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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Silent Battle - -Author: George Gibbs - -Release Date: April 13, 2017 [EBook #54544] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SILENT BATTLE *** - - - - -Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - THE SILENT BATTLE - - - - -[Illustration: “The table rang from end to end with joke and laughter.”] - - - - - THE - SILENT BATTLE - - - BY - GEORGE GIBBS - - - AUTHOR OF - THE BOLTED DOOR, - THE FORBIDDEN WAY, ETC. - - - ILLUSTRATED - - - [Illustration] - - - NEW YORK - GROSSET & DUNLAP - PUBLISHERS - - - - - Copyright, 1913, by - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - Copyright, 1912, 1913, by the Pictorial Review Company - - - Printed in the United States of America - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I. LOST 1 - II. BABES IN THE WOODS 11 - III. VOICES 22 - IV. EDEN 33 - V. WOMAN AND MAN 46 - VI. THE SHADOW 60 - VII. ALLEGRO 73 - VIII. CHICOT, THE JESTER 84 - IX. THE LORINGS 95 - X. MR. VAN DUYN RIDES FORTH 109 - XI. THE CEDARCROFT SET 122 - XII. NELLIE PENNINGTON CUTS IN 136 - XIII. MRS. PENNINGTON’S BROUGHAM 151 - XIV. THE JUNIOR MEMBER 166 - XV. DISCOVERED 177 - XVI. BEHIND THE ENEMY’S BACK 190 - XVII. “THE POT AND KETTLE” 200 - XVIII. THE ENEMY AND A FRIEND 212 - XIX. LOVE ON CRUTCHES 225 - XX. THE INTRUDER 236 - XXI. TEMPTATION 247 - XXII. SMOKE AND FIRE 261 - XXIII. THE MOUSE AND THE LION 273 - XXIV. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 285 - XXV. DEEP WATER 297 - XXVI. BIG BUSINESS 310 - XXVII. MR. LORING REFLECTS 323 - XXVIII. THE LODESTAR 338 - XXIX. ARCADIA AGAIN 350 - - - - -THE SILENT BATTLE - - - - -I - -LOST - - -Gallatin wearily lowered the creel from his shoulders and dropped it by -his rod at the foot of a tree. He knew that he was lost--had known it, -in fact, for an hour or more, but with the certainty that there was no -way out until morning, perhaps not even then, came a feeling of relief, -and with the creel, he dropped the mental burden which for the last -hour had been plaguing him, first with fear and then more recently with -a kind of ironical amusement. - -What did it matter, after all? He realized that for twenty-eight years -he had made a mess of most of the things he had attempted, and that -if he ever got back to civilization, he would probably go diligently -on in the way he had begun. There was time enough to think about that -to-morrow. At present he was so tired that all he wanted was a place to -throw his weary limbs. He had penetrated miles into the wilderness, he -knew, but in what direction the nearest settlement lay he hadn’t the -vaguest notion--to the southward probably, since his guide had borne -him steadily northward for more than two weeks. - -That blessed guide! With the omniscience of the inexperienced, Gallatin -had left Joe Keegón alone at camp after breakfast, with a general and -hazy notion of whipping unfished trout pools. He had disregarded his -mentor’s warning to keep his eye on the sun and bear to his left hand, -and in the joy of the game, had lost all sense of time and direction. -He realized now from his aching legs that he had walked many miles -farther than he had wanted to walk, and that, at the last, the fish in -his creel had grown perceptibly heavier. The six weeks at Mulready’s -had hardened him for the work, but never, even at White Meadows, had -his muscles ached as they did now. He was hungry, too, ravenously -hungry, and a breeze which roamed beneath the pines advised him that it -was time to make a fire. - -It was a wonderful hunger that he had, a healthful, beastlike -hunger--not the gnawing fever, for that seemed to have left him, but a -craving for Joe’s biscuits and bacon (at which he had at first turned -up his pampered aristocratic nose), which now almost amounted to an -obsession. Good old Joe! Gallatin remembered how, during the first week -of their pilgrimage, he had lain like the sluggard that he was, against -the bole of a tree, weary of the ache within and rebellious against -the conditions which had sent him forth, cursing in his heart at the -old Indian for his taciturnity, while he watched the skillful brown -fingers moving unceasingly at the evening task. Later he had begun to -learn with delight of his own growing capabilities, and as the habit of -analysis fell upon him, to understand the dignity of the vast silences -of which the man was a part. - -Not that Gallatin himself was undignified in the worldly way, for he -had lived as his father and his father’s fathers before him had lived, -deeply imbued with the traditions of his class, which meant large -virtues, civic pride, high business integrity, social punctilio, and -the only gentlemanly vice the Gallatin blood had ever been heir to. -But a new idea of nobility had come to him in the woods, a new idea of -life itself, which his conquest of his own energy had made possible. -The deep aisles of the woods had spoken the message, the spell of the -silent places, the mystery of the eternal which hung on every lichened -rock, which sang in every wind that swayed the boughs above. - -Heigho! This was no time for moralizing. There was a fire to light, -a shelter of some sort to build and a bed to make. Gallatin got up -wearily, stretching his tired muscles and cast about in search of a -spot for his camp. He found two young trees on a high piece of ground -within a stone’s throw of the stream, which would serve as supports -for a roof of boughs, and was in the act of gathering the wood for -his fire, when he caught the crackling of a dry twig in the bushes -at some distance away. Three weeks ago, perhaps, he would not have -heard or noticed, but his ear, now trained to the accustomed sounds, -gave warning that a living thing, a deer or a black bear, perhaps, -was moving in the undergrowth. He put his armful of wood down and hid -himself behind a tree, drawing meanwhile an automatic, the only weapon -he possessed, from his hip pocket. He had enough of woodcraft to know -that no beast of the woods, unless in full flight, would come down -against the wind toward a human being, making such a racket as this. -The crackling grew louder and the rapid swish of feet in the dry leaves -was plainly audible. His eye now caught the movement of branches and in -a moment he made out the dim bulk of a figure moving directly toward -him. He had even raised the hand which held his Colt and was in the act -of aiming it when from the shelter of the moose-wood there emerged--a -girl. - -She wore a blue flannel blouse, a short skirt and long leather gaiters -and over one hip hung a creel like his own. Her dress was smart and -sportsmanlike, but her hat was gone; her hair had burst its confines -and hung in a pitiful confusion about her shoulders. She suggested to -him the thought of Syrinx pursued by the satyrs; for her cheeks were -flushed with the speed of her flight and her eyes were wide with fear. - -Comely and frightened Dryads who order their clothes from Fifth Avenue, -are not found every day in the heart of the Canadian wilderness; -and Gallatin half expected that if he stepped forward like Pan to -test her tangibility, she would vanish into empty air. Indeed such a -metamorphosis was about to take place; for as he emerged from behind -his tree, the girl turned one terrified look in his direction and -disappeared in the bushes. - -For a brief moment Gallatin paused. He had had visions before, and the -thought came into his mind that this was one like the others, born of -his overtaxed strength and the rigors of the day. But as he gazed at -the spot where the Dryad had stood, branches of young trees swayed, -showing the direction in which she was passing and the sounds in the -crackling underbrush, ever diminishing, assured him that the sudden -apparition was no vision at all, but very delectable flesh and blood, -fleeing from him in terror. He remembered, then, a tale that Joe Keegón -had told him of a tenderfoot, who when lost in the woods was stricken -suddenly mad with fear and, ended like a frightened animal running -away from the guides that had been sent for him. Fear had not come to -Gallatin yet. He had acknowledged bewilderment and a vague sense of the -monstrous vastness of the thing he had chosen for his summer plaything. -He had been surprised when the streams began running up hill instead -of down, and when the sun appeared suddenly in a new quarter of the -heavens, but he had not been frightened. He was too indifferent for -that. But he knew from the one brief look he had had of the eyes of the -girl, that the forest had mastered her, and that, like the fellow in -Joe’s tale, she had stampeded in fright. - -Hurriedly locking his Colt, Gallatin plunged headlong into the bushes -where the girl had disappeared. For a moment he thought he had lost -her, for the tangle of underbrush was thick and the going rough, but -in a rift in the bushes he saw the dark blouse again and went forward -eagerly. He lost it, found it again and then suddenly saw it no more. -He stopped and leaned against a tree listening. There were no sounds -but the murmur of the rising wind and the note of a bird. He climbed -over a fallen log and went on toward the slope where he had last seen -her, stopping, listening, his eyes peering from one side to the other. -He knew that she could not be far away, for ahead of him the brush was -thinner, and the young trees offered little cover. A tiny gorge, rock -strewn, but half filled with leaves, lay before him, and it was not -until he had stumbled halfway across it that he saw her, lying face -downward, her head in her hands, trembling and dumb with fear. - -From the position in which she lay he saw that she had caught her foot -in a hidden root and, in her mad haste to escape she knew not what, had -fallen headlong. She did not move as he approached; but as he bent over -her about to speak, she shuddered and bent her head more deeply in her -arms, as though in expectation of a blow. - -“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. - -At the sound of his voice she trembled again, but he leaned over and -touched her on the shoulder. - -“I’m very sorry I frightened you,” he said again. And then after a -moment, “Have you lost your way?” - -She painfully freed one arm, and looked up; then quickly buried her -head again in her hands, her shoulders heaving convulsively, her -slender body racked by childish sobs. - -Gallatin straightened in some confusion. He had never, to his knowledge, -been considered a bugaboo among the women of his acquaintance. But, as -he rubbed his chin pensively, he remembered that it was a week or more -since he had had a shave, and that a stiff dark stubble discolored his -chin. His brown slouch hat was broken and dirty, his blue flannel shirt -from contact with the briers was tattered and worn, and he realized -that he was hardly an object to inspire confidence in the heart of a -frightened girl. So, with a discretion which did credit to his knowledge -of her sex, he sat down on a near-by rock and waited for the storm to -pass. - -His patience was rewarded, for in a little while her sobs were spent, -and she raised her head and glanced at him. This time his appearance -reassured her, for Gallatin had taken off his hat, and his eyes, no -longer darkly mysterious in shadow, were looking at her very kindly. - -“I want to try and help you, if I can,” he was saying gently. “I’m -about to make a camp over here, and if you’ll join me----” - -Something in the tones of his voice and in his manner of expressing -himself, caused her to sit suddenly up and examine him more minutely. -When she had done so, her hands made two graceful gestures--one toward -her disarranged hair and the other toward her disarranged skirt. -Gallatin would have laughed at this instinctive manifestation of the -eternal feminine, which even in direst woe could not altogether be -forgotten, but instead he only smiled, for after all she looked so -childishly forlorn and unhappy. - -“I’m not really going to eat you, you know,” he said again, smiling. - -“I--I’m glad,” she stammered with a queer little smile. “I didn’t know -_what_ you were. I’m afraid I--I’ve been very much frightened.” - -“You were lost, weren’t you?” - -“Yes.” She struggled to her knees and then sank back again. - -“Well, there’s really nothing to be frightened about. It’s almost too -late to try to find your friends to-night, but if you’ll come with me -I’ll do my best to make you comfortable.” - -He had risen and offered her his hand, but when she tried to rise she -winced with pain. - -“I--I’m afraid I can’t,” she said. “I think I--I’ve twisted my ankle.” - -“Oh, that’s awkward,” in concern. “Does it hurt you very much?” - -“I--I think it does. I can’t seem to use it at all.” She moved her foot -and her face grew white with the pain of it. - -Gallatin looked around him vaguely, as though in expectation that Joe -Keegón or somebody else might miraculously appear to help him, and then -for the first time since he had seen her, was alive again to the rigors -of his own predicament. - -“I’m awfully sorry,” he stammered helplessly. “Don’t you think you can -stand on it?” - -He offered her his hand and shoulder and she bravely tried to rise, but -the effort cost her pain and with a little cry she sank back in the -leaves, her face buried in her arms. She seemed so small, so helpless -that his heart was filled with a very genuine pity. She was not crying -now, but the hand which held her moist handkerchief was so tightly -clenched that her knuckles were outlined in white against the tan. He -watched her a moment in silence, his mind working rapidly. - -“Come,” he said at last in quick cheerful notes of decision. “This -won’t do at all. We’ve got to get out of here. You must take that shoe -off. Then we’ll get you over yonder and you can bathe it in the stream. -Try and get your gaiter off, too, won’t you?” - -His peremptory accents startled her a little, but she sat up obediently -while he supported her shoulders, and wincing again as she moved, at -last undid her legging. Gallatin then drew his hasp-knife and carefully -slit the laces of her shoe from top to bottom, succeeding in getting it -safely off. - -“Your ankle is swelling,” he said. “You must bathe it at once.” - -She looked around helplessly. - -“Where?” - -“At the stream. I’m going to carry you there.” - -“You couldn’t. Is it far?” - -“No. Only a hundred yards or so. Come along.” - -He bent over to silence her protests and lifted her by the armpits. -Then while she supported herself for a moment upright, lifted her in -his arms and made his way up the slope. - -Marvelous is the recuperative power of the muscular system! Ten minutes -ago Gallatin had been, to all intents and purposes of practical -utility, at the point of exhaustion. Now, without heart-breaking -effort, he found it possible to carry a burden of one hundred and -thirty pounds a considerable distance through rough timber without -mishap! His muscles ached no more than they had done before, and the -only thing he could think of just then was that she was absurdly -slender to weigh so much. One of her arms encircled his shoulders and -the fingers of one small brown hand clutched tightly at the collar of -his shirt. Her eyes peered before her into the brush, and her face was -almost hidden by the tangled mass of her hair. But into the pale cheek -which was just visible, a gentle color was rising which matched the -rosy glow that was spreading over the heavens. - -“I’m afraid I--I’m awfully heavy,” she said, as he made his way around -the fallen giant over which a short while ago they had both clambered. -“Don’t you think I had better get down for a moment?” - -“Oh, no,” he panted. “Not at all. It--it isn’t far now. I’m afraid -you’d hurt your foot. Does it--does it pain you so much now?” - -“N-o, I think not,” she murmured bravely. “But I’m afraid you’re -dreadfully tired.” - -“N-not at all,” he stammered. “We’ll be there soon now.” - -When he came to the spot he had marked for his camp, he bore to -the right and in a moment they had reached the stream which gushed -musically among the boulders, half hidden in the underbrush. It was -not until he had carefully chosen a place for her that he consented to -put her on the ground. Then with a knee on the bank and a foot in the -stream, he lowered her gently to a mossy bank within reach of the water. - -“You’re very kind,” she whispered, her cheeks flaming as she looked up -at him. “I’m awfully sorry.” - -“Nothing of the sort,” he laughed. “I’d have let you carry _me_--if you -could.” And then, with the hurried air of a man who has much to do: -“You take off your stocking and dangle your foot in the water. Wiggle -your toes if you can and then try to rub the blood into your ankle. I’m -going to build a fire and cook some fish. Are you hungry?” - -“I don’t know. I--I think I am.” - -“Good!” he said smiling pleasantly. “We’ll have supper in a minute.” - -He was turning to go, when she questioned: “You spoke of a camp. Is--is -it near here?” - -“N-o. It isn’t,” he hesitated, “but it soon will be.” - -“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” - -He laughed. “Well, you see, the fact of the matter is, _I’m_ lost, -_too_. I don’t think it’s anything to be very much frightened about, -though. I left my guide early this morning at the fork of two streams -a pretty long distance from here. I’ve been walking hard all day. I -fished up one of the streams for half of the day and then cut across -through the forest where I thought I would find it again. I found a -stream but it seems it wasn’t the same one, for after I had gone down -it for an hour or so I didn’t seem to get anywhere. Then I plunged -around hunting and at last had to give it up.” - -“Don’t you think you could find it again?” - -“Oh, I think so,” confidently. “But not to-night. I’m afraid you’ll -have to put up with what I can offer you.” - -“Of course--and I’m very grateful--but I’m sorry to be such a burden to -you.” - -“Oh, that’s nonsense.” He turned away abruptly and made his way up the -bank. “I’m right here in the trees and I can hear you. So if I can help -you I want you to call.” - -“Thank you,” she said quietly, “I will.” - - - - -II - -BABES IN THE WOODS - - -Gallatin’s responsibilities to his Creator had been multiplied by two. - -Less than an hour ago he had dropped his rod and creel more than half -convinced that it didn’t matter to him or to anybody else whether -he got back to Joe Keegón or not. Now, he suddenly found himself -hustling busily in the underbrush, newly alive to the exigencies -of the occasion, surprised even at the fact that he could take so -extraordinary an interest in the mere building of a fire. Back and -forth from the glade to the deep woods he hurried, bringing dry -leaves, twigs, and timber. These he piled against a fallen tree in -the lee of the spot he had chosen for his shelter and in a moment a -fire was going. Many things bothered him. He had no axe and the blade -of his hasp-knife was hardly suited to the task he found before him. -If his hands were not so tender as they had been a month ago, and if -into his faculties a glimmering of woodcraft had found its way, the -fact remained that this blade, his Colt, fishing-rod and his wits -(such as they were), were all that he possessed in the uneven match -against the forces of Nature. Something of the calm ruthlessness of -the mighty wilderness came to him at this moment. The immutable trees -rose before him as symbols of a merciless creed which all the forces -around him uttered with the terrible eloquence of silence. He was an -intruder from an alien land, of no importance in the changeless scheme -of things--less important than the squirrel which peeped at him slyly -from the branch above his head or the chickadee which piped flutelike -in the thicket. The playfellow of his strange summer had become his -enemy, only jocular and ironical as yet, but still an enemy, with which -he must do battle with what weapons he could find. - -It was the first time in his life that he had been placed in a position -of complete dependence upon his own efforts--the first time another had -been dependent on him. He and Joe had traveled light; for this, he had -learned, was the way to play the game fairly. Nevertheless, he had a -guilty feeling that until the present moment he had modified his city -methods only so far as was necessary to suit the conditions the man of -the wilderness had imposed upon him and that Joe, after all, had done -the work. He realized now that he was fronting primeval forces with a -naked soul--as naked and almost as helpless as on the day when he had -been born. It seemed that the capital of his manhood was now for the -first time to be drawn upon in a hazardous venture, the outcome of -which was to depend upon his own ingenuity and resourcefulness alone. - -And yet the fire was sparkling merrily. - -He eyed the blade in his hand as he finished making two roof supports -and sighed for Joe Keegón’s little axe. His hands were red and -blistered already and the lean-to only begun. There were still the -boughs and birch-bark for a roof and the cedar twigs for a bed to be -cut. He worked steadily, but it was an hour before he found time to go -down to the stream to see how his fugitive fared. She was still sitting -as he had left her, on the bank of the stream, gazing into the depths -of the pool. - -“How are you getting on?” he asked. - -“I--I’m all right,” she murmured. - -“Is the ankle any better? I think I’d better be getting you up to the -fire now. Perhaps, you’d be willing to cook the fish while I hustle for -twigs.” - -“Of--of course.” - -He noticed the catch in her voice, and when he came near her discovered -that she was trembling from head to foot. - -“Are you suffering still?” he questioned anxiously. - -“N-no, not so much. But I--I’m very cold.” - -“That’s too bad. We’ll have you all right in a minute. Put your arms -around my neck. So.” And bending over, with care for her injured foot, -he lifted her again in his arms and carried her up the hill. This time -she yielded without a word, nor did she speak until he had put her down -on his coat before the fire. - -“I don’t know how--to thank you--” she began. - -“Then don’t. Put your foot out toward the blaze and rub it again. -You’re not so cold now, are you?” - -“No--no. I think it’s just n-nervousness that makes me shiver,” she -sighed softly. “I never knew what a fire meant before. It’s awfully -good--the w-warmth of it.” - -He watched her curiously. The fire was bringing a warm tint to -her cheeks and scarlet was making more decisive the lines of her -well-modeled lips. It did not take Gallatin long to decide that it was -very agreeable to look at her. As he paused, she glanced up at him and -caught the end of his gaze, which was more intense in its directness -than he had meant it to be, and bent her head quickly toward the fire, -her lips drawn more firmly together--a second acknowledgment of her -sense of the situation, a manifestation of her convincing femininity -which confirmed a previous impression. - -There was quick refuge in the practical. - -“I’m going to clean the fish,” he said carelessly, and turned away. - -“I’d like to help, if I could,” she murmured. - -“You’d better nurse your ankle for a while,” he said. - -“It’s much better now,” she put in. “I can move it without much pain.” -She thrust her stockinged foot farther toward the blaze and worked the -toes slowly up and down, but as she did so she flinched again. “I’m not -of much use, am I?” she asked ruefully. “But while you’re doing other -things, I might prepare the fish.” - -“Oh, no. I’ll do that. Let’s see. We need some sticks to spit them on.” - -“Let me make them;” she put her hand into the pocket of her dress and -drew forth a knife. “You see I _can_ help.” - -“Great!” he cried delightedly. “You haven’t got a teapot, a frying-pan, -some cups and forks and spoons hidden anywhere have you?” - -She looked up at him and laughed for the first time, a fine generous -laugh which established at once a new relationship between them. - -“No--I haven’t--but I’ve a saucepan.” - -“Where?” in amazement. - -“Tied to my creel--over there,” and she pointed, “and a small package -of tea and some biscuits. I take my own lunch when I fish. I didn’t eat -any to-day.” - -“Wonderful! A saucepan! I was wondering how--tied to your creel, you -say?” and he started off rapidly in the direction of the spot where he -had found her. - -“And please b-bring my rod--and--and my _shoe_,” she cried. - -He nodded and was off through the brush, finding the place without -difficulty. It was a very tiny saucepan, which would hold at the most -two cupfuls of liquid, but it would serve. He hurried back eagerly, -anxious to complete his arrangements for the meal, and found her -propped up against the back log, his creel beside her, industriously -preparing the fish. - -“How did you get over there?” he asked. - -“Crawled. I couldn’t abide just sitting. I feel a lot better already.” - -“That was very imprudent,” he said quickly. “We’ll never get out of -here until you can use that foot.” - -“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that,” demurely. “I’ll try to be careful. Did -you bring my shoe--and legging?” - -He held them out for her inspection. - -“You’d better not try to put them on--not to-night, anyway. To-morrow, -perhaps----” - -“To-morrow!” She looked up at him, and then at the frames of the -lean-to, as though the thought that she must spend the night in the -woods had for the first time occurred to her. A deep purple shadow was -crawling slowly up from the eastward and only the very tops of the -tallest trees above them were catching the warm light of the declining -sun. The woods were dimmer now and distant trees which a moment ago -had been visible were merged in shadow. Some of the birds, too, were -beginning to trill their even-song. - -“Yes,” he went on, “you see it’s getting late. There’s hardly a chance -of any one finding us to-night. But we’re going to make out nicely. If -you really insist on cleaning those fish----” - -“I do--and on making some tea----” - -“Then I must get the stuff for your bed before it’s too dark to see.” - -He filled the saucepan with water at the stream, then turned back into -the woods for the cedar twigs. - -“The bed comes first,” he muttered to himself. “That’s what Joe would -say. There’s caribou moss up on the slope and the balsam is handy. -It isn’t going to rain to-night, but I’ll try to build a shelter -anyway--boughs now--and canoe birches to-morrow, if I can find any. But -I’ve got to hustle.” - -Six pilgrimages he made into the woods, bringing back each time -armloads of boughs and twigs. He was conscious presently of a delicious -odor of cooking food; and long before he had brought in his last -armful, she pleaded with him to come and eat. But he only shook his -head and plunged again into the bushes. It was almost dark when he -finished and threw the last load on the pile he had made. When he -approached he found her sitting motionless, watching him, both creels -beside her, her hand holding up to the fire a stick which stuck through -the fish she had cooked. The saucepan was simmering in the ashes. - -“How do they taste?” he asked cheerfully. - -“I haven’t eaten any.” - -“Why not?” - -“I was waiting for you.” - -“Oh, you mustn’t do that,” sharply. “I didn’t want you to wait.” - -“You know,” she interrupted, “I’m your guest.” - -“I didn’t know it,” he laughed. “I thought I was yours. It’s _your_ -saucepan----” - -“But _your_ fish--” she added, and then indicating a little -mischievously, “except that biggest one--which was mine. But I’m afraid -they’ll be cold--I’ve waited so long. You must eat at once, you’re -awfully tired.” - -“Oh, no, I’ve still got a lot to do. I’ll just take a bite and----” - -“_Please_ sit down--you _must_, really.” - -Her fingers touched the sleeve of his shirt and he yielded, sinking -beside her with an unconscious sigh of relaxation which was more like -a groan. He was dead-tired--how tired he had not known until he had -yielded. She saw the haggard look in his eyes and the lines which the -firelight was drawing around his cheek-bones, and at the corners of his -mouth; and it came to her suddenly that he might not be so strong as -she had thought him. If he was an invalid from the South, the burden of -carrying her through the woods might easily have taxed his strength. -She examined his face critically for a moment, and then fumbling -quickly in the pocket of her dress drew forth a small, new-looking -flask, which gleamed brightly in the firelight. - -“Here,” she said kindly, “take some of this, it will do you good.” - -Gallatin followed her motion wearily. Her hand had even reached the cap -of the bottle and had given it a preparatory twist before he understood -what it all meant. Then he started suddenly upright and put his fingers -over hers. - -“No!” he muttered huskily. “Not that--I--I don’t--I won’t have -anything--thank you.” - -And as she watched his lowering brows and tightly drawn lips--puzzled -and not a little curious, he stumbled to his feet and hurriedly -replaced a log which had fallen from the fire. But when a moment later -he returned to his place, his features bore no signs of discomposure. - -“I think I’m only hungry,” he mumbled. - -She unhooked the largest fish from the stick and handed it to him -daintily. - -“There, that’s yours. I’ve been saving it for you--just to convince you -that I’m the better fisherman.” - -“I don’t doubt it,” he said soberly. “I’m a good deal of a duffer at -this game.” - -“But then,” she put in generously, “you caught _more_ than I did, and -that evens matters.” - -They had begun eating now, and in a moment it seemed that food was the -only thing they had lacked. As became two healthy young animals, they -ate ravenously of the biscuits she had carried and all of the fish -she had prepared, and then Gallatin cooked more. The girl removed the -metal cup from the bottom of her flask and taking turn and turn about -with the tiny vessel they drank the steaming tea. In this familiar -act they seemed to have reached at once a definite and satisfactory -understanding. Gallatin was thankful for that, and he was careful -to put her still further at her ease by a somewhat obtrusive air of -indifference. She repaid him for this consideration by the frankness of -her smile. He examined her furtively when he could and was conscious -that when his face was turned in profile, she, too, was studying him -anxiously, as only a woman in such a situation might. Whatever it was -that she learned was not unpleasing to her, for, as he raised his hand -to carry the tea to his lips, her voice was raised in a different tone. - -“Your hands!” she said. “They’re all cut and bleeding.” - -He glanced at his broken knuckles impersonally. - -“Are they? I hadn’t noticed before. You see, I hadn’t any hatchet.” - -“Won’t you let me--hadn’t you better bathe them in the water?” - -“A bath wouldn’t hurt them, would it?” - -“I didn’t mean that. Don’t they hurt?” - -“No, not at all. But I wish I had Joe’s axe.” - -“Who’s Joe?” - -“My guide.” - -“Oh.” - -She questioned no further; for here, she realized instinctively, were -the ends of the essential, the beginnings of the personal. And so -the conversation quickly turned to practical considerations. Of one -thing she was now assured--her companion was a gentleman. What kind -of a gentleman she had not guessed, for there were many kinds, she -had discovered; but there was nothing unduly alarming in his manner -or appearance and she concluded for the present to accept him, with -reservations, upon his face value. - -His body fed, Gallatin felt singularly comfortable. The problems that -had hung so thickly around his head a while ago, were going up with the -smoke of the fire. Here were meat, drink and society. Were not these, -after all, the end and aim of human existence? Had the hoary earth -with all its vast treasures ever been able to produce more? He took -his pouch from his pocket, and asking if he might smoke, lit his pipe -with a coal from the fire (for matches were precious) and sank back at -the girl’s feet. The time for confidences, were there to be any, had -arrived. She felt it in the sudden stoppage of the desultory flow of -comment and in the polite, if appraising steadiness of his gaze. - -“I suppose you have a right to know what I’m doing here,” she said -flushing a little, “but there isn’t anything to tell. I left our -camp--as you did, to fish. I’ve done it before, often. Sometimes -alone--sometimes with a party. I--I wasn’t alone this morning and -I--I--” she hesitated, frowning. “It doesn’t matter in the least -about that, of course,” she went on quickly. “I--I got separated from -my--my companion and went farther into the brush than I had intended -to do. When I found that I had lost my way, I called again and again. -Nobody answered. Then something happened to me, I don’t know what. I -think it must have been the sound of the echoes of my own voice that -frightened me, for suddenly I seemed to go mad with terror. After that -I don’t remember anything, except that I felt I must reach the end -of the woods, so that I could see beyond the barrier of trees which -seemed to be closing in about me like living things. It was frightful. -I only knew that I went on and on--until I saw you. And after that--” -her words were slower, her voice dropped a note and then stopped -altogether--“and that is all,” she finished. - -“It’s enough, God knows,” he said, sitting upright. “You must have -suffered.” - -“I did--I wonder what got into me. I’ve never been frightened in the -woods before.” She turned her head over her shoulder and peered into -the shadows. “I don’t seem to be frightened now.” - -“I’m glad. I’m going to try to make you forget that. You’re in no -danger here. To-morrow I’ll try to find my back trail--or Joe Keegón -may follow mine. In the meanwhile”--and he started to his feet, “I’ve -got a lot to do. Just sit quietly there and nurse your ankle while I -make your bed. And if I don’t make it properly, the way you’re used to -having it, just tell me. Won’t you?” - -“Hair, please, with linen sheets, and a down pillow,” she enjoined. - -“I’ll try,” he said with a laugh, for he knew now that the tone she -used was only a cloak to hide the shrinking of her spirit. She sat as -he had commanded, leaning as comfortably as she could against the tree -trunk, watching his dim figure as it moved back and forth among the -shadows. First he trod upon and scraped the ground, picking up small -stones and twigs and throwing them into the darkness until he had -cleared a level spot. Then piece by piece he laid the caribou moss as -evenly as he could. He had seen Joe do this some days ago when they -had made their three-day camp. The cedar came next; and, beginning at -the foot and laying the twig ends upward, he advanced to the head, a -layer at a time, thus successively covering the stub ends and making a -soft and level couch. When it was finished, he lay on it, and made some -slight adjustments. - -“I’m sorry it’s not a pneumatic--and about the blankets--but I’m afraid -it will have to do.” - -“It looks beautiful,” she assented, “and I hate pneumatics. I’ll be -quite warm enough, I’m sure.” - -To make the matter of warmth more certain, he pitched two of the -biggest logs on the flames, and then made a rough thatch of the larger -boughs over the supports that he had set in position. When he had -finished, he stood before her smiling. - -“There’s nothing left, I think--but to get to bed. I’m going off for -enough firewood to last us until morning. Shall I carry you over now -or----” - -“Oh, I think I can manage,” she said, her lips dropping demurely. “I -did before--while you were away, you know.” She straightened and her -brows drew together. “What I’m puzzled about now is about _you_. Where -are _you_ going to sleep?” - -“Me? That’s easy. Out here by the fire.” - -“Oh!” she said thoughtfully. - - - - -III - -VOICES - - -Dragging his lagging feet, Gallatin struggled on until his task was -finished. He took the saucepan and cup to the stream, washed them -carefully, and filled them with water. Then he untied the handkerchief -from around his neck and washed that, too. When he got back to the -fire, he found the girl lying on the couch, her head pillowed on her -arm, her eyes gazing into the fire. - -“I’ve brought some water. I thought you might like to wash your face,” -he said. - -“Thanks,” gratefully. “You’re very thoughtful.” - -He mended the fire for the night, and waiting until she had finished -her impromptu toilet, took the saucepan to the stream and rinsed it -again. Then he cleared the remains of the fish away, hung the creels -together on the limb of a tree and, without looking toward the shelter, -threw himself down beside the fire, utterly exhausted. - -“Good night,” she said. He turned his head toward her. The firelight -was dancing in her eyes, which were as wide open as his own. - -“Good night,” he said pleasantly, “and pleasant dreams.” - -“I don’t seem to be a bit sleepy--are you?” - -“No, not yet. Aren’t you comfortable?” - -“Oh, yes. It isn’t that. I think I’m too tired to sleep.” - -He changed his position a little to ease his joints. - -“I believe I am, too,” he smiled. “You’d better try though. You’ve had -a bad day.” - -“I will. Good night.” - -“Good night.” - -But try as he might, he could not sleep. Each particular muscle was -clamoring in indignant protest at its unaccustomed usage. The ground, -too, he was forced to admit was not as soft as it might have been, and -he was sure from the way his hip bone ached, that it was on the point -of coming through his flesh. He raised his body and removed a small -flat stone which had been the cause of the discomfort. As he did so he -heard her voice again. - -“You’re dreadfully unhappy. I don’t see why----” - -“Oh, no, I’m not. This is fine. Please go to sleep.” - -“I can’t. Why didn’t you make another bed for yourself?” - -“I didn’t think about it,” he said, wondering now why the thought had -never occurred to him. “You see,” he lied cautiously, “I’m used to this -sort of thing. I sleep this way very often. I like it.” - -“Oh!” - -What an expressive interjection it was as she used it. It ran a soft -arpeggio up the scale of her voice and down again, in curiosity rather -than surprise, in protest rather than acquiescence. This time it was -mildly skeptical. - -“It’s true--really. I like it here. Now I _insist_ that you go to -sleep.” - -“If you use that tone, I suppose I must.” She closed her eyes, settled -one soft cheek against the palm of her hand. - -“Good night,” she said again. - -“Good night,” he repeated. - -Gallatin turned away from her so that she might not see his face and -lay again at full length with his head pillowed on his arms, looking -into the fire. His mental faculties were keenly alive, more perhaps by -reason of the silence and physical inaction than they had been at any -time during the day. Never in his life before, it seemed, had he been -so broadly awake. His mind flitted with meddlesome agility from one -thought to another; and so before he had lain long, he was aware that -he was entirely at the mercy of his imagination. - -One by one the pictures emerged--the girl’s flight, the wild disorder -of her appearance, her slender figure lying helpless in the leaves, the -pathos of her streaming eyes, and the diminutive proportions of her -slender foot. It was curious, too, how completely his own difficulties -and discomforts had been forgotten in the mitigation of hers. Their -situation he was forced to admit was not as satisfactory as his -confident words of assurance had promised. - -He had not forgotten that most of his back-trail had been laid in -water, and it was not to be expected that Joe Keegón could perform -the impossible. Their getting out by the way he had come must largely -depend upon his own efforts in finding the spot up-stream where he had -come through. The help that could be expected from her own people was -also problematical. She had come a long distance. That was apparent -from the condition of her gaiters. For all Gallatin knew, her camp -might be ten, or even fifteen miles away. Something more than a mild -curiosity possessed him as to this camp and the people who were -using it; for there was a mystery in her sudden separation from the -“companion” to whom she had so haltingly and vaguely alluded. - -It was none of his business, of course, who this girl was or where -she came from; he was aware, at this moment of vagrant visions, of -an unequivocal and not unpleasant interest in this hapless waif whom -fortune, with more humor than discretion, had so unceremoniously thrust -upon his mercies. She was very good to look at. He had decided that -back in the gorge where she had first raised her elfin head from the -leaves. And yet, now as he lay there in the dark, he could not for the -life of him guess even at the color of her eyes or hair. Her hair at -first had seemed quite dark until a shaft of the declining light in the -west had caught it, when he had decided that it was golden. Her eyes -had been too light to be brown and yet--yes, they had been quite too -dark to be blue. The past perfect tense seemed to be the only one which -suited her, for in spite of the evidences of her tangibility close -at hand, he still associated her with the wild things of the forest, -the timid things one often heard at night but seldom glimpsed by day. -Cautiously he turned his head and looked into the shelter. She lay as -he had seen her last, her eyes closed, her breath scarcely stirring her -slender body. Her knees were huddled under her skirt and she looked -no larger than a child. He remembered that when she had stood upright -she had been almost as tall as he, and this metamorphosis only added -another to the number of his illusions. - -With an effort, at last, he lowered his head and closed his eyes, -in angry determination. What the devil had the troubles of this -unfortunate female to do with him? What difference did it make to him -if her hair and eyes changed color or that she could become grown up or -childish at will? Wasn’t one fool who lost himself in the woods enough -in all conscience! Besides _he_ had a right to get himself lost if he -wanted to. He was his own master and it didn’t matter to any one but -himself what became of him. Why couldn’t the little idiot have stayed -where she belonged? A woman had no business in the woods, anyway. - -With his eyes closed it was easy to shut out sight, but the voices -of the night persisted. An owl called, and far off in the distance a -solitary mournful loon took up the plaint. There were sounds close -at hand, too, stealthy footfalls of minute paws, sniffs from the -impertinent noses of smaller animals; the downward fluttering of leaves -and twigs all magnified a thousandfold, pricked upon the velvety -background of the vast silence. He tried to relax his muscles and -tipped his head back upon the ground. As he did so his lids flew up -like those of a doll laid upon its back. The moon was climbing now, so -close to the tree tops that the leaves and branches looked like painted -scrolls upon its surface. In the thicket shapes were moving. They were -only the tossing shadows from his fire, he knew, but they interested -him and he watched them for a long time. It pleased him to think of -them as the shadows of lost travelers. He could hear them whispering -softly, too, in the intervals between the other sounds, and in the -distance, farther even than the call of the whippoorwill, he could hear -them singing: - - À la claire fontaine - M’en allant promener - J’ai trouvé l’eau si belle - Que je m’y suis baigné - Il y a longtemps que le t’aime - Jamais je ne t’oublierai. - -The sound of the rapids, too, or was it only the tinkle of the stream? - -He raised his head and peered around him to right and left. As he did -so a voice joined the lesser voices, its suddenness breaking the -stillness like the impact of a blow. - -“Aren’t you asleep?” She lay as he had seen her before, with her cheek -pillowed upon her hand, but the firelight danced in her wide-open eyes. - -“No,” he said, straightening slowly. “I don’t seem to be sleepy.” - -“Neither am I. Did you hear them--the voices?” - -“Yes,” in surprise. “Did you? You’re not frightened at all, are you?” - -“Not at the voices. Other things seem to bother me much more. The -little sounds close at hand, I can understand, too. There was a -four-legged thing out there where you threw the fish offal a while ago. -But you didn’t see him----” - -“I heard him--but he won’t bother us.” - -“No. I’m not frightened--not at that.” - -“At what, then?” - -“I don’t--I don’t think I really know.” - -“There’s nothing to be frightened at.” - -“It--it’s just _that_ I’m frightened at--nothing--nothing at all.” - -A pause. - -“I wish you’d go to sleep.” - -“I suppose I shall after a while.” - -“How is your foot?” - -“Oh, better. I’m not conscious of it at all. It isn’t my foot that -keeps me awake. It’s the hush of the stillnesses between the other -sounds,” she whispered, as though the silence might hear her. “You -never get those distinctions sleeping in a tent. I don’t think I’ve -ever really known the woods before--or the meaning of silence. The -world is poised in space holding its breath on the brink of some awful -abyss. So I can’t help holding mine, too.” - -She sat upright and faced him. - -“You don’t mind if I talk, do you? I suppose you’ll think I’m very -cowardly and foolish, but I want to hear a human voice. It makes things -real somehow----” - -“Of course,” he laughed. He took out his watch and held it toward the -fire with a practical air. “Besides it’s only ten o’clock.” - -“Oh,” she sighed, “I thought it was almost morning.” - -He silently rose and kicked the fire into a blaze. - -“It’s too bad you’re so nervous.” - -“That’s it. I’m glad you called it by a name. I’m glad you looked at -your watch and that you kicked the fire. I had almost forgotten that -there were such things as watches. I seem to have been poised in space, -too, waiting and listening for something--I don’t know what--as though -I had asked a great question which must in some way be answered.” - -Gallatin glanced at her silently, then slowly took out his pipe and -tobacco. - -“Let’s talk,” he said quietly. - -But instead of taking his old place beside the fire, he sank at -the foot of one of the young beech trees that formed a part of the -structure of her shelter near the head of her balsam bed. - -“I know what you mean,” he said soothingly. “I felt it, too. The -trouble is--there’s never any answer. They’d like to tell us many -things--those people out there,” and he waved his hand. “They’d like -to, but they can’t. It’s a pity, isn’t it? The sounds are cheerful, -though. They say they’re the voyagers singing as they shoot the rapids.” - -She watched his face narrowly, not doubtfully as she had done earlier, -but eagerly, as though seeking the other half of a thought which -conformed to her own. - -“I’m glad you heard,” she said quickly. “I thought I must have -dreamed--which would have been strange, since I haven’t been asleep. It -gives me a greater faith in myself. I haven’t been really frightened, I -hope. Only filled with wonder that such things could be.” - -“They can’t really, you know,” he drawled. “Some people never hear the -voices.” - -“I never did before.” - -“The woods people hear them often. It means,” he said with a smile, -“that you and I are initiated into the Immortal Fellowship.” - -“Oh!” in a whisper, almost of awe. - -“Yes,” he reassured her gaily, “you belong to the Clan of _Mak-wa_, the -Bear, and _Kee-way-din_, the North-Wind. The trees are keeping watch. -Nothing can harm you now.” - -Her eyes lifted to his, and a hesitating smile suddenly wreathed her -lips. - -“You’re very comforting,” she said, in a doubtful tone which showed her -far from comforted. “I really would try to believe you,” with a glance -over her shoulder, “if it wasn’t for the menace of the silence when the -voices stop.” - -“The menace----” - -“Yes. I can’t explain. It’s like a sudden hush of terror--as though -the pulse of Nature had stopped beating--was waiting on some immortal -decision.” - -“Yes,” he assented quietly, his gaze on the fire. “I know. I felt that, -too.” - -“Did you? I’m glad. It makes me more satisfied.” - -She was sitting up on her bed of twigs now, leaning toward him, her -eyes alight with a strange excitement, her body leaning toward his -own, as she listened. The firelight danced upon her hair and lit -her face with a weird, wild beauty. She was very near him at that -moment--spiritually--physically. In a gush of pity he put his hand over -hers and held it tightly in his own, his voice reassuring her gently. - -“No harm can come to you here, child. Don’t you understand? There -are no voices--but yours and mine. See! The woods are filled with -moonlight. It is as bright as day.” - -She had put one arm before her eyes as though by physical effort to -obliterate the fancies that possessed her. Her hand was ice-cold and -her fingers unconsciously groped in his, seeking strength in his warm -clasp. With an effort she raised her head and looked more calmly into -the shadows. - -“No, there are no voices now,” she repeated. “I am--foolish.” And then -aware of his fingers still holding hers, she withdrew her hand abruptly -and straightened her slender figure. “I--I’m all right, I think.” - -He straightened slowly, and his matter of fact tone reassured her. - -“I didn’t know you were really frightened or I shouldn’t have spoken -so. I’m sorry.” - -“But you _heard_,” she persisted. - -Gallatin took up his pipe and put it in his mouth before he replied. - -“The wilderness is no place for nerves--or imaginations. It seems that -you have the one and I the other. There were no sounds.” - -“What did I hear then?” - -“The stream and the leaves overhead. I’d rather prove it to you by -daylight.” - -“Will the day never come?” - -“Oh, yes. I suppose so. It usually does.” - -There was no smile on his lips and another note in his voice caused her -to look at him keenly. The bowl of his pipe had dropped and his gaze -was fixed upon the fire. It was a new--and distinct impression that he -made upon her now--a not altogether pleasant one. Until a moment ago, -he had been merely a man in the woods--a kindly person of intelligence -with a talent for the building of balsam beds; in the last few minutes -he had developed an outline, a quite too visible personality, and -instinctively she withdrew from the contact. - -“I think I can sleep now,” she said. - -He understood. His place was at the fireside and he took it without -reluctance, aware of a sense of self-reproach. It had been her -privilege to be a fool--but not his. He threw a careless glance at her -over his shoulder. - -“If you’re still timid, I’ll sit up and watch.” - -“No, you mustn’t do that.” But by this time he had taken another coal -for his pipe and sitting, Indian-fashion, was calmly puffing. - -“I’m going to, anyway,” he said. “Don’t bother about me, please.” - -Without reply she stretched herself on the couch and disposed herself -again to sleep. This time she buried her head in her arms and lay -immovable. He knew that she was not asleep and that she was still -listening for the menace of the silences; but he knew, too, that if -suffer she must, he could not help her. A moment ago he had been on -the point of taking her in his arms and soothing her as he would have -done a child. They had been very close in spirit at that moment, drawn -together like two vessels alone in a calm waste of water. It was the -appeal of her helplessness to his strength, his strength to her -helplessness, of course, and yet---- - -For a long while Gallatin watched the flames as they rose and fell and -the column of smoke that drifted upward on the still night air and lost -itself among the leaves overhead. The voices he heard no more. The -fire crackled, a vagrant breeze sighed, a bird called somewhere, but -he realized that he was listening for another sound. The girl had not -moved since he had last spoken, and now he heard the rhythmic breathing -which told him that at last she was asleep. He waited some moments -more, then softly arose, took up his coat, which he had thrown over a -log, and laid it gently over her shoulders. Then he crept back to his -fire. - - - - -IV - -EDEN - - -Dawn stalked solemnly forth and the heavens were rosy with light. -Gallatin stirred uneasily, then raised his head stiffly, peered around -and with difficulty got himself into a sitting posture. Fire still -glowed in the chinks of the largest log, but the air was chill. He took -out his watch and looked at it, winding it carefully. He had slept five -hours, without moving. - -He was now accustomed to the convention of awaking early, with all his -faculties keenly alive; and he rose to his feet, rubbing the stiffness -out of his limbs and back, smiling joyously up at the gracious day. In -the shelter, her back toward the fire, her head hidden in her arms, the -girl still slept soundly. Cautiously Gallatin replenished the fire, -piling on the last of his wood. Save for a little stiffness in his -back, there were, it seemed, no penalties to be imposed for his night -in the open. - -A shaft of sunlight shot across the topmost branches of the trees, -and instantly, as though at a signal, the woods were alive with -sound. There was a mad scampering in the pine boughs above him, and a -squirrel leapt into the air, scurried through the branches of a maple -and disappeared; two tiny wrens engaged in a noisy discussion about -the family breakfast, a blue-jay screamed and a woodpecker tattoed -the call to the business of the day. This, Gallatin knew, was meant -for him. There was much to be done, but he fell to with a will, his -muscles eager for the task, his mind cleared of the fogs of doubt -and speculation which had dimmed it the night before. There were -no problems he could not solve alone, no difficulties his ingenuity -could not surmount. The old blood of his race, which years before had -conquered this same wilderness, or another one like it, surged new in -his veins and he rejoiced in the chance to test his strength against -the unhandselled matter which opposed him. The forest smiled upon him, -already gracious in defeat. - -He returned to camp after a turn through the woods, and in one hand -was a clean sliver of birch-bark, filled with blueberries. He put them -safely in a hollow place in the fallen tree, filled the saucepan with -water and placed it in the fire to boil. Then he cleaned fish. - -He worked noiselessly, bringing more firewood, plenty of which was -still close at hand; and after a glance at the sleeping girl, he -unsheathed his knife and went again into the brush. There, after a -search, he found what he was looking for--a straight young oak tree, -about two inches in diameter. He succeeded at last, with much pains and -care for his knife, in cutting it through and trimming off the small -branches. At the upper end of this club was a V-shaped crotch, made by -two strong forking branches, which he cut and whittled until they were -to his liking. Returning to the fire, he emptied his fly-hook, took his -rod and unreeled a good length of line, which he cut off and placed on -the log beside him. Then with the line, he bound the fly-hook, stuffed -with caribou moss, into the fork of his stick, wrapping the strong -cord carefully until he had made a serviceable crutch. He was hobbling -around near the fire on it, testing its utility when he heard a gasp of -amazement. He had been so engrossed in his task that he had not thought -of the object of these attentions, and when he glanced toward the -shelter, she was sitting upright, regarding him curiously. - -“What on earth are you doing?” - -He laughed gayly. - -“Good morning! Hobbling, I believe. Don’t I do it nicely?” - -“You--you’ve hurt yourself?” - -He took the crutch from under his arm and looked at it admiringly. - -“Oh, no--but _you_ have.” - -“I! Oh, yes. I forgot. I don’t think I’ll need it at all. I--” She -started up and tried to put her foot down and then sank back in dismay. -“It seems to still hurt me a little,” she said quietly. - -“Of course it does. You don’t get over that sort of thing in a minute. -It will be better when the blood gets into it. Meanwhile,” he handed -her the stick, “you must use this. Breakfast will be ready in a minute, -so if you feel like making a toilet----” - -“Oh, yes, of course,” she glanced around her at the patines of gold the -sun had laid over the floor of their breakfast-room and asked the time. - -“Half past seven.” - -“Then I’ve slept----” - -“Nearly nine hours.” - -He started forward to help her to her feet and as he did so, she saw -his coat, which had fallen from her shoulders. - -“You shouldn’t have given me your coat. You must have frozen.” - -“On the contrary, I was quite comfortable. The night was balmy--besides, -I was nearer the fire.” - -“I’m very much obliged,” she said. After one or two clumsy efforts she -managed to master her crutch and, refusing his aid, made her way to the -stream without difficulty. - -Gallatin spitted the fish on the charred sticks of yesterday and held -them up to the fire, his appetite pleasantly assertive at the first -delicious odor. When the girl joined him a while later, all was ready, -the last of the tea darkening the simmering pot, the cooked fish lying -in a row on a flat stone in the fire. - -As she hobbled up he rose and offered her a place on the log beside him. - -“I hope you’re hungry. I am. Our menu is small but most -select--blueberries Ojibway, trout _sauté_, and Bohea _en casserole_. -The biscuits, I’m ashamed to say, are no more.” - -She reflected his manner admirably. “Splendid! I fairly dote on -blueberries. Where did you get them? You’re really a very wonderful -person. For luncheon, of course, cress and dandelion salad, fish and a -venison pasty. For dinner----” - -“Don’t be too sure,” he laughed. “Let’s eat what we’ve got and be -thankful.” - -“I am thankful,” she said, picking at the blueberries. “I might have -been still lying over there in the leaves.” She turned her face -confidingly to his. “Do you know, I thought you were a bear.” - -“Did you?” - -“Until you pointed a pistol at me--and then I thought you were an -Indian.” - -“I’m very sorry. I didn’t know _what_ you were--I don’t think I quite -know yet.” - -She took the cup of tea from his fingers before she replied. - -“I? Oh, I’m just--just a girl. It doesn’t matter much who or what.” - -“I didn’t mean to be inquisitive,” he said quickly. - -“But you were--” she insisted. - -“Yes,” he admitted, “I’m afraid I was.” - -“Names don’t matter--here, do they? The woods are impersonal. Can’t you -and I be impersonal, too?” - -“I suppose so, but my curiosity is rather natural--under the -circumstances.” - -“I don’t intend to gratify it.” - -“Why not? My name----” - -“Because--I prefer not,” she said firmly. And then: “These fish are -delicious. Some more tea, please!” - -He looked at her while she drank and then took the cup from her hand -without replying. Her chin he discovered could fall very quickly into -lines of determination. Her attitude amused him. She was, it seemed, a -person in the habit of having things her own way and it even flattered -him that she had discerned that he must acquiesce. - -“You shall have your own way,” he laughed amusedly, “but if I call you -‘Hey, there,’ don’t be surprised.” - -“I won’t,” she smiled. - -When they had finished the last of the tea he got up, washed the two -dishes at the stream, and relit the ashes of last night’s pipe. - -“The Committee of Ways and Means will now go into executive session,” -he began. “I haven’t the least idea where we are. I may have traveled -ten miles yesterday or twenty. I’ve lost my bearings, that’s sure, and -so have you. There are two things to do--one of them is to find our way -out by ourselves and the other is to let somebody find it for us. The -first plan isn’t feasible until you are able to walk----” - -“I could manage with my crutch.” - -“No, I’m afraid that won’t do. There’s no use starting off until we -know where we’re going.” - -“But you said you thought you could----” - -“I still think so,” he put in quickly, noting the sudden anxious query -in her eyes. “I’ll find my back-trail, but it may take time. Meanwhile -you’ve got to eat, and keep dry.” - -“It isn’t going to rain.” - -“Not now, but it may any time. I’ll get you comfortable here and then -I’ll take to the woods----” - -“And leave me alone?” - -“I’m afraid I’ll have to. We have four fish remaining--little ones. -Judging by my appetite they’re not quite enough for lunch--and we must -have more for supper.” - -“I’ll catch them.” - -“No, you must rest to-day. I have my automatic, too,” he went on. “I’m -not a bad shot. Perhaps, I may bring some meat.” - -“But I can’t stay here and--do nothing.” - -“You can help fix the shack. I’ll get the birch now.” - -He was moving off into the brush when she called him back. - -“I hope you didn’t think me discourteous awhile ago. I really didn’t -mean to be. You--you’ve been very good. I don’t think I realized that -we might have to be here long. You understand--under the circumstances, -I thought I’d rather not--have you know anything about me. It doesn’t -matter, really, I suppose.” - -“Oh, no, not at all,” politely, and he went into the underbrush, -leaving her sitting at the fire. When he came back with his first -armful of canoe birches, she was still sitting there; but he went on -gathering birch and firewood, whistling cheerfully the while. She -watched him for a moment and then silently got up with the aid of her -crutch and reached for her rod and creel. She had hobbled past him -before he realized her intention. - -“I wish you wouldn’t,” he protested. - -“I must do my share----” - -“You’d do it better by saving your foot.” - -“I won’t hurt my foot. I can use it a little now.” - -“If you slipped, things might go badly with you.” - -“I won’t fall. I’m going down stream to get the fish for lunch.” - -She adjusted her crutch and moved on. Her voice was even gay, but there -was no denying the quality of her resolution. He shrugged his shoulders -lightly and watched her until she had disappeared in the bushes, and -when he had finished his tasks, he took up rod and creel and followed -the stream in the opposite direction. - -Of course, she had every right to keep her identity a secret, if she -chose, but it annoyed him a little to think that he had laid himself -open even to so slight a rebuff. Morning seemed to have made a -difference in the relations, a difference he was as yet at some pains -to define. Last night he had been merely a chance protector, upon whose -hospitality she had been forced against her will and he had done only -what common humanity demanded of him. The belief that her predicament -was only temporary, had for the time given her the assurance the -situation required; but with the morning, which had failed to bring -aid she had expected from her people, her obligations to him were -increasing with the hours. If, as he had indicated, it might be several -days or even more before she could find her way to camp, she must -indeed expect to find herself completely upon his mercies. Gallatin -smiled as he cast his line. With its other compensations daylight had -not brought him or his companion the pleasure of an introduction! Silly -little fool! Of what value were introductions in the heart of the -ancient wood--or elsewhere for that matter! No mere spoken words could -purge his heart--or any man’s! Vain conventions! The hoary earth was -mocking at them. - -A swirl in the brown pool below him, a flash of light! Gallatin swore -softly. Two pounds and a half at least! And he had lost him! - -This wouldn’t do. He was fishing for his dinner now--their dinner. He -couldn’t afford to make many more mistakes like that--not with another -mouth to fill. Why should he care who or what she was! The Gallatins -had never been of a curious disposition and he wondered that he should -care anything about the identity of this chance female thrown upon his -protection. She was not in any way unusual. He was quite sure that any -morning in New York he would have passed a hundred like her on the -street without a second glance. She had come with the falling evening, -wrapped in mystery and had shaken his rather somber philosophy out of -its bearings. Night had not diminished the illusion; and once, when -the spell of the woods had held them for a moment in its thrall, he -had been on the point of taking her in his arms. Did she know how near -she had been to that jeopardy? He fancied so. That was why things were -different to-day. It was the sanity of nine o’clock in the morning, -when there was no firelight to throw shadows among the trees and the -voyageurs no longer sang among the rapids. In an unguarded moment she -had shown him a shadowed corner of her spirit and was now resenting -it. A woman’s chief business in life, he realized, was the hiding -of her own frailties, the sources of impulse and the repression of -unusual emotions. She had violated these canons of her sex and justly -feared that he might misinterpret her. What could she know of him, what -expect--of a casual stranger into whose arms her helpless plight had -literally thrown her? He was forced to admit, at the last, that to a -modest woman the situation was trying. - -He fished moodily, impatiently and unsuccessfully, losing another fish -in the pool above. Things were getting serious. His mind now intent, he -cast again farther up, dropping the fly skillfully just above a tiny -rapid. There he was rewarded; for a fish struck viciously, not so large -a one as the first, but large enough for one meal for his companion at -least. His spirits rose. He was at peace again with the world, in the -elysium of the true fisher who has landed the first fish of the day. - -A moment ago he had thought her commonplace. He admitted now that he -had been mistaken. A moment ago he had been trying to localize her -by the token of some treacherous trick of speech or intonation and -had almost been ready to assign her to that limbo of all superior -indigenous New Yorkers--“the West”; now he was even willing to admit -that she was to all intents and purposes a cosmopolitan. The sanity of -nine o’clock in the morning had done away with all myth and moonshine, -but daylight had, it seemed, taken nothing from her elfin comeliness. -Her hair had at last decided to be brown, her eyes a dark blue, her -figure slim, her limbs well proportioned, her motions graceful. -Altogether she had detracted nothing from the purely ornamental -character of the landscape. - -These few unimportant facts clearly established, Gallatin gave himself -up more carefully to the business in hand, and by the time he reached -the head of the gorge, had caught an even dozen. If fish were to serve -them for diet, they would not go hungry on this day at least. As he -went higher up into the hills he kept his eyes open for the landmarks -of yesterday. He remembered the two big rocks in the gorge, and it -surprised him that they were no nearer to his camp. The task of -finding his back trail to Joe Keegón would be more difficult than he -had supposed, and he knew now that the point where he had first fished -this stream was many miles above. But he saw no reason to be unduly -alarmed. He had served his apprenticeship; and with an axe and a frying -pan, a kettle, some flour, tea, and a tin cup or two, his position -would have had no terrors. - -Beyond the gorge he had a shot at a deer and the echoes derided him, -for he missed it. He shot again at smaller things and had the luck -to bring down two squirrels; then realizing that his cartridges were -precious, made his way back to camp. - -The girl was already at the fire, her crutch beside her against the -fallen log. - -“I thought you were never coming.” She smiled. “I heard your shooting -and it frightened me.” - -Gallatin held the squirrels out for her inspection. - -“There!” he said. - -“Poor little things, what a pity! They were all so happy up there this -morning.” - -“I’m afraid it can’t be helped. We must eat, you know. Did you have any -luck?” - -She opened her creel and showed him. - -Again she had caught more than he. - -He laughed delightedly. “From this moment you are appointed Fish-wife -Extraordinary. I fish no more. When my cartridges are used I’ll have -nothing to do but sit by the fire.” - -“Did you find your trail?” she asked anxiously. - -“I followed it for a mile or so. I’m afraid I’ll have to start early -to-morrow. I want to see you comfortable first.” - -His manner was practical, but she did not fail to catch the note of -uncertainty in his voice. She bent her gaze on the ground, and spoke -slowly. - -“You’re very kind to try to keep me in ignorance, but I think I -understand now. We will be here a long time.” - -“Oh, I didn’t mean that. I don’t think that,” cheerfully. “If I were -more experienced, I would promise to find my own guide to-morrow. I’m -going to do the best I can. I won’t come back here until I have to -acknowledge myself beaten. Meanwhile, many things may happen. Your -people will surely----” - -“We are lost, both of us--hopelessly,” she persisted. “The fish strike -here as though these streams had never been fished before. My people -will find me, if they can; if they can’t--I--I--must make the best of -my position.” - -She spoke bravely, but there was a catch in her voice that he had heard -before. - -“I’ll do the best I can. I want you to believe that. Three or four days -at the most and I’m sure I can promise you----” - -“I’d rather you wouldn’t promise,” she said. “We’ll get out someway, of -course, and if it wasn’t for this provoking foot----” - -“Isn’t it better?” - -“Oh, yes--better. But, of course, I can’t bear my weight on it. It’s so -tiresome.” - -She seemed on the point of tears, and while he was trying to think of -something to say to console her, she reached for her crutch and bravely -rose. - -“I’m not going to cry. I abominate whining women. Give me something to -do, and I won’t trouble you with tears.” - -“You’re plucky, that’s certain,” he said admiringly. “The lunch must -be cooked. We’ll save the squirrels for supper. I’m going to work on -your house. I’m afraid there’s no tea--no real tea, but we might try -arbor-vitæ. They say its palatable.” - -She insisted on cleaning the fish and preparing the meal while he sat -beside her and began sewing two rolls of thick birch-bark together with -white spruce-roots. Between whiles she watched him with interest. - -“I never heard of sewing a roof before,” she said with a smile. - -“It’s either sewing the roof or reaping the whirlwind,” he laughed. “It -may not rain before we get out of here, but I think it’s best not to -take any chances. The woods are not friendly when they’re wet. Besides, -I’d rather not have any doctor’s bills.” - -“That’s not likely here,” she laughed. “And the lunch is ready,” she -announced. - -All that afternoon he worked upon her shelter and by sunset it was -weather-tight. On three sides and top it was covered with birches, and -over the opening toward the fire was a projecting eave which could -be lowered over one side as a protection from the wind. When he had -finished it he stood at one side and examined his handiwork with an -approving eye. - -She had already thanked him many times. - -“Of course, I don’t know how to show my gratitude,” she said again. - -“Then don’t try.” - -“But you can’t sleep out again.” - -“Oh, yes, I can. I’m going to anyway.” - -“You mustn’t.” - -He glanced up at her quizzically. - -“Why not?” - -“I want to take my share.” - -“I’m afraid you can’t. That house is yours. You’re going to sleep -there. I’m afraid you’ll have to obey orders,” he finished. “You see, -I’m bigger than you are.” - -Her eyes measured his long limbs and her lips curved in a crooked -little smile. - -“I don’t like to obey orders.” - -“I’m afraid you must.” - -“You haven’t any right to make yourself uncomfortable.” - -“Oh, yes, I have,” he said. “Might is right--in the woods.” - -Something in the way he spoke caused her to examine his face minutely, -but his eyes were laughing at her. - -“Oh!” she said meekly. - - - - -V - -WOMAN AND MAN - - -There were no voices in the woods that night, or if there were any the -girl in the lean-to did not hear them. The sun had already found its -way past the protecting flap of her shack before she awoke. The first -thing she discovered was that at some time during the night he had -put his coat over her again. She held it for a moment in her fingers -thinking, before she rose; then got up quickly and peered out. The -morning was chill, but the fire showed signs of recent attention and on -the saucepan which had been placed near the fire a piece of birch-bark -was lying. She picked it up curiously to read a hastily pencilled -scrawl: - -“I’m off up country. I must go far, so don’t be frightened if I’m not -back for supper. Be careful with your foot--and keep the fire going. -There are fish and firewood enough to last. Nothing can harm you. With -luck I’ll bring my guide and duffel-bag.” - -She glanced quickly over her shoulder into the depths of the