Kitobni o'qish: «Robert Kimberly»

CHAPTER I

The dancing pavilion, separated from theCasino itself by an arched passageway andaffording another pretty view of the lake in themoonlight, was filled with young people whenAlice entered.

"It will be cool here, I think," suggested DollyDe Castro, leading the way for her guest. "TheHickories is by no means a gay place," shecontinued, seating herself beside Alice where theycould see the dancers moving in and out of thelong room. "And it isn't a club. There is justthis Casino and the fields for golf and polo. It isa neighborhood affair-and really the quietestplace of the kind in the Lake country. Too badyou could not have been here three weeks ago forthe Kermess."

"So Miss Venable said. They are great fun."

"We revive one occasionally to preserve theDutch traditions of the family," continued Dolly."Mrs. Charles Kimberly-Imogene-gave it thisyear. Last year I gave it. You would have seeneverybody, especially the Sea Ridge people.Fritzie, dear?" Dolly paused to stay a slender youngwoman who was passing. "Miss Venable," sheexplained, still speaking to Alice, "is our favoritecousin and will make you acquainted with every one."

Fritzie Venable whose lively, brown eyesescaped beauty only through a certain keennessof expression, stopped with a smile and waitedon Dolly's word.

"I want Mrs. MacBirney to go over to theNelsons' after a while. This dance is really ayoung people's affair," Dolly went on, turningto Alice. "These are friends of Grace's andLarrie's and I don't know half of them. Takecare of Mrs. MacBirney a moment, Fritzie, willyou, while I find Arthur?" asked Dolly, risingand leaving the two together.

Alice looked after Dolly as she walked away.Dolly had the Kimberly height and preserved itwith a care that gave dignity to her carriage.Her dignity, indeed, showed in her words as wellas in her manner; but in both it battled with amental intensity that fought for immediateexpression. Dolly persuaded and dictated unblushingly, though it could not be said, unpleasingly.

"I know you are enjoying Mrs. De Castro andher lovely home," said Fritzie to Alice. "Ofcourse," she added as Alice assented, "The Towersis on a much grander scale. But I think BlackRock is the 'homiest' place on Second Lake. Isuppose since I saw you yesterday you have beenall around?"

"Not quite; but I've met many lovely people."

"You can't help liking Second Lake people.They are a kind-hearted, generous set-notablyso for people of means."

"Aren't such people usually generous?"

Fritzie looked doubtful: "People of large means, perhaps, yes. Indeed, the only trouble here is, there are too many of that sort. Everybody isprosperous and everybody, with, I think, twoexceptions, contented. I," laughed Fritzie, "amone of the exceptions. There being no possibilityof preëminence in the line of means, I believe Ihave in my rôle of discontent a certain distinction; and as far as I can see, as much fun as anybody.In fact, I've often thought the only place whereI should care to be rich would be among thepoor. Where every one overflows with luxurydistinctions are necessarily lost-and I likedistinctions. Isn't this pretty for dancing?"

"Everything over here is pretty," said Alice.

"The place takes its name, 'The Hickories,'from the grove back of it. You see there wasnothing about the Lake itself to serve the purposeof a country club-no golf course, no polo field.All this stretch of the eastern shore is a part ofThe Towers estate, but Mr. Kimberly was goodenough to set it apart for the rest of us-you havemet Mr. Robert Kimberly?"

"Neither of the Mr. Kimberlys as yet."

"There is Charles now." Fritzie indicated asmooth-faced, youthful-looking man coming inthrough one of the veranda openings. "That ishe speaking to Dolly. They call him thehandsome Kimberly."

Alice smiled: "For a man that's rather asevere handicap, isn't it?"

"To be called handsome?"

"It suggests in a way that good looks areexceptional in the family, and they are not, for theirsister, Mrs. De Castro is very handsome, I think.Which brother is this?"

"The married brother; the other is Robert.They call him the homely Kimberly. He isn'treally homely, but his face in repose is heavy.He is the bachelor."

"Mr. MacBirney tells me he is completelywrapped up in business."

"Rather-yes; of late years."

"That, I presume, is why he has never married."

"Perhaps," assented Fritzie with a prudentpause. "Some men," she went on somewhatvaguely, "get interested, when they are young, inwomen in general. And afterward never settledown to any one woman, you know."

"I should think that kind of a man would betiresome."

Fritzie looked at young Mrs. MacBirney somewhatin surprise, but there was nothing in Alice'sfrank eyes to provoke criticism. They metFritzie's with an assurance of good-nature thatforestalled hostility. Then, too, Fritzieremembered that Mrs. MacBirney was from the Westwhere people speak freely. "Robert is deliberatebut not a bit tiresome," was all Fritzie said inanswer. "Indeed, he is not communicative."

"I didn't mean in that way," explained Alice."I should only be afraid a man like that wouldtake himself so seriously."

Fritzie laughed: "He wouldn't know what thatmeant. You had music at your dinner to-night."

"Lovely music: the Hawaiian singers."

"I was sorry I couldn't be there. They alwayscome out to sing for Robert when they are in theStates, and they are always in dreadful financialstraits when they get as far from home as this, andhe is always making up their deficits. They usedto sing at The Towers, from barges on the lake.But The Towers is hardly ever opened nowadaysfor a function. The music over the waterwith the house illuminated was simply superb.And the evening winding up with fireworks!"sighed Fritzie in pleasing retrospect.

"There is Robert now," she continued.. "Doyou see him? With Mrs. Charles Kimberly.They are devoted. Isn't she a slip? And thedaintiest little thing. Robert calls her his littleQuakeress-her people were Quakers. She seemslost among the Kimberlys-though Robert isn'tquite so tall as his brother, only more muscularand slower."

Robert Kimberly with Imogene on his armentered from the opposite side of the room andwalked across the floor to take her to her husband.His face was darker than that of Charles andheavier eyebrows rendered his expression less alert.Fritzie waved a hand at Imogene, who answeredwith her fan and greeted Alice.

"And there comes Mrs. Nelson-the palebrunette. Heroic woman, I call her. She has beenfighting her advancing weight for ten years. Isn'tshe trim? Heavens, she ought to be. She livesin Paris half the time and does nothing but dressand flirt."

"And who is it with her?"

"The stately creature with her is Dora Morgan.She is a divorcée. She likewise lives in Parisand is quite a singer. I haven't heard her latelybut she used to sing a little off the key; she dressesa little off the key yet, to say nothing of theway she acts sometimes. They are going to dance."

A small orchestra of stringed instruments witha French horn, hidden somewhere in a balcony, began the faint strains of a German waltz. Thenight was warm. Young people in white strollingthrough dim veranda openings into the softlylighted room moved at once out upon the floorto the rhythm of the music. Others, following, paused within the doorways to spin out ends ofsmall talk or persist in negligible disputes. Thedancers wore the pretty Hawaiian leis in honor ofthe Island singers.

"There were some interesting men at the dinnerto-night," said Alice.

"You mean the German refiners? Yes, theyare Charles Kimberly's guests," remarked Fritzieas the floor filled. "There they are now, in thatgroup in the archway with Mr. Nelson."

"But the smaller man was not at the dinner."

"No, that is Guyot, the French representativeof the Kimberlys. He and George Doane, the bald, good-looking man next to him, have the party incharge. You met the immense man, HerrGustav Baumann, at dinner. He is a great refinerand a Hawaiian planter. They are on their wayto Honolulu now and leave within an hour or twoin Robert Kimberly's car for San Francisco. TheBaumanns have known the Kimberlys forgenerations. Should you ever think Herr Baumanncould dance? He is as light as a cat on his feet, but he waltzes in the dreadful Europeanround-and-round way. The black-haired man with thebig nose is Lambert, a friend of his, a promoterand a particularly famous chemist whom RobertKimberly, by the way, hates-he is a Belgian. Ican't bear him, either-and, Heavens, Guyot isbringing him over here now to ask me to dance!"

Fritzie's fear proved true. However, sheaccepted graciously as Lambert was broughtforward and bowed in making his request. But shedid not fail to observe that though he bowed low,Lambert's bold eyes were glued on Alice evenwhile he was begging Fritzie for the dance.Something in Alice's slender face, the white hardlytouched enough with pink, except under animation, held Lambert's glance. Alice, alreadyprejudiced, directed her eyes as far away as possibleunder the inspection and was glad that Fritzierose at once.

Robert Kimberly joined Baumann and EdwardNelson. "You have not told me yet, Robert,"Baumann began, "how you put in your time herein the country."

"I have a good secretary and do a great deal ofmy work here, Gustav."

"But one does not always work. What else?I remember," he continued, turning to Nelson,"the stories my father used to tell about theKimberlys-your father, Robert, and especially yourUncle John." Baumann radiated interest ineverything American. "Those men were busymen. Not alone sugar-refining, but horses, steamboats, opera-houses, women-always, always someexcitement."

"Other times, other manners, Baumann,"suggested Nelson. "In those days a fine horse hada national interest; to-day, everybody's horsedoes his mile in two minutes. The railroads longago killed the steamboats; newsboys build theopera-houses now; sugar refines itself. Meremoney-making, Baumann, has become so absorbingthat a Kimberly of this generation doesn'thave time to look at a woman."

"Nelson!" protested the good-natured andperspiring German, "no time to look at a woman?That, at least, cannot be true, can it, Robert?"

"Not quite. But I imagine the interest haswaned," said Kimberly. "When a man took hislife in his hand on such a venture the excitementgave it a double zest-the reflection that you werean outlaw but prepared, if necessary, to pay theprice with your life. Nowadays, the husband hasfallen lower than the libertine. If you break uphis home-he sues you. There is nothinghair-raising in that. Will you dance, Gustav?"

"I want very much to dance. Your womendance better than ours."

"Why, your women dance beautifully. Nelsonwill find you a partner," suggested Kimberly."I must hunt up Mrs. Nelson. I have a dancewith her, myself."

Alice sat for a moment alone. Among thedancers, Robert Kimberly moved past her withLottie Nelson on his arm. Alice noticed howhandsome and well poised Lottie was on her feet;Kimberly she thought too cold to be an attractivepartner.

Within a moment Dolly came back. "I can'tfind Arthur anywhere."

"He isn't on the floor, Mrs. De Castro."

"No matter, I will let him find me. Isn't it apretty company? I do love these fresh faces,"remarked Dolly, sitting down. "The youngpeople complain of our being exclusive. That isabsurd. We have to keep quiet, otherwise whylive in the country? Besides, what would begained by opening the doors?"

Dolly had a pleasing way of appealing indifficulties, or what seemed such, even to a stranger."We don't want ambitious people," she went on;"they are killing, you know-and we certainlydon't want any more like ourselves. As Arthursays," Dolly laughed a little rippling laugh, "'wehave social liabilities enough of our own.'"

Arthur De Castro came up just in time to hearhis name: "What's that Arthur says, Dolly?"

"Oh, here you are!" exclaimed his wife. "Nomatter, dear, what it was."

"It is certain Arthur never said anything ofthe kind, Mrs. MacBirney," interposed De Castro."If any one said it, it must have been you, Dolly."

Alice laughed at the two. "No matter whosaid it," remarked Dolly, dismissing the controversy,"somebody said it. It really sounds morelike Robert than anybody else."

"You will be aware very soon, Mrs. MacBirney,"continued De Castro, "that the Kimberlyssay all manner of absurd things-and they are notalways considerate enough to father them on someone else, either."

Alice turned to her hostess with amused interest: "You, of course, are included because you are aKimberly."

"She is more Kimberly than the Kimberlys,"asserted her husband. "I am not a Kimberly."Arthur De Castro in apologizing bowed with soreal a deprecation that both women laughed.

"Of course, the young people rebel," persistedDolly, pursuing her topic, and her dark hairtouched with gray somehow gave an authority toher pronouncements, "young people always wanta circle enlarged, but a circle never should be.What is it you want, Arthur?"

"I am merely listening."

"Don't pretend that you leave the men just tolisten to me. You want Mrs. MacBirney todance."

"She is always like that," declared De Castroto Alice, whom he found pleasing because hergraciousness seemed to invite its like. "Just suchbursts of divination. At times they areoverwhelming. I remember how stunned I was whenshe cried-quite before I could get my breath:'You want to marry me!'"

"Was she right?" laughed Alice, looking fromone to the other.

"Absolutely."

"Is she right now?"

"Dolly is always right."

"Then I suppose I must dance."

"Not, of course, unless you want to."

Alice appealed to Dolly: "What did you do?"

"I said I wouldn't marry him."

"But you did," objected her companion.

"He was so persistent!"

Alice laughingly rose: "Then it would bebetter to consent at once."

Dolly rose with her. Two of the dancersstopped before them: a tall, slender girl and aruddy-faced, boyish young man.

"Grace," said Dolly to the blue-eyed girl, "Iwant you to meet Mrs. MacBirney. This is myniece, Grace De Castro."

The young girl looked with pretty expectancyinto Alice's face, and frankly held out her hand.

"Oh, what a bloom!" exclaimed Alice, lookingat the delicate features and transparent skin.Grace laughed happily. Alice kept her hand amoment: "You are like a bit of morning cometo life, Grace."

"And this is my cousin, Mrs. MacBirney-Mr. Morgan,"said Grace shyly.

Larrie Morgan, a bit self-conscious, stood foran instant aloof. Alice said nothing, but her eyesin the interval worked their spell. He suddenlysmiled.

"I'm mightily pleased to meet you, Mrs. MacBirney,"he exclaimed with heartiness. "We'veall heard about you. Is Mr. MacBirney here?"he continued, tendering the biggest complimenthe could think of.

"He is somewhere about, I think."

"We shall lose our waltz, Mrs. MacBirney,"urged Arthur De Castro.

"Oh, we mustn't do that. Let's run,"whispered Alice, taking his arm.

"Who is Mrs. MacBirney?" asked Grace ofLarrie with an appealing look as Alice movedaway.

"Why, don't you know? Her husband ownssome beet plants."

"What lovely manners she has." Grace spokeunder her breath. "And so quiet. Where aretheir refineries, Larrie?"

"In the West."

"Where in the West?"

"Somewhere out toward the Rocky Mountains,"hazarded Larrie.

"Denver?" suggested Grace doubtfully.

"I fancy that's it. Anyway," explained Larriecoldly, "we are buying them."

"Are you?" asked Grace, lifting her soft eyestimidly.

To her, Larrie was the entire Kimberly sugarinterest; and at the moment of making theMacBirney purchase he looked, to Grace, the part.

CHAPTER II

Edward Nelson, the counsel, in somemeasure the political adviser and, as to thepublic, the buffer of the Kimberly sugar interests, was fond of entertaining. Being naturally anamiable gourmet, his interests suited his tastes.Moreover, his wife, Lottie Nelson, pleasing offace, with a figure well proportioned and withdistinction in her bright, indolent eyes, loved toentertain. And she loved to entertain withoutworking hard to do so. Morningside, her countryhome at Second Lake, though both attractive andspacious, and designed with a view to entertaining, was already being replaced with a new home moreattractive and more spacious, and meant to befilled with still more guests.

Observation and experience had convincedLottie that the easiest way to keep people in hand isto feed them well. And she quite understood thata vital part of the feeding in such a philosophy isthe drinking. There were difficulties, it is true, but which of us has not difficulties?

People-provided, they were people ofconsequence-diverted Lottie. She had nochildren-children had no place in her view of life-norwas she vitally interested in her husband. Thecompanionship of those whom she called herfriends thus became a necessity; the annoyancebeing that not always would the particularfriends whom she wanted-men chiefly-gather to her.

On the evening of the De Castro dinner anddance, Lottie was in better than her usual spirits.She had brought home Charles Kimberly-who asa yachtsman bore the title of Commodore-andhis wife, Imogene. Imogene, the little Quakeress, did not like her, as Lottie was aware, but CharlesKimberly was always in sorts and alwaystractable-different in that respect from Robert.Charles and his wife took MacBirney and FritzieVenable to the Nelsons' with them and Alice wasto follow with the De Castros.

When Lottie reached home, Dora Morgan hadalready come over with George Doane, one of theKimberly stock brokers. These two assured theevening. In the dining-room only a few-of theright sort-were needed for good company.

But more was in prospect for thisevening-Robert Kimberly was expected. Nelson camedown from the library with MacBirney and lefthim with Imogene while he followed Charles toa smoking-room. Fritzie and Mrs. Nelson joinedDoane and Dora Morgan in the music-room.Cards were proposed, but no one had the energyto get at them.

A servant passed in the hall to answer the doorand Lottie Nelson at once left the room. Whenshe reached the vestibule the footman was takingRobert Kimberly's coat. She walked well up toRobert before she spoke: "At last!"

"I went back to The Towers for a moment,"said Kimberly in explanation. "Are Charles andNelson here?"

"And is that all after a month-'Are Charlesand Nelson here?'!" echoed Lottie patiently andwith a touch of intimate reproach.

"We have a conference to-night, you know,Lottie. How are you?"

She put back her abundant hair: "Why didn'tyou call up last week when you were home tofind out?"

"I was home only overnight. And I camelate and left before you were awake. You knowI have been at the new refinery for a week. Webegan melting yesterday."

"At the big one?"

"At the big one."

She took hold of the lei that he had worn overfrom the dance and in a leisurely way made apretence of braiding the stem of a loose rose backinto it. "This is the prettiest I've seen," saidLottie. "Who gave it to you?"

"Grace. What is the matter with it?" heasked looking down at her white fingers.

"You are losing your decoration," she murmuredwith leisurely good-nature. "Nobody todo anything for you."

Kimberly looked at the parting lei with someannoyance, but if he entertained doubts as to itsneeding attention he expressed none. "Thesethings are a nuisance anyway," he declared atlength, lifting the lei impatiently over his head anddepositing it without more ado on a console. "Wewill leave it there."

"Where else have you been all this time?"demanded Lottie with an indolent interest.

"All over the country-even across the Rockies."

"Across the Rockies! And a whole big car toyourself! You must love solitude. And now youare buying a lot of refineries."

"Not I-the companies are."

"Oh, it's all the same."

"Not precisely; this MacBirney purchase isnot by my advice or with my approval."

"He is in there now, Imogene is talking with him."

"The trip was extremely tedious," said Kimberly, casting his eyes slowly around for means of escape.

"How could it be anything else with no friendsalong?"

"With McCrea and two secretaries and astenographer, I hadn't time to take any friends."

"What is time for?"

"I should say in the West it is valuable forgetting home with."

"And when you do get home?"

"To build more; borrow more; control more; sell more; spend more. I'm speaking for all therest of you, not for myself. I'm just thecentrifugal to throw the money out."

"Never by any chance to live more, I suppose?"

"You mean to eat and drink more? Howcould we?"

"I don't mean to eat and drink more. I meanjust what I say, to live more!"

They were at the threshold of the music room.He laughed good-naturedly, but Lottie declinedto be appeased.

"Lord, but I'm sick of it all!" she exclaimedpetulantly.

Kimberly used care not to offend, yet he alwaysinterposed a screen between himself and her, and however delicate the barrier, Lottie Nelsonhad never been able to penetrate it.

"No sicker of it than I am," he returned."But I'm a part of the machine; I can't get out.I suppose you are, and you can't get out. Butyou are too young to talk like that; wait till thenew home is finished. Then you will shine."

She uttered a contemptuous exclamation, notquite loud enough for the others to hear, as shereëntered the room. The others, in fact, scarcelywould have heard. Fritzie, Doane, and DoraMorgan were laughing immoderately. Imogeneat the piano was playing softly. Kimberlystopped to speak to her.

"I forgot, by the way, to ask you when yousail, Imogene," he said.

She answered with one hand running over thekeys: "That depends on you, doesn't it, Robert?I do hope you'll get through soon."

"Anxious to get away, are you?"

"You know I always am."

"Where are you going this time?"

"To the Mediterranean, I suppose."

"You are fond of the Mediterranean."

"Every place else seems so savage after it."

"Lottie says you have been talking with MacBirney."

"Just a few minutes."

"How do you like him?" asked her brother-in-law.

Imogene laughed a little: "He is very intelligent.He confuses me a little, though; he is so brisk."

"Is he entertaining?"

Imogene shrugged her shoulders: "Yes. Only,he rather makes you feel as if he were selling yousomething, don't you know. I suppose it's hardlyfair to judge of one from the first interview. Hisviews are broad," smiled Imogene in retrospect."'I can't understand,' he said 'why our Americanmen should so unceasingly pursue money. Whatcan more than a million or two possibly be goodfor-unless to give away?'" Imogene looked witha droll smile into Kimberly's stolid face. "Whenhe said, 'a million or two,' I thought of my wretchedbrother-in-law struggling along with thirty or fortythat he hasn't yet managed to get rid of!"

"You don't think, then, he would accept a fewof them?" suggested Kimberly.

"Suppose you try him some time," smiledImogene as she walked with Kimberly to thecard-table where Fritzie and Dora Morgan sat withDoane.

"Travelling agrees with you, Robert," observed Doane.

"The country agrees with you," returnedKimberly. "Good company, I suppose, George, isthe secret."

"How is the consolidation getting along?"

"There isn't any consolidation."

"Combination, then?"

"Slowly. How is the market?"

"Our end of it is waiting on you. When shallyou have some news for us?"

"You don't need news to make a market,"returned Kimberly indifferently, as he sat down.He looked at those around the table. "What areyou doing?"

"Tell your story again, Dora," suggested Doane.

Dora Morgan looked at Kimberly defiantly."No," she said briefly.

"Pshaw, tell it," urged Doane. "It's about theVirgin Mary, Robert."

Dora was firm: "It's not a bachelor's story,"she insisted.

"Most of your stories are bachelors' stories,Dora," said Kimberly.

Dora threw away her cigarette. "Listen tothat! Didn't I tell you?" she asked appealingto Doane. "Robert is getting to be a real nice man."

In an effort to appease both sides, Doanelaughed, but somewhat carefully.

"I got into trouble only the other day in tellingthat story," continued Dora, with the sameundercurrent of defiance.

Effectively dressed, though with a tendency tocolor, and with dark, regular features, flushed alittle at night, Dora Morgan had a promise ofmanner that contrasted peculiarly with herfreedom of tongue.

"Tell us about it, Dora?" said Lottie Nelson.

"It was over at The Towers. I was telling thestory to Uncle John. His blood is red, yet," sheadded without looking at Robert Kimberly toemphasize her implication.

"Uncle John!" echoed Fritzie, at fault. "DidUncle John object?"

"Oh, no, you misunderstand. It wasn't UncleJohn." Every one but Kimberly laughed. "Iwas telling Uncle John the story, and his nurse-yourprotégé, what's his name? I never canremember-Lazarus? the queer little Italian," shesaid, appealing to Kimberly.

"Brother Francis," he answered.

"He's not so awfully little," interposed Fritzie.

"Well, he was in the room," continued Dora,"and he got perfectly furious the moment he heard it."

"Furious, Dora? Why, how funny!" exclaimedLottie Nelson, languidly.

"He turned on me like a thunder-cloud. PoorUncle John was still laughing-he laughs on oneside of his face since his stroke, and looks sofiendish, you know-when Lazarus began toglower at me. He was really insulting in hismanner. 'Oh, I didn't know you were here,' Isaid to hush him up. 'What difference shouldthat make?' he asked, and his eyes were flashing,I can tell you."

"'The Virgin Mary is no relation of yours, isshe?' I demanded frigidly. You ought to haveseen the man. You know how sallow he is; heflushed to the roots of his hair and his lips snappedlike a trap. Then he became ashamed of himself,I dare say, and his eyes fell; he put his handon his breast and bowed to me as if I had been aqueen-they certainly have the prettiest manners, these poor Italians-haven't they, Imogene?"

"But what did he say?" asked Fritzie.

"'Madame,' he exclaimed, as if I had stabbedhim to the heart, 'the Blessed Virgin is mymother.' You really would have thought I hadinsulted his own mother. They have such queerideas, these foreigners. My, but he was mad!Then, what do you think? The next day Ipassed him walking up from the lake and he cameover with such apologies! He prayed I wouldoverlook his anger-he professed to have been soshocked that he had forgotten himself-no doubthe was afraid he would lose his job."

"George, you look sleepy," Lottie Nelsoncomplained, looking at Doane. "You needsomething to wake you up. Suppose we adjourn tothe dining-room?"

Imogene returned to the piano. Kimberlywalked to the door of the dining-room with theothers. "I will go upstairs," he said to LottieNelson.

"Don't stay all night," she returned peremptorily."And come have something before you go up."

"Perhaps when I come down."

Fritzie caught his arm, and walked with himinto the hall. They talked for a moment. "Youmust meet her," declared Fritzie at length, "sheis perfectly lovely and will be over after a whilewith Dolly." Then she looked at him suddenly: "I declare, I don't believe you've heard a wordof what I've been saying."

"I'm afraid not, Fritzie, but no matter, listento what I say. Don't go in there and drink withthat bunch."

"I won't."

"Whiskey makes a fool of you."

Fritzie put up her hand: "Now don't scold."

Upstairs, Nelson and Charles Kimberly, facingeach other, were seated at a big table on which laya number of type-written sheets, beautifully clearand distinct. These they were examining.

"What are you going over?" asked Robert, taking the chair Nelson drew up for him.

"The Colorado plants."

"Our own or the MacBirney?"

"Both."

Charles Kimberly with one hand in his pocket, and supporting his head with the other as hiselbow rested on the table, turned to Robert with aquestion.

"You've seen the MacBirney figures. What doyou think of them?"

"They are high. But I expected that."

"Do you really need the MacBirney plants tocontrol the Western market?" asked CharlesKimberly. With eyes half closed behind hisglasses he studied his brother's face, quite asoccupied with his thoughts as with his words.

Robert did not answer at once. "I should hateto say so, personally," he remarked at length.

"McCrea," continued Charles, "contends thatwe do need them to forestall competition. Thatis, he thinks with the MacBirney crowd out of thefield we can have peace for ten years out there."

Nelson asked a question. "What kind offactories have they got?"

"Old-fashioned," answered Robert Kimberly.

"What kind of influence?"

"In public affairs, I don't know. In tradethey are not dangerous, though MacBirney isambitious and full of energy. The father-in-lawwas a fine old fellow. But he died just before thereorganization. I don't know how much moneythey've got now."

"They haven't much," remarked Nelson.

"We bother them a good deal from San Francisco,"continued Robert Kimberly, reflecting, "butthat is expensive. Ultimately we must own morefactories in Colorado. Of course, as far as thatgoes, I would rather build new plants thanremodel rat-hospitals."

Charles Kimberly straightened up and turnedhimself in his chair. "Ten years of peace is wortha good deal to us. And if MacBirney can insurethat, we ought to have it. All of this," heappealed to Robert, as he spoke, "is supposing thatyou are willing to assent."

"I do not assent, chiefly because I distrustMacBirney. If the rest of you are satisfied totake him in, go ahead."

"The others seem to be, Robert."

"Then there is nothing more to be said. Let'sget at the depreciation charges and the estimatesfor next year's betterments, so we can go over thenew capitalization."

While the conference went on, the muffled humof gathering motor-cars came through the openwindows.

Robert Kimberly leaving the two men, walkeddownstairs again. The rooms were filling withthe overflow from the dance. They who hadcome were chiefly of the married set, though boysand girls were among them.

After the manner of those quite at home, the dancers, still wearing their flower leis, werescattered in familiar fashion about small tableswhere refreshment was being served.

At one end of the music room a group applaudeda clever young man, who, with his coat cuffs rolledback, was entertaining with amateur sleight-of-hand.

At the other end of the room, surrounded by asecond group, Fritzie Venable played smashingrag-time. About the tables pretty, overfedmarried women, of the plump, childless type, withlittle feet, fattening hands, and rounding shoulders, carried on a running chatter with men youngerthan their husbands.

A young girl, attended at her table by marriedmen, was trying to tell a story, and to overcomeunobserved, her physical repugnance to thewhiskey she was drinking.

In the dining-room Lottie Nelson was thecentre of a lively company, and her familiar pallor, which indulgence seemed to leave untouched, contrasted with the heightened color in DoraMorgan's face.

Robert Kimberly had paused to speak to someone, when Fritzie Venable came up to ask aquestion. At that moment Arthur and DollyDe Castro, with Alice on Dolly's left, enteredfrom the other end of the room. Kimberly sawagain the attractive face of a woman he hadnoticed dancing with Arthur at the Casino. Thethree passed on and into the hall. Kimberly, listening to Fritzie's question, looked after them.

"Fritzie, who is that with Dolly?" he askedsuddenly.

"That is Mrs. MacBirney."

"Mrs. MacBirney?" he echoed. "Who isMrs. MacBirney?"

"Why, Mr. MacBirney's wife, of course. Howstupid of you! I told you all about her beforeyou went upstairs. He has brought his wife onwith him. Dolly knew her mother and has beenentertaining Alice for a week."

"Alice! Oh, yes. I've been away, you know.MacBirney's wife? Of course. I was thinking ofsomething else. Well-I suppose I ought to meether. Come, Fritzie."

CHAPTER III

They found Alice with the De Castros in thehall. Dolly looked pleased as her brothercame forward. Alice collected herself. She felta momentary trepidation at meeting this man, from whom, she was already aware, much of whatshe had seen and most of the people whom she hadmet at Second Lake in some degree derived.

She had heard for years, since girlhood, indeed,of the house of Kimberly. Her own father'sstruggle through life had been in the line of theirbusiness, and the name of the Kimberlys couldnot but be haloed wherever refiners discussedtheir affairs. Moreover, at the moment her ownhusband was seeking, and with prospects ofsuccess, an alliance with them.

Yet in a moment she found it all very easy.Kimberly's manner as he met her was simplicityitself. His words were few and did not confuseher, yet they were sufficient to relieve the necessityof any effort on her part to avoid embarrassingpauses. She only noticed that the others ratherwaited for Kimberly to speak; giving him a chanceto say without interruption whatever he pleasedto say. Beyond this, that the conversation wasnow reserved for herself and Kimberly, she wasat ease and wondered why she had been a littleafraid of him. The surprise was that he wasyounger than she had supposed. She began towonder that his name should at times commandso much of the public interest. Nor could anybut those who knew him have realized that underhis restraint Alice was experiencing his mostgracious manner.

But those who did know him saw instantly howinterested he was in her youth and inexperience.Her cheeks were already flooded with pink, as ifshe realized she must do her best to please andwas conscious that she was not wholly failing.Timidity reflected itself in her answers, yet thiswas no more than an involuntary compliment, pleasing in itself. And whenever possible, Alicetook refuge from the brother's more directquestions by appealing to his sister Dolly. Kimberlywas diverted to see her seek escape in this fashionfrom his directness.

She expressed presently her admiration for thedecorations at the Casino and the talk turnedupon the Hawaiian singers; from them to Hawaiiand Honolulu. Word at that moment came fromthe music room that the singing was beginning.Kimberly without any sign of giving up Alice, followed Dolly and her husband down the hallto where the guests were gathering.

The group paused near the foot of the stairs.Alice asked an explanation of the chant that theyhad heard at the Casino and Kimberly interpretedthe rhythm for her. "But I should have thought,"he added, "you would be familiar with it."

"Why so?"

"Because you have been at the Islands."

"Pray, how did you know that?"

"By your pronunciations."

"Ah, I see. But I was there only once, whenI was quite young, with my father."

"And yet you have no lei to-night? That ishardly loyal, is it?"

"We came late and they had all been givenout, I suppose."

"I have one in reserve. You must show yourgood-will to the musicians. Permit me." Heturned with dignity to the console where he had sounceremoniously discarded his own lei and pickedthe garland up to lay it upon Alice's shoulders.

"But Robert," Fritzie cried, "you mustn't!That is a rose lei."

"What is the difference?" asked Kimberly.

"There's a superstition, you know, about a rose lei."

"Mercy, what is it?" demanded Alice, pink and smiling.

"If a man gives you a rose lei you must marryhim or you will die."

"Fortunately," remarked Kimberly, lifting thedecoration quickly above Alice's head and placingit without hesitation on her shoulders, "neitherMrs. MacBirney nor I are superstitious. And theroses harmonize perfectly with your gown,Mrs. MacBirney. Don't you love the Islands?"

"I've always wanted to go back to them to stay.I don't think if I had my choice I should everleave them."

"Neither should I. We must get up a partyand have a yacht meet us in San Francisco forthe trip. This fall would be a good time to get away."

His decisive manner was almost startling; thetrip seemed already under way. And hismannerisms were interesting. A certain haltingconfidence asserted itself under the affected indifferenceof his utterance. Whatever he proposed seemedas easy as if done. He carried his chin somewhatlow and it gave a dogmatism to his words. Whilehe seemed to avoid using them obtrusively, hiseyes, penetrating and set under the straight heavybrows which contracted easily, were a barometerfrom which it was possible to read his intent.

"You have been frequently at the Islands?" returned Alice.

"Years ago I knew them very well."

"Father and I," Alice went on, "spent a monthat Honolulu." And again the softness of her longvowels fell agreeably on Kimberly's ear. Hervoice, he thought, certainly was pretty. "It islike a paradise. But they have their sorrows, dothey not? I remember one evening," Alice turnedtoward Fritzie to recount the incident, "just at thesunset of a rarely perfect day. We were walkingalong the street, when we heard the most piercingcries from a little weeping company of women andchildren who were coming down the esplanade.In front of them walked a man all alone-hewas a leper. They were taking him away fromhis family to be sent to Molokai. It was themost distressing thing I ever saw." She turned toKimberly. "You have never been at Molokai?"

"I have cruised more or less around it. Doyou remember the windward cliffs just above theleper settlement? They are superb from the sea.We put in once at Kalawao for a night and I calledon the priest in charge of the mission."

"It must have been very, very dreadful."

"Though like all dreadful places, disappointingat first; nothing, apparently, to inspire horror.But after we had breakfasted with the priest inthe morning, we went around with him to see hispeople." Kimberly's chin sank and his eyesclosed an instant as he moved his head. "Iremember," he added slowly, "a freezing uparound the heart before we had gone very far."Then he dismissed the recollection. "The attendantat home who takes care of my uncle-Francis-"he continued, "had a brother in the lepermissions. He died at Molokai. Francis hasalways wanted to go there."

The conversation waited a few moments on thesinging. "Miss Venable tells me," said Alice, presently, "these singers always come out to singfor you when they visit this country."

"I have met most of them at one time or anotherin Hawaii. You know they are the gentlest, mostgrateful people in the world. Sha'n't we havesome refreshment, Mrs. MacBirney?"

CHAPTER IV

"I am hoping it will all be settled satisfactorilysoon," said Dolly De Castro to Alice oneafternoon a few weeks afterward. She had invitedAlice out from town for a fortnight at Black Rockwhile MacBirney, with McCrea and the activepartners of the Kimberly interests were workingon the negotiations for the purchase of theMacBirney factories.

"And when it is settled, I can congratulate you,I think, my dear, most sincerely on any issue thatassociates your husband and his interests withthose of my brothers."

"Indeed, I realize that it would be a matter forcongratulation, Mrs. De Castro. I hope if theydo come to terms, your brothers will findMr. MacBirney's Western acquaintance andexperience of some value. I am sorry you haven'tseen more of my husband-"

"I understand perfectly how engaged he has been."

"He is an unceasing worker. I told himyesterday, when he was leaving home, thatMrs. De Castro would think I had no husband."

"Then," continued Dolly, pursuing her topic,"if you can secure the little Cedar Lodge estateon the west shore-and I think it can bearranged-you will be very comfortable."

Dolly had suggested a drive around the lake, and as she made an admirable guide Alice lookedforward with interest to the trip. If it should beobjected that Dolly was not a good conversationalist,it could be maintained that she was a fascinating talker.

It is true that people who talk well must, asa penalty, say things. They can have nocontinued mental reserves, they must unburden theirinner selves. They let you at once into the heartof affairs about them-it is the price that thebrilliant talker must pay. Such a one gives you forthe moment her plenary confidence, and beforeAlice had known Dolly a month, she felt as if shehad known her for years.

On their drive the orders were to follow theprivate roads, and as the villas around the entire lakeconnected with one another, they were obliged touse the high-roads but little. Each of the placeshad a story, and none of these lost anything inDolly's dramatic rendering.

From the lower end of the lake they drove toSunbury, the village-commonplace, but Colonial,Dolly explained-and through it. Taking theridge road back of the hills, they approachedanother group of the country places. The houses ofthese estates belonged to an older day than thoseof the lake itself. Their type indicated thedescent from the earlier simplicity of the Colonial, and afforded a melancholy reminder of thearchitectural experiments following the period of theCivil War.

"Our families have been coming out here for ahundred years," observed Dolly. "These dreadfulFrench roofs we have been passing, give youthe latest dates on this side of the ridge." As shespoke they approached a house of brown sandstoneset in an ellipse of heavy spruces.

"This was the Roger Morgan place. Mrs. Morgan,Bertha, was our half-sister, dear, theonly child of my father's first marriage-she diedseven years ago. This villa belongs to FritzieVenable. She was Roger Morgan's niece. Butshe hasn't opened it for years-she just keeps acaretaker here and makes her home withImogene. To me, spruces are depressing."

"And what is that?" asked Alice, indicatingan ivy-covered pile of stone in the midst of acluster of elms at some distance to the left of thehouse and on a hill above it. "How odd and pretty!"

"That is the Morgan chapel."

"Oh, may we see it?"

"Of course," assented Dolly, less enthusiastically."Do you really want to see it?"

It was Alice's turn to be interested: "Why, yes,if we may. How quaint-looking," she pursued, scrutinizing the façade.

"It is, in fact, a mediæval style," said Dolly.

The car was turned into the driveway leading upto the chapel. When the two women had alightedand walked up the steps to the porch, Alice foundthe building larger than it had appeared frombelow the Morgan house.

Dolly led the way within. "It really is abeautiful thing," she sighed as they entered. "Areproduction in part-this interior-of a little churchin Rome, that Mrs. Morgan was crazy about, SantaMaria in-dear me, I never can remember, SantaMaria in something or other. But I want youto look at this balustrade, and to walk up intoone of these ambones. Can't you see somedark-faced Savonarola preaching from one on the sinsof society?" Dolly ascended the steps of oneambone as she spoke, while Alice walked up intothe other.

"You look as if you might do very well thereyourself on that topic," suggested Alice.

"But I don't have to get into an ambone topreach. I do well anywhere, as long as I have anaudience," continued Dolly as she swept the modestnave with a confident glance.

They walked back toward the door: "Here's aperfect light on the chancel window," said Dollypausing. "Superb coloring, I think."

Alice, held by the soft rich flame of the glass, halted a moment, and saw in a niche removedfrom casual sight the bronze figure of a knightstanding above a pavement tomb. "Is this amemorial?"

"Poor Bertha," continued Dolly; "ordered mostof these windows herself."

"But this bronze, Mrs. De Castro, what is it?"

"A memorial of a son of Bertha's, dear."

The shield of the belted figure bore the Morganarms. An inscription set in the tomb at his feettook Alice's attention, and Dolly without joiningher waited upon her interest.

"And in whose memory do you say this is?"persisted Alice.

"In memory of one of Bertha's sons, dear."

"Is he buried here?"

"No, he lies in Kimberly Acre, the familyburial-ground on The Towers estate-where weshall all with our troubles one day lie. This poorboy committed suicide."

"How dreadful!"

"It is too sad a story to tell."

"Of course."

"And I am morbidly sensitive about suicide."

"These Morgans then were relatives of theMrs. Morgan I met last night?"

"Relatives, yes. But in this instance, thatsignifies nothing. These, as I told you, were Fritzie'speople and are very different."

They reëntered the car and drove rapidly downthe ridge. In the distance, to the south and east, the red gables of a cluster of buildings showed faraway among green, wooded hills.

"That is a school, is it?" asked Alice.

"No, it is a Catholic institution. It is a school,in a way, too, but not of the kind youmean-something of a charitable and training school.The Catholic church of the village stands justbeyond there. There are a number of Catholicsover toward the seashore-delightful people. Wehave none in our set."

The ridge road led them far into the countryand they drove rapidly along ribboned highwaysuntil a great hill confronted them and they beganto wind around its base toward the lake and home.Half-way up they left the main road, turned intoan open gateway, and passing a lodge entered theheavy woods of The Towers villa.

"The Towers is really our only show-place,"explained Dolly, "though Robert, I think, neglectsit. Of course, it is a place that stands hardtreatment. But think of the opportunities on thesebeautiful slopes for landscape gardening."

"It is very large."

"About two thousand acres. Robert, I fancy, cares for the trees more than anything else."

"And he lives here alone?"

"With Uncle John Kimberly. Uncle John isall alone in the world, and a paralytic."

"How unfortunate!"

"Yes. It is unfortunate in some ways; inothers not so much so. Don't be shocked. Oursis so big a family we have many kinds. UncleJohn! mercy! he led his poor Lydia a life. Andshe was a saint if ever a wife was one. I hopeshe has gone to her reward. She never sawthrough all the weary years, never knew,outwardly, anything of his wickedness."

Dolly looked ahead. "There is the house.See, up through the trees? We shall get a fineview in a minute. I don't know why it has to be, but each generation of our family has had a brainyKimberly and a wicked Kimberly. The legendis, that when they meet in one, the Kimberlyswill end."

CHAPTER V

To afford Alice the effect of the mainapproach to The Towers itself, Dolly ordereda roundabout drive which gave her guest an ideaof the beauties of the villa grounds.

They passed glades of unusual size, borderedby natural forests. They drove among pleasingsuccessions of hills, followed up valleys withoccasional brooks, and emerged at length on wide, open stretches of a plateau commanding the lake.

A further drive along the bluffs that rose highabove the water showed the bolder features of anAmerican landscape unspoiled by overtreatment.The car finally brought them to the lower end ofa long, formal avenue of elms that made a settingfor the ample house of gray stone, placed on anelevation that commanded the whole of SecondLake and the southern country for many miles.

Its advantage of position was obvious and thecastellated effect, from which its name derived, implied a strength of uncompromising pridecommonly associated with the Kimberlys themselves.

At Dolly's suggestion they walked aroundthrough the south garden which lay toward thelake. At the garden entrance stood a sun-dial andAlice paused to read the inscription:

 
Per ogni ora che passa, im ricordo.
Per ogni ora che batte, una felicità.
Per ogni ora che viene, una speranza.
 

"It is a duplicate of a dial that Robert fanciedin the garden of the Kimberly villa on LagoMaggiore," Dolly explained. "Come this way, I wantyou to see the lake and the terrace."

From the terrace they looked back again at thehouse. Well-placed windows and ampleverandas afforded views in every direction of thesurrounding country. Retracing their way to themain entrance, they ascended a broad flight ofstone steps and entered the house itself.

Following Dolly into the hall, Alice saw achamber almost severe in spaciousness and stillsomewhat untamed in its oak ruggedness. But glimpsesinto the apartments opening off it were delightfullysatisfying.

They peeped into the dining-room as they passed.It was an old-day room, heavily beamed in gloomyoak, with a massive round table and high chairs.The room filled the whole southern exposure ofits wing and at one end Alice saw a fireplace abovewhich hung a great Dutch mirror framed in heavyseventeenth-century style. Dolly pointed to it: "It is our sole heirloom, and Robert won't changeit from the fireplace. The Kimberly mirror, wecall it-from Holland with our first Kimberly.The oak in this room is good."

Taken as a whole, however, Dolly franklyconsidered The Towers too evidently suggestiveof the old-fashioned. This she satisfactorilyaccounted for by the fact that the house lacked themagic of a woman's presence.

Alice, walking with her, slowly and critically, found nowhere any discordant notes. The carpetsoffered the delicate restraints of Eastern fancy, andthe wall pictures, seen in passing, invited moreleisurely inspection.

There was here something in marble, somethingthere Oriental, but nowhere were effects confused, and they had been subdued until consciousness oftheir art was not aroused.

Alice, sensitive to indefinable impressions, hadnever seen anything comparable to what she nowsaw, and an interior so restful should have put herat ease.

Yet the first pleasing breath in this atmospherebrought with it something, she could not have toldwhat, of uneasiness, and it was of this that shewas vaguely conscious, as Dolly questioned theservant that met them.

"Is Mr. De Castro here yet?" she asked.

"Yes, Mrs. De Castro. He is with Mr. Kimberly.I think they are in the garden."

"Tell them we are here. We will go up andspeak to Uncle John."

They were at the foot of the stairs: "Sha'n't Iwait for you?" suggested Alice.

"By no means. Come with me. He is reallythe head of the family, you know," Dolly addedin an undertone, "and mustn't be slighted."

Alice, amused at the importance placed uponthe situation, smiled at Dolly's earnestness. Asshe ascended the stairs with her hostess, a littlewave of self-consciousness swept over her.

On the second floor was a long gallery openingat the farther end upon a western belvedere, lighted just then by the sun. The effect of theroom, confusing at first in its arrangement, was,in fact, that of a wide and irregular reception hallfor the apartments opening on the second floor.At the moment the two women reached the archway,a man walked in at the farther end from the terrace.

"There is Robert, now!" Dolly exclaimed. Hewas opening the door of a room near at handwhen he saw his sister with Alice, and cameforward to meet them. As he did so, a doormid-way down the hall opened and a man clad in ablack habit crossed between Kimberly and Alice.

"That is Francis, who takes care of UncleJohn," said Dolly. Francis, walked toward thebalcony without seeing the visitors, but his earcaught the tones of Dolly's voice and she waveda hand at him as he turned his head. He pausedto bow and continued his way through a balcony door.

As Kimberly came forward his face was sonearly without a smile that Alice for a momentwas chilled.

"I brought Mrs. MacBirney in to see Uncle Johna moment, Robert. How are you?" Dolly asked.

"Thank you, very well. And it is a pleasureto see Mrs. MacBirney, Dolly."

He looked into Alice's eyes as he spoke. Shethanked him, simply. Dolly made a remark butAlice did not catch it. In some confusion ofthought she was absurdly conscious that Kimberlywas looking at her and that his eyes were gray, that he wore a suit of gray and that she now, exchanging compliments with him, was clad inlavender. The three talked together for somemoments. Yet something formal remained inKimberly's manner and Alice was already theleast bit on the defensive.

She was, at any rate, glad to feel that her motoringrig would bear inspection, for it seemed as ifhis eyes, without offensively appearing to do so, took in the slightest detail of her appearance.His words were of a piece with his manner. Theywere agreeable, but either what he said lackedenthusiasm or preoccupation clouded his efforts tobe cordial.

"They told us," said Dolly, at length, "youwere in the garden."

"Arthur is down there somewhere," returnedKimberly. "We will go this way for Uncle John,"he added. "Francis is giving him an airing."

They walked out to the belvedere. Facing thesunset, Alice saw in an invalid chair an old manwith a wrinkled white face. Dolly, hasteningforward, greeted him in elevated tones. Kimberlyturned to Alice with a suggestion of humor as theywaited a little way from Dolly's hand. "My sister, curiously enough," said he, "always forgets thatUncle John is not deaf. And he doesn't like it a bit."

"Many people instinctively speak louder toinvalids," said Alice. Uncle John's eyes turnedslowly toward Alice as he heard her voice. Dolly, evidently, was referring to her, and beckoned herto come nearer. Alice saw the old man looking ather with the slow care of the paralytic-of onewho has learned to distrust his physical faculties.Alice disliked his eyes. He tried to rise, but Dollyfrowned on his attempt: it looked like a failure, anyway, and he greeted Alice from his chair.

"You are getting altogether too spry, UncleJohn," cried Dolly.

His eyes turned slowly from Alice's face toDolly's and he looked at his talkative niecequizzically: "Am I?" Then, with the mildlysuspicious smile on his face, his eyes returned to Alice.Kimberly watched his uncle.

"They say you want to ride horseback,"continued Dolly, jocularly. He looked at her again: "Do they?" Then he looked back at Alice.

Kimberly, his hands half-way in the pockets ofhis sack-coat, turned in protest: "I think youtwo go through this every time you come over,Dolly." Dolly waved her hand with a laugh.Uncle John this time did not even take the troubleto look around. He continued to smile at Aliceeven while he returned to Robert hisnon-committal: "Do we?"

Alice felt desirous of edging away from UncleJohn's kind of Kimberly eyes. "You ought toget better here very fast, Mr. Kimberly," she saidto him briskly. "This lovely prospect!" sheexclaimed, looking about her. "And in everydirection."

"It is pretty toward the lake," Robertvolunteered, knowing that Uncle John would merelylook at Alice without response.

He led the way as he spoke toward the mirroredsheet of water and, as Alice came to his side, pointed out the features of the landscape. Dollysat a moment with Uncle John and joinedKimberly and Alice as they walked on.

They encountered the attendant, BrotherFrancis, who had retreated as far as he could from thevisitors. Dolly, greeting him warmly, turned toAlice. "Mrs. MacBirney, this is Brother Franciswho takes care-and such excellent care! – of UncleJohn."

Brother Francis's features were spare. Hisslender nose emphasized the strength of his face.But if his expression at the moment was sober, and his dark eyes looked as if his thoughts mightbe away, they were kindly. His eyes, too, fellalmost at the instant Dolly spoke and he onlybowed his greeting to Alice. But with Francisa bow was everything. Whether he welcomed, tolerated, or disapproved, his bow clearly andsufficiently signified.

His greeting of Alice expressed deference andsincerity. But there was even more in it-somethingof the sensible attitude of a gentleman who,in meeting a lady in passing, and being himselfan attendant, desires to be so considered and seekswith his greeting to dismiss himself from thesituation. To this end, however, Francis's effortswere unsuccessful.

"He is the most modest man in the world,"murmured Dolly, in concluding a eulogium, delivered to Alice almost in the poor Brother's face.

"Then why not spare his feelings?" suggestedKimberly.

"Because I don't believe in hiding a light undera bushel," returned Dolly, vigorously. "Thereis so little modesty left nowadays-"

"That you want to be rid of what there is,"suggested Kimberly.

"That when I find it I think it a duty torecognize it," Dolly persisted.

Brother Francis maintained his composure aswell as he could. Indeed, self-consciousnessseemed quite lacking in him. "Surely," hesmiled, bowing again, "Madame De Castro has agood heart. That," he added to Alice, italicizinghis words with an expressive forefinger, "is thereal secret. But I see danger even if one shouldpossess a gift so precious as modesty," hecontinued, raising his finger this time in mildadmonition; "when you-how do you say in English-'trotout' the modesty and set it up to lookat" – Francis's large eyes grew luminous inpantomime-"the first thing you know, pff! Where is it?You search." Brother Francis beat the skirt of hisblack gown with his hands, and shook it as if todislodge the missing virtue. Then holding hisempty palms upward and outward, and addingthe dismay of his shoulders to the fanciedsituation, he asked: "Where is it? It is gone!"

"Which means we shouldn't tempt BrotherFrancis's modesty," interposed Alice.

Francis looked at Alice inquiringly. "You area Catholic?" he said, "your husband not."

Alice laughed: "How did you know?"

Francis waved his hand toward his informant: "Mr. Kimberly."

The answer surprised Alice. She looked atKimberly.

