  Desboro's guests were determined to turn the house out of the windows; its stodgy respectability incited them; every smug, smooth portrait goaded them to unusual effort, and they racked their brains to invent novelties. On one day they opened all the windows in the disused west wing, flooded the ground floor, hung the great stone room with paper lanterns, and held an ice carnival. As masks and costumes had been made entirely out of paper, there were several startling effects and abrupt retirements to repair damages; but the dancing on skates in the lantern light was very pretty, and even the youth and pride of Westchester found the pace not unsuitably rapid. On another day, Desboro's feminine guests sent to town for enough green flannel to construct caricatures of hunting coats for everybody. The remains of a stagnant pack of harriers vegetated on a neighbouring estate; Desboro managed to mount his guests on his own live-stock, including mules, farm horses, polo ponies, and a yoke of oxen; and the county saw a hunting that they were not likely to forget. Reggie Ledyard was magnificent astride an ox, with a paper megaphone for a hunting horn, rubber boots, and his hastily basted coat split from skirt to collar. The harriers ran wherever they pleased, and the astonished farm mules wouldn't run at all. There was hysterical excitement when one cotton-tail rabbit was started behind a barn and instantly lost under it. The hunt dinner was a weird and deafening affair, and the Weber-Field ball costumes unbelievable. Owing to reaction and exhaustion, repentant girls came to Jacqueline requesting an interim of intellectual recuperation; so she obligingly announced a lecture in the jade room, and talked to them very prettily about jades and porcelains, suiting her words to their intellectual capacity, which could grasp Kang-he porcelains and Celedon and Sang-de-boeuf, but balked at the "three religions," and found blanc de Chine uninspiring. So she told them about the famille vert and the famille rose; about the K'ang Hsi period, which they liked, and how the imperial kilns at Kiangsi developed the wonderful clair de lune "turquoise blue" and "peach bloom," for which some of their friends or relatives had paid through their various and assorted noses. All of this her audience found interesting because they recognised in the exquisite examples from Desboro's collection, with which Jacqueline illustrated her impromptu lecture, objects both fashionable and expensive; and what is both fashionable and expensive appeals very forcibly to mediocrity. "I saw a jar like that one at the Clydesdales'," said Reggie Ledyard, a trifle excited at his own unexpected intelligence. "How much is it worth, Miss Nevers?" She laughed and looked at the vase between her slender fingers. "Really," she said, "it isn't worth very much. But wealthy people have established fictitious values for many rather crude and commonplace things. If people had the courage to buy only what appealed to them personally, there would be a mighty crash in tumbling values." "We'd all wake up and find ourselves stuck," remarked Van Alstyne, "There's the thrifty Dutch trader for you," said Reggie. "I'm loaded with rickety old furniture, too. They got me to furnish my place with antiques! But you don't see me trying to sell 'em to my host at a house party!" "Stop your disputing," said Desboro pleasantly, "and ask Miss Nevers for her professional opinion later. The chances are that you both have been properly stuck, and I never had any sympathy for wealthy ignorance, anyway." But Ledyard and Van Alstyne, being very wealthy, became frightfully depressed over the unfeeling jibes of Desboro; and Jacqueline seemed to be by way of acquiring a pair of new clients. In fact, both young men at various moments approached her on the subject, but Desboro informed them that they might with equal propriety ask a physician to prescribe for them at a dance, and that Miss Nevers' office was open from nine until five. "Gad," remarked Ledyard to Van Alstyne, with increasing respect, "she is some girl, believe me, Stuyve. Only if she ever married up with a man of our kind—good-night! She'd quit him in a week." Van Alstyne touched his forehead significantly. "Sure," he said. "Nothing doing inside our conks. But why the Lord made her such a peach outside as well as inside is driving me to Jersey! Most of 'em are so awful to look at, don't y'know. Come on, anyway. I can't keep away from her." "She's somewhere with the others playing baseball golf," said Reggie, gloomily, following his friend. "Isn't it terrible to see a girl in the world like that—apparently created to make some good gink happy—and suddenly find out that she has even more brains than beauty! My God, Stuyve, it's hard on a man like me." "Are you really hard hit?" "Am I? And how about you?" "It's the real thing here," admitted Van Alstyne. "But what's the use?" They agreed that there was no use; but during the dance that evening both young men managed to make their intentions clear to Jacqueline. Reggie Ledyard had persuaded her to a few minutes' promenade in the greenhouse; and there, standing amid thickets of spicy carnations, the girl listened to her first proposal from a man of that outer world about which, until a few days ago, she had known nothing. The boy was not eloquent; he made a clumsy attempt to kiss her and was defeated. He seemed to her very big, and blond, and handsome as he stood there; and she felt a little pity for him, too, partly because his ideas were so few and his vocabulary so limited. Perplexed, silent, sorry for him, yet still conscious of a little thrill of wonder and content that a man of the outer world had found her eligible, she debated within herself how best to spare him. And, as usual, the truth presented itself to her as the only explanation. "You see," she said, lifting her troubled eyes, "I am in love with some one else." "Good God!" he muttered. After a silence he said humbly: "Would it be unpardonable if I—would you tell me whether you are engaged?" She blushed with surprise at the idea. "Oh, no," she said, startled. "I—don't expect to be." "What?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Is there a man on earth ass enough not to fall in love with you if you ever condescended to smile at him twice?" But the ideas which he was evoking seemed to distress her, and she averted her face and stood twisting a long-stemmed carnation with nervous fingers. Not even to herself, either before or since Desboro's letter which had revealed him so unmistakably, had the girl ventured in her inmost thoughts to think the things which this big, blond, loutish boy had babbled. What Desboro was, she understood. She had had the choice of dismissing him from her mind, with scorn and outraged pride as aids to help the sacrifice, or of accepting him as he was—as she knew him to be—for the sake of something about him as yet inexplicable even to herself. And she had chosen. But now a man of Desboro's world had asked her to be his wife. More than that; he had assumed that she was fitted to be the wife of anybody. They walked back together. She was adorable with him, kind, timidly sympathetic and smilingly silent by turns, venturing even to rally him a little, console him a little, moved by an impulse toward friendship wholly unfeigned. "All I have to say Even he joined in her gay laughter; and presently Van Alstyne, who had been glowering at them, managed to get her away. But she would have nothing further to do with greenhouses, or dark landings, or libraries; so he asked her bluntly while they were dancing; and she shook her head, and very soon dropped his arm. There was a bay-window near them; she made a slight gesture of irritation; and there, in the partly curtained seclusion, he learned that she was grateful and happy that he liked her so much; that she liked him very much, but that she loved somebody else. He took it rather badly at first; she began to understand that few girls would have lightly declined a Van Alstyne; and he was inclined to be patronising, sulky and dignified—an impossible combination—for it ditched him finally, and left him