CHAPTER XIV
One summery September morning, a month later, John Dorning, gloom written on his face, walked into Rodrigo's office and laid a letter ruefully upon his desk.
"The dread summons has come," John announced. "Ferris wants me to be in Philadelphia in the morning. The painting and pieces are there and he wants to see me about arranging them and having plaques made and all that sort of thing. What a bore! That's the annoying part of this business, Rodrigo—when you've made a sale, your troubles have just begun. Your customers know so little about what they're buying that you have to take it home for them and keep it dusted and—oh, it's a nuisance."
Still fussing, John left for Greenwich early that afternoon, intending to go all the way home and return to New York to catch the midnight train for Philadelphia, rather than miss the precious hours with Elise.
The afternoon following John's departure brought two unexpected developments. Rodrigo received a long telegram from his partner. The painstaking Ferris wished estimates at once upon some new specimens of Italian sculpture. He also desired to see new models. John suggested that Rodrigo secure both at once and meet him at his hotel in Philadelphia early the next morning. He indicated that competitors were interested in the new proposition and that there was consequently need for both secrecy and haste.
Rodrigo hurried out of the office. He would have to secure some of the desired pieces from a certain private collection, which he was quite sure could be purchased on the spot.
He was, as a result, not present when Elise appeared in the establishment of Dorning and Son about three o'clock in the afternoon.
The wife of John Dorning occasioned frank glances of admiration from her husband's staff as she walked gracefully through the exhibition rooms and into John's office. She was looking marvelously well in her new, svelte fall costume, and she was quite aware of it. John Dorning's money permitted her to give her striking beauty an adequately luxurious setting.
She was not sorry to find Mary Drake alone in her husband's office. She was curious to make a more intimate study of this pretty blond girl, whom she had previously noticed and spoken to but casually. For John had indiscreetly shared Rodrigo's love secret with his wife. Though there had been a tacit agreement between the men that Rodrigo's regard for Mary was to be held in confidence, John had quite innocently told Elise about it. Were they not equally interested in seeing their friend happy? John had, of course, not noticed Elise's face turn cloudy for an instant as he related the news to her.
Elise now concealed her real feeling toward Mary Drake behind a voice of almost excessive sweetness as she asked, "Is Count Torriani outside the building?"
"Yes, Mrs. Dorning. But he will probably be back at any moment."
"I shall wait here then—if you don't mind," Elise said quietly, settling herself down comfortably in the chair beside the desk, while Mary resumed her work of opening John's afternoon mail.
For several minutes, Elise carefully considered the delicate-faced girl before her. What did Rodrigo see in this pale creature? Good Lord, he couldn't be serious. She felt a resentment against Mary, a feeling of enmity that was really a rising jealousy. As the moments passed, she suddenly was seized with a desire to crush her,——
"I understand from Mr. Dorning that you and Count Torriani are good friends—something more, perhaps, than just—secretary and employer?" Elise said suddenly, striving with an effort to keep the suavity in her voice and make what she had resolved to say sound as casual and friendly as possible.
Mary looked up with a start, her eyes questioning and a faint pink suffusing her cheeks.
"I hope you won't misunderstand what I have to say or think me impertinent," Elise went on. "You have been associated with Mr. Dorning so long that I feel that you are almost one of our family." Elise forced a smile, striving to disarm the disconcerted Mary. "From several things Mr. Dorning has told me, I gather that Count Torriani has been very attentive to you in—a social way?"
Mary rose and faced Elise coldly. "Mrs. Dorning, I do not care——"
"I assure you I have the best intentions in the world," Elise cut in quickly. "I understand you have not encouraged Count Torriani. In that, you show your excellent sense. Nevertheless, I know Count Torriani so well that I feel I must warn you further. He is not what people call—a marrying man. And I don't believe that you are the sort of girl who would care to——"
"Mrs. Dorning, please!" Mary cried sharply. Then she relaxed a little her tense attitude. John had so often sung the praises of his sweet, unselfish wife. Perhaps she was misjudging Elise's motives. She faltered in a more conciliatory tone, "You mean to be kind, of course, but——"
"I do, I do. Mr. Dorning and I have seen so much unhappiness caused by Rodrigo's impulsiveness and thoughtlessness. And you seem so much above the average type."
