"I don't see his object," puzzled Marise.
"Neither do I," replied Zélie—"yet. But as you say—now you are here, we might as well talk. Won't you sit down?"
"No, thank you," said Marise. "I'd rather stand."
"Well, if you don't mind, I'll sit. I'm not very strong yet, as I told you in my letter, that's why I'm still here."
"Oh, please do sit down!" cried Marise, more gently. "In that case I will sit, too."
"In justice to Jack I ought to tell you the whole story of why I came out," said Zélie. "He and I decided it would be best for you not to know. At least, I decided, because I'm a woman and realise how a woman feels about such things. However, as he let you come here to see me, he must have expected you to hear the truth. Goodness knows, it's simple enough, and won't take long in the telling! The morning after you were married he called early to see me, and asked if I'd do him a big favour. Of course I said yes. The favour was, to start out West at once, buy pretty things to decorate your room at Vision House, get the whole place in apple-pie order, and engage servants from somewhere—no matter where, and no matter what wages. Mothereen wasn't strong enough to have the whole work thrown on her shoulders, though she'd have loved it. But when I'd finished a lot of commissions at Kansas City, I stopped at Albuquerque and told her about you."
"I wonder what you told?" Marise laughed a little nervously.
"What Jack would have wanted me to tell, not what you deserved."
Mrs. John Garth stiffened. "Are you the judge of what I deserve?"
"God help you if I were! All I know about you is, that you're the most spoiled, conceited girl I ever saw, and that you're not capable of appreciating Jack Garth—no, not capable!"