Part 34 (2/2)

He has shown the highest kind of honesty--has been truthful where most men would have s.h.i.+fted and lied. Anyhow, things have gone too far.” Not without the soundest reasons had Burroughs accepted Norman as his son-in-law; and he had no fancy for giving him up, when men of his pre-eminent fitness were so rare.

There was another profound silence. Josephine looked at Norman. Had he returned her gaze, the event might have been different; for within her there was now going on a struggle between two nearly evenly matched vanities--the vanity of her own outraged pride and the vanity of what the world would say and think, if the engagement were broken off at that time and in those circ.u.mstances. But he did not look at her. He kept his eyes fixed upon the opposite wall, and there was no sign of emotion of any kind in his stony features. Josephine rose, suppressed a sob, looked arrogant scorn from eyes s.h.i.+ning with tears--tears of self-pity. ”Send him away, father,” she said. ”He has tried to degrade _me_! I am done with him.” And she rushed from the room, her father half starting from his chair to detain her.

He turned angrily on Norman. ”A h.e.l.l of a mess you've made!” he cried.

”A h.e.l.l of a mess,” replied the young man.

”Of course she'll come round. But you've got to do your part.”

”It's settled,” said Norman. And he threw his cigar into the fireplace.

”Good night.”

”Hold on!” cried Burroughs. ”Before you go, you must see Josie alone and talk with her.”

”It would be useless,” said Norman. ”You know her.”

Burroughs laid his hand friendlily but heavily upon the young man's shoulder. ”This outburst of nonsense might cost you two young people your happiness for life. This is no time for jealousy and false pride.

Wait a moment.”

”Very well,” said Norman. ”But it is useless.” He understood Josephine now--he who had become a connoisseur of love. He knew that her vanity-founded love had vanished.

Burroughs disappeared in the direction his daughter had taken. Norman waited several minutes--long enough slowly to smoke a cigarette. Then he went into the hall and put on his coat with deliberation. No one appeared, not even a servant. He went out into the street.

In the morning papers he found the announcement of the withdrawal of the invitations--and from half a column to several columns of comment, much of it extremely unflattering to him.

XIII

When a ”high life” engagement such as that of Norman and Miss Burroughs, collapses on the eve of the wedding, the gossip and the scandal, however great, are but a small part of the mess. Doubtless many a marriage--and not in high life alone, either--has been put through, although the one party or the other or both have discovered that disaster was inevitable--solely because of the appalling muddle the sensible course would precipitate. In the case of the Norman-Burroughs fiasco, there were--to note only a few big items--such difficulties as several car loads of presents from all parts of the earth to be returned, a house furnished throughout and equipped to the last scullery maid and stable boy to be disposed of, the entire Burroughs domestic economy which had been reconstructed to be put back upon its former basis.

It is not surprising that, as Ursula Fitzhugh was credibly informed, Josephine almost decided to send for Bob Culver and marry him on the day before the day appointed for her marriage to Fred. The reason given for her not doing this sounded plausible. Culver, despairing of making the match on which his ambition--and therefore his heart was set--and seeing a chance to get suddenly rich, had embarked for a career as a blackmailer of corporations. That is, he nosed about for a big corporation stealthily doing or arranging to do some unlawful but highly profitable acts; he bought a few shares of its stock, using a fake client as a blind; he then proceeded to threaten it with exposure, expensive hindrances and the like, unless it bought him off at a huge profit to himself. This business was regarded as most disreputable and--thanks to the power of the big corporations over the courts--had resulted in the sending of several of its practisers to jail or on hasty journeys to foreign climes. But Culver, almost if not quite as good a lawyer as Norman, was too clever to be caught in that way. However, while he was getting very rich rapidly, he was as yet far from rich enough to overcome the detestation of old Burroughs, and to be eligible for the daughter.

So, Josephine sailed away to Europe, with the consolation that her father was so chagrined by the fizzle that he had withdrawn his veto upon the purchase of a foreign t.i.tle--that veto having been the only reason she had looked at home for a husband. Strange indeed are the ways of love--never stranger than when it comes into contact with the vanities of wealth and social position and the other things that cause a human being to feel that he or she is lifted clear of and high above the human condition. Josephine had her consolation. For Norman the only consolation was escape from a marriage which had become so irksome in antic.i.p.ation that he did not dare think what it would be in the reality.

Over against this consolation was set a long list of disasters. He found himself immediately shunned by all his friends. Their professed reason was that he had acted shabbily in the breaking of the engagement; for, while it was a.s.sumed that Josephine must have done the actual breaking, it was also a.s.sumed that he must have given her provocation and to spare. This virtuous indignation was in large part mere pretext, as virtuous indignation in frail mortals toward frail mortals is apt to be.

The real reason for shying off from Norman was his atmosphere of impending downfall. And certainly that atmosphere had eaten away and dissipated all his former charm. He looked dull and boresome--and he was.

But the chief disaster was material. As has been said, old Burroughs, in his own person and in the enterprises he controlled, gave Norman's firm about half its income. The day Josephine sailed, Lockyer, senior partner of the firm, got an intimation that unless Norman left, Burroughs would take his law business elsewhere, and would ”advise” others of their clients to follow his example. Lockyer no sooner heard than he began to bestir himself. He called into consultation the learned Benchley and the astute Sanders and the soft and sly Lockyer junior. There could be no question that Norman must be got rid of. The only point was, who should inform the lion that he had been deposed?

After several hours of anxious discussion, Lockyer, his inward perturbations hid beneath that mask of smug and statesmanlike respectability, entered the lion's den--a sick lion, sick unto death probably, but not a dead lion. ”When you're ready to go uptown, Frederick,” said he in his gentlest, most patriarchal manner, ”let me know. I want to have a little talk with you.”

Norman, heavy eyed and listless, looked at the handsome old fraud. As he looked something of the piercing quality and something of the humorous came back into his eyes. ”Sit down and say it now,” said he.

”I'd prefer to talk where we can be quiet.”

Norman rang his bell and when an office boy appeared, said ”No one is to disturb me until I ring again.” Then as the boy withdrew he said to Lockyer: ”Now, sir, what is it?”

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