“Do you mean—” she began; then
stopped, and questioned him with her eyes again.
She was seized with the belief, which filled her at
once with agony and an impulse of fierce protection
like that of a mother defending her young with her
own wounded bosom, that Burr had had a falling out
with Dorothy.
“Oh, Madelon!” Burr said again, and then
he could say no more for very shame and honor.
He had run out, indeed, in a half-frenzy.
“She shall not play you false!”
Madelon cried out. “Dorothy Fair shall
keep her word with you.”
Burr looked at her, bewildered.
“Marry her at once,” Madelon cried, with
a quick rush of her words—“at once.
Do you hear me, Burr Gordon? It’s all the
way to do with a girl like that. Do you hear
me?”
“Yes, I hear you,” Burr said, slowly,
as if he were stunned.
“Dorothy Fair shall keep her promise
to you—I will make her. She shall
marry you whenever you say. I will go this very
day and see her.”
“There is no need for you to do that, Madelon.
I will marry her at once, as you advise. I think
she will be willing,” Burr said, slowly and
coldly. Then he left her without another word,
and went up his terraces with his back bent like an
old man’s. He was holding hard to his heart
the surety that Madelon no longer cared for him, for
it is scarcely within the imagination of either man
or woman that one can love and yet give away.
But by the time he entered the house his spirit had
awakened within him, and he made a proud resolve that
since Madelon so advised and was herself to marry that
he would marry Dorothy Fair as soon as she should
be willing.
As for Madelon, she went home with her mind diverted
from her own unhappiness by Burr’s, and, in
spite of his assurance, might have gone to visit her
righteous anger upon Dorothy had she not heard that
very night that Burr and Parson Fair’s daughter
were to be married in a month’s time.
The next day Lot sent again for her, and she obeyed,
with her proud sense of duty to her future husband,
although every step she took towards him carried her
farther away. His conduct began to puzzle her
more than ever. Again he sent her to the desk
drawer, and this time for a roll of precious rose-colored
satin stuff, fit for a queen’s gown; but she
would have none of that either, although he pleaded
with her to take it. When she started to go away
he called her back, and called her back, and when
she came had nothing to say, until she lost patience
and went home.
And the day after that he sent again, and there was
a great carved comb for her in the desk drawer, and
some rose-colored satin shoes; but she thrust them
back indignantly. “Understand once for all,
Lot Gordon,” said she, “you I will take,
as I would take my death, because I have pledged my
word; but your presents I will not take.”
