Ladies Must Live Part 24

"The connection of any old friend who does not care to see Miss Fenimer neglected and humiliated," answered Linburne, all the more hotly because he knew it was an awkward question.

Perhaps the young poet had not been so wrong in attaching the name of Helen to Miss Fenimer, for she sat now as calmly interested in the conflict developing before her, as Helen when she sat on the walls of Troy and designated the Greek heroes for the amus.e.m.e.nt of her newer friends.

"May I ask, Mr. Riatt, what rights in the matter you consider that you have?" Linburne pursued.

For Riatt, too, the question was an awkward one, but he had his answer ready. "The rights," he said, "of a man who certainly was once engaged to Miss Fenimer, and who came East ignorant that the engagement was already at an end."

Christine laughed. "Very neatly put," she said.

"Neatly put," exclaimed Linburne. "You talk as if we were playing a game."

"You have the reputation of playing all games well, my dear Lee," she returned. The obvious fact that she was enjoying the interview, made both men eager to end it--but, unfortunately, they wished to end it in diametrically opposite ways.

"Christine," said Linburne, "will you ask Mr. Riatt to be so kind as to let me have ten minutes alone with you?"

Riatt spoke to her also. "I will do exactly as you say," he said, "but you understand that if I go now, I shall not come back."

Christine smiled. "Is that a threat or a promise?" she asked, the sweetness of her smile almost taking away the sting of her words.

Seeing that she hesitated, Riatt went on: "Since I have come more than a thousand miles to see you, don't you think you might suggest to Mr.

Linburne that he let me have my visit undisturbed?"

There was a long and rather terrible pause, terrible that is to the two men. Christine probably enjoyed every second of it. There was nothing in Linburne's experience of life to make him think that any woman whom he had honored with his preference was likely to prefer another man to himself. So the pause was terrible to him, not because he doubted what the climax would be, but because he felt his dignity insulted by even an appearance of hesitation. Max, on the other hand, was still a good deal in doubt as to her ultimate intentions.

It was to him, finally, that she spoke.

"Max," she said, "do you remember that while we were staying at the Usshers' we composed a certain doc.u.ment together?"

He nodded, and then as she did not continue, he opened his pocketbook and took out the release.

She made no motion to take it; on the contrary, she leaned back and crossed her hands in her lap.

"Yes," she said, "that's it. Well, you may stay, if you care to burn that sc.r.a.p of paper."

It was now Max's turn to hesitate, for the decision of freedom or captivity was in his own hands; the crisis he had so recklessly rushed to meet was now upon him.

"What is in that paper?" asked Linburne, as one who has a right to question.

Christine was perfectly good-tempered as she answered: "Well, Lee, it still belongs to Mr. Riatt; but if he decides not to burn it, I promise to tell you all about it as we drink our tea."

"Do you promise me that, Christine?"

"Most solemnly, Lee." She looked up at Linburne, and before Max knew what he was doing he found he had dropped the paper into the fire.

Strangely enough, though the fire was hot, the paper did not catch at once, but curled and rocked an instant in the heat, before it disappeared in flame and smoke. Not until it was a black crisp did Christine turn to Linburne, and hold out her hand.

"Good-by, Lee," she said pleasantly. But he did not answer or take her hand. He left the room in silence.

When the door had shut behind him, Christine glanced at her remaining visitor. "And now," she said, "I suppose you are wis.h.i.+ng you had not."

"What sort of a woman are you?" Riatt exclaimed. "Will you take any man that offers, me or Hickson, or Linburne or me again, just as luck will have it?"

"I take the best that offers, Max--and that's no lie."

The implied compliment did not soften Riatt. He went on: "If you and I are really to be married--"

"If, my dear Max! What could be more certain?"

"Since, then, we are to be married, you must tell me exactly what has taken place between you and Linburne."

"With pleasure. Won't you sit down?" She pointed to a chair near her own, but Riatt remained standing. "Shall we have tea first?"

"We'll have the story."

"Oh, it's not much of a story. Lee and I have known each other since we were children. I suppose I always had it in mind that I might marry him--"

"You loved him?"

"Certainly not. He always had too high an opinion of himself, and I used to enjoy taking it out of him--and making it up to him afterwards, too. I used to enjoy that as well. Sometimes, of course, he found the process too unbearable; and in one of his fits of anger at me, just after he left college, he went and blundered into this marriage with Pauline. She, you see, took him at his own valuation. His marriage seemed to put an end to everything between us--"

"You surprise me."

Christine laughed. "Ah, I was younger then."

"You kept on seeing him?"

"Naturally we met now and then. Sometimes he used to tell me how I was the only woman--"

"That is your idea of putting an end to everything?"

"Oh, if one took seriously all the men who say that--I did not think much about Lee's feelings for me, until my engagement was announced.

Then it appeared that the notion of my marrying some one else was intolerable to him."

"A high order of affection," exclaimed Riatt. "He was content enough until there seemed some chance of your being happy."

"Perhaps he did not consider that life with you would promise absolute happiness, Max."

"I don't call that love. I call it jealousy."

At this Christine laughed outright. "And what emotion, may I ask, has just brought you here in such haste?"

The thrust went home. Riatt changed countenance.

"But I," he said, "never pretended to love you."

"Why then are you marrying me?"

"Heaven knows."