CHAPTER XI
EVERY MAN HAS HIS PRICE
The note Marise meant to write was not written; for, as the door of the suite shut behind John Garth, Mrs. Sorel came to the girl with news.
"Dear child, I promised you shouldn't be disturbed, whatever happened, but Tony has been telephoning for the sixth time to-day. Poor boy! He's very anxious about you. Don't look so cynical! If your face should ever settle into lines like that, your beauty would be gone! This time he wanted to know if you're better for your long sleep, and if you can see him."
"No, I can't, mother! Not till something's decided. I simply can't act to-night if I have to go through another scene with him."
"Oh, I'm not suggesting it, pet! I merely wanted to know what I should say to poor Tony. I told him that I'd call him up and give him his answer when you were free."
Marise started. "Did you say who was here with me?"
"Ye-es, I thought it would be best. I imagined you must be very sure the man was – the one we're in search of."
The girl shivered. "Marise in Search of a Husband! We never expected it would come to that with me, did we, Mums? But anyhow, I hadn't to search far. That's one consolation! I was snapped up the minute I appeared in the show window."
"Well, Tony was wrong about that Garth man, then!"
"Yes, he was wrong. I must write and let him know why Garth came – unless you told him why?"
"I said only what I dared say through the telephone. You know how careful I am of anything that concerns you. What I told him was, 'Major G – ' (not even Garth!) 'has come to talk over that proposition you thought he wouldn't accept. His staying so long makes me fancy he may be accepting after all.' That is every word."
"Good! I shan't need to write! Please 'phone again, Mums, and explain that I don't feel as if I could see Tony till after the theatre. He may come to my dressing-room a few minutes then, if he likes. You can bring him in. I won't be alone with him for an instant! Tell him that I talked with Garth, who's inclined to accept. But I left it to him – Tony – to make matters clear, and he must telephone Garth for an appointment at the Belmore – not the Waldorf."
"Severance to go to Garth! He'll refuse – "
"Then the whole thing is off!" Marise threw out her arms in a gesture of exasperation. "He can take the offer or leave it."
Mary said no more, but flew to the 'phone in her own room, with the door shut between. Presently she came back. "Tony has consented," she announced. "Another proof of his great love!"
Never had Lord Severance felt that he appeared to less advantage than when he was shown into the Bounder's sitting-room at the Belmore Hotel. He held himself very straight, however, and was every inch an Ancient Greek, if not an English earl.
Garth had been engaged in writing a letter and puffing smoke over it from a meerschaum pipe some shades browner than his face.
At sight of Severance, and the sound of his name deformed by a page-boy, the big man rose, topping his tall guest in height and erectness.
"Well?" was his only greeting, as the door closed. He pushed a box of cigarettes across the table. "Those are the smokes you prefer, I believe."
"Thanks. I have my own. And my own matches."
"All right." Garth continued to puff at his pipe.
"You have seen Miss Sorel, I understand."
"That is so."
"She – or rather Mrs. Sorel – 'phoned me that – er – though you'd had some conversation, the – affair hadn't been entirely explained to you. That's as it should be. It's my business, and my place, to explain it."
"Fire away. Do you want to sit down?"
"I prefer to stand."
"My sentiments!"
Severance lit a cigarette, and took some time in the process.
"It's rather a long story," he drawled, not with a conscious desire to put on airs, but because his wasn't an easy task, with that bounder's yellow eyes pinning him down, never off his face for a second.
"I'm afraid, to make you understand and prevent your doing an injustice to Miss Sorel, I'll have to bore you, in beginning, with a short résumé of my personal history."
"Spit it out. Though you needn't fear my doing that lady an injustice. It would take something worse than a lack of tact on your part, or any man's, to make me such a fool."
"Glad you feel so about it"
"So am I. Shoot!"
Thus prodded without ceasing, Severance began the tale. He told about his half-uncle, and his half-uncle's daughter. Whether it was Œnone's state of invalidism or the state of her affections which drew from Garth, a grunt of "Poor girl!" Tony was not sure. But, in the circumstances, the less notice he took of disturbing trifles the better. He stated his case with as much care as if he had been pleading in court, as his own defender. In fact, he had rehearsed some sentences hastily on his way from the Waldorf to the Belmore. Yet those eyes of Garth's were as disconcerting as the watchful eyes of an uncaged panther, alleged to be tame. Severance forgot the words he had thought of, and had to substitute others not so effective. With the most earnest wish to cut the best figure possible, for dear dignity's sake, he felt himself floundering more than once. At least, however, he did not break down. Somehow he got to his goal, and knew that even a boor like Garth could not fail to see what – if he took on the job – was required of him.
