"Did she give you the key of the suite?" Mary asked sharply.
"But no, Madame, she did not give me a key. I shall have to knock."
"Very well, run and put a few things together," Mary directed. "It doesn't much matter what, as Mademois—my daughter—will not, I think, stay long in the suite. When you are ready, come back here to me. I will go down with you. When the door is opened, I shall walk in before it can be shut. But mind, you will speak or hint tonoone of what I do, or what I say to you—or what you may see or overhear."
"Madame may depend upon me," Céline assured her. "Ah, that poor Milord Severance!Mais, c'est le Destin!"
"You said at the theatre, if I trusted you enough to come here with you," Marise began as Céline left, "you would tell me a plan you thought I'd approve. Well, I did trust you! Ihadto, just as I had to this afternoon when you said the same thing in the taxi. Here I am. But so far, I don't see anything that reassures me much. All the flowers and jewel-cases and gold things are beautiful bribes. The only trouble about them is, thatIdon't take bribes—even if you can afford to offer them!"
"I understand that emphasis," said Garth. "Youdon't take bribes. I do. And you think, in making this collection I've 'gambled in futures.'"
Marise was silent.
"That's what you do think, isn't it?" he insisted.
"Something of the sort may have flitted through my head."
"Well, if I'm not above bribery and corruption—and the rest of it—that's on my own conscience. In other words, it's my own business. Your business is—to keep up appearances, and at the same time keep up the proprieties."
"That's one way of expressing it!"
"Yes, again my beastly vulgar way! But I won't stop to apologise because I know you're in a hurry to settle this question between us once for all. Because, when it is settled, itwillbe once for all, so far as I'm concerned."
"I see. Go on, please!"
He looked at her, a long look. "You and I are here alone together," he said. "Husband and wife! For wearemarried, you know. Does that make you shiver—or shudder?"
"I don't think wefeelvery married—either of us," Marise answered in a small, ingratiating voice, like a child's.
"You don't know how I feel," said Garth. "But I'm not anxious to punish you by torture for anything you've done, no matter what you may deserve, so I won't keep you in suspense. You admit that if—wedid'feel married,' and if—we cared about each other as ordinary new-married couples do, this 'bridal suite'—as they call it—would be the proper dodge?"
"Oh yes," agreed Marise, wondering what he was working up to. Her heart was beating too fast for her wits to be at their nimblest, but she hadn't missed those words of his which had either slipped out, or been spoken with subtle purpose: "If we cared about each other." Only a few days ago—apparently with his soul in his eyes—he had said that he'd give that soul to get her for his own. Well, the incredible had happened, and shewashis own—in a way. Was he so disgusted with her behaviour and motives that he'd suddenly ceased to care? Or was he silly enough to think it would hurt her if he pretended not to care? Certainly she had done nothing worse thanhehad! Whatever he might think, she had married him largely from pique, to spite Tony Severance; though, of course, that wasn't to say she wouldn't carry out Tony's scheme when the time came. Whereas he, John Garth, had accepted a bribe. She was worth a million dollars to Tony: and the million dollars were worth a basely caddish act to Garth.
"You want your friends and the public in general to believe we are the ordinary loving couple, don't you?" he was asking.
"Of course. I may have earned them, but I don'twanthorrid things said. Especially——"
"Especially on Severance's account, and because of the arrangements he proposes to make for your future, I suppose you were going to say. Why stop?"
"Because you suppose wrong. I wasn't going to say anything of the kind. 'Especially on account of poor Mums,' were the words on the tip of my tongue. I stopped—well, I thought it sounded sentimental. Besides, you'd probably not believe me."
"I think I would believe you," said Garth. "I don't know you very well yet, but things that have happened have shown me a bit of what you're like, inside yourself. You've got plenty of faults. I should say you're as selfish as they make 'em. You don't really take much interest in anything that doesn't affect you and your affairs. You've been badly spoiled, but not quite ruined: and I think you don't enjoy telling lies."
"Thank you for your charming compliments!" flashed Marise, the blood in her cheeks. Spoiled indeed! Everyone said she was wonderfullyunspoiled—simple and sweet-natured as a child. Those were the people whoknewher!
"To get back to a more important subject," went on Garth; "I was going to tell you that, honestly, one half the reason I took this suite and made you come to it with me, was for your sake: to have you do the right, conventional, bridal thing everyone expects of you, and would be blue with curiosity if you didn't do. The other half was to find out whether you were capable of rising to an occasion."
"Rising—how?" questioned Marise.
"Rising high enough to trust a man to do—after his lights—the decent thing. Not to carry out a bargain, because there is none. I'd be breaking no promise if I grabbed you in my arms this moment. I mean, the decent thing that any man owes any woman who puts herself in his power. Now I've said enough. You'll understand me better in a minute by going over this suite, than by listening to an hour's explanation in words. I'll wait for you here." (They were in the salon.) "Walk round, and draw your own conclusions. Then come back and tell me what the conclusions are."
Marise was quite sharp enough to guess what he meant, but—stepping out into the azalea-filled entrance hall, she passed the open door of the beautiful white bedroom. Beyond it was another door. She opened this, and touching an electric switch, flooded a room with light.
Here, too, was a bedroom, smaller, less elaborate, more suited to the occupation of a man than the other. Instead of the carved white wood and gilded cane of the room next door, the furniture was mahogany, of the Queen Anne period; and the carpet, instead of pale Aubusson, was the colour of wallflowers. There were some plain ebony brushes and toilet things on the dressing-table, and underneath the table were boot-trees. Evidently Garth had had his belongings brought over from the Belmore!
A glance sufficed Marise. She went slowly back to the salon where Garth stood staring down on the display of jewellery on the table.
"Well?" He looked up with something defiant and oddly sullen about his face. "You understand my 'plan'?"
"Yes," said Marise. "I understand. But——"
"But what? Didn't you try the door between that other room and your own, and satisfy yourself that it's locked with the key on your side?"
"I didn't try it," the girl answered, "because—I was somehow sure it would be like that."
"Why were you sure?"
"I don't know, exactly. I was."
"Your sureness was the result of trust in me, as a decent man in spite of the fact that you think I'm not a gentleman?"
"Ye-es, I suppose it was trust."
"Then why that 'but' just now?"
"Oh—it's rather hard to put into words what was to come after the 'but'—without hurting your feelings. And I don't want to do that. It only makes things a lot worse."
"I don't mind having my feelings hurt. I'm hardened. Besides, if you hurt mine I'm free to hurt yours if I like in return. Shoot!"
"Well—I believe you mean what you've said to me—and shown me. I do trust you—now. But for how long dare I? Can you trust yourself?"