There was an instant of embarrassment. "Francisfeels our pagan atmosphere so keenly," Kimberlysaid slowly, "that I gave him the news aboutyou as a bracer-just to let him know we had afriend at court even if we were shut out ourselves."

"He told me," continued Francis, with humor,"that a Catholic lady was coming this afternoon, and to put on my new habit."

"Which, of course, you did not do," interposedKimberly, regaining the situation.

Brother Francis looked deprecatingly at hisshiny serge.

Dolly and Alice laughed. "Mr. Kimberlydidn't understand that you kept on your old oneout of humility," said Alice. "But how did youknow anything about my religion?" she asked, turning to Kimberly.

Francis took this chance to slip away to his charge.

"Arthur De Castro is the culprit," answeredKimberly. "He told me some time ago."

"You have a good memory."

"For some things. Won't you pour tea forMrs. MacBirney, Dolly? Let us go downstairs, anyway."

He walked with Alice into the house, talking asthey went.

Dolly bent over Uncle John's chair. "Isn'tshe nice?" she whispered, nodding toward Aliceas Alice disappeared with Kimberly. "Youknow Madame De Castro went to school in Pariswith her mother, who was a De Gallon, and herfather-Alice's grandfather-was the last man inLouisville to wear a queue."

Uncle John seemed not greatly moved at thisinformation, but did look reminiscent. "Whatwas her father's name?"

"Alice's father was named Marshall. He andher mother both are dead. She has no nearrelatives."

"I remember Marshall-he was a refiner."

"Precisely; he met with reverses a few years ago."

Uncle John looked after Alice with his feeble, questioning grin. "Fine looking," he muttered, still looking after her much as the toothless giantlooked after Christian as he passed his cave. "Finelooking."

Dolly was annoyed: "Oh, you're always thinkingabout fine looks! She is nice."

Uncle John smiled undismayed. "Is she?"

CHAPTER VI

Alice had been married five years-it seemeda long time. The first five years of marriedlife are likely to be long enough to chart prettyaccurately the currents of the future, howeverinsufficient to predict just where those currents willcarry one.

Much disillusioning comes in the first fiveyears; when they have passed we know less ofourselves and more of our consort. Undoubtedlythe complement of this is true, and our consortknows more of us; but this thought, not alwaysreassuring, comes only when we reflect concerningourselves, which fortunately, perhaps, is notoften. Married people, if we may judge fromwhat they say, tend to reflect more concerningtheir mates.

Alice, it is certain, knew less of herself. Muchof the confidence of five years earlier she hadparted with, some of it cruelly. Yet comingat twenty-five into the Kimberly circle, and withthe probability of remaining in it, of its being toher a new picture of life, Alice gradually renewedher youth. Some current flowing from this joyof living seemed to revive in her the illusions ofgirlhood. All that she now questioned waswhether it really was for her.

Her husband enjoyed her promise of success intheir new surroundings without realizing in theleast how clearly those about them discriminatedbetween his wife and himself. She brought onequality that was priceless among those withwhom she now mingled-freshness.

Among such people her wares of mentalaptness, intelligence, amiability, not to discuss acharm of person that gave her a place amongwomen, were rated higher than they could havebeen elsewhere. She breathed in her newatmosphere with a renewed confidence, for nothingis more gratifying than to be judged by what webelieve to be the best in us; and nothing morereassuring after being neglected by stupid peoplethan to find ourselves approved by the best.

Walter MacBirney, her husband, representinghimself and his Western associates, and nowlooked on by them as a man who had forcedrecognition from the Kimberly interests, made on hisside, too, a favorable impression among the menwith whom his affairs brought him for the firsttime in contact.

If there was an exception to such an impressionit was with Robert Kimberly, but even with himMacBirney maintained easily the reputationaccorded to Western men for general capacity anda certain driving ability for putting things through.

He was described as self-made; and examinedwith the quiet curiosity of those less fortunateEastern men who were unwilling or unable toascribe their authorship to themselves, he madea satisfactory showing.

In the Kimberly coterie of men, which consistedin truth more of the staff associates in theKimberly activities than of the Kimberlysthemselves, the appearance of MacBirney on the sceneat Second Lake was a matter of interest to everyone of the fledgling magnates, who, under thelarger wing of the Kimberlys, directed thecommercial end of their interests.

McCrea, known as Robert Kimberly'sright-hand man; Cready Hamilton, one of theKimberly bankers, and brother of Doctor Hamilton,Robert's closest friend; Nelson, the Kimberlycounsel-all took a hand in going over MacBirney,so to say, and grading him up. They foundfor one thing that he could talk without sayinganything; which in conducting negotiations wasan excellent trait. And if not always a successfulstory-teller, he was a shrewd listener. In everythinghis native energy gave him a show of interestwhich, even when factitious, told in his favor.

Soon after the call on Uncle John, Dollyarranged a dinner for the MacBirneys, at whichCharles Kimberly and his wife and RobertKimberly were to be the guests. It followed a secondevening spent at the Nelsons', whence RobertKimberly had come home with the De Castrosand MacBirneys. Alice had sung for them. Afteraccepting for the De Castro dinner, Robert at thelast moment sent excuses. Dolly masked herfeelings. Imogene and Charles complained a little, but Arthur De Castro was so good a host that healone would have made a dinner go.

MacBirney, after he and Alice had gone to theirrooms for the night, spoke of Robert's absence."I don't quite understand that man," he mused."What do you make of him, Alice?"

Alice was braiding her hair. She turned fromher table. "I've met him very little, youknow-when we called at his house, and twice at theNelsons'. And I saw very little of him last night.He was with that drinking set most of the evening."

MacBirney started. "Don't say 'that drinkingset.'"

"Really, that describes them, Walter. I don'tsee that they excel in anything else. I hatedrinking women."

"When you're in Rome, do as the Romans do,"suggested MacBirney, curtly.

Alice's tone hardened a trifle. "Or at leastlet the Romans do as they please, without comment."

"Exactly," snapped her husband. "I don'tknow just what to make of Kimberly," he went on.

"Charles, or the brother?"

"Robert, Robert. He's the one they all playto here." MacBirney, sitting in a lounging-chair, emphasized the last words, as he could do whenimpatient, and shut his teeth and lips as he didwhen perplexed. "I wonder why he didn't cometo-night?"

Alice had no explanation to offer. "Charles,"she suggested, tying her hair-ribbon, "is very nice."

"Why, yes-you and Charles are chummyalready. I wish we could get better acquaintedwith Robert," he continued, knitting his brows."I thought you were a little short with him lastnight, Alice."

"Short? Oh, Walter! We didn't exchange adozen words."

"That's just the way it struck me."

"But we had no chance to. I am sure I didn'tmean to be short. I sang, didn't I? And moreon his account, from what Dolly had said to me, than anybody else's. He didn't like my singing, but I couldn't help that. He didn't say a single word."

"Why, he did say something!"

"Just some stiff remark when he thanked me."

Alice, rising, left her table. MacBirney laughed.

"Oh, I see. That's what's the matter. Well, you're quite mistaken, my dear." Catching Alicein his arms as she passed, in a way he did when hewished to seem affectionate, MacBirney drew hiswife to him. "He did like it. He remarked tome just as he said good-night, that you had a finevoice."

"That does not sound like him-possibly hewas ironical."

"And when I thanked him," continuedMacBirney, "he took the trouble to repeat: 'Thatsong was beautifully sung.' Those were his exactwords."

In spite of painful experiences it rarelyoccurred to Alice that her husband might bedeceiving her, nor did she learn till long afterwardthat he had lied to her that night. With herfeelings in some degree appeased she only made anincredulous little exclamation: "He didn't askme to sing again," she added quietly.

MacBirney shrugged his shoulders. "He is peculiar."

"I try, Walter," she went on, lifting her eyes tohis with an effort, "to be as pleasant as I can toall of these people, for your sake."

"I know it, Alice." He kissed her. "I knowit. Let us see now what we can do to cultivateRobert Kimberly. He is the third rail in thiscombination, and he is the only one on the boardof directors who voted finally against taking us in."

"Is that true?"

"So Doane told Lambert, in confidence, andLambert told me."

"Oh, Lambert! That detestable fellow. Iwouldn't believe anything he said anyway."

MacBirney bared his teeth pleasantly. "Pshaw!You hate him because he makes fun of yourChurch."

"No. I despise him, because he is a Catholicand ridicules his own."

Her husband knew controversy was not the wayto get a favor. "I guess you're right about that,Allie. Anyway, try being pleasant to Kimberly.The way you know how to be, Allie-the way youcaught me, eh?" He drew her to him with breezyenthusiasm. Alice showed some distress.

"Don't say such things, please."

"That was only a joke."

"I hate such jokes."

"Very well, I mean, just be natural," persistedMacBirney amiably, "you are fascinating enoughany old way."

Alice manifested little spirit. "Does it makeso much difference to you, Walter, whether wepay attention to him?"

MacBirney raised his eyebrows with a laughingstart. "What an innocent you are," he cried ina subdued tone. And his ways of speech, if everattractive, were now too familiar. "Difference!"he exclaimed cheerily. "When they buy he willname the figure."

"But I thought they had decided to buy."

"The executive committee has authorized thepurchase. But he, as president, has been giventhe power to fix the price. Don't you see? Wecan afford to smile a little, eh?"

"It would kill me to smile if I had to do it formoney."

"Oh, you are a baby in arms, Allie," exclaimedher husband impatiently, "just like your father!You'd starve to death if it weren't for me."

"No doubt."

MacBirney was still laughing at the idea whenhe left his wife's room, and entering his own, closed the door.

Alice, in her room, lay in the darkness for along time with open eyes.

CHAPTER VII

The test of Alice's willingness to smile camewithin a brief fortnight, when with the DeCastros, she was the guest of Imogene Kimberlyat The Cliffs, Imogene's home.

"This is all most informal," said Imogene, asshe went downstairs arm-in-arm with Alice; "asyou see, only one-half the house is open."

"The open half is so lovely," returned Alice,"that I'm glad to take the other half on faith."

"It was my only chance-this week, and asDolly says, I 'jumped at it'! I am sorry yourhusband has disappointed us."

"He was called to town quite unexpectedly."

"But Providence has provided a substitute.Robert Kimberly is coming." Alice almost caughther breath. "He is another of those men,"continued Imogene, "whom you never can get whenyou want them. Fortunately he telephoned amoment ago saying he must see Charles. I answeredthat the only possible way to see him was to comeover now, for he is going fishing and leaves atmidnight. The guides wired this morning thatthe ice is out. And when the ice goes out,"Imogene raised her hands, "neither fire norearthquake can stop Charles. Here is Robertnow. Oh, and he has Doctor Hamilton withhim. All the better. If we can get both we shallhave no lack of men."

Robert Kimberly and Doctor Hamilton werecoming down the hall. "How delightful!" criedImogene, advancing, "and I am so glad you'vecome, doctor."

Kimberly paused. He saw Alice lingering behindher hostess and the De Castros with FritzieVenable coming downstairs.

"You have a dinner on," he said to Imogene.

"Only a small one."

"But you didn't tell me-"

"Just to give you a chance to show yourindifference to surprises, Robert."

She introduced Doctor Hamilton to Alice."These two are always together," she explainedto Alice, lifting her fan toward the doctor and herbrother-in-law. "But any hostess is fortunate tocapture them like this, just the right moment."

Hamilton, greeting Alice, turned to Imogene: "What is this about your husband's going toLabrador to-morrow?"

"He is going to-night. The salmon are doingsomething or other."

"Deserted Gaspé, has he?"

"Temporarily," said Imogene, pausing to givean order to a butler. Robert waited a momentfor her attention. "I brought the doctor," heexplained, "because I couldn't leave him to dinealone. And now-"

"And now," echoed Imogene, "you see howbeautifully it turns out. The Nelsons declined,Mr. MacBirney disappoints me, Charles goesfishing, and can't get home to-night in time to dine.But there are still seven of us-what could bebetter? Mrs. De Castro will claim the doctor.Arthur won't desert me, and, Robert, you may givean arm to Fritzie and one to Mrs. MacBirney."

There was now no escape from a smile, andAlice resolved to be loyal to her hostess. Theparty moved into the drawing-room.

Fritzie Venable tried to engage Kimberly inanswering her questions about a saddle-horse thatone of his grooms had recommended. Kimberlyprofessed to know nothing about it. When itbecame apparent that he really did know nothingof the horse, Fritzie insisted on explaining.

Her spirited talk, whether concerning her owntroubles or those of other people, was notuninteresting. Soon she talked more especially toAlice. Kimberly listened not inattentively butsomewhat perfunctorily, and the manner, noticeableat their second meeting, again impressed Alice.

Whether it was a constraint or an unpleasingreserve was not clear; and it might have been theabstraction of a busied man, one of that typefamiliar in American life who are inherentlyinteresting, but whose business affairs never whollyrelease their thought.

Whatever the cause, Fritzie was sufficientlyinterested in her own stories to ignore it and in adegree to overcome the effect of it. She was sureof her ground because she knew her distinguishedconnection had a considerate spot in his heart forher. She finally attacked him directly, and atfirst he did not go to the trouble of a defence.When she at length accused him, rather sharply,of letting business swallow him up, Kimberly, with Alice listening, showed a trace of impatience.

"The old sugar business!" Fritzie exclaimedreproachfully, "it is taking the spiritualitycompletely out of the Kimberly family."

Robert looked at her in genuine surprise andburst into a laugh. "What's that?" he demanded, bending incredulously forward.

Fritzie tossed her head. "I don't care!"

"Spirituality?" echoed Kimberly, with a quietmalice. His laugh annoyed Fritzie, but she stuckto her guns: "Spirits, then; or gayety, or life!"she cried. "I don't care what you call it.Anything besides everlastingly piling up money. Oh, these almighty dollars!"

"You tire of them so quickly, is it, Fritzie? Oris it that they don't feel on familiar terms enoughto stay long with you?" he asked, while Alicewas smiling at the encounter.

Fritzie summoned her dignity and pointed everyword with a nod. "I simply don't want to seeall of my friends-ossify! Should you?" shedemanded, turning to Alice for approval.

"Certainly not," responded Alice.

"Bone black is very useful in our business,"observed Kimberly.

Fritzie's eyes snapped. "Then buy it! Don'tattempt to supply the demand out of your ownbones!"

It would have been churlish to refuse her herlaugh. Kimberly and Alice for the first timelaughed together and found it pleasant.

Fritzie, following up her advantage, askedDoctor Hamilton whether he had heard DoraMorgan's latest joke. "She had a dispute,"continued Fritzie, "with George Doane last nightabout Unitarians and Universalists-"

"Heavens, have those two got to talkingreligion?" demanded Kimberly, wearily.

"George happened to say to Cready Hamiltonthat Unitarians and Universalists believed justabout the same doctrine. When Dora insisted itwas not so, George told her she couldn't name adifference. 'Why, nonsense, George,' said Dora,'Unitarians deny the divinity of Christ, butUniversalists don't believe in a damned thing.' Andthe funny part of it was, George got furious ather," concluded Fritzie with merriment.

"I suppose you, too, fish," ventured Alice toKimberly as the party started for the dining-room.

"My fishing is something of a bluff," heconfessed. "That is, I fish, but I don't get anything.My brother really does get the fish," he said ashe seated her. "He campaigns for them-onehas to nowadays, even for fish. I can't scrape upinterest enough in it for that. I whip one poolafter another and drag myself wearily overportages and chase about in boats, and my guidesfable wisely but I get next to nothing."

Alice laughed. Even though he assumedincompetence it seemed assumed. And in sayingthat he got no fish one felt that he did get them.

Arthur was talking of Uncle John's nurse-whomthe circle had nicknamed "Lazarus." Hereferred to the sacrifices made sometimes by men.

"It won't do to say," De Castro maintained,"that these men are mere clods, that they haveno nerves, no sensitiveness. The first one youmeet may be such a one; the next, educated orof gentle blood."

"'Lazarus,'" he continued, "is by no means acommon man. He is a gentleman, the product ofcenturies of culture-this is evident from fiveminutes' talk with him. Yet he has abandonedeverything-family, surroundings, luxuries-fora work that none of us would dream of undertaking."

"And what about women, my dear?"demanded Dolly. "I don't say, take a class ofwomen-take any woman. A woman's life isnothing but sacrifice. The trouble is that womenbear their burdens uncomplainingly. That iswhere all women make a mistake. My life hasbeen a whole series of sacrifices, and I proposepeople shall know it."

"No matter, Dolly," suggested Imogene, "yourwrongs shall be righted in the next world."

"I should just like the chance to tell my storyup there," continued Dolly, fervently.

Kimberly turned to Alice: "All that Dollyfears," said he, in an aside, "is that heaven willprove a disappointment. But to change thesubject from heaven abruptly-you are from theWest, Mrs. MacBirney."

"Do you find the change so abrupt? and mustI confess again to the West?"

"Not if you feel it incriminates you."

"But I don't," protested Alice with spirit.

"Has your home always been there?"

"Yes, in St. Louis; and it is a very dear oldplace. Some of my early married life was spentmuch farther West."

"How much farther?"

"So much that I can hardly make anybodycomprehend it-Colorado."

"How so?"

"They ask me such wild questions about buffalosand Indians. I have found one woman sincecoming here who has been as far West as Chicago, once."

"In what part of Colorado were you?"

"South of Denver."

"You had beautiful surroundings."

"Oh, do you know that country?"

"Not nearly as well as I should like to. It isbeautiful."

Alice laughed repentantly as she answered: "More beautiful to me now, I'm afraid, than itwas then."

"Any town is quiet for a city girl, of course.Was it a small town?"

"Quite small. And odd in many ways."

"I see; where the people have 'best clothes'-"

"Don't make fun."

"And wear them on Sunday. And there isusually one three-story building in the town-Iwas marooned over Sunday once in a littleWestern town, with an uncle. I saw a sign on a bigbuilding: 'Odd Fellows' Hall.' Who are theOdd Fellows, uncle?' I asked. He was a crustyold fellow: 'Optimists, my son, optimists,' hegrowled, 'They build three-story buildings intwo-story towns.' What was your town, by the way?"

"Piedmont."

"Piedmont?" Kimberly paused a moment."I ought to know something of that town."

Alice looked surprised. "You?"

"The uncle I spoke of built a railroad throughthere to the Gulf. Isn't there a town belowPiedmont named Kimberly?"

"To be sure there is. How stupid! I neverthought it was named after your uncle."

"No, that uncle was a Morgan,", interposedImogene, listening, "the town was named afteryour next neighbor."

"How interesting! And how could you makesuch fun of me-having me tell you of a countryyou knew all about! And a whole town namedafter you!"

"That is a modest distinction," remarkedKimberly. "As a boy I was out there with anengineering party and hunted a little. My uncle gaveme the town as a Christmas present."

"A town for a Christmas present!"

"I suspected after I began paying taxes on mypresent that my uncle had got tired of it. Theyused to sit up nights out there to figure out newtaxes. In the matter of devising taxes it is themost industrious, progressive, tireless communityI have ever known. And their pleas were soingenious; they made you feel that if you opposedthem you were an enemy to mankind."

"Then they beguiled Robert every once in awhile," interposed Fritzie, "into a town hall orpublic library or a park or electric lighting plant.Once they asked him for a drinking fountain." Fritzielaughed immoderately at the recollection."He put in the fountain and afterward learnedthere was no water within fifteen miles; theythen urged him to put in a water-works system toget water to it."

"I suggested a brewery to supply the fountain,"said Arthur, looking over, "and that he mightwork out even by selling the surplus beer. Therewere difficulties, of course; if he supplied thefountain with beer, nobody would buy it in bottles.Then it was proposed to sell the surplus beer to theneighboring towns. But with the fountainplaying in Kimberly, these would pretty certainly bedepopulated. Per contra, it was figured that thismight operate to raise the price of his Kimberlylots. But while we were working the thing outfor him, what do you think happened?"

"I haven't an idea," laughed Alice.

"The town voted for prohibition."

"Fancy," murmured Imogene, "and named Kimberly!"

"And what became of the fountain?"

"Oh, it is running; he put in the water-works."

"Generous man!"

"Generous!" echoed Hamilton. "Don't bedeceived, Mrs. MacBirney. You should see whathe charges them for water. I should think itwould be on his conscience, if he has one. He isJupiter with the frogs. Whatever they ask, hegives them. But when they get it-how they doget it!"

"Don't believe Doctor Hamilton, Mrs. MacBirney,"said Robert Kimberly. "I stand betterwith my Western friends than I do with thesecynical Easterners. And if my town will onlydrink up the maintenance charges, I am satisfied."

"The percentage of lime in the water he suppliesis something fierce," persisted the doctor."It is enough to kill off the population every tenyears. I suggested a hospital."

"But didn't Mr. MacBirney tell me they havea sugar factory there?" asked Alice.

"They have," said De Castro. "One of Robert'schemists was out there once trying to analyzethe taxes. Incidentally, he brought back someof the soil, thinking there might be something init to account for the tax mania. And behold, hefound it to be fine for sugar beets! Irrigationditches and a factory were put in. You shouldsee how swell they are out there now."

"Robert has had all kinds of resolutions fromthe town," said Fritzie.

Kimberly turned to Alice to supplement theremark. "Quite true, I have had all kinds-theyare strong on resolutions. But lately these havebeen less sulphurous."

"Well, isn't it odd? My father's ranch onceextended nearly all the way from Piedmont tothe very town you are speaking of!" exclaimedAlice.

Kimberly looked at her with interest. "Wasthat really yours-the big ranch north of Kimberly?"

"I spent almost every summer there until I wasfifteen."

"That must have been until very lately."

Alice returned his look with the utmostsimplicity. "No, indeed, it is ten years ago."

Kimberly threw back his head and it fellforward a little on his chest. "How curious," hesaid reflectively; "I knew the ranch very well."

When they were saying good-night, Imogenewhispered to Alice: "I congratulate you."

Alice, flushed with the pleasure of the evening, stood in her wraps. She raised her brows inpleased surprise. "Pray what for?"

"Your success. The evening, you know, wasin your honor; and you were decidedly the featureof it."

"I really didn't suspect it."

"And you made a perfect success with yourunexpected neighbor."

"But I didn't do anything at all!"

"It isn't every woman that succeeds withouttrying. We have been working for a long timeto pull Robert out of the dumps." Imogenelaughed softly. "I noticed to-night while youwere talking to him that he tossed back his headonce or twice. When he does that, he is wakingup! Here is your car, Dolly," she added, as theDe Castros came into the vestibule.

"Arthur is going to take Doctor Hamiltonand Fritzie in our car, Imogene," explained Dolly."Robert has asked Mrs. MacBirney and me todrive home around the south shore with him."

CHAPTER VIII

Charles Kimberly was at The Towersthe morning after the return from his fishingtrip, to confer with Uncle John and his brotherupon the negotiations for the MacBirney properties.In the consideration of any question each ofthe three Kimberlys began with a view-point quitedistinct from those of the others.

John Kimberly, even in old age and strickenphysically to an appalling degree, swerved not ahair's-breadth from his constant philosophy oflife. He believed first and last in force, and thatfeeble remnant of vitality which disease, or whatDolly would have termed, "God's vengeance," hadleft him, was set on the use of force.

To the extent that fraud is an element of force,he employed fraud; but it was only because fraudis a part of force, and whoever sets store by theone will not always shrink from the other. Anydisposition of a question that lacked somethingof this complexion seemed to Uncle John a dangerous one.

Charles had so long seen bludgeoning succeedthat it had become an accepted part of hisbusiness philosophy. But in the day he now faced, new forces had arisen. Public sentiment hadbecome a factor in industrial problems; John wasblind to its dangerous power; Charles was quitealive to it.

New views of the problem of competition hadbeen advanced, and in advocating them, one of theKimberlys, Robert, was known to be a leader.This school sought to draw the sting of competitiveloss through understandings, coöperation, andpeace, instead of suspicion, random effort, and war.

Charles saw this tendency with satisfaction;Uncle John saw it sceptically. But Charles, influenced by the mastery of his uncle, becameunsettled in his conclusions and stood liable to veer inhis judgment to one side or the other of thequestion, as he might be swayed by apprehensionsconcerning the new conditions or rested in confidencein the policies of the old.

Between these two Kimberly make-ups, theone great in attack, the other in compromise, stoodRobert. "Say what you please," Nelson oftenrepeated to McCrea, "John may be all right, but his day is past. Charlie forgets every daymore than the opposition know, all told. But Icall Robert the devil of the family. How doeshe know when to be bold? Can you tell? Howdoes he know when to be prudent? I know men,if I do anything, McCrea-but I never canmeasure that fellow."

Whatever Robert liked at least enlisted all of hisactivities and his temperament turned these intosteam cylinders. John Kimberly influencedRobert in no way at all and after some years ofprofanity and rage perceived that he never should.This discovery was so astounding that after acertain great family crisis he silently and secretlyhanded the sceptre of family infallibility over tohis nephew.

Left thus to himself, Robert continued to thinkfor himself. The same faculties that had servedJohn a generation earlier now served Robert.John had forgotten that when a young man he hadnever let anybody think for him, and the energythat had once made John, also made his younger nephew.

The shrewdness that had once overcomecompetition by war now united with competitors toovercome the public by peace. The real objectof industrial endeavor being to make money, awhite-winged and benevolent peace, as Nelsontermed it, should be the policy of all interestsconcerned. And after many hard words, peace witheighty per cent. of the business was usually achievedby the united Kimberlys.

It had cost something to reach this situation; and now that the West had come into the sugarworld it became a Kimberly problem to determinehow the new interests should be taken care of.

On the morning that Charles called he foundUncle John in his chair. They sent for Robert, and pending his appearance opened the conference.At the end of a quarter of an hour Robert hadnot appeared. Charles looked impatiently at hiswatch and despatched a second servant to summonhis brother. After twenty-five minutes a third callwas sent.

During this time, in the sunniest corner of thesouth garden, sheltered by a high stone wallcrested with English ivy and overgrown withclimbing roses, sat Robert Kimberly indolentlywatching Brother Francis and a diminutive Skyeterrier named Sugar.

Sugar was one of Kimberly's dogs, but Francishad nursed Sugar through an attack after thekennel keepers had given him up. And the littledog although very sick and frowsy had finallypulled through. The intimacy thus establishedbetween Sugar and Francis was never afterwardbroken but by death.

In this sunny corner, Kimberly, in a loose, brownsuit of tweed, his eyes shaded by a straw hat, satin a hickory chair near a table. It was thecorner of the garden in which Francis when off dutycould oftenest be found. A sheltered walk ledto the pergola along which he paced for exercise.Near the corner of the wall stood an oak. And abench, some chairs and a table made the spotattractive. Sugar loved the bench, and, curled upon it, usually kept watch while Francis walked.On cold days the dog lay with one hair-curtainedeye on the coming and going black habit. Onwarm days, cocking one ear for the measured step,he dozed.

Francis, when Sugar had got quite well, expressed himself as scandalized that the poor doghad never been taught anything. He possessed, his new master declared, neither manners noraccomplishments, and Francis amid other dutieshad undertaken, in his own words, to make aman of the little fellow.

Robert, sitting lazily by, instead of attendingthe conference call, and apparently thinking ofnothing-though no one could divine just whatmight be going on under his black-bandedhat-was watching Francis put Sugar through some ofthe hard paces he had laid out for him.

"That dog is naturally stupid, Francis-all mydogs are. They continually cheat me on dogs,"said Kimberly presently. "You don't think so?Very well, I will bet you this bank-note," he tookone from his waistcoat as he spoke, "that youcannot stop him this time on 'two'."

"I have no money to bet you, Robert."

"I will give you odds."

"You well know I do not bet-is it not so?"

"You are always wanting money; now I willbet you the bank-note against one dollar, Francis, that you cannot stop him on 'two'."

Francis threw an eye at the money in Kimberly'shand. "How much is the bank-note, Robert?"

"One hundred dollars."

Francis put the temptation behind him. "Youwould lose your money. Sugar knows how tostop. In any case, I have no dollar."

"I will bet the money against ten cents."

"I have not even ten cents."

"I am sorry, Francis, to see a man receiving aslarge a salary as you do, waste it in dissipationand luxury. However, if you have no money, Iwill bet against your habit."

"If I should lose my habit, what would I do?"

"You could wear a shawl," argued Kimberly.

"All would laugh at me. In any case, to betthe clothes off my back would be a sin."

"I am so sure I am right, I will bet the moneyagainst your snuff-box, Francis," persisted Kimberly.

"My snuff-box I cannot bet, since CardinalSantopaolo gave it to me."

"Francis, think of what you could do for yourgood-for-nothing boys with one hundred dollars."

Francis lifted his dark eyes and shook his head.

"I will bet this," continued the tempter, "againstthe snuff in your box, that you can't stop him thistime on 'two'."

"Sugar will stop on 'two'," declared Francis, now wrought up.

"Dare you bet?"

"Enough! I bet! It is the snuff against themoney. May my poor boys win!"

The sunny corner became active. Kimberlystraightened up, and Francis began to talk toSugar.

"Now tell me again," said Kimberly, "what thisverse is."

"I say to him," explained Francis, "that thegood soldier goes to war-"

"I understand; then you say, 'One, two, three!'"

"Exactly."

"When you say 'three,' he gets the lump?"

"Yes."

"But the first time you say the verse you stopat 'two.' Then you repeat the verse. If the dogtakes the lump before you reach the end thesecond time and say 'three'-"

"You get the snuff!" Francis laid the box onthe table beside Kimberly's bank-note.

"Sugar! Guarda!" The Skye terrier sat uprighton his haunches and lifted his paws. Francisgave him a preliminary admonition, took from amysterious pocket a lump of sugar, laid it on thetip of the dog's nose, and holding up his finger, began in a slow and clearly measured tone:

 
"Buon soldato
Va alia guerra,
Mangia male,
Dorme in terra.
Uno, due-
Buon soldato
Va-"
 

But here Sugar, to Francis's horror, snappedthe lump into his mouth and swallowed it.

"You lose," announced Kimberly.

Francis threw up his hands. "My poor boys!"

"This is the time, Francis, your poor boys don'tget my money. I get your snuff."

"Ah, Sugar, Sugar! You ruin us." The littleSkye sitting fast, looked innocently and affectionatelyup at his distressed master. "Why," demandedthe crestfallen Francis, "could you notwait for the lump one little instant?"

"Sugar is like me," suggested Kimberly lazily,"he wants what he wants when he wants it."

Alice, this morning, had been deeply in histhoughts. From the moment he woke he had beentoying indolently with her image-setting it upbefore his imagination as a picture, then puttingit away, then tempting his lethargy again with thepleasure of recalling it.

He drew a cigar-case from his pocket and carefullyemptied the snuff out of the box into it."When do you get more snuff, Francis?"

"On Saturday."

"This is Tuesday. The box is nearly full. Itlooks like good stuff." He paused between eachsentence. "But you would bet."

Francis without looking busied himself withhis little pupil.

"I have emptied the box," announced Kimberly.There was no answer. "Do you want anyof it back?"

Francis waved the offer aside.

"A few pinches, Francis?"

"Nothing."

"That dog," continued Kimberly, rapping thebox to get every grain out and perceiving theimpossibility of harrying Francis in any other way,"is good for nothing anyway. He wasn't worthsaving."

"That dog," returned Francis earnestly, "isa marvel of intelligence and patience. He has sosweet a temper, and he is so quick, Robert, tocomprehend."

"I fail to see it."

"You will see it. The fault is in me."

"I don't see that either."

Francis looked at Kimberly appealingly andpointed benevolently at Sugar. "I ask too muchof that little dog. He will learn. 'Patience,Francis,' he says to me, 'patience; I will learn.'"

Summoning his philosophy to bridge over thedisappointment, Francis, as he stood up, absent-mindedly felt in his deep pocket for his snuff-box.It was in difficulties such as this that recourse toa frugal pinch steadied him. He recollectedinstantly that the snuff was gone, and with somehaste and stepping about, he drew out hishandkerchief instead-glancing toward Kimberly as herubbed his nose vigorously to see if his slip hadbeen detected.

Needless to say it had been-less than thatwould not have escaped Kimberly, and he wasalready enjoying the momentary discomfiture.Sugar at that moment saw a squirrel runningdown the walk and tore after him.

Francis with simple dignity took the emptysnuff-box from the table and put it back in hispocket. His composure was restored and theincident to him was closed.

Kimberly understood him so well that it was nothard to turn the talk to a congenial subject. "Idrove past the college the other day. I see yourpeople are doing some building."

Francis shrugged his shoulders. "A laundry, Robert."

"Not a big building, is it?"

"We must go slow."

"It is over toward where you said the academyought to go."

"My poor academy! They do not think itwill ever come."

"You have more buildings now than you havestudents. What do you want with more buildings?"

"No, no. We have three hundred students-threehundred now." Francis looked at hisquestioner with eyes fiercely eager. "That isthe college, Robert. The academy is somethingelse-for what I told you."

"What did you tell me?" Kimberly lighteda cigar and Francis began again to explain.

"This is it: Our Sisters in the city take nowsixteen hundred boys from seven to eight yearsold. These boys they pick up from the orphancourts, from the streets, from the poor parents.When these boys are twelve the Sisters cannotkeep them longer, they must let them go and takein others.

"Here we have our college and these boys areready for it when they are sixteen. But, betweenare four fatal years-from twelve to sixteen. Ifwe had a school for such boys, think what wecould do. They would be always in hand; now, they drift away. They must go to work in thecity filth and wickedness. Ah, they need theprotection we could give them in those terriblefour years, Robert. They need the training inthose years to make of them mechanics andartisans-to give them a chance, to help them to domore than drift without compass or rudder-doyou not see?

"Those boys that are bright, that we find readyto go further, they are ready at sixteen for ourcollege; we keep and educate them. But theothers-the greater part-at sixteen would leaveus, but trained to earn. And strengthenedduring those four critical years against evil. Ah!"

Francis paused. He spoke fast and with anintensity that absorbed him.

Kimberly, leaning comfortably back, sat withone foot resting on his knee. He knocked theash of his cigar upon the heel of his shoe ashe listened-sometimes hearing Francis's words, sometimes not. He had heard all of them beforeat one time or another; the plea was not new tohim, but he liked the fervor of it.

"Ah! It is not for myself that I beg." BrotherFrancis's hands fell resignedly on his knees. "Itis for those poor boys, to keep them, Robert, fromgoing to hell-from hell in this world and in thenext. To think of it makes me always sorrowful-itmakes a beggar of me-a willing beggar."

Kimberly moved his cigar between his lips.

"But where shall I get so much money?"exclaimed Francis, helplessly. "It will take amillion dollars to do what we ought to do. You area great man, Robert; tell me, how shall I find it?"

"I can't tell you how to find it; I can tell youhow to make it."

"How?"

"Go into the sugar business."

"Then I must leave God's business."

"Francis, if you will pardon me, I think for aclever man you are in some respects a great fool.I am not joking. What I have often said aboutyour going into the sugar business, I repeat. Youwould be worth ten thousand dollars a year to me, and I will pay you that much any day."

Francis looked at Kimberly as if he were amadman, but contented himself with moving his headslowly from side to side in protest. "I cannotleave God's business, Robert. I must work forhim and pray to him for the money. Sometimeit will come."

"Then tell Uncle John to raise your wages,"suggested Kimberly, relapsing into indifference.

"Robert, will you not sometime give me a letterto introduce me to the great banker who comeshere, Hamilton?"

"He will not give you anything."

"He has so much money; how can he possiblyneed it all?"

"You forget, Francis, that nobody needs moneyso much as those that have it."

"Ah!"

"Hamilton may have no more money than Ihave, and you don't ask me for a million dollars."

"It is not necessary to ask you. You know Ineed it. If you could give it to me, you would."

"If I gave you a million dollars how should Iever get it back?"

Francis spoke with all seriousness. "God willpay you back."

"Yes, but when? That is a good deal of moneyto lend to God."

"It is a good deal."

"When do I get it back, and how?"

"He will surely pay you, Robert; God pays over there."

"That won't do-over there. It isn't honest."

Francis started. "Not honest?"

"You are offering deferred dividends, Francis.What would my stockholders say if I tried thatkind of business? Gad, they would drag me intocourt."

"Ah, yes! But, Robert; you pay for to-day: he pays for eternity."

Kimberly smoked a moment. "In a propositionof that kind, Francis, it seems to me the questionof guarantees is exceedingly important. You goodmen are safe enough; but where would the badmen come in on your eternal dividends?"

"You are not with the bad men, Robert. Yourheart is not bad. You are, perhaps, cruel-"

"What?"

"But generous. Sometime God will give youa chance."

"You mean, sometime I will give God a chance."

"No, Robert, what I say I mean-sometime,God will give you a chance."

Charles Kimberly's impatient voice was heardfrom the pergola.

"Robert! We've been waiting thirty minutes,"he stormed.

"I am just coming."

CHAPTER IX

That afternoon MacBirney played golf withCharles Kimberly. Toward five o'clock,Alice in one of the De Castro cars drove around toThe Hickories after him. When he came in, shewas sitting on the porch with a group of women, among them Fritzie Venable and Lottie Nelson.

"I must be very displeasing to Mrs. Nelson,"Alice said to her husband as they drove away."It upsets me completely to meet that woman."

"Why, what's the matter with her?" askedMacBirney, in a tone which professing friendlysurprise really implied that the grievance mightafter all be one of imagination.

"I haven't an idea," declared Alice a littleresentfully. "I am not conscious of having done athing to offend her."

"You are oversensitive."

"But, Walter, I can tell when people mean to be rude."

"What did Mrs. Nelson do that was rude?"asked her husband in his customary vein ofscepticism.

"She never does anything beyond ignoringme," returned Alice. "It must be, I think, thatshe and I instinctively detest each other. Theywere talking about a dinner and musicaleThursday night that Mr. Robert Kimberly is giving atThe Towers. Miss Venable said she supposedwe were going, and I had to say I really didn'tknow. We haven't been asked, have we?"

"Not that I know of."

"Mrs. Nelson looked at me when Fritzie spoke;I think it is the first time that she ever has lookedat me, except when she had to say 'good-morning'or 'good-evening.' I was confused a littlewhen I answered, I suppose; at any rate, sheenjoyed it. Mr. Kimberly would not leave us out, would he?"

"I don't think so. He was playing golf thisafternoon with Cready Hamilton, and he stoppedto offer me his yacht for the week of the cup races."

"Why, how delightful! How came he ever todo that?"

"And I think he has made up his mind what heis going to do about placing me on the board,"continued MacBirney, resuming his hard, thinmanner and his eager tone of business. "I wishI knew just what is coming."

Alice had scarcely reached her room when shefound the dinner invitation. She felt a little thrillof triumph as she read it. Her maid explainedthat the note had been laid in the morning withMrs. De Castro's letters.

Late in the evening Kimberly came over withhis sister-in-law, Imogene. The De Castros wereat the seashore overnight and the visitors' cardswere sent up to the MacBirneys. It was warmand the party sat on the south veranda.Kimberly talked with Alice and she told him theyhoped to be present at his dinner.

"You are sure to be, aren't you?" he asked."The evening is given for you."

"For us?"

"No, not for 'us,' but for you," he saiddistinctly. "Mr. MacBirney has said he is fondof the water-you like music; and I am tryingsomething for each of you. I should have askedyou about your engagements before the cardswent out. If there is any conflict the date caneasily be recalled."

"Oh, no. That would be a pity."

"Not at all. I change my arrangements whennecessary every ten minutes."

"But there isn't any conflict, and I shall bedelighted to come. Pray, how do you know I likemusic?"

"I heard you say so once to Arthur De Castro.Tell me what you are amused about?"

"Have I betrayed any amusement?"

"For just about the hundredth part of a second,in your eyes."

They were looking at each other and his gazethough within restraint was undeniably alive.Alice knew not whether she could quite ignore itor whether her eyes would drop in an annoyingadmission of self-consciousness. She avoided thelatter by confessing. "I am sure I don't know atall what you are talking about-"

"I am sure you do, but you are privileged notto tell if you don't want to."

"Then-our dinner card was mislaid and untilto-night we didn't know whether-"

"There was going to be any dinner."

"Oh, I knew that. I was at the Casino thisafternoon-"

"I saw you."

"And when I was asked whether I was goingto the dinner at The Towers I couldn't, of course, say."

"Who asked you, Mrs. Nelson?"

"No, indeed. What made you think it was she?"

"Because she asked me if you were to be there.When I said you were, she laughed in such a wayI grew suspicious. I thought, perhaps, for somereason you could not come, and now I amconfessing-I ran over to-night expressly to find out."

"How ridiculous!"

"Rather ridiculous of me not to know before-hand."

"I don't mean that-just queer little complications."

"A mislaid dinner-card might be answerablefor more than that."

"It was Miss Venable who asked, quite innocently.And had I known all I know now, I couldhave taken a chance, perhaps, and said yes."

"You would have been taking no chance wheremy hospitality is concerned."

"Thank you, Mr. Kimberly, for my husbandand myself."

"And you might have added in this instancethat if you did not go there would be no dinner."

Alice concealed an embarrassment under a littlelaugh. "My husband told me of your kindness inplacing your yacht at our disposal for the races."

"At his disposal."

"Oh, wasn't I included in that?"

"Certainly, if you would like to be. But tastesdiffer, and you and Mr. MacBirney being two-"

"Oh, no, Mr. Kimberly; my husband and I are one."

" – and possibly of different tastes," continuedKimberly, "I thought only of him. I hope itwasn't ungracious, but some women, you know, hate the water. And I had no means of knowingwhether you liked it. If you do-"

"And you are not going to the races, yourself?"

"If you do, I shall know better the next timehow to arrange."

"And you are not going to the races?"

"Probably not. Do you like the water?"

"To be quite frank, I don't know."

"How so?"

"I like the ocean immensely, but I don't knowhow good a sailor I should be on a yacht."

Imogene was ready to go home. Kimberlyrose. "I understand," he said, in the frank andreassuring manner that was convincing becausequite natural. "We will try you some time, upthe coast," he suggested, extending his hand."Good-night, Mrs. MacBirney."

"I believe Kimberly is coming to our side,"declared MacBirney after he had gone upstairswith Alice.

Annie had been dismissed and Alice was braidingher hair. "I hope so; I begin to feel like aconspirator."

MacBirney was in high spirits. "You don'tlook like one. You look just now likeMarguerite." He put his hands around her shoulders, and bending over her chair, kissed her. Thecaress left her cold.

"Poor Marguerite," she said softly.

"When is the dinner to be?"

"A week from Thursday. Mr. Kimberly saysthe yacht is for you, but the dinner is for me,"continued Alice as she lifted her eyes toward herhusband.

"Good for you."

"He is the oddest combination," she musedwith a smile, and lingering for an instant onthe adjective. "Blunt, and seemingly kind-hearted-"

"Not kind-hearted," MacBirney echoed, incredulously. "Why, even Nelson, and he'ssupposed to think the world and all of him, calls himas cold as the grave when he wants anything."

Alice stuck to her verdict. "I can't help whatNelson says; and I don't pretend to know howMr. Kimberly would act when he wants anything.A kind-hearted man is kind to those he likes, anda cold-blooded man is just the same to those helikes and those he doesn't like. There is alwayssomething that stands between a cold-bloodedman and real consideration for those he likes-andthat something is himself."

Alice was quite willing her husband should applyher words as he pleased. She thought he hadgiven her ample reason for her reflection on thesubject.

But MacBirney was too self-satisfied to perceivewhat her words meant and too pleased with thesituation to argue. "Whatever he is," heresponded, "he is the wheel-horse in thiscombination-everybody agrees on that-and the friendshipof these people is an asset the world over. Ifwe can get it and keep it, we are the gainers."

"Whatever we do," returned Alice, "don't letus trade on it. I shrink from the very thought ofbeing a gainer by his or any other friendship. Ifwe are to be friends, do let us be so through mutuallikes and interests. Mr. Kimberly would knowinstantly if we designed it in any other way, I amsure. I never saw such penetrating eyes. Really,he takes thoughts right out of my head."

MacBirney laughed in a hard way. "He mighttake them out of a woman's head. I don't thinkhe would take many out of a man's."

"He wouldn't need to, dear. A man's thought's, you know, are clearly written on the end of hisnose. I wish I knew what to wear to Mr. Kimberly's dinner."

CHAPTER X

One morning shortly after the MacBirneyshad been entertained at The Towers JohnKimberly was wheeled into his library whereCharles and Robert were waiting for him. Charlesleaned against the mantel and his brother stood ata window looking across the lake toward CedarPoint. As Francis left the room Uncle John'seyes followed him. Presently they wandered backwith cheerful suspicion toward his nephews, andhe laid his good arm on the table as they tookchairs near him.

"Well?" he said lifting his eyebrows andlooking blandly from one to the other.

"Well?" echoed Charles good-naturedly, lookingfrom Uncle John to Robert.

"Well?" repeated Robert with mildly assumedidiocy, looking from Charles back again to UncleJohn.

But Uncle John was not to be committed byany resort to his own tactics, and he came back atCharles on the flank. "Get any fish?" he asked,as if assured that Charles would make an effort todeceive him in answering.

"We sat around for a while without doing athing, Uncle John. Then they began to strikeand I had eight days of the best sport I ever sawon the river,"

Uncle John buried his disappointment under asmile. "Good fishing, eh?"

"Excellent."

There was evidently no opening on this subject, and Uncle John tried another tender spot. "Yachtgo any better?"

"McAdams has done wonders with it, UncleJohn. She never steamed so well since she waslaunched."

"Cost a pretty penny, eh, Charlie?"

"That is what pretty pennies are for, isn't it?"

Unable to disturb his nephew's peace of mind,Uncle John launched straight into business."What are you going to do with those fellows?"

"You mean the MacBirney syndicate? Roberttells me he has concluded to be liberal with them."

"He is giving too much, Charlie."

"He knows better what the stuff is worth thanwe do."

Uncle John smiled sceptically. "He will givethem more than they are worth, I am afraid."

Robert said nothing.

"Perhaps there is a reason for that," suggestedCharles.

They waited for Robert to speak. He shiftedin his chair presently and spoke with somedecision. His intonation might have beenunpleasant but that the depth and fulness of hisvoice redeemed it. The best note in his utterancewas its open frankness.

"Uncle John understands this matter just aswell as I do," he began, somewhat in protest.

"We have been over the ground often. Thesepeople have been an annoyance to us; this isundeniable. McCrea has complained of them fortwo years. Through a shift in the cards-thismoney squeeze-we have them to-day in ourhands-"

Uncle John's eyes shone and he clasped thefingers of one hand tightly in the other. "That iswhat I say; trim them!" he whispered eagerly.

Robert went on, unmoved: "Let us look atthat, too. He wants me to trim them. I havesteadily opposed buying them at all. But the restof you have overruled me. Very good. Theyknow now that they are in our power. They are, one and all, bushwhackers and guerillas. Tomy mind there isn't a trustworthy man in thecrowd-not even MacBirney.

"They have made selling agreements withMcCrea again and again and left him to hold thesack. We can't do business in that way. Whenwe give our word it must be good. They givetheir word to break it. Whenever we make aselling agreement with such people we get beaten, invariably. They have cut into us on theMissouri River, at St. Paul, even at Chicago-fromtheir Kansas plants. They make poor sugar, butit sells, and even when it won't sell, it demoralizesthe trade. Now they are on their knees. Theywant us to buy to save what they've got invested.At a receiver's sale they would get nothing. Buton the other hand Lambert might get the plants.If we tried to bid them in there would be a howlfrom the Legislature, perhaps."

Uncle John was growing moody, for the preywas slipping through his fingers. "It might bebetter to stand pat," he muttered.

Robert paid no attention. "What I propose, and God knows I have explained it before, is this: These people can be trimmed, or they can besatisfied. I say give them eleven millions-six millionscash-three millions preferred and two millions inour common for fifty per cent of their stockinstead of sixteen millions for all of their stock."

Uncle John looked horror stricken. "It isnothing to us," exclaimed Robert, impatiently. "Ican make the whole capital back in twelve monthswith McCrea to help MacBirney reorganize andrun the plants. It is a fortune for them, and wekeep MacBirney and the rest of them, for tenyears at least, from scheming to start new plants.Nelson says there are legal difficulties aboutbuying more than half their stock. But the votingcontrol of all of it can be safely trusteed."

Uncle John could barely articulate: "Toomuch, it is too much."

"Bosh. This is a case where generosity is'plainly indicated,' as Hamilton says."

"Too much."

"Robert is right," asserted Charles curtly.

Uncle John threw his hand up as if to say: "Ifyou are resolved to ruin us, go on!"

"You will be surprised at the success of it,"concluded Robert. "MacBirney wants to comehere to live, though Chicago would be the betterplace for him. Let him be responsible for theWestern territory. With such an arrangementwe ought to have peace out there for ten years.If we can, it means just one hundred millionsmore in our pockets than we can make in theface of this continual price cutting."

Charles rose. "Then it is settled."

Uncle John ventured a last appeal. "Makethe cash five and a half millions."

"Very good," assented Robert, who to meetprecisely this objection had raised the figure wellabove what he intended to pay. "As you like,Uncle John," he said graciously. "Charles, makethe cash five and a half millions."

And Uncle John went back to his loneliness, treasuring in his heart the half million he hadsaved, and encouraged by his frail triumph inthe conference over his never-quite-wholly-understoodnephew.

At a luncheon next day, the decision was laidby Charles and Robert before the Kimberlypartners, by whom it was discussed and approved.

In the evening Charles, with Robert listening, laid the proposal before MacBirney, who hadbeen sent for and whose astonishment at theunexpected liberality overwhelmed him.

He was promptly whirled away from TheTowers in a De Castro car. And from a simpleafter-dinner conference, in which he had sat downat ten o'clock a promoter, he had risen atmidnight with his brain reeling, a millionaire.

Alice excused herself when her husbandappeared at Black Rock, and followed him upstairs.She saw how he was wrought up. In their room, with eyes burning with the fires of success, he toldher of the stupendous change in their fortunes.With an affection that surprised and moved Alice, who had long believed that never again couldanything from him move her, he caught herclosely in his arms.

Tears filled her eyes. He wiped them awayand forced a laugh. "Too good to be true, dearie, isn't it?"

She faltered an instant. "If it will only bring ushappiness, Walter."

"Alice, I'm afraid I have been harsh, at times." Hermemory swept over bitter months and wastedyears, but her heart was touched. "It is allbecause I worry too much over business. Therewill be no more worries now-they are past andgone. And I want you to forget everything,Allie." He embraced her fervently. "I havehad a good deal of anxiety first and last. It isover now. Great God! This is so easy here.Everything is so easy for these people."

The telephone bell tinkled. Through a mist oftears Alice felt her husband's kiss. She rose toanswer the bell. Dolly was calling from downstairs."Come down both of you," she said. "Charlesand Imogene are here with Fritzie and Robert."

With Charles and Imogene had come a famousdoctor from the city, Hamilton's friend, DoctorBryson. Alice protested she could not comedown. Dolly told her she "simply must." Thecontroversy upset Alice but she had at last to giveway. She bathed her face in cold water and herhusband deceived her with assurances that hereyes showed no traces of tears.

