Vision House

"What are your terms?" Tony's dry lips formed the words almost without sound.

"They'll be settled to-night between my wife and me. You have nothing whatever to do with them."

"If – if you fail in respect for her, you never get your million dollars when the time comes!" Severance almost sobbed.

"When the time comes – the time can decide," said Garth.

"Miss Sorel!" bawled the call-boy at the door.

CHAPTER XX

THE BRIDAL SUITE

It was, as Severance told himself, the damnedest scrape! And he could see no present way out of it. Turn as he would, he was merely running round and round in a "vicious circle."

He couldn't murder Garth, or otherwise eliminate him, without setting fire to his dearest hopes, and seeing his fortune go up in a blaze. Garth mustn't be allowed to walk away from Marise, leaving her in the position of a deserted bride, after a sensational wedding. Nor could Severance bear to think of the man's remaining near her, now that he proclaimed the bargain "off," and himself free and independent.

If only the fellow might be knocked over by a taxi and killed, there would be the perfect solution! But even that ought not to happen just yet. It wouldn't do for Marise to be known as a widow before he, Severance, could bring Œnone to America as a bride. The celebrated Miss Sorel might as well never have been married at all, so far as old Constantine Ionides was concerned.

There were two faintly glimmering spots in the general blackness of things. Bright spots they hardly deserved to be called! Such as they were, one was the fact that Garth – despite his bluff – was unlikely to sacrifice all hope of the million by making forbidden love to Marise. The other gleam was: even if Garth did play the fool as well as the cad, Marise had asserted up to the last moment that she could take care of herself.

Severance had reason to believe that she could. If she'd not had a cool little head, and a high opinion of her own value, the favourite actress would not have attained the position she held. "Lots of chaps had been after her," including Tony Severance: men of title, men with money, men of genius, men of charm, and she had held her own with them all, forcing their respect. Well, there wasn't much chance for a bullying brute of Garth's stamp, to get the best of a girl like that!

So Severance consoled himself, after his decision at the theatre that nothing would be gained by attempting to "rescue" Marise from Garth. After leaving her – bidding her good-bye for long and anxious weeks – he could not resist 'phoning Mrs. Sorel at the Plaza, though Marise had told him that Mums was bowled over by a sick headache. He rang the poor lady up – literally up! – and discussed the situation with her, not daring to call for fear of detectives set upon him by cable from London. The poor lady, dragged out of bed, was sympathetic and soothing. Everything was "perfectly all right," she assured him. She would watch over Marise for his sake as well as her own. Marise would watch over herself, too! And she – Mary Sorel – would write or cable Tony to his club twice or three times a week.

"I'd go down to the docks and see you off to-morrow morning, dear boy, no matter at what ghastly hour you sail," Mums said, "only I don't think it would be wise, do you?"

No, Tony didn't. But she might send him a note by messenger to the ship, with all the latest news.

She would do that without fail, Mary promised; and so at last hung up the receiver with a sigh which would have frightened Severance had it reached him on the wire. Mums was not as calm about the future as she had tried to make her "dear boy" think!

Though she had been lying down, she crawled off the bed again, and put on a smart tea-gown before it was time for her daughter to come home. She had little doubt that the Beast would be with Marise; and her own attempt at "frightfulness" having failed against his armour of brutality, she intended to try diplomacy in the next encounter.

Already she had learned that the suite engaged by Major Garth for himself and his bride did not adjoin the one occupied by herself and Marise since their arrival in New York. It appeared that the manager had offered a suite of two rooms and a bath next to the Sorel suite, but Major Garth had refused this as being too small. Nothing "large enough for his requirements" had been available near Mrs. Sorel; but fortunately it was on the same floor.

This, the manager seemed to think, ought to content the lady; and indeed, she was obliged to pretend satisfaction. She would like to see the suite, she had said; but to her dismay the privilege was refused with regret. Major Garth, the manager explained, had given a "rush order" for some special decorations to surprise Mrs. Garth; and he had requested that no one —no one at all except the decorators – should be allowed to enter until the bridal pair arrived.

