"Well, I don't believe he'll trouble you again. Not ever. I felt he might make a fool of himself to-night, though. So I came over, in case I should be needed. Now, what do you want to do—I mean, really want? I consider Severance wiped off the map—your map. So if you wish to be free of me, I'll make you so. While Severance was in the offing I'd have stuck to you like a leech, because you're too good for him. That Browning wasn't loaded. But I'd have killed the fellow sooner than give you up to him. It's different now. I'll take you to Los Angeles, to your mother at Bell Towers to-night if you like."
Marise was silent.
"You've only got to say," he prompted her.
To his intense surprise and her own, Marise began to cry. Tears poured down her cheeks. She flung herself on a sofa and sobbed. "I'm so—so unhappy!"
Garth's face grew slowly red as he looked at her. "I'm sorry for that," he said. "Once I was willing you should be unhappy. I'm past that now. But you needn't be unhappy long. You don't even have to spend another night in Vision House. Your mother——"
"You want me to go," gulped Marise. "You really love Zélie Marks——"
"You're talking in your hat," he sharply cut her short. "You know I don't love Zélie Marks. What Severance said about her and me to-day was disgusting. She and I are friends. She's a good girl and a grand pal. I wouldn't hurt her even for you. And I tell you this, Marise, now that I know—for I do know!—that you won't marry that cad Severance, you can divorce me. But it will have to be done decently. You can go to Reno and live there for a few months with Mrs. Sorel. Then you can free yourself on the grounds that our tempers are incompatible. But no woman's to be lugged in, even a stranger. I won't stand for that. For the sake of Mothereen and my Victoria Cross I won't be dragged in the dirt. I'll not give you what the lawyers call 'cause.' So there you are. Now you know."
But Marise still sobbed. "I don't—don't wish to drag anyone in the dust!" she wailed.
"I'm sure you don't," said Garth, in an impersonal tone, a tone of kind encouragement. "You've changed quite a lot since New York, though the time's been short. You can't measure these things by time! I hoped you'd change. You were an adorable girl, but I told you once that you were spoiled and selfish, and you were—all of that. You weren't a woman. Now you are. I counted a bit on the effect of Mothereen. And I counted a whole lot on the Canyon. They're both worked their spells more or less, I shouldn't wonder. But you haven't changed to me. Not that I ever really dared expect that. But I sort of hoped—at first. I'm not blaming you, though. I took the risk—and let you take it. Now for the next thing."
"Now for—the next thing!" repeated Marise, between sobs; and searched wildly in her gold-mesh bag. "For Heaven's sake lend me a handkerchief," she wept.