pine-woods -in the direction he must have taken as though she hoped to see him -walking there; then, the birch-bark still in her hands, sat down on the -log, read the message over again, smiling. She had begun to understand -this tall young man, with the grim, unshaven face and somber, peering -eyes. Those eyes had frightened her at first; and even now the memory -of them haunted her until she recalled just what they did when he -smiled, and then remembered that she was not to be frightened any more. - -He had been gone for several hours. She knew this by the condition of -the fire, but wondered why he had not spoken more definitely about his -plans the night before. Possibly he had been afraid that she would -not have slept. She _had_ slept, soundly, dreamlessly, and she found -herself wondering how she could have done so. The last thing she could -recall was looking out through sleepy eyes at his profile as he sat -motionless by the fire staring into the shadows. She knew then that -fear of him had passed and that had she slept under a city roof she -could not have been more contented to sleep securely. - -He would be gone all day, of course, and she must depend upon her own -exertions. First she filled the little saucepan with water and put it -between the two flat stones that served for its hearth, and then took -from the creel two fish that he had cleaned the night before. Half way -to the fire she paused, her crutch in mid-air, balancing herself safely -without its aid. She peered to right and left among the branches and -then put the fish back into the creel in quick decision. - -A bath! She had been longing for it for two days! Her resolution -made, she took up her crutch and hobbled down the stream, turning her -head back over her shoulder in the direction of the camp as if she -still feared she might have misread the birch-bark message. Warm with -expectancy and the delight of the venture, she found a sheltered pool -beneath the dense foliage and bathed her lithe young body in the icy -water. Gasping for breath she splashed across the sandy pool and back -again with half uttered cries of delight; and the Naiads and Oreads -flitted fearfully among the trees whispering and peering cautiously at -the slim white creature which had intruded so fearlessly upon their -secret preserves. The water was cold! Oh, so cold! With one last plunge -which set her teeth chattering, the bather clambered up the bank into -the sunlight chilled to the bone, but glowing suddenly with the swift -rush of new blood along her rosy limbs. Upright upon the bank she -moved vigorously back and forth, and releasing her hair, let it clothe -and warm her, while she stood drying, her face toward the sun. Apollo -looked with favor on this Clytië and sent his warmest rays that she -might not have gazed at him in vain. - -A miracle had happened to her ankle, too, for she moved quite without -pain. Dressing and making her way back to the fire, using her crutch -only as a staff, she gathered cedar by the way, for her morning tea. -Her mentor had made some of it for her the night before and her lips -twisted at the thought of drinking it again; but the essence of the -woods, their balsam, their fragrance, their elixir had permeated her -and even this bitter physic seemed palatable now. She remembered his -couplet last night: - - A quart of arbor-vitæ - To make you big and mighty. - -At the fire she spitted her fish, leaning back against the log, her -hair drying in the sun and wind, the warm fire bringing a warm glow -throughout her body. She ate and then stretched her arms toward the -kindly trees. It was good to be strong and young, with life just -ripening. At that moment it did not matter just what was to become of -her. She was sure that she no longer felt any uneasiness as to the end -of her adventure. Her guardian had gone to find a way out. He would -come back to-night. In time she would go back to camp. She didn’t care -when--the present seemed sufficient. - -In all ways save one--_she had no mirror_. She combed her hair with -her back comb and braided it carefully with fingers long accustomed. -Instinct demanded that she look at her face; circumstance refused -her the privilege, for of Vanity Boxes she had none. And, when, like -Narcissus, she knelt at the brink of the pool and looked into its -depths, the water was full of iridescent wrinkles and she only saw -the mocking pebbles upon the bottom, having not only her labor, but a -wetting for her pains. But she accepted the reproof calmly and finished -her toilet _secundum naturam_. - -The larder was full, but she fished again--up stream this time, for -evening might bring another mouth to feed. The morning dragged wearily -enough and she came back to her fire early, with but four fish to her -credit account. She hung the creel in its accustomed place and resumed -her seat by the fire, her look moving restlessly from one object to -another. At last it fell upon his coat which she had left on the couch -in the shelter. She got up, brought it forth into the light and brushed -it carefully. Several objects fell from its pockets--a tobacco pouch -nearly empty, a disreputable and badly charred briarwood pipe and some -papers. She picked up the objects one by one and put them back. As -she did so her eye caught the superscription of a letter. She drew it -forth quickly and examined it again as though she had not been certain -that she had read it correctly; then the other envelope, scanning them -both eagerly. They were inscribed with the same name and address--all -written with the same feminine scrawl, and the paper smelt of -heliotrope. She held them in her fingers a moment, her lips compressed, -her brow thoughtful and then abruptly thrust them into the pocket again -and put the coat into the shelter. - -She sat for a long while, her chin in her hand, looking into the ashes -of the fire. A cloud moved slowly across the face of the sun, and -its shadow darkened the glade. A hush fell upon the trees as though -all living things had stopped to listen. The girl glanced at the sky -and saw that the heavens were dark with the portent of a storm, when -some new thought suddenly struck her, for she rose quickly, her look -moving from the shack to the trees beside it, a pine and a maple tree, -measuring the distance and the ground between them. Of one thing she -was now certain, another shelter must be built at once. - -Her crutch in her hand she made her way into the thicket, her small -pearl handled knife clutched resolutely in her palm, attacking -vigorously the first straight limb within reach. At the end of ten -minutes she had cut only half way through it, and her tender hands were -red and blistered. But she put her weight on the bough and snapped it, -cutting at last through the tough fibers and dragging it into the open. -Ten minutes more of cutting at the twigs and her roof joist was in -position. Her next attempt was unfortunate; for she had hardly begun to -cut a notch in the branch she had selected, when the knife-blade broke -and the handle twisted in her hand, the jagged edge cutting a gash in -her thumb. She cried out with pain, dropping the knife from trembling -fingers. It was not a serious wound, but the few drops of blood made -her think it so; and, pale and a little frightened, she made her way to -the stream and dipped it into the cooling water, bathing and bandaging -it with her handkerchief. - -She had learned something. The woods were only friendly to those who -knew how to cope with them. She did not know how to cope with them, and -at this moment hated them blindly. There seemed to be nothing left but -to sit by the fire and have a cry. This done, she felt better, but she -made no further attempt to build the hut. - -The sky darkened rapidly and a few drops of rain pattered noisily among -the dry leaves. She had no means of learning the hour of the day. She -guessed that it would soon be time to prepare supper, but for a long -while she did not move. She was conquered by the inevitable facts of -nature and her eyes plaintively regarded the beginnings of the house -which might have been, but was not. - -The fire, like her spirits of the morning, had sunk. But she rose now, -her face set in hard little lines of determination, and laid on fresh -logs. As the cheerful flames arose her spirits kindled, too, and she -lifted the creels from the limb and sat down again in her accustomed -place to prepare the scanty meal. Her eyes sought the up-country trail -more frequently and more anxiously, but the shadows of the night had -fallen thickly before she decided to cook her solitary meal. She was -not hungry as she had been in the morning and even the odor of the -cooking fish was not appetizing. She only cooked because cooking at -this time seemed part of the established order of things and because -cooking was something that belonged to the things that she could do. - -She ate mechanically, rose and washed her utensils without interest. -The rain was falling steadily; but she did not seem to care, and only -when she had finished her tasks did she seek the shelter of the hut. -Even then she stood leaning against the young birch-tree looking out -at the darkness and listening, her brows puckered in tiny wrinkles of -worry. At last with a sigh, she sank on her balsam bed and closed her -eyes. - -The night was sombrous and the rain had been falling for an hour. -The girl sat beneath the shelter of her projecting eave upon the -ground, where she might look out up the stream, her chin on her knees, -her hands clasped about her ankles, watching the rain drops fall -glistening into the circle of firelight and hiss spitefully among the -fretting flames. She had been crying again and her eyes were dark with -apprehension. Her hair hung in moist wisps about her brow and temples -and her lips were drawn in plaintive lines. She listened intently. A -dead branch in the distance cracked and fell. She started up and peered -out for the hundredth time in the direction from which she might expect -his approach. Only the soft patter of the rain on the soaked foliage -and the ominous blackness of before! She went out into the wet, heaping -more logs upon the flames. The fire at least must be kept burning. He -had asked that of her. That was her duty and she did it unquestioning -like the solitary cliff-woman, awaiting in anxious expectation the -return of her lord. She would not lie down upon her balsam bed; for -that would mean that she denied the belief that he _would_ return, and -so she sat, her forehead now bent upon her knees, her eyes closed, only -her ears acutely alive to the slightest distant sounds. - -Suddenly she raised her head, her eyes alight. She heard sounds now, -human sounds, the crunch of footfalls in the moist earth, the snapping -of fallen twigs. She ran out into the rain and called joyously. A -voice answered. She ran forward to meet him. He emerged into the light -striding heavily, bent forward under the weight of something he was -carrying. - -“Oh, I’m so glad,” she cried, her voice trembling. “I had begun to -fear--I don’t know what. I thought--you--you--weren’t coming back.” - -He grinned wearily. “I believe I’d almost begun to think so myself. -Phew! But the thing is heavy!” - -He lowered it from his shoulders and threw it heavily near the fire. - -“W--what is it?” she asked timidly. - -“A deer. I shot it,” he said laconically. - -He straightened slowly, getting the kinks out of his muscles with an -effort; and she saw that his face was streaked with grime and sweat and -that his body in the firelight was streaming with moisture. His eyes -peered darkly from deep caverns. - -“Oh! You’re so tired,” she cried. “Sit down by the fire at once, while -I cook your supper.” And, as he made no move to obey her, she seized -him by the arms and led him into the shelter of the hut and pushed him -gently down upon the couch. “You’re not to bother about anything,” she -went on in a businesslike way. “I’ll have you something hot in a jiffy. -I’m so--_so_ sorry for you.” - -He sat in the bunk, with a drooping head, his long legs stretched -toward the blaze. - -“Oh, I’m all right,” he grunted. But he watched her flitting to and -fro with dull eyes and took the cup of water she offered him without -protest. She spitted the fish skillfully, crouching on the wet log as -she broiled them, while he watched her, half asleep with the grateful -sense of warmth and relaxation. He did not realize until now that he -had been on the move with little rest for nearly eighteen hours, during -four of which he had carried a double burden. - -The cedar tea she brought him first. He made a wry face but emptied the -saucepan. - -“By George, that’s good! I never tasted anything better.” He ate -hungrily--like an animal, grumbling at the fish bones, while she cooked -more fish, smiling at him. There was some of the squirrel left and -he ate that, too, not stopping to question why she had not eaten it -herself. Another saucepan of the tea, and he gave a great sigh of -satisfaction and moved as though to rise. But she pushed him gently -down again, fumbling meanwhile in the pockets of his coat which lay -beside the bed. - -“Your pipe--and tobacco,” she said, handing them to him with a smile. -“I insist, you deserve them,” she went to the fire and brought him a -glowing pine twig, and blew it for him until the tobacco was ready. In -a moment he was puffing mechanically. - -She sank quickly upon the dry ground beside him and he looked at her in -amazement. - -“I forgot,” he muttered. “Your ankle!” - -“It’s well,” she smiled. “I had forgotten it, too. I haven’t used the -crutch since morning.” - -“I’m glad of that, a day or two of rest and we’ll soon be out of here.” - -He had not spoken of their predicament before, nor had she. It seemed -as though in the delight of having him (or some one) near her, she had -forgotten the object of his pilgrimage. He had not forgotten. His mind -and body ached too sorely for him to forget his failure. She saw the -tangle at his brows and questioned timidly. - -“You had--had no luck?” - -“No, I hadn’t, and I went almost to the headwaters. I found no signs of -travel anywhere, though I searched the right bank carefully. I thought -I could remember--” he put his hand to his brow and drew his long -fingers down his temple, “but I didn’t.” - -“Don’t worry about it. I’m not frightened now. In a day or two when -I’m quite sure of my foot, we’ll go out together. I think I really -am--getting a little tired of fish,” she finished smiling. - -“I don’t wonder. How would a venison steak strike you?” - -“Ah, I forgot. Delicious! You must be a very good shot.” - -“Pure luck. You see my eyes were pretty wide open to-day and the breeze -was favoring. I got quite close to her and fired three times before -she could start. After I shot she got away but I found some blood and -followed. She didn’t get far.” - -“Poor thing!” she said softly, her eyes seeking the dark shadow beyond -the fire. “Poor little thing!” - -He looked down at her, a new expression in his eyes; yesterday she -had been a petulant, and self-willed child, creating a false position -where none need have existed, diffident and pretentious by turns, -self-conscious and over-natural. To-night she was all woman. Under -his tired lids he could see that--tender, compassionate, gentle, but -strong--always strong. There were lines in her face, too, that he had -not seen before. She had been crying. One of her hands, too, was bound -with a handkerchief. - -“You’ve hurt yourself again?” he asked. - -“No--only a scratch. My knife--I--I was cutting”--hesitating--“cutting -sticks for the fish.” - -If she had not hesitated, he might not have examined her so minutely. -As it was she looked up at him irresolutely and then away. Over her -head, beyond the edge of the shack, he saw the young pine-tree that she -had placed for a roof support. - -“Ah!” he muttered. But he understood. And knocking his pipe out against -his heel, quietly rose. It was raining still, not gently and fitfully, -as it had done earlier in the evening, but steadily, as though nature -had determined to compensate with good measure for the weeks of clear -skies that had been apportioned. - -“I’ve got to get to work,” he said resolutely. - -“At what?” - -“The shack you began----” - -“No.” - -She answered so shortly that he glanced at her. Her head was turned -away from him. - -“I mean it,” she insisted, still looking into the darkness. “You can do -no more to-night. You must sleep here.” - -“You’re very kind,” he began slowly. - -“No--I’m only just--” she went on firmly. “You’re so tired that you can -hardly get up. I’m not going to let you build that shack. Besides, you -couldn’t. Everything is soaking. Won’t you sit down again? I want to -talk to you.” - -Slowly he obeyed, dumb with fatigue, but inexpressibly grateful. - -“I don’t want you to think I’m a little fool,” she said with petulant -abruptness, as though denying an imputation. “I think I had a right to -be timid yesterday and the day before. I was very much frightened and I -felt very strangely. I don’t know very many--many men. I was brought up -in a convent. I don’t think I quite knew what to--to expect of you. But -I think I do now.” She turned her gaze very frankly to his, a gaze that -did not waver or quibble with the issue any more than her words did. -“You’ve been very thoughtful--very considerate of me and you’ve done -all that strength could do to make things easier for me. I want you to -know that I’m very--very thankful.” - -He began to speak--but her gesture silenced him. - -“It seems to me that the least I can do is to try and accept my -position sensibly----” - -“I’m sure you’re doing that----” - -“I’m trying to. I don’t want you to think I’ve any nonsense left in my -head--or false consciousness. I want you to treat me as you’d treat a -man. I’ll do my share if you’ll show me how.” - -“You’re more likely to show _me_ how,” he said. - -“No. I can show you nothing but appreciation. I _do_ that, don’t I?” - -“Yes--I hope I’ll deserve it.” - -“I’m taking that risk,” she said, with a winning laugh. “I’d have to be -pretty sure of you, or I wouldn’t be sitting here flattering you so.” - -“I hope you’ll keep on,” drowsily. “I like it.” - -“There! I knew it. I’ve spoiled you already. You’ll be making me haul -the firewood to-morrow.” - -“And cook breakfast,” he put in sleepily. “Of course, I’ll not stir out -of here all day if you talk like this.” - -“Then I won’t talk any more.” - -“Do, please, it’s very soothing.” - -“I actually believe you’re falling asleep.” - -“No--just dreaming.” - -“Of what?” - -“Of the time a thousand years ago when you and I did all this before.” - -She looked at him with startled eyes. - -“What made you say that?” - -“Because I dreamed it.” - -“It’s nonsense.” - -“I suppose it is. I’m--half--asleep.” - -She was silent a moment--her wide gaze on the fire. - -“It’s curious that you should say that.” - -“Why is it? I only told what I was dreaming of.” - -“You haven’t any business dreaming such things.” - -“It all happened--all happened before,” he muttered again. His head -was nodding. He slept as he sat. She got up noiselessly and taking -him by the shoulders lowered him gently to the bed. His lips babbled -protestingly, but he did not wake, and in a moment he was breathing -heavily in the deep sleep of exhaustion. - -She stood beside him for a moment, smiling, and then softly sank upon -the ground by his side, still watching. The rain had stopped falling, -but outside the glistening circle of the firelight the water from the -heavy branches dripped heavily. The heavens lightened and a bleary -cloud opened a single eye and, blinking a moment, at last let the -moonlight through. From every tree pendants of diamonds, festoons -of opals were hung and flashed their radiance in the rising breeze, -falling in splendid profusion. Over her head the drops pattered noisily -upon the roof. After awhile, she heard them singly and at last silence -fell again upon the forest. - -It was her night of vigil and the girl kept it long. She was not -frightened now. _Kee-way-din_ crooned a lullaby, and she knew that the -trees which repeated it were her friends. It was a night of mystery, of -dreams and of a melancholy so sweet that she was willing even then to -die with the pain of it. - -And in the distance a voice sang faintly: - - Le jour bien souvent dans nos bois - Hélas! le cœur plein de souffrance, - Je cherche ta si doux voix - Mais tout se tait, tout est silence - Oh! loin de toi, de toi que j’aime, - Dans les ennuis, ô mes amours, - Dans les regrets, douleur extreme, - Loin de toi je passe mes jours. - -The girl at last slept uneasily, her head pillowed upon the cedar twigs -beside the body of the man, who lay as he had first fallen, prone, -his arms and legs sprawling. Twice during the night she got up and -rebuilt the fire, for it was cold. Once a wolf sat just outside the -circle of firelight grinning at her, not even moving at her approach, -but she threw a stick at him and he slunk away. After that, she pulled -the carcass of the deer into the opening of the hut and mounted guard -over it until she was sure the wolf would not return. Then she lay down -again and listened to the breathing of the man. - - - - -VI - -THE SHADOW - - -The third morning rose cold and clear. _Kee-way-din_ had brushed the -heavens clean, and the rising sun was burnishing them. Orange and rose -color vied for precedence in the splendid procession across the zenith, -putting to flight the shadows of violet and purple which retreated -westward in rout before the gorgeous pageantry of the dawn. - -The girl stirred and started up at once, smiling hopefully at the -radiant sky. Each tree awoke; each leaf and bough sent forth its -fragrant tribute. Nature had wept, was drying her tears; and all the -woods were glad. - -The man still slept. The girl listened again for the sounds of his -breathing, and then rose slowly and walked out. She shivered with the -cold and dampness, for her feet had been wet the night before and were -not yet dry, but the fire still glowed warmly. The damp twigs sputtered -in protest as she put them on and a shaft of white smoke slanted down -the wind, but presently the grateful crackling was followed by a burst -of flame. - -The explosion of a pine-knot awoke the sleeper in the hut, who rolled -over on his couch, looking around him with heavy eyes, unable to put -his thoughts together. A ray of sunlight fell upon the girl’s face and -rested there; and he saw that she was pale and that her hair had fallen -in disorder about her shoulders. He understood then. He had slept upon -_her_ bed while she--for all he knew--had spent the night where he now -saw her. He straightened, struggled stiffly to his feet and stumbled -out, rubbing his eyes. - -She greeted him with a wan smile. - -“Good morning,” she said. “I awoke first, you see.” - -“I c-can’t forgive myself.” - -“Oh, yes, you can, since _I_ do.” - -“I don’t know what to say to you.” - -“You might say ‘good morning.’” - -“I’ve been asleep,” he went on with a slow shake of his head, “while -you lay--on the ground. I didn’t know. I only remember sitting there. I -meant to get up----” - -She laughed deliciously. - -“But you couldn’t have--unless you had walked in your sleep.” - -“I remember nothing.” He ran his blackened fingers through his hair. -“Oh, yes, the trail--the deer--and--you cooking fish--and then--after -that--we talked, didn’t we?” - -He was awake now, and blundered forward eagerly to take the branch -which she had lifted from the wood-pile. But she yielded grudgingly. - -“I’m to do my share--that we agreed----” - -“No--you’re a woman. You shall do nothing--go into the hut and rest.” - -“I’m not tired.” - -Her appearance belied her words. He looked down at her tenderly and -laid his hand gently on her shoulder. - -“You have not slept?” - -“Oh, yes, I slept,” looking away. - -“Why didn’t you wake me?” - -“It wasn’t necessary.” - -She smiled, but did not meet his gaze, which she felt was bent eagerly -in search of her own. - -“Where did you sleep?” he asked again. - -“In the shelter--beside you.” - -“And I did not know! Do you think you can forgive me?” - -She put her hand to her shoulder and gently removed his fingers. But -his own seized hers firmly and would not let them go. - -“Listen, please,” he pleaded, “won’t you? I want you to -understand--many things. I want you to know that I wouldn’t willingly -have slept there for anything in the world. It’s a matter of pride with -me to make you comfortable. I’m under a moral obligation to myself--it -goes deeper than you can ever guess--to bring you safely out of this, -and give you to your people. You don’t know how I’ve blessed the chance -that threw you in my way--here--since I’ve been in the woods--that it -happened to be my opportunity instead of some one else’s who didn’t -need it as I did. I _did_ need it. I can’t tell you how or why, but -I did. It doesn’t matter who I am, but I want you to appreciate this -much, at least, that I never knew anything of the joy of living until I -found it here, the delight of the struggle to satisfy the mere pangs of -healthy hunger--yours and mine, the wonderful ache of muscles stretched -to the snapping point.” He stopped, with a sharp sigh. - -“Oh, I know you can’t understand all this. I don’t think I want you -to--or why it hurts me to know that for one night at least you have -suffered----” - -“I do understand, I think,” she murmured slowly. She had not looked at -him, and her gaze sought the distant trees. “I did not suffer, though,” -she added. - -“You had been crying--they hurt me, too, those anxious eyes of yours.” - -“I was afraid you might not come back, that was all,” she said frankly. -“I’m rather useless, you see.” - -He took her other hand and made her look at him. - -“You felt the need of me?” he queried. - -“Yes, of course,” she said simply. “What would I have done without you?” - -He laughed happily, “What wouldn’t you have done--if you hadn’t cut -your finger?” - -She colored and her eyes, in some confusion, sought the two trees which -still bore the evidence of her ill-fated building operation. - -“Yesterday, when I was away you started to build a shack for me,” he -went on. “It was your right, of course----” - -“No, no,” she protested, lowering her head. “I thought you’d like it -so, I----” - -“I understand,” gently. “But it seems----” - -“It was a selfish motive after all,” she broke in again. “Your strength -is more important than mine----” - -He smiled and shook his head. - -“You can’t mislead me. Last night I learned something of what you -are--gentle, courageous, motherly, self-effacing. I’ll remember you -so--always.” - -She disengaged her hands abruptly and took up the saucepan. - -“Meanwhile, the breakfast is to be cooked--” she said coolly. There was -no reproof in her tone, only good fellowship, a deliberate confirmation -of her promises of the night before. - -With a smile he took the saucepan from her hand and went about his -work. It seemed that his failure yesterday to find a way out meant more -to him this morning than it did to her. His limbs were heavy, too, and -his body ached from top to toe; but he went to the brook and washed, -then searched the woods for the blueberries that she liked and silently -cooked the meal. - -As he did not eat she asked him, “Aren’t you hungry?” - -“Not very.” - -He took up a fish and turned it over in his fingers. “I think I’ll wait -for the venison pasty.” - -“Don’t you feel well?” - -“Just a little loggy,” that’s all. “I think I slept too long.” - -She looked up at him suddenly, and then with friendly solicitude, laid -her fingers lightly along his brow. The gesture was natural, gentle, so -exquisitely feminine, that he closed his eyes delightedly, conscious of -the agreeable softness of her fingers and the coolness of their touch. - -“Your brow is hot,” she said quickly. - -“Is it?” he asked. “That’s queer, I feel chilly.” - -“You’ve caught a bad cold, I’m afraid,” she said, removing her fingers. -“It’s very--very imprudent of you.” - -Not satisfied with the rapidity of her diagnosis, he thrust his hand -toward her for confirmation. - -“I haven’t any fever, have I?” - -Her fingers lightly touched his wrist. - -“I’m afraid so. Your pulse is thumping pretty fast.” - -“_Very_ fast?” - -“Yes.” - -“You must be mistaken.” - -“No, you have fever. You’ll have to rest to-day.” - -“I don’t want to rest. I couldn’t if I wanted to.” - -“You _must_!” she said peremptorily. “There’s nothing but the firewood. -I can get that.” - -“There’s the shack to build,” he said. - -“The shack must wait,” she replied. - -“And the deer to be butchered?” - -She looked at the carcass and then put her fingers over her eyes. But -she looked up at him resolutely. - -“Yes,” she persisted, “I’ll do that, too--if you’ll show me how.” - -He looked at her a moment with a soft light in his deep-set eyes and -then rose heavily to his feet. - -“It’s very kind of you to want to make me an invalid,” he said, “but -that can’t be. There’s nothing wrong with me. What I want is work. The -more I have the better I’ll feel. I’m going to skin the deer.” And -disregarding her protests, he leaned over and caught up the hind-legs -of the creature, dragging it into the bushes. - -The effort cost him a violent throbbing in the head and pains like -little needle pricks through his body. His eyes swam and the hand that -held his knife was trembling; but after a while he finished his work, -and cutting a strong young twig, thrust it through the tendons of the -hind legs and carried the meat back to camp, hanging it high on a -projecting branch near the fire. - -She watched him moving slowly about, but covered her eyes at the sight -of his red hands and the erubescent carcass. - -“Don’t you feel like a murderer?” she asked. - -“Yes,” he admitted, “I think I do; half of me does--but the hunter, the -primitive man in me is rejoicing. There’s an instinct in all of us that -belongs to a lower order of creation.” - -“But it--it’s unclean----” - -“Then all meat is unclean. The reproach is on the race--not on us. -After all we are only first cousins to the South-Sea gentlemen who eat -one another,” he laughed. - -“I don’t believe I can eat it,” she shuddered. - -“Oh, yes, you will--when you’re hungry.” - -“I’ll never eat meat again,” she insisted. “Never! The brutality of it!” - -“What’s the difference?” he laughed. “In town we pay a butcher to do -our dirty work--here we do it ourselves. Our responsibilities are just -as great there as here.” - -“That’s true--I never thought of that, but I can’t forget that -creature’s eyes.” And while she looked soberly into the fire, he went -down to the stream and cleansed himself, washing away all traces of his -unpleasant task. When he returned she still sat as before. - -“Why is it?” she asked thoughtfully, “that the animal appetites are -so repellent, since we ourselves are animals? And yet we tolerate -gluttony--drunkenness among our kind? We’re only in a larva state after -all.” - -He had sunk on the log beside her for the comfort of the blaze, and as -she spoke the shadows under his brows darkened with his frown and the -chin beneath its stubble hardened in deep lines. - -“I sometimes think that Thoreau had the right idea of life,” she said -slowly. “There are infinite degrees of gluttony--infinite degrees of -drunkenness. I felt shame for you just now--for myself--for the blood -on your hands. I can’t explain it. It seemed different from everything -else that you have done here in the woods, for the forest is clean, -sweet-smelling. I did not like to feel ashamed for you. You see,” she -smiled, “I’ve been rating you very highly.” - -“No,” he groaned, his head in his hands. “Don’t! You mustn’t do that!” - -At the somber note she turned and looked at him keenly. She could not -see his face, but the fingers that hid it were trembling. - -“You’re ill!” she gasped. “Your body is shaking.” - -He sat up with an effort and his face was the color of ashes. - -“No, it’s nothing. Just a chill, I think. I’ll be all right in a -minute.” - -But she put her arm around him and made him sit on the log nearest to -the fire. - -“This won’t do at all,” she said anxiously. “You’ve got to take care of -yourself--to let me take care of you. Here! You must drink this.” - -She had taken the flask from her pocket and before he knew it had -thrust it to his lips. He hesitated a moment, his eyes staring into -space and then without question, drank deep, his eyes closed. - -And as the leaping fires went sparkling through his body, he set the -vessel down, screwed on the lid and put it on the log beside him. Two -dark spots appeared beneath the tan and mounted slowly to his temples, -two red spots like the flush of shame. An involuntary shudder or two -and the trembling ceased. Then he sat up and looked at her. - -“A mustard foot-bath and some quinine, please,” he asked with a queer -laugh. - -But she refused to smile. “You slept in your soaking clothes last -night,” severely. - -He shrugged his shoulders and laughed again. - -“That’s nothing. I’ve done that often. Besides, what else could I do? -If you had wakened me----” - -“That is unkind.” - -She was on the verge of tears. So he got to his feet quickly and -shaking himself like a shaggy dog, faced her almost jauntily. - -“I’m right as a trivet,” he announced. “And I’m going to call you -Hebe--the cup-bearer to the gods--or Euphrosyne. Which do you like the -best?” - -“I don’t like either,” she said with a pucker at her brow. And then -with the demureness which so became her. “My name is--is Jane.” - -“Jane!” he exclaimed. “Jane! of course. Do you know I’ve been -wondering, ever since we’ve been here what name suited you best, -Phyllis, Millicent, Elizabeth, and a dozen others I’ve tried them all; -but I’m sure now that Jane suits you best of all. Jane!” he chuckled -gleefully. “Yes, it does--why, it’s _you_. How could I ever have -thought of anything else?” - -Her lips pouted reluctantly and finally broke into laughter, which -showed her even white teeth and discovered new dimples. - -“Do you really like it?” - -“How could I help it? It’s _you_, I tell you--so sound, sane, -determined and a little prim, too.” - -“I’m _not_ prim.” - -“Yes,” he decided, “you’re prim--when you think that you ought to be.” - -“Oh.” - -He seated himself beside her, looking at her quizzically as though she -was a person he had never seen before--as though the half-identity she -provided had invested her with new and unexpected attributes. - -“It was nice of you to tell me. My name is Phil,” he said. - -“Is it?” she asked almost mechanically. - -“Yes, don’t you like it?” - -Her glance moved quickly from one object to another--the shelter, the -balsam bed, and the crutch which leaned against the door flap. - -“Don’t you like it?” he repeated eagerly. - -“No,” quietly. “It isn’t like you at all.” - -Probed for a reason, she would give none, except the woman’s reason -which was no reason at all. Only when he ceased probing did she give -it, and then voluntarily. - -“I’m afraid I’ll have to change it then,” he laughed. - -“Yes, change it, please. The only Phils I’ve ever known were men of a -different stripe--men without purposes, without ambitions.” And then, -after a pause, “I believe you to be different.” - -“No! I have no purposes--no ambitions,” he said glowering again at the -fire. - -“That is not true.” - -“How do you know?” - -“Because you have ideals--of purity, of virtue, of courage.” - -“No,” he mumbled, “I have no ideals. Life is a joke--without a point. -If it has any, I haven’t discovered it yet.” - -Her eyes sought his face in a vague disquiet, but he would not meet her -look. The flush on his cheek had deepened, his gaze roved dully from -one object to another and his fingers moved aimlessly upon his knees. -She had proved him for three days, she thought, with the test of acid -and the fire, but she did not know him at this moment. The thing that -she had discovered and recognized as the clean white light of his inner -genius had been suddenly smothered. She could not understand. His words -were less disturbing than his manner, and his voice sounded gruff and -unfamiliar to her ears. - -She rose quietly and moved away, and he did not follow her. He did not -even turn his head and for all she knew was not aware that she had -gone. This was unlike him, for there had never been a moment since they -had met when she could have questioned his chivalry, his courtesy or -good manners. Her mind was troubled vaguely, like the surface of a lake -which trembles at the distant storm. - -A walk through the forest soothed her. The brook--her brook and -his--sang as musically as before, the long drawn aisles had not -changed, and the note of praise still swelled among the fretted vaults -above. The birds made light of their troubles, too, and the leaves -were whispering joyously the last gossip of the wood. What they said -she could not guess, but she knew by the warm flush that had risen to -her cheeks that it must be personal. - -When she returned to camp her arms were full of asters and cardinal -flowers. He greeted her gravely, with an almost too elaborate -politeness. - -“I hope you’ll forgive me,” he begged her. “I don’t think I’m quite -myself to-day.” - -“Are you feeling better?” she questioned. - -“Yes, I’m quite--quite comfortable. I was afraid I had offended you.” - -“Oh, no, I didn’t understand you for a moment. That was all.” She -lifted the flowers so that he might see them better. “I’ve brought -these for our lunch-table.” - -But he did not look at them. His eyes, still glowing unfamiliarly, -sought only hers. - -“Will you forgive me?” - -“Yes, of course,” lightly. - -“I want--I want your friendship. I can’t tell you how much. I didn’t -say anything that offended you, did I? I felt pretty seedy. Everything -seemed to be slipping away from me.” - -“Not now?” - -“Oh, no. I’m all right.” - -He took the flowers from her arms and laid them at the foot of a tree. -Then coming forward he thrust out both his hands suddenly and took her -by the elbows. - -“Jane!” he cried, “Jane! Look up into my eyes! I want you to see what -you’ve written there. Why haven’t you ever seen it? Why wouldn’t you -look and read? It’s madness, perhaps; but if it’s madness, then madness -is sweet--and all the world is mad with me. There isn’t any world. -There’s nothing but you and me--and Arcadia.” - -She had turned her gaze to the ground and would not look at him but she -struggled faintly in his embrace. The color was gone from her cheeks -now and beneath the long lashes that swept her cheek--one great tear -trembled and fell. - -“No, no--you mustn’t,” she whispered, stifling. “It can’t--it mustn’t -be. I don’t----” - -But he had seized her more closely in his arms and shackled her lips -with his kisses. - -“I’m mad--I know--but I want you, Jane. I love you--I love you--I want -the woods to hear----” - -She wrenched one arm free and pushed away, her eyes wide, for the -horror of him had dawned slowly. - -“Oh!” she gasped. “_You!_” - -As he seized her again, she drew back, mad with fear, shrunken within -herself, like a snake in a thicket coiling itself to thrust and then -struck viciously. - -He felt the impact of a blow full in the face and staggered back -releasing her. And her accents, sharp, cruel, vicious, clove the -silence like sword-cuts. - -“You cad! You brute! You utter brute!” - -He came forward like a blind man, mumbling incoherently, but she -avoided him easily, and fled. - -“Jane!” he called hoarsely. “Come back to me, Jane. Come back to me! -Oh, God!” - -He stumbled and fell; then rose again, putting his hands to his face -and running heavily toward the spot where she had vanished into the -bushes--the very spot where three days ago she had appeared to him. -He caught a glimpse of her ahead of him and blundered on, calling for -forgiveness. There was no reply but the echo of his own voice, nor -any glimpse of her. After that he remembered little, except that he -went on and on, tripping, falling, tearing his face and clothes in the -briars, getting to his feet and going on again, mad with the terror of -losing her--an instinct only, an animal in search of its wounded mate. - -He did not know how long he strove or how far, but there came a time -when he fell headlong among some boulders and could rise no more. - - * * * * * - -That morning two Indian guides in search of a woman who had been lost, -met another Indian at the headwaters of a stream, and together they -followed a fresh trail--the trail of a big man wearing hob-nailed boots -and carrying a burden. In the afternoon they found an empty shack -beside which a fire was burning. Two creels hung side by side near the -fire and upon the limb of a tree was the carcass of a deer. There were -many trails into the woods--some made by the feet of a woman, some by -the feet of a man. - -The three guides sat at the fire for awhile and smoked, waiting. - -Then two of them got up and after examining the smaller foot-marks -silently disappeared. When they had gone the third guide, a puzzled -look on his face, picked up an object which had fallen under a log and -examined it with minute interest. Then with a single guttural sound -from his throat, put the object in his pocket and bending well forward, -his eyes upon the ground, glided noiselessly through the underbrush -after them. - - - - -VII - -ALLEGRO - - -A storm of wind and rain had fallen out of the Northwest, and in a -night had blown seaward the lingering tokens of Autumn. The air was -chill, the sunshine pale as calcium light, and distant buildings came -into focus, cleanly cut against the sparkling sky at the northern -end of the Avenue; jets of steam appeared overhead and vanished at -once into space; flags quivered tensely at their poles; fast flying -squadrons of clouds whirled on to their distant rendezvous, their -shadows leaping skyward along the sunlit walls. In a stride Winter had -come. The city had taken a new _tempo_. The _adagio_ of Indian Summer -had come to a pause in the night; and with the morning, the baton of -winter quickened its beat as the orchestra of city sounds swung into -the _presto_ movement. Upon the Avenue shop-windows bloomed suddenly -with finery; limousines and broughams, new or refurbished, with a -glistening of polished nickel and brass, drew up along the curbs to -discharge their occupants who descended, briskly intent on the business -of the minute, in search of properties and backgrounds for the winter -drama. - -In the Fifth Avenue window of the Cosmos Club, some of the walking -gentlemen gathered in the afternoon and were already rehearsing the -familiar choruses. All summer they had played the fashionable circuit -of house-parties at Narragansett, Newport and other brief stands, and -all recounted the tales of the road, glad at last to be back in their -own corners, using the old lines, the old gestures, the old cues with -which they had long been familiar. - -If its summer pilgrimage had worked any hardship, the chorus at the -windows of the Cosmos Club gave no sign of it. It was a well-fed -chorus, well-groomed, well-tailored and prosperous. Few members of it -had ever played a “lead” or wished to; for the tribulations of star-dom -were great and the rewards uncertain, so they played their parts -comfortably far up-stage against the colorful background. - -Colonel Broadhurst took up the glass which Percy Endicott had ordered -and regarded it ponderously. - -“Pretty, aren’t they?” he asked sententiously of no one in particular, -“pretty, innocent, winking bubbles! Little hopes rising and bursting.” - -“Hope deferred maketh the heart sick,” put in the thirsty Percy -promptly. “Luck, Colonel!” and drank. - -With a long sigh the Colonel lifted his glass. “Why do we do it?” he -asked again. “There’s nothing--positively nothing in it.” - -“You never said a truer thing,” laughed Ogden Spencer, for the Colonel -had set his empty glass upon the table. - -“Oh, for the days of sunburnt mirth--of youth and the joyful -Hippocrene!” the Colonel sighed again. - -“Write--note--Chairman--House Committee,” said Coleman Van Duyn, -arousing from slumber, thickly, “mighty poor stuff here lately.” - -“Go back to sleep, Coley,” laughed Spencer. “It’s not your cue.” - -Van Duyn lurched heavily forward for his glass, and drank silently. -“Hippocrene?” he asked. “What’s Hippocrene?” - -“Nectar, my boy,” said the Colonel pityingly, “the water of the gods.” - -“Water!” and with a groan, “Oh, the Devil!” - -He joined good naturedly in the laugh which followed and settled back -in his leather chair. - -“Oh, you laugh, you fellows. It’s no joke. Drank nothing but water for -two months this summer. Doctors orders. Drove the water wagon, _I_ -did--two long months. Think of it!” The retrospect was so unpleasant -that Mr. Van Duyn leaned forward immediately and laid his finger on the -bell. - -“Climb off, Coley?” asked Spencer. - -“No, jumped,” he grinned. “Horse ran away.” - -“You’re looking fit.” - -“I am. Got a new doctor--sensible chap, young, ambitious, all that sort -of thing. Believes in alcohol. Some people need it, you know. Can’t -be too careful in choice of doctor. Wants me to drink Lithia water, -though. What’s this Hippo--hippo----” - -“Chondriac!” put in Percy. - -“Hippocrene,” said Broadhurst severely. - -“Sounds like a parlor car--or--er--a skin food. Any good, Colonel?” - -“No,” said Colonel Broadhurst with another sigh, “It wouldn’t suit your -case, Coley.” - -A servant entered silently, took the orders and removed the empty -glasses. - -“Where were you, Coley?” asked Percy. - -“Woods--Canada.” - -“Fishing?” - -“Yep--some.” - -“See anything of Phil Gallatin?” - -“No. I was with a big outfit--ten guides, call ’em servants, if you -like. Air mattresses, cold storage plant, _chef_, bottled asparagus -tips, Charlotte Russe--fine camp that!” - -“Whose?” - -“Henry K. Loring. You know--coal.” - -“Oh--I see. There’s a girl, isn’t there?” - -“Yes.” - -Van Duyn reached for his glass and lapsed into surly silence. - -But Percy Endicott was always voluble in the afternoon. - -“You didn’t hear about Phil?” - -“No--not another----” - -“Oh, no, he hasn’t touched a drop for weeks. Got lost up there. I heard -the story at Tuxedo from young Benson who just come down. He had it -from a guide. It seems that Phil got twisted somehow in the heart of -the Kawagama country and couldn’t find his way back to camp. He’s not -much of a woodsman--hadn’t ever been up there before, and the guide -couldn’t pick up his trail----” - -“Didn’t he lose his nerve?” - -“Not he. He couldn’t, you see. There was a girl with him.” - -“A girl! The plot thickens. Go on.” - -“They met in the woods. She was lost, too, so Phil built a lean-to and -they lived there together. Lucky dog! Idyllic--what?” - -“Well, rather! Arcadia to the minute. But how did they get on?” asked -the Colonel. - -“Famously----” - -“But they couldn’t live on love.” - -“Oh, they fished and ate berries, and Gallatin shot a deer.” - -“Lucky, lucky dog!” - -“They’d be there now, if the guides hadn’t found them.” - -“His guides?” - -“Yes, and hers.” - -“Hers! She wasn’t a native then?” - -“Not on your life. A New Yorker--and a clinker. That’s the mystery. Her -guide came from the eastward but her camp must have been--why, what’s -the matter, Coley?” - -Mr. Van Duyn had put his glass upon the table and had risen heavily -from his easy chair, his pale blue eyes unpleasantly prominent. He -pulled at his collar-band and gasped. - -“Heat--damn heat!” and walked away muttering. - -It was just in the doorway that he met Phil Gallatin, who, with a -smile, was extending the hand of fellowship. He glowered at the -newcomer, touched the extended fingers flabbily and departed, while -Gallatin watched him go, not knowing whether to be angry or only -amused. But he shrugged a shoulder and joined the group near the window. - -The greetings were cordial and the Colonel motioned to the servant to -take Gallatin’s order. - -“No, thanks, Colonel,” said Gallatin, his lips slightly compressed. - -“Really! Glad to hear it, my boy. It’s a silly business.” And then to -the waiting-man: “Make mine a Swissesse this time. It’s ruination, -sir, this drinking when you don’t want it--just because some silly ass -punches the bell.” - -“But suppose you _do_ want it,” laughed Spencer. - -“Then all the more reason to refuse.” - -Gallatin sank into the chair that Van Duyn had vacated. These were his -accustomed haunts, these were his associates, but he now felt ill at -ease and out of place in their company. He came here in the afternoons -sometimes, but the club only made his difficulties greater. He listened -silently to the gossip of the widening group of men, of somebody’s -_coup_ down town, of Larry Kane’s trip to the Rockies, of the opening -of the hunting season on Long Island, the prospects of a gay winter and -the thousand and one happenings that made up the life of the leisurely -group of men about him. The servant brought the tray and laid the -glasses. - -“Won’t change your mind, Phil?” asked Colonel Broadhurst again. - -Gallatin straightened. “No, thanks,” he repeated. - -“That’s right,” laughed the Colonel jovially. “The true secret of -drinking is to drink when you don’t want it--and refuse when you do.” - -“Gad! Crosby, for a man who never refuses--” began Kane. - -“It only shows what a martyr I am to the usages of society,” concluded -the Colonel with a chuckle. - -“How’s the crop of buds this year?” queried Larry Kane. - -“Ask ‘Bibby’ Worthington,” suggested Percy Endicott. “He’s got ’em all -down, looks, condition, action, pedigree----” - -“Bigger than usual,” said the gentleman appealed to, “queens, too, some -of ’em.” - -“And have you picked out the lucky one already?” laughed Spencer. - -“Bibby” Worthington, as everybody knew, had been “coming out” for ten -years, with each season’s crop of debutantes, and each season had -offered his hand and heart to the newest of them. - -But the question touched his dignity in more than one tender spot, and -he refused to reply. - -“They’re all queens,” sighed the Colonel, raising his glass. “I love -’em all, God bless ’em, their rosy faces, their round limpid eyes----” - -“And the smell of bread and jam from the nursery,” put in Spencer, the -materialist, dryly. “Some newcomers, aren’t there, Billy?” - -“Oh, yes, a few Westerners.” - -“Oh, well, we need the money, you know.” - -The crowd broke up into groups of two and three, each with its own -interests. Gallatin rose and joined Kane and Endicott at the window, -where the three sat for awhile watching the endless procession of -vehicles and pedestrians moving up and down the Avenue. - -“Good sport in Canada, I hear, Phil,” said Percy in a pause of -conversation. - -Gallatin glanced quickly at his companion. - -“Fishing--yes,” he said quietly, unable to control the flush that had -risen unbidden to his temples. “No shooting.” - -“That’s funny,” went on the blissful Endicott with a laugh. “I heard -you got a deer, Phil.” - -“Oh, yes, one----” - -“A two-legged one--with skirts.” - -Gallatin started--his face pale. - -“Who told you that?” he asked, his jaw setting. - -“Oh, don’t get sore, Phil. Somebody’s brought the story down from -Montreal--about your being lost in the woods--and--and all that,” he -finished lamely. “Sorry I butted in.” - -“So am I,” said Gallatin, stiffly. - -Percy’s face crimsoned, and he stammered out an apology. He knew he -had made a mistake. Gossip that he was, he did not make it a habit to -intrude upon other men’s personal affairs, especially men like Gallatin -who were intolerant of meddlers; but the story was now common property -and to that extent at least he was justified. - -“Don’t be unpleasant, Phil, there’s a good chap. I only thought----” - -“Oh, it doesn’t matter in the least,” said Gallatin, rising, suddenly -aware of the fact that the whole incident would only draw his adventure -into further notoriety. “Somebody’s made a good story of it,” he -laughed. “I did meet a--a girl in the woods and she stayed at my camp -until her guides found her, that’s all. I don’t even know who she was,” -he finished truthfully. - -Percy Endicott wriggled away, glad to be let off so easily; and after a -word with Kane, Gallatin went quietly out. - -He reached the street and turning the corner walked northward blindly, -in dull resentment against Percy Endicott, and the world that he -typified. Their story of his adventure, it appeared, was common -property, and was being handed with God knows what hyperbole from one -chattering group to another. It didn’t matter about himself, of course. -He realized grimly that this was not the first time his name had -played shuttlecock to the fashionable battledore. It was of her he was -thinking--of Jane. Thank God, they hadn’t found a name to couple with -his. What they were telling was doubtless bad enough without that, and -the mere fact that his secret was known had already taken away some of -the idyllic quality with which he had invested it. He knew what fellows -like Ogden Spencer and Larry Kane were saying. Had he not himself -in times past assisted at the post mortems of dead reputations, and -wielded his scalpel with as lively a skill as the rest of them? - -Two months had passed since that day in the woods when he had lost -her, but there wasn’t a day of that time when he had not hoped that -some miracle would bring them together again. In Canada he had -made inquiries at the camps he had passed, and poor Joe Keegón, -who had spent a day with her guides, had come in for his share of -recrimination. The party had come from the eastward, and had made -a permanent camp; there were many people and many guides, but no -names had passed. Joe Keegón was not in the habit of asking needless -questions. - -One thing alone that had belonged to her remained to Gallatin--a small -gold flask which bore, upon its surface in delicate script, the letters -J.L. On the day that they had broken camp Joe Keegón had silently -handed it to him, his face more masklike than ever. Gallatin had thrust -it into his coat-pocket with an air of indifference he was far from -feeling, and had brought it southward to New York, where it now stood -upon the desk in the room of his boyhood, so that he could see it -each day, the token of a great happiness--the symbol of an ineffable -disgrace. - -It seemed now that Gallatin had not needed that reminder, for since -he had been back in the city he had been working hard. It surprised -him what few avenues of escape were open to him, for when he went -abroad and did the things he had always done, there at his elbow was -the Bowl. But his resolution was still unshaken, and difficult as he -found the task, he went the round of his clubs at the usual hours and -joined perfunctorily in the conversation. Always companionable, his -fellows now found him reticent, more reserved and less prone to make -engagements. Bridge he had foresworn and the card room at the Cosmos -saw him no more. He stopped in at the club on the way home as he had -done to-day, sometimes leaving his associates with an abruptness which -caused comment. - -But already he was finding the trial he had set for himself less -difficult; and as the habit of resistance grew on him, he realized that -little by little he was drifting away from the associations which had -always meant so much to him. He had not given up the hope of finding -Jane. From a chance phrase, which he had treasured, he knew that New -York was familiar to her and that some day he would see her. He was as -sure of that as though Jane herself had promised it to him. She owed -him nothing, of course, for in the hour of his madness he had thrown -away the small claims he had upon her gratitude, and the only memory -she could have of him was that which had been expressed in the look of -fear and loathing he had last seen in her eyes. To her, of course, time -and distance had only magnified that horror and he knew that when he -met her, there was little to expect from her generosity, little that he -would even dare ask of it except that she would listen while he told -her of the enemy in his house and of the battle that was still raging -in his heart. He wanted her to know about that. It was his right to -tell her, not so much to clear himself of blame, as to justify her for -the liberality of her confidence before the tide of battle had turned -against him--against them both. - -Time and distance had played strange tricks with Jane’s image and at -times it seemed very difficult for Gallatin to reconstruct the picture -which he had destroyed. Sometimes she appeared a Dryad, as when he had -first seen her, running frightened through the wood, sometimes the -forlorn child with the injured ankle, sometimes the cliff-woman; but -most often he pictured her as when he had seen her last, running in -terror and dismay from the sight of him. And the other Jane, the Jane -that he knew best, was hidden behind the eyes of terror. The memory -was so vague that he sometimes wondered whether he would even know her -if he met her dressed in the mode of the city. Somehow he could not -associate her with the thought of fashionable clothes. She had worn no -hat nor had she needed one. She belonged to the deep woods, where dress -means only warmth and art means only artificiality. He always thought -of her hatless, in her tattered shirtwaist and skirt, and upon Fifth -Avenue was as much at a loss as to the kind of figure he must look for -as though he were in the land of the great Cham. - -Yes, he would know her, her slender figure, her straight carriage, the -poise of her head, her brown hair, her deep blue eyes. No fripperies -could conceal them. These were Jane. He would know them anywhere. - - - - -VIII - -CHICOT, THE JESTER - - -Philip Gallatin had been mistaken. He did not know Jane when he saw -her. For, ten minutes later, he met her face to face in one of the -paths of the Park--looked her in the face and passed on unknowing. Like -the hound in the fable, he was so intent upon the reflection in the -pool that he let slip the substance. He was conscious that a girl had -passed him going in the opposite direction, a girl dressed in a dark -gray tailor-made suit, with a fur at her neck and a dark muff swinging -in one hand--a slender girl beside whom two French poodles frisked and -scampered, a handsome girl in fashionable attire, taking her dogs for -an airing. He walked on and sat down on a bench which overlooked the -lake. The sun had fallen below the Jersey hills and only the tops of -the tall buildings to the eastward held its dying glow. The lawns were -swathed in shadow and the branches of the trees, already half denuded -of their foliage, emerged in solemn silhouette like a pattern of Irish -lace against the purpling sky. A hush had suddenly fallen on the -distant traffic and Gallatin was alone. - -Out of the half-light an inky figure came bounding up to him and -sniffed eagerly at his knees. It was a black poodle. Gallatin patted -the dog encouragingly, upon which it whined, put its paws on his lap -and looked up into his face. - -“Too bad, old man,” he said. “Lost, aren’t you?” Then, as the memory -came to him, “By George, your mistress will be hunting. I wonder -if we can find her.” He turned the nickel collar in his fingers and -examined the name-plate. There in script was the name of the owner, and -an address. Gallatin thrust the crook of his stick through the dog’s -collar and rose. He must find Miss Jane Loring or return the animal to -its home. Jane Loring? Jane--? - -He stopped, bent over the excited dog and looked at the name plate -again. Jane Loring--“J. L.” Why--it was Jane’s dog! He had passed -her a moment ago--here--in the park. More perturbed even than the -wriggling poodle, he rose and hurried along the path down which he had -come. There could be no mistake. Of course, it was Jane! There was no -possible doubt about it! That blessed poodle! - -“Hi! there! Let up, will you?” he cried, as the dog twisted and -squirmed away from him. A whistle had sounded shrilly upon Gallatin’s -left and before he knew it the dog had escaped him and was dashing -hotfoot through the leaves toward the spot where a dark figure with -another dog on a leash was rapidly moving. - -Gallatin followed briskly and came up a moment later, in the midst of -the excitement of reunion and reconciliation. - -“Down, Chicot, down, I say,” the girl was commanding. “Aren’t you -ashamed of yourself to be giving so much trouble!” And as Gallatin -approached, breathlessly, hat in hand, “I’m ever so much obliged. I -ought to have had him in leash. He’s only a puppy and--” She stopped, -mouth open, eyes wide as she recognized him. He saw the look she gave -him and bowed his head. - -“Jane!” he said, humbly. “Jane!” - -The dogs were leaping around them both and Chicot was biting joyously -at his gloved hand, but Miss Loring had drawn back. - -“You!” she said. - -“Yes,” softly. “I--I’m so glad to see you.” - -He held his hand before him as though to parry an expected blow. - -“Don’t,” he muttered. “Give me a chance. There’s so much I’ve got to -say,--so much----” - -“There’s nothing for you to say,” she said decisively. “If you’ll -excuse me--I--I must be going at once.” - -She turned away quickly, but the dogs were putting her dignity in -jeopardy for the puppy still nosed Gallatin’s hand and showed a -determination to linger for his caress. - -“You’ve _got_ to listen,” he murmured. “I’m not going to lose you -again----” - -“Come, Chicot,” said the girl in a voice which was meant to be -peremptory, but which sounded curiously ineffective. Chicot would not -go until Gallatin caught him by the collar and followed. - -“You see,” he laughed, “you’ve got to stand for me--or lose the puppy.” - -But Miss Loring had turned abruptly and was moving rapidly toward the -distant Avenue. Gallatin put on his hat and walked at her side. - -“I want you to know--how it all happened to me--up there in the woods,” -he muttered, through set lips. “It’s only justice to me--and to you.” - -“Will you please leave me!” she said, in a stifled voice, her head -stiffly set, her eyes looking straight down the path before her. - -“No,” he replied, more calmly. “I’m not going to leave you.” - -“Oh, that you would dare!” - -“Don’t, Jane!” he pleaded. “Can’t you see that I’ve got to go with you -whether----” - -“My name is Loring,” she interrupted coldly, strongly accenting the -word. - -“Won’t you listen to me?” - -“I’m entirely at your mercy--unfortunately. I’ve always thought that a -girl was safe from intrusion here in the Park.” - -“Don’t call it that. I’ll go in a moment, if you’ll only hear what I’ve -got to say.” - -“You’d offer an apology for--for _that_!” She could not find a tone -that suited her scorn of him. - -“No--not apology,” he said steadily. “One doesn’t apologize for the -things beyond one’s power to prevent. It’s the _miserere_, Jane--the -_de profundis_----” - -“It comes too late,” she said, but she stole a glance at him in spite -of herself. His head bent slightly forward, he was gazing, under -lowered brows directly before him into the falling dusk. She remembered -that look. He had worn it when he had sat by their camp-fire the night -they had heard the voices. - -“Yes, I know,” he went on slowly. “Too late for you to understand--too -late to help, and yet----” - -“I beg that you will not go on,” she broke in quickly. “It can do no -good.” - -“I must go on. I’ve got so much to say and such a little time to say it -in. Perhaps, I won’t see you again. At least I won’t see you unless you -wish it.” - -“Then you’ll not see me again.” - -He turned his head and examined her soberly. - -“That, of course, is your privilege. Don’t be too hard, if you can help -it. Try and remember me, if you can, as I was before----” - -“I shall not remember you at all, Mr. Gallatin.” - -He started as she spoke his name. “You knew?” - -“Yes, I knew. You--your name was familiar to me.” - -“You mean that you had heard of me?” he asked wonderingly. - -She knew that she had said too much, but she went on coldly. - -“In New York one hears of Philip Gallatin. I knew--there in the woods. -I discovered your name by accident--upon your letters.” - -She spoke shortly--hesitantly, as if every word was wrung from her by -an effort of will. - -“I see,” he said, “and what you heard of me--was not good?” - -“No,” she said. “It was not good. But I had known you two days then, -and I--I thought there must--have been some mistake--until--” she broke -off passionately. “Oh, what is the use of all this?” she gasped. “It’s -lowering to your pride and to mine. If I have said more than I meant to -say, it is because I want you to know why I never want to see you--to -hear of you again.” - -He bowed his head beneath the storm. He deserved it, he knew, and there -was even a bitter pleasure in his retribution, for her indifference had -been hardest to bear. - -“I understand,” he said quietly. “I will go in a moment. But first I -mean that you shall hear what I have to say.” - -She remembered that tone of command. He had used it when he had lifted -her in his arms and carried her helpless to his camp-fire. The memory -of it shamed her, as his presence did now, and she walked on more -rapidly. Their path had been deserted, but they were now approaching -the Avenue where the hurrying pedestrians and vehicles proclaimed the -end of privacy. A deserted bench was before them. - -“Please stop here a moment,” he pleaded. “I won’t keep you long.” And -when she would have gone on he laid a hand on her arm. “You must!” he -insisted passionately. “You’ve got to, Jane. You’ll do me a great wrong -if you don’t. I’ve kept the faith with you since then--since I was mad -there in the wilderness. You didn’t know or care, but I’ve kept the -faith--the good you’ve done--don’t undo it now.” - -A passer-by was regarding them curiously and so she sat, for Gallatin’s -look compelled her. She did not understand what he meant, and in her -heart she knew she could not care whose faith he kept, or why, but she -recognized in his voice the note of a deep emotion, and was conscious -of its echo in her own spirit. Outwardly she was as disdainful as -before, and her silence, while it gave him consent, was anything but -encouraging. As he sat down beside her the puppy, “Chicot,” put his -head upon Gallatin’s knees and looked up into his eyes, so Gallatin put -his hand on the dog’s head and kept it there. - -“I want you to know something about my people--about--the Gallatins----” - -“I know enough, I think.” - -“No--you’re mistaken. We are not all that you think we are. Let me go -on,” calmly. “The Gallatins have always stood for truth of speech and -honesty of purpose, and whatever their failings they have all been -called honorable men. Upon the Bench, at the Bar, in the Executive -chair, no word has ever been breathed against their professional -integrity or their civic pride. My great grandfather was a Justice of -the Supreme Court of the United States, my grandfather a Governor of -the State of New York, my father----” - -Miss Loring made a gesture of protest. - -“Wait,” he insisted. “My father was a great lawyer--one of the greatest -this City and State have ever known--and yet all of these men, mental -giants of their day and generation--had--had a weakness--the same -weakness--the weakness that I have. To one of them it meant the loss -of the only woman he had ever loved--his wife and his children; -to another the sacrifice of his highest political ambition; to my -father a lingering illness of which he subsequently died. That is my -pedigree--of great honor--and greater shame. History has dealt kindly -because their faults were those of their blood and race, for which -they themselves were not accountable. This may seem strange to you -because you have only learned to judge men by their performances. The -phenomenon of heredity is new to you. People are taught to see the -physical resemblances of the members of a family to its ancestors--but -of the spiritual resemblance one knows nothing--unless--” his voice -sunk until it was scarcely audible, “unless the spiritual resemblance -is so strong that even Time itself cannot efface it.” - -The girl did not speak. Her head was bowed but her chin was still -set firmly, and her eyes, though they looked afar, were stern and -unyielding. - -“When I went to the woods, I was--was recovering--from an illness. -I went up there at the doctor’s orders. I _had_ to go, and I--I got -better after a while. Then _you_ came, and I learned that there was -something else in life besides what I had found in it. I had never -known----” - -“I can’t see why I should listen to this, Mr. Gallatin.” - -“Because what happened after that, you were a part of.” - -“_I?