* * *
After luncheon, he went for a stroll with Alice, and she told him how she had been passing the time. “Young Curtiss was here for a couple of days,” she said.
“General Prentice's nephew?” he asked.
“Yes. He told me he had met you,” said she. “What do you think of him?”
“He struck me as a sensible chap,” said Montague.
“I like him very much,” said Alice. “I think we shall be friends. He is interesting to talk to; you know he was in a militia regiment that went to Cuba, and also he's been a cowboy, and all sorts of exciting things. We took a walk the other morning, and he told me some of his adventures. They say he's quite a successful lawyer.”
“He is in a very successful firm,” said Montague. “And he'd hardly have got there unless he had ability.”
“He's a great friend of Laura Hegan's,” said Alice. “She was over here to spend the day. She doesn't approve of many people, so that is a compliment.”
Montague spoke of a visit which he had paid to Laura Hegan, at one of the neighbouring estates.
“I had quite a talk with her,” said Alice. “And she invited me to luncheon, and took me driving. I like her better than I thought I would. Don't you like her, Allan?”
“I couldn't say that I really know her,” said Montague. “I thought I might like her, but she did not happen to like me.”
“But how could that be?” asked the girl.
Montague smiled. “Tastes are different,” he said.
“But there must be some reason,” protested Alice. “For she looks at many things in the same way that you do. I told her I thought she would be interested to talk to you.”
“What did she say?” asked the other.
“She didn't say anything,” answered Alice; and then suddenly she turned to him. “I am sure you must know some reason. I wish you would tell me.”
“I don't know anything definite,” Montague answered. “I have always imagined it had to do with Mrs. Winnie.”
“With Mrs. Winnie!” exclaimed Alice, in perplexing wonder.
“I suppose she heard gossip and believed it,” he added.
“But that is a shame!” exclaimed the girl. “Why don't you tell her the truth?”
“I tell her?” laughed Montague. “I have no reason for telling her. She doesn't care anything in particular about me.”
He was silent for a moment or two. “I thought of it once or twice,” he said. “For it made me rather angry at first. I saw myself going up to her, and startling her with the statement, 'What you believe about me is not true!' Then again, I thought I might write her a letter and tell her. But of course it would be absurd; she would never acknowledge that she had believed anything, and she would think I was impertinent.”
“I don't believe she would do anything of the sort,” Alice answered. “At least, not if she meant what she said to me. She was talking about people one met in Society, and how tiresome and conventional it all was. 'No one ever speaks the truth or deals frankly with you,' she said. 'All the men spend their time in paying you compliments about your looks. They think that is all a woman cares about. The more I come to know them, the less I think of them.'”
“That's just it,” said Montague. “One cannot feel comfortable knowing a girl in her position. Her father is powerful, and some day she will be enormously rich herself; and the people who gather about her are seeking to make use of her. I was interested in her when I first met her. But when I learned more about the world in which she lives, I shrank from even talking to her.”
“But that is rather unfair to her,” said Alice. “Suppose all decent people felt that way. And she is really quite easy to know. She told me about some charities she is interested in. She goes down into the slums, on the East Side, and teaches poor children. It seemed to me a wonderfully daring sort of thing, but she laughed when I said so. She says those people are just the same as other people, when you come to know them; you get used to their ways, and then it does not seem so terrible and far off.”
“I imagine it would be so,” said Montague, with a smile.
“Her father came over to meet her,” Alice added. “She said that was the first time he had been out of the city in six months. Just fancy working so hard, and with all the money he has! What in the world do you suppose he wants more for?”
“I don't suppose it is the money,” said he. “It's the power. And when you have so much money, you have to work hard to keep other people from taking it away from you.”
“He certainly looks as if he ought to be able to protect himself,” said the girl. “His face is so grim and forbidding. You would hardly think he could smile, to look at him.”
“He is very pleasant, when you know him,” said Montague.
“He remembered you, and asked about you,” said she. “Wasn't it he who was going to buy Lucy Dupree's stock?”
“I spoke to him about it,” he answered, “but nothing came of it.”
There was a moment's pause. “Allan,” said Alice, suddenly, “what is this I hear about Lucy?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“People are talking about her and Mr. Ryder. I overheard Mrs. Landis yesterday. It's outrageous!”
Montague did hot know what to say. “What can I do?” he asked.
“I don't know,” said Alice, “but I think that Victoria Landis is a horrible woman. I know she herself does exactly as she pleases. And she tells such shocking stories—”
Montague said nothing.
“Tell me,” asked the other, after a pause, “because you've given up Lucy's business affairs, are we to have nothing to do with her at all?”
“I don't know,” he answered. “I don't imagine she will care to see me. I have told her about the mistake she's making, and she chooses to go her own way. So what more can I do?”