He smiled down at her; and itlookedlike a scornful smile, but of course it couldn't be that. "Your question is easy to answer," he said. "I trust myself, and shall continue to trust myself, because there's no temptation to resist. I shall keep to my own half of this suite, with the less difficulty because I haven't the slightest wish to intrude on yours. Now you know where you stand. But there's a knock! I suppose that's your maid."
It was the maid. It was also Mrs. Sorel, who pushed past Céline and darted into the hall.
"My darling!" she shrilled at sight of Marise. "You look as if you'd had a most horrible shock!"
It was just this that the girl had had: the shock of her life. She, undesired—nota temptation! Alone with a man—a mere brute—who had the strength and the legal right to take her against her will, but remained cold; did not want her.
She might have believed this statement to be a sequel to that hint about "hurting her feelings if he liked," but Garth's face was cold. It might have been carved from rock. It looked like rock—that red-brown kind. There was no fierce, controlled passion in the tawny eyes, such as men on the stage would carefully have betrayed in these situations, or such as men had far from carefully betrayed to her in real life, disgusting or frightening her at the time: though afterwards the scene had pleased, or—wellflatteredher to dwell on in safe retrospect. It was rather glorious, though sometimes painful, she'd often said to herself, the power she had to make menfeel. Yet this Snow-man didn't feel at all. He simplydidn't! You could see that by his icicle of a face.
"You mustn't worry, dear Mums," soothed Marise. "I'm doing the best thing for everyone: keeping up appearances! And as Major Garth dislikes me—I am not his style, it seems—I'm perfectly safe. Safe as if I were in our rooms, with you."
Garth gazed gravely at Mrs. Sorel. "She's safer than with you, Madame. I assure you she's as safe as—as if she were in cold storage."
Mary gasped.
Marise laughed.
But she felt as though she'd read in a yellow newspaper that Miss Sorel was the plainest girl and the worst actress in the world.
Mums was persuaded to go, at last, after having upbraided her daughter, with tears, for forcing them all—including Lord Severance—into such a deplorable, such a perilous situation.
As for the peril, after Garth's words, and still more hislook, all thrill of danger and the chance of a fight, with a triumphant if exhausting close, had died. Marise felt dull and "anti-climaxy," and homesick for her friends, the dear public who loved and appreciated her. Céline remained to undress her mistress, having (despite Mrs. Sorel's advice) brought various articles from Marise's own room. When at last the bride was ready for bed in a dream of a "nighty" fetched by her maid, Céline thought of the jewels on a table in the salon.
By this time the room was empty, Garth having retired like a bear to his den; and the Frenchwoman took it on herself to transfer the valuables to the bedroom adjoining. "They will be safer here," she said. "Unless Mademoiselle—Madame—would like me to carry the cases to the other suite and put them in the care of Madame his mother."
"No, leave everything here," directed Marise.
She had made up her mind not to keep the gifts. They were beautiful, and she wouldn't have been a woman if she'd not wanted them. But she wanted still more the stern splendour of handing the spoil back to Garth, advising him to return the jewels whence they came, sinceonly millionairesshould buy such expensive objects. But she would not of course take a servant, even Céline—who knew everything and a little more than everything—into her confidence.
She gave the Frenchwoman a key (which had been handed her by Garth) to use in the morning, when the time came for early tea, a bath, and being dressed. Then, when the maid had departed with a click of the outer door, an idea sprang into the mind of Marise. At first she thought it would not do. Then she thought it would. And the more she thought in both directions, the more she was enmeshed by the idea itself.
Only half an hour had elapsed since Garth went to his room. The man wouldn't be human, after what they'd passed through, if he had gone to bed. Marise was sure he had done no such thing: and she fancied that she caught a faint whiff of tobacco stealing through the keyhole of that stout locked door between their rooms.
At last she could no longer resist the call of the blood—or whatever it was. She switched on the light again, jumped up, and looked for a dressing-gown. Bother! Céline hadn't brought one—had taken it for granted she would use that wonderful thing which Garth's taste—or the taste of some hidden guide of his—had provided.
Well, what did it matter, anyhow? She would slip it on—and the sparkling gold and silvermules, too. She glanced in the long Psyche mirror. Shedidlook divine! Even a rock-carved statue couldn't deny that! Gathering up the jewels, she unlocked the door which led into the hall, and tapped at the door of Garth's room, adjoining her own.
"If you're not in bed," she called, "come out a minute, will you? I've something important to say."
All that was minx in Marise was revelling in the thought that presently Garth would suffer a disappointment. He would imagine that she wished to plead for grace from him. Then, before he could snub her, she'd givehimthe snub of his life—just as he had given her, Marise Sorel, the shock of hers!
Garth did not answer at once. The girl was hesitating whether to call him again, when his voice made her start. It soundedsleepy! "Iamin bed," he said. "What do you want? Is it too important to wait till morning?"
"It's merely that I wished to put the jewels which were left in the salon into your charge," Marise replied with freezing dignity. "I do not think they are safe there."
"Wouldn't they be safe enough with you?" came grumpily—yes, grumpily!—through the closed door.
"No doubt. But I don't wish to have the responsibility, as I don't care to accept them...."
"Oh, I see! Well, if that's your decision, it doesn't matter whether they're safe or not. Leave the things in the corridor if your room's too sacred for them. If that's all you want, I shall not get out of bed."
What a man!
"One would think you were a multi-millionaire!" Marise couldn't resist that one last, sarcastic dig. "So I may be for all you know. Do what you like with the silly old jewels."
Marise threw the cases on the floor as loudly as she could. She knew that the outer door was locked, and that Céline would be the first person in, when morning came, so the act wasn't as reckless as it seemed. But it was a relief to her nerves at the moment.
The filmy dressing-gown, the sparklingmules, the hair down, the general heartbreaking divineness, werewasted.
Marise slept little, in what was left of that strange wedding night.
She tried to think of Tony Severance, who must be suffering tortures through his love and fears for her. But somehow he had lost importance. He had become a figure in the background. Her thoughts would turn their "spot light" upon the man in the adjoining room.
Was he asleep? Was he awake? Was he thinking about her, and if so, what? Why had he married her? If it was for love, as she had fancied at first, could he have treated her as he had? That was hard to believe! Yet it was harder to believe his motives wholly mercenary.
"Perhaps that's because I'm vain," the girl told herself. And she remembered, her cheeks hot, how Garth had accused her of vanity and selfishness. He'd said that she took no interest in anything which didn't concern Marise Sorel. She had been angry then, and thought him unjust and hard. But in her heart she knew that he had touched the truth. Shewasvain and selfish. And she was hard, too, just as hard to him as he to her.