_” - -“It was you who showed me how to be well. That’s all,” he finished -quietly. He rubbed the dog’s ears between his fingers and got some -comfort from Chicot’s sympathy, but went on in a constrained voice. “I -was hoping you might understand, that you might give me charity--if -only the charity you once gave to the carcass of a dead deer.” - -There was a long silence during which he watched her downcast profile, -but when at last she lifted her head, he knew that she was still -unyielding. - -“You ask too much, Mr. Gallatin,” she said constrainedly. “If you were -dead you might have my pity--even my tears, but living--living I can -only--only hold you in--abhorrence.” - -She rose from the bench quickly and shortened in the leashes of her -dogs. - -“You--you dislike me so much as that?” he asked dully. - -“Dislike and--and fear you, Mr. Gallatin. If you’ll excuse me----” - -She turned away and Gallatin started up. Dusk had fallen and they were -quite alone. - -“I can’t let you go like this,” he whispered, standing in front of -her so that she could not pass him. “I can’t. You mean that you fear -me because of what--happened--My God! Haven’t I proved to you that it -was madness, the madness of the Gallatin blood, which strikes at the -happiness of those it loves the best? I love you, Jane. It’s true. -Night and day----” - -“You’ve told me that before,” she broke in fearlessly. “Must you insult -me again. For shame! Let me pass, please.” - -It was the assurance of utter contempt. Gallatin bowed his head and -drew aside. There was nothing left to do. - -He stood there in the dusk, his head uncovered, and watched her slender -figure as it merged into the darkness. Only the dog, Chicot, stopped, -struggling, at his leash, but its mistress moved on hurriedly without -even turning her head and was lost in the crowd upon the street. -Gallatin lingered a moment longer immovable and then turned slowly -and walked into the depths of the Park, his face pale, his dark eyes -staring like those of a blind man. - -Night had fallen swiftly, but not more swiftly than the shadows on -his spirit, among which he groped vaguely for the elements that had -supported him. He crept into the night like a stricken thing, his -feet instinctively guiding him away from the moving tide of his -fellow-beings--one of whom had just denied him charity--without which -his own reviving faith in himself was again in jeopardy. For two months -he had fought his battle silently with her image in his mind--the -image of a girl who had once given him faith and friendship, whose -fingers had soothed him in fever, and whose eyes had been dark with -compassion--the girl who had taught him the uses of responsibility and -the glorification of the labor of his hands. That silent battle had -magnified the image, vested it with sovereign rights, given it the -gentle strength by which he had conjured, and he had fought joyfully, -with a new belief in his own destiny, a real delight in conquest. His -heart glowed with a dull wrath. Was it nothing that he had come to her -clean-handed again? The image that he had conjured was fading in the -sullen glow in the West out of which she had come to him. Was this -Jane? The Jane he knew had sorrowed with the falling of a bird, mourned -the killing of a squirrel and wept over the glazed eyes of a dead deer. -Was this Jane? This disdainful woman with the modish hat and cold blue -eye, this scornful daughter of convention who sneered at sin and -mocked at the tokens of repentance? - -The image was gone from his shrine, and in its place a Nemesis sat -enthroned--a Nemesis in dark gray who looked at him with the eyes of -contempt and who called herself Miss Loring. He was resentful of her -name as at an intrusion. It typified the pedantry of the conventional -and commonplace. - -The arc lamps died and flared, their shadows leaping like gnomes in and -out of the obscurity. High in the air, lights punctured the darkness -where the hotels loomed. Beside him on the drive gay turnouts hurried. -The roar of the city came nearer. Arcadia was not even a memory. - -The Pride of the Gallatins was a sorry thing that night. This Gallatin -had bared it frankly, torn away its rugged coverings, that a woman -might see and know him for what he was--the best and the worst of him. -Even now he did not regret it; for bitter as the retribution had been, -he knew that he had owed her that candor, for it was a part of the -lesson he had learned with Jane--the other Jane--among the woods. This -Jane remembered not; for she had struck and had not spared him, and -each stinging phrase still pierced and quivered in the wound that it -had made. - -Out of the blackness of his thoughts reason came slowly. It was her -right, of course, to deny him the privileges of her regard--the -rights of fellowship--this he had deserved and had expected, but the -carelessness of her contempt had been hard to bear. Mockery he had -known in women, and intolerance, but no one of his blood had ever -brooked contempt. His cheeks burned with the sudden flush of anger and -his hand upon his stick grew rigid. A man might pay for such a thing as -that--but a girl! - -His muscles relaxed and he laughed outright. A snip of a girl that -he’d kissed in the woods, who now came out dressed in broadcloth and -sanctimony! How should it matter what she thought of him? Absurd little -Puritan! Girls had been kissed before and had lived to be merry over -it. He was a fool to have built this enchanted fabric into his brain, -this castle of Micomicon which swayed and toppled about his ears. Miss -Loring, forsooth! - -He took out his cigarette case in leisurely fashion and struck a match, -and its reflection sparkled gayly in his eyes. He inhaled deeply and -bent his steps toward the nearest lights beyond the trees. - - - - -IX - -THE LORINGS - - -The house of Henry K. Loring, Captain of Industry and patron saint of -one or more great businesses, was situated on that part of Central Park -East which Colonel Van Duyn called Mammon’s Mile. The land upon which -it was built was more valuable even than the sands of Pactolus; and -the architect, keenly conscious of his obligations to the earth which -supported this last monument to his genius, had let no opportunity -slip by which would make the building more expensive for its owner. -Column, frieze, capital and entablature, all bore the tokens of his -playful imagination, and the hipped roof which climbed high above -its neighbors, ended in a riot of finial and coping, as though the -architect nearing the end of his phantasy (and his commission) had -crowded into the few short moments which remained to him all the -ornament that had been forbidden him elsewhere. The edifice had reached -the distinction of notice by the conductors of the “rubber-neck” busses -on the Avenue and of the reproach of Percy Endicott, whose scurrilous -comment that “it contained all of the fifty-seven varieties” had now -become a by-word down town. - -But the lofty hall and drawing-room of the house failed to fulfill -the dire prediction of its ornate exterior, for here the architect, -as though with a sudden awakening of the artistic conscience, had -developed a simple scheme in an accepted design which somewhat atoned -for his previous prodigality. A portrait of the master of the house, -by an eminent Englishman, hung in the hall, and in the drawing-room -were other paintings of wife and daughter, by Americans and Frenchmen, -almost, if not equally, eminent. The continent of Europe had been -explored in search of tapestries and ornaments for the house of this -new prince of finance, and evidences of rare discrimination were -apparent at every hand. And yet with all its splendor, the house lacked -an identity and an ego. It was too sophisticated. Each object of art, -beautiful in itself, spoke of a different taste--a taste which had -been bought and paid for. It was like a museum which one enters with -interest but without emotion. It was a house without a soul. - -It was toward this splendid mausoleum that the daughter of the house -made her way after her meeting with Mr. Gallatin in the Park. After -one quick look over her shoulder in the direction from which she had -come, she walked up the driveway hurriedly and rang the bell, entering -the glass vestibule, from which, while she waited for the door to be -opened, she peered furtively forth. A man in livery took the leashes of -the poodles from her hand and closed the door behind her. - -“Has Mother come in, Hastings?” - -“Yes, Miss Loring. She has been asking for you.” - -Miss Loring climbed the marble stairway that led to the second floor, -but before she reached the landing, a voice sounded in her ears, a thin -voice pitched in a high key of nervous tension. - -“Jane! Where _have_ you been? Don’t you know that we’re going to the -theatre with the Dorsey-Martin’s to-night? Madame Thiebout has been -waiting for you for at least an hour. What has kept you so long?” - -“I was walking, Mother,” said the girl. “I have a headache. I--I’m not -going to-night.” - -Mrs. Loring’s hands flew up in horrified protest. “There!” she cried. -“I knew it. If it hadn’t been a headache, it would have been something -else. It’s absurd, child. Why, we _must_ go. You _know_ how important -it is for us to keep in with the Dorsey-Martins. It’s the first time -they’ve asked us to anything, and it means so much in every way.” - -Miss Loring by this time had walked toward the door of her own room, -for her mother’s voice when raised, was easily heard in every part of -the big house. - -“I’m not going out to-night, Mother,” she repeated quietly, shutting -the door behind them. - -“Jane,” Mrs. Loring cried petulantly. “Mrs. Dorsey-Martin is counting -on you. She’s asked some people especially to meet you--the Perrines, -the Endicotts, and Mr. Van Duyn, and you know how much _he_ will be -disappointed. Lie down on the couch for a moment, and take something -for your nerves. You’ll feel better soon, that’s a dear girl.” - -The unhappy lady put her arm around her daughter’s waist and led her -toward the divan. - -“I knew you would, Jane dear. There. You’ve got so much good sense----” - -Miss Loring sank listlessly on the couch, her gaze fixed on the -flowered hangings at her windows. Her body had yielded to her mother’s -insistence, but her thoughts were elsewhere. But as Mrs. Loring moved -toward the bell to call the maid, her daughter stopped her with a -gesture. - -“It isn’t any use, Mother. I’m not going,” she said wearily. - -The older woman stopped and looked at her daughter aghast. - -“You really mean it, Jane! You ungrateful girl! I’ve always said -that you were eccentric, but you’re obstinate, too, and self-willed. -A headache!” scornfully. “Why, last year I went to the opera in Mrs. -Poultney’s box when I thought I should _die_ at any moment! I don’t -believe you have a headache. You’re lying to me--hiding inside yourself -the way you always do when I want your help and sympathy most. I don’t -understand you at all. You’re no daughter of mine. When I’m trying -so hard to give you your proper place in the world, to have you meet -the people who will do us the most good! It’s a shame, I tell you, to -treat me so. Why did I bring you up with so much care? See that your -associates out home should be what I thought proper for a girl with the -future that your father was making for you? Why did I take you abroad -and give you all the advantages of European training and culture? Have -you taught music and French and art? For _this_? To find that your -only pleasure is in books and walks in the Park--and in the occasional -visits of the friends of your youth whom you should long since have -outgrown? It’s an outrage to treat me so--an outrage!” - -Unable longer to control the violence of her emotions, the poor woman -sank into a chair and burst into tears. Miss Loring rose slowly and put -her arms around her mother’s shoulders. - -“Don’t, Mother!” she said softly. “You mustn’t cry about me. I’m not -really as bad as you think I am. I’m not worth bothering about, though. -But what does it matter--this time?” - -“It--it’s always--this time,” she wept. - -“No--I’ll go anywhere you like, but not to-night. I _do_ feel badly. I -_really_ do. I--I’m not quite up to seeing a lot of people. Don’t cry, -dear. You know it will make your eyes red.” - -Mrs. Loring set up quickly and touched her eyes with her handkerchief. - -“Yes, yes; I know it does. I don’t see how you can hurt me so. I -suppose my complexion is ruined and I’ll look like an old hag. It’s a -pity! Just after Thiebout had taken such pains with me, too.” - -“Oh, no, Mother, you’re all right. You always did look younger than I -do--and besides you light up so, at night.” - -Mrs. Loring rose and examined her face in a mirror. “Oh, well! I -suppose I’ll have to go without you. But I won’t forget it, Jane. It -does really seem as though the older I get the less my wishes are -considered. But I’ll do my duty as I see it, in spite of you. Do you -suppose I had your father build this house just for me to sit in and -look out of the windows at the passersby? Not I. Until we came to New -York I spent all of my life looking at the gay world out of windows. -I’m tired of playing second-fiddle.” - -Jane Loring stood before her mother and touched her timidly on the arm. -The physical resemblance between them was strong, and it was easily -seen where the daughter got her beauty. Mrs. Loring had reached middle -life very prettily, and at a single impression it was difficult to tell -whether she was nearer thirty-three or fifty-three. Her skin was of -that satiny quality which wrinkles depress but do not sear. Her nose -was slightly aquiline like her daughter’s, but the years had thinned -her lips and sharpened her chin, the lines at her mouth were querulous -rather than severe, and when her face was placid, her forehead was -as smooth as that of her daughter. She was not a woman who had ever -suffered deeply, or who ever would, and the petty annoyances which add -small wrinkles to the faces of women of her years had left no marks -whatever. But since the family had been in New York Jane had noticed -new lines between her brows as though her eyes, like those of a person -traveling upon an unfamiliar road, were trying for a more concentrated -and narrow vision; and as she turned from the mirror toward the light, -it seemed to Jane that she had grown suddenly old. - -“Mother, dear, you mustn’t let trifles disturb you so. It will age -you frightfully! You know how people are always saying that you look -younger than I do. I don’t want to worry you. I’ll do whatever you -like, go wherever you like, but not to-night----” - -“What is the matter, Jane? Has anything happened?” - -“Oh, no, I--I don’t feel very well. It’s nothing at all. I’ll be all -right to-morrow. But you must go without me. There’s to be supper -afterward, isn’t there?” - -“Oh, yes.” And then despairingly: “You always have your own way, in the -end.” - -She kissed the girl coldly on the brow and turned toward the door. - -“You must hurry now,” said Jane. “Mr. Van Duyn will be coming soon, and -dinner is early. Good night, dear. I won’t be down to-night. I think -I’ll lie down for awhile.” - -Mrs. Loring turned one more helpless look in Jane’s direction and then -went out of the room. - -When the door had closed, Jane Loring turned the key in the lock, then -sank at full length on the couch, and seemed to be asleep; but her -head, though supported by her arms, was rigid and her eyes, wide open, -were staring at vacancy. In the hall outside she heard the fall of -footsteps, the whisper of servants and the commotion of her mother’s -descent to dinner. A hurdy-gurdy around the corner droned a popular -air, a distant trolley-bell clanged and an automobile, exhaust open, -dashed by the house. These sounds were all familiar here, and yet she -heard them all; for they helped to silence the echoes of a voice that -still persisted in her ears, a low sonorous voice, whose tones rose and -fell like the sighing of Kee-way-din in the pine-trees of the frozen -North. Her thoughts flew to that distant spot among the trees, and she -saw the shimmer of the leaves in the morning sunlight, heard the call -of the birds and the whispering of the stream. It was cold up there -now, so bleak and cold. By this time a white brush had painted out the -glowing canvas of summer and left no sign of what was beneath. And yet -somewhere hidden there, as in her heart, beneath that chill mantle was -the dust of a fire--the gray cinders, the ashes of a dead faith, and -Kee-way-din moaned above them. - -A tiny clock upon the mantle chimed the hour. Miss Loring moved -stiffly, and sat suddenly upright. She got up at last and putting on a -loose robe, went to her dressing table, her chin high, her eye gleaming -coldly at the pale reflection there. The blood of the Gallatins! Did he -think the magic of his name could make her forget the brute in him, the -beast in him, that kissed and spoke of love while the thin blood of the -Gallatins seethed in its poison? What had the blood of the Gallatins to -do with her? Honor, virtue, truth? He had spoken of these. What right -had he to use them to one who had an indelible record of his infamy? -His kisses were hot on her mouth even now--kisses that desecrated, that -profaned the words he uttered. Those kisses! The memory of them stifled -her. She brushed her bare arm furiously across her lips as she had done -a hundred times before. Lying kisses, traitorous kisses, scourging -kisses, between which he had dared to speak of love! If he had not done -that, she might even have forgiven him the physical contact that had -defamed her womanhood. And yet to-night he had spoken those same words -again, repeated them with a show of warmth, that his depravity might -have some palliation and excuse. He could, it seemed, be as insolent as -he was brutal. - -Determined to think of him no more, she rang for her maid and ordered -dinner. Then, book in hand, she went down stairs. Mr. Van Duyn, she was -relieved to think, had departed with Mrs. Loring, and she smiled almost -gaily at the thought that this evening at least was her own. As she -passed into the library, she saw that a bright light was burning in her -father’s study, and she peeped in at the door. - -It was not a large room, the smallest one, in fact, upon the lower -floor, but unlike most of the other rooms, it had a distinct -personality. The furniture--chairs, desks, and bookcases--was massive, -almost too heavy to make for architectural accordance, and this defect -was made more conspicuous by the delicacy and minuteness of the -ornaments. There were two glass cases on a heavy table filled with the -most exquisite ivories, most of them Japanese, an Ormolu case with a -glass top enclosing snuff-boxes and miniatures. Three Tanagra figures -graced one bookcase and upon another were several microscopes of -different sizes. The pictures on the walls, each of them furnished with -a light-reflector, were small with elaborately carved gold frames--a -few of them landscapes, but most of them “genre” paintings, with many -small figures. - -Before one discovered the owner of this room one would have decided -at once that he must be smallish, slender, with stooping shoulders, -gold-rimmed eye-glasses, a jeweled watch-fob and, perhaps, a squint; -and the massive appearance of the present occupant would have -occasioned more than a slight shock of surprise. When Jane looked -in, Henry K. Loring sat on the very edge of a wide arm chair, with a -magnifying glass in his hand carefully examining a small oil painting -which was propped up under a reading light on another chair in front -of him. People who knew him only in his business capacity might have -been surprised at his quiet and critical delight in this studious -occupation, for down town he was best known by a brisk and summary -manner, a belligerent presence and a strident voice which smacked of -the open air. His bull-like neck was set deep in his wide shoulders as -his keen eyes peered under their bushy eyebrows at the object in front -of him. He was so absorbed that he did not hear the light patter of his -daughter’s footsteps, and did not move until he heard the sound of her -voice. - -“Well, Daddy!” she said in surprise. “What are you doing here?” - -His round head turned slowly as though on a pivot. - -“Hello, Jane! Feeling better?” He raised his chin and winked one eye -expressively. - -“I thought you were going--with Mother,” said Miss Loring. - -“Lord, no! You know I--” and he laughed. “_I_ had a headache, too.” - -The girl smiled guiltily, but she came over and sat upon the arm of the -chair, and laid her hand along her father’s shoulder. - -“Another picture! Oh, Daddy, such extravagance! Aren’t you ashamed of -yourself? So _that’s_ why you stole away from the Dorsey-Martin’s----” - -“It’s another Verbeckhoeven, Jane,” he chuckled delightedly. “A perfect -wonder! The best he ever did, I’m sure! Come, sit down here and look at -it.” - -Jane sank to the floor in front of the painting and reached for the -enlarging glass. But he held it away from her. - -“No, no,” he insisted. “Wait, first tell me how many things you can see -with the naked eye.” - -“A horse, a cow, a man lying on the grass, trees, distant haystacks and -a windmill,” she said slowly. - -“And is that all?” he laughed. - -“No, a saddle on the ground, a rooster on the fence--yes--and some -sheep at the foot of the hill.” - -“Nothing more?” - -“No, I don’t think so--except the buckles on the harness and the birds -flying near the pigeon-cote.” - -“Yes--yes--is that all?” - -“Yes, I’m sure it is.” - -“You’re blind as a bat, girl,” he roared delightedly. “Look through -this and see!” and he handed her the glass. “Buckles on the horses! -Examine it! Don’t you see the pack thread it’s sewed with? And the -saddle gall on the horse’s back? And the crack in the left fore-hoof? -Did you ever see anything more wonderful? Now look into the distance -and tell me what else.” - -“Haymakers,” gasped Miss Loring. “Two women, a man and--and, yes, a -child. I couldn’t see them at all. There’s a rake and pitch fork, -too----” - -“And beyond?” - -“Dykes and the sails of ships--a town and a tower with a cupola!” - -“Splendid! And that’s only half. I’ve been looking at it for an hour -and haven’t found everything yet. I’ll show them to you--see----” - -And one by one he proudly revealed his latest discoveries. His passion -for the minute almost amounted to an obsession, and the appearance -of his large bulk poring over some delicate object of art was no -unfamiliar one to Jane, but she always humored him, because she knew -that, although he was proud of his great house, here was the real -interest that he found in it. His business enthralled him, but it -made him merciless, too, and in this harmless hobby his daughter had -discovered a humanizing influence which she welcomed and encouraged. It -gave them points of contact from which Mrs. Loring was far removed, and -Jane was always the first person in the household to share the delights -of his latest acquisitions. But to-night she was sure that her duty -demanded a mild reproof. - -“It’s an astonishing picture, Daddy, but I’m sure we’ve both treated -Mother very badly. You know you promised her----” - -“So did you----” - -“But I--I felt very badly.” - -“So did I,” he chuckled, “very badly.” He put his arm around his -daughter’s shoulders and drew her closer against his knees. “Oh, Jane, -what’s the use? Life’s too short to do a lot of things you don’t want -to do. Your mother likes to go around. Let her buzz, she likes it.” - -“Perhaps she does,” Jane reproved him. “But then you and I have our -duty.” - -“Don’t let that worry you, child. I do my duty--but I do it in a -different way. Your mother stalks her game in its native wild. I don’t. -I wait by the water hole until it comes to drink, and then I kill it.” - -“But people here must have some assurance that new families are -acceptable----” - -“Don’t worry about that, either. We’ll do, I guess. And when I want to -go anywhere, or want my family to go anywhere, I ask, that’s all. The -women don’t run New York society. They only think they do. If there’s -any house you want to go to or any people you want to come to see us, -you tell _me_ about it. There’s more than one way to skin a cat, but -my way is the quickest. I’m not going to have you hanging on the outer -fringe. You can be the jewel and the ornament of the year. Even Mrs. -Suydam will take you under her wing, if you want her to.” - -“But I don’t want to be under any one’s wing. I might turn out to be -the ugly duckling.” - -He pressed her fondly in his great arms. “You are--a duckling--it’s a -pity you’re so ugly.” He laughed at his joke and broke off and seized -the glass from her fingers. - -“Jane,” he cried, “you didn’t find the woman inside the farmhouse! And -the jug on the bench beside----” - -But Miss Loring’s thoughts were elsewhere. - -“Daddy, I don’t want people to come to see me, unless I like them,” she -went on slowly, “and I don’t want to go to peoples’ houses just because -they’re fashionable houses. I want to choose my friends for myself.” - -“You shall!” he muttered, laying down his glass with a sigh and putting -his arm around her again. And then with a lowered voice, “You haven’t -seen anybody you--you really like yet, daughter, have you?” - -“No,” said Miss Loring, with a positiveness which startled him. “No -one--not a soul.” - -“Not Coleman Van Duyn----” - -“Daddy!” she cried. “Of course not!” - -“And no one else?” - -“No one else.” - -He grunted comfortably. “I’m glad of that. I haven’t seen anybody good -enough for you yet. I’m glad it’s not Van Duyn--or young Sackett. I -thought, perhaps, you had,” he finished. - -“Why?” - -“You’ve been so quiet lately.” - -“Have I?” she smiled into the fire. “I didn’t know it.” - -“Don’t you let people worry you, and don’t take this society game too -seriously. It’s only a game, and a poor one at that. It’s only meant -for old fools who want to be young and young fools who want to be old. -Those people don’t play it just for the fun of the thing--to them it’s -a business, and they work at it harder than a lot of galley-slaves. -You’ve got to try it, of course, I believe in trying everything, but -don’t you let it get you twisted--the ball-room, with its lights, its -flowers and its pretty speeches. They’re all part of the machinery. The -fellow you’re going to marry won’t be there, Jane. He’s too busy.” - -“Who do you mean?” - -“Oh, nobody in particular,” he snorted. “But I don’t believe you’ll -ever marry a carpet-knight. You won’t if I can stop you, at any rate.” -He had taken out a cigar and snipped the end of it carefully with a -pocket-knife. “They’re a new kind of animal to me, these young fellows -about town,” he said between puffs. “Beside a man, they’re what the toy -pug is to the bulldog or the Pomeranian is to the ‘husky.’ Fine dogs -they are,” he sniffed, “bred to the boudoir and the drawing-room!” - -“But some of them are very nice, Daddy,” said Jane. “You _know_ you -liked Dirwell De Lancey and William Worthington.” - -“Oh, they’re the harmless kind, playful and amusing!” he sneered. “But -they’re only harmless because they haven’t sense enough to be anything -else. You’ll meet the other kind, Jane, the loafers and the drunkards.” - -Miss Loring leaned quickly forward away from him, her elbows on her -knees, and looked into the fire. - -“I suppose so,” she said quietly. - -“It’s the work of the social system, Jane. Most of these old families -are playing a losing game, their blood is diluted and impoverished, but -they still cling to their ropes of sand. They marry their children to -_our_ children, but God knows that won’t help ’em. It isn’t money they -need. Money can’t make new gristle and cartilage. Money can’t buy new -fiber.” - -The girl changed her position slightly. “I suppose it’s all true, -but it seems a pity that the sons should suffer for the sins of the -fathers.” - -“It’s written so--unto the third and fourth generation, Jane.” - -“But the sons--they have no chance--no chance at all?” - -“Only what they can save out of the wreck. Take young Perrine or young -Gallatin, for instance. _There’s_ a case in point. His people have all -been rich and talented. They’ve helped to make history, but they’ve all -had the same taint. Year by year they’ve seen their fortunes diminish, -but couldn’t stem the tide against them. But now the last of the line -is content just to exist on the fag-end of what’s left him. He’s -clever, too, they say--went into the law, as his father did, but----” - -“Oh, Daddy, it’s unjust--cruel!” Jane Loring broke in suddenly. - -“What is?” - -“Heredity----” - -“It’s the law! I feel sorry for that young fellow. I like him, but I’d -rather see you dead at my feet than married to him.” - -Miss Loring did not move, but the hands around her knee clasped each -other more tightly. - -“I don’t know--I’ve never been introduced to Mr. Gallatin,” she said -quietly. - - - - -X - -MR. VAN DUYN RIDES FORTH - - -Mr. Coleman Van Duyn lurched heavily up the wide steps that led to -the main corridor of the Potowomac apartments and took the elevator -upstairs. He asked for mail and sat down at the desk in his library -with a frowning brow and protruding jowl. Affairs down town had -not turned out to his liking this morning. For a month everything -seemed to have gone wrong. He was short on stocks that had struck the -trade-winds, and long on others that were hung in the doldrums; his -luck at Auction had deserted him; his latest doctor had made a change -in his regimen; a favorite horse had broken a leg; and last, but not -by any means the least, until this afternoon Fate had continued to -conspire to keep him apart from Miss Jane Loring. - -They had met casually several times at people’s houses and once he -had talked with her at the Suydam’s, but the opportunities for which -he planned obstinately refused to present themselves. He had finally -succeeded in persuading her to ride with him to-day, and after writing -a note or two, he called his man and dressed with particular care. Mr. -Van Duyn’s mind was so constructed that he could never think of more -than one thing at a time; but of that one thing he always thought with -every dull fiber of his brain, and Miss Loring’s indifference to his -honorable intentions had preyed upon him to the detriment of other and, -perhaps, equally important interests. - -Mr. Van Duyn was large of body and ponderous of thought, and his -decisions were only born after a prolonged and somewhat uncertain -period of gestation. It took him an hour to order his dinner, and at -least two hours to eat (and drink) it. And so when at the age of five -and thirty he had reached the conclusion that it was time for him to -marry, he had set about carrying his resolution into effect with the -same solemn deliberation which characterized every other act of his -life. He had been accustomed always to have things happen exactly as -he planned them, and was of the opinion, when he followed the Lorings -to Canada, that nothing lacked in the proposed alliance to make it -eminently desirable for both of the parties concerned. Matches he knew -were no longer made in Heaven and an opportunist like Henry K. Loring -could not long debate upon the excellence of the arrangement. - -Miss Loring’s refusal of him up at camp, last summer, had shocked -him, and for awhile he had not been able to believe the evidence of -his ears, for Mrs. Loring had given him to understand that to her -at least he was a particularly desirable suitor. When he recovered -from his shock of amazement, his feeling was one of anger, and his -first impulse to leave the Loring camp at once. But after a night of -thought he changed his mind. He found in the morning that Miss Loring’s -refusal had had the curious effect of making her more desirable, more -desirable, indeed, than any young female person he had ever met. He -was in love with her, in fact, and all other reasons for wanting to -marry her now paled beside the important fact that she was essential -to his well being, his mental health and happiness. He did not even -think of her great wealth as he had at first done, of the fortune she -would bring which would aid materially in providing the sort of an -establishment a married Van Duyn must maintain. In his cumbrous way -he had decided that even had she been penniless, she would have been -necessary to him just the same. - -He had stayed on at camp, accepting Mrs. Loring’s advice that it would -not be wise to take her refusal seriously. She was only a child and -could not know the meaning of the honor he intended to confer. But in -New York her indifference continued to prick his self-esteem, and for -several weeks he had been following her about, sending her flowers and -losing no chance to keep his memory green. - -And so, he examined his shiny boots with a narrowing and critical eye, -donned a favorite pink silk shirt and tied on a white stock into which -he stuck a fox-head pin. He had put on more flesh in the last three -years than he needed, and his collar bands were getting too tight; -but as he looked in the mirror of his dressing-stand, he was willing -to admit that he was still the fine figure of a man--a Van Duyn every -inch of him. It was in the midst of this agreeable occupation that Mr. -Worthington entered, a corn-flower in his buttonhole and otherwise -arrayed for conquest. Van Duyn looked over his shoulder and nodded a -platonic greeting. - -“Tea-ing it, Bibby?” - -“Oh, yes. Might as well do that as sit somewhere. Just stopped in on my -way down.” Worthington’s apartment was above. And then, “Lord Coley, -you _are_ filling out! Riding?” - -“No,” grinned the other, “going to pick strawberries on the Metropolitan -Tower. Don’t I look like it?” - -Worthington smiled. Van Duyn’s playfulness always much resembled that -of a young St. Bernard puppy. - -“I thought you’d given it up. Her name, please.” - -Mr. Van Duyn refused to reply. - -“It’s the Loring girl, isn’t it?” Worthington queried cheerfully. “I -thought so. You lucky devil!” He touched the tips of two fingers and -thumb to his lips, and with eyes heavenward laid them upon his heart. -“She’s an angel, a blue-eyed angel, fresh from the rosy aura of a -cherubim. Oh, Coley, what the devil can she see in you?” - -“Don’t be an ass, Bibby,” Van Duyn grunted wrathfully. - -“I’m not an ass. I’m in love, you amatory Behemoth, in love as I’ve -never been before--with an angel fresh from Elysium.” - -“Meaning Miss Jane Loring?” - -“Who else? There’s no one else,” dolefully. “There never has been any -one else--there never will be any one else. You’re in love with her, -too; aren’t you, Coley?” - -“Well, of all the impudence!” - -“Nonsense. I’m only living up to the traditions of our ancient -friendship. I’m giving you a fair warning. I intend to marry the lady -myself.” - -The visitor had lit a cigarette and was calmly helping himself to -whisky. Van Duyn threw back his head and roared with laughter. - -“You! Good joke. Haw! You’ve got as many lives as a cat, Bibby. Been -blowing out your brains every season for fifteen years.” He struggled -into his coat and squared himself before the mirror. “Wasting your -time,” he finished dryly. - -“Meaning that _you_ are the chosen one? Oh, I say, Coley, don’t make me -laugh. You’ll spoil the set of my cravat. You know, I couldn’t care for -her if I thought her taste was as bad as that. Not engaged are you?” - -“Oh, drop it,” said the other. “Remarks are personal. Miss Loring is -fine girl. Fellow gets her will be lucky.” He had poured himself a -drink, but paused in the act of taking it, and asked, “Haven’t seen -Gallatin lately, have you?” - -“No--nobody has--since that night at the Club. He’d been sitting -tight--and God knows that’s no joke! Good Lord, but he did fall off -with a thud! Been on the wagon six months, too. He ought to let it -alone.” - -“He can’t,” said Van Duyn grimly. - -“Well, six months is a good while--for Phil--but he stuck it out like -a little man.” And then ruminatively, “I wonder what made him begin -again. He’d been refusing all the afternoon. Came in later with his jaw -set--white and somber--you know--and started right in. It’s a great -pity! I’d like to have a talk with Phil. I’m fond of that boy. But he’s -so touchy. Great Scott! I tried it once, and I’ll never forget the look -he gave me. Never again! I’d as leave try a curtain lecture on a Bengal -tiger.” - -“What’s the use? We’ve got troubles of our own.” - -“Not like his, Coley. With me it’s a diversion, with you it’s an -appetite, with Phil it’s a disease. That’s why he went to Canada this -summer. By the way, you were in the woods with the Lorings, of course -you heard about that girl that Phil met up there?” - -“No,” growled the other. - -“Seems to be a mystery. Percy Endicott says----” - -Van Duyn set his glass on the table with a crash that broke it, then -rose with an oath. - -“Think I’m going to listen to _that_ rubbish?” he muttered. “Who cares -what happened to Gallatin? _I_ don’t, for one. As for Percy, he’s a -lyin’, little gossipin’ Pharisee. I don’t believe there _was_ any -girl----” - -“But Gallatin admits it.” - -“D---- Gallatin!” he roared. - -Worthington looked up in surprise, but rose and kicked his trousers -legs into their immaculate creases. - -“Oh, if you feel that way about it--” He took up his silk hat and -brushed it with his coat sleeve. “I think I’ll be toddling along.” - -“Oh, don’t get peevish, Bibby. You like Phil Gallatin. Well, I don’t. -Always too d---- starchy for me anyway.” He paused at the table in -the library while he filled his cigarette case from a silver box. -Then he examined Worthington’s face. “You didn’t hear the girl’s name -mentioned, did you?” he asked carelessly. - -“Oh, no, even Gallatin didn’t know it.” Worthington had put on his hat -and was making for the door. “Of course it doesn’t matter anyway.” - -Van Duyn followed, his man helping them into their overcoats. - -“Can’t drop you anywhere, can I, Bibby? I’ve got the machine below.” - -“No, thanks. I’ll walk.” - -On the ride uptown Coleman Van Duyn glowered moodily out at the winter -sunlight. He had heard enough of this story they were telling about -Phil Gallatin and the mysterious girl in the woods. He alone knew that -the main facts were true, because he had had incontestible evidence -that the mysterious girl was Jane Loring. All the circumstances as -related exactly tallied with his own information received from the -two guides who had brought her into Loring’s camp. And in spite of -his knowledge of Jane’s character, the coarse embroidery that gossip -was adding to the tale had left a distinctly disagreeable impression. -Jane Loring had spent the better part of a week alone with Phil -Gallatin in the heart of the Canadian wilderness. Van Duyn did not -like Gallatin. They had known each other for years, and an appearance -of fellowship existed between them, but in all tastes save one they -had nothing in common. He and Gallatin had locked horns once before -on a trifling matter, and the fact that the girl Van Duyn intended to -marry had been thrown upon the mercies of a man of Gallatin’s stamp was -gall and wormwood to him. But when he thought of Jane he cursed the -gossips in his heart for a lot of meddlers and scandal-mongers. If he -knew anything of human nature--and like most heavy deliberate men, he -believed his judgment to be infallible, Jane was the blue-eyed angel -Mr. Worthington had so aptly described, “fresh from the rosy aura of -a cherubim.” But there were many things to be explained. One of the -guides that had found her had dropped a hint that it was no guide’s -camp that she had visited in the woods, as she had told them at camp. -And why, if she had been well cared for there, had she fled? What -relations existed between Jane Loring and Phil Gallatin that made it -necessary for her to hide the fact of his existence? What had Gallatin -done that she should wish to escape him? Van Duyn’s turgid blood -seethed darkly in his veins. Gallatin had acknowledged the main facts -of the story. Why hadn’t he told it all, as any other man would have -done without making all this mystery about it? Or why hadn’t he denied -it entirely instead of leaving a loophole for the gossip? Why hadn’t he -lied, as any other man would have done, like a gentleman? Only he, Van -Duyn, had an inkling of the facts, and yet his lips were sealed. He had -had to sit calmly and listen while the story was told in his presence -at the club, while his fingers were aching to throttle the man who was -repeating it. Phil Gallatin! D---- him! - -It was, therefore, in no very pleasant frame of mind that Van Duyn got -down at Miss Loring’s door. The horses were already at the carriage -drive and Miss Loring came down at once. Mr. Van Duyn helped her into -the saddle, and in a few moments they were in the Park walking their -horses carefully until they reached the nearest bridle path, when they -swung into a canter. Miss Loring had noted the preoccupation of her -companion, and after one or two efforts at cheerful commonplace, had -subsided, only too glad to enjoy in silence the glory of the afternoon -sunlight. But presently when the horses were winded, she pulled her own -animal into a walk and Van Duyn quickly imitated her example. - -“Oh, I’m so glad I came, Coley,” she said genuinely, with mounting -color and sparkling eyes. - -“Are you?” he panted, Jane’s optimism at last defeating his megrims. -“Bully, isn’t it? Ever hunted?” - -“Yes, one season at Pau.” - -“Jolly set, hunting set. Jolliest in New York.” - -“Yes, I know some of them--Mr. Kane, Mr. Spencer, Miss Jaffray, the -Rawsons and the Penningtons. _They_ wouldn’t do _this_, though; they -turn up their noses at Park riding. Aren’t you hunting this year?” - -“No,” he grunted. “Life’s too short.” He might also have added that -he wasn’t up to the work, but he didn’t. Jane noticed the drop in his -voice and examined him curiously. - -“You don’t seem very happy to-day, Coley.” - -“Any reason you can think of why I should be?” he muttered. - -“Thousands,” she laughed, purposely oblivious. “The joy of living----” - -“Oh, rot, Jane!” - -“Coley! You’re not polite!” - -“Oh, you know what I mean well enough,” he insisted sulkily. - -“Do I? Please explain.” - -“Don’t you know, this is the first time I’ve been with you alone--since -the woods?” he stammered. - -Jane laughed. - -“I’m sorry I have such a bad effect on you. _You_ asked me to come, you -know.” - -“Oh, don’t tease a chap so. What’s the use? Been tryin’ to see you for -weeks. You’ve been avoidin’ me, Jane. What I want to know is--why?” - -“I don’t want to avoid you. If I did, I shouldn’t be with you to-day, -should I?” - -There seemed to be no reply to that and Van Duyn’s frown only deepened. - -“I thought we were goin’ to be friends,” he went on slowly. “We had -a quarrel up at camp, but I thought we’d straightened that out. You -forgave me, didn’t you?” - -“Oh, yes. I couldn’t very well do anything else. But you’ll have to -admit I’d never done anything to warrant----” - -“I was a fool. Sorry for what I did, too. When you got back I told you -so. I’m a fool still, but I’ve got sense enough to be patient. Pretty -rough, though, the way you treat me. Thinkin’ about you most of the -time--all upset--don’t sleep the way I ought--things don’t taste right. -I’m in love with you, Jane----” - -“I thought you had promised not to speak of that again,” she put in -with lowered voice. - -“Oh, hang it! I’ve got to speak of it,” he growled. “When a fellow -wants to marry a girl, he can’t stay in the background and see other -fellows payin’ her attention--hear stories of----” - -Jane looked up, her eyes questioning sharply and Coleman Van Duyn -stopped short. He had not meant to go so far. - -“Stories about _me_?” - -He wouldn’t reply, and only glowered at his horse’s ears. - -“What story have you heard about me, Coley?” she asked quietly. - -“Oh, nothing,” he mumbled. “It wasn’t about you,” he finished lamely. - -“It’s something that concerns me then. You’ve made that clear. You must -tell me--at once,” she said decisively. - -Van Duyn glanced at her and dropped his gaze, aware for the second time -that this girl’s spirit when it rose was too strong for him. And yet -there was an anxiety in her curiosity, too, which gave him a sense of -mastery. - -“Oh, just gossip,” he said cautiously. “Everybody gets his share of -it, you know.” Then he laughed aloud, rather too noisily, so that she -wasn’t deceived. - -“It’s something I have a right to know, of course. It must be -unpleasant or you wouldn’t have thought of it again. You must tell me, -Coley.” - -“What difference does it make?” - -“None. But I mean to hear it just the same.” - -“Oh!” He saw that her face was set in resolute lines, so he looked -away, his lids narrowing, while he thought of a plan which might turn -his information to his own advantage. - -“It isn’t about you at all,” he said slowly, sparring for time. - -“Then why did you think of it?” She had him cornered now and he knew -it, so he fought back sullenly, looking anywhere but at her. - -“You haven’t given me a fair show, Jane. Up in camp we got to be pretty -good pals until--until you found out I wanted to marry you. Even then -you said there wasn’t any reason why we shouldn’t be friends. I lost -my head that morning and made a fool of myself and you ran away and -got lost. When the guides brought you back you were different, utterly -changed. Something had happened. You wouldn’t have been so rotten to -me, just because--because of that. Besides you forgave me. Didn’t I -acknowledge it? And haven’t I done the square thing, let you alone, -watched you from a distance, almost as if I didn’t even know you? I -tell you, Jane----” - -“What has this to do with----” - -“Wait,” he said, his eyes now searching hers, his color deepening as -he gathered courage, while Jane Loring listened, conscious that her -companion’s intrusiveness and brutality were dragging her pride in -the dust. “You went off into the woods and stayed five days. You told -us when you got back to camp that you’d been found by an Indian guide -and that you hadn’t been able to find the trail--and all that sort of -thing. Everybody believed you. We were all too glad to get you back. -What I want to know is why you told that story? What was your reason -for keeping back----” - -“It was true--” she stammered, but his keen eyes saw that her face was -blanching and her emotion infuriated him. - -“All except that the Indian guide was Phil Gallatin,” he said brutally. - -The hands that held the reins jerked involuntarily and her horse reared -and swerved away, but in a moment she had steadied him; and when Van -Duyn drew alongside of her, she was still very pale but quite composed. - -“How do you know that?” she asked in a voice the tones of which she -still struggled to control. - -He waited a long moment, the frown gathering more darkly. He had still -hoped, it seemed, that she might deny it. - -“Oh, I know it, all right,” he muttered, glowering. - -Her laughter rather surprised him. “Your keenness does you credit,” -she continued. “I met a stranger in the woods and stayed at his camp. -There’s nothing extraordinary in that----” - -“No,” he interrupted quickly. “Not in that. The extraordinary thing is -that you should have----” he hesitated. - -“Lied about it?” she suggested calmly. “Oh, I don’t think we need -discuss that. I’m not in the habit of talking over my personal affairs.” - -Her indifference inflamed him further and his eyes gleamed maliciously. - -“It’s a pity Gallatin hasn’t a similar code.” - -Her eyes opened wide. “What--do--you--mean?” she asked haltingly. - -“That Gallatin is telling of the adventure himself,” he said with a -bold laugh. - -“He is telling--of--the--adventure--” she repeated, and then paused, -her horrified eyes peering straight ahead of her. “Oh, how odious of -him--how odious! There is nothing to tell--Coley--absolutely nothing--” -And then as a new thought even more horrible than those that had gone -before crossed her mind, “What are they saying? Has he--has he spoken -my name? Tell me. I can’t believe _that_ of him--not that!” - -Van Duyn was not sure that the emotion which he felt was pity for -her or pity for himself, but he looked away, his face reddening -uncomfortably, and when he spoke his voice was lowered. - -“I heard the story,” he said with crafty deliberateness, “at the Club. -I got up and left the room.” - -“Was--was Mr. Gallatin there?” - -“No--not there?” he muttered. “He came in as I left. You know it -wouldn’t have been possible for me to stay.” - -“What are they saying, Coley?” she gasped, seeking in one breath to -plumb the whole depth of her humiliation. “You must tell me. Do you -mean that they’re saying--that--that Mr. Gallatin and I--were--?” she -couldn’t finish, and he made no effort to help her, for her troubled -face and every word that she uttered went further to confirm his -suspicions and increase his misery. - -“Do _you_ believe that?” she whispered again. “Do you?” And then, as he -refused to turn his head or reply, “Oh, how dreadful of you!” - -She put spurs to her horse and before he was well aware of it was -vanishing among the trees. His animal was unequal to the task he set -for it, for he lost sight of her, found her again in the distance and -thundered after, breathing heavily and perspiring at every pore, hating -himself for his suspicions, and filled with terror at the thought of -losing her. Never had he been so mad for the possession of her as now, -and floundered helplessly on like an untrained dog in pursuit of a -wounded bird. But he couldn’t catch up with her. And when, later, he -stopped at the Loring house, she refused to see him. - - - - -XI - -THE CEDARCROFT SET - - -Miss Loring had no engagements for the evening, and excusing herself -to her family, spent it alone in her room, where for a long while she -sat or walked the floor, in dire distress, her faculties benumbed like -those of a person who has suffered a calamitous grief or a physical -violence. Sentence by sentence she slowly rehearsed the conversation -of which she had been the subject, seeking vainly for some phrase that -might lead her into the paths of comprehension and peace. The thought -of Coleman Van Duyn loomed large, indeed, but another figure loomed -larger. She was new to the world of men, of men of the world, such as -she had met since she had been in New York, but it had never occurred -to her to believe that there could be a person so base as Philip -Gallatin. He weakened her faith in herself and in all the world. The -dishonor he had offered her had been enough without this added insult -to the memory of it. Downtown they were using her name scurrilously in -the same breath with that of Phil Gallatin, speaking her name lightly -as they spoke of--of other women they couldn’t respect. Phil Gallatin’s -name and hers! It was the more bitter, because in her heart she now -knew that she had given him more of her thoughts than any man had ever -had before. Oh, what kind of a world was this into which she had come, -which was made up of men who held their own honor and the honor of the -women of their own kind so lightly? People received him, she knew. -She had even heard of his being at the Suydams on an evening when -she had been there. She had not seen him, and thanked God for that; -for since their meeting in the Park, some weeks ago, her conscience -had troubled her more than once, and her heart had had curious phases -of uncertainty. “What if what he had said about his own dependence on -her were true?” She had questioned herself, “What if,” as in a few -unrelated moments of moral irresponsibility she had madly speculated, -“what if he really loved her as he said he did--and that his mad -moment in the woods--_their_ mad moment, as she had even fearfully -acknowledged, was only the supreme expression of that reality?” He had -solemnly sworn that he had kept the faith--that since that afternoon -in the woods he had not broken it. She saw his dark eyes now and the -animal-like look of irresolution which had been in them when she had -turned away and left him. - -Could this man they were talking of in the clubs who gibed at the -virtue of women to make a good story, be the same smiling fugitive of -the north woods, the man with the laugh of a boy, the tenderness of a -woman and the strength of moral fiber to battle for her as he had done -against the odds of the wilderness? It was unbelievable. And yet how -could Coleman Van Duyn have repeated the story if he had not heard it? -There was no reply for that. Weary at last, trying to reconcile the two -irreconcilable facts, she fell into a fit of nervous tears at the end -of which, relaxed and utterly exhausted, she sank to sleep. - -Even then, though reason slept, her imagination had no rest, and she -dreamed, one vision predominant--that of a tall figure who carried -upon his back the carcass of a deer, his somber eyes peering over his -shoulder at a shadow which followed him in the underbrush. But when -she spoke to the figure it smiled and the shadow behind disappeared. -In her dream, she found this a curious phenomenon, and when the shadow -returned, as it presently did, she spoke again. The shadow vanished -and the smile appeared on the face of the man with the burden. Several -times she repeated this experiment and each time the same thing -happened. But in a moment the shadow formed into a definite shape, -the bulky shape of Coleman Van Duyn it seemed, and growing larger as -it came, closed in over them both. This time when she tried to speak, -her lips would utter no sound. She awoke suffocating, and sat up in -bed, gasping for breath. She looked about her and gave a long sigh of -relief, for day had broken and the cool dawn was filtering through the -warm flowered pattern on her window hangings, flooding the room with a -rosy light. - -That shadow! It had been so tangible, so real that she had fought at -it with her bare hands when it had descended above Phil Gallatin’s -head! She lay awhile looking up at the painted ceiling, her eyes wide -open, fearing that she might sleep again and the dream return; and -then, without ringing for her maid, got out of bed abruptly, slipping -her small feet into fur-lined room-slippers and putting on a flowered -kimono. She was angry at herself for having dreams that could not be -explained. - -What right had Phil Gallatin’s image to persist in her thoughts, even -when she slept? And what did the vision mean? The shadow must be the -shadow that had ever followed the Gallatins, and yet it looked like -Coley Van Duyn! She laughed outright, and the sound of her voice echoed -strangely in her ears. She had thought the shadow ominous, but she -could laugh now because it looked like Coley! - -She drew her bath and peered out of the window at the sunlight. -Familiar sounds and sights reassured her, and with her plunge came -rehabilitation, physical and mental. Poor Coley! How jealous he was, -and how unghostlike! So jealous, perhaps, that he had lied to her! -The thought of the possibility of this moral turpitude caused her to -pause in the midst of her toilet and smile at her reflection in the -mirror. It was a gay little smile which seemed out of place on the pale -image which confronted her. She drew back her curtains and the morning -sunlight streamed into the room bringing life and good cheer. No, she -would not--could not believe what Coley had told of Philip Gallatin. - -She dressed quickly, and before her astonished maid had her eyes open, -had found the dog, Chicot, downstairs, and was out in the frosty air -breasting the keen north wind in the Avenue. It was Kee-way-din that -kissed her brow, Kee-way-din that brought the flush of health and youth -into her cheeks, the breath of Kee-way-din which came with a winter -message of hopefulness from the distant north woods. Chicot was joyful, -too, and bounded like a harlequin along the walk and into the reaches -of the Park. This was an unusual privilege for him, for his mistress -carried not even a leash, and he was bent on making the most of his -opportunities. He seemed to be aware that only business of unusual -importance would take her out at this hour of the day, and came back -barking and whining his sympathy and encouragement. Like most jesters, -Chicot was foolish, but he had a heart under his Eton jacket, and he -took pains that she should know it. - -Chicot’s philosophy cleared the atmosphere. Her course of action now -seemed surprisingly clear to Jane. Philip Gallatin being no more and no -less to her than any other man, deserved exactly the consideration to -which her gratitude entitled him, deserved the punishment which fitted -the crime--precisely the punishment which she had given him. If they -met, she would simply ignore him as she did other men to whom she was -indifferent, and she thought that she could trust herself to manage the -rest if, indeed, her rebuff had not already made her intentions clear -to Gallatin. Refusing to meet him or cutting him in public would only -draw attention and give him an importance with which she was far from -willing to invest him. If, as she had said, he was not responsible for -his actions, he was a very unfortunate young man, and deserved her pity -as much as her condemnation; and it was obvious that he could not be -more responsible for his actions in New York than elsewhere. She still -refused to believe that her name had passed his lips, for of his honor -in all things save one, reason as well as instinct now assured her. - -The story of Coleman Van Duyn’s no longer persisted. In spite of -herself she made a mental picture of the two men, and Van Duyn suffered -in the comparison. Coley had lied to her. That was all. - -She walked briskly for twenty minutes and then sat down on a bench, the -very one she remembered, upon which Mr. Gallatin three weeks ago had -sat and told her of his misfortunes. Chicot came and sat in front of -her, his muzzle on her knees, and looked up rapturously into her eyes. - -“You’re such a sinful little dorglums, Chicot,” she said to him. “Don’t -you know that? To go running off and bringing back disagreeable and -impudent vagabonds for me to send away? You’re quite silly. And your -moustache is precisely like Colonel Broadhurst’s, except that it’s -painted black. Are you really as wise as you look? I don’t believe -you are, because you’re dressed like a harlequin, and harlequins are -never wise, or they shouldn’t be harlequins. Wise people don’t wear -topknots on their heads and rings upon their tails, Chicot. Oh, it’s -all very well for you to be so devoted now, but you’d run away at once -if another vagabond came along--a tall vagabond with dark eyes and a -deep voice that appealed to your own little vagabond heart. You’re -faithless, Chicot, and I don’t care for you at all.” - -She rubbed his glossy ears between her fingers, and he put one dusty -paw upon her lap. “No, I can’t forgive you,” she went on. “Never! All -is over between us. You’re a dissipated little vagabond, that’s what -you are, with no sense of responsibility whatever. I’m going to put you -in a deep dark dungeon, on a diet of dust and dungaree, where you shall -stay and meditate on your sins. Not another _maron_--not one. You’re -absolutely worthless, Chicot, that’s what you are--worthless!” - -The knot on the end of the dog’s tail whisked approval; for, though -he understood exactly what she said, it was the correct thing for -dog-people to act only by tones of voice, but when his mistress got -up he frisked homeward joyfully, with a gratified sense of his own -important share in the conclusion of the business of the morning. - -Jane Loring entered upon the daily round thoughtfully, but with a -new sense of her responsibilities. For the first time in her life -she had had a sense of the careless cruelty of the world for those -thrown unprotected upon its good will. There was a note of plethoric -contrition in her mail from Coleman Van Duyn. She read it very -carefully twice as though committing it to memory, and then tearing -it into small pieces committed it to the waste basket, a hard little -glitter in her eyes which Mr. Van Duyn might not have cared to see. She -made a resolve that from this hour she would live according to another -code. She was no longer the little school-girl from the convent in -Paris. She was full-fledged now and would take life as she found it, -her eyes widely opened, not with the wonder of adolescence, but keen -for the excitements as well as the illusions that awaited her. - -She got down from her limousine at the Pennington’s house in Stuyvesant -Square that night alone. Mr. Van Duyn, in his note, had pleaded to be -allowed to stop for her in his machine and bring her home, but she had -not called him on the ’phone as he had requested. It was a dinner for -some of the members of the Cedarcroft set, as formal as any function to -which this gay company was invited, could ever be. Jane was a moment -late and hurried upstairs not a little excited, for though she had -known Nellie Pennington in Pau, the guests were probably strangers to -her. In the dressing-room, where she found Miss Jaffray and another -girl she had not met, a maid helped her off with her cloak and carriage -boots and, when she was ready to go down, handed her a silver tray -bearing a number of small envelopes. She selected the one which bore -her name, carelessly, wondering whether her fortunes for the evening -were to be entrusted to Mr. Worthington or to Mr. Van Duyn, to find on -the enclosed card the name of Philip Gallatin. - -She paled a little, hesitated and lingered in the darkness by the door -under the mental plea of rearranging her roses, her mind in a tumult. -She had hardly expected to find him here, for Mr. Gallatin, she had -heard, hunted no more and Nellie Pennington had never even mentioned -his name. What should she do? To say that she did not wish to go in -with a man high in the favor of her host and hostess as well as every -one else, without giving a reason for her refusal would be gratuitously -insulting to her hostess as well as to Mr. Gallatin. She glanced -helplessly at Nina Jaffray, who was leaning toward the pier glass, a -stick of lip-salve in her fingers, and realized at once that there was -to be no rescue from her predicament. Besides, changing cards with Miss -Jaffray would not help matters, for over in the men’s dressing room Mr. -Gallatin by this time had read the card which told him that Miss Loring -was to be his dinner partner. - -She could not understand how such a thing had happened. Had Nellie -Pennington heard? That was impossible. There were but three people in -New York who knew about Mr. Gallatin and herself, and the third one -was Coley Van Duyn, who had guessed at their relations. Could Philip -Gallatin have dared--dared to ask this favor of their hostess after -Jane’s repudiation of him in the Park? She couldn’t believe that -either. Fate alone could have conspired to produce a situation so -full of exquisite possibilities. She waited a moment, gathering her -shattered resources; and with that skill at dissimulation which men -sometimes ape, but never actually attain, she thrust her arm through -Miss Jaffray’s and the two of them went down the wide stairway, a very -pretty picture of youth and unconcern. - -Jane’s eyes swept the room with obtrusive carelessness, and took in -every one in it, including the person for whom the glance was intended, -who saw it from a distant corner, and marveled at the smile with which -she entered and greeted her hostess. - -“Hello, Nina! Jane, dear, _so_ glad you could come!” said Nellie -Pennington. “Oh, what a perfectly darling dress! You went to Doucet -after all--for your debutante _trousseau_. Perhaps, I’d better call it -your _layette_--you absurd child! Oh, for the roses of yesterday! You -know Betty Tremaine, don’t you? And Mr. Savage? Coley do stop glaring -and tell Phil Gallatin to come here at once. My dear, you’re going in -with the nicest man--a very great friend of mine, and I want you to be -particularly sweet to him. Hear? Mr. Gallatin--you haven’t met--I know. -Here he is now. Miss Loring--Mr. Gallatin.” - -Jane nodded and coolly extended her hand. “How do you do,” she said, -tepidly polite, and then quickly to her hostess. “It was very nice of -you to think of me, Nellie. It seems ages since Pau, doesn’t it?” - -“Ages! You unpleasant person. When you get as old as I am, you’ll never -mention the flight of time. Ugh!” - -Her shudder was very effective. Nellie Pennington was thirty-five, -looked twenty, and knew it. - -“What difference does it make,” laughed Jane, “when Time forgets one?” - -“Very prettily said, my dear. Time may amble, but he’s too nimble to -let you get him by the forelock.” And turning she greeted the late -comers. - -Jane turned to Mr. Gallatin, who was saying something at her ear. - -“I beg your pardon,” she said. - -“I hope you don’t think that I--I am responsible for this situation,” -he repeated. - -“What situation, Mr. Gallatin?” - -“I hope you don’t think that I knew I was to go in to dinner with you.” - -She laughed. “I hadn’t really thought very much about it.” - -“I didn’t--I didn’t even know you were to be here. It’s an accident--a -cruel one. I wouldn’t have had it happen for anything in the world.” - -“Do you think that’s very polite?” she asked lightly. - -“I mean--” he stammered, “that you’ll have to acquit me of any -intention----” - -“You mean,” she interrupted quickly, with widely opened eyes, “that -you don’t _want_ to go in to dinner with me? I think that can easily -be arranged,” and she turned away from him toward her hostess. But he -quickly interposed. - -“Don’t, Miss Loring. Don’t do that. It isn’t necessary. I didn’t want -your evening spoiled.” - -“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said, and the curl of her lip -did not escape him. “_That_ could hardly happen. But, if you have any -doubts about it, perhaps----” - -“It was of you I was thinking----” - -“That’s very kind, I’m sure. I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t -get on admirably. I’m not so difficult as you seem to suppose. Why -_should_ you spoil my evening, Mr. Gallatin?” - -She turned and looked him full in the eyes; and he knew then what he -had suspected at first, that she meant to deny that they had ever met -before. - -He gazed at her calmly, a slow smile twisting his lips, acknowledging -her rebuke, and acquiescing silently in her position. - -“I’m sure I don’t wish to spoil it. I’m only too happy--to--to be so -much honored.” - -“There!” she laughed easily. “You _can_ be polite, can’t you? Do you -hunt, Mr. Gallatin?” quickly changing the topic to one less personal. -“I thought nobody ever dined here unless he was at least first cousin -to a Centaur.” - -“Oh, no,” he laughed. “Mrs. Pennington isn’t so exclusive as that. But -I’m sure she’d have her own hunters in to table if she could. This -is quite the liveliest house! Mrs. Pennington is the most wonderful -woman in the world, and the reason is that she absolutely refuses to be -bored. She likes Centaurs because they’re mostly natural creatures like -herself, but she hasn’t any use for Dinosaurs!” - -A general movement toward the table, and Jane took Phil Gallatin’s arm -and followed. A huge horse-shoe of Beauties formed the centerpiece, -from which emerged the Cedarhurst Steeplechase Cup, won three years in -succession by Dick Pennington. The decorations of the room were in red -and gold, and a miniature steeplechase course was laid around the table -with small fences, brush and water jumps, over which tiny equestrians -in pink coats gayly cavorted. Miss Loring found to her delight that -the neighbor on her other side was Mr. Worthington. At least she was -not to be without resource if the situation grew beyond her. But Mr. -Gallatin having made token of his acquiescence, gave no sign of further -intrusion. His talk was of the people about them, of their ambitions -and their lack of them, of motoring, of country houses and the latest -news in Vanity Fair, to which she listened with interest, casually -questioning or venturing an opinion. The only rôle possible for her -was one of candor, and she played it with cool deliberation, carefully -guiding his remarks into the well-buoyed channels of the commonplace. - -And while he talked amusedly, gayly even, in the glances that she -stole at his profile, she found that he had grown thinner, and that -the dark shadows under his eyes, which she remembered, were still to -be found there. The fingers of his right hand slowly revolved the stem -of a flower. All of his wine glasses she discovered he had turned bowl -downward. His cocktail he had slowly pushed aside until it was now -hidden in the garland of roses which circled the table. She felt quite -sorry for him, as she had felt last summer, and now, better attuned -to detraction than to praise, her mind and instinct both proclaimed -him, in spite of herself--a gentleman. Coleman Van Duyn had lied to -her. She was conscious of Coley surveying her from his seat across the -table with a jaundiced eye, and this surveillance, while it made her -uncomfortable, served to feed the flame of her ire. Coley Van Duyn had -lied to her, and the lot of liars was oblivion. - -A pause in the conversation when Nina Jaffray’s voice broke in on Mr. -Gallatin’s right. - -“It isn’t true, is it, Phil?” - -He questioned. - -“What they’re saying about you,” she went on. - -He laughed uneasily. “Yes, of course, if it’s something dreadful -enough.” - -“Oh, it isn’t dreadful, Phil, only so enchantingly sinful that it -doesn’t sound like you in the least.” - -“No, Nina. It isn’t true. Enchanting sin and I are strangers. -Miss Loring and I have just been talking about original sin in -saddle-horses. I contend----” - -“Phil, I _won’t_ be diverted in this way. I believe it’s true.” - -“Then what’s the use of questioning me?” - -“I’m foolish enough to want you to deny it.” - -“Even if it is an enchanting sin? You might at least let me flatter -myself that much.” - -Miss Jaffray’s long eyes closed the fraction of an inch, as she -surveyed him aslant through her lashes, then her lips broke into a -smile which showed her small and perfectly even teeth. - -“You shan’t evade me any longer. I’m insanely jealous, Phil. _Who_ was -the girl you got lost with in the woods?” - -Gallatin passed a miserable moment. He had sensed the question and -had tried to prevent it, cold with dismay that Miss Loring should be -in earshot. He flushed painfully and for his life’s sake could make no -reply. - -“It’s true--you’re blushing. I could forgive you for the sin, but for -blushing for it--never!” - -Gallatin had hoped that Miss Loring might have turned to her other -neighbor, but he had not dared to look. Now he felt rather than saw -that she was a listener to the dialogue, and he heard her voice--cool, -clear, and insistent, just at his ear: - -“How very interesting, Nina! Mr. Gallatin’s sins are finding him out?” - -“No, _I_ am,” said the girl. “I’ve known Phil Gallatin since we were -children, and he has always been the most unsusceptible of persons. He -has never had any time for girls. And now! Now by his guilty aspect -he tacitly acknowledges a love affair in the Canadian wilderness with -a----” - -“Oh, do stop, Nina,” he said in suppressed tones. “Miss Loring can -hardly be interested in----” - -“But I _am_,” put in Miss Loring coolly. “Do tell me something more, -Nina. Was she young and pretty?” - -[Illustration: “‘Do tell me something more, Nina. Was she young and -pretty?’”] - -“Ask this guilty wretch----” - -“Don’t you know who she was? What was her name?” - -“That’s just what I want to find out. And nobody seems to know, except -Phil.” - -“Do tell us, Mr. Gallatin.” - -“She had no name,” said Mr. Gallatin very quietly. “There was no girl -in the woods.” - -“A woman, then?” queried Miss Jaffray. - -“Neither girl--nor woman--only a Dryad. The woods are full of them. My -Indian guide insisted that----” - -“Oh, no, you sha’n’t get out of it so easily, Phil, and I insist -upon your sticking to facts. A Dryad, indeed, with the latest thing in -fishing rods and creels!” - -Miss Jaffray had not for a moment taken her gaze from Gallatin’s -face, but now she changed her tone to one of impudent raillery. “You -know, Phil, you’ve always held women in such high regard that I’ve -always thought you positively tiresome. And now, just when I find you -developing the most unusual and interesting qualities, you deny their -very existence! I was just getting ready to fall madly in love with -you. How disappointing you are! Isn’t he, Jane?” - -“Dreadfully so,” said Miss Loring. “Tell it all, Mr. Gallatin, by all -means, since we already know the half. I’m sure the reality can’t be -nearly as dreadful as we already think it is.” - -Her effrontery astounded him, but he met her fairly. - -“There’s nothing to tell. If an enchantingly sinful man met an -enchantingly helpless Dryad--what would be likely to happen? Can _you_ -tell us, Miss Loring?” - -Jane’s weapons went flying for a moment, but she recovered them -adroitly. - -“The situation has possibilities of which you are in every way worthy, -I don’t doubt, Mr. Gallatin. The name of your Dryad will, of course, be -revealed in time. I’m sure if Miss Jaffray pleads with you long enough -you’ll gladly tell her.” - -Nina Jaffray laughed. - -“Come, Phil, there’s a dear. Do tell a fellow. I’ve really got to -know, if only for the fun of scratching her eyes out. I’m sure I ought -to--oughtn’t I, Jane?” - -But Miss Loring had already turned and was deep in conversation with -Mr. Worthington, who for twenty minutes at least, had been trying to -attract her attention. - - - - -XII - -NELLIE PENNINGTON CUTS IN - - -It was the custom at Richard Pennington’s dinners for the men to follow -the ladies at once to the library or drawing-room if they cared to, -for Nellie Pennington liked smoking and made no bones about it. People -who dined with her were expected to do exactly as they pleased, and -this included the use of tobacco in all parts of the house. She was not -running a kindergarten, she insisted, and the mothers of timorous buds -were amply warned that they must look to the habits of their tender -offspring. And so after the ices were served, when the women departed, -some of their dinner partners followed them into the other rooms, -finding more pleasure in the cigarette _à deux_ than in the stable talk -at the dismantled dining-table. - -Phil Gallatin rose and followed the ladies to the door and then -returned, sank into a vacant chair and began smoking, thinking deeply -of the new difficulty into which Nina Jaffray had plunged him. A small -group of men remained, Larry Kane, William Worthington, Ogden Spencer, -and Egerton Savage, who gathered at the end of the table around their -host. - -“Selected your 1913 model yet, Bibby?” Pennington asked with a laugh. -“What is she to be this time? Inside control, of course, maximum -flexibility, minimum friction----” - -“Oh, forget it, Dick,” said Worthington, sulkily. - -“No offense, you know. Down on your luck? Cheer up, old chap, you’ll be -in love again presently. There are as many good fish in the sea----” - -“I’m not fishing,” put in Bibby with some dignity. - -“By George!” whispered Larry Kane, in awed tones, “I believe he’s got -it again. Oh, Bibby, when you marry, Venus will go into sackcloth and -ashes!” - -“So will Bibby,” said Spencer. “Marriage isn’t his line at all. You -know better than that, don’t you, Bibby. No demnition bow-wows on -_your_ Venusberg--what? You’ve got the secret. Love often and you’ll -love longer. Aren’t I right, Bibby?” - -“Oh, let Bibby alone,” sighed Savage. “He’s got the secret. I take my -hat off to him. Every year he bathes in the Fountain of Youth, and -like the chap in the book--what’s his name?