kissing her hands and declaring constancy eternal. That night, at parting, Desboro retained her offered hand a trifle longer than convention required, and looked at her more curiously than usual. "Are you enjoying the party, Jacqueline?" "Every minute of it. I have never been as happy." "I suppose you realise that everybody is quite mad about you." "Everybody is nice to me! People are so much kinder than I imagined." "Are they? How do you get on with the gorgon?" "Mrs. Hammerton? Do you know she is perfectly sweet? I never dreamed she could be so gentle and thoughtful and considerate. Why—and it seems almost ridiculous to say it—she seems to have the ideas of a mother about whatever concerns me. She actually fusses over me sometimes—and—it is—agreeable." An inexplicable shyness suddenly overcame her, and she said good-night hastily, and mounted the stairs to her room. Later, when she was prepared for bed, Mrs. Hammerton knocked and came in. "Jacqueline," she said bluntly, "what was Reggie Ledyard saying to you this evening? I'll box his ears if he proposed to you. Did he?" "I—I am afraid he did." "You didn't take him?" "No." "I should think not! I'd as soon expect you to marry a stable groom. He has all the beauty and healthy colour of one. Also the distinguished mental capacity. You don't want that kind." "I don't want any kind." "I'm glad of it. Did any other fool hint anything more of that sort?" "Mr. Van Alstyne." "Oho! Stuyvesant, too? Well, what did you say to him?" asked the old lady, with animation. "I said no." "What?" "Of course, I said no. I am not in love with Mr. Van Alstyne." "Child! Do you realise that you had the opportunity of your life!" Jacqueline's smile was confused and deprecating. "But when a girl doesn't care for a man——" "Do you mean to marry for love?" The girl sat silent a moment, then shook her head. "I shall not marry," she said. "Nonsense! And if you feel that way, what am I good for? What earthly use am I to you? Will you kindly inform me?" She had seated herself on the bed's edge, leaning over the girl where she lay on her pillows. "Answer me," she insisted. "Of what use am I to you?" For a full minute the girl lay there looking up at her without stirring. Then a smile glimmered in her eyes; she lifted both arms and laid them on the older woman's shoulders. "You are useful—this way," she said; and kissed her lightly on the forehead. The effect on Aunt Hannah was abrupt; she caught the girl to her breast and held her there fiercely and in silence for a moment; then, releasing her, tucked her in with mute violence, turned off the light and marched out without a word. Day after day Desboro's guests continued to turn the house inside out, ransacking it from garret to cellar. "We don't intend to do anything in this house that anybody has ever done here, or at any house party," explained Reggie Ledyard to Jacqueline. "So if any lady cares to walk down stairs on her head the incident will be quite in order." "Can she slide down the banisters instead?" asked Helsa Steyr. "Oh, you'll have to slide up to be original," said Betty Barkley. "How can anybody slide up the banisters?" demanded Reggie hotly. "You've the intellect of a terrapin," said Betty scornfully. "It's because nobody has ever done it that it ought to be done here." Desboro, seated on the pool table, told her she could do whatever she desired, including arson, as long as she didn't disturb the Aqueduct Police. Katharine Frere said to Jacqueline: "Everything you do is so original. Can't you invent something new for us to do?" "She might suggest that you all try to think," said Mrs. Hammerton tartly. "That would be novelty enough." Cairns seized the megaphone and shouted: "Help! Help! Aunt Hannah is after us!" Captain Herrendene, seated beside Desboro with a half smile on his face, glanced across at Jacqueline who stood in the embrasure of a window, a billiard cue resting across her shoulders. "Please invent something for us, Miss Nevers," he said. "Why don't you play hide and seek?" sneered Mrs. Hammerton, busily knitting a tie. "It's suited to your intellects." "Let Miss Nevers suggest a new way of playing the oldest game ever invented," added Betty Barkley. "There is no possibility of inventing anything new; everything was first done in the year one. Even protoplasmic cells played hide-and-seek together." "What rot!" said Reggie. "You can't play that in a new w "You could play it in a sporting way," said Cairns. "How's that, old top?" "Well, for example, you conceal yourself, and whatever girl finds you has got to marry you. How's that for a reckless suggestion?" But it had given Reggie something resembling an idea. "Let us be hot sports," he said, with animation; "draw lots to see which girl will hide somewhere in the house; make a time-limit of one hour; and if any man finds her she'll marry him. There isn't a girl here," he added, jeeringly, "who has the sporting nerve to try it!" A chorus of protests greeted the challenge. Athalie Vannis declared that she was crazy to marry somebody; but she insisted that the men would only pretend to search, and were really too cowardly to hunt in earnest. Cairns retorted that the girl in concealment would never permit a real live man to miss her hiding place while she possessed lungs to reveal it. "There isn't," repeated Reggie, "a girl who has the nerve! Not one!" He inspected them scornfully through the wrong end of the megaphone. "Phony sports," he added. "No nerves and all fidgets. Look at me; I don't want to get married; but I'm game for an hour. There isn't a girl here to call my bluff!" And he ventured to glance at Jacqueline. "They've had a chance to look at you by daylight, Reggie, and that is fatal," said Cairns. "Now, if they were only sure that I'd discover 'em, or the god-like captain yonder, or the beautiful Mr. Desboro——" "I've half a mind to do it," said "Why doesn't a man hide?" drawled Miss Ledyard. "I'm very sure I could drag him to the altar in ten minutes." Cairns had found a sheet of paper, torn it into slips, and written down every woman's name, including Aunt Hannah's. "She's retired to her room in disgust," said Jacqueline, laughing. "Is she included?" faltered Reggie. "You've brought it on yourself," said Cairns. "Are you going to renig just because Aunt Hannah is a possible prize? Are you really a tin sport?" "No, by heck! Come on, Katharine!" to Miss Frere. "But Betty Barkley can't figure in this, or there may be bigamy done." "That makes it a better sporting proposition," said Betty coolly. "I insist on figuring; Bertie can take his chances." "Then I'm jingled if I don't play, too," said Barkley. "And I'm not sure I'll hunt very hard if it's Betty who hides." The pretty little woman turned up her nose at her husband and sent a dazzling smile at Desboro. "I'll whistle three times, like the daughter in the poem," she said. "Please beat my husband to it." Cairns waved the pool basket aloft: "Come ladies!" he cried. "Somebody reach up and draw; and may heaven smile upon your wedding day!" Betty Barkley, standing on tip-toe, reached up, stirred the folded ballots with tentative fingers, grasped one, drew it forth, and flourished it. "Goodness! How my heart really beats!" she said. "I don't know whether I want to open it or not. I hadn't contemplated bigamy." "If it's my name, I'm done for," said Katharine Frere calmly. "I'm nearly six feet, and I can't conceal them all." "Open it," said Athalie Vannis, with a shiver. "After all there's the divorce court!" And she looked defiantly at Cairns. Betty turned over the ballot between forefinger and thumb and regarded it with dainty aversion. "Well," she said, "if I'm in for a scandal, I might as well know it. Will you be kind to me, Jim, and not flirt with my maid?" She opened the ballot, examined the name written there, turned and passed it to Jacqueline, who flushed brightly as a delighted shout greeted her. "The question is," said Reggie Ledyard excitedly, "are you a sport, Miss Nevers, or are you not? Kindly answer with appropriate gestures." The girl stood with her golden head drooping, staring at the bit of paper in her hand; then, as Desboro watched