"Hehas made me so!" she excused herself. "I was never hard to anyone else before, in all my life."
But she could not rest on this special pleading. What right had she to be hard to this man? She hadaskedhim to marry her. His crime was that he had granted her wish and consented to play this dummy hand; and now the deed was done he was not grovelling to her or to Tony Severance. How much moreBritishhe seemed, by the by, than dark, Greek Tony, of subtle ways!
At luncheon, talking with Pobbles, he had spoken of Yorkshire ashiscounty. Marise wondered what he had meant. But, of course, she would not ask. John Garth's past was no affair of hers. Still, she couldn't stop puzzling about him. She puzzled nearly all night. He was turning out such a different man from the man she had vaguely imagined! In fact, he was different from any man she had ever met, off the stage or on.
Staring into darkness as the hours passed, Marise felt that she could not wait for Céline. She'd get up at dawn, dress, and flit to her own room in Mums' suite. But no! She couldn't do that. She hadn't a key to that suite. She would have to pound on the door, and other people beside Mums and Céline would hear. There would be gossip—which she'd sacrificed much already to avoid.
Dreading the long night of wakefulness, the girl suddenly dropped fast asleep, and began at once to dream of Garth. Zélie Marks was in the dream, too, and—dreams are so ridiculous!—Marise was jealous. What had happened between the two she didn't know; but she would have known in another instant, for Zélie was going to confess, if a rap had not sounded at the door and made her sit up in a fright. Marise was just about to cry, "You can't come in!" when she realised that it was the peculiar double knock of Céline.
The Frenchwoman was prompt, though the night had seemed so long. Her mistress sipped hot, fragrant Orange Pekoe from an eggshell cup, and in a whisper bade Céline move quietly, not to rouse Monsieur Garth in the next room.
"Oh, Mademoiselle—Madame!" said the maid.
"Monsieur has gone out, early as it is. His door is wide open."
Marise must have slept more soundly than she knew. She hadn't heard a sound.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Céline about the jewel-cases—if they were lying in the corridor. But she couldn't put such a question! The maid would be too curious—she would fancy there had been some vulgar quarrel instead of—instead of—well, Marise hardly knew how to qualify her own conduct.
"I'm afraid Iwasvulgar," she thought, like a child repenting last night's misdeeds. "It was horrid of me to throw those lovely things on the floor. Poor fellow, he must have spent a fortune—somebody'sfortune (whose, I wonder?)—on those pearls, and diamonds and emeralds, and all the rest. Yet I never said one word of gratitude. I was never such a brute before!... I'm sure itmustbe his fault. Still—I don't like myself one bit better than I like him."
As Garth had gone out, there was no great need for haste. Céline had brought all that was needed, and Marise might dress—as well as repent—at leisure. But she was wild with impatience to know whether the jewels were lying where she had thrown them. While Céline was letting the bath-water run, the girl peeped out into the flower-scented corridor. The jewel-cases had gone!
This discovery gave her a slight shock. She had more than half expected to see them on the floor, and had wondered what she would do if they were there—whether she would pick them up and decide to accept the gifts after all, with a stiff, yet decent little speech of gratitude. "I'm sure you meant to do what I would like, and I don't wish to hurt your feelings," or something of that sort.
Now, what should she do? The probability was that Garth himself had retrieved his rejected treasures. But there was just a chance—such horrors happened in hotels!—that a thief had pussy-footed into the suite to search for wedding presents, and had found them easily in an unexpected place. That would betoodreadful! Because, if she—Marise—held her tongue, Garth would always believe thatshehad annexed the things, and had chosen to be sulkily silent.
"I shall have to bring up the subject somehow, the next time we meet—whenever that may be!" she thought ruefully.
When Mrs. Garth arrived in the maternal suite, it was about the hour when Miss Sorel had been in the habit of slipping, half-dressed, from bedroom to salon. It was the time, also, when Miss Zélie Marks was accustomed to present herself, and begin her morning tasks: sharpening pencils, sorting letters, etc. But to-day the salon was unoccupied. The letters lay in a fat, indiscriminate heap, just as Céline had received them from one of the floor-waiters.
Mrs. Sorel was still in bed, and still suffering from last night's headache, which had increased, rather than diminished. She burst into tears at sight of Marise, but was slowly pacified on hearing the story of the night.
"He was afraid to——" she began; but the girl broke in with the queerest sensation of anger. "Hewasn'tafraid—ofanything! Whatever else he may have been, he wasn't afraid. I don't believe the creature knows how to be afraid."
Mrs. Sorel did not insist. She didn't wish to waste time discussing Garth. She wanted to talk of Tony. There was a letter from him. It had come by hand, early—sent as he was starting. Of course he hadn't dared write to Marise direct, but there was an enclosure for her.
"You had better read it now," advised Mums. "At any moment that man may turn up, asking for you, and trying to make some scene."
Marise took the crested envelope that had come inside her mother's note from Tony; but somehow or other she felt an odd repulsion against it. She didn't care to read what Tony had to say to Mrs. John Garth at parting; and she had an excuse to procrastinate because, just then, the telephone sounded in the salon adjoining.
"Will you go, dearest? Or shall I ring for Céline?" Mums asked.
Marise answered by walking into the salon and picking up the receiver. Her heart was beating a little with the expectation of Garth's voice from—somewhere. Their own suite, perhaps? But a woman was speaking.
"Is it you, Mrs. Sorel?" was the question that came. And the heart-beats were not calmed, for Marise recognised the contralto tones of Miss Marks, the villainess of her dream.
"No, it's I,MissSorel," she answered. "What's the matter? Aren't you coming as usual?"
"I am sorry, no, I can't come," replied the voice across the wire. "I thought that now—you're married,Mrs. Garth, and going away before long, I should no longer be required. But in any case I——"
"If we hadn't required your services we should have told you, and given you two weeks' salary in lieu of notice," snapped Marise professionally.
"I hardly supposed you had time to think about me, everything was so confused yesterday," Zélie excused herself. "Anyhow, Mrs. Garth, I must give notice myself, for I've had news which will take me out of New York at once. I've got to start by the next train. It doesn't matter about money. I was paid up only a few days ago. We were just starting fresh——"
"I'm sure my mother will wish to pay, and insist upon doing so," said Marise. "When does your train go?"
"I'm not certain to the minute," hedged Miss Marks. "But I have to pack. I——"
"That won't prevent your receiving an envelope with what we owe you in it," persisted Marise. "I suppose you're 'phoning from your flat?"