Very uncertain about them, she followedMacBirney down, taking refuge at once in a cornerwith Imogene.

While the two were talking, Grace De Castroand Larrie Morgan came in, bringing some youngfriends. "Aren't they the nicest couple?"exclaimed Alice as they crossed the room.

"It is a blessing they are," said Imogene."You see, Grace will probably succeed to the DeCastro fortune, and Larrie is likely sometime tohave the Kimberly burdens. It crushes me tothink that Charles and I have no children."

"Are you so fond of children?" Alice askedwistfully.

"Why, of course, dear; aren't you?"

"Indeed I am, too fond of them. I lost my onlychild, a baby girl-"

"And you never have had another?"

"No."

"If Robert would marry, we should have afamily hope there," continued Imogene. "ButI am afraid he never will. How did you enjoyyour evening at The Towers?"

"We had a delightful time."

"Isn't Robert a good host? I love to see himpreside. And he hasn't given a dinner before foryears."

"Why is that?"

Imogene laid her hand gently on Alice's. "Itis a long story, dear, a tragedy came into his life-intoall our lives, in fact. It changed him greatly."

Soon after the MacBirneys came down, theNelsons arrived on the scene and the companymoved to a south room to get the breeze.Imogene talked with Alice and MacBirney, butKimberly joined them and listened, taking part atintervals in the conversation.

When Imogene's attention was taken byMacBirney, Robert, asking Alice if she got the airfrom the cooling windows, moved her chair towhere the breeze could be felt more perceptibly."I hope you haven't had bad news to-night," hesaid, taking a seat on a divan near her.

She understood instantly that her eyes had notescaped his scrutiny, but concealed her annoyanceas best she could. "No, indeed. But I hadsome exciting news to-night."

"What was it?"

"Oh, I mayn't tell, may I? I am not supposedto know anything, am I?"

Her little uncertainty and appeal made hercharmingly pretty, he thought, as he watched her.The traces in her eyes of tears attracted him morethan anything he had seen before. Her firstlittle air of annoyed defiance and her effort tothrow him off the track, all interested him, and herappeal now, made in a manner that plainly saidshe was aware the secret of the news was his own, pleased him.

He was in the mood of one who had made hisplans, put them through generously, and wasready for the enjoyment that might follow."Certainly, you are supposed to know," said hegraciously. "Why not? And you may tell if youlike. At any rate, I absolve you as far as I'mconcerned. I couldn't conceive you guilty of avery serious indiscretion."

"Then I suppose you know that we are veryhappy, and why-don't you?"

"Perhaps; but that should be mere excitement.How about the tears?"

She frowned an impatient protest and rose."Oh, I haven't said anything about tears. Theyare going out on the porch-shall we jointhem?" He got up reluctantly and followed her.

Arthur De Castro and Charles Kimberly offeredchairs to Alice. They were under a cluster ofelectric lamps, where she did not wish to sit forinspection. As she hesitated Robert Kimberlyspoke behind her. "Possibly it will be pleasanterover here, Mrs. MacBirney."

He was in the shadow and had drawn a chairfor her near Nelson outside the circle of light, from which she was glad to escape. He took theseat under the light himself. When an ice wasserved, the small tables were drawn together.Alice, occupied with Nelson, who inspired by hisvis-à-vis had summoned something of his grandair, lost the conversation of the circle until sheheard Doctor Bryson, and turned with Nelsonto listen. He was thanking Mrs. De Castro fora compliment.

"I am always glad to hear anything kind of myprofession." He spoke simply and his mannerAlice thought engaging. "It is a high calling-andI know of but one higher. We hear thecomplaint that nowadays medicine is a savagelymercenary profession. If a measure of truth lies inthe charge I think it is due to the fact that doctorsare victims of the mercenary spirit about them.It's a part of the very air they breathe. Theycan't escape it. The doctor, to begin with, mustspend one small fortune to get his degree. Hemust spend another to equip himself for his work.Ten of the best years of his life go practically togetting ready. His expense for instruments, appliances, and new and increasingly elaborateappointments is continuous."

"But doctor," Fritzie Venable leaned forwardwith a grave and lengthened face, "think of the fees!"

The doctor enjoyed the laugh. "Quite true.When you find an ambitious doctor, unless hisenergy is restrained by a sense of his high responsibility,he may be possessed of greed. If a surgeonbe set too fast on fame he will affect the spectacularand cut too much and too freely. I admit all ofthis. My plea is for the conscientious doctor, andbelieve me, there are many such. Nor must youforget that, at the best, half our lives we are tooyoung to please and half our lives too old."

"Hamilton said the other night," observedRobert Kimberly, filling in the pause, "that a gooddoctor must spend his time in killing, not his ownpatients, but his own business."

"No other professional man is called on to dothat," observed Bryson. "Indeed, the saddest ofall possible proofs of the difficulties of our callingis found in the fact that the suicide rate amongdoctors is the highest in the learned professions."

MacBirney expressed surprise. "I had noidea of such a thing. Had you, Mr. Kimberly?"he asked with his sudden energy.

"I have known it, but perhaps only because Ihave been interested in questions of that kind."

Dolly's attention was arrested at once by themention of suicide. "Oh, dear," she exclaimed,"Don't let us talk about suicide."

But Robert Kimberly could not always be shutoff and this subject he pursued with a certainfirmness. Some of the family were disturbed butno one presumed to interfere. "Suicide," he wenton, "has a painful interest for many people. Hasyour study of it, doctor, ever led you to believethat it presupposes insanity?" he asked of Bryson.

"By no means."

"You conclude then that sane men and womendo commit suicide?"

"Frequently, Mr. Kimberly."

Kimberly drew back in his chair. "I am gladto be supported in my own conviction. The factis," he went on in a humorous tone, "I am forcedeither to hold in this way or conclude that I amsprung from a race of lunatics."

"Robert," protested Dolly, "can't we talk aboutsomething else?"

Kimberly, however, persisted, and he now had, for some reason not clear to Alice, a circle ofpainfully acute listeners. "The insanity theory is inmany cases a comfortable one. But I don't findit so, and I must stick to the other and regardsuicide as the worst possible solution of anypossible difficulty."

Doctor Bryson nodded assent. Kimberly spokeon with a certain intensity. "If every act of aman's life had been a brave one," he continued,"his suicide would be all the more the act of acoward. I don't believe that kind of a man cancommit suicide. Understand, I am consideringthe act of a man-not that of a youth or of oneimmature."

"Well, I don't care what you are considering,Robert," declared Dolly with unmistakableemphasis, "we will talk about something else."

CHAPTER XI

The conversation split up. Kimberly, unruffled, turned to Alice and went on in anundertone: "I am going to tell you Francis'sviews on the subject anyway. He has the mostintense way of expressing himself and thepantomime is so contributing. 'Suicide, Mr. Kimberly,'he said to me one day, 'is no good. What woulda man look like going back to God, carrying hishead in his hand? "Well, I am back, and hereare the brains you gave me." "What did you dowith them?" "I blew them out with a bullet!" Thatis a poor showing I think, Mr. Kimberly, forbusiness. Suicide is no good.'"

"But who is this Brother Francis," asked Alice,"whom I hear so much of? Tell me about him."

"He is one of the fixtures at The Towers. Areligious phenomenon whom I personally think agreat deal of; an attendant and a nurse. He isan Italian with the courtesy of a gentleman wornunder a black gown so shabby that it would beabsurd to offer it to a second-hand man."

"Does the combination seem so odd?"

"To me he is an extraordinary combination."

"How did you happen to get him?"

"That also is curious. The Kimberlys arecantankerous enough when well; when ill theyare likely to be insupportable. Not only that, but kindness and faithfulness are some of thethings that money cannot buy; they givethemselves but never sell themselves. When my unclefell ill, after a great mental strain, we hired nursesfor him until we were distracted-men andwomen, one worse than another. We tried allcolors and conditions of human kind withoutfinding one that would suit Uncle John. I began tothink of throwing him into the lake-and toldhim so. He cried like a child the day I had theset-to with him. To say the truth, the oldgentleman hasn't many friends left anywhere, but earlyimpressions are a great deal to us, you know, andI remember him when he was a figure in thecouncils of the sugar world.

"I recall," continued Kimberly, "a certainBlack Friday in our own little affairs when thewolves got after us. The banks were throwingover our securities by the wagon-load, and thisold man who sits and swears and shakes there, alone, upstairs, was all that remained betweenus and destruction. He stood in our down-townoffice with fifty men fighting to get at him-struggling, yelling, screaming, and cursing, and somewho couldn't even scream or curse, livid andpawing the air.

"He stood behind his desk all day like afield-marshal, counselling, advising, ordering, buying, steadying, reassuring, juggling millions in his twohands like conjuror's balls. I could never forgetthat. I am not answering your question-"

"But do go on!" There were no longer tearsin Alice's eyes. They were alive with interest."That," she exclaimed, "was splendid!"

"He won out, and then he set himself onvengeance. That was the end of our dependence onother people's banks. Most people learn sooneror later that a banking connection is an expensiveluxury. He finally drove off the street the twoinstitutions that tried to save themselves at ourexpense. The father of Cready and FrankHamilton, Richard Hamilton, a rank outsider, helpedUncle John in that crisis and Uncle John madeRichard Hamilton to pillow his head on tens ofmillions. Since that day we have been our ownbankers; that is, we own our own banks. AndI this is curious, never from that day to this hasUncle John completely trusted any man-not evenme-except this very man we are talking about."

"Brother Francis?"

"Brother Francis. You asked how I got him;it is not uninteresting; a sort of sermon on gooddeeds. Just before this big school in the valleywas started, the order to which he belongs hadbeen expelled from France-it was years ago; the reformers over there needed their property.Half a dozen of the Brothers landed down here inthe village with hardly a coat to their backs. Butthey went to work and in a few years had a littleschool. The industry of these people is astonishing."

"One day they came to The Towers for aid.Old Brother Adrian, the head Brother, camehimself-as he long afterward told me-with aheavy heart, indeed, with fear and trembling.The iron gates and the Krupp eagles frightenedhim, he said, when he entered the grounds. Andwhen he asked for the mistress of the house, hecould hardly find voice to speak. My mother wasaway, so Aunt Lydia appeared-you have seenher portrait, haven't you?"

"No."

"You must; it is not unlike you. Aunt Lydiaand my mother were two of the loveliest women Ihave ever known. When she came down thatday, Brother Adrian supposing it was my motherbegged a slight aid for the work they hadundertaken in the valley. Aunt Lydia heard him insilence, and without saying a word went upstairs, wrote out a cheque and brought it down. Heglanced at the figures on it-fifty-thanked her, gave it to the young Brother with him, and withsome little compliment to the beauty of TheTowers, rose to go.

"While they were moving toward the door theyoung Brother, studying the cheque grew pale, halted, looked at it again and handed it to hissuperior. Brother Adrian looked at the paperand at the young Brother and stood speechless.The two stared a moment at each other. AuntLydia enjoyed the situation. Brother Adrian hadthought the gift had been fifty dollars-it wasfifty thousand.

"He fainted. Servants were hurried in. Evenwhen he recovered, he was dazed-he really for ayear had not had enough to eat. Aunt Lydiaalways delighted in telling how the young Brotherhelped him down the avenue after he could walk.This is a tediously long story."

"Do go on."

"When he again reached the big iron gates heturned toward the house and with many strangewords and gestures called down the mercies ofHeaven on that roof and all that should eversleep under it-"

"How beautiful!"

"He blessed us right and left, up and down, fore and aft-he was a fine old fellow, Adrian.When my mother heard the story she was naturallyembarrassed. It looked something like obtainingblessings under false pretences. The only thingshe could do to ease her conscience was to sendover a second cheque."

"Princely!"

"It came near killing Brother Adrian. It seemsodd, too, compared with the cut-and-dried way inwhich we solemnly endow institutions nowadays, doesn't it? They all three are dead, but we havealways stood, in a way, with Adrian's people.

"The young man that made the exciting call withhim is now the superior over there, BrotherEdmund. After the trouble we had with Uncle John,in finding some one he could stand and who couldstand him, I went one day in despair to BrotherEdmund. I allowed him to commit himselfproperly on what they owed to Aunt Lydia'sgoodness and the rest, and then began to abusehim and told him he ought to supply a nurse formy uncle. He told me theirs was a teaching orderand not a nursing order. I redoubled my harshness.'It is all very well when you need anything,'I said, 'when we need anything it is different.Did those women,' I thundered, 'ask what youwere, when you were starving here?'

"It wasn't precisely logical, but abuse should bevigorous rather than logical, anyway, and I triedto be vigorous. They got very busy, I can tellyou. They held a conclave of some sort anddecided that Uncle John must be taken care of. Ifhe were a common pauper, they argued, theywould not refuse to take care of him; should theyrefuse because he was a pauper of means? Theyconcluded that it was a debt they owed to AuntLydia and by Heaven, next morning over camethis sallow-faced, dark-eyed Brother Francis, andthere he is still with Uncle John."

CHAPTER XII

MacBirney's personal efforts in effectingthe combination with the Kimberlyinterests were adjudged worthy of a substantialrecognition at the hands of the company and he wasgiven charge of the Western territory together witha place on the big directorate of all the companiesand made one of the three voting trustees of thesyndicate stock. The two other trustees were,as a "matter of form," Kimberly men-McCreaand Cready Hamilton. This meant for MacBirneya settled Eastern residence and one befittinga gentleman called to an honor so unusual. Hewas made to feel that his new circumstancesentailed new backgrounds socially as well as thosethat had been accorded him in a monetary way, and through the Kimberlys, negotiations werespeedily concluded for his acquiring of the CedarLodge villa some miles across the lake from The Towers.

At the end of a trying two months, theMacBirneys were in their new home and Alice hadbegun receiving from her intimates congratulationsover the telephone. Another month, and abusy one, went to finishing touches. At the endof that period there was apparently more thanever to be done. It seemed that a beginning hadhardly been made, but the new servants were athome in their duties, and Alice thought she couldset a date for an evening. Her head, night andday, was in more or less of a whirl.

The excitement of new fortunes had come verysuddenly upon her and with her husband shewalked every day as if borne on the air of wakingdreams. Dolly declared that Alice was working toohard, and that her weary conferences withdecorators and furnishers were too continual.Occasionally, Dolly took matters into her own handsand was frequently in consultation on domesticperplexities; sometimes she dragged Alice abruptlyfrom them.

Even before it had been generally seen, the newhome, once thrown open, secured Alice's reputationamong her friends. What was within it reflectedher taste and discrimination. And her appointmentswere not only good, they were distinctive.To be able to drape the vestments of a house so asto make of it almost at once a home was not afeat to pass unnoticed among people who studiedeffects though they did not invariably secure them.

Robert Kimberly declared that Alice, undermany disadvantages, had achieved an air ofstability and permanence in her home. Dolly toldLottie Nelson that nothing around the lakeamong the newer homes compared with it. LottieNelson naturally hated Alice more cordially thanever for her success. She ventured, when thenew house was being discussed at a dinner, to saythat Mr. MacBirney seemed to have excellenttaste; whereupon Charles Kimberly over a saladbluntly replied that the time MacBirney hadshown his taste was when he chose a wife. "But,"added Charles, reflectively, "perhaps a man doesn'tprove his taste so much in getting a wife as inkeeping one.

"Any man," he continued, "may be lucky enoughto get a wife; we see that every day. But who, save a man of feeling, could keep, well, sayImogene or Dolly, for instance?"

Robert agreed that if the MacBirney homeshowed anything it showed the touch of anagreeable woman. "Any one," he declared, paraphrasing his brother, "can buy pretty things, butit takes a clever woman to combine them."

One result of the situation was a new cordialityfrom Lottie Nelson to the MacBirneys. Andsince it had become necessary to pay court tothem, Lottie resolved to pay hers to Mr. MacBirney.She was resourceful rather than deep, and hoped by this to annoy Alice and possibly tostir Robert Kimberly out of his exasperatingindifference. The indifference of a Kimberly couldassume in its proportions the repose of a monument.

Lottie, too, was a mover in many of thediversions arranged to keep the lake set amused. Butas her efforts did not always tend to make thingseasy for Alice, Dolly became active herself insuggesting things.

One Saturday morning a message came fromher, directing Alice to forbid her husband's goingto town, drop everything, provide a lunch and joina motoring party for the seashore. MacBirneyfollowing the lines of Robert Kimberly'sexperience with cars had secured at his suggestion, among others, a foreign car from which thingsmight reasonably be expected.

Imogene Kimberly and Charles took Alice withthem and Dolly rode with MacBirney, who hadRobert Kimberly with him in the new car to seehow it behaved. Kimberly's own chauffeur drovefor them. Doane took Arthur De Castro andFritzie Venable. The servants and the lunchfollowed with a De Castro chauffeur.

As the party climbed toward Sea Ridge a showerdrove them into the grounds of a country club.While it rained, the women, their long veils thrownback, walked through the club house, and themen paced about, smoking.

Alice, seated at a table on the veranda, waslooking at an illustrated paper when RobertKimberly joined her. He told her whatextravagant stories he had heard from Dolly about thesuccess of her new home. She laughed over hissister's enthusiasm, admitted her own, andconfessed at length how the effort to get satisfactoryeffects had tired her. He in turn described toher what he had once been through in startinga new refinery and how during the strain of sixweeks the hair upon his temples had perceptiblywhitened, turning brown again when the mentalpressure was relieved.

"I never heard of such a thing," exclaimed Alice.

"I don't know how unusual it is, but it hashappened more than once in our family. Iremember my mother's hair once turned in thatway. But my mother had much sadness in her life."

"Mrs. De Castro often speaks of your mother."

"She was a brave woman. You have neverseen her portrait? Sometime at The Towers youmust. And you can see on her temples just whatI speak of. But your home-making will have justthe opposite effect on you. If care makes thehair white, happiness ought to make it brownerthan ever."

"I suppose happiness is wholly a matter ofillusion."

"I don't see that it makes much difference howwe define it; the thing is to be happy. However,if what you say is so, you should cling to yourillusions. Get all you can-I should-and keep allyou can get."

"You don't mean to say you practise that?"

"Of course I do. And I think for a man I'vekept my illusions very well."

"For a man!" Alice threw her head back."That is very comfortable assurance."

He looked at her with composure. "What isit you object to in it?"

"To begin with," demanded Alice, "how can aman have any illusions? He knows everythingfrom the very beginning."

"Oh, by no means. Far from it, I assure you."

"He has every chance to. It is only the poorwomen who are constantly disillusionized in life."

"You mustn't be disillusionized, Mrs. MacBirney.Hope unceasingly."

She resented the personal application. "I amnot speaking of myself."

"Nor am I speaking of you, only speakingthrough you to womankind. You 'poor women'should not be discouraged." He raised his headas if he were very confident. "If we can hope, you can hope. I hope every day. I hope in a woman."

She bore his gaze as she had already borne itonce or twice before, steadily, but as one mightbear the gaze of a dangerous creature, ifstrengthened by the certainty of iron bars before itsimpassive eyes. Kimberly was both too considerateand possessed too much sense of fitness to overdothe moment. With his hand he indicated awoman walking along a covered way in front of them."There, for instance, goes a woman," he continued, following up his point. "Look at her. Isn'tshe pretty? I like her walk. And a woman's walk!It is impossible to say how much depends on thewalk. And all women that walk well have goodfeet; their heels set right and there is a pleasurein watching each sure foot-fall. Notice, forinstance, that woman's feet; her walk is perfect."

"How closely observant!"

"She is well gowned-but everybody is wellgowned. And her figure is good. Let us say, Ihope in her, hope she will be all she looks. Ifollow the dream. In a breath, an instant, atwinkling, the illusion has vanished! She has spoken,or she has looked my way and I have seen herface. But even then the face is only the dial ofthe watch; it may be very fair. Sometime I seeher mind-and everything is gone!"

"Would it be impertinent to ask who has putwomen up in this way to be inspected andcriticised?" retorted Alice.

"Not in the least. I am speaking only inillustration and if you are annoyed with me I shallmiss making my point. Do I give up merelybecause I have lost an illusion? Not at all. Anothersprings up at once, and I welcome it. Let us livein our illusions; every time we part with one andfind none to take its place we are poorer,Mrs. MacBirney, believe me."

"Just the same, I think you are horridly criticalof women."

"Then you should advise me to cultivate myillusions in their direction."

"I should if I thought it were necessary. As Ihave a very high opinion of women, I don't thinkany illusions concerning them are necessary."

"Loftily said. And I sha'n't allow you to thinkmy own opinion any less high. When I was aboy, women were all angels to me; they are notquite that, we know."

"In spite of illusions."

"But I don't want to put them very much lowerthan the angels-and I don't. I keep them upbecause I like to."

Her comment was still keen. "Not becausethey deserve it."

"I won't quarrel with you-because, then, theydo deserve it. It is pleasant to be set right."

The shower had passed and the party was makingready to start. Alice rose. "You haven't saidwhat you think of your own kind, as you callthem-menkind."

Kimberly held her coat for her to slip into."Of course, I try not to think of them."

When they reached the summit dividing thelake country from the sea the sun was shining.To the east, the sound lay at their feet. In thewest stretched the heavy forests and the long chainof lakes. They followed the road to the sea andafter their shore luncheon relaxed for an hour atthe yacht club. Driving back by the river roadthey put the new car through some paces, andhalting at intervals to interchange passengers, they proceeded homeward.

Going through Sunbury at five o'clock the carsseparated. MacBirney, with whom RobertKimberly was again riding, had taken in FritzieVenable and Alice. Leaving the village they chose thehill road around the lake. Brice, Kimberly'schauffeur, took advantage of the long, straighthighway leading to it to let the car out a little.They were running very fast when he noticed thesparker was binding and stopped for a moment.It was just below the Roger Morgan place andKimberly, who could never for a moment abideidleness, suggested that they alight while Briceworked. He stood at the door of the tonneau andgave his hand to Alice as she stepped from thecar. In getting out, her foot slipped and sheturned her ankle. She would have fallen butthat Kimberly caught her. Alice recoveredherself immediately, yet not without an instant'sdependence on him that she would rather haveescaped.

Brice was slow in correcting the mechanicaldifficulty, and finding it at last in the magnetoannounced it would make a delay of twentyminutes. Fritzie suggested that they walk throughher park and meet the car at the lower end.MacBirney started up one of the hill paths with Alice,Kimberly and Fritzie following. They passedMorgan house and higher in the hills they reachedthe chapel. Alice took her husband in to see thebeauty of the interior. She told him Dolly's storyof the building and when Fritzie and Kimberlyjoined them, Alice was regretting that Dolly hadfailed to recollect the name of the church in Romeit was modelled after. Kimberly came to her aid."Santa Maria in Cosmedin, I think."

"Oh, do you remember? Thank you," exclaimedAlice. "Isn't it all beautiful, Walter?And those old pulpits-I'm in love with them!"

MacBirney pronounced everything admirableand prepared to move on. He walked toward thedoor with Fritzie.

Alice, with Kimberly, stood before the chancellooking at the balustrade. She stopped near thenorth ambone, and turning saw in the soft lightof the aisle the face of the boy dreaming in thesilence of the bronze.

Below it, measured words of Keats were dimlyvisible. Alice repeated them half aloud. "Whata strange inscription," she murmured almost toherself.

Kimberly stood at her elbow. "It is strange."

She was silent for a moment. "I think itis the most beautiful head of a boy I have everseen."

"Have you seen it before?"

"I was here once with Mrs. De Castro."

"She told you the story?"

"No, we remained only a moment." Aliceread aloud the words raised in the bronze: "'Robert Ten Broeck Morgan: ætat: 20.'"

"Should you like to hear it?"

"Very much."

"His father married my half-sister-Bertha;Charles and I are sons of my father's secondmarriage. 'Tennie' was Bertha's son-strangely shyand sensitive from his childhood, even morbidlysensitive. I do not mean unbalanced in any way-"

"I understand."

"A sister of his, Marie, became engaged to ayoung man of a Southern family who came hereafter the war. They were married and theirwedding was made the occasion of a great familyaffair for the Morgans, and Alices and Legares andKimberlys. Tennie was chosen for groomsman.The house that you have seen below was filledwith wedding guests. The hour came."

"And such a place for a wedding!" exclaimed Alice.

"But instead of the bridal procession that theguests were looking for, a clergyman came downthe stairs with a white face. When he couldspeak, he announced as well as he could that thewedding would not take place that night; that aterrible accident had occurred, and that TennieMorgan was lying upstairs dead."

Alice could not recall, even afterward, thatKimberly appeared under a strain; but she noticed asshe listened that he spoke with a care not quitenatural.

"You may imagine the scene," he continued."But the worst was to come-"

"Oh, you were there?"

"When you hear the rest you will think, if thereis a God, I should have been, for I might havesaved him. I was in Honolulu. I did not evenhear of it for ten days. They found him in hisbathroom where he had dressed, thrown himselfon a couch, and shot himself."

"How terrible!"

"In his bedroom they found a letter. It hadbeen sent to him within the hour by a party ofblackmailers, pressing a charge-of which hewas quite innocent-on the part of a designingwoman, and threatening that unless he compliedwith some impossible demands, his exposure andnews of an action for damages should follow inthe papers containing the account of his sister'swedding. They found with this his own letter tohis mother. He assured her the charge wasutterly false, but being a Kimberly he knew heshould not be believed because of the reputationof his uncles, one of whom he named, and afterwhom he himself was named, and to whomhe had always been closest. This, he feared, would condemn him no matter how innocent hemight be; he felt he should be unable to lift fromhis name a disgrace that would always be recalledwith his sister's wedding; and that if he gave uphis life he knew the charges would be droppedbecause he was absolutely innocent. And so he died."

For a moment Alice stood in silence. "Poor, poor boy!" she said softly. "How I pity him!"

"Do you so? Then well may I. For I amthe uncle whom he named in his letter."

Unable or unwilling to speak she pointed to thetablet as if to say: "You said the uncle he wasnamed after."

He understood. "Yes," he answered slowly,"my name is Robert Ten Broeck Kimberly."

Her eyes fell to the tessellated pavement. "Itis frightfully sad," she said haltingly. Then as ifshe must add something: "I am very sorry youfelt compelled to recall so painful a story."

"It isn't exactly that I felt compelled; yetperhaps that expresses it, too. I have expectedsometime to tell it to you."

CHAPTER XIII

The showers returned in the night. Theykept Alice company during several sleeplesshours. In the morning the sun was out. It wasSunday and when Annie brought her mistress herrolls and chocolate Alice asked the maid if she hadbeen to church.

"Kate and I went to early church," said Annie.

"And what time is late church, Annie?"

"Ten thirty, Mrs. MacBirney."

"I am going myself this morning."

"And what will you wear?"

"Anything that is cool."

Alice was thinking less of what she should wearthan of how she should tell her husband that shehad resolved upon going to church. Painfulexperience had taught her what ridicule andresource of conjugal meanness to expect whenevershe found courage to say she meant to go to church.Yet hope, consoling phantom, always suggestedthat her husband the next time might prove moreamenable to reason.

When at last she managed casually to mentionher momentous resolve, MacBirney showedthat he had lost none of his alertness on thesubject. He made use first of surprise to expresshis annoyance. "To church?" Then he gavevent to a contemptuous exclamation uttered witha semblance of good-natured indifference. "Ithought you had got that notion pretty well outof your head, Alice."

"You have got it pretty well out for me, Walter.Sometimes it comes back. It came this morning-aftera wakeful night. I haven't been for along time."

"What church do you want to go to?"

His disingenuousness did not stir her. "To myown, of course. There is a little church in thevillage, you know."

"Oh, that frame affair, yes. Awfully cheaplooking, isn't it? And it threatens rain again.Don't mind getting wet?"

"Oh, no, I'll take the victoria."

"You can't; Peters is going to drive me over toThe Towers."

"Then give me one of the cars."

"I understand they are both out of order."

"Oh, Walter! Can't you have Peters driveyou to The Towers after he takes me to Sunbury?"

"I have an engagement with Robert Kimberlyat eleven o'clock."

"Could you change it a little, do you think,Walter?"

"An engagement with Robert Kimberly!"

"Or be just a little late for it?"

MacBirney used his opportunity to advantage."Keep him waiting! Alice, when you get an ideainto your head about going to church you loseyour common-sense."

She turned to the window to look at the sky."I can't walk," she said hopelessly. Herhusband made no comment. As her eyes turnedtoward the distant Towers she remembered thatRobert Kimberly the evening before had asked-andso insistently that it had been one of thecauses of her wakefulness-for permission tobring over in the morning some grapes from hishot-houses. He had wanted to come at eleveno'clock and she had assured him she should notbe at home-this because, during some uneasymoments when they were close together in thecar, she had resolved that the next morning sheshould seek if only for an hour an influence longneglected but quite removed from his. It wasclear to her as she now stood at the window, thatKimberly had sought every chance to be at herpersonal service at eleven o'clock, even thoughher husband professed an engagement with him.

"Couldn't Peters," she asked, turning again toMacBirney, "drive me down half an hour earlier-beforeyou go? I can wait at the church till hecomes back after me?"

MacBirney was reading the stock-market reportsin the morning paper. "All right," he saidcurtly.

She was contained this time. There had beenoccasions when scenes such as this had broughthot tears, but five years of steady battering hadfairly subdued Alice.

At high mass, an hour later, villagers saw afine lady-a Second Lake lady, they shrewdlyfancied from the carriage that broughther-kneeling among them in a pew close to the altar, and quite oblivious of those about her, kneeling, too, at times when they stood or sat; kneelingoften with her face-which they thought pretty-hiddenin her hands as if it somehow had offended; kneeling from the credo until the stragglers in thevestibule and about the church door began to slipaway from the last gospel. There was an unusualstir about the church because it was a confirmationSunday and an archbishop, a white-hairedman who had once been in charge of the littleSunbury parish himself, was present.

Alice followed the last of the congregation outof the door and into the village sunshine. Shelooked up and down the country road for herhorses but none were in sight. Below the churchwhere the farmers' rigs stood, a big motor-carwatched by village boys was waiting. They knewthat the car, with its black and olive trimmings, was from The Towers because they were familiarwith the livery of the villa grooms.

Their curiosity was rewarded when they saw thefine lady come out of the church. The instantshe appeared a great gentleman stepped from theblack tonneau and, lifting his hat very high, hastened across the muddy road to greether-certainly she made a picture as she stood on thechurch steps in her tan pongee gown with herbrown hair curling under a rose-wreathed Leghorn hat.

Her heart gave a frightened jump when she sawwho was coming. But when the gentleman spoke, his voice was so quiet that even those loiteringnear could not hear his words. There was somediscussion between the two. His slight gesturesas they talked, seemed to indicate something ofexplanation and something of defence. Then asuggestion of urgency appeared in his manner.The fine lady resisted.

From under her pongee parasol she lookedlongingly up the road and down for her horses, but for a while no horses came. At last a carriagelooking like her own did come down the lakeroad and she hoped for a moment. Then as thecarriage drove rapidly past her face fell.

The great gentleman indicated his annoyanceat the insolent mud that spattered from thecarriage wheel by a look, but he kept quite near tothe fine lady and his eyes fell very kindly on herpink cheeks. Her carriage did not come evenafter they had gone to his car and seated themselvesin the tonneau to await it. He was too clever tohurry her. He allowed her to wait until she sawher case was quite hopeless, then she told him hemight drive her home.

"I came," he explained, answering an annoyednote in a second question that she asked, "becauseI understood you were going to church-"

"But I did not say I was."

"I must have dreamed it."

Brice, sitting at the wheel in front of them, smiled-but only within his heart-when thiscame to his ears; because it was Brice who hadbeen asked during the morning where Mrs. MacBirneywas and Brice who had reported. Hewas senior to Peters, senior to all the Second Lakecoachmen and chauffeurs, and usually found outwhatever he wanted to find out.

"At any rate," Kimberly laughed good-naturedly,"I have been waiting here half an hour for you."

Brice knew that this was true to the minute, forin that half-hour there had been many glances attwo good watches and a hamper of hot-housegrapes. Brice himself, since a certain missedtrain, involving language that lingered yet inhis ears, carried a good watch.

But to-day not even amiable profanity, whichBrice recalled as normal during extended waits, had accompanied the unusual detention. Nomessenger had been despatched to sound the youngvillage priest with a view of expediting the massand the fine lady had been in nowise interruptedduring her lengthened devotions. Kimberly, inthis instance, had truthfully been a model ofpatience.

"These are the grapes," Brice heard behindhim, as he let the machine out a bit and fanciedthe top of the hamper being raised. "Aren't theyexceptional? I found the vines in Algeria. Thereare lilies on this side."

An expression of involuntary admiration camefrom the tonneau. "Assumption lilies! For yoursister?"

"No, for you. They are to celebrate the feast."

"The feast? Why, of course!" Then came acategorical question, animated but delivered withkeenness: "How did you know that to-day is thefeast of the Assumption?"

A bland evasion followed. "I supposed thatevery one knew the fifteenth of August is the feastof the Assumption. Taste this grape."

"I am very sure you didn't know."

"But I did. Taste the grape."

"Who told you?"

"Whence have you the faculties of the Inquisition?Why do you rack me with questions?"

"I begin to suspect, Mr. Kimberly, that youbelong on the rack."

"No doubt. At least I have spent most of mylife there."

"Come, please! Who told you?"

"Francis, of course; now will you taste this grape?"

CHAPTER XIV

When MacBirney reached home with thevictoria Alice had not yet taken off her hat, and a maid was bringing vases for the lilies. Hehad been driving toward Sea Ridge and taken thewrong road and was sorry for his delay in gettingto the church. Alice accepted his excuses ingood part. He tried to explain hismisunderstanding about the engagement with Kimberly.She relieved his endeavors by making everythingeasy, telling him finally how Kimberly had broughther home and had left the grapes and lilies. Whenthe two sat down at luncheon, MacBirney noticedAlice's preoccupation; she admitted she had aslight headache. She was glad, however, to havehim ask her to go for a long motor drive in theafternoon, thinking the air would do her good, and they spent three hours together.

When they got home it was dusk. The dinnerserved on the porch was satisfying and the daywhich had opened with so little of promise seemedto do better at the close. Indeed, Alice all dayhad sought quiet because she had something tosay which she was resolved to say this day. Afterdinner she remained with her husband in themoonlight. He was talking, over his cigar, of anidea for adding a strip of woodland to the lowerend of their new estate, when she interrupted him.

"Should you be greatly shocked, Walter, if Isaid I wish we could go away from here?" Shewas leaning toward him on the arm of her chairwhen she spoke and her hands were clasped.

His astonishment was genuine. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Yet I feel as if we ought to go,Walter."

"What for?"

She was looking earnestly at him, but in theshadow he could not see, though he felt, her eyes.

"It is hard to explain." She paused a moment."These people are delightful; you know I likethem as much as you do."

MacBirney took his cigar from his mouth toexpress his surprise. "I thought you were crazyabout the place and the people and everythingelse," he exclaimed. "I thought this was justwhat you were looking for! You've said so muchabout refined luxury and lovely manners-"

"I am thinking of all that." There was enoughin her tone of an intention to be heard to cause himto forget his favorite expedient of drowning thesubject in a flood of words. "But with all this,or to enjoy it all, one needs peace of mind, andmy peace of mind is becoming disturbed."

Quite misunderstanding her, MacBirney thoughtshe referred to the question of church-going, andthat subject offered so much delicate ground thatAlice continued without molestation.

"It is very hard to say what I meant to say, without saying too little or too much. You know,Walter, you were worried at one time about howMr. Robert Kimberly would look at yourproposals, and you told me you wanted me to beagreeable to him. And without treating him differentlyfrom any one else here, I have tried to pay particularregard to what he had to say and everythingof that kind. It is awfully hard to specify," shehesitated in perplexity. "I am sure I haven'tdiscriminated him in any way from his brother,or Mr. De Castro, for instance. But I havealways shown an interest in things he had to pointout, and he seemed to enjoy-perhaps more thanthe others-pointing things out. And-"

"Well?"

"It seems to me now as if he has begun to takean interest in everything I do-"

Her husband became jocular. "Oh, has he?"

Alice's words came at last bluntly. "And itcompletely upsets me, Walter."

MacBirney laughed again. "Why so?"

She took refuge in a shade of annoyance."Because I don't like to think about it."

"Think about what?"

"About any man's-if I must say it-payingattention to me, except my husband."

"Now you are hitting me, aren't you, Alice?You are pretty clever, after all," declaredMacBirney still laughing.

She threw herself back in her chair. "Oh,Walter, you don't understand at all! Nothingcould be further from what I am thinking. Iought not to say he has been attentive enoughto speak of. It is not that I dislike Mr. Kimberly.But he does somehow make me uncomfortable.Perhaps I don't understand their way here."

"Why, that is all there is to it, Alice. It'smerely their way. Give it no thought. He issimply being agreeable. Don't imagine that everyman that sends you flowers is interested in you.Is that all, Allie?"

"Yes." Her acuteness divined about what hewould reply. "And," she added, "I think, however foolish it may sound, it is enough."

"Don't worry about bridges you will never haveto cross. That's the motto I've followed."

"Yes, I know, but-"

"Just a moment. All you have to do is totreat everybody alike."

"But, Walter-"

"You would have to do that anywhere-shouldn'tyou? Of course. Suppose we shouldgo somewhere else and find a man that threatenedto become an admirer-"

"Don't use such a word!"

"Call it what you please-we can't keep movingaway from that kind of a possibility, can we?"

"Still, Walter, I feel as if we might get awayfrom here. I have merely told you exactly whatI thought."

"We can't get away. This is where everythingis done in the sugar business. This is the littleworld where the big moves are decided upon. Ifyou are not here, you are not in it. We are in theswim now; it took long enough to get in it, Godknows. Now let us stay. You can take care ofyourself, can't you?"

"How can you ask me!"

He pursued her with a touch of harshness."How can I ask you? Aren't you talking aboutrunning away from a situation? I don't runaway from situations. I call the man or womanthat runs away from a situation, a coward. Faceit down, work it out-don't dodge it."

MacBirney finished without interruption.

In the living room the telephone bell rang. Hewent in to answer it and his wife heard him amoment in conversation. Then on the garagewire he called up the chauffeur and ordered a car.Coming out again on the porch he explained: "Lottie wants us to come over."

"Lottie?" There was a shade of resentment, almost of contempt, in Alice's echo and inquiry.

"Lottie Nelson."

"Don't call her Lottie, Walter."

"She calls me Walter."

"She has no business to. What did you tellher? Don't let us go out to-night."

"It is a little celebration of some kind and Itold her we would come."

"My head has ached all day."

"It will do your head good. Come on. I toldher we were coming."

CHAPTER XV

They found a lively party at the Nelsons'.Guyot was there, with Lambert, thick-lippedand voluble. Dora Morgan with Doaneand Cready Hamilton had come, worn andbedraggled, from a New England motoring trip.Dora, still quite hoarse, was singing a music-hallsong when the MacBirneys entered the room.

She stopped. "My ears are crazy to-night-Ican't sing," she complained, responding toAlice's greeting. "I feel as if there were a motorin my head. Tired? Oh, no, not a bit. But thedust!" Her smile died and her brows rose tillher pretty eyes shone full. She threw herexpiring energy into two husky words: "Somethingfierce!"

Dolly and her husband with Imogene andCharles had responded to Lottie's invitation, andRobert Kimberly came later with Fritzie Venable.Dolly greeted Alice with apologies. "I am here,"she admitted with untroubled contempt, "but notpresent. I wanted to see what Lambert lookslike. We hear so much about his discoveries.Robert doesn't think much of them."

Mrs. Nelson, languidly composed, ledMacBirney to the men who were in an alcove off themusic room. Near them sat Robert Kimberlytalking to Imogene. Dora could not be coaxed tosing again. But the hostess meant to force thefighting for a good time. Dora joined the menand Guyot, under Nelson's wing, came over tomeet Alice, who had taken refuge with Dolly. Ata time when the groups were changing, Nelsonbrought Lambert over. But neither Alice norDolly made objection when his host took himaway again.

Kimberly came after a while with Fritzie toAlice's divan and, standing behind it, tried byconversation and such attraction of manner as hecould offer, to interest Alice. He failed to wakenany response. She quite understood a woman'srefuge from what she wishes to avoid andpersevered in being indifferent to every effort.

Kimberly, not slow to perceive, left presentlyfor the party in the dining-room. But even as hewalked away, Alice's attitude toward him calledto her mind a saying of Fritzie's, that it is notpleasant to be unpleasant to pleasant people, even if it is unpleasant to be pleasant tounpleasant people.

"Were you tired after yesterday's ride?" askedDolly of Alice.

"Not too tired."

"Robert told you about Tennie Morgan's death."

Alice looked at her inquiringly. "How didyou know?"

"You were in the Morgan chapel together.And you looked upset when you came back. Ihad promised to tell you the story sometimemyself. I know how easy it is to get a falseimpression concerning family skeletons. So I askedRobert about it the minute you left the car, and Iwas annoyed beyond everything when he said hehad told you the whole story."

"But dear Mrs. De Castro! Why should yoube annoyed?"

Dolly answered with decision: "Robert has nobusiness ever to speak of the affair." Alice couldnot dispute her and Dolly went on: "I knowjust how he would talk about it. Not that Iknow what he said to you. But it would be likehim to take very much more of the blame onhimself than belongs to him. Men, my dear, look atthese things differently from women, and usuallymake less of them than women do. In this caseit is exactly the reverse. Robert has always hadan exaggerated idea of his responsibility in thetragedy-that is why it annoys me ever to havehim speak about it. I know my brother better, Ithink, than anybody alive knows him, and I amperfectly familiar with all the circumstances. Iknow what I am talking about."

Very much in earnest Dolly settled back. "Tobegin with, Tennie was an abnormal boy. Hewas as delicate in his mental texture as cobweblace. His sensitiveness was something incredibleand twenty things might have happened to upsethis mental balance. No one, my dear, likes totalk state secrets."

"Pray do not, then. It really is not necessary,"pleaded Alice.

"Oh, it is," said Dolly decidedly, "I want youto understand. Suicide has been a spectre to theKimberlys for ages. Two generations agoSchuyler Kimberly committed suicide at sixty-six-thinkof it! Oh! I could tell you stories. Therehas been no suicide in this generation. But theshadow," Dolly's tones were calm but inflectedwith a burden of what cannot be helped may aswell be admitted, "seems only to have passed itto fall upon the next in poor Tennie. Two yearsafterward they found his mother dead onemorning in bed. I don't know what the troublewas-it was in Florence. Nobody knows-there wasjust a little white froth on her lips. The doctorssaid heart disease. She was a strange woman,Bertha, strong-willed and self-indulgent-like allthe rest of us."

"Don't say that of yourself. You are notself-indulgent, you are generous."

"I am both, dear. But I know the Kimberlys, men and women, first and last, and that is why Ido not want you to get wrong impressions of them.My brother Robert isn't a saint, neither is Charles.But compare them with the average men of theirown family; compare them with the average menin their own situation in life; compare them withthe Nelsons and the Doanes; compare them withthat old man that Robert is so patient with!Compare them, my dear, to the men everywherein the world they move in-I don't think theKimberly men of this generation need apologizeparticularly.

"Robert was so completely stunned by Tennie'sdeath that for years I did not know what wouldhappen. Then a great industrial crisis came inour affairs, though afterward it seemed, in a way, providential. Poor old Uncle John got it intohis head he could make sugar out of corn andended by nearly ruining us all. If things hadgone on we should all have been living inapartments within another year. When we were sodeep in the thing that the end was in sight wewent to Robert on our knees, and begged him totake hold of the business and save the family-oh,it had come quite to that. He had been doingabsolutely nothing for a year and I feared allsorts of things about him. But he listened anddid take hold and made the business so big-well, dear heart, you have some idea what it isnow when they can take over a lot of factories, such as those of your husband and his associates,on one year's profits. I suppose, of course, theseare state secrets-you mustn't repeat them-"

"Certainly not."

"And for years they have been the largestlenders of ready money in the Street. So you can'twonder that we think a great deal of Robert. Andhe likes you-I can see that. He has been morenatural since you came here than for years."

"Surely your brothers never can say they havenot a devoted sister."

"I can't account for it," persisted Dolly, continuing. "It is just that your influence is a goodone on him; no one can explain those things. Ithought for years he would never be influencedby any woman again. You've seen how thisone," Dolly tossed her head in disgust as sheindicated Lottie Nelson, then passing, "throwsherself at him." With the last words Dolly rose tosay she was going home. Imogene was ready tojoin her, and Lottie's protests were of no avail.Charles was upstairs conferring with Nelson andImogene went up to get him.

Alice walked to the dining-room. Herhusband, in an uncommonly good-humor, was drinkingwith their hostess. In the centre of the room,Hamilton, Guyot, Lambert, and Dora Morgansat at the large table. Guyot offered Alice a chair.She sat down and found him entertaining. Hetook her after a time into the reception room whereLottie had hung a Degas that Guyot had broughtover for her. Alice admired the fascinatingswiftness and sureness of touch but did not agree withGuyot that the charm was due to the merit ofcolor over line. When the two returned to thedining-room, Kimberly stood at a cellaret withFritzie.

Lottie and MacBirney sat with the group at thebig table. "Oh, Robert," Lottie called toKimberly as Alice appeared in the doorway, "mix mea cocktail."

Turning, Kimberly saw Alice: "I am out ofpractice, Lottie," he said.

"Give me some plain whiskey then."

Kimberly's shortness of manner indicated hisannoyance. "You have that at your hand," hesaid sitting down.

"How rude, Robert," retorted Lottie, withassumed impatience. She glanced loftily around."Walter," she exclaimed, looking across the tableat Alice's husband and taking Alice's breath awaywith the appeal, "give me some whiskey."

"Certainly, Mrs. Nelson."

"No, stop; mix me a cocktail."

"Is your husband an expert, Mrs. MacBirney?"asked Guyot as MacBirney rose.

"Not to my knowledge," answered Alice frankly."I hope," she added, with a touch of asperity asher husband stepped to a sideboard, "thatMrs. Nelson is not fastidious."

"It is disgusting the way my friends arebehaving," complained Lottie turning to Lambert."This is my birthday-"

"Your birthday!"

"That is why you are all here. And whoeverrefuses now to drink my health I cast off forever."

"Is this a regular birthday or are you springingan extra on us?" demanded Fritzie.

"Go on, MacBirney, with your mixture,"exclaimed Lambert, "I'll serve at the table. Youare going to join us, of course, Mrs. MacBirney?"

Alice answered in trepidation: "It must besomething very light for me."

"Try whiskey, Mrs. MacBirney," suggestedDora Morgan benevolently, "it is really the easiestof all."

Alice grew nervous. Kimberly, without speaking, pushed a half-filled glass toward her. Shelooked at him in distress. "That will not hurtyou," he said curtly.

The men were talking Belgian politics. Lambertwas explaining the antiquated customs ofthe reactionaries and the battle of the liberals forthe laicizing of education. He dwelt on thestubbornness of the clericals and the difficulties metwith in modernizing their following.

Kimberly either through natural dislike forLambert or mere stubbornness objected to thespecific instances of mediævalism adduced andsoon had the energetic chemist nettled. "Whatdo you know about the subject?" demandedLambert at length. "Are you a Catholic?"

"I am not a Catholic," returned Kimberlyamiably. "I am as far as possible, I suppose, from being one. The doors of the church arewide, but if we can believe even a small part ofwhat is printed of us they would have to bebroadened materially to take in American refiners."

"If you are not a Catholic, what are you?"persisted Lambert with heat.

"I have one serious religious conviction; that is, that there are just two perfectly managed humaninstitutions; one, the Standard Oil Company, theother the Catholic Church."

There was now a chance to drop the controversyand the women together tried to effect adiversion. But Lambert's lips parted over hiswhite teeth in a smile. "I have noticedsometimes that what we know least about we talk bestabout." Kimberly stirred languidly. "I was bornof Catholic parents," continued Lambert,"baptized in the Catholic Church, educated in it. Ishould know something about it, shouldn't I?You, Mr. Kimberly, must admit you know nothingabout it." Kimberly snorted a little. "All thesame, I take priests' fables for what they areworth," added Lambert; "such, for example, asthe Resurrection of Christ." Lambert laughedheartily. Fritzie looked uneasily at Alice as thewords fell. Her cheeks were crimsoned.

"Can a central fact of Christianity such as theResurrection fairly be called a priests' fable?"asked Kimberly.

"Why not?" demanded Lambert withcontemptuous brevity. "None but fossilizedCatholics believe such nonsense!"

"There are still some Protestants left,"suggested Kimberly mildly.

"No priest dictates to me," continued thechemist, aroused. "No superstition for me. I wantCatholics educated, enlightened, made free. Ishould know something about the church, shouldI not? You admit you know nothing-"

"No, I did not admit that," returned Kimberly."You admitted it for me. And you asked me amoment ago what I was. Lambert, what are you?"

"I am a Catholic-not a clerical!" Lambertemphasized the words by looking from one toanother in the circle. Kimberly spread one of hisstrong hands on the table. Fritzie watching himshrank back a little.

"You a Catholic?" Kimberly echoed slowly."Oh, no; this is a mistake." His hand closed."You say you were born a Catholic. And youridicule the very corner-stone of your faith. The lasttime I met you, you were talking the same sortof stuff. I wonder if you have any idea what ithas cost humanity to give you the faith you sneerat, Lambert? To give you Catholic parents, men nineteen hundred years ago allowedthemselves to be nailed to crosses and torn by dogs.Boys hardly seven years old withstood starvationand scourging and boys of fifteen were burned inpagan amphitheatres that you might be born aChristian; female slaves were thrown into boilingoil to give you the privilege of faith; delicatewomen died in shameful agonies and Romanmaidens suffered their bodies to be torn to pieceswith red-hot irons to give you a Christianmother-and you sit here to-night and ridiculethe Resurrection of Christ! Call yourself liberal,Lambert; call yourself enlightened; call yourselfModern; but for God's sake don't call yourself aCatholic."

"Stop a moment!" cried Lambert at white heat.

Lottie put out her arm. "Don't let's be cross,"she said with deliberate but unmistakableauthority. "I hate a row." She turned her languideyes on MacBirney. "Walter, what are thesepeople drinking that makes them act in this way?Do give Mr. Kimberly something else; he began it."

Kimberly made no effort to soothe any one'sfeelings. And when Fritzie and Alice found anexcuse to leave the room he rose and walkedleisurely into the hall after them.

The three talked a few moments. A sound ofhilarity came from the music room. Alice lookeduneasily down the hall.

"I never knew your husband could sing," said Fritzie.

CHAPTER XVI

It dawned only gradually on Alice that herhusband was developing a surprising tendency.He walked into the life that went on at the Nelsonhome as if he had been born to it. From anexistence absorbed in the pursuit of business he gavehimself for the moment to one absorbed in pursuitof the frivolous. Alice wondered how he couldfind anything in Lottie Nelson and her followingto interest him; but her husband had offered twoor three unpleasant, even distressing, surpriseswithin as few years and she took this new one withless consternation than if it had been the first.

