Part 31 (2/2)

”Give my love to Mrs. Carey and tell her that he is the loveliest baby I ever saw,” she whispered eagerly.

”What do you think about Beechy, Doc?” Courtlandt asked as Mrs. Eagan left the room.

”He'll pull through now that he has eased his conscience by confession.

I had to let him talk and unburden his mind before I could heal his body.”

”I've just come from the shack. Carl told me that if--it hadn't been for Denbigh he would have been in on that deal last night.”

”Yes, Steve, but Beechy was out of the hold-up for good when he found that it was government money they were after. He was prepared to take what was coming to him for quitting; he knew mighty well that a man couldn't double-cross Ranlett and--and live, that is, not if the Skunk knew it. He knows now that Denbigh saved him. Beechy isn't bad at heart. He and a lot of others like him are suffering from an acute attack of disillusionment, that's all. They'd been fed up on 'Hail-to-the-conquering-hero' stuff and when the shouting was over and they spent weary months in hospital forgotten by the world at large, and in particular by that female portion of it that had fed them, written to them, married them during the war, do you wonder that they were ready for any deviltry that was afoot? I don't. But you see, in spite of his loud talk, when Beechy came slam up against the proposition of defrauding his government, ungrateful government that he thought it, there was nothing doing. He couldn't get away with it. He'll never be able to do much hard work, but there must be a place for him.”

”A place for him! If he ever escapes my clutches again he's more slippery than I think him.”

”Go to it, Steve! Even you and I salaam when he speaks in that tone, don't we, Mrs. Jerry?”

The sun had dropped behind the mountains; fields and foot-hills lay luminous and still as Courtlandt drove the roadster past the corral at the Double O. A bunch of horses was being turned into the pastures for the night feed. They nipped, they kicked, they rolled. The riders who were driving them out tolerated their antics patiently, with an occasional admonitory ”Hi-yew!” Jerry turned to look after them.

”I wish Peg could have seen that. In this light, in their broad-brimmed hats, their colored neckerchiefs, their gloves, their costumes are picturesque. They would have satisfied even her craving for local color.”

Courtlandt drove on to the ranch-house without answering. It had been a silent ride home. Jerry had been tensely apprehensive of what might be coming when they started, but as the man beside her drove steadily with only an occasional inquiry as to her comfort, she had relaxed and allowed her thoughts to drift.

Steve followed her into the living-room. As she opened the door of her boudoir he spoke from where he stood under his mother's portrait.

”Come here, Jerry! Please----” he added with a smile as she hesitated.

”I must dress for dinner. I----”

”There is plenty of time. I want to talk to you. Come here!” As a safe and sane compromise she took refuge behind the back of the wing-chair.

”Well?” she queried defensively.

With startling suddenness he caught her hands and drew her to the hearth beside him.

”That's better! I can't talk to you when you are so far away.” His grip on her hands tightened. ”Jerry, do you remember that day at the Manor when Uncle Nick's will was read? You----”

”The--the day we decided to make the detour? It--it has proved an adventure, hasn't it?” she interrupted in a breathless attempt to gain time. Courtlandt ignored the question.

”You asked me if I wanted his fortune. Do you also remember my answer?”

Then as with downcast cast eyes she nodded a.s.sent, he repeated, ”'More I ever wanted anything, except one, in my life.' You thought that that one thing was Felice and I--I let you think so. I meant you, Jerry. No, you can't go, you've got to listen now. We've been playing at cross purposes long enough. I wanted Uncle Nick's money because I wanted to be rid of the humiliating load of obligation we Courtlandts had shouldered. I wanted to meet you on equal terms. I loved you the first time I saw you in your s.h.i.+mmering orchid gown with the great fan which you wielded with the air of an empress. Who was I to tell you so? You wouldn't have believed me, you would have despised me as a hypocrite. I had no money, nothing but debts to offer you. But if I hadn't loved you nothing could have forced me, nothing could have tempted me to ask you to marry me. On the way in to meet you that first night, I promised Sir Peter that if in any way you were repellent to me, I would let your father take possession of our property. I--I--well, I had to bluff some to my father going home to cover my bowled-over condition. I don't ask for anything now, I only want a promise that you won't close your heart against me--that you will--oh, what's the use--you must love me!”

The girl looked down upon the head pressed against her hands then up at the tender eyes of the woman above the mantel. Were they misted or were there tears in her own eyes? She choked back a sound that was half laugh, half sob as she observed with tantalizing charm:

”Of course when you say 'must,' O Abdul the Great----” Before she could finish the sentence Steve had her crushed in his arms.

”It's your own fault, Mr. Tommy Benson. I told you that I shouldn't----”

It was Peggy's voice at the door. In breathless haste Jerry freed herself from Courtlandt's arms. He caught her hands and drew her back.

<script>