, " she said abruptly. "What is it you want?Money?"

He scowled. "I might have known you would ask that question. No, I don'twant money. I could have had some of old man Thorpe's money a couple ofweeks ago if I'd been mean enough to take it, and I'm not mean enough totake it now—from you. I want to talk to you about Braden Thorpe. "

For a moment or two Anne looked into his frowning eyes, and then she drewback into the corner of the couch, a queer shudder running through herbody. 

"About Braden?" she asked, striving to make her voice sound firm andunstrained. 

"Where is he? Staying here in the house?"

"Of course not. I don't know where he is. He has not been near mesince—since the day before—" She spoke rapidly, jerkily, and did not deemit necessary to complete the sentence. 

George had the delicacy to hesitate. He even weighed, in that briefinstant, the advisability of saying what he had come to say to her. Then aqueer sense of duty, of brother to sister, took the place of doubt. Shewas his sister and she needed him now as never before, needed him nowdespite his self-admitted worthlessness. 

"See here, Anne, I'm going to speak plainly, " he blurted out, leaningforward. "You must not see Brady Thorpe again. If he comes here, you mustrefuse to receive him. "

Her eyes were very dark and lustreless against the increased pallor of hercheeks. "He will not come here, George, " she said, scarcely above awhisper. She moistened her lips. "It isn't necessary to—to warn me. "

"Mind you, I don't say a word against him, " he made haste to explain. "It's what people will say that troubles me. Perhaps you don't know whatthey are going to say, Anne, but I do. "

"Oh, I know what they will say, " she muttered. She looked straight intohis eyes. "They will say that he killed his grandfather—purposely. "

"It doesn't matter that they say he killed his grandfather, Anne, " said heslowly, "so much as that he killed your husband. That's the point. "

"What have you heard, George?" she asked, in dread of his reply. 

"Barely enough to let me understand that where one man is talking now, ahundred will be talking next week. There was a young doctor up there inthe operating room. He doesn't say it in so many words, but he suspectsthat it wasn't an accidental slip of the—don't look like that, Anne! Gee, you looked awfully scary just then. " He wiped his brow. "I—I thought youwere about to faint. I say, we'll drop the matter this instant if—"

"I'm not going to faint, " she exclaimed. "You need not be afraid. What isit that this young doctor says? And how do you happen to have heard—"

"It's what he said to Simmy, " interrupted George, quickly. "Simmy let itslip last night. I was in his apartment. Then I made him tell me the wholething. He says it is certain that if this young fellow saw anything wrong, the others also did. And you know there were three pretty big surgeonsthere looking on. Bates and those other fellows, you remember. It—it looksbad, Anne. That's why I tell you that you must not see Brady again. "

"And what has all this to do with my not seeing Braden again?" shedemanded steadily. 

He stared. "Why, —why, you just mustn't, that's all. Can't you understand?"

"You mean that I ought not to be put in the position of sharing the blamewith him. Is that it?"

"Well, if there should be a—er—criminal investigation, you'd be a blamedsight better off if you kept out of it, my girl. And what's more to thepoint, you can't afford to have people say that you are determined to dothe thing they believe you set out to do in the beginning, —and that is tomarry Braden as soon as—"

"Stop right there, George!" she cried hotly. "Other people may say whatthey please, but the same privilege is not extended to you. Don't forgetthat you are my brother. "

"I'm sorry, Anne. I didn't mean it in that way. Of course, I know thatit's all over between you and Brady. Just the same, I mean what I say whenI advise you to see nothing of him. I've given you the hint, that's all. "

"And I am sorry I spoke as I did just now, " she said listlessly. "Thanks, George. You are looking out for me, aren't you? I didn't expect it. Somehow, I've always felt that nobody cared whether I—"

"I'll look out for you as long as I'm able to stand, " said he, setting hisjaw. "I wish you could love me, Anne. I think we'd be pretty good pals, after all, if we got to thinking more about each other and less aboutourselves. Of course, I'm a down-and-outer and don't deserve much in theway of—"

"You don't deserve sympathy, " she interrupted, laying a firm hand uponhis, "and I know you are not asking for it. Encouragement is what youneed. " Her voice shook slightly. "You want some one to love you. Iunderstand. It's what we all want, I suppose. I'll try to be a real, truesister from now on, George. It—it will not be very hard for me to loveyou, I'm sure, " she concluded, with a whimsical little smile that wentstraight to his sore, disfigured heart. A lump came into his throat andhis eyes began to smart so suddenly that a mist came over them before hecould blink his lids. He was very young, was George Tresslyn, despite thethings that go to make men old. 

"Gee!" he said, astonished by his own emotions. Then he gripped herslender, ringless hand in his huge palm, —and was further surprised todiscover that she did not wince. "We're not acting like Tresslyns at all, Anne. We're acting just like regular people. "

"Do you know that you are a very lucky person, George?" she said abruptly. He blinked. "You don't know it, but you are. I wish I had the same chancethat you have. "

"What are you talking about?" he demanded. 

"I wish I had the same chance to be happy that you have. "

"Happy? Good Lord, I'll never be happy without Lutie, and you know it, " hegroaned. 

"That is just the chance you still have, Buddy. It isn't inconceivablethat you may get Lutie back, while I—well, you know how it is with me. I'mdone for, to put it plainly. "

"Lutie wouldn't wipe her feet on me, " he said, struggling between hope andconviction. "I'd let her do it like a flash if she wanted to, but—Oh, what's the use! You and I have queered ourselves forever, you with Bradyand I with Lutie. It's an infernal shame you didn't take Brady when you—"

"Yes, we've queered ourselves, " said she, struck by the phrase that fellfrom his lips. It was not Anne's habit to use slang, but somehow George'sway of putting the situation into words was so aggravatingly complete thatshe almost resented his prior use of an expression that she had never usedbefore in her life. It _did_ sum up the business, neatly and compactly. Strange that she had never thought of that admirable word before! "And ofthe two of us, George, I am the worst offender. I went about my mistakedeliberately. I suppose it is only right that I should pay the heavierprice. "

"If I thought there was a chance to get Lutie back, I'd—" But there hestopped as he always stopped. He had never been able to end that sentence, and he had got just that far with it a million times or more. 

"Have you tried to get her back?" she demanded suddenly, a flash ofinterest in her eyes. It was to grow into genuine enthusiasm. The impulseat the back of her mind was to develop into an idea, later into a strong, definite purpose. It had for its foundation a hitherto unsuspected desireto do good. 

"Great Scot, no!"

"Then _try_, George, " she cried, a new thrill in her voice. 

He was bewildered. "Try what?"

"I would stake my life on it, George, if you set about it in the right wayyou can win Lutie all over again. All you have to do is to let her seethat you are a man, a real man. There's no reason in the world why sheshouldn't remember what love really is, and that she once had it throughyou. There's a lot in love that doesn't come out in a couple of months andshe has the sense to know that she was cheated out of it. If I am notgreatly mistaken she is just like all other women. We don't stop lovingbefore we get our fill of it, or until we've at least found out that itbores us to be loved by the man who starts the fire going. Now, Lutie mustrealise that she never got her full share. She wasn't through loving you. She had barely begun. It doesn't matter how badly a woman is treated, shegoes on loving her man until some other man proves that she is wrong, andhe cannot prove it to her until she has had all of the love that she canget out of the first man. That's why women stick to the men who beat them. Of course, this doesn't apply to unmoral women. You know the kind I mean. But it is true of all honest women, and Lutie appears to be more honestthan we suspected. She had two or three months of you, George, and thencame the crash. You can't tell me that she stopped wanting to be loved byyou just as she was loving you the hardest. She may some day marry anotherman, but she will never forget that she had you for three months and thatthey were not enough. "

"Great Scot!" said George once more, staring open-mouthed at hisincomprehensible sister. "Are you in earnest?"

"Certainly. "

"Why, she ought to despise me. "

"Quite true, she should, " said Anne coolly. "The only thing that keeps herfrom despising you is that uncompleted honeymoon. It's like giving astarving man just half enough to eat. He is still hungry. "

"Do you mean to say that you'd like to see me make it up again with Lutie?You'd like to have me marry her again?"

"Why not? I'd find some happiness in seeing you happy, I suppose. I daresay it is self interest on my part, after all. In a way, it makes for myhappiness, so therein I am selfish. "

"Bosh! You'll be happy, Anne, but not through me. You are the prettiestgirl in New York, one of the richest, one of the smartest—"

"See here, George, " she said, a hard note stealing into her voice, "youand I are pretty much alike in one respect. Surprising as it may seem, wehave been able to love some one besides ourselves. And still moresurprising, we appear to be constant. You are no more constant in yourlove for Lutie than I am in my love for the man I shall never have. My mandespises me. Your woman merely pities you. You can retake what you havelost. I cannot. But why shouldn't I go on loving my man, just as you areloving your woman? Why shouldn't I?" she cried out fiercely. 

He gulped. "Oh, I say, Anne, I—I didn't dream that it meant so much toyou. I have always thought of you as—as—er—sort of indifferent to—But, that just shows how little a fellow knows about his sister. A sister neverseems to be given the same flesh and blood feelings that other women have. I'm sorry I said what I did a little while ago. I take it back, Anne. Ifyou've got a chance to get Brady back—"

"Stop! I spoke of your affairs, George, because they are not altogetherhopeless. We cannot discuss mine. "

"And as for that story, who is going to prove that Braden intentionally—"He checked the words, and switched off along another line. "Even though hedid put a merciful end to Mr. Thorpe's suffering, what selfish motive canbe charged to him? Not one. He doesn't get a dollar of the estate, Simmysays. He alone loved that old man. No one else in the world loved him. Hedid the best he could for him, and he doesn't care what any one thinksabout it. I came here to warn you, to tell you to be careful, but now thatI know what it means to you, I—"

She arose. Facing him, she said slowly, deliberately: "I believe thatBraden tried to save his grandfather's life. He asked my consent to theoperation. I gave it. When I gave it, I was morally certain that Mr. Thorpe was to die on the operating table. I wanted him to die. I wanted anend put to his suffering. But I did not want Braden to be the one. Someday I may have the courage to tell you something, George, that will shockyou as nothing on earth has ever shocked you. I will tell you the realreason why Templeton Thorpe married me. I—but not now. I wish that thewhole world could know that if Braden did take his own way to end thesuffering of that unhappy old man, I have no word of condemnation for him. He did the humane thing. "

George remained seated, watching her with perplexed, dubious eyes. It wasa matter that deserved mental concentration. He could best achieve this byabstaining from physical indulgence. Here was his sister, the wife of thedead man, actually condoning an act that was almost certain to beprofessionally excoriated, —behind the hand, so to say, —even though therewas no one to contend that a criminal responsibility should be put uponBraden Thorpe. He was, for the moment, capable of forgetting his owntroubles in considering the peril that attended Anne. 

"Oh, I say, Anne, you'll have to be careful what you say. It's all rightto say it to me, but for heaven's sake don't go telling these things toother people. " He was serious, desperately serious. "No one willunderstand. No one will see it as you do. There has been a lot of talkabout Brady's views and all that. People are not very charitable towardhim. They stick to the idea that God ought to do such jobs as Bradyadvocates, and I don't know but they are right. So now you just keep yourmouth closed about all this. It is Braden's affair, it's his lookout, notyours. The least said, the better, take it from me. You—"

"We will talk of something else, George, if you don't mind, " she said, relaxing suddenly. She sat down beside him once more, rather limply andwith a deep, long-drawn sigh, as if she had spent herself in this singleexposition of feeling. "Now what do you intend to do in regard to Lutie?Are you ready to straighten up and make the effort to—to be somethingcreditable to yourself and to her?"

"Oh, I've tried to hold down a good many respectable jobs, " he scoffed. "It's no good trying. I'm too busy thinking of her to be able to devotemuch of my remarkable intelligence to ordinary work. "

"Well, you've never had me behind you till now, " she said. "I am perfectlyable to think for you, if you'll let me. Simmy Dodge is interested in you. He can get you a berth somewhere. It may be a humble one, but it will leadto something better. You are not a drunkard, you are not a loafer. Now, Iwill tell you what I intend to do. If, at the end of a year, you can showme that you—"

"Hold on! You are not thinking of offering me money, are you?" hedemanded, flushing angrily. 

Her eyes brightened. "You would not accept it?"

"No, " he said flatly. 

"You must remember one thing, George, " she said, after a moment. "Youcannot take Lutie back until you have paid mother in full for all thatyour freedom cost her. It wouldn't be fair to take both the girl and themoney she received for giving you up that time. She was paid in full forreturning you to the family circle. If she takes you back again, sheshould refund the money, even though she is accepting damaged and well-worn goods. Now, Lutie should not be called upon to make restitution. Thatis for you to do. I fancy it will be a long time before you can amassthirty or forty thousand dollars, so I make you this offer: the day youare _good_ enough for Lutie to marry all over again, I will pay to motherfor you the full amount that Lutie would owe her in violating thecontract. You will not receive a cent of it, you see. But you understandhow rotten it would be for you and Lutie to—"

"I see, I see, " cried he, striking his knee with his clenched hand. "Wecouldn't do it, that's all. It's awfully good of you, Anne, to do this forme. I'll—I'll never forget it. And I'll pay you back somehow before we'rethrough, see if I don't. " He was already assuming that the task of winningback Lutie was joyously on the way to certain consummation. 

"I am a rich woman, " said Anne, compressing her lips. "I sha'n't miss afew dollars, you know. To-morrow I am to go with Mr. Hollenback to thesafety vaults. A fortune will be placed in my hands. The deal will beclosed. "

"It's a lot of money, " said George, shaking his head gloomily. It was asif he had said that it was money she shouldn't speak of with pride. "Isay, Anne, do you know just how mother is fixed for money? Last winter shetold me she might have to sell the house and—"

"I know, " said Anne shortly. "I intend to share the spoils with her, in away, even though she can't share the shame with me. She brought us up, George, and she made us the noble creatures that we are. We owe hersomething for that, eh? Oh, I am not as bitter as I appear to be, so don'tlook shocked. Mother has her ideals, and she is honest about them. She isa wonderful woman, a wonderful mother. She did her best for us in everyway possible. I don't blame her for what has happened to me. I blamemyself. She is not half as mean as I am, George, and she isn't one-tenthas weak-kneed as you. She stood by both of us, and I for one shall standby her. So don't you worry about mother, old boy. Worry about the honestjob you are expected to get—and hold. "

Later on she said to him: "Some day I shall make it a point to see Lutie. I will shake hands with her. You see, George dear, " she went onwhimsically, "I don't in the least object to divorcees. They are not halfas common as divorces. And as for your contention that if you and Lutiehad a child to draw you together, I can only call your attention to thefact that there are fewer divorces among people who have no children thanamong those who have. The records—or at least the newspapers—prove that tobe a fact. In nine-tenths of the divorce cases you read about, the custodyof children is mentioned. That should prove something, eh? It ought to putat rest forever the claim that children bind mismated people together. They don't, and that is all there is about it. "

George grinned in his embarrassment. "Well, I'll be off now, Anne. I'llsee Simmy this afternoon, as you suggest, and—" he hesitated, the worriedlook coming into his eyes once more—"Oh, I say, Anne, I can't helprepeating what I said about your seeing Braden. Don't—"

"Good-bye, George, " she broke in abruptly, a queer smile on her lips. 

CHAPTER XVI

Braden Thorpe realised that he would have to pay, one way or another, forwhat had happened in the operating room. Either his honour or his skillwould be attacked for the course his knife had taken. 

The day after his grandfather's death, he went to the office of Dr. Bates, the deposed family physician and adviser. He did not go in a cringing, apologetic spirit, but as one unafraid, as one who is justified withinhimself and fears not the report of evil. His heart was sore, for he knewhe was to be misjudged. Those men who looked on while he worked soswiftly, so surely, so skilfully in that never-to-be-forgotten hour, werenot to be deceived. He knew too well that he had performed with the mostnoteworthy skill, and, if he had any other feeling than that of grief forthe death of one who had been dear to him, it was that of pride in theconsciousness that he deserved the praise of these men for the manner inwhich he performed the most delicate of operations. He knew that theyknew, quite as well as he, that but for the fatal swerving of half an inchof the instrument in his steady fingers, Templeton Thorpe would not onlybe alive at that moment but conceivably might be expected to survive formany days. 

They had seen everything and they understood. He did not seek to concealthe truth from himself. He had heard the sharply drawn breath that wastaken through the parted lips of his tense observers as that admirablyhandled blade slid from its true course and spoiled what might have beenheralded as a marvellous feat in surgery. It was as if something hadsnapped in the minds of these three men who watched. They had looked, however, upon all that was before him as he worked. They had seen, as hesaw, the thing that no human skill could conquer. He felt their eyes uponhim as he turned the knife quickly, suddenly, surely, and then they hadlooked into his eyes as he raised them for a second. He had spared hisgrandfather another month of agony, and they had seen everything. It wasnot unlikely that the patient might have survived the anæsthetic, and itwas equally probable that subsequent care on the part of the doctor andthe nurse might have kept him alive long enough to permit his case to berecorded by virtue of his having escaped alive from the operating table, as one of those exasperatingly smug things known to the profession as a"successful operation, "—sardonic prelude to an act of God!

There seems to be no such thing as an unsuccessful operation. If God wouldonly keep his finger out of the business, nothing could go wrong. It isalways the act of God that keeps a man from enjoying the fruits of anabsolutely successful operation. Up to the instant that Braden's knifetook its sanguinary course, there was every indication that the operationwould be successful, even though Mr. Thorpe were to breathe his last whilethe necessary stitches were being taken. 

He had slept soundly throughout the night just past. For the first nightin a week his mind and body took the rest that had been denied them for solong. The thing was behind him. It was over. He had earned his right tosleep. When he laid his head upon the pillow there was no fear of evildreams, no qualms, no troubled conscience to baffle the demands ofexhaustion. He had done no wrong. His sleep was long, sweet, refreshing. He had no fear of God in his soul that night, for he had spoken with Godin the silence of the long night before and he was at peace with Him. Noman could say that he had not tried to save the life of Templeton Thorpe. He had worked with all the knowledge at his command; he himself felt thathe had worked as one inspired, —so much so, in fact, that he now knew thatnever again in all his life would he be able to surpass or even equal theeffort of that unforgettable day. But he had recognised the futility ofskill even as it was being exerted to its utmost accomplishments. Theinevitable was bared to his intelligence. He had done his best forTempleton Thorpe; no man could have done more than that. With the eyes ofother men upon him, eyes that saw all that he saw, he took it upon himselfto spare his grandfather the few days that might have been added to hishell by an act less kind, —though no doubt more eminently professional. 

And as he performed that final act of mercy, his mind and heart were onthe handshake, and the word of farewell that his benefactor had murmuredin his ear. Templeton Thorpe was at rest; he had thanked his grandson inadvance. 

So it was that Braden slept the night through without a tremor. But withhis waking came the sense of responsibility to others. Not to the world atlarge, not to the wife of the dead man, but to the three sincere andhonourable members of his profession, who, no doubt, found themselves in amost trying position. They were, in a way, his judges, and as such theywere compelled to accept their own testimony as evidence for or againsthim. With him it was a matter of principle, with them a question ofethics. As men they were in all probability applauding his act, but asdoctors they were bound by the first and paramount teachings of theirprofession to convict him of an unspeakable wrong. It was his duty togrant these men the right to speak of what they had seen. 

He went first to see Dr. Bates, his oldest friend and counsellor, and theone man who could afterwards speak freely with the widow of the man whohad been his lifelong patient. Going down in the elevator from his room atthe hotel, Braden happened to glance at himself in the narrow mirror. Hewas startled into a second sharp, investigating look. Strange that he hadnot observed while shaving how thin his face had become. His cheeks seemedto have flattened out leanly over night; his heavy eyes looked out fromshadowy recesses that he had failed to take account of before; there weredeeper lines at the corners of his mouth, as if newly strengthened by someartful sculptor while he slept. He was older by years for that unguardedsleep. Time had taken him unawares; it had slyly seized the opportunity toremould his features while youth was weak from exhaustion. In a vague wayhe recalled a certain mysterious change in Anne Tresslyn's face. It wasnot age that had wrought the change in her, nor could it be age that haddone the same for him. 

The solution came to him suddenly, as he stepped out into the open air andsaw the faces of other men. It was strength, not weakness, that had putits stamp upon his countenance, and upon Anne's; the strength thatsurvives the constructive years, the years of development. He saw thisset, firm strength in the faces of other men for the first time. They toono doubt had awakened abruptly from the dream of ambition to findthemselves dominated by a purpose. That purpose was in their faces. Ambition was back of that purpose perhaps, deep in the soul of the man, but purpose had become the necessity. 

Every man comes to that strange spot in the dash through life where hestops to divest himself of an ideal. He lays it down beside the road and, without noticing, picks up a resolve in its place and strides onward, scarcely conscious of the substitution. It requires strength to carry aresolve. An ideal carries itself and is no burden. So each of these men inthe street, —truckman, motorman, merchant, clerk, what you will, —sets fortheach day with the same old resolution at his heels; and in their set facesis the strength that comes with the transition from wonder to earnestness. Its mark was stamped upon the countenances of young and old alike. Eventhe beggar at the street corner below was without his ideal. Even he had adefinite, determined purpose. 

Then there was that subtle change in Anne. He thought of it now, mostunwillingly. He did not want to think of her. He was certain that he hadput her out of his thoughts. Now he realised that she had merely laindormant in his mind while it was filled with the intensities of the pastfew days. She had not been crowded out, after all. The sharp recollectionof the impression he had had on seeing her immediately after his arrivalwas proof that she was still to be reckoned with in his thoughts. 

The strange, elusive maturity that had come into her young, smoothface, —that was it. Maturity without the passing of Youth; definiteness, understanding, discovery, —a grip on the realities of life, just as it waswith him and all the others who were awake. A year in the life of a youngthing like Anne could not have created the difference that he felt ratherthan saw. 

Something more significant than the dimensions of a twelve-month had addedits measure to Anne's outlook upon life. She had turned a corner in thelane and was facing the vast plain she would have to cross unguided. Shehad come to the place where she must think and act for herself, —and tothat place all men and all women come abruptly, one time or another, tobecome units in the multitude. 

We do not know when we pass that inevitable spot, nor have we the power towork backward and decide upon the exact moment when adolescence gave wayto manhood. It comes and passes without our knowledge, and we are given anew vision in the twinkling of an eye, in a single beat of the heart. Noman knows just when he becomes a man in his own reckoning. It is not amatter of years, nor growth, nor maturity of body and mind, but anawakening which goes unrecorded on the mind's scroll. Some men do not notethe change until they are fifty, others when they are fifteen. Circumstance does the trick. 

He was still thinking of Anne as he hurried up the front door-steps andrang Dr. Bates' bell. She was not the same Anne that he had known andloved, far back in the days when he was young. Could it be possible thatit was only a year ago? Was Anne so close to the present as all that, andyet so indefinably remote when it came to analysing this new look in hereyes? Was it only a year ago that she was so young and so unfound?

A sudden sickness assailed him as he waited for the maid to open the door. Anne had been made a widow. He, not God, was responsible for this newphase in her life. Had he not put a dreadful charge upon her conscience?Had he not forced her to share the responsibility with him? And, while therest of the world might forever remain in ignorance, would it ever bepossible for her to hide the truth from herself?

She knew what it all meant, and she had offered to share the consequenceswith him, no matter what course his judgment led him to pursue. He had notconsidered her until this instant as a partner in the undertaking, but nowhe realised that she must certainly be looking upon herself as such. Hisheart sank. He had made a hideous mistake. He should not have gone to her. She could not justify herself by the same means that were open to him. 

From her point of view, he had killed her husband, and with her consent!

He found himself treating the dead man in a curiously detached fashion, and not as his own blood-relation. Her husband, that was the long and theshort of his swift reflections, not his grandfather. All her life shewould remember that she had supported him in an undertaking that had to dowith the certain death of her husband, and no matter how merciful, howsensible that act may have been, or how earnestly he may have tried to seehis way clear to follow a course opposed to the one he had taken, the factremained that she had acknowledged herself prepared for just whatsubsequently happened in the operating room. 

Going back to the beginning, Templeton Thorpe's death was in her mind theday she married him. It had never been a question with her as to how heshould die, but _when_. But this way to the desired end could never havebeen included in her calculations. _This_ was not the way out. 

She had been forced to take a stand with him in this unhappy business, andshe would have to pay a cost that he could not share with her, for hisconscience was clear. What were her thoughts to-day? With what ugly crimewas she charging herself? Was she, in the secrecy of her soul, convictingherself of murder? Was _that_ what he had given her to think about all therest of her life?

The servant was slow in answering the bell. They always are at the homesof doctors. 

"Is Dr. Bates at home?"

"Office hours from eight to nine, and four to six. "

"Say that Dr. Thorpe wishes to see him. "

This seemed to make a difference. "He is out, Dr. Thorpe. We expect him inany moment though. For lunch. Will you please to come in and wait?"

"Thank you. "

She felt called upon to deliver a bit of information. "He went down to seeMrs. Thorpe, sir, —your poor grandmother. "

"I see, " said Braden dully. It did not occur to him that enlightenment wasnecessary. A queer little chill ran through his veins. Was Dr. Bates downthere now, telling Anne all that he knew, and was she, in the misery ofremorse, making him her confessor? In the light of these disturbingthoughts, he was fast becoming blind to the real object of this, the firstof the three visits he was to make. 

Dr. Bates found him staring gloomily from the window when he came into theoffice half an hour later, and at once put the wrong though obviousconstruction upon his mood. 

"Come, come, my boy, " he said as they shook hands; "put it out of yourmind. Don't let the thing weigh like this. You knew what you were aboutyesterday, so don't look back upon what happened with—"

Braden interrupted him, irrelevantly. "You've been down to see Mrs. Thorpe. How is she? How does she appear to be taking it?" He spokerapidly, nervously. 

"As well as could be expected, " replied the older man drily. "She is gladthat it's all over. So are we all, for that matter. "

"Did she send for you?"

"Yes, " said Dr. Bates, after an instant's hesitation. "I'll be frank withyou, Braden. She wanted to know just what happened. "

"And you told her?"

"I told her that you did everything that a man could do, " said the other, choosing his words with care. 

"In other words, you did not tell her what happened. "

"I did not, my boy. There is no reason why she should know. It is betterthat she should never know, " said Dr. Bates gravely. 

"What did she say?" asked Braden sharply. 

Dr. Bates suddenly was struck by the pallor in the drawn face. "See here, Braden, you must get a little rest. Take my advice and—"

"Tell me what she had to say, " insisted the young man. 

"She cried a little when I told her that you had done your best, andthat's about all. "

"Didn't she confess that she expected—that she feared I might have—"

"Confess? Why do you use that word?" demanded Dr. Bates, as the young manfailed to complete his sentence. His gaze was now fixed intently onBraden's face. A suspicion was growing in his mind. 

"I am terribly distressed about something, Dr. Bates, " said Braden, uneasily. "I wish you would tell me everything that Anne had to say toyou. "

"Well, for one thing, she said that she knew you would do everything inyour power to bring about a successful result. She seemed vastly relievedwhen I told her that you had done all that mortal man could do. I don'tbelieve she has the faintest idea that—that an accident occurred. Now thatI think of it, she did stop me when I undertook to convince her that yourbark is worse than your bite, young man, —in other words, that yourtheories are for conversational and not practical purposes. Yes, she cutme off rather sharply. I hadn't attached any importance to her—See here, Braden, " he demanded suddenly, "is there any reason why she should havecut me off like that? Had she cause to feel that you might have put intopractice your—your—Come, come, you know what I mean. " He was leaningforward in his chair, his hands gripping the arm-rests. 

"She is more or less in sympathy with my views, " said Braden warily. "Ofcourse, you could not expect her to be in sympathy with them in this case, however. " He put it out as a feeler. 

"Well, I should say not!" exclaimed Dr. Bates. "It's conceivable that shemay have been in some doubt, however, until I reassured her. By George, Iam just beginning to see through her, Braden. She had me down there to—toset her mind at rest about—about _you_. 'Pon my soul, she did it neatly, too. "

"And she believes—you think she believes that her mind is at rest?"

"That's an odd question. What do you mean?"

"Just that. Does she believe that you told her the truth?"

"Oh! I see. Well, a doctor has to tell a good many lies in the course of ayear. He gets so that he can tell them with a straighter face than whenhe's telling the truth. I don't see why Mrs. Thorpe should doubt myword—my professional word—unless there is some very strong reason fordoing so. " He continued to eye Braden keenly. "Do you know of any reason?"

Thorpe by this time was able to collect himself. The primal instinct tounburden himself to this old, understanding friend, embraced sturdy, outspoken argument in defence of his act, but this defence did notcontemplate the possible inclusion of Anne. He was now satisfied that shehad not delivered herself into the confidence of Dr. Bates. She had kepther secret close. It was not for him to make revelations. The newlyaroused fear that even this good old friend might attach an unholy designto their motives impelled him to resort to equivocation, if not to actualfalsehood. This was a side to the matter that had not been considered byhim till now. But he was now acutely aware of an ugly conviction that shehad thought of it afterwards, just as he was thinking of it now, hence herfailure to repeat to Dr. Bates the substance of their discussion beforethe operation took place. 

He experienced an unaccountable, disquieting sensation of guilt, ofcomplicity in an evil deed, of a certain slyness that urged him to hidesomething from this shrewd old man. To his utter amazement, he was sayingto himself that he must not "squeal" on Anne, his partner! He now knewthat he could never speak of what had passed between himself and Anne. Ofhis own part in the affair he could speak frankly with this man, and withall men, and be assured that no sinister motive would be attributed tohim. He would be free from the slightest trace of suspicion so long as hestood alone in accounts of the happenings of the day before. No matter howviolent the criticism or how bitter the excoriation, he would at least becredited with honest intentions. But the mere mention of Anne's name wouldbe the signal for a cry from the housetops, and all the world would hear. And Anne's name would sound the death knell of "honest intentions. "

"As I said a moment ago, Dr. Bates, Mrs. Thorpe is fully aware of myrather revolutionary views, " he said, not answering the question withdirectness. "That was enough to cause some uneasiness on my part. "

"Um! I dare say, " said Dr. Bates thoughtfully. Back in his mind was therecollection of a broken engagement, or something of the sort. "I see. Naturally. I think, on the whole, my boy, she believes that I told her thetruth. You needn't be uneasy on that score. I—I—for a moment I had an ideathat you might have _said_ something to her. " It was almost a question. 

Braden shook his head. His eyes did not flicker as he answered steadily:"Surely you cannot think that I would have so much as mentioned my viewsin discussing—"

"Certainly not, my boy, " cried the other heartily. Braden did not fail tonote the look of relief in his eye, however. "So now you are all right asfar as Mrs. Thorpe is concerned. I made a point of assuring her thateverything went off satisfactorily to the three of us. She need never knowthe truth. You needn't feel that you cannot look her in the eyes, Braden. "

"'Gad, that sounds sinister, " exclaimed Thorpe, staring. "That's what theysay when they are talking about thieves and liars, Dr. Bates. "

"I beg your pardon. I meant well, my boy, although perhaps it wasn't thenice thing to say. And now have you come to tell me that it was anaccident, an unfortunate—"

"No, " said Braden, straightening up. "I come to you first, Dr. Bates, because you are my oldest friend and supporter, and because you were thelifelong friend of my grandfather. I am going also to Dr. Bray and Dr. Ernest after I leave here. I do not want any one of you to feel that Iexpect you to shield me in this matter. You are at liberty to tell allthat you know. I did what I thought was best, what my conscience orderedme to do, and I did it openly in the presence of three witnesses. Therewas no accident. No one may say that I bungled. No one—"

"I should say you didn't bungle, " said the older man. "I never witnessed afiner—ahem! In fact, we all agree on that. My boy, you have a great futurebefore you. You are one of the most skilful—"

"Thanks. I didn't come to hear words of praise, Dr. Bates. I came torelease you from any obligation that you may—"

"Tut, tut! That's all right. We understand—perfectly. All three of us. Ihave talked it over with Bray and Ernest. What happened up there yesterdayis as a closed book. We shall never open it. I will not go so far as tosay that we support your theories, but we do applaud your method. Thereisn't one of us who would not have _felt_ like doing the thing you did, but on the other hand there isn't one of us who could have done it. Wewould have allowed him a few more days of life. Now that it is all over, Iwill not say that you did wrong. I can only say that it was not right todo the thing you did. However, it is your conscience and not mine thatcarries the load, —if there is one. You may rest assured that not one of uswill ever voluntarily describe what actually took place. "

"But I do not want to feel that you regard it your duty to protect me fromthe consequences of a deliberate—"

"See here, my lad, do you want the world to know that you took yourgrandfather's life? That's what it amounts to, you know. You can't gobehind the facts. "

Thorpe lowered his head. "It would be ridiculous for me to say that I donot care whether the world knows the truth about it, Dr. Bates. To bequite honest, sir, I do not want the world to know. You will understandwhy, in this particular instance, I should dread publicity. Mr. Thorpe wasmy grandfather. He was my benefactor. But that isn't the point. I had nolegal right to do the thing I did. I took it upon myself to take a stepthat is not now countenanced by the law or by our profession. I did thisin the presence of witnesses. What I want to make clear to you and to theother doctors is that I should have acted differently if my patient hadbeen any one else in the world. I loved my grandfather. He was my onlyfriend. He expected me to do him a great service yesterday. I could notfail him, sir. When I saw that there was nothing before him but a fewawful days of agony, I did what he would have blessed me for doing had hebeen conscious. If my patient had been any one else I should have adheredstrictly to the teachings of my profession. I would not have broken thelaw. "

"Your grandfather knew when he went up to the operating room that he wasnot to leave it alive. Is that the case?"

"He did not expect to leave it alive, sir, " amended Braden steadily. 

"You had talked it all over with him?"

"I had agreed to perform the operation, that is all, sir. He knew that hiscase was hopeless. That is why he insisted on having the operationperformed. "

"In other words, he deliberately put you in your present position? He sethis mind on forcing this thing upon you? Then all I have to say forTempleton Thorpe is that he was a damned—But there, he's dead and goneand, thank God, he can't hear me. You must understand, Braden, that thisstatement of yours throws an entirely new light upon the case, " said Dr. Bates gravely. "The fact that it was actually expected of you makes youract a—er—shall we say less inspirational? I do not believe it wise for youto make this statement to my colleagues. You are quite safe in telling me, for I understand the situation perfectly. But if you tell them that therewas an agreement—even a provisional agreement—I—well, the thing will notlook the same to them. "

"You are right, Dr. Bates, " said Braden, after a moment. "Thank you forthe advice. I see what you mean. I shall not tell them all that I havetold you. Still, I am determined to see them and—"

"Quite so. It is right that you should. Give them cause to respect you, myboy. They saw everything. They are sound, just men. From what they havesaid to me, you may rest assured that they do not condemn you any morethan I do. The anæsthetician saw nothing. He was occupied. That youngfellow—what's his name?—may have been more capable of observing than we'dsuspect in one so tender, but I fancy he wouldn't know _everything_. Ihappen to know that he saw the knife slip. He mentioned it to SimeonDodge. "

"To Simmy Dodge!"

"Yes. Dodge came to see me last night. He told me that the boy made somequeer statement to him about the pylorus, and he seemed to be troubled. Iset him straight in the matter. He doesn't know any more about the pylorusthan he knew before, but he does know that no surgeon on earth could haveavoided the accident that befell you in the crisis. Simmy, good soul, wasfor going out at once and buying off the interne, but I stopped him. Wewill take care of the young man. He doesn't say it was intentional, and wewill convince him that it wasn't. How do you stand with young GeorgeTresslyn?"

"I don't know. He used to like me. I haven't seen—"

"It appears that Simmy first inquired of George if he knew anything aboutthe pylorus. He is Mrs. Thorpe's brother. I should be sorry if he got itinto his head that—well, that there was anything wrong, anything thatmight take him to her with ugly questions. "

"I shall have to chance that, Dr. Bates, " said Braden grimly. 

"Mrs. Thorpe must never know, Braden, " said the other, gripping his handsbehind his back. 

"If it gets out, she can't help knowing. She may suspect even now—"

"But it is not to get out. There may be rumours starting from thisinterne's remark and supported by your avowed doctrines, but we mustcombine to suppress them. The newspapers cannot print a line without ourauthority, and they'll never get it. They will not dare to print a rumourthat cannot be substantiated. I spoke of George a moment ago for a verygood reason. I am afraid of him. He has been going down hill pretty fastof late. It wouldn't surprise me to hear that he had sunk low enough toattempt blackmail. "

"Good heaven! Why—why, he's not that sort—"

"Don't be too sure of him. He is almost in the gutter, they say. He's_that_ sort, at any rate. "

"I don't believe George ever did a crooked thing in his life, poor devil. He wouldn't dream of coming to me with a demand for—"

"He wouldn't come to you, " said the other, sententiously. "He would nothave the courage to do that. But he might go to Anne. Do you see what Imean?"

Braden shook his head. He recalled George's experiences in the sick-roomand the opportunity that had been laid before him. "I see what you mean, but George—well, he's not as bad as you think, Dr. Bates. "

"We'll see, " said the older man briefly. "I hope he's the man you seem tothink he is. I am afraid of him. "

"He loves his sister, Dr. Bates. "

"In that case he may not attempt to blackmail her, but it would notprevent his going to her with his story. The fact that he does love hermay prove to be your greatest misfortune. "

"What do you mean?"

"As I said before, Anne must never know, " said Dr. Bates, laying his handon the young man's shoulder and gripping it suddenly. "Your grandfathertalked quite freely with me toward the end. No; Anne must never know. "

Braden stared at the floor in utter perplexity. 

CHAPTER XVII

Wade went through the unnecessary form of "giving notice" a day or twoafter his old master was laid to rest. On the day that Templeton Thorpewent to the hospital he abandoned an almost lifelong habit of cocking hishead in an attitude of listening, and went about the house with thecorners of his mouth drooping instead of maintaining their everlastingtwist upward in the set smile of humility. 

He had been there for thirty years and more, and now he was no longerneeded. He would have to get out. He had saved a little money, —not much, but enough to start a small business of some sort, —and he was complainingbitterly to himself of the fate that deprived him of Mr. Thorpe's advicejust when it was imperative that he should know what enterprise would bethe safest for him to undertake. It nettled him to think that he hadfailed to take advantage of his opportunities while this shrewd, capableold man was alive and in a position to set him on the right path toprosperity. He should have had the sense to look forward to this very day. 

For thirty years he had gone on believing that he knew so much more thanMr. Thorpe that Mr. Thorpe couldn't possibly get along without him, andnow he was brought up sharply against the discovery that he couldn't getalong without Mr. Thorpe. For thirty years he had done only the thingsthat Mr. Thorpe wanted him to do, instructed him to do, or even drove himto do. Suddenly he found himself with absolutely nothing to do, or at anyrate with no one to tell him what to do, and instead of a free andindependent agent, with no one to order him about, he wasn't anything, —hewasn't anything at all. This was not what he had been looking forward towith such complacency and confidence. He was like a lost soul. No one totell him what to do! No one to valet! No one to call him a blunderingidiot! No one to despise except himself! And he had waited thirty yearsfor the day to come when he could be his own man, with the power to tellevery one to go to the devil—and to do so himself if he saw fit. He hardlyrecognised himself when he looked in the mirror. Was that scared, bleak, wobegone face a reflection? Was he really like that?

He was filled with a bitter rage against Mr. Thorpe. How he hated him fordying like this and leaving him with nothing to do after all these yearsof faithful service. And how shocked he was, and frightened, to discoverhimself wanting to pause outside his master's door with his head cocked tohear the voice that would never shout out to him again. 

He knew to a penny just how much he had in the Savings Banks about town, —atrifle over twelve thousand dollars, the hoardings of thirty years. He hadgone on being a valet all these years without a single thought of beinganything else, and yet he had always looked forward to the day when hecould go into some nice, genteel little business for himself, —when hecould step out of service and enjoy life to the full. But how was he to goabout stepping out of service and into a nice, genteel little businesswithout Mr. Thorpe to tell him what to do? Here was he, sixty-five yearsold, without a purpose in life. Beginning life at sixty-five!

Of course, young Mrs. Thorpe would have no use for a valet. No doubt shewould marry again, —Wade had his notions!—but he couldn't think ofsubjecting himself to the incompetency of a new master, even though hisold place were held open for him. He would not be able to adjust himselfto another master, —or to put it in his own words, it would be impossibleto adjust another master to himself. Young Master Braden might give himsomething to do for the sake of old times, but then again Mrs. Thorpewould have to be taken into consideration. Wade hadn't the slightest doubtthat she would one day "marry into the family again. " As a matter of fact, he believed in his soul that there was an understanding between the youngpeople. There were moments when he squinted his eyes and cringed a little. He would have given a great deal to be able to put certain thoughts out ofhis mind. 