"Yes—no. Yes. But I'll be gone before a messenger could get here.Pleasedon't trouble."
"Very well, give me your address at the town where you're going," Marise said. "We can post you on a cheque."
"I can't do that, I'm afraid," objected Miss Marks. "I shall be moving about from place to place for awhile. It's really nouse, Mrs. Garth, thank you—though of course it's kind of you to care. Please say good-bye to Mrs. Sorel for me. You've both been very good."
"I wish you'd sent us word last night," said Marise, whose eyes were bright, and whose hand, holding the receiver, had begun to throb as if she had a heart in her wrist.
"I didn't know last night. The news I spoke of came this morning."
"It must have come early!"
"It did. Good-bye, Mrs. Garth."
"Wait just a second. Are you going—West?"
"Ye-es. For awhile."
"You can't tell me where?"
"Oh, several places. Not far from my old home."
"Did you ever mention where that was?"
But no answer came. Either they had been cut off, or Zélie Marks had impudently left the telephone.
The dream came back to Marise—the dream where Garth and the stenographer had been whispering together in a room where Marise could not see them.
"I believe he's with her now," the girl thought. "I believe when he went out this morning he went straight toher. He's told her to do something, and she intends to do it."
To that question, "Are you going West?" Zélie had hesitatingly responded, "Ye-es." What did it mean?
That same afternoon, Mary Sorel began a letter to Severance, a letter embroidered with points of admiration, dashes, underlinings, and parentheses.
"Dear Tony," she wrote, for she felt the warm affection of an Egeria, mingled with that of a mother-in-law elect, for him: and it pleased all that was snobbish in her soul to have this intimate feeling for an earl.
"Dear Tony, I shall be cabling you about the time you land, according to promise. But I promised as well to write a sort ofdiaryletter, giving you all the developments day by day, and posting the document at the end of the week. Well, this is the first instalment, written—as you'll see by the date—on the day of your sailing.
"How I wish I had better news to give you! But don't be alarmed. Things arenotgoing as we hoped, yet they might be worse. And now you are prepared by that preface, I'll try to tell you exactly the state of affairs!
"At least, I shall be able to explain a mystery that puzzled and worried us both yesterday, after the—I suppose in lieu of a better word I'm bound to call it 'marriage'! Neither you nor I could understand precisely howThat Manhad got my poor child so under his thumb, when by rightsheshould have been underher foot!
"What he does is this: he simply threatens at every turn to go away and tell everyone,including newspaper men, the whole story from beginning to end. You might think with an ordinary person that this was allbluff. Because, if the story hurt you and Marise, and evenme, it would hurt him as much. But whatever he may be (and he might be almostanything!) he isnotan ordinary person. He appears perfectly reckless of his own reputation. Apparently he cares not enough to lift his finger, or let it fall, for the opinion of others, no matterwho. If he said he would do some dreadful thing it wouldn't be safe to hope he was merely making an idle threat. He woulddoit, I'm sure he would!
"That's the secret of his power over our poor little Marise, and I must admit, to a certain extent overme.
"I have been having a long talk with him about the future—theimmediatefuture, I mean, of course, for the more distant future I hope and believe will be controlled byyou!
"When I reproached the man for browbeating my daughter, he actually retorted that we had no right to try and pin him to a certain line of conduct, and notpayhim for it!Shameless!But that sample will show you what we are goingthrough. I shall indeed rejoice for every reason when you are restored to us. You have told me that your cousin Œnone has what amounts to a million of American dollars, all her own, and that her father intends giving you another million on your marriage to her; so you will be in a position to complete your bargain with this Fiend. In order to obtain the money, he willhaveto keep his part of the agreement.
"Yes, 'Fiend' is the word. Indeed, I used it aloud this afternoon in addressing him, so utterly did he enrage me. He will not allow Marise to go with me to Los Angeles and accept the loan of Bell Towers, which you so kindly placed at our disposal till your return with your poor little invalid, Œnone. He has a house of his own, out West, it seems—Arizona or somewherewild-sounding. I believe it's near the Grand Canyon—whereverthatis! And heaven alone knows what it's like—thehouse, I mean, not the Canyon, which I am told is an immense abyss miles deep, full ofblood-red rocks or something terrific.
"Garth insists that the unhappy child shall accompany him to this desolate spot, which is more or less on the way to California. The alternative he puts before her is of course the eternal (I nearly said, 'infernal'!) one, of deserting his bride with a blast of trumpets. Neither you, nor Marise, nor I, can afford to letthishappen! Almost anything would be preferable at a crisis so delicate for you with your uncle. Especially as Marisevowsthat, alone with her, the monster is not so formidable. In fact, she says she can account for his conduct at these times only by supposing that he does not like her, or isin love with someone else.
"I wonder, by the way, do you know at all if he hasanymoney? My impression, when he so easily accepted your somewhat original offer, was that he had none. But he made Marise several handsome presents of jewellery, which must have cost a great deal,ifhe paid cash! Perhaps he used his V.C. to get them ontick—if such a thing is possible! Marise refused, quite definitely, she tells me, to take these gifts from him. To-day, she chanced to ask Garth how he had disposed of them after her refusal. Though she put the questionmosttactfully, even remarking that she wassorryfor some little abruptness when returning the jewel-cases (I don't know details!), the mandeniedher right to ask what he had done. Marise persisted, however, in that sweet littledeterminedway she has, and Garthat lengthflung out in reply that he hadgiven the things to another person. Imagine it! Marise'sweddingpresents!
"Nothing more was to be got out of him, however. Instinct whispers to me that the child suspects a certain young woman of having received the jewels. (Why, such a thing is almost like being areceiver of stolen goods, since surely they're the property of Marise. Not that shewantsor would look at them again!) She did nottellme this. It is my own heart—the heart of amother—which speaks. All she said was, that Garth wouldn't mention the name of the receiver, and resented her 'catechising' him. He put the matter like this: Ifshe'dgivenhimwedding presents, and he practically trampled them under foot, with scorn, wouldn't she consider herself free to do what she liked with the objects? Wouldn't she wish to get rid of them and never see them again? Wouldn't her first thought be to give them away? And how would she feel ifhewanted to know what she'd done with the things?
"To the three first questions, Marise found herself obliged to answer 'Yes.' (She has an almostabnormalsense of justice for a woman, you know!) To the fourth, she replied in an equally self-sacrificing way, so in the end the man triumphed. But it was this business of the wedding presents which (as I've explained to you now) he deliberatelytook back(we Americans call this being an 'Indian giver'!) that has made Marise think he's in love with someone.