"So that's that!" Tony finished, and threw away his cigarette.
He had not been looking at the other man much as he talked. It was easier and pleasanter not to do so; but, despite Garth's silence (not once had he interrupted with a question or exclamation), Severance wasn't quite sure how this type of fellow would act in the circumstances.
Of course, the bare hint that he might accept such a part would be the last of insults to a proud man – a gentleman. Garth, however, was merely a "temporary gentleman," and probably hadn't saved a sou. To a person of his sort, a million dollars would be a dazzling bribe. Still, the brute had an ugly temper, as he had shown once or twice in the past, and he was capable of violence. Tony was doubtful, still, how to take him. Common as the Bounder was, his brother officer had vaguely placed him a peg above this level. The black eyes made a sudden effort to dominate the yellow-grey ones and read their secret, in order – if need be – to ward away a blow.
But there was no such need, it seemed. Garth stood with feet apart, always doggedly puffing at his pipe, hands thrust deep in pockets. He had produced a cloud of smoke as dense as that which emanated from a Geni of the Lamp, and Severance could not pierce to his expression.
For a minute neither spoke. Then Garth brought forth from the depths a hand, removed the meerschaum from his mouth, and, having knocked out the ash, lovingly laid the pipe on the mantelpiece.
Severance stood alert, prepared for what might come. But nothing came.
"What did Miss Sorel say about me?" Garth bluntly questioned. "I mean yesterday or to-day."
"We have scarcely mentioned you when we were together. I told you it was her mother who telephoned me. There has been no other communication on the subject. I hope I've made it plain to you that Mrs. Sorel approves this plan."
"Plain as a pikestaff. She would approve of it, or any plan of yours. I should judge she's that kind of a person. She thinks her daughter born for the English aristocracy and millions. Then I'm to understand that the ladies gave you no reason for believing me the man – to take this on?"
"They went into no details. Miss Marks may have led them – "
"We can drop the subject. All I wanted to know is what they said, not what they thought. Well, a million dollars is quite a wad! And every man has his price. I'd do a lot for a million. But in this case – "
"Yes?"
"I ask you to raise your bid if you wish to buy yours truly."
"Oh, if it's a question of a few thousands – "
"It isn't. I'll take the rest of the payment in another medium. Not money. And I want it in advance."
"What d'you want?"
"You're a boxer, I believe?"
"Not bad."
"Heavy-weight, of course!"
"Yes."
"So am I. Jim Jackson trained me, and taught me most of what I know."
"Ah! I've heard of him."
"Most men have."
"What are you leading up to?"
"My advance payment for the job. I take it on only upon that one condition."
"I don't fully understand."
"Well, as I just said, a million's quite a wad, and I, like every man, have my price. Also, I've my pride. Now, you don't know the reasons I may have for deciding to pocket that pride at the same time with your millions. Take it that they're mercenary. What does it matter to you? But even a gilded pill slips down easier in jam. The jam I want is a round or two with you, man to man, no gloves. Now d'you understand?"
"You want to fight me?"
"A little round, I said. We ought to be pretty evenly matched."
"It seems to me a very childish idea," said Severance.
"May be it is. But it's my idea. And those are my terms. Refuse or accept."
Severance fingered his moustache in the way he had. "When do you want to do this damned fool thing, and in what circumstances?" he hedged.
"Now. Circumstances those of the present minute. We can take off our coats. I suppose you don't wear corsets?"
Severance deigned no answer to this taunt. He thought hard for an instant. He was a good boxer, and had been complimented before the war by Carpentier himself. Garth was unlikely to be his equal. If the ass wanted to work off steam and save his beastly face this silly way, let him!
"If I consent to fight, you consent to – er – "
"Yes, whether you or I get the best of this."
"Done, then!"
They tore off their coats, collars, neckties, and waist-coats. Garth had a sullen, ugly grin on his face as he pushed back the table and cleared the room. Severance did not know what to make of the man, but had confidence in himself.