her, she glanced up with that sudden, reckless smile which he had seen once before—the first day he met her—and made a gay little gesture of acceptance. "You're not really going to do it, are you?" said Betty, incredulously. "You don't have to; they're every one of them short sports themselves!" "I am not," said Jacqueline, smiling. "But," argued Katharine Frere, "suppose Reggie should find you. You'd never marry him, would you?" "Great Heavens!" shouted Ledyard. "She might have a worse fate. There's Desboro!" "You don't really mean it, do you, Miss Nevers?" asked Captain Herrendene. "Yes, I do," said Jacqueline. "I always was a gambler by nature." The tint of excitement was bright on her cheeks; she shot a daring glance at Ledyard, looked at Van Alstyne and laughed, but her back remained turned toward Desboro. He said: "If the papers ever get wind of this they'll print it as a serious item." "I am perfectly serious," she said, looking coolly at him over her shoulder. "If there is a man here clever enough to find me, I'll marry him in a minute. But"—and she laughed in Desboro's face—"there isn't. So nobody need really lose one moment in anxiety. And if a girl finds me it's all off, of course. May I have twenty minutes? And will you time me, Mr. Ledyard? And will you all remain in this room with the door closed?" "If nobody finds you," cried Cairns, as she crossed the threshold, "we each forfeit whatever you ask of us?" She paused at the door, looking back: "Is that understood?" Everybody cried: "Yes! Certainly!" She nodded and disappeared. For twenty minutes they waited; then, as Reggie closed his watch, a general stampede ensued. Amazed servants shrank aside as Cairns, blowing fearful blasts on the megaphone, cheered on the excited human pack; everywhere Desboro's cats and dogs fled before the invasion; room after room was ransacked, maids routed, butler and valet defied. Even Aunt Hannah's sanctuary was menaced until that lady sat up on her bed and swore steadily at Ledyard, who had scaled the transom. Desboro, hunting by himself, entered the armoury, looked suspiciously at the armoured figures, shook a few, opened the vizors of others, and peered at the painted faces inside the helmets. Others joined him, prying curiously, gathering in groups amid the motionless army of mailed men. Then, as more than half of the allotted hour had already expired, Ledyard suggested an attic party, where trunks full of early XIXth century clothing might be rifled with pleasing results. "We may find her up there in a chest, like the celebrated bride," remarked Aunt Hannah, who had reappeared from her retreat. "It's the lesser of several tragedies that might happen," she added insolently, to Desboro. "To the attic!" thundered Cairns through his megaphone; and they started. But Desboro still lingered at the armoury door, looking back. The noise of the chase died away in the interior of the main house; the armoury became very still under the flood of pale winter sunshine. He glanced along the steel ranks of men-at-arms; he looked up at the stately mounted figures; dazzling sunlight glittered over helmet and cuirass and across the armoured flanks of horses. Could it be possible that she was seated up there, hidden inside some suit of blazing mail, astride a battle-horse? Cautiously he came back, skirting the magnificent and motionless ranks, hesitated and halted. Of course the whole thing had been proposed and accepted in jest; he told himself that. And yet—if some other man did discover her—the foundation of the jest might serve for a more permanent understanding. He didn't want her to have any intimate understanding with anybody until he and she understood each other, and he understood himself. He didn't want another man to find and claim the forfeit, even in jest, because he didn't know what might happen. No man was ever qualified to foretell what another man might do; and men already were behaving toward her with a persistency and seriousness unmistakable—men like Herrendene, who meant what he looked and said; and young Hammerton, Daisy's brother, eager, inexperienced and susceptible; and Bertie Barkley, a little, hard-faced snob, with an unerring instinct for anybody who promised to be popular among desirable people, was beginning to test her metal with the acid of his experience. Desboro stood quite still, looking almost warily about him and thinking faster and faster, trying to recollect who it was who had dragged in the silly subject of marriage. That blond and hulking ass Ledyard, wasn't it? He began to walk, slowly passing the horsemen in review. Suppose a blond animal like Reggie Ledyard offered himself in earnest. Was she the kind of girl who would nail the worldly opportunity? And Herrendene—that quiet, self-contained, keen-eyed man of forty-five. You could never tell what Herrendene was thinking about anything, or what he was capable of doing. And his admiration for Jacqueline was undisguised, and his attentions frankly persistent. Last night, too, when they were coasting under the new moon, there was half an hour's disappearance for whi He had reached the end of the double lane of horsemen. Now he pivoted and retraced his steps, hands clasped behind his back, absently scanning the men-at-arms, preoccupied with his own reflections. How seriously had she taken the rÔle she was playing somewhere at that moment? Only fools accepted actual hazards when dared. He himself was apt to be that kind of a fool. Was she? Would she really have abided by the terms if discovered by Herrendene, for example, or Dicky Hammerton—if they were mad enough to take it seriously? He thought of that sudden and delicious flash of recklessness in her eyes. He had seen it twice now. "By God!" he thought. "I believe she would! She is the sort that sees a thing through to the bitter end." He glanced up, startled, as though something, somewhere in the vast, silent place, had moved. But he heard nothing, and there was no movement anywhere among the armoured effigies. Suppose she were here hidden somewhere within a hollow suit of steel. She must be! Else why was he lingering? Why was he not hunting her with the pack? And still, if she actually were here, why was he not searching for her under every suit of sunlit mail? Could it be because he did not really want to find her—with this silly jest of marriage dragged i Was it that he had become convinced in his heart that she must be here, and was he merely standing guard like a jealous, sullen dog, watching lest some other fool come blundering back from a false trail to discover the right one—and perhaps her? Suddenly, without reason, he became certain that she and he were there in the armoury alone together. He knew it somehow, felt it, divined it in every quickening pulse beat. He heard the preliminary click of the armoury clock, indicating five minutes' grace before the hour struck. He looked up at the old dial, where it was set against the wall—an ancient piece in azure and gold under a foliated crest borne by some long dead dignitary. Four more minutes now. And suppose she should stir in her place, setting her harness clashing? Had the thought of marrying him ever entered her head? Was it in such a girl to challenge the possibility, make it as near a serious question as it ever could be? It had never existed for them, even as a question. It was not a dead issue, because it had never lived. If she made one movement now, if she so much as lifted her finger, this occult thing would be alive. He knew it—knew that it lay with her; and stood silent, unstirring, listening for the slightest sound. There was no sound. It lacked now only a minute to the hour. He looked at the face of the lofty clock; and, looking, all in a moment it flashed upon him where she was concealed. Wheeling in his tracks, on the impulse of the moment he walked straight back to the gr The superb young figure sat its saddle, hollow backed, graceful, both delicate gauntlets resting easily over the war-bridle on the gem-set pommel. Sunbeams turned the long spurs to two golden flames, and splintered into fire across the helmet's splendid crest. He could not pierce the dusk behind the