"The Englishman shook his head.

"'Philadelphy?'

"'No,' was the reply.

"'Chicago?'

"Another negative answer.

"'Waal, where be you from?'

"'London.'

"'Whew!' and the cracker gave a long whistle. 'What brought you all the way from London to Loneville?'

"'I came to amuse myself.'

"'Ter amuse yerself, heh! Well, that is mighty curious. What d' you do when you're to home?'

"'Nothing.'

"'How d' you live, anyway?'

"'My father supports me.'

"'Don't do nothing when you're to home, and yer father keeps ye?'

"'Yes.'

"'Waal, I'd like to ask ye jest one more question. What'ud you do 'f your father should bust?'

"That is my theory. I don't think any man should be brought up in such a way that he would have nothing to fall back on if his wealth should fail him. Give every young man an employment of some sort, no matter how rich he may be, and he will know what to do when his father 'busts'."

Marion, somehow, found herself agreeing with her husband's views. His ideas had always seemed so restricted before. She wondered why he was becoming so sensible.

Francois cleared the table and changed the gla.s.ses; the coffee was brought and Duncan and Roswell lighted their cigars. Marion usually remained during the smoking when the party was small, so the talk went on uninterruptedly, Roswell continuing his easy flow of anecdote and argument, and turning the conversation as one subject after another was suggested to his mind. Marion caught herself occasionally looking at her husband with a feeling of admiration, and wondered why she had never before discovered his charm of manner. She felt that he occasionally turned his keen eyes toward her as though he understood her thoughts, and she was afraid that he might be able to see her heart.

"I read a case in the paper this morning which impressed me sadly," said Roswell, putting down his empty coffee cup. "I knew the people and it seemed but the outcome of my fears."

"What was it?" asked Marion.

"The wife of a man I have known in business has left him. The husband went to Decatur on Thursday, and when he returned he found that she had fled the night before with her music teacher."

"It was probably a good riddance, wasn't it," said Duncan.

Marion thought these words unnecessarily harsh and she found herself looking appealingly at Roswell for a charitable reply.

"I can't say that," replied Roswell. "The trouble was that they had nothing in common. He was a man who began life as a page on the Board of Trade. By careful attention to business he worked his way up until he is now a very successful broker. He has, however, absolutely no social position, and no prospect of attaining one. When, two years ago, he went East, and married a girl who belonged to a good Syracuse family and brought her West, it must have been a bitter disappointment to the young wife to find herself denied the recognition which she was accustomed to receive at home. She was alone in a strange city. Her husband was away most of the time, and he was so completely wrapped up in business that his wife was left to her own resources. Can you condemn her entirely for doing as she did? It is all very well to behave if we have never been tempted, when, perhaps, under the same circ.u.mstances, we might act no better ourselves. For my part I think the husband is probably as much at fault as the wife."

Marion felt her heart leap with grat.i.tude when she heard these words.

Her husband's voice had softened as he spoke them, and his eyes wore a sad, thoughtful expression.

"I don't think you are right," said Duncan, draining a gla.s.s of claret.

"No one but a fool will permit a woman to go astray under his eyes, and a fool deserves to lose his wife."

As he spoke these words he looked toward Marion with an insinuating expression which told her that his remark was directed at Roswell, and that he expected her to appreciate the humor of it. Marion felt a sense of thankfulness rise in her heart. Coa.r.s.eness never could appeal to her sensitive nature and she shuddered when she thought that this was the man for whom she had been willing to risk her honor. She was beginning to find him out. Thank heaven, the knowledge came before it was too late.

Roswell was silent for a moment. Then he said, thoughtfully: "Any one of us may be cast to play the role of fool. Unfortunately we never recognize just when we begin to play the part. I used to think as you do, Grahame. It is only lately I have begun to feel that it takes two to create a difference. Perhaps I am wrong, but I believe that, had my friend recognized sooner that his wife was made unhappy by his own neglect and the surroundings in which he placed her, the danger might have been averted."

For a while no one spoke. Marion gazed thoughtfully at the table; Duncan twirled a gla.s.s carelessly between his fingers and a smile played on his lips, while Roswell silently puffed his cigar and watched the blue wreaths of smoke curl gently upward.

"Shall we go into the next room, my dear?" said Roswell after a moment, dropping his half-finished cigar. "I have just time to catch my train."

"You are not going, are you?" said Marion, looking up, startled. "Please put off your trip," she added with a slight tone of appeal in her voice.

"I must go," he answered, rising from his chair.

The three people walked toward the hall. As they reached the door, Roswell stopped and motioned Duncan to lead the way. The younger man pa.s.sed out, leaving Marion and her husband together. Roswell took both his wife's hands and drew her toward him.

"I must leave Grahame with you, my dear. Don't mind my running away. It is business and can't be helped."

"Don't go, Roswell," pleaded Marion, and she turned her head away so that he could not look into her face.

"I must, my darling. I must," he answered, and she felt his arms about her. She hid her face on his breast, and, ashamed of her unworthiness, she felt afraid to be left alone. "Good-by, dear," he said, and kissed her tenderly on her forehead. They walked silently through the hallway to the little French room, by the door. They found Duncan there, wandering carelessly about examining the ornaments. Stepping up to him, Roswell put out his hand and said simply: "I must leave you, Grahame. I have just time to catch my train. Sit here and finish your cigar. My wife will do her best to amuse you."

Duncan muttered a word of parting and Roswell hurried into the hallway.

Marion took a seat in the farther end of the room and gazed thoughtfully toward the door where her husband had left. She could hear him putting on his coat and then the door closed behind him. The carriage rolled off, and as the last echo of the wheels died away she realized that she was alone with the man who had played such a strange part in her life.

She felt brave now. The danger was past and her only thought was to prove worthy of the confidence her husband had placed in her. She looked at Duncan, wondering what his first move would be. He took a few steps on the floor. His eyes seemed to sparkle with merriment. "Well, I must say," he said, stopping in his desultory wandering and plunging his hands into his pockets, "that husband of yours is the most convenient person that I ever came across." Marion cast an angry glance toward him.

All the resentment in her nature was aroused by these coa.r.s.e words. Her dream of months had vanished, and in its place was a repulsive reality.

Duncan came toward her with a confident step and tried to take her hand.

Marion jumped to her feet and pushed him back. "Don't touch me," she cried.

Duncan laughed. This new-found anger amused him and he did not believe she was in earnest. "Marion, dearest, we are alone," he said ardently.

"We can enjoy our love and no one will interrupt."

He made another movement toward her. She drew back and looked defiantly at him.

"I hate you," she said. "Can't you see that I hate you."

"Hate is the first step to love," answered Duncan, still amused by her anger. "Let it fade away for I want to see love smile from those bewitching eyes."

Then he hesitated. He saw anger flashing from her dark eyes now, but he could not believe that he had lost the power he had so lately exerted over her, and he fancied that this resentment must be due to some whim.

"Do you forget the past, dearest?" he said coaxingly, after a moment.

"Do you forget our love of yesterday?"

"The unreasoning fancy of a moment is not love," answered Marion coldly.