Two hours later the telephone-bell rang in Mrs. Sorel's room. She was putting on hat and coat to go to the theatre with Marise, but she ran to take up the receiver.
"Is that your voice, Lord Severance – Tony? Why, I wasn't sure at first," she answered an indistinct murmur at the other end. "You sound different, somehow! What? You've had a fall? Loosened a front tooth? Oh, my poor dear boy – your beautiful white teeth! Marise will shed tears. Of course, you mustn't leave your rooms to-night… Indeed, you must be sure he's the best dentist in New York. He'll fix you up in no time… Why, yes, I suppose I can run in, without Marise, just for a minute … if it would comfort you at all… The man Gar – said 'yes'? Well, that's a consolation! You settled the whole thing before your accident? But you'll tell me the story when I come."
For the first time, Garth did not go to the theatre that night. Never had he felt more physically fit, but he did not wish to see Marise. He felt that he would not be master of himself, through her "great scene" in the last act. He would want to spring on the stage and choke her. As he thought this, he looked at his knuckles. They were cracked and bruised, but the sight did not displease him. He stretched out his arms wide in a sweeping gesture, his hands spread palm upwards.
"God!" he said. "I've got my chance. To punish him. To punish her, too. Why not? The devil knows how well she deserves it. And yet – I don't know. We shall see!"
CHAPTER XII
"HAVE YOUR CAKE AND EAT IT, TOO!"
While two men thought violently of Marise Sorel, she lay in bed as night wore on, intent upon thinking of one of them, and inadvertently thinking of both.
Severance hadn't shown himself at the theatre because, thanks to Garth, he was not looking his best. Neither was Garth, who, on the contrary, looked and felt his worst. Unlike Severance, however, he had very little personal vanity; and a black eye or so would not have prevented him from going as usual to gaze at "Dolores." He did not go because he didn't wish to go.
Smoking pipe after pipe, he prowled up and down his own sitting-room far into the night, much to the annoyance of a lady on the floor below. He mapped out a future full of revenges; and if "thoughts were things," his must have hurled themselves like Mills bombs into Marise's room, to burst at the foot of her bed. He did not flatter himself that they would reach so far; yet possibly it was some disturbing telepathic influence which forced Marise to think of Garth as often as of Severance, almost as often as she thought of herself.
She thought with fury of Severance, with extraordinary curiosity of Garth, and with pitying forgiveness of herself.
Of course, she knew that she was behaving, or planning possibly to behave, in a way which should bow her head with shame. Perhaps she was a little ashamed. At all events, she wouldn't have liked people to know what she contemplated doing, and with what motive. They might misunderstand. They might think her a bad lot, whereas she was not a bad lot, but a charming, cruelly-wounded girl who had to defend herself at almost any price.
Well, she wasn't claiming to be an angel! She'd hate to be one. It would be too dull. But she was just as far from being a "Vamp," or even a sort of up-to-date Becky Sharp. Becky Sharp had no heart. She, Marise, had too much. That was the trouble. She was hurt, hurt through and through! She'd go mad if she didn't do something desperate.
To marry this Garth man – actually marry him! – would be desperate enough. She'd said that she'd do it. She had – yes, actually proposed to him. But she could change her mind. Surely he wouldn't be surprised if she did. And if he were surprised it didn't matter, except that – he was such a strange sort of fellow, he might kill her! It was rather a wonder he hadn't killed Tony – or tried to. She would somehow have fancied he was that sort! But she must have been mistaken in him. Mums said that Tony'd said (through the 'phone) that Garth had accepted the promise of a million dollars for – for being what she'd herself invited him to be: her "dummy" husband.
What was his motive? Was it what she had actually believed: that he loved her so wildly he'd do anything to get her? Or was Tony right; had every man his price in hard cash?
Marise sat up in bed. She couldn't lie still!
"By Jove, I wouldn't do such a thing if I were a man!" she nobly felt. "Not if I loved a girl. I wouldn't have her on such terms. Which is it with Garth?"
There it was again! She couldn't banish him from her thoughts. His big image blocked out that of Severance. But then, she wasn't curious concerning Severance. She knew all about his motives.
"I won't do the beastly thing!" she said out aloud, or almost aloud. If it had been quite, it might have brought Mums flying helpfully in from the next room, and Marise didn't want Mums at this moment. "I didn't mean it really, even at first."
