Part 34 (2/2)

He had gone only a few paces when he heard the whirring sound of an automobile, which was approaching from the direction of the city. It was driven by a single occupant. It was Andrew Buckton. Mostyn saw the expression of exultant surprise that he swept from him to Marie, and knew by Buckton's raised hat that he had seen them together. The car sped on and vanished amid the trees at the end of the road. Looking back, Mostyn saw that Marie was lingering at the gate. He knew from the regretful look in her face that she was deploring the incident; but, simply raising his hat again, he strode on.

All the remainder of the morning he worked at his desk. He tried to make himself feel that, now that Marie was leaving, his future would be less clouded; but with all the effort made, he could not shake off a certain clinging sense of approaching disaster. Was he afraid that Buckton would gossip about what he had just seen, and that the public would brand him afresh with the discarded habits of the past? He could not have answered the question. He was sure of nothing. He lunched at his club, smoked a dismal cigar with Delbridge and some other men, and heard them chatting about the rise and fall of stocks as if they and he were in a turbulent dream. They appeared as marvels to him in their unstumbling blindness under the overbrooding horrors of life, in their ignorance of the dark, psychic current against which he alone was battling.

All the afternoon he toiled at the bank, and at dusk he walked home. No one was about the front of the house, and he went up to his room. He had bathed his face and hands, changed his suit, and was about to descend the stairs when his father-in-law came tottering along the corridor and paused at the open door of the room.

”This is a pretty come-off,” he scowled in at Mostyn. ”Here you come like this as if nothing out of the way had happened, when your wife has packed up and gone off for another trip. She said she was going to write you--did you get a note?”

”No; where has she gone?” Mostyn inquired. ”She didn't even mention it to me.”

”One of her sudden notions. The Hardys at Knoxville are having a big house-party, and wrote her to come. I tried to get her to listen to reason, but she wouldn't hear a word. She is actually crazy for excitement--women all get that way if you give them plenty of rein, and Irene has been spoiled to death. I have never seen her act as strange as she did to-day. She cried when I talked to her, and almost went into hysterics. She gave the servants a lot of her clothes, and kept coming to me and throwing her arms around me and telling me to forgive her for this and that thing I forgot long ago. When she started for the train I wanted to go with her or telephone you, but she wouldn't let me do either--said I was too feeble, and she did not want to bother you. Say, do you know I'm to blame? I had no right to influence you and her to marry, nohow. You have never suited each other--you don't act like man and wife. You might as well be two strangers. .h.i.tched together.

Something is wrong, awfully wrong, but I can't tell what it is.”

Mostyn made no reply. He heard little d.i.c.k's voice in the hall below, and had a sudden impulse to take him up. Leaving him, old Mitch.e.l.l pa.s.sed on to his own room, and Mostyn went down the stairs to the child, who was playing on the veranda.

”Poor child! Poor child!” he said to himself.

CHAPTER XI

The next morning at the bank a financial disappointment met him. A telegram informed him of the sudden slump in some stocks in which he was interested. The loss was considerable, and the tendency was still downward. He was wondering if he ought to confide this to Saunders, when his partner, of his own accord, came into his office and sat down by his desk.

”Busy just now?” Saunders inquired.

”No; what is it?” Mostyn returned. ”Fire away.”

Saunders seemed to hesitate. Through the part.i.tion came the clicking of a typewriter and an adding-machine, the swinging of the screened door in front. ”It is a somewhat personal matter,” Saunders began, awkwardly. ”I have been wanting to mention it for a month, but hardly knew how to bring it up. You may know, Mostyn, that I have been thinking of giving up business here altogether. I have become more and more interested in my farming ventures, and my life in the country has taken such a grip on me that I want to quit Atlanta altogether.”

”Oh, I see.” Mostyn forced a smile. ”I thought you would get to that before long. You are becoming a regular hayseed, Saunders. You are like a fish out of water here in town. Well, I suppose you want to put a man in your place so you will have freer rein in every way.”

”Not that, exactly, Mostyn. The fact is, I want to realize on my bank stock. There are other things I'd like to invest in, and I need the money to do it with. I am planning a cotton-mill in my section to give employment to a worthy cla.s.s of poor people.”

Mostyn drew his lips tight. He stabbed a sheet of paper on the green felt before him, and there was a rebellious flash from his eyes.

”Come right out and be frank about it,” he said, with a touch of anger.

”Are you afraid your investment in this bank is not a safe one?”

Saunders looked steadily at him. ”That certainly is not a businesslike question, Mostyn, and you know it.”

”Perhaps it isn't, but what does it matter?” Mostyn retorted. ”At any rate, that is a shrewd evasion of the point. Well, do you want to sell _me_ your stock?”

”I would naturally give you the preference, and that is why I am mentioning it to you.”

Mostyn sat frowning morbidly. There was a visible droop to his shoulders. ”There is no use having hard feelings over it,” he said, dejectedly. ”You have a right to do as you please with your interests.

But the truth is, I am not financially able to take over as big a block of stock as you hold.”

Saunders hesitated for a moment, then began: ”I was wondering if Mr.

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