Part 23 (2/2)

”I wish you wouldn't go to-night, dear,” answered Marion.

”I must. The business is important.”

Marion turned away thoughtfully, and found her eyes wandering toward Duncan. She noticed that his face wore an amused expression, as though the situation seemed laughable, and the matter were a huge joke. This carelessness provoked Marion, and she caught herself wondering why she felt unmoved in his presence. He was in evening dress, and she was amazed that her husband did not notice that, for an afternoon call, this was an anachronism.

After a few moments of desultory conversation, Francois appeared in the doorway. ”Ze dinner ez served, Madame,” he solemnly announced, and the little party moved silently toward the dining-room. As they crossed the hallway Marion could not help smiling at the strange turn affairs had taken. It seemed to her so like an amusing situation in some comedy, and she felt as though she were an actress going through with a part in a play which would, of course, end happily when the curtain was rung down on the last act.

The party filed slowly into the dining-room, and took their seats at the little, round table. A small candelabrum, placed in the centre of the cloth, supplied the only light, and the bright rays of the candles, falling on the white table-cover and s.h.i.+ning plate, formed a cozy contrast to the oak-lined walls looming in the distance. Duncan sat on Marion's right, while her husband was placed on her left. During the silence which came as they took their places, Marion looked curiously at both men. Duncan took his seat with a satisfied air, and as he unfolded his napkin a careless smile came to his lips. In her husband's eyes she saw an expression of determination, and she thought it unusual and out of keeping with the genial manner in which he broke the silence by saying: ”I consider it very lucky we trapped you into staying, Grahame.

I have scarcely seen you since you arrived, and I would like to have a friendly chat before we come to that elevator business. I shall be back from St. Louis on Sunday and we can talk about the loan on Monday.”

It was a surprise to Marion to learn that her husband and Duncan were evidently so intimate. She thought they were scarcely acquainted.

”Any time will do me, Sanderson,” answered Duncan, and then the party began to take their soup in silence. Francois poured out the sherry; Duncan took up his gla.s.s and drained it at one draught. As he put it down, he looked at Marion with an amused expression of triumph, then, glancing toward her husband, he shrugged his shoulders in a manner which conveyed contempt. Marion felt a sense of resentment toward Duncan for a.s.suming such an att.i.tude. His entire manner seemed to give the impression that he felt quite as much at home as the master of the house, and as the dinner progressed he treated her husband with the easy familiarity of one who felt the superiority of his position. Marion noticed that Roswell had never once changed the friendly tone of his manner, yet she could not help feeling that this extreme affability was, in some measure, a.s.sumed. The conversation was confined mainly to the two men, and Roswell seemed to lead it into channels where it was difficult for Duncan to follow, while the familiarity her husband showed with the great questions of current interest was astonis.h.i.+ng to Marion. She had spent so little time with him that she was unfamiliar with his tastes, and the keenness with which he argued, together with the delicate manner in which he seemed to lay bare Duncan's ignorance, surprised her greatly.

Marion was glad to be a listener, as it gave her time to think. She seemed to be seized now with a dispa.s.sionate calmness, which permitted her to view her actions in a way she had never done before. The subtle spell which had bound her to Duncan seemed fast breaking, and although scarce an hour before she had been ready to confess to him the full warmth of her love, she now appeared to be at a great distance from him and looking at the past as in the pages of some book. Again and again she glanced toward him and wondered why he seemed so changed. She observed that he was drinking too much wine, and when he occasionally raised his gla.s.s and cast an insinuating glance toward her, she felt the spirit of resentment grow stronger and stronger. She asked herself if his power of fascination had gone, and she confessed that in the society of others, at least, he was not the same as when alone with her.

Then she thought over the words which he had spoken to her, and how in his presence she had felt the subtle inspiration of a love which, it seemed to her, must burn forever. She looked up to see if she could feel the power his grey eyes had so often exerted over her, and she saw an angry blush come to his cheek. Roswell had called forth a confession of ignorance on a delicate point of finance. Duncan was clever, but he was not a deep student, and he often found himself at a loss for facts with which to substantiate his theories. He spoke a resentful word or two, and Marion thought it was unmanly for him to lose his temper.

The dinner wore on, and Marion found herself becoming more and more critical of Duncan's actions. She wondered if he were the man for whom, two hours before, she had been willing to venture everything. She began to a.n.a.lyze her feelings of the past six months, and she asked herself if the feeling he inspired was, after all, the love that her nature craved.

Perhaps her doubts were momentary and would vanish, leaving her again the prey of wild desires. Yet she felt that her nature could not be so vacillating. She looked at Duncan again to rea.s.sure herself. Was he her ideal? He leaned his elbows on the table and made a noise as he ate. She wondered why she had not noticed this before, for she abhorred carelessness of manners.

”So you think a leisure cla.s.s is what we need in the West,” Roswell was saying as Francois removed the plates after the game course. Marion had always felt this lack to be one of the evils of Western life, and she looked to Duncan for a defense of her theory.

”Yes,” answered Duncan. ”I favor a landed cla.s.s who spend their money freely and devote their time to something beside grubbing for dollars.”

”I quite agree with you,” said Roswell. ”We men in the West live at too rapid a pace. In the ceaseless toil after money we become callous to the finer sentiments of life.” Marion looked up in astonishment. She had thought her husband irredeemably absorbed in business. ”We devote too little time,” he continued, ”to the development of the aesthetic side of our natures. I think we should have more people of wealth whose time is spent in fostering the arts; but as for men of absolute leisure, I think we are better off without them.”

”There I can't agree with you,” answered Duncan, ”if among men of leisure you include those whose lives are given to sport. Look at the sportsmen of England. We want more of that sort in this country. A hard riding set of men who stick at nothing. Such a life as they lead makes men of them.”

Marion was too fond of literature and the arts to agree with Duncan. She had known some of these hunting men and she had a small opinion of their talents.

”In a degree I approve of your sentiments,” said her husband. ”If you will eliminate the taste for drink, cards, and vice from your sportsmen.

Give him some brains and make him a useful member of society, who devotes much of his time to the improvement of his tenantry, and I grant you that his counterpart would be a desirable acquisition to American life.”

”So you don't believe in the reckless sportsman of the old school.”

”No, I confess I don't.”

”Why, may I ask?”

”I think I can best answer that question by telling you an anecdote.

I was once in North Carolina looking after some property. The place Where I was staying was one of the little villages in the mountains where the advent of a stranger is a matter of momentous importance.

I happened to be in the village store one day when one of those tweed-and-knickerbocker Englishmen, who occasionally go there for shooting, walked in to purchase some powder. After he had received his package and was about to leave, the lean-faced cracker store-keeper detained him in conversation somewhat after this fas.h.i.+on:

”'Be you from Noo York, stranger?'

<script>