Marise stood on the high terrace which looked towards the rose-and-gold gulf of the Canyon. Gazing out, between the dark slim trunks of pines, she saw the sunlight moving slowly from rock to rock. "It's like stray sheep of the golden fleece," she thought, "being herded by an invisible shepherd to join the flock."
Yes, the moving gleams were all massed together now. But they were travelling on. Suddenly they had ceased to be a flock of sheep. They were shining bricks, built into a citadel.
"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately palace dome decree," Marise quoted to herself.
How astonishing that so marvellous a place had existed for thousands upon thousands of years, and she had hardly heard of it, until John Garth had brought her to this house of his!
"Vision House" was the right name for it. Garth hadn't meant it like that—or if he had, he'd not told her so!—but onehadvisions here. One couldn't think little ordinary, foolish thoughts. Life seemed to be upon its highest plane, and whether one wished to do so or not, one had to try and reach that plane. One wanted to be at one's best, to be "in the picture"—and the best must be very good. It must even be noble.
Whoever had designed Vision House and chosen its furnishings had felt that. There were great windows bowed out in generous eagerness towards the Canyon. There were wide loggias, upheld by clear-cut, pale stone pillars. In the rooms were no brilliant colours to jar with the rainbow glory just beyond the delicate green veil of pines. The curtains of grey or cream fell in soft, straight lines that framed a glowing picture—rocks of every fantastic form and flaming colour, under the blue of heaven: rocks like castles carved of coral and studded with lapis lazuli: statue rocks of transparent amethyst, or emerald, glittering where the sun touched them or fading to the smoky blue of star-sapphires as the shadows crept up from the bottom of the vast bowl.
There was an organ in one of the rooms. Garth had thought that the finest piano in the world would be too tinkling a thing so near the thrilling silence of the Canyon. He could play the great instrument himself. She wouldn't have believed it, if she had not heard the music as she walked alone on the terrace by moonlight, and had gone to peep in at the long, open window.Howhe could play!—though he said casually, when she asked him, "Oh, I wanted to do it, so I taught myself. I hear things in my head. I like to make them come out." A queer fellow!
In the library there were only books which Garth thought "worthy of the Canyon." But in her room there were a few French novels. It was the one place in the house, too, where there were pretty, frivolous decorations such as a Parisian beauty of the seventeenth, or an American of the twentieth, century would love.Thatwas what he thought of her!Shewould crave such surroundings at the Grand Canyon, as well as in New York or London! She, and no one else whom he had ever planned to bring here!
When Marise thought of that room, and the difference between it and all the others, she felt—not angry, for onecouldn'tfeel angry for small reasons, close to the greatness of the Canyon,—no, not angry, but pained, and—wistful.
She was wistful because she could not help seeing that the things Garth must hastily have ordered for her pleasure were actually suited to her type, her personality, and she had growing pains of the spirit which made her long to climb high and higher, out of herself. Somehow that room seemed to represent herself: soft and vaguely sweet; pretty, perfumed, charming, fantastic and—forgetable. How should Garth have known that she would suddenly become a different self, irradiated by the sublime glory of this place? Why, even she hadn't known it, until she had begun to feel the change! And it had started at sight of the difference between those other, nobly simple rooms, which somehow matched the Canyon, and hers which childishly laughed in its face.
Or—had Garth expected her to change, under the influence, which was like the influence of all the gods, andwantedher to feel the difference as she was feeling it now?
As she asked herself this question a pretty, half-breed Mexican maid flitted out upon the terrace and announced "Ze Earl of Sev'rance."
Marise started. She need not have been surprised. She ought to have known (having heard of Œnone's death) that any day might bring Tony to her. But the truth was that, for the time—quite a long time—she had forgotten all about him.
He didn't belong to the Grand Canyon! But suddenly she felt a desire to see what he would be like, confronting it.
"Show Lord Severance out here," she directed the maid. And then, between the moment when the girl turned her back, and the moment when Tony stepped through an open window-door of the drawing-room, Marise had to realise that she faced a crisis—had to prepare for it.
The red-gold light that always came from the Canyon like flame made Severance seem to have deep mauve rings under his eyes, an appearance which gave him a dissipated look. She began by not thinking him as deadly handsome as she had always thought him in London and sometimes in New York. No, certainly he didn't go well with Canyons and things like that! But, of course, he was tired. He had travelled fast, and a very long way—to meether. She must remember this in his favour.
He didn't glance through the trees at the dazzling glory. He'd had enough and too much of the old Canyon! He looked straight at Marise. And he walked straight to her, seizing both her hands, which resisted a little, then thought better of it and welcomed him.
"Poor Tony!" she breathed.
"Not 'poor Tony,' now I see you again," he said. "Marise, you're more beautiful than ever. You're the most beautiful thing on this globe. Where can we go, where a lot of huge windows won't be glaring at us like bulging eyes?"
"There's nobody to glare through them," answered Marise. "My—he—isn't at home."
"I know," said Severance. "That's why I hurried to you without stopping even to bathe and change. I wanted a talk with you before thrashing things out with Garth. 'Wanted'? That isn't the word! I thirsted, I burned for it. He's not in the house, but servants are. Marise, I've travelled six thousand miles, hardly resting—just for this moment—and others to follow—better moments. Give me one of the better ones now. I deserve a reward. And I can't take it here on this beastly terrace."
Marise suddenly realised that nothing in the world would move her from the terrace. She was glad of the window-eyes. They were her protectors against—against—the man she had loved.
