It was said lightly, but like many words uttered in jest, it sounded as if there might be some truth back of it. Both grew silent and the subject was quickly changed.
While mortified at her discomfiture, Laura thought more of the big fellow for his attitude of utter indifference. She had been so pampered and courted all her life that it was a novelty to find that she made absolutely no impression on this one man. Her respect for him grew in consequence. Gradually, he, too, seemed to take more pleasure in her society. He called more frequently and became more friendly. He was still on his guard, as if he still distrusted her—or perhaps himself—but he did not avoid her any longer.
The theatre naturally took up most of her time. When not acting, she was rehearsing new rôles. It was interesting work, and she felt it was valuable experience. Madison declared she had improved wonderfully, and, in his enthusiasm, wrote eulogistic articles about her in the papers that were copied far and wide. Indeed, she could thank him for all the success she had had. He was at the theatre every night, watching her from the front, taking the liveliest interest in her success, and promoting it in every possible way. A critic who ventured to find fault he threatened to horsewhip; he put her portrait in the papers and printed interesting stories concerning her that had only his imagination for foundation. He transacted business for her with the local manager, and acted in her behalf in all the necessary negotiations with the Church Bazaar committees.
Before very long they were the best of friends. Laura found him not only useful, but a delightful companion. What time could be spent from rehearsals, she spent with him. In the familiar, intimate, theatrical style, they already called each other by their first names. They went out horseback riding together, and he took her for long automobile trips, showing her many of the wonderful places with which Colorado abounds. They played golf at Broadmoor, and fished black-spotted trout in South Platte river. They drank health-giving waters at Great Spirit Springs, and viewed the reconstructed ruins of the prehistoric cliff-dwellers at Manitou. They traveled on the cog railroad to the dizzy summit of Pike's Peak, and visited the busy gold-mining camp at Cripple Creek. Here Madison was on familiar ground. He showed his companion the manner in which man wrests the coveted treasure from Nature, the whole process of mining, the powerful electric drills, the ponderous machinery, the ore deposits in the hard granite. He pointed out the miners' cabins on the mountainsides, replicas of the rough log huts in Alaska in which he, himself, had lived. It was all very interesting and so novel that for the first time in her life Laura felt the delightful sensation of seeing something new. Time had no longer any significance to her. The days and weeks sped by so pleasantly that she gave no thought to returning East. Sometimes she even forgot to write her weekly letter to Mr. Brockton. She marveled herself that she could be so happy and contented far away from the alluring glitter of the Great White Way.
Then all at once the truth dawned upon her, and the revelation came with the suddenness and force of an unexpected blow. She was in love with this man. All these weeks, unknown to herself, quite unconsciously, she had been slowly falling desperately, madly, honestly and decently in love. The man she left behind in New York, the man to whom she owed everything, did not exist any more. John Madison was the man she loved.
At first she tried to laugh it off as being too absurd. She, Laura Murdock, with her ripe experience of the world and many adventures with men—to fall in love like a silly, sentimental schoolgirl! It was too ridiculous. How the Rialto would laugh if they knew. Of course, they never would know, for there was nothing in it. The Westerner probably did not care two straws for her. He liked her, of course, or he would not bother to waste his time with her, but, no doubt, he thought of her only as a friend, a lively companion who kept him amused. No doubt, too, he knew her record and secretly despised her. Even if he did not care for her and told her so—even if he were willing to marry her, what then? She would be a fool to listen to him. What kind of a life could he, a penniless scribbler, give her compared with the comforts and gifts which Willard Brockton was able to shower upon her?
Above all else, Laura had sought to be practical in life. She often declared that it was one of the secrets of her success. It was late in the day, therefore, to make a mistake of which only an unsophisticated beginner could be guilty. Yet, much as she tried to laugh it off and reassure herself, the matter worried her. When, mentally, she compared the two men, the advantage invariably remained with the younger. John was nearer her own age, they had in common many tastes and interests which the broker cared nothing about, and she felt more exuberant, more youthful, in the newspaper man's society. Brockton, she could not help remembering, was more than double her age. It would be unnatural if she had not found the younger man more congenial. In her heart she felt that Brockton, with all his money, had no real hold upon her, and that if John really did care for her and asked her to marry him, she would be face to face with the hardest question for which she had ever had to find an answer.
CHAPTER IV.
Early one morning John came to the hotel to take Laura for a prearranged excursion. Temporarily out of the bill at the theatre, and a long holiday being hers to enjoy, she had suggested a little trip to Manitou to see the far-famed Garden of the Gods, a place of scenic marvels, where, by a strange freak of Nature, great rocks and boulders, fantastic in shape and coloring, are thrown together in all kinds of curious formations. The plan was to go by train as far as Colorado Springs, and then finish the journey by automobile.