H. Alexander Smith,'01.












4


CORDELIA
THE MAGNIFICENT

NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1923


Copyright, 1923
BY
HENRY HOLT and COMPANY
Printed March, 1923
Printed in
United States of America


To
MIRIAM FINN SCOTT
745883





CONTENTS
CHAPTBB PAO»
I. Cordelia Faces a Problem .... 3
II. The Making of Cordelia . . .. 18
III. How It Paid to Advertise . ., » . 27
IV. Fortune's Other Face ...» . 43
V. Rolling Meadows ...... .., 50
VI. Shadows of Secrets ...... ., 59
VII. The Reward of Vigilance .... 68
VIII. Near the Heart of Mystery ... 77
IX. Cordelia's Place in the Sun 89
X. Mitchell is Investigated .... 102
XI. Cordelia Seeks a Way . . . . . 113
XII. How Cordelia Learned the Truth . 124
XIII. A Romance of Regret ..... 137
XIV. A Ride with Mitchell 148
XV. Cordelia Makes Her Report . . . 163
XVI. How Jerry Was Protected ... 174
XVII. Readjusted Plans 183
XVIII. How Experts Do It 194


CONTENTS
XIX. Golden Days • . .., ... ., ,., .. ... 204
XX. The Mystery of Mitchell . ., ., . 213
XXI. A Compact and a Warning ... . ... 226
XXII. In Which the Expected Happens . 242
XXIII. Cordelia the Magnificent . . ... 252
XXIV. How Mitchell Apologized to Himself 263
XXV. The Wedding Day ....... 275
XXVI. Franklin Conducts His Trial ... . 291
XXVII. How a Great Dream Turned Out . 309
XXVIII. How Francois Lost One Mother . . 320
XXIX. All the King's Horses 325
XXX. Cordelia Rebuilds Her House . . . 338
XXXI. Mitchell Says His Say .... 359
XXXII. Mitchell Says Some More . . . 376
XXXIII. The Magnificence Cordelia Found . 386
XXXIV. Addenda 392


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT





CHAPTER I
CORDELIA FACES A PROBLEM
The four young women at the table in their secluded cor-
ner, all about twenty-two or twenty-three, made a group such
as any illustrated Sunday supplement of a New York paper
would have been exultantly proud to have starred in the
every center of its page of society beauties. Small wonder,
then, that the people at the other tables in the big restaurant
of the Grantham Hotel stole glances at these four favorites
of fortune, pointed them out to friends less well informed
and gave gossipy facts in eager, subdued whispers.
They had known each other all their lives had these four,
said the gossipy whispers; had gone to the same school; had
been debutantes in the same season; had always done every-
thing together. That one there, the vivid, sparkling beauty
with glinting, reddish-brown hair and with that pleasant,
confident smile which showed that she was equal to anything
—that was Miss Cordelia Marlowe, best known of the four,
the most striking figure in society's youngest set. Didn't
she really look everything that people and the papers said
of her ?—didn't she look that name which had somehow fas-
tened itself to her, "Cordelia the Magnificent?" Just look
at her! Didn't she?
The others? That spirited brunette across from her was
Mrs. Jacqueline Thorndike, whose smart wedding two years
before to Murray Thorndike was still being talked about.
And that vivacious little blonde was Mrs. Ailine Harkness,
3


4 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
whose husband was that Peter Harkness who was just now
making a sensational splurge down in Wall Street. And
that proud-looking girl—if she were arrogant, wouldn't any
girl be so in her position?—was Miss Gladys Norworth, an
orphan these many years, and in her own right the richest
girl of the group, and one of the richest heiresses in Amer-
ica.
But the one to look at was Miss Marlowe. Wasn't she a
beauty? And just looking at her, couldn't you just see why
she was so popular ?—so undeniably a leader in her own bril-
liant set? . . .
Cordelia sensed very well the substance of what these
tables were whispering about her. She was accustomed to
being admired, to being talked about; not only by a mixed
crowd such as filled the Grantham, but by her own great
world. Though the good-humored smile of her oft-pictured
face did not change under this present admiration, the face
of her mind puckered into a wry, twisted smile at the irony
of the situation. How very differently these people—and
all the people who knew her or knew of her—would talk
when they learned all the facts!
That morning, when the thing was fresh upon her, Cor-
delia's dazed impulse had been all for breaking this luncheon
engagement; Jackie, Gladys and Ailine, even though they
had long looked upon her as their leader, could easily have
handled all matters relating to the fifth reunion of the class
of '16 of fashionable Harcourt Hall. But Cordelia had
wanted to see Jackie, her room-mate at school and closest
friend during the years since then, and tell Jackie confiden-
tially the stupefying, the unbelievable thing that had just be-
fallen her. And being here—such was her control of her-
self—she was outwardly the charming, humorous, pleasantly
confident Cordelia her friends had always known.