The words spoke themselves in her head. She heard them. She was surprised at them.Hadloved! Didn't she love Tony Severance now? If not, why had she done all that she had done—so many wild, reckless things? It seemed that she was asking the question not of herself, but of the Canyon. The Canyon was like God. In the glittering, flaming, blue-shadowed depths of it was knowledge of Everything.
"I think we must stay here," she said. "There is no other place where we can very well go. Would you—like to sit down on that seat by the wall?"
"What I would like is to kneel at your feet with my arms round your waist and my head on your breast—your dear, divine breast," answered Severance.
"Well—you can't!" she panted. "Tony, be sensible!" She sat down hastily, and Severance dropped beside her on the velvet-cushioned stone seat. He sat very close to the girl, and she edged slightly away.
As she did so, he followed until she was pressed into the corner of the bench. He laid his arm along the back of the seat, and pressed her thinly-covered shoulder.
"Please don't!" she whispered.
Severance laughed out—a bitter laugh. "This is the way you greet me after all I've gone through to get to you—and to get you!" he said. "You know, Iamgoing to get you."
Marise did not answer. She knew nothing of the kind. All she knew was, quite suddenly, that there was no longer any doubt in her mind on one subject. She didnotlove Tony! She was sorry for him, and sorry for herself, and sorry for everything in the world. But she did not love him. She disliked having him touch her.
"Youdoknow it, don't you?" he insisted.
"No, I don't," she stammered. "There—there's nothing to know."
"Are you acting a part with me?" Severance flung at her. "Or what has come over you, Marise? One would think you in reality the virtuous married woman, keeping thetertium quidat arm's length——"
"Well, Iama married woman. And—and I'm notunvirtuous!" she defied him, through her heart-beats. "Things have changed, Tony——"
"Why—because I've got a million dollars less than you expected me to have?"
The girl sprang to her feet, tingling and trembling. Severance jumped up also, and belted her slim waist with his hot hands. He thought that this was the way to regain her—that by grasping her body he might seize her elusive spirit. It was all that Marise could do not to scream, "Help! Help!" like an early-Victorian heroine. She bit back the cry of primitive womanhood, but to her intense surprise, and even horror, she found herself landing a rousing box on Tony's ear.
"You vixen!" he blurted.
"Cad!" she retorted.
With that, his hands dropped from her waist. His face had been pale with fatigue. Now it was paler with pain. "You don't—mean that, Marise?" he stammered.
And, of course, she didn't. Things had happened in the past which had encouraged him to this. He had thought she loved him. She was to blame as much as he was—more, perhaps—the Canyon would say.
"I'm sorry I boxed your ear, Tony," she apologised. "But—but—if you go on like this, I'm awfully afraid I shall lose my head and box it again."
"I don't understand you," he said, more quietly.
"I don't understand myself," she confessed.
"Then"—and fire from the Canyon lit Severance's Greek eyes—"it's my plan to make you understand. You love me. Youdaren'tgo back from it all, after what's passed. I love you, and you belong to me."
"Good afternoon, Severance," said Garth, at the window. "I heard you'd arrived."
If Garth had appeared two minutes earlier, he need have suffered no uncertainty about Marise. But unfortunately she was not in these days the romantic heroine of a stage play. Characters did not come on or go off at just the right instant to work up her scenes in life. Therefore this unrehearsed effect ended with an anti-climax. Whether Severance were cast for hero or villain remained doubtful: and whether she had acted the noble wife or the weak lover was left vague: or at least, it was vague to the mind of Garth. He had no idea what Marise had done. He was sure only that Severance had done as much as she would let him do. By and by he expected to learn a great deal more: through the process of deduction.
"Good gracious, if Ihadcalled out, he would have heard me!" thought Marise; and was thankful that she hadn't. To yell for John Garth to rescue her from Tony Severance! That would have been too inane, too ridiculous. Nevertheless, a picture flashed vividly across her brain: Garth as he had looked that night at Mothereen's house when hearing her shriek he had bounded to her bedside from behind the screen. His collar had been off, his strong throat bare, his hair rumpled. It had occurred to Marise as she peeped from between her lashes that he'd make a fine model for a young Samson, newly sheared by Delilah.
The man's quiet voice and his drawled "Good afternoon, Severance," frightened her a little. She had seen him angry, but never violent. She felt convinced, somehow, that the angrier he was, the more quiet he would be—deadly quiet. Just why she felt that, she couldn't have explained, for she did not know him well—indeed, she knew him hardly at all. Yet shewassure—very sure. And she was sure also that his "good afternoon" didn't express Garth's real emotion at sight of Severance with her on the terrace of Vision House.
"What had I better do?" she wondered. "Go—or stay?"
She decided to stay, and keep peace between the two men if need be. Besides, shemusthear what they would say to each other!
Severance had no conventional answer for Garth's "Good afternoon." He stood silent, staring and frowning, fingering his small black moustache.
"To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?" asked his host.
Severance had never been able to forget the scene between himself and Garth at the latter's hotel in New York. He was at heart more Greek than British; and the days are long past since Greeks were aggressive fighters. He shrank from any repetition of his experience at the Belmore, and had come to Vision House meaning not to rouse Garth to violent issues. That cool question was too much, however, for his prudence. Anyhow, even Garth wouldn't be brute enough to attack him before Marise!
"I have come to bring Miss Sorel a message from her mother, who wants her at Los Angeles," he said sharply.
"That might do if she were Miss Sorel," returned Garth. "But she isn't."
"She is professionally," said Severance.
"She's ceased to be a professional."
"Temporarily."
"Oh! Your point is that she's the temporary wife of a temporary gentleman, and that as such her time with the T.G. is up. Is that it?"
"Precisely."
"I see. You've come to wind up the arrangement?"
"I have. You must have been expecting me."