"But," Mrs. Sorel had argued, "he couldn't have meant me. Besides, if no one goes in, my daughter won't have any of her toilet things ready. There will be a scramble and confusion when she comes home tired from the theatre."

The manager, however, was reluctantly firm. He "mustn't tell tales out of school," but he thought he might just relieve Mrs. Sorel's fears by saying that there would be no trouble at all of that sort. The Major's "surprise" would – he hoped – be as pleasing to her as to the bride. And whatever had to be done in addition could be accomplished in a few minutes by Mrs. Garth's maid.

Naturally, Mrs. Sorel was on tenterhooks after this information, which she had obtained by telephone, lying on her bed, soon after Marise and Céline left for the theatre. It determined her to be prepared for battle, no matter how ill she might feel: for it was impossible that Marise should ever cross the threshold of that mysteriously decorated suite. Therefore the neat coiffure of the aching head, and the dignified tea-gown of satin and jet.

On the few occasions when Mums had been unable to go with Marise to the theatre, the girl had either returned early, or telephoned that she would be late in reaching home. Mrs. Sorel expected her to start for the hotel to-night the instant she was dressed and had her make-up off. She would doubtless be thankful to escape questions, and get back to her mother – which really meant, ridding herself of Garth.

But time crept on. Marise was half an hour late: then three-quarters. What could have happened? Had that monster kidnapped the poor child?

At the thought, Mums experienced the sensation of cold water slowly trickling through her spine. "What shall I do?" she wondered. And her mind turned to the thought – the terrible thought – of applying to the police. If she took this extreme step, what would be the result? Could a man be arrested for abducting his own wife?

As she writhed and sighed helplessly on a sofa in sight of the mantel clock, Céline's familiar tap sounded at the door, and the Frenchwoman came in. Mrs. Sorel's anguished eyes saw that she looked pale and excited. Her own heart seemed to rise and shrug itself in her breast, then collapse sickeningly upon other organs.

"For Heaven's sake, where is Mademoiselle?" she panted.

"Ah, Madame," sighed Céline, "we must speak of Mademoiselle no more."

"Why – why?" broke in the distracted mother.

"But, because she is now indeed 'Madame'! She is with – her husband."

"Where?" gasped Mrs. Sorel.

"In their suite. A suite of great magnificence."

The unhappy Mums staggered to her feet, among falling cushions.

"Good gracious!" she groaned. "He has dragged her there – "

"No, no, Madame, it is not so bad as that," Céline soothed her. "Madame la Jeune Mariée appeared to go with Monsieur of her own will. She showed no fear. She was only a little quiet – a little strange. It must have been arranged at the theatre, what was to happen, for I was with them in a car – but yes, a car, no taxi! – which Monsieur had ordered to wait at the stage door. I sat, not with the chauffeur, but inside on one of the little fold-up seats. The two did not speak at all, Madame, not once, till we had arrived here, at the hotel. Then Mademoiselle – I mean Madame Garth – said, 'I should like Céline to come with me.' 'Very well, let her come,' Monsieur answered. That was all. I went with them. Monsieur asked for his key. It was given him. We were taken up in the ascenseur to this floor. But instead of turning to the right, we turned left. Monsieur unlocked the door, switched on lights, and stood aside for Madame his wife to pass. Even me, he let go in before him. Then he followed and shut the door."

"What then?" breathed Mrs. Sorel.

"Mon Dieu, Madame, the suite was of a magnificence! It must be the best in the house. The suite in which they put royalties who come visiting from Europe. And not only that, the whole place has been made a garden of flowers – wonderful flowers. This Monsieur le Majeur must be, after all, though he does not look it, a millionaire!"

"He is far from being a millionaire," sneered Mums. "He hasn't a sou, so far as I've heard. He'll probably charge all this wild extravagance to us. He's capable of it – capable of anything! But go on."

"Well, Madame, the suite has an entrance hall of its own, not a tiny vestibule like this one. The hall has many pots of gorgeous azaleas, of colours like a sunrise in paradise. Madame la Jeune Mariée walked into the salon. The husband went also. But, me, I stood outside waiting. I could see into the room, however. I chose my place for that purpose, to see! A lovely salon of pearl grey and soft rose. And the flowers there were all roses, different shades of pink. There were many, some growing in pots, very tall; some cut ones in crystal vases and jars: and on a table, a marvellous bowl, illuminated, with flowers floating on the surface of bright water. Also, Madame, there were presents, jewels in cases. If these, as Madame says, are to be charged to her, Mon Dieu, it will be a disaster!"

