Steve could begin to work simply, to find his permanent place in the commercial world. He had enough money––or would have––to start a home in simple yet pleasant fashion; he had knowledge and ability that would place him favourably and furnish 299 him the chance to work normally toward the top. That was all very well, he told himself toward early morning––but must it be done alone? He had had the Gorgeous Girl as the incentive to make his fortune, and now he had Mary Faithful as the incentive to lose it––and if the Gorgeous Girl stayed on at the villa and became that pitied, dangerous object, a divorcee; and if Mary did care–––-Strange things, both wonderful and fearsome, happen in the United States of America.
CHAPTER XXII
Beatrice, never having gone to her father for anything save money, did not know how to broach the subject in heartfelt and deep-water fashion. When she went into his room she found him with scarlet spots burning in his grayish cheeks, his dark eyes harsher and more formidable than ever. He tried twisting himself on the bed, resulting in awkward, halfway muscular contortions and gruff moans punctuating the failure. He held out his arms to her and she went flying into them, not the dignified woman of the world putting a cave man in his proper place.
“He is impossible!” was all she said, giving way to hysterical sobs. “Don’t even try talking to him again–––”
More gruff moans before Constantine began coherently: “He’ll do what I say or he’ll not stay in this house. I expected this–––”
“Oh, you don’t understand, papa. He doesn’t want to stay here, not at all! He does not want me. There, now you know it! He must have said something of this to you––perhaps you didn’t believe him. Neither did I––at first. Oh, my head aches terribly and I know I shall be ill. He wants me to be a poor man’s wife––starting again, he calls it––while he earns a salary and we live in a poky house and I do the cooking. I’d think it awfully funny if it was happening to any of my friends––but this is terrible! 301 Well, goat-tending tells, doesn’t it? And after all we have done for him––to babble on about honesty and earning and all those socialistic ideas. He is a dangerous man, papa; really. I don’t care.”
Constantine stopped moaning. “Look up at me.” He made her lift her face from the tangle of silk bed quilts. “Do you love him?”
“Why, papa, I always adored Stevuns––but of course I can’t give up the things to which I’ve been accustomed! It’s so silly that I think he is queer even to suggest it––don’t you?”