closed vizor; but in every heart-beat, every nerve, he felt her living presence within that hollow shell of inlaid steel and gold. For a moment he stood staring up at her, then glanced mechanically toward the high clock. Thirty seconds! Time to speak if he would; time for her to move, if in her heart there ever had been the thought which he had never uttered, never meant to voice. Twenty seconds! Through that slitted vizor, also, the clock was in full view. She could read the flight of time as well as he. Now she must move—if ever she meant to challenge in him that to which he never would respond. He waited now, looking at the clock, now at the still figure above him. Ten seconds! Five! "Jacqueline!" he cried impulsively. There was no movement, no answer from the slitted helmet. "Jacqueline! Are you there?" No sound. Then the lofty gold and azure clock struck. And when the last of the twelve resounding strokes rang echoing through the sunlit armoury, the mailed figure stirred in its saddle, stretched both stirrups, raised its arms and flexed them. "You nearly caught me," she said calmly. "I was afraid you'd see my eyes through the helmet slits. Was it your lack of enterprise that saved me—or your prudence?" "I spoke to you before the hour was up. It seems to me that I have won." "Not at all. You might just as well have stood in the cellar and howled my name. That isn't discovering me, you know." "I felt in my heart that you were there," he said, in a low voice. She laughed. "What a man feels in his heart doesn't count. Do you realise that I'm nearly dead sitting for an hour here? This helmet is abominably hot! How in the world could that poor countess have stood it?" "Shall I climb up beside you and unlace your helmet?" he asked. "No, thank you. Mrs. Quant will get me out of it." She rose in the stirrups, swung one steel-shod leg over, and leaped to the floor beside him, clashing from crest to spur. "What a silly game it was, anyway!" she commented, lifting her vizor and lowering the beaver. Her face was deliciously flushed, and the gold hair straggled across her cheeks. "It's quite wonderful how the armour of the countess fits me," she said. "I wonder what she looked like. I'll wager, anyway, that she never played as risky a game in her armour as I have played this morning." "You didn't really mean to abide by the decision, did you?" he asked. "Do you think I did?" "No, of course not." She smiled. "Perhaps you are correct. But I've always been afraid I'd do something radical and irrevocable, and live out life in misery to pay for it. Probably I wouldn't. I must take off these gauntlets, anyway. Thank you"—as he relieved her of them and tossed them under the feet of the wooden horse. "Last Thursday," he said, "you fascinated everybody with your lute and your Chinese robes. Heaven help the men when they see you in armour! I'll perform my act of fealty now." And he lifted her hands and kissed them lightly where the gauntlets had left pink imprints on the smooth white skin. As always when he touched her, she became silent; and, as always, he seemed to divine the instant change in her to unresponsiveness under physical contact. It was not resistance, it was a sort of inertia—an endurance which seemed to stir in him a subtle brutality, awaking depths which must not be troubled—unless he meant to cut his cables once for all and drift headlong toward the rocks of chance. "You and Herrendene behaved shockingly last night," he said lightly. "Where on earth did you go?" "Is it to you that I must whisper 'je m'accuse'?" she asked smilingly. "To whom if not to me, Jacqueline?" "Please—and what exactly then may be your status? Don't answer," she added, flushing scarlet. "I didn't mean to say that. Because I know what is your status with me." "How do you know?" "You once made it clear to me, and I decided that your friendship was worth everything to me—whatever you yourself might be." "Whatever I might be?" he repeated, reddening. "Yes. You are what you are—what you wrote me you were. I understood you. But—do you notice that it has made any difference in my friendship? Because it has not." The dull colour deepened over his face. They were standing near the closed door now; she laid one hand on the knob, then ventured to raise her eyes. "It has made no difference," she repeated. "Please don't think it has." His arms had imprisoned her waist; she dropped her head and her hand slipped from the knob of the great oak door as he drew her toward him. "In armour!" she protested, trying to speak lightly, but avoiding his eyes. "Is that anything new?" he said. "You are always instantly in armour when my lightest touch falls on you. Why?" He lifted her drooping head until it rested against his arm. "Isn't it anything at all to you when I kiss you?" he asked unsteadily. She did not answer. "Isn't it, Jacqueline?" But she only closed her eyes, and her lips remained coldly unresponsive to his. After a moment he said: "Can't you care for me at all—in this way? Answer me!" "I—care for you." "This way?" Over her closed lids a tremor passed, scarcely perceptible. "Don't you know how—how deeply I—care for you?" he managed to say, feeling prudence and discretion violently tugging at their cables. "Don't you know it, Jacqueline?" "Yes. I know you—care for me." "Good God!" he said, trying to choke back the very words he uttered. "Can't you respond—when you know I find you so adorable! When—when you must know that I love you! Isn't there anything in you to respond?" "I—care for you. If I did not, could I endure—what you do?" A sort of blind passion seized and possessed him; he kissed again and again the fragrant, unresponsive lips. Presently she lifted her head, loosened his clasp at her waist, stepped clear of the circle of his arms. "You see," she managed to say calmly, "that I do care for you. So—may I go now?" He opened the door for her and they moved slowly out into the hall. "You do not show that you care very much, Jacqueline." "How can a girl show it more honestly? Could you tell me?" "I have never stirred you to any tenderness—never!" She moved beside him with head lowered, hands resting on her plated hips, the bright hair in disorder across her cheeks. Presently she said in a low voice: "I wish you could see into my heart." "I wish I could! And I wish you could see into mine. That would settle it one way or another!" "No," she said, "because I can see into your heart. And it settles nothing for me—except that I would like to—remain." "Remain? Where?" "There—in your heart." He strove to speak coolly: "Then you can see into it?" "Yes." "And you know that you are there alone?" "Yes—I think so." "And now that you have looked into it and know what is there, do you care to remain in the heart of—of such a man as I am?" "Yes. What you are I—forgive." An outburst of merriment came from the library, and several figures clad in the finery of the early nineteenth century came bustling out into the hall. Evidently his guests had rifled the chests and trunks in the attic and had attired themselves to their heart's content. At sight of Desboro approaching accompanied by a slim figure in complete armour, they set up a shout of apprehension and then cheer after cheer rang through the hallway. "Do you know," cried Betty Barkley, "you are the most darling thing in armour that ever happened! I want to get into some steel trousers like yours immediately! Are there any in the armoury that will fit me, Jim?" "Did you discover her?" demanded Reggie Ledyard, aghast. "Not within the time limit, old chap," said Desboro, pretending deep chagrin.