"I didn't let my mind dwell on you. How are you going to pay me my million—in banknotes, bonds or a cheque? Because I may as well inform you, I shall refuse to accept a cheque."
"I don't mean to offer you one."
"Very well. Have you got the million on you?"
"I have not! I haven't got it anywhere—that is, all of it. I shall pay you by instalments."
"I can't agree to accept the money like that."
"You'll have to!" exploded Severance. "There's nothing else you can do."
"You think so? We shall see. But it occurs to me that one instalment deserves another. You pay me by instalments: I allow my wife to go to her mother by instalments. Some of her trunks can go first."
"For God's sake don't joke about this thing!" broke out Severance. "It's too coarse—even for you."
"Strikes me that it would be coarser to take it seriously," said Garth. "And there's no need of doing that any more."
"What do you mean?" the other asked sharply.
"As I pointed out before, the 'bargain's' smashed to bits."
"Nothing of the sort!" Severance flung at him. "There wasn't a word spoken about handing you the whole million in a bunch."
"There was something said about handing it over in advance. It wasn't handed over."
"That was Marise's fault, not mine. She rushed on the marriage out of childish pique against me, never stopping to dream of the consequences."
"Which, however, haven't been very disastrous for her," said Garth. "Have they, Marise?"
"No—o," she murmured. "But oh, please, both of you—don't lose your heads!"
"Mine's on my shoulders," returned Garth calmly. "And I see an excrescence of some sort protruding from Severance's. You need have no fear for either of us. Still, if you prefer to wait indoors, we can get on without you for awhile."
"No, I'd rather stop where I am." Marise chose.
"To go back then," said Garth; "the fault, if it was a fault, anyhow wasn't mine. I obeyed the lady's commands and married her without haggling for money down. As there was no 'bargain' to stick to, I stuck to my post, the post of dummy husband, to oblige her, not for any mercenary reason. I shall go on sticking to it, if not to please her, or myself, just because I've got into the habit. I can't break that even for Mrs. Sorel; certainly not for you."
"I'm not talking of myself now," barked Severance. "I'm talking of Marise. She wants to be free. Surely you won't hold her against her will."
"Surely she can speak for herself!" said Garth.
Marise did not speak. Her senses began to whirl. She did not know what was to become of her. She couldn't tell what she wished would become of her! She felt as if a wave had swept over her head. She was drowning.
"No!" snapped Garth, when she remained silent, looking at neither, but gazing anxiously out towards the Canyon. "No, I agreed to play the dummy hand during your absence for the sum of a million dollars. I haven't got the million. But even if I had got it, I should have demanded a second million to clear out. There was nothing specified on that score in New York."
"It was taken for granted, of course!" said Severance. "There was no other meaning possible. We trusted to your honour."
"We?"
"Miss Sorel and I—and her mother."
"That's news to me. Perhaps I shall appreciate it as a compliment when I'm old—ninety or so. I don't now. I simply don't believe it."
"You think we lie?"
"First person singular, please! Marise hasn't spoken."
"Damn you!" broke out Severance, at the end of his tether, and for once reckless of consequences. "You refuse to let her go—you refuse equally to leave her."
"That's so," said Garth, with an exaggerated nasal twang which made Severance want to kill him for his insolence. He started forward, itching to strike; but something he saw in Garth's eyes brought him to a standstill. That confounded tooth episode was always "throwing itself up at him," so to speak! Fortunately, however, he remembered something at that instant—a weapon which he had almost overlooked, though it was within his grasp. He calmed himself with a kind of mental and physical stiffening.
"If you don't intend to carry out your agreement—I insist,your agreement—! why have you brought that secretary girl, Miss Marks, all the way from New York to El Toyar Hotel?" he hurled at Garth. "When I heard she was there and that you were constantly riding over from your place to see her, I supposed it was done on purpose to give Marise an easy chance to get her divorce. As it is——"
"As it is," Garth cut him short, "the affair is not your business."
"It's Marise's business, if itdoesn'tmean what I thought."
"Then let her attend to it. She's quite capable of doing that," said Garth. "And now, unless you can produce a million dollars at sight, or still better, two million, don't you think you'd be wise to blow back to your hotel? It'll soon be too dark to walk."
Severance turned furiously to the pale girl. "Marise—can you stand by and see me ordered away like this?"
She looked at him with a strange look which he could not read at all. "This is his house, Tony," she answered, in an odd, dull voice. "Not mine."
"I think you'd best go, for your own sake," said Garth. "But come back, of course, when you've got the money. If we're here then, we'll be glad to see you."
Severance turned without another word, even to Marise, and walked away as he had come, passing through the drawing-room. Garth started to follow, but Marise ran to him and stopped him with a small, ice-cold hand on his arm. "Why are you going after Lord Severance?" she whispered, her lips dry.
"Only to see that he doesn't lose himself somewhere in the house and hide under a table or sofa," Garth explained.
Her hand dropped. She let him go.
There was no fear of anything melodramatic, she saw. Yet she was not relieved. She felt as if she had some black, hollow, worn-out thing in her breast instead of a heart. It was heavy and useless, and hardly beat.
"That horrid girl!" she said half aloud when Garth had gone. "I always knew, really, she would be here. I believe hedidgive her the jewels, and Mothereen wangled them away from her somehow. He's pretending to follow Tony, and see him out. But he doesn't mean to come back here to me."
As she thought this, Garth came back.
After all, Severance had hardly expected a more brilliant result from his bluff. The one real failure was in losing his temper, which, when discussing his plan with Mums, he'd meant to preserve like a jewel of price.
