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. Surely he 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—what was there 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. Make a 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 never felt he 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, he is!" 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 a beast."

"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! Your mother approved 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't love you, 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 your heart's mine. 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 a tÊte-À-tÊte anywhere. 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, really want? I consider Severance wiped off the map—your map. 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! I hoped you'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 to me. Not that I ever really dared expect that. But I sort of hoped—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?"

"You liked the 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 I wish you 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—your love. 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 I have been 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—mean it?" he stammered.

"Yes—yes. I love you! Because—you're so queer, you made me, somehow. I know now I never really loved anyone but you. And I never will if—you care!"

"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. Dear Vision House. Dear home!"

Garth sprang up, bringing her with him, his arm round her waist.

"Let's go now!" he said.

THE END