"Then you don't have to marry him, do you, Miss Nevers?" exclaimed Cairns, gleefully. "I don't have to marry anybody, Mr. Cairns. And isn't it humiliating?" she returned, laughingly, edging her way toward the stairs amid the noisy and admiring group surrounding her. "No! No!" cried Katharine Frere. "You can't escape! You are too lovely that way, and you certainly must come to lunch in your armour!" "I'd perish!" protested Jacqueline. "No Christian martyr was ever more absolutely cooked than am I in this suit of mail." Helsa Steyr started for her, but Jacqueline sprang to the stairs and ran up, pursued by Helsa and Betty. "Isn't she the cunningest, sweetest thing!" sighed Athalie Vannis, looking after her. "I'm simply and sentimentally mad over her. Why didn't you have brains enough to discover her, Jim, and make her marry you?" "I'd have knocked 'em out if he had had enough brains for that," muttered Ledyard. "But the horrible thing is that I haven't any brains, either, and Miss Nevers has nothing but!" "A girl like that marries diplomats and dukes, and discoverers and artists and things," commented Betty. "You're just a good-looking simp, Reggie. So is Jim." Ledyard retorted wrathfully; Desboro, who had been summoned to the telephone, glanced at Aunt Hannah as he walked away, and was rather disturbed at the malice in the old lady's menacing smile. But what Daisy Hammerton said to him over the telephone disturbed him still more. "Jim! Elena and Cary Clydesdale are stopping with us. May I bring them to dinner this evening?" For a moment he was at a loss, then he said, with forced cordiality: "Why, of course, Daisy. But have you spoken to them about it? I've an idea that they might find my party a bore." "Oh, no! Elena wished me to ask you to invite them. And Cary was listening." "Did he care to come?" "I suppose so." "What did he say?" "He grinned. He always does what Elena asks him to do." "Oh! Then bring them by all means." "Thank you, Jim." And that was all; and Desboro, astonished and troubled for a few moments, began to see in the incident not only the dawn of an understanding between Clydesdale and his wife, but something resembling a vindication for himself in this offer to renew a friendship so abruptly terminated. More than that, he saw in it a return of Elena to her senses, and it pleased him so much that when he passed Aunt Hannah in the hall he was almost smiling. "What pleases you so thoroughly, James—yourself?" she asked grimly. But he only smiled at her and sauntered on, exchanging friendly body-blows with Reggie Ledyard as he passed. "Reggie," said Mrs. Hammerton, with misleading mildness, "come and exercise me for a few moments—there's a dear." And she linked arms with him and began to march up and down the hall vigorously. "She's very charming, isn't she?" observed Aunt Hannah blandly. "Who?" "Miss Nevers." "She's a dream," said Reggie, with emphasis. "Such a thoroughbred air," commented the old lady. "Rather!" "And yet—she's only a shop-keeper." "Eh?" "Didn't you know that Miss Nevers keeps an antique shop?" "What of it?" he said, turning red. "I peddle stocks. My grandfather made snuff. What do I care what Miss Nevers does?" "Of course. Only—would you marry her?" "Huh! Like a shot! But I see her letting me! Once I was even ass enough to think I could kiss her, but it seems she won't even stand for that! And Herrendene makes me sick—the old owl—sneaking off with her whenever he can get the chance! They all make me sick!" he added, lighting a cigarette. "I wish to goodness I had a teaspoonful of intellect, and I'd give 'em a run for her. Because I have the looks, if I do say it," he added, modestly. "Looks never counted seriously with a woman yet," said Mrs. Hammerton maliciously. "Also, I've seen better looking coachmen than you." "Thanks. What are you going to do with her anyway?" "I don't have to do anything. She'll do whatever is necessary." "That's right, too. Lord, but she'll cut a swathe! Even that dissipated creature Cairns sits up and takes notice. I should think Desboro would, too—more than he does." "I understand there's a girl in blue, somewhere," observed Mrs. Hammerton. "That's a different kind of girl," said the young man, with contempt, and quite oblivious to his own naÏve self-revelation. Mrs. Hammerton shrugged her trim shoulders. "Also," he said, "there is Elena Clydesdale—speaking of scandal and James Desboro in the same breath." "Do you believe that story?" "Yes. But that sort of affair never counts seriously with a man who wants to marry." "Really? How charming! But perhaps it might count against him with the girl he wants to marry. Young girls are sometimes fastidious, you know." "They never hear about such things until somebody tells 'em, after they're married. Then it's rather too late to throw any pre-nuptial fits," he added, with a grin. "Reginald," said Mrs. Hammerton, "day by day I am humbly learning how to appreciate the innate delicacy, chivalry, and honourable sentiments of your sex. You yourself are a wonderful example. For instance, when rumour couples Elena Clydesdale's name with James Desboro's, does it occur to you to question the scandal? No; you take it for granted, and very kindly explain to me how easily Mrs. Clydesdale can be thrown over if her alleged lover decides he'd like to marry somebody." "That's what's done," he said sulkily. "When a man——" "You don't have to tell me!" she fairly hissed, turning on him so suddenly that he almost fell backward. "Don't you think I know what is the code among your sort—among the species of men you find sympathetic? You and Jack Cairns and James Desboro—and Cary Clydesdale, too? Let him reproach himself if his wife misbehaves! And I don't blame her if she does, and I don't believe she does! Do you hear me, you yellow-haired, blue-eyed little beast?" Ledyard stood open-mouthed, red to the roots of his blond hair, and the tiny, baleful black eyes of Mrs. Hammerton seemed to hypnotise him. "You're all alike," she said with withering contempt. "Real men are out in the world, doing things, not crawling around over the carpet under foot, or sitting in clubs, or dancing with a pack of women, or idling from polo field to tennis court, from stable to steam-yacht. You've no real blood in you; it's only Scotch and soda gone flat. You've the passions of overfed lap dogs with atrophied appetites. There's not a real man here—except Captain Herrendene—and he's going back to his post in a week. You others have no posts. And do you think that men of your sort are fitted to talk about marrying such a girl as Miss Nevers? Let me catch one of you trying it! She's in my charge. But that doesn't count. She'll recognise a real man when she sees one, and glittering counterfeits won't attract her." "Great heavens!" faltered Reggie. "What a horrible lambasting! I—I've heard you could do it; but this is going some—really, you know, it's going some! And I'm not all those things that you say, either!" he added, in naÏve resentment. "I may be no good, but He stood with lips pursed up into a half-angry, half-injured pout, like a big, blond, blue-eyed yokel facing school-room punishment. Mrs. Hammerton's harsh face relaxed; and finally a smile wrinkled her eyes. "I suppose men can't help being what they are—a mixture of precocious child and trained beast. The best of 'em have both of these in 'em. And you are far from the best. Reggie, come here to me!" He came, after a moment's hesitation, doubtfully. "Lord!" she said. "How we cherish the worst of you! I sometimes think we don't know enough to appreciate the best. Otherwise, perhaps they'd give us more of their society. But, generally, all we draw is your sort; and we cast our nets in vain into the real world—where Captain Herrendene is going on Monday. Reggie, dear?" "What?" he said suspiciously. "Was I severe with you and your friends?" "Great heavens! There isn't another woman I'd take such a drubbing from!" "But you do take it," she said, with one of her rare and generous smiles which few people ever saw, and of which few could believe her facially capable. And she slipped her arm through his and led him slowly toward the library where already Farris was announcing luncheon. "By heck!" he repeated later, in the billiard room, to a group of interested listeners. "Aunt Hannah is all that they s Cairns laughed unfeelingly. "Oh, you can laugh!" muttered Ledyard. "But to be lit into that way hurts a man's self-respect. You'd better be careful or you'll be in for a dose of Aunt Hannah, too. She evidently has no use for any of us—barrin' the Captain, perhaps." That gentleman smiled and picked up his hockey stick. "There's enough ice left—if you don't mind a wetting," he said. "Shall we start?" Desboro