Since then, she had forgotten those tones, and thought his voice hard; but now its warmth and mellowness brought back a memory.
The train was stopping. In front of a wonderful window full of Indian curios stood a little woman looking up and waving a handkerchief. She was dressed in black, with the oldest-fashioned sort of widow's bonnet. And if you'd seen her on top of the North Pole, you would have known she was Irish.
Garth flung a window up, and shouted, "Mothereen!"
CHAPTER XXVII
SECOND FIDDLE
The next thing that Marise knew, she was on the platform, being hugged and kissed by the little woman in black, admired by a pair of big, wide-apart blue eyes under black hair turning grey, smiled at by a kind, sweet mouth whose short upper lip showed teeth white as a girl's.
Not even Mums had ever hugged or kissed Marise like that! There had always been just a perceptible holding at a distance lest hair or laces should be rumpled. But there was no dread of rumpling here! Marise knew that Mrs. Mooney wouldn't have cared if her hair had come down or her funny old bonnet had been squashed flat. There was something oddly delicious, almost pathetic – oh, but
very
pathetic as things really were between her and Garth! – in being taken to that full, motherly bosom where the heart within beat like the wings of a glad bird. Suddenly – perhaps because she was tired and a little nervous after her immense journey – Marise wanted to cry in the nice woman's neck, which smelt good, like some sort of warm, fresh fruit. But she didn't cry. She smiled, and behaved herself well, as Mrs. Mooney turned her affectionate attentions to "Johnny."
"Sure, boy," she said, when Garth had come in for a full share of caresses, "your bride's beautiful. You didn't tell me
half
, and neither did – "
But Mothereen broke off short, and squeezed the gloved hands of Marise, shaking them up and down to cover an instant's confusion. She had been solemnly warned by Zélie that the name of Marks was taboo, and now she had nearly let it out!
"There's an automobile waiting," she hurried on. "Not that I've got one, or the likes of one, meself, but ye're from N'York, me dear, and I felt it would be the right thing to have."
"So it is, Mothereen," said Garth. "Now I'll just get the 'shuvver' to help me with our bags and things – "
"Not yet, boy, please," she begged excitedly. "There's a lot of folks waitin' for the good word with ye, the minute we've had our meetin' over. I couldn't keep 'em from comin', Johnny, honest I couldn't, try as I might. I believe if we had a carriage instead of an auto to drive home in, they'd take out the horses and draw ye along themselves, singin' 'Hail the Conquerin' Hero'!"
As if her words were a signal, a crowd of men and women, mostly young, burst out from the hotel, or from the Indian museum with its window display of brilliant rugs, totems, turquoises, black opals, and chased silver. "Hurrah for our Jack! Hurrah for our V.C.!" they yelled.
Marise was taken aback and hardly knew what to do. It was so odd to hear roars of applause which were not for
her
!
It wasn't that she wanted the roars, or envied the embarrassed recipient of the unexpected honours; but it
was
strange to stand there – she, the famous and beautiful Marise Sorel – with no one looking at or thinking anything about her at all.
Garth
was
a V.C., of course, and worthy of praise for brave deeds he must have done (she'd never heard what they were, or thought very much about them!), yet it did seem funny, just for the first surprised moment, that these creatures should be so wild over him without caring an atom for her!
"Oh, darlint, and ain't we two women proud of him!" gasped Mothereen, squeezing the girl's arm convulsively.
Marise glanced down at the plump, black-clad form quivering with emotion at the sight of Garth being shaken hands with and pounded on the back. "Yes, we are," she echoed kindly, for she would not have pained the dear woman for anything on earth.
"I shall have my work cut out for me, while I'm in her house, if she expects me to be chorus for her adopted son," the transported favourite told herself. "But she is a darling, and I'll do my best for the few days I'm here, at – well, at
almost
any price."
