Part 56 (1/2)

He smoked until his pipe revived and added, ”Well, Tom can afford it; he's got all the money he needs.”

Grant, who heard the Doctor's news, did not seem to be disturbed by it.

His mind was occupied with more personal matters. He stood by a pillar, looking off into the summer day.

”Well, I suppose,” he looked at his clothes, brushed the dust from the top of his shoes by rubbing them separately against the calves of his legs, straightened his ready-made tie and felt of the b.u.t.tons on his vest, ”I suppose,” he repeated, ”I may just as well go now as at any other time,” and he strode down the steps and made straight for the Van Dorn home.

When he came to the Van Dorn house he saw Margaret sitting alone in the deep shade of a vine-screened piazza. She wore a loose flowing purple house garment, of a bizarre pattern which accented her physical charms.

But not until he had begun to mount the steps before her did he notice that she was sound asleep in a gaping and disenchanting stupor. Yet his footstep aroused her, and she started and gazed wildly at him: ”Why--why--you--why, Grant!”

”Yes, Margaret,” he answered as he stood hat in hand on the top step before her, ignoring her trembling and the terror in her eyes. ”I've come to have a talk with you--about Kenyon.”

She looked about her, listened a second, shuddered, and said with quivering facial muscles and shaky voice, ”Yes--oh, yes--about Kenyon--yes--Kenyon Adams. Yes, I know.”

The eyes she turned on him were dull and her face was slumped, as though the soul had gone from it. A tremor was visible in her hands, and the color was gone from her drooping lips. She stared at him for a moment, stupidly, then irritation came into her voice, as he sat unbidden in a porch chair near her. ”I didn't tell you to sit down.”

”No.” He turned his face and caught her eyes. ”But I'll be comfortable sitting down, and we've got more or less talking to do.”

He could see that she was perturbed, and fear wrote itself all over her face. But he did not know that she was vainly trying to get control of herself. The power of the little brown pellets left her while she slept, and she was uncertain of herself and timid. ”I--I'm sick--well--I--I--why, I can't talk to you now. Go 'way,” she cried. ”Go 'way, won't you, please--please go 'way, and come some other time.”

”No--now's as good a time as any,” he replied. ”At any rate, I'll tell you what's on my mind. Mag, now pay attention.” He turned his face to her. ”The time has come when Lila Van Dorn and her mother must know who Kenyon is.”

She looked vacantly at him, then started and chattered, ”Wh-wh-wh-wha-what are you s-s-sas-saying--do you mean?”

She got up, closed the door into the house, and came tottering back and stood by her chair, as the man answered:

”I mean, Maggie, exactly what I said. Kenyon wants to marry Lila. But I think, and Doctor Nesbit thinks, that before it is settled, Lila and her mother, and you might as well include Mrs. Nesbit, must know just who their daughter is marrying--I mean what blood. Now do you get my idea?”

As he spoke, the woman, clutching at her chair back, tried to quiet her fluttering hands. But she began panting and a sickly pallor overcame her and she cried feebly: ”Oh, you devil--you devil--will you never let me alone?”

He answered, ”Look here, Mag--what's the matter with you? I'm only trying to play fair with you. I wouldn't tell 'em until you--”

”Ugh!” She shut her eyes. ”Grant--wait a minute. I must get my medicine.

I'll be back.” She turned to go. ”Oh, wait a minute--I'll be back in five minutes--I promise, honest to G.o.d, I'll be right back, Grant.” She was at the door. As she fumbled with the screen, he nodded his a.s.sent and smiled grimly as he said, ”All right, Maggie.”

When he was alone, he looked about him, at the evidence of the Van Dorn money in the temple of Love. The outdoor room was furnished with luxuries he had never seen. He sniffed as though he smelled the money that was evident everywhere. Beside Margaret's chair, where she had dropped it when she went to sleep, was a book. It was a beautifully bound copy of the Memoirs of some t.i.tled harlot of the old French court.

He was staring absent-mindedly at the floor where the book lay when she came to the door.

She came out, sat down, looked steadily at him and began calmly: ”Now, what is it you desire?”

She said ”desiah,” and Grant grunted as she went on: ”I'm shuah no good can come and only hahm, great suffering--and Heaven knows what wrong, by this--miserable plan. What good can it do?”

Her changed att.i.tude surprised him. ”Well, now, Maggie,” he returned, ”since you want to talk it over sensibly, I'll tell you how we feel--at least how I feel. The chief business of any proper marriage is children.

This marriage between Kenyon and Lila--if it comes--should bring forth fruit. I claim Lila has a right to know that he has my blood and yours in him before she goes into a life partners.h.i.+p with him.”

”Oh, Grant, Grant,” cried Margaret pa.s.sionately, ”the sum of your hair-splitting is this: that you bring shame upon your child's mother, and then cant like a Pharisee about its being for a good purpose. That's the way with you--you--you--” She could not quite finish the sentence.

She sat breathing fast, waiting for strength to come to her from the fortifying little pill. Grant picked up his hat. ”Well--I've told you.

That's what I came for.”