Vision House

"I can't express the pain it gives me to upset you with all these anxieties. But I dared not keep silence, lest you should learn of this journey West, and so on, through some garbled story in the newspapers. You might then think the worst; whereas now, you are in the secret of your dear girl's safety. No harm will come to her: and thank goodness there will be no tittle-tattle to rouse Mr. Ionides's suspicions!

"I presume you will marry your cousin by special licence, so as to hurry things on; and I comfort myself by thinking that before many days all will be en train. Perhaps in a fortnight after you reach England you will be arranging to leave again for the benefit of the invalid's health. California is the most wonderful place in the world for a cure. But, of course, the poor Œnone is incurable, and is not likely to be with you on this earth for more than a year or two at worst – I mean, at most.

"When you have settled with Garth, he will have no further excuse to assert himself. I shall find a house near Bell Towers, and Marise will come to me. The time of waiting for happiness will pass in the consolation of warm platonic friendship and lovely surroundings. An excuse can be found for Marise's divorce; and Garth will pass out of our lives for ever!

"Now I have explained everything as well as I can, and I shall add items of interest each day until time comes for posting my letter. Au revoir, dear Tony! Yours, M. S. – the initials you love!"

CHAPTER XXV

"SOME DAY – SOME WAY – SOMEHOW!"

If Zélie Marks had been a malicious girl she could, with a few words through the telephone or on paper, have spoiled at a stroke such few chances of happiness as remained to Garth.

The man was completely, almost ludicrously in her power; and Zélie didn't flatter herself that what he had done was done entirely because of trust in her. He did trust her, of course. But as the girl set forth to carry out his wishes, she realised that he had turned to her as much through a man's blindness as through perfect faith in her unfailing friendship.

Friendship! She laughed a little at the word, travelling westward in the luxurious stateroom for which Garth had paid. What a dear fool he was! But all men were like that. When they fell head over heels in love with one woman, they never bothered to analyse the feelings of any other female thing on earth!

Yes, that was about all she was in his eyes – a female thing! He had been in desperate need of help, and she happened to be the one creature who could give the kind he wanted.

Some girls would have refused, she thought. Others would have accepted, and then – behaved like cats. Even she had longed to behave like a cat when she talked to his "wife" through the telephone. "If Marise Sorel dreamed of what he's asked me to do, not one of the things he hopes for could ever by any possibility come to pass," Zélie reminded herself, as she gazed without seeing it at the flying landscape. "Not that they ever will come to pass anyhow. But it shan't be my fault that he's disappointed."

Miss Marks honestly believed that she was unselfish in her service; yet something far down in the depths of her prayed to gain a reward for it in the far, far future.

The one thing which seemed certain about this wild marriage was, that it wouldn't last. Sooner or later – probably sooner! – there'd be a divorce. Then, maybe, Jack Garth would remember what his pal Zélie Marks had done for him. He'd turn to her for comfort as now he turned for help. Love – real love – was sometimes born in such ways: and Zélie didn't for an instant let herself think that Garth's love for Marise Sorel was real. It was infatuation, and was bound to pass when he found out what a vain, self-centred girl his idol was; whereas Zélie Marks had been loyally his chum for years.

Zélie had loved Garth long before the war, when she knew him in Albuquerque. She was learning stenography then, after her father died, and when there was no one for her to live with except an aunt. The aunt was quite a good aunt, and a friend of Mrs. Mooney – Jack's "Mothereen"; but Zélie had wanted to be independent. Jack and Mothereen had been kind to the girl; and when Jack began building a house near his beloved Grand Canyon, for a little while Zélie had tremblingly prayed that it was meant for her to live in. Later, she had begun to lose hope, but not wholly. And then the war had broken out in Europe. Almost at once Garth had dashed over to England and offered his services, on the plea that his father, a Yorkshire man, had never been naturalised as an American.

Zélie couldn't rest in Albuquerque after that. She went east, and would quietly have slipped away after Garth to Europe as a Red Cross nurse if she hadn't been afraid he would suspect why she followed. Instead, she stopped in New York, and got work as a stenographer with a firm of engineers, thanks to an introduction from Jack. When America flung herself into the war-furnace too, Zélie Marks did train as a nurse: but in little more than a year came the Armistice, and the girl reluctantly took up her old profession again.