"Thank you," said Mary. Hurt, outraged, she yet managed to be calm. "But I can assure you that you need distress yourself no further on my account."
"I must—even at the risk of making you angry at me. Of course, John and Rodrigo have always been close friends, almost like brothers. Even in that dreadful Sophie Binner mess, John stood by him. Rodrigo is in many ways a fine man, but he has the continental ideas of love, you know. He scoffs at our American worship of faithfulness. He has been the hero of so many affairs, known so many worldly women, that I am sure the thought of marriage has never entered his head. He could never settle down and make a wife happy."
"You misjudge him—you must!" Mary said hoarsely, but her defense did not even convince herself. Elise was but putting into brutal words the answer Mary herself did not want to give to the questions which had been agitating her mind and heart for months. And who could say that Elise's answer was not the true one? The past of Rodrigo was undeniable. And what proof was there, Mary forced herself to ask, that he had not been playing with her too?
"You are so invaluable here," Elise went on caressingly. "It would be a shame if—that is, Rodrigo would be the first to blame himself if his thoughtlessness compelled you to——"
But in that veiled threat, Elise went just a little too far. Amid the confusion in Mary Drake's mind came a flash of intuition. She relaxed her tense posture and stared at Elise quietly. She understood what the wife of John Dorning was driving at now—what it meant to her own relations with Rodrigo. Mary made a sudden radical decision.
She said quietly to Elise, "I understand you, Mrs. Dorning. I understand both Count Torriani—and you. In any case I am leaving—at the end of the week."
"Oh, I didn't know that," Elise replied sympathetically, striving to keep the relief out of her voice. She had accomplished her purpose far more completely and with less effort than she had anticipated. This puritanical miss, she had realized, must be eliminated. And now, it developed, the good angel was eliminating herself.
Both women looked up quickly as the door opened to admit Rodrigo. Without a word Mary turned and walked out past him with such a white and troubled countenance that, his eyes turned grave and followed her questioningly. When he shifted them to Elise, there was a glint of accusation in their dark depths, though he said nothing about Mary. Instead he greeted the wife of his friend with a colorless "This is a surprise."
"Is it?" she asked in a voice of velvet, resolving to humor him. "I am merely following John's instructions. He said you were to take me to tea, dinner, and the concert at Aeolian Hall later."
"That was before the old boy telegraphed me all this extra work," he said with affected good nature. What the devil, he was asking himself, had she said to Mary—if anything? He said to Elise pointedly, indicating the bulging brief case he laid upon the desk, "I'll have to work here every minute on this stuff until I catch the midnight train for Philadelphia, if I'm to have things shipshape bright and early in the morning as John instructed."
Her face clouded with annoyance. What an evasive, exasperating man he was. But the very fact that he was going to such lengths to avoid being alone with her only added stimulus to the game for Elise. "You're really going to stay in this stuffy place until midnight?" she asked casually.
"I'm afraid I'll have to," he replied. "Please don't think I'm a boor or anything of that sort, Elise. I should like nothing better than to spend the rest of the day and evening with you, but—some other time."
"Why didn't you answer my letter inviting you to Greenwich for the week-end?"
"Because I received a wire from John that he wasn't returning until the following Monday," he said sharply. "And I naturally supposed you had received the same information and that it automatically cancelled the invitation."
A little smile played around her lips and she said softly, "What a safe and sane and altogether good person you have developed into, Rodrigo." She picked up her purse from the table and rose slowly to her feet. "Well, I suppose I can call Rita Corson or somebody. You're sure you are playing the business slave?"
"I'm sorry," he bowed. "Some evening soon we'll make it a foursome with John and you and Mary and me."
"How interesting," she smiled, and he saw her to the door.
He watched her wending her serene way down the deserted aisle to the street door, then picked up his brief case and went into his own office. A few minutes later, he heard footsteps and judged correctly that it was Mary returning to her sanctum for her coat and hat. He unbuckled his brief case and took out of it a slender book bound in blue and gold. He walked quickly out through the main room and into the office marked "John Dorning." Mary was seated at John's desk staring into space, her eyes a little moist and red.