And then there was another reason for not wanting to enter the service ofDr. Braden Thorpe. Suppose he were to become critically ill. Would he, inthat event, feel at liberty to call in an outside doctor to take charge ofhis case? Would it not be natural for Dr. Braden to attend him? Andsuppose that Dr. Braden were to conclude that he couldn't get well!

He gave notice to Murray, the butler. He hated to do this, for he despisedMurray. The butler would not have to go. He too had been with Mr. Thorpefor more than a quarter of a century, and death had not robbed him of asituation. What manner of justice was it that permitted Murray to go onbeing useful while he had to go out into the world and become a burden tohimself?

"Murray informs me, Wade, that you have given notice, " said Anne, lookingup as he shuffled into an attitude before her. "He says that you havesaved quite a lot of money and are therefore independent. I am happy tohear that you are in a position to spend the remainder of your life inease and—why, what is the matter, Wade?"

He was very pale, and swayed slightly. "If you please, madam, Murray ismistaken, " he mumbled. An idea was forming in his unhappy brain. "I—I amleaving because I realise that you no longer have any use for my services, and not because I am—er—well off, as the saying is. I shall try to getanother place. " His mind was clear now. The idea was completely formed. "Of course, it will be no easy matter to find a place at my age, but, —well, a man must live, you know. " He straightened up a bit, as if aweight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

She was puzzled. "But you have money, Wade. You have worked hard. You haveearned a good rest. Why should you go on slaving for other people?"

"Alas, " said Wade, resuming the patient smile that had been missing fordays and cocking his head a little, "it is not for me to rest. Murray doesnot know everything. My savings are small. He does not know the uses towhich I have been obliged to—I beg pardon, madam, you cannot, of course, be interested in my poor affairs. " He was very humble. 

"But Mr. Thorpe always spoke of you as an exceedingly thrifty man. I amsure that he believed you to be comfortably fixed for life, Wade. "

"Quite so, " agreed Wade. "And I should have been had it been possible tolay by with all these unmentioned obligations crowding upon me, year in, year out. "

"Your family? I did not know that there was any one dependent upon you. "

"I have never spoken of my affairs, ma'am, " said Wade. "It is not for aservant to trouble his employer with—ahem! You understand, I am sure. "

"Perfectly. I am sorry. "

"So I thought I would give notice at once, madam, so that I might be onthe lookout as soon as possible for a new place. You see, I shall soon betoo old to apply for a place, whilst if I manage to secure one in time Imay be allowed to stay on in spite of my age. "

"Have you anything in view?"

"Nothing, madam. I am quite at a loss where to—"

"Take all the time you like, Wade, " she said, genuinely sorry for the man. She never had liked him. He was the one man in all the world who mighthave pitied her for the mistake she had made, and he had steeled his heartagainst her. She knew that he felt nothing but scorn for her, and yet shewas sorry for him. This was new proof to her that she had misjudged herown heart. It was a softer thing than she had supposed. "Stay on hereuntil you find something satisfactory. Mr. Thorpe would have wished you tostay. You were a very faithful friend to him, Wade. He set great store byyou. "

"Thank you, madam. You are very kind. Of course, I shall strive to makemyself useful while I remain. I dare say Murray can find something for meto do. Temporarily, at least, I might undertake the duties of the furnaceman and handy-man about the house. He is leaving to-morrow, I hear. If youwill be so good as to tell Murray that I am to take O'Toole'splace, —temporarily, of course, —I shall be very grateful. It will give metime to collect my thoughts, ma'am. "

"It will not be necessary, Wade, for you to take on O'Toole's work. I amnot asking you to perform hard, manual labor. You must not feel that my—"

"Pardon me, madam, " interrupted he; "I very much prefer to do some sort ofregular work, if I may be permitted. "

She smiled. "You will find Murray a hard task-master, I am afraid. "

He took a long breath, as of relief—or could it have been pleasure? "Iquite understand that, madam. He is a martinet. Still, I shall not mind. "The same thought was in the mind of each: he was accustomed to serving ahard task-master. "If you don't mind, I shall take O'Toole's place untilyou find some one else. To-morrow I shall move my belongings from the roomupstairs to O'Toole's room off the furnace-room. Thank—"

"No!" she exclaimed. "You are not to do that. Keep your old room, Wade. I—I cannot allow you to go down there. Mr. Thorpe would never forgive meif he knew that—" He lifted his eyes at the sudden pause and saw that shewas very white. Was she too afraid of ghosts?

"It's very good of you, " he said after a moment. "I shall do as you wishin everything, and I shall let you know the instant I find another place. "He cleared his throat. "I fear, madam, that in the confusion of the pastfew days I have failed to express to you my sympathy. I assure you theoversight was not—"

She was looking straight into his eyes. "Thank you, Wade, " she interruptedcoldly. "Your own grief would be sufficient excuse, if any were necessary. If you will send Murray to me I will tell him that you have withdrawn yournotice and will stay on in O'Toole's place. It will not be necessary forhim to engage another furnace-man at present. "

"No, ma'am, " said Wade, and then added without a trace of irony in hisvoice: "At any rate not until cold weather sets in. "

And so it was that this man solved the greatest problem that had everconfronted him. He went down into the cellars to take orders from the manhe hated, from the man who would snarl at him and curse him and humiliatehim to the bitter end, and all because he knew that he could not beginlife over again. He wanted to be ordered about, he wanted to be snarled atby an overbearing task-master. It simplified everything. He would never becalled upon to think for himself. Thorpe or Murray, what mattered which ofthem was in command? It was all the same to him. His dignity passed, awaywith the passing of his career as a "Man, " and he rejoiced in the beliefthat he had successfully evaded the responsibilities that threatened himup to the moment he entered the presence of the mistress of the house. Hewas no longer without a purpose in life. He would not have to go out andbe independent. 

Toward the end of the second week Templeton Thorpe's will was read byJudge Hollenback in the presence of "the family. " There had been somedelay on account of Braden Thorpe's absence from the city. No one knewwhere he had gone, nor was he ever to explain his sudden departureimmediately after the funeral. He simply disappeared from his hotel, without so much as a bag or a change of linen in his possession, so far asone could know. At the end of ten days he returned as suddenly and ascasually as he had gone away, but very much improved in appearance. Thestrange pallor had left his cheeks and his eyes had lost the heavy, tiredexpression. 

At first he flatly refused to go down for the reading of the will. He wasnot a beneficiary under the new instrument and he could see no reason forhis attendance. Anne alone understood. The old vow not to enter the housewhile she was its mistress, —that was the reason. He was now in a positionto revive that vow and to order his actions accordingly. 

She drooped a little at the thought of it. From time to time she caughtherself wishing that she could devise some means of punishing him, only toberate herself afterward for the selfishness that inspired the thought. 

Still, why shouldn't he come there now? She was the same now that she wasbefore her marriage took place, —a year older, that was all, but no lessdesirable. That was the one thing she could not understand in him. Shecould understand his disgust, his scorn, his rage, but she could not seehow it was possible for him to hold out against the qualities that hadmade him love her so deeply before she gave him cause to hate her. 

As for the operation that had resulted in the death of her husband, Annehad but one way of looking at it. Braden had been forced to operateagainst his will, against his best judgment. He was to be pitied. Hisgrandfather had failed in his attempt to corrupt the souls of others inhis desire for peace, and there remained but the one cowardly alternative:the appeal to this man who loved him. In his extremity, he had put uponBraden the task of performing a miracle, knowing full well that itsaccomplishment was impossible, that failure was as inevitable as deathitself. 

The thought never entered her mind that in persuading Braden to performthis strange act of mercy her husband may have been moved by the soledesire to put the final touch to the barrier he had wrought between them. The fact that Braden was responsible for his death had no sinister meaningfor her. It was the same as if he had operated upon a total stranger witha like result and with perhaps identical motives. 

She kept on saying to herself that she had given up hope of ever regainingthe love she had lost. She tried to remember just when she had ceased tohope. Was it before or after that last conversation took place in thelibrary? Hope may have died, but he was alive and she was alive. Then howcould love be dead?

It was Simmy Dodge who prevailed upon Braden to be present at the readingof the will. Simmy was the sort of man who goes about, in the goodness ofhis heart, adjusting matters for other people. He constituted himself inthis instance, however, as the legal adviser of his old friend andcompanion, and that gave him a certain amount of authority. 

"And what's more, " he said in arguing with the obdurate Braden, "we'llprobably have to smash the will, if, as you say, you have been cut offwithout a nickel. You—"

"But I don't want to smash it, " protested Braden. 

"And why not?" demanded Simmy, in surprise. "You are his only bloodrelation, aren't you? Why the deuce should he leave everything away fromyou? Of course we'll make a fight for it. I've never heard of a moreoutrageous piece of—"

"You don't understand, Simmy, " Braden interrupted, suddenly realising thathis position would be a difficult one to explain, even to this good andloyal friend. "We'll drop the matter for the present, at any rate. "

"But why should Mr. Thorpe have done this rotten, inconceivable thing toyou, Brady?" demanded Dodge. "Good Lord, that will won't stand a minute ina court of—"

"It will stand so far as I'm concerned, " said Braden sharply, and Simmyblinked his eyes in bewilderment. 

"You wouldn't be fighting Anne, you know, " he ventured after a moment, assuming that Braden's attitude was due to reluctance in that direction. "She is provided for outside the will, she tells me. "

"Are you her attorney, Simmy?"

"Yes. That is, the firm represents her, and I'm one of the firm. "

"I don't see how you can represent both of us, old chap. "

"That's just what I'm trying to get into your head. I couldn't representyou if there was to be a fight with Anne. But we can fight these idioticcharities, can't we?"

"No, " said Braden flatly. "My grandfather's will is to stand just as itis, Simmy. I shall not contest for a cent. And so, if you please, there'sno reason for my going down there to listen to the reading of the thing. Iknow pretty well what the document says. I was in Mr. Thorpe's confidence. For your own edification, Simmy, I'll merely say that I have already hadmy share of the estate, and I'm satisfied. "

"Still, in common decency, you ought to go down and listen to the readingof the will. Judge Hollenback says he will put the thing off until you arepresent, so you might as well go first as last. Be reasonable, Brady. Iknow how you feel toward Anne. I can appreciate your unwillingness to goto her house after what happened a year ago. Judge Hollenback declaresthat his letter of instruction from Mr. Thorpe makes it obligatory for himto read the document in the presence of his widow and his grandson, and inthe library of his late home. Otherwise, the thing could have been done inHollenback's offices. "

In the end Braden agreed to be present. 

When Judge Hollenback smoothed out the far from voluminous lookingdocument, readjusted his nose glasses and cleared his throat preparatoryto reading, the following persons were seated in the big, fire-litlibrary: Anne Thorpe, the widow; Braden Thorpe, the grandson; Mrs. Tresslyn, George Tresslyn, Simmy Dodge, Murray, and Wade, the furnace-man. The two Tresslyns were there by Anne's request. Late in the day she wasovercome by the thought of sitting there alone while Braden was beingdispossessed of all that rightfully belonged to him. She had not intendedto ask her mother to come down for the reading. Somehow she had felt thatMrs. Tresslyn's presence would indicate the consummation of a project thathad something ignoble about it. She knew that her mother could experienceno other sensation than that of curiosity in listening to the will. Herinterest in the affairs of Templeton Thorpe ended with the signing of theante-nuptial contract, supplemented of course by the event whichsatisfactorily terminated the agreement inside of a twelve-month. ButAnne, practically alone in the world as she now found herself to be, wassuddenly aware of a great sense of depression. She wanted her mother. Shewanted some one near who would not look at her with scornful, bitter eyes. 

George's presence is to be quickly explained. He had spent the better partof the week with Anne, sleeping in the house at her behest. For a week shehad braved it out alone. Then came the sudden surrender to dread, terror, loneliness. The shadows in the halls were grim; the sounds in the nightwere sinister, the stillness that followed them creepy; the servants werethings that stalked her, and she was afraid—mortally afraid in this homethat was not hers. She had made up her mind to go away for a long timejust as soon as everything was settled. 

As for the furnace-man, Judge Hollenback had summoned him on his arrivalat the house. So readily had Wade adapted himself to his new duties thathe now felt extremely uncomfortable and ill-at-ease in a room that hadbeen like home to him for thirty years. He seemed to feel that this was noplace for the furnace-man, notwithstanding the scouring and polishingprocess that temporarily had restored him to a more exalted office, —foronce more he was the smug, impeccable valet. 

Braden was the last to arrive. He timed his arrival so that there could beno possibility of an informal encounter with Anne. She came forward andshook hands with him, simply, unaffectedly. 

"You have been away, " she said, looking straight into his eyes. He wasconscious of a feeling of relief. He had been living in some dread of whathe might detect in her eyes. But it was a serene, frank expression that hefound in them, not a question. 

"Yes, " he said. "I was tired, " he added after a moment. 

She hesitated. Then: "I have not seen you, Braden, since—since the twenty-first. You have not given me the opportunity to tell you that I know youdid all that any one could possibly do for Mr. Thorpe. Thank you forundertaking the impossible. I am sorry—oh, so sorry, —that you were made tosuffer. I want you to remember too that it was with my sanction that youmade the hopeless effort. "

He turned cold. The others had heard every word. She had spoken withoutreserve, without the slightest indication of nervousness or compunction. The very thing that he feared had come to pass. She had put herselfdefinitely on record. He glanced quickly about, searching the faces of theother occupants of the room. His gaze fell upon Wade, and rested for asecond or two. Something told him that Wade's gaze would shift, —and itdid. 

"I did everything, Anne. Thank you for believing in me. " That was all. Noword of sympathy, no mawkish mumbling of regret, no allusion to his ownloss. He looked again into her eyes, this time in quest of the motive thaturged her to make this unnecessary declaration. Was there a deepersignificance to be attached to her readiness to assume responsibility? Helooked for the light in her eye that would convince him that she wastaking this stand because of the love she felt for him. He wasimmeasurably relieved to find no secret message there. She had not stoopedto that, and he was gratified. Her eyes were clouded with concern for him, that was all. He was ashamed of himself for the thought, —and afterwards hewondered why he should have been ashamed. After all, it was only rightthat she should be sorry for him. He deserved that much from her. 

An awkward silence ensued. Simmy Dodge coughed nervously, and then Bradenadvanced to greet Mrs. Tresslyn. She did not rise. Her gloved hand wasextended and he took it without hesitation. 

"It is good to see you again, Braden, " she said, with the bland, perfunctory parting of the lips that stands for a smile with women of herclass. He meant nothing to her now. 

"Thanks, " he said, and moved on to George, who regarded him with someintensity for a moment and then gripped his hand heartily. "How are you, George?"

"Fine! First stage of regeneration, you know. I'm glad to see you, Brady. "

There was such warmth in the repressed tones that Thorpe's hand clasptightened. Tresslyn was still a friend. His interest quickened into a keenexamination of the young man who had pronounced himself in the first stageof regeneration, whatever that may have signified to one of George's type. He was startled by the haggard, sick look in the young fellow's face. George must have read the other's expression, for he said: "I'm allright, —just a little run down. That's natural, I suppose. "

"He has a dreadful cold, " said Anne, who had overheard. "I can't get himto do anything for it. "

"Don't you worry about me, Anne, " said George stoutly. 

"Just the same, you should take care of yourself, " said Braden. "Pneumoniagets after you big fellows, you know. How are you, Wade? Poor old Wade, you must miss my grandfather terribly. You knew him before I was born. Itseems an age, now that I think of it in that way. "

"Thirty-three years, sir, " said Wade. "Nearly ten years longer thanMurray, Mr. Braden, It does seem an age. "

The will was not a lengthy document. The reading took no more than threeminutes, and for another full minute after its conclusion, not a person inthe room uttered a word. A sort of stupefaction held them all in itsgrip, —that is, all except the old lawyer who was putting away his glassesand waiting for the outburst that was sure to follow. 

In the first place, Mr. Thorpe remembered Anne. After declaring that shehad been satisfactorily provided for in a previous document, known to heras a contract, he bequeathed to her the house in which she had lived for asingle year with him. All of its contents went with this bequest. ToJosiah Wade he left the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars, to EdwardMurray ten thousand dollars, and to each of the remaining servants in hishousehold a sum equal to half of their earnings while in his service. There were bequests to his lawyer, his doctor and his secretary, besidessubstantial gifts to persons who could not by any chance have expectedanything from this grim old man, —such as the friendly doorman at hisfavourite club, and the man who had been delivering newspapers to him fora score of years or more, and the old negro bootblack who had attended himat the Brevoort in the days before the Italian monopoly set in, and thetwo working-girls who supported the invalid widow of a man who had gone toprison and died there after having robbed the Thorpe estate of a greatmany thousands of dollars while acting as a confidential and trustedagent. 

Then came the astounding disposition of the fortune that had accumulatedin the time of Templeton Thorpe. There were no bequests outright tocharity, contrary to all expectations. The listeners were prepared to hearof huge gifts to certain institutions and societies known to have beenfavoured by the testator. Various hospitals were looked upon as sure toreceive splendid endowments, and specific colleges devoted to theadvancement of medical and surgical science were also regarded asinevitable beneficiaries. It was all cut and dried, so far as JudgeHollenback's auditors were concerned, —that is to say, prior to the readingof the will. True, the old lawyer had declared in the beginning, that thepresent will was drawn and signed on the afternoon of the day before thedeath of Mr. Thorpe, and that a previous instrument to which a codicil hadbeen affixed was destroyed in the presence of two witnesses. Theinstrument witnessed by Wade and Murray was the one that had beendestroyed. This should have aroused uneasiness in the mind of BradenThorpe, if no one else, but he was slow to recognise the significance ofthe change in his grandfather's designs. 

With his customary terseness, Templeton Thorpe declared himself to behopelessly ill but of sound mind at the moment of drawing his last willand testament, and suffering beyond all human endurance. His condition atthat moment, and for weeks beforehand, was such that death offered theonly panacea. He had come to appreciate the curse of a life prolongedbeyond reason. Therefore, in full possession of all his faculties andbeing now irrevocably converted to the principles of mercy advocated byhis beloved grandson, Braden Lanier Thorpe, he placed the residue of hisestate in trust, naming the aforesaid Braden Lanier Thorpe as soletrustee, without bond, the entire amount to be utilised and expended byhim in the promotion of his noble and humane propaganda in relation to thefate of the hopelessly afflicted among those creatures fashioned after theimage of God. The trust was to expire with the death of the said BradenLanier Thorpe, when all funds remaining unused for the purposes herein setforth were to go without restriction to the heirs of the said trustee, either by bequest or administration. 

In so many words, the testator rested in his grandson full power andauthority to use these funds, amounting to nearly six million dollars, ashe saw fit in the effort to obtain for the human sufferer the same mercythat is extended to the beast of the field, and to make final dispositionof the estate in his own will. Realising the present hopelessness of anattempt to secure legislation of this character, he suggested that firstof all it would be imperative to prepare the way to such an end bycreating in the minds of all the peoples of the world a state of commonsense that could successfully combat and overcome love, sentimentality andcowardice! For these three, he pointed out, were the common enemy ofreason. "And in compensation for the discharge of such duties as may comeunder the requirements of this trusteeship, the aforesaid Braden LanierThorpe shall receive the fees ordinarily allotted by law and, in addition, the salary of twenty-five thousand dollars per annum, until the terms ofthis instrument are fully carried out. "

Anne Tresslyn Thorpe was named as executrix of the will. 

CHAPTER XVIII

Simmy Dodge was the first to speak. He was the first to grasp the fullmeaning of this deliberately ambiguous will. His face cleared. 

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, without respect for the proprieties. He slappedBraden on the back, somewhat enthusiastically. "We sha'n't have to smashit, after all. It's the cleverest thing I've ever listened to, old man. What a head your grandfather had on his—"

Braden leaped to his feet, his face quivering. "Of course we'll smash it, "he stormed. "Do you suppose or imagine for an instant that I will allowsuch a thing as that to stand? Do you—"

"Go slow, Brady, go slow, " broke in his excited, self-appointed lawyer. "Can't you see through it? Can't you see what he was after? Why, goodLord, man, he has made you the principal legatee, —he has actually givenyou _everything_. All this rigmarole about a trust or a foundation orwhatever you want to call it amounts to absolutely nothing. The money isyours to do what you like with as long as you live. You have completecontrol of every dollar of it. No one else has a thing to say about it. Why, it's the slickest, soundest will I've—"

"Oh, my God!" groaned Braden, dropping into a chair and covering his facewith his hands. 

Judge Hollenback was smiling benignly. He had drawn the will. He knew thatit was sound, if not "slick, " as Simmy had described it. The threeTresslyns leaned forward in their chairs, bewildered, dumbfounded. Theirgaze was fixed on the shaking figure of Braden Thorpe. 

As for Wade, he had sunk helplessly into a chair. A strange, hunted lookappeared in his eyes. His chin sank lower and lower, and his bodytwitched. He was not caring what happened to Braden Thorpe, he was noteven thinking about the vast fortune that had been placed at the youngman's disposal. His soul was sick. In spite of all that he could do toprevent it, his gaze went furtively to Murray's rubicund jowl, and thenshifted to the rapt, eager face of his young mistress. Twenty-fivethousand dollars! There was no excuse for him now. With all that money hecould not hope to stay on in service. He was rich. He would have to go outinto the world and shift for himself. He could not go on 'tending furnacefor Mrs. Thorpe, —he couldn't take the bread out of some deservingwretch's mouth by hanging onto the job with all that money in hispossession. Mrs. Thorpe would congratulate him on the morrow, and turn himout. And no one would tell him where to go, —unless it might be Murray, ina fit of anger. 

"Mr. Thorpe was not moved by any desire to circumvent certain—perhaps Ishould say that he intended you, Dr. Thorpe, to act in strict accordancewith the provisions of the will, " said Judge Hollenback. "He did not losesight of the fact that he had promised to leave you out of his willcompletely. This money is not yours. It is in your hands as trustee. Mr. Dodge is wrong. Your grandfather was very deeply in earnest when heauthorised the drawing of this instrument. You will discover, on readingit carefully and thoughtfully, that he does not give you the right todivert any of this money to your own private uses, but clearly says thatit is to be employed, under your sole direction and as you see fit, forthe carrying out of your ideas along certain lines. He has left a letterfor you, Dr. Thorpe, which I have been privileged to read. You will findit in this envelope. For the benefit of future beneficiaries under thisinstrument, I may say that he expresses the hope and desire that you willnot permit the movement to languish after your death. In fact, heexpressly instructs you to establish during your life time a systematicscheme of education by reason of which the world eventually may becomeconverted to the ideas which you promulgate and defend. He realised thatthis cannot he brought about in one generation, nor in two, three or four. Indeed, he ventures the opinion that two centuries may pass before thissound and sensible theory of yours, —the words are his, not mine, —becomes areality. Two centuries, mind you. So, you will see, he does not expect youto perform a miracle, Braden. You are to start the ball rolling, so tospeak, in a definite, well-supported groove, from which there can be nodeviation. By this will, you are to have free and unhampered use of a vastsum of money. He does not bind you in any particular. So much for theoutward expression of the will. Inversely, however, as you will find byreading this letter, you are not so completely free to exercise your owndiscretion. You will find that while he gives to you the undisputed rightto bequeath this fortune as you may see fit at the expiration of your termas trustee—in short, at your death, —he suggests that, —being an honourableand conscientious man to his certain knowledge, —you will create a so-called foundation for the perpetuation of your ideas—and his, I may add. This foundation is to grow out of and to be the real development of thetrust over which you now have absolute control. But all this, my friend, we may discuss later on. The real significance of Mr. Thorpe's will is tobe found in the faith he reposes in you. He puts you on your honour. Heentrusts this no inconsiderable fortune to your care. It rests entirelywith you as to the manner in which it shall be used. If you elect tosquander it, there is no one to say nay to you. It is expressly statedhere that the trust comprehends the spread of the doctrines you advocate, but it does not pretend to guide or direct you in the handling of thefunds. Mr. Thorpe trusts you to be governed by the dictates of your ownhonour. I have no hesitancy in saying that I protested against thisextraordinary way of creating a trust, declaring to him that I thought hewas doing wrong in placing you in such a position, —that is to say, it waswrong of him to put temptation in your way. He was confident, however. Infact, he was entirely satisfied with the arrangement. I will admit that atthe time I had a queer impression that he was chuckling to himself, but ofcourse I was wrong. It was merely the quick and difficult breathing of onein dire pain. The situation is quite plain, ladies and gentlemen. The willis sound. Mr. Dodge has observed, —somewhat hastily I submit, —that hebelieves it will not have to be smashed. He says that the money has beenleft to Dr. Thorpe, and that the trust is a rigmarole, or something of thesort. Mr. Dodge is right, after a fashion. If Dr. Thorpe chooses toviolate his grandfather's staunch belief in his integrity, if he elects todisregard the suggestions set down in this letter—which, you mustunderstand, is in no sense a legal supplement to the will, —he may justifyMr. Dodge's contention that the fortune is his to do with as he pleases. "He turned to Anne. "I beg to inform you, Mrs. Thorpe, that your duties asexecutrix will not prove onerous. Your late husband left his affairs insuch shape that there will be absolutely no difficulty in settling theestate. It could be done in half an hour, if necessary. Everything isship-shape, as the saying is. I shall be glad to place myself at thecommand of yourself and your attorneys. Have no hesitancy in calling uponme. "

He waited. No one spoke. Braden was looking at him now. He had recoveredfrom his momentary collapse and was now listening intently to the oldlawyer's words. There was a hard, uncompromising light in his eyes, —asullen prophecy of trouble ahead. After a moment, Judge Hollenbackconstrued their silence as an invitation to go on. He liked to talk. 

"Our good friend Dodge says that no one else has a thing to say about themanner in which the trustee of this vast fund shall disperse his dollars. "(Here he paused, for it sounded rather good to him. ) "Ahem! Now does Mr. Dodge really believe what he says? Just a moment, please. I am merelyformulating—er—I beg pardon, Mrs. Thorpe. You were saying—?"

"I prefer not to act as executrix of the will, Judge Hollenback, " saidAnne dully. "How am I to go about being released from—"

"My dear Mrs. Thorpe, you must believe me when I say that yourduties, —er—the requirements, —are practically _nil_. Pray do not labourunder the impression that—"

"It isn't that, " said Anne. "I just don't want to serve, that's all. Ishall refuse. "

"My daughter will think the matter over for a few days, Judge Hollenback, "said Mrs. Tresslyn suavely. "She _does_ feel, I've no doubt, that it wouldbe a tax on her strength and nerves. In a few days, I'm sure, she willfeel differently. " She thought she had sensed Anne's reason forhesitating. Mrs. Tresslyn had been speechless with dismay—or perhaps itwas indignation—up to this moment. She had had a hard fight to control heremotions. 

"We need not discuss it now, at any rate, " said Anne. She found itextremely difficult to keep from looking at Braden as she spoke. Somethingtold her that he was looking hard at her. She kept her face averted. 

"Quite right, quite right, " said Judge Hollenback. "I hope you willforgive me, Braden, for mentioning your—er—theories, —the theories whichinspired the somewhat disturbing clause in your grandfather's will. I feelthat it is my duty to explain my position in the matter. I was opposed tothe creation of this fund. I tried to make your grandfather see the utterfallacy of his—shall we call it whim? Now, I will not put myself in theattitude of denying the true humanity of your theory. I daresay it hasbeen discussed by physicians for ages. It was my aim to convince yourgrandfather that all the money in the world cannot bring about the resultyou desire. I argued from the legal point of view. There are the insurancecompanies to consider. They will put obstacles in the way of—"

"Pardon me, Judge Hollenback, " interrupted Braden steadily. "I do notadvocate an illegal act. We need not discuss my theories, however. Theabsurdity of the clause in my grandfather's will is as clear to me as itis to you. The conditions cannot be carried out. I shall refuse to acceptthis trusteeship. "

Judge Hollenback stared. "But, my dear friend, you must accept. What is tobecome of the—er—money if you refuse to act? You can't possibly refuse. There is no other provision for the disposition of the estate. He has putit squarely up to you. There is no other solution. You may be sure, sir, that I do not care what you do with the money, and I fancy no one elsewill undertake to define your—"

"Just the same, sir, I cannot and will not accept, " said Braden, finalityin his tone. "I cannot tell you how shocked, how utterly overwhelmed I amby—"

Simmy interrupted him. "I'd suggest, old fellow, that you take Mr. Thorpe's letter to your rooms and read it. Take time to think it all outfor yourself. Don't go off half-cocked like this. "

"You at least owe it to yourself and to your grandfather—" began JudgeHollenback soothingly, but was cut short by Braden, who arose and turnedto the door. There he stopped and faced them. 

"I'm sorry, Judge Hollenback, but I must ask you to consider the matterclosed. I shall leave you and Mr. Dodge to find a satisfactory solution. In the first place, I am a practising physician and surgeon. I prefer toregulate my own life and my life's work. I need not explain to you justhow deeply I am interested in the saving of human life. That comes firstwith me. My theories, as you call them, come second. I cannot undertakethe promotion of these theories as a salaried advocate. This is the onlystupid and impractical thing that my grandfather ever did, I believe. Hemust have known that the terms of the will could not be carried out. Mr. Dodge is right. It was his way of leaving the property to me afterdeclaring that he would not do so, after adding the codicil annulling thebequest intended for me. He broke a solemn compact. Now he has made thesituation absolutely impossible. I shall not act as trustee of this fund, and I shall not use a penny of the fortune 'as I see fit, ' JudgeHollenback. There must be some other channel into which all this money canbe diverted without—"

"There is no provision, sir, as I said before, " said Judge Hollenbacktestily. "It can only be released by an act of yours. That is clear, quiteclear. "

"Then, I shall find a way, " said Braden resolutely. "I shall go into courtand ask to have the will set aside as—"

"That's it, sir, that's it, " came an eager voice from an unexpectedquarter. Wade was leaning forward in his chair, visibly excited by theprospect of relief. "I can testify, sir, that Mr. Thorpe actedstrangely, —yes, very queerly, —during the past few months. I should saythat he was of unsound mind. " Then, as every eye was upon him, he subsidedas suddenly as he had begun. 

"Shut up!" whispered Murray, murderously, bending over, the better topenetrate his ear. "You damn fool!"

Judge Hollenback indulged in a frosty smile. "Mr. Wade is evidentlybewildered. " Then, turning to Braden, he said: "Mr. Dodge's advice isexcellent. Think the matter over for a few days and then come to see me. "

"I am placed in a most unhappy position, " said Braden, with dignity. "Mrs. Thorpe appreciates my feelings, I am sure. She was led to believe, as Iwas, that my grandfather had left me out of his will. Such a thing as thissubterfuge never crossed my mind, nor hers. I wish to assure her, in thepresence of all of you, that I was as completely ignorant of all this—"

"I know it, Braden, " interrupted Anne. "I know that you had nothing to dowith it. And for that reason I feel that you should accept the trust thatis—"

"Anne!" cried out Braden, incredulously. "You cannot mean it. You—"

"I do mean it, " she said firmly. "It is your greatest justification. Youshould carry out his wishes. He does not leave you the money outright. Youmay do as you please with it, to be sure, but why should you agree withSimmy that it may be converted solely to your own private uses? Why shouldyou feel that he intended you to have it all for your own? Does he not setforth explicitly just what uses it is to be put to by you during yourlifetime? He puts you on your honour. He knew what he was about when heoverruled Judge Hollenback's objection. He knew that this trust would besafe in your hands. Yes, Braden, he knew that you would not spend a pennyof it on yourself. "

He was staring at her blankly. Mrs. Tresslyn was speaking now, but it isdoubtful if he heard a word that she uttered. He was intent only upon thestudy of Anne's warm, excited face. 

"Mr. Thorpe assured me a little over a year ago, " began Anne's mother, ahard light in her eyes, "that it was his determination to leave hisgrandson out of his will altogether. It was his desire, —or at least, so hesaid, —to remove from Braden's path every obstacle that might interferewith his becoming a great man and a credit to his name. By that, ofcourse, he meant money unearned. He told me that most of his fortune wasto go to Charitable and Scientific Institutions. I had his solemn word ofhonour that his grandson was to be in no sense a beneficiary under hiswill. He—"

"Please, mother!" broke in Anne, a look of real shame in her eyes. 

"And so how are we to reconcile this present foolishness with his verylaudable display of commonsense of a year ago?" went on Mrs. Tresslyn, thered spot darkening in her cheek. "He played fast and loose with all of us. I agree with Braden Thorpe. There was treachery in—"

"Ahem!" coughed Judge Hollenback so loudly and so pointedly that the angrysentence was not completed. 

Mrs. Tresslyn was furious. She had been cheated, and Anne had beencheated. The old wretch had played a trick on all of them! He had boughtAnne for two millions, and now _nothing_, —absolutely _nothing_ was to goto Charity! Braden was seven times a millionaire instead of a poor butambitious seeker after fame!

In the few minutes that followed Judge Hollenback's cough, she had time torestore her equanimity to its habitual elevation. It had, for once, stooped perilously near to catastrophe. 

Meanwhile, her son George had arrived at a conclusion. He arose from hischair with a wry face and a half uttered groan, and crossed over toBraden's side. Strange, fierce pains were shooting through all the jointsand muscles of his body. 

"See here, Brady, I'd like to ask a question, if you don't mind. "

"I don't mind. What is it?"

"Would you have operated on Mr. Thorpe if you'd known what was in thiswill?"

Braden hesitated, but only for a second. "Yes. My grandfather asked me tooperate. There was nothing else for me to do under the circumstances. "

"That's just what I thought. Well, all I've got to say is that so long asyou respected his wishes while he was alive it seems pretty rotten in youto take the stand you're taking now. "

"What do you mean?"

"He virtually asked you to make an end of him. You both knew there was nochance. You operated and he died. I'm speaking plainly, you see. No oneblames you. You did your best. But it seems to me that if you could dowhat he asked you to do at that time, you ought to do what he asks of younow. As long as you were willing to respect his last wish alive, you oughtnot to stir up a rumpus over his first wish dead. "

The two men were looking hard into each other's eyes. George's voice shooka little, but not from fear or nervousness. He was shivering with thechill that precedes fever. 

Anne drew a step or two nearer. She laid an appealing hand on George'sarm. 

"I think I understand you, George, " said Thorpe slowly. "You are tellingme that you believe I took my grandfather's life by design. You—"

"No, " said George quietly, "I'm not saying that, Brady. I'm saying thatyou owe as much to him now as you did when he was alive. If you had notconsented to operate, this will would never have been drawn. If you hadrefused, the first will would have been read to-day. I guess you areentirely responsible for the making of this new will, and that's why I sayyou ought to be man enough to stand by your work. "

Thorpe turned away. His face was very white and his hands were clenched. 

Anne shook her brother's arm. "Why, —oh, why did you say that to him, George? Why—"

"Because it ought to have been said to him, " said George coolly; "that'swhy. He made old Mr. Thorpe see things from his point of view, and it's upto him to shoulder the responsibility. "

Mrs. Tresslyn spoke to Murray. "Is there any reason why we shouldn't havetea, Murray? Serve it, please. " She turned to Judge Hollenback. "I don'tsee any sense in trying to settle all the little details to-day, do you, Judge Hollenback? We've done all that it is possible to do to-day. Thewill has been read. That is all we came for, I fancy. I confess that I amastonished by several of the provisions, but the more I think of them theless unreasonable they seem to be. We have nothing to quarrel about. Everyone appears to be satisfied except Dr. Thorpe, so let us have tea—andpeace. Sit down, Braden. You can't decide the question to-day. It has toomany angles. "

Braden lifted his head. "Thank you, Mrs. Tresslyn; I shall not wait. Atwhat hour may I see you to-morrow, Judge Hollenback?"

"Name your own hour, Braden. "

"Three o'clock, " said Braden succinctly. He turned to George. "No hardfeelings, George, on my part. "

"Nor on mine, " said George, extending his hand. "It's just my way oflooking at things lately. No offence was meant, Brady. I'm too fond of youfor that. "

"You've given me something to think about, " said Thorpe. He bowed stifflyto the ladies and Judge Hollenback. George stepped out into the hall withhim. 

"I intend to stick pretty close to Anne, Brady, " he said with markeddeliberation. "She needs me just now. "

Thorpe started. "I don't get your meaning, George. "

"There will be talk, old man, —talk about you and Anne. Do you get it now?"

"Good heaven! I—yes, I suppose there will be all sorts of conjectures, "groaned Braden bitterly. "People remember too well, George. You may resteasy, however. I shall not give them any cause to talk. As for coming tothis house again, I can tell you frankly that as I now feel I could almostmake a vow never to enter its doors again as long as I live. "

"Well, I just thought I'd let you know how I stand in the matter, " saidGeorge. "I'm going to try to look out for Anne, if she'll let me. Good-bye, Brady. I hope you'll count me as one of your friends, if you thinkI'm worth while. I'm—I'm going to make a fresh start, you know. " Hegrinned, and his teeth chattered. 

"You'd better go to bed, " said Braden, looking at him closely. "Tell Annethat I said so, and—you'd better let a doctor look you over, too. "

"I haven't much use for doctors, " said George, shaking his head. "I wantedto kill you last winter when you cut poor little Lutie—Oh, but of courseyou understand. I was kind of dotty then, I guess. So long. "

Simmy came to the library door and called out: "I'll be with you in asecond, Brady. I'm going your way, and I don't care which way you'regoing. My car's outside. " Re-entering the room, Mr. Dodge walked up toAnne and actually shook her as a parent would shake a child. "Don't besilly about it, Anne. You've got to accept the house. He left it to youwithout—"

"I cannot live up to the conditions. The will says that I must continue tomake this place my home, that I must reside here for—Oh! I cannot do it, that's all, Simmy. I would go mad, living here. There is no use discussingthe matter. I will not take the house. "

"'Pon my soul, " sighed Judge Hollenback, "the poor man seems to have madea mess of everything. He can't even give his property away. No one willtake it. Braden refuses, Mrs. Thorpe refuses, Wade is dissatisfied—Ah, yes, Murray seems to be pleased. One lump, Mrs. Tresslyn, and a littlecream. Now as for Wade's attitude—by the way, where is the man?"

Wade was at the lower end of the hall, speaking earnestly in a tremulousundertone to Braden Thorpe. 

"Yes, sir, Mr. Braden, there's only one thing to do. We've got to have itset aside, declared void. You may count on me, sir. I'll swear to hisactions. Crazy as a loon, sir, —? crazy as a loon. "

CHAPTER XIX

Two days later George Tresslyn staggered weakly into Simmy Dodge'sapartment. He was not alone. A stalwart porter from an adjacent apartmentbuilding was supporting him when Dodge's man opened the door. 

"This Mr. Dodge?" demanded the porter. 

"Mr. Dodge's man. Mr. Dodge isn't at 'ome, " said Baffly quickly. 

"All right, " said the porter, pushing past the man and leading Georgetoward a couch he had observed from the open door. "This ain't no jag, Johnny. He's sick. Out of his head. Batty. Say, don't you know him? Am Iin wrong? He said he wanted to come here to—"

George had tossed himself, sprawling, upon the long couch. His eyes wereclosed and his breathing was stertorous. 

"Of course I know him. What—what is the matter with him? My Gawd, man, don't tell me he is dying. What do you mean, bringing 'im 'ere? There willbe a coroner's hinquest and—"

"You better get a doctor first. Waste no time. Get the coroner afterwardif you have to. You tell Mr. Dodge that he came into our place half anhour ago and said he wanted to go up to his friend's apartment. He wasclean gone then. He wanted to lick the head porter for saying Mr. Dodgedidn't live in the buildin'. We saw in a minute that he hadn't beendrinkin'. Just as we was about to call an ambulance, a gentleman in ourbuilding came along and reckonised him as young Mr. Tresslyn. Friend ofMr. Dodge's. That was enough for us. So I brings him around. Now it's upto you guys to look after him. Off his nut. My name's Jenks. Tell it toMr. Dodge, will you? And git a doctor quick. Put your hand here on hishead. Aw, he won't bite you! Put it _here_. Ever feel anything as hot asthat?"

Baffly arose to the occasion. "Mr. Dodge 'as been hexpecting Mr. Tresslyn. He will also be hexpecting you, Mr. Jenks, at six o'clock this evening. "

"All right, " said Mr. Jenks. 

Baffly put George Tresslyn to bed and then called up Mr. Dodge's favouriteclub. He never called up the office except as a last resort. If Mr. Dodgewasn't to be found at any one of his nine clubs, or at certainrestaurants, it was then time for calling up the office. Mr. Dodge was notin the club, but he had left word that if any one called him up he couldbe found at his office. 

"Put him to bed and send for Dr. Thorpe, " was Simmy's order a few minuteslater. 

"I've put 'im to bed, sir. "

"Out of his head, you say?"

"I said, 'Put 'im to bed, sir, '" shouted Baffly. 

