"Of course he would. Any man would, who had a grain of self-respect.

Then you'd have the pleasure of giving up all this"--she waved her hand about the room--"and going back to that wretched hole in Harlem, and doing your own cooking, while Bobbie plays on the sand pile on the corner lot, and pretends he has a pony cart with a soap box. You would enjoy that, wouldn't you? Oh, of course you would!"

"Don't! Don't!" cried Edith, with a shudder. "I could never stand it--never!"

"Furthermore," pursued her sister, "Emerson would be bound to know. He's seen this place, and wouldn't understand what it all meant, if you gave it up. He probably would have no further use for me. I'm sorry for you, Edith, but you have got us all into this situation, and you haven't any right to upset it--at least, not now. Wait until Emerson and I are married, at any rate."

Edith was on the verge of tears. "I ought to have told him long ago,"

she wailed. "In the very beginning. Now it's too late. If he knew the truth, he might never forgive me."

"I wouldn't take any chances, if I were you," observed Alice dryly.

"And Donald has been so fine, so strong, so splendid," sobbed her sister. "I never realized before all that he has been to me. I can't tell you how I admire him."

"Very likely. It's a great deal easier for a woman to realize her husband's good points when she has thirty thousand dollars a year than when she hasn't thirty cents."

"Yes, I suppose it is," said Mrs. Rogers, drying her eyes. "I guess I'll have to make the best of it."

"That's sensible, Edith. Nothing else to do. Now I think I'll go up and dress. What's on for this evening?"

"We might go to the hotel for an hour or so. There's a dance. After that you and Mr. Hall can take a walk along the beach. That will give him another chance," she added, with a meaning smile. "Mother isn't at all favorable."

"I know it. She thinks Emerson hasn't money enough. She's right, too; he hasn't. But I guess he will have, some day. I'm willing to take a chance, anyway. You know, Edith, I'm very fond of mother, but I don't intend to let her interfere between Emerson and myself. As a mother-in-law I can see her weak points. I've never said so before, but I believe she is responsible for nine-tenths of the trouble between Donald and yourself."

"What trouble?"

"Oh, your discontent and everything. You would never have thought of running away with Billy West if she hadn't sympathized with you all the time. When I get married I'm going to live as far away as possible--somewhere where I shall see mother about once in six months. I don't propose to have her making any trouble in my domestic arrangements." She started toward the staircase. "I've barely time to dress. h.e.l.lo, Donald!" she said, as she met her brother-in-law descending the stairs. "How's everything?"

CHAPTER XV

Donald Rogers looked worried, although he tried not to show it. He glanced about the hall eagerly.

"Where's Bobbie?" he inquired.

"Having his supper, dear. He was out driving when you came. They drove over to the lighthouse to try his new pony. You can't imagine how delighted he is with it. I'm trying to keep him out of doors as much as possible. He looks like another child already. The sea air is just what he needs."

"Great, isn't it?" Donald said. "I don't wonder he feels better. You are looking very charming yourself to-night, Edith. You're gaining weight."

"I've gained eight pounds since we've been here. I shouldn't have believed it possible, but I weighed myself the day we came just to see.

I wish you would take a few weeks off, and have a good rest--you don't look yourself. What's the matter? Business?"

"Yes. Things aren't going very well."

She came up to him, and put her hand affectionately upon his arm.

"After all, Don," she said, looking at him fondly, "it doesn't make so much difference--now."

"Just as much as ever, dear," he said, taking her hand. "You know how I feel about this money. I'm glad, for your sake, and Bobbie's, but it isn't mine, and I can't forget it."

"Everything I have is yours, dear--everything! You know that."

"Thank you, Edith. I appreciate it even if I can't take advantage of it.

I want to succeed on my own account--I can't stop work just because my wife happens to be a rich woman. You wouldn't respect me if I did that.

I'll win out, all right. You believe that, don't you?" He looked at her eagerly.

"Of course I do," she replied, patting his hand. "I know you will. I only wish you would let me make it easier for you. It spoils all my happiness, not to be able to do so."

"I don't see what you could do, Edith, more than you are doing."

"How _is_ business, Donald?"

He began to walk gloomily up and down. "The work at the office is all right," he said presently. "It's that confounded gla.s.s plant that worries me. We haven't enough working capital, and can't seem to borrow any. The worst of it is, there's a payment due on the property September first, five thousand dollars. You know the condition of the money-market, I suppose. The papers are full of it."

"You mean about the stock-market?" asked Edith timidly.

Donald threw himself into a chair. "Yes," he replied, "that and the Western Securities decision, and the failure of the Columbian Trust Company. Things look pretty bad. The banks are afraid to lend a dollar without gilt-edged security. Just my luck! Any other year things would have been different. You remember I was afraid of this, in the spring.

I spoke to Billy West about it."

"Why shouldn't I lend you the money?" said Edith, coming over and standing by his chair.

"I couldn't let you do that, dear," he replied, looking up at her.

"But why? You know I have over twenty thousand dollars lying idle in the bank--interest, not princ.i.p.al. You must let me lend it to you. How much do you want?" She went over to a desk in the corner and drew a check-book from one of the drawers. "Please, Donald. It will be such a pleasure to me." She looked at him in eager expectancy.

"I can't accept it, Edith. I want to stand on my own feet. Now that you have all this money, I'm doubly anxious to do it. I don't want to be just Mrs. Rogers' husband."

"You could never be that, dear. I want you to do all you say--can't you see that's one reason I'm so anxious to help you? We will make it a business transaction--you can give me a mortgage, or whatever you call it, just as if you were borrowing from some hard-fisted old miser. I have a perfect right to invest my money in a gla.s.s factory, if I please.

You wouldn't owe me anything." She paused, smiling.

"You are a great financier, Edith," laughed her husband. "You have discovered the art of borrowing money without owing it."

"Don't laugh at me, Donald," she protested. "I'm in earnest. I want you to take it--just to oblige me. You will--won't you, dear?"

"Would you think just as much of me?" he asked, evidently revolving the matter carefully in his mind.

"How can you ask me such a question? It would be a mighty poor sort of a world, if we couldn't help one another over a hard place, once in a while."

Donald rose from his seat, and went over toward his wife. "I didn't intend to speak of this, Edith," he said, "but now that I have--perhaps poor Billy would be glad, if he knew. I'll take it--but as a loan only, mind you, and with proper security."

At this reference to West, Edith shivered slightly and turned away to hide her feelings. "How much do you need?" she asked in a strained voice. "Fifteen thousand?"

"Oh, no. Ten will be ample. But it isn't necessary to bother about it now. Wait until I go back to town."

"No, Don. You might change your mind. You'd best take it now." She hurriedly began to write out a check. "You can send the mortgage, or note, or whatever it is, down to me--that is, if you really want to do it that way."

"I certainly shouldn't think of doing it any other," said Donald.