Only the short preliminary round had been played. The game proper was all before him. He'd tested Marise to begin with. She had not been completely satisfying. That is, she hadn't thrown herself into his arms and sighed, "Take me away, darling Tony!" which would have been the ideal thing. But on the other hand, she hadn't very actively repelled him. If Garth had not appeared on the scene like a stage demon, all might have been different. The fellow was a bully, and had cowed the girl. Heaven knew to what means he had resorted in these last weeks to break her high spirit. But of course there was no doubt that she wanted to free herself, and the best service Severance could give his dear lady-love was to take her (ostensibly) against her will.
That brought him back mentally to the plan he had explained to Mary Sorel at Bell Towers—the plan she had approved. He must carry it out at once. And Zélie Marks's presence at the hotel might help, he began dimly to see now.
By the time he had reached El Toyar he saw with more clearness. At the hotel desk he scribbled on one of his visiting cards, "Please grant me a short interview. I come to you from Mrs. John Garth." This card he slipped into an envelope and closed down the flap. Then he addressed it, and requested the clerk, "Kindly have this sent up immediately to Miss Marks."
While he awaited an answer, or the arrival of Zélie, Severance debated whether or no to wire Mary Sorel.
She had suggested his doing so, to prevent any danger of scandal in the working out of the plan. But in his heart Tony had no longer the holy terror of that bogey which had chilled him while Œnone was alive.
Then, the least whisper of gossip connecting him with Miss Sorel, or even Mrs. Garth, might have ruined the prospect of marriage with his cousin: and that would have been, indirectly, as harmful to Marise as himself. Now, however, when there was nothing further to be gained or lost for either of them from Constantine Ionides, Severance need think only of himself and Marise; and he thought of himself first.
His intention was to take Marise away from Garth, who had no right to the girl and was keeping her against her true wish. If necessary, Severance would take her by force, for her own good, because then the thing would be done and over with: there would be no going back. But—anyhow—he would take her!
Mums had urged him to wire, if his first attempt failed, and Garth refused to see reason as presented to him with mild bluff. She wanted to fly to the Grand Canyon and be on the spot—ready for emergencies—to stand by her daughter. But Severance wasn't sure even now, as things had turned out, whether he would be wise in furthering this wish.
It was natural, of course. But just as scandal would have been fatal before, it might be useful in the present situation. If her "Mums" were close at hand, Marise might in the first confusion of her mind seek refuge under the maternal wing, from the man she loved. If she did anything futile like that, it would give Garth time to act: whereas, if Marise had no refuge but her lover—oh, distinctly it would be tempting Providence to telegraph to Mums!
"Well?" said Garth, when Marise stood statuelike in the blue dusk.
"I don't think itisvery well," she answered slowly.
"I warned you fairly that I'd not stand out of Severance's way," Garth reminded her, his face so grey and grim in the twilight that the girl remembered how she had thought it looked carved from rock.
"Yet only a few minutes ago you offered to leave me, for a bribe of a second million."
"There can't be a 'second' million till there's been a first."
"The principle is the same."
"There's where you're mistaken. I think now the time has come for you to understand. But I had a sneaking idea that perhaps you did understand, already. You have a sense of humour—a strong one, for a woman."
"Has a sense of humour anything to do with—this affair?"
"Yes. A grim one. But if you don't see it——"
"Sometimes for a minute I've wondered if I did see—something."
"What did you think you saw?"
"I—hardly care to put it into words."
"All right. I'll do it for you. But if I do, you must answer honestly."
"I will—if I answer at all."
"Very well, I'll risk your answering. You wondered pretty often and by flashes if the question of money ever had anything to do with my accepting the damnable and disgusting offer Severance made to me. Was that it?"
"Ye-es. Though what else could it be, when you showed in every way that your love—if it was love—had turned to—to actualhate, before you married me?"
"Oh, not so bad as that!" Garth protested, something like a queer, suppressed laugh, shaking his voice.
"Dislike, then."
"That sounds as if I hadn't treated you decently."
"No, for youhave. You've been very decent indeed—except that you've forced me to do lots of things I haven't wanted to do, like living in that suite at the Plaza and—and coming out here, and all that."
"Wasn't it necessary, as you were so anxious to avoid scandal?"
"There might have been other ways."
"I didn't see them. Anyhow, it's done now. It can't be undone. And as things were, I've tried to treat you as you want to be treated, all through. As to the money, I will defend myself there, since it seems that you have seen to the bottom of the well—where truth lies!—only in those short flashes. If Severance had ever tried to hand me a million dollars or any other sum for what I've done, I'd have thrown it in his face, and knocked the face in after it. That's what I meant from the first. So now you know."
"But—if you'd stopped wanting me? Why—why? You said yourself I didn't seem to be a judge of how much it took to kill love."
"Yes, I said that."
"And you said other things. You said a million was always useful to anyone——"
"There I banked again on your sense of humour. Or perhaps a little on your judgment of character."
"I must confess I've tried to judge yours!" Marise exclaimed, almost in spite of herself. "But I can't—I'm always stumbling against things—in the dark."
"Well, there's plenty of 'dark'! I admit that," said Garth. "Many people would say that of me. Perhaps the only one who wouldn't is little Mothereen, and we can't count her, can we? There are all sorts of horrid possibilities in the dark, where a character's concerned. My motive, thoughnotmercenary, might have been revenge punishment!"
"That's often seemed to me the most likely!" cried Marise. "Especiallynow."
"Especially now? Explain, please."
"Now, when you've broughtthat girlout here, close to this house. You did bring her, didn't you? You asked me to be honest. Be honest yourself!"
"By my request she came."
"You paid for her to come?"