Yet it was impossible not to feel annoyance.Lottie Nelson, in what she would have termed aninnocent way, for she cared nothing forMacBirney, in effect appropriated him, and Alicebegan to imagine herself almost third in the situation.

Tact served to carry the humiliated wife oversome of the more flagrant breaches of mannersthat Mrs. Nelson did not hesitate at, if theyserved her caprice. MacBirney became "Walter"to her everywhere. She would call him from thecity in the morning or from his bed at night; nohour was too early to summon him and none toolate. The invitations to the Nelsons' eveningswere extended at first both to Alice and to him.Alice accepted them in the beginning with ahopeless sort of protest, knowing that her husbandwould go anyway and persuading herself thatit was better to go with him. If she went, shecould not enjoy herself. Drinking was anessential feature of these occasions and Alice'sefforts to avoid it made her the object of aridicule on Lottie's part that she took no pains toconceal.

It was at these gatherings that Alice began tolook with a degree of hope for a presence shewould otherwise rather have avoided. Kimberlywhen he came, which was not often, brought toher a sense of relief because experience had shownthat he would seek to shield her from embarrassmentrather than to expose her to it.

Lottie liked on every occasion to assume tomanage Kimberly together with the other menof her acquaintance. But from being, at first, complaisant, or at least not unruly, Kimberlydeveloped mulish tendencies. He would not, infact, be managed. When Lottie attempted toforce him there were outbreaks. One came aboutover Alice, she being a subject on which bothwere sensitive.

Alice, seeking once at the De Castros' to escapeboth the burden of excusing herself and ofdrinking with the company, appealed directly toKimberly. "Mix me something mild, will you, please,Mr. Kimberly?"

Kimberly made ready. Lottie flushed withirritation. "Oh, Robert!" She leaned backward inher chair and spoke softly over her fan. "Mixme something mild, too, won't you?"

He ignored Lottie's first request but she wasfoolish enough to repeat it. Kimberly checkedthe seltzer he was pouring long enough to replyto her: "What do you mean, Lottie? 'Mixyou something mild!' You were drinking rawwhiskey at dinner to-night. Can you neverunderstand that all women haven't the palates ofostriches?" He pushed a glass toward Alice. "Idon't know how it will taste."

Lottie turned angrily away.

"Now I have made trouble," said Alice.

"No," answered Kimberly imperturbably, "Mrs. Nelsonmade trouble for herself. I'm sorry to berude, but she seems lately to enjoy baiting me."

Kimberly appeared less and less at the Nelsons'and the coolness between him and Lottieincreased.

She was too keen not to notice that he nevercame to her house unless Alice came and thatserved to increase her pique. Such revenge asshe could take in making a follower of MacBirneyshe took.

Alice chafed under the situation and made everyeffort to ignore it. When matters got to a pointwhere they became intolerable she uttered aprotest and what she dreaded followed-anunpleasant scene with her husband. While she fearedthat succeeding quarrels of this kind would endin something terrible, they ended, in matter offact, very much alike. People quarrel, as theyrejoice or grieve, temperamentally, and a wife placedas Alice was placed must needs in the end submitor do worse. MacBirney ridiculed a little, bullieda little, consoled a little, promised a little, andurged his wife to give up silly, old-fashioned ideasand "broaden out."

He told her she must look at manners andcustoms as other people looked at them. WhenAlice protested against Lottie Nelson's callinghim early and late on the telephone and receivinghim in her room in the morning-MacBirney hadonce indiscreetly admitted that she sometimes didthis-he declared these were no incidents forgrievance. If any one were to complain, Nelson, surely, should be the one. Alice maintained thatit was indecent. Her husband retorted that it wasmerely her way, that Lottie often received RobertKimberly in this way-though this, so far as Robertwas concerned, was a fiction-and that nobodylooked at the custom as Alice did. However, hepromised to amend-anything, he pleaded, butan everlasting row.

Alice had already begun to hate herself in thesefutile scenes; to hate the emotion they cost; tohate her heartaches and helplessness. She learnedto endure more and more before engaging in them,to care less and less for what her husband said inthem, less for what he did after them, less fortrying to come to any sort of an understandingwith him.

In spite of all, however, she was not minded tosurrender her husband willingly to another woman.She even convinced herself that as his wife she wasnot lively enough and resolved if he wanted gayetyhe should have it at home. The moment sheconceived the notion she threw the gage at Lottie'saggressive head. Dolly De Castro, who saw andunderstood, warmly approved. "Considerationand peaceable methods are wasted on that kind ofa woman. Humiliate her, my dear, and she willfawn at your feet," said Dolly unreservedly.

Alice was no novice in the art of entertaining;it remained only for her to turn her capabilities toaccount. She made herself mistress now of thetelephone appointment, of the motoring lunch, ofthe dining-room gayety. Nelson himselfcomplimented her on the success with which she hadstocked her liquor cabinets.

She conceived an ambition for a wine cellarreally worth while and abandoned it only whenRobert Kimberly intimated that in this somethingmore essential than ample means and the desireto achieve were necessary. But while gentlydiscouraging her own idea as being impractical, hebegged her at the same time to make use of TheTowers' cellars, which he complained had fallenwholly into disuse; and was deterred only withthe utmost difficulty from sending over with hisbaskets of flowers from the gardens of The Towers, baskets of wines that Nelson and Doane with theirtrained palates would have stared at if served byAlice. But MacBirney without these aids wasput at the very front of dinner hosts and his tablewas given a presage that surprised him more thanany one else. As a consequence, Cedar Lodgeinvitations were not declined, unless perhaps attimes by Robert Kimberly.

He became less and less frequently a guest atAlice's entertainments, and not to be able to counton him as one in her new activities came after a timeas a realization not altogether welcome. Hisdeclining, which at first relieved her fears of seeinghim too often, became more of a vexation than sheliked to admit.

Steadily refusing herself, whenever possible, togo to the Nelsons' she could hear only through herhusband of those who frequented Lottie's suppers, and of the names MacBirney mentioned nonecame oftener than that of Robert Kimberly.Every time she heard it she resented his preferringanother woman's hospitalities, especially those ofa woman he professed not to like.

Mortifying some of her own pride she evenconsented to go at times to the Nelsons' with herhusband to meet Kimberly there and rebuke him.Then, too, she resolved to humiliate herself enoughto the hateful woman who so vexed her to observejust how she made things attractive for her guests; reasoning that Kimberly found some entertainmentat Lottie's which he missed at Cedar Lodge.

Being in the fight, one must win and Alice meantto make Lottie Nelson weary of her warfare.But somehow she could not meet Robert Kimberlyat the Nelsons'. When she went he was neverthere. Moreover, at those infrequent intervalsin which he came to her own house he seemed illentertained. At times she caught his eye whenshe was in high humor herself-telling a storyor following her guests in their own livelyvein-regarding her in a curious or critical way; andwhen in this fashion things were going at their best,Kimberly seemed never quite to enter into themirth.

His indifference annoyed her so that as a guestshe would have given him up. Yet this wouldinvolve a social loss not pleasant to face. Herinvitations continued, and his regrets were frequent.Alice concluded she had in some way displeased him.

CHAPTER XVII

One morning she called up The Towers toask Kimberly for a dinner. He answeredthe telephone himself and wanted to know if hemight not be excused from the dinner and comeover, if it were possible, in the evening.

Alice had almost expected the refusal. "I wishyou would tell me," she said, laughing low andpleasantly, "what I have done."

He paused. "What you have done?"

"What I have done that you avoid coming toCedar Lodge any more?"

"I don't, do I?" He waited for an answer butAlice remained silent. His tone was amiable andhis words simple, yet her heart was beating likea hammer. "You know I haven't gone aboutmuch lately," he went on, "but whenever youreally want me for a dinner you have need onlyto say so."

"I never ask a guest for dinner without wanting him."

It was his turn to laugh. "Do you reallymanage that, Mrs. MacBirney? I can't; and yet Ithink myself fairly independent."

"Oh, of course, we are all tied more or less, Isuppose, but-you know what I mean."

"Then you do want me to appear?"

Alice suddenly found her tongue. "We shouldnever ask any one to whom Mr. MacBirney and Iare under so many obligations as we are toMr. Kimberly without 'wanting him,' as you expressit. And we really want you very much to-morrow night."

He laughed, this time with amusement. "Youare rather strong now on third persons and plurals.But I think I understand that you really do wantme to come."

"Haven't I just said so?" she asked withgood-humored vexation.

"Not quite, but I shall arrive just the same."

Alice put up the receiver, agreeably stirred by thelittle tilt. It was a lift out of the ruck ofuncomfortable thought that went to make up her dailyportion, and the elation remained with her all day.

She decided that some vague and unwillinglydefined apprehensions concerning Kimberly'sfeeling toward her were after all foolish. Why makeherself miserable with scruples when she wasbeset with actual perplexities at home? Walterhimself was now more of what she wanted himto be. He perceived his wife's success in heractive hospitality and applauded it, and Alicebegan to feel she could, after all, be safe in a neareracquaintance with Kimberly and thus lessen alittle Lottie Nelson's pretensions.

It is pleasant to a woman to dress with theassurance that anticipates success. Alice went toher toilet the following afternoon with ananimation that she had not felt for weeks. Every stepin it pleased her and Annie's approbation as sheprogressed was very gratifying to her mistress.

The trifles in finishing were given twice theirtime, and when Alice walked into her husband'sroom he kissed her and held her out at arm's lengthin admiration. She hastened away to look at thetable and the stairs rose to meet her feet as shetripped down the padded treads.

Passing the drawing-room the rustle of her stepscaused a man within it to turn from a picture hewas studying, and Alice to her surprise sawKimberly standing before a sanguine of herself. Shegave a little exclamation.

"I asked not to be announced," he explained."I am early and did not want to hurry you." Heextended his hand. "How are you?"

"I couldn't imagine who it was, when I lookedin," exclaimed Alice cordially. "I am glad tosee you."

He held out his hand and waited till she gave himhers. "You look simply stunning," he answeredquietly. "There is something," he added withoutgiving her a chance to speak and turning fromthe eyes of the portrait back again to her own,"in your eyes very like and yet unlike this. I findnow something in them more movingly beautiful; perhaps twenty-five years against eighteen-I don'tknow-perhaps a trace of tears."

"Oh, Mr. Kimberly, spare your extravagances.I hear you have been away."

"At least, I have never seen you quite sobeautiful as you are this moment."

"I am not beautiful at all, and I am quite awareof it, Mr. Kimberly."

"I would not wish you to think anything else.There the beauty of your character begins."

Her repugnance was evident but she bore hiseyes without flinching. "You humiliate meexceedingly," was all she attempted to say.

"The truth should not humiliate you. I-"

"Must I run away?"

"Not, I hope, because I tell you you are beautiful, for I shall continue to tell you so every time Isee you."

"Surely you will not take advantage of yourhostess, Mr. Kimberly?"

"In what way?" he asked.

"By saying things most unpleasant for her to hear."

"I say things awkwardly, perhaps unpleasantly, but always sincerely."

Alice looked down at her fan, but spoke witheven more firmness. "If we are to be good friends, you must excuse me even from sincerity on topicsof this kind."

"Don't cut me from your friendship. We mustbe the best of friends. I cannot conceive of youas being other than kind, even patient with me."

"Then do not say things I cannot listen to."

"I will never say anything you may not listento. But concede me the privilege-for it isone-of paying honest tribute to your loveliness whenI can't help it."

Without raising her eyes she spoke with decision."I positively will not listen." With the wordshe caught up her gown and started away. Hewalked with her. "I am afraid," he saidregretfully, "you are sorry you sent for me."

She turned with burning eyes. "You shouldbe the last to make me so, Mr. Kimberly."

"I wish to be the last. Yet I hate to sacrificesincerity."

"There is something I put far above sincerity."

He looked mildly surprised. "What can it be?"

"Consideration for the feelings ofanother-particularly if she be somewhat helpless."

"Just a moment." They were entering thehall and he stopped her. "In what way are youhelpless?"

"Through consideration on my part for myguest to-night, for my husband's friend, for afriend to whom we both owe much-"

"You owe that friend nothing. If you reallythink so, disabuse your mind. And I have neverprofessed the slightest friendship for Mr. MacBirney.Whatever we do, let us keep the factsclear. If we speak of consideration, what aboutmy feelings? And about helplessness-I am upagainst a stone wall all the time in trying to sayanything."

"You have no right to say anything!" exclaimedAlice energetically and starting on as she spoke.

"Perhaps that is true. One that can't saythings better than I do shouldn't attempt them.If one of us must be humiliated let it be me.Where are you taking me?"

She stopped. "Nowhere at all, Mr. Kimberly.Won't you-"

"Where are you going?"

"To look at my table. Mr. MacBirney willbe right down. Won't you wait for him in thelibrary?"

"No."

"I should be most grateful."

"I want to see the table myself."

Alice tossed her head. "This way then."

At the threshold of the dining-room, Kimberlypaused. The table was dressed in yellow withthe lowest tones in the fruits of the centrepiece.The pears were russet, the grapes purple, andpomegranates, apples, and golden plumssupplied the tints of autumn. The handles of theold silver basket were tied with knots of broad, yellow ribbon. Alice, touching the covers hereand there, passed behind the chairs.

"You get your effects very simply," observedKimberly. "Only people with a sure touch cando that."

"I thought there were to be no more compliments."

He looked at the sconces. "Just one for thelighting. Even Dolly and Imogene sin in thatway. They overdo it or underdo it, andMrs. Nelson is impossible. Where have you put me?"

She pointed with her fan. "Next to Mrs. Nelson."

"Next to Mrs. Nelson?" he echoed in surprise.

"Why not?"

"Did you say humiliation? Do I deserve so much?"

"At dinner one tries, of course, to groupcongenial people," suggested Alice coldly.

"But we are not congenial."

"I supposed you were Mrs. Nelson's mostfrequent guest."

"I have not been at Mrs. Nelson's since theevening Guyot and Lambert were there," saidKimberly. "You, yourself, were there that night."

Alice betrayed no confusion but she was shockeda little to realize that she believed him instantly.Kimberly, at least as to truthfulness, had won herconfidence. Her own husband had forfeited it.The difficulty now, she felt, would be ever tobelieve him at all.

"I remember," she assented with returningcordiality. "I was very proud to listen that night."

Kimberly stood with his hand on the back of achair. "Lambert is a brilliant fellow."

"Possibly; my sympathies were not with his views.

"So I sit here?" continued Kimberly patiently."Who sits next to you?"

"Your brother."

Kimberly spoke with resignation. "Charlesalways had the luck of the family."

A door opened and a butler entered the room.On seeing Kimberly he attempted to withdraw.

"Come in, Bell," said Alice. "What is it?"

"The juggler, Mrs. MacBirney; his assistanthas telephoned they've missed their train."

"Oh, Bell!" exclaimed his mistress inindignant protest. "Don't tell me that."

"And it's the last out, till ten-thirty o'clock."

Alice's face fell. "That ends my evening.Isn't it too exasperating. Stupid jugglers!"

Kimberly intervened. "What train did hemiss, Bell?"

"The seven-ten, sir, from town."

"Why don't you call up the division superintendentand ask his office to stop the eight-ten?"

Bell looked at his mistress. "I might do that, sir."

"Oh, can you?" cried Alice.

"You ought to have done it without being told,Bell," observed Kimberly. "You've done suchthings before."

"Might I use your name, sir?"

"Use whatever is necessary to get him. Andask them to hunt up the juggler in thewaiting-room and put him aboard. Who is he?"

"A China boy, sir, I understand."

"In that case, they could not miss him."

The butler left the room. "Do you think theywill do it?" asked Alice anxiously.

"Don't give it further thought. We could gethim out on a special if necessary."

Voices came from the front room. Alicestarted forward. "There are guests."

"By-the-way," added Kimberly, pointing to thecard on his cover and that on his brother's, "youdon't mind my correcting this mistake, do you?"

Alice looked very frankly at him, for the successof the dinner was keenly on her mind. "You willbe of more assistance, Mr. Kimberly, if you willnot make any change. Mrs. Nelson and Mrs. Morganare my difficulties and I hoped you wouldsolve them for me."

"By all means."

Dolly's voice was heard in the hall. "Where areyou, Alice? Here are the McCreas, from town, and Doctor Hamilton."

They sat down fourteen at the table-theKimberlys, De Castros, Nelsons, McCreas, Hamilton,Miss Venable, and Dora Morgan.

Alice was playing to the enemy and meant todemonstrate to the Nelson coterie that she neededno assistance from them to establish herself as ahostess at Second Lake. If she wished, on thisoccasion, for a great success it was hers. Thedinner was good, and the moment that Nelsonhad assured himself of this he begangood-naturedly to help things on.

A remark from some one about the gulf betweenlaw and justice gave him a chance. "Whyassociate the two at all?" he asked lazily. "Law isstrictly a game of the wits. It is played under theconvention of an appeal to justice, but justice isinvoked merely to satisfy the imagination. Ifpeople understood this there would be nocomplaint about a gulf between the two. We imaginejustice; we get law. Similarly, we imagine heaven;we get-what we deserve. If the imagination besatisfied, man will endure the sweat of Sisyphus; most of us suffer it in this world, anyway. Lawand justice are like chemical incompatibles andthere must be a gulf between them. And law isno better and no worse than other conventionsof society. Who that studies human governmentin any form has ever been able to regard itotherwise than with contempt?"

"Certainly," interposed Fritzie Venable, withformal irony. "No one that takes care of theKimberly interests at Washington."

"The Kimberly interests at Washington,"returned Nelson with complaisance, "are so wellbehaved that they take care of themselves."

"Then I don't see what contempt you shouldhave for this government," retorted Fritzie vigorously.

"Only that it affords him no adequate exercisefor his ingenuity," suggested Arthur De Castro.

"I don't care," protested Fritzie; "I am anAmerican and I won't have our government abused.I believe in sticking to your own."

"Well, if we haven't stuck to our own, I shouldlike to know who has?" observed Charles Kimberlybenevolently. "We've stuck for fifty yearsto our tariff builders, as Mustard would to a stot.MacBirney's farmers are doing the work for usnow," he continued. "Our beet growers guardthe sugar schedule at Washington. Thesewonderful Western States; lowest in illiteracy, highestin political sagacity! It is really a shame to takethe money."

"I don't see how you conscientiously can takeit," declared Hamilton, appealing to Robert Kimberly.

"I do it by educating my conscience, Doctor,"responded Robert Kimberly. "Every one thattakes the trouble to inquire knows I am a freetrader. I abstain from the Reform Club, butthat is out of deference to my partners. Icontribute to both campaign funds; to the one forour shareholders, to the other for my conscience; for as I say, personally I am a free trader."

"And a tariff beneficiary," added Arthur De Castro.

"Why not, Arthur? Wasn't it Disraeli whosaid sensible men are all of one religion? Hemight better have said, sensible men are all of onepolitics. It is true, we are tariff beneficiaries, butthis country is doing business under a protectivetheory. We are engaged, as we were long beforethere was a tariff, in what is now a protectedindustry. We can't change our business becausethe government changes its economic policy.

"And if anybody is to have protection here,Arthur, why shouldn't we? Who has a betterright to it? Our warrants of occupation wereextorted from the Iroquois. We fought the Indian,we fought the French, we fought the English-"

"Was there anybody you didn't fight?"

"We put up our credit in Paris and Amsterdamfor the colonies and for the Federal Governmentwhen the colonies and the Federal Governmenthad none. Then along comes a little coterie ofsteel men in our own day," Kimberly tossed hishead with disdainful impatience, "who make thetoil of a hundred years look like a farce-out-HerodHerod in protection and pile up hundredsof millions while we are up to our armpits inmolasses trying to grind out a mere living.Protection! We don't get half enough. Who has anybetter sanction for exercising that airy, invisiblepressure of a tariff tax?" he demanded, liftinga glass of wine to the light.

"Picturesque old pirate," murmured Hamilton.

"And he needs the money," commented DeCastro. "Why quarrel with him?"

"I am sure you will all pledge the sugar business,"continued Kimberly, raising a refilled glassblandly, "and join me in welcoming anybody thatwants to go into it. This is a free country, gentlemen."

"What do you use on competitors, the rack and dungeon?"

"Nothing that savors of them."

"But you take care of competition," persistedHamilton.

Kimberly laughed.

"Certainly we do," interposed McCrea, quicklyand frankly. "But without unnecessary cruelty,as Mr. Robert Kimberly puts it. No man thatever fought the company and had horse-sense hasever starved to death. We can use such a man'stalents better than he can, and very often hecomes into camp and becomes our teacher; thathas happened. Our system of combination hasbrought comforts and luxuries into thousands ofhomes that never would have known them underthe waste of competition. Hundreds and thousandsof men have profited by uniting their effortswith ours. And no man that wasn't a businesslunatic has ever been the worse for anything we'vedone."

"Your husband talks well, Mrs. McCrea,"said Robert Kimberly, to a quiet little womannear him.

"He has had able teachers," laughed Mrs. McCrea.

"No, it is because he believes in himself. It'sa great thing to be able to believe in yourself."

"Don't you?"

"Far from it."

"You've made a good many others believe in you."

"Not always for their own best interests, I'mafraid."

"Yes, I know," Dolly was saying to those ofthe women who were listening to her, "the weightof authority is against me. But I have alwaysheld, and hold yet, that a simple thing, such aslapis-lazuli, is best set in gold-much better thanin silver. Talk with Castellani about itsometime, or Viola."

"Yes, and they'll tell you silver, every time,"interrupted Fritzie vigorously.

Dolly waved her hand as if to dismiss controversy.

"Gold is so common," objected Lottie Nelson.

"Not more so than lapis," retorted Dolly.

"But isn't that the glory of gold," suggestedRobert, "that it is common? It has the seal ofapproval of mankind; what higher sanction do youwant? You are always safe in resting with thatapproval. I believe in common things-pearls forexample and rubies. I am just common enoughto like them."

Bell, passing behind his mistress, spoke in herear. Alice's face lighted and she caughtKimberly's eye. "He is here," she nodded laughinglyacross the table.

The juggler had come and as the dessert wasbeing served he followed a butler into the roomin his native robes and assumed his place as oneof Bell's assistants. The Chinaman was handsomeand of great size and strength. Alice onlyhinted to her guests what awkwardness might belooked for from the new footman, and the jugglersmiling in Oriental silence began to cajole thesenses of his spectators.

After he had amused them with trifles he floateda gossamer veil of yellow silk over a huge glassbowl filled with fruit from a serving table. Withthis in his hands he hastened to the fireplace atthe end of the room and turning heaved the bowlswiftly toward the ceiling, catching it in his armsas it descended filled with quivering goldfishswimming in water of crystal clearness.

He took oranges from the side tables and, splittingthem, released song-birds into the air. Theguests tossed fruit at him, and from apples andpomegranates he cut favors for them-jewelledstick-pins, belt agraffes and Florentinebonbonières. When the evening was over Alice thankedher guests for their compliments. Lottie Nelson'swords in particular left a flush of triumph inAlice's cheeks and she looked so happy thatKimberly paused before he spoke.

"Well?" said Alice questioningly. And then: "If you have had a good time, don't be afraid tosay so."

He looked at her as if pleased at her fervor."Are you a little bit sorry?" he asked quizzically.

Her brows rose with a pretty assumption ofignorance. "I have nothing to be sorry for."

"Then I suppose I must have."

She dropped her eyes for a moment to hersandalwood fan. "Of course, you will decide that."

"I presume," he continued, taking the fanwithout apology from her hands, "I may comeover when you are not at home and look at yourportrait?"

"I am sure you don't realize how silly thatsounds. I hear you have a new picture," sheadded, looking up.

"It is to be hung next week. MacBirney is tobring you over to see it. Are you sorry I came?"

"Oh, is that what you meant? Why, such aquestion! You saved my evening."

"But are you sorry?"

"I shouldn't say so if I were, should I?"

"No, but answer, anyway."

Her expression of vexation was pleasing. "Howobstinate! No, then. And you saved my evening besides."

"You must take me as I am."

"You cannot, I know, be less than you should be."

"How about you?"

She drew herself up the least bit. "I hope nofriend of mine would wish me anything less."

"We are both then to be all we should be."

"Don't you think I am very patient?" shedemanded impatiently.

"You are. We are both to be, aren't we?"

She did not conceal her annoyance. "I sincerelytrust so," she said coldly. "But there is alimit to all things."

He held out his hand. "Thank you for a delightfulevening."

CHAPTER XVIII

The new picture at The Towers made atopic of interest among Kimberly's friends, but Alice found excuses for not going to see ituntil MacBirney would brook no further delays.They drove over one afternoon and found DoctorHamilton and Imogene in the library. RobertKimberly came downstairs with Charles andgreeted the MacBirneys. Tea was broughtpresently and Kimberly asked Alice to pour it.

"I haven't seen you since your dinner," said he, sitting down after a time by Alice. "You wereindisposed the day I called. Imogene tells me youintend spending the winter in town."

"Mr. MacBirney wants to."

"I hoped you would winter in the country."

"I like the country, but Mr. MacBirney likesthe town. I shall enjoy it, too. You know weare really country folk and haven't had as muchtown life as you have."

The others started for the east room. "Come,"said Dolly, beckoning Alice, "you want to see theRubens."

The new picture was hung as a panel betweena smaller Rubens and an unknown head of theVirgin, in the manner of Botticelli. Kimberlyseated Alice apart from the others and stood behind her.

"You have been in this room before?" he saidquestioningly.

"Once before. It is very much richer now." Sheindicated the new picture as she spoke, alarge canvas of the Crucifixion. "There are twotitles for it," explained Kimberly, "a Latin anda Dutch. I like the Dutch best: 'The NinthHour.' This picture doesn't appeal so much tomy friends as it has appealed to me. But seewhat this master magician has chosen here; thesupreme moment of the Crucifixion."

Those with them were chatting apart. Alicesat in silence while Kimberly spoke and whenhe had done they were silent together. "Ihope you are going to like it," he said after a pause.

MacBirney asked a question, and Kimberlywalked to where he was seated. When he cameback he seemed unable to wait longer for Alice'scomment. "What is the verdict?"

"Nothing I have ever seen of Rubens's leavesme unmoved," she answered. "This is almostoverwhelming, terrible."

"Mrs. MacBirney likes my 'Crucifixion,' Dolly,"observed Kimberly after another silence.

"Oh, you needn't quote Alice," exclaimed Dollyfrom a window seat. "So do I like it. All Isaid was, that it is a sin to pay so much for apicture."

"No price is too great for a great inspiration.See," he pointed for Alice to the face of a Romansoldier cowering in the foreground of the canvas."There is one man's face. Hamilton has studieda good many pictures and watched unnumberedfaces in every expression of suffering. He hastold me that, so far as he knows pictures, theemotion of fear has never been depicted on thehuman countenance except in that face. As a greatsurgeon, of a very wide experience, he may be saidto know what fear pictured on a human faceshould be. And there it is before us. Conceivewhat a triumph for that man to have achievedthis, so far from us in the dead centuries, and yetso near to us in this magic of his skill. Observewhat a background he has chosen to depict itfrom-Jerusalem, bathed in the uncanny, terrifyinglight that accompanies a convulsion of nature.The earth rent, the dead issuing from their graves, nature prostrate, and everywhere-brooding overeverything, but stamped most of all on this oneguilty face-fear. How it all builds up the agonyof that death sweat on the cross! By Heaven,it is tremendous! And Dolly says it is a sin tospend so much money for it. Brother Francisdoesn't agree with her; I found him in here earlyone morning saying his prayers to it."

"Before it," said Alice instantly.

"I thought that no mean tribute. Frankly, doyou think me extravagant?"

"Did you really pay the price named in thenewspapers?"

"Even then?"

"It does take one's breath away-at least, ittook mine."

"I have wanted this picture for years. Hamiltonmade one trip over with me to look at it-hetold me of it first. Then I had to wait all theseyears for the opportunity to acquire it."

"What patience!"

His eyes were fixed on the picture. "It musthave taken patience to paint it. But patiencegives us everything in this life." Alice was silent."You don't agree with me?"

"How do you know that?"

"I feel it; the air is thick with your dissent.But, Alice, I am right and you are wrong."

Her name coming so suddenly and for the firsttime from his lips astonished her. Her heartsent its blood in protest to her very ears. In aroom with other people nothing could be said.But she rose and turning from Kimberly calledto her husband, asking if he were ready.

"Before you go I have a favor to ask," saidKimberly, intervening, and Kimberly's petitionshad always something of the color of command."I told you," he said, speaking to Alice, "of mymother's portrait. It is upstairs; will you comesee it?"

"I should like very much to see it. Come,Walter," she held out her hand for her husband."Mr. Kimberly wants us to see his mother's portrait."

Kimberly made no comment, but the mannerwith which he paused, waiting for MacBirney tojoin them, sufficiently indicated that he wasconscious of waiting. When MacBirney noticed hisattitude he moved from those he was with muchmore quickly than he would have done at hiswife's behest. Dolly came with MacBirney andthe four walked upstairs. Kimberly's roomsopened to the south. There were five in theapartment and while Kimberly excused himself totake MacBirney in for a moment to speak to hisuncle, Dolly took Alice through Kimberly's suite.

"These rooms are charming!" exclaimed Alice, when the men came in to them. "You must seethem, Walter. The breakfast room is dear."

They were standing in the library, which servedas a writing room and a conference room. It wasfinished in oak and on the east the breakfast roomopened, in white and green.

Alice took her husband's arm. "See, Walter,"she said passing through the open door; "isn'tthis darling? These tones must be restful to waketo!"

"I had lunch here once," announced MacBirneyin his choppy way. "With you and your brotherand McCrea," he added, turning to Kimberly.

"You never said a word to me about seeingsuch a pretty place," remarked his wife.

"You've been in the west room?" asked Kimberly.

"Yes, Alice sang for me while you were withUncle John," responded Dolly.

"I thought I heard music," remarked Kimberly, looking at Alice. "What did you sing?"

"I only hummed an old air."

Kimberly tried to get her to go back to the pianobut could not. "I miss music keenly," he said,"I wish I could make a contract with you tosing here every day."

Alice laughed.

"You would be in very good company,"interposed Dolly. "Some famous artistes havesung at that piano. Robert," she added, as thetwo women walked toward his dressing-room,"has everything here but what he ought tohave-a wife. When mother lived, The Towers wasmore than a habitation-it was a home."

In his bedroom, Kimberly indicated a portraitabove the fireplace. "This is my mother," hesaid to Alice. "Sit down for just a moment-Iwant you to like her."

"I like her very much, already," returned Alice."But I should like to sit a moment to enjoythe portrait. I wish I could have known your mother."

"This room I fancy best of them all," Dolly wassaying to MacBirney as they walked on. "Allof this wall panelling and ceiling was made fromone mahogany log brought up from SantoDomingo many years ago with a cargo of sugar."

Kimberly, sitting with Alice before his mother'spicture, showed a self-consciousness he did notoften betray, a solicitude, seemingly, that Aliceshould agree with his own estimate of his mother."She was the most tender, kindly woman in theworld," he said after a moment.

"Such a mother ought to be an inspiration toyou for everything high and good, Mr. Kimberly."

"Yet I have never reached anything high and good."

"Sometime you will."

He looked at her curiously. "Do you reallythink that?"

"Yes, I do. And thank you for letting me seeyour mother."

"If you only could have met her!" There wasan intensity of regret in his words. "It was atragedy for such a woman to die young. I havelong wanted you to see her portrait; youconstantly make me think of her, Alice."

She turned calmly and frankly. "It is mostkind of you to say that, Mr. Kimberly. So kindthat I am going to be bold enough to ask afavor."

"I know what you are going to ask, but I wishyou wouldn't. I want very much to do what youare about to ask me not to do-"

"It is almost nothing-only not to call me Alice."

"There is no use my asking a favor, is there?" Heturned with almost a boyish humor in hismanner. His mother's eyes seemed to look ather in his eyes as he spoke.

"Not, Mr. Kimberly, this time. I want you tooblige me."

"You are afraid of me." There was noresentment in the words; nothing beyond a regret.

Her answer was low but neither weak nor confused."Is it quite generous, Mr. Kimberly-here?"

"No," he answered in the same even voice, "itis not. Unhappily, there are times whengenerosity is weakness. I've been trying ever since Ihave known you to think of you just as I think ofmyself. I believe I have tried to give you a littlethe best of it-yet a selfish man can't always besure of doing that."

"I trust you think of me," she responded,"only as one of the least important among yourfriends."

"You are afraid of me. And yet I want yourconfidence above everything in this world-and Imust in some way deserve and win it."

"I do wish you would not say these things. Ihave to try very hard not to dislike you exceedinglywhen you speak in this way."

"You do dislike me exceedingly when I speakin this way. I know it perfectly."

If her voice trembled the least bit it was withindignation. "I sometimes ask myself whether Ishould suffer it even for my husband's sake.You will force me to do something unpleasant, I fear."

"I never will force you to do anything. I dowant to call you Alice. But don't hate me for that."

She heard with relief Dolly talking to herhusband in the doorway. "It was almost three yearsbefore Imogene saw Charles again," Alice heardDolly say, "and, would you believe it, he beganexactly where he left off. After that Imogenedecided it was of no use. So, she is Mrs. Kimberly!"

"By Jove! He had patience," laughed MacBirney.

Dolly laughed a little, too. "That is the onlyexasperating thing about the Kimberly men-theirpatience."

CHAPTER XIX

MacBirney's decision to spend the winterin town became very welcome to Alice; the atmosphere within a wide radius of The Towersseemed too charged with electricity for mentalpeace. And her husband, having tasted for thefirst time the excitement of the stock markets, desired to be near his brokers.

Fritzie, who was an authority in town affairs, made it easy for Alice to find acceptable quarters.In general the Second Lake people cared less andless for opening their town houses. RobertKimberly's house, while nominally open, never saw itsmaster. Charles and Imogene Kimberly forseveral years had spent their winters cruising andnow made ready to take Grace De Castro to theeastern Mediterranean. Arthur and Dolly wereto winter at Biarritz and join Charles and Imogenein Sicily on their return from the Levant. Fritzieaccepted Alice's invitation to spend the season intown with her. Dora Morgan had already goneto Paris for an indefinite stay and the Nelsons,Congress being in session, were starting for Washington.

MacBirney came over to The Towers justbefore leaving with Alice for town to see RobertKimberly. When Kimberly asked him what wason his mind, "I would like to know," MacBirneyanswered frankly, "what I can make some moneyin this winter." It was the second time he hadbrought the subject up and Kimberly who hadonce evaded his inquiries saw that nothing was tobe gained by further effort in that direction.

Kimberly regarded him gravely. "Buy standardrailway shares," he suggested, "on afour-and-a-half-per-cent average."

"But I want to do better than four-and-a-half-per-cent.It costs something to live."

"I mean, you would have your profit in theadvances. But your present income ought tocover a very liberal scale of living," said Kimberly.

MacBirney squirmed in his chair. Kimberlywould have preferred he should sit still. "Thatis true," assented MacBirney, with smiling candor,"but a poor man doesn't want to spend all hismoney. Isn't there a chance," he asked, comingto the point in his mind, "to make some moneyin our own stock? I have heard a rumor therewould be, but I can't run it down."

"There are always chances if you are closelyenough in touch with general conditions. Charleskeeps better track of those things than I do; suppose you talk with him."

"Charles sends me to you," protestedMacBirney good naturedly.

"Our shares seem just now to be one of thespeculative favorites," returned Kimberly. "Thatmeans, as you know, violent fluctuations."

MacBirney was impatient of hazards. "Putme next on any one of your own plans, Mr. Kimberly, that you might feel like trusting me with,"said MacBirney, jocularly.

"I don't often have any speculative schemesof my own," returned Kimberly. "However,"he hesitated a moment; MacBirney leanedforward. "Doane," continued Kimberly abruptly,"has a strong party interested now in putting upthe common. They profess to think that on itsearnings it should sell higher. In fact, they havesounded me about an extra dividend. I amopposed to that-until Congress adjourns, at anyrate. But the company is making a great deal ofmoney. I can't uncover Doane's deal, but I cansay this to you: I have agreed to help them asmuch as I safely can. By that, I mean, thattheir speculative interests must always comesecond to the investment interests of our shareholders."

"By Jove, I wish I could get in on amovement like that, Mr. Kimberly. With you behindit-"

"I am not behind it-only not opposed to it.For my part, I never advise any one to speculatein our securities. I can't do it. I do businesswith speculators, but I never speculate myself.You don't credit that, do you? What I mean isthis: I never take chances. If it is necessary, for cogent reasons, to move our securities up ordown, I am in a position to do so without takingany extreme chances. That is natural, isn't it?"

MacBirney laughed and swayed in his chair."I'd like to be fixed that way for just one yearof my life!" he exclaimed.

"If you were you would find plenty of otherthings to engage your attention."

"Well, can you do anything for me on thispresent deal?"

Kimberly reflected a moment. "Yes," he saidfinally, "if you will operate through the brokers Iname and do exactly as I say, and run the risk oflosing half the money you put up-I don't seehow you could lose more than that. But if youdon't do exactly as I tell you, without question, you might lose a great deal more. I am notsupposing, of course, that you would risk more thanyou could afford to lose."

"Not at all. I want to play safe."

"Place your orders to-day and to-morrow thenfor what common you can carry. Hamilton willlet you have what money you need-or he will getit for you. Then forget all about your investmentuntil I tell you to sell. Don't question the advice, but get out promptly at that moment no matterwhat you hear or what the market looks like.Can you do that? And keep your own counsel?"

"Trust me."

"Good luck then. And if it should come bad, try not to feel incensed at me," concludedKimberly, rising.

"Surely not!" exclaimed MacBirney.

Kimberly smiled. "But you will, just the same.At least, that is my experience."

"What about the winter, Mr. Kimberly-areyou going in town?"

"I haven't decided."

But although Kimberly had made no decisionhe had made vague promises to every one. WithCharles he talked about putting his own yachtinto commission, taking Larrie from the refineriesfor a breathing spell and meeting Charlie's partyin February at Taormina. He discussed withDolly a shorter vacation, one of taking passage toCherbourg, motoring with Arthur and herselfacross France and meeting Charles at Nice, whenceall could come home together.

The Nelsons left the lake last. Lottie gaveKimberly a parting thrust as she said good-by, delivering it in such a way that she hoped toupset him. "So you are in love with AliceMacBirney?" she said smilingly.

Kimberly looked frankly into her clear, sensuous eyes. "What put that into your head,Lottie?"

She laughed unsympathetically. "I'm gladyou've got some one this time that will make youdo the walking-not one like the rest of us poorcreatures."

"Why do you talk about 'this time,' and 'uspoor creatures'? Let me tell you something."

"Do, so I can tell it to Alice."

"You may at any time tell Mrs. MacBirneyanything I say. It is this: if I should ever find awoman to love, I expect to do the walking. Tellher that, will you? I respect Mrs. MacBirney veryhighly and admire her very much-is that clear?But that is far from outraging her feelings bycoupling her name with mine or mine with hers.Don't do that. I will never forgive it." Shehad never seen him so angry.

He realized more than once during the longwinter that the slighted woman had told him onlythe truth. But from her it was an impertinenttruth. And it galled him to be forced to admitto the loose-thinking members of his own set whathe felt toward Alice.

Meantime, he spent the whole winter at TheTowers with Uncle John, the tireless Francis, and his own unruly thoughts. His time went toconferences with his city associates, infrequentinspections of the refineries, horseback rides over thewinter landscape, and to winter sunsets watchedalone from the great western windows.

In town Alice found Fritzie an admirable guide.

"I try," said Fritzie calmly, answering one ofAlice's jests at her wide acquaintance, "to movewith the best. I suppose in heaven we shallencounter all sorts. And if we don't cultivatethe elect here we may never have another chance to."

"You are far-sighted, Fritzie dear," smiledAlice. "What I can't understand is, why youdon't marry."

"I have too many rich relations. I couldn'tmarry anybody in their class. I should have topick up with some wretched millionaire and bereduced to misery. The Lord deliver us frompeople that watch their incomes-they are thelimit. And it must, I have always thought, beterrible, Alice, to live with a man that has madea million honestly. He would be so mean. Ofcourse, we are mean, too; but happily a goodpart of our meannesses are underground-buriedwith our ancestors."

Fritzie's light words struck home with anunsuspected force. Alice knew Fritzie had nothought of painting MacBirney; it was onlyAlice herself who recognized her husband's portrait.

Fritzie certainly had, as she admitted, anappetite for the luxurious and even MacBirney likedher novel extravagances. In their few restinghours the two women talked of Second Lake."Fritzie," said Alice one night when they weretogether before the fire, "the first time I met you, you said every one at Second Lake was contented, with two exceptions. You were one; who wasthe other?"

"Robert, dear. He is the most discontentedmortal alive. Isn't it all a strange world?"

Alice, too, had thoughts that winter, but theywere confused thoughts and not always to betolerated. She, likewise, was beginning to think ita strange world.

MacBirney, guided by McCrea, followed thepool operations with sleepless vigilance. Theyreached their height when Congress adjournedearly without disturbing the tariff. The streetsaw enormous gains ahead for the crowdoperating in the Kimberly stocks and with publicbuying underway the upward movement in the sharestook on renewed strength.

It was just at this moment of the adjournmentof Congress that Kimberly sent McCrea toMacBirney with directions to sell, and explicitly as tohow and through whom to sell. MacBirney, toMcCrea's surprise, demurred at the advice andargued that if he dropped out now he shouldlose the best profits of the venture.

McCrea consented to talk to Kimberly again.Doane, the Hamilton banking interests and theirassociates were still ostensibly buying and weretalking even higher prices. It did not look rightto MacBirney to sell under such circumstancesbut McCrea came back the very next day withone word: "Sell." No reasons, no explanationswere given, nothing vouchsafed but a curtcommand.

MacBirney, doubtful and excited, consultedAlice, to whom indeed, in serious perplexity, heoften turned. Knowing nothing about thesituation, she advised him to do precisely as Kimberlydirected and to do so without loss of time. Hewas still stubborn. No one but himself knewthat he was carrying twice the load of stock hehad any right to assume, and battling thus betweengreed and prudence he reluctantly placed theselling orders.

Just as he had gotten fairly out of it, the market,to his mortification, advanced. A few days laterit ran quite away. Huge blocks of stock throwninto it made hardly any impression. The market,as MacBirney had predicted, continued strong.At the end of the week he felt sure that Kimberlyhad tricked him, and in spite of winning moremoney than he had ever made in his life he wasin bad humor. Kimberly himself deigned noword of enlightenment. McCrea tried toexplain to MacBirney that the public had run awaywith the market-as it sometimes did. ButMacBirney nursed resentment.

The Nelsons came over from Washington thatweek-it was Holy Week-for the opera and theweek-end, and MacBirney asked his wife toentertain them, together with Lambert, at dinneron Friday night.

Alice fought the proposal, but MacBirney couldnot be moved. She endeavored to have the datechanged to Easter Sunday; MacBirney wasrelentless. He knew it was Good Friday and thathis wife was trying to avoid entertaining duringthe evening. But he thought it an opportunityto discipline her. Alice sent out her invitationsand they were accepted. No such luck, she knew,as a declination would be hers.

Lottie, amusing herself for the winter withLambert, was in excellent humor. But Alice wasnervous and everything went wrong. They rosefrom the table to go to the opera, where Nelsonhad the Robert Kimberly box. Alice seeking theretirement of an easy-chair gave her attention tothe stage and to her own thoughts. In neither didshe find anything satisfying. Mrs. Nelson, tootalkative with the men, was a mild irritation to her, and of all nights in the year this was the last onwhich Alice would have wished to be at the opera.It was only one more link in the long chain ofsacrifices she wore for domestic peace, but to-night hergyves lay heavy on her wrists. She realized thatshe was hardly amiable. This box she was enjoyingthe seclusion of, brought Kimberly close to her.The difference there would be within it if hehimself were present, suggested itself indolentlyto her in her depression. How loath, shereflected, Kimberly would have been to drag herout when she wished to be at home. It was notthe first time that she had compared him with herhusband, but this was the first time she wasconscious of having done so. All they wereenjoying was his; yet she knew he would have beenindifferent to everything except what she preferred.

And it was not alone what he had indicated indeferring to her wishes; it was what he often didin deferring in indifferent things to the wishes ofothers that had impressed itself upon her morethan any trait in his character. How much happiershe should be if her own husband were to show amere trace of such a disposition, she felt past eventhe possibility of telling him; it seemed toouseless. He could not be made to understand.

For supper the party went with Nelson. Thegayety of the others left Alice cold. Nelson, withthe art of the practised entertainer, urged theeating and drinking, and when the party left thebuzzing café some of them were heated andunrestrained. At two o'clock, Alice with her husbandand Fritzie reached their apartment, and Alice, very tired, went directly to her own rooms.MacBirney came in, somewhat out of humor. "What'sthe matter with you to-night?" he demanded.Alice had dismissed Annie and her husband satdown beside her table.

"With me? Nothing, Walter; why?"

"You acted so cattish all the evening," hecomplained, with an irritating little oath.

Alice was in no mood to help him along. "Howso?" she asked tying her hair as she turned tolook at him.

An inelegant exclamation annoyed her further."You know what I mean just as well as I do," hewent on curtly. "You never opened your mouththe whole evening. Lottie asked me what thematter was with you-"

Alice repeated but one word of the complainingsentence. "Lottie!" she echoed. Herhusband's anger grew. "If Lottie would talk less,"continued Alice quietly, "and drink less, I shouldbe less ashamed to be seen with her. Andperhaps I could talk more myself."

"You never did like anybody that liked me.So it is Lottie you're jealous of?"

"No, not 'jealous of,' only ashamed of. Evenat the dinner she was scandalous, I thought."

Her husband regarded her with stubborncontempt, and it hurt. "You are very high andmighty to-night. I wonder," he said with ascarcely concealed sneer, "whether prosperity hasturned your head."

"You need not look at me in that way, Walter, and you need not taunt me."

"You have been abusing Lottie Nelson a gooddeal lately. I wish you would stop it." He roseand stood with one hand on the table. Alice wasslipping her rings into the cup in front of her andshe dropped in the last with some spirit.

"I will stop it. And I hope you will neverspeak of her again. I certainly never will entertainher again under any circumstances," she exclaimed.

"You will entertain her the next time I tell you to."

Alice turned quite white. "Have you anythingelse to say to me?"

Her very restraint enraged him. "Only that if youtry to ride your high horse with me," he replied,"I will send you back to St. Louis some fine day."

"Is that all?"

"That is all. And if you think I don't meanwhat I say, try it sometime." As he spoke hepushed the chair in which he had been sittingroughly aside.

Alice rose to her feet. "I despise your threats,"she said, choking with her own words. "I despiseyou. I can't tell you how I despise you." Herheart beat rebelliously and she shook in every limb; expressions that she would not have known for herown fell stinging from her lips. "You have bulliedme for the last time. I have stood your abuse forfive years. It will stop now. You will do thecringing and creeping from now on. That womannever shall sit down at a table with me again, notif you beg it of me on your knees. You are acowardly wretch; I know you perfectly; younever were anything else. I have paid dearly forever believing you a man." Her contempt burnedthe words she uttered. "Now drive me one stepfurther," she sobbed wildly, "if you dare!"

She snapped out the light above her head withan angry twist. Another light shone through theopen door of her sleeping-room and through thisdoor she swiftly passed, slamming it shut andlocking it sharply behind her.

MacBirney had never seen his wife in such astate. He was surprised; but there could be nomistake. Her blood was certainly up.

CHAPTER XX

If Alice or her husband apprehended a stormysequel to the unpleasant scene in her dressingroom both were relieved that none followed. Nota word came up between them as a result of thebreach. There was the usual silence that followsa tempestuous outbreak and the usual indirect, almost accidental, resumption of speaking relationsafter the acute suspicion of renewed hostilities hadworn itself out.

MacBirney had the best of reasons for ignoringwhat had passed. He had, in fact, experiencedthe most surprising moments of his life and cautionadvised against the stirring up of any furtheraltercation. Heretofore he had always known justwhat his wife, when bullied, would do; but he nolonger knew and the uncertainty gave him pause.

He found matter for surprise, indeed for a seriesof surprises, in the manner in which Alice stoodnewly revealed to him. Dependence and timidityseemed suddenly to have left her. She walked anew path; not one of complete indifference to herhusband, but of decision complete in itself. Forcedto cast aside his judgment and fall back on herown, Alice accepted the alternative openly. Hernew attitude made itself felt in unnumberedways-sometimes in no more than arranging for a daydown-town with Fritzie, sometimes in discussingwhen Cedar Lodge should be opened and how.MacBirney found himself no longer consulted;Alice told him what she intended to do. If he gavearbitrary or unreasonable orders they were ignored.If he followed the subject further his inquirieswere ignored.

Alice realized it was not right to live in a homein this way, but MacBirney himself had taughther so many ways of wrong living that compunctionhad grown dull. His pupil, long unwillingto accept his debasing standards of married life, long suffering the cruelty of finding them enforcedupon her, had at last become all that he had madeher and something unpleasantly more-she madeherself now complete mistress of her own affairs.

Nor was Alice less surprised at the abjectsurrender of her husband. She knew him in theend better than he knew himself, and cowardlythough he was, she felt the new situation wouldnot endure forever-that worse must surely follow.But those who learn to sleep on dumb reproachand still for years the cry of waking apprehension, learn also not to look with foreboding ahead.

There were, it is true, times in which Aliceasked herself if in her new attitude she were notwalking in a dream; slumbers in which the oldshrinking fear returned; moments in which shecould hardly realize her own determination. Butthe fear that had so long subdued her now servedto support her courage. Go back she would not; the present she had made her own, the future mustaccount for itself.

Moreover, as the acuteness of the crisis passedeverything looked better. The present tendsalways to justify itself. And prosperous skiesopening on MacBirney's speculative ventures consoledhim for such loss of prestige as he suffered in hisown home.

He was again, curiously enough, Alice thought,in cordial touch with Robert Kimberly. She neverasked a question and did not know for a long timewhat could account for this change, since he hadbeen abusing Kimberly vigorously during the lifeof the market pool. Kimberly had never calledat the town apartment and Alice heard of himonly through Fritzie, who visited The Towers onmonetary errands and always spoke interestinglyof Robert's affairs.

And now spring airs came even to town, andAlice, breathing them, with the sudden sunshineand the morning song of birds, longed for hercountry home. She kept the telephone wire busysummoning her gardener to conferences and laidout elaborate plans with him for making CedarLodge more beautiful for the summer. A numberof things conspired to keep her from getting outto Second Lake early. But the servants had beeninstalled and the lodge put in readiness for hercoming.

One night in May-a summer night, warm, lighted by the moon and still-an impulse seizedAlice to break away from everything for thecountry. Morning found her with Fritzie, andaccompanied only by their maids, in a big motor-carspeeding over the ribbon roads toward SecondLake. A curious play of emotions possessed Aliceas they whirled through the dust of the village andswung into the hills toward The Towers. Shehad given no instructions to her chauffeur as towhich road he should take and he had chosen thesouthern road because the grades were better.