"I'll be home in half-an-hour, Baffly. "

Simmy called up Anne Thorpe at once and reported that George had beenfound and was now in his rooms. He would call up later on. She was not toworry, —and good-bye!

It appears that George Tresslyn had been missing from the house nearWashington Square since seven o'clock on the previous evening. At thathour he left his bed, to which Dr. Bates had ordered him, and made off inthe cold, sleety night, delirious with the fierce fever that was consuminghim. As soon as his plight was discovered, Anne called up Simmy Dodge andbegged him to go out in search of her sick, and now irresponsible brother. In his delirium, George repeatedly had muttered threats against BradenThorpe for the cruel and inhuman "slashing of the most beautiful, the mostperfect body in all the world, " "marking for life the sweetest girl thatGod ever let live"; and that he would have to account to him for "thedirty work he had done. "

Acting on this hint, Simmy at once looked up Braden Thorpe and put him onhis guard. Thorpe laughed at his fears, and promptly joined in the searchfor the sick man. They thought of Lutie, of course, and hurried to hersmall apartment. She was not at home. Her maidservant said that she didnot know where she could be found. Mrs. Tresslyn had gone out alone athalf-past seven, to dine with friends, but had left no instructions, —amost unusual omission, according to the young woman. 

It was a raw, gusty night. A fine, penetrating sleet cut the face, and thesharp wind drove straight to the marrow of the most warmly clad. Tresslynwas wandering about the streets, witless yet dominated by a great purpose, racked with pain and blind with fever, insufficiently protected againstthe gale that met his big body as he trudged doggedly into it in questof—what? He had left Anne's home without overcoat, gloves or muffler. Hisfever-struck brain was filled with a resolve that deprived him of allregard for personal comfort or safety. He was out in the storm, lookingfor some one, and whether love or hate was in his heart, no man couldtell. 

All night long Dodge and Thorpe looked for him, aided in their search bythree or four private detectives who were put on the case at midnight. Atone o'clock the two friends reappeared at Lutie's apartment, summonedthere by the detective who had been left on guard with instructions tonotify them when she returned. 

It was from the miserable, conscience-stricken Lutie that they had anaccount of George's adventures earlier in the night. White-faced, scaredand despairing, she poured out her unhappy tale of triumph over love andpity. The thing that she had longed for, though secretly dreaded, hadfinally come to pass. She had seen her former husband in the gutter, degraded, besotted, thoroughly reduced to the level from which nothingsave her own loyal, loving efforts could lift him. She had dreamed of acomplete conquest of caste, and the remaking of a man. She had dreamed ofthe day when she could pick up from the discarded of humanity thissplendid, misused bit of rubbish and in triumph claim it as her own, torevive, to rebuild, to make over through the sure and simple processes oflove! This had been Lutie Tresslyn's notion of revenge!

She saw George at eight o'clock that night. As she stood in the shelter ofthe small canvas awning protecting the entrance to the building in whichshe lived, waiting for the taxi to pull up, her eyes searched the swirlingshadows up and down the street. She never failed to look for the distantand usually indistinct figure of _her man_. It had become a habit withher. The chauffeur had got down to crank his machine, and there waspromise of a no inconsiderable delay in getting the cold engine started. She was on the point of returning to the shelter of the hallway, when shecaught sight of a tall, shambling figure crossing the street obliquely, and at once recognised George Tresslyn. He was staggering. The light fromthe entrance revealed his white, convulsed face. Her heart sank. She hadnever seen him so drunk, so disgusting as this! The taxi-cab was twenty orthirty feet away. She would have to cross a wet, exposed space in order toreach it before George could come up with her. She realised with a quiverof alarm that it was the first time in all these months that he hadventured to approach her. It was clear that he now meant to accost her, —hemight even contemplate violence! She wanted to run, but her feet refusedto obey the impulse. Fascinated she watched the unsteady figure lurchingtoward her, and the white face growing more and more distinct andforbidding as it came out of the darkness. Suddenly she was released fromthe spell. Like a flash she darted toward the taxi-cab. From behind came ahoarse cry. 

"Lutie! For God's sake—"

"Quick!" she cried out to the driver. "Open the door! Be quick!"

The engine was throbbing. She looked back. George was supporting himselfby clinging to one of the awning rods. His legs seemed to be crumblingbeneath his weight. Her heart smote her. He had no overcoat. It was a barehand that gripped the iron rod and a bare hand that was held out towardher. Thank heaven, he had stopped there! He was not coming on. 

"Lutie! Oh, Lutie!" came almost in a wail from his lips. Then he began tocry out something incoherent, maudlin, unintelligible. 

"Never mind him, " said the driver reassuringly. "Just a souse. Wants tomake a touch, madam. Streets are full of 'em these cold nights. He won'tbone you while I'm here. Where to?" He was holding the door open. 

Lutie hesitated. Long afterwards she recalled the strange impulse thatcame so near to sending her back to the side of the man who cried out toher from the depths of a bottomless pit. Something whispered from herheart that _now was her time_, —_now_! And then came the loud cry from herbrain, drowning the timid voice of the merciful: "Wait! Wait! Not now! To-morrow!"

And while she stood there, uncertain, held inactive by the two warringemotions, George turned and staggered away, reeling, and crying out in aqueer, raucous voice. 

"They'll get him, " said the driver. 

"Who will get him?" cried Lutie, shrilly. 

"The police. He—"

"No! No! It must not be _that_. That's not what I want, —do you hear, driver? Not that. He must not be locked up—Oh!" George had collapsed. Hisknees went from under him and he was half-prostrate on the curb. "Oh! Hehas fallen! He has hurt himself! Go and see, driver. Go at once. " Sheforgot the sleet and the wind, and stood there wide-eyed and terrifiedwhile the man shuffled forward to investigate. She hated him for stirringthe fallen man with his foot, and she hated him when he shook himviolently with his hands. 

"I better call a cop, " said the man. "He's pretty full. He'll freeze if—Iknow how it is, ma'am. I used to hit it up a bit myself. I—"

"Listen!" cried Lutie, regaining the shelter of the awning, where shestopped in great perturbation. "Listen; you must put him in your cab andtake him somewhere. I will pay you. Here! Here is five dollars. Don't mindme. I will get another taxi. Be quick! There is a policeman coming. I seehim, —there by—"

"Gee! I don't know where to take him. I—"

"You can't leave him lying there in the gutter, man, " she cried fiercely. "The gutter! The gutter! My God, what a thing to happen to—"

"Here! Get up, you!" shouted the driver, shaking George's shoulder. "Comealong, old feller. I'll look out for you. Gee! He weighs a ton. "

Tresslyn was mumbling, half audibly, and made little or no effort to helphis unwilling benefactor, who literally dragged him to his feet. 

"Is—is he hurt?" cried Lutie, from the doorway. 

"No. Plain souse. "

"Where will you take him?"

The man reflected. "It wouldn't be right to take him to his home. Maybehe's got a wife. These fellers beat 'em up when they get like this. "

"A wife? Beat them up—oh, you don't know what you are saying. He—"

At this juncture George straightened out his powerful figure, shook offthe Samaritan and with a loud, inarticulate cry rushed off down thestreet. The driver looked after the retreating figure in utter amazement. 

"By Gosh! Why—why; he ain't any more drunk than I am, " he gasped. "Well, can you beat that? All bunk! It beats thunder what these panhandlers willdo to pick up a dime or two. He was—say, he saw the cop, that's what itwas. Lord, look at him go!"

Tresslyn was racing wildly toward the corner. Lutie, aghast at thisdisgusting exhibition of trickery, watched the flying figure of herhusband. She never knew that she was clinging to the arm of the driver. She only knew that her heart seemed to have turned to lead. As he turnedthe corner and disappeared from view, she found her voice and it seemedthat it was not her own. He had swerved widely and almost lost his feet ashe made the turn. He _was_ drunk! Her heart leaped with joy. He _was_drunk. He had not tried to trick her. 

"Go after him!" she cried out, shaking the man in her agitation. "Findhim! Don't let him get away. I—"

But the policeman was at her elbow. 

"What's the matter here?" he demanded. 

"Panhandler, " said the driver succinctly. 

"Just a poor wretch who—who wanted enough for—for more drink, I suppose, "said Lutie, warily. Her heart was beating violently. She was immenselyrelieved by the policeman's amiable grunt. It signified that the matterwas closed so far as he was concerned. He politely assisted her into thetaxi-cab and repeated her tremulous directions to the driver. As themachine chortled off through the deserted street, she peered through thelittle window at the back. Her apprehensions faded. The officer wasstanding where she had left him. 

Then came Thorpe and Simmy Dodge in the dead hour of night and she learnedthat she had turned away from him when he was desperately ill. Sick andtortured, he had come to her and she had denied him. She looked socrushed, so pathetic that the two men undertook to convince her that shehad nothing to fear, —they would protect her from George!

She smiled wanly, shook her head, and confessed that she did not want tobe protected against him. She wanted to surrender. She wanted _him_ toprotect her. Suddenly she was transformed. She sprang to her feet andfaced them, and she was resolute. Her voice rang with determination, herlips no longer drooped and trembled, and the appeal was gone from hereyes. 

"He must be found, Simmy, " she said imperatively. "Find him and bring himhere to me. This is his home. I want him here. "

The two men went out again, half an hour later, to scour the town forGeorge Tresslyn. They were forced to use every argument at their commandto convince her that it would be highly improper, in more ways than one, to bring the sick man to her apartment. She submitted in the end, but theywere bound by a promise to take him to a hospital and not to the house ofeither his mother or his sister. 

"He belongs to me, " she said simply. "You must do what I tell you to do. They do not want him. I do. When you have found him, call me up, Simmy, and I will come. I shall not go to bed. Thank you, —both of you, —for—for—"She turned away as her voice broke. After a moment she faced them again. "And you will take charge of him, Dr. Thorpe?" she said. "I shall hold youto your promise. There is no one that I trust so much as I do you. "

Thorpe was with the sick man when Simmy arrived at his apartment. Georgewas rolling and tossing and moaning in his delirium, and the doctor's facewas grave. 

"Pneumonia, " he said. "Bad, too, —devilish bad. He cannot be moved, Simmy. "

Simmy did not blink an eye. "Then right here he stays, " he said heartily. "Baffly, we shall have two nurses here for a while, —and we may also haveto put up a young lady relative of Mr. Tresslyn's. Get the rooms ready. ByJove, Brady, he—he looks frightfully ill, doesn't he?" His voice droppedto a whisper. "Is he likely to—to—you know!"

"I think you'd better send for Dr. Bates, " said Braden gravely. "I believehis mother and sister will be better satisfied if you have him in at once, Simmy. "

"But Lutie expressly—"

"I shall do all that I can to redeem my promise to that poor little girl, but we must consider Anne and Mrs. Tresslyn. They may not have the sameconfidence in me that Lutie has. I shall insist on having Dr. Bates calledin. "

"All right, if you insist. But—but you'll stick around, won't you, Brady?"

Thorpe nodded his head. He was watching the sick man's face very closely. 

Half an hour later, Lutie Tresslyn and Anne Thorpe entered the elevator onthe first floor of the building and went up together to the apartment ofSimeon Dodge. Anne had lifted her veil, —a feature in her smart tribute toconvention, —and her lovely features were revealed to the cast-off sister-in-law. For an instant they stared hard at each other. Then Anne, recovering from her surprise, bowed gravely and held out her hand. 

"May we not forget for a little while?" she said. 

Lutie shook her head. "I can't take your hand—not yet, Mrs. Thorpe. It wasagainst me once, and I am afraid it will be against me again. " Shedetected the faintest trace of a smile at the corners of Anne's mouth. Afine line appeared between her eyes. This fine lady could still afford tolaugh at her! "I am going up to take care of my husband, Mrs. Thorpe, " sheadded, a note of defiance in her voice. She was surprised to see thesmile, —a gentle one it was, —deepen in Anne's eyes. 

"That is why I suggested that we try to forget, " she said. 

Lutie started. "You—you do not intend to object to my—" she began, andstopped short, her eyes searching Anne's for the answer to the uncompletedquestion. 

"I am not your enemy, " said Anne quietly. She hesitated and then loweredthe hand that was extended to push the button beside Simmy's door. "Beforewe go in, I think we would better understand each other, Lutie. " She hadnever called the girl by her Christian name before. "I have nothing toapologise for. When you And George were married I did not care a pin, oneway or the other. You meant nothing to me, and I am afraid that Georgemeant but little more. I resented the fact that my mother had to give youa large sum of money. It was money that I could have used very nicelymyself. Now that I look back upon it, I am frank to confess that thereinlies the real secret of my animosity toward you. It didn't in the leastmatter to me whether George married you, or my mother's chambermaid, orthe finest lady in the land. You will be surprised to learn that I lookedupon myself as the one who was being very badly treated at the time. Toput it rather plainly, I thought you were getting from my mother a greatdeal more than you were worth. Forgive me for speaking so frankly, but itis best that you should understand how I felt in those days so that youmay credit me with sincerity now. I shall never admit that you deservedthe thirty thousand dollars you took from us, but I now say that you wereentitled to keep the man you loved and married. I don't care how unworthyyou may have seemed to us, you should not have been compelled to takemoney for something you could not sell—the enduring love of that sick boyin there. My mother couldn't buy it, and you couldn't sell it. You have itstill and always will have it, Lutie. I am glad that you have come to takecare of him. You spoke of him as 'my husband' a moment ago. You wereright. He _is_ your husband. I, for one, shall not oppose you in anythingyou may see fit to do. We do not appear to have been capable of preservingwhat you gave back to us—for better or for worse, if you please, —so Ifancy we'd better turn the job over to you. I hope it isn't too late. Ilove my brother now. I suppose I have always loved him but I overlookedthe fact in concentrating my affection on some one else, —and that some onewas myself. You see I do not spare myself, Lutie, but you are not toassume that I am ashamed of the Anne Tresslyn who was. I petted andcoddled her for years and I alone made her what she was, so I shall notturn against her now. There is a great deal of the old Anne in me stilland I coddle her as much as ever. But I've found out something new abouther that I never suspected before, and it is this new quality that speaksto you now. I ask you to try to forget, Lutie. "

Throughout this long speech Lutie's eyes never left those of the tallyoung woman in black. 

"Why do you call me Lutie?" she asked. 

"Because it is my brother's name for you, " said Anne. 

Lutie lowered her eyes for an instant. A sharp struggle was taking placewithin her. She had failed to see in Anne's eyes the expression that wouldhave made compromise impossible: the look of condescension. Instead, therewas an anxious look there that could not be mistaken. She was in earnest. She could be trusted. The old barrier was coming down. But even as herlips parted to utter the words that Anne wanted to hear, suspicionintervened and Lutie's sore, tried heart cried out:

"You have come here to _claim_ him! You expect me to stand aside and letyou take him—"

"No, no! He is yours. I _did_ come to help him, to nurse him, to be a realsister to him, but—that was before I knew that you would come. "

"I am sorry I spoke as I did, " said Lutie, with a little catch in hervoice. "I—I hope that we may become friends, Mrs. Thorpe. If that shouldcome to pass, I—am sure that I could forget. "

"And you will allow me to help—all that I can?"

"Yes. " Then quickly, jealously: "But he _belongs_ to me. You mustunderstand that, Mrs. Thorpe. "

Anne drew closer and whispered in sudden admiration. "You are really awonderful person, Lutie Carnahan. How _can_ you be so fine after all thatyou have endured?"

"I suppose it is because I too happen to love myself, " said Lutie drily, and turned to press the button. "We are all alike. " Anne laid a hand uponher arm. 

"Wait. You will meet my mother here. She has been notified. She has notforgiven you. " There was a note of uneasiness in her voice. 

Lutie looked at her in surprise. "And what has that to do with it?" shedemanded. 

Then they entered the apartment together. 

CHAPTER XX

George Tresslyn pulled through. 

He was a very sick man, and he wanted to die. That is to say, he wanted todie up to a certain point and then he very much wanted to live. Coming outof his delirium one day he made a most incredible discovery, and at thatvery instant entered upon a dream that was never to end. He saw Lutiesitting at his bedside and he knew that it must be a dream. As she did notfade away then, nor in all the mysterious days that followed, he came tothe conclusion that if he ever did wake up it would be the most horriblething that could happen to him. It was a most grateful and satisfyingdream. It included a wonderful period of convalescence, a delightful andever-increasing appetite, a painless return voyage over a road that hadbeen full of suffering on the way out, a fantastic experience in thematter of legs that wouldn't work and wobbled fearfully, a constant butproperly subdued desire to sing and whistle—oh, it was a glorious dreamthat George was having!

For six weeks he was the uninvited guest of Simmy Dodge. Three of thoseweeks were terrifying to poor Simmy, and three abounded with the greatestjoy he had ever known, for when George was safely round the corner and onthe road to recovery, the hospitality of Simmy Dodge expanded to hithertountried dimensions. Relieved of the weight that had pressed them down toan inconceivable depth, Simmy's spirits popped upward with aneffervescence so violent that there was absolutely no containing them. They flowed all over the place. All day long and most of the night theywere active. He hated to go to bed for fear of missing an opportunity todo something to make everybody happy and comfortable, and he was up soearly in the morning that if he hadn't been in his own house some onewould have sent him back to bed with a reprimand. 

He revelled in the establishment of a large though necessarilydisconnected family circle. The nurses, the doctors, the extra servants, Anne's maid, Anne herself, the indomitable Lutie, and, on occasions, theimpressive Mrs. Tresslyn, —all of these went to make up Simmy's family. 

The nurses were politely domineering: they told him what he could do andwhat he could not do, and he obeyed them with a cheerfulness that musthave shamed them. The doctors put all manner of restrictions upon him; theservants neglected to whisper when discussing their grievances amongthemselves; his French poodle was banished because canine hospitality wasnot one of the niceties, and furthermore it was most annoying to recentacquaintances engaged in balancing well-filled cups of broth in transit;his own luxurious bath-room was seized, his bed-chambers invested, hiscosy living-room turned into a rest room which every one who happened tobe disengaged by day or night felt free to inhabit. He had no privacyexcept that which was to be found in the little back bedroom into which hewas summarily shunted when the occupation began, and he wasn't sure ofbeing entirely at home there. At any time he expected a command toevacuate in favour of an extra nurse or a doctor's assistant. But throughall of it, he shone like a gem of purest ray. 

At the outset he realised that his apartment, commodious when reckoned asa bachelor's abode, was entirely inadequate when it came to accommodatinga company of persons who were not and never could be bachelors. Lutierefused to leave George; and Anne, after a day or two, came to keep hercompany. It was then that Simmy began to reveal signs of rare strategicalability. He invaded the small apartment of his neighbour beyond theelevator and struck a bargain with him. The neighbour and his wife rentedthe apartment to him furnished for an indefinite period and went to Europeon the bonus that Simmy paid. Here Anne and her maid were housed, and herealso Mrs. Tresslyn spent a few nights out of each week. 

He studied the nurses' charts with an avid interest. He knew all there wasto know about temperature, respiration and nourishment; and developing asudden sort of lordly understanding therefrom, he harangued the engineerabout the steam heat, he cautioned the superintendent about noises, and heheld many futile arguments with God about the weather. Something told hima dozen times a day, however, that he was in the way, that he was "aregular Marceline, " and that if Brady Thorpe had any sense at all he wouldorder him out of the house!

He began to resent the speed with which George's convalescence was marked. He was enjoying himself so immensely in his new environment that he hatedto think of going back to the old and hitherto perfect order of existence. When Braden Thorpe and Dr. Bates declared one day that George would beable to go home in a week or ten days, he experienced a surprising andabsolutely inexplicable sinking of the heart. He tried to persuade themthat it would be a mistake to send the poor fellow out inside of a monthor six weeks. That was the trouble with doctors, he said: they haven't anysense. Suppose, he argued, that George were to catch a cold—why, the damp, spring weather would raise the dickens—Anne's house was a drafty old barnof a place, improperly heated, —and any fool could see that if George _did_have a relapse it would go mighty hard with him. Subsequently he soundedthe nurses, severally, on the advisability of abandoning the poor, weakyoung fellow before he was safely out of the woods, and the nurses, whowere tired of the case, informed him that the way George was eating hesoon would be as robust as a dock hand. An appeal to Mrs. Tresslyn broughta certain degree of hope. That lady declared, quite bitterly, thatinasmuch as her son did not seem inclined to return to _her_ home he mightdo a great deal worse than to remain where he was, and it was some timebefore Simmy grasped the full significance of the remark. 

He remembered hearing Lutie say that she was going to take George homewith her as soon as he was able to be moved!

What was he to do with himself after all these people were gone? For thefirst time in his life he really knew what it meant to have a home, andnow it was to be broken up. He saw more of his home in the five or sixweeks that George was there than he had seen of it all told in years. Hestayed at home instead of going to the club or the theatre or to stupiddinner parties. He hadn't the faintest idea that a place where a fellowdid nothing but sleep and eat bacon and eggs could be looked upon as a"home. " He had thought of it only as an apartment, or "diggings. " Now heloved his home and everything that was in it. How he would miss thestealthy blue linen nurses, and the expressionless doctors, and the odourof broths and soups, and the scent of roses, and the swish of petticoats, and the elevating presence of pretty women, and the fragrance of them, andthe sweet chatter of them—Oh my, oh me-oh-my! If George would only getwell in a more leisurely fashion!

Certain interesting events, each having considerable bearing upon thelives of the various persons presented in this narrative, are to bechronicled, but as briefly as possible so that we may get on to theresults. 

Naturally one turns first to the patient himself. He was the magnet thatdrew the various opposing forces together and, in a way, united them in acommon enterprise, and therefore is of first importance. For days his lifehung in the balance. Most of the time he was completely out of his head. It has been remarked that he thought himself to be dreaming when he firstbeheld Lutie at his bedside, and it now becomes necessary to report anentirely different sensation when he came to realise that he was beingattended by Dr. Thorpe. The instant he discovered Lutie he manifested animmense desire to live, and it was this desire that sustained a fearfulshock when his fever-free eyes looked up into the face of his doctor. Terror filled his soul. Almost his first rational words were in the formof a half-whispered question: "For God's sake, can't I get well? Is—is ithopeless?"

Braden was never to forget the anguish in the sick man's eyes, nor thesagging of his limp body as if all of his remaining strength had given waybefore the ghastly fear that assailed him. Thorpe understood. He knew whatit was that flashed through George's brain in that first moment ofintelligence. His heart sank. Was it always to be like this? Were peopleto live in dread of him? His voice was husky as he leaned over and laidhis hand gently upon the damp brow of the invalid. 

"You are going to get well, George. You will be as sound as a rock in notime at all. Trust me, old fellow, —and don't worry. "

"But that's what they always say, " whispered George, peering straight intothe other's eyes. "Doctors always say that. What are you doing here, Brady? Why have you been called in to—"

"Hush! You're all right. Don't get excited. I have been with you from thestart. Ask Lutie—or Anne. They will tell you that you are all right. "

"I don't want to die, " whined George. "I only want a fair chance. Give mea chance, Brady. I'll show you that I—"

"My God!" fell in agonised tones from Thorpe's lips, and he turned away asone condemned. 

When Lutie and Anne came into the room soon afterward, they found Georgein a state of great distress. He clutched Lutie's hand in his strongfingers and drew her down close to him so that he could whisper furtivelyin her ear. 

"Don't let any one convince you that I haven't a chance to get well, Lutie. Don't let him talk you into anything like that. I won't give myconsent, Lutie, —I swear to God I won't. He can't do it without my consent. I've just got to get well. I can do it if I get half a chance. I depend onyou to stand out against any—"

Lutie managed to quiet him. Thorpe had gone at once to her with the storyand she was prepared. For a long time she talked to the frightened boy, and at last he sank back with a weak smile on his lips, confidencepartially restored. 

Anne stood at the head of the bed, out of his range of vision. Her heartwas cold within her. It ached for the other man who suffered and could notcry out. _This_ was but the beginning for him. 

In a day or two George's attitude toward Braden underwent a completechange, but all the warmth of his enthusiastic devotion could not driveout the chill that had entered Thorpe's heart on that never-to-be-forgotten morning. 

Then there were the frequent and unavoidable meetings of Anne and herformer lover. For the better part of three weeks Thorpe occupied a room inSimmy's apartment, to be constantly near his one and only patient. Hesuffered no pecuniary loss in devoting all of his time and energy to youngTresslyn. Ostensibly he was in full charge of the case, but in reality hedeferred to the opinions and advice of Dr. Bates, who came once a day. Hehad the good sense to appreciate his own lack of experience, and therebyearned the respect and confidence of the old practitioner. 

It was quite natural that he and Anne should come in contact with eachother. They met in the sick-room, in the drawing-room, and frequently attable. There were times during the darkest hours in George's illness whenthey stood side by side in the watches of the night. But not once in allthose days was there a word bearing on their own peculiar relationshiputtered by either of them. It was plain that she had the greatestconfidence in him, and he came, ere long, to regard her as a dependableand inspired help. Unlike the distracted, remorseful Lutie, she was thesource of great inspiration to those who worked over the sick man. Thorpemarvelled at first and then fell into the way of resorting to her forsupport and encouragement. He had discovered that she was not playing agame. 

Templeton Thorpe's amazing will was not mentioned by either of them, although each knew that the subject lay uppermost in the mind of theother. The newspapers printed columns about the instrument. Reporters wholaid in wait for Braden Thorpe, however, obtained no satisfaction. He hadnothing to say. The same reporters fell upon Anne and wanted to know whenshe expected to start proceedings to have the will set aside. They seemedastonished to hear that there was to be no contest on her part. She couldnot tell them anything about the plans or intentions of Dr. Thorpe, andshe had no opinion as to the ultimate effect of the "Foundation" upon theConstitution of the United States or the laws of God!

As a matter of fact, she was more eager than any one else to know thestand that Braden intended to take on the all-absorbing question. Notwithstanding her peculiar position as executrix of the will under whichthe conditions were created, she could not bring herself to the point ofdiscussing the salient feature of the document with him. And so there thematter stood, unmentioned by either of them, and absolutely unsettled sofar as the man most deeply involved was concerned. 

Then came the day when Thorpe announced that it was no longer necessaryfor him to impose upon Simmy's hospitality, and that he was returning thatevening to his hotel. George was out of danger. It was then that he saidto Anne:

"You have been wonderful, Anne. I want to thank you for what you have doneto help me. You might have made the situation impossible, but—well, youdidn't, that's all. I am glad that you and that poor little woman in therehave become such good friends. You can do a great deal to help her—andGeorge. She is a brick, Anne. You will not lose anything by standing byher now. As I said before, you can always reach me by telephone ifanything goes wrong, and I'll drop in every morning to—"

"I want you to know, Braden, that I firmly believe you saved George forus. I shall not try to thank you, however. You did your duty, of course. We will let Lutie weep on your neck, if you don't mind, and you may takemy gratitude for granted. " There was a slightly satirical note in hervoice. 

His figure stiffened. "I don't want to be thanked, " he said, —"not even byLutie. You must know that I did not come into this case from choice. Butwhen Lutie insisted I—well, there was nothing else to do. "

"Would you have come if I had asked you?" she inquired, and was very muchsurprised at herself. 

"No, " he answered. "You would have had no reason for selecting me, and Iwould have told you as much. And to that I would have added a very goodreason why you shouldn't. "

"What do you mean?"

"I may as well be frank, Anne. People, —our own friends, —are bound todiscuss us pretty thoroughly from now on. No matter how well we mayunderstand each other and the situation, the rest of the world will notunderstand, simply because it doesn't want to do so. It will wait, —ratherimpatiently, I fear, —for the chance to say, 'I told you so. ' Of course, you are sensible enough to have thought of all this, still I don't see whyI shouldn't speak of it to you. "

"Has it occurred to you that our friends may be justified in thinking thatI _did_ call upon you to take this case, Braden?" she asked quietly. 

He frowned. "I daresay that is true. I hadn't thought of it—"

"They also believe that I summoned you to take charge of my husband a fewweeks ago. No one has advised the world to the contrary. And now that youare here, in the same house with me, what do you suppose they will say?" Aqueer little smile played about her lips, a smile of diffidence andapology. 

He gave her a quick look of inquiry. "Surely no one will—"

"They will say the Widow Thorpe's devotion to her brother was not her onlyexcuse for moving into good old Simmy's apartment, and they will also saythat Dr. Thorpe must be singularly without practice in order to give allof his time to a solitary case. "

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Anne, " he cried impatiently, "give people creditfor having a little commonsense and charity. They—"

"I don't give them credit for having anything of the kind, " she saidcoolly, "when it comes to discussing their fellow creatures. I hope youare not distressed, Braden. As you have said, people will discuss us. Wecannot escape the consequences of being more or less public institutions, you and I. Of course they will talk about our being here together. I knewthat when I came here three weeks ago. "

"Then why did you come?" he demanded. 

She replied with a directness that shamed him. "Because I do not wantpeople to talk about Lutie. That is one reason. Another is that I wantedto do my share in looking after George. " Suddenly her eyes narrowed. "You—you do not imagine that I—I—you couldn't have thought _that_ of me, Braden. "

He shook his head slowly. "If I had thought _that_, Anne, I should nothave told you a moment ago that you were wonderful, " he said. 

Few women would have been content to let it go at that. It is theprerogative of woman to expect more than a crumb, and, if it is notforthcoming from others, to gratify the appetite by feeding confidentlyupon herself. In this instance, Anne might have indulged herself in thecomfort of a few tremulous words of self-justification, and even thoughthey drew nothing in exchange, she would at least have had the pleasure ofuttering them, and the additional satisfaction of knowing that he wouldhave to listen to them, whether or no. But she was far too intelligent forthat. Her good sense overcame the feminine craving; she surprised him byholding her tongue. 

He waited for a second or two and then said: "Good-bye. I shall drop into-morrow to see George. "

She held out her hand. "He swears by you, " she said, with a smile. 

For the first time in more than a year, their hands touched. Up to thismoment there had not been the remotest evidence of an inclination on thepart of either to bridge the chasm that lay between them. The handclaspwas firm but perfunctory. She had herself under perfect control. It is ofimportance to note, however, that later on she pressed her hand to herlips, and that there were many times during the day when she looked at itas if it were something unreal and apart from her own physical being. 

"Thank heaven he doesn't feel toward me as he did last week, " he saidfervently. "I shall never get over that awful moment. I shall never forgetthe look of despair that—"

"I know, " she interrupted. "I saw it too. But it is gone now, so why makea ghost of it? Don't let it haunt you, Braden. "

"It is easy to say that I shouldn't let it—"

"If you are going to begin your life's work by admitting that you arethin-skinned, you'll not get very far, my friend, " she said seriously. "Good-bye. "

She smiled faintly as she turned away. He was never quite sure whether itwas encouragement or mockery that lay in her dark eyes when she favouredhim with that parting glance. He stood motionless until she disappearedthrough the door that opened into the room where George was lying; hiseyes followed her slender, graceful figure until she was gone from sight. His thoughts leaped backward to the time when he had held that lovely, throbbing, responsive body close in his arms, to the time when he hadkissed those, sensitive lips and had found warmth and passion in them, tothe time when he had drunk in the delicate perfume of her hair and theseductive fragrance of her body. That same slender, adorable body had beenpressed close to his, and he had trembled under the enchantment it held. 

He went away plagued and puzzled by an annoying question that kept onrepeating itself without answer; was it in his power now to rouse the oldflame in her blood, to revive the tender fires that once consumed hersenses when he caressed her? Would she be proof against him if he set outto reconquer? She seemed so serene, so sure of herself. Was it a pose orhad love really died within her?

By no means the least important of the happenings in Simmy's house was theshort but decisive contest that took place between Lutie and Mrs. Tresslyn. They met first in the sick-room, and the shock was entirely one-sided. It was George's mother who sustained it. She had not expected tofind the despised "outcast" there. For once her admirable self-control wasnear to being shattered. If she had been permitted to exercise the rightof speech at that crucial moment, she would have committed theirretrievable error of denouncing the brazen creature in the presence ofdisinterested persons. Afterwards she thanked her lucky stars for thecircumstances which compelled her to remain angrily passive, for she wassoon to realise what such an outburst would have brought upon her head. 

She took it out on Anne, as if Anne were wholly to blame for the outrage. Anne had the temerity, —the insolence, Mrs. Tresslyn called it, —to adviseher to make the best of a situation that could not be helped. She heldforth at some length for her daughter's benefit about "common decency, "and was further shocked by Anne's complacency. 

"I think she's behaving with uncommon decency, " said Anne. "It isn't everyone who would turn the other cheek like this. Let her alone. She's thebest thing that can happen to George. "

"My dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Tresslyn, aghast. "Of course, I shall not cometo this apartment while she is here. That is out of the question. "

"Inasmuch as Lutie was here first and means to stay, I am afraid you willhave to reconsider that decision, mother, —provided you want to be nearGeorge. "

"Did you speak of her as 'Lutie'?" demanded Mrs. Tresslyn, staring. 

"I don't know what else to call her, " said Anne. 

"Simeon Dodge will appreciate my feelings, —my position—"

"Simmy is very much on her side, so I'd advise you to steer clear of him, "said Anne impatiently. "Now, mother dear, don't upset things here. Don'tmake a fuss. Don't—"

"A fuss?" cried her mother, trying hard not to believe her ears. 

"Don't make it any harder for poor old Simmy. He is in for a rough time ofit. Tresslyns everywhere! It isn't a lovely prospect, you know. He will befed up with us before—And, mother, don't overlook the fact that George isvery ill. He may not pull through. He—"

"Of course he will get well. He's as strong as an ox. Don't be silly. "

The next day she and Lutie met in the library and had it out, —briefly, asI said before, but with astounding clarity. Mrs. Tresslyn swept into thelibrary at four in the afternoon, coming direct from her home, where, asshe afterwards felt called upon to explain in self-defence, the telephonewas aggravatingly out of order, —and that was why she hadn't called up toinquire!—(It is so often the case when one really wants to use the stupidthing!) She was on the point of entering the sick-room when Lutie came upfrom behind. 

"I'm afraid you can't go in just now, Mrs. Tresslyn, " she said, firmly andyet courteously. 

George's mother started as if stung. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and her tone wasso declaratory that it was not necessary to add the unspoken—"it's _you_, is it?"

"He is asleep, " said Lutie gently. "They won't even allow _me_ to go in. "

This was too much for Mrs. Tresslyn. She transfixed the slight, tired-eyedyoung woman with a look that would have chilled any one else to thebone—the high-bred look that never fails to put the lowly in their places. 

"Indeed, " she said, with infinite irony in her voice. "This is MissCarnahan, I believe?" She lifted her lorgnon as a further aid toinspection. 

"I am the person you have always spoken of as Miss Carnahan, " said Lutiecalmly. Throughout the brief period in which she had been legally the wifeof George Tresslyn, Lutie was never anything but Miss Carnahan to hermother-in-law. Mrs. Tresslyn very carefully forbore giving her daughter-in-law a respectable name. "I was afraid you might have forgotten me. "

"You will forgive me if I confess that I have tried very hard to forgetyou, Miss Carnahan, " said the older woman. 

"It isn't my fault that you haven't been able to do so, " said Lutie. "Please! you are not to go in. " Mrs. Tresslyn's hand was turning the door-knob. 

"I fear you are forgetting who I am, " said she coldly. 

"Oh, I know you're his mother, and all that, " said Lutie, breathlessly. "Ido not question your right to be with your son. That isn't the point. Thenurse has ordered your daughter and me out of the room for awhile. It isthe first wink of sleep he has had in heaven knows how long. So you cannotgo in and disturb him, Mrs. Tresslyn. "

Mrs. Tresslyn's hand fell away from the knob. For a moment she regardedthe tense, agitated girl in silence. 

"Has it occurred to you to feel—if you can feel at all—that you may not bewanted here, Miss Carnahan?" she said, deliberately cruel. She toweredabove her adversary. 

"Will you be kind enough to come away from the door?" said Lutie, whollyunimpressed. "It isn't very thick, and the sound of voices may penetrate—"

"Upon my soul!" exclaimed Mrs. Tresslyn, staring. "Do you presume to—"

"Not quite so loud, if you please. Come over here if you want to talk tome, Mrs. Tresslyn. Nurse's orders, not mine. I don't in the least mindwhat you say to me, or what you call me, or anything, but I do entreat youto think of George. "

Greatly to her own surprise, Mrs. Tresslyn moved away from the door, and, blaming herself inwardly for the physical treachery that impelled her todo so, sat down abruptly in a chair on the opposite side of the room, quite as far removed from the door as even Lutie could have desired. 

Lutie did not sit down. She came over and stood before the woman who hadonce driven her out. Her face was white and her eyes were heavy from lossof sleep, but her voice was as clear and sharp as a bell. 

"We may as well understand each other, Mrs. Tresslyn, " she said quietly. "Or, perhaps I'd better say that you may as well understand me. I stillbelieve myself to be George's wife. A South Dakota divorce may be allright so far as the law is concerned, but it will not amount to_that_"—she snapped her fingers—"when George and I conclude to set itaside. I went out to that God-forsaken little town and stayed there fornearly a year, eating my heart out until I realised that it wasn't at allappetising. I lived up to my bargain, however. I made it my place ofresidence and I got my decree. I tore that hateful piece of paper up lastnight before I came here. You paid me thirty thousand dollars to giveGeorge up, and he allowed you to do it. Now I have just this to say, Mrs. Tresslyn: if George gets well, and I pray to God that he may, I am goingback to him, and I don't care whether we go through the form of marryingall over again or not. He is my husband. I am his wife. There never was anhonest cause for divorce in our case. He wasn't as brave as I'd have likedhim to be in those days, but neither was I. If I had been as brave as I amnow, George wouldn't be lying in there a wreck and a failure. You may takeit into your head to ask why I am here. Well, now you know. I'm here totake care of my husband. "

Mrs. Tresslyn's steady, uncompromising gaze never left the face of thespeaker. When Lutie paused after that final declaration, she waited amoment for her to resume. 

"There is, of course, " said she levelly, "the possibility that my son maynot get well. "

Lutie's eyes narrowed. "You mean that you'd rather see him die than—"

"Miss Carnahan, I am compelled to speak brutally to you. I paid you togive up my son. You took the money I proffered and the divorce I arrangedfor. You agreed to—"

"Just a moment, please. I took the money and—and _got out_ in order togive George a chance to marry some one else and be happy. That was whatyou wanted, and what _you_ promised me. You promised me that if I gave himup he would find some one else more worthy, that he would forget me and behappy, and that I would be forgotten inside of six months. Well, none ofthese things has happened. He hasn't found any one else, he still lovesme, and he isn't happy. I am going back on my bargain, Mrs. Tresslyn, because you haven't carried out your part of it. If you think it was easyfor me to give him up when I did, you are very much mistaken. But thatwouldn't interest you, so I'll say no more about it. We'll come down tothe present, if you don't mind, and see where we stand; George needs menow, but no more than he has needed me all along. I intend to stick to himlike a leech from this time on, Mrs. Tresslyn. You had your chance to make_your_ kind of a man out of him, and I guess you'll admit that you failed. Well, I'm going to begin where you were content to leave off. You treatedme like a dog, and God knows you've treated George but little better, although perhaps you didn't know what you were doing to him. He is downand out. You didn't expect things to turn out as they have. You thoughtI'd be the one to go to the devil. Now I'll put it up to you squarely. Istill have the thirty thousand you gave me. It is nicely invested. I havelived comfortably on the income. A few years ago I sold George to you forthat amount. Well, I'll buy him back from you to-morrow. "

"Buy my son from me?" gasped Mrs. Tresslyn. 

"You made it a business proposition three years ago, so I'll do the samenow. I want to be fair and square with you. I'm going to take him back inany event, but I shall be a great deal better satisfied if you will let mepay for him. "

Mrs. Tresslyn had recovered herself by this time. She gave the youngerwoman a frosty smile. 

"And I suppose you will expect to get him at a considerably reducedprice, " she said sarcastically, "in view of the fact that he is damagedgoods. "

"You shall have back every penny, Mrs. Tresslyn, " said Lutie, withdignity. 

"How ingenuous you are. Do you really believe that I will _sell_ my son toyou?"

"I sold him to you, " said the other, stubbornly. 

Mrs. Tresslyn arose. "I think we would better bring this interview to anend, Miss Carnahan. I shall spare you the opinion I have formed of youin—"

"Just as you please, Mrs. Tresslyn, " said Lutie calmly. "We'll considerthe matter closed. George comes back to me at my own price. I—"

"My son shall never marry you!" burst out Mrs. Tresslyn, furiously. 

Lutie smiled. "It's good to see you mad, Mrs. Tresslyn. It proves that youare like other people, after all. Give yourself a chance, and you'll findit just as easy to be glad as it is to be mad, now that you've let go ofyourself a little bit. "

"You are insufferable! Be good enough to stand aside. I am going in to myson. He—"

"If you are so vitally interested in him, how does it happen that you waituntil four o'clock in the afternoon to come around to inquire about him?I've been here on the job since last night—and so has your daughter. Butyou? Where have you been all this time, Mrs. Tresslyn?"

