"Good evening," said Montague.

He was trembling slightly, and Duval noticed it; he smiled genially.

"This is the sort of material out of which scenes are made," said he.

"But I beg you not to be embarra.s.sed--we won't have any scenes."

Montague could think of nothing to say to that.

"I owe Evelyn an apology," the other continued. "It was entirely an accident--this clipping, you see. I do not intrude, as a rule. You may make yourself at home in future."

Montague flushed scarlet at the words.

"Mr. Duval," he said, "I have to a.s.sure you that you are mistaken--"

The other stared at him. "Oh, come, come!" he said, laughing. "Let us talk as men of the world."

"I say that you are mistaken," said Montague again.

The other shrugged his shoulders. "Very well," he said genially. "As you please. I simply wish to make matters clear to you, that's all. I wish you joy with Evelyn. I say nothing about her--you love her.

Suffice it that I've had her, and I'm tired of her; the field is yours.

But keep her out of mischief, and don't let her make a fool of herself in public, if you can help it. And don't let her spend too much money--she costs me a million a year already.--Good evening, Mr.

Montague."

And he went out. Montague, who stood like a statue, could hear him chuckling all the way down the hall.

At last Montague himself started to leave. But he heard Mrs. Winnie coming back, and he waited for her. She came in and shut the door, and turned toward him.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"He--was very pleasant," said Montague.

And she smiled grimly. "I went out on purpose," she said. "I wanted you to see him--to see what sort of a man he is, and how much 'duty' I owe him! You saw, I guess."

"Yes, I saw," said he.

Then again he started to go. But she took him by the arm. "Come and talk to me," she said. "Please!"

And she led him back to the fire. "Listen," she said. "He will not come here again. He is going away to-night--I thought he had gone already.

And he does not return for a month or two. There will be no one to disturb us again."

She came close to him and gazed up into his face. She had wiped her tears away, and her happy look had come back to her; she was lovelier than ever.

"I took you by surprise," she said, smiling. "You didn't know what to make of it. And I was ashamed--I thought you would hate me. But I'm not going to be unhappy any more--I don't care at all. I'm glad that I spoke!"

And Mrs. Winnie put up her hands and took him by the lapels of his coat. "I know that you love me," she said; "I saw it in your eyes just now, before he came in: It is simply that you won't let yourself go.

You have so many doubts and so many fears. But you will see that I am right; you will learn to love me. You won't be able to help it--I shall be so kind and good! Only don't go away--"

Mrs. Winnie was so close to him that her breath touched his cheek.

"Promise me, dear," she whispered--"promise me that you won't stop seeing me--that you will learn to love me. I can't do without you!"

Montague was trembling in every nerve; he felt like a man caught in a net. Mrs. Winnie had had everything she ever wanted in her life; and now she wanted him! It was impossible for her to face any other thought.

"Listen," he began gently.

But she saw the look of resistance in his eyes, and she cried "No no--don't! I cannot do without you! Think! I love you! What more can I say to you? I cannot believe that you don't care for me--you HAVE been fond of me--I have seen it in your face. Yet you're afraid of me--why?

Look at me--am I not beautiful to look at! And is a woman's love such a little thing--can you fling it away and trample upon it so easily? Why do you wish to go? Don't you understand--no one knows we are here--no one cares! You can come here whenever you wish--this is my place--mine!

And no one will think anything about it. They all do it. There is nothing to be afraid of!"

She put her arms about him, and clung to him so that he could feel the beating of her heart upon his bosom. "Oh, don't leave me here alone to-night!" she cried.

To Montague it was like the ringing of an alarm-bell deep within his soul. "I must go," he said.

She flung back her head and stared at him, and he saw the terror and anguish in her eyes. "No, no!" she cried, "don't say that to me! I can't bear it--oh, see what I have done! Look at me! Have mercy on me!"

"Mrs. Winnie," he said, "you must have mercy on ME!"

But he only felt her clasp him more tightly. He took her by the wrists, and with quiet force he broke her hold upon him; her hands fell to her sides, and she stared at him, aghast.

"I must go," he said, again.

And he started toward the door. She followed him dumbly with her eyes.

"Good-bye," he said. He knew that there was no use of any more words; his sympathy had been like oil upon flames. He saw her move, and as he opened the door, she flung herself down in a chair and burst into frantic weeping. He shut the door softly and went away.

He found his way down the stairs, and got his hat and coat, and went out, unseen by anyone. He walked down the Avenue-and there suddenly was the giant bulk of St. Cecilia's lifting itself into the sky. He stopped and looked at it--it seemed a great tumultuous surge of emotion. And for the first time in his life it seemed to him that he understood why men had put together that towering heap of stone!

Then he went on home.

He found Alice dressing for a ball, and Oliver waiting for her. He went to his room, and took off his coat; and Oliver came up to him, and with a sudden gesture reached over to his shoulder, and held up a trophy.

He drew it out carefully, and measured the length of it, smiling mischievously in the meanwhile. Then he held it up to the light, to see the colour of it.

"A black one!" he cried. "Coal black!" And he looked at his brother, with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, Allan!" he chuckled.

Montague said nothing.

CHAPTER XX

It was about a week from the beginning of Lent, when there would be a lull in the city's gaieties, and Society would shift the scene of its activities to the country clubs, and to California and Hot Springs and Palm Beach. Mrs. Caroline Smythe invited Alice to join her in an expedition to the last-named place; but Montague interposed, because he saw that Alice had been made pale and nervous by three months of night-and-day festivities. Also, a trip to Florida would necessitate ten or fifteen thousand dollars' worth of new clothes; and these would not do for the summer, it appeared--they would be faded and pa.s.se by that time.

So Alice settled back to rest; but she was too popular to be let alone--a few days later came another invitation, this time from General Prentice and his family. They were planning a railroad trip--to be gone for a month; they would have a private train, and twenty five people in the party, and would take in California and Mexico--"swinging round the circle," as it was called. Alice was wild to go, and Montague gave his consent. Afterward he learned to his dismay that Charlie Carter was one of those invited, and he would have liked to have Alice withdraw; but she did not wish to, and he could not make up his mind to insist.

These train trips were the very latest diversion of the well-to-do; a year ago no one had heard of them, and now fifty parties were leaving New York every month. You might see a dozen of such hotel-trains at once at Palm Beach; there were some people who lived on board all the time, having special tracks built for them in pleasant locations wherever they stopped. One man had built a huge automobile railroad car, shaped like a ram, and having accommodation for sixty people. The Prentice train had four cars, one of them a "library car," finished in St. Iago mahogany, and provided with a pipe-organ. Also there were bath-rooms and a barber-shop, and a baggage car with two autos on board for exploring purposes.

Since the episode of Mrs. Winnie, Oliver had apparently concluded that his brother was one of the initiated. Not long afterward he permitted him to a glimpse into that side of his life which had been hinted at in the songs at the bachelors' dinner.