Then she reminded herself that it wouldn't kill her if people did think that Lord Severance had jilted her. She needn't marry out of pique because of a nine days' wonder like that. She had had plenty of proposals (though nothing quite so exciting as Tony, perhaps), and she was bound to have plenty more. Some millionaire would come along – someone she could bring herself to tolerate as a real husband, and so break Tony's heart, as he deserved. Till one worth taking appeared, she would remain free.
As for the title – well, Mums had always cared more about that than she had, though, of course, it would be nice to marry an earl – especially such a unique sort of earl as Tony Severance.
As Mums said, "Tony was unique." He was so fearfully, frightfully good-looking. Such lots of girls wanted him. They had all envied her. If she lost him, they wouldn't envy her any more. They'd pity her. Ugh! They'd say, "Poor Marise Sorel thought she'd got him, but he slipped away and married his rich cousin."
This brought her down to bed-rock again. Should she carry out the Plan, and make Tony hers in the end – which he vowed was very near?
There were quite a lot of earls; but none like Tony. She'd had, and would have, other chances. But not to touch Tony. There wasn't anything to touch Tony! And with all that money he'd talked about, he'd be a multi-millionaire. The whole world would be hers as his wife. Yet – there was "many a slip 'twixt cup and lip." Just supposing – oh well, she wouldn't think of it any more. It was maddening, agonising. She'd go to sleep and decide —actually decide – in the morning!
Marise flung herself down desperately, and burying her hot head in the cool pillows, she forced herself not to think.
When she waked, it was with the sensation that something hateful had happened or was going to happen.
What was it? Oh!…
The girl remembered the horrid thing, and how she had decided to keep free and punish Tony. Or had she quite decided? Hadn't she put off deciding?
How dull as lead it would be to give up this tremendous adventure to which she'd impulsively pledged —almost pledged! – herself! It might be a shocking and repulsive thing to do if some people did it, but it wouldn't, of course, be so with her.
Lots of people had said that "Dolores" was a coarse, unpleasant part when Elsa Fortescue had played it, but no one had said such a word when she had taken it over. On the contrary!
As this thought passed through her badly aching head, Marise dimly realised that marriage with Major Garth – accepting him as a dummy husband, having to fight him, perhaps; "seeing what he would do," whether he would try the old Claude Melnotte or Petruchio stuff, or whether he'd work up new business of his own – would be quite the most exacting emotional part for which she'd ever been cast.
Suddenly she saw how she could punish Tony severely, even though she fell in with his plans; how she could have that satisfaction, and at the same time the satisfaction of not losing him.
"It's like having your cake and eating it too!" she thought.
She would marry Garth. She'd marry him soon —much sooner than Tony meant – as soon as a license could be got. She'd send for Garth and tell him so. She'd say she knew no more about marriage licenses than dog licenses. That sounded rather smart! He must find out and arrange everything. The quicker the better. Tony shouldn't hear a thing about it till too late. Then he would be sick! And in this way he would seem to be the jilted one. Splendid! His trip to England would be torture. And she'd make it a little worse by flirting with Garth under his nose before he sailed!
It was scarcely light when she settled all this. Then she could hardly wait till it was time to get up.
Strange! To many people this would be a day like any other! To Céline, to Zélie Marks – ah, Zélie Marks!
The eyes of Marise flashed like blue stars in the dawn.
CHAPTER XIII
"CAN YOU KEEP A SECRET?"
Miss Marks was punctual that morning, as usual.
She looked like a creature of moods and storms and sudden revolts, but her behaviour as a typist-stenographer belied her appearance as a woman. Not only was she always on time, but she was invariably correct in her deportment. Yes, "deportment" was the word! No other would have enough dignity to express Miss Marks.
As a rule, Mrs. Sorel came into the salon soon after the arrival of the secretary, leaving no idle interval after the preparation of paper, pencils, and sorting of letters. Zélie Marks remembered only one occasion when Miss Sorel had appeared before her mother. That was the day when she was anxious to find a certain letter in the bulky pile of correspondence, and make sure that no eye spied it save her own.
Zélie happened to be thinking of that affair to-day, when the door of Marise's bedroom opened and a Vision showed itself upon the threshold. "Good morning, Miss Marks," it said.