It was months since Alice had seen Kimberly.But not until now did she realize with someapprehension how much he had been in her mind allwinter. The near prospect of meeting himdisturbed her and she felt an uneasiness at the thought.It was too late to change the route. She felt shehad been wrong not to give orders for the northroad in time. Then the notion came that shemust meet him sometime, anyway, and wheneverthey met he must be kept within bounds she hadset many times since their last hour together. Shecould see in the distance The Towers gates andthe lodge, sentinel-like, away up the road. Themere sight of the familiar entrance broughtKimberly up sharply. The chauffeur checked thecar to ask whether he should drive through thegrounds. Fritzie said, "Yes."

Alice corrected her, "No, no."

"Why, my dear," exclaimed Fritzie, "not stopto speak to Robert!"

"It will delay us, and I am crazy to get home."

"But it will cut off two miles!"

"And keep us an hour."

"It won't keep us five minutes and the groundsare beautiful."

"We will see them to-morrow. Drive straightahead, Peters."

Fritzie protested as they flew past the lodge."I feel like a heathen going by The Towers inthis way. I hope Robert won't hear of it."

"I will take all the blame," returned Alice, witha bravado she did not feel. Then she laid herhand on Fritzie's arm. "You may come backright after luncheon."

When they reached the hill beyond Black Rockthey saw Cedar Point lying below in the sunshineof the lake. Alice cried out at the beauty of it.Her spirits rose with an emotion that surprised her.For an instant she could not speak. Her eyesmoistened and the load that had oppressed her amoment earlier took wings. Before she had quiterecovered, the car was down the hill and speedingthrough the green gates, up the winding avenueof maples, and swinging in an alarming ellipsearound to the front of the house.

She ran in through the open doors as if she hadleft it all but yesterday. Flowers were everywhere.She passed from room to room with the bubblingspirits of a child and dropped at last into her ownlittle chair at her toilet table. Annie, infected withthe happiness of her mistress, was wreathed insmiles as she took her hat, while Fritzie, sitting industy veil and gloves, telephone in hand, wascalling The Towers and in the same breath beggingher maid to prepare her bath. No response toFritzie's telephone message came until late in theafternoon. About four o'clock Robert Kimberlycalled her up.

"I hear you have arrived," he said.

"This is a pretty time for you to be answering,Robert. Where have you been all day?"

"Driving with Francis. He hasn't been verywell lately. I took him over to the Sound. Howis Mrs. MacBirney, Fritzie?"

"Come over and see."

"Call her to the telephone."

Alice took the receiver. "How do you do, Mr. Kimberly?"

"Glad to hear your voice. Fritzie has beentelling me stories about you all winter."

Alice controlled the pleasant excitement thatcame with the familiar sound of his own voice."You mustn't believe the stories you hear," shelaughed. "How are you all?"

"One story to-day sounded pretty straight."

"Sometimes those are the least reliable. Howis your uncle?"

"Still I shall have to have it out with you-passingus by this morning."

"But you weren't at home."

"Worse and worse-you didn't know that."

She laughed again happily. "You may scold asmuch as you like, I'm so happy to get home I'mwalking on air."

"How do you manage that? I never can getup any excitement over getting home. I wish Imight come and see how it affects you."

"Do come."

"Unfortunately I am leaving to-night for theSouthwest."

"For the Southwest?" she echoed in surprise."But we heard of you just back from the West."

"Yes, and with some stories for you. Thistime it is New Orleans and a terminal project."

"So busy a man! I hope we shall see you whenyou return."

"I certainly hope so. If I didn't, I shouldn'tgo. By-the-way," he added humorously, "I seemto have dropped something."

"What can it be?"

"The string you held out a minute ago."

Alice's eyes danced but only the telephonereceiver saw them. "What string?"

"About letting me come over. A car was set inthis afternoon at Sunbury but the train doesn'tpick me up till eleven o'clock to-night. I mightrun over to see you on my way down-"

"Oh, by all means, do, Mr. Kimberly."

" – just to see how you look when you are happy."

"Do come; but I am always happy."

He hesitated a moment. "If I were sure of thatI might not come."

"You may be 'sure,' I assure you. And why, pray, shouldn't you come?"

He retreated easily. "Because in that case Icould see your happiness, without intruding onyou when you are tired-as you must be now.However, I will run in for a few moments afterdinner."

Kimberly appeared shortly before nine o'clock.Fritzie greeted him. "Oh, aren't you youthfulto-night?" she exclaimed. He was in a travellingsuit and his face was tanned from his Westerntrip. "You should never wear anything but gray,Robert."

"Has she been as agreeable as this all winter?"asked Kimberly turning to greet Alice.

"All winter," declared Fritzie, answering forherself, "except once when Lottie Nelson's dogchewed up a lace hat for me, and Robert, I havespent this whole winter saying good things aboutyou-haven't I Alice? Even when we saw theywere trying to put you in jail."

"Many worthy people seemed to sympathizewith that effort," responded Kimberly dryly. "Itrust you didn't?" he added turning to Alice.

"I? Not in the least. If they had succeeded,I should have brought you flowers."

The three sat down. Kimberly looked at Alice."What have you been doing all winter?"

"Nothing."

"Listen to that!" exclaimed Fritzie. "Why,we've been as busy as ants all winter."

"Fritzie would never allow you to do nothing,"said Kimberly. "You met a lot of people shetells me."

"I said 'nothing,' because the time went sofast I found no time to do anything I had intended to."

Fritzie objected again: "You kept at yoursinging all winter, didn't you?"

Kimberly showed interest at once. "Good!Let us hear now how your voice sounds in thecountry air."

"I haven't any songs."

"You threw some into the wicker trunk,"interposed Fritzie.

"Find them, Fritzie, do," said Kimberly. "Andwhat else did you do?" he asked of Alice asFritzie ran upstairs.

"Everything that country people do," respondedAlice. "And you've been West? Tell me all about it."

Kimberly looked very comfortable in a Romanchair as he bent his eyes upon her. "Hardly aspot in Colorado escaped me this time. And Iwent to Piedmont-"

"To Piedmont?" cried Alice. "Oh, to seethe little factory."

"To see the house you lived in when you were there."

"What possible interest could that poor cottagehave for any one? You must have realized thatwe began housekeeping very modestly."

He brushed her suggestion away with a gesture.

"I wanted to see it merely because you had livedin it." He waited a moment. "Can't youunderstand that?"

"Frankly, I cannot."

"St. Louis was very interesting," he went on.

"Oh, I love St. Louis!" Alice exclaimed.

"So do I," assented Kimberly. "And inSt. Louis I went to see the house you were born in.It was worth looking at; your father's house wasa house of character and dignity-"

"Why, thank you!"

" – Like many of the older houses I ran acrossin searching it out-"

Alice seemed unable to rise quite above herembarrassment. "I can hardly believe you arenot making fun of me. What ridiculous questsin St. Louis and in Piedmont! Surely there musthave been incidents of more importance thanthese in a three-weeks' trip."

He ignored her comment. "I stood a long timestaring at your father's house, and wishing Imight have been born in that little old cottagejust across the street from where that rich littlegirl of sixteen lived. I would rather have knownyou then than lived all I have lived since you wereborn there."

Alice returned his look with control of everyfeature. "I did not live there till I was sixteen,if you mean the old home. And if you had beenborn just across the street you would have had noabsurd idea about that little girl in your head.Little girls are not usually interested in little boysacross the street. Little boys born thousands ofmiles away have better chances, I think, ofknowing them. And it is better so-for they, at least, don't know what absurd, selfish little things girlsacross the street are."

"That is all wrong-"

"It is not," declared Alice pointedly.

But the force of everything she said was sweptaway by his manner. "Only give me the samestreet and the meanest house in it!" Hisintensity would not be answered. "I would have takenthe chances of winning."

"What confidence!"

"And I'd have done it or torn the house down."

Fritzie came back. "I can't find the musicanywhere."

Kimberly rose to go to the music room. "Nomatter," he persisted, "sing anything you canremember, Mrs. MacBirney-just sing."

It seemed easier, as it always seemed whenKimberly persisted, to consent than to decline.Alice sang an English ballad. Then a scrap-allshe could remember-of a Moskowski song; thenan Italian ballad. Kimberly leaned on the piano.

"Do you like any of those?" asked Alice withher hands running over the keys.

"All of them. But what was the last?"

"An Italian air."

"Yes, I remember it-in Italy. Sing it again, will you?"

"Tell me about that song," he said when shehad repeated it. "It is lovely."

"I don't know much. It is a very old song."

"Have I ever told you about a villa on LagoMaggiore?"

"Fritzie has told me. She says it is a dream."

"I should like to hear you sing that song theresometime."

The moon was rising when Kimberly left forthe train. Fritzie objected to his going. "Giveup your trip. Stay over to-night. What's thedifference?"

"I can't, Fritzie. I'm going like a minstrelshow, billed for one-night stands. I have engagementsahead of me all the way and if I miss a dayI upset the whole schedule."

"What's it all about?"

"A railroad terminal and reorganization. AndI've just time to get around and back for Charles'sreturn."

"And the country dance!" said Fritzie.

"Dolly's country dance," explained Alice.

"Good. I don't want to miss that."

Fritzie caught his sleeve. "You disappointedus last year."

"You may count on me," promised Kimberly.

Fritzie pouted. "I know what that means,'don't count on me!'"

"This time," returned Kimberly as the doorof his motor-car was opened for him, "it isn'tgoing to mean that, Fritzie."

CHAPTER XXI

MacBirney followed his household to thecountry after two weeks. The De Castroswere then back and Dolly enlisted Alice andFritzie to make ready for the dance at Black Rockbarn which regularly signalized at Second Lakewhat Nelson termed the "opening of navigation."

Alice, with Fritzie to help, was charged with thedecorations for the event, and two days before it, the available men about the place, under theirdirection, were emptying the green-houses andlaying the woods under tribute.

The lighting scheme Alice pronounced ineffective.For years no one had given the subject anyattention. At the last moment electricians werebrought out from town to work early and late andlights were installed from which operators inelevated cages could throw sheets of color on thedancers.

When Imogene and Charles got home-and theywere late, arriving only the evening before theparty-Dolly, who met them at the train, drovethem directly to Black Rock, where Alice with herhusband, Fritzie, and Arthur De Castro wasconducting a rehearsal of the electrical effects. Thekisses and embraces of the committee and thearrivals took place under the rays of the new spotlights.

"Now if Robert were here," cried Fritzieimpatiently, "everything would be complete. Noone knows where he is. Suppose he doesn't come?"

"He is in town and will be out to-morrow."Imogene as she made the announcement put herarm around Alice. "Sweetheart, you must be dead."

Alice was sustained by the excitement. "Nothingof the sort. I haven't done anything butsuggest," she said gayly. "Fritzie has done all thework. In the morning we will bring in the appleblossoms and we are through."

But when she had received all the enthusiasmand compliments she went home tired. MacBirneycame to her room to talk, but he had no wordfor the successful decorations and Alice pleadingfatigue went directly to bed.

She woke with the sun streaming through theeast windows. It was late and though still tiredshe rose at once. The morning was superb, and, while dressing, Alice surprised Annie by singingto herself.

Fritzie drove over with her to Black Rock. Alicerunning in to speak to Dolly found her in bed.Dolly kissed her. "You look so fresh, dear." Alicedrew herself up with a laugh. "It's themorning, Dolly."

"By-the-way, Robert is here. He came lateand he and Arthur talked so long he stayed allnight. He is just across the hall in the blue room."

"Then every one is accounted for. I must beoff, Dolly."

"Where are you going?"

"To the woods with Fritzie to get the blossoms."

An old coaching brake had been sent up fromthe stables and Arthur De Castro was waiting forthe two women. "I am going to drive you downthe field before I take my ride," he explained.

"You do need exercise. You look sleepy,Arthur," remarked Fritzie, critically.

"Robert kept me up all night." Arthur turnedto Alice. "You knew he was back?"

"Dolly told me."

"The lazy fellow isn't up yet," said Fritzie.

Arthur corrected her. "He is up and gonehome. But he will be over again this morning."

The horses were fresh and took Arthur's attentionacross the field and the big wagon lurched asthe team danced along. In the woods they foundGrace De Castro with the men who were to work.Arthur's saddle-horse was in waiting. The menbegan loading the brake with elder blossoms, brierroses, and branches from the forest trees. Arthurhad meant to take his groom with him, but foundthere would be nobody to drive the brake back tothe barn.

"No matter, Mr. De Castro," said Alice. "Takehim. I will drive back." Arthur demurred, butAlice insisted. "I would rather drive the teamthan not. I drive our horses all the time."

Arthur and the groom rode away. Fritzieand Grace looked at Alice in astonishment whenthe wagon had been loaded and Alice took thedriver's high seat, pulled her glove gauntlets backtaut and a gardener handed her the reins.

"Aren't you afraid?" cried Grace.

"Not in the least," Alice answered, slipping herhands into the driving loops and putting her footon the wheel-brake.

"Really," declared Grace, "you have quite an air."

Fritzie was apprehensive. "For Heaven's sake, don't let them run away, Allie."

The men at the bridles stood aside, Alice spokeand the team leaped swiftly ahead. She gavethem leeway for a few moments, but kept themunder control and her manner was so confident thatFritzie's fears were allayed before the brake hadcrossed the first hill. As Alice made the turn inthe road and looked laughingly back the two girlswaved approval at her. They saw the brim of herbroad hat rising and falling like a bird's wings asshe nodded to them; then she threw on thewheel-brake and started down the hill.

For a moment the difficulty of holding the pairin check increased and by the time the barn wasin sight the struggle had stirred her blood. Itcolored two little circles in her cheeks and hadlighted fires of animation in her gray eyes. Shesaw the rising entrance to the barn and only tookheed that the doors were wide open. Then shegave all her strength to guiding the rushing horsesup the long incline. Just as their heads shotunder the doorway the off horse shied. The frontwheels of the brake bounced over the thresholdand Alice saw, standing within, Robert Kimberly.

She gave an exclamation of surprise as shethrew on the wheel-brake, pulled with all herstrength on the reins and brought her horses to ahalt. Kimberly with one hand on the casementstood perfectly still until she looked around. Thenhe came forward laughing. "You certainly are acapital whip."

"You frightened me nearly to death!" exclaimedAlice with a long breath. "Where, pray, did youcome from?" she demanded, looking down fromher eminence.

"From almost everywhere. And you?"

"From the woods."

He laid a hand on the foot-board. "Really, Iwonder whether there is anything you can't do."

"I am afraid there is one thing now. I don'tsee how I am going to get down. Aren't thereany men around to take the horses?"

"The horses will stand. Just hook your linesand jump from the wheel."

Alice looked at the distance in dismay. "Thatis easy to say."

"Not hard to do," returned Kimberly. "I'llbreak your flight."

"I'm a wretched jumper."

"Nonsense. You can't tell me you're a wretchedanything after that drive."

"Step away then and I'll jump. Only, I don'tsee just how I am going to stop after I start."

"What do you want to stop for? Come ahead."

She put her foot cautiously on the wheel; it wasa very pretty foot. Then she steadied herself andwith her hand swept little ringlets of hair fromher eyes.

She knew he was waiting to receive her and, meaning to elude him, turned at the last instantand jumped away from where he stood. Kimberly,in spite of her precaution, caught her as herfeet struck the floor, and leaned an instant overher. "Beautifully done!" he exclaimed, anddrawing her suddenly into his arms he kissed her.

She pushed him back with all her strength.He met her consternation with good humor. "Icouldn't help it."

Alice, burning with angry blushes, retreated.He hoped it would end there and ignored theoutraged spirit in her eyes as she took herhandkerchief from her waist.

He tried to laugh again. "Don't be angry." ButAlice put both hands to her face and walkedquickly away.

CHAPTER XXII

Kimberly followed her through the opendoor. "Where are you going?" he asked.Her answer came in her quickened step. Herepeated his words without eliciting any response.Then he stepped directly in front of her in thepath. "Stop for one moment. Alice, you can'tgo any farther while you are as angry at me asyou are now."

"I am Alice to no one but my husband," sheexclaimed controlling herself as well as she could."You shall not stop me, you have no right to."

"Where are you going?"

"I am going home."

"Listen; you are Alice to me-now, and forever; remember that."

Her knees trembled as she strove to escape him.She tried to pass through the shrubbery and couldnot. She felt faint and dizzy. The very worldhad changed with a kiss. Everything in lifeseemed upset, every safeguard gone.

He took her arm. "Come back to the path,Alice. We must walk it together."

She paused an instant for breath and made aneffort to speak as she put his hand angrily away."I insist," she cried, "that you do not continueto insult me."

"If you wait for me to insult you, Alice, youwill wait a long time. I should be as likely toinsult my own mother."

"I have done nothing to deserve this," shesobbed, frantic with confusion.

"You deserve more a thousand times than mydevotion ever can bring you. But all it can everbring, from the moment I kissed you, is yours."

Her eyes blazed through her tears. In herhelpless wrath she stamped her foot. "You areshameless. I detest your conduct. If you are going tothe house I will stay here. If you are not, let me go."

He met her denunciation with steadiness."Nothing you can say will anger me."

"You mean you have no respect for me." Shespoke so fast she could scarcely frame the words."Why don't you say so? Are you too cowardly?"

The imputation stung him. He seemed toexplode inwardly. "I have nothing but respect foryou, Alice," he insisted with terrifying energy,"but this thing must be fought out-"

She attempted to speak. His words drownedher. "I want to say nothing that will wound oroffend you. You make it very hard for me tospeak at all-"

"You have no right to speak-"

"But, Alice," he exclaimed, throwing all hisforce into the words, "you don't love that man.That is why I speak. If you did love him, if evenhe loved you, I could be silent."

"I love my husband as a wife should," shecried, struggling vainly to escape his accusation.

"You do not. You cannot!"

They spoke at white heat, she fighting vainly tocontrol her trembling limbs and Kimberly pausingat times to deal better his sledge-hammer blowsat her pitiful strength.

"You do not love that man. If I believed youdid," he spoke with a bitterness she had neverheard before, "I should never want to see anothersun rise. I respect you above all women thatbreathe; but in that I am right, I can't be wrong.I have suppressed and stifled and smothered aslong as I can and it will come out!"

"I will not hear you!"

"Sometime, somewhere, you will hear me.Don't speak!" he exclaimed vehemently. Theveins knotted upon his forehead. "I forgot myselffor a moment. If you knew what it costs me toremember! But, Alice, for me it is you-or nothingin this world. Remember! You or nothing!"

She searched his face for pity. "I am sinkingwith shame. What further, what more humiliationdo you want? We are in plain view of thehouse. I am utterly helpless. Will you not havethe decency to leave me?"

"I wish I could have said this better; I donothing well. If I have hurt you, I am very, verysorry." He strode away toward the garden.

Trying to compose herself, Alice walked to thehouse. Providentially, Dolly had already startedfor the field. Summoning a servant, Alice orderedher car and with her head whirling started forhome. As she was hurried over the country roadher mind gradually righted itself, and strangethoughts ran like lightning flashes through herbrain. Reaching home, she hastened upstairsand locked her door.

What startled her most painfully in her reflectionswas the unwelcome conviction that there wasnothing new, nothing surprising in her situation.Nothing, at least, except this violent outburstwhich she now realized she ought long ago to haveforeseen. She was suddenly conscious that shehad long known Kimberly loved her, and thatone day he would call her to account-for thecrime of being loved in spite of herself, shereflected bitterly.

She threw herself on her couch and held herhands upon her burning temples. He had caughther in his arms and forced a kiss upon her. Theblood suffused her face at the recollection. Againand again, though she turned from the picture, imagination brought it back. She saw his eyes ashe bent over her; the thought of the moment wastoo much to support. Her very foreheadcrimsoned as the scene presented itself. And worse, was the realizing that something of fascinationlingered in the horror of that instant ofamazement and fear and mad repulsion of his embrace.She hid her face in her pillow.

After a time she grew calmer, and with her racingpulse quieted, her emotion wore itself somewhatout. Saner thoughts asserted themselves. Shefelt that she could fight it out. She searched herheart and found no wantonness within it. Stronglyassailed, and not, she felt, through her ownfault, she would fight and resist. He hadchallenged her when he had said it should be foughtout. She, too, resolved it should be.

She bathed her forehead, and when she feltsure of herself, rang for Annie. Lunch was servedin her room, but she could eat nothing. Atmoments she felt the comforting conviction ofhaving settled her mind. Unhappily, her mind wouldnot stay settled. Nothing would stay settled. Nomood that brought relief would remain. Theblood came unbidden to her cheeks even whileAnnie was serving her and her breath would catchat the opening of a door.

When she heard the hum of a motor-car onthe open highway her heart jumped. She openedthe porch doors and went out to where she couldlook on the lake. Her eyes fell upon the distantTowers and her anger against Kimberly rose. Sheresolved he should realize how he had outragedher self-respect. She picked from the troubledcurrent of her thought cutting things that she oughtto have said. She despised herself for not havingmore angrily resented his conduct, and determined,if he dared further persist, to expose himrelentlessly to the circle of their friends, even ifthey were his own relations. There should beno guilty secret between them; this, at least, shecould insure.

When the telephone bell rang, Annie answeredit. Dolly was calling for Alice and went into astate when told that Alice had come home affectedby the heat, and had given up and gone to bed; she hoped yet, Annie said, to be all right for theevening. Fritzie took the wire at Black Rock to askwhat she could do, and Annie assured her therewas nothing her mistress needed but quiet and rest.

When the receiver had been hung up the firstbridge was crossed, for Alice was resolved aboveall things not to be seen that night at the dance.When Fritzie came back to Cedar Lodge to dress,Alice was still in bed. Her room was darkenedand Annie thought she might be sleeping. Atdinner-time, MacBirney, who had been in town allday, came in to see how she was. She told herhusband that he would have to go to Dolly's withFritzie.

MacBirney bent over his wife and kissed her, greatly to her mental discomfort. An unwelcomekiss from him seemed to bring back more confusinglythe recollection of Kimberly's kiss, and toincrease her perplexities. She detested herhusband's caresses; they meant no real affection andshe did not intend he should think she believedthey did. But she never could decide where todraw the line with him, and was divided betweena desire to keep him always at a distance and awish not to seem always unamiable.

Fritzie, after she was dressed, tiptoed in. Theroom was lighted to show Alice the new gown. Itwas one of their spring achievements, and Aliceraised herself on her pillow to give a completeapproval of the effect. "It is a stunning thing; simply stunning. If you would only stop runningyourself to death, Fritzie, and put on ten pounds, you would be absolute perfection."

"If I stopped running myself to death whatwould there be to live for?" demanded Fritzie, refastening the last pin in her Dresden girdle."We all have to live for something."

Alice put her hand to her head. "I wonderwhat I have to live for?"

Fritzie turned sharply. "You? Why nothingbut to spend your money and have a good time.Too bad about you, isn't it? You'll soon have amillion a year for pin-money."

Alice shook her head. "A dozen millions ayear would not interest me, Fritzie."

Fritzie laughed. "Don't be too sure, my dear; not too sure. Well," Fritzie's hands ran carefullyover her hair for the last time, "there are a lot ofmen coming over from the Sound to-night. Imay meet my fate!"

"I wish you may with all my heart, Fritzie.Why is it fates always come to people that don'twant them?"

"Don't you believe it," cried Fritzie, "they dowant them."

"They don't-not always."

"Don't you ever believe it-they only say theydon't or think they don't!" she exclaimed, withaccustomed vehemence.

Alice moved upon her pillow in impatient disapproval."I hope you'll have a good time to-night."

MacBirney was ready and Fritzie joined him.The house grew quiet after they left. Anniebrought up a tray and Alice took a cup of broth.She did not long resist the drowsiness that followed.She thought vaguely for a moment of a prayerfor safety. But her married life had long excludedprayer. What good could come of praying to bekept unharmed while living in a state that had initself driven her from prayer? That, at least, would be too absurd, and with a dull feargnawing and dying alternately at her heart she fellasleep.

CHAPTER XXIII

At noon next day MacBirney, seeking hiswife, found her in her dressing-room. Shehad come from the garden and stood before atable filled with flowers, which she wasarranging in vases.

"I've been looking for you." MacBirney threwhimself into a convenient chair as he spoke."Robert Kimberly is downstairs."

"Mr. Kimberly? To see you, I suppose."

"No, to see you."

"To see me?" Alice with flowers in her hand, paused. Then she carried a vase to themantel-piece. "At this time of day?"

"Well-to see us, he says."

She returned to the table. "What in the worlddoes he want to see us about?"

MacBirney laughed. "He says he has somethingto say to both of us. I told him I wouldbring you down."

A breath would have toppled Alice over. "Ican't dress to go down now," she managed to say."It may be something from Dolly. Ask him togive you any message he has."

Walking hurriedly to the mantel with anotherjar of roses, she found her fear extreme. Couldit be possible Kimberly would dream of sayingto her husband what he had said to heryesterday? She smothered at the thought, yet sheknew his appalling candor and felt unpleasantlyconvinced that he was capable of repeating everyword of it. The idea threw her into a panic. Sheresolved not to face him under such circumstances; she was in no position to do so. "Tell him," shesaid abruptly, "that as much as I should like tohear what he has to say, he will have to excuse methis morning."

"He offered to come this evening if you preferred."

"We have other guests to-night," returned Alicecoldly. "And I can't be bothered now."

"Bothered?" echoed MacBirney with sarcasm."Perhaps I had better tell him that."

"By all means, if you want to," she retorted indesperation. "Tell him anything you like."

Her husband rose. "You are amiable thismorning."

"No, I am not, I'm sorry to say. I am not quitewell-that is the real truth and must be myexcuse. Make it for me or not as you like."

MacBirney walked downstairs. After an interminabletime, Alice, breathing more freely, heardKimberly's car moving from the door. When shewent down herself she watched narrowly theexpression of her husband's face. But he was plainlyinterested in nothing more serious than Fritzie'saccount of the country dance. When Aliceventured to ask directly what Kimberly's messageswere, he answered that Kimberly had given none.With Fritzie, Alice took a drive after luncheonsomewhat easier in mind. Yet she reflected thatscarcely twenty-four hours had passed and shealready found herself in an atmosphere of suspenseand apprehension from which there seemed no escape.

While she was dressing that night, flowers fromThe Towers' gardens were brought to CedarLodge in boxfuls, just as they had regularly beensent the year before-roses for the tables, violetsfor Alice's rooms, orchids for herself. If she onlydared send them back! Not, she knew, that itwould make any difference with the sender, but itwould at least express her indignation. She stillspeculated as to whether Kimberly would dare totell her husband and upon what would happen ifhe should tell him.

And her little dream of publicity as anantidote! What had become of it already? So faras Kimberly was concerned, she now firmlybelieved he was ready to publish his attitude towardher to the world. And she shrank with everyinstinct from the prospective shame and humiliation.

The water about her seemed very deep as shereflected, and she felt singularly helpless. She hadnever heard of a situation just such as this, neverimagined one exactly like it. This man seemeddifferent from every other she had ever conceivedof; more frankly brutal than other brutes andmore to be dreaded than other men.

A week passed before Kimberly and Alice met.It was at Charles Kimberly's. Doctor Bryson, theNelsons, and Fritzie were there.

As Alice and her husband came down, CharlesKimberly and Robert walked out of the library.Robert bowed to MacBirney and to Alice-whoscarcely allowed her eyes to answer his greeting.

"Are you always glad to get back to your owncountry, Mrs. Kimberly?" asked MacBirney greetinghis hostess.

Imogene smiled. "Dutifully glad."

"Is that all?"

"At least, I come back with the same feelingof relief that I am getting back to democracy."

"That is," suggested Lottie Nelson, "gettingback to where you are the aristocracy."

Dolly, who with her husband joined them intime to hear the remark, tossed her head. "Ialways thank Heaven, Lottie, that we have noaristocracy here."

"But you are wrong, Dolly, we have," objectedRobert Kimberly as the party went into thedrawing-room. "Democracy is nothing but anaristocracy of ability. What else can happenwhen you give everybody a chance? We beganin this country by ridding ourselves of anaristocracy of heredity and privilege; and we have onlysucceeded in substituting for it the coldest, cruelestaristocracy known to man-the aristocracy ofbrains. This is the aristocracy that controls ourmanufacturing, our transportation, our publicservice and our finance; it makes our laws andapportions our taxation. And from this fell causedone our present griefs arise."

"But you must rid yourself of the grosslymaterial conception of an aristocracy, Mr. Kimberly,"said Nelson. "Our real aristocracy, I take it, isnot our material one, as Robert Kimberly insists.The true aristocrat, I hold, is the real but meregentleman."

"Exactly right," assented De Castro. "Thegentleman and nothing else is the thing."

"There is nothing more interesting than thegentleman," returned Robert Kimberly, "exceptthe gentleman plus the brute. But the exception isenormous, for it supplies our material aristocrat."

"You must remember, though, that ideas ofsuperiority and inferiority are very tricky,"commented Imogene. "And they persist for centuries.To the Naples beggar, even to-day, the Germansare 'barbarians.' And whenever I encounter thetwo I never can decide which is the aristocrat, thetraveller or the beggar."

"I read your speech at the New England dinnerlast night," said Imogene, turning to Nelson,"and I saw all the nice things that were said aboutit this morning."

"If credit were due anywhere it would be tothe occasion," returned Nelson. "There is alwayssomething now in such gatherings to suggest thediscomforting reflection that our best native stockis dying out."

Dolly looked distressed. "Oh, dear, are thoseunfortunate people still dying out? I've beenworrying over their situation for years. Can'tany one do anything?"

"Don't let it disturb you, Mrs. De Castro,"said Bryson.

"But I am afraid it is getting on my nerves."

"Nothing dies out that doesn't deserve to dieout," continued Bryson. "As to the peopleNelson speaks of, I incline to think they ought to dieout. Their whole philosophy of life has beenbad. Nature ought to be ashamed, of course, topass them by and turn to inferior races for herrecruits. But since all races are inferior to them, what can she do but take refuge with the despisedforeigner? The men and women that take lifeon the light-housekeeping plan may do so if theywill-for one generation. What may safely becounted on is that nature will find its workers inthe human hive even if it has to turn to the savagetribes."

"But the poor savages, doctor-they also are onthe verge of extinction, are they not?" demandedDolly.

"Then nature will provide its workers fromone unfailing source-from those we have alwayswith us, the poor and the despised. And it canbe depended on with equal certainty to cast thesatisfied, cultivated, and intellectual drones intoouter darkness."

"My dear, but the doctor is savage, isn't he?"Lottie Nelson made the appeal indolently toImogene. "We shall soon be asking, doctor," sheconcluded languidly, "which tribe you belong to."

"He would answer, the medical tribe,"suggested Fritzie.

"Speaking of savages," interposed Arthur DeCastro, "Charles and I were making a portageonce on the York River. On the trail I met twosuperb little Canadian lads-straight, swarthy, handsome fellows. They couldn't speak English.'You must be French,' I suggested, addressingthe elder by way of compliment in that tongue.Imagine my surprise when he answered withperfect composure, 'Non, monsieur. Nous sommesdes sauvages!'"

"For my part," said Imogene, "I am alwaysglad to hear Doctor Bryson defend families andmotherhood. I don't care how savage he gets."

"I defend motherhood because to me it is thehighest state of womanhood. Merely as aninstinct, its mysteries are a never-ending marvel."

Lottie Nelson looked patiently bored. "Oh, tell us about them, do, doctor."

"I will tell you of one," returned Brysonundismayed. "Take the young mother that brings herfirst child into the world; from the day of its birthuntil the day of that mother's death, her child isnever wholly out of her thought. The child maydie, may be forgotten by every one else on earth, may be to all other conscious existence in this worldas a thing that never was. But in its mother'sheart it never dies. I call that a mystery."

The doctor's glance as he finished fell on Alice'sface. He was sorry at once that he had spoken atall. Her eyes were fixed on him with a look ofacute pain.

Alice hardly knew Doctor Bryson, but what hesaw in the sadness of her face he quiteunderstood. And though they had never met, otherthan in a formal way, he never afterward felt thatthey were wholly strangers.

CHAPTER XXIV

"By the way, Nelson," said De Castro, "whatis there in this story in the afternoon papersabout Doane and Dora Morgan?"

"It is substantially true, I fancy. They haveeloped."

"From whom could they possibly be eloping?"asked Lottie.

"Why, you must know Doane has a wife and twolittle girls," exclaimed Dolly indignantly.

"I supposed his wife was divorced," returnedLottie helplessly. "Why wasn't she?"

"Perhaps," suggested Fritzie, "there wasn't time."

"I don't care; Dora's life has been a veryunhappy one," persisted Lottie, "and frankly I amsorry for her."

"Even though she has run away with anotherwoman's husband," said Imogene.

"Don't you think she deserves a great deal ofsympathy, Robert?" asked Lottie, appealing toKimberly.

"I can't say that I do," he answered slowly."What moves one in any consideration of a situationof that kind is, in the first place, the standardsof those that fall into it. Who, for instance, canscrape up any interest in the affairs of theabandoned? Or of those who look on irregularrelations pretty much as they do on regular? Peopleto enlist sympathy in their troubles must respectthemselves."

The conversation drifted and Alice, withinrange of both tables, caught snatches of the talkat each. She presently heard Lottie Nelsonspeaking petulantly, and as if repeating a question toKimberly. "What do men most like, Robert?" Alicecould not see Kimberly's face, but sheunderstood its expression so well that she could imaginethe brows either luminously raised if Kimberlywere interested, or patiently flat if he were not.

"You ought to know," she heard Kimberlyanswer. "You have been very successful inpleasing them."

"And failed where I have most wanted to succeed.Oh, no. I am asking you. What do they like?"

The answer halted. "I can't tell you. To me,of course, few men seem worth pleasing."

"What should you do to please a man, if youwere a woman?"

"Nonsense."

"I'm asking purely out of curiosity," persistedLottie. "I have failed. I realize it and I shallnever try again. But at the end-I'd like to know."

"You probably would not agree with me,"answered Kimberly after a silence, "most womenwould not. Perhaps it would fail with mostmen-but as I say, most men wouldn't interest me, anyway. If I had it to try, I would appeal to aman's highest nature."

"What is his highest nature?"

"Whatever his best instincts are,"

"And then?"

"That's all."

"Oh, nonsense!"

"No, it isn't nonsense. Only I am not good atanalyzing. If I once caught a man in that wayI should know I had him fast forever. There isabsolutely no use in flinging your meretemptations at him. Keep those quietly in thebackground. He will go after them fast enough whenyou have made sure of him on the higher plane.If you are compelled to display your temptationsat the start, the case is hopeless. You havesurrendered your advantage of the high appeal.Trust him to think about the other side of it, Lottie.You can't suggest to him anything he doesn't know, and perhaps-I'm not sure-he prefers to turnto that side when he thinks you are not looking.The difficulty is," he concluded, speaking slowly,"even if you get him from the lower side, he won'tstay hooked. You know how a salmon strikes ata fly? All human experience shows that a manhooked from the side of his lower instincts, willsooner or later shake the bait."

"It must be something even to have him on thehook for a while, Robert."

"But you don't agree with me."

"No."

"No doubt, I'm wrong. And it isn't, Isuppose, of much consequence whether the men staycaught or not. I look at it, probably, with abusiness instinct. When I do anything, I want itto stay done forever. When I make a deal orfasten a point I want it to stay fastened for alltime. That is my nature. Now, that may notbe a woman's nature. You shouldn't have askedme, don't you see, because we 'begin' differently."

"I fancy that's it, Robert. We 'begin' differently."

"Try another seer-there is De Castro. Hereis Mrs. MacBirney. Mrs. MacBirney," Kimberlymoved so he could command Alice's attention,"Mrs. Nelson is trying to find out what a manlikes in a woman. I haven't been able to tellher-"

"It isn't that at all," smiled Lottie, wearily."Mr. Kimberly can tell. He won't."

Kimberly appealed to Alice. "It is a greatmistake not to trust your oracle when he is doing hisbest-don't you think so, Mrs. MacBirney?"

"I suppose an oracle is consulted on hisreputation-and it is on his reputation that his clientsshould rely," suggested Alice.

"Anyway," declared Lottie, rising, "I amgoing to try another."

Kimberly turned his chair as she walked awayso that he could speak to Alice. "Giving advice isnot my forte. Whenever I attempt it I disappointsomebody; and this time I had a difficultsubject. Mrs. Nelson wants to know what men likein women. A much more interesting subjectwould be, what women like in men. I shouldsuppose, in my blundering way, that sincerity wouldcome before everything else, Mrs. MacBirney.What do you think?"

"Sincerity ought to be of value."

"But there is a great deal else, you imply."

"Necessarily, I should think."

"As, for instance?"

"Unselfishness among other things," said Alice.

He objected frankly to her suggestion. "I don'tknow about unselfishness. I have my doubtsabout unselfishness. Are you sure?"

"Most ideals include it, I believe."

"I don't know that I have any ideals-abstractideals, that is. Though I once took quite aninterest in the Catholic Church."

"An academic interest."

"No, no; a real and concrete interest. I admireit greatly. I tried once to look into its claims.What in part discouraged me was the unpleasantthings Catholics themselves told me about their church."

"They must have been bad Catholics."

"I don't know enough about them to discriminatebetween the good and the bad. What, bythe way," he asked bluntly, "are you-a goodCatholic or a bad one?"

She was taken for an instant aback; then sheregarded him with an expression he did not oftensee in her eyes. "I am a bad one, I am ashamedto say."

"Then these I speak of must have been goodones," he remarked at once, "because they werenot in the least like you."

If he thought he had perplexed her he was soonundeceived. "There are varying degrees even ofbadness," she returned steadily. "I hope I shallnever fall low enough to speak slightingly of myfaith."

"I don't understand," he persisted, musing,"why you should fall at all. Now, if I were aCatholic I should be a good one."

"Suppose you become one."

He disregarded her irony. "I may sometime.To be perfectly frank, what I found most lackingwhen I looked into the question was somesufficient inducement. Of what use? I askedmyself. If by following Christianity and itsprecepts a man could make himself anything morethan he is-prolong his years, or recall his youth.If he could achieve the Titanic, raise himself tothe power of a demigod!" Kimberly's eyes shonewide at the thought, then they closed to acontrasting torpor. "Will religion do this for anyone? I think not. But fancy what that wouldmean; never to grow old, never to fall ill, neverto long for without possessing!" A disdainfulpride was manifest in every word of his utterance, but he spoke with the easy-mannered good-naturethat was his characteristic.

"A man that follows the dreams of religion,"he resumed but with lessening assurance, for Alicemaintained a silence almost contemptuous and hebegan to feel it, "is he not subject to the samefailures, the same pains, the same misfortunes thatwe are subject to? Even as the rest of us, he mustgrow old and fail and die."

"Some men, of course," she suggested withscant patience, "should have a differentdispensation from the average mortal."

Kimberly squirmed dissentingly. "I don't likethat phrase, 'the average mortal.' It has avillainously hackneyed sound, don't you think? No, for my part I should be willing to let everybody inon the greater, the splendid dispensation."

"You might be sorry if you did."

"You mean, there are men that should die-somethat should die early?"

"There are many reasons why it might not work."

He stopped. "That is true-it might not work,if universally applied. It would do betterrestricted to a few of us. But no matter; since wecan't have it at all, we must do the best we can.And the way to beat the game as it must beplayed in this world at present," he continuedwith contained energy, "is to fight for what wewant and defend it when won, against all comers.Won't you wish me success in such an effort,Alice?"

"I have asked you not to call me Alice."

"But wish me the success, won't you? It'sawfully up-hill work fighting alone. Two togethercan do so much better. With two the power israised almost to the infinite. Together we couldbe gods-or at least make the gods envy us."

She looked at him an instant without a word, and rising, walked to an anteroom whitherMacBirney, Lottie Nelson, De Castro, and Fritzie hadgone to play at cards.

CHAPTER XXV

When the season was fairly open theKimberlys made Alice the recipient of everyattention. A solidarity had always seemed, in anunusual degree, to animate the family. Theywere happy in their common interests and theirefforts united happily now to make Alice afavored one in their activities.

In everything proposed by Dolly or Imogene,Alice was consulted. When functions werearranged, guests lists were submitted to her.Entertainment was decided upon after Alice hadbeen called in. The result was a gay season evenfor Second Lake. And Dolly said it was theinflux of Alice's new blood into the attenuatedstrain at the lake that accounted for the successfulsummer. Alice herself grew light-hearted. Insocial affairs the battalions inclined to her side.Even Lottie Nelson could not stand out and wasfain to make such peace as she could.

In all of this Alice found consolation for theneglect of her husband. She had begun to realize thatthis neglect was not so much a slight, personalto her, as a subordination of everything to thepassion for money-getting. It is impossible toremain always angry and Alice's anger subsided inthe end into indifference as to what her husbandsaid or did.

She had, moreover-if it were a stimulus-thecontinual stimulus of Kimberly's attitude.Without insincerity or indifference he accommodatedhis interest in her to satisfactory restraint. Thisgave Alice the pleasure of realizing that herfirmness had in nowise estranged him and that withoutbeing turbulent he was always very fond of her.She knew he could look to many other women forwhatever he chose to ask of favor, yet apparently helooked to her alone for his pleasure in womankind; and in a hundred delicate ways he allowed her tofeel this.

A handsome young Harvard man came to herat the lake seeking an opening in the refineries.His people were former Colorado acquaintanceswhom Alice was extremely desirous of obliging.She entertained her visitor and tried vainly tointerest her husband in him. MacBirney promisedbut did nothing, and one day Dolly calling atCedar Lodge found Alice writing a note to thecollege boy, still waiting in town on MacBirney'sempty promises, telling him of the failure of herefforts and advising him not to wait longer.

"But why worry?" asked Dolly, when Alice toldher. "Speak to Robert about it. He will placehim within twenty-four hours."

"I can't very well ask a favor of that kind fromMr. Kimberly, Dolly."

"What nonsense! Why not?"

Alice could not say precisely why. "After myown husband hasn't found a way to place him!"she exclaimed.

Dolly did not hesitate. "I will attend to it.Give me his address. Football, did you say?Very good."

Within a week the young man wrote Alice-fromthe Orange River refineries, where he was,he picturesquely said, knee-deep in sugar-thathe had actually been before the sugar magnate,Robert Kimberly himself, adding with theimpetuous spelling of a football man, that theinterview had been so gracious and lasted so longhe had grown nervous about the time Mr. Kimberlywas giving him.

Kimberly never referred to the matter nor didAlice ever mention it to him. It was merelypleasant to think of. And in such evidences asthe frequent letters from her protégé she read herinfluence over the man who, even the chronicle ofthe day could have told her, had she needed theconfirmation, extorted the interest of the worldin which he moved; and over whom, apparently,no woman other than herself could claim influence.

She came tacitly to accept this position towardKimberly. Its nature did not compromise herconscience and it seemed in this way possible bothto have and not have. She grew to lean upon thethought of him as one of the consoling supports inher whirling life-the life in which reflection neverreached conclusion, action never looked forwardto result, and denial had neither time nor place.

The pursuit of pleasure, sweetened by thatphilanthropy and the munificent almsgiving whichwas so esteemed by those about her, made upher life. Alice concluded that those of her circleseverely criticised by many who did not knowthem, did much good. Their failings, naturally, would not condemn them with critics who, likeherself, came in contact with them at their best.

Some time after the placing of the young collegeman, Alice, running in one morning on Dollyfound her in tears. She had never before seenDolly even worried and was at once all solicitude.For one of the very few times in her life, itappeared, Dolly had clashed with her brother Robert.Nor could Alice get clearly from her what thedifference had been about. All that was evidentto Alice was that Dolly was very much grieved andmortified over something Kimberly had said ordone, or refused to say or do, concerning adistinguished actress who upon finishing anAmerican tour was to be entertained by Dolly.

Alice in the afternoon was over at Imogene's.Robert Kimberly was there with his brother.Afterward he joined Imogene and Alice under theelms and asked them to drive. While Imogenewent in to make ready Alice poured a cup of teafor Kimberly. "I suppose you know you havemade Dolly feel very bad," she said with a colorof reproach.

Kimberly responded with the family prudence."Have I?" Alice handed him the tea and heasked another question. "What, pray, do youknow about it?"

"Nothing at all except that she is hurt, and thatI am sorry."

"She didn't tell you what the difference was?"

"Except that it concerned her coming guest."

"I offered Dolly my yacht for her week. Shewanted me to go with the party. Because Ideclined, she became greatly incensed."

"She thought, naturally, you ought to haveobliged her."

"I pleaded I could not spare the time. Shehas the Nelsons and enough others, anyway."

"Her answer, of course, is that your time is your own."

"But the fact is, her guest made the request.Dolly without consulting me promised I would go, and now that I will not she is angry."

"I should think a week at sea would be adiversion for you."

"To tag around a week in heavy seas withwraps after a person of distinction? And pacethe deck with her on damp nights?"

"That is unamiable. She is a very great actress."

Kimberly continued to object. "Suppose sheshould be seasick. I once went out with her andshe professed to be ill every morning. I had tosit in her cabin-it was a stuffy yacht of DeCastro's-and hold her hand."

"But you are so patient. You would not mind that."

"Oh, no; I am not in the least patient. TheKimberlys are described as patient when they aremerely persistent. If I am even amiable, amiability is something quite other than patience.Patience is almost mysterious to me. Francis isthe only patient man I ever have known."

"In this case you are not even amiable. We allhave to do things we don't want to do, to obligeothers. And Dolly ought to be obliged."

"Very well. If you will go, I will. What doyou say?"

"You need not drag me in. I shall have guestsof my own next week. If Dolly made a mistakeabout your inclination in the affair it would beonly generous to help her out."

"Very well, I will go."

"Now you are amiable."

"They can put in at Bar Point and I will jointhem for the last two days. I will urge McEntee, the captain, to see that they are all sick, ifpossible, before I come aboard. Then they will notneed very much entertaining."

"How malicious!"

"Not a bit. Dolly is a good sailor. Her guestcares nothing for me. It is only to have anAmerican at her heels."

"They say that no one can resist her charm.You may not escape it this time."

A fortnight passed before any news came toAlice from the yachting party. Then Fritzie camehome from Nelsons' one day with an interestingaccount of the trip. Until the story was all told,Alice felt gratified at having smoothed over Dolly'sdifficulty.

"They were gone longer than they expected,"said Fritzie. "Robert was having such a goodtime. Lottie Nelson tells me Dolly's guest madethe greatest sort of a hit with Robert. He didn'tlike her at first. Then she sang a song thatattracted him, and he kept her singing that songall the time. He sat in a big chair near the pianoand wouldn't move. The funny thing was, shewas awfully bored the way he acted. By the way, you must not miss the golf to-morrow. Everybodywill be out."

Alice hardly heard the last words. She wasthinking about Kimberly's entertaining thecelebrity. Every other incident of the voyage had beenlost upon her. When she found herself alone herdisappointment and resentment were keen. Someunaccountable dread annoyed her. He was then, she reflected, like all other men, filled with mereprofessions of devotion.

Something more disturbed her. The incidentrevealed to her that he had grown to be morein her thoughts than she realized. Racks andthumb-screws could not have dragged from her theadmission that she was interested in him. It wasenough that he professed to be devoted to herand had been led away by the first nod of anotherwoman.

CHAPTER XXVI

The golf course and the casino were crowdednext day when Alice arrived. Yet amongthe throng of men and women, her interest layonly in the meeting of one, as in turn his interestin all the summer company lay only in seekingAlice. She had hardly joined Imogene and thelake coterie when Kimberly appeared.

The players had driven off and the favorites, ofwhom there were many, could already be trailedacross the hills by their following. When the"out" score had been posted, De Castro suggestedthat the party go down to the tenth hole to followthe leaders in.

A sea-breeze tempered the sunshine and thelong, low lines of the club-house were gaylydecorated. Pavilions, spread here and there amongthe trees, gave the landscape a festival air.

On the course, the bright coloring of groups ofmen and women moving across the fields madea spectacle changing every moment in brilliancy.

Kimberly greeted Alice with a graciousexpectancy. He was met with a lack of responsenothing less than chilling. Surprised, though fairlyseasoned to rebuffs, and accepting the unexpectedmerely as a difficulty, Kimberly set out to beentertaining.

His resource in this regard was not scanty butto-day Alice succeeded in taxing his reserves. In hishalf-mile tramp with her in the "gallery,"punctuated by occasional halts, he managed but onceto separate her from the others. The sun annoyedhim. Alice was aware of his lifting his straw hatfrequently to press his handkerchief to beads ofperspiration that gathered on his swarthyforehead, but she extended no sympathy.

In spite of his discomfort, however, his eyesflashed with their accustomed spirit and his doggedperseverance in the face of her coldness began toplead for itself. When the moving "gallery" hadat last left them for an instant behind, Kimberlydropped on a bench under the friendly shade ofa thorn apple tree.

"Sit down a moment, do," he begged, "until Iget a breath."

"Do you find it warm?"

"Not at all," he responded with negligible irony."It is in some respects uncommonly chilly." Hespoke without the slightest petulance. "ForHeaven's sake, tell me what I have done!"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, you are not kind in your mannertoward me. I left you-I hoped you wouldremember-to do a favor for you-"

"For me?" Her tone was not in the least reassuring.

"At least, I conceived it to be for you," he replied.

"That is a mistake."

"Very good. Let us call it mistake numberone. I spent five days with Dolly and herguests-"

"Guests," repeated Alice, lingering slightly onthe word, as she poked the turf slowly with hersunshade, "or guest?"

"Guest!" he echoed, "Ah!" He paused."Who has put me wrong in so simple a matter?What I did was no more than to be agreeable toDolly's guests. I spent much time with the guestof honor at Dolly's repeated requests. Shehappened to sing a song that pleased me very much, for one particular reason; it was your lovely littleItalian air; I am not ashamed to say it broughtback pleasant moments. Since she could donothing else that was so pleasing," he continued,"I kept her singing the song. She became boredand naturally ceased to be good-natured. Then,Dolly asked me to run around by Nantucket, which we could have done in two days. Not tobe churlish, I consented. Then the coal gave out, which took another day."

"What a mishap! Well, I am glad to hear thetrip went pleasantly."

"If you are, something has gone wrong withyou-"

"Nothing whatever, I can assure you."

"You are offended with me."

"I assure you I am not."

"I assure you, you are." He took the sunshadefrom her hand. "You remember the fable aboutthe man that tried to oblige everybody? Hewasn't a refiner-he was a mere miller. At thestart I really did my best for three days toentertain Dolly's lovely vampire and at the end of thattime she made a face at me-and wound up bytelling Dolly my head was full of another woman.Then-to be quite shamefully frank-I had tododge Lottie Nelson's apologies for herunpleasant temper on an evening that youremember; altogether my lot was not a happy one. Myhead was full of another woman. You rememberyou said nobody could resist her charm? Ithought of it. What is charm? I often askedmyself. I saw nothing of charm in that charmingwoman. Who can define it? But penetration!She could read you like a printed book. Wetalked one night of American women. I dared tosay they were the loveliest in the world. She grewincensed. 'They know absolutely nothing!' sheexclaimed. 'That is why we like them' Ianswered. 'They are innocent; you are as corruptas I am.' Then she would call me a hypocrite." Hestopped suddenly and Alice felt his eyes keenlyupon her. "Is it possible you do not believe whatI am saying?"