"What were the presents?" The question asked itself, out of the turmoil that was Mums' mind. But behind the turmoil a voice seemed crying, "Why do you stop here talking of trifles, instead of rushing to save your wretched child?"

But Céline was replying. After all, what use to go, since the door of the suite would be closed, and one could not shriek and beat upon the panels for the whole world to hear!

"There was a large case with a double row of pearls. It must be, I think, not a string, but a rope. There was also a lovely thing for the hair, a wreath of laurel leaves made of green stones, doubtless emeralds. And there was a pendant, a star of diamonds with a great cabochon sapphire – Mademoiselle's beloved jewel! – in the centre. There may have been other things, but those were all I remarked. I saw them from the doorway. Yet, if Madame will believe me, la Jeune Mariée did not regard them. Neither did Monsieur draw her attention to his gifts – no, not by gesture nor word."

"She must have said something!" cried Mary.

"She murmured that the flowers were charming. You would have thought she had not seen the jewels, though she must have seen them, Madame, if I saw from my distance. Monsieur asked if she would like to view the rest of the suite. She answered, 'Oh yes, please!' Then, out into the entrance hall they came. Monsieur threw open the door of a room next the salon, and as he did so put on the lights. But – with that, he stepped back. My young lady called me, 'Céline!' I ran to her, and he stopped there in the hall. Ah, another surprise! Not the beauty of this great bedroom. That one would expect in such a suite – a white room, Madame, and white flowers, roses not too heavily perfumed! But the surprise was on the toilet-table. Brushes, bottles, everything, oh, so delicious a set! – in gold. A queen could have no better. On the bed, Madame, lay a robe de chambre more beautiful than any that Mademoiselle has ever possessed – which Madame knows, is to say much! – and on the floor – like blossoms fallen on the white fur rug – lay a little pair of mules, made of gold embroidery on cloth of silver, and having buckles of old paste fit for the slippers of Cinderella! When she had looked round for a few moments, quite silent, Madame, the bride turned to me. 'Now you have seen what is here, Céline,' she said, 'you can go to my room and bring me just the things you think I shall need.'"

"Did she give you the key of the suite?" Mary asked sharply.

"But no, Madame, she did not give me a key. I shall have to knock."

"Very well, run and put a few things together," Mary directed. "It doesn't much matter what, as Mademois – my daughter – will not, I think, stay long in the suite. When you are ready, come back here to me. I will go down with you. When the door is opened, I shall walk in before it can be shut. But mind, you will speak or hint to no one of what I do, or what I say to you – or what you may see or overhear."

"Madame may depend upon me," Céline assured her. "Ah, that poor Milord Severance! Mais, c'est le Destin!"

CHAPTER XXI

KEEPING UP APPEARANCES!

"You said at the theatre, if I trusted you enough to come here with you," Marise began as Céline left, "you would tell me a plan you thought I'd approve. Well, I did trust you! I had to, just as I had to this afternoon when you said the same thing in the taxi. Here I am. But so far, I don't see anything that reassures me much. All the flowers and jewel-cases and gold things are beautiful bribes. The only trouble about them is, that I don't take bribes – even if you can afford to offer them!"

"I understand that emphasis," said Garth. "You don't take bribes. I do. And you think, in making this collection I've 'gambled in futures.'"

Marise was silent.

"That's what you do think, isn't it?" he insisted.

"Something of the sort may have flitted through my head."

"Well, if I'm not above bribery and corruption – and the rest of it – that's on my own conscience. In other words, it's my own business. Your business is – to keep up appearances, and at the same time keep up the proprieties."

"That's one way of expressing it!"

"Yes, again my beastly vulgar way! But I won't stop to apologise because I know you're in a hurry to settle this question between us once for all. Because, when it is settled, it will be once for all, so far as I'm concerned."

