Graham threw his arms around her.

"It isn't all restlessness, Martha--there is a chance! What have I done so far but keep you poor? It has hurt me to see you always hard at work at some drudgery, living in this poor little house, planning to save a few cents wherever you could. Now there may be a change; our life will be very different and the children's future brighter if I can find the lode. But if I am to find it, I must go now. In a few more years it would be too late."

"Yes," she said softly. "But, after all, we have been happy here."

He kissed her, protesting that he had been far happier than he deserved; but she drew away from him.

"Still, you have had your bad hours. Do you think I don't know? It wasn't easy to go to the office day after day and keep accounts, with the longing you couldn't get over, and dreams of riches in your mind."

"I'm afraid I let you guess it. But they're not dreams. I found a lode rich in silver; I may locate it again."

Mrs. Graham smiled rather wearily.

"Dear, I hardly care whether you find the lode or not. You will be content when you have looked for it, and I shall be happier knowing that the restlessness you couldn't master has gone and will never trouble us again."

When Jim and his sister came in for supper, Andrew joined them, and found that he was expected to talk over his plans. It was obvious that Graham had not strained his authority: his was a harmonious household and its younger members expressed their opinions with freedom. Andrew was, however, amused to see that their father had risen in their esteem. They had never attached much importance to his belief in the lode; but since he had gained the support of a man of means, it looked as if there might be something in the project. Nevertheless, they bantered Andrew freely and he took it in good part. When he left, Mrs.

Graham accompanied him to the door.

"You'll try to forgive me?" he begged, stopping a moment in the narrow, shabby hall.

"Yes," she said. "I can't fairly blame you, and I have been prepared for what has happened." Then she laid her hand on his arm. "I am trusting you with a great deal, Mr. Allinson. It's a heavy responsibility."

CHAPTER XII

INTERRUPTED PLANS

Mrs. Denton reclined in an easy-chair in her room at Frobisher's house. A shawl of beautiful texture covered her shoulders, her feet rested on a stool, and the lamp on a neighboring table was carefully shaded. The dull pallor of her skin and the gauntness of her face suggested the invalid, but her health, while far from good, had suffered from the thought she bestowed on it. She was a reserved and selfish woman, and her mean ambitions were responsible for much of the trouble that had befallen her. Geraldine and she were generally at variance, Frobisher bore with her, but there was one person for whom she cherished a somewhat misguided tenderness. Mappin had been her favorite from his earliest years.

His father had been her lover when the Frobishers were poor, and she had returned his affection. Nevertheless she had thrown him over when a richer suitor appeared, and her marriage had turned out disastrously. Urged by a desire for social prominence and love of ostentation, she had driven her husband into hazardous, speculations, for which he had weakly reproached her when the crash came. He escaped total ruin by Frobisher's help, but he afterward went downhill fast, wrangling with his wife until his death set her free. Her old lover had also married, and died a widower, leaving one son, and Mrs. Denton had shown a benevolent interest in the boy. He was bold and ambitious, which was what she liked, and she was not deterred by the lack of principle he early displayed. Success was the one thing she respected, and as he grew up young Mappin promised to attain it. Now she was expecting him, for he came to see her whenever he was in the neighborhood, and Frobisher made him welcome for her sake.

When Mappin came in he was red-faced from the frosty air.

"This place is stiflingly hot," he said. "I'm afraid that's because you're not feeling very fit yet."

Mrs. Denton told him she could not get rid of her cold, and he had the tact to listen with a show of interest while she talked about her health.

"You will stay all night?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm sorry I must get back to-morrow."

"Then I've no doubt it's necessary," she remarked in a suggestive tone.

Mappin laughed as if he understood her.

"It is. As things are going, business must come first. Besides, I can't flatter myself that I gained much by my last visit."

"That's a point I can't speak upon, but you're not likely to lose your head. There's a cold-blooded, calculating vein in you. I wonder whether that was why you came straight to my room, though the society of a crotchety old invalid can't have much charm for you."

The man's heavy face grew a trifle redder than usual.

"No," he protested, "it wasn't. I'm not dirt mean."

"Oh, well," said Mrs. Denton, looking at him gently, "you know I'm your friend. But I never pretended not to guess what brought you here."

"And I haven't made a secret of it. I mean to marry Geraldine."

"She'll have a good deal of money some day."

Mappin looked up angrily.

"I'll admit that my interest generally comes first; but I'd be mighty glad to take Geraldine without a cent."

"Then you had better bestir yourself. Allinson has been here pretty often and she seems to like him. Besides, he's made a good impression on her father."

"Ah!" exclaimed Mappin, "that confounded Englishman again! It's only a few hours since he threatened to cut my connection with the Rain Bluff; and one way and another that's a bad set-back." He frowned and the veins showed on his forehead. "I was coining money out of my contract, and I need it, because I have my feelings and I won't ask Frobisher for Geraldine like a beggar. He has a cool, smiling way of saying unpleasant things that makes me mad. I want to show him I'm as smart as he is and can give the girl as much as he can."

When they were detached from his business, Mappin's ideas were crude, but Mrs. Denton was not refined and found no fault with them.

Moreover, she had an interest in his success. For a long time she had been the mistress of her brother's house and directed his social affairs. The position was a desirable one, especially as she had been left without means; but it was threatened. It was inevitable that Geraldine would take the power she enjoyed out of her hands, unless she married. Had Mappin not entered the field, Mrs. Denton would have furthered the claims of any suitor, to get the girl out of her way.

"I suppose money would gratify your pride, but you may find waiting risky," she said. "If you're wise, you'll make all the progress with Geraldine you can."

He smiled ruefully.

"I sometimes feel that I'm making none. She looks at me half amused and half astonished when I express my opinions; I have to keep a curb on myself when I talk to her. In fact, I've once or twice got mad. I can take a joke, but her condescending smile is riling."

"Then why do you want to marry her?"

"It puzzles me when I think it over coolly, but that's difficult. When she's near me I only know that I want her." His eyes gleamed and his face grew flushed as he proceeded. "Guess it must be her wonderful eyes and hair and skin; the shape of her, the way she stands, the grit she shows. Once when I said something she flashed out at me in a fury, and I liked her for it." He clenched a big hand. "Somehow I'm going to get her!"

Mrs. Denton smiled. The savagery of his pa.s.sion did not jar on her; she admired his determined boldness. She respected force that was guided by capacity; she liked a man who was strong or cunning enough to take what he desired. Her niece, however, held different views.

"That sounds genuine," she said. "Still, you had better talk to Geraldine in a more polished strain."

"No; I'd do it badly, and it wouldn't pay. There's red blood in me, and I haven't found much difference in men and women. If you hit straight at their human nature, you can't go wrong. A girl's never offended because you like her for being pretty."

He was wise, in that he knew his limitations and never pretended to be what he was not. His knowledge of human weaknesses had been profitable, for he had not scrupled to prey upon them, but he erred in a.s.suming that his was the only rule of life. Virtue he frankly regarded as either absence of desire or a sentimental pose.

"You're too coa.r.s.e, too crude in your methods," Mrs. Denton persisted.

"If you're not careful, you'll disgust Geraldine. You don't seem to see that she's different from the girls you are accustomed to."

Mappin laughed.

"Oh," he said, "at heart, they're all the same."

"In a sense, you're wrong. Allinson lets Geraldine see that he puts her on a higher plane, and she likes it. If you can't imitate him, you had better watch him."