"Yes, I couldn't let her give up a good job in New York, even for awhile, and travel so far on my business, at her own expense—could I?"
"On your business?"
"Yes. I told you once that Miss Marks was an old friend. We've known each other for years. She used to live at Albuquerque. Cath and Bill, whom you met, are her cousins—or rather, Cath is. Mothereen is fond——"
"Ah, now I'msureof something I only wondered about before!"
"Will you tell me what that is?"
"A note for Meesis Garth from the Hotel El Tovar," announced the voice of the half-breed maid.
"Bring it to me!" Marise ordered.
The girl, instinctively aware that she'd interrupted a "scene," tripped across the terrace with an apologetic air. Marise almost snatched an envelope from a little silver tray and tore it open. Her strong young eyes could just make out through the dusk a few lines of written words.
"This is from Zélie Marks!" she exclaimed, looking up at Garth. "She wants me to come over at once and see her at the hotel. She says she has been ill, and that's the reason she's staying on there."
"She tells the truth. She had appendicitis. They thought there'd have to be an operation, but they cured her up—or nearly—without. Why does she ask to see you?"
"She says she'll explain everything when I get there."
"Do you intend to go?"
"Yes. I'd like to hear—her story."
"All right—go. You shall have the car, of course. But there are a few things I'd prefer to tell you myself first."
"I'd rather hear everything from her."
Garth gave a shrug. "Very well. As you please. But you and she both seem to forget dinner-time. You'll be hungry if——"
"I won't be hungry!" cried Marise. "I want to start now."
"I'll see to it for you," said Garth, with that quiet, rather heavy air which irritated Marise sometimes and always puzzled her. For that was one of the things about him which upset her judgment of his character.
"Will you step into Miss Marks's sitting-room? She's expecting you," Marise was greeted, arriving at the hotel.
"A private sitting-room! And Jack Garth's money pays for it," she thought dully. But of course it was nothing to her. At least, it would have been nothing if, while keeping it secret, he was not bent on driving away the man who loved her—Marise. Oh, and that reminded her of an important thing! It had been on her lips to accuse him of giving Zélie the jewels, but she had been interrupted, or had forgotten. Then the note had come from the hotel.... She would have the truth out of Zélie herself.
The sitting-room was on the ground floor, and had a loggia all its own, lit by a red-shaded electric lamp, like an illuminated poppy. Zélie was there in a huge American rocking-chair, gazing Canyonward under the moon, when Mrs. Garth was shown into the room. Instantly the girl jumped up, and Marise saw her framed in the door. She looked pale, and thinner than she had been in New York. But the change wasn't unbecoming.
The conventional thing would have been for Zélie to say, "How good of you to come! I hope you didn't mind my sending for you, as I've been ill." Whereupon Marise would naturally have answered, "Not at all."
But nothing of the kind happened. The two girls eyed each other like fencers, or even like cats. Then Marise said, "You see, I've come."
"Yes," replied Zélie, "I supposed you would, after what Lord Severance told me."
Marise was startled. "Lord Severance!Whatdid he tell you?"
"That you suspected your husband and me of all sorts of unmentionable things, and that you wouldn't be satisfied until you'd had it out with me. Well—now you can have it out with me. Fire away, Mrs. Garth. I've nothing to be ashamed of. It's all the other way round."
"What do you mean?" gasped Marise.
"Well, frankly, I mean that you should be ashamed of suspecting him. You ought to know him better."
"I said not one word to Lord Severance about suspecting my—Major Garth," Marise broke out in self-defence.
"Didn't you?" echoed Zélie. "Well, that's funny, since he sent up his card and told me you were wild. He urged and urged, if I had any friendship for Jack Garth, to write and get you here."
"That's very strange," said Marise. "But I suppose—one must suppose!—he meant well. Now I am here, if you have anything to tell me you might as well tell it."
"Does Jack know you've come?" asked Zélie quietly.
"He does. We were talking about you when your note arrived. You see, Lord Severance mentioned that you were at the hotel."
"Then why did you want to talk with me? Surely you'd believe Jack? I shouldn't thinkanyoneever accused him of lying!"
"Inever did! But I—well, when your note came I thought I'd rather hear everything from you. It wouldn't have occurred to me otherwise."
"You mean you wouldn't have proposed coming over here if I hadn't written?"
"I shouldn't even have thought of it."
"Then it's a game of Lord Severance's we seem to be playing."
"I don't see his object," puzzled Marise.
"Neither do I," replied Zélie—"yet. But as you say—now you are here, we might as well talk. Won't you sit down?"
"No, thank you," said Marise. "I'd rather stand."
"Well, if you don't mind,I'llsit. I'm not very strong yet, as I told you in my letter, that's why I'm still here."
"Oh, please do sit down!" cried Marise, more gently. "In that case I will sit, too."
"In justice to Jack I ought to tell you the whole story of why I came out," said Zélie. "He and I decided it would be best for you not to know. At least,Idecided, because I'm a woman and realise how a woman feels about such things. However, as he let you come here to see me, he must have expected you to hear the truth. Goodness knows, it's simple enough, and won't take long in the telling! The morning after you were married he called early to see me, and asked if I'd do him a big favour. Of course I said yes. The favour was, to start out West at once, buy pretty things to decorate your room at Vision House, get the whole place in apple-pie order, and engage servants from somewhere—no matter where, and no matter what wages. Mothereen wasn't strong enough to have the whole work thrown on her shoulders, though she'd have loved it. But when I'd finished a lot of commissions at Kansas City, I stopped at Albuquerque and told her about you."
"I wonder what you told?" Marise laughed a little nervously.
"What Jack would have wanted me to tell, not what you deserved."