"Innocent women believe whatever they are told."

"I don't deserve sarcasm. I am telling thesimple truth. For once I am wholly at fault,Alice. I don't know what the matter is. Whathas happened?"

"Nothing has happened; only to-day I seemespecially stupid."

"Are you as frank with me as I am with you?"

She made no answer. He drew back as ifmomentarily discouraged. "If you no longerbelieve me-what can I do?"

"It isn't at all that I do not believe you-whatdifference should it make whether or no I believeyou? Suppose I were frank enough to admit thatsomething I heard of you had disappointed me alittle. What credit should I have forcommenting on what in no way concerns me?"

"Anything heard to my discredit should be carefullyreceived. Believe the best of me as long asyou can. It will never be necessary, Alice, forany one to tell you I am unworthy; when that daycomes you will know it first from me. And if I everam unworthy, it will not be because I willed tobe-only because through my baseness I nevercould know what it means to be worthy of awoman far above me."

She reached out her hand for her sunshade buthe refused to give it back. She tried to rise; helaid his hand on her arm. "A moment! It wasabout me, was it?" he continued. "Did youreceive it cautiously? Put me in your position.How do you think one would fare who came tome with anything to your discredit? Think ofit, Alice-how do you think one would fare-lookat me."

She looked up only for an instant and as if inprotest. But in spite of herself something in herown eyes of confidence in him, some tribute to hishonesty, stood revealed, and inspired him with anew courage.

"You say what you hear of me does notconcern you. Anything you hear of me does concernyou vitally." His intensity frightened her, andthinking to escape him, she still sat motionless.

"Everything I do, important or trivial, has itsrelation to you. Do you believe me? Alice, youmust believe me. You do believe me. How canyou say that anything you hear of me does notconcern you? It concerns you above everyliving person. It concerns your happiness-"

"Such wildness-such extravagance!" sheexclaimed trying to control her fear.

"I tell you I am neither wild nor extravagant.Our happiness, our very lives are bound uptogether. It isn't that I say to you, you aremine-I am yours."

The furious beating of her heart would not bestilled. "How can you say such things!"

"I say them because I can't escape your influencein my life. I only want to come up to whereyou are-not to drag you down to where I am-towhere I have been condemned to be from the cradle.If what you hear of me conflicts with what I sayto you, believe nothing of what you hear." Hiswords fell like blows. "If I could show you myvery heart I could not be more open. It is youwho are everything to me-you alone."

Breathless and rigid she looked away. Hardlybreathing himself, Kimberly watched her. Herlip quivered. "Oh, my heart!" he murmured.But in the words she heard an incredibletenderness. It moved her where intensity had failed.It stilled the final pangs of revolt at his words.She drifted for an instant in a dream. New andtrembling thoughts woke in a reluctant dawn andglowed in her heart like faint, far streamers of anew day.

"Oh, my heart!" The words came again, asif out of another world. She felt her hand takenby a strong, warm hand. "Do you tremble forme? Is my touch so heavy? How shall I eversafeguard the flower of your delicacy to myclumsiness?"

She neither breathed nor moved. "No matter.You will teach me how, Alice. Learning howyou can be happiest, I shall be happiest. I feelbeggared when I lay my plea before you. Whatare all my words unless you breathe life uponthem? A few things-not many-I have succeededin. And I succeeded," the energy of success echoedin his confession, "only because I let nothing ofeffort stand between me and the goal. You havenever been happy. Let me try to succeed withyour happiness."

A silence followed, golden as the moment.Neither felt burdened. About them was quietand the stillness seemed to flow from the hush oftheir thoughts.

"It is easy for you to speak," she faltered atlast, "too easy for me to listen. I amunhappy-so are many women; many would be strongenough never to listen to what you have said. Imyself should be if I were what you picture me.And that is where all the trouble lies. Youmistake me; you picture to yourself an Alice thatdoesn't exist. If I could return your interestI should disappoint you. I am not depreciatingmyself to extort compliments-you would supplythem easily, I know. Only-I know myselfbetter than you know me."

"What you say," he responded, "might havepoint if I were a boy-it would have keen point.While to me your beauty-do not shake yourhead despairingly-your beauty is the delicacy ofgirlhood, you yourself are a woman. You haveknown life, and sorrow. I cannot lead you as afairy once led you from girlhood into womanhood-wouldthat I could have done it! He should bea very tender guide who does that for a woman.

"But I can lead you, I think, Alice, toeverything in this world that consoles a woman forwhat she gives to it. Do not say I do not knowyou-that is saying I do not know myself, men, women, life-it is saying I know nothing. Modestas I am," he smiled lightly, "I am not yet readyto confess to that. I do know; as men that havelived and tasted and turned away and longed andwaited, know-so I know you. And I knew fromthe moment I saw you that all my happiness inthis world must come from you."

"Oh, I am ashamed to hear you say that. Iam ashamed to hear you say anything. Whatbase creature am I, that I have invited you tospeak!" She turned and looked quickly at him, but with fear and resolve in her eyes. "This youmust know, here and now, that I can never be, not if you kill me, another Dora Morgan."

He met her look with simple frankness. "Theworld is filled with Dora Morgans. If you couldbe, Alice, how could I say to you what I neverhave said, or thought of saying, to any Dora Morgan?"

"To be a creature would kill me. Do not bedeceived-I know."

"Or do worse than kill you. No, you are likeme. There is no half-way for you and me.Everything-or nothing!"

She rose to her feet. He saw that shesupported herself for a moment with one hand stillon the bench rail. He took her other hand withinhis own and drew her arm through his arm.

It was the close of the day. The sun, setting, touched the hills with evening, and below thedistant Towers great copses of oak lay like islands onthe mirrored landscape. They walked from thebench slowly together. "Just a little help for thestart," he murmured playfully as he kept her athis side. "The path is a new one. I shall makeit very easy for your feet."

CHAPTER XXVII

"I hope you rested well after your excitement,"said Kimberly to Alice, laughing reassuringlyas he asked. It was the day following theirparting at the golf grounds. He had driven over toCedar Lodge and found Alice in the gardenwaiting for Dolly. The two crossed the terraceto a sheltered corner of the garden overlooking thebay where they could be alone. After Alice hadseated herself Kimberly repeated his question.

She regarded him long and thoughtfully as sheanswered, and with a sadness that was unexpected: "I did not rest at all. I do not even yetunderstand-perhaps I never shall-why I let you talkto me in that wild, wild way. But if I did notrest last night, I thought. I am to blame-Iknow that-as much as you are. Don't tell me.I am as much to blame as you are. But thiscannot go on."

His eyes were upon her hands as they lay acrossflowers in her lap. He took a spray from herwhile she spoke and bent his look upon it. Shewas all in white and he loved to see her in white.In it she fulfilled to him a dream of womanhood."I ought to ask you what you mean when yousay and think these fearful things," she went on, waiting for him to lift his eyes. "I ought to askyou; but you do not care what it means, at leastas far as you are concerned. And you never askyourself what it means as far as I am concerned."

He replied with no hesitation. "I beganasking myself that question almost the first time Iever saw you. I have asked myself nothing elseever since. It means for both of us exactly thesame thing; for you, everything you can ask thatI can give you; for me, everything I can give youthat you can ask."

"If there were no gulf between us-but there is.And even if what you say were true, you can seehow impossible it would be for me to say thosewords back to you."

He looked at the spray. "Quite true; youcannot. But I shall ask so little-less of youthan of any woman in the world. And you willgive only what you can, and when you can. Andyou alone are to be the judge of what you cangive and when, until our difficulties are worked out.

"I shall only show you now that I can bepatient. I never have been-I have confessed tothat. Now I am going to the test. Meantime, youdon't realize, Alice, quite, how young you are,do you? Nor how much in earnest I am. Letus turn to that for a while."

From a shrub at his side he plucked sprigsof rosemary and crushed them with the spray."Even love never begins but once. So, for everyhour that passes, a memory; for every hour thattarries, a happiness; for every hour that comes,a hope. Do you remember?"

"I read it on your sun-dial."

"Every one may read it there. Where I wantyou to read it is in my heart."

"I wonder whether it is most what you say, orthe way in which you say it, that gets people intotrouble?"

"On the contrary; my life has been spent ingetting people out of trouble, and in waiting to saythings to you."

"You are improving your opportunity in thatrespect. And you are losing a still moredelightful opportunity, for you don't know how muchrelief you can give me by leaving most of themunsaid."

"It is impossible, of course, to embrace all ofour opportunities-often impossible to embracethe cause of them."

"Don't pick me up in that way, please."

He held his hands over hers and dropped thecrushed rosemary on them. "Would that I couldin any way. Since I cannot, let me annoy you."

Dolly appeared at a distance, and they walkeddown the terrace to meet her. She kissed Alice."What makes you look so girlish to-day? Andwhat is all this color around your eyes? Neverwear anything but white. I never should myself,"sighed Dolly. "You know Alice and I are off forthe seashore," she added, turning to her brother.

"So I hear."

"Come along."

"Who is going?"

"Everybody, I suppose. They all know aboutthe trip."

"Where do you dine?"

"On the shore near the light-house. Arthuris bringing some English friends out from town;we are going to dance."

That night by the sea Kimberly and Alicedanced together. He held her like a child, andhis strength, which for a moment startled her, wasa new charm when she glided across the long, half-lighted floor within his arm. Her graceresponded perfectly to the ease with which he led, and they, stopped only when both were breathingfast, to stroll out on the dark pier and drink in therefreshment of the night wind from the ocean.

They remained out of doors a long time, talkingsometimes, laughing sometimes, walking sometimes, sometimes sitting down for a moment orkneeling upon the stone parapet benches to listento the surf pounding below them. When theywent in, he begged her again to dance. Notanswering in words she only lifted her arm witha smile. Making their way among those aboutthem they glided, he in long, undulating steps, she retreating in swift, answering rhythm, touching the floor as lightly as if she trod on air.

"This plume in your hat," he said as they movedon and on to the low, sensuous strains of themusic, "it nods so lightly. Where do you carryyour wings?"

The very effort of speaking was exhilarating."It is you," she answered, "who are supplyingthe wings."

The gayety of the others drew them more closelytogether. Little confidences of thought andfeeling-in themselves nothing, in theirunforbidden exchange everything-mutual confessions ofearly impressions each of the other, complimentsmore eagerly ventured and ignored now ratherthan resented. Surprise read in each other's eyes, dissent not ungracious and denial that onlylaughingly denied-all went to feed a secret happinessgrowing fearfully by leaps and bounds into tiesthat never could be broken.

The dance with its exhilaration, the plungingof her pulse and her quick, deep breathing, shonein Alice's cheeks and in her eyes. The two laughedat everything; everything colored their happinessbecause everything was colored by it.

The party drove home after a very late supper,Alice heavily wrapped and beside Dolly inKimberly's car. Entertainments for the English partyfollowed for a week and were wound up byKimberly with an elaborate evening for them at TheTowers. For the first time in years the big housewas dressed en fête and the illuminations made apicture that could be seen as far as the village.

Twenty-four sat at The Towers round table thatnight. Alice herself helped Dolly to pair the guestsand philosophically assigned her husband toLottie Nelson. Kimberly complimented her upon herarrangement.

"Why not?" she asked simply, though notwithout a certain bitterness with which she alwaysspoke of her husband. "People with tastes incommon seem to drift together whether you pairthem or not."

They were standing in an arbor and Kimberlywas plucking grapes for her.

"He is less than nothing to me," she continued,"as you too well know-or I should not be herenow eating your grapes."

"Your grapes, Alice. Everything here is yours.I haven't spoken much about our difficulties-'our'difficulties! The sweetness of the one wordblots out the annoyance of the other. But youmust know I shall never rest until you are installedhere with all due splendor as mistress, not aloneof the grapes, but of all you survey, for this is tobe wholly and simply yours. And if I dare askyou now and here, Alice-you whose every breathis more to me than the thought of all otherwomen-I want you to be my wife."

Her lips tightened. "And I am the wife ofanother man-it is horrible."

He heard the tremor in her tone. "Look at me."

"I cannot look at you."

"When you are free-"

"Free!" Her voice rising in despair, fell againinto despair. "I shall never be free."

"You shall, and that speedily, Alice!" Shecould imagine the blood surging into Kimberly'sneck and face as he spoke. "I am growingfearful that I cannot longer stand the thought of hisbeing under the same roof with you."

"He cannot even speak to me except before Annie."

Kimberly paused. "I do not like it. I wantit changed."

"How can I change it?"

"We shall find a way, and that very soon, toarrange your divorce from him."

"It is the one word, the one thought thatcrushes me." She turned toward him as if witha hard and quick resolve. "You know I am aCatholic, and you know I am ashamed to say it."

"Ashamed?"

"I have disgraced my faith."

"Nonsense, you are an ornament to any faith."

"Do not say that!" She spoke with despairingvehemence. "You don't realize how grotesqueit sounds. If what you say were true I shouldnot be here."

He drew himself up. There was a resentfulnote in his tone. "I did not suppose myself sucha moral leper that it would be unsafe for any oneto talk to me. Other Catholics-and goodones-talk to me, and apparently withoutcontamination."

"It is only that I have no right to. Now youare going to be angry with me."

He saw her eyes quiver. "God forbid! Imisunderstood. And you are sensitive, dearest."

"I am sensitive," she said reluctantly. "Morethan ever, perhaps, since I have ceasedpractising my religion."

"But why have you ceased?"

Her words came unwillingly. "I could not help it."

"Why could you not help it?"

"You ask terribly hard questions."

"You must have wanted to give it up."

"I did not want to. I was forced to."

"Who could force you?"

He saw what an effort it cost her to answer.The words were dragged from her. "I could notlive with my husband and practise it."

"So much the more reason for quitting him, isn't it?"

"Oh, I want to. I want to be free. If I onlycould."

"Alice, you speak like one in despair. Thereis nothing to be so stirred about. You want to befree, I want you to be, you shall be. Don't getexcited over the matter of a divorce. Your eyesare like saucers at the thought. Why?"

"Only because for me it is the final disgrace-notto be separated from him-but to marry againwith him alive! It means the last step for me.And the public scandal! What will they say ofme, who knew me at home?"

"Alice, this is the wildest supersensitiveness.The whole world lives in divorced marriages.Public scandal? No one will ever hear of yourdivorce. The courts that grant your plea willattend to suppressing everything."

"Not everything!"

"Why not? We abase them every day to somany worse things that their delicate gorges willnot rise at a little favor like that."

She looked at him gravely. "What does theworld say of you for doing such things?"

"I never ask. You know, of course, I neverpay any attention to what the world says ofanything I do. Why should I? It would bedifficult for the world to despise me as much as Idespise it. You don't understand the world. Allyou need is my strength. I felt that from the veryfirst-that if I could give you my strength thecombination would be perfect. That is why I am sohelplessly in love with you-my strength must beyours. I want to put you on a throne. Then Istand by, see? – and guard your majesty with agreat club. And I can do it."

They laughed together, for he spoke guardedly,as to being heard of others, but with ominousenergy. "I believe you could," murmured Alice.

"Don't worry over your religion. I will makeyou practise it. I will make a devotee of you."

"Robert! Robert!"

He stooped for her hand and in spite of a littlestruggle would not release it until he had kissedit. "Do you know it is the first time my namehas ever passed your lips?" he murmured.

She was silent and he went on with anotherthought. "Alice, I don't believe you are as bada Catholic as you think. I'll tell you why. Ihave known Catholic women, and men, too, thathave given up their religion. Understand, I knownothing about your religion, but I do knowsomething about men and women. And when theybegin elaborate explanations they think theydeceive me. In matter of fact, they deceive onlythemselves. When they begin to talk aboutprogress, freedom of thought, decay of dogmas, individual liberty and all that twaddle, and assumea distinctly high, intellectual attitude, even thoughI don't know what they have given up, I knowwhat they are assuming; I get their measureinstantly. I've sometimes thought that when Godcalls us up to speak on judgment day He willsay in the most amiable manner: 'Just tell yourown story in your own way.' And that our ownstories, told in our own way, will be all the dataHe will need to go ahead on. Indeed, He wouldnot always need divine prescience to see throughthem; in most cases mere human insight wouldbe enough. Just listen to the ordinary story ofthe ordinary man and notice how out of his ownmouth he condemns himself. I see that sort ofposturing every day in weak-kneed men andwomen who want to enlist large sums of money tofloat magnificent schemes. Now you are honestwith yourself and honest with me, and I see inthis a vital difference."

They walked back through the garden andencountered Brother Francis who was taking theair. Kimberly stopped him. Nelson andImogene joined the group. "Ah, Francis!" exclaimedImogene, "have they caught you saying your beads?"

"Not this time, Mrs. Kimberly."

"Come now, confess. What were you doing?"

Brother Francis demurred and protested butthere was no escape. He pointed to The Towers."I came out to see the beautiful illumination. Itis very beautiful, is it not?"

"But that isn't all, for when we came along youwere looking at the sky."

"Ah, the night is so clear-the stars are so strongto-night-"

"Go on."

"I was thinking of Italy."

CHAPTER XXVIII

"I never can catch Brother Francis, thinkingof anything but Italy," remarked Kimberly.

"Who can blame him?" exclaimed Imogene.

"Or the hereafter," added Kimberly.

Nelson grunted. "I'm afraid he doesn't findmuch sympathy here on that subject," heobserved, looking from one to another.

"Don't be mistaken, Nelson," said Kimberly,"I think about it, and Francis will tell you so. Ihave already made tentative arrangements withhim on that score. Francis is to play Lazarus tomy Dives. When I am in hell I am to have mycup of cold water from him. And remember,Francis, if you love me, the conditions. Don'tforget the conditions; they are the essence of thecontract. I am to have the water one drop at atime. Don't forget that; one drop at a time.Eternity is a long, long while."

Francis, ill at ease, took a pinch of snuff tocompose himself.

"Your rôle doesn't seem altogether to yourliking, Francis," suggested Imogene.

"His rôle! Why, it's paradise itself comparedto mine," urged Kimberly.

Brother Francis drew his handkerchief andwiped his nose very simply. "I pray, Robert,"he said, "that you may never be in hell."

"But keep me in your eye, Francis. Don'trelax your efforts. A sugar man is liable tostumble and fall in while your back is turned."

"We must get started for the lake," announcedImogene. "Brother Francis, we are all goingdown to see The Towers from the water. Willyou come?"

Francis excused himself, and his companionsjoined the other guests who were gathering at thewater. Oarsmen were waiting with barges andfires burned from the pillars of the esplanade.As the boats left the shore, music came acrossthe water. Alice, with Kimberly, caught a glimpseof her husband in a passing boat. "Having agood time?" he cried. For answer she wavedher hand.

"Are you really having a good time?" Kimberlyasked. "I mean, do you care at all for thiskind of thing?"

"Of course, I care for it. Who could help it?It is lovely. Where are we going?"

"Down the lake a mile or two; then the boatswill return for the fireworks."

"You don't seem very lively yourself to-night.Are you bored?"

"No; only wondering whether you will godriving with me to-morrow."

"I said I would not."

"I hoped, of course, you might reconsider."

He did not again press the subject of the drive, but when they were walking up the hill after therockets and showers of gold falling down the darksky, she told him he might come for her the nextday. "I don't know how it is," she murmured,"but you always have your own way. You windme right around your finger."

He laughed. "If I do, it is only because Idon't try to."

"I realize it; that is what puzzles me."

"The real secret is, not that I wind you aroundmy finger, but that you don't want to hurt myfeelings. I find something to wonder at, too.When I am with you-even when you are anywherenear me, I am totally different. Alone, Iam capable of withdrawing wholly within myself.I am self-absorbed and concentrated. Withyou I am never wholly within myself. I am, seemingly, partly in your consciousness."

Alice shook her head. "It is true," he persisted."It is one of the consequences of love; tobe drawn out of one's self. I have it." Heturned to her, questioningly, "Can you understand it?"

"I think so."

"But do you ever feel it?"

"Sometimes."

"Never, of course, for me?"

"Sometimes."

CHAPTER XXIX

"This is a courtship without any spring," saidDolly one night to her husband. Theywere discussing her brother and Alice. "Atfirst it was all winter, now it is all summer."

She thought they showed themselves together toomuch in public, and their careless intimacy was,in fact, outwardly unrestrained.

Not that Dolly was censorious. Her philosophyfound refuge in fatalism. And since what is tobe must be-especially where the Kimberlys wereconcerned-why worry over the complications?Seemliness, however, Dolly held, was to beregarded, and concerning this she felt she ought tobe consulted. The way to be consulted she hadlong ago learned was to find fault.

But if she herself reproved Kimberly and Alice,Dolly allowed no one else to make their affairs asubject of comment. Lottie Nelson, who couldnever be wholly suppressed, was silenced whenoccasion offered. One afternoon at The Hickories,Alice's name being mentioned, Lottie askedwhether Robert was still chasing her.

"Chasing her?" echoed Dolly contemptuouslyand ringing the changes on the objectionable word,"Of course; why shouldn't he chase her? Whoelse is there to chase? He loves the excitementof the hunt; and who else around here is there tohunt? The other women hunt him. No manwants anything that comes tumbling after him.What we want is what we can't get; or at leastwhat we're not sure of getting."

Kimberly and Alice if not quite unconscious ofcomment were at least oblivious of it. Theymotored a great deal, always at their own will, and they accounted to no one for their excursions.

"They are just a pair of bad children," saidImogene to Dolly. "And they act like children."

One of their diversions in their rambling driveswas to stop children and talk with them or askquestions of them. One day near Sunbury theyencountered a puny, skeleton-faced boy, ahighway acquaintance, wheeling himself along in aninvalid chair.

They had never hitherto talked with this boyand they now stopped their car and backed up.Alice usually asked the questions. "I thoughtyou lived away at the other end of the village, laddie?"

"Yes'm, I do."

"You haven't wheeled yourself all this way?"

"Yes'm."

"What's the matter with you that you can'twalk, Tommie?" demanded Kimberly.

"My back is broken."

Alice made a sympathetic exclamation. "Mydear little fellow-I'm very sorry for you!"

The boy smiled. "Oh, don't be sorry for me."

"Not sorry for you?"

"I have a pretty good time; it's my mother-I'msorry for her."

"Ah, indeed, your mother!" echoed Alice, struckby his words. "I am sorry for both of you then.And how did you break your back?"

"In our yard-climbing, ma'am."

"Poor devil, he's not the first one that hasbroken his back climbing," muttered Kimberly, taking a note from his waistcoat. "Give himsomething, Alice."

"As much as this?" cried Alice under herbreath, looking at the note and at Kimberly.

"Why not? It's of no possible use to us, andit will be a nine-months' wonder in that littlehousehold."

Alice folded the note up and stretched herwhite-gloved hand toward the boy. "Take this hometo your mother."

"Thank you. I can make little baskets," headded shyly.

"Can you?" echoed Alice, pleased. "Wouldyou make one for me?"

"I will bring one up to your house if you wantme to."

"That would be too far! And you don't knowwhere I live."

The boy looked at the green and black car as ifhe could not be mistaken. "Up at The Towers,ma'am."

Brice, who took more than a mild interest in thesituation, grinned inwardly.

Kimberly and Alice laughed together. "Verywell; bring it to The Towers," directed Kimberly,"I'll see that she gets it."

"Yes, sir."

"And see here; don't lose that note, Tommie.By Heavens, he handles money more carelesslythan I do. No matter, wait till his mother sees it."

While they were talking to the boy, Dolly droveup in her car and stopped a moment to chat andscold. They laughed at her and she drove awayas if they were hopeless.

"Your sister is the dearest woman," remarkedAlice as Dolly's car disappeared. "I am so fondof her, I believe I am growing like her."

"Don't grow too like her."

"Why not?"

"Dolly has too much heart. It gets her intotrouble."

"She says you have too much, yourself."

"I've paid for it, too; I've been in trouble."

"And I shall be, if you don't take me homepretty soon."

"Don't let us go home as long as we can goanywhere else," pleaded Kimberly. "When wego home we are separated."

He often attempted to talk with Alice of herhusband. "Does he persecute you in any way?"demanded Kimberly, trying vainly to get to details.

Alice's answer was always the same. "Not now."

"But he used to?" Kimberly would persist.

"Don't ask me about that."

"If he ever should lay a hand on you,Alice-"

"Pray, pray," she cried, "don't look like that.And don't get excited; he is not going to lay ahand on me."

They did not reach Cedar Lodge untilsundown and when they drove up to the houseMacBirney, out from town, was seated on the bigporch alone. They called a greeting to him asthey slowed up and he answered in kind.Kimberly, without any embarrassment, got out toassist Alice from the car. The courtesy of hismanner toward her seemed emphasized inMacBirney's presence.

On this night, it was, perhaps, the picture ofKimberly standing at the door of his own cargiving his hand to MacBirney's wife to alight, thatangered the husband more than anything thathad gone before. Kimberly's consideration forAlice was so pronounced as completely to ignoreMacBirney himself.

The small talk between the two when Alicealighted, the laughing exchanges, the amiablefamiliarity, all seemed to leave no place in thesituation for MacBirney, and were undoubtedlymeant so to be understood. Kimberlygood-humoredly proffered his attentions to that endand Alice could now accept them with theutmost composure.

Fritzie had already come over to Cedar Lodgefrom Imogene's for dinner and Kimberly returnedafterward from The Towers, talking till late in theevening with MacBirney on business affairs. Hethen drove Fritzie back to The Cliffs.

MacBirney, smarting with the stings ofjealousy, found no outlet for his feeling until hewas left alone with his wife. It was after eleveno'clock when Alice, reading in her sitting-room, heard her husband try the door connecting fromhis apartments. Finding it bolted, as usual,MacBirney walked out on the loggia and came intoher room through the east door which she hadleft open for the sea-breeze. He was smoking andhe sat down on a divan. Alice laid her book onher knee.

It was a moment before he spoke. "You seemto be making Kimberly a pretty intimate memberof the family," he began.

"Oh, do you think so? Charles or Robert?"

"You know very well who I mean."

"If you mean Robert, he is a familiar in everyfamily circle around the lake. It is his way, isn'tit? I don't suppose he is more intimate here thanat Lottie's, is he? Or at Dolly's or Imogene's?"

"They are his sisters," returned MacBirney, curtly.

"Lottie isn't. And I thought you wanted merather to cultivate Robert, didn't you, Walter?"asked Alice indifferently.

He was annoyed to be reminded of the fact butmade no reply.

"Robert is a delightfully interesting man,"continued Alice recklessly, "don't you think so?"

MacBirney returned to the quarrel fromanother quarter. "Do you know how much moneyyou have spent here at Cedar Lodge in the lastfour months?"

Alice maintained her composure. "I haven'tan idea."

He paused. "I will tell you how much, sinceyou're so very superior to the subject. Just twiceas much as we spent the first five years we weremarried."

"Quite a difference, isn't it?"

"It is-quite a difference. And the differenceis reckless extravagance. You seem to have lostyour head."

"Suppose it is reckless extravagance! Whatdo you mean to say-that I spent all the money?This establishment is of your choosing, isn't it?And have you spent nothing? How do you expectto move in a circle of people such as live aroundthis lake without reckless extravagance?"

"By using a little common-sense in yourexpenditures."

For some moments they wrangled over variousdetails of the ménage. Alice at length cut thepurposeless recrimination short. "You spoke ofthe first five years we were married. You knowI spent literally nothing the first five years ofour married life. You continually said you weretrying 'to build up.' That was your cry frommorning till night, and like a dutiful wife, I woremy own old clothes for the first two years. Thenthe next three years I wore made-over hats andhunted up ready-made suits to enable you to'build up.'"

"Yes," he muttered, "and we were a good dealhappier then than we are now."

She made an impatient gesture. "Do speakfor yourself, Walter. You were happier, nodoubt. I can't remember that you ever gave meany chance to be happy."

"Too bad about you. You look like a poor, unhappy thing-half-fed and half-clothed."

"Now that you have 'built up,'" continuedAlice, "and brought me into a circle not in theleast of my choosing, and instructed me againand again to 'keep our end up,' you complainof 'reckless extravagance.'"

"Well, for a woman that I took with a travellingsuit from a bankrupt father, and put at the headof this establishment, you certainly can holdyour 'end up,'" laughed MacBirney harshly.

"Just a moment," returned Alice, with angryeyes. "You need not taunt me about my father.When you were measuring every day the sugarand coffee we were to use during the first fiveyears of our married life, you should haveforeseen you couldn't move as a millionaire amongmultimillionaires without spending a lot of money."

MacBirney turned white. "Thank you for remindingme," he retorted, with shining teeth, "ofthe thrift of which you have since had the advantages."

"Oh dear, no, Walter. The advantages of thatkind of thrift are purely imaginary. The leastspark of loving-kindness during those years wouldhave been more to me than all the petty meannessesnecessary to build up a fortune. But it is toolate to discuss all this."

MacBirney could hardly believe his ears. Herose hastily and threw himself into another chair."You've changed your tune mightily since 'thefirst five years of our married life,'" he said.

Alice tossed her head.

"But I want you to understand, I haven't."

"I believe that!"

"And I've brought you to time before now, withall of your high airs, and I'll do it again."

"Oh, no; not again."

"I'll teach you who is master under this roof."

"How like the sweet first five years that sounds!"

He threw his cigar angrily away. "I knowexactly what's the matter with you. You have runaround with this lordly Kimberly till he has turnedyour head. Now you are going to stop it, nowand here!"

"Am I?"

"You are."

"Hadn't you better tell Mr. Kimberly that?"

"I will tell you, you are getting yourself talkedabout, and it is going to stop. Everybody istalking about you."

Alice threw back her head. "So? Where didyou hear that?"

"Lambert told me yesterday."

"I hope you were manly enough to defend yourwife. Where did you see Lambert?"

"I saw him in town."

"I shouldn't listen to silly gossip from Lambert, and I shouldn't see Lambert again."

"How long have you been adviser as to whomI had better or better not see?" askedMacBirney contemptuously.

"You will find me a good adviser on some pointsin your affairs, and that is one."

"If you value your advice highly, you shouldpart with it sparingly."

"I know what you value highly; and if RobertKimberly finds out you are consorting withLambert it will end your usefulness in hiscombinations very suddenly."

The thrust, severe in any event, was made keenerby the fact that it frightened him into rage."Since you come from a family that has made sucha brilliant financial showing-" he began.

"Oh, I know," she returned wearily, "but youhad better take care." He looked at his wifeastounded. "You have insulted me enough," sheadded calmly, "about the troubles of my father.The 'first five years' are at an end. I have spoiledyou, Walter, by taking your abuse so longwithout striking back and I won't do it any more."

"What do you mean?" he cried, springing fromhis chair. "Do you think you are to keep yourdoors bolted against me for six months at a timeand then browbeat and abuse me when I comeinto your room to talk to you? Who paid forthese clothes you wear?" he demanded, pointingin a fury.

"I try never to think of that, Walter," repliedAlice, rising to her feet but controlling herselfmore than she could have believed possible. "Itry never to think of the price I have paid foranything I have; if I did, I should go mad andstrip these rags from my shoulders."

She stood her ground with flashing eyes. "I,not you," she cried, "have paid for what I haveand the clothes I wear. I paid for them-notyou-with my youth and health and hopes andhappiness. I paid for them with the life of mylittle girl; with all that a wretched woman cansacrifice to a brute. Paid for them! God help me!How haven't I paid for them?"

She stopped for sheer breath, but before hecould find words she spoke again. "Now, I amdone with you forever. I am out of your powerforever. Thank God, some one will protect mefrom your brutality for the rest of my life-"

MacBirney clutched the back of a chair. "Soyou have picked up a lover, have you? Thissounds very edifying from my dear, dutiful, religious wife." Hardly able to form the wordsbetween his trembling lips, he smiled horribly.

She turned on him like a tigress. "No," shepanted, "no! I am no longer your religious wife.It wasn't enough that I should go shabby andhungry to make you rich. Because I still hadsomething left in my miserable life to help mebear your cruelty and meanness you must takethat away too. What harm did my religion doyou that you should ridicule it and sneer at it andthreaten and abuse me for it? You grudged thefew hours I took from your household drudgeryto get to church. You promised before youmarried me that our children should be baptized in myfaith, and then refused baptism to my dying baby."

Her words rained on him in a torrent. "Yourobbed me of my religion. You made me live incontinual sin. When I pleaded for children, youswore you would have no children. When I toldyou I was a mother you cursed and villified me."

"Stop!" he screamed, running at her with an oath.

The hatred and suffering of years werecompressed into her moment of revolt. They flamedin her cheeks and burned in her eyes as she criedout her choking words. "Stop me if you dare!"she sobbed, watching him clench his fist. "If youraise your hand I will disgrace you publicly, now,to-night!"

He struck her. She disdained even to protectherself and crying loudly for Annie fell backward.Her head caught the edge of the table from whichshe had risen.

Annie ran from the bedroom at the sound ofher mistress's voice. But when she opened theboudoir door, Alice was lying alone andunconscious on the floor.

CHAPTER XXX

She revived only after long and anxiousministrations on Annie's part. But with thereturn of her senses the blood surged again in herveins in defiance of her husband. Her firstthought was one of passionate hatred of him, and the throbbing pain in her head from her fallagainst the table served to sharpen her resentment.

MacBirney, possessed of enough craft to slipaway from an unpleasant situation, returned earlyto town, only hoping the affair would blow over, and still somewhat dazed by the amazingrebellion of an enduring wife.

He realized that a storm might break now atany moment over his head. Always heavilycommitted in the speculative markets, he wellunderstood that if Kimberly should be roused tovengeance by any word from Alice the consequencesto his own fortune might be appalling.

It chanced that Kimberly was away the followingday and Alice had twenty-four hours to let herwrath cool. Two days of reflection were enough.The sense of her shame and her degradation as awoman at the hands of a man so base as herhusband were alone enough to suggest moderation inspeaking to Kimberly of the quarrel.

But more than this was to be considered. Whatwould Kimberly do if she told him everything?A scandalous encounter, even a more seriousissue between the two men was too much tothink of. She felt that Kimberly was capable inanger of doing anything immoderate and it wasbetter by far, her calmer judgment told her, tobury her humiliation in her own heart than torisk something worse. She was now, she wellknew, with this secret, a terror to her cowardlyhusband, just as he had been, through a nightmareof wretched years, her own terror.

For the first time, on the afternoon of the secondday, she found herself awaiting with burningimpatience some word from The Towers. She hadresolved what to say to Kimberly and wanted nowto say it quickly. When the telephone bell rangpromptly at four o'clock her heart dilated withhappiness; she knew the call came from one whonever would fail her. Alice answered the bellherself and her tones were never so maddeningin Kimberly's ears as when she told him, notonly that he might come, but that she was wearywith waiting. She stood at the window whenhis car drove up and tripped rapidly downstairs.When she greeted him he bent down to kiss her hand.

She did not resist his eagerness. She even drewa deep breath as she returned his look, and havingmade ready for him with a woman's lovely cunning, enjoyed its reward.

"I've been crazy to see you," he cried. "It istwo days, Alice. How can I tell you how lovelyyou are?"

Her eyes, cast down, were lifted to his when shemade her confession. "Do you really like thisrig? It is the first toilet I ever made with thethought of nobody but you in my head. So Itold Annie" she murmured, letting her hand reston his coat sleeve, "to be sure I was exactly right."

He caught her hands.

"Let's go into the garden," she said as he heldthem. "I have something to say to you."

They sat down together. "Something hashappened since I saw you," she began.

"Has the break come?" demanded Kimberly instantly.

"We had a very painful scene night before last,"said Alice. "The break has come. He has goneto town-he went yesterday morning. I haveasked myself many questions since then. Myfather and mother are dead. I have no home togo to, and I will not live even under the sameroof with him any longer. I feel so strange. Ifeel turned out, though there was nothing of thatin what he said-indeed, I am afraid I did mostof the talking."

"I wish to God I had heard you!"

"It is better not. Every heart knoweth its ownbitterness-"

"Let me help bear yours."

"I feel homeless, I feel so alone, so ashamed-Idon't know what I don't feel. You will neverknow what humiliation, what pain I have beenthrough for two days. Robert-" her voice falteredfor an instant. Then she spoke on, "I never cantell you of the sickness and shame I have long feltof even pretending to live with some one I couldnot respect."

"Close the book of its recollection. I cameinto your life for just such a moment, to beeverything you need. I am home, husband, andprotection-everything."

"If I could only make my senses believe myears." She paused. "It seems as if I am in adream and shall wake with a horror."

"No, this is a dream come true. I foresaw thistime and I have provided for it. Only delicacyhas kept me from asking you before about yourvery personal affairs and your private purse,Alice. Understand at once," he took her handsvehemently, "everything I have is yours withoutthe least reserve. Do you understand? Moneyis the last thing to make any one happy, I wellknow that, but in addition to the word of myheart to your heart-the transfers to you, Alice, have long been made and at this moment you have, merely waiting for you to draw upon them, morefunds than you could make use of in ten lifetimes.Everything is provided for. There are tears inyour eyes. Sit still for a moment and let me speak."

"No, I must speak. I am in a horrible position.I cannot at such a juncture receive anythingfrom you. But there are matters to be faced.Shall I stay here? If I do, he must go. Shall Igo? And if I do go, where?"

"Let me answer with a suggestion. My familyare all devoted to us. Dolly and Imogene are goodcounsellors. I will lay the matter before them.After a family council we shall know just what todo and how. I have my own idea; we shall seewhat the others say. Dolly, you know, has takenyou under her wing from the first, and Dollyyou will find is a powerful protector. If I tell youwhat I did to-day you will gasp with astonishment.I cabled for a whole new set of photographsof the Maggiore villa. I want our firstyear together, Alice, to be in Italy."

CHAPTER XXXI

Accompanied by Imogene, Dolly hastenedover to Cedar Lodge in the morning.Alice met them in the hall. "My dear," criedDolly, folding her impulsively in her arms, "youare charged with fate!"

Then she drew back, laid her hands on Alice'sshoulders and, bringing her face tenderly forward, kissed her. "How can I blame Robert for fallingin love with you? And yet!" She turned toImogene. "If we had been told that first nightthat this was the woman of our destiny! Howdo you bear your new honors, dearie? What!Tears! Nonsense, my child. You are freightedwith the Kimberly hopes now. You are one ofus. Tears are at an end. I, too, cried when Ifirst knew of it. Come, sit down. Imogene willtell you everything." And having announced thismuch, Dolly proceeded with the telling herself.

"When you first knew of it?" echoed Alice."Pray, when was that?"

"Oh, long, long ago-before ever you did, mydear. But no matter now. We talked last night,Arthur, Charles, Imogene, and Robert and Iuntil midnight. And this is what we said: 'Thedignity of your personal position is, beforeeverything else, to be rigidly maintained.' Mr. MacBirneywill be required to do this. He will becounselled on this point-made to understand thatthe obligation to maintain the dignity of his wife'sposition is primary. Robert, of course, objectedto this. He was for allowing no one but himselfto do anything-"

"I hope you clearly understand, Dolly, I shouldallow Mr. Kimberly to do nothing whatever atthis juncture," interposed Alice quickly.

"I understand perfectly, dear. But there areothers of us, you know, friends of your own dearmother, remember. Only, aside from all of that,we considered that the situation admitted of butone arrangement. Charles will tell Nelson exactlywhat MacBirney is to do, and Nelson will see thatit is done. The proper bankers will advise youof your credits from your husband, for thepresent-and they are to be very generous ones, mydear," added Dolly significantly. "So all that istaken care of and Mr. MacBirney will further becounselled not to come near Cedar Lodge orSecond Lake until further orders. Do you understand?"

"Why, yes, Dolly," assented Alice perplexed,"but Mr. MacBirney's acquiescence in all this isvery necessary it seems to me. And he may agreeto none of it."

"My dear, it isn't at all a question of hisagreeing. He will do as he is advised to do. Doyou imagine he can afford breaking with theKimberlys? A man that pursues money, dear heart,is no longer a free agent. His interests confronthim at every turn. Fledgling millionaires are inno way new to us. Mercy, they pass in and outof our lives every day! A millionaire, dear, isnothing but a million meannesses and they alldo exactly as they are told. Really, I am sorryfor some of them. Of all unfortunates they arenowadays the worst. They are simply ground topowder between the multi-millionaires and thelaboring classes. In this case, happily, it is onlya matter of making one do what he ought to do,so give it no thought."

Dolly proved a good prophet concerningMacBirney's course in the circumstances. MacBirney, desirous of playing at once to the lakepublic in the affair of his domestic difficulties, madeunexceptional allowances for his wife'smaintenance. Yet at every dollar that came to herfrom his abundance she felt humiliated. Sheknew now why she had endured so much at hishands for so long; it was because she had realizedher utter dependence on him and that her dreamsof self-support were likely, if she had ever actedon them, to end in very bitter realities.

At the first sign of hot weather, Charles andImogene put to sea with a party for a coastingcruise; Dolly sailed for the continent to bringGrace back with her. Robert Kimberly unwillingto leave for any extended period would notlet Alice desert him; accordingly, Fritzie wassent for and came over to stay with her. Thelake country made a delightful roaming placeand Alice was shown by Kimberly's confidenceshow close she was to him.

He confided to her the journal of the day, whatever it might be. Nothing was held back. Hissuccesses, failures, and worries all came to her atnight. He often asked her for advice upon hisaffairs and her wonder grew as the inwardnessof the monetary world in which he moved stoodrevealed to her. She spoke of it one day.

"To be sought after as you are-to have somany men running out here to find you; to beconsulted by so many-"

Kimberly interrupted her. "Do you knowwhy they seek me? Because I make money forthem, Alice. They would run after anybodythat could make them money. But they arewolves and if I lost for them they would try totear me to pieces. No man is so alone as theman the public follows for a day even while it hatesor fears him. And the man the bankers like is theman that can make money for them; their friendshipis as cold and thin as autumn ice."

"But even then, to have the ability for makingmoney and doing magnificent things; to be ableto succeed where so many men fail-it seems sowonderful to me."

"Don't cherish any illusions about it. Everyonethat makes money must be guilty of a thousandcold-blooded things, a thousand sharp turns, athousand cruelties; it's a game of cruelties.Fortunately, I'm not a brilliant success in that line, anyway; people merely think I am. The idealmoney-maker always is and always will be a manwithout a temper, without a heart, and with aninfusion, in our day, of hypocrisy. He takesrefuge in hypocrisy because the public hates himand he is forced to do it to keep from hatinghimself. When public opinion gets too strong forhim he plays to it. When it isn't too strong, heplays to himself. I can't do that; I have toomuch vanity to play to anybody. And therecollection of a single defeat rankles above thememory of a thousand victories. This is allwrong-far, far from the ideal of money getting; in fact,I'm not a professional in the game at all-merelyan amateur. A very successful man should neverbe trusted anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because success comes first with him. Itcomes before friendship and he will sacrifice youto success without a pang."

She looked at him with laughing interest."What is it?" he asked changing his tone.

"I was thinking of how I am impressed sometimesby the most unexpected things. You couldnever imagine what most put me in awe of youbefore I met you."

"There must have been a severe revulsion offeeling when you did meet me," suggested Kimberly.

"We were going up the river in your yacht andMr. McCrea was showing us the refineries. Allthat I then knew of you was what I had read innewspapers about calculating and cold-bloodedtrust magnates. Mr. McCrea was pointing outthe different plants as we went along."

"The river is very pretty at the Narrows."

"First, we passed the independent houses.They kept getting bigger and bigger until I couldn'timagine anything to overshadow them and Ibegan to get frightened and wonder what yourrefineries would be like. Then, just as we turned atthe island, Mr. McCrea pointed out a perfectlyhuge cluster of buildings and said those were theKimberly plants. Really, they took my breathaway. And in the midst of them rose thatenormous oblong chimney-stack. A soft, lazy columnof smoke hovered over it-such as hovers overVesuvius." She smiled at the remembrance."But the repose and size of that chimney seemedto me like the strength of the pyramids. Whenwe steamed nearer I could read, near the top, the great terra-cotta plaque: KIMBERLYS ANDCOMPANY. Then I thought: Oh, what atremendous personage Mr. Robert Kimberly must be!"

"The chimney is yours."

"Oh, no, keep it, pray-but it really did put mewondering just what you were like."

"It must have been an inspiration that mademe build that chimney. The directors thought Iwould embarrass the company before we got thefoundations in. I didn't know then whom I wasbuilding it for, but I know now; and if you gota single thrill out of it the expenditure is justified.And I think mention of the thrill should go into thedirectors' minutes on the page where they objectedto the bill-we will see about that. But you neverexpected at that moment to own the chimney, did you? You shall. I will have the trusteesrelease it from the general mortgage and conveyit to you."

"And speaking of Vesuvius, you never dreamedof a volcano lying in wait for you beneath thelazy smoke of that chimney, did you? And thatbefore very long you would not alone own thechimney but would be carrying the volcano aroundin your vanity bag?"

CHAPTER XXXII

One afternoon in the early autumn Kimberlycame to Cedar Lodge a little later than usualand asked Alice, as he often did, to walk to thelake. He started down the path with somethingmore than his ordinary decision and inclined fora time to reticence. They stopped at a benchnear an elm overlooking the water. "You havebeen in town to-day," said Alice.

"Yes; a conference this morning on the market.Something extraordinary happened."

"In the market?"

"Market conditions are bad enough, but thiswas something personal."

"Tell me about it."

"MacBirney was present at the conference.After the meeting he came to the head of the tablewhere I was talking with McCrea-and sat down.When McCrea joined the others in thelunchroom, MacBirney said he wanted to speak tome a moment. I told him to go ahead.

"He began at once about his differences withyou. His talk puzzled me. I was on thedefensive, naturally. But as far as I could see, hedesigned no attack on me; and of you he couldutter nothing but praise-it was rather trying tolisten to. I could not fathom his purpose in bringingthe matter before me in this singular way, buthe ended with an appeal-"

"An appeal!"

"He asked me to bring a message to you. Itold him I would deliver any message entrustedto me. He wants you to know that he is verysorry for what has taken place. He admits thathe has been in the wrong-"

"It is too late!" Alice in her emotion rose toher feet.

"And he asks you, through me," Kimberly spokeunder a strain he did not wholly conceal, "if hemay come back and let the past bury itself."

"It is too late."

"He said," Kimberly rose and faced Alice,"there had been differences about religion-"

"Ask him," she returned evenly, "whether Iever sought to interfere with his religious views orpractices."

"These, he promises, shall not come betweenyou again."

"Wretched man! His words are not theslightest guarantee of his conduct."

Kimberly took his hat from his head and wipedhis forehead. "This was the message, Alice;is he to come back to you?"

"Whatever becomes of me, I never will liveagain with him."

"That is irrevocable?"

"Yes."

"I have kept my word-that you should havehis message as straight as I could carry it."

"I believe you have. He certainly could not, whatever his intentions, have paid you a highertribute than to entrust you with one for me."

"Then he does not and never can stand betweenyou and me, Alice?"

"He never can."

The expression of his eyes would have frightenedher at a moment less intense. Slightly paler thanshe had been a year earlier and showing in hermanner rather than in her face only indefinabletraces of the trouble she had been through, Alicebrought each day to Kimberly an attraction thatrenewed itself unfailingly.

He looked now upon her eyes-he was alwaysasking whether they were blue or gray-and uponher brown hair, as it framed her white forehead. Helooked with tender fondness on the delicate cheeksthat made not alone a setting for her frank eyesbut for him added to the appeal of her lips. He satdown again, catching her hand to bring her close.

"Come," he urged, relaxing from his intensity,"sit down. By Heaven, I have suffered to-day!But who wouldn't suffer for you? Who but forthe love of woman would bear the cares andburdens of this world?"

Alice smiled oddly. "We have to bear them, you know, for the love of man." She sat down onthe bench beside him. "Tell me, how have yousuffered to-day?"

"Do you want to know?"

"Of course, I want to know. Don't you alwayswant to know how I have suffered? Though Iused to think," she added, as if moved byunpleasant recollections, "that nobody cares when awoman suffers."

"The man that loves her cares. It is one oflove's attributes. It makes a woman's sorrow andpain his, just as her joy and happiness are his.Pleasure and pain are twins, anyway, and youcannot separate them. Alice!" He looked suddenlyat her. "You love me, don't you?"

Her face crimsoned, for she realized he was benton making her answer.

"Let us talk about something else, Robert."

He repeated his question.

"Don't make me put it into words yet, Robert,"she said at last. "You have so long known theanswer-and know that I still speak as his wife. DoI love you?" She covered her face with her hands.

"Alice!" His appeal drew her eyes back tohis. They looked speechless at each other. Themoment was too much. Instinctively she sprangin fear to her feet, but only to find herself caughtwithin his arm and to feel his burning lips on herlips. She fought his embrace in half-deliriousreproach. Then her eyes submitted to his pleadingand their lips met with her soft, plunging pulsebeating swiftly upon his heart.

It was only for an instant. She pushed himaway. "I have answered you. You must spareme now or I shall sink with shame."

"But you are mine," he persisted, "all mine."

She led him up the path toward the house.

"Sometimes I am afraid I shall swallow you up,as the sea swallows up the ship, in a storm ofpassion."

"Oh no, you will not."

"Why not?"

"Because I am helpless. Was there more toyour story?"

"You know then I haven't told it all."

"Tell me the rest."

"When he had finished, I told him I, too, hadsomething to say. 'I shall deliver your messageto Alice,' I said. 'But it is only fair to say to youI mean to make her my wife if she will accept me, and her choice will lie between you and me, MacBirney.'

"You should have seen his amazement. Thenhe collected himself for a stab-and I tried not tolet him see that it went deep. 'Whatever theoutcome,' he said, 'she will never marry you.'

"'You must recollect you have not been in herconfidence for some time,' I retorted. He seemedin no way disconcerted and ended by disconcertingme. 'Remember what I tell you, Mr. Kimberly,'he repeated, 'you will find me a good prophet.She is a Catholic and will never marry you or anyother man while I live.'

"'You may be right,' I replied. 'But if Alicemarries me she will never live to regret it for onemoment on account of her religion. I have noreligion myself, except her. She is my religion, she alone and her happiness. You seem toinvoke her religion against me. What right haveyou to do this? Have you helped her in itspractice? Have you kept the promises you madewhen you married a Catholic wife? Or have youmade her life a hell on earth because she tried topractise her religion, as you promised she shouldbe free to do? Is she a better Catholic becauseshe believed in you, or a worse because to live inpeace with you she was forced to abandon thepractice of her religion? These are questionsfor you to think over, MacBirney. I will giveher your message-'

"'Give her my message,' he sneered. 'Youwould be likely to!'