"I may have guessed the person in her mind; but, as you will feel no interest inthatside of the subject, I'll not bore you by dwelling on it at present. The interest foryouin Garth's being in love with a woman who isnotour Marise (no matter who!) isobvious. If the child is right in her conjectures, she is also right, no doubt, in asserting that she need have no fear the man will lose his head.
"In reading over what I have just written, I see that I may have given you a wrong impression. It sounds as if I had resigned myself to see Marise go off to live alone with Garth in his house by the abyss. Which is not the case, of course. I shall be with her. That is, I shall be most of the time—the best bargain I can drive! Except that, naturally, Céline willalwaysbe with her. And if Garth is a Demon, Céline can be a dragon. She has learned this art fromMe. She is absolutely faithful, and devoted toyourinterests. In order to make sure of her services when needed in any possible emergency, I have more or less confided in her, which I think was wise.
"Now, before I write further, I will set your mind at rest as far aspossible.
"Garth has used the power he holds to the uttermost, and no entreaties on the part of author or manager have moved him. Marise is to give up the part of Dolores in a fortnight, and Susanne Neville begins rehearsing to-morrow! Poor Sheridan, poor Belloc! Poorplay! Poorpublic! My daughter is immediately after to start for the West with her 'husband'—and maid! I wished to be of the party, but Garth brutally inquired if 'that sort of thing was done in the smart set'—mothers-in-law accompanying bridal pairs on their honeymoon? If I wanted gossip, there would be a good way to get it, he said. He is continually throwing gossip in our faces, whenever we propose anything he doesn't like!
"After a most exhausting (tome) argument, it was settled that I should remain in New York for a few days after their departure, and that I should then leave also, going straight on to Los Angeles. There I will open beautiful Bell Towers, and see that all is ready for your advent, with the invalid. Meanwhile Marise is to visit some sort of female named Mooney, an adopted mother of Garth. She lives near a town called Albuquerque, which if I don't forget is in New Mexico. You can perhaps look it up on the map. Garth appears to have cause for gratitude to this woman, who is an elderly widow. He has spent some years (I don't know how many, and do not care!) in that State and the neighbouring one of Arizona; and I gather from one or two words he let drop that he gave Mrs. Mooney the house she now owns. In any case, he said hemustpay her a visit, not having seen her since the time when he joined the British forces at the beginning of the war. And ifhewent, his wife would have to go with him!
"The man evidently expected that Marise would object; but in the circumstances the idea seemed quite agoodone! You seewhy, of course, dear Tony? This old woman will be an extra chaperon for our girl, whose wild impulsiveness has brought so much worry and trouble to us all. Garth cannot make scenes before his foster-mother, for the very shame of it!
"After a short visit there, he will take Marise and Céline to his own place: and you may be sure I shall not be long in joining my child, to give her my protection!
"Do, my dear son-to-be, hurry on your marriage. You must cable me the moment you get this, when you are likely to arrive, addressing me here, where I shall still be at that time. All our difficulties will end when you are able to hand Garth the million dollars. (Iquiteunderstand it would be imprudent to send a cheque or a letter to him. Who knows what desperate thing he might do when he had got the money?) The one safe thing will be aconversation, and the money in bonds. Then, as you suggested, you can dictate a document for Garth to sign, compromising tohimbut not to you. You can also dictate terms—as you would have done from the first, if Marise had not tried to punish you—by punishingherself! But oh, let it be soon—soon! The strain is telling upon my nerves—and no doubt the nerves of Marise, though she is singularly reserved with me, I regret to say—one would almost thinksulky, poor child!
"I can't express the pain it gives me to upset you with all these anxieties. But I dared not keep silence, lest you should learn of this journey West, and so on, through some garbled story in the newspapers. You might then think theworst; whereas now, you are in the secret of your dear girl'ssafety. No harm will come to her: and thank goodness there will be no tittle-tattle to rouse Mr. Ionides's suspicions!
"I presume you will marry your cousin by special licence, so as to hurry things on; and I comfort myself by thinking that before many days all will been train. Perhaps in a fortnight after you reach England you will be arranging to leave again for the benefit of the invalid's health. California is the most wonderful place in the world for a cure. But, of course, the poor Œnone is incurable, and is not likely to be with you on this earth for more than a year or two at worst—I mean, at most.
"When you have settled with Garth, he will have no further excuse to assert himself. I shall find a house near Bell Towers, and Marise will come to me. The time of waiting for happiness will pass in the consolation of warm platonic friendship and lovely surroundings. An excuse can be found for Marise's divorce; and Garth will pass out of our lives for ever!
"Now I have explained everything as well as I can, and I shall add items of interest each day until time comes for posting my letter.Au revoir, dear Tony! Yours, M. S.—the initials you love!"
If Zélie Marks had been a malicious girl she could, with a few words through the telephone or on paper, have spoiled at a stroke such few chances of happiness as remained to Garth.
The man was completely, almost ludicrously in her power; and Zélie didn't flatter herself that what he had done was done entirely because of trust in her. Hedidtrust her, of course. But as the girl set forth to carry out his wishes, she realised that he had turned to her as much through a man's blindness as through perfect faith in her unfailing friendship.
Friendship! She laughed a little at the word, travelling westward in the luxurious stateroom for which Garth had paid. What a dear fool he was! But all men were like that. When they fell head over heels in love with one woman, they never bothered to analyse the feelings of any other female thing on earth!
Yes, that was about all she was in his eyes—a female thing! He had been in desperate need of help, and she happened to be the one creature who could give the kind he wanted.
Some girls would have refused, she thought. Others would have accepted, and then—behaved like cats. Even she had longed to behave like a cat when she talked to his "wife" through the telephone. "If Marise Sorel dreamed of what he's asked me to do, not one of the things he hopes for could ever by any possibility come to pass," Zélie reminded herself, as she gazed without seeing it at the flying landscape. "Not that they ever will come to pass anyhow. But it shan't bemyfault that he's disappointed."
Miss Marks honestly believed that she was unselfish in her service; yet something far down in the depths of her prayed to gain a reward for it in the far, far future.
The one thing which seemed certain about this wild marriage was, that it wouldn't last. Sooner or later—probably sooner!—there'd be a divorce. Then, maybe, Jack Garth would remember what his pal Zélie Marks had done for him. He'd turn to her for comfort as now he turned for help. Love—real love—was sometimes born in such ways: and Zélie didn't for an instant let herself think that Garth's love for Marise Sorel wasreal. It was infatuation, and was bound to pass when he found out what a vain, self-centred girl his idol was; whereas Zélie Marks had been loyally his chum for years.