Now, she loved Major Garth, V.C., a hundred times more than she had loved Jack Garth, the smart young inventor. Yet here she was on the way to Arizona, where she had promised to go and get his house (that house she had once thought might be hers!) ready to receive another woman!

When he had come to her flat early in the morning and told her what he wanted done to "surprise Marise," she had made him some hot coffee, and agreed to everything.

"Yes, Jack," she said, "I'll do it, and your wife shall never know, unless you tell her yourself. And I advise you not to do that, because if you drop the least hint, she'll hate the house and me, and be angry with you. Any girl would! I'm not blaming her. She shall think that your house was just waiting, in apple-pie order, her room and all: or else – yes, that would be best! – she shall think Mothereen did the whole business. Of course, that's what you'd want Mothereen to do, and what she'd want to do, if she were strong enough for the task. But as it is, she shall work just enough, so that she won't have to fib– no hard work to tire her out. She'll love to go to the Canyon with me – the dear Mothereen! – and she'll have the time of her life."

So that was Zélie Marks' secret errand. She was to travel straight through to Kansas City, by the Santa Fé "Limited." There she was to pause in her journey and purchase a list of things which had never been supplied for Garth's new house, finished only a short time before the war: beautiful silver, crystal and fine linen, and the decorations for a room worthy of a bride like Marise. Kansas City was a big enough town to provide these things, Garth thought; and as it was many hours nearer the Grand Canyon than was Chicago, Zélie's purchases would reach their destination sooner than if she shopped there.

Garth had to leave much to Zélie's taste, but his advice, "Try to think what she would like," had hurt. Zélie was to have all the trouble and pain, yet must strive to please Marise Sorel, not herself. And poor old Zélie was never to get any credit for the sacrifice!

Of course, she had got something. She had got Jack's thanks in advance. He had said, "You're a brick, Zélie! The finest girl there is. I shall never forget what you're doing for me." And she had got the most marvellous jewels she'd ever seen except at the opera or at Tiffany's. But she didn't count them as possessions. She knew they had been refused by Marise (Jack put it casually, "Stuff didn't make a hit there. I hope it will with you!"), and Zélie had no intention of keeping Mrs. Garth's cast-off finery. Just what she would eventually do with what Jack called the "stuff," she hadn't made up her mind: but the girl felt confident of an inspiration.

She had also got money for the trip West, and back, with travel de luxe. She didn't mind accepting that, as she was doing an immense favour for Jack, which nobody else could or would do. And she didn't mind his paying an "understudy" to look after her work at the Belmore till she should return. But she had refused nearly half the money which Jack had pressed upon her. She simply "wouldn't have it!" she'd insisted. He had been forced to yield, or vex her: but he had probably said within himself, "Anyhow, she's got the jewels!"

How little he knew her, if he could think that!.. And so, after all, the thanks were the biggest part of her reward.

Tears smarted under Zélie's eyelids now and then, as she thought of these things while the train whirled her westward: how loyal she was to her pal, and was going to be in spite of every temptation; how little Marise deserved the worship lavished upon her; and how much more good it would do Jack to give his love in another quarter!

"All the same, I'll do my very, very best," the girl repeated. "I won't tell Mothereen a single one of the horrid things I think about the bride. I'll paint her in glowing colours. I'll try and make the house a dream of beauty, no matter how hard I work. I'll warn Mothereen not to mention my name, though I'd love to have her blurt it out! But some day – and some way – I'll somehow get even with Marise Sorel for all she's made me suffer. And made Jack suffer!"

CHAPTER XXVI

THE END OF THE JOURNEY

Marise knew as little as possible of her own country. Her early memories wavered between New York when things went well, and Brooklyn or even Jersey City when the family luck was out. Her first experiences on the stage had given her small parts in New York. Mums had refused fairly good chances for the pretty girl, rather than let her go "on the road." Then had come the great and bewildering success as "Dolores," which had kept the young star playing at one theatre until mother and daughter transplanted themselves to England. This "wedding trip" with Garth was the first long journey that Marise had ever made in her native land.