When Garth's old friends had thrown themselves upon him like a tidal wave, the reflex action came, and they were willing to meet and be nice to his wife. Male and female, they saw that she was tremendously pretty and smart. Many knew who she was, and had heard of her success, even though they had never seen her on the stage. But what was a star of the theatre, compared with a hero of the war? Garth was It. Marise was only It's second fiddle.
"Isn't he great? – fine? – wonderful?" were the adjectives flung at her head by gushing girls. "I suppose he lets you wear his V.C.?" a man pleasantly condescended. Everyone was sure, as Mothereen had been sure, that she must be "very proud" of the splendid husband she'd been lucky enough to catch.
Marise smiled as she pictured what Mums' expression would have been among these adorers of the Fiend, the Brute, beings from another world, for whom the celebrated Miss Sorel was nobody. Really, the scene on this platform was like a village green in a comic opera, with all the minor characters dancing round the tenor!
At last Garth – happy yet ill at ease and half ashamed – contrived to rescue his mother and wife. They got to the motor-car waiting outside the station; but there they collided with a new procession, belated yet enthusiastic. It was, "Garth forever!" again: more shouts of joy, more slaps, more introductions to the harmless, necessary bride.
Even when the three had ambushed themselves in the car, boys hung on behind, singing, "For he's a jolly good fellow!" and girls threw flowers in at the windows.
"This is the happiest hour of my life since I first met up with ye, Johnny dear," choked Mothereen, wiping her smiling eyes. "And I'm sure it's the same for you, isn't it, my child?"
"Oh yes – ye-es!" responded Marise.
Garth laughed.
The town of Albuquerque was very Spanish-looking. Indeed, it would have been strange if it were not so, since the Spanish had built much of it in the Great Days of their prime, hundreds of years ago. It was on the outskirts of the place that Mrs. Mooney lived, in a house – as she explained to Marise – "architected for her by Johnny himself."
"He and I lived here together after he brought me back to me dearly-loved west, from N'York," she went on; "as happy as turtle-doves till the war broke on us. That house at the Canyon where he's takin' you – the later the better, because I want to keep ye here as long as I can! – was never for
me
. He thought he'd like to go and brood over his work in it, all alone, once or twice a year. He felt as if that Grand Canyon would be a kind of inspiration. I doubt if it ever popped into his head in those times that he'd be takin' a pretty young wife like a princess from a fairy tale there some day. Not that aught except a fairy-tale princess would be good enough for him."
Marise did not answer. What was there to say? But they had arrived at Mothereen's house.
It, too, was Spanish, in a modern, miniature way, and Mothereen explained it to Marise. "Johnny wanted to build me something bigger and more statuesque like," she said. "But I wouldn't let him. I love a little house. I'm at
home
in it. I have no grand ways. I hope it's the same with you, me dear! Though for sure it will be, on yer honeymoon, with the best boy in the wurruld, just back safe from the terrible war! Zé – I mean
he
– did speak of a 'suite' to put the two of ye up in, but I warrant ye won't be the one to say yer quarters are too small!.. Come in, will ye? And welcome ye both are as the sunshine after rain!"
Marise obeyed the arm round her waist, but a presentiment of trouble was upon the girl. She foresaw a dilemma. And it had two long horns. She was between them!
CHAPTER XXVIII
MOTHEREEN
Mothereen led them over the house, which was built in bungalow style, all on one floor, saying to Garth, "Do you remember this? Do you remember that?" and pointing out to Marise details upon which she could hang some anecdote of "Johnny."
"But I've saved the best for the last," she announced. "Now I'm going to take ye to your '
suite
,' as Zé – as it's fashionable to call it. Ye know, Johnny, the spare bedroom with the bath openin' out? Well, I've added onto it the little sewin'-room, done up the best I could in a hurry. And if that doesn't make a 'suite,' what
does
? There's no door from one room into the other, that's the trouble! I'd a' had one cut if there'd been time, but there wasn't. Still, it's the next room, and the two of ye will have the whole use of it, so I hope the dear gurrl will excuse the deficiencies."