Zélie had loved Garth long before the war, when she knew him in Albuquerque. She was learning stenography then, after her father died, and when there was no one for her to live with except an aunt. The aunt was quite a good aunt, and a friend of Mrs. Mooney—Jack's "Mothereen"; but Zélie had wanted to be independent. Jack and Mothereen had been kind to the girl; and when Jack began building a house near his beloved Grand Canyon, for a little while Zélie had tremblingly prayed that it was meant for her to live in. Later, she had begun to lose hope, but not wholly. And then the war had broken out in Europe. Almost at once Garth had dashed over to England and offered his services, on the plea that his father, a Yorkshire man, had never been naturalised as an American.
Zélie couldn't rest in Albuquerque after that. She went east, and would quietly have slipped away after Garth to Europe as a Red Cross nurse if she hadn't been afraid he would suspect why she followed. Instead, she stopped in New York, and got work as a stenographer with a firm of engineers, thanks to an introduction from Jack. When America flung herself into the war-furnace too, Zélie Marks did train as a nurse: but in little more than a year came the Armistice, and the girl reluctantly took up her old profession again.
Now, she loved Major Garth, V.C., a hundred times more than she had loved Jack Garth, the smart young inventor. Yet here she was on the way to Arizona, where she had promised to go and get his house (that house she had once thought might be hers!) ready to receive another woman!
When he had come to her flat early in the morning and told her what he wanted done to "surprise Marise," she had made him some hot coffee, and agreed to everything.
"Yes, Jack," she said, "I'll do it, and your wife shall never know, unless you tell her yourself. And I advise you not to do that, because if you drop the least hint, she'll hate the house and me, and be angry with you. Any girlwould! I'm not blaming her. She shall think that your house was just waiting, in apple-pie order, her room and all: or else—yes,thatwould be best!—she shall think Mothereen did the whole business. Of course, that's what you'd want Mothereen to do, and what she'd want to do, if she were strong enough for the task. But as it is, she shall work just enough, so that she won't have tofib—no hard work to tire her out. She'll love to go to the Canyon with me—the dear Mothereen!—and she'll have the time of her life."
So that was Zélie Marks' secret errand. She was to travel straight through to Kansas City, by the Santa Fé "Limited." There she was to pause in her journey and purchase a list of things which had never been supplied for Garth's new house, finished only a short time before the war: beautiful silver, crystal and fine linen, and the decorations for a room worthy of a bride like Marise. Kansas City was a big enough town to provide these things, Garth thought; and as it was many hours nearer the Grand Canyon than was Chicago, Zélie's purchases would reach their destination sooner than if she shopped there.
Garth had to leave much to Zélie's taste, but his advice, "Try to think whatshewould like," had hurt. Zélie was to have all the trouble and pain, yet must strive to please Marise Sorel, not herself. And poor old Zélie was never to get any credit for the sacrifice!
Of course, shehadgot something. She had got Jack's thanks in advance. He had said, "You're a brick, Zélie! The finest girl there is. I shall never forget what you're doing for me." And she had got the most marvellous jewels she'd ever seen except at the opera or at Tiffany's. But she didn't count them as possessions. She knew they had been refused by Marise (Jack put it casually, "Stuff didn't make a hit there. I hope it will with you!"), and Zélie had no intention of keeping Mrs. Garth's cast-off finery. Just what she would eventually do with what Jack called the "stuff," she hadn't made up her mind: but the girl felt confident of an inspiration.
She had also got money for the trip West, and back, with travelde luxe. She didn't mind accepting that, as she was doing an immense favour for Jack, which nobody else could or would do. And she didn't mind his paying an "understudy" to look after her work at the Belmore till she should return. But she had refused nearly half the money which Jack had pressed upon her. She simply "wouldn't have it!" she'd insisted. He had been forced to yield, or vex her: but he had probably said within himself, "Anyhow, she's got the jewels!"
How little he knew her, if he could think that!... And so, after all, the thanks were the biggest part of her reward.
Tears smarted under Zélie's eyelids now and then, as she thought of these things while the train whirled her westward: how loyal she was to her pal, and was going to be in spite of every temptation; how little Marise deserved the worship lavished upon her; and how much more good it would do Jack to give his love in another quarter!
"All the same, I'll do my very, very best," the girl repeated. "I won't tell Mothereen a singleoneof the horrid things I think about the bride. I'll paint her in glowing colours. I'll try and make the house a dream of beauty, no matter how hard I work. I'll warn Mothereen not to mention my name, though I'dloveto have her blurt it out! But some day—and some way—I'll somehow get even with Marise Sorel for all she's made me suffer. And madeJacksuffer!"
Marise knew as little as possible of her own country. Her early memories wavered between New York when things went well, and Brooklyn or even Jersey City when the family luck was out. Her first experiences on the stage had given her small parts in New York. Mums had refused fairly good chances for the pretty girl, rather than let her go "on the road." Then had come the great and bewildering success as "Dolores," which had kept the young star playing at one theatre until mother and daughter transplanted themselves to England. This "wedding trip" with Garth was the first long journey that Marise had ever made in her native land.
It was the most extraordinary thing which had ever happened, to be travelling with Garth—except being married to him! And, after the first twenty-four hours of "Mrs. John Garthhood," she had not felt "married" at all, during the fortnight which followed the wedding.
For one thing, she had been desperately busy preparing to leave the stage "for good." There were so many people to see! And the person of whom she had seen least was her husband. He, too, appeared to be busy about his own affairs, and Marise was rather surprised to discover how many men (his acquaintances were nearly all men, and men of importance) he knew in New York.
Every night he took her to the theatre, and returned to escort her home in the car he had so extravagantly hired. That was in therôleof adoring bridegroom which he had engaged himself to play! But apart from luncheons and dinners eaten with wife and mother-in-law on show in public places, these were the only occasions when they met and talked together. At night, though Marise still stuck to the bargain and occupied her room in the "bridal suite," she never knew when Garth entered his quarters next door, or when he went out. But now, here they were in a train, destined to be close companions for days on end.
The girl's restless fear of the unknown in Garth's nature, which had almost gone to sleep in New York, waked up again. Yet somehow it wasn't as disagreeable as it ought to have been—and indeed, she had rather missed it! There was a stifled excitement in going away with him which interested her intensely; and she was interested in the journey itself.
Garth had made everything very easy and comfortable for his wife, so far as outward arrangements went. She had a stateroom (it happened by chance to be the same in which Miss Marks had travelled a fortnight ago, but Zélie's vows of "getting even" did not haunt the place), and close by, Céline had a whole "section" to herself. Garth lurked in the distance, just where, Marise didn't know. He must, of course, take his bride to meals, and sit chatting with her for some hours each day in her stateroom, lest people who knew their faces should wonder and whisper about the strange honeymoon couple. But so far as Marise could tell, he seemed inclined to keep his word with her.