rose, saying carelessly: "The Hammertons and Clydesdales are coming over. I'll have to wait for them." Bertie Barkley turned his hard little smooth-shaven face toward him. "Where are the Clydesdales?" "I believe they're stopping with the Hammertons for a week or two—I really don't know. You can ask them, as they'll be here to dinner." Cairns laid aside a cue with which he had been punching pool-balls; Van Alstyne unhooked his skate-bag, and the others followed his example in silence. Nobody said anything further about the Clydesdales to Desboro. Out in the hall a gay group of young girls in their skating skirts were gathering, among them Jacqueline, now under the spell of happiness in their companionship. Truly, even in these few days, th Everybody seemed to think so; Athalie Vannis's friendship for her verged on the sentimental, for the young girl was enraptured at the idea that Jacqueline actually earned her own living. Marie Ledyard lazily admired and envied her slight but exceedingly fashionable figure; Helsa Steyr passionately adored her; Katharine Frere was profoundly impressed by her intellectual attainments; Betty Barkley saw in her a social success, with Aunt Hannah to pilot her—that is, every opportunity for wealth or position, or even both, through the marriage to which, Betty cheerfully conceded, her beauty entitled her. So everybody of her own sex was exceedingly nice to her; and the men already were only too anxious to be. And what more could a young girl want? As the jolly party started out across the snow, in random and chattering groups made up by hazard, Jacqueline turned from Captain Herrendene, with whom she found herself walking, and looked back at Desboro, who had remained standing bareheaded on the steps. "Aren't you coming?" she called out to him, in her clear young voice. He shook his head, smiling. "Please excuse me a moment," she murmured to Herrendene, and ran back along the middle drive. Des "Why aren't you coming with us?" she asked. "I can't very well. I have to wait here for some people who might arrive early." "You are going to remain here all alone?" "Yes, until they come. You see they are dining here, and I can't let them arrive and find the house empty." "Do you want me to stay with you? Mrs. Hammerton is in her room, and it would be perfectly proper." He said, reddening with surprise and pleasure: "It's very sweet of you. I—had no idea you'd offer to do such a thing——" "Why shouldn't I? Besides, I'd rather be where you are than anywhere else." "With me, Jacqueline?" "Are you really surprised to hear me admit it?" "A little." "Why, if you please?" "Because you never before have been demonstrative, even in speech." She blushed: "Not as demonstrative as you are. But you know that I might learn to be." He looked at her curiously, but with more or less self-control. "Do you really care for me that way, Jacqueline?" "I know of no way in which I don't care for you," she said quickly. "Does your caring for me amount to—love?" he asked deliberately. "I—think so—yes." The emotion in his face was now palely reflected in hers; their voices were no longer quit "Say it, Jacqueline, if it is true," he whispered. His face was tense and white, but not as pale as hers. "Say it!" he whispered again. "I can't—in words. But it is true—what you asked me." "That you love me?" "Yes. I thought you knew it long ago." They stood very still, facing each other, breathing more rapidly. Her fate was upon her, and she knew it. Captain Herrendene, who had waited, watched them for a moment more, then, lighting a cigarette, sauntered on carelessly, swinging his hockey-stick in circles. Desboro said in a low, distinct voice, and without a tremor: "I am more in love with you than ever, Jacqueline. But that is as much as I shall ever say to you—nothing more than that." "I know it." "Yes, I know you do. Shall I leave you in peace? It can still be done. Or—shall I tell you again that I love you?" "Yes—if you wish, tell me—that." "Is love enough for you, Jacqueline?" "Ask yourself, Jim. With what you give I must be content—or starve." "Do you realise—what it means for us?" He could scarcely speak now. "Yes—I know." She turned and looked back. Herrendene was now a long way off, walking slowly and alone. Then she turned once more to Desboro, absently, as though absorbed in her own reflections. Herrendene had asked her to marry him that morning. She was thinking of it now. Then, in her remote gaze the brief dream faded, her eyes cleare "Shall I remain here with you?" she asked. He made an effort to speak, but his voice was no longer under command. She waited, watching him; then they both turned and slowly entered the house together. Her hand had fallen into his, and when they reached the library he lifted it to his lips and noticed that her fingers were trembling. He laid his other hand over them, as though to quiet the tremor; and looked into her face and saw how colourless it had become. "My darling!" But the time had not yet come when he could tolerate his own words; contempt for them choked him for a moment, and he only took her into his arms in silence. She strove to think, to speak, to master her emotion; but for a moment his mounting passion subdued her and she remained silent, quivering in his embrace. Then, with an effort, she found her voice and loosened his arms. "Listen," she whispered. "You must listen. I know what you are—how you love me. But you are wrong! If I could only make you see it! If you would not think me selfish, self-seeking—believe unworthy motives of me——" "What do you mean?" he asked, suddenly chilled. "I mean that I am worth more to you than—than to be—what you wish me to be to you. You won't misunderstand, will you? I am not bargaining, not begging, not trading. I love you! I couldn't bargain; I could only take your terms—or leave them. And I have not decided. But—may I say something—for your sake more than for my own?" "Yes," he said, coolly. "Then—for your sake—far more than for mine—if you do really love me—make more of me than you have thought of doing! I know I shall be worth it to you. Could you consider it?" After a terrible silence, he said: "I can—get out of your life—dog that I am! I can leave you in peace. And that is all." "If that is all you can do—don't leave me—in peace. I—I will take the chances of remaining—honest——" The hint of fear in her eyes and in her voice startled him. "There is a martyrdom," she said, "which I might not be able to endure forever. I don't know. I shall never love another man. And all my life I have wanted love. It is here; and I may not be brave enough to deny it and live my life out in ignorance of it. But, Jim, if you only could understand—if you only knew what I can be to you—to the world for your sake—what I can become merely because I love you—what I am capable of for the sake of your pride in—in me—and——" She turned very white. "Because it is better for your sake, Jim. I am not thinking of myself, and how wonderful it would be for me—truly I am not. Don't you believe me? Only—there is so much to me—I am really so much of a woman—that it would begin to trouble you if ever I became anything—anything less than your—wife. And you would feel sorry for me—and I couldn't truthfully console you because all the while I'd know in my heart what you had thrown away that might have belonged to us both." "Your life?" he said, with dry lip "Oh, Jim! I mean more than your life and mine! For our lives—yours and mine—would not be all you would throw away and deny. Before we die we would want children. Ought I not to say it?" She turned away, blind with tears, and dropped onto the sofa. "I'm wondering if I'm in my right mind," she sobbed, "for yesterday I did not even dare think of these things I am saying to you now! But—somehow—even while Captain Herrendene was speaking—it all flashed into my mind. I don't know how I knew it, but I suddenly understood that you belonged to me—just as you are, Jim—all the good, all the evil in you—everything—even your intentions toward me—how you may deal with me—all, all belonged to me! And so I went back to you, to help you. And now I have said this thing—for your