"I see. Go on, please!"

He looked at her, a long look. "You and I are here alone together," he said. "Husband and wife! For we are married, you know. Does that make you shiver – or shudder?"

"I don't think we feel very married – either of us," Marise answered in a small, ingratiating voice, like a child's.

"You don't know how I feel," said Garth. "But I'm not anxious to punish you by torture for anything you've done, no matter what you may deserve, so I won't keep you in suspense. You admit that if – we did 'feel married,' and if – we cared about each other as ordinary new-married couples do, this 'bridal suite' – as they call it – would be the proper dodge?"

"Oh yes," agreed Marise, wondering what he was working up to. Her heart was beating too fast for her wits to be at their nimblest, but she hadn't missed those words of his which had either slipped out, or been spoken with subtle purpose: "If we cared about each other." Only a few days ago – apparently with his soul in his eyes – he had said that he'd give that soul to get her for his own. Well, the incredible had happened, and she was his own – in a way. Was he so disgusted with her behaviour and motives that he'd suddenly ceased to care? Or was he silly enough to think it would hurt her if he pretended not to care? Certainly she had done nothing worse than he had! Whatever he might think, she had married him largely from pique, to spite Tony Severance; though, of course, that wasn't to say she wouldn't carry out Tony's scheme when the time came. Whereas he, John Garth, had accepted a bribe. She was worth a million dollars to Tony: and the million dollars were worth a basely caddish act to Garth.

"You want your friends and the public in general to believe we are the ordinary loving couple, don't you?" he was asking.

"Of course. I may have earned them, but I don't want horrid things said. Especially – "

"Especially on Severance's account, and because of the arrangements he proposes to make for your future, I suppose you were going to say. Why stop?"

"Because you suppose wrong. I wasn't going to say anything of the kind. 'Especially on account of poor Mums,' were the words on the tip of my tongue. I stopped – well, I thought it sounded sentimental. Besides, you'd probably not believe me."

"I think I would believe you," said Garth. "I don't know you very well yet, but things that have happened have shown me a bit of what you're like, inside yourself. You've got plenty of faults. I should say you're as selfish as they make 'em. You don't really take much interest in anything that doesn't affect you and your affairs. You've been badly spoiled, but not quite ruined: and I think you don't enjoy telling lies."

"Thank you for your charming compliments!" flashed Marise, the blood in her cheeks. Spoiled indeed! Everyone said she was wonderfully unspoiled – simple and sweet-natured as a child. Those were the people who knew her!

"To get back to a more important subject," went on Garth; "I was going to tell you that, honestly, one half the reason I took this suite and made you come to it with me, was for your sake: to have you do the right, conventional, bridal thing everyone expects of you, and would be blue with curiosity if you didn't do. The other half was to find out whether you were capable of rising to an occasion."

"Rising – how?" questioned Marise.

"Rising high enough to trust a man to do – after his lights – the decent thing. Not to carry out a bargain, because there is none. I'd be breaking no promise if I grabbed you in my arms this moment. I mean, the decent thing that any man owes any woman who puts herself in his power. Now I've said enough. You'll understand me better in a minute by going over this suite, than by listening to an hour's explanation in words. I'll wait for you here." (They were in the salon.) "Walk round, and draw your own conclusions. Then come back and tell me what the conclusions are."

Marise was quite sharp enough to guess what he meant, but – stepping out into the azalea-filled entrance hall, she passed the open door of the beautiful white bedroom. Beyond it was another door. She opened this, and touching an electric switch, flooded a room with light.

Here, too, was a bedroom, smaller, less elaborate, more suited to the occupation of a man than the other. Instead of the carved white wood and gilded cane of the room next door, the furniture was mahogany, of the Queen Anne period; and the carpet, instead of pale Aubusson, was the colour of wallflowers. There were some plain ebony brushes and toilet things on the dressing-table, and underneath the table were boot-trees. Evidently Garth had had his belongings brought over from the Belmore!

A glance sufficed Marise. She went slowly back to the salon where Garth stood staring down on the display of jewellery on the table.

"Well?" He looked up with something defiant and oddly sullen about his face. "You understand my 'plan'?"

