She flung back her head and stared at him, and he
saw the terror and anguish in her eyes. “No,
no!” she cried, “don’t say that to
me! I can’t bear it—oh, see
what I have done! Look at me! Have mercy
on me!”
“Mrs. Winnie,” he said, “you must
have mercy on me!”
But he only felt her clasp him more tightly.
He took her by the wrists, and with quiet force he
broke her hold upon him; her hands fell to her sides,
and she stared at him, aghast.
“I must go,” he said, again.
And he started toward the door. She followed
him dumbly with her eyes.
“Good-bye,” he said. He knew that
there was no use of any more words; his sympathy had
been like oil upon flames. He saw her move, and
as he opened the door, she flung herself down in a
chair and burst into frantic weeping. He shut
the door softly and went away.
He found his way down the stairs, and got his hat
and coat, and went out, unseen by anyone. He
walked down the Avenue-and there suddenly was the
giant bulk of St. Cecilia’s lifting itself into
the sky. He stopped and looked at it—it
seemed a great tumultuous surge of emotion. And
for the first time in his life it seemed to him that
he understood why men had put together that towering
heap of stone!
Then he went on home.
He found Alice dressing for a ball, and Oliver waiting
for her. He went to his room, and took off his
coat; and Oliver came up to him, and with a sudden
gesture reached over to his shoulder, and held up
a trophy.
He drew it out carefully, and measured the length
of it, smiling mischievously in the meanwhile.
Then he held it up to the light, to see the colour
of it.
“A black one!” he cried. “Coal
black!” And he looked at his brother, with a
merry twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, Allan!”
he chuckled.
Montague said nothing.
It was about a week from the beginning of Lent, when
there would be a lull in the city’s gaieties,
and Society would shift the scene of its activities
to the country clubs, and to California and Hot Springs
and Palm Beach. Mrs. Caroline. Smythe invited
Alice to join her in an expedition to the last-named
place; but Montague interposed, because he saw that
Alice had been made pale and nervous by three months
of night-and-day festivities. Also, a trip to
Florida would necessitate ten or fifteen thousand dollars’
worth of new clothes; and these would not do for the
summer, it appeared—they would be faded
and passe by that time.
So Alice settled back to rest; but she was too popular
to be let alone—a few days later came another
invitation, this time from General Prentice and his
family. They were planning a railroad trip—to
be gone for a month; they would have a private train,
and twenty five people in the party, and would take
in California and Mexico—“swinging
round the circle,” as it was called. Alice
was wild to go, and Montague gave his consent.
Afterward he learned to his dismay that Charlie Carter
was one of those invited, and he would have liked
to have Alice withdraw; but she did not wish to, and
he could not make up his mind to insist.