sake alone, not for my own—only so that in years to come you may not have me on your conscience. For if you do not marry me—and I let myself really love you—you will wish that the beginning was to be begun again, and that we had loved each other—otherwise." He came over and stood looking down at her for a moment. His lips were twitching. "Would you marry me now," he managed to say, "now, after you know what a contemptible cad I am?" "You are only a man. I love you, Jim. I will marry you—if you'll let me——" Suddenly she covered her eyes with her hands. He seated himself beside her, sick with self-contempt, dumb, not daring to touch her where she crouched, trembling in every limb. For a long while they remained so, He welcomed his guests on the steps when Farris opened the door, outwardly master of himself once more. "We came over early, Jim," explained Daisy, "because Uncle John is giving a dinner and father and mother need the car. Do you mind?" He laughed and shook hands with her and Elena, who looked intently and unsmilingly into his face, and then let her expressionless glance linger for a moment on her husband, who was holding out a huge hand to Desboro. "I'm glad to see you, Clydesdale," said Desboro pleasantly, and took that bulky gentleman's outstretched hand, who mumbled something incoherent; but the fixed grin remained. And that was the discomforting—yes, the dismaying—characteristic of the man—his grin never seemed to be affected by his emotions. Mrs. Quant bobbed away upstairs, piloting Daisy and Elena. Clydesdale followed Desboro to the library—the same room where he had discovered his wife that evening, and had learned in what esteem she held the law that bound her to him. Both men thought of it now—could not avoid remembering it. Also, by accident, they were seated very nearly as they had been seated that night, Clydesdale filling the armchair with his massive figure, Desboro sitting on the edge of the table, one foot resting on the floor. Farris brought whiskey; both men shook their heads. "Will you have a cigar, Clydesdale?" asked the younger man. "Thanks." They smoked in silence for a few moments, then: "I'm glad you came," said Desboro simply. "Yes. Men don't usually raise that sort of hell with each other unless a woman starts it." "Don't talk that way about your wife," said Desboro sharply. "See here, young man, I have no illusions concerning my wife. What happened here was her doing, not yours. I knew it at the time—if I didn't admit it. You behaved well—and you've behaved well ever since—only it hurt me too much to tell you so before to-day." "That's all right, Clydesdale——" "Yes, it is going to be all right now, I guess." A curious expression flitted across his red features, softening the grin for a moment. "I always liked you, Desboro; and Elena and I were staying with the Hammertons, so she told that Daisy girl to ask you to invite us. That's all there is to it." "Good business!" said Desboro, smiling. "I'm glad it's all clear between us." "Yes, it's clear sailing now, I guess." Again the curiously softening expression made his heavy red features almost attractive, and he remained silent for a while, occupied with thoughts that seemed to be pleasant ones. Then, abruptly emerging from his revery, he grinned at Desboro: "So Mrs. Hammerton has our pretty friend Miss Nevers in tow," he said. "Fine girl, Desboro. She's been at my collection, you know, fixing it up for the hammer." "So you are really going to sell?" inquired Desboro. "I don't know. I was going to. But I'm taking a new interest in my hobby since——" he reddened, then added very simply, "since Elena and I have been getting on better together." "Sure," nodded Desboro, gravely understanding him. "Yes—it's about like that, Desboro. Things were rotten bad up to that night. And afterward, too, for a while. They're clearing up a little better, I think. We're going to get on together, I believe. I don't know much about women; never liked 'em much—except Elena. It's funny about Miss Nevers, isn't it?" "What do you mean?" "Mrs. Hammerton's being so crazy about her. She's a good girl, and a pretty one. Elena is wild to meet her." "Didn't your wife ever meet her at your house?" asked Desboro dryly. "When she was there appraising my jim-cracks? No. Elena has no use for my gallery or anybody who goes into it. Besides, until this morning she didn't even know that Miss Nevers was the same expert you employed. Now she wants to meet her." Desboro slowly raised his eyes and looked at Clydesdale. The unvaried grin baffled him, and presently he glanced elsewhere. Clydesdale, smoking, slowly crossed one ponderous leg over the other. Desboro continued to gaze out of the window. Neither spoke again until Daisy Hammerton came in with Elena. If the young wife remembered the somewhat lurid circumstances of her last appearance in that room, her animated and smiling face betrayed no indication of embarrassment. "When is that gay company of yours going to return, Jim?" she demanded. "I am devoured by curiosity to meet this beautiful Miss Nevers. Fancy her coming to my house half a dozen times this winter and I never suspecting that my husband's porcelain gallery concealed such a combination of genius and beauty! I could have bitten somebody's head off in vexation," she rattled on, "when I found out who she was. So I made Daisy ask you to invite us to meet her. Is she so unusually wonderful, Jim?" "I believe so," he said drily. "They say every man who meets her falls in love with her immediately—and that most of the women do, too," appealing to Daisy, who nodded smiling corroboration. "She is very lovely and very clever, Elena. I think I never saw anything more charming than that rainbow dance she did for us last night in Chinese costume," turning to Desboro, "'The Rainbow Skirt,' I think it is called?" "A dance some centuries old," said Desboro, and let his careless glance rest on Elena for a moment. "She looked," said Daisy, "like some exquisite Chinese figure made of rose-quartz, crystal and green jade." "Jade?" said Clydesdale, immediately interested. "That girl knows jades, I can tell you. By gad! The first thing she did when she walked into my gallery was to saw into a few glass ones with a file; and good-night to about a thousand dollars in Japanese phony!" "That was pleasant," said Desboro, laughing. "Wasn't it! And my rose-quartz FÊng-huang! The Chia-Ching period of the Ming dynasty! Do you get me, Desboro? It was Jap!" "Really?" Clydesdale brought down his huge fist with a thump on the table: "I wouldn't believe it! I told Miss Nevers she didn't know her business! I asked her to consider the fact that the crystallisation was rhombohedral, the prisms six-sided, hardness 7, specific gravity 2.6, no trace of cleavage, immune to the three acids or the blow-pipe alone, and reacted with soda in the flame. I thought I knew it all, you see. First she called my attention to the colour. 'Sure,' I said, 'it's a little faded; but rose-quartz fades when exposed to light!' 'Yes,' said she, 'but moisture restores it.' So we tried it. Nix doing! Only a faint rusty stain becoming visible and infecting that delicious rose colour. 'Help!' said I. 'What the devil is it?' 'Jap funny business,' said she. 