"God in heaven!" gasped Mrs. Tresslyn, otherwise speechless. 

"If I had a son I'd be with him day and night at—"

"The telephone was out of order, " began Mrs. Tresslyn before she couldproduce the power to check the impulse to justify herself in the eyes ofthis brazen tormentor. 

"Indeed?" said Lutie politely. 

"My son shall never marry you, " repeated the other, helplessly. 

"Well, " began Lutie slowly, a bright spot in each cheek, "all I have tosay is that he will be extremely unfair to your grandchildren, Mrs. Tresslyn, if he doesn't. "

CHAPTER XXI

A ground-floor window in an apartment building in Madison Avenue, north ofFifty-ninth street, displayed in calm black lettering the name "Dr. BradenL. Thorpe, M. D. " On the panel of a door just inside the main entrancethere was a bit of gold-leaf information to the effect that office hourswere from 9 to 10 A. M. And from 2 to 4 P. M. There was a reception room anda consultation room in the suite. The one was quite as cheerless anduninviting as any other reception room of its kind, and the otherpossessed as many of the strange, terrifying and more or lessmisunderstood devices for the prolongation of uncertainty in the minds ofthe uneasy. During office-hours there was also a doctor there. Nothing wasmissing from this properly placarded and admirably equippedoffice, —nothing at all except the patients!

About the time that George Tresslyn fared forth into the world again, Thorpe hung out his shingle and sat himself down under his own gates towait for the unwary. But no one came. The lame, the halt and even theblind had visions that were not to be dissipated by anything so trivial asa neat little sign in an office window. The name of Braden Thorpe was onthe lips of every one. It was mentioned, not with horror or disgust, butas one speaks of the exalted genius whose cure for tuberculosis hasfailed, or of the man who found the North Pole by advertising in thenewspapers, or of the books of Henry James. He was a person to steer clearof, that was all. 

Every newspaper in the country discussed him editorially, paragraphically, and as an article of news. For weeks after the death of Templeton Thorpeand the publication of his will, not a day passed in which Braden Thorpe'soutlandish assault upon civilisation failed to receive its country-wideattention in the press. And when editorial writers, medical sharps, legalexperts and grateful reporters failed to avail themselves of the fullmeasure of space set apart for their gluttony, ubiquitous "ConstantReader" rushed into print under many aliases and enjoyed himself as neverbefore. 

In the face of all this uproar, brought about by the posthumous utteranceof old Templeton Thorpe, Braden had the courage, —or the temerity, if thatis a truer word, —to put his name in a window and invite further attentionto himself. 

The world, without going into the matter any deeper than it usually does, assumed that he who entered the office of Dr. Thorpe would never come outof it alive!

The fact that Thorpe advocated something that could not conceivably becomea reality short of two centuries made no impression on the world and hisfamily. Dr. Thorpe believed that it was best to put sufferers out of theirmisery, and that was all there was to be said about the matter so far asMr. Citizen was concerned. 

It would appear, therefore, that all of Templeton Thorpe's ideas, hopesand plans concerning the future of his grandson were to be shattered byhis own lack of judgment and foresight. Without intending to do so he haddeprived the young man of all that had been given him in the way ofeducation, training and character. Young Thorpe might have lived down orsurmounted the prejudice that his own revolutionary utterances created, but he could never overcome the stupendous obstacle that now lay in hispath. 

If Mr. Thorpe had hoped to create, or believed sincerely that it waspossible to create, a force capable of overpowering the natural instinctsof man, he had set for himself a task that could have but one result sofar as the present was concerned, and it was in the present that BradenThorpe lived, very far removed from the future that Mr. Thorpe appeared tobe seeing from a point close by as he lay on his death-bed. He hadcompletely destroyed the present usefulness of his grandson. He had put ablight upon him, and now he was sleeping peacefully where mockery couldnot reach him nor reason hold him to account. 

The letter that the old man left for his grandson's guidance was anaffectionate apology, very skilfully worded, for having, in a way, leftthe bulk of his fortune to the natural heir instead of to the great, consuming public. True, he did not put this in so many words, but it wasobvious to the young man, if not to others who saw and read, that he wasvery clear in his mind as to the real purport and intention of the clausecovering the foundation. He was careful to avoid the slightest expressionthat might have been seized upon by the young man as evidence of treacheryon his part in view of the solemn promise he had made to leave to him noportion of his estate. On the surface, this letter was a simple, directappeal to Braden to abide by the terms of the will, and to consider thetrust as sacred in spite of the absence of restrictions. To Braden, therewas but one real meaning to the will: the property was his to have, holdor dispose of as he saw fit. He was at liberty either to use every dollarof it in carrying out the expressed sentiments of the testator, or to sitback luxuriously and console himself with the thought that nothing wasreally expected of him. 

The Foundation that received such wide-spread notice, and brought downupon his head, not the wrath but the ridicule of his fellow beings, wasnot to serve in any sense as a memorial to the man who provided the moneywith which the work was to be carried on. As a matter of fact, oldTempleton Thorpe took very good care to stipulate plainly that it was notto be employed to any such end. He forbade the use of his name in anycapacity except as one of the _supporters_ of the movement. The wholeworld rose up at first and heaped anathemas on the name of TempletonThorpe, and then, swiftly recovering its amiable tolerance of fools, forgot the dead and took its pleasure in "steering clear of the man whowas left to hold the bag of gold, " as some of the paragraphers would haveit. 

The people forgot old Templeton, and they also became a bit hazy about thecardinal principle of the Foundation, much as they forget other disasters, but they did not forget to look upon Braden Thorpe as a menace to mankind. 

And so it was that after two months of waiting, he closed his office forthe summer and disappeared from the city. He had not treated a solitarypatient, nor had he been called in consultation by a single surgeon of hisacquaintance, although many of them professed friendship for andconfidence in him. 

Six weeks later Simmy Dodge located his friend in a small coast town inMaine, practically out of the reach of tourists and not at all accessibleto motorists. He had taken board and lodging with a needy villager who wasstill honest, and there he sat and brooded over the curse that his ownintelligence had laid upon him. He had been there for a month or morebefore he lifted his head, figuratively speaking, to look at the worldagain, —and he found it still bright and sparkling despite his desire tohave it otherwise in order that he might be recompensed for his mood. Thenit was that he wrote to Simmy Dodge, asking him to sell the furnishingsand appliances in his office, sublet the rooms, and send to him as soon aspossible the proceeds of the sale. He confessed frankly and in hisstraightforward way that he was hard up and needed the money!

Now, it should be remembered that Braden Thorpe had very little means ofhis own, a small income from his mother's estate being all that hepossessed. He had been dependent upon his grandfather up to the day hedied. Years had been spent in preparing him for the personal achievementsthat were to make him famous and rich by his own hand. Splendid abilityand unquestioned earning power were the result of Templeton Thorpe's faithin the last of his race. But nothing was to come of it. His abilityremained but his earning power was gone. He was like a splendid enginefrom which the motive power has been shut off. 

For weeks after leaving New York he had seen the world blackly througheyes that grasped no perspective. But he was young, he was made of theflesh that fights, and the spirit that will not down. He looked up fromthe black view that had held his attention so long, and smiled. It was nota gay smile but one in which there was defiant humour. After all, whyshouldn't he smile? These villagers smiled cheerfully, and what had theyin their narrow lives to cause them to see the world brightly? He was noworse off than they. If they could be content to live outside the world, why shouldn't he be as they? He was big and strong and young. The fellowswho went out to sea in the fishing boats were no stronger, no better thanhe. He could do the things that they were doing, and they sang while theywent to and from their work. 

It was the reviving spirit in him that opened his eyes to the lowly joyssurrounding him. He found himself thinking with surprising interest thathe could do what these men were doing and do it well, and after all whatmore can be expected of a man than that he should do some one thing well?He did not realise at the time that this small, mean ambition to surpassthese bold fishermen was nothing less than the resurrection of dead hopes. 

And so, when Simmy Dodge walked in upon him one day, expecting to find abeaten, discouraged skulker, he was confronted by a sun-browned, bare-armed, bright-eyed warrior whose smile was that of the man who neverlaughs, —the grim smile of him who thinks. 

The lines in his face had deepened under the influence of sun and wind;there was a new, almost unnatural ruggedness about the man Simmy had seenless than two months before. The cheeks had the appearance of being sunkenand there was an even firmer look to the strong chin and jaws than in theso recent past. Simmy looked at this new, hardy face and wondered whethertwo months in the rough world would do as much in proportion for his ownself-despised countenance. 

Thorpe had been up since five o'clock in the morning. For two weeks he hadstarted off every morning at that hour with his landlord for thetimberlands above the town, where they spent the day hewing out the sillsand beams for a new boat-house. Unskilled at such labor, his duties werenot those of the practised workman, but rather those of the "handy man"upon whom falls the most arduous tasks as a rule. Thorpe's sinews werestrained to the utmost in handling the long, unwieldy trunks of the fallentrees; his hands were blistered and his legs bruised, but the splendidmuscles were no longer sore, nor was he so fatigued at day's-end that hecould have "dropped in his tracks" right joyfully, —as he had felt likedoing in the first week of his toiling. 

"Well, I'll be jiggered, " said Simmy, still holding Thorpe's hand as hebacked away from him the better to take in this new and strange creaturein overalls. Thorpe and his grizzled host had just come down from thewoods with a load of pine logs, and had found the trim, immaculate littleNew Yorker waiting for them at the breakwater, directed thither by thehousewife in the winding lane that was called High Street. "By the way, isyour name Thorpe?" he added quizzically. 

"Yep, " said the graduate of three great universities, gripping the littleman's hand a trifle harder. "All that is left of me is named Thorpe, Simmy. "

"Have you—hired out as a—Good Lord, Brady, you're not as hard up as allthat, are you?" Simmy's face was bleak with concern. 

"I'm doing it for the fun of the thing, " said Thorpe. "Next week I'm goingout with the boats. I say, Simmy, have you a cigarette about your person?I haven't had a—"

Half an hour later, Simmy was seated in the cool little front porch withits screen of vines, the scent of the sea filling his sensitive nostrils, and he was drinking buttermilk. 

"Now, see here, Brady, it's all damned tommyrot, " he was saying, —and hehad said something of the kind several times before in the course of theirearnest conversation. "There's just one course open to you, and that's theright one. You've got to come back to New York and look people in the eyeand tell 'em to go to Gehenna if they don't like what you're doing. Youcan't go on living like this, no matter how much you love it now. You'renot cut out for this sort of thing. Lordy, if I was as big and brutallooking as you are at this minute I'd stand up for myself against—"

"But you will not understand, " repeated Thorpe doggedly. "If myattainments, as you call them, are to be of no value to me in helpingmankind, what is there left for me to do but this? Didn't I have enough ofit in those horrible two months down there to prove to me that they hateme? They—"

"You weren't so thin skinned as all this when you were writing thoseinspired articles of yours, were you? Confound you, Brady, you invited allof this, you brought it down upon your head with all that nonsenseabout—why, it was you who converted old Templeton Thorpe and here you arerunning away like a 'white-head. ' Haven't you any back-bone?"

"That's all very well, Simmy, but of what value is a back-bone in a caselike mine? If I had ten back-bones I couldn't compel people to come to mefor treatment or advice. They are afraid of me. I am a doctor, a surgeon, a friend to all men. But if they will not believe that I am their friend, how can I be of service to them?"

"You'll get patients, and plenty of 'em too, if you'll just hang on andwait. They'll come to know that you wouldn't kill a cockroach if you couldhelp it. You'll—what's the matter?" He broke off suddenly with this sharpquestion. A marked pallor had come over Thorpe's sunburnt face. 

"Nothing—nothing at all, " muttered the other. "The heat up there in thewoods—"

"You must look out for that, old boy, " said Simmy anxiously. "Go slow. You're only a city feller, as they'd say up here. What a God-forsakenplace it is! Not more than two hundred miles from Boston and yet I was awhole day getting here. "

"It is peaceful, Simmy, " said Thorpe. 

"I grant you that, by Jove. A fellow could walk in the middle of thestreet here for a solid year without being hit by an automobile. But as Iwas saying, you can make a place for yourself—"

"I should starve, old fellow. You forget that I am a poor man. "

"Rats! You've got twenty-five thousand dollars a year, if you'll only besensible. There isn't another man in the United States who would be asfinicky about it as you are, no matter how full of ideals and principleshe may be stuffed. "

Thorpe looked up suddenly. His jaw was set hard and firm once more. "Don'tyou know what people would say about me if I were to operate and thepatient died?—as some of them do, you know. They would say that I did itdeliberately. I couldn't afford to lose in a single instance, Simmy. Icouldn't take the chance that other surgeons are compelled to take in agreat many cases. One failure would be sufficient. One—"

"See here, you've just got to look at things squarely, Braden. You owesomething to your grandfather if not to yourself. He left all that moneyfor a certain, definite purpose. You can't chuck it. You've got to come totaw. You say that he took this means of leaving the money to you, that thetrust thing is all piffle, and all that sort of thing. Well, suppose thatit is true, what kind of a fool would you be to turn up your nose at sixmillion dollars? There are all kinds of ways of looking at it. In thefirst place, he didn't leave it to you outright. It _is_ a trust, or afoundation, and it has a definite end in view. You are the sole trustee, that's the point on which you elect to stick. You are to be allowed tohandle this vast fortune as your judgment dictates, _as a trustee_, mindyou. You forget that he fixed your real position rather clearly when hestipulated that you were to have a salary of twenty-five thousand dollarsa year, and fees as a trustee. That doesn't look as though he left it toyou without strings, does it?"

For an hour they argued the great question. Simmy did not pretend that heaccepted Braden's theories; in fact, he pronounced them shocking. Still, he contended, that was neither here nor there. Braden believed in them, and it wasn't any affair of his, after all. 

"I don't believe it is right for man to try to do God's work, " said he, inexplaining his objections. "But it doesn't matter what I think about it, old chap, so don't mind me. "

"Can't you understand, Simmy, that I advocate a simple, direct means ofrelieving the—"

"Sure, I understand, " broke in Simmy agreeably. 

"Does God send the soldiers into battle, does he send the condemned man tothe gallows? Man does that, doesn't he? If it is God's work to drop asmall child into a boiling vat by accident, and if He fails to kill thatchild at once, why shouldn't it be the work of man to complete the job asquickly as possible? We shoot down the soldiers. Is that God's work? Wehang the murderer. Is that God's work? Emperors and kings conduct theirwars in the name of God and thousands of God's creatures go down to death. Do you believe that God approves of this slaughter of the strong andhardy? God doesn't send the man to the gallows nor the soldier to thefighting line. Man does that, and he does it because he has the power todo it, and he lives serene in the consolation that the great, good Godwill not hold him to account for what he has done. We legalise the killingof the strong; but not for humane reasons. Why shouldn't we legalise thekilling of the weak for humane reasons? It may interest you to know, Simmy, that we men have more merciful ways of ending life than God Himselfdirects. Why prolong life when it means agony that cannot be ended exceptby the death that so certainly waits a few days or weeks beyond—"

"How can you be sure that a man is going to die? Doctors very frequentlysay that a person has no chance whatever, and then the fellow fools 'emand gets well. "

"I am not speaking of such cases. I only speak of the cases where therecan be no doubt. There are such cases, you see. I would let Death take itstoll, just as it has always done, and I would fight for my patient untilthe last breath was gone from his body. Two weeks ago a child was gored bya bull back here in the country. It was disembowelled. That child livedfor many hours, —and suffered. That's what I mean, in substance. I toobelieve in the old maxim, —'while there's life there's hope. ' That is thefoundation on which our profession is built. A while ago you spoke of theextremely aged as possible victims of my theories. I suppose you meant toask me if I would include them in my list. God forbid! To me there isnothing more beautiful than a happy, healthy, contented old age. We loveour old people. If we love them we do not think of them as old. We wantthem to live, —just as I shall want to live, and you, Simmy. And we wantthem to die when their time comes, by God's hand not man's, for God doesgive them a peaceful, glorious end. But we don't want them to suffer, anymore than we would want the young to suffer, I loved my grandfather. Deathwas a great boon to him. He wanted to die. But all old men do not want todie. They—"

"We're not getting anywhere with this kind of talk, " interrupted Simmy. "The sum and substance is this: you would put it in the power of a few mento destroy human life on the representation of a few doctors. If thesedoctors said—"

"And why not? We put it into the power of twelve men to send a man to thegallows on the testimony of witnesses who may be lying like thieves. Wetake the testimony of doctors as experts in our big murder trials. If webelieve some of them we hang the man because they say he is sane. On theother hand we frequently acquit the guilty man if they say he's insane. "

Simmy squinted a half-closed eye, calculatingly, judicially. "My dearfellow, the insane asylums in this country to-day hold any number ofreasonably sane inmates, sent there by commissions which perhapsunintentionally followed out the plans of designing persons who wereactuated solely by selfish and avaricious motives. Control of greatproperties falls into the hands of conspiring relatives simply because ithappened to be an easy matter to get some one snugly into a madhouse. " Hesaid no more. Braden was allowed to draw his own conclusions. 

"Oh, I dare say people will go on putting obstacles out of their way tillthe end of time, " said he coolly. "If I covet your wife or your ass oryour money-bags I put poison in your tea and you very obligingly die, andall that the law can do is to send me after you as soon as the lawyershave got through with me. That is no argument, Simmy. That sort of thingwill go on forever. "

Finally Thorpe settled back in his chair resignedly, worn out by thepersistent argument of his tormentor. 

"Well, suppose that I agree with all you say, —what then? Suppose that Itake up my burden, as you say I should, and set out to bring the worldaround to my way of thinking, where am I to begin and how?"

Simmy contrived to suppress the sigh of relief that rose to his lips. Thiswas making headway, after all. Things looked brighter. 

"My dear fellow, it will take you a good many years to even make abeginning. You can't go right smack up against the world and say: 'Here, you, look sharp! I'm going to hit you in the eye. ' In the first place, youwill have to convince the world that you are a great, big man in yourprofession. You will have to cure ten thousand people before you can makethe world believe that you are anybody at all. Then people will listen toyou and what you say will have some effect. You can't do anything now. Twenty years from now, when you are at the top of your profession, youwill be in a position to do something. But in the meantime you will haveto make people understand that you can cure 'em if anybody can, so thatwhen you say _you_ can't cure 'em, they'll know it's final. I'm not askingyou to renounce your ideas. You can even go on talking about them andwriting to the newspapers and all that sort of thing, if you want to, butyou've got to build up a reputation for yourself before you can begin tomake use of all this money along the lines laid down for you. But first ofall you must make people say that in spite of your theories you are apractical benefactor and not a plain, ordinary crank. Go on sowing theseed if you will, and then when the time comes found a college in whichyour principles may be safely and properly taught, and then see whatpeople will say. "

"It sounds very simple, the way you put it, " said Thorpe, with a smile. 

"There is no other way, my friend, " said Simmy earnestly. 

Thorpe was silent for a long time, staring out over the dark waters of thebay. The sun had slipped down behind the ridge of hills to the south andwest, and the once bright sea was now cold and sinister and unsmiling. Theboats were stealing in from its unfriendly wastes. 

"I had not thought of it in that light, Simmy, " he said at length. "Mygrandfather said it might take two hundred years. "

"Incidentally, " said Simmy, shrewdly, "your grandfather knew what he wasabout when he put in the provision that you were to have twenty-fivethousand dollars a year as a salary, so to speak. He was a far-seeing man. He knew that you would have a hard, uphill struggle before you got on yourfeet to stay. He may even have calculated on a lifetime, my friend. That'swhy he put in the twenty-five. He probably realised that you'd be tooidiotic to use the money except as a means to bring about the millennium, and so he said to himself 'I'll have to do something to keep the damn'fool from starving. ' You needn't have any scruples about taking your pay, old boy. You've got to live, you know. I think I've got the oldgentleman's idea pretty—"

"Well, let's drop the subject for to-night, Simmy, " said Thorpe, coming tohis feet. His chin was up and his shoulders thrown back as he breatheddeeply and fully of the new life that seemed to spring up mysteriouslyfrom nowhere. "You'll spend the night with me. There is a spare bed andyou'll—"

"Isn't there a Ritz in the place?" inquired Simmy, scarcely able toconceal his joy. 

"Not so that you can notice it, " replied Thorpe gaily. He walked to theedge of the porch and drank in more of that strange, puzzling air thatcame from vast distances and filled his lungs as they had never beenfilled before. 

Simmy watched him narrowly in the failing light. After a moment he sankback comfortably in the old rocking chair and smiled as a cat might smilein contemplating a captive mouse. The rest would be easy. Thorpe would goback with him. That was all that he wanted, and perhaps more than heexpected. As for old Templeton Thorpe's "foundation, " he did not give it amoment's thought. Time would attend to that. Time would kill it, so whatwas the use worrying. He prided himself on having done the job veryneatly, —and he was smart enough to let the matter rest. 

"What is the news in town?" asked Braden, turning suddenly. There was anew ring in his voice. He was eager for news of the town!

"Well, " said Simmy naively, "there is so much to tell I don't believe Icould get it all out before dinner. "

"We call it supper, Simmy. "

"It's all the same to me, " said Simmy. 

And after supper he told him the news as they walked out along thebreakwater. 

Anne Thorpe was in Europe. She closed the house as soon as George was ableto go to work, and went away without any definite notion as to the lengthof her stay abroad. 

"She's terribly upset over having to live in that old house down there, "said Simmy, "and I don't blame her. It's full of ghosts, good and bad. Ithas always been her idea to buy a big house farther up town. In fact, thatwas one of the things on which she had set her heart. I don't mind tellingyou that I'm trying to find some way in which she can chuck the old housedown there without losing anything. She wants to give it away, but I won'tlisten to that. It's worth a hundred thousand if it's worth a nickel. Soshe closed the place, dismissed the servants and—"

"'Gad, my grandfather wouldn't like that, " said Braden. "He was fond ofMurray and Wade and—"

"Murray has bought a saloon in Sixth Avenue and talks of going intopolitics. Old Wade absolutely refused to allow Anne to close up the house. He has received his legacy and turned it over to me for investment. Confound him, when I had him down to the office afterwards he as much astold me that he didn't want to be bothered with the business, and actuallycomplained because I had taken him away from his work at that hour of theday. Anne had to leave him there as caretaker. I understand he is allalone in the house. "

"Anne is in Europe, eh? That's good, " said Thorpe, more to himself than tohis companion. 

"Never saw her looking more beautiful than the day she sailed, " saidSimmy, peering hard in the darkness at the other's face. "She hasn't hadmuch happiness, Brady. "

"Umph!" was the only response, but it was sufficient to turn Simmy offinto other channels. 

"I suppose you know that George and Lutie are married again. "

"Good! I'm glad to hear it, " said Thorpe, with enthusiasm. 

"Married two weeks after George went to work in that big bank notecompany's plant. I got the job for him. He starts at the bottom, ofcourse, but that's the right way for a chap like George to begin. He'llhave to make good before he can go up an inch in the business. Fifteen aweek. But he'll go up, Brady. He'll make good with Lutie to push frombehind. Awful blow to Mrs. Tresslyn, however. He's a sort of clerk and hasto wear sleeve papers and an eye-shade. I shall never forget the day thatLutie bought him back. " Simmy chuckled. 

"Bought him back?"

"Yes. She plunked thirty thousand down on the table in my office in frontof Mrs. Tresslyn and said 'I sha'n't need a receipt, Mrs. Tresslyn. Georgeis receipt enough for me. ' I'd never seen Mrs. Tresslyn blush before, butshe blushed then, my boy. Got as red as fire. Then she rose up in herdignity and said she wouldn't take the money. How was her son to live, shesaid, if Lutie deprived him of his visible means of support? Lutie repliedthat if George was strong enough to carry the washing back and forth fromthe customers', she'd manage to support him by taking in dirty linen. ThenMrs. Tresslyn broke down. Damme, Brady, it brought tears to my eyes. Youdon't know how affecting it is to see a high and mighty person like Mrs. Tresslyn humble herself like that. She didn't cry. I was the only one whocried, curse me for a silly ass. She just simply said that Lutie was thebest and bravest girl in the world and that she was sorry for all that shehad done to hurt her. And she asked Lutie to forgive her. Then Lutie puther arm around her and called her an old dear. I didn't see any more onaccount of the infernal tears. But Lutie wouldn't take back the money. Shesaid that it didn't belong to her and that she couldn't look George in theface if she kept it. So that's how it stands. She and George have a tinylittle apartment 'way up town, —three rooms, I believe, and so far shehasn't taken in anybody's washing. Anne wants to refund the money toLutie, but doesn't know how to go about it. She—er—sort of left it to meto find the way. Lordy, I seem to get all of the tough jobs. "

"You are a brick, Simmy, " said Thorpe, laying his arm across the littleman's shoulders. 

"Heigh-ho!" sighed Simmy. Later on, as they returned through the fog thatwas settling down about them, he inquired: "By the way, will you be readyto start back with me to-morrow?"

"Lord love you, no, " cried Thorpe. "I've agreed, to help old man Stingleywith the boat house. I'll come down in three weeks, Simmy. "

"Lordy, Lordy!" groaned Simmy, dejectedly. "Three weeks in this God-forsaken place? I'll die, Brady. "

"You? What are you talking about?"

"Why, you don't suppose I'm going back without you, do you?"

CHAPTER XXII

Anne Thorpe remained in Europe for a year, returning to New York shortlybefore the breaking out of the Great War. She went to the Ritz, where shetook an apartment. A day or two after her arrival in the city, she sentfor Wade. 

"Wade, " she said, as the old valet stood smirking before her in the littlesitting-room, "I have decided not to re-open the house. I shall never re-open it. I do not intend to live there. "

The man turned a sickly green. His voice shook a little. "Are—are yougoing to close it—for good, —madam?"

"I sent for you this morning to inquire if you are willing to continueliving there as caretaker until—"

"You may depend on me, Mrs. Thorpe, to—" he broke in eagerly. 

"—until I make up my mind what to do with the property, " she concluded. 

He hesitated, clearing his throat. "I beg pardon for mentioning it, ma'am, but the will said that you would have to live in the house and that youmay not sell it or do anything—"

"I know, " she interrupted shortly. "I sha'n't sell the house, of course. On the other hand, I do not intend to live in it. I don't care whatbecomes of it, Wade. "

"It's worth a great deal of money, " he ventured. 

She was not interested. "But so am I, " she said curtly. "By the way, howhave you fared, Wade? You do not look as though you have made the best ofyour own good fortune. Are you not a trifle thinner?"

The man looked down at the rug. "I am quite well, thank you. A littleolder, of course, —that's all. I haven't had a sick day in years. "

"Why do you stay on in service? You have means of your own, —quite a handyfortune, I should say. I cannot understand your willingness, to coopyourself up in that big old house, when you might be out seeing somethingof life, enjoying your money and—you are a very strange person, Wade. "

He favoured her with his twisted smile. "We can't all be alike, madam, " hesaid. "Besides, I couldn't see very much of life with my small pot ofgold. I shall always stick to my habit, I suppose, of earning my dailybread. "

"I see. Then I may depend upon you to remain in charge of the house?Whenever you are ready to give it up, pray do not hesitate to come to me. I will release you, of course. "

"I may possibly live to be ninety, " he said, encouragingly. 

She stared. "You mean—that you will stay on until you die?"

"Seeing that you cannot legally sell the house, —and you will not live init, —I hope to be of service to you to the end of my days, madam. Have youconsidered the possibility of some one setting up a claim to the propertyon account of your—er—violation of the terms of the will?"

"I should be very happy if some one were to do so, Wade, " she replied witha smile. "I should not oppose the claim. Unfortunately there is no one totake the step. There are no disgruntled relatives. "

"Ahem! Mr. Braden, of course, might—er—be regarded as a—"

"Dr. Thorpe will not set up a claim, Wade. You need not be disturbed. "

"There is no one else, of course, " said he, with a deep breath of relief. 

"No one. I can't even _give_ it away. I shall go on paying taxes on it allmy life, I daresay. And repairs and—"

"Repairs won't be necessary, ma'am, unless you have a complaining tenant. I shall manage to keep the place in good order. "

"Are your wages satisfactory, Wade?"

"Quite, madam. " Sometimes he remembered not to say "ma'am. "

"And your food, your own personal comforts, your—"

"Don't worry about me, madam. I make out very well. "

"And you are all alone there? All alone in that dark, grim old house? Oh, how terribly lonely it must be. I—" she shivered slightly. 

"I have a scrub-woman in twice a month, and Murray comes to see me once inawhile. I read a great deal. "

"And your meals?"

"I get my own breakfast, and go down to Sixth Avenue for my luncheons anddinners. There is an excellent little restaurant quite near, yousee, —conducted by a very estimable Southern lady in reduced circumstances. Her husband is a Northerner, however, and she doesn't see a great deal ofhim. I understand he is a person of very uncertain habits. They say hegambles. Her daughter assists her with the business. She—but, I begpardon; you would not be interested in them. "

"I am glad that you are contented, Wade. We will consider the mattersettled, and you will go on as heretofore. You may always find me here, ifyou desire to communicate with me at any time. "

Wade looked around the room. Anne's maid had come in and was employed inrestoring a quantity of flowers to the boxes in which they had beendelivered. There were roses and violets and orchids in profusion. 

Mrs. Thorpe took note of his interest. "You will be interested to hear, Wade, that my sister-in-law is expecting a little baby very soon. I amtaking the flowers up to her flat. "

"A baby, " said Wade softly. "That will be fine, madam. "

After Wade's departure, Anne ordered a taxi, and, with the half dozenboxes of flowers piled up in front of her, set out for George's home. Onthe way up through the park she experienced a strange sense of exaltation, a curious sort of tribute to her own lack of selfishness in the matter ofthe flowers. This feeling of self-exaltation was so pleasing to her, sofull of promise for further demands upon her newly discovered nature, thatshe found herself wondering why she had allowed herself to be cheated outof so much that was agreeable during all the years of her life! She wasnow sincerely in earnest in her desire to be kind and gentle and generoustoward others. She convinced herself of that in more ways than one. In thefirst place, she enjoyed thinking first of the comforts of others, andsecondly of herself. That in itself was most surprising to her. Up to ayear or two ago she would have deprived herself of nothing unless therewas some personal satisfaction to be had from the act, such as theconsciousness that the object of her kindness envied her the power togive, or that she could pity herself for having been obliged to givewithout return. Now she found joy in doing the things she onceabhorred, —the unnecessary things, as she had been pleased to describethem. 

She loved Lutie, —and that surprised her more than anything else. She didnot know it, but she was absorbing strength of purpose, independence, andsincerity from this staunch little woman who was George's wife. She wouldhave cried out against the charge that Lutie had become an Influence! Itwas all right for Lutie to have an influence on the character of George, but—the thought of anything nearer home than that never entered her head. 

As a peculiar—and not especially commendable—example of her present stateof unselfishness, she stopped for luncheon with her pretty little sister-in-law, and either forgot or calmly ignored the fact that she had promisedPercy Wintermill and his sister to lunch with them at Sherry's. And lateron, when Percy complained over the telephone she apologised with perfecthumility, —surprising him even more than she surprised herself. She didnot, however, feel called upon to explain to him that she had transferredhis orchids to Lutie's living-room. That was another proof of herconsideration for others. She knew that Percy's feelings would have beenhurt. 

Lutie was radiantly happy. Her baby was coming in a fortnight. 

"You shall have the very best doctor in New York, " said Anne, caressingthe fair, tousled head. Her own heart was full. 

"We're going to have Braden Thorpe, " said Lutie. 

Anne started. "But he is not—What you want, Lutie, is a specialist. Bradenis—"

"He's good enough for me, " said Lutie serenely. Possibly she wasastonished by the sudden, impulsive kiss that Anne bestowed upon her, andthe more fervent embrace that followed. 

That afternoon Anne received many callers. Her home-coming meant a greatdeal to the friends who had lost sight of her during the period ofpreparation that began, quite naturally, with her marriage to TempletonThorpe, and was now to bear its results. She would take her place oncemore in the set to which she belonged as a Tresslyn. 

Alas, for the memory of old Templeton Thorpe, her one-time intimates insociety were already speaking of her, —absently, of course, —as AnneTresslyn. The newspapers might continue to allude to her as the beautifulMrs. Thorpe, but that was as far as it would go. Polite society would notbe deceived. It would not deny her the respectability of marriage, to besure, but on the other hand, it wouldn't think of her as having beenmarried to old Mr. Thorpe. It might occasionally give a thought or two tothe money that had once been Mr. Thorpe's, and it might go so far as topity Anne because she had been stupid or ill-advised in the matter of amuch-discussed ante-nuptial arrangement, but nothing could alter the factthat she had never ceased being a Tresslyn, and that there was infinitejustice in the restoration of at least one of the Tresslyns to a state ofaffluence. It remains to be seen whether Society's estimate of her wasright or wrong. 

Her mother came in for half an hour, and admitted that the baby would be agood thing for poor George. 

"I am rather glad it is coming, " she said. "I shall know what to do withthat hateful money she forced me to take back. "

"What do you mean, mother?"

Mrs. Tresslyn lifted her lorgnon. "Have you forgotten, my dear?"

"Of course I haven't. But what _do_ you mean?"

"It is perfectly simple, Anne. I mean that as soon as this baby comes Ishall settle the whole of that thirty thousand dollars upon it, and haveit off my mind forever. Heaven knows it has plagued me to—"

"You—but, mother, can you afford to do anything so—"

"My dear, it may interest you to know that your mother possesses a greatdeal of that abomination known as pride. I have not spent so much as apenny of Lutie Car—of my daughter-in-law's money. You look surprised. Haveyou been thinking so ill of me as that? Did you believe that I—"

Anne threw her arms about her mother's neck, and kissed her rapturously. 

"I see you _did_ believe it of me, " said Mrs. Tresslyn drily. Then shekissed her daughter in return. "I haven't been able to look my daughter-in-law in the face since she virtually threw all that money back intomine. I've been almost distracted trying to think of a way to force itback upon her, so that I might be at peace with myself. This baby willopen the way. It will simplify everything. It shall be worth thirtythousand dollars in its own right the day it is born. "

Anne was beaming. "And on that same day, mother dear, I will replace theamount that you turn over to—"

"You will do nothing of the kind, " said Mrs. Tresslyn sharply. "I am notdoing this thing because I am kind-hearted, affectionate, or evenremorseful. I shall do it because it pleases me, and not for the sake ofpleasing any one else. Now we'll drop the subject. I do hope, however, that if George doesn't take the trouble to telephone me within areasonable time after his child comes into the world—say within a day ortwo—I hope you will do so. "

"Really, mother, you are a very wonderful person, " said Anne, rather wide-eyed. 

"No more wonderful, my dear, than Lutie Carnahan, if you will pause for amoment to think of what _she_ did. "

"She is very proud, and very happy, " said Anne dubiously. "She and Georgemay refuse to accept this—"

"My dear Anne, " interrupted her mother calmly, "pray let me remind youthat Lutie is no fool. And now, tell me something about your plans. Whereare you going for the summer?"

"That depends entirely on where my nephew wants to spend the heated term, "said Anne brightly. "I shall take him and Lutie into the country with me. "

Mrs. Tresslyn winced. "It doesn't sound quite so terrible as grandson, atany rate, " she remarked, considering the first sentence only. 

"I do hope it will be a boy, " mused Anne. 

"I believe I could love her if she gave us a boy, " said the other. "I ambeginning to feel that we need more men in the family. "

One of the last to drop in during the afternoon to welcome Anne back tothe fold was the imposing and more or less redoubtable Mrs. Wintermill, head of the exclusive family to which Percy belonged. Percy's father wasstill alive but he was a business man, and as such he met his family as hewould any other liability: when necessary. 

Mrs. Wintermill's first remark after saying that she was glad to see Annelooking so well was obviously the result of a quick and searching glancearound the room. 

"Isn't Percy here?" she inquired. 

Anne had just had an uncomfortable half minute on the telephone withPercy. "Not unless he is hiding behind that couch over there, Mrs. Wintermill, " she said airily. "He is coming up later, I believe. "

"I was to meet him here, " said Mrs. Wintermill, above flippancy. "Is itfive o'clock?"

"No, " said Anne. Mrs. Wintermill smiled again. She was puzzled a little bythe somewhat convulsive gurgle that burst from Anne's lips. "I beg yourpardon. I just happened to think of something. " She turned away to saygood-bye to the last of her remaining visitors, —two middle-aged ladies whohad not made her acquaintance until after her marriage to Templeton Thorpeand therefore were not by way of knowing Mrs. Wintermill without the aidof opera-glasses. "Do come and see me again. "

"Who are they?" demanded Mrs. Wintermill before the servant had time toclose the door behind the departing ones. She did not go to the trouble ofspeaking in an undertone. 

"Old friends of Mr. Thorpe's, " said Anne. "Washington Square people. Moretea, Ludwig. How well you are looking, Mrs. Wintermill. So good of you tocome. "

"We wanted to be among the first—if not the very first—to welcome youhome, Jane. Percy said to me this morning before he left for the office:'Mother, you must run in and see Jane Tresslyn to-day. ' Ahem! Dear me, Iseem to have got into the habit of dropping things every time I move. Thanks, dear. Ahem! As I was saying, I said to Percy this morning: 'I mustrun in and see Jane Tresslyn to-day. ' And Percy said that he would meet mehere and go on to the—Do you remember the Fenns? The Rumsey Fenns?"

"Oh, yes. I've been away only a year, you know, Mrs. Wintermill. "

"It seems ages. Well, the Fenns are having something or other for a Frenchwoman, —or a man, I'm not quite sure, —who is trying to introduce a newtuberculosis serum over here. I shouldn't be the least bit surprised tosee it publicly injected into Mr. Fenn, who, I am told, has everything hiswife wants him to have. My daughter was saying only a day or two ago thatRumsey Fenn, —we don't know them very well, of course, —naturally, wewouldn't, you know—er—what was I saying? Ah, yes; Percy declared that thecity would be something like itself once more, now that you've come home, Jennie. I beg your pardon;—which is it that you prefer? I've quiteforgotten. Jennie or Jane?"

"It doesn't in the least matter, Mrs. Wintermill, " said Anne amiably. "There isn't much choice. "

"How is your mother?"

"Quite well, thank you. And how is Mr. Wintermill?"

"As I was saying, Mrs. Fenn dances beautifully. Percy, —he's really quitesilly about dancing, —Percy says she's the best he knows. I do not pretendto dance all of the new ones myself, but—Did you inquire about Mr. Wintermill? He's doing it, too, as they say in the song. By the way, Ishould have asked before: how is your mother? I haven't seen her in weeks. Good heavens!" The good lady actually turned pale. "It was your husbandwho died, wasn't it? Not your—but, of course, _not_. What a relief. Yousay she's well?"

"You barely missed her. She was here this afternoon. "

"So sorry. It _is_ good to have you with us again, Kate. How pretty youare. Do you like the Ritz?"

A bell-boy delivered a huge basket of roses at the door at this juncture. Mrs. Wintermill eyed them sharply as Ludwig paused for instructions. Annelanguidly picked up the detached envelope and looked at the card itcontained. 

"Put it on the piano, Ludwig, " she said. "They are from Eddie Townshield, "she announced, kindly relieving her visitor's curiosity. 

"Really, " said Mrs. Wintermill. She sent a very searching glance aroundthe room once more. This time she was not looking for Percy, but forPercy's tribute. She was annoyed with Percy. What did he mean by notsending flowers to Anne Tresslyn? In her anger she got the name right. "Orchids are Percy's favourites, Anne. He never sends anything butorchids. He—"

"He sent me some gorgeous orchids this morning, " said Anne. 

Mrs. Wintermill looked again, even squinting her eyes. "I suppose they_aren't_ very hardy at this time of the year. I've noticed they perish—"

"Oh, these were exceedingly robust, " interrupted Anne. "They'll live fordays. " Her visitor gave it up, sinking back with a faint sigh. "I've hadmillions of roses and orchids and violets since I landed. Every one hasbeen so nice. "

Mrs. Wintermill sat up a little straighter in her chair. "New York men arerather punctilious about such things, " she ventured. It was an inquiry. 

"Captain Poindexter, Dickie Fowless, Herb. Vandervelt, —oh, I can'tremember all of them. The room looked like Thorley's this morning. "

Mrs. Wintermill could not stand it any longer. "What have you done withthem, my dear?"

Anne enjoyed being veracious. "I took a whole truckload up to my sister-in-law. She's going to have a baby. "

Her visitor stiffened. "I was not aware that you had a sister-in-law. Mr. Thorpe was especially free from relatives. "

"Oh, this is George's wife. Dear little Lutie Carnahan, don't you know?She's adorable. "

"Oh!" oozed from the other's lips. "I—I think I do recall the fact thatGeorge was married while in college. It is very nice of you to share yourflowers with her. I loathed them, however, when Percy and Elaine werecoming. It must be after five, isn't it?"

