MONTE.

She came into the office looking like a hunted thing; but he stepped forward to meet her with a boyish good humor that rea.s.sured her in an instant. The firm grip of his hand alone was enough to steady her.

Her tired eyes smiled grat.i.tude.

"I never expected to be married and deserted--all in one week," he said lightly. "What's the trouble?"

He felt like a comedian trying to be funny with the heart gone out of him. But he knew she expected no less. He must remain just Monte or he would only frighten her the more. No matter if his heart pounded until he could not catch his breath, he must play the care-free chump of a _compagnon de voyage_. That was all she had married--all she wanted. She glanced at his arm in its black sling.

"Who tied that this morning?" she asked.

"The valet."

"He did n't do it at all nicely. There's a little sun parlor on the next floor. Come with me and I 'll do it over."

He followed her upstairs and into a room filled with flowers and wicker chairs. She stood before him and readjusted the handkerchief, so near that he thought he felt her breath. It was a test for a man, and he came through it n.o.bly.

"There--that's better," she said. "Now take the big chair in the sun."

She drew it forward a little, though he protested at so much attention.

She dropped into another seat a little away from him.

"Well?" he inquired. "Aren't you going to tell me about it?"

He was making it as easy as possible--easier than she had antic.i.p.ated.

"Won't you please smoke?"

He lighted a cigarette.

"Now we're off," he encouraged her.

He was leaning back with one leg crossed over the other--a big, wholesome boy. His blue eyes this morning were the color of the sky, and just as clean and just as untroubled. As she studied him the thought uppermost in her mind was that she must not hurt him. She must be very careful about that. She must give him nothing to worry over.

"Monte," she began, "I guess women have a lot of queer notions men don't know anything about. Can't we let it go at that?"

"If you wish," he nodded. "Only--are you going to stay here?"

"For a little while, anyway," she answered.

"You mean--a day or two?"

"Or a week or two."

"You'd rather not tell me why?"

"If you please--not," she answered quickly.

He thought a moment, and then asked:--

"It was n't anything I did?"

"No, no," she a.s.sured him. "You've been so good, Monte."

He was so good with her now--so gentle and considerate. It made her heart ache. With her chin in hand, elbow upon the arm of her chair, she was apparently looking at him more or less indifferently, when what she would have liked to do was to smooth away the perplexed frown between his brows.

"Then," he asked, "your coming here has n't anything to do with me?"

She could not answer that directly. With her cheeks burning and her lips dry, she tried to think just what to say. Above all things, she must not worry him!

"It has to do with you and myself and--Peter Noyes," she answered.

"Peter Noyes!"

He sat upright.

"He is at the Hotel des Roses--with his sister," Marjory ran on hurriedly. "They are both old friends, and I met them quite by accident last night. Suddenly, Monte,--they made my position there impossible. They gave me a new point of view on myself--on you. I guess it was an American point of view. What had seemed right before did not seem right then."

"Is that why you resumed your maiden name?"

"That is why. But sooner or later Peter will know the truth, won't he?"

"How will he know?"

"The name you signed on the register."

"That's so, too," Monte admitted. "But that says only 'Madame Covington.' Madame Covington might be any one."

He smiled, but his lips were tense.

"She may have been called home unexpectedly."

The girl hid her face in her hands. He rose and stepped to her side.

"There, there," he said gently. "Don't worry about that. There is no reason why they should ever a.s.sociate you with her. If they make any inquiries of me about madame, I'll just say she has gone away for a little while--perhaps for a week or two. Is that right?"

"I--I don't know."

"Nothing unusual about that. Wives are always going away. Even Chic's wife goes away every now and then. As for you, little woman, I think you did the only thing possible. I met that Peter Noyes this morning."

Startled, she raised her face from her hands.

"You met--Peter Noyes?" she asked slowly.

"Quite by chance. He was on his way to walk, and I took him with me.

He's a wonderful fellow, Marjory."

"You talked with him?"