Mrs. John Garth stiffened. "Are you the judge of what I deserve?"
"God help you if I were! All I know about you is, that you're the most spoiled, conceited girl I ever saw, and that you're not capable of appreciating Jack Garth—no, notcapable!"
"You don't know in the least what I'm capable of!" The cheeks of Marise were burning now. They felt as if they had been slapped. "I never showed my real self to you. Why should I?"
"Why, indeed? But you showed me all your gladdest rags, and your jewels and newspaper notices, and let me answer lots of your love-letters, meaning to make the poor secretary envious."
"What horrid thoughts you had of me! I never meant that."
"Subconsciously, if not consciously, that'sjustwhat you did mean."
"I won't dispute with you, Miss Marks. But speaking of jewels—since you're being so frank—tell me if Major Garth didn't make a present to you of a rope of pearls, an emerald laurel wreath, a sapphire and diamond pendant——"
Zélie was strongly tempted to answer bluntly "Yes." If she did, and left it at that, Marise would be furious. She would go back to Vision House and quarrel with Jack, even if the two hadn't quarrelled irrevocably already, and the divorce which might give Jack to her would come soon. But no, she had vowed to herself that she would be loyal to Jack through everything. She had vowed, too, that she would "get even" with Marise Sorel some day—and now was the day when she could "bring off the stunt," as she said to herself. But she wouldn't get even in a way to hurt Jack. If possible, she'd do it in a way to help him.
"He gave me those things to take out to Mothereen and ask her to keep them for you, till you came," lied Zélie. And lying, she looked more indignantly virtuous than when she had been telling the simple truth.
Marise believed her.
"Is there anything more you want to know?" inquired
Miss Marks. "Because if you do, I can't think of much which would especially concern or interest you, except that Mothereen—Mrs. Mooney—came to the Grand Canyon with me and helped as much in the work as she was strong enough to do. So you needn't imagine she told you any fibs. If there werereservations, I'm responsible. She'd have blabbed out everything if I hadn't warned her you wouldn't be pleased to hear that I'd been Jack's chosen messenger. You didn't like me much, I said. You and your mother thought I was rather forward and above my place. You'd think so a heap more if you knew. Mothereen promised to hold her tongue. It must have been a struggle for her. She's as ingenuous as a child. So is Jack in some ways. He'd have told you all about me if I hadn't made him see it wouldn't do."
"You seem to have been awfully solicitous on my account," said Marise.
"It was on Jack's account really," explained Zélie.
"I didn't want his apple-cart to be upset—no matter what I thought of the apples. I didn't care a hang for them personally."
Marise laughed. "The apples were me."
"That's it. Pretty, good-smelling apples, with pink cheeks and satin skin. But at heart—r-o-t-t-e-n!"
"Thanks!" choked Marise, and got up. "Thank you forallyour frankness. I could return some of it, but you've been ill, andIdon't like being rude. I must just say one thing, however, before I go. You've given yourself away dreadfully."
Zélie stumbled to her feet. "How?"
"By showing me exactly what your feeling is for Major Garth."
"I'm his pal from the beginning to the end."
Marise ignored the evasion. "You needn't be afraid that I'll be cad enough to go and tell him what I think about you. He probably knows your feelings and returns them, but——"
"He doesn't. Are you adamnfool, or are you only pretending?"
"I daresay I'm a damn fool," repeated Marise sweetly. "In any case, I'm not pretending."
"Then you're doubly a fool!" shrilled Zélie. "A damned fool not to know how Jack feels for you, and a damneder one not to know enough to feel right towards him. Jack's the salt of the earth. There's more courage and good faith and everything noble and big in his little finger than in your whole lovely body. So now you can go home. And putthatin your pocket!"
Marise went. She shut the door softly, so softly and considerately that it hurt worse than a loud slam.
"I did get even with her!" Zélie thought. And plumped down on the sofa with a sob.
Not far from the door of Zélie Marks's room another door stood open. Marise would have whirled past it without noticing, had not her name been called.
She turned her head, with a slight start, and saw Severance.
"Come here a moment, my dear one," he said. "I have to speak to you."
Marise hesitated. Her brain was not clear. She felt dazed, as if Zélie had boxed her ears, as she had boxed Tony's earlier. She longed for sympathy. No one—not even Garth himself!—had ever been so horrid to her before, as Zélie had.
Severance took her hand and drew her gently over the threshold into a private sitting-room much like Miss Marks's. Then, when she was safely inside the room, he shut the door, locked it, and jerked out the key.
"Tony!" cried Marise. She felt as if some scene in one of her plays had come true. Except that—Tony wasn't the villain who locked the heroine in.Surelyhe wasn't the villain!
"This isn't the right time for a joke," she said.
"And this isn't a joke," said Severance.
"Well, unlock the door at once, please, and let me out," she insisted. "I must go——"
"Where must you go?" he asked.
"Where! Ho—back, of course."
"To Garth—after what happened between us three at his house this evening? It's impossible for you to go back to him, Marise. He can't expect it himself. When you came away to-night—if he knew you came—he must have known the whole thing was finished, the farce played out."
The girl felt as if a chilly breeze blew over her. She did not answer for a moment. She was wondering in an awed way if Tony were right. Was that the reason Garth had let her go so easily, to answer Zélie's note in person? But no. He had only just reminded her the moment before how he'd never intended giving her up to Severance. Still—when she thought of it—whatwasthere to go back for, unless she intended to stay married to Garth—to be married to him as other women were married to their husbands?