"Two minutes after, " said Anne. 

"I thought so. I wonder what has become of—Oh, by the way, Jane, Percy wassaying the other day that Eddie Townshield has really been thrown over bythat silly little Egburt girl. He was frightfully gone on her, you know. You wouldn't know her. She came out after you went into retirement. That'srather good, isn't it? Retirement! I must tell that to Percy. He thinks Ihaven't a grain of humour, my dear. It bores him, I fancy, because he isso witty himself. And heaven knows he doesn't get it from his father. Thatreminds me, have you heard that Captain Poindexter is about to bedismissed from the army on account of that affair with Mrs. Coles lastwinter? The government is very strict about—Ah, perhaps that is Percynow. "

But it was not Percy, —only a boy with a telegram. 

"Will you pardon me?" said Anne, and tore open the envelope. "Why, it'sfrom Percy. "

"From—dear me, what is it, Anne? Has anything happened—"

"Just a word to say that he will be fifteen or twenty minutes late, " saidAnne drily. 

"He is the most thoughtful boy in—But as I was saying, Herbie Vandervelt'saffair with Anita Coles was the talk of the town last winter. Every onesays that he will not marry her even though Coles divorces her. How I hatethat in men. They are not all that sort, thank God. I suppose the businessin connection with the estate has been settled, hasn't it? As I recall it, the will was a very simple one, aside from that ridiculous provision thatshocked every one so much. I think you made a great mistake in notcontesting it, Annie. Percy says that it wouldn't have stood in any court. By the way, have you seen Braden Thorpe?" She eyed her hostess rathernarrowly. 

"No, " was the reply. "It hasn't been necessary, you know. Mr. Dodgeattended to everything. My duties as executrix were trifling. My report, or whatever you call it, was ready months ago. "

"And all that money? I mean, the money that went to Braden. What of that?"

"It did not go to Braden, Mrs. Wintermill, " said Anne levelly. "It is intrust. "

Mrs. Wintermill smiled. "Oh, nothing will come of that, " she said. "Percysays that you could bet your boots that Braden would have contested ifthings had been the other way round. "

"I'm sure I don't know, " said Anne briefly. 

"I hear that he is hanging on in spite of what the world says about him, trying to get a practice. Percy sees him quite frequently. He's reallysorry for him. When Percy likes a person nothing in the world can turn himagainst—why, he would lend him money as long as his own lasted. He—"

"Has Braden borrowed money from Percy?" demanded Anne quickly. 

"I did not say that he had, my dear, " said the other reprovingly. "Imerely said that he would lend it to him in any amount if he asked for it. Of course, Braden would probably go to Simmy Dodge in case of—they arealmost inseparable, you know. Simmy has been quite a brick, sticking tohim like this. My dear, "—leaning a little closer and lowering her voice onLudwig's account, —"do you know that the poor fellow didn't have a patientfor nearly six months? People wouldn't go near him. I hear that he hasbeen doing better of late. I think it was Percy who said that he hadoperated successfully on a man who had gall stones. Oh, yes, I quiteforgot that Percy says he has twenty-five thousand dollars a year as wagesfor acting as trustee. I fancy he doesn't hesitate to use it to the bestadvantage. As long as he has that, I dare say he will not starve or gonaked. "

Receiving no response from Anne, she took courage and playfully shook herfinger at the young woman. "Wasn't there some ridiculous talk of anadolescent engagement a few years ago? How queer nature is! I can'timagine you even being interested in him. So soggy and emotionless, andyou so full of life and verve and—Still they say he is completely wrappedup in his profession, such as it is. I've always said that a daughter ofmine should never marry a doctor. As a matter of fact, a doctor nevershould marry. No woman should be subjected to the life that a doctor'swife has to lead. In the first place, if he is any good at all in hisprofession, he can't afford to give her any time or thought, and thenthere is always the danger one runs from women patients. You never couldbe quite sure that everything was all right, don't you know. Besides, I'vealways had a horror of the infectious diseases they may be carrying aroundin their—why, think of small-pox and diphtheria and scarlet fever! Thosediseases—"

"My dear Mrs. Wintermill, " interrupted Anne, with a smile, "I am notthinking of marrying a doctor. "

"Of course you are not, " said Mrs. Wintermill promptly. "I wasn't thinkingof that. I—"

"Besides, there is a lot of difference between a surgeon and a regularpractitioner. Surgeons do not treat small-pox and that sort of thing. Youcouldn't object to a surgeon, could you?" She spoke very sweetly andwithout a trace of ridicule in her manner. 

"I have a horror of surgeons, " said the other, catching at her purse as itonce more started to slip from her capacious lap. She got it in time. "Blood on their hands every time they earn a fee. No, thank you. I am nota sanguinary person. "

All of which leads up to the belated announcement that Mrs. Wintermill wasextremely desirous of having the beautiful and wealthy widow of TempletonThorpe for a daughter-in-law. 

"I suppose you know that James, —but naturally you wouldn't know, havingjust landed, my dear Jane. You haven't seen Braden Thorpe, so it isn'tlikely that you could have heard. I fancy he isn't saying much about it, in any event. The world is too eager to rake up things against him in viewof his extraordinary ideas on—"

"You were speaking of James, but _what_ James, Mrs. Wintermill?"interrupted Anne, sensing. 

Mrs. Wintermill lowered her voice. "Inasmuch as you are rather closelyrelated to Braden by marriage, you will be interested to know that he isto perform a very serious operation upon James Marraville. " There was nomistaking the awe in her voice. 

"The banker?"

"The great James Marraville, " said Mrs. Wintermill, suddenly passing herhandkerchief over her brow. "He is said to be in a hopeless condition, "she added, pronouncing the words slowly. 

"I—I had not heard of it, Mrs. Wintermill, " murmured Anne, going cold tothe very marrow. 

"Every one has given him up. It is terrible. A few days ago he sent forBraden Thorpe and—well, it was announced in the papers that there will bean operation to-morrow or the next day. Of course, he cannot survive it. That is admitted by every one. Mr. Wintermill went over to see him lastnight. He was really shocked to find Mr. Marraville quite cheerfuland—contented. I fancy you know what that means. "

"And Braden is going to operate?" said Anne slowly. 

"No one else will undertake it, of course, " said the other, something likea triumphant note in her voice. 

"What a wonderful thing it would be for Braden if he were to succeed, "cried Anne, battling against her own sickening conviction. "Think what itwould mean if he were to save the life of a man so important as JamesMarraville, —one of the most talked-of men in the country. It would—"

"But he will not save the man's life, " said Mrs. Wintermill significantly. "I do not believe that Marraville himself expects that. " She hesitated foran instant. "It is really dreadful that Braden should have achieved somuch notoriety on account of—I _beg_ your pardon!"

Anne had arisen and was standing over her visitor in an attitude at oncemenacing and theatric. The old lady blinked and caught her breath. 

"If you are trying to make me believe, Mrs. Wintermill, that Braden wouldconsent to—But, why should I insult him by attempting to defend him whenno defence is necessary? I know him well enough to say that he would notoperate on James Marraville for all the money in the world unless hebelieved that there was a chance to pull him through. " She spoke rapidlyand rather too intensely for Mrs. Wintermill's peace of mind. 

"That is just what Percy says, " stammered the older woman hastily. "Hebelieves in Braden. He says it's all tommyrot about Marraville paying himto put him out of his misery. My dear, I don't believe there is a moreloyal creature on earth than Percy Wintermill. He—"

Percy was announced at that instant. He came quickly into the room and, failing utterly to see his mother, went up to Anne and inquired what thedeuce had happened to prevent her coming to luncheon, and why she didn'thave the grace to let him know, and what did she take him for, anyway. 

"Elaine and I stood around over there for an hour, —an hour, do you getthat?—biting everything but food, and—"

"I'm awfully sorry, Percy, " said Anne calmly. "I wouldn't offend Elainefor the world. She's—"

"Elaine? What about me? Elaine took it as a joke, confound her, —but Ididn't. Now see here, Anne, old girl, you know I'm not in the habit ofbeing—"

"Here is your mother, Percy, " interrupted Anne coldly. 

"Hello! You still waiting for me, mother? I say, what do you think Anne'sbeen doing to your angel child? Forgetting that he's on earth, that's all. Now, where were you, Anne, and what's the racket? I'm not in the habit ofbeing—"

"I forgot all about it, Percy, " confessed Anne deliberately. She wasconscious of a sadly unfeminine longing to see just how Percy's nose_could_ look under certain conditions. "I couldn't say that to you overthe phone, however, —could I?"

"Anne's sister-in-law is expecting a baby, " put in Mrs. Wintermillfatuously. This would never do! Percy ought to know better than to saysuch things to Anne. What on earth had got into him? Except for theforegoing effort, however, she was quite speechless. 

"What's that got to do with it?" demanded Percy, chucking his glovestoward the piano. He faced Anne once more, prepared to insist on fullsatisfaction. The look in her eyes, however, caused him to refrain frompursuing his tactics. He smiled in a sickly fashion and said, after amoment devoted to reconstruction: "But, never mind, Anne; I was onlyhaving a little fun bullying you. That's a man's privilege, don't youknow. We'll try it again to-morrow, if you say so. "

"I have an engagement, " said Anne briefly. The next instant she smiled. "Next week perhaps, if you will allow me the privilege of forgettingagain. "

"Oh, I say!" said Percy, blinking his eyes. How was he to take that sortof talk? He didn't know. And for fear that he might say the wrong thing ifhe attempted to respond to her humour, he turned to his mother andremarked: "Don't wait for me, mother. Run along, do. I'm going to stop fora chat with Anne. "

As Mrs. Wintermill went out she met Simmy Dodge in the hall. 

"Would you mind, Simmy dear, coming down to the automobile with me?" shesaid quickly. "I—I think I feel a bit faint. "

"I'll drive home with you, if you like, " said the good Simmy, solicitously. 

CHAPTER XXIII

She saw by the evening papers that the operation on Marraville was to takeplace the next day. That night she slept but little. When her maid rousedher from the slumber that came long after the sun was up, she immediatelycalled for the morning papers. In her heart she was hoping, almost prayingthat they would report the death of James Marraville during the night. Then, as she read with burning eyes, she found herself hoping against hopethat the old man would, at the last moment, refuse to undergo theoperation, or that some member of his family would protest. But even asshe hoped, she knew that there would be no objection on the part of eitherMarraville or his children. He was an old man, he was fatally ill, he wasthrough with life. There would be no obstacle placed in the way of Death. His time had come and there was no one to ask for a respite. He would dieunder the knife and every one would be convinced that it was for the best. As she sat up in bed, staring before her with bleak, unseeing eyes, shehad an inward vision of this rich man's family counting in advance theprofits of the day's business! Braden Thorpe was to be the only victim. Hewas to be the one to suffer. Two big tears grew in her eyes and rolleddown her cheeks. She had never loved Braden Thorpe as she loved him now. 

She knew that he was moved by honest intentions. That he confidentlybelieved he could preserve this man's life she would not for an instantdoubt. But why had he agreed to undertake the feat that other men haddeclared was useless, the work that other men had said to be absolutelyunnecessary? A faint ray of comfort rested on the possibility that thesegreat surgeons, appreciating, the wide-spread interest that naturallywould attend the fate of so great a man as James Marraville, were loth toface certain failure, but even that comfort was destroyed by anintelligence that argued for these surgeons instead of against them. Theyhad said that the case was hopeless. They were honest men. They had thecourage to say: "This man must die. It is God's work, not ours, " and hadturned away. They were big men; they would not operate just for the sakeof operating. And when they admitted that it was useless they wereconvincing the world that they were honourable men. Therefore, —she almostground her pretty teeth at the thought of it, —old Marraville and hisfamily had turned to Braden Thorpe as one without honour or conscience!

She had never been entirely free from the notion that her husband's deathwas the result of premeditated action on the part of his grandson, but inthat instance there was more than professional zeal in the heart of thesurgeon: there was love and pity and gentleness in the heart of BradenThorpe when he obeyed the command of the dying man. If he were to come toher now, or at any time, with the confession that he had deliberatelyended the suffering of the man he loved, she would have put her hand inhis and looked him in the eye while she spoke her words of commendation. Templeton Thorpe had the right to appeal to him in his hour ofhopelessness, but this other man—this mighty Marraville!—what right had heto demand the sacrifice? She had witnessed the suffering of TempletonThorpe, she had prayed for death to relieve him; he had called upon her tobe merciful, and she had denied him. She wondered if James Marraville hadturned to those nearest and dearest to him with the cry for mercy. Shewondered if the little pellets had been left at his bedside. She knew theextent of his agony, and yet she had no pity for him. He was not askingfor mercy at the hands of a man who loved him and who could not deny him. He was demanding something for which he was willing to pay, not with loveand gratitude, but with money. Would he look up into Braden's eyes andsay, "God bless you, " when the end was at hand?

Moved by a sudden irresistible impulse she flung reserve aside and decidedto make an appeal to Braden. She would go to him and plead with him tospare himself instead of this rich old man. She would go down on her kneesto him, she would humble and humiliate herself, she would cry out herunwanted love to him.... 

At nine o'clock she was at his office. He was gone for the day, the littleplacard on the door informed her. Gone for the day! In her desperation shecalled Simmy Dodge on the telephone. He would tell her what to do. ButSimmy's man told her that his master had just gone away in the motor withDr. Thorpe, —for a long ride into the country. Scarcely knowing what shedid she hurried on to Lutie's apartment, far uptown. 

"What on earth is the matter, Anne?" cried the gay little wife as hersister-in-law stalked into the tiny drawing-room and threw herselfdejectedly upon a couch. Lutie was properly alarmed and sympathetic. 

It was what Anne needed. She unburdened herself. 

"But, " said Lutie cheerfully, "supposing he should save the old codger'slife, what then? Why do you look at the black side of the thing? Whilethere's life, there's hope. You don't imagine for an instant that Dr. Thorpe is going into this big job with an idea of losing his patient, doyou?"

Anne's eyes brightened. A wave of relief surged into her heart. 

"Oh, Lutie, Lutie, do you really believe that Braden thinks he can savehim?"

Lutie's eyes opened very wide. "What in heaven's name are you saying? Youdon't suppose he's thinking of anything else, do you?" A queer, sinkingsensation assailed her suddenly. She remembered. She knew what was inAnne's mind. "Oh, I see! You—" she checked the words in time. An instantlater her ready tongue saved the situation. "You don't seem to understandwhat a golden opportunity this is for Braden. Here is a case that everynewspaper in the country is talking about. It's the chance of a lifetime. He'll do his best, let me tell you that. If Mr. Marraville dies, it won'tbe Braden's fault. You see, he's just beginning to build up a practice. He's had a few unimportant cases and he's—well, he's just beginning torealise that pluck and perseverance will do 'most anything for a fellow. Now, here comes James Marraville, willing to take a chance withhim—because it's the only chance left, I'll admit, —and you can bet yourlast dollar, Anne, that Braden isn't going to make a philanthropic job ofit. "

"But if he fails, Lutie, —if he fails don't you see what the papers willsay? They will crush him to—"

"Why should they? Bigger men than he have failed, haven't they?"

"But it will ruin Braden forever. It will be the end of all his hopes, allhis ambitions. _This_ will convict him as no other—"

"Now, don't get excited, dear, " cautioned the other gently. "You'reworking yourself into an awful state. I think I understand, Anne. You poorold girl!"

"I want you to know, Lutie. I want some one to know what he is to me, inspite of everything. "

Then Lutie sat down beside her and, after deliberately pulling the pinsfrom her visitor's hat, tossed it aimlessly in the direction of a near-bychair, —failing to hit it by several feet, —and drew the smooth, troubledhead down upon her shoulder. 

"Stay and have luncheon with George and me, " she said, after a half hourof confidences. "It will do you good. I'll not breathe a word of whatyou've said to me, —not even to old George. He's getting so nervousnowadays that he comes home to lunch and telephones three or four times aday. It's an awful strain on him. He doesn't eat a thing, poor dear. I'mreally quite worried about him. Take a little snooze here on the sofa, Anne. You must be worn out. I'll cover you up—"

The door-bell rang. 

Lutie started and her jaw fell. "Good gracious! That's—that's Dr. Thorpenow. He is the only one who comes up without being announced fromdownstairs. Oh, dear! What shall I—Don't you think you'd better see him, Anne?"

Anne had arisen. A warm flush had come into her pale cheeks. She wasbreathing quickly and her eyes were bright. 

"I will see him, Lutie. Would you mind leaving us alone together for awhile? I must make sure of one thing. Then I'll be satisfied. "

Lutie regarded her keenly for a moment. "Just remember that you can'tafford to make a fool of yourself, " she said curtly, and went to the door. A most extraordinary thought entered Anne's mind, a distinct thought amongmany that were confused: Lutie ought to have a parlour-maid, and she wouldmake it her business to see that she had one at once. Poor, plucky littlething! And then the door was opened and Thorpe walked into the room. 

"Well, how are we this morning?" he inquired cheerily, clasping Lutie'shand. "Fine, I see. I happened to be passing with Simmy and thought I'drun in and see—" His gaze fell upon the tall, motionless figure on theopposite side of the room, and the words died on his lips. 

"It's Anne, " said Lutie fatuously. 

For a moment there was not a sound or a movement in the little room. Theman was staring over Lutie's head at the slim, elegant figure in themodish spring gown, —it was something smart and trig, he knew, and it wasnot black. Then he advanced with his hand extended. 

"I am glad to see you back, Anne. I heard you had returned. " Their handsmet in a brief clasp. His face was grave, and a queer pallor had taken theplace of the warm glow of an instant before. 

"Three days ago, " she said, and that was all. Her throat was tight anddry. He had not taken his eyes from hers. She felt them burning into herown, and somehow it hurt, —she knew not why. 

"Well, it's good to see you, " he mumbled, finding no other words. Hepulled himself together with an effort. He had not expected to see herhere. He had dreamed of her during the night just past. "Simmy is waitingdown below in the car. I just dropped in for a moment. Can't keep himwaiting, Lutie, so I'll—"

"Won't you spare me a few moments, Braden?" said Anne steadily. "There issomething that I must say to you. To-morrow will not do. It must be now. "

He looked concerned. "Has anything serious—"

"Nothing—yet, " she broke in, anticipating his question. 

"Sit down, Braden, " said Lutie cheerfully. "I'll make myself scarce. I seeyou are down for a big job to-day. Good boy! I told you they'd come yourway if you waited long enough. It is a big job, isn't it?"

"Ra-_ther_, " said he, smiling. "I daresay it will make or break me. "

"I should think you'd be frightfully nervous. "

"Well, I'm not, strange to say. On the contrary, I'm as fit as a fiddle. "

"When do you—perform this operation?" Anne asked, as Lutie left the room. 

"This afternoon. He has a superstition about it. Doesn't want it doneuntil after banking hours. Queerest idea I've ever known. " He spoke inquick, jerky sentences. 

She held her breath for an instant, and then cried out imploringly: "Idon't want you to do it, Braden, —I don't want you to do it. If not for mysake, then for your own you must refuse to go on with it. "

He looked straight into her troubled, frightened eyes. "I suppose you arelike the rest of them: you think I'm going to kill him, eh?" His voice waslow and bitter. 

She winced, half closing her eyes as if a blow had been aimed at them. "Oh, don't say that! How horrible it sounds when you—_speak it_. "

He could see that she was trembling, and suddenly experienced an oddfeeling of contentment. He had seen it in her eyes once more: the lovethat had never faltered although dragged in the dirt, discredited andbetrayed. She still loved him, and he was glad to know it. He could gloatover it. 

"I am not afraid to speak it, as you say, " he said curtly. Then he pitiedher. "I'm sorry, Anne. I shouldn't have said it. I think I understand whatyou mean. It's good of you to care. But I am going ahead with it, just thesame. " His jaw was set in the old, resolute way. 

"Do you know what they will say if you—fail?" Her voice was husky. 

"Yes, I know. I also know why they finally came to me. They haven't anyhope. They believe that I may—well, at least I will not say _that_, Anne. Down in their hearts they all hope, —but it isn't the kind of hope thatusually precedes an operation. No one has dared to suggest to me that Iput him out of his misery, but that's what they're expecting, —all of them. But they are going to be disappointed. I do not owe anything to JamesMarraville. He is nothing to me. I do not love him as I loved mygrandfather. "

He spoke slowly, with grave deliberation; there was not the slightestdoubt that he intended her to accept this veiled explanation of hispresent attitude as a confession that he had taken his grandfather's life. 

She was silent. She understood. He went on, more hurriedly:

"I can only say to you, Anne, that my grandfather might have gone onliving for a few weeks or even months. Well, there is no reason whyMarraville shouldn't go on living for awhile. Do you see what I mean? Heshall not die to-day if I can help it. He will hang on for weeks, notpermanently relieved but at least comforted in the belief that his caseisn't hopeless. I shall do my best. " He smiled sardonically. "Theoperation will be called a success, and he will merely go on dying insteadof having it all over with. "

She closed her eyes. "Oh, how cruel it is, " she murmured. "How cruel itis, after all. "

"He will curse me for failing to do my duty, " said he grimly. "The worldwill probably say that I am a benefactor to the human race, after all, andI will be called a great man because I allow him a few more weeks ofagony. I may fail, of course. He may not survive the day. But no one willbe justified in saying that I did not do my best to tide him over for afew weeks or months. And what a travesty it will be if I do succeed! Everyone except James Marraville will praise me to the skies. My job will bedone, but he will have it all to do over again, —this business of dying. "

She held out her hand. Her eyes had filled with tears. 

"God be with you, Braden. " He took her hand in his, and for a momentlooked into the swimming eyes. 

"You understand _everything_ now, don't you, Anne?" he inquired. His facewas very white and serious. He released her hand. 

"Yes, " she answered; "I understand everything. I am glad that you havetold me. It—it makes no difference; I want you to understand that, Braden. "

It seemed to her that he would never speak. He was regarding herthoughtfully, evidently weighing his next words with great care. 

"Three doctors know, " he said at last. "They must never find out that youknow. "

Her eyes flashed through the tears. "I am not afraid to have the worldknow, " she said quickly. 

He shook his head, smiling sadly. 

"But I am, " he said. It was a long time before she grasped the fullsignificance of this surprising admission. When, hours afterward, she cameto realise all that it meant she knew that he was not thinking of himselfwhen he said that he was afraid. He was thinking of her; he had thought ofher from the first. Now she could only look puzzled and incredulous. Itwas not like him to be afraid of consequences. 

"If you are afraid, " she demanded quickly, "why do you invite peril thisafternoon? The chances are against you, Braden. Give it up. Tell them youcannot—"

"This afternoon?" he broke in, rather violently. "Good God, Anne, I'm notafraid of what is going to happen this afternoon. Marraville isn't goingto die to-day, poor wretch. I can't afford to let him die. " He almostsnarled the words. "I have told these people that if I fail to take himthrough this business to-day, I'll accept no pay. That is understood. Thenewspapers will be so informed in case of failure. You are shocked. Well, it isn't as bad as it sounds. I am in deadly earnest in this matter. It ismy one great chance. It means more to me to save James Marraville's lifethan it means to him. I'm sorry for him, but he has to go on living, justthe same. Thank you for being interested. Don't worry about it. I—"

"The evening papers will tell me how it turns out, " she said dully. "Ishall pray for you, Braden. "

He turned on her savagely. "Don't do that!" he almost shouted. "I don'twant your support. I—" Other words surged to his lips but he held themback. She drew back as if he had struck her a blow in the face. "I—I begyour pardon, " he muttered, and then strode across the room to thumpviolently on the door to Lutie's bed-chamber. "Come out! I'm going. Can'tkeep the nation waiting, you know. "

Two minutes later Anne and Lutie were alone. The former, inwardly shakendespite an outward appearance of composure, declined to remain forluncheon, as she had done the day before. Her interest in Lutie and heraffairs was lost in the contemplation of a reviving sense of self-gratification, long dormant but never quite unconscious. She had recoveredalmost instantly from the shock produced by his violent command, and wheredismay had been there was now a warm, grateful rush of exultation. Shesuspected the meaning of that sudden, fierce lapse into rudeness. Herheart throbbed painfully, but with joyous relief. It was not rudeness onhis part; on the contrary he was paying tribute to her. He was dismayed bythe feelings he found himself unable to conquer. The outburst was theresult of a swift realisation that she still had the power to move him inspite of all his mighty resolves, in spite even of the contempt he had forher. 

She walked to the Ritz. It was a long distance from George's home, but shewent about it gladly in preference to the hurried, pent-up journey down bytaxi or stage. She wanted to be free and unhampered. She wanted to think, to analyse, to speculate on what would happen next. For the present shewas content to glory in the fact that he had unwittingly betrayed himself. 

She was near the Plaza before the one great, insurmountable obstacle arosein her mind to confound her joyous calculations. What would it all cometo, after all? She could never be more to him than she was at thisinstant, for between them lay the truth about the death of TempletonThorpe, —and Templeton Thorpe was her husband. Her exaltation was short-lived. The joy went out of her soul. The future looked to be even morebarren than before the kindly hope sprang up to wave its golden prospectsbefore her deluded eyes. 

He would never look at the situation from her point of view. Even thoughhe found himself powerless to resist the love that was regaining strengthenough to batter down the wall of prejudice her marriage had created inhis mind, there would still stand between them his conviction that itwould be an act of vileness to claim or even covet the wife of the manwhose life he had taken, not in anger or reprisal but in honest devotion. 

Anne was not callous or unfeeling in her readiness to disregard what hemight be expected to call the ethics of the case. She very sensibly lookedat the question as one in which the conscience had no part, for the simplereason that there was no guilty motive to harass it. If his conscience wasclear, —and it most certainly was, —there could be no sound reason for himto deny himself the right to reclaim that which belonged to him by all thelaws of nature. On her part there was not the slightest feeling ofrevulsion. She did not look upon his act as a barrier. Her own act inbetraying him was far more of a barrier than this simple thing that he haddone. She had believed it to be insurmountable. She had long ago acceptedas final the belief that he despised her and would go on doing so to theend. And now, in the last hour, there had been a revelation. He stillloved her. His scorn, his contempt, his disgust were not equal to the taskof subduing the emotion that lived in spite of all of them. But this otherthing! This thing that he would call _decency_!

All through the afternoon his savage, discordant cry: "Don't do that!"rang in her ears. She thrilled and crumpled in turn. The blood ran hotonce more in her veins. As she looked back over the past year it seemed toher that her blood had been cold and sluggish. But now it was warm againand tingling. Even the desolating thought that her discovery would yieldno profit failed to check the riotous, grateful warmth that raced throughher body from crown to toe. Despair had its innings, but there was alwayscompensation in the return of a joy that would not acknowledge itselfbeaten. Joy enough to feel that he could not help loving her! Joy to feelthat he was hungry too! No matter what happened now she would know thatshe had not lost all of him. 

After a while she found herself actually enjoying the prospect of certainfailure on Braden's part in the case of Marraville. Reviled and excoriatedbeyond endurance, he would take refuge in the haven that she alone couldopen to him. He would come to her and she would go with him, freely andgladly, into new places where he could start all over again and—But evenas she conjured up this sacrificial picture, this false plaisance, hercheeks grew hot with shame. The real good that was in Anne Tresslyn leapedinto revolt. She hated herself for the thought; she could have cursedherself. What manner of love was this that could think of self alone? Whatof him? What of the man she loved?

She denied herself to callers. At half-past five she called up thehospital and inquired how Mr. Marraville was getting along. She had ahorrid feeling that the voice at the other end would say that he was dead. She found a vast relief in the polite but customary "doing very nicely"reply that came languidly over the wires. Anne was not by way of knowingthat the telephone operators in the hospitals would say very cheerfullythat "Mr. Washington is doing very nicely, " if one were to call up toinquire into the condition of the Father of his Country! An "extra" at sixo'clock announced that the operation had taken place and that Mr. Marraville had survived it, although it was too soon to, —and so on and soforth. 

Then she called Simmy Dodge up on the telephone. Simmy would know ifanybody knew. And with her customary cleverness and foresightedness shecalled him up at the hospital. 

After a long delay Simmy's cheery voice came singing—or rather it wasbarking—into her ear. This had been the greatest day in the life of SimeonDodge. From early morn he had gone about in a state of optimistic unrest. He was more excited than he had ever been in his life before, —and yet hewas beatifically serene. His brow was unclouded, his eyes sparkled and hisvoice rang with all the confidence of extreme felicity. There was noquestion in Simmy's mind as to the outcome. Braden would pull the oldgentleman through, sure as anything. Absolutely sure, that's what Simmywas, and he told other people so. 

"Fine as silk!" he shouted back in answer to Anne's low, suppressedinquiry. "Never anything like it, Anne, old girl. One of the young doctorstold me—"

"Has he come out of the ether, Simmy?"

"What say?"

"Is he conscious? Has the ether—"

"I can't say as to that, " said Simmy cheerfully. "He's been back in hisroom since five o'clock. That's—let's see what time is it now? Six-fourteen. Nearly an hour and a quarter. They all say—"

"Have you see Braden?"

"Sure. He's fagged out, poor chap. Strain something awful. Good Lord, Iwonder what it must have been to him when it came so precious near toputting me out of business. I thought I was dying at half-past four. Inever expected to live to see Mr. Marraville out of the operating-room. Had to take something for medicinal purposes. I knew all along that Bradencould do the job like a—"

"Where is he now?"

"Last I heard of him he was back in his room with the house doctor and—"

"I mean Braden. "

"What are you sore about, Anne?" complained Simmy. Her voice had soundedrather querulous to him. "I thought you meant the patient. Brady is upthere, too, I guess. Sh! I can't say anything more. A lot of reporters, are coming this way. "

The morning papers announced that James Marraville had passed acomfortable night and that not only Dr. Thorpe but other physicians whowere attending him expressed the confident opinion that if he continued togain throughout the day and if nothing unforeseen occurred there was noreason why he should not recover. He had rallied from the anæsthetic, hisheart was good, and there was no temperature. Members of the family wereextremely hopeful. His two sons-in-law—who were spokesmen for the othermembers of the family—were united in the opinion that Dr. Thorpe hadperformed a miracle. Dr. Thorpe, himself, declined to be interviewed. Hereferred the newspaper men to the other surgeons and physicians who wereinterested in the case. 

There was an underlying note of dismay, rather deftly obscured, in all ofthe newspaper accounts, however. Not one of them appeared to haverecovered from the surprise that had thrown all of their plans out oforder. They had counted on James Marraville's death and had preparedthemselves accordingly. There were leading editorials in every office, andcolumns of obituary matter; and there were far from vague allusions to theyoung doctor who performed the operation. And here was the man alive! Itwas really more shocking than if he had died, as he was expected to do. Itis no wonder, therefore, that the first accounts were almost entirelywithout mention of the doctor who had upset all of their calculations. Hehadn't lived up to the requirements. The worst of it all was that Mr. Marraville's failure to expire on the operating table forever deprivedthem of the privilege of saying, invidiously, that young Doctor Thorpe hadbeen called in as the last resort. It would take them a day or two, nodoubt, to adjust themselves to the new situation, and then, if themillionaire was still showing signs of surviving, they would burst forthinto praise of the marvellous young surgeon who had startled the entireworld by his performance!

In the meantime, there was still a chance that Mr. Marraville might die, so it was better to hesitate and be on the safe side. 

CHAPTER XXIV

James Marraville called Thorpe a coward and a poltroon. This was a weekafter the operation. They were alone in the room. For days his wondering, questioning eyes had sought those of the man on whom he had depended foreverlasting peace, and always there had been a look of reproach in them. Not in words, but still plainly, he was asking why he still lived, whythis man had not done the thing that was expected of him. Every one abouthim was talking of the marvellous, incredible result of the operation;every one was looking cheerful and saying that he would "soon be as goodas new. " And all the while he was lying there, weak and beaten, wonderingwhy they lied to him, and why Man as well as God had been so cruel to him. He was not deceived. He knew that he had it all to live over again. Heknew what they meant when they said that it had been very successful! Andso, one day, in all the bitterness of his soul, he cursed the man who hadgiven him a few more months to live. 

But there were other men and women who did not want to die. They wantedvery dearly to live, and they had been afraid to risk an operation. Nowthat the world was tumbling over itself to proclaim the greatness of thesurgeon who had saved James Marraville's life, the faint-hearted of alldegrees flowed in a stream up to his doors and implored him to name hisown price.... So goes the world.... 

The other doctors knew, and Braden knew, and most thoroughly of all JamesMarraville knew, that while the operation was a wonderful feat in surgery, it might just as well have remained undone. The young doctor simply haddone all that was in the power of man to do for a fellow creature. He hadcheated Death out of an easy victory, but Death would come again and sitdown beside James Marraville to wait for another day. 

Down near Washington Square, Wade blinked his eyes and shook his head, andalways re-read the reports from the sick-room. He was puzzled andsometimes there was a faraway look in his eyes. 

 * * * * *

Lutie's baby came. He came long after midnight, and if he had been giventhe power at birth to take intelligent notice of things, he would havebeen vastly astonished to hear that his grandmother had been sitting up inan adjoining room with her son and daughter, anxiously, even fearfully, awaiting his advent into the world. And he would have been furtherastonished and perhaps distressed if any one had told him that his grannycried a little over him, and refused to go to her own home until she wasquite sure that his little mother was all right. Moreover, he would havebeen gravely impressed by the presence of the celebrated Dr. Thorpe, andthe extraordinary agony of that great big tall man who cowered andshivered and who wouldn't even look at him because he had eyes and thoughtfor no one but the little mother. Older and wiser persons would haverevealed considerable interest in the certificate of deposit that hisgrandmother laid on the bed beside him. He was quite a rich little boywithout knowing it. Thirty thousand dollars is not to be sneezed at, andit would be highly unjust to say that it was a sneeze that sent hisgrandmother, his aunt and his father into hysterics of alarm. 

They called him Carnahan Tresslyn. He represented a distinct phase in theregeneration of a proud and haughty family. 

A few weeks later Anne took a house up among the hills of WestchesterCounty, and moved Lutie and the baby out into the country. It did notoccur to her to think that she was making a personal sacrifice in going upthere to spend the hot months. 

Percy Wintermill informed her one day that he was going to ask her tomarry him when the proper time arrived. It would be the third time, hereminded her. He was being forehanded, that was all, —declaring himself inadvance of all others and thereby securing, as he put it, the privilege ofpriority. She was not very much moved by the preparation of Percy. Infact, she treated the matter with considerable impatience. 

"Really, you know, Percy, " she said, "I'm getting rather fed up withrefusing you. I'm sure I've done it more than three times. Why don't youask some girl who will have you?"

"That's just the point, " said he frankly. "If I asked some girl who wouldhave me, she'd take me, and then where would you come in? I don't want anyone but you, Anne, and—"

"Sorry, Perce, but it's no use, " said she briefly. 

"Well, I haven't asked you yet, " he reminded her. After some minutes, spent by him in rumination and by her in wondering why she didn't send himaway, he inquired, quite casually: "Anybody else in mind, old girl?" Shemerely stared at him. "Hope it isn't Brady Thorpe, " he went on. "He's oneof my best friends. I'd hate to think that I'd have to—"

"Go home, Percy, " she said. "I'm going out, —and I'm late already. Thanksfor the orchids. Don't bother to send any more. It's just a waste ofmoney, old fellow. I sha'n't marry you. I sha'n't marry any one except theman with whom I fall desperately, horribly in love, —and I'm not going tofall in love with you, so run away. "

"You weren't in love with old man Thorpe, were you?" he demanded, flushingangrily. 

"I haven't the right to be offended by that beastly remark, Percy, " shesaid quietly; "and yet I don't think you ought to have said it to me. "

"It was meant only to remind you that it won't be necessary for you tofall desperately, horribly in love with me, " he explained, and wassuddenly conscious of being very uncomfortable for the first time in hislife. He did not like the expression in her eyes. 

Her shoulders drooped a little. "It isn't very comforting to feel that anyone of my would-be husbands could be satisfied to get along without beingloved by me. No doubt I shall be asked by others besides you, Percy. Ihope you do not voice the sentiments of all the rest of them. "

"I'm sorry I said it, " he said, and seemed a little bewildered immediatelyafterwards. He really couldn't make himself out. He went away a fewminutes later, vaguely convinced that perhaps it wouldn't be worth whileto ask her, after all. This was a new, strange Anne, and it would hurt tobe refused by her. He had never thought of it in just that way—before. 

"So that is the price they put upon me, is it?" Anne said to herself. Shewas regarding herself rather humbly in the mirror as she pinned on herhat. "I am still expected to marry without loving the man who takes me. Itisn't to be exacted of me. Don't they credit me with a capacity forloving? What do they think I am? What do they think my blood is made of, and the flesh on my bones? Do they think that because I am beautiful I canlove no one but myself? Don't they think I'm human? How can any one lookat me without feeling that I'd rather love than be loved? The poor fools!Any woman can be loved. What we all want more than anything else is to_love_. And I love—I _do_ love! And I _am_ beloved. And all the rest of mylife I shall love; I shall gloat over the fact that I love; I shall love, love, _love_ with all that there is in me, all that there is in my bodyand my soul. The poor fools. "

And all that was in her body and her soul was prepared to give itself tothe man who loved her. She wanted him to have her for his own. She pitiedhim even more than she pitied herself. 

Anne had no illusions concerning herself. Mawkish sentimentality had noplace in her character. She was straightforward and above board withherself, and she would not cheapen herself in her own eyes. Another womanmight have gone down on her knees, whimpering a cry for forgiveness, butnot Anne Tresslyn. She would ask him to forgive her but she would not lieto herself by prostrating her body at his feet. There was firm, noblestuff in Anne Tresslyn. It was born in her to know that the woman who goesdown on her knees before her man never quite rises to her full heightagain. She will always be in the position of wondering whether she stayedon her knees long enough to please him. The thought had never enteredAnne's head to look anywhere but straight into Braden's eyes. She was notafraid to have him see that she was honest! He could see that she had nolies to tell him. And she was as sorry for him as she was for herself.... 

She saw him often during the days of Lutie's convalescence, but neveralone. There was considerable comfort for her in the thought that he madea distinct point of not being alone with her. One day she said to him:

"I have my car outside, Braden. Shall I run you over to St. Luke's?"

It was a test. She knew that he was going to the hospital, and intended totake the elevated down to 110th Street. His smile puzzled her. 

"No, thank you. " Then, after a moment, he added: "If people saw me drivingabout in a prosperous looking touring-car they'd be justified in thinkingthat my fees are exorbitant, and I should lose more than I'd gain. "

She flushed slightly. "By the same argument they might think you werepicking up germs in the elevated or the subway. "

"I shun the subway, " he said. 

Anne looked straight into his eyes and said—to herself: "I love you. " Hemust have sensed the unspoken words, for his eyes hardened. 

"Moreover, Anne, I shouldn't think it would be necessary for me to remindyou that—" he hesitated, for he suddenly realised that he was about tohurt her, and it was not what he wanted to do—"that there are other andbetter reasons why—"

He stopped there, and never completed the sentence. She was still lookinginto his eyes and was still saying to herself: "I love you. " It was as ifa gentle current of electricity played upon every nerve in his body. Hequivered under the touch of something sweet and mysterious. Exaltation washis response to the magnetic wave that carried her unspoken words into hisheart. She had not uttered a sound and yet he heard the words. How manytimes had she cried those delicious words into his ear while he held herclose in his arms? How many times had she looked at him like this whileactually speaking the words aloud in answer to his appeal?

They were standing but a few feet apart. He could take a step forward andshe would be in his arms, —that glorious, adorable, ineffably femininecreation, —in his arms, —in his arms, —

It was she who broke the spell. Her voice sounded far off—and exhausted, as if it came from her lips without breath behind it. 

"It will always be just the same, Braden, " she said, and he knew that itwas an acknowledgment of his unfinished reminder. She was promising himsomething. 

He took a firm grip on himself. "I'm glad that you see things as they are, Anne. Now, I must be off. Thanks just the same for—"

"Oh, don't mention it, " she said carelessly. "I'm glad that you see thingstoo as they are, Braden. " She held out her hand. There was no restraint inher manner. "I'm sorry, Braden. Things might have been so different. I'msorry. "

"Good God!" he burst out. "If you had only been—" He broke off, resolutelycompressing his lips. His jaw was set again in the strong old way that sheknew so well. 

She nodded her head slowly. "If I had only been some one else instead ofmyself, " she said, "it would not have happened. "

He turned toward the door, stopped short and then turned to face her. There was a strange expression in his grey eyes, not unlike diffidence. 

"Percy told me last night that you have refused to marry him. I'm gladthat you did that, Anne. I want you to know that I am glad, that Ifelt—oh, I cannot tell you how I felt when he told me. "

She eyed him closely for a moment. "You thought that I—I might haveaccepted him. Is that it?"