"I've found the book we were talking about the other evening, Mary," he said cheerfully. "'The Anonymous Sonnets.' I located it in Dobell's collection."
She summoned an answering smile, but her voice was dull as she said. "You have a treasure then. It's very rare."
He came closer. "It isn't for me, Mary. I intended it for your birthday to-morrow."
"It must have cost a fortune, Rodrigo—I can't accept it," she replied in a low voice.
He looked at her blankly. "But why not? What's wrong, Mary?"
"I hope you won't think me ungrateful. But circumstances have developed—that make it necessary for me to leave my position here at the end of the week—or at least as soon you can get someone to replace me."
"Nonsense," he cried impulsively. "I know—someone has been talking to you. But I'm not going to let you go." He suddenly felt happiness sweeping away from him, darkness closing in, all that he held dear escaping him. He clutched at her hand and cried quickly, pleadingly, "Mary! You can't! I need you—I love you! I want you to be my wife." She looked at him, startled, frightened, afraid to trust herself to speak. Emotion surged from him, "Oh, haven't you seen how much I cared?" Then, a light and a terrible forecast of disaster dawning, "Have you been afraid of this? Is that why you're leaving?"
"Please, Rodrigo," she almost whispered. "I'm grateful—and honored—but——"
"Don't say that yet, Mary. I've so much to tell you. So much that you must believe."
She looked at him now with clear, resigned eyes. She said quietly, "Is there any use of it?"
"Not if you—couldn't love me. If you don't believe in my love, or that I could make you happy."
She replied slowly, "How I wish I could say to you, or put clearly to myself, all that is in my mind. I wish I dared listen to you. But it will be easier for both of us—the less there is to remember. Please let me go."
Despair crept into his voice as he answered her, "Perhaps you have condemned me already. Is that what you mean?"
She said proudly, "You don't understand. If I was sure I loved a man, and wanted to marry him, it would be for what he meant to me, not what he had meant to other women." He started eagerly to interrupt, but she held up her hand. "But even if you were that man," she said firmly, "I wouldn't say 'yes.' It would only mean unhappiness for both of us—in the end. We are not meant for each other."
"But why?—why?" he cried.
She replied, "I cannot tell you."
"It's unjust. Unfair! You're denying me—and perhaps yourself—the greatest happiness in the world, and giving no reason for it."
"Please!" she cried, as he seemed about to sweep her into his arms, to crush out all of her doubts and questionings. "There is so much unnecessary suffering in the world. Let us spare ourselves any needless pain. I mean what I have said—and please believe that I am sorry—for both of us."
He followed her with stricken, beaten eyes as she slowly walked into her office and took her hat and coat.
"Good-bye, Mary," he said as calmly as he could.
"Good-bye," she said. "I shall be in in the the morning—as usual."
As usual! When she had gone, he flung himself into John's chair and put his head into his arms, pressing his fingers into his forehead to crush out the pain that was there. He remained thus for half an hour, unable to think, to move, aching in body and soul. Then, gradually, a reaction set in. Why had he to suffer so? Why had the only pure love he had ever had in his life been cast aside as if it were something presumptuous, unclean?
He forced himself to his feet and walked into his own office, hardly knowing what he was doing, and, spreading the papers from his brief case out upon his desk, he tried to work on the new estimates for Dorning. He was starting to pity himself now, and gradually a fierce resentment, not against Mary—for he still loved Mary—but against the whole scheme of things, the world with its petty moral code, seized him. He laughed aloud, and it echoed very unpleasantly through the vacant office. Bah! What was the use of burying his past, when the past had arisen from its coffin to mock him at the critical moment. Bah! Why deny one's self pleasures, why fight against women like Elise, why try to change the leopard's spots when the world chose to think them blacker than they really were?
He tossed his pencil down impatiently and took to pacing the office. A mad, reckless mood was coming upon him that he could not control. It was after nine o'clock when finally he forced himself back into his chair, his mind having been wrenched into a semblance of order, and resumed his labors upon the report.
He did not hear the light tap upon his door. It was not until the door softly opened and quietly closed again that he became aware that a second person was in the room.