"Good morning, Miss Sorel," echoed its paid employée.
The said employée would not have been human had she never felt qualms of envy of the Vision. Sometimes it was merely a negative discomfort like a grumbling tooth that doesn't quite ache. Sometimes it was sharply positive; and this was such a moment. Queer! Zélie always envied Marise most when she saw the girl in what Mrs. Sorel called "undress uniform."
There were few young women even among wage-earners who couldn't make a fairly brave show in a neat tailor gown or a "Sunday best" for Church Parade. But only the Truly Rich could have such heavenly "undies," and only the young and lovely – lovely of figure as well as of face – could look in them more thrilling than the wondrous wax ladies in shop windows, or the willowy dreams of line-artists in fashion magazines.
Zélie had never had, and felt that she never would have (though she was sure she ought to have!) such things as Marise Sorel wore in her bedroom. They were utterly absurd, almost indecent, she told herself. What could be more idiotic for cold weather than a pale pink, low-necked, short-sleeved chiffon nightgown, with the only solid thing about it a few embroidered wild roses! What more brainless than a robe de chambre of deeper pink silk georgette, trimmed with sable fur in all the places where fur couldn't possibly give warmth?
She, Zélie Marks, wore comfortable delaine night-dresses at this time of year, and wadded kimonos. She respected herself for her economy and good sense. But she wished she were Miss Sorel!
"Miss Marks," said Marise, "can you keep a secret?"
Zélie smiled. "In my work, I have to keep a good many."
"I suppose you do! Well, will you keep one for me?"
"Certainly."
"That's a promise! Now – I shall surprise you very much."
Zélie smiled politely, and waited.
"I'm – going to be married."
"Pardon me, Miss Sorel," said Zélie, in rather a stilted, professional manner, "but that doesn't surprise me at all."
"You haven't heard the name of the man yet."
"No. You haven't told me that."
"You mean, you believe you've guessed?"
"I hope you don't think me presumptuous?"
"Of course not! Why should it be – such a long word? Guessing's free! But I wonder if you have guessed?"
Zélie allowed herself to look slightly bored. If Miss Sorel were going to be married, and leave for England, she wouldn't want a secretary long, so there was no need to grovel! "Do you wish me to try?" she asked primly.
"Yes."
"The Earl of Severance."
Marise had known she would say that, yet she blushed. "Lord Severance and I are quite old pals," she replied. "This is something much newer and more exciting! I'm going to marry your friend Major Garth."
There were few warmer-hearted girls, few who hated more to give pain, than Marise, yet as she spoke she fixed her eyes – minx-like, if not lynx-like – on the face of Miss Marks. Even when she saw it go pale – that greenish pallor of olive complexions – and then a dull, unbecoming red which gave the dark eyes a bloodshot effect, she wasn't conscious of repentance for what she had done. She had an odd, unpleasant feeling that Miss Marks had no right to turn pale and red about a man she was going to marry. So instead of softening, she went on, hard as nails.
"Don't forget it's a great secret. I want to spring a surprise on everyone. Will you please 'phone him – Major Garth – at the Belmore for me? I haven't got time now to call him myself. Just ask him to come round in three-quarters of an hour. I'll have had my coffee and be dressed by then, if I rush."
"Very well, Miss Sorel," agreed Zélie, controlling her voice. After which she added, "I hope you'll allow me to congratulate you."
Marise laughed a funny little laugh. "Thanks! But doesn't one 'wish joy' to the bride and 'congratulate' the bridegroom?"
By this time Zélie was at the telephone, but she turned, and her black eyes darted at Marise one small flame of the fire in her heart. "I wish you joy, of course," she said. "But I must congratulate you too, because I've known Ja – Major Garth since before the war, and I know what he is. He's great! If you lumped together most of the best men you've met, they wouldn't make one John Garth!"
"Ha ha! he is very big!" giggled Marise. "Quite an out-size."
Zélie could have boxed the ears under the delicious boudoir cap. They deserved to be boxed!
"His soul is big!" the older girl snapped. "I only hope you – I mean, there aren't many women capable of appreciating him. But, of course, you must be, or you wouldn't have succumbed to him so soon."