"I—I hadn't thought of it at all, " he said, confusedly. 

"Well, " she said, and a slight pallor began to reveal itself in her face, "I tried marrying for money once, Braden. The next time I shall trymarrying for love. "

He stared. "You don't mince words, do you?" he said, frowning. 

"No, " she said. "Percy will tell you that, I fancy, " she added, andsmiled. "He can't understand my not marrying him. He will be worth fifteenor twenty millions, you know. " The irony in her voice was directedinwardly, not outwardly. "Perhaps it would be safer for him to wait beforetaking too much for granted. You see, I haven't actually refused him. Imerely refused to give him an option. He—"

"Oh, Anne, don't jest about—" he began, and then as her eyes fell suddenlyunder his gaze and her lip trembled ever so slightly, —"By Jove, I—Isha'n't misjudge you in that way again. Good-bye. " This time he held outhis hand to her. 

She shook her head. "I've changed my mind. I'm never going to say good-byeto you again. "

"Never say good-bye? Why, that's—"

"Why should I say good-bye to you when you are always with me?" she brokein. Noting the expression in his eyes she went on ruthlessly, breathlessly. "Do you think I ought to be ashamed to say such a thing toyou? Well, I'm not. It doesn't hurt my pride to say it. Not in the least. "She paused for an instant and then went on boldly. "I fancy I am morehonest with myself than you are with yourself, Braden. "

He looked steadily into her eyes. "You are wrong there, " he said quietly. Then bluntly: "By God, Anne, if it were not for the one terrible thingthat lies between us, I could—I could—"

"Go on, " she said, her heart standing still. "You can at least _say_ it tome. I don't ask for anything more. "

"But why say it?" he cried out bitterly. "Will it help matters in theleast for me to confess that I am weak and—"

She laughed aloud, unable to resist the nervous excitement that thrilledher. "Weak? You weak? Look back and see if you can find a single thing toprove that you are weak. You needn't be afraid. You are strong enough tokeep me in my place. You cannot put yourself in jeopardy by completingwhat you started out to say. 'If it were not for the one terrible thingthat lies between us, I could—I could—' Well, what could you do? Overlookmy treachery? Forget that I did an even more terrible thing than you did?Forgive me and take me back and trust me all over again? Is that whatyou would have said to me?"

"That is what I might have said, " he admitted, almost savagely, "if I hadnot come to my senses in time. "

Her eyes softened. The love-light glowed in their depths. "I am not as Iwas two years ago, Braden, " she said. "I'd like you to know that, atleast. "

"I dare say that is quite true, " he said harshly. "You got what you wentafter and now that you've got it you can very comfortably repent. "

She winced. "I am not repenting. "

"Would you be willing to give up all that you gained out of thattransaction and go back to where my grandfather found you?" he demanded?

"Do you expect me to lie to you?" she asked with startling candour. 

"No. I know you will not lie. "

"Would it please you to have me say that I would willingly give up allthat I gained?"

"I see what you mean. It would be a lie. "

"Would it please you to have me give it all up?" she insisted. 

He was thoughtful. "No, " he said candidly. "You earned it, you areentitled to it. It is filthy, dirty money, but you earned it. You do notdeny that it was your price. That's the long and the short of it. "

"Will you let me confess something to you? Something that will make it allseem more despicable than before?"

"Good Lord, I don't see how that can be possible!"

"I did not expect to lose you, Braden, when I married Mr. Thorpe. Icounted on you in the end. I was so sure of myself, —and of you. Wait! Letme finish. If I had dreamed that I was to lose you, I should not havemarried Mr. Thorpe. That makes it worse, doesn't it?" There was a note ofappeal in her voice. 

"Yes, yes, —it makes it worse, " he groaned. 

"I was young and—over-confident, " she murmured. "I looked ahead to the daywhen I should be free again and you would be added to the—well, the gains. Now you know the whole truth about me. I was counting on you, lookingforward to you, even as I stood beside him and took the vows. You werealways uppermost in my calculations. I never left you out of them. Even tothis day, to this very moment, I continue to count on you. I shall neverbe able to put the hope out of my mind. I have tried it and failed. Youmay despise me if you will, but nothing can kill this mean little thingthat lurks in here. I don't know what you will call it, Braden, but I callit loyalty to you. "

"Loyalty! My God!" he cried out hoarsely. 

"Yes, loyalty, " she cried. "Mean as I am, mean as I have been, I havenever wavered an instant in my love for you. Oh, I'm not pleading foranything. I'm not begging. I don't ask for anything, —not even your goodopinion. I am only telling you the truth. Mr. Thorpe knew it all. He knewthat I loved you, and he knew that I counted on having you after he wasout of the way. And here is something else that you never knew, orsuspected. He believed that my love for you, my eagerness, my longing tobe free to call you back again, would be the means of releasing him fromthe thing that was killing him. He counted on me to—I will put it asgently as I can—to free myself. I believe in my soul that he married mewith that awful idea in his mind. "

For a long time they were silent. Braden was staring at her, horror in hiseyes. She remained standing before him, motionless. Lutie's nurse passedthrough the little hall outside, but they did not see or hear her. A doorclosed softly; the faint crying of the baby went unheard. 

"You are wrong there, " he said at last, thickly. "I happen to know whathis motives were, Anne. "

"Oh, I know, " she said wearily. "To prove to you how utterly worthless Iam, —or was. Well, it may have been that. I hope it was. I would like tothink it of him instead of the other thing. I would like to think of himas sacrificing himself for your sake, instead of planning to sacrifice mefor his sake. It is a terrible thought, Braden. He begged me to give himthose tablets, time and again. I—I couldn't have done that, not even withyou as the prize. " She shuddered. 

A queer, indescribable chill ran through his veins. "Do you—have you everthought that he may have held you out as a prize—for me?"

"You mean?" She went very white. "God above us, no! If I thought _that_, Braden, then there would be something lying between us, something thateven such as I could not overcome. "

"Just the same, " he went on grimly, "he went to his death with a word ofpraise on his lips for you, Anne. He told me you were deserving ofsomething better than the fate he had provided for you. He was sorry. It—it may have been that he was pleading your cause, that—"

"I would like to think that of him, " she cried eagerly, "even though hispraise fell upon deaf ears. "

She turned away from him and sank wearily into a chair. For a minute ortwo he stood there regarding her in silence. He was sorry for her. It hadtaken a good deal of courage to humble herself in his eyes, as she haddone by her frank avowal. 

"Is it any satisfaction to your pride, Anne, " he said slowly, afterdeliberate thought, "to know that I love you and always will love you, inspite of everything?"

Her answer was a long time in coming, and it surprised him when it didcome. 

"If I had any pride left I should hate you for humbling it in that manner, Braden, " she said, little red spots appearing on her cheeks. "I am notasking for your pity. "

"I did not mean to—" he cried impulsively. For an instant he threw allrestraint aside. The craving mastered him. He sprang forward. 

She closed her eyes quickly, and held her breath. 

He was almost at her side when he stopped short. Then she heard the rushof his feet and, the next instant, the banging of the hall door. He wasgone! She opened her eyes slowly, and stared dully, hazily before her. Fora long time she sat as one unconscious. The shock of realisation left herwithout the strength or the desire to move. Comprehension was slow incoming to her in the shock of disappointment. She could not realise thatshe was not in his arms. He had leaped forward to clasp her, she had felthis outstretched arms encircling her, —it was hard to believe that she satthere alone and that the ecstasy was not real. 

Tears filled her eyes. She did not attempt to wipe them away. She couldonly stare, unblinking, at the closed door. Sobs were in her throat; shewas first cold, then hot as with a fever. 

Slowly her breath began to come again, and with it the sobs. Her bodyrelaxed, she closed her eyes again and let her head fall back against thechair, and for many minutes she remained motionless, still with theweakness of one who has passed through a great crisis.... Longafterward, —she did not know how long it was, —she laid her arms upon thewindow-sill at her side and buried her face on them. The sobs died awayand the tears ceased flowing. Then she raised her eyes and stared downinto the hot, crowded street far below. She looked upon sordid, cheap, ugly things down there, and she had been looking at paradise such a littlewhile ago. 

Suddenly she sprang to her feet. Her tall, glorious figure was extended toits full height, and her face was transformed with the light ofexaltation. 

A key grated noisily in the hall door. The next instant it swung violentlyopen and her brother George strode in upon her, —big, clear-eyed, happy-faced and eager. 

"Hello!" he cried, stopping short. "I popped in early to-day. Matter ofgreat importance to talk over with my heir. Wait a second, Anne. I'll beback—I say, what's the matter? You look posi-_tive_-ly as if you were onthe point of bursting into grand opera. Going to sing?"

"I'm singing all over, Georgie, —all over, inside and out, " she criedjoyously. 

"Gee whiz!" he gasped. "Has the baby begun to talk?"

CHAPTER XXV

She did not meet him again at Lutie's. Purposely, and with a cunningsomewhat foreign to her sex, she took good care that he should not bethere when she made her daily visits. She made it an object to telephoneevery day, ostensibly to inquire about Lutie's condition, and she neverfailed to ask what the doctor had said. In that way she knew that he hadmade his visit and had left the apartment. She would then drive up intoHarlem and sit happily with her sister-in-law and the baby, whom sheadored with a fervour that surprised not only herself but the mother, whose ideas concerning Anne were undergoing a rapid and enduringreformation. 

She was shocked and not a little disillusioned one day, however, whenLutie, now able to sit up and chatter to her heart's content, remarked, with a puzzled frown on her pretty brow:

"Dr. Braden must be terribly rushed with work nowadays, Anne. For the lastweek he has been coming here at the most unearthly hour in the morning, and dashing away like a shot just as soon as he can. Good gracious, we'rehardly awake when he gets here. Never later than eight o'clock. "

Anne's temple came down in a heap. He wasn't playing the game at all asshe had expected. He was avoiding _her_. She was dismayed for an instant, and then laughed outright quite frankly at her own disenchantment. 

Lutie looked at her with deep affection in her eyes. "You ought to have alittle baby of your own, Anne, " she said. 

"It's much nicer having yours, " said Anne. "He's such a fat one. "

Two weeks later they were all up in the country, and George was sayingtwice a day at least that Anne was the surprise and comfort of his oldage. She was as gay as a lark. She sang, —but not grand opera selections. Her days were devoted to the cheerful occupation of teaching youngCarnahan how to smile and how to count his toes. 

But in the dark hours of the night she was not so serene. Then was hertime for reflection, for wonder, for speculation. Was life to be alwayslike this? Were her days to be merry and confident, and her nights as fullof loneliness and doubt? Was her craving never to be satisfied? Sometimeswhen George and Lutie went off to bed and left her sitting alone on thedark, screened-in veranda, looking down from the hills across the sombreHudson, she almost cried aloud in her desolation. Of what profit was loveto her? Was she always to go on being alone with the love that consumedher?

The hot, dry summer wore away. She steadfastly refused to go to the coolseashore, she declined the countless invitations that came to her, and shewent but seldom into the city. Her mother was at Newport. They had had onebrief, significant encounter just before the elder woman went off to theseashore. No doubt her mother considered herself entitled to a fair shareof "the spoils, " but she would make no further advances. She had failedearlier in the game; she would not humble herself again. And so, one hotday in August, just before going to the country, Anne went up to her oldhome, determined to have it out with her mother. 

"Why are you staying in town through all of this heat, mother dear?" sheasked. Her mother was looking tired and listless. She was showing her age, and that was the one thing that Anne could not look upon with complacency. 

"I can't afford to go junketing about this year, " said her mother, simply. "This awful war has upset—"

"The war hasn't had time to upset anything over here, mother. It's onlybeen going on a couple of weeks. You ought to go away, dearest, for a goodlong snooze in the country. You'll be as young as a débutante by the timethe season sets in. "

Mrs. Tresslyn smiled aridly. "Am I beginning to show my age so much as allthis, Anne?" she lamented. "I'm just a little over fifty. That isn't oldin these days, my dear. "

"You look worried, not old, " said her daughter, sympathetically. "Is itmoney?"

"It's always money, " admitted Mrs. Tresslyn. "I may as well make up mymind to retrench, to live a little more simply. You would think that Ishould be really quite well-to-do nowadays, having successfully gotten ridof my principal items of expense. But I will be quite frank with you, Anne. I am still trying to pay off obligations incurred before I lost myexcellent son and daughter. You were luxuries, both of you, my dear. "

Anne was shocked. "Do you mean to say that you are still paying off—stillpaying up for _us_? Good heavens, mamma! Why, we couldn't have got youinto debt to that—"

"Don't jump to conclusions, my dear, " her mother interrupted. "The debtswere not all due to you and George. I had a few of my own. What I mean tosay is that, combining all of them, they form quite a handsome amount. "

"Tell me, " said Anne determinedly, "tell me just how much of it should becharged up to George and me. "

"I haven't the remotest idea. You see, I was above keeping books. What areyou trying to get at? A way to square up with me? Well, my dear, you can'tdo that, you know. You don't owe me anything. Whatever I spent on you, Ispent cheerfully, gladly, and without an idea of ever receiving a penny inthe shape of recompense. That's the way with a mother, Anne. No matterwhat she may do for her children, no matter how much she may sacrifice forthem, she does it without a single thought for herself. That is the bestpart of being a mother. A wife may demand returns from her husband, but amother never thinks of asking anything of her children. I am sure thateven worse mothers than I will tell you the same. We never ask foranything in return but a little selfish pleasure in knowing that we haveborne children that are invariably better than the children that any othermother may have brought into the world. No, you owe me nothing, Anne. Putit out of your mind. "

Anne listened in amazement. "But if you are hard-up, mother dear, and onaccount of the money you were obliged to spend on us—because we were bothspoiled and selfish—why, it is only right and just that your children, ifthey can afford to do so, should be allowed to turn the tables on you. Itshouldn't be so one-sided, this little selfish pleasure that you mention. I am rich. I have a great deal more than I need. I have nearly a hundredthousand a year. You—"

"Has any one warned you not to talk too freely about it in these days ofincome tax collectors?" broke in her mother, with a faint smile. 

"Pooh! Simmy attends to that for me. I don't understand a thing about it. Now, see here, mother, I insist that it is my right, —not my duty, but myright—to help you out of the hole. You would do it for me. You've done itfor George, time and again. How much do you need?"

Mrs. Tresslyn regarded her daughter thoughtfully. "Back of all this, Isuppose, is the thought that it was I who made a rich girl of you. Youfeel that it is only right that you should share the spoils with yourpartner, not with your mother. "

"Once and for all, mother, let me remind you that I do not blame you formaking a rich woman of me. I did not have to do it, you know. I am not thesort that can be driven or coerced. I made my own calculations and I tookmy own chances. You were my support but not my _commander_. The super-virtuous girls you read about in books are always blaming their mothersfor such marriages as mine, and so do the comic papers. It's all bosh. Youth abhors old age. It loves itself too well. But we needn't discussresponsibilities. The point is this: I have more money than I know what todo with, so I want to help you out. It isn't because I think it is myduty, or that I owe it to you, but because I love you, mother. If you hadforced me into marrying Mr. Thorpe, I should hate you now. But I don't, —Ilove you dearly. I want you to let me love you. You are so hard to getclose to, —so hard to—"

"My dear, my dear, " cried her mother, coming up to her and laying herhands on the tall girl's shoulders, "you have paid me in full now. Whatyou have just said pays off all the debts. I was afraid that my childrenhated me. "

"You poor old dear!" cried Anne, her eyes shining. "If you will only letme show you how much I can love you. We are pretty much alike, mother, youand I. We—"

"No!" cried out the other fiercely. "I do not want you to say that. I donot want you to be like me. Never say that to me again. I want you to behappy, and you will never be happy if you are like me. "

"Piffle!" said Anne, and kissed her mother soundly. And she knew then, asshe had always known, that her mother was not and never could be a happywoman. Even in her affection for her own children she was the spirit ofselfishness. She loved them for what they meant to her and not forthemselves. She was consistent. She knew herself better than any one elseknew her. 

"Now, tell me how much you need, " went on Anne, eagerly. "I've hated tobroach the subject to you. It didn't seem right that I should. But I don'tcare now. I want to do all that I can. "

"I will not offend you, or insult you, Anne, by saying that you are a goodgirl, —a better one than I thought you would ever be. You can't help me, however. Don't worry about me. I shall get on, thank you. "

"Just the same, I insist on paying your bills, and setting you straightonce more for another fling. And you are going to Newport this week. Come, now, mother dear, let's get it over with. Tell me about _everything_. Youmay hop into debt again just as soon as you like, but I'll feel a gooddeal better if I know that it isn't on my account. It isn't right that youshould still have George and me hanging about your neck like millstones. Come! I insist. Let's figure it all up. "

An hour afterward, she said to her mother: "I'll make out one check to youcovering everything, mother. It will look better if you pay them yourself. Thirty-seven thousand four hundred and twelve dollars. That's everything, is it, —you're sure?"

"Everything, " said Mrs. Tresslyn, settling back in her chair. "I will notattempt to thank you, Anne. You see, I didn't thank Lutie when she threwher money in my face, for somehow I knew that I'd give it all back to heragain. Well, you may have to wait longer than she did, my dear, but thiswill all come back to you. I sha'n't live forever, you know. "

Anne kissed her. "You are a wonder, mother dear. You wouldn't come off ofyour high-horse for anything, would you? By Jove, that's what I like mostin you. You never knuckle. "

"My dear, you are picking up a lot of expressions from Lutie. "

The early evenings at Anne's place in the country were spent solely indiscussions of the great war. There was no other topic. The whole of thecivilised world was talking of the stupendous conflict that had burst uponit like a crash out of a clear sky. George came home loaded down with thelatest extras and all of the regular editions of the afternoon papers. 

"By gemini, " he was in the habit of saying, "it's a lucky thing for thoseGermans that Lutie got me to reenlist with her a year ago. I'd be on myway over there by this time, looking for real work. Gee, Anne, that's onething I could do as well as anybody. I'm big enough to stop a lot ofbullets. We'll never see another scrap like this. It's just my luck to behappily married when it bursts out, too. "

"I am sure you would have gone, " said Lutie serenely. "I'm glad I capturedyou in time. It saves the Germans an awful lot of work. "

The smashing of Belgium, the dash of the great German army toward Paris, the threatened disaster to the gay capital, the sickening conviction thatnothing could check the tide of guns and men, —all these things bore downupon them with a weight that seemed unbearable. And then came the battleof the Marne! Von Kluck's name was on the lips of every man, woman andchild in the United States of America. Would they crush him? Was Parissafe? What was the matter with England? And then, the personal elementcame into the situation for Anne and her kind: the names of the officerswho had fallen, snuffed out in Belgium and France. Nearly every daybrought out the name of some one she had known, a few of them quite well. There were the gallant young Belgians who had come over for the horse-shows, and the polo-players she had known in England, and the gay youngnoblemen, —their names brought the war nearer home and sickened her. 

As time went on the horrors of the great conflict were deprived, throughincessant repetition, of the force to shock a world now accustomed to thedaily slaughter of thousands. Humanity had got used to war. War was nolonger a novelty. People read of great battles in which unprecedentednumbers of men were slain, and wondered how much of truth was in thereports. War no longer horrified the distant on-looker. The sufferings ofthe Belgians were of greater interest to the people of America than thesufferings of the poor devils in the trenches or on the battle lines. Avast wave of sympathy was sweeping the land and purses were touched asnever before. War was on parade. The world turned out en masse to see thespectacle. The heart of every good American was touched by what he saw, and the hand of every man was held out to stricken Belgium, nor was anyhand empty. Belgium presented the grewsome spectacle, and the world paidwell for the view it was having. 

It was late in November when Anne and the others came down to the city, and by that time the full strength of the movement to help the sufferershad been reached. People were fighting for the Belgians, but with theirhearts instead of their hands. The stupendous wave of sympathy was at itsheight. It rolled across the land and then across the sea. People wereswept along by its mighty rush. Anne Thorpe was caught up in the maelstromof human energy. 

Something fine in her nature, however, caused Anne to shrink from publicbenefactions. She realised that a world that was charitable to theBelgians was not so apt to be charitable toward her. While she did notcontribute anonymously to the fund, she let it be distinctly understoodthat her name was not to be published in any of the lists of donors, except in a single instance when she gave a thousand-dollars. That much, at least, would be expected of her and she took some comfort in the beliefthat the world would not charge her with self-exploitation on the moneyshe had received from Templeton Thorpe. Other gifts and contributions werenever mentioned in the press by the committees in charge. She gaveliberally, not only to the sufferers on the other side of the Atlantic butto the poor of New York, and she steadfastly declined to serve on any ofthe relief committees. 

Never until now had she appreciated how thin-skinned she was. It is not tobe inferred that she shut herself up and affected a life of seclusion. Asa matter of fact, she went out a great deal, but invariably among friendsand to small, intimate affairs. 

Not once in the months that followed the scene in Lutie's sitting-room didshe encounter Braden Thorpe. She heard of him frequently. He was verybusy. He went nowhere except where duty called. There was not a moment inher days, however, when her thoughts were not for him. Her eyes werealways searching the throngs on Fifth Avenue in quest of his figure; inrestaurants she looked eagerly over the crowded tables in the hope thatshe might see actually the face that was always before her, night and day. Be it said to her credit, she resolutely abstained from carrying her questinto quarters where she might be certain of seeing him, of meeting him, ofreceiving recognition from him. She avoided the neighbourhood in which hisoffices were located, she shunned the streets which he would mostcertainly traverse. While she longed for him, craved him with all thehunger of a starved soul, she was content to wait. He loved her. Shethrived on the joy of knowing this to be true. He might never come to her, but she knew that it would never be possible for her to go to him unlesshe called her to him. 

Then, one day in early January, she crumpled up under the shock of seeinghis name in the headlines of her morning newspaper. 

He was going to the front!

For a moment she was blind. The page resolved itself into a thick mass ofblack. She was in bed when the paper was brought to her with her coffee. She had been lying there sweetly thinking of him. Up to the instant hereyes fell upon the desolating headline she had been warm and snug andtingling with life just aroused. And then she was as cold as ice, stupefied. It was a long time before she was able to convince herself thatthe type was really telling her something that she would have to believe. He was going to the war!

Thorpe was one of a half-dozen American surgeons who were going over onthe steamer sailing that day to give their services to the French. Thenewspaper spoke of him in glowing terms. His name stood out above all theothers, for he was the one most notably in the public eye at the moment. The others, just as brave and self-sacrificing as he, were brieflymentioned and that was all. He alone was in the headlines, he alone wasdiscussed. No one was to be allowed to forget that he was the clever youngsurgeon who had saved the great Marraville. The account dwelt upon thegrave personal sacrifice he was making in leaving New York just as theworld was beginning to recognise his great genius and ability. Prosperitywas knocking at his door, fame was holding out its hand to him, and yet hewas casting aside all thought of self-aggrandisement, all personalambition in order to go forth and serve humanity in fields where his namewould never be mentioned except in a cry for help from strong men who hadknown no fear. 

Sailing that day! Anne finally grasped the meaning of the words. She wouldnot see him again. He would go away without a word to her, without givingher the chance to say good-bye, despite her silly statement that she wouldnever utter the words again where he was concerned. 

Slowly the warm glow returned to her blood. Her brain cleared, and she wasable to think, to grasp at the probable significance of his action indeserting New York and his coveted opportunities. Something whispered toher that he was going away because of his own sufferings and not those ofthe poor wretches at the front. Her heart swelled with pity. There was notriumph in the thought that he was running away because of his love forher. She needed no such proof as this to convince her that his heart wasmore loyal to her than his mind would have it be. She cried a little ... And then got up and called for a messenger boy. 

This brief message went down to the ship:

"God be with you. I still do not say good-bye, just God be with youalways, as I shall be. Anne. "

She did not leave the hotel until long after the ship had sailed. He didnot telephone. There were a dozen calls on the wire that morning, but shehad her maid take the messages. There was always the fear that he mighttry to reach her while some one of her idle friends was engaged in makinga protracted visit with her over the wire. About one o'clock Simmy Dodgecalled up to ask if he could run in and have luncheon with her. 

"I've got a message for you, " he said. 

Her heart began to beat so violently that she was afraid he would hear itthrough the receiver at his ear. She could not trust herself to speak fora moment. Evidently he thought she was preparing to put him off with somepolite excuse. Simmy was, as ever, considerate. He made haste to spare herthe necessity for fibbing. "I can drop in late this afternoon—"

"No, " she cried out, "come now, Simmy. I shall expect you. Where are you?"

He coughed in some embarrassment. "I'm—well, you see, I was going past soI thought I'd stop in and—What? Yes, I'm downstairs. "

She joined him in the palm room a few minutes later, and they went in toluncheon. Her colour was high. Simmy thought he had never seen her whenshe looked more beautiful. But he thought that with each succeedingglimpse of her. 

"'Pon my word, Anne, " he said, staring at her across the table, "youfairly dazzle me. Forgive me for saying so. I couldn't help it. Perfectass sometimes, you see. "

"I forgive you. I like it. What message did Braden send to me?"

He had not expected her to be so frank, so direct. "I don't know. I wish Idid. The beggar wrote it and sealed it up in this beastly littleenvelope. " He handed her the square white envelope with the ship's emblemin the corner. 

Before looking at the written address, she put her next question to him. Agood deal depended on his answer. "Do you know when he wrote this note, Simmy?"

"Just before they pushed me down the gang-plank, " he said. A light brokein upon him. "Did you send him a message?"

"Yes. "

"Well, I don't know whether it is the right thing to say, but I can tellyou this: he wrote this note before reading your letter or telegram orwhatever it was. He had a score of things like that and he didn't open oneof 'em until she'd cast off. "

She smiled. "Thank you, Simmy. You have said the right thing, —as youalways do. " One glance at the superscription was enough. It was in hishandwriting. For the first time she saw it in his hand: "Anne TresslynThorpe. " A queer little shiver ran through her, never to be explained. 

Simmy watched her curiously as she slipped the missive, unopened, into hergold mesh bag. "Don't mind me, " he said. "Read it. "

"Not now, Simmy, " she said simply. And all through luncheon she thrilledwith the consciousness that she had something of Braden there with her, near her, waiting for her. His own hand had touched this bit of paper; itwas a part of him. It was so long since she had seen that well-known, beloved handwriting, —strong like the man, and sure; she found herselfcounting the ages that had passed since his last love missive had come toher. 

Simmy was rattling on, rather dolefully, about Braden's plans. He waslikely to be over there for a long time, —just as long as he was needed orable to endure the strain of hard, incessant work in the field hospitals. 

"I wanted to go, " the little man was saying, and that brought her back toearth. "The worst way, Anne. But what could I do? Drive an automobile, yes, but what's that? Brady wouldn't hear to it. He said it was nonsense, me talking of going over there and getting in people's way. Of course, I'dprobably faint the first time I saw a mutilated dead body, and that_would_ irritate the army. They'd have to stop everything while they gaveme smelling salts. I suppose I'd get used to seeing 'em dead all over theplace, just as everybody does, —even the worst of cowards. I'm not acoward, Anne. I drive my racing-car at ninety miles, I play polo, I go upin Scotty's aeroplane whenever I get a chance, I can refuse to take adrink when I think I've had enough, and if that doesn't prove that I'vegot courage I'd like to know what it does prove. But I'm not a fightingman. Nobody would ever be afraid of me. There isn't a German on earth whowould run if he saw me charging toward him. He'd just wait to see what thedickens I was up to. Something would tell him that I wouldn't have theheart to shoot him, no matter how necessary it might be for me to do so. Still I wanted to go. That's what amazes me. I can't understand it. "

"I can understand it, you poor old simpleton, " cried Anne. "You wanted togo because you are _not_ afraid. "

"I wish I could think so, " said he, really perplexed. "Brady is different. He'd be a soldier as is a soldier. He's going over to save men's lives, however, and that's something I wouldn't be capable of doing. If I wentthey'd expect me to kill 'em, and that's what I'd hate. Good Lord, Anne, Icouldn't shoot down a poor German boy that hadn't done a thing to me—or tomy country, for that matter. If they'd only let me go as a spy, or even amessenger boy, I'd jump at the chance. But they'd want me to killpeople, —and I couldn't do it, that's all. "

"Is Braden well? Does he look fit, Simmy? You know there will be greathardships, vile weather, exposure—"

"He's thin and—well, I'll be honest with you, he doesn't look as fit asmight be. "

She paled. "Has he been ill?"

"Not in body, but—he's off his feed, Anne. Maybe you know the reason why. "He looked at her narrowly. 

"I have not seen him in months, " she said evasively. 

"I guess that's the answer, " he said, pulling at his little moustache. "I'm sorry, Anne. It's too bad—for both of you. Lordy, I never dreamed Icould be so unselfish. I'm mad in love with you myself and—oh, well!That's an old tale, so we'll cut it short. I don't know what I'm going todo without Brady. I've got the blues so bad that—why, I cried like a nastylittle baby down there at the—everybody lookin' at me pityingly and sayingto themselves 'what a terrible thing grief is when it hits a man likethat, ' and thinkin' of course that I'd lost a whole family in Belgium orsomewhere—oh, Lordy, what a blithering—"

"Hush!" whispered Anne, her own eyes glistening. "You are an angel, Simmy. You—"

"Let's talk sense, " he broke in abruptly. "Braden left his business in myhands, and his pleasures in the hands of Dr. Cole. He says it's a pleasureto heal people, so that's why I put it in that way. I've got his will downin our safety vault, and his instructions about that silly foundation—"

"You—you think he may not come back?" she said, gripping her hands underthe edge of the table. 

"You never can tell. Taking precautions, that's all, as any wise man woulddo. Oh, I'm sorry, Anne! I should have known better. Lordy, you're aswhite as—Sure, he'll come back! He isn't going to be in the least danger. Not the least. Nobody bothers the doctors, you know. They can go anywhere. They wear plug hats and all that sort of thing, and all armies respect aplug hat. A plug hat is a _silk_ hat, you know, —the safest hat in theworld when you're on the firing line. Everybody tries to hit the hat andnot the occupant. It's a standing army joke. I was reading in the paperthe other day about a fellow going clear from one end of the line to theother and having six hundred and some odd plug hats shot off his headwithout so much as getting a hair singed. Wait! I can tell what you'regoing to ask, and I can't, on such short notice, answer the question. Ican only say that I don't know where he got the hats. Ah, good! You'relaughing again, and, by Jove, it becomes you to blush once in a while, too. Tell me, old lady, "—he leaned forward and spoke very seriously, —"doesit mean a great deal to you?"

She nodded her head slowly. "Yes, Simmy, it means everything. "

He drew a long breath. "That's just what I thought. One ordinary dose ofcommonsense split up between the two of you wouldn't be a bad thing forthe case. "

"You dear old thing!" cried Anne impulsively. 

"How are Lutie and my god-son?" he inquired, with a fine air ofsolicitude. 

Half an hour later, Anne read the brief note that Braden had sent to her. She read it over and over again, and without the exultation she hadanticipated. Her heart was too full for exultation. 

"Dear Anne, " it began, "I am going to the war. I am going because I am acoward. The world will call me brave and self-sacrificing, but it will notbe true. I am a coward. The peril I am running away from is far greaterthan that which awaits me over there. I thought you would like to know. The suffering of others may cause me to forget my own at times. " He signedit "Braden"; and below the signature there was a postscript that puzzledher for a long time. "If you are not also a coward you will return to mygrandfather's house, where you belong. "

And when she had solved the meaning of that singular postscript she sentfor Wade. 

CHAPTER XXVI

Anne Thorpe had set her heart on an eventuality. She could see nothingelse, think of nothing else. She prayed each night to God, —anddevoutly, —not alone for the safe return of her lover, but that God wouldsend him home soon! She was conscious of no fear that he might neverreturn at all. 

To the surprise of every one, with the approach of spring, she announcedher determination to re-open the old Thorpe residence and take up herabode therein. George was the only one who opposed her. He was seriouslyupset by the news. 

"Good heaven, Anne, you don't _have_ to live in the house, so why do it?It's like a tomb. I get the shivers every time I think about it. You canafford to live anywhere you like. It isn't as if you were obliged to thinkof expenses—"

"It seems rather silly _not_ to live in it, " she countered. "I will admitthat at first I couldn't endure the thought of it, but that was when allof the horrors were fresh in my mind. Besides, I resented his leaving itto me. It was not in the bargain, you know. There was something high-handed, too, in the way I was _ordered_ to live in the house. I had theuncanny feeling that he was trying to keep me where he could watch—but, ofcourse, that was nonsense. There is no reason why I shouldn't live in thehouse, Georgie. It is—"

"There is a blamed good reason why you should never have lived in it, " heblurted out. "There's no use digging it up, however, so we'll let it stayburied. " He argued bitterly, even doggedly, but finally gave it up. "Well, " he said in the end, "if you will, you will. All the King's horsesand all the King's men can't stop you when you've once made up your mind. "

A few days later she called for Lutie in the automobile and they wenttogether to the grim old house near Washington Square. Her mind was madeup, as George had put it. She was going to open the house and have it putin order for occupancy as soon as possible. 

She had solved the meaning of Braden's postscript. She would have to proveto him, first of all, that she was not afraid of the shadow that layinside the walls of that grim old house. "If you are not also a coward youwill return to my grandfather's house, where you belong. " It was, shehonestly believed, his way of telling her that if she faced the shadow inher own house, and put it safely behind her, her fortitude would not gounrewarded!

It did not occur to her that she was beginning badly when she delayedgoing down to the house for two whole days because Lutie was unable toaccompany her. 

The windows and doors were boarded up. There was no sign of life about theplace when they got down from the limousine and mounted the steps at theheels of the footman who had run on ahead to ring the bell. They waitedfor the opening of the inner door and the shooting of the bolts in thestorm-doors, but no sound came to their ears. Again the bell jangled, —howwell she remembered the old-fashioned bell at the end of the hall!—andstill no response from within. 

The two women looked at each other oddly. "Try the basement door, " saidAnne to the man. They stood at the top of the steps while the footmantried the iron gate that barred the way to the tradesmen's door. It waspad-locked. 

"I asked Simmy to meet us here at eleven, " said Anne nervously. "I expectit will cost a good deal to do the house over as I want—Doesn't any oneanswer, Peters?"

"No, ma'am. Maybe he's out. "

Lutie's face blanched suddenly. "My goodness, Anne, what if—what if he'sdead in—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Lutie, " cried Anne impatiently, "don't go toimagining—Still it's very odd. Pound on the door, Peters, —hard. "

She shivered a little and turned away so that Lutie could not see theexpression in her eyes. "I have had no word from him in nearly two weeks. He calls up once every fortnight to inquire—You are not pounding hardenough, Peters. "

"Let's go away, " said Lutie, starting down the steps. 

"No, " said Anne resolutely, "we must get in somehow. He may be ill. He isan old man. He may be lying in there praying for help, dying for lack of—"Then she called out to the chauffeur. "See if you can find a policeman. Wemay have to break the door down. You see, Lutie, if he's in there I mustget to him. We may not be too late. "

Lutie rejoined her at the top of the steps. "You're right, Anne. I don'tknow what possessed me. But, goodness, I _hope_ it's nothing—" Sheshuddered. "He may have been dead for days. "

"What a horrible thing it would be if—But it doesn't matter, Lutie; I amgoing in. If you are nervous or afraid of seeing something unpleasant, don't come with me. Wade must be nearly seventy. He may have fallenor—Look! Why, —can _that_ be him coming up the—" She was staring down thestreet toward Sixth Avenue. A great breath of relief escaped her lips asshe clutched her companion's arm and pointed. 

Wade was approaching. He was still half way down the long block, and onlyan eye that knew him well could have identified him. Even at closer rangeone might have mistaken him for some one else. 

He was walking rather briskly, —in fact, he was strutting. It was not hisgait, however, that called for remark. While he was rigidly upright andsteady as to progress, his sartorial condition was positively staggering. He wore a high, shiny silk hat. It was set at just the wee bit of an angleand quite well back on his head. Descending his frame, the eye took in acostly fur-lined overcoat with a sable collar, properly creased trouserswith a perceptible stripe, grey spats and unusually glistening shoes thatcould not by any chance have been of anything but patent leather. Lighttan gloves, a limber walking stick, a white carnation and a bright rednecktie—there you have all that was visible of him. Even at a greatdistance you would have observed that he was freshly shaved. 

Suddenly his eye fell upon the automobile and then took in the smartlooking visitors above. His pace slackened abruptly. After a moment ofwhat appeared to be indecision, he came on, rather hurriedly. There hadbeen a second or two of suspense in which Anne had the notion that theextraordinary creature was on the point of darting into a basement door, as if, unlike the peacock, he was ashamed of his plumage. 

He came up to them, removing his high hat with an awkwardness thatbetrayed him. His employer was staring at him with undisguised amazement. "I just stepped out for a moment, Mrs. Thorpe, to post a letter, " saidWade, trying his best not to sink back into servility, and quite miserablyfailing. He was fumbling for his keys. The tops of the houses across thestreet appeared to interest him greatly. His gaze was fixed ratherintently upon them. "Very sorry, Mrs. Thorpe, —dreadfully sorry. Ahem! Goodmorning. I hope you have not been waiting long. I—ah, here we are!" Hefound the key in the pocket of his fancy waistcoat, and bolted down thesteps to unlock the gate. "Excuse me, please. I will run in this way andopen the door from the—"

"Wade, " cried out Mrs. Thorpe, "is it really you?"

He looked astonished—and a trifle hurt. "Who else could I be, Mrs. Thorpe?" Then he darted through the gate and a moment later the servants'door opened and closed behind him. 

"I must be dreaming, " said Anne. "What in the world has come over theman?"

Lutie closed one eye slowly. "There is only one thing under heaven thatcould make a man rig himself out like that, —and that thing is a woman. "

"A woman? Don't be foolish, Lutie. Wade couldn't even _think_ of a woman. He's nearly seventy. "

"They think of 'em until they drop, my dear, " said Lutie sagely. "That'sone thing we've got to give them credit for. They keep on thinking aboutus even while they're trying to keep the other foot out of the grave. Youare going to lose the amiable Wade, Anne dear. He's not wearing spats fornothing. "

Some time passed before the key turned in the inner door, and there wasstill a long wait before the bolts in the storm doors shot back and Wade'sface appeared. He had not had the time to remove the necktie and spats, but the rest of his finery had been replaced by the humble togs ofservice—long service, you would say at a glance. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting, ma'am, but—" He held the doors open and thetwo ladies entered the stuffy, unlighted hall. 

"Turn on the lights, please, " said Anne quickly. Wade pushed a button andthe lights were on. She surveyed him curiously. "Why did you take themoff, Wade? You looked rather well in them. "

He cleared his throat gently, and the shy, set smile reappeared as if bymagic. "It isn't necessary for me to say that I was not expecting you thismorning. "

"Quite obviously you were not, " said Anne drily. She continued to regardhim somewhat fixedly. Something in his expression puzzled her. "Mr. Dodgewill be here presently. I am making arrangements to open the house. "

He started. "Er—not to—er—live in it yourself, of course. I was sure Mr. Dodge would find a way to get around the will so that you could let thehouse—"

"I expect to live here myself, Wade, " said she. After a moment, she wenton: "Will you care to stay on?"

He was suddenly confused. "I—I can't give you an answer just at thismoment, Mrs. Thorpe. It may be a few days before I—" He paused. 

"Take all the time you like, Wade, " she interrupted. 

"I fancy I'd better give notice now, ma'am, " he said after a moment. "To-day will do as well as any day for that. " He seemed to straighten out hisfigure as he spoke, resuming a little of the unsuspected dignity that hadaccompanied the silk hat and the fur-lined coat. 

"I'm sorry, " said Anne, —who was not in the slightest sense sorry. Wadesometimes gave her the creeps. 

"I should like to explain about the—ah—the garments you saw mewearing—ah—I mean to say, I should have brought myself to the point oftelling you a little later on, in any event, but now that you have caughtme wearing of them, I dare say this is as good a time as any to get itover with. First of all, Mrs. Thorpe, I must preface my—er—confession byannouncing that I am quite sure that you have always considered me to bean honest man and above deception and falsehood. Ahem! That _is_ right, isn't it?"

"What are you trying to get at, Wade?" she cried in surprise. "You cannotimagine that I suspect you of—anything wrong?"

"It may be wrong, and it may not be. I have never felt quite right aboutit. There have been times when I felt real squeamish—and a bitunderhanded, you might say. On the other hand, I submit that it was notaltogether reprehensible on my part to air them occasionally—and to seethat the moths didn't—"

"Air them? For goodness' sake, Wade, speak plainly. Why shouldn't you airyour own clothes? They are very nice looking and they must have cost you apretty penny. Dear me, I have no right to say what you shall wear on thestreet or—"

Wade's eyes grew a little wider. "Is it possible, madam, that you failedto recognise the—er—garments?"