It was the most extraordinary thing which had ever happened, to be travelling with Garth – except being married to him! And, after the first twenty-four hours of "Mrs. John Garthhood," she had not felt "married" at all, during the fortnight which followed the wedding.

For one thing, she had been desperately busy preparing to leave the stage "for good." There were so many people to see! And the person of whom she had seen least was her husband. He, too, appeared to be busy about his own affairs, and Marise was rather surprised to discover how many men (his acquaintances were nearly all men, and men of importance) he knew in New York.

Every night he took her to the theatre, and returned to escort her home in the car he had so extravagantly hired. That was in the rôle of adoring bridegroom which he had engaged himself to play! But apart from luncheons and dinners eaten with wife and mother-in-law on show in public places, these were the only occasions when they met and talked together. At night, though Marise still stuck to the bargain and occupied her room in the "bridal suite," she never knew when Garth entered his quarters next door, or when he went out. But now, here they were in a train, destined to be close companions for days on end.

The girl's restless fear of the unknown in Garth's nature, which had almost gone to sleep in New York, waked up again. Yet somehow it wasn't as disagreeable as it ought to have been – and indeed, she had rather missed it! There was a stifled excitement in going away with him which interested her intensely; and she was interested in the journey itself.

Garth had made everything very easy and comfortable for his wife, so far as outward arrangements went. She had a stateroom (it happened by chance to be the same in which Miss Marks had travelled a fortnight ago, but Zélie's vows of "getting even" did not haunt the place), and close by, Céline had a whole "section" to herself. Garth lurked in the distance, just where, Marise didn't know. He must, of course, take his bride to meals, and sit chatting with her for some hours each day in her stateroom, lest people who knew their faces should wonder and whisper about the strange honeymoon couple. But so far as Marise could tell, he seemed inclined to keep his word with her.

What would Mums – who had sobbed at parting – think if she knew that her martyred Marise was quite happy and chirpy? Yet so it was! The girl was keenly conscious of Garth's presence, but she couldn't help being as pleased as a child with the neat arrangement of her stateroom; with the coffee-coloured porter whose grin glittered like a diamond tiara set in the wrong place; with the cream-tinted maid who brought a large paper bag for her toque, and said, "My! ain't your hat just sweet?" and with the wee wooden houses they passed so close she could almost have snatched flower-pots from their window-sills, as "Alice" snatched marmalade, falling down to Wonderland through the Rabbit Hole. That was just at the start, for soon the train was flashing through fair green country with little rivers, and trees like English trees.

Marise laughed aloud at the huge advertisements which disfigured the landscape; unpleasant-looking, giant men cut out of wood; Brobdingnag boys munching cakes; profile cows the size of elephants, and bottles tall as steeples. Then suddenly she checked herself. It was the first time she had laughed with Garth! He, too, was smiling. Their eyes met. The man seemed very human for that moment; young, too, and in spite of his bigness, boyish. What would she have thought of him, she wondered, if they had met in an ordinary way?

The train stopped at very few places. Indeed, when in motion it had an air of stopping at nothing! It was fun going to the restaurant car. Men stared at Marise, and she saw that some of the women stared at Garth. Did they admire him? Would she have admired him if she'd seen him for the first time as well-dressed as he was now, wearing a smart Guards' tie, and if she had never learned to think of him as a Devil and a Brute?

Certainly his hair was nice. It grew well on his forehead, and brushed straight back it would have had the effect of a bronze helmet if there hadn't been a slight ripple to break the smoothness.

"Monsieur Garth has received a telegram in the train," said Céline that night as she helped "Madame" to undress. "He has no stateroom himself. I suppose he could not get one. He is in a 'section,' no better than mine. He is sitting there now reading the telegram. I think he has read it several times. Perhaps it is from Madame his mother, whom we go to visit."

"Perhaps," echoed Marise. But somehow she felt sure it wasn't. It wasn't about business, either! Strange that you could get telegrams in trains. He must have told the person to wire; and the person was a woman – Zélie Marks, most likely. All Marise's resentment against Garth came back, as her mother would have wished for Severance's sake.

