Then they both sat down together and enthusiastically began to make plans for the future.
It was not without due premeditation that Madison had entered into this affair. He was not the kind of man to undertake anything lightly. Everything he had done in his life had been long and well thought out. He liked this girl and he wanted her for his wife. Both her beauty and her personality pleased him. He knew that she was not the kind of woman to whom men usually give their names, but he had never been conventional. He ridiculed and scoffed at the conventions. He made his own social laws and cared not a rap for the good or bad opinion of the world. If there had been opportunities to meet decent women, of good social standing, he had always thrown them aside with the exclamation that such women bored him to death, and in all his relations with the opposite sex there had never entered into his heart a feeling or idea of real affection until now. He fell, for a moment only, under the spell of Laura's fascination, and then, drawing aloof, with cold logic he analyzed her and found out that while outwardly she had every sign of girlhood ingenuousness, sweetness of character and possibility of affection, spiritually and mentally she was nothing more than a moral wreck. At the beginning of their acquaintance he had watched with covert amusement her efforts to win him, and he had likewise noted her disappointment at her failure—not, he believed, that she cared so much for him personally, but that it hurt her vanity not to be successful with this big, good-natured, penniless bohemian, when men of wealth and position she made kneel at her feet. From afar he had watched her slowly changing point of view, how from an artificial ingenuousness she became serious, womanly, sincere. He knew that he had awakened in her her first decent affection, and he knew that she was awakening in him his first desire to accomplish things and be big and worth while. So, together, these two began to drift toward a path of decent dealing, decent ambition, decent thought and decent love, until at last they had both found themselves, acknowledged all the badness of what had been, and planned for all the goodness of what was to be.
Laura's immediate task, and assuredly it was both a difficult and unpleasant one, was to acquaint Will Brockton with her determination. That the news would astonish him, was certain. She also thought that he would be sorry. In his indifferent, selfish way, she believed that he cared for her—perhaps more than for any of the other women he had known. She knew him too well to believe that he would make a scene. He was too much the gentleman and man of the world for that. He would accept the situation philosophically. Besides, any opposition on his part would be in direct violation of their agreement, that it was her privilege to quit whensoever she might choose. She was considerably put out at first when she received his telegram telling her that he was coming to Denver to fetch her back, and her first impulse was to send a wire to stop him. She thought she would prefer to wait and tell him in New York. But, on consideration, she did nothing of the kind. Perhaps it were better to have it over with at once. Why make a mystery of it? There was nothing to conceal. The sooner every one knew it the better.
He had reached Denver that morning, and, finding she had already left Colorado Springs, followed here there post haste. He arrived at Mr. Williams' villa, débonnair and immaculate, as usual, and in the kindly paternal manner characteristic of him, he saluted Laura with a chaste kiss.
"Why, kid, how well you look!" he exclaimed heartily.
Laura was looking her best that morning. She had not expected Brockton so soon. Indeed, she had dressed to please John, who came to see her every afternoon. Her gown, made of summery, filmy stuff, was simple, girlish and attractive. Her hair, arranged in the simplest fashion, was parted in the center. There was about her that sweetness and girlishness of demeanor which had been her greatest asset through life.
Embarrassed, and temporarily at a loss how to account to her hostess for the broker's presence and evident intimacy, the young girl introduced him as—her uncle. It was not the first white fib she had told in her life, and it was one of the least harmful. With ready tact, she quickly added that Mr. Brockton was a skilful bridge player. This was enough to insure his welcome. Mrs. Williams, impressed with the visitor's talents and aristocratic appearance insisted on his staying to dinner, which cordial invitation he politely accepted. Diplomatically, he burst into extravagant raptures over the beauty of the view.
"What a magnificent panorama! This is worth coming a thousand miles to see."
Visibly pleased, Mrs. Williams smiled:
"I hope you will afford me the privilege of entertaining you a few days. We could show you views still more beautiful."