Vision House Part 25

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 s.h.i.+ver--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 _un_spoiled--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 pa.s.sed 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 Celine 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 pa.s.sion 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 a.s.sure 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.

Celine 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, Celine 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."