The Forbidden Way

He smiled almost gaily. "Yes, there are many Gretchens, thank God. Girls with the clean, sound vision of their sturdy forbears, whose mothers were young when the city still felt the impress of its early austerities."

"And you?" she repeated.

His brow darkened and he looked straight before him.

"What I am doesn't matter. I was born and bred in this atmosphere. Isn't that enough?"

"It's enough that you survived – that you, too, have a clean vision."

"No, that is not true," he said sharply. "I can't see clearly – I'm not sure that I want to see clearly – not now."

"I won't believe that, Cort. Back there at herhouse you said something that was unworthy of you, that showed me another side of your nature, the dark side, like the shadowy places under the ivy. I want you to forget that you ever said them – that you ever thought them even."

"I can't," he muttered savagely. "I want some one to come between you – to make him suffer what I am suffering – to place a distance between you which nothing can ever repair."

"Some one has already come between us," she said, gently. "The one I have in mind is the Cort Bent of Mesa City, who used to help me gather columbines; who rode with me far up the trail to get the last ray of the sunset when the valley below was already asleep in the shadow; who shouted my name in the gorge because he said it was sweet to hear the mountains send back its echoes all silvered over with the mystery of the Infinite; who told me of palaces and gardens in lands which I had never seen, and of the talented men and women who had lived in them; who sang to me in the moonlight and taught me to dream – "

"Don't, Camilla – "

"That was a boy I remember, who lived years and years ago when I was rich – rich in innocent visions which he did nothing to destroy. It was he who gave me an idea that there were men who differed from those I had known before – men in whose hearts was tenderness and in whose minds one might find a mirror for one's harmless aspirations toward a life that wasn't all material and commonplace. He was my knight, that boy, thoughtful, considerate, and gentle. He was foolish sometimes, but I loved him because his ideals had not been destroyed."

"I lied to you. Life is a cinder."

She shook her head. "No, you did not lie to me – not then. Later you did when you asked me to come to New York. Oh, I know. I can see more clearly now. Suppose that even now I chose what you call your solution of the tangle we've made of things. You'd like to see Jeff desert me for Rita Cheyne so that you could have your own way with me now."

"Camilla! I was mad then. I thought you understood. Gretchen and I – "

"I understand many things better than I did," she interrupted. "You were no more mad then than you are now. I think I have always been willing to forgive you for that. I wanted to forgive you because I thought perhaps you didn't know what you were saying. But you make it harder for me now. The boy I knew in the West is dead, Cortland. In his place rides a man I do not know, a man with a shadow in his eyes, a man of the gay world, which moves along the line of least resistance, with little room in his heart for the troubles of the woman he once offered to protect with his life."

"I would still protect you – that is what I am offering."

"How? By making me a woman like Rita Cheyne, who changes her husbands as though they were fashions in parasols. You offer me protection from Jeff. I refuse it." And then she added a little haughtily, "I'm not sure that I need any protection."

He glowered toward her, searching her face sullenly.

"You love him?" he muttered.

She smiled a little proudly. "I can't love you both. Jeff is my husband."

"You love him?" he repeated. "Answer me!"

"Not when you take that tone. I'll answer you nothing. Come, we had better ride forward." And, before he could restrain her, she had urged her horse into a canter.

"Camilla!" he called.

But before he could reach her she had joined the others, outside the gates of Braebank.

CHAPTER X

TRITON OF THE MINNOWS

Mr. Janney's breakfast guests had gone, and, having seen the last of the country wagons depart, he went into the office next to the smoking room, where Cornelius Bent sat awaiting him. Curtis Janney brought a sheaf of telegrams and letters which he laid on the desk. Then he opened a humidor, offered his guest a cigar, took one himself, and sat down.

"Well, what did you hear?" asked General Bent. Janney took a puff or two at his cigar, then frowned at the papers on the table.

"A great deal," he muttered, "both bad and good. I have here reports for the whole week from our men in Denver, Pueblo, Kinney, and Saguache. The pressure from Abington and the Chicago and Utah has finally brought Noakes into line. It was something of a job, for he's tied up in one of Wray's development companies, and it has cost some money. Abington had to give him a big bonus for the stock in the Denver and Western. Collins and Hardy came around all right, and it only remains to put the screws on to make Wray show his hand."

"Have you decided on that?" asked the General.

"No, I haven't."

Curtis Janney took up a letter which he had separated from the others.

"You remember we thought his planning this new line to Pueblo was financial suicide and that, if we gave Wray enough rope, he'd hang himself. We didn't even see the use of throwing the usual impediments in the way."

Bent nodded.

"Well, they're building it."

"It's only a bluff."

"I'm not so sure. My last reports show that the money is in the treasury – some of it is Wray's, but most of it has come from Utah, California, and Washington even. The Denver and California is backing the whole project, and tent towns are springing up along the line of the survey. Those people out there believe in Wray and are following him like sheep."

"They wouldn't follow him long if we found a way to stop him," said the General grimly. "I've seen those stampedes before, but they always come to an end. What does Lamson report?"

"The Denver and California seems set on this thing – the more so as it promises to be a success without much help from them."

General Bent got up and paced the floor with quick, nervous strides.

"Why, Curtis," he said, "you seem to see unusual trouble in the way. The case presents no greater difficulties than the Seemuller plant did, or the Myers and Ott, but we got them both in the end."

"There is a difference."

"Where?"

"The man himself. He'll fight to the last ditch. That jaw wasn't given him altogether as an ornament. I'm sorry we can't find his weak point. A man who looks as far ahead as he does is a good one to tie to."

"But he may not want any strings on him. The other night at dinner at my house he was boasting of his independence. He didn't know how hot it made me."

"Yes, he did. That's why he did it. He said the same thing here yesterday. But I wasn't deceived. It was all a part of his game. I think in a game of bluff he can make old gamesters like you and me sit up and do some guessing." Janney knocked the ash from his cigar and laughed.

"Cornelius, our fine scheme hasn't worked out – not so far. When Wray first came in the office, you sized him up as a social climber. But, if you think we are going to bewilder him by our clubs, the opera, and social connections, you're reckoning without your host."

General Bent smiled tolerantly.

"He assimilates surprisingly well," he said with a reflective nod. "For all his Western manner, he never gives the impression of being ill-at-ease. I'll say that for him. Why, do you know, I strolled in on Caroline the other afternoon on my way uptown and found him teaching her how to play pinochle."

"Mrs. Rumsen?"