"I'm sure there won't be any deficiencies!" exclaimed Marise graciously. Garth was right to love his "Mothereen"! She was certainly an adorable woman, and too delicious when she rolled out a long word. The girl was pleased to hear that there was no door between her room and Garth's. Not that he was likely to annoy her. But – who could tell if he would not be different here in his own home, where everyone made a hero of him, from what he had seemed in
her
New York? It was just as well that she was to be on the safe side.
"What a pretty room!" she cried out, as, with a proud housewifely look, Mothereen flung open a door. "Why, it's lovely! Is this mine?"
"Of course it's yours, darlin' – yours and Johnny's," said Mothereen, beaming with pleasure at such praise. "Come and look out of the window, ducky. John knows what's there, but 'twill be a surprise for you."
Still clasped by the plump arm, Marise crossed the polished floor, which was spread with beautiful Indian rugs. The walls were white, and hung with a few good pictures of desert scenery and strange Indian mesas. The furniture was simple, but interesting: made of eucalyptus wood, pink as faded rose-leaves against its white background; and everywhere were bowls of curious Egyptian-looking Indian pottery, filled with roses. The one immense window took up nearly all one end of the room, and opened Spanish fashion upon a garden-court with a fountain, a marble bench, and a number of small orange trees grouped together to shade the seat.
"'Twas Johnny's idea," Mothereen explained, when Marise had complimented the court. "The next room looks on it, too. And now ye'd both better come and see what I've done with that same!"
She led the way out again, and opened the door of an adjoining room. "I do hope ye'll like it too!" she said. "It's yer own little sittin'-room, and you two turtle-doves can have yer breakfast here by yerselves if ye like."
With all her goodwill towards "Mothereen," Marise could not repress a slight gasp, or a stiffening of the supple young figure belted by the kind woman's arm; for her first glimpse of the room gave her an electric shock. The room
was
a "sittin'-room," and nothing else.
"Is anything wrong, darlin'?" anxiously asked Mothereen.
Marise hesitated. Involuntarily she glanced over her shoulder at Garth, who was close behind. She met his eyes, which implored hers.
"Oh no, indeed!" the girl protested. "It's – it's charming. I was thinking of something else for an instant."
"Ye're
sure
everything's all right?" Mothereen persisted, her pretty brows puckered.
"Quite sure. Thank you
so
much!"
"Nothing ye'd like to have me change?"
"Nothing at all," Marise consoled her, in a strained tone.
"Well then, I'm glad, and I'll leave ye to yerselves for a while. Come out to me when ye feel like it and not before – one or both. And ye'll be welcome as the flowers in May."
She kissed Marise and snuggled her cheek, rosy and fresh as an apple, against the arm of her adopted son. Then she was gone with a parting smile, and Garth shut the door.
"That was mighty fine behaviour of yours, and I thank you with all my heart," he said to Marise.
She had dropped into a chair, tremulous about the knees. "You needn't thank me," she answered. "What I did was for
her
."
"I know. That's why I thank you," said Garth. "I think a lot more about Mothereen's feelings than I do my own. Mine are case-hardened – hers aren't, and never could be. You see, she's fond of me."
"I do see! So is everybody else – here, it seems."
"They're warm-hearted folks out in the West. They love to make a noise. I hope you weren't disgusted."
"No, I liked them," said Marise. "They seemed so sincere. And Mrs. Mooney is the dearest little woman. I'd have my tongue cut out – almost! – rather than she should be sad. But now the question is, what's to be done? I tried to help you. You must help me."
"I will," Garth assured her. "It's going to be all right."
"But how – without hurting her?" Marise looked round the room. "You can't sleep on that little sofa."
"I can sleep on the floor rolled up in a blanket. That would have seemed a soft billet in France."
"You'd be wretchedly uncomfortable. And how would you bathe?"
"I guess you don't need to worry yourself about that detail. I'll manage the business in one way or other."
"That sounds vague! What's become of the room which used to be yours in this house, before you went to the war?"