"Yes," said Marise. "I understand. But – "

"But what? Didn't you try the door between that other room and your own, and satisfy yourself that it's locked with the key on your side?"

"I didn't try it," the girl answered, "because – I was somehow sure it would be like that."

"Why were you sure?"

"I don't know, exactly. I was."

"Your sureness was the result of trust in me, as a decent man in spite of the fact that you think I'm not a gentleman?"

"Ye-es, I suppose it was trust."

"Then why that 'but' just now?"

"Oh – it's rather hard to put into words what was to come after the 'but' – without hurting your feelings. And I don't want to do that. It only makes things a lot worse."

"I don't mind having my feelings hurt. I'm hardened. Besides, if you hurt mine I'm free to hurt yours if I like in return. Shoot!"

"Well – I believe you mean what you've said to me – and shown me. I do trust you – now. But for how long dare I? Can you trust yourself?"

He smiled down at her; and it looked like a scornful smile, but of course it couldn't be that. "Your question is easy to answer," he said. "I trust myself, and shall continue to trust myself, because there's no temptation to resist. I shall keep to my own half of this suite, with the less difficulty because I haven't the slightest wish to intrude on yours. Now you know where you stand. But there's a knock! I suppose that's your maid."

CHAPTER XXII

A SHOCK AND A SNUB OR TWO

It was the maid. It was also Mrs. Sorel, who pushed past Céline and darted into the hall.

"My darling!" she shrilled at sight of Marise. "You look as if you'd had a most horrible shock!"

It was just this that the girl had had: the shock of her life. She, undesired —not a temptation! Alone with a man – a mere brute – who had the strength and the legal right to take her against her will, but remained cold; did not want her.

She might have believed this statement to be a sequel to that hint about "hurting her feelings if he liked," but Garth's face was cold. It might have been carved from rock. It looked like rock – that red-brown kind. There was no fierce, controlled passion in the tawny eyes, such as men on the stage would carefully have betrayed in these situations, or such as men had far from carefully betrayed to her in real life, disgusting or frightening her at the time: though afterwards the scene had pleased, or – well flattered her to dwell on in safe retrospect. It was rather glorious, though sometimes painful, she'd often said to herself, the power she had to make men feel. Yet this Snow-man didn't feel at all. He simply didn't! You could see that by his icicle of a face.

"You mustn't worry, dear Mums," soothed Marise. "I'm doing the best thing for everyone: keeping up appearances! And as Major Garth dislikes me – I am not his style, it seems – I'm perfectly safe. Safe as if I were in our rooms, with you."

Garth gazed gravely at Mrs. Sorel. "She's safer than with you, Madame. I assure you she's as safe as – as if she were in cold storage."

Mary gasped.

Marise laughed.

But she felt as though she'd read in a yellow newspaper that Miss Sorel was the plainest girl and the worst actress in the world.

Mums was persuaded to go, at last, after having upbraided her daughter, with tears, for forcing them all – including Lord Severance – into such a deplorable, such a perilous situation.

As for the peril, after Garth's words, and still more his look, all thrill of danger and the chance of a fight, with a triumphant if exhausting close, had died. Marise felt dull and "anti-climaxy," and homesick for her friends, the dear public who loved and appreciated her. Céline remained to undress her mistress, having (despite Mrs. Sorel's advice) brought various articles from Marise's own room. When at last the bride was ready for bed in a dream of a "nighty" fetched by her maid, Céline thought of the jewels on a table in the salon.

By this time the room was empty, Garth having retired like a bear to his den; and the Frenchwoman took it on herself to transfer the valuables to the bedroom adjoining. "They will be safer here," she said. "Unless Mademoiselle – Madame – would like me to carry the cases to the other suite and put them in the care of Madame his mother."

"No, leave everything here," directed Marise.

She had made up her mind not to keep the gifts. They were beautiful, and she wouldn't have been a woman if she'd not wanted them. But she wanted still more the stern splendour of handing the spoil back to Garth, advising him to return the jewels whence they came, since only millionaires should buy such expensive objects. But she would not of course take a servant, even Céline – who knew everything and a little more than everything – into her confidence.