"'Stop!' I said. 'My word, MacBirney, isgood. Friend and foe of mine will tell you that.Even my enemies accept my word. But if I couldbring myself to deceive those that trust me I wouldchoose enemies to prey upon before I chose friends.I could deceive my own partners. I could playfalse to my own brother-all this I could do andmore. But if I could practise deceits a thousandtimes viler than these, I could not, so help meGod, lie to a trusting girl that I had asked to bemy wife and the mother of my children! Whateverelse of baseness I stooped to, that word shouldbe forever good!'

"Alice, I struck the table a blow that madethe inkstands jump. My eye-glasses went with acrash. Nelson and McCrea came running in;MacBirney turned white. He tried to stretch hislips in a smile; it was ghastly. Everybody waslooking at me. I got up without a word to anyone and left the room."

Alice caught his sleeve. "Robert, I am proudof you! How much better you struck than youknew! Oh," she cried, "how could I help loving you?"

"Do you love me?"

"I would give my life for you."

"Don't give it for me; keep it for me. Youwill marry me; won't you? What did the curmean by saying what he did, Alice?"

"He meant to taunt me; to remind me of howlong I tried to live in some measure up to thereligion that he used every means to drive mefrom-and did drive me from."

"We will restore all that."

"He meant I must come to you without itsblessing."

He looked suddenly and keenly at her. "Shouldyou be happier with its blessing?"

"Ah, Robert."

"But should you?"

She gazed away. "It is a happiness I have lost."

"Then you shall have it again."

"I will trust to God for some escape from mydifficulties. What else can I do? My husband!"she exclaimed bitterly-"generous man to remindme of religion!"

Kimberly spoke with a quick resolve. "I amgoing to look into this matter of where you standas a wife. I am going to know why you can'thave a chance to live your life with me. If Igive you back what he has robbed you of, ourhappiness will be doubled."

CHAPTER XXXIII

When Kimberly reached The Towers it wasdusk. Brother Francis was walking onthe terrace. Kimberly joined him. "How isUncle John to-day, Francis?"

"Always the same. It is an astonishing vitalityin your family, Robert."

"They need all they have."

"But all that need strength do not have it.How is your market to-day?"

"Bad," muttered Kimberly absently.

"I am sorry that you are worried."

"More than the market worries me, Francis.But the market is getting worse and worse. Wemet again to-day and reduced prices. Theoutsiders are cutting. We retaliate to protect ourcustomers. When we cut, the cut is universal.Their warfare is guerilla. They are here to-day, there to-morrow."

"I have thought of what you said last night.Cutting you say, has failed. Try something else.To-morrow advance all of your standard brandsone quarter. Be bold; cut with your own outsiderefineries. The profit from the one hand paysthe cost of the war on the other."

Kimberly stopped. "How childish of you towaste your life in a shabby black gown, nursingpeople! Absolutely childish! If you will go intothe sugar business, I tell you again, Francis, Iwill pay you twenty thousand dollars a year forten years and set aside as much more preferredstock for you."

"Nonsense, Robert."

"You are a merchant. You could make aname for yourself. The world would respect you.There are enough to do the nursing, and too fewbrains in the sugar business. To-night I willgive the orders and the advance shall be madewhen the market opens."

"But your directors?"

"We will direct the directors. They have hadtwo months to figure how to fight the scalpers; you show me in twenty-four hours. Some monkswere in to see me this morning; I was too busy.They told my secretary they were building anasylum for old men. I told him to say, not adollar for old men; to come to me when theywere building an asylum for old women. Whatdo you say to my offer, Francis?"

"What do I say? Ah, Robert, although youare a very big paymaster, I am working for aPaymaster much bigger than you. What do I say?I say to you, give up this sugar business and comewith me to the nursing. I will give you rags inplace of riches, fasting in place of fine dinners, toil in place of repose, but my Paymaster-Hewill reward you there for all you endure here."

"Always deferred dividends. Besides, I shouldmake a poor nurse, Francis, and you would makea good sugar man. And you seem to imply I ama bad man in the sugar business. I am not; Iam a very excellent man, but you don't seem toknow it."

"I hope so; I hope you are. God has givenyou splendid talents-he has given you morereason, more heart, more judgment than he has givento these men around you. If you waste, you arein danger of the greater punishment."

"But I don't waste. I build up. What can aman do in this world without power? He musthave the sinews of empire to make himself felt.Francis, what would Cromwell, Frederick,Napoleon have been without power?"

"Ah! These are your heroes; they are notmine. I give glory to no man that overcomes byforce, violence, and worse-fraud, broken faith, misrule, falsehood. What is more detestablethan the triumph of mere brains? Your heroes,do they not tax, extort, pillage, slaughter, andburn for their own glory? Do they not ride overlaw, morality, and justice, your world's heroes?They are not my heroes. When men shrink atnothing to gain their success-what shall we say ofthem? But to hold law, morality, and justiceinviolable; to conquer strength but only byweakness, to vanquish with pity, to crush withmercy-that alone is moving greatness."

"Where do you find it?" demanded Kimberly sharply.

"Never where you look for your heroes; oftenwhere I look for mine-among the saints of God.Not in men of bronze but in men of clay. It isonly Christ who puts the souls of heroes intohearts of flesh and blood."

"But you have, along with your saints, somevery foolish rules in your church, Francis. Takethe case of Mrs. MacBirney. There is a womanwho has done evil to no one and good to every one.She finds herself married to a man who thenceforthdevotes himself to but one object in life-thepiling up of money. She is forgotten andneglected. That is not the worst; he, with noreligion of his own, makes it his business to harassand worry her in the practice of hers. He is filledwith insane jealousies, and moved by equallyinsane hatreds of whatever she desires. I comeinto their lives. I see this proud and unhappywoman struggling to keep her trials hidden. Ibreak down the barriers of her reserve-not easily, not without being repulsed and humiliated as Inever before have been by a woman-and at lastmake her, unwillingly, tell me the truth.Meantime her husband, after a scene-of which I havenever yet learned the real facts-has left her.I say such a woman has the right to free herselffrom a brute such as this; your church says 'no.'"

"Robert, I see what you are coming to. Butdo not make the case harder than it is. She mayfree herself from him if she cannot live in peacewith him; she may leave him under intolerableconditions. But not marry again."

"Precisely. And I offer her my devotion anda home and only ask to make her truly my wifeand restore to her the religion he has robbed herof. And this very religion that he has trampledon and throttled, what does it say? 'No.'"

"You state a hard case. Your reasoning is veryplausible; you plead for the individual. Thereis no law, human or divine, against which theindividual might not show a case of hardship. Thelaw that you find a hardship protects society.But to-day, society is nothing, the individualeverything. And while society perishes we praise thetolerant anarchism that destroys it."

"Francis, you invoke cruelty. What do I carefor society? What has society done for me?"

"No, I invoke responsibility, which none of uscan forever escape. You seek remarriage. Yourcare is for the body; but there is also the soul."

"Your law is intolerant."

"Yours is fatal. How often have you said tome-for you have seen it, as all thoughtful men seeit-that woman is sinking every day from the highestate to which marriage once lifted her. Andthe law that safeguards this marriage and againstwhich you protest is the law of God. I cannotapologize for it if I would; I would not if I could.Think what you do when you break down thebarrier that He has placed about a woman. It isnot alone that the Giver of this law died a shamefuldeath for the souls of men. You do not believethat Christ was God, and Calvary means nothing to you.

"But, Robert, to place woman in that highposition, millions of men like you and me, menwith the same instincts, the same appetites, thesame passions as yours and mine, have crucifiedtheir desires, curbed their appetites, and masteredtheir passions-and this sacrifice has been goingon for nineteen hundred years and goes on aboutus every day. Who realizes it?

"Faith is ridiculed, fasting is despised, the veryidea of self-denial is as absurd to pagan to-day asit was nineteen hundred years ago to pagan Rome.And with its frivolous marriages and easy divorcesthe world again drags woman back to the couchof the concubine from which Christianity with somuch blood and tears lifted her up nineteenhundred years ago."

"Francis, you are a dreamer. Society is gone; you can't restore it. I see only a lovely womanits victim. I am not responsible for the conditionthat made her one and I certainly shall not standby and see her suffer because the world isrotten-nor would you-don't protest, I know you, too.So I am going to raise her as high as man canraise a woman. She deserves it. She deservesinfinitely more. I am only sorry I can't raise herhigher. I am going to make her my wife; andyou, Francis, shall dance at the wedding. Oh, you needn't throw up your hands-you are goingto dance at the wedding."

"Non posso, non posso. I cannot dance, Robert."

"You don't mean, Francis," demanded Kimberlyseverely suspicious, "to tell me you wouldlike me the less-that you would be other thanyou have been to me-if you saw me happilymarried?"

"How could I ever be different to you fromwhat I have been? Every day, Robert, I prayfor you."

Kimberly's brows contracted. "Don't do it."

Francis's face fell. "Not?"

"For the present let me alone. I'm doing verywell. The situation is delicate."

Francis's distress was apparent, and Kimberlycontinued good-naturedly to explain. "Don't stirGod up, Francis; don't you see? Don't attracthis attention to me. I'm doing very well. All Iwant is to be let alone."

CHAPTER XXXIV

"By the way, how does it seem to be quite afree woman?" said Kimberly one eveningto Alice.

"What do you mean?"

"Your decree was granted to-day."

She steeled herself with an exclamation. "Thatnightmare! Is it really over?"

He nodded. "Now, pray forget it. You see, you were called to the city but once. You spentonly ten minutes in the judge's chambers, andanswered hardly half a dozen questions. Youhave suffered over it because you are toosensitive-you are as delicate as Dresden. And this iswhy I try to stand between you and everythingunpleasant."

"But sha'n't you be tired of always standingbetween me and everything unpleasant?"

He gazed into her eyes and they returned hissearching look with the simplicity of faith. Intheir expression he felt the measure of hishappiness. "No," he answered, "I like it. It is mypart of the job. And when I look upon you, when I am near you, even when I breathe thefragrance of your belongings-of a glove, a fan,a handkerchief-I have my reward. Every trifleof yours takes your charm upon itself."

He laid a bulky package in her lap. "Hereare the maps and photographs."

"Oh, this is the villa." Alice's eye ran withdelight over the views as she spread them beforeher. "Tell me everything about it."

"I have not seen it since I was a boy. Butabove Stresa a pebbled Roman highway winds intothe northern hills. It is flanked with low walls ofrotten stone and shaded with plane trees. Halfan hour above the town an ilex grove marks avilla entrance."

He handed her a photograph. "This is the grove, these are the gates-they are by Krupp, and youwill like them. Above them are the DutchKimberly arms-to which we have no right whateverthat I can discover. But wasn't it delightfullyAmerican for Dolly to appropriate them?

"The roadway grows narrower as it climbs.Again and again it sinks into the red hill-side, leaving a wall tapestried with ivy. Indeed, it windsabout with hardly any regard for a fixed destination, but the air is so bland and the skies at everyturn are so soft, that pretty soon you don't carewhether you ever get anywhere or not. The hillsare studded with olives and oranges.

"When you have forgotten that you have adestination the road opens on a lovely pineto.You cross it to a casino on the eastern edge andthere is the lake, two hundred feet below andstretching away into the Alps.

"Above the casino you lose yourself amongcedars, chestnuts, magnolias, and there are littlegorges with clumps of wild laurel. Figs andpomegranates begin beyond the gorge. Thearbors are hidden by oleander trees and terracesof camellias rise to the belvedere-the tree yousee just beside it there is a magnolia.

"Back of this lies the garden, laid out in theold Italian style, and crowning a point far abovethe lake stands the house. The view is a promiseof paradise-you have the lake, the mountains, the lowlands, the walnut groves, yellow campaniles, buff villas, and Alpine sunsets."

"You paint a lovely picture."

"But incomplete; to-night you are free to tellme when I can take you. Make it an early day,Alice. The moment we are married, we start.We will land at any little port along the Rivierathat strikes your fancy, have a car to meetus, and drive thence by easy stages to the lake.From the moment we touch at Gibraltar youwill fall in love with everything anew; there isonly one Mediterranean-one Italy, cara miaben. Let us go in. I want you to sing my song."

They walked into the house and to the dimlylighted music room. There they sat downtogether on the piano bench and she sang for him,"Caro Mio Ben."

CHAPTER XXXV

Not every day brought unalloyed happiness.Moments of depression asserted themselveswith Alice and, if tolerated, led to periods ofdespondency. She found herself seeking ahappiness that seemed to elude her.

Even her depression, banished by recreation, leftbehind something of a painful subconsciousnesslike the uneasy subsidence of a physical pain.Activity thus became a part of her daily routineand she gained a reputation for lively spirits.

Kimberly, whose perception was not often atfault, puzzled over the strain of gayety that seemedto disclose a new phase in Alice's nature. Once, after a gay day at Sea Ridge, he surprised her athome in the evening and found her too depressedto dissemble.

"Now," he said, taking both her hands, "youare going to tell me what the matter is."

"Robert, nothing is the matter."

"Something is the matter," he persisted. "Tellme what it is."

"It is less than nothing. Just a miserablespectre that haunts me sometimes. And when Ifeel in that way, I think I am still his wife. Nowyou are vexed with me."

"Not for an instant, darling; only perplexed.Your worries are mine and we must work outsome relief for them, that is all. And when thingsworry me you will help me do away with myspectres, won't you?"

He soothed and quieted her, not by ridiculeand harshness but by sympathy and understanding, and her love for him, which had found a timidfoothold in the frailest response of her womanlyreserve, now sent its roots deep into her nature.

It was nothing to her that he was great in theworld's eyes; that in itself would have repelledher-she knew what the world would say of herambition in marrying him. But he grew in hereyes because he grew in her heart as she came torealize more and more his solicitude for herhappiness-the only happiness, he told her, in whichhe ever should find his own.

"I know how it will end, Robert." Theywere parting after a moment the most intensethey had ever allowed themselves together. Shewas putting away his unwilling arms, as shelooked in the darkness of the garden up intohis face.

"How will it end?" he asked.

"In my loving you as much as you love me."

Winter passed and the spring was again uponthem before they realized it. In the entertainingaround the lake they had been fêted until it wasa relief to run away from it all, as they often did.To escape the park-like regularity of their owndomains, they sought for their riding or drivingthe neglected country below the village.Sometimes on their horses they would explore thebackwoods roads and attempt swampy lanes wherefrogs and cowslips disputed their entry and boggypools menaced escape.

Alice, hatless and flushed with laughter and thewind, would lead the way into abandonedwood-paths and sometimes they found one that ledthrough a forest waste to a hidden pond wherethe sun, unseen of men, mirrored itself in glassywaters and dogwood reddened the margin wheretheir horses drank.

In the woods, if she offered a race, Kimberlycould never catch Alice no matter what his mount.She loved to thread a reckless way among saplingtrees, heedless of branches that caught her neckand kissed her cheeks as she hurried on-ridinggave them delightful hours.

They were coming into the village one Maymorning after a long cross-country run when theyencountered a procession of young girls movingacross the road from the parish school to thechurch and singing as they went. The churchitself was en fête. Country folk gathered alongthe road-side and clustered about the church doorwhere a priest in surplice waited the coming procession.

Kimberly and Alice, breathing their horses, halted. Dressed in white, like child brides, thelittle maidens advanced in the sunshine, their eyescast down in recollection and moving together inawkward, measured step. From their wrists hungrosaries. In their clasped hands they carriedprayer-books and white flowers, and white veilshung from the rose wreaths on their foreheads.

"How pretty!" exclaimed Kimberly as thechildren came nearer.

"Robert," asked Alice suddenly, "what day is this?"

"Thursday, isn't it?"

"It is Ascension Thursday."

The church-bells began to ring clamorously andthe little girls, walking slowly, ceased their song.The lovers waited. Childhood, hushed withexpectancy and moving in the unconscious appealof its own innocence, was passing them.

The line met by the young priest reached theopen door. Kimberly noted the wistful look inAlice's eyes as the little band entered the church.She watched until the last child disappeared andwhen she spoke to her horse her eyes were wet.Her companion was too tactful to venture aquestion. They rode until his silence told her hewas aware of her agitation and she turned to him.

"Do you know," she said, slowly searching hiseyes, "that you are awfully good?"

"If I am," he responded, "it is a discovery.And the honor, I fear, is wholly yours."

"It is something," she smiled, her voice verysweet, "to have lived to give that news to the world."

They rode again in silence. She felt it would beeasier if he were to question her, but it was onlyafter some time that he said: "Tell me what thelittle procession was about."

"I am ashamed to have acted in this way. Butthis was the day of my First Communion,Ascension Thursday. It was only a coincidence thatI should see a First Communion class this morning."

"What is First Communion?"

"Oh, don't you know?" There was a sadnessin the tone. "You don't, of course, you dearpagan. It is you who should have been the Christianand I a pagan. You would never have fallen away."

"You only think you have fallen away, Alice.You haven't. Sometimes you seem to act as ifyou had fallen from some high estate. You havenot; don't think it. You are good enough to bea saint-do you give me credit for no insight? Itell you, you haven't fallen away from yourreligion. If you had, you would be quite at ease, and you are very ill at ease over it. Alice," heturned about in his saddle, "you would be happierif our marriage could be approved by your church."

"It never can be."

"I have led a number of forlorn hopes in myday. I am going to try this one. I have madeup my mind to see your archbishop-I havespoken with Francis about it. I am going tofind out, if nothing more, exactly where we stand."

CHAPTER XXXVI

In response to a request from Kimberly,Hamilton came out to spend the night at TheTowers. Dolly was leaving just as the doctorarrived. She beckoned him to her car.

"You are to save the sixteenth for us, doctor; don't forget to tell Mrs. Hamilton," she said."We have persuaded Robert to give a lawn fête forGrace and Larrie and we want you. Then, too-butthis is a secret-Robert's own wedding occurstwo weeks later. That will be private, of course,so the affair on the sixteenth will include all of ourfriends, and we want you to be sure to be here."

When the doctor sat down with Kimberly inthe library after dinner, the latter spoke of hiscoming marriage. "You know," he said briefly,as the doctor took a book from the table, "I amgoing to make Mrs. MacBirney my wife."

"I do. I rejoice in it. You know what Ithink of her."

"She has at last set the date and we are to bemarried on the thirtieth of June. It will be veryquiet, of course. And, by the way, save thesixteenth of June for us, doctor."

"Mrs. De Castro has told me. We shall beglad to come out."

"You, I know, do not approve of marriages madethrough divorce," continued Kimberly, bluntly.

"No, nor do you," returned the doctor. "Notas a general proposition. In this case, frankly, Ilook on it as the most fortunate thing that hashappened in the Kimberly family since your ownmother married into it."

"She was a Whitney," muttered Kimberly, leaning back and lifting his chest as he often didwhen talking. "Arthur De Castro has a strainof that blood. He has all her refinement. TheKimberlys are brutes.

"MacBirney," he went on abruptly, "complainedto McCrea yesterday-among other thingsthat he wants to quarrel about-that I had brokenup his home. I have not; I think you know that."

"A man came to me the other day" – the doctorlaid aside his book-"to say he was going to standon his 'rights' and sue for alienation a man who hadrun off with his wife. He asked me what I thoughtof it. 'I suppose you want my honest opinion,'I replied. 'Yet I am afraid it won't comfort youmuch. What "rights" have you established inyour marriage that anybody is bound to respect?' Helooked at me astonished. 'The rights of ahusband,' he answered. 'Doesn't the law, doesn'tsociety give them to me?' 'A man that asks equityfrom society,' said I, 'ought to come into court withclean hands.' I should like to know whosehands are cleaner than mine,' he replied, 'Imarried, made a home for my wife and supported her.'"

Kimberly leaning further back let his chin sinkon his breast, but his eyes shining under his blackbrows showed that he followed the story.

"'But where are the fruits of your marriage?' Iasked," continued the doctor, narrating. "'Don'tstare at me-where are the children? How haveyou lived with your wife? As nature and law andsociety intended you should-or as a mereparamour? Children would have protected yourwife as a woman; the care of children would havefilled her life and turned her mind from thedistraction of listening to another man. Why didn'tyou make a wife and mother of the woman youmarried instead of a creature? In that case youmight have pleaded "rights." But you thoughtyou could beat the game; and the game has beatenyou. You thought you could take the indulgenceof marriage without its responsibilities. Eitheryou debased your wife to your level or allowedher to debase you to hers. Don't talk about"rights," you haven't any.'"

Hamilton ceased.

"What did the fellow say?" asked Kimberly.

"What could he say?" demanded Hamilton.

They sat a moment in silence.

Kimberly broke it. "It is a humiliating fact,Hamilton-I often think of it," he saidmoodily-"that the only way in which we can determineour own moral standing is by measuring thestandards of our vicious classes. I mean by ourvicious classes the social driftwood who figure inthe divorce courts and the scandal of the day andshould be placed in a social penitentiary.

"What is really alarming to-day is that ourstandards of what constitutes vice have fallen solow. We speak of husbands; has there ever beena period in the history of our race when husbandshave fallen so low? There was a time when theman that spoke the English tongue would defendhis home with his life-"

"In those days they had homes to defend."

" – when it meant death to the man thatcrossed the threshold of his honor-"

"They had honor, too."

"But consider the baseness the Americanhusband has reached. When he suspects his wife'sinfidelity, instead of hiding his possible disgrace,he employs detectives to make public thehumiliating proofs of it. He advertises himself inthe bill he files in the courts. He calls on allmen to witness his abasement. He proclaims hisshame from the housetops and wears his stripesas a robe of honor. And instead of killing theinterloper he brands the woman that bears hisname, perhaps the mother of his children, as apublic creature-isn't it curiously infamous? Andthis is what our humane, enlightened, andprogressive social views have brought us to-we havefallen too low to shoot!

"However," concluded Kimberly, shakinghimself free from the subject, "my own situationpresents quite other difficulties. And, by the way,Francis is still ailing. He asked the superioryesterday for a substitute and went home ill.You have seen Uncle John?"

"A moment, before dinner."

"Is he failing, Hamilton?"

"Mentally, no; physically, he loses ground lately."

"We die hard," said Kimberly, reflecting, "wecan't help it. The old gentleman certainlybrightened up after he heard of my coming marriage.Not that I told him-Dolly did so. It pleased himmarvellously. I couldn't understand exactly why, but Dolly suggested it was one of the naturalinstincts of Uncle John coming out. His eyessparkle when the subject is mentioned,"continued Kimberly dryly. "I really think it is thecovetous instinct in him that is gratified. He hasalways disliked MacBirney and always itched tosee him 'trimmed.' This seems to satisfy, heroically, Uncle John's idea of 'trimming' him. Heis as elated as if he were doing the 'trimming'himself."

Kimberly explained to Hamilton why he hadsent for him and asked him for a letter ofintroduction to the archbishop, whom he desired tomeet.

"You are on one or two executive boards withhim, I think," suggested Kimberly. "Do youknow him well enough to oblige me?"

"I know him very well," returned Hamilton."And you, too, ought to know him."

The surgeon wrote the note at once.

"MOST REVEREND AND DEAR ARCHBISHOP:

CHAPTER XXXVII

Kimberly was lunching next day at thecity office when MacBirney's name came inwith a request for an interview. He was admittedwithout delay and while a valet removed the traysand the table, Kimberly greeted his visitor and, indicating a chair, asked him to sit down. He sawat a glance the suppressed feeling in MacBirney'smanner; the latter, in fact, carried himself as aman fully resolved to carry out a course yetfearful of the results.

"I have come to give notice of my withdrawalfrom the June pool in common," began MacBirneywithout preface.

"I am not the one to give notice to," returnedKimberly civilly, "inasmuch as I am not in theJune pool and not in touch with its operations."

"Well, I've sold-I am selling," MacBirneycorrected himself hastily, "my allotment, nomatter who is at interest."

"McCrea and my brother are the organizers-"

"I understand," interjected MacBirney, "thatyou made a good deal of talk about my action inthe December pool a year ago-I give you nochance to say I haven't served ample notice this time."

"On the contrary, I quieted a great deal oftalk about your action a year ago. It was sogrossly unfair to your associates that I ascribedyour unloading of your stock without notifyingthem to rank ignorance, and was disposed tooverlook it on that ground."

MacBirney smiled with some sarcasm. "Thoughyou were careful enough to say publicly that youwould never be caught in another pool with me."

"I never have been, have I? And I did not'say publicly'; I said so to McCrea, who had mypermission to tell you. It cost me six hundredthousand dollars at that time to support themarket against you for three days. And while I liketo see my associates make money, I object to theirmaking it out of me."

"You didn't say so to poison my wife against me?"

"I have never, MacBirney, spoken of that or ofany other of your business affairs to your wife.I never have spoken even your name to your wife,in praise or in blame, until you left her-excepttwice to ask her if she loved you. Even that shetreated as an insult."

"You must have made some progress since then."

Kimberly's head began to move slowly fromside to side. "I am told," added MacBirney,in a thin, hard voice, "you are getting ready tomarry her."

"Quite true, I am."

MacBirney's rage forced him to his feet. "Iam beginning to understand now, Kimberly," heframed the words slowly and carefully, "the wayyou have plotted against me from the start. I waswarned before I ever saw you that you had norespect for the law of God or man where a womanwas concerned. I was warned that no womanwas safe near you."

Kimberly eyed his enraged associate calmly."You are travelling far in a few words, MacBirney.I hope you understand, once for all, that certainlimits cover a situation even such as this. I don'tlike your last phrase. It might be made to applyunpleasantly to a woman now very dear to me. Iam used to angry men, and what you say about me-"

"What I say about-"

"What you say about me is allowable, nomatter what I think of it. But understand this, ifyou say one word about her-here or elsewhere, now or hereafter-I will stop you, if I have tochoke you with my own hands."

"You can't scare me, Kimberly."

"I don't want to; I don't want to choke you; but if you wish to see me try it, pass that limitjust once. Now go on, MacBirney."

"I could have nothing to say against Alice."

Kimberly nodded heartily in approval.

"But I have something to say about a man whopretended to be my friend-"

"I never pretended to be your friend."

" – And played traitor to me as you have done.But it's of a piece with your whole record. Firstyou got me down here-"

"I never got you down here."

" – Then you began to lay your plans to ruinmy home."

"What were you doing all this time? Tryingto circumvent me by making your home happyor trying to help me by neglecting it?"

MacBirney shook his finger at Kimberly inrage. "You can't escape with smooth phrases.You broke up my home!"

Kimberly had regained his coolness. "No, youbroke it up. Long before I ever saw you, youbroke up your home. It was broken up and onlywaiting for some one to save your wife from thewreck. MacBirney, you have made a success ofyour business; one one-hundredth of the effort youhave given to your business would have saved yourhome. Yet you thought you could treat your wifelike a servant, humiliate and abuse her and stillhold her forth a figurehead for your 'home'!"muttered Kimberly with scorn.

"You, yourself, put her up to the divorce.Deny that, will you?"

"No, I will not deny it," retorted Kimberlyrelapsing into indifference. "After I came into herlife she followed my advice. I believe I haveadvised her for the best."

"I see your finger trailing through every turn ofmy trouble now. I saw it too late. But I'm notdone with you. And I'm not the only man thatunderstands your trickery. Lambert will haveyou on your knees in the sugar business beforeyou are very much older. Now, I have come toyou with a straight proposition. I want theescrow control of the Western refineries. If you areready to give it to me we will make a workingagreement and have peace. If you are not, I willback Lambert in a string of modern plants thatwill drive you out of the Western field. We areready; the question for you to consider is whetheryou want to compromise."

At this threat Kimberly, so far as the wordscould be used of him, went to pieces. To beoutfaced in his own headquarters by one whom hewould have termed a hare-brained upstart in therefining world was too much for his poise. Theonly outward indication of his surprise anddisgust was a smile; but it was a dangerous smile."I am afraid I am not enough of a business manto compromise, MacBirney," he responded inlow tones. "You can't have the escrow controlof the Western refineries."

"Very good. That decision suits me. I amnow practically out of your stock; we shall seewhat we shall see."

"One moment, MacBirney," said Kimberly, moved by some sudden impulse of mercy followinghis rage, as if MacBirney were really too smallfry to pit himself against. "You have brought apersonal affair and a business affair before me.The business affair, as you are still my associate, Imay say a word on. Don't put any money youcan't afford to lose behind Lambert, for it willall go. I myself have not got resources enough togive that man a free hand. He has a genius in onedirection-that of talking men out of their money.

"Moreover, in this case there is a personalfriction of long standing between him and me, andI will never let him lift his head in the sugarbusiness in this country while I am at the head ofthese companies, not if I have to work twenty-fourhours a day to clean him out. But that wouldnot be necessary-for he will not only attend toruining himself but to ruining every man thatgoes with him. If you want to quit us, do so.Build as many refineries as you like and we willtry to get on peaceably with you-though Imyself would not put a dollar into new refineriesto-day. You are rich; you had eight hundredthousand dollars when I paid you for your junk, and you made two million dollars in the Decemberpool alone-a good part of it out of me. Youwill take from these offices eight million dollars inless than three years."

MacBirney's alarm at Kimberly's intimateknowledge of his resources showed in his face."In railroads you might make it forty millionsin the next ten years, with even average prudence,"continued Kimberly calmly. "Sugar will be aload, anyway you go into it; but sugar andLambert will beat you to a frazzle."

Charles Kimberly walked into the room as hisbrother concluded. "Talk a few moments withCharles about this," suggested Kimberly, coolly, ringing for his office secretary.

"MacBirney," explained Robert Kimberly tohis brother, "has sold out his common and hasa lot of money loose. I am telling him to go infor railroads."

The secretary entered. Robert Kimberly aftergiving him some directions, got into his car andwas driven up-town to the residence of thearchbishop. He alighted before a large, remodelledcity house not far from the cathedral. Amessenger had already delivered Hamilton's letter ofintroduction and Kimberly was presentinghimself by appointment.

At the door a man-servant took his card and hewas met in the reception room by a youngclergyman, who conducted him to the second floor. AsKimberly entered the large room into which hewas ushered he saw the prelate rising from histable. He was a grave man and somewhat sparein his height, slightly stooped with the passing ofseventy years, and bearing in the weariness of hisface an expression of kindliness and intelligence.

"This is a pleasure, Mr. Kimberly," he said, extending his hand.

"It is a pleasure for me, your grace."

"Come this way," continued the archbishop, indicating a divan in one corner of the room.

"I brought no letter of introduction other thanthat from Doctor Hamilton, which I sent you,"Kimberly began as the archbishop seated himself.

"Surely, you did not consider even DoctorHamilton's note necessary," returned the archbishop, while his secretary withdrew. "Your name andthat of your family have been familiar to me formany years. And I fear those of my people whoventure in upon you with their petitions do notalways bring letters."

"You have occupied this see for many years,"suggested Kimberly in compliment.

"As priest and bishop I have lived in this diocesemore than forty years. It seems a long time. Yetthe name of Kimberly was very old here when Icame, and without ever meeting one of your family,I have heard much of you all since. So if therewere no other reason, I should welcome your callas an opportunity to tell you how grateful I am, and the charities of the archdiocese are, for yourrepeated generosities. You know we are notblessed among our own people with many benefactorsof large means. And the calls come uponus with surprising frequency."

"My father," responded Kimberly, "who wasmore of a philosopher than a merchant, impressed me very early with the truth that yourchurch was a bulwark of social order-one whichto that extent laid all thoughtful men under adebt to it."

"You are a man of wide interests, Mr. Kimberly."

"The country grows too fast, your grace.There seems no escape from expansion."

"Yet you find time for all of your work?"

Kimberly made a deprecatory gesture. "Mychief affair is to find men to do my work for me.Personally, I am fairly free."

"From all save responsibility, perhaps. Iknow how hard it is to delegate that. And yougive all of your energy to business. You haveno family?"

"No, and this brings me to the object of myvisit." Kimberly paused a moment. "I shallsoon enter into marriage."

"Ah, I see!"

"And the subject is a difficult one to lay beforeyour grace."

The archbishop saw an indefinable embarrassmentin his visitor's manner and raised his thinhand. "Then it has every claim to sympatheticconsideration. Forget for a moment that I amalmost a stranger-I am certainly no stranger todifficulties. And do no longer address meformally. I said a moment ago that I was glad tomeet you if only to thank you for your responsesto our numerous needs. But there is another reason.

"When I was a young man, first ordained, mycharge was the little village of Sunbury up in thelake country. You may imagine how familiarthe Kimberly estates became to me in my dailyrounds of exercise. I heard much of yourpeople. Some of their households were of mycongregation. Your mother I never met. I usedto hear of her as exceedingly frail in health.Once, at least, I recall seeing her driving. Buther servants at The Towers were alwaysinstructed not alone to offer me flowers for thealtar but diligently to see that the altar wasgenerously provided from her gardens and hot-houses.

"I once learned," the archbishop's head droopedslightly in the reminiscence and his eyes rested fullupon his visitor, "that she was passing through adreaded ordeal, concerning which many feared forher. It was on a Sunday before mass that theword came to me. And at the mass I told mylittle flock that the patroness to whom we owedour constant offering of altar flowers was passingthat morning through the valley of the shadowof death, and I asked them to pray for her withme. You were born on a Sunday, Mr. Kimberly." Kimberlydid not break the silence and thearchbishop spoke on. "You see I am quite old enoughmyself to be your father. I remember reading anaccount of your baptism."

Kimberly looked keenly into the clear, grayeyes. Not a shade of thought in the mind of theman before him was lost upon his penetration."Any recollection of my mother," he said slowly,"touches me deeply. To think that you recall herso beautifully is very grateful to me-as you maywell imagine. And that was my birthday! Thenif my mother was, or I have ever been, able tohelp you I am sure we are repaid in being soremembered all these years. I lost my father andmy mother many years ago-"

He paused. "It is very pleasant to be remembered,"he repeated uncertainly, as if collectinghimself. "I shall never forget what you havejust told me. And I thank you now for theprayers you said for my mother when she broughtme into the world. Your grace," he addedabruptly, "I am greatly perplexed."

"Tell me frankly, how and why."

"I came here with some confidence of gettingwhat I should ask for. I am naturally aconfident man. Yet my assurance deserts me. Itseems, suddenly, that my mission here is vain, that my hopes have deluded me-I even askmyself why I have come. I could almost say Iam sorry that I have come."

The archbishop lifted his hand to speak. "Believeme, it is not other than for good that youhave come," he said.

Kimberly looked at him questioningly. "Icannot tell for what good," added the archbishopas if to say he could not answer the unspokenquestion. "But believe me, you have doneright and not wrong in coming-of that I amsure. Tell me, first, what you came to tell me, what it is in your heart that has brought you here."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

"I must tell you," began Kimberly, "that whileseemingly in a wide authority in directing thebusiness with which I am connected I am notalways able to do just as I please. Either voluntarilyor involuntarily, I yield at times to the viewsof those associated with me. If my authority isfinal, I prefer not to let the fact obtrude itself.Again, circumstances are at times too strong forany business man to set his mere personal viewsagainst. Yielding some years ago to therepresentations of my associates I took into ourcompanies a group of Western factories controlled bya man whom I distrusted.

"To protect our interests it was necessary tomove, in the premises, in one of two ways. Ifavored the alternative or driving him out of thebusiness then and there. There were difficultiesin either direction. If we ruined him we shouldbe accused of 'trust methods,' of crushing acompetitor, and should thus incur added public enmity.On the other hand, I contended if the man wereuntrustworthy he would grow more dangerouswith power. I need hardly explain to an intelligentman, regardless of his views on trusts, thatany man of integrity, no matter how threateningor violent a competitor he may be in the beginning,is a man we welcome as an associate into ourbusiness. We need him just as he needsus-but that is aside. We took the man in-"

"Against your judgment?"

"Against my judgment. I never met himuntil he came East. My estimates of him weremade wholly on his record, and I knew what isknown to but few-that he had ruined his ownfather-in-law, who died a bankrupt directlythrough this man's machinations, and withoutever suspecting him. This seemed to me sounspeakable, so cannibalistic, that I never needed toknow anything further of the man. Yet I tookhim in, determined only to add a new care inwatching him and still to keep him in my powerso that I could crush him if he ever played false.

"He came to us-and brought his wife. I knewthe man thoroughly the instant I set eyes on him.His appearance confirmed my impression. But Imet his wife, and found in her a woman toengage respect, homage, and devotion, one with acharm of manner and person to me unequalled; with a modesty coupled with spirit and humor thatconfounded my ideas of women-a woman, in aword, like my own mother. I am keepingnothing from you-"

"Your confidence is safely bestowed."

"I was moved the moment I saw her. Butunhappy experiences had checked and changed mesomewhat. I did not disclose my feelings thoughI already knew how she affected me. If I hadmisjudged her husband I would make amends-onher account. Then as I watched them thequestion came to me-how is he treating her? Iwill make, for her sake, a new judgment of him, Isaid. But I saw him as indifferent to her as if shedid not exist. I saw him neglect her and go outof his way to humiliate her with attentions towomen of our circle that were not fit to be herservants. I asked myself whether she could behappy-and I saw that as far as affection wasconcerned she sat at a hearthstone of ashes.

"Even her religion-she was a Catholic-withpetty and contemptible persecutions he hadrobbed her of. She was wretched and I knew itbefore I let even her suspect my interest. Afterthat I vacillated, not knowing what I should do.I advanced and retreated in a way I never didbefore. But one day-it was an accident-herankle turned as she stepped out of her car and asshe fell forward I caught her on my arm. Sherepelled me in an instant. But from that momentI determined to win her for my wife."

The archbishop regarded him in silence.

"I am telling you the exact truth. It wouldprofit me nothing to deceive you, nor have I everdeceived myself or her. She fought my persistencewith all her strength. I tried to make her see thatI was right and she was wrong, and my best aidcame from her own husband. I knew it wouldbe said I was to blame. But this man never hadmade a home in any sense for his wife. And if itcould be urged that he ever did do so, it was he, long before I ever saw him, who wrecked it-nothis wife-not I."

"You say she was a Catholic. Has this poorchild lost her faith?"

Kimberly paused. "I do not know. I shouldsay that whatever her faith was, he robbed her of it."

"Do not say exactly that. You have said wemust not deceive ourselves and you are right-thisis of first importance. And for this reasonalone I say, no one can deprive me of my faithwithout my consent; if I part with it, I do sovoluntarily."

"I understand, quite. Whatever I myselfmight profess, I feel I should have no difficulty inpractising. But here is a delicate woman in thepower of a brute. There is an element of coercionwhich should not be lost sight of and it mightworry such a woman out of the possession of herprinciples. However, whatever the case may be, she does not go to church. She says she never can.But some keen unhappiness lies underneath thereason-if I could explain it I should not be here."

"Has she left her husband?"

"No. He, after one of his periodical fits ofabuse, and I suspect violence, left her, and notuntil he knew he had lost her did he make anyeffort to claim her again. But he had imperilledher health-it is this that is my chiefanxiety-wrecked her happiness, and made himselfintolerable by his conduct. She divorced him and isfree forever from his brutality.

"So I have come to you. I am to make hermy wife-after I had thought never to make anywoman my wife-and for me it is a very greathappiness. It is a happiness to my brother and mysister. Through it, the home and the family whichwe believed was fated to die with this generation-mybrother is, unhappily, childless-may yet live.Can you understand all this?"

"I understand all."

"Help me in some way to reconcile her religiousdifficulties, to remove if possible, this source ofher unhappiness. Is it asking too much?"

The archbishop clasped his hands. His eyesfixed slowly upon Kimberly. "You know, do younot, that the Catholic Church cannot countenancethe remarriage of a wife while the husband lives."

"I know this. I have a profound respect forthe principles that restrain the abuses of divorce.But I am a business man and I know that nothingis impossible of arrangement when it is right thatit should be arranged. This, I cannot say toostrongly, is the exceptional case and therefore Ibelieve there is a way. If you were to come tome with a difficult problem within the provinceof my affairs as I come to you bringing one withinyours, I should find a means to arrange it-ifthe case had merit."

"Unhappily, you bring before me a question inwhich neither the least nor the greatest of thechurch-neither bishop nor pope-has the slightestdiscretionary power. The indissolubility ofmarriage is not a matter of church discipline; it is alaw of divine institution. Christ's own wordsbear no other meaning. 'What God hath joinedtogether let not man put asunder.' He declaredthat in restoring the indissolubility of marriage heonly reëstablished what was from the beginning, though Moses because of Jewish hardness of hearthad tolerated a temporary departure. Noconsent that I could give, Mr. Kimberly, to amarriage such as you purpose, would in the leastalter its status. I am helpless to relieve eitherof you in contracting it.

"It is true that the church in guarding sacredlythe marriage bond is jealous that it shall be amarriage bond that she undertakes to guard. Ifthere should have been an impediment in this firstmarriage-but I hardly dare think of it, for thechances are very slender. A prohibited degree ofkindred would nullify a marriage. There isnothing of this, I take it. If consent had clearlybeen lacking-we cannot hope for that. If herhusband never had been baptized-"

"What difference would that make?"

"A Christian could not contract marriage witha pagan-such a union would be null."

"Would a good Catholic enter into such a union?"

"No."

Kimberly shook his head. "Then she wouldnot. If she had been a disgrace to her religionshe might have done it. If she had been a womanof less character, less intelligence it might be.If she had been a worse Catholic," he concludedwith a tinge of bitterness, "she might stand better now."

"Better perhaps, as to present difficulties; worse as to that character which you have justpaid tribute to; which makes, in part, her charmas a woman-the charm of any good woman toa good man. You cannot have and not have.When you surrender character a great deal goes with it."

The archbishop's words sounded a knell toKimberly's hopes, and his manner as he spokereflected the passing of his momentary encouragement."There is nothing then that you can do."

"If there be no defect-if this first marriagewas a valid marriage-I am powerless in thecircumstances. I can do nothing to allow her toremarry while her husband lives."

Kimberly arose. "We cannot, of course, killhim," he said quietly. "And I am sorry," headded, as if to close the interview, "not to be ableto relieve her mind. I have made an effort tolay before you the truth and the merit of the caseas far as she is concerned. I had hoped by beingabsolutely unreserved to invoke successfullysomething of that generosity which you find edifyingin others; to find something of that mercy andtolerance which are always so commendable whenyour church is not called on to exercise them."

The archbishop, too, had risen. The two menfaced each other. If the elder felt resentment, none was revealed in his manner or in his answer."You said a few moments ago that you couldnot always do as you pleased," he began; "I,too, am one under authority." His fingers closedover the cross on his breast. "All generosity, allmercy, all tolerance that lie within His law, nothingcould prevent my granting to you, and to less thanyou-to the least of those that could ask it. Iknow too much of the misery, the unhappiness of awoman's life and of the love she gives to man, towithhold anything within my power to alleviateher suffering.

"I have wounded you, and you rebuke me withharsh words. But do not carry harshness againstme in your heart. Let us be sure that these wordsmean the same thing to both of us. If generosityand tolerance are to override a law given by God,of what use am I? Why am I here to beappealed to? On the other hand, if by generosity ortolerance you mean patience toward those whodo not recognize the law that binds me, if youmean hesitancy in judging those whose views andpractices differ from my own, then I have theright to ask you to grant these qualities to me.

"But if you appeal to the laws and principles ofCatholic truth, they are intolerant, because truthcannot compromise. My church, which yourebuke with this intolerance, is the bearer of amessage from God to mankind. If men alreadypossessed this message there would be little reasonfor the existence of such a church. The veryreason of her being is to convince men of thetruth of which they are not yet convinced.

"Either she is the divinely commissionedmessenger of God or she is not-and if not, herpretensions are the most arrogant the world has everseen and her authority is the cruelest mockery.And so you view the church, so the world viewsit-this I well know. It is painful sometimes,it is at this moment, to insist upon a law that Ihave no power to set aside-but to do less wouldbe simply a betrayal of my trust. And if thiswere the price of what you term 'tolerance,' Imust rest with my church under the stigmas youput upon us."

Kimberly's anger rose rather than abated withthe archbishop's words. "Of course," heretorted without trying to conceal his anger, "itmakes a difference who seeks relief. Your churchcan find no relief for a helpless woman. As Iremember, you accommodated Napoleon quicklyenough."

"Certain unworthy ecclesiastics of my church, constituting an ecclesiastical court, pretended tofind his marriage with Josephine invalid; the churchnever confirmed their verdict. Thirteen of itscardinals suffered Napoleon's penalties because oftheir protest against his remarriage. Let usparallel the case. Suppose I could offer to join withyou in a conspiracy. Suppose we should assurethis suffering soul that she is free to remarry.Assume that I could make myself a party todeceiving her-would you be party with me, to it?Do I mistake, if I believe you could not conspirein such a baseness?"

"I do not deal in deceptions."

"Do you admire Napoleon's methods?"

"Not all of them."

"Let us, then, Mr. Kimberly, bear our burdenswithout invoking his duplicity."

"We can do that, your grace," answeredKimberly coldly. "But we shall also be obliged tobear them without relief from where we had themost right to look for it. It was not for myselfthat I came to you. I sought to restore to yourchurch one who has been driven from it by awretch. I should have been better advised; Iwas too hopeful. Your policy is, as it alwayshas been, hopelessly fixed and arbitrary. Youencourage those who heap upon you the greatestabuse and contempt and drive from your doorsthose disposed to meet you upon any reasonablecomposition of a difficulty. I should only woundyou if I attempted to answer your last rebuke."

"You are going-"

"Yes."

"And you go with bitterness. Believe me, it isnot pleasant to be without the approbation of thewell-disposed who think and believe differentlyfrom ourselves. But if as Catholics we regard ita privilege to possess the truth we must beprepared to pay the price it exacts. The world willalways think us wrong, a peculiar people and withprinciples beyond its comprehension. Wecannot help it. It has always been so, it alwaysmust be so. Good-by."

"Good-by."

"If dividing a burden lightens it, remember youhave three now to bear yours instead of two. Ishall not forget either of you in my prayers, certainly not this dear soul of whom you have toldme. This is my poor offering to you and to herfor all you have done for those that come to youin my name."

CHAPTER XXXIX

Following the visit to the archbishop,McCrea, who had been on nettles to get holdof Kimberly for a trip of inspection, whisked himaway for two days among the seaboard refineries.

Instead, however, of the two days planned byMcCrea, the inspection kept Kimberly, much tohis annoyance, for three days. The date set forGrace's fête found him still inspecting, but growinghourly more unmanageable, and before breakfastwas over on the third morning McCrea began tofeel the violence of Kimberly's protests.

By the most ingenious activity on the part ofthe alert McCrea and his powerful railroad friendsthe day's programme for the party was hastenedto completion and the indignant magnate wasreturned by train to Second Lake in time for dinner.

He drove home by way of Cedar Point, and Alice, who had been constantly in touch with him on thetelephone, felt the elation of his presence when shesaw him alight from his car and walk across theterrace to where she and Fritzie, dressed for theevening, were feeding the goldfish.

Kimberly took her hands as she ran forward tomeet him. "I thought you were never coming!"she exclaimed.

"For a while I thought so myself."

"And you saw the archbishop?" she murmuredeagerly. "He could do nothing?"

He regarded her with affection. "I had set myheart on bringing back good news."

"I knew there was no chance," said Alice asif to anticipate a failure. "But it was like youto try. You are always doing unpleasant thingsfor me."

He saw the disappointment under her cheerfulness."And though I did fail-you love me justthe same?"

She looked into his searching eyes simply. "Always."

"And we marry two weeks from to-night?"

"Two weeks from to-night," she answered, smiling still, but with a tremor in her steady voice.Then she clasped her hands.

"What is it?" he asked.

Standing in the sunset before him-and healways remembered her as she stood then-Kimberlysaw in her eyes the fires of the devotion hehad lighted. "I hope," she whispered, "I canmake you happy."

"You would make a stone happy," he murmured, breathing the fragrance of her being asshe looked up at him.

It was evening when he saw her again and hestood with Dolly and Imogene who were receiving.

The night was warm and the guests sought thelawns, the garden, and the groves. When a hornblown across the terrace announced dancing, slightand graceful women, whose draperies revealed meredelicate outlines of breathing creatures, came likefairies out of the night. The ballroom, incandle-light, was cool, and only the ceiling frescoes, artfully heightened by lights diffused under ropes ofroses, were brighter than the rest of the room.

As the last guests arrived from town-CreadyHamilton and his wife with Doctor Hamilton andthe Brysons-Kimberly walked into the ballroom.He caught Alice's eye and made his way toward her.

She smiled as he asked for a dance. "Do yourealize," said he as she rose, "that this is yourfirst-and your last-dance at The Towers as a guest?Next time you will be hostess-won't you?"

A sound of breaking glass crashing above themusic of the violins took Alice's answer from herlips. Every one started. Women lookedquestioningly at the men. Alice shrank to Kimberly'sside. "Merciful Heaven!" she whispered, "whatwas that?"

He answered lightly. "Something has smashed.Whatever it is, it is of no consequence."

The music continuing without interruptionreassured the timid. There was no sequence tothe alarming sound, the flow of conversationreasserted itself and in a moment the incidentwas forgotten.

But Kimberly perceived by Alice's pallor thatshe was upset. "Come out into the air," he said,"for a moment."

"But don't you want to see what it was?"

"Some one else will do that; come."

She clung to his arm as they passed through anopen door. "You don't seem just well, dearie,"he said, taking her hand within his own. "Letus sit down."

He gave her a chair. She sank into it, supportingher head on her other hand. "I haven't been quitewell for a day or two, Robert. I feel very strange."

Kimberly with his handkerchief wiped thedampness from her forehead. Her distressincreased and he realized that she was ill. "Alice, let me take you upstairs a moment. Perhaps youneed a restorative."

The expression on her face alarmed him. Theyrose just as Dolly hastened past. "Oh, you arehere!" she cried, seeing Kimberly. "Why, whatis the matter with Alice?"

Alice herself answered. "A faintness, dear,"she said with an effort. "I think that awfulcrash startled me. What was it?"

Dolly leaned forward with a suppressed whisper."Don't mention it! Robert, the Dutch mirror inthe dining-room has fallen. It smashed a wholetableful of glass. The servants are frightened todeath."

"No one was hurt?" said Kimberly.

"Fortunately no one. I must find Imogene."

She hurried on. Alice asked Kimberly to takeher back to the ballroom. He urged her to goupstairs and lie down for a moment.

The music for the dance was still coming fromwithin and against Kimberly's protest Aliceinsisted on going back. He gave way and led herout upon the floor. For a few measures, with adetermined effort, she followed him. Then sheglided mechanically on, supported only byKimberly and leaning with increasing weakness uponhis arm.

When he spoke to her, her answers were vague, her words almost incoherent. "Take me away,Robert," she whispered, "I am faint."

He led her quietly from the floor and assistedher up a flight of stairs to his mother'sapartment. There he helped her to lie down on acouch. Annie was hurriedly summoned. Asecond maid was sent in haste for Doctor Hamiltonand Dolly.