She laid her hand upon Lutie's arm, and gripped it convulsively. Her eyeswere fixed in a fast-growing look of aversion. 

"You do not mean that—that they were Mr. Thorpe's?" she said, in a lowvoice. 

"I supposed, of course, you would have remembered them, " said Wade, atrifle sharply. "The overcoat was one that he wore every day when you wentout for your drive with him, just before he took to his bed. I—"

"Good heaven!" cried Anne, revolted. "You have been wearing his clothes?"

"They were not really what you would call cast-off garments, ma'am, " heexplained in some haste, evidently to save his dignity. "They were rathernew, you may remember, —that is to say, the coat and vest and trousers. AsI recall it, the overcoat was several seasons old, and the hat was thelast one he ordered before taking to the comfortable lounge hat—he alwayshad his hats made from his own block, you see, —and as I was about toexplain, ma'am, it seemed rather a sin to let them hang in the closet, food for moths and to collect dust in spite of the many times I brushedthem. Of course, I should never have presumed to wear them while he wasstill alive, not even after he had abandoned them for good—No, that is athing I have never been guilty of doing. I could not have done it. That isjust the difference between a man-servant and a woman-servant. Your maidfrequently went out in your gowns without your knowledge. I am told it isquite a common practice. At least I may claim for myself the credit ofwaiting until my employer was dead before venturing to cover my back withhis—Yes, honest confession is good for the soul, ma'am. These shoes are myown, and the necktie. He could not abide red neckties. Of course, I neednot say that the carnation I wore was quite fresh. The remainder of myapparel was once worn by my beloved master. I am not ashamed to confessit. "

"How _could_ you wear the clothes of a—a dead person?" cried Anne, cringing as if touched by some cold and slimy thing. 

"It seemed such a waste, madam. Of late I have taken to toning myself up abit, and there seemed no sensible reason why I shouldn't make use of Mr. Thorpe's clothes, —allow me to explain that I wore only those he had usedthe least, —provided they were of a satisfactory fit. We were of prettymuch the same size, —you will remember that, I'm sure, —and, they fitted mequite nicely. Of course, I should not have taken them away with me when Ileft your employ, madam. That would have been unspeakable. I should haverestored them to the clothes presses, and you would have found them therewhen I turned over the keys and—"

"Good heavens, man, " she cried, "take them away with you when you go—allof them. Everything, do you hear? I give them all to you. Of what usecould they be to me? They are yours. Take everything, —hats, boots, linen, —"

"Thank you, ma'am. That is very handsome of you. I wasn't quite sure thatperhaps Mr. Braden wouldn't find some use for the overcoat. It is a veryelegant coat. It cost—"

"Wade, you are either very stupid or very insolent, " she interruptedcoldly. "We need not discuss the matter any farther. How soon do youexpect to leave?"

"I should say that a week would be sufficient notice, under thecircumstances, " said he, and chuckled, much to their amazement. "I may aswell make a clean breast of it, ma'am. I am going to be married on theseventeenth of next month. That's just six weeks off and—"

"Married! You?"

"Ah, madam, I trust you will not forget that I have lived a very lonelyand you might say profitless life, " he said, rubbing his hands together, and allowing his smile to broaden into a pleased grin. "As you may know inthe spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love, —and soon. A man is as old as he feels. I can't say that I ever felt younger inmy life than I have felt during the past month. "

"I wish you joy and happiness, Wade, " said Anne dumbly. She was staring athis smirking, seamed old face as if fascinated. "I hope she is a goodwoman and that you will find—"

"She is little more than a girl, " said he, straightening his figure stilla little more, remembering that he had just spoken of his own youthfulfeelings. There may have been something of the pride of conquest as well. "Just twenty-one last December. "

Lutie laughed out loud. He bent his head quickly and they saw that hislips were compressed. 

"I beg your pardon, Wade, " cried George's wife. "It—it really isn'tanything to laugh at, and I'm sorry. "

"That's all right, Mrs. George, " he muttered. 

"Only twenty-one, " murmured Anne, her gaze running over the shabby oldfigure in front of her. "My God, Wade, is she—what can she be thinkingof?"

He looked straight into her eyes, and spoke. "Is it so horrible for ayoung girl to marry an old man, ma'am?" he asked sorrowfully, and sorespectfully that she was deceived into believing that he intended noaffront to her. 

"They usually know what they are doing when they marry very old men, " shereplied deliberately. "You must not overlook that fact, Wade. But perhapsit isn't necessary for me to remind you that young girls do not marry oldmen for love. There may be pity, or sentiment, or duty—but never love. More often than not it is avarice, Wade. "

"Quite true, " said he. "I am glad to have you speak so frankly to me, ma'am. It proves that you are interested in my welfare. "

"Who is she, Wade?" she inquired. 

Lutie had passed into the library, leaving them together in the hall. Shehad experienced a sudden sensation of nausea. It was impossible for her toremain in the presence of this shattered old hulk and still be able tokeep the disgust from showing itself in her eyes. She was the wife of areal man, and the wife of a man whom she could love and caress and yieldherself to with a thrill of ecstasy in her blood. 

"The young lady I was speaking to you about some weeks ago, madam, —thedaughter of my friend who conducts the _delicatessen_ just below us inSixth Avenue. You remember I spoke to you of the Southern lady reduced toa commercial career by—"

"I remember. I remember thinking at the time that it might be the motherwho would prevail—I am sorry, Wade. I shouldn't have said that—"

"It's quite all right, " said he amiably. "It is barely possible—ay, evenprobable, —that it was the mother who prevailed. They sometimes do, youknow. But Marian appears to have a mind of her own. She loves me, Mrs. Thorpe. I am quite sure of that. It would be pretty hard to deceive me. "

Through all of this Anne was far from oblivious to the sinistercomparisons the man was drawing. She had always been a little afraid ofhim. Now an uneasy horror was laying its hold upon her. He had used her asan example in persuading a silly, unsophisticated girl to give herself tohim. He had gone about his courtship in the finery his dead master hadleft behind him. 

"I thank you for your good wishes, Mrs. Thorpe, " he went on, smoothly. "Ifit is not too much to ask, I should like to have you say a few good wordsfor me to Marian some day soon. She would be very greatly influenced bythe opinion of so great a lady as—"

"But I thought you said it was settled, " she broke in sharply. 

"It is settled, " he said. "But if you would only do me the favourof—er—advising her to name an earlier day than the seventeenth, I—"

"I cannot advise her, Wade, " said she firmly. "It is out of the question. "

"I am sorry, " he said, lowering his gaze. "Mr. Thorpe was my best friendas well as my master. I thought, for his sake, you might consent to—"

"You must do your own pleading, Wade, " she interrupted, a red spotappearing in each cheek. Then rashly: "You may continue to court her inMr. Thorpe's clothes but you need not expect his wife to lend herassistance also. "

His eyes glittered. "I am sorry if I have offended you, ma'am. And I thankyou for being honest and straightforward with me. It is always best. "

"I did not mean to hurt your feelings, Wade, " she began, half-sorry forher remark. 

"Not in the least, ma'am. Nothing can hurt my feelings. You see, I livedwith Mr. Thorpe a great deal longer than you did. I got quite beyond beinghurt. "

She drew a step nearer. "Wade, " she said quietly, "I am going to adviseyou, not this wretched girl who is planning to marry you. How old areyou?"

"Two score and a half and five, " he answered promptly. Evidently he haduttered the glib lie before, and as on another occasion he waited for hislistener to reduce the words to figures. 

"Fifty-five, " said Anne, after some time. She was not good at mathematics. "I thought you were older than that. It doesn't matter, however. You arefairly well-off, I believe. Upwards of fifty thousand dollars, no doubt. Now, I shall be quite frank with you. This girl is taking you for yourmoney. Just a moment, if you please. I do not know her, and I may be doingher an injustice. You have compared her to me in reaching yourconclusions. You do not deceive yourself any more than Mr. Thorpe deceivedhimself. He knew I did not love him, and you must know that the samecondition exists in this affair of yours. You have thanked me for beinghonest. Well, I was honest with Mr. Thorpe. I would have been as true assteel to him, even if he had lived to be an hundred. The question you mustask of yourself is this, Wade: Will this girl be as true as steel to you?Is there no other man to be afraid of?"

He listened intently. A certain greyness crept into his hollow cheeks. 

"Was there no other man when you married Mr. Thorpe?" he asked levelly. 

"Yes, there was, " she surprised him by replying. "An honest man, however. I think you know—"

She scarcely heard Wade as he went on, now in a most conciliatory way. "Itmay interest you to know that I have arranged to buy out the delicatessen. We expect to enlarge and tidy the place up just as soon as we can getaround to it. I believe I shall be very happy, once I get into activebusiness. Mrs. Gadscomb, —that's the present mother, —I mean to say, thepresent owner, Marian's mother, has agreed to conduct the place asheretofore, at a very excellent salary, and I have no fear as to—Butexcuse me for going on like this, ma'am. No doubt you would like to talkabout your own affairs instead of listening to mine. You said somethingabout opening the house and coming back here to live. Of course, I shallconsider it my duty to remain here just as long as I can be of service toyou. There will be a little plumbing needed on the third floor, and Ifancy a general cleaning—"

"Thank heaven, there is Mr. Dodge at last, " cried Anne, as the belljangled almost over her head, startling her into a little cry of alarm. 

As Wade shuffled toward the front door, once more the simple slave ofcircumstance, she fled quickly into the library. 

"Oh, Lutie, " she cried, sinking into a chair beside the long, familiartable, and beating with her clenched hands upon the surface of it, "I knowat last just how I look to other people. My God in heaven, what a _thingI_ must seem to you. "

Lutie came swiftly out of the shadows and laid her hands upon theshoulders of her sister-in-law. 

"You ought to thank the Lord, dear old girl, for the revelation, " she saidgently. "I guess it's just what you've needed. " Then she leaned over andpressed her warm, soft cheek to Anne's cold one. "If I owned this house, "she said almost in a whisper, "I'd renovate it from top to bottom. I'd getrid of more than old Wade and the old clothes. The best and cheapest wayto renovate it would be to set fire to a barrel of kerosene in thebasement. "

"Oh, how horrible for that girl to marry a dreadful, shrivelled old manlike Wade. The skin on his hands is all wrinkled and loose—I couldn't helpnoticing it as I—"

"Hello!" called out Simmy from the doorway, peering into the darkenedroom. "Where the deuce are you? Ah, that's better, Wade. " The caretakerhad switched on the lights in the big chandelier. "Sorry to be late, Anne. Morning, Lutie. How's my god-son? Couldn't get here a minute sooner. Yousee, Anne, I've got other clients besides you. Braden, for instance. I'vebeen carrying out his instructions in regard to that confoundedtrusteeship. The whole matter is to be looked after by a Trust Companyfrom now on. Simplifies matters enormously. "

Anne started up. "Isn't—isn't he coming back to America?" she cried. 

"Sure, —unless they pink him some day. My goodness, you don't suppose foran instant that he could manage the whole of that blooming foundation andhave any time to spare for _hopeful_ humanity, —do you? Why, it will take aforce of half a dozen men to keep the books straight and look after theever-increasing capital. By the time old Brady is ready to start the ballrolling there will be so much money stored up for the job that Rockefellerwill be ashamed to mention the pitiful fortune he controls. In themeantime he can go on saving people's lives while the trust company savesthe Foundation. "

CHAPTER XXVII

Thorpe returned to New York about the middle of May, in the tenth month ofthe war. The true facts concerning the abrupt severance of his connectionswith the hospital corps in France were never divulged. His confrères andhis superiors maintained a discreet and loyal silence. It was to Simmythat he explained the cause of his retirement. Word had gone out among thetroops that he was the American doctor whose practices were infinitelymore to be feared than the bullets from an enemy's guns.... It wasannounced from headquarters that he was returning to the United States onaccount of ill-health. He had worked hard and unceasingly and had exposedhimself to grave physical hardships. He came home with a medal forconspicuous and unexampled valour while actually under fire. One reporthad it that on more than one occasion he appeared not only to scorn deathbut to invite it, so reckless were his deeds. 

 * * * * *

Meanwhile James Marraville died in great agony. Those nearest to him said, in so many words, that it was a great pity he did not die at the time ofthe operation. 

 * * * * *

"But, " began one of the reporters at the dock, "you are said to haverisked your own life, Dr. Thorpe, on at least half a dozen occasions whenyou exposed yourself to the fire of the enemy by going out in front aftermen who had fallen and were as good as dead when you got to them. In everycase, we are told the men died on the stretchers while they were beingcarried to the rear. Do you mind telling us why you brought those men backwhen you knew that they were bound to die—"

"You have been misinformed, " interrupted Thorpe. "One of those men did notdie. I did all that was possible to save the lives as well as the bodiesof those wretched fellows. Not one of them appeared to have a chance. Theone who survived was in the most hopeless condition of them all. He isalive to-day, but without legs or arms. He is only twenty-two. He may liveto be seventy. The others died. Will you say that they are not better offthan he? And yet we tried to save them all. That is what we were therefor. I saw a man run a bayonet through the heart of his own brother oneday. We were working over him at the time and we knew that our effortswould be useless. The brother knew it also. He merely did the thing werefused to do. You want to know why I deliberately picked out of all thewounded the men who seemed to have the least chance for recovery, andbrought them back to a place of safety. Well, I will tell you quitefrankly, why I chose those men from among all the others. They were beingleft behind. They were as good as dead, as you say. I wanted to treat themost hopeless cases that could be found. I wanted to satisfy myself. Iwent about it quite cold-bloodedly, —not bravely, as the papers would haveit, —and I confess that I passed by men lying out there who might have hada chance, looking for those who apparently had none. Seven of them died, as you say, —seven of the 'hopelessly afflicted. ' One of them lived. Youwill now say that having proved to my own satisfaction that no man can be'hopelessly afflicted, ' I should be ready to admit the fallacy of mypreachings. But you are wrong. I am more firmly intrenched in my positionthan ever before. That man's life should not have been saved. We did him acruel wrong in saving it for him. He wanted to die, he still wants to die. He will curse God to the end of his days because he was allowed to live. Some day his relatives will exhibit him in public, as one of the greatestof freaks, and people will pay to enter the side shows to see him. Theywill carry him about in shawl straps. He will never be able to protest, for he has lost the power of speech. He can only _see_ and _hear_. Willyou be able to look into the agonised eyes of that man as he lies proppedup in a chair, a mere trunk, and believe that he is glad to be alive? Willyou then rejoice over the fact that we saved him from a much nobler gravethan the one he occupies in the side-show, where all the world may stareat him at so much per head? An inglorious reward, gentlemen, for a bravesoldier of the Republic. "

"We may quote you as saying, Dr. Thorpe, that you have not abandoned yourtheories?"

"Certainly. I shall go on preaching, as you are pleased to call myadvocacy. A great many years from to-day—centuries, no doubt, —the worldwill think as I do now. Thank you, gentlemen, for your courtesy in—"

"Have you heard that James Marraville died last week, Dr. Thorpe?" brokein one of the reporters. 

"No, " said he, quite unmoved. "I am not surprised, however. I gave himfive or six months. "

"Didn't you expect him to get entirely well?" demanded the man, surprised. 

Braden shook his head, smiling. "No one expected that, gentlemen, —not evenMr. Marraville. "

"But every one thought that the operation was a success, and—"

"And so it was, gentlemen, " said Thorpe unsmilingly; "a very terriblesuccess. "

"Gee, if we print that as coming from you, Dr. Thorpe, it will create thebiggest sensation in years. "

"Then I haven't the least doubt that you will print it, " said Thorpe. 

There was a short silence. Then the spokesman said: "I think I speak forevery man here when I say that we will not print it, Dr. Thorpe. Weunderstand, but the people wouldn't. " He deliberately altered thecharacter of the interview and inquired if German submarines had beensighted after the steamship left Liverpool. The whole world was stillshuddering over the disaster to the _Lusitania_, torpedoed the weekbefore, with the loss of over a thousand souls. 

Thorpe drove uptown with Simmy Dodge, who would not hear of his going toan hotel, but conducted him to his own apartment where he was to remain aslong as he pleased. 

"Get yourself pulled together, old chap, before you take up any work, "advised Simmy. "You look pretty seedy. We're going to have a hot summer, they say. Don't try to do too much until you pick up a bit. Too badthey're fighting all over the continent of Europe. If they weren't, hangme if I wouldn't pack you onto a boat and take you over there for a goodlong rest, in spite of what happened to the _Lusitania_. We'll go up intothe mountains in June, Brady, —or what do you say to skipping out to theSan Francisco fair for a few—"

"You're looking thin and sort of pegged out, old boy, " began Simmysoothingly. 

"I'm all right, Simmy. Sound as anything. I don't mind telling you that itwasn't my health that drove me out of the service, —and that's what hurts. They—they didn't want me. They thought it was best for me to get out. "

"Good Lord!" gasped Simmy, struggling between amazement and indignation. "What kind of blithering fools have they got over—"

"They are not blithering fools, " said Thorpe soberly. "The staff would nothave turned me out, I'm sure of that. I was doing good work, Simmy, " hewent on rapidly, eagerly, "even though I do say it myself. Everybody wassatisfied, I'm sure. Night and day, —all the time, —mind you, and I wasstanding up under it better than any of them. But, you see, it wasn't thestaff that did it. It was the poor devil of a soldier out there in thetrenches. They found out who I was. Newspapers, of course. Well, thattells the story. They were afraid of me. But I am not complaining. I donot blame them. God knows it was hard enough for them to face death outthere at the front without having to think of—well, getting it anyhow ifthey fell into my hands. I—But there's no use speaking of it, Simmy. Iwanted you to know why I got out, and I want Anne to know. As for therest, let them think I was sick or—cowardly if they like. "

Simmy was silent for a long time. He said afterwards that it was all hecould do to keep from crying as he looked at the pale, gaunt face of hisfriend and listened to the verdict of the French soldiers. 

"I don't see the necessity for telling Anne, " he said, at last, pullingrather roughly at his little moustache. They were seated at one of thebroad windows in Simmy's living-room, drinking in the cool air that cameup from the west in advance of an impending thunderstorm. The day had beenhot and stifling. "No sense in letting her know, old man. Secret betweenyou and me, if you don't—"

"I'd rather she knew, " said Thorpe briefly. "In fact, she will have toknow. "

"What do you mean?"

Thorpe was staring out over the Park, and did not answer. Simmy foundanother cigarette and lighted it, scorching his fingers while furtivelywatching his companion's face. 

"How is Anne, Simmy?" demanded Thorpe abruptly. There was a fierce, eagerlight in his eyes, but his manner was strangely repressed. "Where is she?"

Simmy took a deep breath. "She's well and she's at home. "

"You mean, —down there in the old—"

"The old Thorpe house. I don't know what's got into the girl, Brady. Firstshe swears she won't live in the house, and then she turns around, —justlike that, —and moves in. Workmen all over the place, working overtime andall that sort of thing, —with Anne standing around punchin' 'em with asharp stick if they don't keep right on the job. Top to bottom, —renovated, redecorated, brightened up, —wouldn't recognise the place as—"

"Is she living there—alone?"

"Yes. New lot of servants and—By the way, old Wade has—what do you thinkhe has done?"

"How long has she been living down there?" demanded the other, impatiently. His eyes were gleaming. 

"Well, old Wade has gone and got married, " went on Simmy, deliberatelyignoring the eager question. "Married a girl of twenty or something likethat. Chucked his job, bloomed out as a dandy, —spats and chamois glovesand silk hats, —cleared out three weeks ago for a honeymoon, —rather prettygirl, by the way, —"

Braden's attention had been caught at last and held. "Wade married? GoodLord! Oh, I say, Simmy, you _can't_ expect me to believe—"

"You'll see. He has shaken the dust of Thorpe house from his person and isgallivanting around in lavender perfumes and purple linen. "

"My God! That old hulk and—twenty years, did you say? Why, the damned oldscoundrel! After all he has seen and—" His jaws closed suddenly with asnap, and his eyes narrowed into ugly slits. 

"Be careful, Brady, old top, " said Simmy, shaking his head. "It won't doto call Wade names, you know. Just stop and think for a second or two. "

Thorpe relaxed with a gesture of despair. "You are right, Simmy. Whyshould I blame Wade?"

He got up and began pacing the floor, his hands clenched behind his back. Simmy smoked in silence, apparently absorbed in watching the angry cloudsthat blackened the western sky. 

Presently Thorpe resumed his seat in the window. His eyes did not meetSimmy's as the latter turned toward him. He look straight out over thetops of the great apartment houses on the far side of the Park. 

"How long has she been living down there alone?" he asked again. 

"Five or six weeks. "

"When did you last see her?"

"Yesterday. She's been dreadfully nervous ever since the blowing up of the_Lusitania_. I asked her to go to the pier with me. She refused. See here, Brady, " said Simmy, rising suddenly and laying his hand on the other'sshoulder, "what are you going to do about Anne?"

"Nothing. Anne can never be anything to me, nor I to her, " said Thorpe, white-faced and stern. His face was rigid. 

"Nonsense! You love her, don't you?"

"Yes. That has nothing to do with it, however. "

"And she loves you. I suppose that hasn't anything to do with it, either. I suppose it is right and proper and natural that you both should go onloving each other to the end of time without realising the joys of—"

"Don't try to argue the—"

"It's right that you should let that glorious, perfect young creaturewither and droop with time, grow old without—oh, Lordy, what a damn foolyou are, Brady! There isn't the slightest reason in this world why youshouldn't get married and—"

"Stop that, Simmy!"

"Here you are, two absolutely sound, strong, enduring specimens ofhumanity, —male and female, —loving each other, wanting each other, —and yetyou say you can never be anything to each other! Hasn't nature anything todo with it? Are you going to sit there and tell me that for someobstinate, mawkish reason you think you ought to deprive her of the oneman in all this world that she wants and must have? It doesn't matter whatshe did a couple of years ago. It doesn't matter that she was, —and stillmay be designing, —the fact remains that she is the woman you love and thatyou are her man. She married old Mr. Thorpe deliberately, I grant you. Shedoesn't deny it. She loved you when she did it. And you can't, to saveyour soul, hate her for it. You ought to do so, I admit. But you don't, and that solves the problem. You want her now even more than you did twoyears ago. You can't defy nature, old chap. You may defy convention, andhonour, and even common decency, but you can't beat nature out of its due. Now, look me in the eye! Why can't you marry Anne and—be everything toher, instead of nothing, as you put it? Answer me!"

"It is impossible, " groaned Thorpe. "You cannot understand, Simmy. "

"Nothing is impossible, " said Simmy, the optimist. "If you are afraid ofwhat people will say about it, then all I have to say is that you areworse than a coward: you are a stupid ass. People talked themselves blackin the face when she married your grandfather, and what good did it dothem? Not a particle of good. They roasted her to a fare-you-well, andthey called her a mean, avaricious, soulless woman, and still shesurvives. Everybody expects her to marry you. When she does it, everybodywill smile and say 'I told you so, '—and sneer a little, perhaps, —but, hangit all, what difference should that make? This is a big world. It isbusier than you think. It will barely take the time to sniff twice ormaybe three times at you and Anne and then it will hustle along on thescent of something new. It's always smelling out things, but that's all itamounts to. It overlooks divorces, liaisons, murders, —everything, in fact, except disappointments. It never forgives the man or woman who disappointsit. Now, I know something else that's on your mind. You think that becauseyou operated—fatally, we'll say, —on your grandfather, that that is anobstacle in the way of your marriage with Anne. Tommy-rot! I've heard of ahundred doctors who have married the widows of their patients, and theirfriends usually congratulate 'em, which goes to prove something, doesn'tit? You are expected by ninety per cent. Of the inhabitants of greater NewYork to marry Anne Tresslyn. They may have forgotten everything else, butthat one thing they _do_ expect. They said it would happen and it must. They said it when Anne married your grandfather, they said it when he diedand they say it now, even though their minds are filled with otherthings. "

Thorpe eyed him steadily throughout this earnest appeal. "Do you thinkthat Anne expects it, Simmy?" he inquired, a harsh note in his voice. 

Simmy had to think quickly. "I think she does, " he replied, and always wasto wonder whether he said the right thing. "She is in love with you. Shewants you, and anything that Anne wants she expects to get. I don't meanthat in a disparaging sense, either. If she doesn't marry you, she'llnever marry any one. She'll wait for you till the end of her days. Even ifyou were to marry some one else, she'd—"

"I shall not marry any one else, " said Thorpe, almost fiercely. 

"—She'd go on waiting and wanting you just the same, and you would go onwanting her, " concluded Simmy. "You will never consider your life completeuntil you have Anne Tresslyn as a part of it. She wants to make you happy. That's what most women want when they're in love with a man. "

"I tell you, Simmy, I cannot marry Anne. I love her, —God knows howterribly I want her, —in spite of everything. It _is_ nature. You can'tkill love, no matter how hard you try. Some one else has to do thekilling. Anne is keeping it alive in me. She has tortured my love, beatenit, outraged it, but all the time she has been secretly feeding it, caressing it, never for an instant letting it out of her grasp. You cannotunderstand, Simmy. You've never been in love with a woman like Anne. Shemay have despaired at times, but she has never given up the fight, noteven when she must have thought that I despised her. She knew that my lovewas mortally hurt, but do you think she would let it die? No! She willkeep it alive forever, —and she will suffer, too, in doing so. But what'sthat to Anne? She—"

"Just a second, old chap, " broke in Simmy. "You are forgetting that Annewants you to be happy. "

"God, how happy I could have been with her!"

"See here, will you go down there and see her?" demanded Simmy. 

"I can't do that, —I can't do it. Simmy—" he lowered his voice to almost awhisper, —"I can't trust myself. I don't know what would happen if I wereto see her again, —be near her, alone with her. This longing for her hasbecome almost unbearable. I thought of her every minute of the time I wasout there at the front—Yes, I had to put the heaviest restraint uponmyself at times to keep from chucking the whole thing and dashing backhere to get her, to take her, to keep her, —maybe to kill her, I don'tknow. Now I realise that I was wrong in coming back to America at all. Ishould have gone—oh, anywhere else in the world. But here I am, and, strangely enough, I feel stronger, more able to resist. It was thedistance between us that made it so terrible. I can resist her here, but, by heaven, I couldn't over there. I could have come all the way back fromFrance to see her, but I can't go from here down to Washington Square, —sothat shows you how I stand in the matter. "

"Now I know the real reason why you came back to little old New York, "said Simmy sagely, and Thorpe was not offended. 

"In the first place I cannot marry her while she still has in herpossession the money for which she sold herself and me, " said Thorpe, musing aloud. "You ought to at least be able to understand that, Simmy? Nomatter how much I love her, I can't make her my wife with that accursedmoney standing—But there's no use talking about _that_. There is an evengraver reason why I ought not to marry her, an insurmountable reason. Icannot tell you what it is, but I fear that down in your heart yoususpect. "

Simmy leaned forward in his chair. "I think I know, old man, " he saidsimply. "But even that shouldn't stand in the way. I don't see why youshould have been kind and gentle and merciful to Mr. Thorpe, and refuse tobe the same, in a different way, to her. " His face broke into a whimsicalsmile. "Anne is what you might call hopelessly afflicted. Dammit all, puther out of her misery!"

Thorpe stared at him aghast. The utter banality of the remark left himspeechless. For the first time in their acquaintance, he misjudged SimmyDodge. He drew back from him, scowling. 

"That's a pretty rotten thing to say, Simmy, " he said, after a moment. "Pretty poor sort of wit. "

"It wasn't meant for wit, my friend, " said Simmy seriously. "I meant everyword of it, no matter how rotten it may have sounded. If you are going topreach mercy and all that sort of silly rot, practise it whenever it ispossible. There's no law against your being kind to Anne Tresslyn. Youdon't have to be governed by a commission or anything like that. She'sjust as deserving as any one, you know. "

"Which is another way of saying that she _deserves_ my love?" cried Thorpeangrily. 

"She's got it, so it really doesn't matter whether she deserves it or not. You can't take it away from her. You've tried it and—well, she's still gotit, so there's no use arguing. "

"Do you think it gives me any happiness to love her as I do?" cried theother. "Do you think I am finding joy in the prospect of never having herfor my own—all for my own? Do you—"

"Well, my boy, do you think she is finding much happiness living downthere in that old house all alone? Do you think she is getting much realjoy out of her little old two millions? By the way, why is she living downthere at all? I can tell you. She's doing it because she's got nerveenough to play the game out as she began it. She's doing it because shebelieves it will cause you to think better of her. This is a guess on mypart, but I know darned well she wouldn't be doing it if there wasn't somegood and sufficient reason. "

Thorpe nodded his head slowly, an ironic smile on his lips. "Yes, she _is_playing the game, but not as she began it. I am not so sure that I thinkbetter of her for doing it. "

"Brady, I hope you'll forgive me for saying something harsh anddisrespectful about your grandfather, but here goes. He played you ashabby trick in taking Anne away from you in the first place. No matterhow shabbily Anne behaved toward you, he was worse than she. Then hevirtually compelled you to perform an operation that—well, I'll not sayit. We can forgive him for that. He was suffering. And then he went out ofhis way to leave that old house down there to Anne, knowing full well thatif she continued to live in it, it would be a sort of prison to her. Shecan't sell it, she can't rent it. She's got to live in it, or abandon italtogether. I call it a pretty mean sort of trick to play on her, ifyou'll forgive my—"

"She doesn't have to live in it, " said Thorpe doggedly. 

"She is going to live there until you take her out of it, bodily if youplease, and you are going to become so all-fired sorry for her thatyou'll—"

"Good Lord, Simmy, " shouted Thorpe, springing to his feet with a bitterimprecation, "don't go on like this. I can't stand it. I know how shehates it. I know how frightened, how miserable she is down there. It _is_a prison, —no, worse than that, it is haunted by something that you cannotpossibly—My God, it must be awful for her, all alone, —shivering, listening, —something crawly—something sinister and accusing—Why, she—"

"Here, here, old fellow!" cried Simmy in alarm. "Don't go off your nut. You're talking like a crazy man, —and, hang it all, I don't like the lookin your eye. Gosh, if it gives you the creeps—who don't have to be downthere of nights, —what must it be for that shrinking, sensitive—Hey! Whereare you going?"

"I'm going down there to see her. I'm going to tell her that I was a curto write what I did to her the day I sailed. I—" He stopped short near thedoor, and faced his friend. His hands were clenched. 

"I shall see her just this once, —never again if I can avoid it, " he said. "Just to tell her that I don't want her to live in that house. She's gotto get out. I'll not know a moment's peace until she is out of thathouse. "

Simmy heard the door slam and a few minutes later the opening and closingof the elevator cage. He sat quite still, looking out over the trees. Hewas a rather pathetic figure. 

"I wonder if I'd be so loyal to him if I had a chance myself, " he mused. "Oh, Lordy, Lordy!" He closed his eyes as if in pain. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

The storm burst in all its fury when Thorpe was half way down the Avenuein the taxi he had picked up at the Plaza. Pedestrians scurried in alldirections, seeking shelter from the wind and rain; the blackness of nighthad fallen upon the city; the mighty roar of a thousand cannon came out ofthe clouds; terrifying flashes rent the skies. The man in the taxi neithersaw nor heard the savage assault of the elements. He was accustomed to theroar of battle. He was used to thinking with something worse than thunderin his ears, and something worse than raindrops beating about him. 

He knew that Anne was afraid of the thunder and the lightning. More thanonce she had huddled close to him and trembled in the haven of his arms, her fingers to her ears, while storms raged about them. He was thinking ofher now, down there in that grim old house, trembling in some darkenedplace, her eyes wide with alarm, her heart beating wildly with terror, —ah, he remembered so well how wildly her heart could beat!

He had forgotten his words to Simmy: "I can't trust myself!" There was butone object in his mind and that was to retract the unnecessary challengewith which he had closed his letter to her in January. Why should he havedemanded of her a sacrifice for which he could offer no consolation? Henow admitted to himself that when he wrote the blighting postscript he wasinspired by a mean desire to provoke anticipation on her part. "If youalso are not a coward, you will return to my grandfather's house, whereyou belong. " What right had he to revive the hope that she accounted dead?She still had her own life to live, and in her own way. He was not to be apart of it. He was sure of that, and yet he had given her something onwhich to sustain the belief that a time would come when their lives mightfind a common channel and run along together to the end. She had taken hiswords as he had hoped she would, and now he was filled with shame andcompunction. 

The rain was coming down in sheets when the taxi-cab slid up to the curbin front of the house that had been his home for thirty years. His home!Not hers, but _his_! She did not belong there, and he did. He would nevercease to regard this fine old house as his home. 

He was forced to wait for the deluge to cease or to slacken. For manyminutes he sat there in the cab, his gaze fixed rigidly on the streaming, almost opaque window, trying to penetrate the veil of water that hungbetween him and the walls of the house not twenty feet away. At last hisimpatience got the better of him, and, the downpour having diminishedslightly, he made a sudden swift dash from the vehicle and up the stonesteps into the shelter of the doorway. Here he found company. Fourworkmen, evidently through for the day, were flattened against the wallsof the vestibule. 

They made way for him. Without realising what he did, he hastily snatchedhis key-ring from his pocket, found the familiar key he had used for somany years, and inserted it in the lock. The door opened at once and heentered the hall. As he closed the door behind him, his eyes met thecurious gaze of the four workmen, and for the first time he realised whathe had done through force of habit. For a moment or two he stoodpetrified, trying to grasp the full significance of his act. He had neverrung the door-bell of that house, —not in all the years of his life. He hadalways entered in just this way. His grandfather had given him a key whenhe was thirteen, —the same key that he now held in his fingers and at whichhe stared in a sort of stupefaction. 

He was suddenly aware of another presence in the hall, —a figure in whitethat stood near the foot of the staircase, motionless where it had beenarrested by the unexpected opening of the door, —a tall, slender figure. 

He saw her hand go swiftly to her heart. 

"Why—why didn't you—let me know?" she murmured in a voice so low that hecould hardly hear the words. "Why do you come in this way to—"

"What must you think of me for—for breaking in upon you—" he began, jerkily. "I don't know what possessed me to—you see, I still have the keyI used while I lived—Oh, I'm sorry, Anne! I can't explain. It just seemednatural to—"

"Why did you come without letting me know?" she cried, and now her voicewas shrill from the effort she made to suppress her agitation. 

"I should have telephoned, " he muttered. Suddenly he tore the key from thering. "Here! It does not belong to me. I should not have the key to your—"

"Keep it, " she said, drawing back. "I want you to keep it. I shall behappier if I know that you have the key to the place where I live. No! Iwill not take it. "

To her infinite surprise, he slipped the key into his pocket. She hadexpected him to throw it upon the floor as she resolutely placed her handsbehind her back. 

"Very well, " he said, rather roughly. "It is quite safe with me. I shallnever forget myself again as I have to-day. "

For the first time since entering the door, he allowed his gaze to sweepthe lofty hallway. But for the fact that he knew he had come into theright house, he would have doubted his own senses. There was nothing here, to remind him of the sombre, gloomy place that he had known fromchildhood's earliest days. All of the massive, ugly trappings were gone, and all of the gloom. The walls were bright, the rugs gay, the woodworkcheerfully white. He glanced quickly down the length of the hall and—yes, the suit of mail was gone! He was conscious of a great relief. 

Then his eyes fell upon her again. A strange, wistful little smile hadappeared while his gaze went roving. 

"You see that I am trying not to be a coward, " she said. 

"What a beast I was to write that thing to you, " he cried. "I came downhere to tell you that I am sorry. I don't want you to live here, Anne. Itis—"

"Ah, but I am here, " she said, "and here I shall stay. We have donewonders with the place. You will not recognise it, —not a single corner ofit, Braden. It was all very well as the home of a lonely old man who lovedit, but it was not quite the place for a lonely young woman who hated it. Come! Let me show you the library. It is finished. I think you will say itis a woman's room now and not a man's. Some of the rooms upstairs arestill unfinished. My own room is a joy. Everything is new and—"

"Anne, " he broke in, almost harshly, "it will come to nothing, you may aswell know the truth now. It will save you a great deal of unhappiness, andit will allow you to look elsewhere for—"

"Come into the library, " she interrupted. "I already have had a great dealof unhappiness in that room, so I fancy it won't be so hard to hear whatyou have come to say to me if you say it to me there. "

He followed her to the library door, and there stopped in amazement, unwilling to credit his eyes. He was looking into the brightest, gayestroom he had ever seen. An incredible transformation had taken place. Thevast, stately, sober room had become dainty, exquisite, enchanting. Here, instead of oppressive elegance, was the most delicate beauty; here wasexemplified at a glance the sweet, soft touch of woman in contrast to theheavy, uncompromising hand of man. Here was sweetness and freshness, andthe sparkle of youth, and gone were the grim things of age. Here was lightand happiness, and the fragrance of woman. 

"In heaven's name, what _have_ you done to this room?" he cried. "Am I inmy right senses? Can this be my grandfather's house?"

She smiled, and did not answer. She was watching his face with eager, wistful eyes. 

"Why, it's—it's unbelievable, " he went on, an odd tremor in his voice. "Itis wonderful. It is—why, it is beautiful, Anne. I could not have dreamedthat such a change, —What has become of everything? What have you done withall the big, clumsy, musty things that—"

"They are in a storage warehouse, " said she crisply. "There isn't so muchas a carpet-tack left of the old regime. Everything is gone. Every singlething that was here with your grandfather is gone. I alone am left. When Icame down here two months ago the place was filled with the things thatyou remember. I had made up my mind to stay here, —but not with the thingsthat I remembered. The first thing I did was to clean out the house fromcellar to garret. I am not permitted to sell the contents of this house, but there was nothing to prevent me from storing them. Your grandfatheroverlooked that little point, I fear. In any event, that was the firstthing I did. Everything is gone, mind you, —even to the portrait that usedto hang over the mantelpiece there, —and it was the only cheerful object inthe house. I wish I could show you my boudoir, my bedroom, and the roomsin which Mr. Thorpe lived. You—you would love them. "

He was now standing in the middle of the room, staring about him at thehandiwork of Aladdin. 

"Why, it isn't—it will not be so dreadful, after all, " he said slowly. "You have made it all so lovely, so homelike, so much like yourselfthat—you will not find it so hard to live here as I—"

"I wanted you to like it, Braden. I wanted you to see the place, —to seewhat I have done to make it bright and cheerful and endurable. No, Isha'n't find it so hard to live here. I was sure that some day you wouldcome to see me here and I wanted you to feel that—that it wasn't as hardfor me as you thought it would be. I have been a coward, though. I confessthat I could not have lived here with all those things about to—to remindme of—You see, I just _had_ to make the place possible. I hope you are notoffended with me for what I have done. I have played havoc with sentimentand association, and you may feel that I—"

"Offended? Good heavens, Anne, why should I be offended? You have a rightto do what you like here. "

"Ah, but I do not forget that it is _your_ home, Braden, not mine. It willalways be home to you, and I fear it can never be that to me. This is notmuch in the way of a library now, I confess. Thirty cases of books aresafely stored away, —all of those old first editions and things of thatsort. They meant nothing to me. I don't know what a first edition is, andI never could see any sense in those funny things he called missals, northe incunabula, if that's the way you pronounce it. You may have likedthem, Braden. If you care for them, if you would like to have them in yourown house, you must let me _lend_ them to you. Everybody borrows books, you know. It would be quite an original idea to lend a whole library, wouldn't it? If you—"

"They are better off in the storage warehouse, " he interrupted, trying tosteel himself against her rather plaintive friendliness. 

"Don't you intend to shake hands with me?" she asked suddenly. "I am soglad that you have come home, —come back, I mean, —and—" She advanced withher hand extended. 

It was a perilous moment for both of them when she laid her hand in his. The blood in both of them leaped to the thrill of contact. The impulse toclasp her in his arms, to smother her with kisses, to hold her so closethat nothing could ever unlock his arms, was so overpowering that his headswam dizzily and for an instant he was deprived of vision. How he everpassed through that crisis in safety was one of the great mysteries of hislife. She was his for the taking! She was ready. 

Their hands fell apart. A chill swept through the veins of both, —the ice-cold chill of a great reaction. They would go on loving each other, wanting each other, perhaps forever, but a moment like the one just pastwould never come again. Bliss, joy, complete satisfaction might come, butthat instant of longing could never be surpassed. 

He was very white. For a long time he could not trust himself to speak. The fight was a hard one, and it was not yet over. She was a challenge toall that he tried to master. He wondered why there was a smile in herlovely, soft eyes, while in his own there must have been the hardness ofsteel. And he wondered long afterward how she could have possessed thecalmness to say:

"Simmy must have been insane with joy. He has talked of nothing else fordays. "

But he did not know that in her secret heart she was crying out inecstasy: "God, how I love him—and _how he loves me_!"