--gazes at his rejuvenated -reflection in the limpid pool of virgin eyes. Look at him! Forty-five, -if he’s a day, and looks like a stage juvenile.” - -Gallatin listened to the chatter with dull ears, smiling perfunctorily, -not because he enjoyed this particular kind of humor, but because he -did not choose to let his silence become conspicuous. And when the -sounds from a piano were heard and the men rose to join the ladies, he -had made a resolve to see Jane Loring alone before the evening was gone. - -In the drawing-room Betty Tremaine was playing airs from the latest -Broadway musical success, which Dirwell De Lancey was singing with a -throaty baritone. Jane Loring sat on a sofa next to her hostess, both -of them laughing at young Perrine, who began showing the company a new -version of the turkey-trot. - -“Do a ‘Dance Apache,’ Freddy,” cried Nina Jaffray, springing to her -feet. “You know,” and before he knew what she was about, he was seized -by the arms, and while Miss Tremaine caught the spirit of the thing -in a gay cadence of the Boulevards, the two of them flew like mad -things around the room, to the imminent hazard of furniture and its -occupants. There was something barbaric in their wild rush as they -whirled apart and came together again and the dance ended only when -Freddy Perrine catapulted into a corner, breathless and exhausted. Miss -Jaffray remained upright, her slender breast heaving, her eyes dark -with excitement, glancing from one to another with the bold challenge -of a Bacchante fresh from the groves of Naxos. There was uproarious -applause and a demand for repetition, but as no one volunteered to take -the place of the exhausted Perrine, the music ceased and Miss Jaffray, -after rearranging her disordered hair, threw herself into a vacant -chair. - -“You’re wonderful, Nina!” said Nellie Pennington, languidly, “but how -_can_ you do it? It’s more like wrestling than dancing?” - -“I like wrestling,” said Miss Jaffray, unperturbedly. - -Auction tables were formed in the library and the company divided -itself into parties of three or four, each with its own interests. -Gallatin soon learned that it might prove difficult to carry his -resolution into effect, for Miss Loring was the center of a group which -seemed to defy disruption, and Coleman Van Duyn immediately pre-empted -the nearest chair, from which nothing less than dynamite would have -availed to dislodge him. Gallatin had heard that Van Duyn had been -with the Lorings in Canada, and had wondered vaguely whether this fact -could have anything to do with that gentleman’s sudden change of manner -toward himself. The two men had gone to the same school, and the same -university; and while they had never been by temper or inclination in -the slightest degree suited to each other, circumstances threw them -often together and as fellow club-mates they had owed and paid each -other a tolerable civility. But this winter Van Duyn’s nods had been -stiff and his manner taciturn. Personally, Phil Gallatin did not care -whether Coleman Van Duyn was civil or not, and only thought of the -matter in its possible reference to Jane Loring. Gallatin leaned over -the back of the sofa in conversation with Nellie Pennington, listening -with one ear to Coley’s rather heavy attempts at amiability. - -After a while his hostess moved to a couch in the corner and motioned -for him to take the place beside her. - -“You know, Phil,” she began, reproving him in her softest tones, “I’ve -been thinking about you a lot lately. Aren’t you flattered? You ought -to be. I’ve made up my mind to speak to you with all the seriousness of -my advanced years.” - -“Yes, Mother, dear,” laughed Phil. “What is it now? Have I been -breaking window-panes or pulling the cat’s tail?” - -“Neither--and both,” she returned calmly. “But it’s your sins of -omission that bother me most. You’re incorrigibly lazy!” - -“Thanks,” he said, settling himself comfortably. “I know it.” - -“And aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” - -“Awfully.” - -“I’m told that you’re never in your office, that you’ve let your -practice go to smash, that your partners are on the point of casting -you into the outer darkness.” - -“Oh, that’s true,” he said wearily. “I’ve practically withdrawn from -the firm, Nellie. I didn’t bring any business in. It’s even possible -that I kept some of it out. I’m a moral and physical incubus. In fact, -John Kenyon has almost told me so.” - -“Well, what are you going to do about it?” - -“Do? - - A Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, - A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse--and thou. - -If you’ll come with me, Nellie.” - -There was no response of humor in Nellie Pennington’s expression. - -“No,” she said quietly. “Not I. I want you to be serious, Phil.” She -paused a moment, looking down, and when her eyes sought his again he -saw in them the spark of a very genuine interest. “I don’t know whether -you know it or not, Phil, but I’m really very fond of you. And if I -didn’t understand you as well as I do, of course, I wouldn’t dare to be -so frank.” - -Philip Gallatin inclined his head slightly. - -“Go on, please,” he said. - -She hesitated a moment and then clutched his arm with her strong -fingers. - -“I want you to wake up, Phil,” she said with sudden insistence. “I want -you to wake up, to open your eyes wide--wide, do you hear, to stretch -your intellectual fibers and learn something of your own strength. -You’re asleep, Boy! You’ve been asleep for years! I want you to wake -up--and prove the stuff that’s in you. You’re the last of your line, -Phil, the very last; but whatever the faults your fathers left you, -you’ve got their genius, too.” - -Gallatin was slowly shaking his head. - -“Not that--only----” - -“I _know_ it,” she said proudly. “You can’t hide from everybody, -Phil. I still remember those cases you won when you were just out of -law-school--that political one and the other of the drunkard indicted -on circumstantial evidence----” - -“I was interested in that,” he muttered. - -“You’ll be interested again. You _must_ be. Do you hear? You’ve come -to the parting of the ways, Phil, and you’ve got to make a choice. -You’re drifting with the tide, and I don’t like it, waiting for Time -to provide your Destiny when you’ve got the making of it in your own -hands. You’ve got to put to sea, hoist what sail you’ve got and brave -the elements.” - -“I’m a derelict, Nellie,” he said painfully. - -“Shame! Phil,” she whispered. “A derelict is a ship without a soul. You -a derelict! Then society is made up of derelicts, discards from the -game of opportunity. Some of us are rich. We think we can afford to -be idle. Ambition doesn’t matter to such men as Dick, or Larry Kane, -or Egerton Savage. Their lines were drawn in easy places, their lives -were ready-made from the hour that they were born. But you! There’s no -excuse for you. You are not rich. As the world considers such things, -you’re poor and so you’re born for better things! You’ve got the -Gallatin intellect, the Gallatin solidity, the Gallatin cleverness----” - -“And the Gallatin insufficiency,” he finished for her. - -“A fig for your vices,” she said contemptuously. “It’s the little men -of this world that never have any vices. No big man ever was without -them. Whatever dims the luster of the spirit, the white fire of -intellect burns steadily on, unless--” she paused and glanced at him, -quickly, lowering her voice--“unless the luster of the spirit is dimmed -too long, Phil.” - -He clasped his long fingers around one of his knees and looked -thoughtfully at the rug. - -“I understand,” he said quietly. - -“You don’t mind my speaking to you so, do you, Phil, dear?” - -He closed his eyes, and then opening them as though with an effort, -looked at her squarely. - -“No, Nellie.” - -Her firm hand pressed his strongly. “Let me help you, Phil. There are -not many fellows I’d go out of my way for, not many of them are worth -it. Phil, you’ve got to take hold at once--right away. Make a fresh -start.” - -“I did take hold for--for a good while and then--and then I slipped a -cog----” - -“Why? You mean it was too hard for you?” - -“No, not at all. It had got so that I wasn’t bothered--not much--that -is--I let go purposely.” He stopped suddenly. “I can’t tell you why. I -guess I’m a fool--that’s all.” - -She examined his face with a new interest. There was something here she -could not understand. She had known Phil Gallatin since his boyhood and -had always believed in him. She had watched his development with the -eyes of an elder sister, and had never given up the hope that he might -carry on the traditions of his blood in all things save the one to be -dreaded. She had never talked with him before. Indeed, she would not -have done so to-night had it not been that a strong friendly impulse -had urged her. She made it a practice never to interfere in the lives -of others, if interference meant the cost of needless pain; but as she -had said to him, Phil Gallatin was worth helping. She was thankful, -too, that he had taken her advice kindly. - -What was this he was saying about letting go purposely. What--but she -had reached the ends of friendliness and the beginnings of curiosity. - -“No, you’re not a fool, Phil. You sha’n’t call yourself names.” And -then, “You say you weren’t bothered--much?” - -“No. Things had got a good deal easier for me. I was beginning to feel -hopeful for the future. It had cost me something, but I had got my -grip. I had started in at the office again, and Kenyon had given me -some important work to do. Good old Uncle John! He seemed to know that -I was trying.” - -He stopped a moment and then went on rapidly. “He turned me loose on a -big corporation case the firm was preparing for trial. I threw myself -into the thing, body and soul. I worked like a dog--night and day, and -every hour that I worked my grip on myself grew stronger. I was awake -then, Nellie, full of enthusiasm, my old love of my profession glowing -at a white heat that absorbed and swallowed all other fires. It seemed -that I found out some things the other fellows had overlooked, and a -few days before the big case was to be called, Kenyon asked me if I -didn’t want to take charge. I don’t believe he knew how good that made -me feel. I seemed to have come into my own again. I knew I could win -and I told him so. So he and Hood dropped out and turned the whole -thing over to me. I had it all at my fingers’ ends. You know, I once -learned a little law, Nellie, and I was figuring on a great victory.” - -As Gallatin spoke, his long frame slowly straightened, his head drew -well back on his shoulders and a new fire glowed in his eyes. - -“It was great!” he went on. “I don’t believe any man alive ever felt -more sure of himself than I did when I wound up that case and shut up -my desk for the day. If I won, and win I should, it would give Kenyon, -Hood and Gallatin a lot of prestige. Things looked pretty bright that -night. I began to see the possibilities of a career, Nellie, a real -career that even a Gallatin might be proud of.” - -He came to a sudden pause, his figure crumpled, and the glow in his -eyes faded as though a film had fallen across them. - -“And then?” asked Nellie Pennington. - -“And then,” he muttered haltingly, “something happened to me--I had -a--a disappointment--and things went all wrong inside of me--I didn’t -care what happened. I went to the bad, Nellie, clean--clean to the -bad----” - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Pennington softly, “I heard. That’s why I spoke to you -to-night. You haven’t been----” - -“No, thank God, I’m keeping straight now, but it did hurt to have done -so well and then to have failed so utterly. You see the case I was -speaking of--Kenyon, Hood and Gallatin had turned the whole business -over to me, and I wasn’t there to plead. They couldn’t find me. There -was a postponement, of course, but my opportunity had passed and it -won’t come again.” - -He stopped, glanced at her face and then turned away. “I don’t know -why I’ve told you these things,” he finished soberly, “for sympathy is -hardly the kind of thing a man in my position can stand for.” - -Nellie Pennington remained silent. Her interest was deep and her wonder -uncontrollable. Therefore, being a woman, she did not question. She -only waited. Her woman’s eyes to-night had been wide open, and she -had already made a rapid diagnosis of which her curiosity compelled a -confirmation. - -They were alone at their end of the room. Miss Loring and Mr. Van Duyn -had gone in to the bridge tables and Egerton Savage was conversing in -a low tone with Betty Tremaine, whose fingers straying over the piano, -were running softly through an aria from “La Bohème.” - -“You know, Nellie,” he went on presently, “I’m not in the habit of -talking about my own affairs, even with my friends, but I believe it’s -done me a lot of good to talk to you. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” - -She nodded and then went on quickly. “The trouble with you is that -you don’t talk enough about yourself, Phil. You’re a seething mass -of introspection. It isn’t healthy. Friends are only conversational -chopping-blocks after all. Why don’t you use them? Me--for instance. -I’m safe, sane, and I confess a trifle curious.” She paused a moment, -and then said keenly: - -“It’s a girl, of course.” - -He raised his head quickly, and then lowered it as quickly again. - -“No, there isn’t any girl.” - -“Oh, yes, there is. I’ve known it for quite two hours.” - -“How?” he asked in alarm. - -She waved her fan with a graceful gesture. “Second sight, a sixth -sense, an appreciation for the fourth dimension--in short--the instinct -of a woman.” - -“You mean that you guessed?” - -“No, that I perceived.” - -“It takes a woman to perceive something which doesn’t exist,” he said -easily. - -She turned and examined him with level brows. “Then why did you admit -it?” - -“I didn’t.” - -She leaned back among her pillows and laughed at him mockingly. “Oh, -Phil! _Must_ I be brutal?” - -“What do you mean?” - -“That the girl--is here--to-night.” - -“That is not true,” he stammered. “She is not here.” - -Mrs. Pennington did not spare him. - -“A moment ago--you denied that there was a girl. Now you’re willing to -admit that she’s only absent. Please don’t doubt the accuracy of my -feminine deductions, Phil. Nothing provokes me more. You may drive me -to the extreme of mentioning her name.” - -Gallatin stopped fencing. It was an art he was obliged reluctantly -to confess, in which he was far from a match for this tantalizing -adversary. So he relapsed into silence, aware that the longer the -conversation continued the more vulnerable he became. - -But she reassured him in a moment. - -“Oh, why won’t you trust me?” she whispered, her eyes dark with -interest. “I do want to help you if you’ll let me. It _was_ only a -guess, Phil, a guess founded on the most intangible evidence, but I -couldn’t help seeing (you know a heaven-born hostess is Midas-eared and -Argus-eyed) what passed between you and Jane Loring.” - -“Nothing that I’m aware of passed between us,” he said quietly. “She -was very civil.” - -“As civil as a cucumber--no more--no less. How could _I_ know that she -didn’t want to go in to dinner with you?” - -“You heard?” - -“Yes, from the back of my head. Besides, Phil, I’ve always told you -that your eyes were too expressive.” His look of dismay was so genuine -that she stopped and laid her hand along his arm. “I was watching you, -Phil. That’s why I know. I shouldn’t have noticed, if I hadn’t been.” - -“Yes,” he slowly admitted at last. “Miss Loring and I had met before.” - -At that he stopped and would say no more. Instinct warned her that -curiosity had drawn her to the verge of intrusiveness, and so she, -too, remained silent while through her head a hundred thoughts were -racing--benevolent, romantic, speculative, concerning these two young -people whom she liked--and one of whom was unhappy. They had met -before, on terms of intimacy, but where? - -Intimacies worth quarreling over were scarcely to be made in the brief -season during which Jane Loring had been in New York, for unlike -Mr. Worthington, Phil Gallatin was no cultivator of social squabs. -Obviously they had met elsewhere. Last summer? Phil Gallatin was -fishing in Canada--Canada! So was Jane! Mrs. Pennington straightened -and examined her companion curiously. She had heard the story of Phil -Gallatin’s wood-nymph and was now thoroughly awake to the reasons for -his reticence, so she sank back among her cushions, her eyes downcast, -a smile wreathing her lips, the smile of the collector of objects -of art and virtue who has stumbled upon a hidden rarity. It was a -smile, too, of self-appreciation and approval, for her premises had -been negligible and her conclusion only arrived at after a process of -induction which surprised her by the completeness of its success. She -was already wondering how her information could best serve her purposes -as mediator when Gallatin spoke again. - -“We had met before, Nellie, under unusual and--and--er--trying -conditions. There was a--misunderstanding--something happened--which -you need not know--a damage to--to her pride which I would give my -right hand to repair.” - -“Perhaps, if you could see her alone----” - -“Yes, I was hoping for that--but it hardly seems possible here.” - -Mrs. Pennington was leaning forward now, slightly away from him, -thinking deeply, thoroughly alive to her responsibilities--her -responsibilities to Jane Loring as well as to the man beside her. -It was the judgment of the world that Phil was a failure--her own -judgment, too, in spite of her affection for him; and yet in her breast -there still lived a belief that he still had a chance for regeneration. -She had seen the spark of it in his eyes, heard the echo of it in tones -of his voice when he had spoken of his last failures. She hesitated -long before replying, her eyes looking into space, like a seer of -visions, as though she were trying to read the riddle of the future. -And when she spoke it was with tones of resolution. - -“I think it might be managed. Will you leave it to me?” - -She gave him her hand in a warm clasp. “I believe in you, Phil, and I -understand,” she finished softly. - -Gallatin followed her to the door of the library, unquiet of mind -and sober of demeanor. He had long known Nellie Pennington to be a -wonderful woman and the tangible evidences of her cleverness still -lingered as the result of his interview. There seemed to be nothing -a woman of her equipment could not accomplish, nothing she could not -learn if she made up her mind to it. In twenty minutes of talk she had -succeeded in extracting from Gallatin, without unseemly effort, his -most carefully treasured secret, and indeed he half suspected that -her intuition had already supplied the missing links in the chain of -gossip that was going the rounds about him. But he did not question her -loyalty or her tact and, happy to trust his fortunes entirely into her -hands, he approached the bridge-tables aware that the task which his -hostess had assumed so lightly was one that would tax her ingenuity to -the utmost. - -Her last whispered admonition as she left him in the hall had been -“Wait, and don’t play bridge!” and so he followed her injunction -implicitly, wondering how the miracle was to be accomplished. Miss -Loring did not raise her head at his approach, and even when the others -at the table nodded greetings she bent her head upon her cards and made -her bids, carelessly oblivious of his presence. - -Miss Jaffray hardly improved his situation when she flashed a mocking -glance up at him and laughed. “_Satyr!_” she said. “I could never have -believed it of you, Phil. You were such a nice little boy, too, though -you _would_ pull my pig-tail!” - -“Don’t mind Nina, Phil,” said Worthington gayly. “Satyrical remarks are -her long suit, especially when she’s losing.” - -Nina regarded him reproachfully. “There _was_ a time, Bibby, when you -wouldn’t have spoken so unkindly of me. Is this the way you repay your -debt of gratitude?” - -“Gratitude!” - -“Yes, I might have married you, you know.” - -“Oh, Nina! I’d forgotten.” - -“Think of the peril you escaped and be thankful!” - -“I am,” he said devoutly. - -“You ought to be.” And then to Miss Loring, “Bibby hasn’t proposed to -you yet, has he, Jane,” she asked. - -“I don’t think so,” said Jane laughing. “Have you, Mr. Worthington?” - -He flushed painfully and gnawed at his small mustache. Nina had scored -heavily. - -“I hope he does,” Jane went on with a sense of throwing a buoy to a -drowning man, “because I’m sure I’d accept him.” - -Worthington smiled gratefully and adored her in fervent silence. - -“Men have stopped asking _me_ to marry them lately,” sighed Nina. “It -annoys me dreadfully.” She spoke of this misfortune with the same -careless tone one would use with reference to a distasteful pattern in -wall-paper. - -“But think of the hearts you’ve broken,” said Gallatin. - -“Or of the hearts I wanted to break but couldn’t,” she replied. “Yours, -for instance, Phil.” - -“You couldn’t have tried very hard,” he laughed. - -“I didn’t know you were a satyr then,” she said, pushing her chair back -from the table. “Your rubber, I think, Bibby. I’m sure we’d better -stop, Dick, or you’ll never ask me here again.” - - - - -XIII - -MRS. PENNINGTON’S BROUGHAM - - -There was a general movement of dispersal, and Philip Gallatin, who had -now given up all hope of the opportunity Nellie Pennington had promised -him, followed the party into the hall, his eyes following Jane, who had -found her hostess and was making her adieux. He watched her slender -figure as she made her way up the stairs, and turned to Mrs. Pennington -reproachfully. - -“Don’t speak, Phil,” his hostess whispered. “It’s all arranged. Go at -once and get your things.” - -Gallatin obeyed quickly and when he came down he heard Mrs. Pennington -saying, “So sorry, Jane. Your machine came, but the butler sent it home -again. There was some mistake in the orders, it seems. But I’ve ordered -my brougham, and it’s waiting at the door for you. You don’t mind, do -you? I’ve asked Mr. Gallatin to see that you get home safely.” - -“Of course, it’s very kind of you, dear.” She hesitated. “But it seems -too bad to trouble Mr. Gallatin.” - -“I’m sure--I’m delighted,” he said, and it was evident that he meant it. - -Jane Loring glanced around her quickly, helplessly it seemed to -Gallatin, but the sight of Coleman Van Duyn, waiting hat in hand, -helped her to a decision. - -“It’s so kind of you, Mr. Gallatin,” she said gratefully, and then, in -a whisper as she kissed her hostess, “Nellie, you’re simply odious!” -and made her way out of the door. - -Gallatin followed quickly, but Miss Loring reached the curb before him -and giving her number to the coachman, got in without the proffered -hand of her escort. - -Angry though she was, Jane Loring kept her composure admirably. All the -world, it seemed, was conspiring to throw her with this man whom she -now knew she must detest. If fate, blind and unthinking, had made him -her dinner partner, only design, malicious and uncivil, could be blamed -for his presence now. She sat in her corner, her figure tense, her head -averted, her wraps carefully drawn about her, a dark and forbidding -wraith of outraged dignity, waiting only for him to speak that she -might crush him. - -Gallatin sat immovable for a moment, conscious of all the feminine -forces arrayed against him. - -“I make no apologies,” he began with an assurance which surprised her. -“I wanted to see you alone and no other chance offered. I suppose I -might say I’m sorry, but that wouldn’t be true. I’m not sorry and I -don’t want any misunderstandings. I asked Mrs. Pennington----” - -“Oh!” she broke in wrathfully. “Many people, it seems, enjoy your -confidences, Mr. Gallatin.” - -“No,” he went on, steadily. “I’m not given to confidences, Miss Loring. -Mrs. Pennington is one of my oldest and best friends. I told her it was -necessary for me to see you alone for a moment and she took pity on me.” - -“Mrs. Pennington has taken an unpardonable liberty and I shall tell her -so,” said Jane decisively. - -“I hope you won’t do that.” - -“Have matters reached such a point in New York that a girl can’t drive -out alone without being open to the importunity of any stranger?” - -“I am not a stranger,” he put in firmly, and his voice dominated hers. -“We met within the Gates of Chance, Miss Loring, on equal terms. I have -the right of any man to plead----” - -“You’ve already pleaded.” - -“You were prejudiced. I’ve appealed--to a higher tribunal--your sense -of justice.” - -“I know no law but my own instinct.” - -“You are not true to your own instincts then, or they are not true to -you.” - -It was sophistry, of course, but she was a trifle startled at the -accuracy of his deduction, for she realized that it was her judgment -only that rejected him and that her instincts advised her of the -pleasure she took in his company. Her instincts then being unreliable, -she followed her judgment blindly, uncomfortably conscious that she did -it against her will, and angry with herself that it was so. - -“I only know, Mr. Gallatin,” she said coldly, “that both judgment -and instinct warn me against you. Whatever there is left in you -of honor--of decency, must surely respond to my distaste for this -intrusion.” - -“If I admit that I’m neither honorable nor decent, will you give me the -credit for speaking the truth?” he asked slowly. - -“With reference to what?” scornfully. - -“To this story they’re telling.” - -“You brought it here, of course.” - -“Will you believe me if I say that I didn’t?” - -“Why should I believe you?” - -“Simply because I ask you to.” - -She looked out of the carriage window away from him. - -“I believed in you once, Mr. Gallatin.” - -He bowed his head. - -“Even that is something,” he said. “You wouldn’t have believed in -me then if instinct had forbidden it. I am the same person you once -believed in.” - -“My judgment was at fault. I dislike you intensely.” - -“I won’t believe it.” - -“You must. You did me an injury that nothing can repair.” - -“An injury to your dignity, to your womanhood and sensibility----” - -“Hardly,” she said scornfully, “or even to my pride. It was only my -body--you hurt, Mr. Gallatin--your kisses--they soiled me----” - -“My God, Jane! Don’t! Haven’t you punished me enough? I was mad, I -tell you. There was a devil in me, that owned me body and soul, that -stole my reason, killed what was good, and made a monster of the love I -had cherished--an insensate enemy that perverted and brutalized every -decent instinct, a Thing unfamiliar to you which frightened and drove -you away in fear and loathing. It was not _me_ you feared, Jane, for -you trusted me. It was the Thing you feared, as I fear it, the Enemy -that had pursued me into the woods where I had fled from it.” - -Jane Loring sat in her corner apparently unconcerned, but her heart was -throbbing and the hands beneath the wide sleeves of her opera kimono -were nervously clutched. The sound of his voice, its deep sonorous -tones when aroused were familiar to her. As he paused she stole a -glance at him, for as he spoke of his Enemy he had turned away from -her, his eyes peering out into the dimly lighted street, as if the -mention of his weakness shamed him. - -“I’m not asking you for your pity,” he went on more steadily. “I only -want your pardon. I don’t think it’s too much to ask. It wasn’t the -real Phil Gallatin who brought that shame on you.” - -“The real Phil Gallatin! Which is the real Phil Gallatin?” she asked -cruelly. - -“What you make him--to-night,” he replied quickly. “I’ve done what I -can without you--lived like an outcast on the memories of happiness, -but I can’t subsist on that. Memory is poor food for a starving man.” - -“I can’t see how _I_ can be held accountable. _I_ did not make you, Mr. -Gallatin.” - -“But you can mar me. I’ve come,” he remembered the words of Mrs. -Pennington, “I’ve come to the parting of the ways. Up there--I gained -my self-respect--and lost it. The best of me you saw and the worst of -me. You knew me only for five days and yet no one in the world can know -me exactly as you do.” - -“The pity of it----” - -“The best of me and the worst of me, the man in me and the beast in me, -my sanity and my madness. All these you saw. The record is at least -complete.” - -“I hope so.” - -“I could not lie to you nor cheat you with false sentiment. I played -the game fairly until--until then.” - -“Yes--until then.” - -“You cared for me, there in the woods. I earned your friendship. And I -hoped that the time had come when I could prove--to you, at least, that -I was not to be found wanting.” - -“And yet--you failed,” she said. - -“Yes, I failed. Oh, I don’t try to make my sin any the less. I only -want you to remember the circumstances--to acquit me of any intention -to do you harm. I am no despoiler of women, even my enemies will -tell you so. That, thank God, was not a part of my heritage. I have -always looked on women of your sort with a kind of wonder. I have -never understood them--nor they me. I thought of them as I thought of -pictures or of children, things set apart from the grubby struggle for -material and moral existence. I liked to be with them because their -ways fell in pleasant places and because, in respecting them, I could -better learn to respect myself. God knows, I respected you--honored -you! Don’t say you don’t believe that!” - -“I--I think you did----” she stammered. - -“I tried to show you how much. You knew what was in my heart. I would -have died for you--or lived for you, if you could have wished it so.” - -He paused a moment, his brows tangled in thought. - -“I learned many things up there--things that neither men nor women nor -books had taught me, something of the directness and persistence of -the forces of nature, the binding contract of a man’s body with his -soul, the glorification of labor and the meaning of responsibility. -I was happy there--happy as I had never been before. I wanted the -days to be longer so that I could work harder for you, and my pride -in your comfort was the greatest pride I have ever known. You were my -fetich--the symbol of Intention. You made me believe in myself, and -defied the Enemy that was plucking at my elbow. I could have lived -there always and I prayed in secret that we might never be found. I -wanted you to believe in me as I was already beginning to believe in -myself. Whatever I had been--here in the world--up there at least I -was a success. I wanted to prove it thoroughly--to kill, that you -might eat and be warm--to hew and build, that you might be comfortable. -I wanted a shrine for you, that I might put you there and keep -you--always. I worshiped you, Jane, God help me, as I worship you now.” - -His voice trembled and broke as he paused. - -“I--I must not listen to you, Mr. Gallatin,” she said hurriedly, for -her heart was beating wildly. - -“I worship you, Jane,” he repeated, “and I ask for nothing but your -pardon.” - -“I--I forgive you,” she gasped. - -“I’m glad of that. I’ll try to deserve your indulgence,” he said -slowly. He stopped again, and it was a long time before he went on. -The brougham was moving rapidly up the Avenue and the turmoil of night -sounds was fading into silence. Forty-second Street was already behind -them, and the fashionable restaurants were gay with lights. He seemed -to realize then that Jane would soon reach her destination, and he went -on quickly, as though there were still much that he must say in the -little time left to him to say it in. “I suppose it would be too much -if I asked you to let me see you once in a while,” he said quickly, as -though he feared her refusal. - -“I--I’ve no doubt that we’ll meet, Mr. Gallatin.” - -“I don’t mean that,” he persisted. “I don’t think I’ll be--I don’t -think I’ll go around much this winter. I want to talk to you, if you’ll -let me. I--I can’t give you up--I need you. I need your belief in me, -the incentive of your friendship, your spell to exorcise the--the Thing -that came between us.” - -“I am trying to forget that,” she murmured. “It would be easier if--if -you hadn’t said what you did.” - -“What did I say? I don’t know,” he said passionately. - -“That you--you loved me. It was the brute in you that spoke--not the -man, the beast that kissed-- Oh!” She brushed the back of her hand -across her eyes. “It was not you! The memory of it will never go.” - -He hung his head in shame. - -“No, no, don’t!” he muttered. “You’re crucifying me!” - -“If you had not said that----” - -“It was monstrous. It was madness, but it was sweet.” - -“Love is not brutal--does not shame--nor frighten,” she said slowly. -“You had been so--so clean--so calm----” - -“It was Arcadia, Jane,” he whispered, “your Arcadia and mine. It was -the love in me that spoke, whatever I said--the love of a man, or of -a beast, if you like. But it spoke truly. There were no conventions -there but those of the forest, no laws but those of the heart. I had -known you less than a week, and I had known you always. And you--up -there--you loved me. Yes, it’s true. Do you think I couldn’t read in -your eyes?” - -“No, no,” she protested. “It isn’t true. I--I didn’t love you--I -don’t----” - -He had captured one of her hands and was leaning toward her, his voice -close at her ear, vibrant with emotion. - -“You loved me--up there, Jane. The forest knew. The stream sang of it. -It was in Kee-way-din and the rain. It was part of the primeval, when -we lived a thousand years ago. Don’t you remember? I read it in your -eyes that night when I came in with the deer. You ran out to meet me, -like the cave-woman to greet her man. I was no longer the fugitive who -had built your hut, or made your fires. You had learned that I was -necessary to you, in other ways, not to your body--but to your spirit.” - -“No. It’s not true.” - -“That night you fed me--watched by me. I saw your eyes in my dreams, -the gentleness in them, their compassion, their perfect womanliness. -Such wonderful dreams! And when I awoke you were still there. I wanted -to tell you then that I knew--but I couldn’t. It would have made things -difficult for you. Then I got sick----” - -“Don’t, Mr. Gallatin!” - -He had taken her in his arms and held her face so that her lips lay -just beneath his own. - -“Tell me the truth. You loved me then. You love me now? Isn’t it so?” - -Her lips were silent, and one small tear trembled on her cheeks. But he -kissed it away. - -“Look up at me, Jane. Answer. Whatever I am, whatever I hope to be, -you and I are one--indivisible. It has been so since the beginning. -There is no brute in me now, dear. See. I am all tenderness and -compassion. One fire burns out another. I’ll clean your lips with new -kisses--gentle ones--purge off the baser fire. I love you, Jane. And -you----?” - -“Yes--yes,” she whispered faintly. “I do love you. I--I can’t help it.” - -“Do you want to help it?” - -“No. I don’t want to help it.” - -“Kiss me, Jane.” - -She raised her moist lips to his and he took them. - -Past and Future whirled about their ears, dinning the alarm, but they -could not hear it, for the voice of the present, the wonderful present -was singing in their hearts. The brougham rolled noiselessly on, and -they did not know or care. Fifth Avenue was an Elysian Field, and their -journey could only end in Paradise. - -“Say it again,” he whispered. - -She did. - -“I can’t see your eyes, Jane. I want to see them now. They’re like they -were--up there--aren’t they? They’re not cold, or scornful, or mocking, -as they’ve been all evening--not cruel as they were--in the Park? It’s -you, isn’t it? Really you?” - -“Yes, what’s left of me,” she sighed. “It’s so sweet,” she whispered. -“I’ve dreamed of it--but I didn’t think it could ever be. I was afraid -of you----” - -“Oh, Jane! How cruel you were!” - -“I had to be. I _had_ to hurt you.” - -“Why?” - -“Because of my own pain. I wanted to make you suffer--as I -suffered--only more.” - -“I did. Much more. You’re not afraid of me now?” - -“No, no. I’m not afraid of you. I shouldn’t be--be where I am, if I -were.” - -He took pains to give her locality a new definiteness. - -“I’m not--what you thought I was?” he asked after that. - -“No--yes--that is--I don’t know----” - -“Jane!” - -“I mean--I don’t believe I ever thought you anything but what you are.” - -“You blessed child. And what am I?” - -“A--a person. A dark-haired person--with a--face.” - -“Is that all?” - -“No. And an unshaven chin, a soiled flannel shirt, and a brown felt hat -with two holes punched in it.” - -“Have I always been that?” - -“Yes--always.” - -“You liked that--that person better than you do this one?” - -“I’m--not sure.” She straightened suddenly in his arms and drew away to -look at him. “Why--I’ve only known you--I only met you a few hours ago. -It’s dreadful of me--Mr. Gallatin.” - -“Phil,” he corrected. - -“Phil, then. The suddenness of everything--I’m not quite sure of -myself----” - -“I’m not either. I’m afraid I’ll wake up.” - -“You’re not the person with the glowering eyes,” she went on, “and -the--the stubbly chin--or the slouch hat and smelly pipe----” - -“I’m too happy to glower. I couldn’t if I wanted to. But I’ve got the -hat and the smelly pipe. I can make the chin stubbly again--if you’ll -only wait a few days.” - -“I don’t think I--I’d like it stubbly now.” - -He laughed. But she stopped him again. - -“I--I wish you’d tell me----” - -She paused and he questioned. - -“Something bothers me dreadfully.” - -“What?” - -“You didn’t think--when you--came with me to-night--that I could be -convinced--that you could--could win so easily, did you?” - -“No, dear. I didn’t--I----” - -“Quickly--or I shall die of shame.” - -“I had no hope--none at all. I just wanted you to know how things were -with me. Thank God, you listened.” - -“How could I do anything else but listen--in a brougham--I couldn’t -have jumped out into the street. Besides, you might have jumped, too.” - -“I _would_ have,” he said grimly. - -“It would have made a scene.” - -“I hadn’t thought of that.” - -“And the coachman--Mrs. Pennington would have known. Oh, don’t you see? -Mrs. Pennington only introduced us to-night----” - -She drew away from him and looked out of the carriage window. They had -reached a neighborhood which was unfamiliar to her, where the houses -were smaller and the lights less frequent, and upon the left-hand side -there was no Park. - -“There is some mistake,” she said a little bewildered. “We have come a -long way.” - -He followed her look and laughed outright. - -“We’re above the Park,” he said, opening the door. And then to the -coachman. “You got the wrong number.” - -“One Hundred and Twentieth, sir,” came a voice promptly. - -“_One Hundred and Twenty!_ Where are we now, Dawson?” - -“Hundred and Ten, sir.” - -Gallatin laughed, but Jane had sunk back in her corner in confusion. - -“I said _Seventieth_ distinctly,” she murmured. “I’m _sure_ I did.” - -“You’d better turn now,” said Gallatin to the man. - -“Where to, sir?” - -“To the Battery----” - -“Mr. Gal--Phil!” cried Jane. - -“I beg pardon, sir,” said Dawson. - -Gallatin concealed his delight with difficulty. - -“We’ve come too far, Dawson,” he said. “Miss Loring lives in Seventieth -Street.” - -“I’m sorry, sir,” came a voice. - -Gallatin shut the door and the vehicle turned. - -Jane sat very straight in her corner and her fingers were rearranging -her disordered hair. - -“Oh, Phil,--I’m shamed. How _could_ I have let him go past----” - -“There are no numbers on the streets of Paradise.” - -“It must be frightfully late.” - -“--or watches in the pockets of demigods----” - -“_Will_ you be serious!” - -“Demigods are too happy to be serious.” - -“That poor horse----” - -“A wonderful horse, a horse among horses, but he goes too fast. He’ll -be there in no time. Can’t we take a turn in the Park?” - -He stretched his hand toward the door, but she seized him by the arm. - -“I forbid it. If Mrs. Pennington knew--” she stopped again in -consternation. “Phil! Do you think that Nellie Pennington----” - -“I don’t know. She’s a wonderful woman--keeps amazing -horses--extraordinary coachmen----” - -“Could she have told the man--to mistake me--purposely?” - -“I think so,” he said brazenly. “She’s capable of -anything--anything--wonderful wom----” - -“Phil, I’ll be angry with you.” - -“No, you can’t.” - -He took her in his arms again and she discovered that what he said was -true. She didn’t want to be angry. Besides, what did it matter, about -anything or anybody else in the world. - -“I don’t know how this could have happened. I’ve hated you, Phil,” she -confessed after a while. “Oh, how I’ve hated you!” - -“No.” - -“Oh, yes. It’s true. I hated you. I really did. You were the living -emblem of my disgrace. When you got in here beside me to-night, I -loathed you. I’m still angry with myself. I can’t understand how I -could have yielded so--so completely.” - -“It all happened a thousand years ago.” - -“Yes, I know it. Up there--I seemed to remember that.” - -“So did I--the same stream, the same rocks, the forest primeval.” - -“And the voices----” - -“Yes. You couldn’t change things. They were meant to be--from the -beginning.” - -She drew closer into his arms and whispered. - -“It frightens me a little, though.” - -“What?” - -“That it has happened in spite of me. That I had no power to resist.” - -“Do you want to resist?” - -“No, not now--not now.” - -“You make me immortal. There’s no need to be frightened for me or for -you. The strength of the ages is in me, Jane. I’ll win out, dear,” he -whispered. “I’ll win out. For you--for us both.” - -“I believe it,” she sighed. “It’s in you to win. I’ve known that, too. -You must put the--the Enemy to rout, Phil. I’ll help you. It’s my Enemy -as well as yours now. We’ll face it together--and it will fall. I know -it will.” - -He laughed. - -“God bless you for that. I’m not afraid of it. We’ve conjured it away -already. You’ve put me in armor, Jane. We’ll turn its weapons aside.” - -“Yes, I’m sure of it.” - -She looked up at him and by the glow of a street lamp he saw that she -was afraid no longer, for in her eyes was a light of love and faith -unalterable. - -She could not know, nor did he, that outside in the darkness beside -their vehicle, his weapons sheathed, baffled and thwarted for the -moment, but still undismayed, strode the Enemy. - - - - -XIV - -THE JUNIOR MEMBER - - -The offices of Kenyon, Hood and Gallatin were in the Mills Building, -and consisted of six rooms, one for each of the members of the firm, -and three for the clerks, stenographers and library. They were -plainly but comfortably furnished, and gave no token of extraordinary -prosperity or the lack of it. In no sense did they resemble the -magnificent suites which were maintained elsewhere in the building -by more precocious firms which had discovered the efficacy of the -game of “bluff,” and which used it in their business with successful -consistency. And yet there was an air of solidity here which indicated -a conservatism more to the liking of the class of people who found use -for the services of Kenyon, Hood and Gallatin. - -John Kenyon, the senior member, belonged to that steadily decreasing -class of lawyers who look upon their profession as a calling with -traditions. He belonged to an older school of practitioners which still -clung to the ethics of a bygone generation. The business of many big -corporations went up in the elevator which passed before the door of -John Kenyon’s private office to a floor above, where its emissaries -could learn how to take the money that belonged to other people without -being jailed, or, having been jailed, how they could most quickly -be freed to obtain the use of their plunder. But Mr. Kenyon made no -effort to divert this tide. He wanted no part of it in his office. The -corporate interests which he represented were for the most part those -which required his services to resist the depredations planned upstairs. - -John Kenyon would have been a great lawyer but for the lack of one -important ingredient of greatness--imagination. His knowledge of the -law was extraordinary. His mind was crystal-clear, analytical but not -inventive, judicial but not prophetic. He would have graced the robes -of a Justice of the Supreme Bench; but as a potent force in modern -affairs he was not far from mediocrity. He had begun his career in -the office of Philip Gallatin’s grandfather, had been associated with -Philip Gallatin’s father, but with the passing of the old firm he had -opened offices of his own. The initiative which he lacked had been -supplied by Gordon Hood, a brisk Bostonian of the omniscient type; -and the accession of young Philip Gallatin four years ago had done -still more to supply the ingredients which modern conditions seemed to -require. It had meant much to John Kenyon to have Phil in the firm, for -the perspective of Time had done little to dim the luster which hung -about the name of Gallatin and the junior member had shown early signs -that he, too, was possessed of much of the genius of his forebears. - -Kenyon had watched the development of the boy with mingled delight and -apprehension and, with the memory of the failings of his ancestors -fresh in his mind, had done what he could to avert impending evil. It -was at his advice that young Gallatin had gone to the Canadian woods, -and he had noted with interest and not a little curiosity his return -to his desk two months ago sobered and invigorated. Phil had plunged -into the work which awaited him with quiet intention, and the way he -had taken hold of his problems and solved them, had filled the senior -partner with new hopes for his future. He loved the boy as he could -have loved a son, as he must love the son of Evelyn Westervelt, and -it had taken much to destroy John Kenyon’s belief in Phil’s ultimate -success. But this last failure had broken that faith. Through the -efforts of Gordon Hood the firm had won the suit for which Phil -Gallatin had prepared it, but it was an empty victory to John Kenyon, -who had seen during the preparation of the case Phil Gallatin’s chance, -his palingenesis--the restitution of all his rights, physical and moral. - -Fully aware of John Kenyon’s attitude toward him, for two weeks -Philip Gallatin had remained uptown and, until his dinner at Mrs. -Pennington’s, to which he had gone in response to especial pleading, -had hidden himself even from his intimates. He had sent word to John -Kenyon that he was indisposed, but both men knew what his absence -meant. John Kenyon had been the one rock to which Phil Gallatin had -tied, the one man with whom he had been willing to talk of himself, the -one man of all his friends from whom he would even take a reproach. It -was on John Kenyon’s account, more even than on his own, that Gallatin -so keenly suffered for his failure at the critical moment. The time -had indeed come for a reckoning, and yesterday Gallatin had planned to -retire from the firm and save his senior partner the pains of further -responsibility on his account. He had been weighed in the balance, a -generous balance with weights which favored him, and had been found -wanting. - -But last night a miracle had happened and the visit of renunciation -which he had even planned for this very morning had been turned into -one of contrition and appeal. And difficult as he found the interview -before him, he entered the office with a light step and a face aglow -with the new resolution which had banished the somber shadow that for -so long had hung about him. - -It was early, and the business of the day had just begun. At his -appearance several of the stenographers looked up from their work and -scrutinized him with interest, and the chief clerk rose and greeted him. - -“Good morning, Tooker,” he nodded cheerfully. “Is Mr. Kenyon in yet?” - -“No, sir. It’s hardly his time----” - -“Please tell him I’d like to see him if he can spare me a moment.” - -Then he entered a door which bore his name and closed it carefully -behind him, opened his desk, glanced at his watch, made two or three -turns up and down the room and then took up the telephone book, -Logan--Lord--Lorimer, Loring. There it was. 7000 Plaza. He hesitated -again and then rang up the number. - -It was some moments before the butler consented to get Miss Loring, and -when he did she did not recognize his voice. - -“Who is it?” she asked. - -“Can’t you guess?” - -“Oh, Phil! I didn’t know you at all. Where are you?” - -“At the office.” - -“Already! And I’m not out of bed!” - -“Did I wake you? I’m sorry----” - -“I’m glad. I didn’t mean to go to sleep, but I did sleep, somehow----” - -“I haven’t been asleep. I couldn’t----” - -“Why not?” - -“It’s so much pleasanter to be awake.” - -“I think so, too, but then I dreamed, Phil.” - -“Pleasant dreams?” - -“Oh, beautiful ones, full of demigods and things.” - -“What things?” - -“Enchanted broughams. Oh, how did it happen, Phil?” - -“It had to happen.” - -“I can’t believe it yet.” - -He laughed. “If I were there I’d try to convince you.” - -“Yes, I think you could. I’m willing to admit that.” - -“Are you sorry?” - -“N-o. But I’m so used to being myself. I can’t understand. It’s -strange--that’s all. And I’m glad you called me. I’ve had a terrifying -feeling that you must be somebody else, too.” - -“I _am_ somebody else.” - -“I mean somebody I don’t know very well.” - -“There’s a remedy for that.” - -“What?” - -“Doses of demigod. Repeat every hour.” - -“Oh----!” - -“Don’t you like the prescription?” - -“I--I think so.” - -“Then why not try it?” - -“I--I think I ought to, oughtn’t I?” - -“I’m sure of it. In a day or so the symptoms you speak of will entirely -disappear.” - -“Are you sure?” - -“Positive.” - -“I--I think they’re less acute already. You really _are_ you, aren’t -you?” - -“If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be _you_, don’t you see?” - -“Yes, and I’d be frightfully jealous if I had been somebody else.” She -laughed. “Oh, Phil! What a conversation! I hope no one is listening.” - -“I’m sure they’re not. They couldn’t understand anyway.” - -“Not unless they’re quite mad--as we are. What are you doing? Working?” - -“Yes, drawing a deed for an acre in Paradise.” - -“Don’t be foolish. Who for?” - -“Me. And there’s a deed of trust.” - -“I’ll sign that.” - -“We’ll both sign it. It’s well secured, Jane. Don’t you believe me?” - -“Yes, I do,” slowly. - -There was a pause and then he asked, “When can I see you?” - -“Soon.” - -“This afternoon?” - -“I’ve a luncheon.” - -“And then----” - -“Tea at the----Oh, Phil, I’ll have to cut that. There’s a dance -to-night, too, the Ledyards’.” - -“This is getting serious.” - -“What can I do? I’ve been frightfully rude already. Can’t you go?” - -“Not sufficiently urged.” - -“Then I shan’t either. I don’t want to go. I want--the acre of -Paradise.” - -“Where will I meet you, Jane?” - -“Here--at four.” - -“I’ll be there.” - -“Until then, good-by, and, Phil----” - -“Yes.” - -“Please wear that flannel shirt, disreputable hat and----” - -“And the beard?” - -“No--not the beard. But I want to be convinced there’s no mistake.” - -“I’d rather convince you without them.” - -“Oh, I’ve no doubt you will,” she sighed. “There’s so much I’ve got to -say to you, Phil. I won’t know where to begin----” - -“Just where you stopped.” - -“But I--I wasn’t saying anything--just then. I couldn’t. There--there -were reasons.” - -He laughed gayly. - -“I’ve still other reasons.” - -“Oh!” - -“Convincing ones.” - -“Phil, I won’t listen. Good-by!” - -“Good-by.” - -“Hadn’t we better go for a walk?” she asked. - -“No--please----” - -“Oh, very well,” with a tone of resignation. “There--you see, I’m -submitting again. At four, then. Good-by.” She cut off and he hung up -the receiver, sitting for a long while motionless, looking out of the -window. He took out his watch and was examining it impatiently when the -chief clerk came in. - -“Mr. Kenyon will see you now, Mr. Gallatin,” he said. - -John Kenyon paused in the reading of his mail and looked up over the -half-moons in his glasses when Gallatin appeared at the door. - -“Come in, Phil,” he said quietly, offering his hand. He sat down -at his desk again and formally indicated the chair nearest it. His -manner was kindly and full of an old-fashioned dignity, indicating -neither indifference nor encouragement, and this seemed to make Philip -Gallatin’s position if anything more difficult and painful. Instead of -sitting, Gallatin turned toward the window and stood there. - -“I’ve come back, Uncle John,” he muttered. - -Kenyon glanced up at him, the calm judicial glance of a man who, -having no venal faults himself, tolerates them in others with -difficulty. There was no family relationship between the men, and -Gallatin’s use of the familiar term at this time meant much, and -something in Phil Gallatin’s pose arrested Kenyon’s eye, the jaw -that had worked forward and was now clamped tightly by its throbbing -muscles, the bulk of the squared shoulders and the decision with which -one hand clasped the chair-back. - -“I’m glad of that, Phil,” he said. “I was on the point of thinking you -had given me up.” - -“I had. I had given you up. I haven’t been down here because I knew it -wasn’t necessary for me to come and because I thought you’d understand.” - -“I understood.” - -“I wrote you two or three letters, but I tore them up. I wanted to -sever my connection with the firm. I wanted to save you the pain of -thinking about me any longer. I knew I hadn’t any right here, that I -haven’t had any right here for a long while--two or three years, that -I had been taking my share of fees I had never earned, and that it -was only through your friendship for me that I’ve been encouraged to -stay as long as this. I wanted to save you the pain of talking to me -again----” - -“I’ve never denied you my friendship, Phil. I don’t deny it now. I only -thought that you might have----” - -Gallatin turned swiftly and raised his hand. - -“Don’t, Mr. Kenyon! For God’s sake, don’t reproach me,” he said -ardently. “Reproaches won’t help me--only wound. They’ve already been -ringing in my ears for days--since the last time----” he paused. - -“Never mind.” - -Gallatin strode the length of the room, struggling for the control of -his voice, and when he came back it was to stand facing the senior -partner quite composed. - -“There isn’t a man in the world who would do as much for one who -merited so little. I’m not going over that. Words can’t mean much from -me to you; but what I would like you to know is that I don’t want to -go out of the firm, and that, if you’ll bear with me, I want another -chance to prove myself. I’ve never promised anything. You’ve never -asked me to. Thank God, that much of my self-respect at least is saved -out of the ruins. I want to give my word now----” - -“Don’t do that,” said Kenyon hurriedly. “It isn’t necessary.” - -“Yes, I must. I’ve given it to myself, and I’ll keep it, never fear. -That--was the last--the very last.” - -Kenyon twisted his thin body in his chair and looked up at the junior -member keenly, but as he did so his eyes blurred and he saw, as thirty -years ago he had seen the figure of this boy’s father standing as -Phil Gallatin was standing enmeshed in the toils of Fate, gifted, -handsome, lovable--and yet doomed to go, a mental and physical ruin, -before his time. The resemblance of Philip Gallatin to his father was -striking--the same high forehead, heavy brows and deep-set eyes, the -same cleanly cut aquiline nose, and heavy chin. There were lines, too, -in Phil Gallatin’s face, lines which had appeared in the last two -years which made the resemblance even more assured. And yet to John -Kenyon, there seemed to be a difference. There was something of Evelyn -Westervelt in him, too, the clean straight line of the jawbone and the -firmly modeled lips, thinner than the father’s and more decisive. - -“I’m glad of that, Phil,” he said slowly. - -“I’m not asking you to believe in me again. Broken faith can’t be -repaired by phrases. I don’t want you to believe in me until I’ve made -good. I want to come in here again on sufferance, as you took me in six -years ago, without a share in the business of the firm that I don’t -make myself or for which I don’t give my services. I want to begin at -the bottom of the ladder again and climb it rung by rung.” - -“Oh, I can’t listen to that. Our partnership agreement----” - -“That agreement is canceled. I don’t want a partnership agreement. It’s -got to be so. I’ve been thinking hard, Mr. Kenyon. It’s responsibility -I need----” - -“You’re talking nonsense, Phil. You did more work in the Marvin case -than either Hood or myself.” - -“Perhaps, but I didn’t win it,” he said quickly. - -“The firm did.” - -“I can’t agree with you. I’ll come in this office on the conditions I -suggest, or I must withdraw. My mind is made up on that. I don’t want -to go, and it won’t be easier for me anywhere else. This is where I -belong, and this is where I want to fight my battle, if I can do it -in my own way without the moral or financial help of any one--of you, -least of all.” - -Gallatin paused and walked, his head bent, the length of the room. John -Kenyon followed him with his eyes, then turned to the window and for a -long while remained motionless. Philip Gallatin returned to the vacant -chair and sat leaning forward eagerly. - -The senior partner turned at last, his kind homely face alight with a -smile. - -“You don’t need my faith, my boy, if you’ve got faith of your own, but -I give it to you gladly. Give me your hand.” He got up and the two men -clasped hands, and Phil Gallatin’s eyes did not flicker or fade before -the searching gaze of the other man. It was a pact, none the less -solemn for the silence with which one of them entered into it. - -“You’re awake, Phil?” he asked. - -“Yes, that’s it, Uncle John. Awake,” said Gallatin. - -“I’m glad--I’m very glad. And I believe it. I’ve never been able to get -used to the idea of your being really out of here. We need you, my boy, -and I’ve got work for you, of the kind that will put your mettle to the -test. There’s a great opportunity in it, and I’ll gladly turn it over -to you. ‘_Sic itur ad astra_,’ my boy. Will you take it?” - -“Gladly. A corporation case?” - -“_Sanborn et al. vs. The Sanborn Mining Company._ Sit here and I’ll -explain it to you.” - - - - -XV - -DISCOVERED - - -Women have a code of their own, a system of signals, a lip and sign -language perfectly intelligible among themselves, but mystifying, as -they purpose it to be, to mere man. Overweening husbands, with a fine -air of letting the cat out of the bag, have been known to whisper that -these carefully guarded secrets are no secrets at all, and that women -are merely children of a larger growth, playing at hide and seek with -one another (and with their common enemy) for the mere love of the -game, that there are no mysteries in their natures to be solved, and -that the vaunted woman’s instinct, like the child’s, is as apt to be -wrong as often as it is right. Of course, no one believes this, and -even if one did, man would go his way and woman hers. Woman would -continue to believe in the accuracy of her intuitions and man would -continue to marvel at them. Woman would continue to play at hide and -seek, and man would continue to enjoy the game. - -Call them by what name you please, instinct, intuition, or guesswork, -Mrs. Richard Pennington had succeeded by methods entirely feminine, -in discovering that Phil Gallatin’s Dryad was Jane Loring, that he -was badly in love with her and that Jane was not indifferent to his -attentions. Phil Gallatin had not been difficult to read, and Mrs. -Pennington took a greater pride in the discovery of Jane’s share in the -romance, for she knew when Jane left her house in company with Phil -that her intuition had not erred. - -Jane Loring had kissed her on both cheeks and called her “odious.” - -This in itself was almost enough, but to complete the chain of -evidence, she learned that Dawson, her head coachman, in the course of -execution of her orders, had gone as far North as 125th Street before -his unfortunate mistake of Miss Loring’s number had been discovered by -the occupants of the brougham. - -Mrs. Pennington realized that this last bit of evidence had been -obtained at the expense of a breach of hospitality, for she was not a -woman who made a practice of talking with her servants, but she was -sure that the ends had justified the means and the complete success of -her maneuver more than compensated for her slight loss of self-respect -in its accomplishment. - -But while her discovery pleased her, she was not without a sense of -responsibility in the matter. She had been hoping for a year that a -girl of the right kind would come between Phil and the fate he seemed -to be courting, for since his mother’s death he had lived alone, and -seclusion was not good for men of his habits. She had wanted Phil to -meet Jane Loring, and her object in bringing them together had been -expressed in a definite hope that they would learn to like each other -a great deal. But now that she knew what their relations were, she was -slightly oppressed by the thought of unpleasant possibilities. - -It was in the midst of these reflections that Miss Jaffray was -announced, and in a moment she entered the room with a long -half-mannish, half-feline stride and took up her place before the -mantelpiece where she stood, her feet apart, toasting her back at the -open fire. Mrs. Pennington indicated the cigarettes, and Nina Jaffray -took one, rolling it in her fingers and tapping the end of it on her -wrist to shake out the loose dust as a man would do. - -“I’m flattered, Nina,” said Nellie Pennington. “To what virtue of mine -am I indebted for the earliness of this visit?” - -“I slept badly,” said Nina laconically. - -“And I’m the anodyne? Thanks.” - -“Oh, no; merely an antidote.” - -“For what?” - -“Myself. I’ve got the blues.” - -“You! Impossible.” - -“Oh, yes. It’s quite true. I’m quite wretched.” - -“Dressmaker or milliner?” - -“Neither. Just bored, I think. You know I’ve been out five years now. -Think of it! And I’m twenty-four. Isn’t that enough to make an angel -weep?” - -“It’s too sad to mention,” said Mrs. Pennington. “You used to be such a -nice little thing, too.” - -Nina Jaffray raised a hand in protest. - -“Don’t, Nellie, it’s no joke, I can tell you. I’m _not_ a nice little -thing any longer, and I know it. I’m a hoydenish, hard-riding, -loud-spoken vixen, and that’s the truth. I wish I _was_ a ‘nice little -thing’ as you call it, like Jane Loring for instance, with illusions -and hopes and a proclivity for virtue. I’m not. I like the talk of -men----” - -“That’s not unnatural--so do I.” - -“I mean the talk of men among men. They interest me, more what they say -than what they are. They’re genuine, somehow. You can get the worst -and the best of them at a sitting. One can’t do that with women. Most -of us are forever purring and pawing and my-dearing one another when -we know that what we want to do is to spit and claw. I like the easy -ways of men--collectively, Nellie, not individually, and I’ve come and -gone among them because it seemed the most natural thing in the world -to do. I’ve made a mistake. I know it now. When a girl gets to be ‘a -good fellow’ she does it at the expense either of her femininity or her -morals. And men make the distinction without difficulty. I’m ‘a good -fellow,’” she said scornfully, “and I’m decent. Men know it, but they -know, too, that I have no individual appeal. Why only last week at the -Breakfast the Sackett boy clapped me on the back and called me ‘a jolly -fine chap.’ I put him down, I can tell you. I’d rather he’d called -me anything--anything--even something dreadful--if it had only been -feminine.” - -She flicked her cigarette into the fire and dropped into a chair. - -Mrs. Pennington laughed. - -“All this is very unmanly of you, Nina.” - -“Oh, I’m not joking. You’re like the others. Just because I’ve ridden -through life with a light hand, you think I’m in no danger of a -cropper. Well, I am. I’ve had too light a hand, and I’m out in the -back-stretch with a winded horse. _You_ didn’t make that mistake, -Nellie. Why couldn’t you have warned me?” - -Mrs. Pennington held off the embroidery frame at arm’s length and -examined it with interest. - -“You didn’t ask me to, Nina,” she replied quietly. - -“No, I didn’t. I never ask advice. When I do, it’s only to do the other -thing. But you might have offered it just the same.” - -“I might have, if I knew you wouldn’t have followed it.” - -“No,” reflectively. “I think I’d have done what you said. I like -you immensely, you know, Nellie. You’re a good sort--besides being -everything I’m not.” - -“Meaning--what?” - -“Oh, I don’t know. You’re all woman, for one thing.” - -“I have had two children,” smiled the other toward the ceiling. “I -could hardly be anything else.” - -“Is _that_ it?” asked the visitor; and then after a pause, “I don’t -like children.” - -“Not other people’s. You’d adore your own.” - -“I wonder.” - -Mrs. Pennington’s pretty shoulders gave an expressive shrug. - -“Marry, my dear. Nothing defines one’s sex so accurately. Marry for -love if you can, marry for money if you must, but marry just the same. -You may be unhappy, but you’ll never be bored.” - -Nina Jaffray gazed long into the fire. - -“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “That’s what I came to see you -about.” - -“Oh, Nina, I’m delighted!” cried Nellie Pennington genuinely, “and so -flattered. Who, my dear child?” - -“I’ve been thinking--seriously.” - -“You must have had dozens of offers.” - -“Oh, yes, from fortune hunters and gentlemen jockeys, but I’m not -a philanthropic institution. Curiously enough my taste is quite -conventional. I want a New Yorker--a man with a mind--with a future, -perhaps, neither a prig nor a rake--human enough not to be too good, -decent enough not to be burdensome--a man with weaknesses, if you like, -a poor man, perhaps----” - -“Nina. Who?” - -Miss Jaffray paused. - -“I thought I’d marry Phil Gallatin,” she said quietly. - -Mrs. Pennington laid her embroidery frame down and looked up quickly. -Nina Jaffray’s long legs were extended toward the blaze, but her head -was lowered and her eyes gazed steadily before her. It was easily to -be seen that she was quite serious--more serious than Mrs. Pennington -liked. - -“Phil Gallatin! Oh, Nina, you can’t mean it?” - -“I do. There isn’t a man in New York I’d rather marry than Phil.” - -“Does he know it?” - -“No. But I mean that he shall.” - -“Don’t be foolish. You two would end in the ditch in no time.” - -Nina straightened and examined her hostess calmly. - -“Do you think so?” she asked at last. - -“Yes, I think so----” Nellie Pennington paused, and whatever it was -that she had in mind to say remained unspoken. Instinct had already -warned her that Nina was the kind of girl who is only encouraged by -obstacles, and it was not her duty to impose them. - -“Stranger things have happened, Nellie,” she laughed. - -“But are you sure Phil will--er--accept you?” - -“Oh, no, and I shan’t be discouraged if he refuses,” she went on -oblivious of Nellie Pennington’s humor. - -“Then you _do_ mean to speak to him?” - -“Of course.” Nina’s eyes showed only grave surprise at the question. -“How should he know it otherwise?” - -“Your methods are nothing, if not direct.” - -“Phil would never guess unless I told him. For a clever man he’s -singularly stupid about women. I think that’s why I like him. Why -shouldn’t I tell him? What’s the use of beating around the bush? It’s -such a waste of time and energy.” - -Mrs. Pennington’s laugh threw discretion to the winds. - -“Oh, Nina, you’ll be the death of me yet. There never was such a -passion since the beginning of Time.” - -“I didn’t say I _loved_ Phil Gallatin,” corrected Nina promptly. “I -said I’d decided to marry him.” - -“And have you any reason to suppose that he shares your--er--nubile -emotions?” - -“None whatever. He has always been quite indifferent to me--to all -women. I think the arrangement might be advantageous to him. He’s quite -poor and I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. He’s not a -fool, and I’m--Nellie, I’m not old-looking or ugly, am I? Why shouldn’t -he like me, if he doesn’t like any one else?” - -“No reason in the world, dear. _I’d_ marry you, if _I_ were a man.” - -Mrs. Pennington took to cover uneasily, conscious that here was a -situation over which she could have no control. She was not in Phil -Gallatin’s confidence or in Jane Loring’s, and the only kind of -discouragement she could offer must fail of effectiveness with a girl -who all her life had done everything in the world that she wanted -to do, and who had apparently decided that what she now wanted was -Phil Gallatin. Nina’s plans would have been amusing had they not been -rather pathetic, for Nellie Pennington had sought and found below -her visitor’s calm exterior, a vein of seriousness, of regret and -self-reproach, which was not to be diverted by the usual methods. Did -she really care for Phil? Clever as Mrs. Pennington was, she could not -answer that. But she knew that it was a part of Nina Jaffray’s methods -to do the unexpected thing, so that her sincerity was therefore always -open to question. Nellie Pennington took the benefit of that doubt. - -“Has it occurred to you, Nina, that he may care for some one else?” - -Her visitor turned quickly. “You don’t think so, do you?” she asked -sharply. - -“How should _I_ know?” Mrs. Pennington evaded. - -“I’ve thought of that, Nellie. Who was Phil’s wood-nymph? He’s very -secretive about it. I wonder why.” - -“I don’t believe there _was_ a wood-nymph,” said Mrs. Pennington -slowly. “Besides, Phil would hardly be in love with that sort of girl.” - -“That’s just the point. What sort of a girl was she? What reason could -Phil have for keeping the thing a secret? Was it an amourette? If it -was, then it’s Phil Gallatin’s business and nobody else’s. But if the -girl was one of Phil’s own class and station, like----” - -“Miss Loring,” announced the French maid softly from the doorway. - -Nina Jaffray paused and an expression of annoyance crossed her face. -She straightened slowly in her chair, then rose and walked across -the room. Mrs. Pennington hoped that she would go, but she only took -another cigarette and lit it carefully. - -“You’re too popular, Nellie,” she said, taking a chair by the fire. - -Mrs. Pennington raised a protesting hand. - -“Don’t say that, Nina. For years I’ve been dreading that adjective. -When a woman finds herself popular with her own sex it means that she’s -either too passée to be dangerous, too staid to be interesting, or too -stupid to be either. Morning, Jane! So glad! Is it chilly out or are -those cheeks your impersonal expression of the joy of living?” - -“Both, you lazy creature! How do you do, Nina? This is my dinner call, -Mrs. Pennington. I simply couldn’t wait to be formal.” - -“I’m glad, dear.” And then mischievously, “Did you get home safely?” - -“Oh, yes, but it was a pity to take _poor_ Mr. Gallatin so far out of -his way,” she replied carelessly. - -“_Poor_ Phil! That’s the fate of these stupid ineligible bachelors--to -act as postilion to the chariot of Venus. Awfully nice boy, but so -uninteresting at times.” - -“Is he? I thought him very attractive,” said Jane. “He’s one of _the_ -Gallatins, isn’t he?” - -“Yes, dear, the last of them. I was afraid you wouldn’t like him.” - -“Oh, yes, I do. Quite a great deal. He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he, -Nina?” - -“I’ve known him for ages,” said Miss Jaffray dryly; and then to Mrs. -Pennington, “Why shouldn’t Jane like him, Nellie?” - -“Oh, I don’t know,” she finished with a gesture of graceful retirement. -Their game of hide and seek was amusing, but hazardous in the present -company, so she quickly turned the conversation into other channels. - -Nina Jaffray and Jane Loring had met in the late autumn at a house -party at the Ledyards’ place in Virginia, and while their natures were -hardly concordant, each had found in the other some ingredients which -made for amiability. Jane’s interest had been dictated by curiosity -rather than approval, for Nina Jaffray was like no other girl she had -ever met before. Whatever her manners, and these, Jane discovered, -could be atrocious, her instincts were good, and her intentions seemed -of the best. To Miss Jaffray, Jane Loring was ‘a nice little thing’ who -had shown a disposition not to interfere with other people’s plans, a -nice little thing, amiable and a trifle prudish, for whom Nina’s kind -of men hadn’t seemed to care. They had not been, and could never be -intimate, but upon a basis of good fellowship, they existed with mutual -toleration and regard. - -Nellie Pennington, from her shadowed corner, watched the two girls -with the keenest of interest and curiosity. Nina Jaffray sat with -hands clasped around one upraised knee, her head on one side listening -carelessly to Jane’s enthusiastic account of the Ledyards’ ball, -commenting only in monosyllables, but interested in spite of herself -in Jane’s ingenuous point of view, aware in her own heart of a slight -sense of envy that she no longer possessed a susceptibility to those -fresh impressions. - -Nina was not pretty this morning, Nellie Pennington thought. Hers -was the effectiveness of midnight which requires a spot-light and -accessories and, unless in the hunting field, midday was unkind to her; -while Jane who had danced late brought with her all the freshness of -early blossoms. But she liked Nina, and that remarkable confession, -however stagy and Nina-esque, had set her thinking about Jane Loring -and Mr. Gallatin. It was a pretty triangle and promised interesting -possibilities. - -Jane was still speaking when Nina interrupted, as though through all -that she had heard, one train of thought had persisted. - -“What did you mean, Nellie, about Phil Gallatin being ineligible?” she -asked. “And I _know_ you don’t think him stupid. And why shouldn’t Jane -Loring like him? I don’t think I understand?” - -Nellie Pennington smiled. She had made a mistake. Hide and seek as a -game depends for its success upon the elimination of the bystander. - -“I am afraid, of course, that Jane would be falling in love with him,” -she said lightly. And then, “That would have been a pity. Don’t you -think so, Nina?” - -“There’s hardly a danger of that,” laughed Jane, “seeing that I’ve -just--just been introduced to the man. You needn’t be at all afraid, -Nina.” - -“I’m not. Besides he’s awfully gone on a wood-nymph. You saw him blush -when I spoke of it at dinner here--didn’t you, Jane?” - -“Yes, I did,” said Jane, now quite rosy herself. - -“Phil wouldn’t have blushed you know,” said Nina confidently, “unless -he was terribly rattled. He _was_ rattled. That’s what I can’t -understand. Suppose he did find a girl who was lost in the woods. -What of it? It’s nobody’s business but his own and the girl’s. I’d be -furious if people talked about me the way they’re talking about Phil -and that girl. I was lost once in the Adirondacks. You were, too, in -Canada only last summer, Jane. You told me so down in Virginia and----” - -Jane Loring had struggled hard to control her emotion, and bent her -head forward to conceal her discomposure, but Nina’s eyes caught the -rising color which had flowed to the very tips of her ears. - -“Jane!” cried Nina in sharp accents of amazed discovery. “It was you!” - -The game of hide and seek had terminated disastrously for Jane, and her -system of signals, useful to deceive as well as reveal had betrayed -her. It was clearly to be seen that further dissimulation would be -futile, so she raised her head slowly, the color gone from her cheeks. - -“Yes, it was I,” she said with admirable coolness. “Meeting Mr. -Gallatin here the other night reminded me of it. That was one of the -things I came to tell Mrs. Pennington this morning. But I don’t suppose -there’s any reason why you shouldn’t know it, too, Nina. If it hadn’t -been for Mr. Gallatin I know I should have _died_. You see, I had -slipped and wrenched my ankle and, of course, couldn’t move----” - -“It must have been terrible!” put in Nellie Pennington in dire -distress. “You poor child!” - -“I haven’t spoken of it,” Jane went on hurriedly, “because there -wasn’t any reason why I should. But now, of course, that this story -is going the rounds, it’s just as well that people knew. It wasn’t -necessary to tell Mr. Gallatin my name up there, and until he met me -in New York he did not know who I was. That, of course, is why the -whole thing has seemed so mysterious.” She paused and smiled rather -obtrusively at her companions. “It’s really a very trivial matter to -make such a fuss about, isn’t it?” - -“Absurd!” said Mrs. Pennington, with enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t worry -about it in the least.” - -“It _does_ sound rather romantic, though,” laughed Jane uneasily, “but -it wasn’t a bit. We nearly starved and _poor_ Mr. Gallatin was almost -dead with fatigue--when they found us.” - -“Who found you?” asked Miss Jaffray. - -“The guides, of course.” - -“Oh!” said Nina. - -Nellie Pennington put down her embroidery and rose. This wouldn’t do. - -“Jane,” she said laughing. “You make me wild with envy. You’re a person -to whom all sorts of interesting things are always happening. And now I -hear you’re engaged to Coleman Van Duyn. Come, child, sit here and tell -me all about it.” - -“It’s not true. I’m very flattered, of course, but----” - -“You’d better admit it. Nina won’t tell, will you, Nina?” - -But Miss Jaffray had risen and was drawing on her gloves. - -“Oh, no. I wouldn’t tell. Besides--you know I don’t believe it.” She -glanced at the clock, and brushed a speck from her sleeve. - -“I think I’ll be going on,” she said. “Good-by, Jane. Nellie, I’ll see -you at the ‘Pot and Kettle,’ won’t I?” and went out of the room. - -Mrs. Pennington followed her to the upper landing and when she had -gone, returned thoughtfully to the room. - - - - -XVI - -BEHIND THE ENEMY’S BACK - - -As she turned and came into the room again, Jane Loring met her in the -middle of the rug, seized her in her arms, kissed her rapturously on -both cheeks, and confessed, though not without some hesitation, the -object of her visit. Nellie Pennington led her to a divan near the -window, and seated there holding one of her visitor’s hands in both -of hers, listened enchanted to the full tale of Jane’s romance. Her -delight was undisguised, for Nina Jaffray’s rather frigid exit had -already been forgotten by them both. - -“Oh, Nellie, I’m so happy. I simply _had_ to tell somebody. I wanted to -come here yesterday, but I couldn’t muster up the courage.” - -“And I’m not really ‘odious’?” asked Mrs. Pennington. - -“No, no,” laughed Jane. “You’re a sister to the angels. I hated him, -Nellie, that night. I would have died rather than let him know I cared -for him--and yet--I _did_ let him know it----” - -“Love and hate are first cousins. Love hates because it’s afraid, Jane.” - -“Yes, that’s true. I was afraid of myself--of him----” - -“Not now?” - -“No,” proudly. “Not even of Fate itself. We’ll face whatever is to -come--together. I believe in him--utterly.” - -Nellie Pennington kissed her. - -“So do I, Jane. I always have--and in you. I can’t tell you how glad I -am that you have told me all this. Flattered, too, child. I’m rather -worldly wise, perhaps, even more so than your mother----” - -“I haven’t told mother,” Jane put in with sudden demureness. - -“Take my advice and do so immediately. Omit nothing. Your mother must -put a stop to this story by telling the truth.” - -“Mother, you know, had hoped that I would marry Coleman Van Duyn. She -doesn’t approve of Phil, and father--” Jane paused as she remembered -her father’s estimate of Phil Gallatin--“and neither does my father,” -she finished thoughtfully. - -“Oh, it will work out some way; such things do. But tell them at once.” - -“I think I had already decided that. But it isn’t going to be easy. -With me--with mother, my father is the soul of kindness, but with -men----” She paused. - -“Phil must take his chance.” - -“Yes, but father must respect him.” - -“Phil must earn his respect.” - -Jane was silent for a moment. - -“My father has a sharp tongue at times,” she went on. “He has mentioned -Phil Gallatin’s name--unpleasantly. I couldn’t stand hearing him spoken -about in that way. I couldn’t listen. I couldn’t tolerate it--even from -my father. I have made a decision and father must abide by it. He must -accept Phil as I have accepted him. I am satisfied. A man’s past is his -own. He can only give a girl his future. I used to think differently, -but I’m content with that. Phil’s future is mine, and I’ll take my half -of it, whatever it is.” - -At the mention of her father, Jane had risen and walked restlessly -about, but as she finished speaking she turned and faced her companion -squarely. Nellie Pennington rose and took her again in her arms. - -“You’ll do, Jane. I’m not afraid for you--for either of you. Let me -help you. I want to. I don’t think I could be happier if I were in love -myself. He’s worthy of you. I’m sure of it. Shall you marry him soon, -dear?” - -Jane colored adorably. - -“No--not soon, I think. We have not spoken of that. Phil wants time--to -prove--to show--everybody----” - -She paused and Nellie Pennington breathed a sigh of relief. Her -responsibilities had oppressed her. - -“Let him, Jane,” she urged quickly. “It’s better so. You’re very young. -There’s plenty of time. A year or two and then----” - -“I’ll marry him when he asks me to,” Jane finished simply. - -Nellie Pennington pressed her hands warmly, and they sat for a -long time side by side while Jane told of all that had happened in -the woods, including the sudden and unpleasant termination of her -idyl. Nellie Pennington listened soberly, and learned more of the -definiteness with which fate had placed the steps of these two young -people upon the same pathway into the future. Love dwelt in Jane’s -eyes and confidence, a trust and belief in Phil Gallatin that put -Nellie Pennington’s rather assertive indorsement of him to the blush. -She realized now that below Jane Loring’s placid exterior, there was -a depth of feeling, a quiet strength and resolution of which she had -never even dreamed; for she, too, had thought Jane a “nice little -thing”--a pretty, amiable, cheerful soul without prejudices, who would -add much to her own joy of life, and to the intimate circle of young -people she chose to gather around her. Some of the girl’s faith found -its way into her own heart and she saw Phil now, as she had always -hoped to see him, taking his place among the workers of the world, -using the brains God had given him, and accomplishing the great things -that she knew had always been within his power to accomplish. - -When Jane rose to go, Mrs. Pennington detained her a moment longer. - -“How well do you know Nina Jaffray?” she asked slowly. - -“Oh, we’ve always got along admirably, because we’ve never interfered -with each other, I think. But I don’t understand her--nor does she me. -Why do you ask?” - -“Oh--I don’t know----” - -“I thought you liked her, Nellie.” - -“I do. I like everybody who doesn’t bore me. Nina amuses me because she -keeps me in a continual state of surprise. That’s all very well so long -as her surprises are pleasant ones; but when she wishes to be annoying, -I assure you she can be amazingly disagreeable.” - -“I imagine so. But I don’t think we’ll have differences--at least I -hope----” - -“Don’t be too intimate--that’s all. Understand?” - -They kissed; after which Jane departed, and on the way uptown found -herself wondering from time to time whether Nellie Pennington could -have meant something more than Jane thought she did. But in her state -of exaltation nothing could long avail to divert her spirit from its -joyous flight among the enchanted realms that had been discovered -to her. That afternoon late, it was only going to be very late in -the afternoon she now remembered, Phil Gallatin was to walk home -with her from somebody’s tea, to-morrow they were to dine at the -Dorsey-Martin’s, and late in the week there was the party at the -“Pot and Kettle.” After that--but what did it matter what happened -after that? Each day, she knew, was to be more wonderful than the one -that had gone before and it was not well to question the future too -insistently. Sufficient unto the day was the good thereof, and Solomon -indeed was not arrayed--inwardly at least--as Jane was. - -Taking Mrs. Pennington’s advice, as soon as she reached home she -sought her mother’s room. Mrs. Loring was reclining at full length on -a portable wooden table which had been set up in the middle of her -large apartment, and an osteopath was busy manipulating her small -body. There wasn’t really anything the matter with her except social -fag, but she chose this method of rehabilitating her tired nerves -instead of active exercise which she abhorred. It was almost with a -feeling of pity that Jane sat beside her mother when the practitioner -had departed, for she knew that a scene would follow her confidences. -And she was not mistaken; for when half an hour later, Jane went to -her own room, her mother was in a state of collapse upon her bed, and -Jane’s nerves were singing like taut wires, while on her mind were -unpleasantly impressed the final words of maternal recrimination. But -Jane knew that in spite of the violence of her mother’s opposition, she -was very much less to be dreaded than her father, and that by to-morrow -she would be reconciled to her daughter’s point of view and even might -be reckoned upon as an ally. Nor would she speak to Mr. Loring without -her daughter’s acquiescence. This Jane had no intention of giving, for -she was sure that a meeting of her father and Phil, which must, of -course, ensue at once, was not to be looked forward to with pleasurable -expectation. - -It was therefore in no very happy mood that Jane met Phil Gallatin late -that afternoon at the Suydams’ tea whence he went home with her. She -had said nothing of her interview with her mother, and was relieved to -learn at the house that Mrs. Loring had gone out. - -She led Phil back into the library and they sat before the open fire. - -“What is it, Jane?” he asked. “Are you regretting----?” - -“No,” she smiled. “There isn’t room in my heart for regret. It’s full -of--other things.” - -“I’m very dense. Can you prove it?” - -“I’ll try.” - -The davenport was huge, but only one end of it complained of their -weight. - -“Phil, are you _sure_ there is no mistake?” - -“Positive.” - -“And you never cared for any one else?” - -[Illustration: “‘And you never cared for any one else?’”] - -“Never.” - -“Not Nina Jaffray?” - -“No, why do you ask?” - -“She once told me you had a boy-and-girl affair.” - -“Oh, that! She used to tease me and I would wash her face in the snow. -That’s Nina’s idea of mutual affection.” - -“It isn’t her idea now, is it?” - -“I’m sure I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Larry Kane.” - -“And you don’t ever think about her?” - -“No--except with vague alarm for the safety of the species.” - -Jane laughed. “I don’t want you to be unkind,” she said, but was not -displeased. - -There was a silence in which Gallatin peered around the great room and -his eyes smiled as they sought her face again. - -“What are you thinking of?” she asked. - -“Of this shelter--and another.” - -“Up among the pine trees? Oh, how white and cold it must be there now! -It’s ours though, Phil, so personal----” - -“I’ll build another--here in New York.” - -“Not like this?” - -“No--hardly--” he smiled. - -“I’m glad of that. This house oppresses me. It’s so big--so silent and -yet so noisy with the money that has been spent on it. I don’t like -money, Phil.” - -“That’s because you’ve never felt the need of it. I’m glad you don’t, -though. You know I’m not very well off.” - -“I don’t suppose Daddy would ever let me starve,” she laughed. - -His expression changed and he chose his words deliberately, his face -turned toward the fire. - -“It isn’t my intention to place you in any such position,” he said with -curious precision. “I don’t think you understand. It isn’t possible for -me to accept anything from your father, except yourself, Jane. I’ll -take you empty-handed as I first found you--or not at all.” - -“But even then you know it was _my_ saucepan----” - -But he shook his head. “It isn’t a question of saucepans now.” - -“You’re not fair, Phil,” she murmured soberly. “Is it my fault that -father has become what he is? Why shouldn’t I help? I have something of -my own--some stock in----” - -He closed her lips with a kiss. - -“I’ve got to have my own way. Can’t you understand?” he whispered -earnestly. “It’s my sanity I’m fighting for--sanity of body and mind, -and the medicines are toil--drudgery--responsibility. I’ve never -known what work really meant. One doesn’t learn that sort of thing -in the crowd I’ve been brought up with. It’s only the money a fellow -makes himself that does him any good. I’ve seen other fellows raised as -I was--losing their hold on life--slipping into the quagmire. I always -thought I could pull up when I liked--when I got ready. But when I -tried--I found I couldn’t.” - -He paused and Jane pressed his hand in both of hers. But he went on -decisively, “Desperate illnesses need desperate remedies, Jane. I -learned that--up there with you. I’ve been ill, but I’ve found the -cure and I’m taking it already. Downtown I’ve cut myself off from all -financial support. I shan’t have a dollar that I cannot make. I’m -driven to the wall--and I’m going to fight.” - -He paused and then turned and looked into her eyes. “That’s why it is -that I want you to come to me empty-handed. I want to remember every -hour of the day that on my efforts alone your happiness depends--_your_ -peace of mind, _your_ future.” - -“Yes, I understand--but it might be made easier----” - -“There isn’t any easy way. And, whatever my other sins, I wouldn’t -climb to fortune on a woman’s shoulders. I’ve nothing to offer you but -my love----” - -“It’s enough.” - -“No, I came into your life a pauper--a derelict--an idler--a dr----” - -“Don’t, Phil,” she whispered, her fingers on his lips. - -“I shall come to you sane and whole or I shall not come to you. I ask -nothing of you. You must make me no promises.” - -“I don’t see how you can prevent that,” she smiled. “I shall make them -anyway.” - -“No, you’re not promised to me.” - -“I am.” - -“No.” - -“I don’t see how you can prevent my promising. I promise to love, honor -and obey----” - -“Then obey at once and stop promising.” - -“I won’t----” - -“Then what validity has a promise, broken the moment it’s made?” His -logic was inevitable. - -“Cherish, then,” she evaded. - -He held her away from him, looked into her eyes and laughed. “If it -establishes no precedent--er--you may cherish me at once.” - -“What does cherish mean?” - -He showed her. - -“I’m afraid the precedent is already established, Phil,” she sighed. -She sank back in his arms and he kissed her tenderly. - -“I can’t stop seeing you, Jane,” he whispered at her ear. “You renew -me, give me new faith in myself, new hope for the future. I know that I -oughtn’t to have the right, but I can’t give you up. I need you. When -I’m with you, I wonder how there could ever be any sin in the world. -Your eyes are so clear, dear, like the pool--_our_ pool in the woods -and my image in them is as clear as they are. Whatever I’ve said I -don’t want that image to go out of them. Keep it there, Jane, no matter -what happens, and believe in me.” - -“I will,” she whispered, “whatever happens.” - -“I’ll come for you some day, dear,--soon perhaps. I’m working on a big -case, one that involves large issues. All of me that isn’t yours, I’m -giving to that--and that’s yours, too.” - -“You’ll win, Phil.” - -“Yes, I’ll win. I must win,” he finished. “I _must_.” - -“Oh, Phil, dear,” she murmured. “It doesn’t matter. What should I care -whether you win or lose? Whatever you have been, whatever you are or -hope to be, you’ve kissed me and I’m yours--until the end. What does -it matter what I promise--or what I fail to promise? I’ll wait for you -because you wish it, but I would tell the world to-morrow if you’d let -me.” - -“No,” he said quickly. “Not yet. I want to look my Enemy in the eyes, -Jane, for--for a long while. I’ll stare him down until he slinks -away--not into the shadows behind me--but away--far off--so far that he -shall not find me again--or I him--ever.” - -“Is the Enemy here--now?” she questioned anxiously. - -“No,” he smiled. “Not here. I drove away from him in an enchanted -brougham.” - -Jane straightened and looked into the fire. - -“Phil.” - -“Yes.” - -“I’ve told Nellie Pennington and--and mother.” - -He folded his arms and gazed steadily into the fire. - -“What did they say?” - -“Nellie Pennington was pleased; mother was not,” she said frankly. - -“I’m sorry to hear that. But I could hardly have expected----” - -“It doesn’t matter,” she went on hastily. “I thought you ought to know.” - -“I shall see Mr. Loring,” he said, his brows tangling. - -“Is it necessary--at once?” - -“I think so. There mustn’t be any false positions. I hope I can make -him understand. Obviously I can’t visit the house of a man who doesn’t -want me there.” - -Jane couldn’t reply at once. And when she did her face was as serious -as his own. - -“Won’t you leave that to me, Phil?” she said gently. - - - - -XVII - -“THE POT AND KETTLE” - - -The “Pot and Kettle” was up in the hills near Tuxedo, within motoring -distance of the city and near enough to a station to be convenient to -those who were forced to depend upon the railroad. It was a gabled -farmhouse of an early period converted by the young men of Colonel -Broadhurst’s generation into its latter-day uses as a club for -dilettante cooks, where the elect might come in small parties on snowy -winter nights, or balmy summer ones, and concoct with their own hands -the glasses and dishes most to their liking. Its membership was limited -and its fellows clannish. Most of the younger members of the Club had -been proposed on the day of their birth, and accession at the age of -twenty-one to its rights and privileges had always been the signal for -a celebration with an intent both gastronomic and bibulous. On club -nights every one contributed his share to the evening’s entertainment, -and the right to mix cocktails, make the salad dressing, or grill the -bird was transmitted by solemn act in writing from those of the older -generation to those of the new, who could not be dispossessed of their -respective offices without a proper delegation of authority or the -unanimous vote of those present. - -A member of the “Pot and Kettle” had the privilege of giving private -entertainments to a select few, provided due notice was given in -advance, and upon that occasion the Club was his own and all other -members were warned to keep off the premises. This gave the “Pot and -Kettle” affairs a privacy like that which the member enjoyed in his -own home, for it was the unwritten law of the Club that whatever passed -within its doors was not to be spoken of elsewhere. - -Egerton Savage had long ago discovered that no preparation was -necessary to make entertainments successful at the “Pot and Kettle.” -The number of a party given, to the steward and his wife, all a host -had to do was to put on his white apron and await the arrival of his -guests. But to give an added zest to this occasion the fortunate ones -had been advised that the party was “for children only.” - -And as children they came. Ogden Spencer, Larry Kane and Coley Van -Duyn in a motor direct from the Cosmos Club arrived first and hurried -upstairs with their packages from the costumers to dress; the Perrines -and Betty Tremaine followed; then Mrs. Pennington, the chaperon, and -a limousine full of débutantes; Jane Loring with Honora Ledyard and -Bibby Worthington; and Dirwell De Lancey with Clifford Benson, and -Freddy Sackett. Nina Jaffray had driven out alone. Most of the girls -had dressed at home and arrived ready for the fray, and after a few -finishing touches in the ladies’ dressing-room upstairs were ready to -greet their host, at the foot of the stairs. Egerton Savage, his thin -legs emerging from velvet knee breeches, as _Little Boy Blue_, met -_Little Miss Muffett_, _Old King Cole_, _Old Mother Hubbard_, _Peter -Piper_, _Margery Daw_, _Bobby Shafto_, _Jack Spratt_, _Solomon Grundy_, -and all of the rest of the nursery crew. Nellie Pennington’s débutantes -scattered about the building like a pack of inquisitive terriers, -investigating every nook and cranny, peering into cupboards and closets -and punctuating the clatter of arrival with pleasant little yelps of -delight. - -As they all assembled at last in the kitchen, large white aprons, which -covered their costumes from neck to foot, were handed out and the real -business of the evening was begun. Egerton Savage, chief-cook and -arbiter, with a shrewd knowledge of the capabilities of débutantes, -handed each of the young ladies a loaf of bread and a long toasting -fork, their mission being to provide the toast, as well as the toasts -of the night; and presently an odor of scorching bread pervaded the -place. - -Jane rebelled. - -“I simply _won’t_ be subjected to such an indignity, Mr. Savage,” she -laughed. “I can cook--really I can.” - -He eyed her askant and laughed. - -“You must be _Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary_, aren’t you?” - -“I am, and I _won’t_ cook toast.” - -At last he commissioned her to poach the eggs. - -Larry Kane, a club member, as the _Infant Bacchus_, in fleshlings -and cheesecloth with a garland of grape-leaves on his head, had -already begun the concoction known as the “Pot and Kettle punch,” an -amber-colored fluid with a fragrant odor of spices, and a taste that -was mildness itself, but in which there lurked the potent spell of the -wassail of many lands. It was against this punch that Nellie Pennington -had taken pains on the way out in the machine, to warn her small -brood; and some of those young ladies who had already retired from the -fire, stood beside the mixer of ingredients, sniffing at the uncorked -bottles, making pretty faces and lisping in childish disapproval. - -Coleman Van Duyn, as _Little Jack Horner_, his scarlet face rising -like a winter sunset from his white apron, was superintending the -broiling of the lobsters; Dirwell De Lancey, who proclaimed himself -_Simple Simon_, was carving cold turkey, Freddy Sackett was making -the salad-dressing; while Betty Tremaine, a very comely _Bo-Peep_, was -drying the lettuce leaves and crushing them to the proper consistency -between her slender pink fingers; Yates Rowland stewed the terrapin; -Percy Endicott made the coffee; and Sam Purviance, with Nina Jaffray’s -help, made the cocktails. - -The festivities of supper were well under way before Phil Gallatin -arrived. It had been late before he could leave the office, and so -he had been obliged to come out by train. After getting into costume -he sought the room eagerly for Jane and their eyes met in wireless -telegraphy across the table. The chairs beside her were occupied by -Worthington and Van Duyn, so he dropped into a chair Savage offered him -between Mrs. Pennington and Miss Tremaine. His host thrust a cocktail -in front of him on the table, and Phil thanked him over his shoulder, -but when Savage had gone, he pushed it away. Nellie Pennington realized -that he looked a little tired and serious, but made no comment. -Gallatin had been working hard all day and until the present moment -had forgotten that he had had no lunch. Food revived him and it was -not long before he could enter into the gay spirit of the company. -They were children, indeed. The cooking finished, their white aprons -had been discarded and loud was the joy at the appearance of the men -and eager the compliments for the ladies. The babel of baby rattles -and tin whistles, discontinued for a time, arose again and the table -rang from end to end with joke and laughter. Bibby Worthington’s wig of -_Bobby Shafto_ got askew and at an unfortunate moment was jostled off -into the salad-bowl, upon which his bald head received baptism in fizz -at the hands of the _Infant Bacchus_. Freddy Perrine, who had had more -than his share of punch, was shooting butter-balls from the prongs -of a fork at Kent Beylard’s white shirt-front, for Beylard hadn’t had -time to go to the costumer. Dirwell De Lancey insisted upon singing -“The Low-Backed Car,” but was prevented from doing so by the vehemence -of his chorus which advised him to get a limousine. Sam Purviance -began telling a story which seemed to be leading toward Montmartre -when Nellie Pennington rose from the table, and followed by her buds, -adjourned to another room. Here the sound of a piano was immediately -heard and the tireless feet of the younger set took up the Turkey Trot -where they had left off at three o’clock the night before. - -No word had passed between Phil Gallatin and Jane, and he had just -gotten to his feet in pursuit of her when Nina Jaffray stood in his way. - -“Hello, Phil,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to see you.” - -“Me? I’m glad of that, Nina. You’re certainly a corker in that get-up. -What are you?” - -“I’m _Jill_. Won’t you help me fetch a pail of water?” - -“And have my crown broken? No, thanks. Besides I couldn’t. It wouldn’t -be in the part. You see I’m---- - - “‘Tommy Trot, the man of law, - Who sold his bed to lay on straw.’” - -“Are you? It isn’t true, is it, Phil? I heard you were going out of the -firm.” - -“Oh, no. I’ve been working, Nina. Sounds queer, doesn’t it? Fact, -though.” - -“There’s something I want to see you about, Phil. I’ve been on the -point of looking you up at the office.” - -“You! What is it?” he laughed. “Breach of promise or alienation of the -affections?” - -“Neither,” slowly. “Seriously--there’s something I want to say to -you.” Gallatin looked at her and she met his eye fairly. “I’d like to -talk to you here--now--if you don’t mind.” - -“Oh--er--of course. But if it’s anything of a serious -nature--perhaps----” - -“I can speak here--will you follow me?” - -Gallatin glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the room into -which Jane had disappeared, but there was nothing left but to follow, -so he helped the girl find a quiet spot on the back stairway where Nina -settled herself and motioned to him to a place at her feet. Gallatin -sat trying to conceal his impatience in the smoke of a cigarette, and -wondering how soon Nina would let him go to Jane. - -“Phil, you and I have known each other a good many years. We’ve always -got along pretty well, haven’t we?” - -“Of course,” he nodded. - -“You’ve never cared much for girls and I’ve never thought much about -men--sentimentally I mean--but we always understood each other -and--well--we’re pretty good friends, aren’t we?” - -“I’d be very sorry if I thought anything else,” he said politely. - -She paused and examined his profile steadily. - -“You know, Phil, I’m interested in you. I think I’ve always been -interested--but I never told you so because--because it seemed -unnecessary. I thought if you ever needed my friendship you’d come and -ask me for it.” - -“I would--I mean, I do,” he stammered. - -“Something has been bothering me,” she went on slowly. “The other -morning at Nellie Pennington’s, Jane Loring told us the truth about the -Dryad story.” - -“Yes.” - -“And, of course, even though friendship doesn’t give me the privilege -of your confidence unless you offer it voluntarily, I thought you might -be willing to tell me something----” - -“What, Nina?” - -“You’re not in love with--you’re not going to marry Jane Loring, are -you?” - -Gallatin smiled. - -“I’m hardly the sort of person any girl could afford to marry,” he said -slowly. - -“Does Jane Loring think so?” she persisted. - -“She has every reason to think so,” he muttered. - -“You’re not engaged?” she protested quickly. - -“No,” he said promptly. - -She gave a sigh of relief. - -“Oh--that’s all I wanted to know.” - -Something unfamiliar in the tones of her voice caused him to look at -his companion. - -“What did you want to know for, Nina?” he questioned. - -“Because if you _were_ engaged--if you really were in love with -Jane, I wouldn’t care--I wouldn’t have the right to speak to you in -confidence.” She hesitated, looking straight at the bare wall before -her, but she smiled her devil-may-care smile and went on with a touch -of her old manner. “I doubt if you really know me very well after all. -I don’t think anybody does. I’ve got a name for playing the game wide -open and riding roughshod over all the dearest conventions of the -dodos. But I’m straight as a string, Phil, and there isn’t a man or -woman in the Cedarcroft or out that can deny it.” - -Gallatin smiled. - -“It wouldn’t be healthy for anybody to deny it.” - -“I don’t care much whether they deny it or not. People who don’t like -my creed are welcome to their own. I won’t bother them and they -needn’t bother me. But I do care for my friends--and I’m true. You know -that, don’t you?” - -“Of course.” - -“And I’m not all hoyden, Phil.” - -“Who said you were?” - -“Nobody--but people think it.” - -“I don’t.” - -“I was hoping you’d say that. Inside of me I think I’m quite womanly at -times----” - -He smiled and looked at her curiously. - -“But I’m tired of riding through life on a loose snaffle. I want to -settle down and have a place of my own and--and all that.” - -“I hadn’t an idea. Is that what you wanted to tell me? Who is it, Nina?” - -“I’m not in love, you know, Phil,” she went on. “I’ve watched the -married couples in our set--those who made love matches--or thought -they did, those who married for money or convenience, and those -who--well--who just married. There’s not a great deal of difference -in the result. One kind of marriage is just about as successful or as -unsuccessful as another. It’s time I married and I’ve tried to think -the thing out in my own way. I’ve about decided that the successful -marriage is entirely a matter of good management--a thing to be -carefully planned from the very beginning.” - -Gallatin listened with dull ears. The girl beside him was talking -heresies. Happiness wasn’t to be built on such a scientific formula. -Love was born in Arcadia. He knew. And Jane---- - -“You know, Phil,” he heard Nina Jaffray saying again, “I’m in the habit -of speaking plainly, you may not like my frankness, but you can be -pretty sure that I mean what I say. I’ve made up my mind to marry and -I wanted you to know about it so that you could think it over.” - -“Me! Nina!” Gallatin started forward suddenly aware of the personal -note in her remarks. “You don’t mean that I----” - -“I thought that you might like to marry me,” she repeated coolly. - -“You can’t mean it,” he gasped. “That you--that I----” - -“I mean nothing else. I’d like to marry you, Phil.” - -Gallatin laughed. - -“Really, Nina, I was almost on the point of taking you seriously. You -and I--married! Wouldn’t we have a lark, though?” - -“I’m quite serious,” she insisted. “I’d like to marry you, if you -haven’t any other plans.” - -“Plans!” He searched her eyes again. “Why, Nina, you silly child, -you’ve never even--even flirted with me, at least, not for years.” - -“That’s true. I couldn’t somehow. I couldn’t flirt with anybody I cared -for.” - -“Then you do--_care_ for--me?” he muttered in bewilderment. - -“Don’t mistake me, Phil,” she put in. “I care for you, yes, but I’m not -in the least sentimental. I abhor sentimentality. You’re simply the -nearest approach I have found to my idea of masculine completeness. -You’re not an ideal person by any means. Your vices are quite brutal, -but they don’t terrify me--and you’re pretty well endowed with -compensating virtues. It’s about time you gathered in your loose reins -and took to the turnpike. I’d like to help you and I think I could.” - -“I--I haven’t any doubt of it,” he stammered. “Only----” - -“What?” - -“I’m not a marrying man, that’s all,” he blundered on, still struggling -with incomprehension. - -She remained silent a moment. - -“You say that, because you believe you oughtn’t to marry, don’t you, -Phil?” - -“I say it because I’m not going to marry--until I know just where I -stand--just what I’m worth in a long game. Single, I haven’t hurt -anybody but myself, but I’m not going to let any woman----” - -He stopped suddenly. And then with an abrupt gesture rose. - -“I can’t talk of this, Nina,” he said quickly. “You must see it’s--it’s -impossible. You’re not in love with me--or likely to be----” - -“Oh, I’m in no hurry. I might learn,” she said calmly. - -There was no refuge from her quiet insistence but in laughter, and so, -brutally, he took it. - -“Really, Nina, if I hadn’t known you all my life, I could almost -believe you serious.” - -“Don’t laugh! I am,” she said immovably. - -And now that it seemed to Gallatin there remained no doubt that she -meant it, he sat down again beside her and took her hand in his, -his face set in serious lines. He liked Nina, but like many other -persons had always weighed her lightly. Even now he felt sure that, by -to-morrow, she would probably have forgotten the entire conversation. -But the situation was one that required a complete understanding. - -“If I can believe you, you’ve succeeded in flattering me a great deal. -I’ve always been used to expect amazing things of you, but I can’t say -I’m quite prepared for the extraordinary point of view on married life -which you ask me to share. I’ve always had another idea of marriage, -the same one that you have deep down in your heart, for without it you -wouldn’t be a woman. You’ll marry the man you love and no other.” - -“And if the man I love won’t marry _me_?” - -“It will be time to settle that when you meet him.” - -“I’ve already met him.” - -Gallatin searched her eyes for the truth and was again surprised when -he found it in them. Her gaze fell before his and she turned her head -away, as though the look he had seen in her eyes had shamed her. - -“It isn’t true, Nina. It can’t be----” - -“Yes,” she murmured. “It’s quite true. I think I’ve pitied you a -little, but I’m quite sure that I--I’ve cared for you always.” - -There was a silence and then she heard, - -“God knows, I’m sorry.” - -There was a note of finality in his tone which affected her strangely. -It was not until then that she guessed the truth. - -“You--you care for Jane Loring?” - -“Yes,” he said almost inaudibly. “I do.” - -He owed her that frankness. - -“Thanks,” she said quietly. “It’s strange I shouldn’t have guessed. -I--I didn’t think you cared for any one. You never have, you know. And -it never entered my head that you could be really interested in--in a -girl like Jane. Even when I learned that you had been together in the -woods, I couldn’t believe--I don’t think I quite believe it yet. She’s -hardly your style----” - -She stopped and he remained silent, his head averted. - -“Funny, isn’t it?” she went on. “Larry Kane wants to marry me, I want -to marry you, and you want to marry Jane. Now if Jane would only fall -in love with Larry!” - -She laughed and drew away from him, for over his head she saw the -figures of Jane Loring and Coleman Van Duyn who had just entered the -kitchen. Jane had glanced just once in their direction and then had -turned aside. Nina glanced at Phil. He was unconscious of the presence -of the others--it almost seemed, unconscious of herself. - -All the mischief in her bubbled suddenly to the surface. Jane Loring at -least should see---- - -“I’m sorry, Phil,” she murmured. “I think I’ll survive. We can still be -friends. I want one favor of you, though.” - -He questioned. - -“Kiss me, will you, Phil?” she whispered. - -And Gallatin did; to turn in a moment and see Jane Loring’s skirts go -fluttering past the dining-room door, through which, grinning broadly -over his shoulder, Coleman Van Duyn quickly followed her. - - - - -XVIII - -THE ENEMY AND A FRIEND - - -It was a moment before Gallatin realized the full significance of the -incident, but when he turned to look at Nina, he found her leaning -against the wall convulsed with silent laughter. - -“You knew, Nina?” he said struggling for his self-control. “You saw -them--there?” - -“Oh, yes, I saw them,” she replied easily. “I couldn’t help it very -well.” - -“You asked me to--to kiss you!” he stammered, his color rising. - -“Yes, I did. You never _had_ kissed me before, you know, Phil.” - -“You--you wanted her to see,” he asserted. - -“I didn’t mind her seeing--if that’s what you mean.” - -“You had no right----” - -She held up her hand with a mock gesture of command. - -“Don’t speak! You’ll say something you’ll regret. It’s not often I ask -a man to kiss me, and when I do I expect a display of softer emotions. -But anger--dismay! I’m surprised at you. You’re really quite too -rustic, or is it rusty? Besides, you know, I’ve done you the greatest -of favors.” - -“Favors!” he exclaimed. - -“Precisely. In addition to accepting your--er--fraternal benediction, -I’ve succeeded in creating a diversion in the ranks of the dear enemy. -Jealousy is the vinegar of the salad of love, Phil. Jane is quite sure -to love you madly now.” - -“Come,” he said briefly, “let’s get out of this.” - -“You mustn’t use that tone to me. It’s extremely annoying.” - -“You’re mischievous,” he growled. - -“Am I?” with derisive sweetness. “I hadn’t meant to be. Perhaps my -infatuation has blinded me. I’m really very badly in love with you, -Phil. And you must see that it’s extremely unpleasant for me to -discover that you’re in love with somebody else. You know I can’t -yield placidly. I’m not the placid kind. I may be in advance of my -generation, but I’m sure if I had my way I’d abduct you to-night in the -motor and fly to Hoboken.” - -Gallatin laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was too absurd. And her -mocking effrontery made it difficult for him to remember that a moment -ago he had thought her serious. - -“Fortunately, I am capable of moderating my emotions,” she went on. -“My heart may be beating wildly, but behold me quietly submissive to -your decision. All I ask is that you won’t offer to be a brother to me, -Phil. I really couldn’t stand for that.” - -“Nina, you’re the limit.” - -“I know I am--I’m excited. It’s the outward and visible expression of -inward and spiritual dissolution. What would you advise, Paris green -or a leap from the Metropolitan Tower? One exit is plebeian, the -other squashy; or had I better blow out the gas? Will you see that my -headlines are not too sentimental? Not, ‘She Died for Love’; something -like ‘Scorned--Social Success Suicides’ or ‘Her Last Cropper,’ are more -in my line. Sorrowfully alliterative, if you like, but chastely simple. -Aren’t you sorry for me, Phil?” - -“Hardly. As the presentment of disappointed affection you’re not a -success. Your martyrdom has all the aspects of a frolic at my expense. -Don’t you think you’ve made a fool of me long enough?” - -“Yes, I think so. I _have_ made a fool of you, haven’t I? I’m sorry. I -didn’t intend to until I found that you had made a fool of me. I wanted -company.” - -Her humor changed as he turned away from her and she restrained him -with a hand on his arm, her eyes seeking his. - -“You’re my sort, Phil, not hers,” she whispered earnestly. “You’re -a vagabond--a vagrant on life’s highway, as I am--a failure, as I -am, only a worse one. You’ve tried to stem the tide against you, -but you couldn’t. What have you to do with Jane Loring’s bourgeois -respectability? Do you think you’ll be immune because of her? Do you -think that she can cleanse you of the blood of your fathers and make -you over on her own prim pattern? You’re run in a different mold. -What Jane Loring wants is a stupid respectable Dodo, an impoverished -patriarch with an exclusive visiting list. Let her buy one in the open -market. The clubs are full of them.” She laughed aloud. “What does Jane -Loring know of you? What chance have you----?” - -“I think I’ve heard enough, Nina,” said Gallatin. He walked to the -dining-room and stood, waiting for her to pass before him. She paused, -shrugged her shoulders carelessly and, as she passed through the door, -she leaned toward him and whispered. - -“You’ll never marry her, Phil. Do you hear? Never!” - -Gallatin inclined his head slightly and followed. - -The dance was in full swing, and outside in the enclosed veranda a game -of “Pussy Wants a Corner” had come to an end because Sam Purviance -insisted upon standing in the middle of the floor and reciting -tearfully the tale of “Old Mother Hubbard and Her Dog.” Then they -tried charades which failed because the actors insisted on disappearing -into the wings and couldn’t be made to appear, and because the audience -found personal problems more interesting. A game of “Follow My Leader,” -led by Larry Kane upstairs and down, developed such amazing feats of -gymnastics that Nellie Pennington rebelled. - -Phil Gallatin followed Jane with his eyes, but she refused even to -glance in his direction and he was very unhappy. There seemed no -chance of getting a word with her, for when at the end of the dance -he approached her, she snubbed him very prettily and went out with -Van Duyn to sit among the palms at the end of the veranda. Gallatin -felt very much like the fool Nina had said he was and wandered around -from group to group joining half-heartedly in their conversations, his -uneasiness apparent to any who chose to perceive. Several times Nina -Jaffray passed him smiling wickedly, and once she stopped and whispered. - -“Hadn’t you better go home in my car, Phil? I don’t believe there will -be room for you in Jane’s.” - -He laughed with an air of unconcern he was very far from feeling. - -“Thanks, I’m afraid you’d take me to Hoboken.” - -She went on to the dance and Gallatin watched her until she -disappeared. He was alone in the dining-room. Through the door by which -she had gone came the sound of the piano and the chatter of gay voices. -Through the other door he could see a jovial group of his familiars -sitting around a table in the center of which was a tall bottle bearing -a familiar label, his Enemy enthroned as usual in this company. He was -like a vessel in the chop of two tides, one of which would bring him to -a safe port and the other to sea. - -He looked away, hesitated, then walked hastily to the Colonial -sideboard where he drew a cup of hot coffee and drank it quickly. Then -he followed Nina into the dancing-room. - -He waited impatiently until the dance was finished, and then, when Jane -Loring was left for a moment alone, with more valor than discretion, -went up to her. - -“Jane,” he whispered, “you’ve got to give me a moment alone.” - -She turned away, but he stood in front of her again. - -“It’s all a mistake, if you’ll let me explain----” - -“Let me pass, please.” - -“No, not until you promise to listen to me--to-night. I’ll go in your -machine, and then----” - -“I’m sorry. There’s no room for you, Mr. Gallatin.” - -“I must see you to-night.” - -“No--not to-night,” and in lowered tones, “or any other night.” - -“Jane, I----” - -“Let me pass, please.” - -The music began again and Percy Endicott at this moment came up, -claiming her for a partner. Before Gallatin could speak again, Jane was -in Endicott’s arms, and laughing gayly, was sweeping around the room to -the measure of a two-step. Gallatin stared at her as though he had not -been able to believe his own ears. He waited a moment and then slowly -walked back toward the kitchen. - -His appearance in the doorway was the signal for a shout from Egerton -Savage who held a glass aloft and offered his health. His health! He -swayed forward heavily. What did it matter? His blood surged. What -would it matter--just once? Just once! - -He lunged forward into the chair somebody pushed toward him, took up -the glass of champagne his host had poured for him, drained it, his -eyes closed, and put it down on the table. - -Just once! It was a beautiful wine--sent out for the occasion from -Mr. Savage’s own collection in town, and it raced through Gallatin’s -veins like quicksilver, tingling to his very finger ends. He looked -up and laughed. Something had bothered him a moment ago. What was it? -He had forgotten. Life was a riot of color and delight and here were -his friends--his men friends--who were always glad to see a fellow, no -matter what. It was good to have that kind of friends. - -Somebody told a story. Gallatin had not heard the beginning of it, but -he realized that he was laughing uproariously, more loudly than any one -else at the table. The lights swam in a mist of tobacco smoke and the -figures of the men around him were blurred. Egerton Savage had filled -his glass again, and Gallatin was in the very act of reaching forward -to take it when Bibby Worthington, who sat alongside, rose suddenly as -though to get a match from the holder, and the sleeve of his laced coat -somewhat obtrusively swept Gallatin’s glass off the table to the stone -flagging. - -“Beg pardon,” he said cheerfully. “There’s many a lip ’twixt the nip -and the pip. Sorry, Phil.” - -The crash of glass had startled Gallatin, who looked up into -Worthington’s face for a possible meaning of the incident, for it was -the clumsiest accident that could befall a sober man. But Bibby, his -lighted match suspended in mid-air, returned his gaze with one quite -calm and unwavering. Gallatin understood, and a dark flush rose under -his skin. He was about to speak when Bibby broke in. - -“Phil, I’m probably the most awkward person in the world,” he said -evenly. “The only thing about me that’s ever in the right place is my -heart. Understand?” - -If Gallatin had thought of replying, the words were unuttered, for he -lowered his head and only muttered a word or two which could not be -heard. - -Bibby blew the strands of his tousled wig from his eyes and carefully -brushed the liquor from his sleeve with his lace handkerchief. - -“Sad thing, that,” he said gravely, “vintage, too.” - -“Lucky there’s more of it,” said Savage, taking up the bottle. “Hand me -one of those glasses on the side table there, Bibby.” - -Worthington turned slowly away, looked down at Gallatin and a glance -passed between the two men. As Bibby moved off Gallatin took out his -case and hastily lit a cigarette. - -“Never mind, Bibby,” he found himself saying. “No, thanks, Egerton, -I’m--er--on the wagon.” He lit his cigarette, rose, opened the door, -and looked out into the winter night, drinking in deep draughts of the -keen air. His evil moment had passed. - -“Howling success, this party, Egerton,” somebody was saying. “Listen to -those infants on the veranda.” - -“Hello,” cried Bibby. “It’s _Bobby Shafto_, by George. I’ll have to -go in and make my bow. Come along, Phil. They’ll be calling for you -presently. What the devil _are_ you anyway?” - -Phil Gallatin took his arm and walked out on the terrace. - -“I--I’m a d---- fool, Bibby, pretty poorly masked,” he muttered heavily. - -“You are, my boy. But it takes a wise man to admit he is a fool. Glad -you know it. Awfully glad. Not sore, are you?” - -“No,” said Gallatin slowly. “Not in the least.” - -“Nothing like the crash of glass--to awake a fellow. Feel all right?” - -“Yes, I--I think so.” - -“I had a lot of nerve to do a thing like that, Phil, but you see----” - -“I’m glad you did. I--I won’t forget it, Bibby.” - -The two men clasped hands in the darkness in a new bond of friendship. - -They entered the house from another door and passed through the closed -veranda. Upon the floor of the living room, in a large circle facing -the center, the infants sat, tailor fashion, singing lustily, and -greeted _Bobby Shafto’s_ appearance with shouts of glee. They made him -get into their midst and dance, which he did with all the grace of a -jackdaw, while Betty Tremaine played the accompaniment on the piano. - - Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea - Silver buckles on his knee - He’ll come back and marry me - Darling Bobby Shafto. - -“But _who_ is he going to marry?” maliciously chortled one of the -débutantes, in the ensuing pause. - -“_You_, my angel, if you’ll have me?” and leaning over he quickly -kissed her. - -There was a laugh at the girl’s expense and Bibby retired in triumph. - -One by one the characters were summoned and noisily greeted: _Old King -Cole_, who was Yates Rowland; _Old Mother Hubbard_, who was Percy -Endicott (“Aptly taken, by Jove!” was Spencer’s comment) and _Simple -Simon_, who was Dirwell De Lancey (and looked the part). But the hit -of the occasion was the dance which followed between _Jill_ and the -_Infant Bacchus_. It was clear that no nursery music would be suitable -here. So Betty Tremaine’s fingers hurried into the _presto_ of Anitra’s -Dance from the “Peer Gynt” music, which caught the requirements of -the occasion. The dancers were well-matched and the audience upon the -floor, which had at first begun to clap its hands to the gay lilt, -slowly drew back to give more room, and then finding itself in danger -from the flying heels dispersed and looked on from adjacent doorways. -The dance was everything and it was nothing--redowa, tarantella, -cosaque, fandango, and only ended when the dancers and pianist were -exhausted. - -The party broke up amidst wild applause and led by Mrs. Pennington -the guests were already on their way to the dressing-rooms, when Nina -Jaffray, still breathless from her exertions stepped before Gallatin -and whispered amusedly: - -“It almost seems as if you _might_ go with me after all, doesn’t it, -Phil?” she laughed. “It’s too late for a train and all the machines but -mine are crowded----” - -“You’re very kind, but I think I’ll walk. It’s only twenty miles.” - -“Don’t be disagreeable, Phil. Larry Kane wanted to go with me, but I’ve -sent him along with Ogden Spencer--just because I wanted to apologize -to you.” - -“Apology!” he laughed. “Why dwell on that? Besides you’re a little too -prompt to be quite sincere.” - -“Haven’t you any sense of humor, Phil?” - -“No.” - -“What a situation! _You_ kiss me and _I_ apologize for it! Laugh, Phil, -laugh! Mrs. Grundy is shrieking with delight. O boy! What a silly thing -you look!” - -“Good night, Nina.” - -“No, au revoir,” she corrected. “You know, Phil, you mustn’t insult -me--not publicly, that is. You see you couldn’t force yourself into -somebody else’s machine, when I’m going home alone in an empty one. -Besides, it’s all arranged with Egerton.” - -Gallatin smiled and shrugged. “Oh, of course,” he said, “you seem to -have me at your mercy.” - -“I’ll be very good though, Phil,” she said, moving toward the stairway, -“and if you’re afraid of me, I’ll ask Egerton to be chaperon.” She -laughed at him over her shoulder, and he had to confess that this was -the humor which suited her best. - -Gallatin went slowly toward his dressing-room, his lips compressed, -his head bent, a prey to a terrible depression made up of fervid -self-condemnation. He had been on the very verge of--that which he -most dreaded. In his heart, too, was a dull resentment at Jane’s -intolerance--an attitude he was forced to admit when he could think -more clearly that he had now amply justified, not because Jane had been -a witness of the incident upon the kitchen stairway, but because of the -other thing. Slowly he began to realize that to a woman a kiss is a -kiss, whether coolly implanted near the left ear, as his had been, or -upon a more appropriate spot; and the distinction which, at the time of -the occurrence, had been so clear to his mind, seemed now to be less -impressive. Jane’s position was unreasonable, but quite tenable, and he -now discovered that unless he threw Nina’s confidences into the breach, -a defense hardly possible under the circumstances, the matter would -be difficult to explain. And yet the act had been so harmless, his -intention so innocent, that, weighed in the balance with his love for -Jane, the incident seemed to him the merest triviality, with reference -to which Jane should not have condemned him unheard. He heard her laugh -as she went down the stairs, and the carelessness of that mirth cut -him to the marrow. What right had she to be gay when she knew that he -must be suffering? - -He entered Nina’s limousine, very much sobered, with a wish somewhere -hidden in his heart that for this night at least Nina had been in -Jericho. If the lady in the machine divined his thought she gave not -the least sign of it; for when they had left the Club, some time after -the others, and were on their way to the city, she carelessly resumed. - -“I didn’t ask Egerton to come, Phil. You’re not really alarmed, are -you?” - -“Not in the least,” he smiled. “In fact, I was hoping we’d be alone.” - -“Phil, you’re improving. Why?” - -“So that we may continue our interesting conversation at the point -where we left off.” - -“Where did we leave off? Oh, yes, you kissed me, didn’t you? Shall we -begin there?” - -“I suppose that’s what you asked me here for, isn’t it?” he said -brutally. - -“Oh, Phil, you don’t believe--that!” - -She deserved this punishment, she knew, but the carelessness of his -tone shocked her and she moved away into her corner of the vehicle -and sat rigidly as though turned to stone, her eyes gazing steadily -before her at the white circle of light beyond the formless back of the -chauffeur. In the reflected light Gallatin saw her face and the jest -that was on his lips was silenced before the look he found there. And -when she spoke her voice was low and constrained. - -“I’m sorry you said that.” - -“Are you? You weren’t sorry earlier in the evening.” - -“I’m sorry now.” - -“It’s a little late to be sorry.” - -She didn’t reply. She was looking out into the light again with peering -eyes. Objects in the landscape emerged, shadowless, in pale outline, -brightened and disappeared. - -“It isn’t like you--not in the least like you,” she murmured. “You’ve -rather upset me, Phil.” - -“What did you expect?” he asked. “You’ve made a fool of me. You’ve been -flirting with me abominably.” - -“And you repay me----” - -“In your own coin,” he put in. - -“Don’t, Phil.” She covered her face with her hands a moment. “You’ve -paid me well. Oh, that you could have said that! I meant what I said, -Phil, back there. You’ve got to believe it now--you’ve shamed me so. -You’ve got to know it--to believe it. I wasn’t flirting with you. I -was serious with you when I said I--I loved you. It’s the truth, the -ghastly truth, and you’ve got to believe it, whatever happens. No, -don’t touch me. I don’t want you to think I’m that kind of a girl. I’m -not. I’ve never been kissed before to-night, believe it or not. It’s -true, and now----” - -She stopped and clutched him by the arm. “Tell me you believe it, -Phil,” she said almost fiercely, “that I--that I’m not that kind of a -girl.” - -“Of course, you’ve said so----” - -“No--not because I’ve said so, but because you think enough of me to -believe it whether I’ve said so or not.” - -“I had never thought you that sort of a girl,” he said slowly. “I’ve -known you to flirt with other fellows, but I didn’t think you really -cared enough about men to bother, least of all about me. That’s why I -was a little surprised----” - -“I couldn’t flirt with you--I didn’t feel that way. I don’t know why. -I think because there was a dignity in our friendship--” she stopped -again with a sharp sigh. “Oh, what’s the use? I’m not like other -girls--that’s all. I can’t make you understand.” - -“I hope I--understand----” - -“I’m sorry, Phil, about what happened to-night.” - -She stopped, leaned back in her corner and, with one of her curious -transitions, began laughing softly. - -“It was such a wonderful opportunity--and you were so blissfully -ignorant! Oh, Phil, and you did look such a fool!” - -“Oh, did I?” - -“I’m sorry. But I’d probably do it again--if I might--to-morrow. Jane -Loring is so prim, so self-satisfied----” - -The motor had been moving more slowly and the man in front after -testing various mechanisms, brought the machine to a stop and climbed -out. They heard him tinkering here and there and after a moment he -opened the door and announced. - -“Sorry, Miss Jaffray, but there’s come a leak in the tank, and we’ve -run out of gasoline.” - - - - -XIX - -LOVE ON CRUTCHES - - -Mrs. Pennington’s philosophy had taught her that it was better to be -surprised than to be bored, and that even unpleasant surprises were -slightly more desirable than no surprises at all. It was toward the -end of January on her halting journey homeward from Aiken, one morning -in Washington, that she saw in a local journal the announcement of -an engagement between Miss Jane Loring and Mr. Coleman Van Duyn. To -say that she was surprised puts the matter mildly, and it is doubtful -whether the flight of her ennui compensated her for the sudden pang of -dismay which came with the reading of this article. She had left New -York the day after the affair at “The Pot and Kettle,” and so had only -the memory of Jane’s confidences and Phil Gallatin’s happy face to -controvert the news. - -And when some days later she arrived in New York, she found that, -though unconfirmed in authoritative quarters, the rumors still -persisted among her own friends and Jane’s. Of Phil Gallatin she saw -nothing and learned that he was out of town on an important legal -matter and would not return for a week. When she called on the Lorings, -Jane showed a disposition to avoid personal topics and at the mention -of Philip Gallatin’s name skillfully turned the conversation into other -channels. - -To a woman of Mrs. Pennington’s experience the hint was enough and she -departed from the Loring mausoleum aware that something serious had -happened which threatened Phil Gallatin’s happiness. But, in spite of -the warmth of Jane’s greeting and the careless way in which she had -discussed the gossip of the hour, Nellie Pennington was not deceived, -and by the time she was in her own brougham had made one of those rapid -deductions for which she was famous. Jane looked jaded. Therefore, she -was unhappy; therefore, she still loved Phil Gallatin. Phil Gallatin -was working hard. Therefore, Phil was keeping straight; there must be -some other cause for Jane’s defection. What? Obviously--a woman. Who? -Nina Jaffray. - -Having reached this triumphant conclusion, Mrs. Pennington set about -proving her several premises without the waste of a single moment of -time. To this end she sought out Percy Endicott, who as she knew was -better informed upon most people’s affairs than they were themselves, -and from him learned the truth. Philip Gallatin had been discovered -with Nina Jaffray in his arms on the kitchen stairs at the “Pot -and Kettle.” Percy Endicott’s talent for the ornamentation of bare -narrative was well known and before he had finished the story he had -convinced himself, if not his listener, that this happy event had -brought to a culmination a romance of many years’ standing and that -Nina and Phil would soon be directing their steps, with all speed, to -church. - -Mrs. Pennington laughed, not because what Percy told amused her, but -because this narrative showed her that however much she was still -lacking in reliable details, her earliest deductions had been correct. -She would not believe the story until it had been confirmed by “Bibby” -Worthington to whom Coleman Van Duyn had related it as an eye-witness, -and then herself supplied the grain of salt to make it palatable. - -The grain of salt was her knowledge of Nina Jaffray’s extraordinary -personality, which must account for any differences she discovered -between the Phil Gallatin who kissed upon the back stairs and the Phil -Gallatin with whom she was familiar. Whatever his deficiencies in other -respects, he had never been considered as available timber by the gay -young married women of Mrs. Pennington’s own set who had given him -up in the susceptive sense as a hopeless case; and if Phil had been -addicted to the habit of promiscuous kissing, he had gone about the -pursuit with a stealth which belied the record of his unsentimental -but somewhat tempestuous history. She found herself wondering not so -much about what had happened to Phil as about how Nina had managed what -_had_ happened. Nina’s remarkable confession a few days before Egerton -Savage’s party recurred to her mind, and Nina’s clearly expressed -intention to bring Phil to her chariot-wheel seemed somehow to have an -intimate bearing upon the present situation. And yet, even admitting -Nina’s direct methods of seeking results, she could not understand how -a fellow as much in love with another girl as Phil was could have been -made so ready a victim. Could it be? No. There was no talk of _that_. -And if Phil had again been in trouble, Mrs. Pennington knew that the -indefatigable Percy would have told her of it. - -She thought about the matter awhile and finally gave it up, uncertain -whether to be anxious or only amused. But as the week went by she was -given tangible evidence that whatever feelings Jane Loring cherished -in her heart for Phil Gallatin, the wings of victory, for the present -at least, were perched upon the banneret of Mr. Coleman Van Duyn. Jane -rode, walked, and danced with him, and within a few short weeks, from a -state of ponderous misery Coleman Van Duyn had revived and now bore the -definite outlines of a well-fed and happy cupid. - -The rumors of an engagement persisted, and Mrs. Pennington was not -the only person forced against her judgment or inclination to believe -that the old Van Duyn mansion would once more have a mistress. Dirwell -De Lancey, whose tenderness in Jane’s quarter had been remarked, went -into retirement for a brief period, and only emerged when resignation -had conquered surprise. Colonel Crosby Broadhurst sat in his corner -at the Cosmos and wondered, as other people did, what the devil Jane -Loring could see in Coley. Bibby Worthington still hovered amiably in -Jane’s background and would not be dislodged. He had proposed in due -form to Jane and had been refused, but the cheerful determination of -his bearing and his taste in cravats advised all who chose to concern -themselves that he was still undismayed. - -After Mrs. Pennington, who thought that she saw a light, perhaps the -person most surprised at Jane’s sudden attachment for Coleman Van Duyn -was Mrs. Loring. She had listened with incredulity to Jane’s first -confession of her relations with Philip Gallatin and had waited with -resignation a resumption of the conversation. But as the days passed -and her daughter said nothing, she thought it time to take the matter -into her own hands and told Jane of her intention to speak of it to her -husband. - -“I’ll save you the trouble, Mother,” said Jane, kissing her gravely on -the forehead. “There is nothing between Mr. Gallatin and myself.” - -Mrs. Loring concealed her delight with difficulty. - -“Jane, dear, something has happened.” - -“Nothing--nothing at all,” said Jane. “I’ve changed my mind--that’s -all.” - -“Oh,” said Mrs. Loring. This much imparted, Jane would say no more; the -matter was dropped, and to Mrs. Loring it seemed that in so far as -Jane was concerned, Mr. Gallatin had simply ceased to exist. - -But it was not without some difficulty that Jane convinced herself that -this was the case. The day after the “Pot and Kettle” affair, Phil -Gallatin wrote, ’phoned, wired and called. His note Jane consigned to -the fire, his telephone was answered by Hastings, his wire followed -his note, and to his visit she was out. This, she thought, should -have concluded their relations, but the following morning brought -another letter--a long one. She hesitated before deciding whether to -open it or to return it, but at last she broke the seal and read it -through, her lips compressed, her brows tangled angrily. It was a -plea for forgiveness, and that was all. There were many regrets, many -protestations of love, but not one word of explanation! He had even -gone so far as to call the incident a trifle (a trifle, indeed!) and to -call _her_ to account for an intolerance which he had the temerity to -say was unworthy of the great love that he had given her. - -The impudence of him! What did he mean? Was the man mad? Or was this -the New York idea? She realized now that he was an animal that she -had met in an unfamiliar habitat, and that perhaps the things to be -expected of him here were those dictated by the inconsiderable ideals -of the day. It dismayed her to think that after all here in New -York, she had only known him a little more than a week. His vision -appeared--and was banished, and his letter, torn again and again into -small pieces was consigned to the flames of her open fire. She made no -reply. - -Another letter came on the morrow, was read like the other, but -likewise destroyed. His persistence was amazing. Would he not take a -hint and save her the unpleasant duty of sending his letters back -to him unopened? Apparently not! And with the letters came baskets -of flowers which, like those from Mr. Van Duyn, filled her room with -pleasant odors. - -She was willing to believe now that a word of explanation, a clue to -his extraordinary behavior might have paved the way to reconciliation, -and she found herself wondering in a material way what was becoming of -him and worrying, in spite of herself, as to his future, of which, as -she had once fondly believed, she was the guardian. What was he doing -with himself in the evenings? - -This thought sent the blood rushing to her cheeks and hardened her -heart against him. He was with Nina Jaffray, of course. In his last -letter he had written that he must go away on business and for two -mornings no letter arrived. She missed these letters and was furious -with herself that it was so. But the energy of her anger was conserved -in the form of further favors for Coley Van Duyn who radiated it -in rapturous good-will toward all the world. When the letters were -resumed, she locked them in her desk unread, determining upon his -return to town to make them into a package and send them back in bulk. -Many times she unlocked her desk and scrutinized the envelopes, but it -was always to thrust them into their drawer which she shut and locked -each time with quite unnecessary violence. - -Another matter which caused some inquietude was Nellie Pennington’s -return to town, for Mrs. Pennington was the only person, besides Mr. -Gallatin and her mother, in actual possession of her secret, the only -person besides Mr. Gallatin whom it was necessary to convince as to -the definiteness of her recantation. At their first meeting Jane had -carried off the situation with a carelessness which she felt had -rather overshot the mark. Her visitor had accepted the hints with a -disconcerting readiness and composure, and Jane had a feeling after -Mrs. Pennington left the house that her efforts had been singularly -ineffective; for she was conscious that her visitor had scrutinized -her keenly and that anything she had said had been carefully sifted, -weighed and subjected to that kind of cunning alchemy which clever -women use to transmute the baser metals of sophistry into gold. - -Mrs. Pennington had now taken an initiative in the friendship and -refused to be disconcerted. Jane’s engagements with Coleman Van Duyn -provided no effectual hindrance to Mrs. Pennington’s enthusiastic -fellowship, and she frequently helped to make a party in which, to Mr. -Van Duyn at least, three was a crowd. Mrs. Pennington accepted his -presence without surprise, without annoyance or other emotion; and -somehow succeeded in conveying the impression that she was conferring -a favor upon them both, a favor for which, in her own heart at least, -Jane was grateful. - -It was not surprising to Jane, therefore, when one morning Nellie -Pennington called up on the ’phone and made an engagement for the -afternoon at five, at the Loring house, urging a need of Jane’s advice -upon an important matter. She entered the library, where Jane had been -reading, with a radiance which did much to dispel the gloom of the day -which had been execrable; and when her hostess suggested that they go -upstairs to her own dressing-room, where they might be undisturbed, -Nellie Pennington threw off her furs. - -“No, thanks, darling,” she said. “I can’t stay long. And you know when -one reaches my mature years, each stair has a separate menace.” - -“There’s the lift,” Jane laughed. - -“Oh, never! That would be a public confession. I’ll stay here if you -don’t mind,” and she sank into an armchair by the fire. - -“Coley isn’t coming?” she inquired. - -“No,” said Jane. “I had a headache.” - -Nellie Pennington sighed gratefully. - -“You know, Jane, Coley is a nice fellow, but he’s just about as plastic -as the Pyramid of Cheops. You’ve done wonders with him, of course, and -he is really quite bearable now, but it must have been wearing, wasn’t -it?” - -“Oh, no,” Jane smiled. “He’s quite obedient.” - -“I sometimes wonder whether men are worth the pains we women waste on -them.” Mrs. Pennington went on reflectively. “When we are single they -adore us for our defects; married, we have a real difficulty in making -them love us for our virtues. But love abhors the word obedience. It -knows no arbitrary laws. An obedient husband is like an egg without -salt and far more indigestible. You’re not going to marry Coley, are -you, Jane?” she finished abruptly. - -Jane paled and her head tilted the fraction of an inch. It was the -first time Nellie Pennington had approached the subject so directly, -and Jane had not decided whether to silence her questioner at once or -to laugh her off when she broke in again. - -“Oh, don’t reply if you don’t want to. I’m sure nothing I could say -would have the slightest influence on your decision. It doesn’t matter -in the least whom one marries anyway, because whatever the lover is, -the husband is always sure to be something quite different. If Coley is -obedient now, married he’ll be a Tartar.” - -“I--I didn’t say I was going to marry Mr. Van Duyn.” - -“You didn’t say you weren’t.” - -“Why should I? Must a girl marry, because she receives the -attentions----” - -“_Exclusive_ attentions,” put in Mrs. Pennington quickly. “Jane, you’re -rather overdoing it,” she finished frankly. - -“I like Mr. Van Duyn very much,” said Jane, her head lowered. - -“But you don’t love him. Oh, Jane,” she whispered earnestly, “play the -scene in your own way if you like, but don’t try to hide the real drama -from me.” - -“There is no drama,” put in Jane. “It was a farce----” - -“It’s a drama in Phil Gallatin’s heart. Can you be blind to his -struggle?” - -“I care nothing for Mr. Gallatin’s struggles,” said Jane, her head high. - -“You do. Love like yours comes only once in a woman’s eyes. I saw -it----” - -“You’re mistaken.” - -“No. And it isn’t quenched with laughter----” - -“Don’t, Nellie.” - -“I must. You’re trying to kill something in you that will not die.” - -“It’s dead now.” - -“No--nor even sleeping. Don’t you suppose I read you, silly child, -your false gayety, the mockery of your smiles, and the way you’ve -thrown Coley Van Duyn into the breach to soothe your pride--even let an -engagement be undenied so that Phil could think how little you cared? -You once let me behind the scenes; no matter how much you regret it, -I’m still there.” - -“Mr. Gallatin is nothing to me.” - -Mrs. Pennington leaned back in her chair and smiled. - -“You told me that your faith in Phil was unending. Your eternity, my -dear, lasted precisely one week.” - -Jane flashed around at her passionately, aroused at last, as Nellie -Pennington intended that she should be. - -“Oh, why couldn’t he have explained?” - -“Explain! At the expense of another girl? Phil is a gentleman.” - -Mrs. Pennington had had that reply ready. She had considered it -carefully for some days. - -Jane paused, and her eyes, scarcely credulous, sought the face of her -visitor. Nellie Pennington met her look eagerly. - -“Nina Jaffray’s,” she went on. “Could Phil tell why it happened? -Obviously not.” - -“But he kissed her----” - -Mrs. Pennington shrugged her pretty shoulders. - -“As to that, Nina, of course, had reasons of her own.” - -“Nina--Miss Jaffray--reasons?” - -“She probably asked him to----” - -“Impossible!” - -“She did.” - -“Do you know that?” - -“No, but I know Nina.” - -“I can’t see that that alters anything.” - -“But it does--amazingly--if you’ll only think about it.” - -“I saw it all.” - -“Oh! Did you? I’m glad.” - -“Glad! Oh, Nellie!” - -“Of course. Think how much worse it might have seemed if you hadn’t.” - -“I don’t understand.” - -“If some one else had told you, you might have believed anything.” - -“I saw enough to believe----” - -“What did you see?” - -“He--he--he just kissed her.” - -“Oh, Jane, think! What did you see? Why should Phil kiss a girl he -doesn’t love? Aren’t there any kisses in the world but lovers kisses? -Think. You must. Phil’s whole life and yours depend upon it.” - -Jane rose and walked quickly to the window. - -“This conversation--is impossible.” - -Nellie Pennington watched her narrowly. She had created a diversion -upon the flank, which, if it did nothing else, had temporarily driven -Jane’s forces back in confusion. She looked anxiously toward the door -of the drawing-room and then smiled, for a figure had entered and was -coming forward without hesitation. - -With one eye on Jane, who was still looking out of the window, Nellie -Pennington rose and greeted the newcomer. - -“Hello, Phil. I had almost given you up. You don’t mind, do you, Jane. -I had to see Mr. Gallatin and asked if he wouldn’t stop for me here.” - -At the sound of his name Jane had twisted around and now faced them, -breathless. Mrs. Pennington was smiling carelessly, but Phil Gallatin, -hat in hand, stood with bowed head before her. At the door into the -hallway, the butler, somewhat uncertainly, hovered. - -“Thank you, Hastings,” Jane summoned her tongue to say. “That will be -all.” - - - - -XX - -THE INTRUDER - - -And when the man had gone her voice came back to her with surprising -clearness. - -“You were going, I think you said, Nellie, dear. So sorry. If you’ll -excuse me I think I’ll hurry upstairs. I’m dining out and----” - -“Jane!” Gallatin’s voice broke in. “Don’t go. Give me a chance--just -half an hour--ten minutes. I won’t take more than that--and then----” - -“I’m sorry, but----” - -“You wouldn’t see me or reply to my letters, and so I had to choose -some other way. Give me a moment,” he pleaded. “You can’t refuse me -that.” - -“I don’t see--how anything that you say can make the slightest -difference--in anything, Mr. Gallatin,” she said haltingly. “We both -seem to have been mistaken. It’s very much better to avoid a--a -discussion which is sure to--to be painful to us both.” - -“What do you know of pain,” he whispered, “if you can’t know the pain -of absence? Nothing that you can say will hurt more than that, the pain -of being ignored--forgotten--for another. I have stood it as long as I -can, but you needn’t be afraid to tell me the truth. If you say that -you love--that you’re going to marry Van Duyn, I’ll go--but not until -then.” - -“Mrs. Pennington is waiting for you, I think,” she gasped. But when she -turned and looked into the drawing-room Mrs. Pennington was nowhere to -be seen. - -“No,” he went on quickly. “She has gone. I asked her to. Oh, Jane, -listen to me. I made a mistake--under the impulse of a foolish moment. -I’ve been a fool--but I’m not ashamed of my folly. Perhaps it shocks -you to hear me say that. But I’m not ashamed--my conscience is clear. -Do you think I could look you in the eyes if there was any other image -between us? Call me thoughtless, if you like, careless, inconsiderate -of conventions, inconsiderate even of you, but don’t insult yourself -by imputing motives that never existed--that never could exist while -you were in my thoughts. Oh, Jane, can’t you understand? You’re the -life--the bone--the breath of me. I have no thought that does not -come from you, no wish--no hope that you’re not a part of. What -has Nina Jaffray to do with you and me? If I kissed her it was -because--because----” He stopped and could not go on. - -“That is precisely what I want to know,” she said coolly. - -“I--I can’t tell you.” - -“No,” she said dryly. “I thought not. Miss Jaffray has every reason -to be flattered at your attitude. I can only be thankful that you at -least possess the virtue of silence--that you really are man enough to -preserve the confidence of the women of your acquaintance. Otherwise, I -myself might fare badly.” - -“Stop, Jane!” he cried, coming forward and seizing her by the elbows. -“It’s sacrilege. Look up into my eyes. You dare not, because you know -that I speak the truth, because you know that you’ll discover in them a -token of love unending--the same look that you’ve always found there, -because when you see it you will recognize it as a force too great to -conquer--too mighty to be argued away for the sake of a whim of your -injured pride. Look up at me, Jane.” - -He had his arms around her now; but she struggled in them, her head -still turned away. - -“Let me go, Mr. Gallatin,” she gasped. “It can never be. You have hurt -me--mortally.” - -“No. I’ll never let you go, until you look up in my eyes and tell me -you believe in me.” - -“It’s unmanly of you,” she cried, still struggling. “Let me go, please, -at once.” - -Neither of them had heard the opening and closing of the front door, -nor seen the figure which now blocked the doorway into the hall, but -at the deep tones which greeted them, they straightened and faced Mr. -Loring. - -“I beg your pardon, Jane,” he was saying with ironical amusement. -“I chose the wrong moment it seems,” and then in harsher accents as -Gallatin walked toward him. “You! Jane, what does this mean?” - -Miss Loring had reached the end of the Davenport where she stood -leaning with one hand on its arm, a little frightened at the expression -in her father’s face, but more perturbed and shaken by the fluttering -of her own heart which told her how nearly Phil Gallatin had convinced -her against her will that there was nothing in all the world that -mattered except his love and hers. - -Her father’s sudden appearance had startled her, too, for though -no words had passed between father and daughter, she knew that her -mother had already repeated the tale of her romance and of its sudden -termination. She tried to speak in reply to Mr. Loring’s question, but -no words would come and after a silence burdened with meaning she heard -Phil Gallatin speaking. - -“It means, Mr. Loring,” he was saying steadily, “that I love your -daughter--that I hope, some day, to ask her to be my wife.” - -Loring came into the room, his eyes contracted, his bull neck thrust -forward, his face suffused with blood. - -“_You_ want to marry my daughter? _You!