"Succumbed!" Marise flung back the word with just the least shrug of her shoulders. For an instant the two glared at each other, though "glare" is a melodramatic word which doesn't chime well with nicely-brought-up girls in the twentieth century. When Marise, as a child, had looked at anyone in that way, she called it "snorting with her eyes."
Now, it was only for a third of a second. Then Miss Marks applied herself to the telephone, and never had her neat back looked so square and business-like. There was no more time to waste upon useless repartees with a secretary, so Marise bolted to her own room.
She meant and wished to be dressed and fed in three-quarters of an hour, but never had she quite brought off that feat – at least, never since she'd become a successful star; and she didn't quite bring it off now. Her hair was being done when Mums tapped and entered upon the scene. She looked grave and rather worried, though she never actually frowned, for fear of wrinkles.
"That man Garth has come," she announced in a low voice. "What an hour for a call! Do you wish to see him?"
"I sent for him," Marise explained. "Didn't he tell you? Or haven't you spoken to him?"
"I have spoken to him, but he didn't tell me," said Mary Sorel. "I came into the salon, and there he was with Miss Marks. I was never so surprised in my life!"
"I don't see why, as you know perfectly well I'm going to marry him," returned Marise. "Oh, Céline! you've dug a hairpin about an inch into my head! Now mind, whatever you hear us say must go no further."
"But certainly not, Mademoiselle," vowed Céline, who spoke excellent English, though the two ladies loved proudly to air their French for her benefit. "It is indeed true that Mademoiselle will marry this Monsieur American?"
"It is indeed true," Marise repeated drily.
"It won't take place – I mean the wedding – for some time, however," Mrs. Sorel hurried to add.
Marise said nothing, but looked suddenly as mulish as a beautiful girl can look. She had been wondering whether or no to confide in Mums what was in her mind, and see what Mums would say and think about it. But on the instant she decided "No." She knew beforehand what Mums would think and say. Everything would be from Tony's point of view. Mums was obsessed with the wonder and majesty and glory of the great – soon to be the rich – Lord Severance! The news should be sprung on Mums at the last moment, when everything was "fixed up."
Meanwhile, Zélie was snatching a few words with Garth – not the words she wanted personally to speak, but as nearly those as she dared.
"Jack Garth!" she whispered, "Miss Sorel told me just now you and she are going to be married. She wasn't joking?"
"I hope not," said Garth steadily, "because I'd be – rather cut up if I thought it was a joke."
"Listen, Jack," Zélie hurried on. "We're pals – we've been pals for a long time. I want you to be happy. I'd do a whole lot to make you happy. So you've just got to forgive me if I say… Do you know what you're doing? Can you be happy? That girl – I mean, Miss Sorel – doesn't love you any more than she does me. And that isn't a little bit!"
"I love her," said Garth. "I don't care a damn whether I'm happy or not."
"Oh! Then it's all right. Of course, I suppose you know your own business. Still – Jack – I can't help feeling there's something queer – some sort of mystery. Don't let yourself be deceived."
"I'm not being deceived."
"I hope not, I'm sure. But – oh, do forgive me! – it's Lord Severance she loves."
"Then the sooner she unloves him the better it will be all around."
"I know you think I'm a meddler. But remember we're friends. Remember Mothereen told me to be your friend, Jack. Those two Sorel women think Severance the perfect beau ideal of a man. They look upon you – oh, I can't say it!"
"You needn't," Garth drily assured her; "I'm a cad; a bounder; a lout."
"The beasts! I hate them both!" Zélie gasped. "They're not worthy to black your boots."
"I mostly wear brown ones," said Garth.
"You're right to snub me. I won't say any more. You must go your own way, and I hope – I hope with all my heart" (Zélie choked a little) "you'll never regret it. But just this one thing let me beg you to do. Whatever they're up to, don't give them the chance to despise you. I mean, in little things. They can't in big! I saw the way they looked at – at your clothes Sunday afternoon, Jack. I could have thrown something at them! – not the clothes, but the Sorels – and Severance, the conceited Greek snob! But the clothes weren't right, boy. They didn't do you justice. They had a sort of 'Sunday-go-to-meeting' look: kind of smug! And your gloves and shoes just the wrong yellow! For heaven's sake don't lose a minute in going to a good tailor if you don't want your life to be a hell!"
Garth laughed out, a hard, spasmodic laugh; and at that instant Marise came in.