She had never contemplated that, even at the times—and there had been times—when she'd admired Garth, admired him with a secret thrill. Besides, no matter how much Garth had wanted her, in the first throes of his infatuation, he didn't want her now—for good. Oh, such an end to the play wasn't to be dreamed of, from whichever side you looked at it!
"If I go away anywhere from Vision House, it will be to my mother," she said at last.
"Yes, of course. That's where I'm going to take you. We'll go to-night. There's a train we——"
"I can't possibly go with you!" she cried. "Don't you see, to do that would cause the very scandal we've all sacrificed so much to prevent?"
"I do see," said Tony. "But you said yourself to-day that 'everything had changed.' We don't need to be afraid of scandal any more. It can't hurt us now. It will do us good. Marise, I've been thinking things over, and I believe that the only way we can get that brute to free you is by deliberately making a scandal. All the trouble comes from your throwing yourself at the fellow's head in such a hurry. If you'd waited, Œnone dying when she did would have made your marriage useless. You and I would both have been free——"
"We were both free before you decided you'd have to marry Œnone," broke in Marise.
"That was different. I was in debt and hadn't a penny to play with. I couldn't live on you. Now my debts are paid, and though they've not left me a very rich man, I've got something to go on with——"
"You have, because Jack Garth won't take your money."
"Oh, wouldn't he, if he could get it?"
"No!"
"Well, again, there'd be no question of money at present between him and me if you'd waited, and hadn't tangled yourself up in this beastly knot to spite me. Now I'll have to get you out of the tangle as best I can. You can't do it yourself, and Garth will hang on to you for the same motive you had—spite, if nothing more. Go with me to-night. Be brave.Makea scandal. Then for the sake of that mother of his—and for his pride if he has any, if not, for the appearance of it—he'll free you."
Marise was very pale. "A little while ago," she said, "you spoke of Zélie Marks being here to give—an excuse for divorce."
"Yes. That seems the likely thing. Garth probably arranged it when he expected money from me, to make divorce worth his while. Now we've had a row, more or less, and he knows that at best he can't get much. His cry is 'all or nothing.' He won't use Miss Marks as a pretext."
"I tell you he never intended to accept money!" insisted Marise.
"That's a new opinion of yours, isn't it?"
"I neverfelthe would touch it. But I didn't know surely. Now I do."
"I wonder how?"
"I do—that's all."
"Well, by Jove; I never expected to hear you taking Garth's part against me!" Tony exploded.
"I'm not doing that," Marise said. "We've all been horrid and detestable in this business, you and I, and even poor Mums—for my sake——"
"What about Garth? Is he on a higher plane?"
"Yes, heis!" exclaimed the girl. "He loved me once. He wanted to marry me then—just for love. How he felt afterwards—or how he feels now—I don't know. But—he's not abeast."
"And I am?"
"Oh, I put myself and Mums in the same box with you. I'm saying nothing of you I don't say of ourselves."
"Well, so be it!" said Severance. "I'm a beast, if you like, and you're the female of my kind. All the more reason why you belong to me. Nothing shall separate us again. Even if we can't marry——"
"Let me go out of this room!" the girl cried sharply.
"No! Yourmotherapproved of my plan, I tell you, Marise. She saw it was the only way, for me to take you——"
"I don't believe it! There's not an unconventional drop of blood in Mums' veins. If she wanted me to be 'taken' anywhere, it would be to her. She would have come to this hotel, and received me. Then, perhaps, I would have stayed—but not for you. I don'tloveyou, Tony! I've discovered that. I wouldn't marry you if I could."
"You're out of your senses!" he cried. "You may think what you say at this minute, because you're angry. But yourheart'smine. I won't let you go——"
"If you don't, I'll scream," threatened Marise. "Open that door at once, or I'll yell at the top of my lungs."
"I don't think you will," said Severance. "You don't like scenes, except on the stage. Besides, I don't care a damn if you do yell. It won't change things in the end."
The girl's answer was to lift her voice and shriek as only a trained actress can shriek.
Instantly, before she had reached her highest note, Garth stepped over the low window-sill.
"I was waiting for that," he said. "I knew you were here, Marise, so I lurked on the loggia. Unlock that door, Severance."
The other man was olive grey with rage and disappointment. It occurred to Marise that he looked seasick.
"Unlock the damned thing yourself!" he spat, and flung the key on the floor.
It landed near Garth's feet. But Garth did not stoop.
"Pick up the key," he said quietly.
"I'm damned if I will!" sputtered Severance.
"Not so many damns, please," said Garth. "They bore me." He took a Browning from his pocket and aimed it neatly at the centre of Severance's forehead. "Better pick up the key," he added.
Severance picked it up.
"Now unlock the door."
Severance unlocked it, and walked out into the hall. Then he slammed the door after him. Voices were heard.
"Somebody's come to inquire why somebody screamed," said Garth, pocketing the weapon again. "If they knock here, it's all right. Mr. and Mrs. Garth have a right to atête-à-têteanywhere. I'll say you thought you saw a mouse. That'll settle their doubts forever."
But nobody knocked.
"Don't be afraid," Garth went on. "Even if you came in here because you wanted to come, I shan't make a row. But somehow I've got a 'hunch' that you didn't want to."
"I didn't," said Marise.
"He pulled you in?"
"Yes. I didn't think much of it at first. But——"
"Well, I don't believe he'll trouble you again. Not ever. I felt he might make a fool of himself to-night, though. So I came over, in case I should be needed. Now, what do you want to do—I mean,reallywant? I consider Severance wiped off the map—yourmap. So if you wish to be free of me, I'll make you so. While Severance was in the offing I'd have stuck to you like a leech, because you're too good for him. That Browning wasn't loaded. But I'd have killed the fellow sooner than give you up to him. It's different now. I'll take you to Los Angeles, to your mother at Bell Towers to-night if you like."