_ I think you’re mistaken.” He -stopped and peered at one and then the other. “I’ve heard something -about you, Mr. Gallatin,” he said more calmly. “Your ways seem to be -crossing mine more frequently than I like.” - -“I hardly understand you,” said Gallatin clearly. - -“I’ll try to make my meaning plain. We needn’t discuss at once the -relations between you and my daughter. Whatever they’ve been or are -now, they’re less important than other matters.” - -“Other matters!” Gallatin exclaimed. Jane had straightened and came -forward, aware of some new element in her father’s antipathy. Loring -glanced at her and went on. - -“For some weeks past I’ve been aware of the activity of certain -interests that you or your pettifogging little firm represent in regard -to the plans of the Pequot Coal Company. I’ve followed your movements -with some curiosity and read the letters you’ve written to the New York -office with not a little amazement.” - -“_You_ have read them?” - -“Yes, I. _I_ am the Pequot Coal Company, Mr. Gallatin.” - -Gallatin drew back a step and glanced at Jane. - -“I was not aware----” he began. - -“No, I guess not. But it’s about time you were,” Loring chuckled. He -walked the length of the room and back, his hands behind him, passing -Jane as though he was unaware of her existence, his huge bulk towering -before Gallatin again. - -“You are trying to stop the sale of the Sanborn mines,” he sneered. -“You’re meddling, sir. We tested that matter in the courts. The court -records----” - -“_Your_ courts, Mr. Loring,” put in Gallatin, now thoroughly aroused. -“I’m familiar with the evidence in the case you speak of.” - -“_My_ courts!” Loring roared. “The Supreme Court of the State! We -needn’t discuss their decisions here.” - -“No, but we will discuss them--elsewhere,” he said soberly. He stopped -and, with a quick change of voice. “Mr. Loring, you’ll pardon me if I -refuse to speak of this further. I’m sorry to learn that----” - -“I’m not through yet,” Loring broke in savagely, with a glance at -Jane. “We’ve known for some time that the Sanborn case was in the -hands of Kenyon, Hood and Gallatin, and we’ve been at some pains to -keep ourselves informed as to any action that would be taken by your -clients. We know something about you, too, Mr. Gallatin, and we have -followed your recent investigations with some interest and not a little -amusement. If we ever had any fear of a possible perversion of justice -in this case, through your efforts, I may say that it has been entirely -removed by our knowledge of your methods and of the personal facts of -your career.” - -“Father!” Jane’s fingers were on his arm, and her whisper was at his -ear, but he raised a hand to silence her, putting her aside. - -[Illustration: “‘Father!’ Jane’s ... whisper was at his ear.”] - -“You’re aligning yourself with a discredited cause, sir. Your case is -a bubble which I promise to prick at the opportune moment. The tone -of your letters requesting an interview with a view to reopening the -case is impertinent. The compromise suggested is blackmail and will be -treated as such.” - -Gallatin flushed darkly and then turned white at the insult. - -“Mr. Loring, I’ll ask you to choose your words more carefully,” he said -angrily, his jaw set. - -“I’m not in the habit of mincing words, and I’ll hardly spare you or -the people who employ you for the sake of a foolish whim of a girl, -even though she is----” - -“You _must_ not, Father,” whispered Jane again, in tones of anguish. -“You’re in your own house. You’re violating all the----” - -“Be quiet,” he commanded shortly, “or leave the room.” - -“I can’t be quiet. Mr. Gallatin for the present is my guest and as -such----” - -“Whatever Mr. Gallatin’s presence here means, there’s little doubt----” - -“I--I asked him to come here,” Jane stammered. “I beg you to leave us.” - -“No! If Mr. Gallatin has come here at your invitation, all the more -reason that you, too, should hear what I have to say to him.” - -“I will not listen. Will you please go, Mr. Gallatin, at once?” - -Phil Gallatin, pale but composed, was standing immovable. - -“Thank you. If there’s something else your father has to say, I’ll -listen to it now,” he said. “I can only hope that it will be nothing -that he will regret.” - -Jane drew aside and threw herself on the divan, her head buried in her -hands. - -“There’s hardly a danger of that,” said Loring grimly. “I’ll take -the risk anyway. I’m in the habit of keeping my house in order, Mr. -Gallatin, and I’m not the kind to stop doing it just because a duty is -unpleasant. There seems to be something between you and my daughter. -God knows what! I have known it for some days, but I haven’t spoken -of it to her or hunted for you because I had reason to believe that -she had had the good sense to forget the silly romantic ideas you had -been putting into her head. I see that I was mistaken. Your presence in -this house is the proof of it. I’ll try to make my objections known in -language that not only you but my daughter will understand.” - -With a struggle Gallatin regained his composure, folded his arms and -waited. Jane raised her head, her eyes pleading, then quietly rose and -walking across the room, laid her fingers on Phil Gallatin’s arm and -stood by his side, facing her father. Mr. Loring began speaking, but -she interrupted him quickly. - -“Whatever you say to Philip Gallatin, Father, you will say to me. -Whatever you know of him--I know, too, past or present. I love him,” -she finished solemnly. - -One of Gallatin’s arms went around her and his lips whispered, “Thank -God for that, Jane.” And then together they faced the older man. Mr. -Loring flinched and some of the purple went out of his face, but his -lower lip protruded and his bulk seemed to grow more compact as the -meaning of the situation grew upon him. His small eyes blinked two or -three times and then glowed into incandescence. - -“Oh, I see,” he muttered. “It’s as bad as that, is it? I hadn’t -supposed----” - -“Wait a moment, sir,” said Gallatin clearly. “Call it bad, if you like, -but you haven’t a right to condemn me without a hearing.” - -Loring laughed. “A hearing? I know enough already, Mr. Gallatin.” - -Gallatin took a step forward speaking quietly. “You’re making a -mistake. Whatever you’ve heard about me, I’ve at least got the right of -any man to defend himself. You’ve already chosen to insult me in your -own house. I’ve passed that by, because this is not the time or place -to answer. Kenyon, Hood and Gallatin are not easily intimidated--nor -am I. I want you to understand that here--now.” His voice fell a note. -“When I speak of myself it is a different matter. I don’t know what -you’ve heard about me, and I don’t much care, for in respect to one -thing at least I’ll offer no excuse or extenuation. That’s past and -I’m living in the hope that as time goes on, it will not be borne too -heavily against me. But you’ve got to believe whether you want to or -not that I would rather die than have your daughter suffer because of -me.” - -“She has suffered already.” - -“No, no!” cried Jane. “Not suffered--only lived, father.” - -“And now you’ve quit, I suppose,” said the old man ironically, -“reformed--turned over a new leaf. See here, Mr. Gallatin, this thing -has gone far enough. I’ve listened to you with some patience. Now you -listen to me! You’ve come into my house unbidden, invaded my privacy -here and insinuated yourself again into the good graces of my daughter, -who, I had good reason to believe, had already forgotten you. Your -training has served you well. Fortunately I’m not so easily deceived. -Until the present moment I have trusted my daughter’s good judgment. -Now I find I must use my own. If she isn’t deterred by a knowledge of -your history, perhaps I can supply her with information which will not -fail. I can hardly conceive that she will overlook your conduct when it -involves the reputation of another woman!” - -“Father!” - -Henry Loring had reached the drawing-room door and now stood, his legs -apart, his fists clenched, his words snapping like the receiver of a -wireless station. - -“Deny--if you like! It will have no conviction with me--or with her. -Look at her, Mr. Gallatin,” he said, his finger pointing. “There are -limits even to _her_ credulity. She will hardly be pleased to learn of -the accident to the motor which obliged you and your companion--very -opportunely, indeed, to spend the night in a----” - -“Stop, sir!” Gallatin’s hand was extended and his voice dominated. “Say -what you like about me. I’ve invited that, but I’ll not listen while -you rob a woman of her name.” - -Jane stood like an ivory figure in the pale light, her eyes dark with -incomprehension, searching Gallatin’s face for the truth. - -“There was a woman?” she asked. - -Gallatin hesitated. - -“Yes, there was a woman. There needn’t be any mystery about that. I -wasn’t aware that there had been any mystery. It was Nina Jaffray. We -were stranded back in the country coming from the ‘Pot and Kettle.’ We -found a farmhouse and stayed there. There wasn’t anything else to do. -You can’t mean that you believe----!” - -Jane had turned from him and walked toward the door. - -“It hadn’t been my intention to mention the lady’s name,” Loring -laughed. “But since Mr. Gallatin has seen fit to do so----” - -“You’re going too far, Mr. Loring. There are ways of reaching a man -even of your standing in the community.” - -Loring chuckled. - -“I fancy that this is a matter which won’t be discussed elsewhere,” he -said. - -Gallatin’s eyes sought Jane’s, who now stood in the doorway into the -hall, one hand clutching the silken hangings. - -“You can’t believe this, Jane? You have no right to. Your father has -been told a sinful lie. It’s doing Nina a harm--a dreadful harm. Can’t -you see?” - -At the mention of Nina’s name Jane’s lips twisted scornfully and with a -look of contempt she turned and was gone. - -Gallatin took a few steps forward as though he would have followed her, -but Loring’s bulky figure interposed. - -“We’ve had enough of this, sir,” he growled. “Let’s have this scene -over. We’re done with you. You’ve played h---- with your own life and -you’ll go on doing it, but you won’t play it with me or with any of -mine, by G----. I’ve got your measure, Mr. Gallatin, and if I find -you interfering here again, I’ll take some other means that will be -less pleasant. D’ye hear? I’ve heard the story they’re telling about -you and my daughter up in the woods. It makes fine chatter for your -magpies up and down the Avenue. D---- them! Thank God, my daughter is -too clean for them or you to hurt. It was a great chance for you. You -knew what you were about. You haven’t lived in New York all these years -for nothing. You thought you could carry things through on your family -name, but to make the matter sure you tried to compromise my daughter -so that----” - -Loring paused. - -Gallatin had stood with head bowed before the door through which -Jane had disappeared. His ears were deaf to Loring’s tirade; but as -he realized the terms of the indictment, he raised his head, stepped -suddenly forward, his fists clenched, his eyes blazing into those of -the older man, scarcely a foot away. In Phil Gallatin’s expression was -the dumb fury of an animal at bay, a wild light in his eyes that was a -personal menace. Loring did not know fear, but there was something in -the look of this young man who faced him which told him he had gone too -far. Gallatin’s right arm moved upward, and then dropped at his side -again. - -“You--you’ve said enough, Mr. Loring,” he gasped, struggling for -his breath. “Almost more than is good--for both--for either of us. -You--you--you’re mistaken, sir.” - -And then as though ashamed of his lack of control he turned aside, and -took up his hat. Henry Loring strode to the wall and pressed his thumb -to a bell. - -“I’ll stand by my mistakes,” he said more calmly. “You came to the -wrong house, Mr. Gallatin, and I think you won’t forget it. I’d like -you to remember this, too, and I’m a man of my word. You keep your -fingers off my affairs, either business or personal, or I’ll make New -York too hot to hold you,” and then as the man appeared, “Hastings, -show this gentleman out!” - - - - -XXI - -TEMPTATION - - -Philip Gallatin had a bad night. From the Loring house he trudged forth -into the rain and sleet of the Park where he walked until his anger had -cooled; then dined alone in a corner at the Cosmos, avoiding a group of -his familiars who were attuned to gayety. From there he went directly -to his rooms. - -The house of his fathers was in a by-street in the center of the -fashionable shopping district, and this dwelling, an old-fashioned -double house of brown stone, was the only relic that remained to -Phil of the former grandeur of the Gallatins. Great lawyers, however -successful in safeguarding the interests of their clients, are notable -failures in safeguarding the interests of their own. Philip Gallatin, -the elder, had inherited a substantial fortune, but had added nothing -to it. He had lived like a prince and was known as the most lavish -host of his day. He consorted with the big men of his generation when -the Gallatin house was famous alike for its cellar and kitchen. Here -were entertained presidents and ex-presidents of the United States, -foreign princes, distinguished artists and literary men, and here it -was claimed, over Philip Gallatin’s priceless Madeira, the way had been -paved for an important treaty with the Russian government. - -Philip Gallatin, the second, had made money easily and spent it more -easily, to the end that at the time of his death it was discovered -that the home was heavily mortgaged, and that his holdings in great -industrial corporations, many of which he had helped to organize, -had been disposed of, leaving an income which, while ample for Mrs. -Gallatin and her only child during the years of his boyhood, when the -taste of society was for quieter things, was entirely inadequate to -the growing requirements of the day. At his mother’s death, just after -he came of age, Phil Gallatin had found himself possessed of less than -eight thousand a year gross, and a mortgage which called for almost -one-half that sum. But he resolutely refused to part with the house, -for it had memories and associations dear to him. - -Three years ago, with a pang which he still remembered, he had decided -to rent out the basement and lower floors for business purposes and -apply the income thus received to taxes and sinking fund, but he still -kept the rooms on the third floor which he had always occupied, as his -own. An old servant named Barker, one of the family retainers, was in -attendance. Barker had watched the tide of commerce flow in and at -last engulf the street which in his mind would always be associated -with the family which he had served so long. But he would not go, so -Philip Gallatin found a place for him. In the building he was janitor, -engineer, rent collector, and valet. He cooked Phil’s breakfast of eggs -and coffee and brought it up to him, made his bed and kept his rooms -with the same scrupulous care that he had exercised in the heydey of -prosperity. He was Phil’s doctor, nurse and factotum, and kept the -doors of Gallatin’s apartments against all invaders. - -Phil Gallatin wearily climbed the two long flights which led to the -rooms. He had had a trying day. All the morning had been spent with -John Sanborn, and a plan had been worked out based upon the labors of -the past three weeks. One important decision had been reached, and -a concession wrung at last from his clients. He had worked at high -tension since the case had been put into his hands, traveling, eating -when and where he could, working late at the office, sleeping little, -and in spare moments had written to or thought of Jane. The strain of -his anxiety was now beginning to tell. The events of the afternoon had -filled him with a new sense of the difficulties of his undertakings. -Loring would fight to the last ditch. All the more glory in driving him -there! - -But of Jane he thought with less assurance. His own mind had been so -innocent of transgression, his own heart so filled with the thought -of her, that her willingness to believe evil of him and of Nina had -caused a singular revulsion of feeling which was playing havoc with -his sentiments. It had not mattered so much when Jane’s indictment had -been for him alone; that, he had deserved and had been willing to stand -trial for; but with Nina’s reputation at stake Jane’s intolerance took -a different aspect. Whatever Nina Jaffray’s faults, and they were many, -Phil Gallatin knew, as every one else in the Cedarcroft crowd did, -that they were the superficial ones of the day and generation and that -Nina’s pleasure was in the creation of smoke rather than flame. - -The failure of the motor after the “Pot and Kettle” party had been -unfortunate, and the lack of oil subsequently explained by the -drunkenness of the chauffeur who had been discharged on Miss Jaffray’s -return to town. Phil Gallatin had found a farmhouse, where Nina had -been made comfortable. There was no gasoline within five miles of the -place. The chauffeur was unable to cope with the situation and there -was nothing for it but to wait until morning, when the farmer himself -drove Gallatin to the nearest village for the needed fuel. - -Under other circumstances it might have been an amusing experience, -but the events of the evening had put a damper on them both. Nina’s -impudence was smothered in her fur collar, and she had sat sulkily -through the hours of darkness, gazing at the stove, saying not a word, -and the delinquent chauffeur had meanwhile gone to sleep on the floor -of the kitchen. Morning saw them safe in town at an early hour, and it -had been at Nina’s request that the incident had not been mentioned. -Until to-day Gallatin had not given it a thought. He had not seen Nina, -and while he had frequently thought of her, the flight of time and the -press of affairs had given her singular confession a perspective that -took something from its importance. But Jane’s attitude had suddenly -made Nina the dominant figure in the situation. Whatever mischief she -had created in his own affairs, she had not deserved this! - -He entered his rooms filled with bitterness toward Henry Loring, dull -resentment toward Jane. Everything in the world that he hoped for had -centered about her image, and he loved her for what she had been to -him, what she had made of him and for what he had made of himself, but -in his mind a definite conviction had grown, that in so far as he was -concerned their relations were now at an end. He had abased himself -enough and further efforts at a reconciliation could only demean his -dignity, already jeopardized, and his pride, already mortally wounded. - -He threw himself heavily into his Morris chair and tried to think -about other things. Upon the table there was a legal volume which he -had brought up from the office the night before, filled with slips of -paper for the reference pages which Tooker had placed there for him. -He took it up and began to read, but his mind wandered. The type swam -before his eyes and in its place Jane’s face appeared, ivory-colored -as he had last seen it, and her eyes dark with pain and incomprehension -looked scornfully out of the page. He closed the book and gazed -around the room, into the dusty corners, with their mementos of his -career: the oar that had been his when he had stroked the crew of his -university, boxing gloves, foils and mask, photographs of football -teams in which he had been interested, a small cabinet of cups--golf -and steeplechase prizes, a policeman’s helmet, the spoils of a college -prank, his personal library (his father’s was in a storage warehouse), -trinkets of all sorts, steins innumerable, a tiny satin slipper, some -ivories and--a small gold flask. - -He got out of his chair, picked the flask up, and examined it as if it -had been something he had never seen before. He ran his fingers over -the chasing of the cup, noted the dents that had been made when it had -fallen among the rocks, and the dark scar made in the embers of their -fire. - -Their fire! His fire and Jane’s--burned out to ashes. - -He put the flask back in its place and began slowly to pace the floor, -his hands behind his back, his head bent forward, his eyes peering -somberly. He stopped in his walk and put a lump of coal into the grate. -He was dead tired and his muscles ached as though with a cold. In the -next room his bed invited him, but he did not undress, for he knew -that if he went to bed it would only be to lie and gaze at the gray -patch of light where the window was. He had done that before and the -memory of the dull ache in his body during the long night when he had -suffered came to him and overpowered him. He had that pain now--coming -slowly, as it had sometimes done before when he had been working on his -nerve. It didn’t grip him as once it had done, with its clutch of fire, -driving everything else from his thoughts. But he was conscious that -the craving was still there, and he knew that the thing he wanted was -the panacea for the thoughts that oppressed him. By its means all the -aches of his body would be cured and the pain of his thoughts. Yes! He -stopped at the table and took up a cigarette. But there was one thing -in him, one thing more important than physical pain, than physical -exhaustion or singing nerves, one small celestial spark that he had -kindled, fostered, and tended which had warmed and comforted his entire -being--the glow of his returning self-respect; and this thing he knew, -if those physical pangs were cured, would die. - -He took up his measured tread of the floor, counting his footsteps -from window to door and back again, watching the patterns in the rug -and picking out the figures upon which he was to put his feet. Once or -twice his footsteps led him as though unconsciously to the cabinet in -the corner, where he stopped with a short laugh. He had forgotten that -there was no panacea there. Later on he rang the bell for Barker, only -to remember that the man had gone away for the night. He wanted some -one to talk to--some one--any one who could make him forget. What was -the use? What did it matter to any one but himself if he forgot or not? -What was he fighting for? For himself? Yesterday and the days before he -had been fighting for Jane, fighting gladly--downtown, in his clubs, -at people’s houses, in the Enemy’s country, where the Enemy was to be -found at every corner, at his very elbow, because he knew that nothing -could avail against his purpose to win Jane back to him. - -Now he had no such purpose. Jane had turned from him because some one -had lied about him, turned away and left him here alone in the dark -with this hideous thing that was rising up in him and would not let him -think. - -He went to the table and filled a pipe with trembling fingers. A -terror oppressed him, the imminence of a danger. It was the horror of -being alone, alone in the room where this thing was. He knew it well. -It had been here before and it had conquered him. It lurked in the dark -corners and grinned from his bookshelves and laughed in the crackling -of his fire. “Come,” he could hear it say, “don’t you remember old Omar? - - “Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring - The Winter Garment of Repentance fling; - The Bird of Time has but a little way - To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.” - -His pulses throbbed and his head was burning, though a cold sweat had -broken out on his brows and temples, and his feet were cold--ice cold. -The tobacco had no taste, and it only parched his throat the more. He -stumbled into the bathroom and bathed his head and hands in the cold -water, and drank of it in huge gulps. That relieved him for a moment -and he went back to his chair and took up his book. - -His sickness came back upon him slowly, a premonitory faintness and -then a gripping, aching fire within. The book trembled in his hands and -the type swam in strange shapes. He clenched his fingers, threw the -book from him and rose with an oath, reaching for his hat and coat and -stumbling toward the door. Downstairs, less than a block away---- - -Beside the bookcase he caught a glimpse of his image in the pier glass. -He stopped, glared at himself and straightened. - -“Where are you going, d----n you? Where? Like a thief in the night? -Look at me! You can’t! Where are you going?” - -There was no answer but the laughter of the flames and the sneer of a -motor in the Avenue. - -His hand released the knob and he turned back into the room, with eyes -staring, teeth set and face ghastly. - -“No, by G----. You’ll not go, Phil Gallatin, not from this room -to-night--not for that. Do you hear? You’ll fight this thing out here -and now.” - -He dropped his coat and hat and strode like a fury to the window. There -he lay across the sill, and throwing the sash open wide, drank the -night air into his lungs in deep breaths. - -In a moment the crisis had passed. After a while he closed the window, -came back into the room and sank into his chair, utterly exhausted. His -mind comprehended dully that he had fought and won, not for Jane, nor -for his future, but for that small fire that was still glowing in his -breast. He closed his eyes and relaxed his clenched fingers. His nerves -still tingled but only slightly like the tremor of harpstrings in a -passing storm. He was very tired and in a moment he fell asleep. - -When he awoke, the light of dawn was filtering in at the windows. The -lamp had gone out. He struck a match and made a light. It was six -o’clock. He had slept seven hours. He yawned, stretched himself and -looked at his disordered reflection in the mirror, suddenly awake to -the beginning of a new day. The aches in his body had gone and his -mind was clear again. He leaned forward upon the mantel and silently -apostrophized his image. - -“You’re going to win, Phil Gallatin. Do you hear? You’re _not_ afraid. -You don’t care what the world says. You’re not fighting for the world’s -opinion. It’s only your own opinion of yourself that matters a d----n. -If you win that, you’ve won everything in the world worth winning.” - -He laughed pleasantly and his image smiled back at him. - -“Salut! Monsieur! You’re a good sort after all! You’ve got more sand -than I thought you had. I’m beginning to like you a great deal. You -can look me in the eye now, straight in the eye. That’s right. We -understand each other.” - -He faced around into the room which had been the scene of so many of -his failures, and of his last and greatest success. The light from the -windows was growing brighter. It was painting familiar objects with -pale violet patches, glinting on glassware and porcelain like the cold -light of intellect, which now dominated the merely physical. He swept -the room with a glance. Before the light the shadows were fading. The -Enemy---- - -There _was_ no Enemy! - -Gallatin poked down the embers of the fire and heaped on wood and coal. -He stripped to his underclothes, did twenty minutes with dumb-bells and -chest weights, and then went in to draw his bath, singing. He soused -himself in the cold water and came out with chattering teeth, but in a -moment his body was all aglow. - -“It’s a good body,” he mused as he rubbed it, “a perfectly good body, -too good to abuse. There’s a soul inside there, too. Where, nobody -seems to know, but it’s there and it isn’t in the stomach, and that’s -a sure thing, though that’s where the stomach thinks it is. We’ll give -this body a chance, if you please, a square deal all around.” - -He chuckled and thumped himself vigorously, as though to assure himself -of the thoroughness of his recuperation. Seven o’clock found him on -the street walking vigorously in the direction of the Park. He knew -that there was no chance of meeting Jane Loring at this hour of the -morning, but he chose the west side that he might not even see the -marble mass where she was sleeping, for the memory of what had happened -there yesterday rankled like an angry wound. - -He breakfasted at the Cosmos at eight, and before nine was at the -office where he finished the morning mail before even Tooker and the -clerks were aware of his presence there. There were many threads of the -Sanborn case still at a loose end and he spent a long while writing -and dictating to his stenographer, who was still at his side, when, at -about eleven o’clock, the office boy brought in Nina Jaffray’s card. - -He was still looking at it when Nina entered. - -“I was afraid you might be busy, Phil,” she said calmly, “but I wanted -to see you about something.” - -He nodded to his stenographer and she took up her papers and went. - -“The mountain wouldn’t come to Mahomet and so----” - -“Do sit down, Nina.” - -“I’m not interrupting you _very_ much, am I?” - -He laughed. - -“No. I’m glad you came, if only to prove to my friends that I really -_do_ work.” - -“Oh, is _that_ all?” - -“No. I’m glad to see you for other reasons.” - -“I’m curious to know them.” - -“To be assured, for one thing, that you’ve forgiven me for my -boorishness----” - -“Oh, that! Yes. Of course.” - -“And for another--that your mood will spare me the pains of further -making a fool of myself.” - -Nina shrugged lightly and laughed at him. - -“Of course you know your limitations, Phil. How could I promise you -that?” - -Gallatin smiled at her. She was very fetching this morning in a wide -dark beaver hat with a lilac veil, and her well-cut tailor-made, snugly -fitting in the prevailing mode, defined the long lines of her slim -figure which seemed in his office chair to be very much at its ease. - -“_Will_ you be serious?” - -“In a moment. For the present I’m so overjoyed at seeing you, that I’ve -forgotten what I came for. Oh, yes--Phil, I’m hopelessly compromised -and you’ve done it. Don’t laugh and don’t alarm yourself. You’re doing -both at the same time--but I really am--seriously compromised. There’s -a story going around that you and I----” - -“Yes, I’ve heard it,” he said grimly. - -“What interest people can possibly discover in the mishaps of a belated -platonic couple in a snowstorm is more than I can fathom. Of course, -if there had been anything for them to talk about, I’d have come off -scot-free. As it is I’m pilloried in the market place as a warning -to budding innocence! Imagine it! Me! I’m everything that’s naughty, -from Eve to Guinevere. It would be quite sad, if it wasn’t so amusing. -Weren’t we the very presentment of amatory felicity? Can’t you see us -now, swathed in our fur coats, sitting like two bundled mummies upon -each side of that monstrosity they called a stove, ‘The Parlor Heater,’ -that was the name, from Higgins and Harlow, Phila., Pa., done in -nickel at the top. Can’t you see us sitting upright on those dreadful -hair-cloth chairs, silent and so miserable? That, my dear Philip, was -the seductive hour in which I fell from grace. Touching picture, isn’t -it?” - -Gallatin refused to smile. - -“Who told this story, Nina?” - -“The chauffeur probably. I discharged him the next day.” - -“Of course--that was it. But it’s such a silly yarn. Who will believe -it----?” - -She threw up her hands in mock despair. - -“Every one--unfortunately. You see Coley Van Duyn didn’t help matters -any by telling about your kissing me on the stairs.” - -“D----n him,” said Phil, through his teeth. - -“Besides, I’ve been careless of their opinion for so long that people -are only glad to get something tangible.” - -“But it isn’t tangible. That farmer out there could----” - -Nina raised her hand. - -“Denial is confession, my dear. I shall deny nothing. I shall only -smile. In my saddest moments the memory of Higgins and Harlow’s -parlor heater with its nickel icicles around the top will restore my -equanimity. I don’t think I’ve ever before really appreciated the true -symbolism of the nickel icicle.” - -Gallatin had risen and was pacing the floor before her. - -“This gossip must be stopped,” he said scowling at the rug. “If I can’t -stop it in one way, I can in another.” - -“And drag my shattered fabric into the rumpus? No, thanks. _J’y -suis--j’y reste._ The rôle of martyr becomes me. In my own eyes I’m -already canonized. I think I like the sensation. It has the merit of -being a novel one at any rate.” - -“Nina, do stop talking nonsense,” he put in impatiently. “I’m not going -to sit here placidly and let them tell this lie.” - -“Well,”--Nina leaned back in her chair and tilted her head -sideways--“what are you going to do about it?” - -“I’ll make them answer to me--personally. It was my fault. I ought to -have walked home, I suppose.” - -“But you didn’t--that’s the rub. They won’t answer to you personally -anyway, at least nobody but the chauffeur, and he might do -it--er--unpleasantly.” - -“I’ll thrash him--I’ll break his----” - -“No, you won’t. It wouldn’t do the least bit of good, and besides it -would make matters worse if _he_ thrashed _you_. There’s only one thing -left for you to do, my friend.” - -“What?” - -“Marry me!” - -Phil Gallatin stopped pacing the floor and faced her, frowning. - -“You still insist on that joke?” - -“I do. And it’s no joke. It seems to be the least thing that you can -do, under the circumstances.” - -“Oh, is it?” - -“Of course. You wouldn’t leave things as they are, would you? Think -of my shrinking susceptibilities, the atrocious significance of your -negligence. Really, Phil, I don’t see how you can refuse me!” - -Gallatin laughed. He understood her now. - -“I’m immensely flattered. I’ll marry you with great pleasure----” - -“Oh, thanks.” - -“If I ever decide to marry any one.” - -“Phil!” - -She glanced past him out of the window, smiling. “And you’re not going -to marry--any one?” - -“No.” - -“I was afraid you might be.” She rose and took up her silver -bric-a-brac which clanked cheerfully. She had learned what she came for. - -“Oh, well, I won’t despair. I’m not half bad, you know. Think it over. -Some day, perhaps.” - -“It would be charming, I’m sure,” he said politely. - -“And, Phil----” She paused. - -“What?” - -“Come and see a fellow once in a while, won’t you? You know, -propinquity is love’s _alter ego_.” - -“I’m sure of it. Perhaps that’s why I’m afraid to come.” - -She laughed again as she went out and he followed her to the door of -the outer office where Miss Crenshaw and Miss Gillespie scrutinized her -perfectly appointed costume and then tossed their heads the fraction of -an inch, adjusted their sidecombs and went on with their work. - - - - -XXII - -SMOKE AND FIRE - - -Downstairs Miss Jaffray entered her machine and was driven northward. - -It is not for a moment to be supposed during the weeks which followed -Mr. Egerton’s party that Miss Jaffray had retired from the social -scene. And if her rebuff at Phil Gallatin’s hands had dampened the -ardor of her enjoyment, no sign of it appeared. She was more joyously -satirical, more unmitigably bored, more obtrusively indifferent -than ever. But those who knew Nina best discovered a more daring -unconvention in her opinions and a caustic manner of speech which -spared no one, not even herself. She was, if anything, a concentrated -essence of Nina Jaffray. - -A woman’s potentiality for mischief proceeds in inverse ratio to her -capacity for benevolence, and Nina’s altruism was subjective. She gave -her charity unaffectedly to all four-legged things except the fox, -which had been contributed to the economic scheme by a beneficent -Providence for the especial uses of cross-country riders. She spent -much care and sympathy upon her horses, and exacted its equivalent in -muscular energy. Two-legged things enjoyed her liking in the exact -proportion that they contributed to her amusement or in the measure -that they did not interfere with her plans. - -But the word benevolent applied to Nina with about as much fitness as -it would to the Tropic of Capricorn. - -The motto of New York is “The Devil Take the Hindmost,” and it -feelingly voiced Nina’s sentiments in the world and in the hunting -field. She had always made it a practice to ride well up with the -leaders, and to keep clear of the underbrush, and had never had much -sympathy for the laggards. There was a Spartan quality in her point -of view with regard to others, which remained to be put to the test -with regard to herself. The occasion for such a test, it seemed, had -arrived. For the first time in her life she was apparently denied -the thing she most wanted. She had even been willing to acknowledge -to herself that she wouldn’t have wanted Phil Gallatin if she hadn’t -discovered that he wanted some one else. - -But her liking for him had been transmuted into a warmer regard with -a rapidity which really puzzled her and forced her to the conclusion -that she had cared for him always. And Phil Gallatin’s indifference had -stimulated her interest in him to a degree which made it necessary for -her to win him away from Jane Loring at all hazards. - -She was not in the least unhappy about the matter. Here was a real -difficulty to be overcome, the first in personal importance that she -had ever faced, and she met it with a smile, aware that all of the arts -which a woman may use (and some which she may not) must be brought into -play to accomplish her ends. - -As a matter of fact, Nina’s mechanism was working at the highest degree -of efficiency and she was taking a real delight in life, such as she -had never before experienced. Since the “Pot and Kettle” affair she -had thought much and deeply, had noted Coleman Van Duyn’s attentions -to Jane Loring, and her acceptance of them, had heard with an uncommon -interest of their reported engagement and had kept herself informed -as to the goings and comings of Phil Gallatin. And she read Jane -Loring as one may read an open book. Their personal relations were the -perfection of amiability. They had met informally on several occasions -when Nina had noted with well-concealed amusement the slightly -exaggerated warmth of Jane’s greeting, and had taken care to return -this display of friendship in kind. Everything added to the conviction -that Jane’s love of Phil was only exceeded by her hatred of Nina -Jaffray. - -And yet until this morning Nina had had moments of uncertainty, for the -incident Jane had witnessed was too trivial to stand the test of sober -second thought, and Jane was just silly enough to forgive and forget it. - -Nina’s visit to Phil Gallatin’s office had agreeably surprised her, for -Phil had made it perfectly clear that his estrangement from Jane still -existed. But to make the matter doubly sure, Nina had decided to play -a card she had been holding in reserve. In other words, more smoke was -needed and Nina was prepared to provide the fuel. - -First she met Coleman Van Duyn by appointment at her own house, and -they had a long chat, during which, without his being aware of it, he -was the subject of a searching examination which had for its object the -revelation of the exact relation between himself and Miss Loring. Even -Coley, it seemed, was not satisfied with the state of affairs. They -were not engaged. No. He was willing to admit it, but he had hopes that -before the winter was over Miss Loring would see things his way. His -dislike of Phil Gallatin was thinly veiled and Nina played upon it with -a skill which left nothing to be desired, to the end that at the last -Coley came out into the open and declared himself flat-footed. - -“I don’t know--your relations with him, Nina. Don’t care, really. You -know your way about and all that sort of thing, but he’s going it too -strong. I’m tired of beatin’ about the bush. I know a thing or two -about Phil Gallatin and I’ll tell ’em soon. It’s time people knew the -sort of a Johnny that fellow is.” - -“Oh, I know, Coley. You’re prejudiced. You’ve got a right to be. A man -doesn’t want any scandal hanging around the name of the girl he’s going -to marry. Everybody knows, of course, that Phil and Jane Loring were -together last summer up in the woods and that----” - -Van Duyn had risen, his eyes more protrusive, his face more purple than -was good for him. It was the first time he had heard that story spoken -of with such freedom, and it shocked him. - -“It wasn’t Jane,” he roared. “She wasn’t the only woman in Canada last -summer. How do you know it was Jane?” - -“She admitted it,” said Nina sadly. - -“Oh, she did! Well, what of it? If I don’t care, what business is it of -anybody else? She suits me and I’m going to marry her.” - -He stopped and glared at Nina, as though it was she who was the sole -author of his unhappiness. Nina only smiled up at him encouragingly. - -“Of course, you are. That’s one of the things I wanted to see you -about. I think I can help you, Coley, if you’ll let me.” - -She made him sit down again and when he was more composed, went on. - -“You see it’s this way. I don’t mind your running Phil down, if it -gives you any pleasure, but you might as well know that I don’t share -your opinions. He isn’t your sort, you don’t understand him, and he has -managed to come between you and Jane. But I don’t see the slightest -use in getting excited. These silly romantic affairs of the teens are -seldom really dangerous. Phil’s infirmities excited her pity.” - -“His infirmities!” - -“Yes, but Jane Loring isn’t the kind of a girl to put up with that kind -of thing long.” - -“Rather--not!” - -“Oh, I don’t mean what you do. I mean that she isn’t suited to him, -that’s all. There are other women who might marry him and make -something of him.” - -“Who?” he sneered. - -“I,” she said calmly. - -Her quiet tone transfixed him. - -“You want to--to marry him?” - -“Yes--and I’m going to. Perhaps you understand now how we can help each -other.” - -“By George! I hadn’t an idea, Nina. I knew you’d been flirting with -him--and all that--but marriage!” - -She nodded. - -“You _are_ a good sort,” he grinned. “Do you really mean it? Of course -I’ll help you if I can, but I hardly see----” - -“You don’t have to see. Jane Loring may still have a fancy for Phil -Gallatin, but it ought to be perfectly obvious that she can’t marry him -if he’s going to marry me. All I want you to do just now is to make -yourself necessary to Jane Loring. Propose to her again to-morrow,” and -then with convincing assurance, “I think she’ll accept you.” - -“You do? Why?” - -“That, if you’ll pardon me, is a matter I do not care to discuss.” She -arose and dismissed him gracefully, and Van Duyn wandered forth into -Gramercy Park with a feeling very like that of a timorous hospital -patient who has for the first time been subjected to the X-ray. - -Nina lunched alone, then dressed for the afternoon and ordered her -machine. She had made no mistake in presupposing that Jane Loring’s -curiosity would outweigh her prejudices. In their talk upon the -telephone there had been a slight hesitation, scarcely noticeable, on -Jane’s part, after which, she had expressed herself as delighted at the -opportunity of seeing Nina at the Loring house. - -Miss Jaffray entered the portals of the vast establishment, her slender -figure lost in the great drawing-room, as she moved restlessly from one -object of art to another awaiting her hostess, like a mischievous and -lonely bacillus newly liberated into a new field of endeavor. - -“Nina, dear!” said Jane effusively as she entered. “_So_ sweet of you. -I haven’t really had a chance to have a talk with you for _ages_.” - -“How wonderfully pretty you look, Jane? I’m simply _wild_ with envy of -you.” - -It was the feminine convention. Each pecked the other just once below -the eye and each wished that the other had never been born. Jane led -the way into the library where they sat side by side on the big divan, -where they both skillfully maneuvered for an opening for a while, -feinting and parrying carte and tierce, advancing, retreating, neither -of them willing to risk a thrust. - -But at last, the preliminaries having given her the touch of her -opponent’s foil, Nina returned. - -“You’re really the success of the season, Jane. And you know when a -back number like I am admits a thing like that about a débutante, it’s -pretty apt to be true. But the thing I can’t understand is why you want -to end it all and marry.” - -“Marry--whom?” - -“Coley.” - -“Oh, you have some private source of information on the subject?” Jane -asked pleasantly. - -“None but your own actions,” Nina replied coolly. “It’s funny, too, -because I’ve had an idea--ever since that Dryad story--I’ve feared that -you were rather keen on Phil Gallatin.” - -Nina was forced to admiration of the carelessness of Jane’s parry. - -“Mr. Gallatin!” she said, her eyes wide with wonder. “What in the -world made you think of him? If I was ever grateful to the man for his -kindness up there in the woods, every instinct in me revolted at the -memory of what people said of us. Do you think I could care for a man -who would let a thing like that be told?” She hesitated a moment and -then added, “Besides, there are other reasons why Mr. Gallatin and I -could never be friends.” - -“Oh, I see,” Nina said slowly, her gaze on the fire. “You know, I’m -very fond of Phil, and though you may not approve of him, he’s really -one of the best fellows in the world.” - -“Well, why don’t you marry him?” said Jane carelessly. - -“Marry! Me!” Nina laughed softly up at the portrait over the mantel. -“Good Lord, Jane, you want to bridle me! No, thanks. I’ve only one -life, you know, and I hardly feel like spending it on the Bridge of -Sighs. _My_ recording angel wouldn’t stand domestication. She’s on -the point of giving up the job already. I suppose I’ll have to marry -some day, but when I do I’ll select the quiet, elderly widower of some -capable person who has trained him properly. A well-trained husband may -be a dull blessing, but he’s safe. Not Phil Gallatin, my dear. The girl -who marries Phil will have her hands full. But he’s _such_ a dear! -So solemn, so innocent-looking, as though butter wouldn’t melt in his -mouth, and yet----” she paused and sighed audibly. - -Jane glanced at her and was silent. - -“I’ve never thought of Phil as a marrying man,” Nina went on. “The -thing is impossible, and I’d very much rather have him as he is. But it -does seem a pity about him because he has so many virtues--and he--he -really makes love like an angel.” - -“Does he?” asked Jane, yawning politely. “But then so many men do that.” - -“Yes--I suppose so, but Phil is different somehow.” - -Jane laughed. “Yes, I gathered that--at the ‘Pot and Kettle.’” - -Nina glanced up and away. “You _did_ see? It’s a pity. I’m sorry. Quite -imprudent of me, wasn’t it? I suppose I ought to be horribly mortified, -but I’m not. I’ve reached a point where I’m quite hardened to people’s -opinions--even to yours, Jane. But I confess I _was_ bothered a little -about that. I _am_ glad you don’t care for Phil, because it would have -been awkward and it might have made a difference in our friendship. -You’d have been sorry, wouldn’t you?” - -Jane swallowed. “Oh--of course, I would.” - -“But it doesn’t matter now whether you saw or not, because I’m sure -that you and Coley understand.” - -“I’m not sure that I do understand,” said Jane with a smile toward the -cloisonné jar at the window. “As a form of diversion I can’t say that -kissing has ever appealed to me.” - -“But then, you know, Jane, you’re very young--may I say verdant? -It’s an innocent amusement, if considered so. The harm of it is in -considering it harmful. You’re a hopeless little Puritan. I can’t see -how you and I have got along so well. I suppose it’s because we’re so -different.” - -“Yes, perhaps that’s it. But I’m sure we wouldn’t be nearly so friendly -if we ever interfered with each other.” - -“I’m glad we haven’t, Jane, darling. I’ve really gotten into the way of -depending on your friendship. You don’t think I’ve strained it a little -to-day by my--er--modern view of old conventions?” - -“Not at all. For a Puritan I’m surprisingly liberal. I don’t care at -all whom my friends kiss--or why. It’s none of my affair. I’d hardly -make it so unless I was asked to.” - -Nina laid her fingers on Jane’s arm. “But we _do_ understand each -other, don’t we, Jane?” - -“Yes, wonderfully. I’m so glad that you think it worth while to confide -in me.” - -“I do. You’re so sensible and tolerant. I’m almost too much of a -freethinker for most people, and they’re ready to believe almost -anything of me. But you don’t care what they say, do you, Jane?” - -“No, I don’t, Nina. It wouldn’t make the slightest difference to me -what people said of you.” - -And this was the truth, perhaps the first truth in fact or by inference -which either of them had uttered. So far so good. Honors were even. -Each of them was aware that the other was a hypocrite, each of -them was playing the game of hide and seek, bringing into play all -the arts of dissimulation to which the sex is heir. All is fair in -love and war. This was both. Under such conditions, to the feminine -conscience anything is justifiable. Nina had begun the combat with -leisurely assurance; Jane, with a contempt which fortified her against -mishap. The manners of each were friendly and confiding, their tones -caressing, but neither of them deceived the other and each of them -knew that she didn’t. Nina had taken the initiative. She had a mission -and in this was at a slight advantage, for Jane had not yet begun to -suspect what that mission was. She had made up her mind, feminine -fashion, not to believe what Nina wanted her to believe; but before -long she began to find that Nina was mixing truth and fiction with such -skill that it was difficult to distinguish one from the other. - -The dangers of the social jungle develop remarkable perceptions in deer -and bird of paradise, but these defensive instincts are not always -proof against the craft of the cat tribe. If they were, the cat tribe -would long since have ceased to exist as a species. Other things being -equal, the stalker of prey has all the advantage. Nina knew that Jane -knew that she was lying. So, to gain her point, she was prepared if -necessary to use the simple expedient of _telling the truth_. - -Nina was leaning forward, her chin in her hand, her gaze on the rug. - -“You’ve heard, I suppose, this story people are telling about Phil and -me,” she said in a lower tone. - -“No,” said Jane in tones of curiosity. “Is it something very dreadful?” - -“I’m afraid it is--at least people seem to think it so. It began with -an accident to my motor and ended at a Parlor Heater.” - -“A Parlor Heater! Do go on, Nina. I’m immensely interested.” - -“Phil and I, on the way home from Egerton’s party, you remember? He -went home in my motor. I know people thought it awfully rude of us -as the other motors were so crowded--but it just happened so and we -started home alone--after all the others had gone. We ran out of oil -and had to put up for the night where we could. Unfortunate wasn’t it? -We were miles from nowhere and not a gallon of gasoline in sight. The -farmer seemed to think we were suspicious characters, but he let us in -at last to sit beside his stove until morning. I’m sure he was peeping -over the balusters most of the time to be sure we didn’t make off with -the family Bible.” Nina laughed at the recollection, a little more -loudly than seemed necessary. - -“Phil was very sweet about it all. He was so afraid of compromising -me, poor fellow. I really felt very sorry for him. The farmer wouldn’t -volunteer to help us, so Phil wanted to trudge the five miles through -the snow to get the oil. But I wouldn’t let him. I _couldn’t_, Jane. It -was frightfully lonely there. The chauffeur was drunk and I was afraid.” - -“Y--you were quite right,” said Jane in a suppressed tone. - -Nina glanced at her and went on. - -“We sat all night huddled in our furs on opposite sides of that -dreadful parlor stove. I don’t think I can ever forget it. I’ve -never been so miserable in my life--never! We spoke to each other in -monosyllables for a while and at last--er--I went to sleep in disgust. -I woke up with a frightful pain in my back from that dreadful chair. -What a night! And to think that it was for this--_this_, that Phil and -I have been talked about! It’s maddening, Jane. If we only had given -them a little flame, just a tiny one--for all this smoke! Poor Phil! -He was terribly provoked about it this morning. He wants to kill that -wretched chauffeur, for of course the whole story came from him. You -know, Jane, I discharged him as soon as we got back to town, and this -was his revenge. Sweet, wasn’t it? It seems as if one was very much at -the mercy of one’s mechanician. They’re servants, of course, but you -can never get them to think that they are. I haven’t dared tell father. -I don’t know what _he_ would do about it. I’m afraid----” - -Jane Loring had risen and was looking out of the window into the -gathering dusk. - -“What’s the use, Nina?” she asked quietly. - -“The use of what?” - -“Telling me all this. I understand, I think.” - -“I hope you do,” said Nina quickly. “I wanted you to. That’s why I told -you.” - -She got up and took a few rapid paces forward. - -“Jane!” she cried suddenly. “What do you mean? That I--_you_ believe--? -Oh, how could you?” - -She stood a moment, her face hidden in her hands, as though the horror -of it all had just come to her. - -Jane Loring faced around calmly, her face grave. - -“What difference does it make what I believe?” she asked. - -Nina looked at her a long while, then dropped her gaze, turned away and -picked up her accessories. Her mission here was ended. - -“I’m sorry. I seem to have misjudged you--your friendship.” - -“Yes,” said Jane. “I think perhaps you have.” - -Nina moved toward the door, and Jane, motionless, watched her. She did -not speak again--nor did Jane; and in a moment the door closed between -them--for the last time. - -Nina was smiling when she entered her machine, but Jane climbed the -stairs wearily. - - - - -XXIII - -THE MOUSE AND THE LION - - -There was an activity in the offices of Kenyon, Hood and Gallatin -chiefly centering around the doings of the youngest member of the -firm which had caused the methodical Tooker some skeptical and -unquiet moments. He had witnessed these spurts of industry before and -remembered that they had always presaged the bursting of a bubble -and the disappearance of the junior partner for a protracted period, -at the end of which he would return to the office, pale, nervous and -depressed. But as the weeks went by, far beyond the time usually marked -for this event, Tooker began to realize that something unusual had -happened. The chief clerk could hardly be called an observant man, -for his business in life kept him in a narrow groove, but he awoke -one morning to the discovery that a remarkable change had taken place -in the manner and bearing of Mr. Gallatin. There were none of those -fidgety movements of the fingers, that quick and sometimes overbearing -speech, or the habit Mr. Gallatin had had (as his father had had it -before him) of pacing up and down the floor of his room, his hands -behind his back, his brows bent over sullen eyes. Mr. Gallatin’s manner -and speech were quieter, his gaze more direct and more lasting. He -smiled more, and his capacity for work seemed unlimited. Tooker waited -for a long while, and then came to the conclusion that a new order of -things had begun and that the junior partner had found himself. - -There had been frequent important conferences in Mr. Kenyon’s office -between the partners during which Philip Gallatin had advised the firm -of the progress of the Sanborn case, but it was clear that for the -present at least the junior partner dominated the situation. All his -life Tooker had been accustomed to follow in the footsteps of others, -and was prepared to follow Gallatin gladly, if the junior partner would -give him footsteps to follow. And he was now beginning to appreciate -the significance of those long visits of Mr. Gallatin in Pennsylvania, -and the infinite care and study with which Gallatin had fortified -himself. He understood, too, what those piles of documents on Mr. -Gallatin’s desk were for, and in the conferences of the firm, when John -Kenyon’s incisive voice cut in, he realized that it was more often in -encouragement, advice, and appreciation, than in contention or argument. - -The Sanborn Company’s directors were represented by the firm of -Whitehead, Leuppold, Tyson and Leuppold. This was one of the firms -previously mentioned which had offices upon an upper floor and included -among its clients many large corporations closely identified with “The -Interests.” A correspondence had been passing between Mr. Gallatin and -Mr. Leuppold with all of which Tooker was familiar. Mr. Gallatin’s -early letters stated that he hoped for a conference with Mr. Loring. -Mr. Leuppold’s first replies were couched in polite formulas, the -equivalent of which was, in plain English, that Mr. Gallatin might go -to the devil, saying that Mr. Loring had nothing to do with the matter. -Mr. Gallatin’s reply ignored this suggestion, and again proposed a -conference. Mr. Leuppold refused in abrupt terms. Mr. Gallatin gave -reasons for his request. Mr. Leuppold couldn’t see them. Mr. Gallatin -patiently gave other reasons. Mr. Leuppold ignored this letter. Mr. -Gallatin wrote another. Mr. Leuppold in reply considered the matter -closed. Mr. Gallatin considered the matter just opened. Mr. Leuppold -fulminated politely and satirically suggested intimidation. Mr. -Gallatin regretted Mr. Leuppold’s implication but persisted, giving, as -his reasons, the discovery of material evidence. - -The next day Mr. Leuppold came in person, was shown into Mr. Gallatin’s -office and Tooker had been present at the interview. It had been a -memorable occasion. Mr. Leuppold wore that suave and confident manner -for which he was noted and Gallatin received him with an old-fashioned -courtesy and the deference of a younger man for an older, which left -nothing to be desired. Accepting this as his due, Leuppold began in a -fatherly way to impress upon Gallatin the utter futility of trying to -win the injunction in the Court of Appeals. The contentions of Sanborn -_et al._ had no basis either in law or in equity. Mr. Gallatin had -doubtless been unduly influenced by doubtful precedents. He, Leuppold, -was familiar with every phase of the case and had defended the previous -suit which had been brought and lost by a legal firm in Philadelphia. -There was absolutely nothing in Mr. Gallatin’s position as stated in -his correspondence and he concluded by referring “his young friend” to -certain marked passages in a volume which he had brought in under his -arm. Gallatin read the passages through with interest and listened with -a show of great seriousness to Mr. Leuppold’s interpretation of them. -Mr. Leuppold had a mien which commanded attention. Gallatin gave it, -but he said little in reply which could indicate his possible ground of -action, except to express regret that Mr. Leuppold’s clients had taken -such an intolerant view of his own client’s claims and to deplore the -unfortunate tone of Mr. Leuppold’s own letter of some days ago. - -When it was quite clear to Mr. Leuppold that the young man was not to -be moved by persuasion, his manner changed. - -“I have done my best, Mr. Gallatin,” he said irritably, “to prove to -you the utter futility of your course. My clients have nothing to -fear. I am only trying to save them the expense of further litigation. -But if you insist on bringing this case to trial, we will welcome -the opportunity to show further evidence in our possession. We have -been content for the sake of peace to let matters go on as they have -been going, but if this suit is pressed, I warn you that it will be -unfortunate for your clients.” - -“I hope not. I hope we won’t have to bring suit,” replied Gallatin -easily. “I’m only asking for a conference of all the parties -interested, Mr. Leuppold. That certainly is little enough, an amicable -conference, a discussion--if you like----” - -“There is nothing to discuss.” - -“I beg to differ. Leaving aside for a moment the question of the -new evidence in the Sanborn case, do you think that Mr. Loring, who -controls its stock, would care to have his connection with the Lehigh -and Pottsville Railroad Company brought into court?” - -Mr. Leuppold gasped. He couldn’t help it. How and where had this polite -but surprising young man obtained this information, which no member of -his own firm besides himself possessed. It was uncanny. Was this the -fellow they had talked about and smiled over upstairs? Mr. Leuppold -took to cover skillfully, hiding his uneasiness under a bland smile. - -“You’re dreaming, sir,” he said. - -Gallatin shook his head. - -“No, I’m not dreaming.” - -Gallatin rose and took a few paces up and down the room. “See here, -Mr. Leuppold, I’m not prepared to discuss the matter further now. I’ve -asked you for a conference and you call my request intimidation--which -might mean a much uglier thing. You’ve treated my correspondence in -a casual way and you’ve patronized me in my own office. I’ve kept my -temper pretty well, and I’m keeping it still; but I warn you that you -have been and still are making a mistake. I’ve asked for a conference -because I believe this matter can be settled out of court, and because -I didn’t think it fair to your client to go to court without giving him -a chance to save himself. We have no desire to enter into a long and -expensive litigation, but we are prepared to do so and will take the -preliminary steps at once, unless we have some immediate consideration -of our claims. If you stand suit on this appeal you will lose, and I -fancy the evidence presented will be of such character that you will -not care to take the matter further. Don’t reply now, Mr. Leuppold. -Think it over and let me hear from you in writing.” - -Mr. Leuppold had not moved. He was watching Gallatin keenly from under -his beetling brows. Was this mere guess work? What did the young man -really know? What evidence had he? Was it a bluff? If so, he made it in -tones with which Leuppold was unfamiliar. But it was no time to back -water now. He smiled approvingly at Phil Gallatin’s inkwell. - -“Mr. Gallatin, your imagination does you credit. A good lawyer must -have intuition. But he’s got to have discretion, too. You think, -because the interests we represent are wealthy ones, that you can -throw a stick in our direction and be sure of hitting something. -Unfortunately you have been misinformed--on all points. Mr. Loring has -voluntarily submitted his holdings in Pennsylvania to investigation. -You can never prove any connection between the Pequot Coal Company and -the Lehigh and Pottsville Railroad. There is none.” - -He rose pompously and took up his hat and books. - -“There isn’t any use in our talking over this case. It will lead us -nowhere. But I’ll promise you if you’ll put your proposition in writing -to submit it to careful consideration.” - -“Thanks,” said Gallatin dryly. He picked a large envelope up from the -table and handed it to his visitor. “I have already done so. Will you -take it with you or shall I mail it?” - -“I--you may give it to me, Mr. Gallatin.” - -Gallatin walked to the outer door and politely bowed him out, while -Tooker, his thin frame writhing with ecstasy, fussed with some papers -on the big table in the junior partner’s office until he was more -composed, and then went on about his daily routine. He realized now -for the first time the full stature of the junior partner. In a night, -it almost seemed to Tooker, he had outgrown his boyhood, his brilliant -wayward boyhood that had promised so much and achieved so little. He -was like his father now, but there was a difference. Philip Gallatin, -the elder, he remembered, had dominated his office by the mere force -of his intellect. He had directed the preparation of his cases with an -unerring legal sense and he had won them through his mastery of detail -and the elimination of the unessential. But it was when presenting his -case to a jury that he was at his strongest, for such was the personal -quality of his magnetism that jurors were willing to be convinced less -by the value of his cause than by the magic of his sophistry. But to -Tooker, who was little more than a piece of legal machinery, there -was something in the methods of the son which compensated for the more -spectacular talents of the father, the painstaking and diligent way in -which Gallatin had planned and carried out his present investigations -and the confidence with which he was putting his information to use. -It was clear to Tooker that Leuppold had been unprepared for Philip -Gallatin’s revelations. Even now Tooker doubted the wisdom of them, for -Mr. Leuppold would not be slow to take advantage of his information and -to cover the traces left by his clients as well as he might. But when -he spoke of it to Gallatin, the junior partner had laughed. - -“Don’t you bother, old man. Wait a while. We’ll hear from Mr. Leuppold -very soon--before the week is out, I think.” - -In the offices upstairs, Mr. Leuppold’s return was the signal for an -immediate consultation of the entire firm, which would have flattered -and encouraged Philip Gallatin had he been aware of it. Mr. Tyson and -Mr. Whitehead discovered in Mr. Leuppold’s account of the interview -undue cause for alarm. They were themselves adepts in the game Mr. -Gallatin was evidently playing and could be depended upon at the proper -moment to out-maneuver him. Mr. Leuppold disagreed and was forced to -admit the weakness of Mr. Loring’s position, if, as he suspected, -Mr. Gallatin had succeeded in fortifying himself with the proper -evidence. The stock was, of course, not in Mr. Loring’s name, but a man -of resource might have been able to find means to establish a legal -connection of the mine with the railroad. Mr. Leuppold’s opinions -usually bore weight, but just now he seemed to have no definite -opinions. - -The conference of the partners lasted until late in the afternoon, -during which time messengers came and went between the firm’s offices -and those of the Pequot Coal Company and that of the President of the -L. and P. Henry K. Loring was out of town and would not return until -the end of the week. A wire was sent to him to return to New York at -once, and it was decided that no reply to Mr. Gallatin’s letter should -be sent until Mr. Loring had been advised. - -Phil Gallatin, in high good humor, lunched that morning with the senior -partner at a fashionable restaurant uptown. His work on the Sanborn -case was finished. He had been at it very hard for two months, and the -two of them had planned to spend the afternoon and following day up at -John Kenyon’s farm in Westchester, where they would do some riding, -some walking and some resting, of which both were in need. The lunch -was a preliminary luxury and they found a table in a corner on the -Avenue and ordered. - -There was no talk of office matters. John Kenyon had been thoroughly -advised of Phil’s work and knew that there was nothing in the way of -suggestion or advice that he could offer. He had noticed for some days -the gaunt look in his young partner’s face. There were indications -of his growing maturity and shadows of the struggle through which he -had passed, but there were marks which John Kenyon knew belonged to a -different kind of trouble. Gallatin had told him what had happened in -the woods and Kenyon had learned something of Phil’s romance in New -York. But Kenyon was not given to idle or curious questioning, and he -knew that when Phil was ready to speak of private matters he would do -so. - -Their oysters had been served and their planked fish brought when a -fashionable party entered and was conducted by the head waiter to -an adjoining table which had been decorated for the occasion. Mrs. -Pennington led the way, followed by Miss Ledyard, Mrs. Perrine and Miss -Loring. Behind them followed Ogden Spencer, Bibby Worthington, Colonel -Broadhurst and Coleman Van Duyn, who was, it appeared, the host. - -Phil had hoped that his presence might pass unnoticed; but Nellie -Pennington espied him and nodded gayly, so that he had to rise and -greet her. This drew the eyes of others and when the party was seated -he discovered that Miss Loring, on Van Duyn’s right, was seated -facing him and that her eyes after one blank look in his direction -were assiduously turned elsewhere. John Kenyon caught the change -in Gallatin’s expression, but in a moment Phil had resumed their -conversation upon the comparative merits of the Delaware River and -Potomac River shad, and their luncheon went on to its conclusion. -But the spirits of John Kenyon’s guest had fallen, and Kenyon’s most -persuasive stories failed to find a response. In spite of himself -Phil Gallatin found himself looking at Jane and thinking of Arcadia. -It was three weeks now since that much to be remembered and regretted -interview at the Loring house had taken place. The glance he stole at -Jane assured him that if he had ever had a hope of reconciliation, the -chances for it were now more remote than ever. She wore a huge hat -which screened her effectually, and the glimpses he had of her face -showed it dimpling in smiles for Coleman Van Duyn or Bibby Worthington, -who sat on either side of her. When their eyes had first met he had -thought her pale, but as the moments passed a warm color mounted her -cheeks. It seemed to Gallatin that never before within his memory had -she ever appeared so care-free. She was youth untrammeled, a sister -to Euphrosyne, the spirit of joy. It seemed as if she realized that -the grim specter which had stolen into her life for a while had been -exorcised away, and that she had already forgotten it in the beckoning -of the jocund hours. Phil Gallatin had come into her life and gone, -leaving no trace in her mind or in her heart. - -After this their eyes met but once. He was looking at her, thinking -of these things, oblivious of what John Kenyon was saying, unaware of -the intentness of his gaze, which at last compelled her to look in -his direction. It was a startled glance that she gave him, wide-eyed, -almost fearful, as though he had challenged her to this silent combat. -Then her lids lowered insolently, her chin lifted and she turned aside. - -Their coffee had been served. Phil gulped his down hastily. “Come, -Uncle John,” he said hoarsely. “Let’s get out of this, will you?” - -John Kenyon paid the check and they rose. Unfortunately the only path -to the door lay by Mr. Van Duyn’s table, and as Gallatin passed, -nodding to his acquaintances, Mrs. Pennington got up and stood in front -of him. - -“I do so want to see you for a moment, Phil. Will you excuse me, -Coley?” she said, and led the way into a room where she found an -unoccupied corner. John Kenyon went elsewhere to smoke his cigar. - -“Oh, Phil!” she whispered. “Why wouldn’t you come to see me? I’ve had -so much to talk to you about.” - -“I--I’ve been very busy, Nellie. I haven’t been anywhere.” - -“My house isn’t ‘anywhere.’ I want to talk to you--you know what I -mean.” - -“It won’t do any good, Nellie,” he muttered. “There isn’t anything more -to be said.” - -“Perhaps not--but I want to say it just the same. I want you to -promise----” - -“I can’t,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t ask me to come and talk to -you--about that.” - -“Well, then, come and talk to me about other things.” - -“I can’t. If I come I must talk about what you remind me of.” - -She hesitated, looking at him critically. - -“Phil, you’re an idiot,” she said at last. - -“Thanks,” he replied, “I’m aware of it.” - -“Are you going to give up?” - -“I’ve given up.” - -Nellie Pennington shrugged. “For good? You’re going to let--Oh, I’ve no -patience with you.” - -“I’m sorry. You did what you could and I’m thankful. Don’t think I’m -ungrateful. I’m not. One of these days I’ll prove it. You did a lot. -I’m awake, Nellie. You woke me and I’m not going to sleep again.” - -“I’m proud of you, Phil, but you’re not awake--not really awake or you -couldn’t sit by and see the girl you love forced into an engagement -with a man she doesn’t care for.” - -Gallatin flushed. - -“Is that--” he asked slowly, “is that what this--this luncheon means?” - -“Judge for yourself. He is with her always. And they’ve even rebelled -against my chaperonage. Their relations are talked of freely in Jane’s -presence and she laughs acquiescence. Imagine it!” - -Gallatin turned away. - -“I--I have no further interest in--in Miss Loring,” he said quietly. - -“Well, _I_ have. And I’m not going to let her make a fool of herself if -I can help it.” - -“Miss Loring will probably not agree with you.” - -“I hardly expect her to.” She hesitated. “Phil,” she asked at last. - -“What, Nellie?” - -“Will you answer a question?” - -“What?” - -“Was this story they’re telling about you and Nina mentioned?” - -“Yes, it was.” - -“I thought so,” triumphantly. “Phil we must talk this thing out.” - -“It can do no good----” - -“And no harm. There’s been a mistake somewhere--something neither you -nor I understand.” She stopped and tapped her forehead with her index -finger. “I can’t tell what--but I sense it--here. Something has gone -wrong--what, I don’t know. I’ve got to think about it.” - -“Yes--it’s gone wrong--and it can’t be righted.” - -“Perhaps not,” she said rising. “But I _do_ want you to come to see me. -Won’t you?” - -“You’re very persistent, aren’t you? Very well, I’ll come.” - -“I must go now. Coley will be furious. I hope so, at any rate.” - -She smiled at him again and went back to her luncheon party while -Gallatin found John Kenyon and drove to the Grand Central station. - - - - -XXIV - -DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND - - -It was the middle of March, and fashionable New York, having been at -least twice through its winter wardrobe, had gone southward for a -change of speed. Aiken, Jekyl Island and Palm Beach had all done their -share in the midwinter rejuvenation, but the particular set of people -with which this story concerns itself were spending the last days of -the Lenten season at the Dorsey-Martin’s place in Virginia. - -Dorsey-Martin was rich beyond the dreams of Alnaschar, but unlike the -unfortunate brother of the barber, had not smashed the glassware in his -basket until he had sold it to somebody else, when he was enabled to -buy it in again at a much reduced rate. His particular specialty was -not glassware, but railroads which, while equally fragile, could be put -together again and be made (to all appearances) as good as new. - -The fruits of this fortunate talent were in evidence in his -well-appointed house in New York with its collection of old English -portraits, his palace at Newport just finished, and in his “shooting -place” in Virginia. - -The Dorsey-Martins had “arrived.” They had been ten years in transit, -and their ways had been devious, but their present welcome more -than compensated for the pains and money which had been spent in -the pilgrimage. The Virginia place, “Clovelly” adjoined that of the -Ledyards, and consisted of a thousand acres of preserved woodland and -dale, within a night’s journey of New York. Autumn, of course, was -the season when “Clovelly” was most in use, but spring frequently -found it the scene of gay gatherings such as the present one, for in -addition to the squash courts and swimming pool there was court tennis, -with a marker constantly in attendance, a good stable, and hospitable -neighbors. - -It was Nellie Pennington who had prevailed upon Phil Gallatin to accept -Mrs. Dorsey-Martin’s invitation, for she knew that Jane Loring was -staying at “Mobjack,” the Ledyards’ place, and she hoped that she might -yet be the means of bringing the two together. Her interview with Phil -had been barren of results, except to confirm her in the suspicion that -Nina Jaffray held the key to the puzzle. Nina, who had been one of the -early arrivals at “Clovelly,” had so far eluded all her snares; and -Nellie Pennington was now convinced that here was a foeman worthy of -her subtlest metal. She enjoyed the game hugely, as, apparently, did -Nina, and their passages at arms were as skillful (and as ineffectual) -as those of two perfectly matched _maîtres d’escrime_. Nina knew that -Nellie Pennington suspected her of mischief, but she also knew that it -was unlikely that any one would ever know, unless from Jane, just what -that mischief had been. - -The arrival of Phil Gallatin, while it gave Nina happiness, made -her keep a narrower guard against the verbal thrusts of her playful -adversary. - -Phil Gallatin had regained his poise and reached “Clovelly” in a -jubilant frame of mind. Two days ago Henry K. Loring had agreed to a -conference. - -Mr. Leuppold, more suave, more benign, more patronizing than ever, had -called and told Gallatin of this noteworthy act of condescension on -the part of his client. Nothing, of course, need be expected from such -a meeting in the way of concessions, but men of the world like Mr. -Leuppold and Mr. Gallatin knew that co-operation was, after all, the -soul of business, and that one caught many more flies with treacle than -with vinegar. - -He continued for half an hour in this vein, platitudinizing and begging -the question at issue while Gallatin listened and assented politely, -without giving any further intimation of a course of action for Kenyon, -Hood and Gallatin. But when the great lawyer had departed, Gallatin -went to the window and surveyed the steel gray waters of the Hudson -with a gleaming eye, and his face wore a smile which would not depart. -Sanborn’s case would never go to court. - -The vestiges of this good humor still remained upon his face and in -his demeanor all the morning, which had been spent in a run with the -Warrenton pack. It was so long since he had ridden to hounds that -he had almost forgotten the joy of it, but he was well mounted and -finished creditably. Nina Jaffray showed the field her heels for -most of the way and Gallatin pounded after her, his muscles aching, -determined not to be outridden by a woman. - -In the first check, she drew her horse alongside of his and smiled at -him. - -“Ready to let me announce it yet, Phil?” she asked. - -Gallatin just then was wondering whether his leg grip would last out -the day. - -“Announce what, Nina?” he asked. - -“Our engagement,” she returned with a smile. “It’s almost time, you -know.” - -“Oh, go as far as you like.” - -“Don’t laugh!” - -“I’ve got to--you make me so happy.” - -“Oh, you can joke if you like now, but you’ll have to marry me some -day.” - -“Oh, will I? Why?” - -“Because you like me. Friendship subdues even Time, Phil. I’m willing -to wait.” - -And when he looked at her, at loss for a reply, the hounds gave tongue -again and they were off at a full gallop. He couldn’t help admiring her -this morning. The easy unconventionality of her speech, her attitude -of good fellowship, were a part of the setting. This was the scene in -which she always appeared to the best advantage and she took the center -of the stage with an assurance which showed how well she knew her lines. - -It was Nina’s brush, of course, for she had brought down her own best -hunter for the occasion and was in at the death with the Huntsman and -Master of the Hounds, while Gallatin trailed in with the Field. And -in the ride homeward Phil found himself jogging along comfortably at -Nina’s side. - -“Phil,” she said again, when the others had ridden on ahead. “I hope -you won’t laugh at me any more. It’s indecent. I never laugh at you.” - -“Oh, don’t you? You’re never doing anything else.” - -“It seems so, doesn’t it? That’s my pose, Phil. I’m really very much -in earnest about things. I don’t suppose I ever could learn to love -anybody--the faculty is lacking, somehow; but I think you know that, -even if I didn’t love you, I’d never love any one else, whatever -happened, and I’d be true as Death.” - -“Yes, I know that. But----” - -“But--?” she repeated. - -“But--I’m not going to marry,” he laughed. - -She shrugged. - -“Oh, yes, you will--some day.” - -“Why do you think so?” - -“Because men of your type always do.” - -“My type?” - -“Yes, they usually marry late and beneath them. I’m trying to save you -from that mistake.” - -He smiled at her saucy profile. - -“Marrying one’s equal doesn’t always mean equality.” - -“You were always a dreamer, Phil.” - -“I think I’ll always dream then, Nina,” he broke in abruptly. -“Don’t make the mistake of thinking that you’ve got to marry -somebody--anybody--just because you’ve reached the marriageable age. -That’s the trap that catches most of us. Marry for love, Nina. You’ve -got that much capital to begin on. Love doesn’t die a sudden death.” - -“Not unless it’s killed. That happens, you know.” - -“You can’t kill it easily. You may scoff at it, deny it, wound it, but -it doesn’t die, Nina.” - -She turned and examined him narrowly, then shifted her bridle to the -other hand and ran her crop along her horse’s neck. - -“You know, Jane Loring is going to marry Coley.” - -“What has that to do with what we’re talking about?” he said quickly. - -“Oh, nothing. Only I thought you’d like to know it. You’ll have a -chance to congratulate them to-night.” - -“To-night? Where?” - -“They’re at the Ledyards’, but they’re dining at ‘Clovelly.’” - -“Oh!” - -“So, if you’re going to put them asunder, you’d better do it to-night -or forever hold your peace.” - -He smiled around at her calmly. - -“Nothing doing, Nina. You missed it that time. The only things I’m -putting asunder are a railroad and an omnivorous coal company. That -takes about all my energy.” - -“Phil,” she put in thoughtfully after a moment. - -“What?” - -“What’s the use of waiting? You’re going to marry me in the end, you -know.” - -“Oh, am I?” - -“Yes. You can’t afford to refuse. I’ve got the money, position, and -father has influence. That means power for a man of your ability. -You’re getting ambitious. I can tell that by the way you’re sticking at -things. There’s no telling what you mightn’t accomplish with the help -I can bring you. Oh, you could get along alone, of course. But you’d -waste a lot of time. You’d better think about it seriously.” - -“I have thought about it. I’m really beginning to believe you mean it.” - -“Yes, I do mean it. I’ve decided to marry you. And you know I’ve never -yet failed at anything I’ve undertaken.” - -She was quite in earnest and he looked at her amusedly. - -“Then I suppose I’d better surrender at discretion.” - -“Yes, I’m sure you had.” - -“Isn’t there a loophole?” - -“None, whatever. I’m your super-man, Phil. You might just as well go -at once and order your wedding garments and the ring. It will save us -endless discussions--and you know I _hate_ discussions. They’re really -very wearing. Besides, O Phil!”--She laid the end of her crop on his -arm--“just think what a lot of fun you’ll get out of letting Jane know -how little you care!” - -Gallatin didn’t reply and in a moment they had reached the stables of -“Clovelly” where the others were dismounting. - -In his room, to which he had gone in search of his pipe, Gallatin -paused at the window, looking out over the winter landscape, thinking. -Why not? Why shouldn’t he marry her? It would be a cold-blooded -business, of course, but he called to mind a dozen marriages of reason -that had turned out satisfactorily, and as many marriages for love -which had ended in the ditch. This life was a pleasant kind of poison, -the luxury and ease, the careless gayety of these pleasant people who -moved along the line of least resistance, taking from life only what -suited their moods, living only for the moment, sure that the future -was amply provided for. He had turned his back on this world for a -while, and had lived in another, a sterner world, with which this one -had little in common. A place like this might be his, with its broad -acres and stables, horses and motor cars, a life like this for the -asking. A marriage of reason! With Nina Jaffray at the helm of his -destiny and hers. God forbid! - -He had laid his own course now, but he had weathered the rocks and -shoals and the rough water in sight did not dismay him. Marriage! -He wanted none of it with Nina or any other. This kind of life was -not for him unless he won it for himself, for only then would he be -fit to live it. And while he found it good to be away from his rooms -in the house in ---- Street, good to be away from the office for a -while, the atmosphere of “Clovelly” was redolent of his early days of -indolence and undesire and he suddenly found himself less tolerant of -the failings of these people than he had ever been before. He hadn’t -realized what his work had meant until he had this idleness to compare -it with. - -Jane! He had been able to think less of Jane Loring in the fever of -work, but here at “Clovelly,” among the people they both knew, where -her name was frequently mentioned, he found it less easy to forget her, -and the imminence of the hour when he must see her again gave him a -qualm. - -He lighted his pipe and started downstairs toward the gunroom, where -the guests were recounting the adventures of the morning over tobacco -and high-balls. Nellie Pennington, who had an instinct for the -psychological moment, met him and led him to a lounge at the end of the -hall. - -“Well,” she said, “are you prepared to give a full account of yourself?” - -“An empty account, dear Mother Confessor. I’m neither sinful nor -virtuous.” - -“I’m not so sure about that.” - -“About which?” - -“About either. You’re unpleasantly self-righteous and criminally -unamiable.” - -“Oh, Nellie, to whom?” - -“To me. Also, you’re stupid!” - -“Thanks. That’s my misfortune. What else?” - -“That’s enough to begin on. I could pull your ears in chagrin. You’ve -treated my advice with the scantest ceremony, made ducks and drakes of -the opportunities I’ve provided, and lastly you’ve gone and gotten Nina -Jaffray talked about----” - -“Nellie! Please! I can’t permit----” - -“Oh, fudge, Phil. Nina is well able to look after herself. It isn’t of -Nina I’m thinking.” - -“Who then?” - -“You! You silly goose. There isn’t any spectacle in the world half -so ludicrous as a chivalrous man defending the fame of a woman who -doesn’t care whether she’s defended or not.” - -“I don’t see----” - -“I know you don’t. That’s why I’m telling you.” - -“But Nina, does care.” - -“Yes, but not precisely in the way that you suppose. Fortune gave her -some excellent cards--and she played them.” - -“Please be more explicit.” - -“Very well, then. Girls of Nina’s type would rather have their name -coupled unpleasantly with that of the man they care for than not -coupled with it at all.” - -“Nonsense, Nina doesn’t care----” - -“Oh, yes, she does. She wants to marry you. She has told you so, hasn’t -she?” - -Phil Gallatin looked at her quickly with eyes agog. Such powers of -divination were uncanny. - -“She has proposed to you once--twice--how many times, Phil?” - -“None--not at all,” he stammered, while she smiled and shrugged her -incredulity. - -“If I didn’t know already, I need only a glance at your face to be -convinced of it.” - -“How did you know?” - -“How does a woman know anything? By virtue, my friend, of those -invisible spiritual fibers which she thrusts in all directions and upon -which she receives impressions. That’s how she knows.” - -“You guessed?” - -“Call it that, if you like. I guessed. I guessed this, also: that Nina -wanted Jane to believe this story to be true. It didn’t need much to -convince her. That little Nina was willing to provide.” - -“What?” - -“Nina admitted that the story was true,” she repeated. - -Gallatin rose to his feet and stared at his companion like one -possessed. - -“Nina admitted it! You’re dreaming.” - -“No. I’m very wide awake. I wish you were.” - -“It’s preposterous. Whatever put such an idea into your head?” - -“My antennæ.” - -“Nonsense!” - -“Listen. Nina called on Jane a while ago. They had a long talk. -Something happened--something that has interrupted friendly relations. -They don’t speak now. What do you suppose that talk was about? The -weather? Or a plan for the amelioration of the condition of homeless -cats? Oh, you know a lot about women, Phil Gallatin!” she finished -scornfully. - -“I know enough,” he muttered. - -“You think you do,” she put in quickly. “The Lord give me patience to -talk to you! For unbiased ignorance, next to the callous youth who -thinks he knows it all, commend me to the modern Galahad! The one only -_thinks_ he knows, but the other doesn’t want to know. He’s content to -believe every woman irreproachable by the mere virtue of being a woman. -Nina Jaffray has played her cards with remarkable cleverness, but she -has been quite unscrupulous. It’s time you knew it, and it’s time that -Jane did. I would tell her if I thought she would believe me, but I -fancy I’ve meddled enough.” - -Gallatin took two or three paces up and down and then sat down beside -her. - -“It isn’t meddling, Nellie,” he said quietly. “You’ve done your best -and I’m grateful to you. Unfortunately, you can’t help me any longer. -It’s too late. I did what I could. No girl who had ever loved a man -could let him go so easily, could doubt him so willingly. It was all a -mistake. It’s better to find it out now than too late.” - -Nellie Pennington didn’t reply. She only looked down at her muddy boots -with the cryptic smile that women wear when they wish to conceal either -their ignorance or their wisdom. - -“Did you know that Jane was dining here to-night?” she asked. - -“Yes,” he replied. “Nina told me. I’m sorry.” - -“It doesn’t matter in the least. The world is big enough for everybody. -Jane evidently thinks so, too. Otherwise she wouldn’t be coming.” - -“Does she know I’m here?” - -“Oh, yes, she knows that Nina is, too.” - -Gallatin looked out of the window. - -“You don’t understand women, do you, Phil? Admit that and I’ll tell you -why she’s coming.” - -He smiled. “I do admit it. You’re all in league with the devil.” - -“She’s coming here because she wants to show you how little she cares, -because she has a morbid curiosity to see you and Nina together, and -lastly,” at this she leaned toward him with her lips very close to his -ear, “and lastly--because she loves you more madly than ever!” - -He had hardly recovered from the shock of surprise at this announcement -when he realized that Nellie Pennington had suddenly risen and fled. - -This preliminary step taken, Nellie Pennington retreated upstairs in -the most amiable of moods, to dress for luncheon. If Nina was going -to play the game with marked cards, it was quite proper that Phil be -permitted the use of the code. She had at least provided him with food -for reflection, which, while not quite pleasant to take, would serve as -nutrition for his failing optimism. And somewhere in the back of her -head a plan was being born, unpalpable as yet and formless, but which -persisted in growing in spite of her. - - - - -XXV - -DEEP WATER - - -The afternoon was passed in leisurely fashion. The modern way of -entertaining guests is to let them entertain themselves. They loafed, -smoked, played bottle-pool and later on there was a court tennis match -between young Dorsey-Martin and the marker, which drew a gallery and -applause. Nina Jaffray tried it next with Bibby Worthington and though -she had played but once, got the knack of the “railroad” service and -succeeded in beating him handily, amid derisive remarks for Bibby from -the nets. A plunge in the pool followed; after which the ladies went up -for a rest before dressing for dinner. Gallatin saw little of Nellie -Pennington during the afternoon, and though he wanted to question her -to satisfy the alarming curiosity which she had aroused, she avoided -speaking to him alone, and when he insisted on following her about, -fled to her room. She knew the effect of her revelations upon his mind -and she didn’t propose that it should be spoiled by an anti-climax. - -The dinner hour arrived and with it the Ledyards and their -house-guests, Angela Wetherill, Millicent Reeves, the Perrines, Jane -Loring, Percy Endicott, Coleman Van Duyn and some of the Warrenton -folk. Dinner tables, each with six chairs, had been laid in the -dining-room and hall, but so perfect was the machinery of the great -establishment that the influx of guests made no apparent difference -in its orderly procedure. There were good-natured comments on Bibby -Worthington’s defeat in the afternoon, congratulations for Nina Jaffray -on her dual achievement, uncomplimentary remarks about Virginia clay, -flattering ones about Virginia hospitality and the usual discussion -about breeds of hounds and horses, back of which was to be discovered -the ancient rivalry between the Cedarcroft and Apawomeck hunt clubs. - -Nellie Pennington directed the destinies of the table at which Gallatin -sat. Nina Jaffray was on his right, Larry Kane beyond her, Coleman Van -Duyn on Mrs. Pennington’s left and Jane Loring opposite. Nothing could -possibly have been arranged which could conspire more thoroughly to -lacerate the feelings of those assembled. Gallatin saw Jane halt when -she was directed to her seat, he heard Nina’s titter of delight beside -him, caught Larry Kane’s glare and Coley Van Duyn’s flush, but the stab -of Jane’s eyes hardened him into an immediate gayety in which Nina -was not slow to follow. Mrs. Pennington having devised the situation, -calmly sat and proceeded to enjoy it. Good breeding, she knew, made -a fair amalgam of the most heterogeneous elements, but she gave a -short sigh when they were all seated and each began talking rapidly to -his neighbor, Jane to Larry Kane, Nina to Phil and herself to Coley. -Pangs in every heart except her own! It was the perfection of social -cruelty, and she enjoyed it hugely, aware that two, perhaps three, -of the persons at the table might never care to speak to her again, -but stimulated by the reflection, whether for bad or good, something -must come out of her crucible. The first shock of dismay over, it was -apparent that her dinner partners had decided to make the best of the -situation. The table was small, and general conversation inevitable, -but she chose for the present to let matters take their course, -trusting to Nina to provide that element of uncertainty which was to -make the plot of her comedy fruitful. - -Indeed, Nina seemed in her element, and, when a sudden silence fell, -broke the ice with a carelessness which showed her quite oblivious of -its existence. - -“So nice of you, Nellie, to have us all together! I was just saying to -Phil that dinners at small tables can be _such_ a bore, if the people -are not all congenial.” - -“Jolly, isn’t it?” laughed Nellie. “Jane, why weren’t you hunting this -morning?” - -“Oh, Coley didn’t want to,” she said quickly, her rapier flashing in -two directions. - -Nellie Pennington understood. - -“You _are_ getting heavy, aren’t you, Coley?” she asked sweetly. -“Didn’t Honora have anything up to your weight?” - -“I didn’t ask,” returned Van Duyn peevishly. “Dreadful bore, -huntin’----” - -“Hear the man!” exclaimed Nellie. “You’re spoiling him, Jane.” - -“There’s no hope for any creature who doesn’t like hunting,” put in -Nina in disgust. - -“Except the fox,” said Gallatin. - -“And there’s not much for him when Nina rides,” laughed Larry Kane. -“Lord, Nina, but you did take some chances to-day.” - -“I believe in taking chances,” put in Miss Jaffray calmly. “The element -of uncertainty is all that makes life worth while. Nothing in the world -is so deadly as the obvious.” - -“You’ll be kept busy avoiding it,” sighed Nellie. “I’ve been.” - -“Oh, I simply ignore it,” she returned, with a quick gesture. -“Jane won’t approve, of course; but the unusual, the daring, the -unconventional are the only things that interest me at all.” - -“They interest others when you do them, Nina,” Jane replied smiling -calmly. - -“Of course, they do. And you ought to be grateful.” - -“We are. I’m sure we’d be very dull without you. Personally I’m a -bromide.” - -“Heaven forbid! The things that are easiest are not worth trying for. -Whether your game is fish, fowl or beast (and that includes man), try -the most difficult. The thrill of delight when you bag your game is -worth all the pains of the effort. Isn’t it, Nellie?” - -“I don’t know,” the other replied, between oysters. “I bagged Dick, but -then I didn’t have to try very hard. I suppose I would have bagged him -just the same. A woman can have any man she wants, you know.” - -“The trouble is,” laughed Larry Kane, “that she doesn’t know what she -wants.” - -“And, if she does, Larry,” said Gallatin slowly, “he’s usually the -wrong one.” - -Nina laughed. - -“His sex must be blamed for that. The right men are all wrong and -the wrong men are all right. That’s my experience. ‘Young saint, old -devil; young devil, old saint.’ You couldn’t provide me with a better -recommendation for a good husband than a bad reputation as a bachelor. -And think of the calm delights of regeneration!” - -“You’ll have no difficulty in finding him, Nina,” said Jane. - -“I’m afraid there’s no hope for me,” laughed Kane. “I, for one, am too -good for any use.” - -“Too good to be true,” sniffed Nina. - -“Or too true to be interesting,” he added, below his breath. - -Nellie Pennington, having led her companions into deep water, now -turned and guided them into the shoals of the commonplace. Jane -Loring’s eyes and Phil Gallatin’s had met across the table. The act -was unavoidable for they sat directly opposite each other and, though -each looked away at once, the current established, brief as it was, -was burdened with meaning. Gallatin read a hundred things, but love -was not one of them. Jane read a hundred things any one of which might -have been love, but, as far as she knew, was not. Gallatin caught the -end of a gaze she had given him while he was talking to Nina, and he -fancied it to be a kind of indignant curiosity, not in the slightest -degree related to the scorn of her surprise at being detected in the -midst of her inspection. Gallatin found her face thinner, which made -her eyes seem larger and the shadows under them deeper. He had seen -fresh young beauty such as hers break and fade during one season in -New York, but it shocked him a little to find these marks so evident -in so short a time. It was as though a year, two years even, had been -crowded into the few weeks since he had seen her last, as though she -had lived at high tension, letting nothing escape her that could add to -the sum of experience. Her eyes sparkled, and on her cheeks was a patch -of red clearly defined, like rouge, but not rouge, for it came and went -with her humor. She had grown older, more intense, more fragile, her -features more clearly carved, more refined and--except for the hard -little shadows at the corners of her lips--more spiritual. - -He glanced at the heavy, bovine face of Coley Van Duyn beside her and -wondered. Coley had been drinking freely and his face was flushed, his -laugh open-mouthed and louder than Nellie Pennington’s humor seemed to -warrant. How could she? God! How could she do it? - -A blind rage came upon Gallatin, a sudden wave of intolerance and -rebellion, and he clenched his fists beneath the table. This man drank -as much as he liked and when he pleased. He was the club glutton. -He ate immoderately and drank immoderately, because he liked to do -it, and because that was his notion of comfort. Not, as had been the -case with Gallatin, because he had not been able to live without -it. Van Duyn could stop drinking when he liked, when he had had -enough, when he didn’t want any more. He drank for the mere pleasure -of drinking. Gallatin bit his lip and stared at his untouched wine -glasses. Pleasure? With Gallatin it had been no pleasure. It had been a -medicine, a desperate remedy for a desperate pain, a poisonous medicine -which cured and killed at the same time. - -“Phil!” Nina’s voice sounded suddenly at his ear. “Are you ill?” - -“Not in the least.” - -“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve been saying, and it was so -interesting.” - -He laughed. - -“What were you thinking of?” - -“My sins.” - -“Then I don’t wonder that you looked so badly.” - -But it was clear that she understood him, for after a short silence she -spoke of other things. - -The dinner having progressed to the salad course, visiting was in -order, and the guests sauntered from table to table, exchanging chairs -and partners. Jane Loring was one of the first to take advantage of -this opportunity to escape, and found a seat at Honora Ledyard’s table -between Bibby Worthington and Percy Endicott. - -Nellie Pennington watched her departure calmly, for she had learned -what she had set out to learn. All women, no matter how youthful, -are clever at dissimulation, but the art being common to all women, -deceives none. And Jane, skillful though she had been in hiding her -thoughts from Gallatin, deceived neither Nellie Pennington nor Nina -Jaffray. - -Dinner over, Nellie Pennington followed the crowd to the gunroom. The -married set were already at their auction and somebody beckoned to her -to make a four, but she refused. On this night she had a mission. She -wandered from group to group, keeping one eye on Jane and the other on -Phil, until the music began, when with one accord, all but the most -devoted of the bridge-players returned to the hall, from which the -furniture had been cleared, and where the polished wax surface shone -invitingly. Mrs. Pennington waited until the waltz was well under way -and saw Jane Loring circling the room safely with Larry Kane, when -she went into the library alone. Her thought had crystallized into a -definite plan. - -It was at the end of the third dance when Jane, on the arm of Percy -Endicott was on her way to the terrace for a breath of air, that Bibby -Worthington slipped a note into her fingers. She excused herself and -took it to the nearest electric bulb. She knew the handwriting at once. -It was in Nina Jaffray’s picturesque scrawl. - - “Jane, dear,” it ran. “I _must_ see you for a moment about - something which concerns you intimately. Meet me at twelve by - the fountain in the loggia of the tennis court. - - “NINA.” - -Jane turned the note over and re-read it; then with quick scorn, tore -it into tiny pieces and scattered them into the bushes. The impudence -of her! She had given Nina credit for better taste. What right had she -to intrude again in Jane’s private affairs when she must know how -little her offices were appreciated? And yet, what was this she had -to say? Something that concerned Jane intimately? What could that be -unless---- - -Coleman Van Duyn appeared and claimed the next dance, which he begged -that she would sit out. Jane agreed because it would give her a chance -to think. There was little real exertion required in talking to Coley. - -What could Nina want to tell her? And where--did she say? In the loggia -of the tennis court--at twelve. It must be almost that now. - -At five minutes of twelve Nellie Pennington handed Gallatin a note. - -“From Nina,” she whispered. “It’s really outrageous, Phil, the way -you’re flirting with that trusting child. I’m sure you ought to be -ashamed of yourself.” - -The tennis court was at the far end of the long house. It was reached -by passing first a succession of rooms which made up the main building, -into the conservatory, by the swimming-pool and loggia. The loggia was -a red-tiled portico, enclosed in glass during the winter, in the center -of which was a fountain surrounded by a circular marble bench, all -filched from an old Etruscan villa. To-night it was unlighted except by -the glow from the bronze Japanese lamps in the conservatory; an ideal -spot for a tryst, so far removed from the main body of the house and so -cool in winter that it was seldom used except as a promenade or as a -haven by those purposely belated. Gallatin, the scrap of paper in his -fingers, strolled through the deserted halls, smoking thoughtfully. -Nina Jaffray was beginning to grate just a little on his nerves. He had -no idea what she wanted of him and he didn’t much care. - -He only knew that it was almost time for him to make his meaning clear -to her in terms which might not be misunderstood. As he entered the -obscurity of the loggia, he saw the head and shoulders of a figure in -white above the back of the stone bench. - -“You wanted to see me?” he said. - -At the sound of his voice, the figure rose, stood poised breathless, -and he saw that it was not Nina. - -“I?” Jane’s voice answered. - -He stopped and the cigarette slipped from his fingers. - -“I--I beg pardon. I was told that----” - -“That _I_ wanted to see you?” she broke in scornfully. - -“No. Not you--” he replied, still puzzled. - -“There has been a mistake, Mr. Gallatin. I do not want to see you. If -you’ll excuse me----” - -She made a movement to go, but Gallatin stood in the aperture, the only -avenue of escape, and did not move. His hands were at his sides, his -head bent forward, his eyes gazing into the pool. - -“Wait--” he muttered, as though to himself. “Don’t go yet. I’ve -something to say--just a word--it will not take a moment. Will you -listen?” - -“I suppose I--I must,” she stammered. - -“I hear--” he began painfully, “that it’s true that you’re going to -marry Mr. Van Duyn.” - -“And what if it is?” she flashed at him. - -“Nothing--except that I hope you’ll be happy. I wish you----” - -“Thanks,” dryly. “When I’m ready for the good wishes--of--of anybody, -I’ll ask for them. At present--will you let me pass, please?” - -“Yes--in a moment. I thought perhaps you might be willing to tell me -whether it’s true, the report of your engagement?” - -“I can’t see how that can be any interest of yours.” - -“Only the interest of one you once cared for and who----” - -“Mr. Gallatin, I forbid it,” she said hurriedly. “Would you be so -unmanly as to take advantage of your position here? Isn’t it enough -that I no longer care to know you, that I prefer to choose my own -friends?” - -“Will you answer my question?” he repeated doggedly. - -“No. You have no right to question me.” - -“I’m assuming the right. Your memory of the past----” - -“There is no past. It was the dream of a silly child in another world -where men were honest and women clean. I’ve grown older, Mr. Gallatin.” - -“Yes, but not in mercy, not in compassion, not in charity.” - -“Speak of virtue before you speak of mercy, of pride before compassion, -of decency before charity--if you can,” she added contemptuously. - -“You’re cruel,” he muttered, “horribly so.” - -“I’m wiser than I was. The world has done me that service. And if -cruelty is the price of wisdom, I’ll pay it. Baseness, meanness, -improbity in business or in morals no longer surprise me. They’re woven -into the tissue of life. I can abominate the conditions that cause -them, but they are the world. And, until I choose to live alone, I must -accept them even if I despise the men and women who practice them, Mr. -Gallatin.” - -“And you call this wisdom? This disbelief in everything--in everybody, -this threadbare creed of the jaded women of the world?” - -“Call it what you like. Neither your opinions nor your principles (or -the lack of them) mean anything to me. If I had known you were here I -should not have come to-night. I pray that we may never meet again.” - -He stood silent a long moment, searching her face with his eyes. She -was so cold, so white and wraithlike, and her voice was so strange, -so impersonal, that he was almost ready to believe that she was some -one else. It was the voice of a woman without a soul--a calm, ruthless -voice which sought to wound, to injure or destroy. It had been on his -lips to speak of the past, to translate into the words the pain at his -heart. He had been ready to take one step forward, to seize her in his -arms and compel her by the might of his tenderness to return the love -that he bore her. If he had done so then, perhaps fortune would have -favored him--have favored them both; for in the hour of their greatest -intolerance women are sometimes most vulnerable. But he could not. Her -words chilled him to insensibility, scourged his pride and made him -dumb and unyielding. - -“If that is your wish,” he said quietly, “I will do my best to respect -it. I’d like you to remember one thing, though, and that is that this -meeting was not of my seeking. If I’ve detained you, it was with the -hope that perhaps you might be willing to listen to the truth, to learn -what a dreadful mistake you have made, of the horrible wrong you have -done----” - -“To you?” - -“No,” sternly. “To Nina Jaffray. Think what you like of me,” he went -on with sudden passion. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t make a new pain -sharper than the old one. But you’ve got to do justice to her.” - -“What is the use, Mr. Gallatin?” - -“It’s a lie that they’ve told, a cruel lie, as you’ll learn some day -when it will be too late to repair the wrong you’ve done.” - -“I don’t believe that it was a lie, Mr. Gallatin. A lie will not -persist against odds. This does. You’ve done your duty. Now please let -me go.” - -“Not yet. You needn’t be afraid of me.” - -“Let me pass.” - -“In a moment--when you listen. You must. Nina Jaffray is blameless. -She would not deny such a story. It would demean her to deny it as it -demeans me.” - -“It does demean you,” she broke in pitilessly, “as other things have -demeaned you. Shame, Mr. Gallatin! Do you think I could believe the -word of a man who seeks revenge for a woman’s indifference? Who finding -her invulnerable goes to the ends of his resources to attack the -members of her family? Trying by methods known only to himself and -those of his kind to hinder the success of those more diligent than -himself, to smirch the good name of an honest man, to obtain money----” - -“Stop,” cried Gallatin hoarsely, and in spite of herself she obeyed. -For he was leaning forward toward her, the long fingers of one hand -trembling before him. - -“You’ve gone almost too far, Miss Loring,” he whispered. “You are -talking about things of which you know nothing. I will not speak of -that, nor shall you, for whatever our relations have been or are now, -nothing in them justifies that insult. Time will prove the right or -the wrong of the matter between Henry K. Loring and me as time will -prove the right and the wrong to his daughter. I ask nothing of her -now, nor ever shall, not even a thought. The girl I am thinking of was -gentle, kind, sincere. She looked with the eyes of compassion, the -far-seeing gaze of innocence unclouded by bitterness or doubt. I gave -her all that was best in me, all that was honest, all that was true, -and in return she gave me courage, purpose, resolution. I loved her -for herself, because she _was_ herself, but more for the things she -represented--purity, nobility, strength which I drew from her like an -inspiration. It was to her that I owed the will to conquer myself, the -purpose to win back my self-respect. I thanked God for her then and I’m -thankful now, but I’m more thankful that I’m no longer dependent on -her.” - -Jane had sunk on the bench again, her head bent and a sound came from -her lips. But he did not hear it. - -“I do not need her now,” he went on quietly. “What she was is only a -memory; what she is, only a regret. I shall live without her. I shall -live without any woman, for no woman could ever be to me what that -memory is. I love it passionately, reverently, madly, tenderly, and -will be true to it, as I have always been. And, if ever the moment -comes when the woman that girl has grown to be looks into the past, let -her remember that love knows not doubt or bitterness, that it lives -upon itself, is sufficient unto itself and that, whatever happens, is -faithful until death.” - -He stopped and stepped aside. - -“I have finished, Miss Loring. Now go!” - -The peremptory note startled her and she straightened and slowly rose. -His head was bowed but his finger pointed toward the door of the -conservatory. As she passed him she hesitated as though about to speak, -and then slowly raising her head walked past him and disappeared. - - - - -XXVI - -BIG BUSINESS - - -Tooker fidgeted uneasily with the papers on the junior partner’s desk, -moving to the safe in the main office and back again, bringing bundles -of documents which he disposed in an orderly row where Mr. Gallatin -could put his hands on them. Eleven o’clock was the hour set for the -conference between Henry K. Loring and Philip Gallatin. Mr. Leuppold -had written last week that Mr. Loring had agreed to a conference and -asked Mr. Gallatin to come to his, Mr. Leuppold’s, private office at a -given time. Gallatin had agreed to the day and hour named, but politely -insisted that Mr. Leuppold and Mr. Loring come to _his_ office. It -would have made no difference in the result, of course, but Gallatin -had reasons of his own. - -At ten o’clock Philip Gallatin came in and read his mail. He had -returned yesterday from his southern visit, and in the afternoon had -gone over, with Mr. Kenyon and Mr. Hood, the details of the case. The -matter had been discussed freely, but it was clear to Tooker, who had -been present, that the other partners had been able to add nothing but -their approval to the work which Gallatin had done. - -His mail finished, Gallatin took up the other papers on his desk and -scrutinized them carefully, after which he glanced at his watch and -pressed the button for the chief clerk. - -“There has been no message from Mr. Leuppold, Tooker?” he asked. - -“Nothing.” - -Gallatin smiled. “That’s good. I was figuring on a slight chance that -they might want more time, and ask a postponement.” - -“I had thought of that.” - -“It wouldn’t help them. I guess they’ve found that out.” - -“I hope so. But I shouldn’t take any chances.” - -“No, I won’t,” he returned grimly. And then, “Mr. Markham is here, -isn’t he?” - -“Yes. He came early. I’ve shown him into Mr. Kenyon’s office as you -directed.” - -“Very good, Tooker. And I will want you, so please don’t go out.” - -“I’m not going out this morning, Mr. Gallatin,” said Tooker, with a -grin. - -After the chief clerk had disappeared Gallatin walked to the window -where he stood for a long while with his hands behind his back, looking -out toward the Jersey shore. His thoughts were not pleasant ones. The -words of Jane’s recrimination were still ringing in his ears. It was -Henry Loring, of course, who had put all that into her head, but he -blamed her for the readiness with which she had been willing to condemn -him from the first, the facility with which she had been able to turn -from him to another. - -His idyl had passed. - -He turned into the room, brows lowering and jaws set, and went to his -desk again. There, at a few moments past eleven, Tooker brought in word -that Mr. Leuppold and Mr. Loring were waiting to see him. - -“Tell them to wait in the outer office, Tooker,” he said with a gleam -in his eye, “that I will be at liberty in a few moments. I’ll ring for -you.” - -When Tooker had gone, Gallatin sat down again, glanced at his watch, -then took up the morning paper, which he had not yet opened, and read, -smiling. It amused him to think of Henry K. Loring sitting in the outer -office, wasting time worth a hundred dollars a minute. It amused him -so much that he dropped the paper, put his feet up on his desk, and -lit a cigarette, to enjoy the situation more thoroughly. Leuppold, -too, his suavity slowly yielding to his impatience, would be twisting -his watch-fob by now or tapping his fat fingers on his legs, while he -waited, his ease of mind little improved by the delay. - -Gallatin’s smile diminished with his cigarette, and at last he looked -at his watch and put his feet on the floor and rang for the chief clerk. - -“You may show those gentlemen in, Tooker,” he said quietly. - -Tooker glanced at the ashes of the cigarette, picked up the newspaper -and put it on a chair in the corner, then laid one or two documents -obtrusively open, on Mr. Gallatin’s desk. Phil watched him with a -smile. Tooker was a thoughtful and cautious soul. - -But he was reading the nearest document intently when Loring and -Leuppold entered. He turned in his chair--rose and bowed. - -“You’ve met Mr. Loring, Mr. Gallatin?” said Leuppold. - -Loring dropped his chin abruptly the fraction of an inch, peering -keenly about, his lips drawn in a thin and unpleasant smile. Phil -Gallatin indicated a chair at one end of the table, into which Loring -stiffly sat, with one arm on the table, his bull-neck thrust forward, -peering steadily at the younger man, watching every movement, studying -his face as though trying by the intentness of his gaze to solve the -question as to whether this curiously inconsistent young man was a -menace or merely a nuisance. - -Gallatin laid some papers upon the table, took some others from Tooker -and moved his desk chair to the table. If he felt Loring’s scrutiny, -his calm demeanor gave no sign of it, for after a few commonplaces he -began addressing his remarks directly to Mr. Leuppold’s client. - -“I don’t propose to take up a great deal of your time, gentlemen,” he -began, “and I think I can state my position in a very few moments.” He -took out his watch and looked at it. “About twenty minutes, I think. -The facts, as you both know, are these: John Sanborn, representing -the minority stockholders of the Sanborn Mining Company, filed an -injunction against the President and Board of Directors of the Sanborn -Mining Company to prevent the sale of its properties and interests to -the Pequot Coal Company. This injunction was lost in the Supreme Court -and was appealed to the Appellate Court, when the case came into my -hands. That appeal is pending. That is a correct statement, is it not?” - -“It is,” said Leuppold blandly, while Loring nodded his head. - -“The sale has, therefore, not been consummated and cannot be -consummated until the higher court has affirmed the decision of the -lower one or reversed it.” - -“That is also true, Mr. Gallatin,” said Leuppold. “Proceed, sir.” - -Gallatin hesitated, his brows drew together and his voice took a deeper -note. - -“This case, Mr. Leuppold, is one which involves not only large issues -but large principles. The Sanborn Mining Company owns the most -valuable coal properties, with the possible exception of those owned -by the Pequot Coal Company, in the State of Pennsylvania, and until -1909 was doing an enormous business with the trade centers of the -East, working at full capacity and employing an army of men in getting -its coal to market. Its only rival in production was the Pequot Coal -Company, of which Mr. Loring, as he has admitted, controls the majority -of the stock. - -“In the summer of 1909, conditions changed. The Lehigh and Pottsville -Railroad Company found it impossible to furnish cars to the Sanborn -mines. I have copies of the correspondence, relating to the matter: -repeated letters of request on the part of the Sanborn Company and -excuses on the part of the railroad company, as well as frequent -promises which were never fulfilled.” - -“What has that to do with the pending suit?” asked Leuppold carelessly, -with an effective shrug of his shoulder. - -“I’m coming to that, Mr. Leuppold. And I ask for your patience,” said -Gallatin. “This failure of the railroad company to provide facilities -for the shipment of the coal of the Sanborn Mines,” he continued, -“is all the more remarkable when it is known that while this very -correspondence was going on, its sidings between Phillipsville and -Williamstown were full of empty cars, and when it is also known that -the Pequot Coal Company was working on full time and shipping to New -York City, alone, one hundred and fifty cars of coal a day.” - -“We had contracts with the railroad,” snapped Loring. “We forced them -to provide for us.” - -“So had the Sanborn Company contracts, Mr. Loring,” said Gallatin. - -“Really!” sneered Loring. - -Tooker quickly abstracted a paper from a sheaf and handed it to -Gallatin. - -“Read for yourself.” - -The sneer on Loring’s lips faded, and his eyes opened wider as he read. -It was not a copy, but the contract itself. - -“I have also a volume of evidence about the empty cars which verifies -my statement. Would you care to look over it?” - -“No. Go on,” growled Loring. - -“Gentlemen,” Gallatin went on, enunciating his words with great -distinctness. “This was discrimination--of a kind which at this time is -not popular with the Government of the United States.” - -“But if you’ll permit me, Mr. Gallatin,” Leuppold’s suave voice broke -in, “what has this to do with the Sanborn injunction suit? And how -can my client be held in any way responsible for the action of the -Lehigh and Pottsville Railroad Company for its failure to fulfill its -contracts to the Sanborn Company?” - -Gallatin raised a protesting hand. - -“I’m coming to that, Mr. Leuppold. In a moment, sir. The conditions -I have already mentioned have forced the Sanborn Company practically -to shut down. Coal is being mined and a few cars a day are shipped, -but, as you gentlemen are well aware, dividends have been passed for -two years and the value of the stock has depreciated. This much for -the conditions which have caused that depreciation. The Pequot Coal -Company, taking advantage of the low market value of the shares, has -made an offer for the property--an offer, gentlemen, which as you both -know, represents not one-twentieth of the Sanborn Company’s holdings.” - -“I can’t agree with that,” put in Leuppold quickly. “It was a fair -offer, accepted by the Board of Directors of the Sanborn Company, Mr. -Sanborn alone dissenting.” - -Gallatin arose and picked up a package wrapped in rubber bands. - -“I’m ready to talk about that Board of Directors now, Mr. Leuppold,” he -said quietly, with his eyes on Loring’s face, “and I’m also ready to -talk about the Board of Directors of the Lehigh and Pottsville Railroad -Company.” - -Henry K. Loring’s expression was immovable, but Mr. Leuppold’s fingers -were already at his watch-fob. - -“I’m going to lay my hand on the table, gentlemen,” Gallatin went on -with a quiet laugh. “I’m going to show you all my cards and let them -play themselves. I’m going to prove to you so clearly that you can’t -doubt the accuracy of my information or the character of my evidence -that I am aware that Henry K. Loring has at the present time not only -the control of the stock of the Sanborn Mining Company, but that -he also controls a voting majority of the stock of the Lehigh and -Pottsville Railroad Company.” - -Leuppold laughed outright. - -“Absurd, sir. Your statement is flattering to my client, but I beg that -you will confine your remarks to the bounds of reason.” - -“I will to the bounds of reason, to the bounds of fact. It’s no -laughing matter, Mr. Leuppold, as you’ll discover presently. I will -not speak of Mr. Loring’s connection with the railroad for a moment. -Perhaps, since this conference has been called with especial reference -to the injunction suit, the proof of Mr. Loring’s majority stock -ownership in the Sanborn Company will be sufficient.” - -“You can’t prove it without manufactured evidence.” - -Gallatin flushed. “Call it what you like, it’s here--in my possession. -The majority stock of the Sanborn Mining Company is now owned by Henry -K. Loring, and has been voted under cover for the benefit of the Pequot -Coal Company.” - -“That’s a grave charge, Mr. Gallatin.” - -“So grave that I thought it fairer to Mr. Loring to have him learn what -I know, before bringing the matter into court.” - -“You have proved nothing yet.” - -Gallatin opened some papers and laid them on the table. - -“I have here an affidavit of a former employee of Mr. Loring which I -propose to offer in evidence.” - -“Who?” growled Loring. - -“One moment, please. I have also an abstract from the books of the -company with entries showing the purchase of stock, the amounts, the -price and the dates of payment.” - -Leuppold leaned forward in his chair. - -“_Even you_ must know, Mr. Gallatin, that that’s not evidence.” - -“I’m well aware of that, but when the time comes, Mr. Leuppold, I -intend to call for the production of the original books.” - -Leuppold raised a protesting hand and then said craftily: - -“Those books are lost, Mr. Gallatin.” - -Gallatin only smiled at him. - -“Thanks for that information, Mr. Leuppold. For that being the case, -_even you_ will admit that my copy is admissible in secondary evidence.” - -Loring’s quick glance caught Leuppold’s. The point was well taken. -Leuppold covered his confusion with a magnificent gesture and a -resumption of his blandest manner. - -“How are you going to prove that these are copies from the books?” he -asked easily. - -“I will produce that evidence at the proper time.” - -“Produce it now----” - -“I will, if necessary.” - -“That is the weakness of your case, Mr. Gallatin; you can’t produce -it,” he sneered. - -Gallatin turned to the chief clerk and said: “The checks, Tooker.” - -Gallatin removed some slips of paper from the envelope Tooker handed -him, and held them carelessly in his fingers, so that the two men, -who were eying them eagerly, could see the name of the bank and the -signature at the lower right hand corner. - -“Perhaps Mr. Loring will deny his own signature?” he asked quietly. -“These checks I hold are signed with Mr. Loring’s name, a signature -with which we are all familiar, and were given to Mr. Loring’s brokers -for the purchase of Sanborn stock. I may add that the date of entry on -the books of the company in each case corresponds with the date on the -checks, as does the amount.” - -He stepped to Loring’s side and held several of the checks up just -beyond his reach. - -“That’s not my signature,” said Loring. - -Gallatin handed the checks to Tooker. - -“You’re not convinced?” - -“No. It’s a forgery.” - -“Then I’ll find other means of convincing you. Perhaps, if I produced a -man who saw you sign those checks----” - -Loring had risen to his feet and spoke but one word. It was the popular -one for the infernal regions. - -Gallatin smiled. And then to the chief clerk, “Tooker, show Mr. Markham -in, please.” - -The situation had gotten beyond the control of Mr. Leuppold, who was -completely nonplused by Mr. Gallatin’s rapidity, succinctness and -damnable accuracy; but he made one desperate effort to regain his lost -ground. - -“Markham, a broken man, a drunkard, a gambler----” - -“But once Mr. Loring’s secretary,” Gallatin broke in significantly. -“Wait, Mr. Leuppold.” - -In a moment Mr. Markham entered. He was a tall man, with keen eyes, -hawklike nose and a weak mouth. As he entered Loring turned toward the -door and the eyes of the two men met, Loring’s curious, the newcomer’s -eager and unflinching. - -“Mr. Markham,” asked Gallatin, “do you know this gentleman?” - -“Yes. He is Henry K. Loring.” - -“Have you ever seen these checks?” - -“Yes. I drew them and saw Mr. Loring sign them.” - -“And this affidavit?” - -“I wrote it.” - -“And this abstract of the books of the Sanborn Company?” - -“I have seen it.” - -“Is it correct?” - -“In every particular.” - -“All right. That will be all for the present. Will you remain outside?” - -“Wait, sir!” Leuppold’s voice rang out. “I haven’t finished with Mr. -Markham yet.” - -“You’ll have the opportunity of questioning him at the proper time and -place,” said Gallatin smoothly. “That will be all, Mr. Markham.” - -“I protest, Mr. Gallatin, against your methods of conducting this -meeting,” said Leuppold, rising and extending a quavery arm. “You -bring as your chief evidence a man once in the employ of my client, a -discredited clerk, a man discharged for drunkenness, for incompetence, -for dishonesty.” - -“No--for _honesty_, Mr. Leuppold,” Gallatin broke in hotly. “That was -why he was discharged. He was too honest to understand the ethics of -big business and his utility was at an end. So Mr. Loring let him go. -That was a mistake. He knew too much, Mr. Leuppold.” - -“You’ll have a chance to prove what he knows, sir. There won’t be much -difficulty in discrediting his testimony----” - -“You’re making a mistake, Mr. Leuppold,” broke in Gallatin, his voice -now thundering. “The question here isn’t so much one of law as it -is one of morals. That injunction may be dissolved by the Court of -Appeals; but I give you my word that, if you insist on carrying through -that sale of the Sanborn Mines to the Pequot Coal Company, I propose -to charge your client and the directors of the Sanborn Company with -_conspiracy_, and I’ll convict them--just as sure as the Lord made -little apples!” - -He dominated the situation and felt it in the short hush that followed -his concluding remarks, and in the rapid revolution of Leuppold’s watch -charm. Loring had sunk back in his chair, both of his great hands -clasping its arms, his gaze on Gallatin’s face, critical but smiling. -What he saw there evidently brought a realization that Mr. Gallatin -held the whip hand; for as Leuppold began speaking again, he moved one -of his hands through the air and rose. - -“Wait!” he said. He took two or three paces across the room, between -window and door and then stood, his hands in his trousers pockets, -fumbling at his keys. It was at least five minutes before he spoke -again. But at last he stopped in front of Gallatin and looked at him -from head to toe, and suddenly to every one’s surprise, broke out into -a loud laugh. - -“Mr. Gallatin, you’ve beaten me.” - -Success had come so quickly and the end of the case so suddenly that -Gallatin looked at his adversary, not certain whether to believe his -own ears, and half suspecting some kind of a ruse or trick, the art of -which Henry K. Loring, as he knew, was past grand master, when he went -on again. - -“I don’t propose to ask you how you found Mr. Markham out in Illinois, -or to try and learn what your methods were in getting together all this -evidence. I know it’s there and that’s enough. I did write those checks -and the abstracts from the books are doubtless correct. I suppose,” -he laughed again, “your evidence of my connection with the Lehigh and -Pottsville is quite tangible?” - -“Quite tangible,” repeated Gallatin, scarcely concealing a smile. - -“Then all I have to say, sir, is that you are a very extraordinary young -man, a very useful young man to your clients, a very disappointing one -to your adversaries.” And then turning to Leuppold: “_You_ may contest, -if you like, Mr. Leuppold. _I won’t._ This case is one for settlement.” - -Then he turned to Gallatin again, and offered his huge hand, while the -younger man, still doubtful, eyed him keenly. - -“You and I had words some time ago. I’m sorry for them. Will you -forgive me?” - -There was no doubt about the genuineness of his contrition. - -“Willingly, Mr. Loring,” he said. - -Their fingers clasped and their eyes met. - -“I underestimated you, Mr. Gallatin,” he went on again slowly. “I don’t -often make a mistake in my judgment of men, but I did of you. I’m a -self-made man and people will tell you I’m a little proud of the job. -But I’m not too proud to tell you that you’ve been a little too clever -for me. I know when I’m beaten and I’m not afraid to say so. We’ll fix -this thing up. I don’t want all the coal in Pennsylvania. I own sixty -per cent. of the Sanborn stock. Sanborn’s crowd owns the rest. I’ll -sell out twenty per cent. to some man agreed on and we’ll make him -president.” - -“At the present market figure, Mr. Loring?” asked Gallatin shrewdly. - -Loring rubbed his head and smiled. - -“We’ll see about that,” he muttered at last. But there was a twinkle in -his eyes as he asked. “How would you like that job, Mr. Gallatin?” - -Gallatin grinned. - -“I’d take it, if I could get enough cars to make it profitable.” - -“I reckon you can make it profitable enough, for everybody,” he growled -jovially. “We’ve got to have you in with us, and that’s all there is -about it. Will you accept?” - -“With Sanborn’s consent, yes.” - -“We’ll fix Sanborn, all right,” he finished. “Come to my office some -time, Mr. Gallatin, I want to talk to you.” - -Gallatin followed the two men to the elevator, while Tooker, after the -door was closed, moved from one leg to the other in what he fondly -believed to be a dance of joy. - - - - -XXVII - -MR. LORING REFLECTS - - -Henry K. Loring sat back in his machine, homeward bound, his head -deep in the collar of his overcoat, his eyes under their shaggy brows -peering out of the windows of the limousine. His heavy hands, one over -the other, grasped the handle of his cane, which stood upright between -his firmly planted feet. He looked out of the windows at the quickly -changing scene, but his eyes saw nothing. There was a frown at his -brow, his lips were drawn firmly together and a casual glance might -have lent to the belief that the great operator was weighted with a -more than usually heavy financial burden. But a closer inspection would -have shown a slight upward twist of his lips and scarcely perceptible -puckering of the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. For a man whose -business affairs had on that day been subjected to the searching -inquisition that Mr. Gallatin had put them to, he seemed to be taking -life rather good-naturedly. - -To tell the truth he was thinking of the futile efforts of the elder -Leuppold in trying to stem the tide which had set so strongly against -him. He had gone over Mr. Gallatin’s evidence at the conference point -by point, and the hours had only confirmed him in the realization that -this young man, whom he had scorned, had given the oily and ingenious -Leuppold a very unpleasant morning; for wriggle as Leuppold might, -there had been no escaping the young man’s clear-headed statements, -and the dangerous nature of his evidence. Henry K. Loring was a good -fighter, a shrewd judge of men, and the thing that most bothered him at -the present moment was, not that he had been obliged to compromise the -Sanborn case, but that he should have been so mistaken in the character -and abilities of Philip Gallatin. He couldn’t understand it at all, and -it hurt his pride in his own judgment. Was this sharp young man with -the lean face, the keen eye and the quick incisive tones of confidence -in himself, was this brilliant hard-working young lawyer who had been -clever enough to outwit Henry Loring at his own game, was _this_ Phil -Gallatin, the club loafer, at whose name men had wagged their heads or -shrugged their shoulders in pity or contempt? It didn’t seem possible. -There was a mistake somewhere. Was this the young man who----? - -He sat straight up suddenly as the thought came to him. By George! This -was Jane’s young man! The fellow who had found Jane up in the woods! -Who had followed her around and made love to her! The fellow Jane had -been in love with until he, Loring, had opened her eyes and packed -him out of the house about his business. That was too bad. Loring -was sorry about that now. He had done Gallatin an injustice. Curious -that he should have made such a mistake. He would have to rectify it -somehow--with Jane. - -What was the trouble? Oh, yes, a woman--that was what had turned Jane -against him. A woman--well? It wasn’t the first time a man had been -led off by a woman. What of it? The Gallatin with whom he had recently -become acquainted wasn’t the kind of a fellow who would let any woman -get the best of him. That was his own affair, anyway. He, Loring, would -have to talk to Jane. Gallatin was all right. He had quit drinking, -too, the younger Leuppold had said. Any young fellow who could work up -a case like that under cover and drive a man like Henry K. Loring to -the wall was good enough for him! That was the kind of a man he wanted -for Jane, just the kind of man to take up the game where he would leave -it and hold the great Loring interests together. What did Jane want -anyhow? She had loved Phil Gallatin once. Her mother had told him so. -And now she had settled on Coleman Van Duyn! Hell! - -He got down at his own door with a sudden resolve to find out just how -things stood with Jane and Coley Van Duyn. Mrs. Loring had wanted that -match. It wasn’t any of Loring’s choosing. She had wanted an old Dutch -ancestry. She’d be getting it with Coley and that was about all she -would get. Jane had been expected back with the Ledyards from Virginia -this morning. Perhaps it wasn’t too late for her father to step into -the breach and repair the damage he had done. - -In reply to his question of the man in the hall, he learned that Miss -Loring had returned from the South during the morning, but that she had -been in her room all day. Henry K. Loring climbed the marble stairs and -went along the landing to Mrs. Loring’s room. He found her lying on -the divan, a handkerchief crumpled in her hands, her face stained with -tears. A look of resignation that was half a frown came into Loring’s -face. Like many another man, big in his walks abroad, he lost some -stature in the presence of a tearful wife. - -At his entrance she straightened and said irritably, “I thought you -were never coming.” - -“I was detained.” He looked at his watch. “Aren’t you going to dress?” - -“No. I’m going to have my dinner brought up.” - -“What’s the matter?” - -“Oh, what _isn’t_ the matter? Jane, of course!” - -“Jane!” - -“I can’t make her out at all. She came back from Warrenton this morning -and went immediately to her room. I went in this afternoon again. She -was looking miserably unhappy, and when I began talking to her she -burst into tears----” - -“Nerves?” he queried. - -“Oh, I don’t know. She hasn’t been herself for some time. She’s looking -very badly.” - -“Yes, I noticed that. What do you think the trouble is?” - -Mrs. Loring sank back with a sigh. - -“Oh, I don’t know. I never did understand Jane, and I don’t suppose I -ever shall. She says she isn’t going to anything this spring--that she -wants to go abroad, away from everybody. And, finally, when I pressed -her--she told me that she had given Coleman Van Duyn his congé. Think -of it!” - -The poor lady rattled on while Loring turned his back and walked the -length of the room to hide a smile which grew suddenly at his lips. -When she had finished speaking, he returned and questioned again. - -“Why did she change her mind? Do you know?” - -“I don’t think she _has_ changed her mind. I don’t believe that she -has ever cared for Mr. Van Duyn. It was all a mask to hide her real -feelings. I’m sure she still loves that worthless Gallatin!” - -Loring’s eyebrows lifted, his gaze roved and his lips were quickly -compressed. Then his brows tangled. - -“What makes you think that?” he asked. - -“Everything makes me think it--everything--from the manner in which -she first confessed her love for him to me to the curious way she has -been treating Mr. Van Duyn. He spoke about the matter only last week. -Poor fellow! He’s beginning to look very badly. Jane hasn’t treated him -fairly.” - -“That depends. They were never engaged.” - -Mrs. Loring raised herself on one elbow, her eyes searching her -husband’s face in surprise. - -“There was an understanding.” - -“Between you and Van Duyn. Jane never consented.” - -“Henry, I don’t understand you. You’ve let this thing go on without -speaking. You approved----” - -“No, I didn’t approve,” he said quickly. “I merely acquiesced.” - -Mrs. Loring showed signs of inward agitation. - -“Oh, I give her up. I’ve done the best I could. She has behaved very -badly and I--I don’t know what to think of her.” She began sobbing into -her handkerchief and renewed her familiar plaint. “I do the best I can -for her--for you, but you’re always going against me--both of you. I’ve -tried so hard this winter--kept going when my nerves were on the ragged -edge of collapse, just because I thought it was my duty----” - -“There, there, Mother, don’t be foolish,” said Loring soothingly. “Jane -is young, too young to marry anyway. She’ll decide some day.” - -“No. I know her. She makes up her mind to a thing and she’ll cling -to it until death. She’s like you in that way. She would rather die -than change. I ought to have realized that. If she can’t marry Phil -Gallatin, she won’t marry any one. Phil Gallatin,” she cried, “the -least desirable young man in New York, a man without a character, -without friends, the last of a tainted stock, a fortune hunter, -dissolute----” - -He let her go on until she had exhausted both her