Part 35 (1/2)

”It is certainly a mess,” said Montague.

”There's no bottom to it,” said the other. ”Absolutely--it would take your breath away! Just listen to what Vandam told me to-day!”

And then Harvey named one of the directors of the Fidelity who was well known as a philanthropist. Having heard that the wife of one of his junior partners had met with an accident in childbirth, and that the doctor had told her husband that if she ever had another child, she would die, this man had asked, ”Why don't you have her life insured?”

The other replied that he had tried, and the companies had refused her.

”I'll fix it for you,” said he; and so they put in another application, and the director came to Freddie Vandam and had the policy put through ”by executive order.” Seven months later the woman died, and the Fidelity had paid her husband in full--a hundred thousand or two!

”That's what's going on in the insurance world!” said Siegfried Harvey.

And that was the story which Montague took with him to add to his enjoyment of the festivities at the country club. It was a very gorgeous affair; but perhaps the sombreness of his thoughts was to blame; the flowers and music and beautiful gowns failed entirely in their appeal, and he saw only the gluttony and drunkenness--more of it than ever before, it seemed to him.

Then, too, he had an unpleasant experience. He met Laura Hegan; and presuming upon her cordial reception of his visit, he went up and spoke to her pleasantly. And she greeted him with frigid politeness; she was so brief in her remarks and turned away so abruptly as almost to snub him. He went away quite bewildered. But later on he recalled the gossip about himself and Mrs. Winnie, and he guessed that that was the explanation of Miss Hegar's action.

The episode threw a shadow over his whole visit. On Sunday he went out into the country and tramped through a snowstorm by himself, filled with a sense of disgust for all the past, and of foreboding for the future. He hated this money-world, in which all that was worst in human beings was brought to the surface; he hated it, and wished that he had never set foot within its bounds. It was only by tramping until he was too tired to feel anything that he was able to master himself.

And then, toward dark, he came back, and found a telegram which had been forwarded from New York.

”Meet me at the Penna depot, Jersey City, at nine to-night. Alice.”

This message, of course, drove all other thoughts from his mind. He had no time even to tell Oliver about it--he had to jump into an automobile and rush to catch the next train for the city. And all through the long, cold ride in ferry-boats and cabs he pondered this mystery.

Alice's party had not been expected for two weeks yet; and only two days before there had come a letter from Los Angeles, saying that they would probably be a week over time. And here she was home again!

He found there was an express from the West due at the hour named; apparently, therefore, Alice had not come in the Prentice's train at all. The express was half an hour late, and so he paced up and down the platform, controlling his impatience as best he could. And finally the long train pulled in, and he saw Alice coming down the platform. She was alone!

”What does it mean?” were the first words he said to her.

”It's a long story,” she answered. ”I wanted to come home.”;

”You mean you've come all the way from the coast by yourself!” he gasped.

”Yes,” she said, ”all the way.”

”What in the world--” he began.

”I can't tell you here, Allan,” she said. ”Wait till we get to some quiet place.”

”But,” he persisted. ”The Prentice? They let you come home alone?”

”They didn't know it,” she said. ”I ran away.”

He was more bewildered than ever. But as he started to ask more questions, she laid a hand upon his arm. ”Please wait, Allan,” she said. ”It upsets me to talk about it. It was Charlie Carter.”

And so the light broke. He caught his breath and gasped, ”Oh!”

He said not another word until they had crossed the ferry and settled themselves in a cab, and started. ”Now,” he said, ”tell me.”

Alice began. ”I was very much upset,” she said. ”But you must understand, Allan, that I've had nearly a week to think it over, and I don't mind it now. So I want you please not to get excited about it; it wasn't poor Charlie's fault--he can't help himself. It was my mistake.

I ought to have taken your advice and had nothing to do with him.”