'Your rose-quartz phoenix of the Ming dynasty is common yellow crystal carved in Japan and dyed that beautiful rose tint with something, the composition of which my chemist is investigating!' Wasn't it horrible, Desboro?" Daisy's brown eyes were very wide open, and she exclaimed softly: "What a beautiful knowledge she has of a beautiful profession!" And to Desboro: "Can you imagine anything in the world more fascinating than to use such knowledge? And how in the world did she acquire it? She is so very young to know so much!" "Her father began her training as a child," said Desboro. There was a slight burning sensation in his face, and a hotter pride within him. After a second or two he felt Elena's gaze; but did not choose to encounter it at the moment, and was turning to s Clydesdale lumbered to his feet and tramped over to shake hands with her; Daisy greeted her cordially; she and Elena were presented, and stood smiling at each other for a second's silence. Then Mrs. Clydesdale moved a single step forward, and Jacqueline crossed to her and offered her hand, looking straight into her eyes so frankly and intently that Elena's colour rose and for once in her life her tongue remained silent. "Your husband and I are already business acquaintances," said Jacqueline. "I know your very beautiful gallery, too, and have had the privilege of identifying and classifying many of the jades and porcelains." Elena's eyes were level and cool as she said: "If I had known who you were I would have received you myself. You must not think me rude. Mr. Desboro's unnecessary reticence concerning you is to blame; not I." Jacqueline's smile became mechanical: "Mr. Desboro's reticence concerning a business acquaintance was very natural. A busy woman neither expects nor even thinks about social amenities under business circumstances." Elena's flush deepened: "Business is kinder to men than women sometimes believe—if it permits acquaintance with such delightful people as yourself." Jacqueline said calmly: "All business has its compensations,"—she smiled and made a friendly little salute with her head to Clydesdale and Desboro,—"as you will witness for me. And I am employed by other clients who also are considerate and kind. So you see the woman who works has scarcely any time to suffer from social isolation." Daisy said lightly: "Nobody who is happily employed worries over social matters. Intelligence and sweet temper bring more friends than a busy girl knows what to do with. Isn't that so, Miss Nevers?" Jacqueline turned to Elena with a little laugh: "It's an axiom that nobody can have too many friends. I want all I can have, Mrs. Clydesdale, and am most grateful when people like me." "And when they don't," asked Elena, smiling, "what do you do then, Miss Nevers?" "What is there to do, Mrs. Clydesdale?" she said gaily. "What would you do about it?" But Elena seemed not to have heard her, for she was already turning to Desboro, flushed, almost feverish in her animation: "So many things have happened since I saw you, Jim——" she hesitated, then added daringly, "at the opera. Do you remember Ariane?" "I think you were in the Barkley's box," he said coolly. "Your memory is marvellous! In point of fact, I was there. And since then so many, many things have happened that I'd like to compare notes with you—sometime." "I'm quite ready now," he said. "Do you think your daily record fit for public scrutiny, Jim?" she laughed. "I don't mind sharing it with anybody here," he retorted gaily, "if you have no objection." His voice and hers, and their laughter seemed so perfectly frank that thrust and parry pa As Desboro passed her, Elena said under her breath: "I want a moment alone with you this evening." "It's impossible," he motioned with his lips; and passed on with a smile of welcome for his returning guests. Later, in the billiard room, where they all had gathered before the impromptu dance which usually terminated the evening, Elena found another chance for a word aside: "Jim, I must speak to you alone, please." "It can't be done. You see that for yourself, don't you?" "It can be done. Go to your room and I'll come——" "Are you mad?" "Almost. I tell you you'd better find some way——" "What has happened?" "I mean to have you tell me, Jim." A dull flush came into his face: "Oh! Well, I'll tell you now, if you like." Her heart seemed to stop for a second, then almost suffocated her, and she instinctively put her hand to her throat. He was leaning over the pool table, idly spinning the ivory balls; she, seated on the edge, one pretty, bare arm propping her body, appeared to be watching him as idly. All around them rang the laughter and animated chatter of his guests, sipping their after-dinner coffee and cordial around the huge fireplace. "Don't say—that you are going to—Jim——" she breathed. "It isn't true—it mustn't be——" He interrupted deliberately: "What are you trying to do to me? Make a servant out of me? Chain me up while you pass your life deciding at leisure whether to live with your husband or involve yourself and me in scandal?" "Are you in love with that girl—after what you have promised me?" "Are you sane or crazy?" "You once told me you would never marry. I have rested secure in the knowledge that when the inevitable crash came you would be free to stand by me!" "You have a perfectly good husband. You and he are on better terms—you are getting on all right together. Do you expect to keep me tied to the table-leg in case of eventualities?" he said, in a savage whisper. "How many men do you wish to control?" "One! I thought a Desboro never lied." "Have I lied to you?" "If you marry Miss Nevers you will have lied to me, Jim." "Very well. Then you'll release me from that fool of a promise. I remember I did say that I would never marry. I've changed my mind, that's all. I've changed otherwise, too—please God! The cad you knew as James Desboro is not exactly what you're looking at now. It's in me to be something remotely resembling a man. I learned how to try from her, if you want to know. What I was can't be helped. What I'm to make of the dÉbris of what I am concerns myself. If you ever had a shred of real liking for me you'll show it now."
"Jim! Is this how you betray me—after persuading me to continue a shameful and ghastly farce with Cary Clydesdale! You have betrayed me—for your own ends! You have made my life a living lie again—so that you could evade responsibility——" "Was I ever responsible for you?" "You asked me to marry you——" "Before you married Cary. Good God! Does that entail hard labour for life?" "You promised not to marry——" "What is it to you what I do—if you treat your husband decently?" "I have tried——" She crimsoned. "I—I endured degradation to which I will never again submit—whatever the law may be—whatever marriage is supposed to include! Do you think you can force me to—to that—for your own selfish ends—with your silly and unsolicited advice on domesticity and—and children—when my heart is elsewhere—when you have it, and you know you possess it—and all that I am—every bit of me. Jim! Don't be cruel to me who have been trying to live as you wished, merely to satisfy a moral notion of your own! Don't betray me now—at such a time—when it's a matter of days, hours, before I tell Cary that the farce is ended. Are you going to leave me to face things alone? You can't! I won't let you! I am——" "Be careful," he said, spinning the 13 ball into a pocket. "People are watching us. Toss that cue-ball back to me, please. Laugh a little when you do it." For a second she balanced the white ivory ball in a hand which matched it; then th "Jim," she said, "you are not really serious. I know it, too; and because I do know it, I have been able to endure the things you have done—your idle fancies for a pretty face and figure—your indiscretions, ephemeral courtships, passing inclinations. But this is different——" "Yes, it is different," he said. "And so am I, Elena. Let us be about the honest business of life, in God's name, and clear our hearts and souls of the morbid and unwholesome mess that lately entangled us." "Is that how you speak of what we have been to each other?" she asked, very pale. He was silent. "Jim, dear," she said timidly, "won't you give me ten minutes alone with you?" He scarcely heard her. He spun the last parti-coloured ball into a corner pocket, straightened his shoulders, and looked at Jacqueline where she sat in the corner of the fireplace. Herrendene, cross-legged on the rug at her feet, was doing Malay card tricks to amuse her; but from moment to moment her blue eyes stole across the room toward Desboro and Mrs. Clydesdale where they leaned together over the distant pool table. Suddenly she caught his eye and smiled a pale response to the message in his gaze. After a moment he said quietly to Elena: "I am deeply and reverently in love—for the first and only time in my life. It is proper that you should know it. And now you do know it. There is absolutely nothing further to be said between us." "There is—more |
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