adjectives and her -nerves while he listened thoughtfully, and then asked, - -“You’re sure she still loves Mr. Gallatin?” - -“I’ve tried to believe that she would forget him--that she would learn -to care for Mr. Van Duyn. But she hasn’t. She has never been the same -girl since you told her about that dreadful Jaffray woman. I’m afraid -she’ll be sick--really sick. But I can’t do anything. What _can_ I do?” -The poor lady looked up plaintively, but her husband had walked to the -window and was looking out into the Avenue. - -“Humph!” he grunted. “Lovesick, eh? There ought to be a cure for that.” - -“What?” - -“Let her marry him.” - -“Henry!” Mrs. Loring sat bolt upright on her couch, her eyes wide with -incomprehension. “What do you mean?” - -“What I say,” he returned calmly. - -“That--Jane--should--marry Phil Gallatin?” - -He nodded. - -“You’re mad!” she said, getting up and facing him. “Stark mad! When you -learned about them, you told me you’d rather see her dead than married -to him.” - -“Now I’d rather see her married to him than dead. It’s simple enough. -I’ve changed my mind.” - -“Am I taking leave of my senses--or are you?” - -“Neither, Mother,” he went over to her, his huge frame towering above -her small body as his mind towered over hers, and took her gently by -the elbows. “I’ve made a mistake. So have you. But it’s not too late to -mend it. I say that if Jane wants Phil Gallatin, she shall have him.” - -“No, no. What has happened, Henry?” - -“I’ve opened my eyes, that’s all, or rather Gallatin has opened them -for me. I’m glad he did. And now I’m going to open yours. Phil Gallatin -is a full-sized _man_. I found that out to-day--a man, every inch of -one. I don’t care about his past. _I_ wasn’t anything to brag about -when I was a kid, and you know that, too. I didn’t amount to a hill of -beans until my father died and I went up against it good and hard. I -was down to bedrock, as Phil Gallatin was, until I got kicked once too -often, and then I learned to kick back, and I’ve been kicking back ever -since. I don’t care about Phil Gallatin’s past. That belongs to him. -The only thing that matters about the man Jane marries is his future. -That’s hers.” - -Loring put his hands in his pockets and walked up and down the rug, his -bulk, physical and mental, dominating Mrs. Loring’s tears. - -“Listen to me. I’ve let you go on with your plans for Jane and I -haven’t said anything, because I knew that when the time came for Jane -to marry, your plans wouldn’t amount to much and mine wouldn’t either. -Oh, I’ve been looking on. I’ve been watching this Van Duyn affair. I’ve -never thought Jane would ever marry a nonentity like Van Duyn. If I had -thought so, I guess I might have worried. But I didn’t worry because I -never thought she _did_ want to marry him. It seems I was right,” he -chuckled. - -He waited a moment as though expecting an interruption from his wife, -but she made none, and only sat in hopeless uncertainty listening -dumbly. - -“For all her inexperience, Jane has an old head, Mother. This splendor -we’re living in, her success in society, the flattery and compliments -haven’t changed her any. And she’s not going to let anybody make a fool -of her. She sees through people better than you do and she doesn’t -make many mistakes. I ought to have known she wouldn’t have fallen in -love with Phil Gallatin if there hadn’t been something to him. I’ll -give her credit for that----” - -“What makes you think he’s worthy of her?” Mrs. Loring broke in. “You -talk of his future. What future can there be for a man with a habit----” - -“Wait!” he commanded. “As to that--he’s quit, do you understand? Quit -it altogether. I’m just as sure of that as I am that Jane’s judgment -was better than mine, so sure that I’m willing to stake Jane’s future -on it. You needn’t ask me why I know it, but I do. He’s made good--with -me and he’s made good with himself.” - -And while she listened he told her of the events of the morning which -had resulted in the failure of his financial project and of Gallatin’s -share in it. - -“And is this a reason? You’re willing to forgive him his sins, his evil -reputation, and take him into your house as the husband of your only -child, because he stands in the way of your making a lot of money? I -don’t understand.” - -“There’s a lot you don’t understand. You and I don’t use the same kind -of mental machinery. But I want you to know that any boy of his age -who’s got the nerve to tackle a big game the way he did that one and -win out against a man of _my_ caliber is the kind of a young man I want -on my side. He’s the kind of a young man I’ve been looking for ever -since I went into the coal business, and I’m not going to let him go if -I can help it.” - -“But his morals! You must know what people say about him, that he’s----” - -“I don’t care what they say about him,” growled Loring. “Half of the -world is lying, and the other half listening. I’m glad he isn’t a -willy-boy. It’s the fellow who has to fight temptations that learns -the meaning of victory. There are no airholes in the steel that’s been -through the blast, and that boy has been through the blast. I can read -it in his face. He couldn’t square up to me the way he did if there -was any weakness in him. He’s suffered, but it hasn’t hurt him any. -He’s found himself. I’m going to help him. See here, Janet, I’m getting -older, and so are you. I’ve been thinking about it some lately. I’m a -pretty rich man and I’m going to be richer. But do you think I want to -turn the money I leave over to a man like Coley Van Duyn or Dirwell De -Lancey to make ducks and drakes of? Have it turned into an amusement -fund for the further debauching of debauched gentility? Make a Trust -Fund of it to perpetuate the Pink Tea? I reckon not. I haven’t worked -all these years for nothing, and I’m going to see that Jane doesn’t -make the mistakes of other rich men’s children. I don’t think she wants -to anyway. I’ve always told her that she wouldn’t find the man she’s -going to marry walking up and down Fifth Avenue. The man to keep my -estate together has got to be made of different stuff. I’ve found him. -He’s an ace that I dropped into the discard by mistake, but I’m going -to play him just the same. I want him, and if Jane wants him, too, I’m -going to get him for her.” - -“I don’t know what to think of you. I can’t see yet----” Mrs. Loring -wailed. - -Loring stopped beside her and patted her on the shoulder. - -“Don’t you worry, Janet. I know what I’m about. You leave this to me. -Is Jane in her room? I want to see her.” - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Loring in tones of resignation. “She’s there, but I -don’t think she’d see you, even if she knew what you wanted to talk -about. To-morrow, perhaps.” - -Loring shrugged his massive shoulders. “Oh, all right,” he growled, -and made his way to his own dressing-room. He held the keys to the -situation in his hand, and manlike wanted to use them without delay, to -unlock the door that barred the way to happiness for Jane, to act at -once upon the inspiration that had come to him and settle for all time -the problem of the future. But he took his wife’s advice and postponed -the talk with his daughter, wondering at the ways of women. He dined -alone and went to his study early, sat at his desk and wrote the -following note to Philip Gallatin. - - DEAR MR. GALLATIN: - - Our meeting this morning was so brief and so public that I - was prevented from speaking to you as freely as I would have - liked. I’ve done you a wrong--an injustice, and I want to do - what I can to set the matter right, with respect to your future - relations with me and with my family. I have already done what - I can and I am sure that both Mrs. Loring and my daughter will - gladly welcome you as a guest to our house whenever you may - call. - - I hope this will be soon, Mr. Gallatin. I only wanted to put - myself on record with you that you may be assured that there - will be no further misunderstandings on your part of our - intentions toward you. - - Very sincerely yours, - - HENRY K. LORING. - -The note written, he sealed it and rang for Hastings. - -“Have this note delivered at once. Try the Cosmos Club and, if Mr. -Gallatin is not there, find him.” - -This burden off his broad shoulders, Loring smiled, turned on his -reading lamp, took some newly acquired snuff boxes out of a cabinet -and under his magnifying glass, proceeded to enjoy them. It was in -the midst of this pleasant occupation that some time later, he was -interrupted by the entrance of his daughter. She was dressed in a pale -blue lounging robe, and her bedroom slippers made no sound on the heavy -floor covering, but the rustle of her draperies caused him to look up. - -“Hello, Jane!” he said, kissing her. “Glad to see you, child. You -slipped in like a ghost. Feeling any better?” - -“Oh, I’m all right,” she said wearily. “Mother said you wanted to see -me.” - -Loring put down his magnifying glass and turned toward her. - -“Yes, I did. Natural, isn’t it? I haven’t had a chance to for a month.” -He made her turn so that he could look into her face. “You’re not -looking right. Your eyes are big as saucers. What’s the matter? Too -much gayety?” - -“Yes, I think so, Daddy. I’m a little tired, that’s all. I need a rest.” - -Her father examined her in silence for a moment, and then drew her down -on a chair near him. - -“Jane, I’ve been thinking about you lately. We’ve all been so busy this -winter, you and mother, with your dances and the opera, and I with -business, that I’m afraid we’ve been drifting apart. I don’t like it. -You don’t ever come in here to see me the way you used to.” - -“I haven’t had time,” she evaded. - -“That isn’t it, daughter. I know. It’s something else. Something has -come between us. I’ve felt it and I feel it still.” - -She opened her eyes wide and looked at him and then looked away. - -“That’s the truth and you know it, daughter. Something has come -between us. I’ve missed those talks with you. They used to keep me in -touch with the gentler side of life, sort of humanized me somehow, -made me a little softer, a little gentler the next day. I’ve wanted -you often, Jane, but I didn’t know how to say so. And so I got along -without you. You’ve never quite forgiven me, Jane?” - -Jane was pulling at the laces of her tea-gown with thumb and -forefinger, but she didn’t look up as she asked, - -“Forgiven you for what, Daddy?” - -“For coming between you and Phil Gallatin,” he said gently. - -She started a trifle and then went on picking at the lace on her frock. - -“Oh, that,” she said quietly. “You _had_ to do that. I’m glad you did.” - -“No,” he interrupted. “You’re not glad, Jane. Neither am I. I did what -I thought was my duty, but it has made a difference with us both. I’m -sorry.” - -“Sorry? Why?” - -“Because it has made you unhappy--and resentful.” - -“I’m not resentful.” - -“Yes. I’ve felt it. Even if I’d been justified, you would still resent -it.” - -“But you _were_ justified, Daddy, weren’t you?” she asked. - -She turned her gaze full on his face and the pain in her eyes hurt him. -He got up and walked the length of the room before he replied. - -“I did what I thought was right. I’d probably do the same thing again -under similar circumstances. I--I didn’t think Mr. Gallatin the kind of -man I wanted for you.” - -She lay back in her chair and looked into the fire, but said nothing. -Loring came close to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. - -“You loved him, Jane?” - -She didn’t reply. - -“You still love him, daughter?” - -Her head moved slowly from side to side. - -“No,” she muttered, stiflingly, “no, no.” - -Loring smiled down at the top of her head. - -“Why should you deny it, Jane? What would you say if I acknowledged -that I had made a mistake in judgment, that you were right after all, -that Phil Gallatin is not the man I thought him, that he’s worthy in -every way of your regard, that of all the young men I’ve met in New -York in business or out of it, he is the one man I would rather have -marry my daughter?” - -She had risen and was leaning toward him, pale and trembling. - -“What--do--you--mean?” she whispered fearfully. - -He told her. - -“That case you spoke of----?” - -“He beat me--fairly--and he beat me badly, so badly that I can’t afford -to have him against me. I’ve taken him into the business. I can’t -afford to be without him.” - -“Then--what you said about him----” - -“I was fooled, child, completely fooled. We thought he was a joke. We -laughed at him and all the while he was out West working, quietly, -skillfully, diligently piling up his evidence. He’s made good, Jane, -and I’ve told him so. I’ve written him a note to-night, a note of -apology for my share in his unhappiness, telling him that I was sorry -for what had happened and telling him that he would be a welcome -visitor to my house----” - -“Daddy!” Jane had straightened and now glanced fearfully toward the -door as though she expected to see Phil Gallatin at any moment coming -through the curtains. “You had no right to do that! I will not see him. -Whatever his business relations with you, you have no right to force -him on me. I have known for a long time that he was clever, that he -could make his way in the world if he wanted to, but your acceptance of -him changes nothing with me.” - -“But you love him,” he persisted. - -“No, no,” she protested. “I could never love a man who had once been -faithless--never forgive him--never even in death. That a man is -successful in the world is all you men care about. Oh, I know you. -Because he’s matched his brain against yours and beaten you, you think -he’s a demigod; but that doesn’t change the heart in him, the lips that -swear love eternal while they’re kissing another----” - -“Lies!” broke in Loring with a wave of his hand. “I don’t believe that -story.” - -Jane paused and examined him calmly, struggling for her control. When -she spoke her voice had sunk to a trembling note scarcely above a -whisper. - -“Can you prove that story was a lie?” - -“Prove it? No. But I believe it was.” - -“You didn’t believe so once. Have you heard anything to make you change -your opinion?” she insisted. - -He was tempted to lie but thought better of it, and his hesitation cost -him victory. - -Jane turned toward the door. “I’m going away somewhere--abroad, if -you’ll let me, away from here. I will not see Mr. Gallatin--ever. I -despise him--utterly.” - -She left her father standing in the middle of the room, his mouth -agape, and eyes staring at the door through which she had disappeared. -Keen as he was, there were still some things in the world, he -discovered, about which he needed information. - -The next day Mr. Loring received a polite note from Mr. Gallatin -which still further mystified him. Mr. Gallatin thanked him for his -kind expressions of good will and expressed the intention of studying -further to deserve them; but hoped that Mr. Loring would comprehend -that reasons which it were better not to mention, would make it -impossible for him to take advantage of Mr. Loring’s personal kindness -in his cordial invitation. - -Henry Loring was on the point of tearing up the note in disgust but -thought better of it. Instead, with a subtlety which showed that he had -not yet lost the knack of taking advantage of the lesser lessons of -life, he left it obtrusively upon the dressing table in Mrs. Loring’s -boudoir, where later, in her mother’s absence, Jane found it. - - - - -XXVIII - -THE LODESTAR - - -April dissolved in mist and rain and the flowers of May were -blossoming. Nellie Pennington, who had not yet despaired, and Nina -Jaffray, who had, were driving in the Park in Mrs. Pennington’s -victoria. For two months Mrs. Pennington had been paying Nina more -than usual attention. To begin with she liked her immensely as she had -always done. Nina’s faults she believed to be the inevitable result of -her education and environment, for Nina was the daughter of a Trust, -and was its only indulgence. The habit of getting what she wanted -was in her blood and she simply couldn’t understand being balked in -anything. But Nina was beginning slowly and with some difficulty to -grasp the essentials of Philip Gallatin’s character and the permanence -of his reconstruction; and with the passage of time and event Nina had -a glimmering of the true caliber of his mind, all of which brought out -with unflattering definiteness her own frivolity and gave a touch of -farce-comedy, with which she had in her heart been far from investing -it, to her unconventional wooing. - -Nellie Pennington understood her, and noted with no little satisfaction -the evidence of the chastening of her spirit. She knew now beyond all -doubt that had it not been for Nina, the reconciliation of Jane and -Phil Gallatin would have been effected. - -She knew, too, that Nina had not played fair, and guessed by what -means Jane had been victimized. Indeed, Jane’s indifference to Nina -bore all tokens of intolerance, the intolerance of the pure for the -contaminated, the contemptuous pity of the innocent for the guilty. -But Mrs. Pennington had not lived in vain, and a talent for living her -own life according to an accepted code, had given her a kindly insight -into the lives of others. Whatever Nina’s faults, she had never merited -Jane’s pity or contempt. Jane was a fool, of course, but so was Nina, -each in her own way--a fool; but of the two it now seemed that Nina was -the lesser. Nellie Pennington had already noticed signs that Nina was -tired of the game and knew that if Larry Kane played his own trumps -with care, he might still win the odd trick, which was Nina. But as -far as Jane was concerned, Nellie also knew that Nina was ready to die -at her guns, for a dislike once born in Nina’s breast was not speedily -dispelled. - -Mrs. Pennington looked up at the obelisk as though in the hope that -some of the wisdom of its centuries might suddenly be imparted to her. -Then she asked, “Nina, why don’t you marry Larry Kane?” - -Nina Jaffray smiled. - -“And confess defeat? Why?” - -“Better confess it now than later.” - -“Why confess it at all?” - -“You’ll have to some day. You’re not going to marry Phil, you know.” - -“No, I’m not going to marry Phil. I know that now. I haven’t proposed -to him for at least a month--and then he was quite impolite--rude, in -fact.” She sighed. “Oh, I don’t care, but I don’t want Jane Loring to -marry him.” - -“She’s not likely to. She’s as hopelessly stubborn as you are.” - -Nellie Pennington waited a moment, and then with a laugh, “Nina, you’ve -enjoyed yourself immensely, haven’t you? Jane is _such_ an innocent. -I’d give worlds to know what you said to her!” - -Nina laughed. “Would you?” - -“Yes, _do_ tell me.” - -“I will. It’s very amusing. She expected me to lie, of course. So I -simply told her the truth.” - -“And she believed----” - -“The opposite.” - -“Of course.” - -Nellie Pennington laughed up at the passing tree tops. - -“How clever of you, Nina! You’re wasting your time single. A girl of -your talents needs an atmosphere in which to display them.” - -“And you suggest matrimony,” said Nina scornfully. - -“There’s always your husband, you know.” - -“But Larry isn’t an atmosphere. He’s too tangible.” - -“All men are. It’s their chief charm.” - -“H-m. I’ve never thought so. I shouldn’t have wanted to marry Phil if -he had been tangible.” - -“Then suppose he had--er--accepted you?” - -Nina shrugged and crossed her knees. - -“I should probably have hated him cordially.” - -The conversation changed, then lagged, and by the time Nina’s home was -reached both women were silent, Nina because she was bored, Nellie -because she was thinking. - -“Good-by, dear,” laughed Nina, as she got down at her door. “Don’t be -surprised at anything you hear. I’m quite desperate, so desperate that -I may even take your advice. You’ll see me off at the pier, won’t you?” - -Nellie Pennington nodded. She was quite sure that it was better for -everybody that Miss Jaffray should be upon the other side of the water. - -The week following, quite by chance she met Henry K. Loring one -afternoon in the gallery at the Metropolitan where the ceramics were. -An emissary from the office was opening the cases for him and with -rare delight he was examining their contents with a pocket glass. She -watched him for a while and when the great man relinquished the last -piece of Lang-Yao _sang de bœuf_ and the case was closed and locked, -she intercepted him and led him off to a bench in a quiet corner where -she laid before him the result of a week of deliberation. He had begun -by being bored, for there was a case of the tea-dust glazes which he -had still planned to look over, but in a moment he had warmed to her -proposals and was discussing them with animation. - -Yes, he had already planned to go to the Canadian woods again this -summer. Mrs. Loring wanted to go abroad this year. Mrs. Loring didn’t -like the woods unless he rented a permanent camp, the kind of place -that he and Jane despised. The plan had been discussed and Jane had -expressed a willingness to go. But at Mrs. Loring’s opposition the -matter had been dropped. But Loring had not given up the idea. It would -do Jane a lot of good, he admitted. Mrs. Pennington’s was a great plan, -a brave plan, a beautiful plan, one that did credit to her sympathies -and one that must in the end be successful. He would manage it. He -would take the matter up at once and arrange for the same guides and -outfit he had had last year. Would Mr. and Mrs. Pennington come as his -guests? Of course. Who else--Mr. Worthington and Colonel Broadhurst? -But could Mr. Kenyon be relied upon to do his share? Very well. He -would leave that to Mrs. Pennington. - -The next afternoon, at Mrs. Pennington’s request, John Kenyon called at -her house in Stuyvesant Square, and his share in the arrangement was -explained to him. He was willing to do anything for Phil Gallatin’s -happiness that he could, of course, but it amused him to learn how -the agreeable lady had taken that willingness for granted, and how -she waved aside the difficulties which, as Kenyon suggested, might be -encountered. Phil might have other plans. He could be obstinate at -times. It might not be easy, either, to get Phil’s old guide for the -pilgrimage. He needed a rest himself, and would go with Phil himself, -if by doing so he could be of any assistance. It was now the first week -in May. He would see Phil and report in a few days. - -It was the next morning at the office when Kenyon broached the matter -to his young partner. He was surprised that Phil fell in with the plan -at once. - -“Funny,” said Phil. “I was thinking of that yesterday. I _am_ tired. -The woods will do me a lot of good, but do you think that Hood can get -along without us until August?” - -“We’ll manage in some way. You deserve a rest, and I’m going to take -one whether I deserve it or not. Could you get that guide you had last -year, what’s his name--Joe----?” - -“Keegón. I could try. We’d need two, but Joe can get another man. I -have the address. I’ll write to-day.” - -Gallatin got up and walked across the room to the door, where he -stopped. - -“I suppose I can fix matters with Mr. Loring----” - -“Yes, I think so,” replied Kenyon guardedly. “But you’d better be sure -of it. He’s coming here to-morrow, isn’t he?” - -Gallatin nodded gravely, and then thoughtfully went out. - -That night John Kenyon dutifully reported in Stuyvesant Square. Mr. -Loring also dutifully reported there, and the three persons completed -the details of the conspiracy. - -So it happened that toward the middle of June, Phil Gallatin and John -Kenyon reached the “jumping-off place” in the Canadian wilds. No two -“jumping-off places” are alike, but this one consisted of three or four -frame dwellings and a store, all squatted on the high bank of a small -river, which came crystal-clear from the mystery of the deep woods -above. John Kenyon got down from the stage that had driven them the ten -miles from the nearest railroad station and stood on the plank walk in -front of the store, a touch of color in his yellow cheeks, sniffing -eagerly at the smell of the pine balsam. Gallatin glanced around at -the familiar scene. Nothing was changed--the canoes drawn up along the -bank, the black setter dog, the Indian packers lounging in the shade, -the smell of their black tobacco, and the cool welcome of the trader -who came out of the store to greet them. - -Joe Keegón and another Indian, whose name turned out to be Charlie -Knapp, got the valises out of the wagon. Gallatin offered Joe his -hand, and the Indian took it with the steady-eyed taciturnity of the -wilderness people. Joe was no waster of words or of emotion. He led -the way into the store of the trader, and they went over the outfit -together--blankets, ammunition, tea, pork, flour, tents, and all the -rest of it, while John Kenyon sat on a flour barrel, swinging his legs, -smoking a corncob pipe and listening. - -That night, after Phil had turned in, he sent a letter and a telegram -to a Canadian address and gave them to the teamster with some money. -Then he, too, went to bed--dreaming of Arcadia. - - * * * * * - -They had been in the woods for three weeks now. They weren’t traveling -as light as Phil had done the year before and the outfit included two -canoes, well loaded. So they went slowly northward by easy stages, -fishing the small streams and camping early. Gallatin had at first -been in some doubt as to his partner’s physical fitness for severe -work, but he soon found that he need have given himself no concern, -for with every day a year seemed to be slipping away from John Kenyon, -who insisted on taking his share of the burdens with a will that -set Phil Gallatin’s mind at rest. And as they went farther into the -wilderness, they made almost camp for camp the ones that Phil had made -the year before. John Kenyon had hoped that Phil would take him into -the Kawagama country. He wanted very much to see that waterfall on the -south fork of the Birch River that Phil had spoken of. Kenyon had an -eye for the beautiful. - -For some time he had been wondering what course of action he would -take if Phil refused to fall in with his plans, and had already begun -to think that it was time to take Joe into his confidence; but he soon -found that subterfuge was unnecessary, for Gallatin was directing their -course with an unerring definiteness to his own farthest camp among the -hills. John Kenyon guessed something of what was passing in the mind -of the younger man, and over the camp-fire watched him furtively. The -sun and wind had tanned him and the vigorous exercise had brought an -appetite that had filled the hollows of his cheeks; but in spite of -the glow of health and youth and the delight of their old friendship, -a shadow still hung in Phil Gallatin’s eyes, which even the joy of -the present could not dispel. Kenyon smoked quietly and asked subtle -questions about their further pilgrimage. - -“To-morrow we’ll reach the permanent camp, eh, Joe?” said Gallatin. - -Keegón nodded. - -“We’ll stay there for a while--fish and explore.” - -As the time approached for his dénouement, Kenyon had a guilty sense -of intrusion which tempered his delight in the possible success of the -venture. But he remembered that he had had little to do in shaping the -course of events or the direction of their voyage, except to modify the -speed of their journeys so that Phil might reach the spot intended at -the appointed time. Phil seemed drawn forward as though by a lodestar -to his destination, as though some force greater than his own will was -impelling him. - -Kenyon had taken pains to keep a record by the calendar. It was the -twenty-eighth of June. The next day Kenyon changed places with Phil and -went in Joe’s canoe, when he took the old Indian into his confidence. - -“We will camp to-night. To-morrow Phil will want to go fishing alone. -You must keep him in camp until the next day. Then you must go with him -in the morning, and lead him to the camp in the hills where the deer -was killed. _Comprenez?_” - -Joe had learned to understand this grave, quiet man from the city, who -did his share of the work and who never complained, and he recognized, -by its contrast to this docility and willingness, the sudden voice of -authority. He nodded. - -“A’right,” he said, with a nod. “I take heem.” - -Joe’s loquacity was flattering. It was the first time on their -pilgrimage that Kenyon had heard Joe utter more than one word at a time. - -The woods had seemed so vast, so interminable that Kenyon had often -wondered whether it would be possible to find a spot so lacking -in identity as the one they were seeking. But Joe’s nod and smile -completely reassured him. In his unfamiliarity with the wilderness he -had forgotten that here was Joe Keegón’s city, its trails, portages and -streams as clearly mapped in his mind as the streets of John Kenyon’s -New York. The Indian would find the place where the deer was killed. -Kenyon breathed a sigh of relief. The wheel of Destiny was spinning now -and Kenyon had nothing to do but sit and watch. He had done his share. - -That night there was much to do, but Keegón seemed in no hurry. When -Gallatin, who seemed tireless was for making a permanent camp at once, -Joe shook his head and went on cleaning fish. - -“To-morrow,” he said. - -When the morrow came, Gallatin was off in the underbrush hunting -firewood before the others were awake. From his place by the fire Joe -watched him lazily. - -“Aren’t you going to get to work, Joe?” - -“Soon,” the Indian grunted, but made no movement to get up. - -“I want to fish.” - -“To-morrow.” - -“Why not to-day?” - -“Make camp.” - -“It won’t take all day to make camp.” - -“Rest,” said Joe. And that was all that Gallatin could get out of him, -so he said no more, for he knew by experience that when Joe’s mind had -decided a question of policy, mere words made no impression on him. - -John Kenyon listened from the flap of the tent, with a sleepy eye on -the rising sun. - -“Don’t try to combat the forces of nature, my son,” he laughed. “Joe’s -right! I for one am going to take things easy.” And he rolled himself -in his blanket, sank back on his balsam couch and closed his eyes -again. - -There was nothing for Phil but to bow to the inevitable. That day he -worked harder even than the guides and it seemed to John Kenyon that -some inward force was driving him at the top of his bent. He spoke -little, laughed not at all and late in the afternoon went off upstream -alone with his rod and creel, returning later gloomy and morose. - -“No fish,” said Joe, looking at the empty creel. “Fish to-morrow!” - -Joe actually smiled and Gallatin laughed in spite of himself. - -“Beeg fish--to-morrow,” repeated Joe. “I show--um.” - -The next day Kenyon stayed in camp with Charlie Knapp, and watched -Phil’s departure upstream. Joe had full instructions and as he followed -Gallatin’s broad shoulders into the brush he turned toward the fire and -nodded to Kenyon. There was a pact between them and Kenyon understood. - -The sun was high before Joe left the stream and cut into the -underbrush. His employer hadn’t even taken his rod from its case, -and his creel was empty. Early in the morning he had asked his guide -to take him to the little stream where the deer was killed, and he -followed the swift noiseless steps of the old Indian, his shoulders -bent, his eyes peering through the thicket in search of landmarks. -It was midday before the two men reached the familiar water and Phil -identified the two bowlders above his old camping-place. Here Keegón -halted, eying the pool below. - -“Fish,” said he. - -Gallatin fingered at the fastenings of his rod case, looking -downstream, while Joe sat on a rock and munched a biscuit. - -“I’m going downstream, Joe. You follow.” - -The Indian nodded and Gallatin moved down among the rocks in the bed -of the stream. Pools invited him, but he did not fish. He had not even -jointed his rod. He was moving rapidly now, like a man with a mission, -a mission with which fishing had nothing in common, splashing through -the shallow water, jumping from rock to rock, or where the going was -good along the shore, through the underbrush. There was a trail to -follow now, a faint trail scarcely defined, but in which he saw the -faint marks of last year’s footprints. His own they must be, heavy from -the weight of the deer he had carried through the mud and wet. They -were the symbols of his regeneration. Since then he had brought other -burdens to camp and had thrown them at her feet, for what? - -Later on, in a moist spot, he stopped and peered at the ground -curiously. Other footprints had emerged from somewhere and joined his -own, fresh footprints, one made by the in-turned toe of an Indian, the -other smaller, the heel of which cut deep into the mud and moss. He -bent forward following them eagerly. What could a woman be doing here? - -Suddenly Gallatin straightened and sniffed the air. The smoke of a camp -fire! The smell of cooking fish! Some one had preceded him. He moved -forward cautiously, his heart beating with suppressed excitement, his -mind for the first time aware that unusual impulses had dominated him -all the morning. He also knew that the smell of those cooking fish was -delicious. - -In a moment he recognized the glade, the two beech trees and the rock, -saw the bulk of the shack that he had built, the glow of the fire and -a small figure sitting on a log before it, cooking fish on a spit. -He stopped and passed a hand before his eyes. Had a year passed? Or -was it--yesterday? Who was the girl that sat familiarly at his fire, -hatless, her brown hair tawny in the sunlight, her slender neck bent -forward? - -He rubbed his eyes and peered again. There was no mistake. It was Jane. - - - - -XXIX - -ARCADIA AGAIN - - -She did not move at his approach, although his footsteps among the -dried leaves must have been plainly audible, and he was within ten feet -of the fire before she turned. - -“We had better be going soon, Challón,” she began and then stopped, as -she raised her head and looked at him. He wore his old fishing hat with -the holes in it, a faded blue flannel shirt, corduroys and laced boots; -and as her eye passed quickly over his figure to his face, she paled, -started backward and stared with a terror in her eyes of something -beyond comprehension. He saw her put her arm before her face to shut -out the sight of him and rise to one knee, stumbling blindly away, when -he caught her in his arms, whispering madly: - -“Jane! Jane! Don’t turn away from me. It’s Phil, do you hear? -Myself--no other. You were waiting for me--and I came to you.” - -She trembled violently and her hand clutched his arm as though to -assure herself of its reality. - -“Jane, look up at me. Look in my eyes and you’ll see your vision -there--where it has always been, and always will be--unchangeable. Look -at me, Jane.” - -Slowly she raised her head and saw that what he said was true, the -pallor of dismay retreating before the warm flush that suffused her -from neck to brow. - -“It’s--_you_, Phil? I can’t understand----” - -“Nor I. I don’t know or care--so long as you are here--close in my -arms. I’ll never let you go again. Kiss me, Jane.” - -She obeyed, blindly, passionately, the wonder in her eyes dying in -heavenly content. - -“You came to me, Phil,” she whispered. “How? Why?” - -“Because you wanted me, because you were waiting for me. Isn’t it so?” - -“Yes, I was waiting for you. I came here because I couldn’t stay away. -I--I don’t know why I came--” She paused and her hands tightened on his -shoulders again. “Oh, Phil,” she cried again, “there’s no mistake?” - -“No--no.” - -“You frightened me so. I thought you were--unreal--a vision--your hat, -your clothes are the same. I thought you were--the ghost of happiness.” - -He kissed her tenderly. - -“There are no ghosts, Jane, dear. Not even those of unhappiness,” he -murmured. “There is no room for anything in the world but hope and -joy--and love--yours and mine. I love you, dearest. Even when reason -despaired, I loved you most and loved the pain of it.” - -“The pain of it--I know.” - -She was sobbing now, her slender body quivering under his caress. - -“Don’t, Jane,” he whispered. “Don’t cry. Don’t!” - -But she smiled up at him through her tears. - -“Let me, Phil, I--I’m so happy.” - -He soothed her gently and held her close in his arms, her head against -his breast, as he would have held that of a tired child. After a time -she relaxed and lay quiet. - -“You’re glad?” he asked. - -There was no reply. - -“Are you glad?” he repeated. - -“Glad! Oh, Phil, I’ve suffered so.” - -“Oh, Jane, why? Look at me, dear. It was all a mistake. How could you -have misjudged me?” - -She drew away from him and took his head between the palms of her hands -and sought his eyes with her own. - -“There was no other?” she asked haltingly. - -“No--a thousand times no,” he returned her gaze eagerly. “How could -there be any other?” he asked simply. - -She looked long and then closed her eyes and drew his lips down to hers. - -“You believe in me--now?” he asked. - -“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes still closed. “I believe in you. Even if -I didn’t, I would still--still--adore you.” - -“God bless you for that. But you _do_ believe----” he persisted. - -“Yes, yes, I do believe in you, Phil. I can’t doubt you when you look -at me like that.” - -“Then I’ll never look away from you.” - -“Don’t look away. Those eyes! How they’ve haunted me. The shadows in -them! There are no shadows now, Phil. They’re laughing at me, at my -feminine weakness, convinced against itself. I thought you were a -ghost.” She held him away and looked at him. “But you’re not in the -least ghostlike. You’re looking very well. I don’t believe you’ve -worried.” - -“Nor you. I’ve never seen you looking handsomer. It’s hardly flattering -to my vanity.” - -She sighed. - -“I’ve lived in Arcadia for three weeks.” - -He led her over to the log beside the shack and sat beside her. - -“Tell me,” he said at last, “how you came to be here--alone.” - -She straightened quickly and peered around. - -“But I’m _not_ alone--my guide--he went into the brush for firewood.” - -“Curious!” - -“He should be back by now.” - -“I hope he doesn’t come back.” - -“Oh, Phil, so do I--but he will. And you?” - -“My guide, Joe Keegón, is there,” and he pointed upstream. - -A shade passed over her face. - -“But we’ll send them away, Jane, back where they came from. We need no -guides now, you and I, no guides but our hearts, no servants but our -hands. We’ll begin again--where we left off--yesterday.” - -She crouched closer in his arms. - -“Yesterday. Yes, it was only yesterday that we were here,” she sighed. -“But the long night between!” - -“A dream, Jane, a dream--a phantom unhappiness--only this is real.” - -“Are you sure? I’m afraid I’ll awaken.” - -“No,” he laughed. “See, the fire is just as we left it last night; the -black log charred, the shack, your bed, the two birch trees and your -ridgepole.” - -“Yes,” she smiled. - -“The two creels and the cooking fish----” - -“Oh, those fish! My fish are all in the fire.” - -“Do you care?” - -“No--I’ll let them burn. But you’ll be good to me, won’t you, Phil?” - -There was another long pause. About them the orchestral stillness of -the deep woods, amid which they lived a moment of immortality, all -thought, all speech inadequate to their sweet communion. A venturesome -sparrow perched itself upon Jane’s ridgepole, and after putting its -head on one side in inquiry uttered a low and joyful chirp, and failing -to attract attention flew away to tell the gossip to its mate. The -breeze crooned, the stream sighed and the sunlight kissed the cardinal -flowers, which lifted their heads for its caress. All Nature breathed -contentment, peace and consummation. - -But there was much to be said, much mystery to be revealed, and it was -Jane who first spoke. She drew away from him gently and looked out into -the underbrush. - -“Phil! Those guides,” she whispered. “They may have seen.” - -“Let them. I don’t care. Do you?” - -“Ye-s. Let me think. I can’t understand. Why hasn’t Challón come back? -He was here a minute ago--or was it an hour? I don’t know.” Her fingers -struggled with the disorder of her hair as she smiled at him. - -“Challón is a myth. I don’t believe you had a guide.” - -“A myth, indeed! I wish he was--now. I wanted to go out alone, but -father wouldn’t let me----” - -“Mr. Loring!” Gallatin started up. “Oh, of course!” he sighed. “I had -forgotten that there were such things as fathers.” - -“But there are--there is--” she laughed, “a perfectly substantial -father within ten miles from here.” - -“You’re in camp again--in the same spot?” - -She nodded. - -“Any one else?” he frowned. “Not Mr. Van Duyn.” - -“Oh, dear, no. Coley has gone to Carlsbad.” - -He took her by the hand again. “You sent him away?” - -“Yes.” - -“When?” - -“After ‘Clovelly.’ Oh, Phil, you hurt me so. But I couldn’t stand -seeing him after that.” - -“Why?” - -“Because, cruel as you were, I knew that you were right and that I was -wrong. I hated you that night--hated you because you made me such a -pitiful thing; but-- Oh, I loved you, too, more than ever. If only you -hadn’t been so hard--so bitter. If you had been gentle then, you might -have taken me in your arms and crushed me if you liked. I shouldn’t -have cared.” - -“Sh--that was only in the dream, Jane.” And then: “You never cared for -_him_?” he asked quickly. - -“Never.” - -“Then why----?” - -“My pride, Phil. Poor Coley!” - -He echoed the words heartlessly. - -“Poor Coley!” - -A pause. “Who else is in camp?” - -“Colonel Broadhurst, Mr. Worthington, Mr. and Mrs. Pennington----” - -“Nellie! Here?” - -“Yes, she had never been in the woods before. Why, what is the matter, -Phil?” - -Gallatin straightened, one hand to his forehead. - -“I have it,” he said. - -“Have what?” - -“It was Nellie. I might have guessed it.” - -“Guessed----?” - -“It was _her_ plan--coming up here--to the woods. Before we left New -York she and John Kenyon were as thick as thieves--and----” - -“Oh!” - -“Good old Uncle John! He did it. I remember now--a hundred things.” - -It was Jane’s turn to be surprised. - -“Yes--yes. It’s true, Phil. Oh, how cleverly they managed! But how -could Nellie have known that I would come here? I only told Johnny -Challón.” - -Phil laughed. - -“Nellie Pennington is a remarkable woman. She knew. She knows -everything.” - -“Yes, I think she does,” said Jane. “We’ve been in camp a week. I -started with Challón four days ago. He said he had lost the trail, and -I gave it up. This morning--I can see it all now. Father--and Nellie -started me off themselves at sunrise. They knew I’d come here and----” - -She stopped and took him abruptly by the arm. “Phil! Those wicked -people had even fixed the day and hour of our meeting.” - -He nodded. - -“Of course! I wanted to come yesterday, but they wouldn’t let me. If I -had--I should have missed you.” - -“Oh--how terrible!” - -Her accents were so genuine, her face so distressed at this possibility, -that he laughed and caught her in his arms again. - -“But I _didn’t_ miss you, Jane. That’s the point. Even if I had, Nellie -would have managed somehow. She’s an extraordinary woman.” - -“She is, Phil. She chaperoned me until Coley was at the point of -exasperation.” - -“Quite right of her, too.” - -“But why has she taken such an interest in you--in us?” - -“Because she’s an angel, because she has the wisdom of the centuries, -because she is a born matchmaker, because she always does what she -makes up her mind to do, and, lastly--and most important, Jane, she has -a proper sense of the eternal fitness of things.” - -“That’s true. Nothing else was possible, was it, Phil?” - -“No. It was written--a thousand years ago.” - -She turned in his arms. - -“Have you thought that--always?” she asked. - -“I never gave up hoping.” - -“Nor I.” - -She was silent a moment. - -“Phil.” - -“What, Jane?” - -“Would you have come here to Arcadia, alone, even if----” - -“Yes. I would have come here--alone. I was planning it all spring. -This place is redolent of you. Your spirit has haunted it for a year. -I wanted to be here to share it with Kee-way-din, if I couldn’t -have--yourself.” - -“What would you have done if I had not been here?” - -“I don’t know--waited for you, I think.” - -“But it was I--who waited----” - -“You didn’t wait long. What were you thinking of, there by the fire?” - -“Of my dream.” - -“You dreamed of me?” - -“Yes. The night we came into camp I dreamed of you. I saw you poling -a canoe upstream. I followed you across a portage. There was a heavy -pack upon your back, but you did not mind the weight, for your step was -light and your face happy. There was a shadow in your eyes, the same -shadow, but your lips were smiling. Night fell and still you toiled in -the moonlight, and I knew that you were coming here. There were voices, -too, and you were singing with them; but I wasn’t afraid, because you -seemed so joyful.” - -“I _was_ joyful.” - -“I saw the shack--and the ashes of the fire and I saw you coming -through the bushes toward it. But when you came to the fire I was not -there. You called me, but I couldn’t answer. I tried to, but I seemed -to be dumb--and then--and that was all.” - -“A dream. It was all true--except the last.” - -“That’s why I came. I wanted to be here, so that if you _did_ come, -you might not be disappointed. I had failed you before. I did not want -it to happen again. I brought Challón to show me the way. I was coming -here again--and again--until you found me.” - -He raised her chin and looked into her eyes. - -“Dream again, dear.” - -“I’m dreaming now,” she sighed. “It is so sweet. Don’t let me wake, -Phil. It--it mightn’t be true.” - -“Yes, it’s true, all true. You’ll marry me, Jane?” - -“Whenever you ask me to.” - -He looked away from her down the stream where the sunlight danced in -the open. - -“I told you once that I would come for you some day--when I had -conquered myself,” he said slowly, “when I had made a place among the -useful men of the world, when I could look my Enemy in the eye--for -a long while and not be defeated--to stare him down until he stole -away--far off where I wouldn’t ever find him.” - -“Yes.” - -“He has gone, Jane. He does not trouble me and will not, I know. It was -a long battle, a silent battle between us, but I’ve won. And I’m ready -to take you, Jane.” - -“Take me, then.” - -Her lips were already his. - -“You could have had me before, Phil,” she murmured. “I would have -fought the Enemy with you he was my Enemy, too, but you would not have -me.” - -He shook his head. - -“Not then. It was my own fight--not yours. And yet if it hadn’t been -for you, perhaps I shouldn’t have fought at all.” - -She drew away from him a little. - -“No--I didn’t help you. I only made it harder. I’ll regret that always. -It was your own victory--against odds.” - -He smiled. - -“What does it matter now. I _had_ to win--not that battle alone--but -others.” - -“Yes, I know,” she smiled. “Father is mad about you.” - -Gallatin threw up his chin and laughed to the sky. - -“He ought to be. I’d be mad, too, in his place.” - -His joy was infectious, and she smiled at him fondly. - -“You’re a very wonderful person, aren’t you?” - -“How could a demigod be anything else but wonderful? You created me. -Aren’t you pleased with your handiwork?” - -“Immensely.” - -He paused a moment and then whispered into her ear. - -“You’ll marry me--soon?” - -“Yes.” - -“When?” - -“Whenever you want me, Phil.” - -“This summer! They shall leave us here!” he said. - -She colored divinely. - -“Oh!” - -“It can be managed.” - -“A wedding in the woods! Oh, Phil!” - -“Why not? I’ll see----” - -But she put her fingers over his lips and would not listen to him. - -“Yes, dear,” he insisted, capturing her hands, “it shall be here. -All this is ours--_our_ forest, _our_ stream, _our_ sunlight, yours -and mine, _our_ kingdom. Would you change a kingdom for a villa or a -fashionable hotel?” - -“No, no,” she whispered. - -“We will begin life together here--where love began--alone. You shall -cook and I shall kill for you, and build with my own hands another -shack, a larger one with two windows and a door--a wonderful shack with -chairs, a table----” - -“And a porcelain bathtub?” - -“No--the bath is down the corridor--to the right.” - -She had used it. - -“It will do,” she smiled. “May I have a mirror?” - -“The pool----” - -Her lips twisted. - -“I tried it once, and fell in. A mirror, _please_,” she insisted. - -“Yes--a mirror--then.” - -“And a--a small, a very tiny steamer trunk?” - -He laughed. - -“Oh, yes, and a French maid, smelling salts and a motor----” - -“Phil! What shall I cook with?” - -“A frying pan and a tin coffeepot.” - -“But I can make such beautiful muffins.” - -“I’ll build an oven.” - -“And cake----” - -“We’ll live like gods----” - -“Demigods----” - -“And goddesses.” - -It was sweet nonsense but nobody heard it but themselves. - -The shadows lengthened. The patches of light, turned to gold, were -lifting along the tree trunks when from the deeps of the ancient forest -below them there came three flutelike notes of liquid music of such -depth and richness that they sat spellbound. In a moment they heard it -again, the three cadenced notes of unearthly beauty and then the pause, -while all nature held its breath and waited to hear again. - -“The hermit thrush,” he whispered. - -“Oh, Phil. It’s from the very soul of things.” - -“Sh----” - -But they did not hear it again. The hermit thrush, sings seldom and -then only to those who belong to the Immortal Brotherhood of the Forest. - - -THE END - - - - - _The_ - Underwood - -Is the machine upon which all World’s Speed and Accuracy typewriter -records have been established - - -[Illustration] - - _The_ - Underwood - -Is the holder of the Elliott Cresson Medal for superiority of -mechanical construction - - -Underwood - -“_The Machine You Will Eventually Buy_” - - - UNDERWOOD BUILDING -- NEW YORK - - - - -JOHN FOX, JR.’S STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list. - - -THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE. - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -[Illustration] - -The “lonesome pine” from which the story takes its name was a tall tree -that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine -lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when -he finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the -_foot-prints of a girl_. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and -the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder -chase than “the trail of the lonesome pine.” - - -THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME. - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as “Kingdom Come.” -It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which -often springs the flower of civilization. - -“Chad.” the “little shepherd” did not know who he was nor whence he -came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, -seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and -mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming -waif, by the way, who could play the banjo better than anyone else in -the mountains. - - -A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND. - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, the lair of -moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner’s son, and the -heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened “The Blight.” Two -impetuous young Southerners fall under the spell of “The Blight’s” -charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in -the love making of the mountaineers. - -Included in this volume is “Hell fer-Sartain” and other stories, some -of Mr. Fox’s most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives. - - -_Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction._ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - -STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY GENE STRATTON-PORTER - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list. - - -THE HARVESTER. - -Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs. - -[Illustration] - -“The Harvester,” David Langston, is a man of the woods and fields, who -draws his living from the prodigal hand of Mother Nature herself. If -the book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man, with -his sure grip on life, his superb optimism, and his almost miraculous -knowledge of nature secrets, it would be notable. But when the Girl -comes to his “Medicine Woods,” and the Harvester’s whole sound, -healthy, large outdoor being realizes that this is the highest point -of life which has come to him--there begins a romance, troubled and -interrupted, yet of the rarest idyllic quality. - - -FRECKLES. - -Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford. - -Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which -he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great -Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs -to the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with “The -Angel” are full of real sentiment. - - -A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST. - -Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda. - -The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, lovable type of -the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and kindness -towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the sheer beauty -of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and -unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage. - -It is an inspiring story of a life worth while and the rich beauties of -the out-of-doors are strewn through all its pages. - - -AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. - -Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp. Design and decorations by Ralph -Fletcher Seymour. - -The scene of this charming, idyllic love story is laid in Central -Indiana. The story is one of devoted friendship, and tender -self-sacrificing love; the friendship that gives freely without return, -and the love that seeks first the happiness of the object. The novel is -brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos -and tender sentiment will endear it to all. - - -_Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction._ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - -THE NOVELS OF STEWART EDWARD WHITE - - -THE RULES OF THE GAME. - -Illustrated by Lajaren A. Hiller. - -The romance of the son of “The Riverman.” The young college hero goes -into the lumber camp, is antagonized by “graft” and comes into the -romance of his life. - - -ARIZONA NIGHTS. - -Illus. and cover inlay by N. C. Wyeth. - -A series of spirited tales emphasizing some phases of the life of the -ranch, plains and desert. A masterpiece. - - -THE BLAZED TRAIL. - -With illustrations by Thomas Fogarty. - -A wholesome story with gleams of humor, telling of a young man who -blazed his way to fortune through the heart of the Michigan pines. - - -THE CLAIM JUMPERS. A Romance. - -The tenderfoot manager of a mine in a lonesome gulch of the Black Hills -has a hard time of it, but “wins out” in more ways than one. - - -CONJUROR’S HOUSE. - -Illustrated Theatrical Edition. - -Dramatized under the title of “The Call of the North.” - -“Conjuror’s House” is a Hudson Bay trading post where the head factor -is the absolute lord. A young fellow risked his life and won a bride on -this forbidden land. - - -THE MAGIC FOREST. A Modern Fairy Tale. - -Illustrated. - -The sympathetic way in which the children of the wild and their life -is treated could only belong to one who is in love with the forest and -open air. Based on fact. - - -THE RIVERMAN. - -Illus. by N. C. Wyeth and C. Underwood. - -The story of a man’s fight against a river and of a struggle between -honesty and grit on the one side, and dishonesty and shrewdness on the -other. - - -THE SILENT PLACES. - -Illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin. - -The wonders of the northern forests, the heights of feminine devotion, -and masculine power, the intelligence of the Caucasian and the instinct -of the Indian, are all finely drawn in this story. - - -THE WESTERNERS. - -A story of the Black Hills that is justly placed among the best -American novels. It portrays the life of the new West as no other book -has done in recent years. - - -THE MYSTERY. - -In collaboration with Samuel Hopkins Adams. - -With illustrations by Will Crawford. - -The disappearance of three successive crews from the stout ship -“Laughing Lass” in mid-Pacific, is a mystery weird and inscrutable. In -the solution, there is a story of the most exciting voyage that man -ever undertook. - - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - -B. M. Bower’s Novels - -Thrilling Western Romances - -Large 12 mos. Handsomely bound in cloth. Illustrated. - - -CHIP, OF THE FLYING U. - -A breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of Chip and Della -Whitman are charmingly and humorously told. Chip’s jealousy of Dr. -Cecil Grantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is -very amusing. A clever, realistic story of the American Cow-puncher. - - -THE HAPPY FAMILY. - -A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteen -jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. Foremost amongst them, we find -Ananias Green, known as Andy, whose imaginative powers cause many -lively and exciting adventures. - - -HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT. - -A realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of Easterners -who exchange a cottage at Newport for the rough homeliness of a Montana -ranch-house. The merry-hearted cowboys, the fascinating Beatrice, and -the effusive Sir Redmond, become living, breathing personalities. - - -THE RANGE DWELLERS. - -Here are everyday, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist. Spirited -action, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo and Juliet -courtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, without a dull -page. - - -THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS. - -A vivid portrayal of the experience of an Eastern author, among the -cowboys of the West, in search of “local color” for a new novel. “Bud” -Thurston learns many a lesson while following “the lure of the dim -trails” but the hardest, and probably the most welcome, is that of love. - - -THE LONESOME TRAIL. - -“Weary” Davidson leaves the ranch for Portland, where conventional -city life palls on him. A little branch of sage brush, pungent with -the atmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of a pair of large -brown eyes soon compel his return. A wholesome love story. - - -THE LONG SHADOW. - -A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, life of a -mountain ranch. Its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play the game -of life fearlessly and like men. It is a fine love story from start to -finish. - - -Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction. - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - -TITLES SELECTED FROM GROSSET & DUNLAP’S LIST - -RE-ISSUES OF THE GREAT LITERARY SUCCESSES OF THE TIME - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. - - -BEN HUR. A Tale of the Christ. By General Lew Wallace. - -This famous Religious-Historical Romance with its mighty story, -brilliant pageantry, thrilling action and deep religious reverence, -hardly requires an outline. The whole world has placed “Ben-Hur” on a -height of pre-eminence which no other novel of its time has reached. -The clashing of rivalry and the deepest human passions, the perfect -reproduction of brilliant Roman life, and the tense, fierce atmosphere -of the arena have kept their deep fascination. - - -THE PRINCE OF INDIA. By General Lew Wallace. - -A glowing romance of the Byzantine Empire, showing, with vivid -imagination, the possible forces behind the internal decay of the -Empire that hastened the fall of Constantinople. - -The foreground figure is the person known to all as the Wandering Jew, -at this time appearing as the Prince of India, with vast stores of -wealth, and is supposed to have instigated many wars and fomented the -Crusades. - -Mohammed’s love for the Princess Irene is beautifully wrought into the -story, and the book as a whole is a marvelous work both historically -and romantically. - - -THE FAIR GOD. By General Lew Wallace. A Tale of the Conquest of -Mexico. With Eight Illustrations by Eric Pape. - -All the annals of conquest have nothing more brilliantly daring and -dramatic than the drama played in Mexico by Cortes. As a dazzling -picture of Mexico and the Montezumas it leaves nothing to be desired. - -The artist has caught with rare enthusiasm the spirit of the Spanish -conquerors of Mexico, its beauty and glory and romance. - - -TARRY THOU TILL I COME or, Salathiel, the Wandering Jew. By -George Croly. With twenty illustrations by T. de Thulstrup. - -A historical novel, dealing with the momentous events that occurred, -chiefly in Palestine, from the time of the Crucifixion to the -destruction of Jerusalem. - -The book, as a story, is replete with Oriental charm and richness, -and the character drawing is marvelous. No other novel ever written -has portrayed with such vividness the events that convulsed Rome and -destroyed Jerusalem in the early days of Christianity. - - -_Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction._ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - -STORIES OF WESTERN LIFE - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. - - -RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE. By Zane Grey. - -Illustrated by Douglas Duer. - -In this picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago, we are -permitted to see the unscrupulous methods employed by the invisible -hand of the Mormon Church to break the will of those refusing to -conform to its rule. - - -FRIAR TUCK. By Robert Alexander Wason. - -Illustrated by Stanley L. Wood. - -Happy Hawkins tells us, in his humorous way, how Friar Tuck lived among -the Cowboys, how he adjusted their quarrels and love affairs and how he -fought with them and for them when occasion required. - - -THE SKY PILOT. By Ralph Connor. - -Illustrated by Louis Rhead. - -There is no novel, dealing with the rough existence of cowboys, so -charming in the telling, abounding as it does with the freshest and the -truest pathos. - - -THE EMIGRANT TRAIL. By Geraldine Bonner. - -Colored frontispiece by John Rae. - -The book relates the adventures of a party on its overland pilgrimage, -and the birth and growth of the absorbing love of two strong men for a -charming heroine. - - -THE BOSS OF WIND RIVER. By A. M. Chisholm. - -Illustrated by Frank Tenney Johnson. - -This is a strong, virile novel with the lumber industry for its central -theme and a love story full of interest as a sort of subplot. - - -A PRAIRIE COURTSHIP. By Harold Bindloss. - -A story of Canadian prairies in which the hero is stirred, through -the influence of his love for a woman, to settle down to the heroic -business of pioneer farming. - - -JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS. By Harriet T. Comstock. - -Illustrated by John Cassel. - -A story of the deep woods that shows the power of love at work among -its primitive dwellers. It is a tensely moving study of the human heart -and its aspirations that unfolds itself through thrilling situations -and dramatic developments. - - -_Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction._ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - -AMELIA E. BARR’S STORIES - -DELIGHTFUL TALES OF OLD NEW YORK - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list. - - -THE BOW OF ORANGE RIBBON. - -With Frontispiece. - -This exquisite little romance opens in New York City in “the tender -grace” of a May day long past, when the old Dutch families clustered -around Bowling Green. It is the beginning of the romance of Katherine, -a young Dutch girl who has sent, as a love token, to a young English -officer, the bow of orange ribbon which she has worn for years as a -sacred emblem on the day of St. Nicholas. After the bow of ribbon -Katherine’s heart soon flies. Unlike her sister, whose heart has found -a safe resting place among her own people, Katherine’s heart must rove -from home--must know to the utmost all that life holds of both joy -and sorrow. And so she goes beyond the seas, leaving her parents as -desolate as were Isaac and Rebecca of old. - - -THE MAID OF MAIDEN LANE; A Love Story. - -With Illustrations by S. M. Arthur. - -A sequel to “The Bow of Orange Ribbon.” The time is the gracious days -of Seventeen-hundred and ninety-one, when “The Marseillaise” was sung -with the American national airs, and the spirit affected commerce, -politics and conversation. In the midst of this period the romance of -“The Sweetest Maid in Maiden Lane” unfolds. Its chief charm lies in its -historic and local color. - - -SHEILA VEDDER. - -Frontispiece in colors by Harrison Fisher. - -A love story set in the Shetland Islands. - -Among the simple, homely folk who dwelt there Jan Vedder was raised; -and to this island came lovely Sheila Jarrow. Jan knew, when first he -beheld her, that she was the one woman in all the world for him, and -to the winning of her love he set himself. The long days of summer by -the sea, the nights under the marvelously soft radiance of Shetland -moonlight passed in love-making, while with wonderment the man and -woman, alien in traditions, adjusted themselves to each other. And the -day came when Jan and Sheila wed, and then a sweeter love story is told. - - -TRINITY BELLS. - -With eight Illustrations by C. M. Relyea. - -The story centers around the life of little Katryntje Van Clyffe, who, -on her return home from a fashionable boarding school, faces poverty -and heartache. Stout of heart, she does not permit herself to become -discouraged even at the news of the loss of her father and his ship -“The Golden Victory.” The story of Katryntje’s life was interwoven with -the music of the Trinity Bells which eventually heralded her wedding -day. - - -_Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction._ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - -CHARMING BOOKS FOR GIRLS - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. - - -WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE. By Jean Webster. - -Illustrated by C. D. Williams. - -One of the best stories of life in a girl’s college that has ever been -written. It is bright, whimsical and entertaining, lifelike, laughable -and thoroughly human. - - -JUST PATTY. By Jean Webster. - -Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. - -Patty is full of the joy of living, fun-loving, given to ingenious -mischief for its own sake, with a disregard for pretty convention which -is an unfailing source of joy to her fellows. - - -THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL. By Eleanor Gates. - -With four full page illustrations. - -This story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate children -whose early days are passed in the companionship of a governess, seldom -seeing either parent, and famishing for natural love and tenderness. A -charming play as dramatized by the author. - - -REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. By Kate Douglas Wiggin. - -One of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca’s artistic, -unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of -austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal -dramatic record. - - -NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA. By Kate Douglas Wiggin. - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -Additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that -carry Rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday. - - -REBECCA MARY. By Annie Hamilton Donnell. - -Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green. - -This author possesses the rare gift of portraying all the grotesque -little joys and sorrows and scruples of this very small girl with a -pathos that is peculiarly genuine and appealing. - - -EMMY LOU: Her Book and Heart. By George Madden Martin. - -Illustrated by Charles Louis Hinton. - -Emmy Lou is irresistibly lovable, because she is so absolutely real. -She is just a bewitchingly innocent, hugable little maid. The book is -wonderfully human. - - -_Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction._ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - -GROSSET & DUNLAP’S DRAMATIZED NOVELS - -Original, sincere and courageous--often amusing--the kind that are -making theatrical history. - - -MADAME X. By Alexandre Bisson and J. W. McConaughy. - -Illustrated with scenes from the play. - -A beautiful Parisienne became an outcast because her husband would not -forgive an error of her youth. Her love for her son is the great final -influence in her career. A tremendous dramatic success. - - -THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens. - -An unconventional English woman and an inscrutable stranger meet and -love in an oasis of the Sahara. Staged this season with magnificent -cast and gorgeous properties. - - -THE PRINCE OF INDIA. By Lew. Wallace. - -A glowing romance of the Byzantine Empire, presenting with extraordinary -power the siege of Constantinople, and lighting its tragedy with the -warm underglow of an Oriental romance. As a play it is a great dramatic -spectacle. - - -TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY. By Grace Miller White. - -Illust. by Howard Chandler Christy. - -A girl from the dregs of society, loves a young Cornell University -student, and it works startling changes in her life and the lives of -those about her. The dramatic version is one of the sensations of the -season. - - -YOUNG WALLINGFORD. By George Randolph Chester. - -Illust. by F. R. Gruger and Henry Raleigh. - -A series of clever swindles conducted by a cheerful young man, each -of which is just on the safe side of a State’s prison offence. As -“Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford,” it is probably the most amusing expose of -money manipulation ever seen on the stage. - - -THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY. By P. G. Wodehouse. - -Illustrations by Will Grefe. - -Social and club life in London and New York, an amateur burglary -adventure and a love story. Dramatized under the title of “A Gentleman -of Leisure,” it furnishes hours of laughter to the play-goers. - - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - -GROSSET & DUNLAP’S DRAMATIZED NOVELS - -THE KIND THAT ARE MAKING THEATRICAL HISTORY - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. - - -WITHIN THE LAW. By Bayard Veiller & Marvin Dana. - -Illustrated by Wm. Charles Cooke. - -This is a novelization of the immensely successful play which ran for -two years in New York and Chicago. - -The plot of this powerful novel is of a young woman’s revenge directed -against her employer who allowed her to be sent to prison for three -years on a charge of theft, of which she was innocent. - - -WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY. By Robert Carlton Brown. - -Illustrated with scenes from the play. - -This is a narrative of a young and innocent country girl who is -suddenly thrown into the very heart of New York, “the land of her -dreams,” where she is exposed to all sorts of temptations and dangers. - -The story of Mary is being told in moving pictures and played in -theatres all over the world. - - -THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM. By David Belasco. - -Illustrated by John Rae. - -This is a novelization of the popular play in which David Warfield, as -Old Peter Grimm, scored such a remarkable success. - -The story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal, powerful, -both as a book and as a play. - - -THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens. - -This novel is an intense, glowing epic of the great desert, sunlit -barbaric, with its marvelous atmosphere of vastness and loneliness. - -It is a book of rapturous beauty, vivid in word painting. The play has -been staged with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties. - - -BEN HUR. A Tale of the Christ. By General Lew Wallace. - -The whole world has placed this famous Religious-Historical Romance on -a height of pre-eminence which no other novel of its time has reached. -The clashing of rivalry and the deepest human passions, the perfect -reproduction of brilliant Roman life, and the tense, fierce atmosphere -of the arena have kept their deep fascination. A tremendous dramatic -success. - - -BOUGHT AND PAID FOR. By George Broadhurst and Arthur Hornblow. - -Illustrated with scenes from the play. - -A stupendous arraignment of modern marriage which has created an -interest on the stage that is almost unparalleled. The scenes are laid -in New York, and deal with conditions among both the rich and poor. - -The interest of the story turns on the day-by-day developments which -show the young wife the price she has paid. - - -_Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction._ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - -THE NOVELS OF CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM - -May be had wherever books are sold. 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