At Chicago, where they arrived next morning, they had to stop all day until the Santa Fé Limited left at night. Garth took his wife to "see the sights." He was quite agreeable, in an impersonal way, and so was she; but they did not laugh together again. They talked only of the moment, never planned ahead; yet Marise's thoughts kept flying on to the end of the journey, and what life would be like then.

The morning after brought them to Kansas City, where Zélie, bound on her secret mission, had got off to buy beautiful things for the far-away house. But Major and Mrs. John Garth did not get off. They went on and on, till the flat country of waving grass turned to red desert dotted darkly with pines, and having here and there a mysterious mound like an ancient tumulus. Instead of homely villages there were groups of adobe houses, such as Marise vaguely pictured in Africa. Out of the hard scarlet earth pushed grey rocks like jagged teeth of giant, buried skulls; and at last it seemed that the train was rushing straight to the setting sun where it would be engulfed in fire.

Now and then when the girl glanced at Garth, who was absorbed in the wistful ecstasy of homecoming, it occurred to her that he had changed. His eyes were more tawny than ever they had been. Perhaps it was the red reflection shining up into them! Now she understood better than before why they had looked like the eyes of a lion that sees his lost and distant desert. This was Garth's desert —his, and he loved it! A queer little thrill of involuntary sympathy ran through her. She felt that it might be in her also to love this wild rose-red and golden land, with its dark, stunted trees, and the draped Indian figures silhouetted on slim ponies against a crystal sky. It appealed to something in her soul that had never yet found what it wanted. It made her feel that she was very little in her outlook, her aspirations, but that she might some day grow to a stature worth while.

It was morning – late morning – when they reached Albuquerque, once settled and named by Spanish explorers. As the train drew into the station Marise glanced out with veiled eagerness. Yes, she was eager, but she didn't want Garth to know that. It would please him too much – more than it was safe to please him, maybe!

There was a surprisingly delightful hotel built in old Spanish style, which seemed to be part of the station itself: and on the platform were knots of Indians so picturesque that the girl nearly cried out in sheer pleasure.

Garth had come into the stateroom to help gather up her things. She had been wondering for some moments at the strained frown between his eyebrows when he should have been smiling with joy. Suddenly he spoke.

"Marise" (he always called her Marise, and she had ceased to resent it), "there's something I want to ask you to do. I kept putting it off, but now the last minute has come. You know I think a lot of Mrs. Mooney, my adopted mother, don't you?"

"You've told me so. And it goes without saying, as you had an idée fixe that you must make her this visit at any cost," Marise replied.

"At any cost – that's just it," he repeated. "Well, she's as old-fashioned as you're new-fashioned. She couldn't understand a motive for marriage except love – she'd hardly believe there was any other! I don't want to shock or worry her if I can avoid it. Will you please help me out in keeping her as happy about – us, as you reasonably can?"

"Of course I don't want to hurt her," said Marise. "I hate hurting people – as a general rule, though you mayn't believe it. What do you want me to do – something special?"

"Yes. Could you bring yourself to call me 'Jack' before her? She'd notice if you always called me 'You,' as you do – as you have since I pointed out that 'Major Garth' didn't fit the situation."

"Certainly. That's easy enough!" Marise reassured him. "I'm not an actress for nothing. Many a man whom I wouldn't dream of calling by his Christian name off the stage has had to be 'dearest' and 'darling' on!"

Garth flushed darkly, she could not quite guess why. "Thank you," he said. "We'll consider ourselves in the theatre, then, when we're at Mothereen's, playing – don't you say? – 'opposite' parts. I'll try and make yours not too hard. I don't know whether she'll have come to the depot to meet us or not, but – hurrah, there she is!"

His voice rang out as Marise had never yet heard it ring. Yes, she had once – just for an instant – that first Sunday when he said, "I would sell my soul for you!" – or some foolish words of the kind.

Since then, she had forgotten those tones, and thought his voice hard; but now its warmth and mellowness brought back a memory.

The train was stopping. In front of a wonderful window full of Indian curios stood a little woman looking up and waving a handkerchief. She was dressed in black, with the oldest-fashioned sort of widow's bonnet. And if you'd seen her on top of the North Pole, you would have known she was Irish.