What would Mums—who had sobbed at parting—think if she knew that her martyred Marise was quite happy and chirpy? Yet so it was! The girl was keenly conscious of Garth's presence, but she couldn't help being as pleased as a child with the neat arrangement of her stateroom; with the coffee-coloured porter whose grin glittered like a diamond tiara set in the wrong place; with the cream-tinted maid who brought a large paper bag for her toque, and said, "My! ain't your hat justsweet?" and with the wee wooden houses they passed so close she could almost have snatched flower-pots from their window-sills, as "Alice" snatched marmalade, falling down to Wonderland through the Rabbit Hole. That was just at the start, for soon the train was flashing through fair green country with little rivers, and trees like English trees.
Marise laughed aloud at the huge advertisements which disfigured the landscape; unpleasant-looking, giant men cut out of wood; Brobdingnag boys munching cakes; profile cows the size of elephants, and bottles tall as steeples. Then suddenly she checked herself. It was the first time she had laughed with Garth! He, too, was smiling. Their eyes met. The man seemed very human for that moment; young, too, and in spite of his bigness, boyish. What would she have thought of him, she wondered, if they had met in an ordinary way?
The train stopped at very few places. Indeed, when in motion it had an air of stopping at nothing! It was fun going to the restaurant car. Men stared at Marise, and she saw that some of the women stared at Garth. Did they admire him? Wouldshehave admired him if she'd seen him for the first time as well-dressed as he was now, wearing a smart Guards' tie, and if she had never learned to think of him as a Devil and a Brute?
Certainly his hair was nice. It grew well on his forehead, and brushed straight back it would have had the effect of a bronze helmet if there hadn't been a slight ripple to break the smoothness.
"Monsieur Garth has received a telegram in the train," said Céline that night as she helped "Madame" to undress. "He has no stateroom himself. I suppose he could not get one. He is in a 'section,' no better than mine. He is sitting there now reading the telegram. I think he has read it several times. Perhaps it is from Madame his mother, whom we go to visit."
"Perhaps," echoed Marise. But somehow she felt sure it wasn't. It wasn't about business, either! Strange that you could get telegrams in trains. He must have told the person to wire; and the person was a woman—Zélie Marks, most likely. All Marise's resentment against Garth came back, as her mother would have wished for Severance's sake.
At Chicago, where they arrived next morning, they had to stop all day until the Santa Fé Limited left at night. Garth took his wife to "see the sights." He was quite agreeable, in an impersonal way, and so was she; but they did not laugh together again. They talked only of the moment, never planned ahead; yet Marise's thoughts kept flying on to the end of the journey, and what life would be like then.
The morning after brought them to Kansas City, where Zélie, bound on her secret mission, had got off to buy beautiful things for the far-away house. But Major and Mrs. John Garth did not get off. They went on and on, till the flat country of waving grass turned to red desert dotted darkly with pines, and having here and there a mysterious mound like an ancient tumulus. Instead of homely villages there were groups of adobe houses, such as Marise vaguely pictured in Africa. Out of the hard scarlet earth pushed grey rocks like jagged teeth of giant, buried skulls; and at last it seemed that the train was rushing straight to the setting sun where it would be engulfed in fire.
Now and then when the girl glanced at Garth, who was absorbed in the wistful ecstasy of homecoming, it occurred to her that he had changed. His eyes were more tawny than ever they had been. Perhaps it was the red reflection shining up into them! Now she understood better than before why they had looked like the eyes of a lion that sees his lost and distant desert. This was Garth's desert—his, and he loved it! A queer little thrill of involuntary sympathy ran through her. She felt that it might be in her also to love this wild rose-red and golden land, with its dark, stunted trees, and the draped Indian figures silhouetted on slim ponies against a crystal sky. It appealed to something in her soul that had never yet found what it wanted. It made her feel that she was very little in her outlook, her aspirations, but that she might some day grow to a stature worth while.
It was morning—late morning—when they reached Albuquerque, once settled and named by Spanish explorers. As the train drew into the station Marise glanced out with veiled eagerness. Yes, shewaseager, but she didn't want Garth to know that. It would please him too much—more than it was safe to please him, maybe!
There was a surprisingly delightful hotel built in old Spanish style, which seemed to be part of the station itself: and on the platform were knots of Indians so picturesque that the girl nearly cried out in sheer pleasure.
Garth had come into the stateroom to help gather up her things. She had been wondering for some moments at the strained frown between his eyebrows when he should have been smiling with joy. Suddenly he spoke.
"Marise" (he always called her Marise, and she had ceased to resent it), "there's something I want to ask you to do. I kept putting it off, but now the last minute has come. You know I think a lot of Mrs. Mooney, my adopted mother, don't you?"
"You've told me so. And it goes without saying, as you had anidée fixethat you must make her this visit at any cost," Marise replied.
"At any cost—that's just it," he repeated. "Well, she's as old-fashioned as you're new-fashioned. She couldn't understand a motive for marriage except love—she'd hardly believe there was any other! I don't want to shock or worry her if I can avoid it. Will you please help me out in keeping her as happy about—us, as you reasonably can?"
"Of course I don't want to hurt her," said Marise. "I hate hurting people—as a general rule, though you mayn't believe it. What do you want me to do—something special?"
"Yes. Could you bring yourself to call me 'Jack' before her? She'd notice if you always called me 'You,' as you do—as you have since I pointed out that 'Major Garth' didn't fit the situation."
"Certainly. That's easy enough!" Marise reassured him. "I'm not an actress for nothing. Many a man whom I wouldn't dream of calling by his Christian name off the stage has had to be 'dearest' and 'darling'on!"
Garth flushed darkly, she could not quite guess why. "Thank you," he said. "We'll consider ourselves in the theatre, then, when we're at Mothereen's, playing—don't you say?—'opposite' parts. I'll try and make yours not too hard. I don't know whether she'll have come to the depot to meet us or not, but—hurrah,thereshe is!"
His voice rang out as Marise had never yet heard it ring. Yes, she had once—just for an instant—that first Sunday when he said, "I would sell my soul for you!"—or some foolish words of the kind.
Since then, she had forgotten those tones, and thought his voice hard; but now its warmth and mellowness brought back a memory.
The train was stopping. In front of a wonderful window full of Indian curios stood a little woman looking up and waving a handkerchief. She was dressed in black, with the oldest-fashioned sort of widow's bonnet. And if you'd seen her on top of the North Pole, you would have known she was Irish.