Marise was silent.
"You've only got to say," he prompted her.
To his intense surprise and her own, Marise began to cry. Tears poured down her cheeks. She flung herself on a sofa and sobbed. "I'm so—so unhappy!"
Garth's face grew slowly red as he looked at her. "I'm sorry for that," he said. "Once I was willing you should be unhappy. I'm past that now. But you needn't be unhappy long. You don't even have to spend another night in Vision House. Your mother——"
"You want me to go," gulped Marise. "You really love Zélie Marks——"
"You're talking in your hat," he sharply cut her short. "You know I don't love Zélie Marks. What Severance said about her and me to-day was disgusting. She and I are friends. She's a good girl and a grand pal. I wouldn't hurt her even for you. And I tell you this, Marise, now that I know—for I do know!—that you won't marry that cad Severance, you can divorce me. But it will have to be done decently. You can go to Reno and live there for a few months with Mrs. Sorel. Then you can free yourself on the grounds that our tempers are incompatible. But no woman's to be lugged in, even a stranger. I won't stand for that. For the sake of Mothereen and my Victoria Cross I won't be dragged in the dirt. I'll not give you what the lawyers call 'cause.' So there you are. Now you know."
But Marise still sobbed. "I don't—don't wish to drag anyone in the dust!" she wailed.
"I'm sure you don't," said Garth, in an impersonal tone, a tone of kind encouragement. "You've changed quite a lot since New York, though the time's been short. You can't measure these things by time! Ihopedyou'd change. You were an adorable girl, but I told you once that you were spoiled and selfish, and you were—all of that. You weren't a woman. Now you are. I counted a bit on the effect of Mothereen. And I counted a whole lot on the Canyon. They're both worked their spells more or less, I shouldn't wonder. But you haven't changed tome. Not that I ever really dared expect that. But I sort ofhoped—at first. I'm not blaming you, though. I took the risk—and let you take it. Now for the next thing."
"Now for—the next thing!" repeated Marise, between sobs; and searched wildly in her gold-mesh bag. "For Heaven's sake lend me a handkerchief," she wept.
Garth lent it, a linen one, not scented as Severance's handkerchief would have been, but fresh and clean-smelling.
"We're still in that cad's room," Garth said, looking round with a frown. "But he won't bother us. And we'd better thrash things out, now we're about it. We must decide where you're to go. You know, Marise, I'm on long leave. I never quite made up my mind whether to go back to my regiment, or chuck the army for good, and stay over here. I thought some day I'd hear a clear call, one way or the other, while there was time to decide. And I knew Mothereen wouldn't long be far off from me, whatever I did. But now I leave it to you to settle the matter for me. I expect I owe you that, for all my sulkiness. If you want to live over on this side, I'll go back to England—my father's country. If you'd like to take up your career there again, rather than you should risk running up against me all the time, I'll resign my commission—as Severance and a lot of fellows like him hoped they could make me do!—settle down in Arizona and—forget the war."
"Forget me, you mean!" said Marise.
His tone changed, and he spoke in a lower voice. "I don't expect ever to forget you, Marise."
"But you'd like to!"
"I'm not so sure of that, in spite of all."
"You will be, when you marry Zélie Marks."
"Zélie Marks again!"
"Or somebody else."
"I shall never marry, Marise. That's as certain as that I'm alive. I haven't any love to give another woman after you. You had it every bit. But that's not an interesting subject to you, is it? Can you make up your mind to-night and answer my question? Shall it be England for you and America for me, or—vice versa?"
"Youlikedthe army, didn't you? You didn't want to give it up."
"I wasn't going to be driven out by Severance and Co. I shouldn't mind so much going of my own accord."
"Wouldn't you like to stay in the Guards for some years anyhow, and reap the reward of what you've done?—coming over here to Vision House now and then on leave, till you're ready to rest and settle down for good?"
"Sounds pretty ideal, as you put it. But I'll be content enough either way. It's for you to decide for me, as things stand. But oh, by the by, I forgot! I'm really rather a rich man, Marise. I've made my fortune three times over, and I've got umpteen thousands more than I need for myself or Mothereen. I want you to have alimony——"
"Oh no!" she exclaimed. "I'm rich too—quite rich, enough."
"But Iwishyou to take something of mine, don't you understand? And money's the only thing I have that you could possibly care to have."
Marise began to cry again, twice as hard as before.
"There is—something else of yours I'd care to have," she choked, "if—if it isn't too late."
"It's never too late."
"But you don't know what I mean."
"No. Not yet——"
"I mean—yourlove. You said—I'd killed it."
Garth took one step from the middle of the little sitting-room to the sofa, and sat down beside the girl. He crowded her as Severance had done that afternoon, but she didn't move an inch.
"I didn't say that!" He spoke the words in her hair—that silky hair which had seemed too divine to touch. "I asked you how much you thought it took to kill love. But nothing could kill mine for you. Nothing on earth or in hell. And Ihavebeen in hell, Marise."
"Come to heaven with me, then," she whispered, and clasped his neck with both her young arms. Her cheek, wet with tears, was pressed against his.
"You—meanit?" he stammered.
"Yes—yes. Iloveyou! Because—you're soqueer, you made me, somehow. I know now I never really loved anyone but you. And I never will if—youcare!"
"Care? I'm in heaven already." He framed her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips, a long, long kiss that made up for everything.
"In heaven?" she murmured. "So am I. But it will be better at Vision House.DearVision House. Dearhome!"
Garth sprang up, bringing her with him, his arm round her waist.
"Let's go now!" he said.