Garth flung a window up, and shouted, "Mothereen!"

CHAPTER XXVII

SECOND FIDDLE

The next thing that Marise knew, she was on the platform, being hugged and kissed by the little woman in black, admired by a pair of big, wide-apart blue eyes under black hair turning grey, smiled at by a kind, sweet mouth whose short upper lip showed teeth white as a girl's.

Not even Mums had ever hugged or kissed Marise like that! There had always been just a perceptible holding at a distance lest hair or laces should be rumpled. But there was no dread of rumpling here! Marise knew that Mrs. Mooney wouldn't have cared if her hair had come down or her funny old bonnet had been squashed flat. There was something oddly delicious, almost pathetic – oh, but very pathetic as things really were between her and Garth! – in being taken to that full, motherly bosom where the heart within beat like the wings of a glad bird. Suddenly – perhaps because she was tired and a little nervous after her immense journey – Marise wanted to cry in the nice woman's neck, which smelt good, like some sort of warm, fresh fruit. But she didn't cry. She smiled, and behaved herself well, as Mrs. Mooney turned her affectionate attentions to "Johnny."

"Sure, boy," she said, when Garth had come in for a full share of caresses, "your bride's beautiful. You didn't tell me half, and neither did – "

But Mothereen broke off short, and squeezed the gloved hands of Marise, shaking them up and down to cover an instant's confusion. She had been solemnly warned by Zélie that the name of Marks was taboo, and now she had nearly let it out!

"There's an automobile waiting," she hurried on. "Not that I've got one, or the likes of one, meself, but ye're from N'York, me dear, and I felt it would be the right thing to have."

"So it is, Mothereen," said Garth. "Now I'll just get the 'shuvver' to help me with our bags and things – "

"Not yet, boy, please," she begged excitedly. "There's a lot of folks waitin' for the good word with ye, the minute we've had our meetin' over. I couldn't keep 'em from comin', Johnny, honest I couldn't, try as I might. I believe if we had a carriage instead of an auto to drive home in, they'd take out the horses and draw ye along themselves, singin' 'Hail the Conquerin' Hero'!"

As if her words were a signal, a crowd of men and women, mostly young, burst out from the hotel, or from the Indian museum with its window display of brilliant rugs, totems, turquoises, black opals, and chased silver. "Hurrah for our Jack! Hurrah for our V.C.!" they yelled.

Marise was taken aback and hardly knew what to do. It was so odd to hear roars of applause which were not for her!

It wasn't that she wanted the roars, or envied the embarrassed recipient of the unexpected honours; but it was strange to stand there – she, the famous and beautiful Marise Sorel – with no one looking at or thinking anything about her at all.

Garth was a V.C., of course, and worthy of praise for brave deeds he must have done (she'd never heard what they were, or thought very much about them!), yet it did seem funny, just for the first surprised moment, that these creatures should be so wild over him without caring an atom for her!

"Oh, darlint, and ain't we two women proud of him!" gasped Mothereen, squeezing the girl's arm convulsively.

Marise glanced down at the plump, black-clad form quivering with emotion at the sight of Garth being shaken hands with and pounded on the back. "Yes, we are," she echoed kindly, for she would not have pained the dear woman for anything on earth.

"I shall have my work cut out for me, while I'm in her house, if she expects me to be chorus for her adopted son," the transported favourite told herself. "But she is a darling, and I'll do my best for the few days I'm here, at – well, at almost any price."

When Garth's old friends had thrown themselves upon him like a tidal wave, the reflex action came, and they were willing to meet and be nice to his wife. Male and female, they saw that she was tremendously pretty and smart. Many knew who she was, and had heard of her success, even though they had never seen her on the stage. But what was a star of the theatre, compared with a hero of the war? Garth was It. Marise was only It's second fiddle.

"Isn't he great? – fine? – wonderful?" were the adjectives flung at her head by gushing girls. "I suppose he lets you wear his V.C.?" a man pleasantly condescended. Everyone was sure, as Mothereen had been sure, that she must be "very proud" of the splendid husband she'd been lucky enough to catch.