Alice could no longer answer Kimberly'squestions as he knelt. She lay still with her eyesclosed. Her respiration was hardly perceptibleand her hands had grown cold. It was onlywhen Kimberly anxiously kissed her that a faintsmile overspread her tired face. In anothermoment she was unconscious.

CHAPTER XL

When Hamilton hastily entered the room,Annie, frightened and helpless, kneltbeside her mistress, chafing her hands. On theopposite side of the couch Kimberly, greatlydisturbed, looked up with relief.

Taking a chair at her side, the doctor liftedAlice's arm, took her pulse and sat for some time insilence watching her faint and irregular respiration.

He turned after a moment to Kimberly to learnthe slight details of the attack, and listening, retracted the lids of Alice's eyes and examined thepupils. Reflecting again in silence, he turned herhead gently from side to side and afterward liftedher arms one after the other to let them fall backbeside her on the couch.

Even these slight efforts to obtain someknowledge of Alice's condition seemed to Kimberlydisquieting and filled him with apprehension.The doctor turned to Annie. "Has yourmistress ever had an experience like this before,Annie?"

"No, doctor, never. She has never been inthis way before."

Imogene came hurrying upstairs with Dolly tolearn of Alice's condition. They looked upon herunconsciousness with fear and asked whisperedquestions that intensified Kimberly's uneasiness.

"Do you think we could take her home, doctor?"asked Annie, timidly.

The doctor paused. "I don't think we willtry it to-night, Annie. It is quite possible for herto remain here, isn't it?" he asked, looking atDolly and Kimberly.

"Certainly," returned Dolly. "I will stay.Alice can have these rooms and I will take theblue rooms connecting."

"Then put your mistress to bed at once," saidHamilton to Annie.

"And telephone home, Annie," suggested Dolly,"for whatever you need. I will see thehousekeeper right away about the linen."

Kimberly listened to the concise directions ofthe doctor for immediate measures of relief andfollowed him mechanically into the hall. Onlyone thought came out of the strange confusion-Alicewas at least under his roof and in his mother's room.

When he returned with the doctor the lightswere low and Alice lay with her head pillowedon her loosened hair. The maid and Dolly hadhastened away to complete their arrangementsfor the emergency and for a few moments thetwo men were alone with their charge.

"Doctor, what do you make of this?" demandedKimberly.

Hamilton, without taking his eyes from the sickwoman, answered thoughtfully: "I can hardly telluntil I get at something of the underlying cause.Bryson will be here in a moment. We will hearwhat he has to say."

Doctor Bryson appeared almost on the word.Hamilton made way for him at Alice's side andthe two conferred in an undertone.

Bryson asked many questions of Hamilton andcalling for a candle retracted Alice's eyelids toexamine the pupils for reaction to the light. Thetwo doctors lost not an unnecessary moment indeliberation. Consulting rapidly together, powerful restoratives were at once prepared andadministered through the circulation.

Reduced to external efforts to strengthen thevital functions the two medical men worked asnurses and left nothing undone to overcomethe alarming situation. Then for an hour theywatched together, closely, the character andfrequency of Alice's pulse and breathing.

To Kimberly the conferences of the two menseemed unending. Sometimes they left the roomand were gone a long time. He walked to awindow to relieve his suspense. Through the opensash came the suppressed hum of motors as thecars, parked below the stables, moved up the hillto receive departing guests and made their waydown the long, dark avenue to the highway.

On the eastern horizon a dull gray streak crosseda mirror that lay in the darkness below. Kimberlyhad to look twice to convince himself thatthe summer night was already waning.

Annie came into the room and, he was vaguelyconscious, was aiding the doctors in a painstakingexamination of their patient. Through delicacyKimberly withdrew, as they persistentlyquestioned the maid in the hope of obtaining themuch-needed information concerning her mistress'sprevious condition; for what Annie could not supplyof this they knew they must work without.

Plunged in the gloom of his apprehensions, hesaw the doctors coming down the hall toward himand stopped them. "Speak before me," he saidwith an appeal that was a command. "You bothknow what I have at stake."

The three retired to the library and Kimberlylistened attentively to every phase of thediscussion between the two master clinicians as theylaid their observations before him. The coma wasundisguisedly a serious matter. It seemed to themalready ingravescent and, taken in connection withthe other symptoms, was even ominous. The twomen, without a satisfactory history, and without ahope of obtaining one from the only availablesource-the suffering woman herself-discussedthe case from every side, only to return unwillinglyto the conclusion to which everything pointed-thata cerebral lesion underlay the attack.

Their words sent a chill to Kimberly's heart.But the lines of defence were mapped out withspeed and precision; a third eminent man, anauthority on the brain, was to be sent for at once.Nurses, equal almost in themselves to goodpractitioners, were to be called in, and finallyHamilton and Bryson arranged that either one or theother should be at the sick-bed every instant tocatch a possible moment of consciousness.

Hamilton himself returned to his patient.Bryson at the telephone took up the matter ofsummoning aid from town, and when he had donethrew himself down for a few hours' sleep.Kimberly followed Hamilton and returned to Alice'sside. He saw as he bent over her how theexpression of her face had changed. It was drawnwith a profound suffering. Kimberly sittingnoiselessly down took her hand, waiting to be thefirst to greet her when she should open her eyes.

All Second Lake knew within a day or twoof Alice's critical illness. The third doctor hadcome in the morning and he remained for several days.

Hamilton questioned Annie repeatedly duringthe period of consultations. "Try to think,Annie," he said once, "has your mistress neverat any time complained of her head?"

"Indeed, sir, I cannot remember. She nevercomplained about herself at all. Stop, sir, shedid last summer, too-what am I thinking of? Iam so confused. She had a fall one night, sir. Ifound her in her dressing-room unconscious. Oh, she was very sick that night. She told me thatshe had fallen and her head had struck thetable-the back of her head. For days she sufferedterribly. Could it have been that, do you think?"

"Put your hand to the place on your headwhere she complained the pain was."

"How did she happen," Hamilton continued, when Annie had indicated the region, "to fallbackward in her own room, Annie?"

"She never told me, doctor. I asked her butI can't remember what she said. It was the nightbefore Mr. MacBirney left Cedar Lodge."

The doctors spent fruitless days in their effortsto overcome the unconsciousness. There was nolonger any uncertainty as to the seat of the trouble.It lay in the brain itself and defied every attemptto relieve it. Even a momentary interval ofreason was denied to the dumb sufferer.

Kimberly, on the evening of the third day, hadsummoned his medical advisers to his own roomand asked the result of their consultation. Thefrail and eminent man whom Hamilton andBryson had brought from town told Kimberly thestory. He could grasp only the salient points ofwhat the specialist said: That in a coma such asthey faced it was the diagnosis of the underlyingconditions that was always important. That thiswas often difficult; sometimes, as now, impossible.That at times they encountered, as now, a case soobscure as to defy the resources of clinical medicine.Kimberly asked them their judgment as to theissue; the prognosis, they could only tell him, was doubtful, depending wholly upon the gravityof the apoplectic injury.

The Kimberly family rose to the emergency.Aware of the crisis that had come, through Alice, into Robert's life, Imogene and Dolly, on handday and night, were mother and sister to himand to her. Nowhere in the situation was thereany failure or weakening of support.

Hamilton, undismayed in the face of the physicalcatastrophe he had been called upon so unexpectedlyto retrieve, and painfully aware of whatthe issue meant to his near and dear friend, never for an instant relaxed his efforts.

Seconded by his nurses, reinforced by hiscounsel and strengthened by Bryson's closeco-operation, Hamilton faced the discouragementsteadily, knowing only too well that theresponsibility must rest, in the end, on him alone.

Absorbed, vigilant, tireless-pouring thereserve energy of years into the sustained struggleof the sleepless days and nights-he strove withevery resource of his skill and watchedunremittingly for an instant's abatement of the deadlylethargy that was crushing the vitality of thedelicate woman before him.

Kimberly, following the slightest details of thesick-room hours, spent the day and the night at thebedside or in pacing the long hall. If he sleptit was for an hour and after leaving orders tosummon him instantly if Alice woke. They who caredfor her knew what he meant by "waking." Theyknew how long and mutely, sometimes in the day, sometimes in the silence of the night, he watchedher face for one returning instant of reason.

They knew how when hope burned low in everyother eye it shone always steadily in his. Therising of the sun and its setting meant to him onlyanother day of hope, another night of hope for her; every concern had passed from him except thatwhich was centered in the fight for her life.

Considerate as he was to those about him theyfeared him, and his instinctive authority madeitself felt more keenly in his silence than in hiswords. The heavy features, the stubborn brow, the slow, steady look became intensified in thelong, taciturn vigil. Every day Dolly walkedwith him and talked with him. She made abond between him and the world; but she sawhow little the world meant when danger camebetween him and the woman he loved.

One evening the nurses told him that Alice wasbetter. They hoped for a return of consciousnessand he sat all night waiting for the preciousinstant. The next day while he slept, wearied andheartsick, Alice sank. For ten minutes those abouther endured a breathless, ageing suspense thatsapped their energy and strength, until it wasknown that the doctor had won the fight and theweary heart had returned to its faint and laboredbeat. They told Kimberly nothing of it. Whenhe awoke he still thought she was better.

When he came into the room he was so hopefulthat he bent over her and fondly called her name.To his consternation and delight her eyes openedat the sound of his voice; it seemed as if she wereabout to speak. Then her eyes closed again andshe lay still. The incident electrified him and hespoke hopefully of it for hours. At midnight hesent Hamilton away, saying he himself was freshand would be on duty with the nurse until daylight.

The air was sultry. Toward morning athunder-storm broke violently. Kimberly walked outinto the hall to throw the belvedere doors open tothe fresh air. As he turned to go back, his heartstopped beating. In the gloom of the darkenedgallery a slender, white figure came from the opendoor of the sick-room and Kimberly saw Alice, with outstretched hands, walking uncertainlytoward him. He stood quite still and taking her handsgently as they touched his own he murmured her name.

"Alice! What is it, darling?" She opened hereyes. Their vacancy pierced his heart.

"Baby is crying," she faltered; "I hear mybaby. Walter." Her hands groped pitifullywithin his own. "Walter! Let me go to her!"

She tried to go on but Kimberly restrainedand held her for a moment trembling in his arms."Come with me," he said, leading her slowly backto her pillow. "Let us go to her together."

CHAPTER XLI

When the sun burst upon The Towers inthe freshness of the morning, Kimberly'seyes wore another expression. The pleading ofher words still rang in his ears. The tears in hervoice had cost him his courage. Before anothernight fell they told him but a slender hoperemained. He seemed already to have realized it.

After the doctors had spoken and all knew,Annie crept into Kimberly's room. His head wasbowed on the table between his arms. With herlittle wet handkerchief and her worn beads crushedin her hands, she ventured to his side. Her sobsaroused him. "What is it, Annie?"

"Oh, Mr. Kimberly; she is so sick!"

"Yes, Annie."

"Don't you think you should call a priest for her?"

"A priest?" He opened his eyes as if to collecthis thoughts.

"Oh, yes, a priest, Mr. Kimberly."

"Go yourself for him, Annie."

Tears were streaming down the maid's cheeks.She held out an ivory crucifix. "If her eyes shouldopen, dear Mr. Kimberly, won't you give this toher? It is her own." Kimberly took the crucifixin silence and as Annie hurried away he buriedhis head again in his arms.

The timid young clergyman from the villageresponded within half an hour. Hamilton spokekindly to him and explained to him Alice'scondition; for unless consciousness should returnHamilton knew that nothing could be done.

After trying in vain to speak to her the priestasked leave to wait in an adjoining room. Hisyouthfulness and timidity proved no detriment tohis constancy, for he sat hour after hour relievedonly by Annie's messages and declining to give up.In the early morning finding there had been nochange he left, asking that he be sent for ifconsciousness should return.

With a strength that the doctors marvelled at,Alice rallied after the bad night. She so held herimprovement during the day that Hamilton atnightfall felt she still might live.

While the doctors and the family were at dinnerKimberly was kneeling upstairs beside Alice.She lay with her eyes closed, as she had lainthe night she was stricken, but breathing morequietly. The racking pain no longer drew herface. Kimberly softly spoke her name and bentover her. He kissed her parched lips tenderly andher tired eyes opened. A convulsion shook him.It seemed as if she must know him, but hispleading brought no response.

Then as he looked, the light in her eyes began tofade. With a sudden fear he took her in his armsand called to Annie on the other side of the bed.The nurse ran for Hamilton. Annie with a sobthat seemed to pierce Alice's stupor held up theivory crucifix and the eyes of her dying mistressfixed upon it.

Reason for an instant seemed to assert itself.Alice, her eyes bent upon the crucifix, and tryingto rise, stretched out her hands. Kimberly, transfixed, supported her in his arms. Annie held thepleading symbol nearer and Alice with a heart-rendinglittle cry clutched it convulsively andsank slowly back.

CHAPTER XLII

She died in his arms. In the stillness theyheard her name again and again softly spoken,as if he still would summon her from the apathyof death. They saw him, in their sobbing, waitundiscouraged for his answer from the lips thatnever would answer again.

If he had claimed her in her life he claimedher doubly in her death; now, at least, she wasaltogether his. He laid her tenderly upon thepillow and covering her hands, still clasping thecrucifix, in his own hands he knelt with his faceburied in the counterpane.

Day was breaking when he kissed her and roseto his feet. When Dolly went to him in themorning to learn his wishes she found him in his room.Alice was to lie, he said, with the Kimberlys on thehill, in the plot reserved for him. His sisterassented tearfully. As to the funeral, he askedDolly to confer with the village priest. He directedthat only Annie and her own women should makeAlice ready for the burial and forbade that anystranger's hand should touch his dead.

She lay in the sunshine, on her pillow, afterAnnie had dressed her hair, as if breathing.Kimberly went in when Annie came for him. Hesaw how the touch of the maid's loving hands hadmade for her dead mistress a counterfeit of sleep; how the calm of the great sleep had already comeupon her, and how death, remembering the sufferingof her womanhood, had restored to her face itsgirlish beauty. Hamilton, who was with him, followed him into the room. Kimberly broke thesilence.

"What is First Communion, Hamilton?" he asked.

Hamilton shook his head.

"I think," Kimberly said, pausing, "it must bethe expression upon her face now."

During the day he hardly spoke. Much of thetime he walked in the hall or upon the belvedereand his silence was respected. Those of hishousehold asked one another in turn to talk withhim. But even his kindness repelled communication.

In the early morning when the white couch hadbeen placed to receive her for the grave hereturned to the room with Dolly and they stoodbeside Alice together.

"This is my wedding day, Dolly. Did youremember it?"

"Robert!"

"I tried for once to do better; to treat Alice asa woman should be treated. This is my reward-mywedding day."

He lifted her in his arms like a child and as helaid her in her coffin looked at her stonily. "Mybride! My Alice!"

Dolly burst into tears. The harshness of hisdespair gave way as he bent over her for the lasttime and when he spoke again the tenderness ofhis voice came back. "My darling! With you Ibury every earthly hope; for I take God to witness,in you I have had all my earthly joy!" Hewalked away and never saw her face again.

The unintelligible service in the church did notrouse him from his torpor and he was only aftera long time aware of a strange presence on thealtar. Just at the last he looked up into thesanctuary. Little clouds of incense rising from aswinging thurible framed for an instant the faceof a priest and Kimberly saw it was the archbishop.

The prelate stood before the tabernacle facingthe little church filled with people. But his eyeswere fixed on the catafalque and his lips weremoving in prayer. Kimberly watched with astrange interest the slender, white hand rise ina benediction over the dead. He knew it wasthe last blessing of her whom he had loved.

Dolly had dreaded the scene at the grave butthere was no scene. Nor could Kimberly everrecollect more than the mournful trees, the greenturf, and the slow sinking of a flowered pall intothe earth. And at the end he heard only thewords of the archbishop, begging that they whoremained might, with her, be one day receivedfrom the emptiness of this life into one that is bothbetter and lasting.

CHAPTER XLIII

In the evening of the day on which they hadburied Alice, and the family were all at TheTowers, Dolly, after dinner, asked DoctorHamilton to walk with her. Robert Kimberly had dinedupstairs and Hamilton upon leaving Dolly wentup to Kimberly's rooms.

The library door was closed. Hamilton, picking up a book in an adjoining room, made a placeunder the lamp and sat down to read. It was latewhen Kimberly opened the closed door. "Do youwant to see me, doctor?" he asked abruptly.

"Not particularly. I am not sleepy."

Kimberly sat down in the corner of adavenport. "Nor am I, doctor. Nor am Italkative-you understand, I know."

"I have been reading this pretty little Frenchstory." Hamilton had the book in his hand."Mrs. MacBirney gave it to you. I have beenthinking how like her it seems-the storyitself-elevated, delicate, refined-"

"It happens to be the only book she ever gave me."

Hamilton looked again at the inscription on thefly-leaf, and read in Alice's rapid, nervous hand:

"From Alice, To Robert."

"What slight chances," the doctor went on,"contribute sometimes to our treasures. You willalways prize this. And to have known and lovedsuch a woman-to have been loved by her-somuch does not come into every man's life."

Kimberly was silent. But Hamilton had cometo talk, and disregarding the steady eyes bentsuspectingly upon him he pursued his thought. "Tomy mind, to have known the love of one womanis the highest possible privilege that can cometo a man. And this is the thought I find in thisbook. It is that which pleases me. Whatsurprises me in it is the light, cynical view that theman takes of the responsibility of life itself."

"All sensualists are cynical."

"But how can a man that has loved, or treasures,as this man professes to treasure, the memory ofa gifted woman remain a sensualist?"

Kimberly shrugged his shoulders. "Men areborn sensualists. No one need apologize for beinga sensualist; a man should apologize for beinganything else."

"But no matter what you and I are born, wedie something other."

"You mean, we progress. Perhaps so. Butthat we progress to any more of respect for man orfor life, I have yet to learn. We progress from amoment of innocence to an hour of vanity, andfrom an hour of vanity to an eternity of ashes."

"You are quoting from the book."

"It is true."

"She did not believe it true. She died clingingto a crucifix."

Kimberly shrank under the surgeon's blade.

"A memory is not vanity," persisted Hamilton."And the day some time comes when it embodiesall the claim that life has upon us; but it is nonethe less a valid claim. In this case," the surgeonheld up the book, "Italy and work proved such a claim."

"My work would be merely more money-getting.I am sickened of all money-getting. And my Italylies to-night-up there." His eyes rolled towardthe distant hill. "I wish I were there with her."

"But between the wishing and the reality,Robert-you surely would not hasten the momentyourself."

Kimberly made no answer.

"You must think of Alice-what would shewish you to do? Promise me," Hamilton, rising, laid his hand on Kimberly's shoulder, "thatto-night you will not think of yourself alone. Suicideis the supreme selfishness-remember your ownwords. There was nothing of selfishness in her.Tell me, that for to-night, you will think of her."

"That will not be hard to do. You are verykind. Good-night."

In the morning Kimberly sent for Nelson andlater for Charles. It was to discuss detailsconcerning their business, which Robert, conferringwith his brother, told him frankly he must nowprepare to take up more actively. Charles, uneasy, waited until they had conferred some time andthen bluntly asked the reason for it.

Kimberly gave no explanation beyond what hehad already given to Nelson, that he meant totake a little rest. The two worked until Charles, though Robert was quite fresh, was used up. Herose and going to an open window looked out onthe lake, saying that he did not want to workany longer.

The brothers were so nearly of an age that thereseemed no difference in years between them.Robert had always done the work; he liked to doit and always had done it. To feel that he wasnow putting it off, appalled Charles, and he hidhis own depression only because he saw themental strain reflected in Robert's drawn features.

Charles, although resolutely leaving the tableand every paper on it, looked loyally back aftera moment to his brother. "It's mighty good ofyou, Bob," he said slowly, "to explain these thingsall over again to me. I ought to know them-I'mashamed that I don't. But, somehow, you alwaystook the load and I like a brute always let youtake it. Then you are a lot brainier than I am."

Robert cut him off. "That simply is not true,Charlie. In matter of fact, that man has the mostbrains who achieves happiness. And you havebeen supremely happy."

"While you have done the work!"

"Why not? What else have I been good for?If I could let you live-if even one of us couldlive-why shouldn't I?"

The elder brother turned impulsively. "Why?Because you have the right to live, too. Becausesunshine and bright skies are as much for you asthey are for me."

They were standing at the window together.Robert heard the feeling in the words.

"Yes," he answered, "I know the world is fullof sunshine, and flowers are always fresh and lifeis always young and new hands are alwayscaressing. This I well know, and I do not complain.The bride and the future are always new. ButCharlie," he laid his hand on his brother'sshoulder, "we can't all play the game of life with thesame counters; some play white but some mustplay black. It's the white for you, the black forme. The sun for you, the shadow for me. Don'tspeak; I know, I have chosen it; I know it is myfault. I know the opportunities wasted. I mighthave had success, I asked for failure. But it allcomes back to the same thing-some play thewhite, some the black."

CHAPTER XLIV

A second shock within a week at TheTowers found Kimberly still dazed. In theconfusion of the household Uncle John failed onemorning to answer Francis's greeting. No wordof complaint had came from him. He lay as hehad gone to sleep.

Hamilton stood in the room a moment withKimberly beside his dead uncle.

"He was an extraordinary man, Robert," saidthe surgeon, breaking the silence at last. "A greatman."

"He asked no compromise with the inevitable,"responded Kimberly, looking at the stern foreheadand the cruel mouth. "I don't know" – he added, turning mechanically away, "perhaps, there isnone."

After the funeral Dolly urged Robert to takeHamilton to sea and the two men spent a weektogether on the yacht. Between them there existed acommunity of mental interest and materialachievement as well as a temperamental attraction.Hamilton was never the echo of any expression ofthought that he disagreed with. Yet he was acuteenough to realize that Kimberly's mind workedmore deeply than his own and was by this stronglydrawn to him.

Moreover, to his attractive independenceHamilton united a tenderness and tact developed bylong work among the suffering-and the suffering, like children, know their friends. Kimberly, whilehis wound was still bleeding, could talk toHamilton more freely than to any one else.

The day after their return to The Towers thetwo men were riding together in the deep woodsover toward the Sound when Kimberly spoke forthe first time freely of Alice. "You know," hesaid to Hamilton, "something of the craving of aboy's imagination. When we are young we dreamof angels-and we wake to clay. The imaginationof childhood sets no bounds to its demands, and poor reality, forced to deliver, is left bankrupt.From my earliest consciousness my dreams wereof a little girl and I loved and hungered for her.She was last in my sleeping and first in mywaking thoughts.

"It grew in me, and with me, this picturedcompanion of my life. It was my childish happiness.Then the time came when she left me and I couldnot call her back. An old teacher rebuked meonce. 'You think,' said he, 'that innocence isnothing; wait till you have lost it.'

"I believed at last, as year after year slippedaway, that I had created a being of fancy toolovely to be real. I never found her-in all thewomen I have ever known I never found heruntil one night I saw Alice MacBirney. Dollyasked me that night if I had seen a ghost. Shewas my dream come true. Think of what itmeans to live to a reality that can surpass theimagination-Alice was that to me.

"To be possessed of perfect grace; that alonemeans so much-and grace was but one of hernatural charms. I thought I knew how to lovesuch a woman. It was all so new to her-ourlife here; she was like a child. I thought mylove would lift me up to her. I know, too late,it dragged her down to me."

"You are too harsh. You did what you believedright."

"Right?" echoed Kimberly scornfully. "Whatis right? Who knows or cares? We do what weplease-who does right?"

They turned their horses into a bridle-pathtoward the village and Kimberly continued tospeak. "Sometimes I have thought, what possibilitieswould lie in moulding a child to your ownideas of womanhood. It must be pleasing tocontemplate a girl budding into such a flower asyou have trained her to be.

"But if this be pleasing, think what it is tofind such a girl already in the flower of herwomanhood; to find in her eyes the light thatmoves everything best within you; to read inthem the answer to every question that springsfrom your heart. This is to realize the mostpowerful of all emotions-the love of man for woman."

The horses stopped on the divide overlookingthe lakes and the sea. To the left, the village layat their feet, and beyond, the red roofs of theInstitute clustered among clumps of green trees.The sight of the Institute brought to Kimberly'smind Brother Francis, who, released from hischarge at The Towers, had returned to it.

He had for a time wholly forgotten him. Hereflected now that after Hamilton's departure thecompanionship of Francis might help to relieve hisinsupportable loneliness. The men rode togetherpast the village and parted when they reachedthe lake, Hamilton returning to The Towers andKimberly riding south to the Institute to take, ifpossible, Brother Francis home with him. Heexpected some objection, but was prepared toovercome it as he dismounted at the door of theinfirmary and rang. A tall, shock-haired brotheranswered.

"I have come to see Brother Francis."

"You mean Brother Francis, who was at TheTowers? He has gone, I am sorry to say."

"Where has he gone?"

"Brother Francis has gone to the leper missionat Molokai."

Kimberly stared at the man: "Molokai! Francisgone to Molokai? What do you mean?"

A wave of amazement darkening Kimberly'sfeatures startled the red-haired brother. "Whosent him?" demanded Kimberly angrily. "Whywas I not notified? What kind of managementis this? Where is your Superior?"

"Brother Ambrose is ill. I, Mr. Kimberly, amBrother Edgar. No one sent Brother Francis.Surely you must know, for years he has wished togo to the Molokai Mission? When he was oncemore free he renewed his petition. The day afterit was granted he left to catch the steamer. Hewent to The Towers to find you to say good-by.They told him you had gone to sea."

Kimberly rode slowly home. He was unwillingto admit even to himself how hateful what hehad now heard was to him and how angrily andinexplicably he resented it.

He had purposed on the day that he made Alicehis wife to give Brother Francis as a foundation forthose higher schools that were the poor Italian'sdream, a sum of money much larger than Francishad ever conceived of. It was to have been one ofthose gifts the Kimberlys delighted in-of royalmunificence, without ceremony and without theslightest previous intimation; one of those overwhelmingsurprises that gratified the Kimberly pride.

Because it was to have been in ready moneyeven the securities had previously been converted, and the tons of gold lay with those other uselesstons that were to have been Alice's on the sameday-in the bank vaults. And of the two whowere to have been made happy by them, one layin her grave and the other with his own hand hadopened the door of his living tomb.

Kimberly in the weariness of living returned tothe empty Towers. Dolly and her husband hadgone home and Hamilton now returning to townwas to dine with Charles Kimberly. Robert, welcoming isolation, went upstairs alone.

His dinner was brought to his room and wassent down again untasted. He locked his doorsand sat down to think. The sounds about thehouse which at best barely penetrated the heavywalls of his apartment died gradually away. Aclock within the room chiming the hour annoyedhim and he stopped it. His thoughts ran overhis affairs and the affairs of his brother and hissister and partners and turned to those in variousmeasure dependent upon his bounty.

His sense of justice, never wholly obscured, because rooted in his exorbitant pride, was keenlyalive in this hour of silent reckoning. Noinjustice, however slight, must be left that could beurged against his memory, and none, he believed, could now thus be urged. If there were a shockon the exchanges at the news of his death, if thestocks of his companies should be raided, noharm could come to the companies themselves.The antidote to all uneasiness lay in the unnecessarilylarge cash balances, rooted likewise in theKimberly pride, that he kept always in hand forthe unexpected.

His servants, to the least, had been rememberedand he was going over his thought of them when, with a pang, he reflected that he had completelyforgotten the maid, Annie. It was a humiliationto think that of all minor things this couldhappen-that the faithful girl who had been closerthan all others to her who was dearest to himcould have been neglected. However, this couldbe trusted to a letter to his brother, and going toa table he wrote a memorandum of the provisionshe wished made for Annie.

Brother Francis and his years of servitude cameto his mind. Was there any injustice to this manin leaving undone what he had fully intended todo in providing for the new school? He thoughtthe subject over long and loosely. What wouldFrancis say when he heard? Could he, strickensometime with a revolting disease, ever think ofKimberly as unjust?

The old fancy of Francis in heaven and Divesbegging for a drop of water returned. But thethought of lying for an eternity in hell without adrop of water was more tolerable than the thoughtof this faithful Lazarus' accusing finger pointing toa tortured Dives who had been in the least matterunjust. If there were a hereafter, pride hadsomething at stake in this, too.

And thus the thought he most hated obtrudeditself unbidden-was there a hereafter?

Alice rose before him. He hid his face in hishands. Could this woman, the very thought ofwhom he revered and loved more than lifeitself-could she now be mere dissolving clay-or didshe live? Was it but breathing clay that once hadcalled into life every good impulse in his nature?

He rose and found himself before his mother'spicture. How completely he had forgotten hismother, whose agony had given him life! He lookedlong and tenderly into her eyes. When he turnedaway, dawn was beating at the drawn shades.The night was gone. Without even asking whathad swayed him he put his design away.

CHAPTER XLV

Kimberly took up the matters of the newday heavy with thought. But he sent nonethe less immovably for Nelson and the troublesomecodicil for the school was put under immediateway. He should feel better for it, he assuredhimself, even in hell. And whether, he reflected, itshould produce any relief there or not, it wouldsilence criticism. With his accustomed reticencehe withheld from Nelson the name of the beneficiariesuntil the final draught should be ready, and in the afternoon rode out alone.

McCrea and Cready Hamilton came out laterwith the treasurer. They had brought a messengerwho carried balance sheets, reports, and estimatesto be laid before Kimberly. He kept his partnersfor dinner and talked with them afterward of theaffairs most on their minds. He told them hewould go over the estimates that night alone andconsult with them in the morning. Thetype-written sheets were spread with some necessaryexplanations on his table in the library upstairsand after his usual directions for their comfortfor the night he excused his associates.

He closed his door when they had gone. Thetable lamp was burning and its heavy shadeshrouded the beamed ceiling and the distantcorners of the sombre room. But the darkness suitedKimberly's mood. He seated himself in a loungingchair to be alone with his thoughts and satmotionless for an hour before he moved to thetable and the papers. The impressive totals offigures before him failed to evoke any possibleinterest; yet the results were sufficient to justifyenthusiasm or, at least, to excite a glow ofsatisfaction. He pushed the reports back and as hestared into the gloom Alice's deathbed rose beforehim. He heard her sharp little cry, the only cryduring that fortnight of torture. He saw her graspthe crucifix from Annie's hand and heard Annie'sanswering cry, "Christ, Son of God, have mercy!"

Christ, Son of God! Suppose it were true?The thought urged itself. He walked to awindow and threw it open. The lake, the copses andfields lay flooded with moonlight, but his eyes wereset far beyond them. What if it were true? Heforced himself back to the lamp and doggedly tookup the figures.

Mechanically he went over and over them. Oneresult lost its meaning the moment he passed tothe next and the question that had come upon himwould not down. It kept knocking disagreeablyand he knew it would not be put away until theanswer was wrung from him.

The night air swept in cool from the lake andlittle chills crept over him. He shook them offand leaned forward on the table supporting hishead with his hands. "It is not true," he criedstubbornly. There was a savage comfort in thewords. "It is not true," he muttered. Hishands tightened and he sat motionless.

His head sank to the table, and supporting iton his forearm, with the huge typewritten sheetscrumpled in his hands, he gave way to theexhaustion that overcame him. "It is not true," hewhispered. "I never will believe it. He is not theSon of God. There is no God."

Yet he knew even as he lost consciousness thatthe answer had not yet come.

CHAPTER XLVI

When Charles came over in the morning,Robert made a pretence of discussing thebudget with his associates. It was hardly morethan a pretence. Figures had palled upon himand he dragged himself each day to his work byforce of will.

The city offices he ceased to visit. Everymatter in which his judgment was asked or uponwhich his decision was needed was brought toThe Towers. His horses were left to fret in thestables and he walked, usually alone, among thevilla hills.

Hamilton, even when he felt he could notpenetrate the loneliness of Kimberly's moods, cameout regularly and Kimberly made him to knowhe was welcome. "It isn't that I want to bealone," he said one night in apology to the surgeon."The only subjects that interest me condemn meto loneliness. Charles asked me to meet a Chicagofriend of his last night-and he talked books tome and pictures! How can I talk pictures andbooks? McCrea brought out one of our Westerndirectors the other day," as Kimberly continuedhis chin went down to where it sank when mattersseemed hopeless, "and he talked railroads!"

"Go back to your books," urged Hamilton.

"Books are only the sham battles of life."

"Will you forego the recreation of the intellect?"

"Ah! The intellect. We train it to bring useverything the heart can wish. And when ourfairy responds with its gifts the appetite to enjoythem is gone. Hamilton, I am facing aninsupportable question-what shall I do with myself?Shall I stop or go on? And if I go on, how?This is why I am always alone."

"You overlook the simplest solution. Take uplife again; your difficulties will disappear."

"What life? The one behind me? I havebeen over that ground. I should start out verywell-with commendable resolutions to let amemory guide me. And I should end-in the old way.I tell you I will never do it. There is a short cutto the end of that road-one I would rather takeat the beginning. I loathe the thought of whatlies behind me; I know the bitterness of theflesh." His hands were stretched upon the table and heclenched them slowly as he drew them up withhis words, "I never will embrace or endure it again."

"Yet, for the average man," he went on, "onlytwo roads lie open-Christianity or sensuality-andI am just the average man. I cannot calmlyturn back to what I was before I knew her. Shechanged me. I am different. Christians, youknow," his voice dropped as if he were musing,"have a curious notion that baptism fixes anindelible mark on the soul. If that is so, Alice wasmy baptism."

"Then your choice is already made, Robert."

"Why do you say that? When I choose I shallno longer be here. What I resent is being forcedto choose. I hate to bow to law. My life hasbeen one long contempt for it. I have set myselfoutside every law that ever interfered with mydesires or ambitions. I have scorned law andignored it-and I am punished. What can aman do against death?"

"Even so, there is nothing appalling in Christianity.Merely choose the form best adapted toyour individual needs."

"What would you have me do? Fill myself withsounding words and echoing phrases? I am doingbetter than that where I am. There is only oneessential form of Christianity-you know whatit is. I tell you I never will bow to a law that isnot made for every man, rich or poor, cultured orcrude, ignorant or learned. I never will take upthe husks of a 'law adapted to individualneeds.' That is merely making my own law over again, and I am leaving that. I am sick of exploitingmyself. I despise a law that exploits the individual.I despise men in religious thought thatexploit themselves and their own doctrines. I needwholly another discipline and I shall never bringmyself to embrace it."

"You are closer to it than you think. Yet, formy part, I hate to see you lose your individuality-tolet some one else do your thinking for you."

"A part of my individuality I should be gainerfor losing. A part of it I wish to God some onehad robbed me of long ago. But I hate to seeyou, Hamilton, deceive yourself with phrases.'Let some one else do your thinking for you,'"Kimberly echoed, looking contemptuously away."If empty words like that were all!"

"You are going a good way, Robert," said thesurgeon, dryly.

"I wish I might go far."

"Parting company with a good many seriousminds-not to say brilliant ones."

"What has their brilliancy ever done for me?I am tired of this rubbish of writing and words.Francis was worth libraries. I esteem what hedid with his life more than I do the written wordsof ten thousand. He fought the real battle."

"Did he win?"

Kimberly's hand shot out. "If I knew! If Iknew," he repeated doggedly. And then moreslowly. "If I knew-I would follow him."

CHAPTER XLVII

Kimberly no longer concealed from hisfamily the trend of his thinking nor thatwhich was to them its serious import. Dolly cameto him in consternation. "My dear brother!"she wept, sitting down beside him.

His arm encircled her. "Dolly, there isabsolutely nothing to cry about."

"Oh, there is; there is everything. How canyou do it, Robert? You are turning your backon all modern thought."

"But 'modern thought,' Dolly, has nothingsacred about it. It is merely present-day thoughtand, as such, no better than any other day thought.Every preposterous thought ever expressed wasmodern when it first reached expression. Thedifficulty is that all such 'modern' thought delightsin reversing itself. It was one thing yesterday andis wholly another to-day; all that can withcertainty be predicated of it is, that to-morrow itwill be something quite else. Present day modernthought holds that what a man believes is of nomoment-what he does is everything. Fourhundred years ago 'modern' thought announced thatwhat a man did was of no moment, what hebelieved was everything. Which was right?"

"Well, which was right?" demanded Dolly, petulantly. "You seem to be doing the sermonizing."

"If you ask me, I should say neither. I shouldsay that what a man believes is vital and what hedoes is vital as well. I know-if my experiencehas taught me anything-that what men do willbe to a material degree modified by what theybelieve. It is not I who am sermonizing, Dolly.Francis often expressed these thoughts. I haveonly weighed them-now they weigh me."

"I don't care what you call it. Arthur says itis pure mediævalism."

"Tell Arthur, 'mediævalism' is precisely whatI am leaving. I am casting off the tatters ofmediæval 'modern' thought. I am discarding the ragsof paganism to which the modern thought of thesixteenth century has reduced my generation andam returning to the most primitive of all religiousprecepts-authority. I am leaving the stonydeserts of agnosticism which 'modern' thought fourhundred years ago pointed out as the promisedland and I am returning to the path trodden bySt. Augustine. Surely, Dolly, in this there isnothing appalling for any one unless it is for theman that has it to do."

Yet Kimberly deferred a step against whichevery inclination in his nature fought. It was onlya persistent impulse, one that refused to be whollysmothered, that held him to it. He knew thatthe step must be taken or he must do worse, andthe alternative, long pondered, was a repellent one.

Indeed, the alternative of ignoring a deepeningconviction meant, he realized, that he must partwith his self-respect. He went so far as seriouslyto ask himself whether he could not face puttingthis away; whether it was not, after all, afanciful thing that he might do better without. Heconsidered that many men manage to get on verywell in this world without the scruple of self-respect.

But honesty with himself had been too long thecode of his life to allow him to evade anunanswered question and he forced himself graduallyto the point of returning to the archbishop.One night he stood again, by appointment, in hispresence.

"I am at fault in not having written you,"Kimberly said simply. "It was kind of you toremember me in my sorrow last summer. Throughsome indecision I failed to write."

"I understand perfectly. Indeed, you had noneed to write," returned the archbishop."Somehow I have felt I should see you again."

"The knot was cruelly cut."

The archbishop paused. "I have thought ofit all very often since that day on the hill," hesaid. "'Suppose,' I have asked myself, 'he hadbeen taken instead. It would have been easierfor him. But could he really wish it? Could he, knowing what she once had suffered, wish thatshe be left without him to the mercies of thisworld?'" The archbishop shook his head. "Ithink not. I think if one were to be taken, youcould not wish it had been you. That wouldhave been not better, but worse."

"But she would not have been responsible formy death. I am for hers."

"Of that you cannot be certain. What wentbefore your coming into her life may have beenmuch more responsible."

"I am responsible for another death-my ownnephew, you know, committed suicide. And Iwould, before this, have ended my mistakes andfailures," his voice rose in spite of hissuppression " – put myself beyond the possibility of more-butthat she believed what you believe, that Christis the Son of God."

The words seemed wrung from him. "It isthis that has driven me to you. I am sickened ofstrife and success-the life of the senses. It isDead Sea fruit and I have tasted its bitterness.If I can do nothing to repair what I have alreadydone, then I am better done with life."

"And do not you, too, believe that Christ is theSon of God?"

"I do not know what I believe-I believenothing. Convince me that He was the Son of Godand I will kneel to him in the dust."

"My dear son! It is not I, nor is it another, that can convince you. God, alone, extends thegrace of faith. Have you ever asked for it?"

Kimberly started from his apathy. "I?" Herelapsed again into moodiness. "No." Thethought moved him to a protest. "How can Ireach a far-off thing like faith?" he demandedwith angry energy-"a shadowy, impalpable, evasive, ghostly thing? How can I reach, how canI grasp, what I cannot see, what I cannot understand?"

"You can reach it and you can grasp it. Suchquestions spring from the anger of despair; despair has no part in faith. Faith is the death ofdespair. From faith springs hope. It is despairthat pictures faith to you as a far-off thing."

"Whatever it may be, it is not for me. I haveno hope."

"What brought you to-night? Can you not seeHis grace in forcing you to come against your owninclination? His hope has sustained you whenyou least suspected it. It has stayed your handfrom the promptings of despair. Faith a far-offthing? It is at your side, trembling and invisible.It is within your reach at every moment. Youhave but to put forth your hand to touch it."

Kimberly shook his bowed head.

"Will you stretch forth your hand-will youtouch the hem of His garment?"

Kimberly sat immovable. "I cannot evenstretch forth a hand."

"Will you let me stretch forth mine?" Hissilence left the archbishop to continue. "Youhave come to me like another Nicodemus, andwith his question, unasked, upon your lips. Youhave done wrong-it is you who accuse yourself, not I. Your own words tell me this and theycan spring only from an instinct that has accusedyou in your own heart.

"Christianity will teach you your atonement-nothingelse can or will. You seem to picturethis Christianity as something distant, somethingof an unreal, shadowy time and place. It is not.It is concrete, clear, distinct, alive, all about youevery day, answering the very questions you haveasked in your loneliness. It is hidden in the heartof the servant that waits at your call, locked in thebreast of the man that passes you in the street. Itis everywhere, unseen, unapprehended about you.I am going to put it before you. Stay with meto-night. In that room, my own little chapel," thearchbishop rose as he indicated the door, "spend thetime until you are ready to sleep. You have givenmany years to the gratification of yourself. Give onehour to-night to the contemplation of God. MayI tell you my simple faith? The night before Hesuffered, He took bread and blessed and broke it, and gave it to His disciples. And He said, insubstance, 'Take and eat of this, for this is my body, broken for your sins. And as often as ye shalldo this, do it in commemoration of me.' And onthese words I ground my faith in this mysteryof His presence; this is why I believe He is hereto-night, and why I leave you with Him in thistabernacle before you. If you feel that you havedone wrong, that you want to atone for it, askHim to teach you how."

The archbishop opened the chapel door. Inthe darkness of the cool room, the red sanctuarylamp gleamed above the altar. The archbishopknelt for a moment beside his questioner; thenhe withdrew, closing the door behind him, andthe silence of the night remained unbroken.

An acolyte, entering in the gray of the earlymorning, saw on the last of the kneeling benchesa man resting with bowed head. In the adjoiningroom the archbishop himself had slept, withincall, in his chair. He entered the chapel and anassistant robed him to say his mass before hissingle auditor. The service over, he made histhanksgiving, walked to where the man knelt and, touching him on the shoulder, the two left theroom together.

CHAPTER XLVIII

The apprehension that had long waited uponRobert Kimberly's intentions weighed uponhis circle. It was not enough for those abouthim to assure themselves that their affairs ofbusiness or of pleasure must move on whether Robertshould determine to move on with them or not.His aloofness carried with it an uncertainty thatwas depressing.

If he were wholly gone it would be one thing; butto be not gone and not of them was quite another.When Nelson brought the codicil providing forthe school, satisfactorily framed, Kimberly hadchanged his intention and resolved, instead ofincorporating the foundation in his will, to makeimmediate provision for an endowment. Whenthe details were worked out, Nelson left to bringhis wife home from Paris. Lottie's first visit wasto Dolly's home, and there she found Imogeneand Fritzie. She tiptoed in on the surprisedgroup with a laugh.

They rose in astonishment, but Lottie looked sotrim and charming in her French rig that shedisarmed criticism. For a moment every one spokeat once. Then Dolly's kind heart gave way asshe mentally pronounced Lottie faultless.

"You never looked so well in your life," sheexclaimed with sincerity. "I declare, Lottie, youare back to the sprightliness of girlhood. Pariscertainly agrees with you."

Lottie smiled. "I have had two great rejuvenatorsthis year-Paris and a good conscience."

Fritzie could not resist. "Do they go together,Lottie?" she asked.

Lottie responded with perfect ease: "Onlywhen one is still young, dear. I shouldn't darerecommend them to mature persons."

"You felt no risk in the matter yourself?"suggested Fritzie.

"Not in the least," laughed Lottie, pushingdown her slender girdle. But she was too happyto quarrel and had returned resolved to have onlyfriends. "You must tell me all about poorRobert." She turned, as she spoke to Dolly, with asudden sympathy in her tender eyes. "I havethought so much about his troubles. And I amjust crazy to see the poor fellow. What is he doing?"

"He is in town for a few days, just now. Buthe has been away for two months-with the yacht."

"Where?"

"No one knows. Somewhere along the coast,I suppose."

"With whom?"

"Alone."

Lottie threw her eyes upward. "What doeshe mean? What do you all mean by letting himget into such a rut? Such isolation; suchloneliness! He needs to be cheered up, poor fellow.Dolly, I should think you would be frightened todeath-"

"What could I possibly do that I haven't done?"demanded Dolly. "No one can do a thing withRobert when he is set. I have simply had togive up."

"You mustn't give up," protested Lottiecourageously. "It is just the giving up that ruinseverything. Personally, I am convinced that noone can long remain insensible to genuine andsincere sympathy. And certainly no one couldaccuse poor Robert of being unresponsive."

"Certainly not-if you couldn't," retortedFritzie.

Lottie turned with amiability. "Now, Fritziedear, you are not going to be unkind to me. I putmyself entirely out of the case. It is somethingwe ought all to work for together. It is our duty,I think."

She spoke very gently but paused to give thenecessary force to her words. "Truly, it wouldbe depressing to any one to come back to a gaycircle and find it broken up in the way ours is.We can't help the past. Its sorrows belong to italone. We must let the dead bury the dead andall work together to restore the old spirit wheneverybody was happy-don't you feel so, Arthur?"she asked, making that sudden kind of an appealto Arthur De Castro to which it is difficult torefuse assent.

"Certainly we should. And I hope you will besuccessful, Lottie, in pulling things together."

"Robert is at home now, isn't he?"

"He has been at home a fortnight," returnedArthur, "but shut up with the new board ofdirectors all the time. MacBirney walked theplank, you know, last fall when Nelson went onthe board."

"I think it was very nice of Robert to confersuch an honor on Nelson," observed Lottiesimply, "and I intend to tell him so. He is alwaysdoing something for somebody," she continued, rising to go. "And I want to see what theconstant kindness he extends to others will do ifextended to him."

"She also wants to see," suggested Fritzie toImogene, as Dolly and Arthur walked with Lottieto the door, "what Paris and a good conscience, and a more slender figure, will do for him."

"Now, Fritzie!"

"If Robert Kimberly," blurted Fritzie hotly,"ever takes up again with Lottie Nelson, I'llnever speak to him as long as I live."

"Again? When did he ever take up with her?"

"I don't care. You never can tell what a manwill do."

Imogene, less easily moved, only smiled. "Dollyentertains the Nelsons to-morrow evening, andRobert will be asked very particularly to come."

Kimberly did not return home, as was expected, that night. At The Towers they had no definiteword as to whether he would be out on the followingday. Dolly called up the city office but couldonly leave a message for him. As a last resortshe sent a note to The Towers, asking Robert tojoin them for the evening in welcoming Lottie.Her failure to receive an answer before the partysat down to dinner rather led Dolly to concludethat they should not see him and she felt nosurprise when a note was handed her while the coffeewas being served. She tore it open and read:

"DEAR DOLLY:

"I am just home and have your note. I amsorry not to be with you to-night to join inwelcoming the Nelsons. I send all good wishes tothe little company, but what I have now to tellyou will explain my absence.

"I had already made an appointment before Ilearned of your arrangements for the evening.Father Pauly, the village clergyman, sleeps to-nightat The Towers and I am expecting him as I write.He does not know of my intention, but before heleaves I shall ask him to receive me into theRoman Catholic Church.

"ROBERT."

Dolly handed the note to Arthur. He asked ifhe should read it aloud. She nodded assent.

Fritzie, next morning, crossing the lake withflowers for Alice, was kneeling at her grave whenKimberly came up. She rose hastily but couldnot control herself and burst into tears.Kimberly took her hands as she came to him. "DearFritzie," he murmured, "you haven't forgotten."

"I loved you both, Robert."

They walked down the hill together. Fritzieasked questions and Kimberly met her difficultiesone after another. "What great difference does itmake, Fritzie, whether I work here or elsewhere? Iwant a year, possibly longer, of seclusion-and noone will bother me at the Islands. Meantime, ina year I shall be quite forgotten."

Charles Kimberly was waiting at The Towersfor a conference. The brothers lunched togetherand spent the afternoon in the library. Dollycame over as they were parting. "Is it true,Robert," she asked piteously, "that you are goingto Molokai?"

"Not for weeks yet, Dolly. Much remains tobe arranged here."

"To the lepers?"

"Only for a year or two." He saw the sufferingin her face and bent over her with affectionatehumor. "I must go somewhere for a while,Dolly. You understand, don't you?"

She shook the tears from her long lashes."You need not tell me. Robert, you will nevercome back."

He laughed tenderly. "My heart is divided,Dolly. Part of it is here with you who love me; part of it, you know, is with her. If I come back,I shall find you here. If I do not come back, Ishall find her THERE."

In a distant ocean and amid the vastness of asolitude of waters the winter sun shines warm upona windward cliff. From the face of this giganticshape, rising half a mile into the air, springs atapestry of living green, prodigal with blossomsand overhanging at intervals a field of flowers.

On the heights of the crumbling peak the wildgoat browses in cool and leafy groves. In itsgrassy chimneys rabbits crouch with listening ears, and on the sheer face of the precipice a squirrelhalts upon a dizzy vine. Above its crest aseabird poises in a majesty of flight, and in the bluedistance a ship sails into a cloudless sky. Thisis Molokai.

At the foot of the mountain the morning sunstrikes upon a lowland, thrust like a tongue offire into the cooling sea, and where the lava meetsthe wave, breakers beat restlessly.

On one shore of this lowland spit, and underthe brow of the cliff, a handful of white cottagescluster. On the opposite shore lies a whitewashedhamlet brightened by tropical gardens and shadedwith luxuriant trees; it is the leper port. Near thesea stands a chapel surmounted by a cross. Beyondit a larger and solitary cross marks a secondvillage-the village of the leper dead.

An island steamer whistled one summer eveningfor the port, and a landing boat put out fromthe pier. It was the thirtieth of June. Threepassengers made ready to disembark, two of themwomen, Sisters of St. Francis, who had offeredthemselves for the leper mission, and the thirda man, a stranger, who followed them over thesteamer's side and, rearranging their luggage, madea place for the two women in the stern of theweather-beaten craft.

It was the close of the day and the sun flowedin a glory of gold over the sea. On one edge of thefar horizon a rain cloud drifted. In the east themoon was rising full and into a clear sky. A heavyswell lifted the boat from the steamer's side. Thethree passengers steadied themselves as they roseon its crest, and the brown oarsmen, catching thesweep of the sea, headed for the long line of foamthat crawled upon the blackened rocks.

On the distant beach a black-robed figureoutlined against the evening sky watched withstraining eyes the sweep of the dripping oars and witharm uplifted seemed to wait with beating heartupon their stroke for him who was coming.Along the shore, cripples hastening from thevillage crowded the sandy paths toward the pier.In the west, the steamer was putting out againupon its course, and between the two the littleboat, a speck upon the waves, made its waystoutly through the heaving sea.

THE END