"He is a good old scout, " said he lamely, hardly conscious of the words. Then abruptly: "I can't stay, Anne. I came down to tell you that—that Iwas a dog to say what I did in my note to you. I knew the construction youwould put upon the—well, the injunction. It wasn't fair. I led you tobelieve that if you came down here to live that sometime I would—"

"Just a moment, Braden, " she interrupted, steadily. "You are finding itvery difficult to say just the right thing to me. Let me help you, please. I fear that I have a more ready tongue than you and certainly I am lessagitated. I confess that your note decided me. I confess that I believedmy coming here to live would result in—well, forgiveness is as good a wordas any at this time. Now you have come to me to say that I have nothing togain by living in this house, that I have nothing to gain by living in aplace which revolts and terrifies me, —not always, but at times. Well, youmay spare yourself the pain of saying all that to me. I shall continue tolive here, even though nothing comes of it, as you say. I shall continueto sit here in this rather enchanting place and wait for you to come andshare it with me. If you—"

"Good God! That is just what I am trying to tell you that I cannot—"

"I know, I know, " she broke in impatiently. "That is just what you aretrying to tell me, and this is just what I am trying to tell you. I do notsay that you will ever come to me here, Braden. I am only saying to youthat I shall wait for you. If you do not come, that is your affair, notmine. I love you. I love you with every bit of selfishness that is in mysoul, every bit of goodness that is in my heart, and every bit of badnessthat is in my blood. I am proud to tell you that I am selfish in this onerespect, if no longer in any other. I would give up everything else in theworld to have you. That is how selfish I am. I want to be happy and Iselfishly want you to be happy—for my sake if not for your own. Do yousuppose that I am glorifying myself by living here? Do you suppose that Iam justifying myself? If you do, you are very greatly mistaken. I am herebecause you led me to believe that—that things might be altered if I—" Herlips trembled despite the brave countenance she presented to him. In asecond she had quelled the threatened weakness. "I have made this house aparadise. I have made it a place in which you may find happiness if youcare to seek for it here. At night I shudder and cringe, because I am thecoward you would try to reform. I hide nothing from myself. I am afraid tobe alone in this house. But I shall stay—I shall stay. "

"Do you think that I could ever find happiness in this house—now?" hedemanded hoarsely. 

"Do you expect to find happiness anywhere else, Braden?" she asked, alittle break in her voice. 

"No. I shall never find happiness anywhere else, —real happiness, I mean. Icannot be happy without you, Anne. "

"Nor I without you, " she said simply. "I don't see that it makes very muchdifference _where_ we choose to be unhappy, Braden, so I shall take minehere, —where it is likely to be complete. "

"But that is just what I don't want you to do, " he cried angrily. "I don'twant you to stay here. You must leave this place. You have had hellenough. I insist that you—"

"No use arguing, " she said, shaking her head. "I can love you here as wellas anywhere else, and that is all I care for, —just my love for you. "

"God, what a cruel thing love is, after all. If there was no such thing aslove, we could—"

"Don't say that!" she cried out sharply. "Love is everything. It conquerseverything. It is both good and evil. It makes happiness and it makesmisery. Braden, —oh, my dearest!—see what it has made for us? Love! Why, don't you know it is Love that we love? _We love Love. _ I would not loveyou if you were not Love itself. I treated you abominably, but you stilllove me. You performed an act of mercy for the man you loved, and he lovedyou. You cursed me in your heart, and I still love you. We cannot escapelove, my friend. It rules us, —it rules all of us. The thing that you saystands between us—that act of mercy, dearest, —what effect has it had uponeither of us? I would come to you to-morrow, to-day, —this very hour if youasked me to do so, and not in all the years that are left to me would Isee the shadow you shrink from. "

"The shadow extends back a great deal farther, Anne, " he said, closing hiseyes as if in pain. "It began long before my grandfather found the peacewhich I have yet to find. It began when you sold yourself to him. "

She shrank slightly. "But even that did not kill your love for me, " shecried out, defensively. "I did not sell my love, —just my soul, if you musthave a charge against me. I've got it back, thank God, and it is worth agood deal more to me to-day than it was when Mr. Thorpe bargained for it. Two million dollars!" She spoke ironically, yet with great seriousness. "If he could have bought my love for that amount, his bargain would havebeen a good one. If I were to discover now that you do not care for me, Braden, and if I could buy your love, which is the most precious thing inthe world to me, I would not hesitate a second to pay out every dollar Ihave in—"

"Stop!" he cried eagerly, drawing a step nearer and fixing her witha look that puzzled and yet thrilled her. "Would you give upeverything—everything, mind you, —if I were to ask you to do so?"

"You said something like that a few months ago, " she said, after amoment's hesitation. There was a troubled, hunted look in her eyes, as ofa creature at bay. "You make it hard for me, Braden. I don't believe Icould give up everything. I have found that all this money does not giveme happiness. It does provide me with comfort, with independence, with acertain amount of power. It does not bring me the thing I want more thananything else in the world, however. Still I cannot say to you now that Iwould willingly give it up, Braden. You would not ask it of me, of course. You are too fair and big—"

"But it is exactly what I would ask of you, Anne, " he said earnestly, "ifit came to an issue. You could not be anything more to me than you are nowif you retained a dollar of that money. "

She drew a long, deep breath. "Would you take me back, Braden, —would youlet me be your wife if I—if I were to give up all that I received from Mr. Thorpe?" She was watching his face closely, ready to seize upon theslightest expression that might direct her course, now or afterwards. 

"I—I—Oh, Anne, we must not harass ourselves like this, " he groaned. "It isall so hopeless, so useless. It never can be, so what is the use intalking about it?"

She now appeared to be a little more sure of her ground. There was a noteof confidence in her voice as she said: "In that event, it can do no harmfor me to say that I do not believe I could give it up, Braden. "

"You _wouldn't_?"

"If I were to give up all this money, Braden dear, I would prove myself tobe the most selfish creature in the world. "

"Selfish? Good Lord! It would be the height of self-denial. It—"

"When a woman wants something so much that she will give up everything inthe world to get it, I claim that she is selfish to the last degree. Shegratifies self, and there is no other way to look at it. And I will admitto you now, Braden, that if there is no other way, I will give up all thismoney. That may represent to you just how much I think of _self_. But, "and she smiled confidently, "I don't intend to impoverish myself if I canhelp it, and I don't believe you are selfish enough to ask it of me. "

"Would you call Lutie selfish?" he demanded. "She gave up everything forGeorge. "

"Lutie is impulsive. She did it voluntarily. No one demanded it of her. She was not obliged to give back a penny, you must remember. My case isdifferent. You would demand a sacrifice of me. Lutie did not sell herselfin the beginning. She sold George. She bought him back. If George wasworth thirty thousand dollars to her, you are worth two millions to me. She gave her _all_, and that would be my _all_. She was willing to pay. AmI? That is the question. "

"You would have to give it up, Anne, " said he doggedly. 

He saw the colour fade from her cheeks, and the lustre from her eyes. 

"I am not sure that I could do it, Braden, " she said, after a longsilence. Then, almost fiercely: "Will you tell me how I should go aboutgetting rid of all this money, —sensibly, —if I were inclined to do so? Whatcould I do with it? Throw it away? Destroy it? Burn—"

"There isn't much use discussing ways and means, " he said with finality inhis manner. "I'm sorry we brought the subject up. I came here with a verydefinite object in view, and we—well, you see what we have come to. "

"Oh, I—I love you so!" came tremulously from her lips. "I love you so, Braden. I—I don't see how I can go on living without—" She suppressed thewild, passionate words by deliberately clapping her hands, one above theother, over her lips. Red surged to her brow and a look of exquisite shameand humiliation leaped into her eyes. 

"Anne, Anne—" he began, but she turned on him furiously. 

"Why do you lie to me? Why do you lie to yourself? You came here to-daybecause you were mad with the desire to see me, to be near me, to—Oh, youneed not deny it! You have been crying out for me ever since the day youlast held me in your arms and kissed me, —ages ago!—just as I have beencrying out for you. Don't say that you came here merely to tell me that Imust not live in this house if it leads me to hope for—recompense. Don'tsay that, because it is not the real reason, and you know it. You wouldhave remained in Europe if you were through with me, as you would haveyourself believe. But you are not through with me. You never will be. Ifyou cannot be fair with yourself, Braden, you should at least be fair withme. You should not have come here to-day. But you could not help it, youcould not resist. It will always be like this, and it is not fair, it isnot fair. You say we never can be married to each other. What is thereleft for us, I ask of you, —what will all this lead to? We are not saints. We are not made of stone. We—"

"God in heaven, Anne, " he cried, aghast and incredulous. "Do you know whatyou are saying? Do you think I would drag you down, despoil you—"

"Oh, you would be honest enough to marry me—_then_, " she cried outbitterly. "Your sense of honour would attend to all that. You—"

"Stop!" he commanded, standing over her as she shrank back against thewall. "Do you think that I love you so little that I could—Love? Is thatthe kind of love that you have been extolling to the skies?"

She covered her flaming face with her hands. "Forgive me, forgive me!" shemurmured, brokenly. "I am so ashamed of myself. "

He was profoundly moved. A great pity for her swept through him. "I shallnot come again, " he said hoarsely. "I will be fair. You are right. You seemore clearly than I can see. I must not come to you again unless I come toask you to be my wife. You are right. We would go mad with—"

"Listen to me, Braden, " she interrupted in a strangely quiet manner. "Ishall never ask you to come to me. If you want me you must ask me to cometo you. I will come. But you are to impose no conditions. You must leaveme to fight out my own battle. My love is so great, so honest, so strongthat it will triumph over everything else. Listen! Let me say this to youbefore I send you away from me to-day. Love is relentless. It wreckshomes, it sends men to the gallows and women to the madhouse. It makesdrunkards, suicides and murderers of noble men and women. It causes menand women to abandon homes, children, honour—and all the things thatshould be dear to them. It impoverishes, corrupts and—defiles. It makescowards of brave men and brave men of cowards. The thing we call love hasa thousand parts. It has purity, nobility, grandeur, greed, envy, lust—everything. You have heard of good women abandoning good husbands forbad lovers. You have heard of good mothers giving up the children theyworship. You have heard of women and men murdering husbands and wives inorder to remove obstacles from the path of love. One woman whom we bothknow recently gave up wealth, position, honour, children, —everything, —togo down into poverty and disgrace with the man she loved. You know who Imean. She did it because she could not help herself. Opposed to the evilthat love can do, there is always the beautiful, the sweet, the pure, —andit is that kind of love that rules the world. But the other kind _is_love, just the same, and while it does not govern the world, it is nonethe less imperial. What I want to say to you is this: while love maygovern the world, the world cannot govern love. You cannot govern thislove you have for me, although you may control it. Nor can I destroy thelove I have for you. I may not deserve your love, but I have it and youcannot take it away from me. Some other woman may rob me of it, perhaps, but you cannot do it, my friend. I will wait for you to come and get me, Braden. Now, go, —please go, —and do not come here again until—" she smiledfaintly. 

He lowered his head. "I will not come again, Anne, " he said huskily. 

She did not follow him to the door. 

CHAPTER XXIX

Anne left town about the middle of June and did not return until late inSeptember. She surprised every one who knew her by going to Nova Scotia, where she took a cottage in one of the quaint old coast towns. Lutie andGeorge and the baby spent the month of August with her. Near the close oftheir visit, Anne made an announcement that, for one day at least, causedthem to doubt, very gravely, whether she was in her right mind. George, very much perturbed, went so far as to declare to Lutie in the seclusionof their bedroom that night, that Anne was certainly dotty. And the queerpart of it all was that he couldn't, for the life of him, feel sorry aboutit!

The next morning they watched her closely, at times furtively, and waitedfor her to either renounce the decision of the day before or reveal somesign that she had no recollection of having made the astounding statementat all, —in which case they could be certain that she had been a bitflighty and would be in a position to act accordingly. (Get a specialistafter her, or something like that. ) But Anne very serenely discoursed onthe sweetest sleep she had known in years, and declared she was ready for_anything_, even the twelve-mile tramp that George had been trying so hardto get her to take with him. Her eyes were brighter, her cheeks rosierthan they had been for months, and, to George's unbounded amazement, sheate a hearty breakfast with them. 

"I have written to Simmy, " said she, "and James has posted the letter. Thedie is cast. Congratulate me!"

"But, hang it all, " cried George desperately, "I still believe you arecrazy, Anne, so—how can I congratulate you? My Lord, girl—"

He stopped short, for Lutie sprang up from the table and threw her armsaround Anne. She kissed her rapturously, all the time gurgling somethinginto her ear that George could not hear, and perhaps would not haveunderstood if he had. Then they both turned toward him, shining-eyed andexultant. An instant later he rushed over and enveloped both of them inhis long, strong arms and shouted out that he was crazy too. 

Anne's letter to Simmy was a long one, and she closed it with thesentence: "You may expect me not later than the twentieth of September. "

 * * * * *

Thorpe grew thin and haggard as the summer wore away; his nerves were insuch a state that he seriously considered giving up his work, for the timebeing, at least. The truth was gradually being forced in upon him that hishand was no longer as certain, no longer as steady as it had been. Only byexercising the greatest effort of the will was he able to perform thedelicate work he undertook to do in the hospitals. He was gravely alarmedby the ever-growing conviction that he was never sure of himself. Not thathe had lost confidence in his ability, but he was acutely conscious ofhaving lost interest. He was fighting all the time, but it was his ownfight and not that of others. Day and night he was fighting something thatwould not fight back, and yet was relentless; something that was contentto sit back in its own power and watch him waste his strength andendurance. Each succeeding hour saw him grow weaker under the strain. Hewas fighting the thing that never surrenders, never weakens, never dies. He was struggling against a mighty, world-old Giant, born the day thatGod's first man was created, and destined to live with all God's men fromthat time forth: Passion. 

Time and again he went far out of his way to pass by the house nearWashington Square, admittedly surreptitious in his movements. On hotnights he rode down Fifth Avenue on the top of the stages, and always castan eye to the right in passing the street in which Anne lived, looking invain for lights in the windows of the closed house. And an hundred times aday he thought of the key that no longer kept company with others at theend of a chain but lay loose in his trousers' pocket. Times there werewhen an almost irresistible desire came upon him to go down there late atnight and enter the house, risking discovery by the servants who remainedin quarters, just for a glimpse of the rooms upstairs she haddescribed, —her own rooms, —the rooms in which she dreamed of him. 

He affected the society of George and Lutie, spending a great deal of hisleisure with them, scorning himself the while for the perfectly obviousreason that moved him. Automobile jaunts into the country were notinfrequent. He took them out to the country inns for dinner, to placesalong the New Jersey and Long Island shores, to the show grounds at ConeyIsland. There were times when he could have cursed himself for leadingthem to believe that he was interested only in their affairs and not inthis affair of his own; times when he realised to the full that he was_using_ them to satisfy a certain craving. They were close to Anne inevery way; they represented her by proxy; they had letters from herwritten in the far-off town in Canada; she loved them, she encouragedthem, she envied them. And they talked of her, —how they talked of her!

More than all else, George and Lutie personified Love. They representedlove triumphant over all. Their constancy had been rewarded, and the oddshad been great against it. He was contented and happy when near them, forthey gave out love, they radiated it, they lived deep in the heart of it. He craved the company of these serene, unselfish lovers because they werebrave and strong and inspiring. He fed hungrily on their happiness, and hehonestly tried to pay them for what they gave to him. 

He was glad to hear that George was going into a new and responsibleposition in the fall, —a six thousand dollar a year job in the office of abig manufacturing company. He rejoiced not because George was going aheadso splendidly but because his advancement was a justification of Anne'sfaith in her seemingly unworthy brother, —and, moreover, there wasdistinctly something to be said for the influence of love. 

When George's family departed for the north, Thorpe was like a lost soul. In the first week of their absence, he found himself more than once on thepoint of throwing everything aside and rushing off after them. Hisscruples, his principles, his resolutions were shaken in the mighty graspof despair. There were to be no more letters, and, worse than all else, she would not be lonely!

 * * * * *

One day late in August Simmy Dodge burst in upon him. He had motored infrom Southampton and there was proof that he had not dallied along theway. His haste in exploding in Thorpe's presence was evidence of anunrestrained eagerness to have it over with. 

"My God!" he shouted, tugging at his goggles with nervous hands from whichhe had forgotten to remove his gloves. "You've got to put a stop to thissort of thing. It can't go on. She must be crazy, —stark, raving crazy. Youmust not let her do this—"

"What the devil are you talking about?" gasped Thorpe, acutely alarmed bythe little man's actions, to say nothing of his words, which under othercircumstances might have been at least intelligent. 

"Anne! Why, she's—What do you think she's going to do? Or maybe you knowalready. Maybe you've put her up to this idiotic—Say, what _do_ you knowabout it?" He was glaring at his friend. The goggles rested on the floorin a far corner of the consultation-room. 

"In heaven's name, Simmy, cool off! I haven't the remotest idea of whatyou are talking about. What has happened?"

"Nothing has happened yet. And it mustn't happen at all. You've got tostop her. She has threatened to do it before, and now she comes out flat-footed and says she's going to do it, —absolutely, irrevocably, positively. Is that plain enough for you? Absolutely, irrev—"

"Would you mind telling me what she is going to do?"

Simmy sat down rather abruptly and wiped his moist, dust-blackened brow. 

"She's going to give away every damned nickel of that money she got fromold Mr. Thorpe, —every damned nickel of it, do you hear? My God! She _is_crazy, Brady. We've got to put her in a sanitarium—or torium—as soon as wecan get hold of—Hi! Look out!"

Thorpe had leaped forward and was shaking him furiously by the shoulders. His eyes were wide and gleaming. 

"Say that again! Say it again!" he shouted. 

"Say it, damn you, Simmy! Can't you see that I want you to say it again—"

"Say—it—again, " chattered Simmy. "Let go! How the dickens can I sayanything with you mauling me all over the—"

"I'm sorry! I will—try to be sensible—and quiet. Now, go on, oldchap, —tell me all there is to tell. " He sank into a chair and leanedforward, watching every expression that crossed his friend's face—watchingwith an intensity that finally got on Simmy's nerves. 

"She wrote me, —I got the letter yesterday, —Lordy, what did I do with it?Never mind. I'll look for it later on. I can remember nearly every word, so it doesn't matter. She says she has made up her mind to give all thatmoney to charity. Some darned nonsense about never knowing happiness aslong as she has the stuff in her possession. Absolute idiocy! Wants me tohandle the matter for her. Lawyer, and all that sort of thing, you see. Iknow what the game is, and so do you. She'd sooner have you than all thatmoney. By Gosh! I—here's something I never thought of before. " He pausedand wiped his brow, utter bewilderment in his eyes. "It has just occurredto me that I'd sooner have Anne than all the money I've got. I've saidthat to myself a thousand times and—But that has nothing to do with thecase. Lordy, it gave me a shock for a second or two, though. Seems toknock my argument all to smash. Still there _is_ a difference. I didn't_earn_ my money. Where was I? Oh, yes, —er—she's got the idea into her headthat she can never be anything to you until she gets rid of that money. Relief fund! Red Cross! Children's Welfare! Tuberculosis camps! All of'em! Great snakes! Every nickel! Can you beat it? Now, there's just oneway to stop this confounded nonsense. You can do it, and you've got tocome to the mark. "

Thorpe was breathing fast, his eyes were glowing. "But suppose that I failto regard it as confounded nonsense. Suppose—"

"Will you marry Anne Thorpe if she gives up this money?" demanded Simmysharply. 

"That has nothing to do with Anne's motives, " said Thorpe grimly. "Shewants to give it up because it is burning her soul, Simmy. "

"Rats! You make me sick, talking like that. She is giving it up for yoursake and not because her soul is even uncomfortably hot. Now, I want tosee you two patch things up, cut out the nonsense, and get married, —but Idon't intend to see Anne make a fool of herself if I can help it. Thatmoney is Anne's. The house is hers. The—By the way, she says she intendsto _keep_ the house. But how in God's name is she going to maintain it ifshe hasn't a dollar in the world? Think the Red Cross will help her whenshe begins to starve down there—"

"I shall do nothing to stop her, Simmy, " said Thorpe firmly. "If she hasmade up her mind to give all that money to charity, it is her affair, notmine. God knows the Red Cross Society and the Relief Funds need it nowmore than ever before. I'll tell you what I think of Anne Tresslyn'ssacri—"

"Anne Thorpe, if you please. "

"She _hates_—do you hear?—_hates_ the money that my grandfather gave toher. It hurts her in more ways than you can ever suspect. Her honour, herpride, her peace of mind—all of them and more. She sold me out, and shehates the price she received. It is something deeper with her than mere—"

"You are wrong, " broke in Simmy, suddenly calm. He leaned forward and laidhis hand on Thorpe's knee. "She wants you more than anything else in theworld. You are worth more to her than all the money ever coined. It is noreal sacrifice, the way she feels about it now, but—listen to me! I am notgoing to stand idly by and see her make herself as poor as Job's turkeyunless I know—positively know, do you hear, —that she is not to lose outentirely. You've just got to say one thing or the other, Brady, beforeit's too late. If she does all this for you, what will you do for her?"

Thorpe got up from his chair and began pacing the office, his lipscompressed, his eyes lowered. At last he stopped in front of Simmy. 

"If I were you, Simmy, I would tell her at once that—it will be of noavail. "

Simmy glowered to the best of his ability. "Have you never asked her tomake this sacrifice? Have you never given her a ray of hope on which—"

"Yes, —I will be honest with you, —I asked her if she _could_ give it up. "

"There you are!" said Simmy triumphantly. "I was pretty sure you had saidsomething—"

"My God, Simmy, I—I don't know what to do, " groaned Thorpe, throwinghimself into a chair and staring miserably into the eyes of his friend. 

"There is just one thing you are not to do, " said the other gently. "Youare not to let her do this thing unless you are prepared to meet her half-way. If she does her half, you must do yours. I am looking out for herinterests now, old chap, and I mean to see that she gets fair play. Youhave no right to let her make this sacrifice unless you are ready to doyour part. "

"Then say to her for me that she must keep the money, every penny of it. "

Simmy was staggered. "But she—she doesn't want it, " he muttered, lamely. His face brightened. "I say, old boy, why let the measly money stand inthe way? Take her and the money too. Don't be so darned finicky about—"

"Come, come, old fellow, " protested Thorpe, eyeing him coldly. 

"All right, " said Simmy resignedly. "I'll say no more along that line. ButI'm going to make you give her a square deal. This money is hers. Shebargained for it, and it belongs to her. She sha'n't throw it away if Ican help it. I came here to ask you to use your influence, to help me andto help her. You say that she is to keep the money. That means—there's noother chance for her?"

"She knows how I feel about it, " said Thorpe doggedly. 

"I'll tell her just what you've said. But suppose that she insists ongoing ahead with this idiotic scheme of hers? Suppose she really hates themoney and wants to get rid of it, just as she says? Suppose this is nopart of a plan to reconcile—Well, you see what I mean. What then? What'sto become of her?"

"I don't know, " said Thorpe dully. "I don't know. "

"She will be practically penniless, Brady. Her mother will not help her. God, how Mrs. Tresslyn will rage when she hears of this! Lordy, Lordy!"

Thorpe leaned back in the chair and covered his eyes with his hands. For along time he sat thus, scarcely breathing. Simmy watched him inperplexity. 

"It would be awful to see Anne Tresslyn penniless, " said the little manfinally, a queer break in his voice. "She's a fair fighter, my boy. Shedoesn't whimper. She made her mistake and she's willing to pay. Onecouldn't ask more than that of any one. It means a good deal for her tochuck all this money. I don't want her to do it. I'm fond of her, Brady. I, for one, can't bear the thought of her going about in rummy old clothesand—well, that's just what it will come to—unless she marries some oneelse. "

The hands fell from Thorpe's eyes suddenly. "She will not marry any oneelse, " he exclaimed. "What do you mean? What have you heard? Is there—"

"My Lord, you don't expect the poor girl to remain single all the rest ofher life just to please you, do you?" roared Simmy, springing to his feet. "You must not forget that she is young and very beautiful and she'llprobably be very poor. And God knows there are plenty of us who would liketo marry her!" He took a turn or two up and down the room and then stoppedbefore Thorpe, in whose eyes there was a new and desperate anxiety, bornof alarm. "She wants me to arrange matters so that she can begin turningover this money soon after she comes down in September. She hasn't touchedthe principal. If she sticks to her intention, I'll have to do it. Here isher letter. I'll read it to you. George and Lutie know everything, and sheis writing to her mother, she says. Not a word about you, however. Now, listen to what she says, and—for God's sake, _do something_!"

CHAPTER XXX

Anne's strictest injunction to Simmy Dodge bore upon the anonymity of thecontributions to the various specified charities. Huge sums were to bedelivered at stated intervals, covering a period of six months. At the endof that period she would have contributed the whole of her fortune tocharity and, through its agencies, to humanity. The only obligationdemanded in return from any of these organisations was a pledge ofsecrecy, and from this pledge there was to be no release until such timeas the donor herself announced her willingness to make public the natureand extent of her benefactions. It was this desire to avoid publicity thatappealed most strongly to Thorpe. As for poor Simmy, —he could notunderstand it at all. 

Grimly, Anne's lover refused to interfere with her plans. He went abouthis work from that day on, however, with a feverish eagerness and zest, and an exaltation that frequently lifted him to a sort of glory that hecould neither define nor deny. There were moments when he slipped far backinto the depths, and cursed himself for rejoicing in the sacrifice she wasapparently so willing to make. And at such times he found that he had toresist an impulse that was almost overwhelming in its force: the impulseto rush down to her and cry out that the sacrifice was not necessary!

Mrs. Tresslyn came to see him shortly after Anne's return to the city. Shewas humble. When she was announced, he prepared himself for a bitterscene. But she was not bitter, she was not furious; on the contrary, shewas gentler than he had ever known her to be. 

"If you do not take her now, Braden, " she said in the course of theirbrief interview, "I do not know what will become of her. I blame myselffor everything, of course. It was I who allowed her to go into thatunhappy business of getting Mr. Thorpe's money, and I _am_ to blame. Ishould have allowed her to marry you in the beginning. I should not havebeen deceived by the cleverness of your amiable grandfather. But, you seeI counted on something better than this for her. I thought, —and shethought as well, —that she could one day have both you and the money. It isa pretty hard thing to say, isn't it? I saw her to-day. She is quitehappy, —really it seems to me she was radiantly happy this morning. Simmyhas arranged for the first instalment of five hundred thousand dollars tobe paid over to-morrow. She herself has selected the securities that areto make up this initial payment. They are the best of the lot, Simmy tellsme. In a few months she will be penniless. I don't know what is to becomeof her, Braden, if you do not take her when all this absurd business isover. You love her and she loves you. Both of you should hate me, butAnne, for one, does not. She is sorrier for me than she is for herself. Ofcourse, you are to understand one thing, Braden. " She lifted her chinproudly. "She may return to me at any time. My home is hers. She shallnever want for anything that I am able to give her. She is my daughterand—well, you are to understand that I shall stand by her, no matter whatshe does. I have but one object in coming to see you to-day. I need notput it into words. "

A few days later Simmy came in, drooping. "Well, the first half-million isgone. Next month another five hundred thousand goes. I hope you are happy, Brady. "

"I hope Anne is happy, " was all that Thorpe said in response. 

 * * * * *

No word came to him from Anne. She was as silent as the sphinx. Not a daypassed that did not find him running eagerly, —hopefully, —through his mail, looking for the letter he hoped for and was sure that eventually she wouldwrite to him. But no letter came. The only news he had of her was obtainedthrough Simmy, who kept him acquainted with the progress of his client'saffairs, forgetting quite simply the admonition concerning secrecy. 

Thorpe virtually abandoned his visits to the home of the young Tresslyns. He had them out to dinner and the theatre occasionally. They talked quitefreely with him about the all-important topic, and seemed not to beunhappy or unduly exercised over the step Anne had taken. In fact, Georgewas bursting with pride in his sister. Apparently he had no other thoughtthan that everything would turn out right and fair for her in the end. Butthe covert, anxious, analysing look in Lutie's eyes was always present andit was disconcerting. 

He avoided the little flat in which he had spent so many happy, and in asense profitable hours, and they appreciated his reason for doing so. Theykept their own counsel. He had no means of knowing that Anne Thorpe'svisits were but little more frequent than his. 

Anne's silence, her persistent aloofness, began to irritate him at last. Weeks had passed since her return to the city and she had given no sign. He had long since ceased his sly pilgrimages to the neighbourhood ofWashington Square. Now as the days grew shorter and the nights infinitelylonger, he was conscious, first, of a distinct feeling of resentmenttoward her, and later on of an acute sense of uneasiness. The long, drearyhours of darkness fed him with reflections that kept him awake most of thenight, and only his iron will held his hand and nerves steady during thedays between the black seasons. The theatre palled on him, books failed tohold his attention, people annoyed him. He could not concentrate histhoughts on study; his mind was forever journeying. What was she doing?Every minute of the day he was asking that question of himself. It was inthe printed pages of the books he read; it was on the lips of everylecturer he listened to; it was placarded on every inch of scenery in thetheatre, —always: "Where is she to-night? What is she doing?"

And then, at last, one cold, rainy night in late November he resumed hisstealthy journeys to lower Fifth Avenue atop of the stage, protected by athick ulster and hidden as well as he could be in the shelter of a rigidlygrasped umbrella. Alighting in front of the Brevoort, he slunk rather thansauntered up the Avenue until he came to the cross-town street in whichshe lived, —in which he once had lived. It was a fair night for such anadventure as this. There were but few people abroad. The rain was fallingsteadily and there was a gusty wind. He had left his club at ten o'clock, and all the way down the Avenue he was alone on the upper deck of thestage. Afterwards he chuckled guiltily to himself as he recalled the oddstare with which the conductor favoured him when he jestingly inquired ifthere was "any room aloft. "

Walking down the street toward Sixth Avenue, he peered out from beneaththe umbrella as he passed his grandfather's house across the way. Therewere lights downstairs. A solitary taxi-cab stood in front of the house. He quickened his pace. He did not want to charge himself with spying. Afeeling of shame and mortification came over him as he hurried along; hisface burned. He was not acting like a man, but as a love-sick, jealousschool-boy would have behaved. And yet all the way up Sixth Avenue toFifty-ninth Street, —he walked the entire distance, —he wondered why he hadnot waited to see who came forth from Anne's house to enter the taxi-cab. 

For a week he stubbornly resisted the desire to repeat the trip down-town. In the meantime, Simmy had developed into a most unsatisfactory informant. He suddenly revealed an astonishing streak of uncommunicativeness, totallyunnatural in him and tantalising in the extreme. He rarely mentionedAnne's name and never discussed her movements. Thorpe was obliged tocontent himself with an occasional word from Lutie, —who was also painfullyreticent, —and now and then a scrap of news in the society columns of thenewspapers. Once he saw her in the theatre. She was with other people, allof whom he knew. One of them was Percy Wintermill. He began on that nightto hate Wintermill. The scion of the Wintermill family sat next to Anneand there was nothing in his manner to indicate that he had resignedhimself to defeat in the lists. 

If Anne saw him she did not betray the fact. He waited outside for afairer glimpse of her as she left the theatre. What he saw at close rangefrom his carefully chosen position was not calculated to relieve his mind. She appeared to be quite happy. There was nothing in her appearance or inher manner to indicate that she suffered, —and he _wanted_ her to suffer ashe was suffering. That night he did not close his eyes. 

He had said to her that he would never marry her even though she gave upthe money she had received from his grandfather, and she had said—how wellhe remembered!—that if George was worth thirty thousand dollars to Lutie, which was her _all_, —he was worth two millions to her, and her _all_. Shewas paying for him now, just as Lutie had paid for George, only in Lutie'scase there was the assurance that the sacrifice would bring its ownconsolation and reward. Anne was going ahead blindly, trusting to anuncertainty. She had his word for it that the sacrifice would bring noreward through him, and yet she persisted in the vain enterprise. She hadlikened herself, in a sense, to Lutie, and now he was beginning to thinkof himself as he had once thought of George Tresslyn!

He recalled his pitying scorn for the big, once useless boy during thatlong period of dog-like watchfulness over the comings and goings of thegirl he loved. He had felt sorry for him and yet pleased with him. Therewas something admirable in the stubborn, drunken loyalty of GeorgeTresslyn, —a loyalty that never wavered even though there was no such thingas hope ahead of him. 

As time went on, Thorpe, the sound, sober, indomitable Thorpe, —began toencourage himself with the thought that he too might sink to theextremities through which George had passed, —and be as simple and as firmin his weakness as the other had been! He too might stand in dark placesand watch, he too might slink behind like a thing in the night. Only inhis case the conditions would be reversed. He would be fighting convictionand not hope, for he knew he had but to walk into Anne's presence andspeak, —and the suspense would be over. She was waiting for him. It was hewho would have to surrender, not she. 

He fought desperately with himself; the longing to see her, to be nearher, to test his vaunted self-control, never for an instant subsided. Hefought the harder because he was always asking himself why he fought atall. Why should he not take what belonged to him? Why should he denyhimself happiness when it was so much to be desired and so easy to obtain?

But always when he was nearest to the breaking point, and the rush offeeling was at flood, there crept up beside him the shadow that threatenedhis very existence and hers. He had taken the life of her husband. He hadno right to her. Down in his heart he knew that there was no moral groundfor the position he took and from which he could not extricate himself. Hehad committed no crime. There had been no thought of himself in thatsolemn hour when he delivered his best friend out of bondage. Anne had noqualms, and he knew her to be a creature of fine feelings. She had alwaysrevolted against the unlovely aspects of life, and all this despite theclaim she made that love would survive the most unholy of oppressions. What was it then that _he_ was afraid of? What was it that made him holdback while love tugged so violently, so persistently at his heart-strings?

At times he had flashes of the thing that created the shadow, and it wasthen that he grasped, in a way, the true cause of his fears. Back ofeverything he realised there was the most uncanny of superstitions. Hecould not throw off the feeling that his grandfather, in his grave, stillhad his hand lifted against his marriage with Anne Tresslyn; that thegrim, loving old man still regarded himself as a safeguard against theconnivings of Anne!

His common sense, of course, resisted this singular notion. He had but torecall his grandfather's praise of Anne just before he went to his death. Surely that signified an altered opinion of the girl, and no doubt therewas in his heart during those last days of life, a very deep, if puzzled, admiration for her. And yet, despite the conviction that his grandfather, had he been pressed for a definite statement would have declared himselfas being no longer opposed to his marriage with Anne, there still remainedthe fact that he had gone to his grave without a word to show that heregarded his experiment as a failure. And he had gone to his grave in amanner that left no room for doubt that his death was to stand always asan obstacle in the path of the lovers. There were times when Braden Thorpecould have cursed his grandfather for the cruel cunning to which he hadresorted in the end. 

He could not free himself of the ridiculous, distorted and oft-recurringnotion that his grandfather was watching him from beyond the grave, norwere all his scientific convictions sufficient to dispel the fear that menlive after death and govern the destinies of those who remain. 

But through all of these vain struggles, his love for Anne grew stronger, more overpowering. He was hollow-eyed and gaunt, ravenous with the hungerof love. A spectre of his former self, he watched himself starve withsustenance at hand. Bountiful love lay within his grasp and yet hestarved. Full, rich pastures spread out before him wherein he could roamto the end of his days, blissfully gorging himself, —and yet he starved. And Anne, who dwelt in those elysian pastures, was starving too!

Once more he wavered and again he fell. He found himself at midnightstanding at the corner above Anne's home, staring at the darkenedunresponsive windows. Three nights passed before he resumed the hatefulvigil. This time there were lights. And from that time on, he went almostnightly to the neighbourhood of Washington Square, regardless of weatheror inconvenience. He saw her come and go, night after night, and he sawpeople enter the house to which he held a key, —always he saw from obscurepoints of vantage and with the stealth and caution of a malefactor. 

He came to realise in course of time that she was not at peace withherself, notwithstanding a certain assumption of spiritedness with whichshe fared into the world with others. At first he was deceived byappearances, but later on he knew that she was not the happy, interestedcreature she affected to be when adventuring forth in search of pleasure. He observed that she tripped lightly down the steps on leaving the house, and that she ascended them slowly, wearily, almost reluctantly on herreturn, far in the night. He invariably waited for the lights to appear inthe shaded windows of her room upstairs, and then he would hurry away asif pursued. Once, after roaming the streets for two hours following herreturn to the house, he wended his way back to the spot from which he hadlast gazed at her windows. To his surprise the lights were still burning. After that he never left the neighbourhood until he saw that the windowswere dark, and more often than otherwise the lights did not go out untiltwo or three o'clock in the morning. The significance of these nightlyindications of sleeplessness on her part did not escape him. 

Bitterly cold and blustering were some of the nights. He sought warmth andshelter from time to time in the near-by cafés, always returning to hispost when the call became irresistible. It was his practice to go to thecheap and lowly cafés, places where he was not likely to be known despitehis long residence in the community. He did not drink. It had, of course, occurred to him that he might find solace in resorting to the cup thatcheers, but never for an instant was he tempted to do so. He was toostrong for that!

Curiosity led him one night to the restaurant of Josiah Wade. He did notenter, but stood outside peering through the window. It was late at nightand old Wade was closing the place. A young woman whom Thorpe took to behis wife was chatting amiably with a stalwart youth near the cashregister. He did not fail to observe the furtive, shifty glances that Wadeshot out from under his bushy eyebrows in the direction of the couple. 

He knew, through Simmy, that the last of Templeton Thorpe's money wouldsoon pass from Anne's hands. A million and a half was gone. The time forthe last to go was rapidly approaching. She would soon be poorer than whenshe entered upon the infamous enterprise. There would still remain to herthe house in which she lived. It was not a part of the purchase price. Itwas outside of the bargain she had made, and the right to sell it wasforbidden her. But possesion of it was a liability rather than an asset. He wondered what she would do when it came down to the house in which shelived. 

Again and again he apostrophized himself as follows: "My God, what am Icoming to? Is this madness? Am I as George Tresslyn was, am I no noblerthan he? Or was he noble in spite of himself, and am I noble in the samesense? If I am mad with love, if I am weak and accursed by consequences, why should not she be weaker than I? She is a woman. I am—or was—a man. Why should I sink to such a state as this and she remain brave and strongand resolute? She keeps away from me, why should I not stay away from her?God knows I have tried to resist this thing that she resists, and whathave I come to? A street loafer, a spy, a sneak, a dog without a master. She is doing a big thing, and I am doing the smallest thing that man cando. She loves me and longs for me and—Oh, what damned madness is it thatbrings me to loving her and longing for her and yet makes of me a thing somuch less worthy than she?" And so on by the hour, day and night, hecursed himself with questions. 

 * * * * *

The end came swiftly, resistlessly. She paused at the bottom of the stepsas the automobile slid off into the chill, windy night. For the first timein all his vigil, he noted the absence of the footman who always ran upthe steps ahead of her to open the door. She was alone to-night. This hadnever happened before. Mystified, he saw her slowly ascend the steps andpause before the door. Her body drooped wearily. He waited long for her topress the electric button which had taken the place of the ancient knobthat jangled the bell at the far end of the hall. But she remainedmotionless for what seemed to him an interminable time, and then, to hisconsternation, she leaned against the door and covered her face with herhands. 

A great weight suddenly was lifted from his soul; a vast exaltation droveout everything that had been oppressing him for so long. He was free! Hewas free of the thing that had been driving him to death. Joy, sooverwhelming in its rush that he almost collapsed as it assailed him, swept aside every vestige of resistance, —and, paradox of paradoxes, —made aman of him! He was a man and he would—But even as his jaw set and his bodystraightened in its old, dominant strength, she opened the door and passedinto the dim hall beyond. 

He was half across the street when the door closed behind her, but he didnot pause. His hand came from his pocket and in his rigid fingers he heldthe key to his home—and hers. 

At the bottom of the steps he halted. The lights in the drawing-room hadbeen switched on. The purpose that filled him now was so great that hewaited long there, grasping the hand rail, striving to temper his new-found strength to the gentleness that was in his heart. The fight wasover, and he had won—the man of him had won. She was in that room wherethe lights were, —waiting for him. The moment was not far off when shewould be in his arms. He was suffocating with the thought of the nearnessof it all!

He mounted the steps. As he came to the top, the door was opened and Annestood there in the warm light of the hall, —a slender, swaying figure insomething rose-coloured and—and her lips were parted in a wondering, enchanted smile. She held out her arms to him. 

THE END

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards. 2. Frontispiece relocated after copyright page. 3. Table of Contents added. 4. Typographic errors corrected in original:   p. 102 heared to hearted ("loyal, warm-hearted, enduring creature")   p. 193 snovel to snivel ("choke and snivel softly")   p. 215 unforgetable to unforgettable ("that unforgettable day")   p. 439 "Her saw her" to "He saw her" ("He saw her come and go")   p. 440 possesion to possession ("possession of it was a liability")