"Your bedroom next door is the one. The only spare room we had in those days was this, where we're sitting now. We never had any people come to stay, though, so Mothereen turned it into a sewing-room."
"I see! And you can't slip out to an hotel or anywhere, because every human being in town knows you."
"No, I can't slip out. But – well, we
are
married!"
Marise started, and stared. Her eyes opened wide. She looked ready to spring up and run away.
"All I was going to say is this," Garth went on. "There's a big screen or two in your room, I noticed. Perhaps, as you're kind enough not to want me to go unwashed, you'd stretch a point, and let me walk through to the bath with a couple of screens in position. We needn't stay more than two days and nights, the way things have turned out. Mothereen will be disappointed, but her feelings won't be hurt because I shall take steps to get a wire from a friend of mine at the Grand Canyon. The friend will tell me that I'm needed at once on a matter of importance. That'll do the trick. And Mothereen can make up for lost time by visiting me – us, at Vision House."
"Vision House!"
"Yes, I named it that. You wouldn't be interested in the reason why."
Marise felt that she would be interested, but didn't care to say so.
"You wouldn't mind her coming to the Canyon?" he asked.
"Of course not! I should be delighted. That is, if I were there."
"You would be there."
"I mightn't. You see – things will change. Mums will come, and – and – I shall go away – with her. You know what will happen."
"Who knows anything about the future? But let it take care of itself. There's plenty to think of in the present, isn't there?"
"Too much!"
"Not for me. Can you bring yourself to agree to that plan I proposed? The screen – "
"Oh, I suppose it's the only thing to do! I've played bedroom scenes on the stage, and this – "
"Very well. That's settled, then."
"Ye-es. Except – about your belongings. I suppose Mrs. Mooney is sure to run in now and then to see how – we – are getting on."
"I'm afraid she will. Unless we tell her to stay out."
"We won't do that! I suppose your toilet things will have to be in
my
room – on that tallboy with the mirror which Mrs. Mooney evidently meant for them."
"If you can bear the contamination!"
Marise glanced at him. But he did not speak the words bitterly. He was faintly smiling, though it was not precisely a gay smile. She wanted to smile back, but feared to begin again with "smiling terms," so she replied gravely that it could be quite well arranged. "I'll explain – enough – to Céline, and she'll unpack for you," the girl suggested.
"That's a kind thought!" said Garth. And then, as if satisfied with the way in which troublesome matters had shaped themselves, he got up. "I expect you'd like to have your maid in now, to help you," he suggested. "You can ring, and I'll go and have a chin with Mothereen."
Céline was lodged at a distance, but there was a bell communicating with her quarters. She came, in an excited mood.
"But it is a house of charm, Madame!" she exclaimed. (It had ceased to seem strange, now, being "Madamed" by Céline.) "Monsieur Garth – the two domestics who have for him an adoration, say he built it. And he has another place larger and more beautiful, where we go. It is, then, that Monsieur is rich."
Marise did not answer. But she would have given something to do so, out of her own knowledge. Garth and all his circumstances, and surroundings, were becoming actually mysterious to her. She was puzzled at every turn.
"You mustn't gossip with the servants here, Céline," she said.
"But no, naturally not, Madame!" protested the maid. "I will listen to all they say, and speak nothing in return. So Madame wishes the effects of Monsieur placed in this room?
Parfaitement!
It shall be done."
Luncheon was outwardly a happy meal. Mothereen so radiated joy in her adored one's return that Marise was infected with her gaiety of spirit. After all, life was only one adventure after another, and this was an adventure like the rest. Well, not exactly
like
the rest! But at least, it was not dull!
All the afternoon there were callers, and Mothereen broke it to the bride and bridegroom that, without being disagreeable, she could not avoid inviting a "few folks to dinner, and some to drop in later." "The dinner ones are our grand people," she explained to Marise, "the Mayor and his wife, and a son who is a Colonel. He has married a French wife. She is very stylish, and she'll have on her best clothes to-night. They say she's got grand jewels. But sure, they won't hold a candle to yours."