Garth flung a window up, and shouted, "Mothereen!"
The next thing that Marise knew, she was on the platform, being hugged and kissed by the little woman in black, admired by a pair of big, wide-apart blue eyes under black hair turning grey, smiled at by a kind, sweet mouth whose short upper lip showed teeth white as a girl's.
Not even Mums had ever hugged or kissed Marise like that! There had always been just a perceptible holding at a distance lest hair or laces should be rumpled. But there was no dread of rumpling here! Marise knew that Mrs. Mooney wouldn't have cared if her hair had come down or her funny old bonnet had been squashed flat. There was something oddly delicious, almost pathetic—oh, butverypathetic as things really were between her and Garth!—in being taken to that full, motherly bosom where the heart within beat like the wings of a glad bird. Suddenly—perhaps because she was tired and a little nervous after her immense journey—Marise wanted to cry in the nice woman's neck, which smelt good, like some sort of warm, fresh fruit. But she didn't cry. She smiled, and behaved herself well, as Mrs. Mooney turned her affectionate attentions to "Johnny."
"Sure, boy," she said, when Garth had come in for a full share of caresses, "your bride's beautiful. You didn't tell mehalf, and neither did——"
But Mothereen broke off short, and squeezed the gloved hands of Marise, shaking them up and down to cover an instant's confusion. She had been solemnly warned by Zélie that the name of Marks was taboo, and now she had nearly let it out!
"There's an automobile waiting," she hurried on. "Not that I've got one, or the likes of one, meself, but ye're from N'York, me dear, and I felt it would be the right thing to have."
"So it is, Mothereen," said Garth. "Now I'll just get the 'shuvver' to help me with our bags and things——"
"Not yet, boy, please," she begged excitedly. "There's a lot of folks waitin' for the good word with ye, the minute we've had our meetin' over. I couldn't keep 'em from comin', Johnny, honest I couldn't, try as I might. I believe if we had a carriage instead of an auto to drive home in, they'd take out the horses and draw ye along themselves, singin' 'Hail the Conquerin' Hero'!"
As if her words were a signal, a crowd of men and women, mostly young, burst out from the hotel, or from the Indian museum with its window display of brilliant rugs, totems, turquoises, black opals, and chased silver. "Hurrah for our Jack! Hurrah for our V.C.!" they yelled.
Marise was taken aback and hardly knew what to do. It was so odd to hear roars of applause which were not forher!
It wasn't that she wanted the roars, or envied the embarrassed recipient of the unexpected honours; but itwasstrange to stand there—she, the famous and beautiful Marise Sorel—with no one looking at or thinking anything about her at all.
Garthwasa V.C., of course, and worthy of praise for brave deeds he must have done (she'd never heard what they were, or thought very much about them!), yet it did seem funny, just for the first surprised moment, that these creatures should be so wild over him without caring an atom for her!
"Oh, darlint, and ain't we two women proud of him!" gasped Mothereen, squeezing the girl's arm convulsively.
Marise glanced down at the plump, black-clad form quivering with emotion at the sight of Garth being shaken hands with and pounded on the back. "Yes, we are," she echoed kindly, for she would not have pained the dear woman for anything on earth.
"I shall have my work cut out for me, while I'm in her house, if she expects me to be chorus for her adopted son," the transported favourite told herself. "But she is a darling, and I'll do my best for the few days I'm here, at—well, atalmostany price."
When Garth's old friends had thrown themselves upon him like a tidal wave, the reflex action came, and they were willing to meet and be nice to his wife. Male and female, they saw that she was tremendously pretty and smart. Many knew who she was, and had heard of her success, even though they had never seen her on the stage. But what was a star of the theatre, compared with a hero of the war? Garth was It. Marise was only It's second fiddle.
"Isn't he great?—fine?—wonderful?" were the adjectives flung at her head by gushing girls. "I suppose he lets you wear his V.C.?" a man pleasantly condescended. Everyone was sure, as Mothereen had been sure, that she must be "very proud" of the splendid husband she'd been lucky enough to catch.
Marise smiled as she pictured what Mums' expression would have been among these adorers of the Fiend, the Brute, beings from another world, for whom the celebrated Miss Sorel was nobody. Really, the scene on this platform was like a village green in a comic opera, with all the minor characters dancing round the tenor!
At last Garth—happy yet ill at ease and half ashamed—contrived to rescue his mother and wife. They got to the motor-car waiting outside the station; but there they collided with a new procession, belated yet enthusiastic. It was, "Garth forever!" again: more shouts of joy, more slaps, more introductions to the harmless, necessary bride.
Even when the three had ambushed themselves in the car, boys hung on behind, singing, "For he's a jolly good fellow!" and girls threw flowers in at the windows.
"This is the happiest hour of my life since I first met up with ye, Johnny dear," choked Mothereen, wiping her smiling eyes. "And I'm sure it's the same for you, isn't it, my child?"
"Oh yes—ye-es!" responded Marise.
Garth laughed.
The town of Albuquerque was very Spanish-looking. Indeed, it would have been strange if it were not so, since the Spanish had built much of it in the Great Days of their prime, hundreds of years ago. It was on the outskirts of the place that Mrs. Mooney lived, in a house—as she explained to Marise—"architected for her by Johnny himself."
"He and I lived here together after he brought me back to me dearly-loved west, from N'York," she went on; "as happy as turtle-doves till the war broke on us. That house at the Canyon where he's takin' you—the later the better, because I want to keep ye here as long as I can!—was never forme. He thought he'd like to go and brood over his work in it, all alone, once or twice a year. He felt as if that Grand Canyon would be a kind of inspiration. I doubt if it ever popped into his head in those times that he'd be takin' a pretty young wife like a princess from a fairy tale there some day. Not that aught except a fairy-tale princess would be good enough for him."
Marise did not answer. What was there to say? But they had arrived at Mothereen's house.
It, too, was Spanish, in a modern, miniature way, and Mothereen explained it to Marise. "Johnny wanted to build me something bigger and more statuesque like," she said. "But I wouldn't let him. I love a little house. I'm athomein it. I have no grand ways. I hope it's the same with you, me dear! Though for sure it will be, on yer honeymoon, with the best boy in the wurruld, just back safe from the terrible war! Zé—I meanhe—did speak of a 'suite' to put the two of ye up in, but I warrant ye won't be the one to say yer quarters are too small!... Come in, will ye? And welcome ye both are as the sunshine after rain!"
Marise obeyed the arm round her waist, but a presentiment of trouble was upon the girl. She foresaw a dilemma. And it had two long horns. She was between them!