"I haven't brought many with me, I'm sorry to say," replied Marise.
Mothereen's face fell for an instant, then brightened. "Oh, I clean forgot," she exclaimed. "The beautiful things I have waitin' fur ye. They'll be on yer dressin'-table to-night. Now, not a wurrud, darlin'! Ask me no questions, I'll tell ye no lies. This is a
secret
."
Intrigued, Marise became impatient to go to her room, but could not escape there till it was time to dress. Céline was already on the spot, preparing her mistress's dress for the evening: bridal white frock, scintillating with crystal; little slippers, silk stockings, a petticoat of rose-embroidered chiffon and lace.
But Marise did not cast a glance at these things. She walked straight to the dressing-table, and couldn't help giving a little squeak. For there lay the missing jewel-cases – those she had thrown into the corridor at the Plaza Hotel on her wedding night – and had never seen since.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE WHITE DOVE
Marise and Garth neatly arranged their life according to stateroom etiquette on shipboard. When one was in the bedroom the other was in the sitting-room next door. They were like the figures of the man and woman who come out and go in at the adjacent doors of a barometer; and the plan, though inconvenient, was not unworkable. When the girl had opened the jewel-cases and gazed once more at the glories she had thought lost forever to her repentant eyes, she couldn't resist tapping on the wall with a gold-backed hair-brush – one Garth had given her. Indeed, she did not stop to think better of the impulse.
Her heart – or some distantly related muscles round the organ – had suddenly warmed towards the man. This thaw was doubtless produced by remorse. For she had believed, on no evidence save instinct, that he had given these lovely things —
her
wedding presents, although discarded! – to Zélie Marks. Instead, he must have expressed them to Mrs. Mooney in order that she – Marise – should have a chance to change her mind. Foxy of him, because it would be difficult to refuse the gifts again, coming as they did from the innocent hands of Mothereen! However, she would see. She'd have a talk with Garth, and then decide.
Garth was in the sitting-room, pretending to himself that he was interested in the evening paper. He jumped up at the sound of a tap on the wall, hardly believing his own ears. But a knock at Marise's door brought a "Come in!" which did not sound grudging.
Marise in a so-called
robe de chambre
was more dressed than in "Dolores's" third act ball-gown at the theatre, yet there was such a bizarre touch of intimacy in being admitted to this bedroom scene on the stage of life that numerous volts of electricity seemed to shoot through Garth's nerves. His face was composed, however, even stolid. "You wanted me?" he asked.
Marise didn't directly answer that question. She pointed to the jewel-cases. "Mrs. – Mooney put these here," she said. "I – wanted to tell you I'm glad they weren't stolen or – anything."
Her words gave him time to swallow his surprise, which was quite as great as her own had been at sight of the jewels. But he guessed at once what had happened. What a trump Zélie was! A grand girl! She'd make a fine wife for someone. He'd been a clumsy ass to force these things upon her in a moment of fury against Marise; and Zélie had done exactly right. He was immensely grateful. Some day he must find a way to repay her for silently handing him a big chance – a chance that might mean a lot, which but for her thought, her generosity, he would have missed.
Well, it was up to him not to miss it now! He'd been an idiot over these baubles once. He mustn't "fall down" over them again; and to let Marise guess how he'd bungled – how a girl she didn't appreciate yet had straightened matters out – would be to prove himself a priceless ass.
"Thank you for saying that," he quietly replied.
"I did tell you once before that I was sorry I'd thrown the jewel-cases on the floor. It was
horrid
of me. I felt afterwards I'd been most ill-bred," vouchsafed Marise.
"No. More like a bad-tempered child," said Garth.
"You weren't nice to me when I tried to apologise," the girl went on.
"Were you trying to apologise? Sorry! I didn't understand."
"What did you think I was trying to do?"
"Did you ever see a small boy take a stick, and stir up some beast in its cage at a Zoo? If you did, you'll know."
Marise laughed. "What sort of a beast?"
"Any sort with a sore head."
"Well – to change the subject," she said rather hastily, "let's talk not about beasts, but about jewels. I've apologised. And now officially I put these valuable things into your hands."
"I'd rather leave them in yours," said Garth.
"But – I told you before I really couldn't keep them – in the circumstances."
"Haven't the circumstances changed – just a little?"
"I – don't quite see how you mean."
"Don't you? In that case, I suppose they haven't. Won't
you
change, then – enough to keep the things, as I've no use for them?"
"I'm afraid I can't. You may have a use for them some day, you know."
"What use? I don't seem to see Mothereen in pearls and laurel wreaths."
The picture called up made them both smile. "No, but you won't – won't be bound to me for ever," Marise explained, her cheeks growing pink. "There'll be some other girl; a girl that perhaps you haven't even met, yet – "
"Never on God's earth will there be a girl for me, that I haven't met."
Remembrance of a girl he
had
met darted through the mind of Marise. Zélie Marks! Was the same thought in his mind? she wondered.
"Who can tell about these things?" she murmured vaguely. "Anyhow, you must please take charge of your jewels now."
"But you said this morning you wouldn't like to hurt Mothereen's feelings."
"What have her feelings to do with the jewels?"
"Just this. She's been keeping them for the great day – the day of our coming. She knows they were my wedding present to you – "
"Then she knows that you were shockingly extravagant."
"Perhaps she doesn't think so. She's better acquainted with my circumstances than you are. Anyhow, she's looking forward to seeing you all dolled up in the things to-night, and it'll be a blow for her if you're not. She won't say a word to you. Only she's sure to ask me – "
"Oh, all right! I'll wear the lot!" snapped Marise. She spoke rather crossly, but Garth was not dashed. He was, indeed, happier than he had been since his wedding day. His dummy hand might have scored a success once or twice before during the strange fortnight they had passed together, yet a world apart. He wasn't certain. But he was certain of this: it was a small triumph. He had a "hunch" that, when the girl had once seen herself in the pearls, the pendant, and the wreath of emerald laurel leaves, she wouldn't be anxious to give them up.
"That's very good of you," he thanked her formally. "I'm obliged to you for Mothereen's sake as well as – but no matter for the rest. It's nothing to you, of course."
As he spoke, Garth walked to the door without waiting for a hint from Marise. "You'll want to go on dressing," he said, "so as to leave the place clear for me." Then, without another word, he went out and shut the door.
Marise stared at herself in the mirror. "You might have two noses – or none – for all the notice he took of your looks," she told her reflection.
History repeated itself that evening. The guests were all hero-worshippers, as the crowd had been at the station. The bride was admired. No one could help admiring her. Face, figure, hair, clothes, and jewels were all wonderful. But even those who seemed to admire her most blatantly betrayed their opinion that she was a lucky girl to have got Jack Garth – she, only an actress!
Some of the people had come a long distance to welcome home the V.C. from the great war, and among these were a young couple who interested Marise, because they appeared so frankly in love with each other. What their last name was, she didn't learn. Mothereen must have thought that she had heard of them from Garth. "Here are Billy and Cath," she introduced them, adding, "This is our dear Marise."
Billy was in the Army, and had fought in France when America "went in." He was stationed somewhere – Marise didn't know where – and Cath had been a "war bride." She looked delicate, though pretty; and another girl whispered to Marise, "Cath was never strong, but when Billy was reported missing a year ago she went right down, and the doctors thought she'd got T.B. My, you don't know what
T.B.
means? Everyone out here knows only too well, because the climate in these parts and Arizona is so good, lots of 'em come to get cured. Consumption, of course. But joy's the best medicine in the world. You can realise how it would be with you if it had been your gorgeous Jack! I guess Cath will get well now, though she isn't quite right yet – and I don't suppose Billy'd have let her take such a trip for anyone but Jack Garth."
They had motored from "home,"