CORDELIA FACES A PROBLEM 5
All through the luncheon the four girls—nicknamed in
their first year at Harcourt the "Faithful Four"—had chat-
tered about this and that, interrupting each other with the
license of old friends. But it was not until after the finger-
bowls were before them that they really settled to the busi-
ness that had brought them together.
"Of course the biggest thing we've got to do is to pick
the chairman for the class reunion," said Jackie Thorndike.
"We know the person we want, and the person the whole
class will want. Cordie Marlowe. And she's practically
promised to serve. We're all agreed on that—yes?"
"Of course," said pretty Ailine Harkness. "The class
would be sore at us if we dared pick any one else."
"Cordie, of course," agreed Gladys Norworth.
"Then that's all settled," declared the brisk Jackie. "And
since that's about all the real business we have—"
"I'm afraid it's not settled," drawlingly interrupted Cor-
delia. "I suppose I should have told you before, but I
didn't know the thing myself much before this. The fact
is, I'm not going to be at the reunion."
"Not be there!" the three chorused in dismay. Then
Jackie demanded: "What's the matter, Cordie? Why
not?"
Cordelia's good-humored, ready smile did not change—
except that there was now a provoking hint of mystery in it.
"I've suddenly changed all my plans," she answered.
"Changed your plans!" cried Ailine. "How?"
"I'm not telling just now," said Cordelia still smiling.
"You'll all know all about my plans in a few days. Wait
till then."
"You must have something big on!" breathed Jacqueline.
They did not question her further; they knew from old
that there was no use quizzing Cordelia when she had an-


6 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
nounced she would give no answers. But they sensed mys-
tery here—perhaps romance—certainly something big, as
Jackie had said—certainly a surprise. Cordelia read what
was passing in their minds, and again she smiled her wry
inner smile. They would be surprised, all right—but what
a different surprise from anything they might be imagining!
"But I say, Cordie," Gladys Norworth burst out in sud-
den concern, "you promised to come out to my place right
after the class reunion and stay for the summer! Your
new plan isn't going to interfere with that?"
"I'm sorry, Gladys. But I'll have to call that visit off
altogether."
"But, Cordie, when I'd planned—! What is it, anyhow,
that you're up to?"
Cordelia was still smiling. "It's just as I said, Gladys.
I can't say any more just now—and you'll know everything
in a few days."
There was a moment of surprised silence on the part of
Jackie and Ailine. Gladys having asked Cordelia out to
Rolling Meadows, and Cordelia having accepted! Here was
something else to wonder about!
There was no further questioning of the smiling, enigmati-
cal Cordelia about her altered plans; and the business of the
committee of the fifth reunion of the class of '16 of Har-
court Hall went on and was quickly finished. The matter of
the chairman was settled by the insistence that Cordelia ac-
cept the nominal chairmanship, with Jackie as vice-chairman
who would be prepared to assume all duties in case Cordelia
really could not appear. Gladys and Ailine then departed
on shopping expeditions, and at last Cordelia had her wish
of being alone with Jackie.
"You've certainly sprung a lot of surprises on us, Cordie,
old dear," began Jackie. "You needn't tel^l me a thing you


CORDELIA FACES A PROBLEM
don't want to—particularly about your changed plans. But
Gladys asking you to come out to that big place of hers, that
was certainly a jolt! Why, since she came back from
France two years ago with her step-sister and that French
war orphan the two of them adopted, Gladys hasn't had a
soul out to see her!"
"That's exactly why she asked me," returned Cordelia.
"I don't know all Gladys' reasons, of course. She said her
keeping to herself so much since she came back from France
was the effect on her of her two or three years of war work
in the hospital of that Countess de Crecy."
"So that's it! The way she's herded to herself and be-
haved generally has had me guessing—had all of us guess-
ing.
"Gladys said she now believed that her keeping out of
things had been bad for her, and from now on she was go-
ing to entertain a lot. She put it up to me as a favor, and
said she wanted me out at Rolling Meadows to help put life
into things."
"She certainly could not have asked any one who could
do the thing better!" declared Jackie. "At keeping a lot of
guests in proper spirits, you're a world-beater; you're what
might be called social insurance, Cordie. And certainly
Gladys needs some one, with that awful temper of hers and
her conceit—both likely to burst out any time. But her
picking you, Cordie!—with her always having been jealous
of you, and especially just now with the two of you— I
guess I don't have to say that, Cordie."
"I suppose you're referring to Jerry Plimpton?"
"Jerry Plimpton, yes."
"I spoke straight out to Gladys about that when we were
all out at your place last week. We'd had a bit of a row,
and she'd flared up about Jerry. Just as nice as I could I


8 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
told her there was no sense in our fighting about Jerry
Plimpton. I said I wasn't saying that I liked Jerry or that
she liked Jerry; and if Jerry liked either of us, that was
pretty much his own affair and I guessed he'd make up his
mind to suit himself. And I told her that if he made up
his mind that he liked her, and if she liked him, I'd be right
there saying 'God bless you, my children.' I went on and
said a lot more things, all along the same line."
"How did Gladys take it?"
"You know how Gladys is. When she has a good im-
pulse, it's as swift as her temper. She broke down. Said
she'd always resented me, because people liked me; that's
why she's been so nasty. Said she had lots of acquaintances
—but no girl friends—not a real girl friend—and how she
did need a girl friend she could depend on. It all sounded
mighty sincere. That was when she asked me to come and
stay with her."
"Perhaps Gladys was sincere—for that moment!" said
Jackie skeptically. "But even so, she was unconsciously
thinking of little Gladys. And if she wants a real girl
friend, one that she can depend on, how about that step-
sister of hers? The little I've seen of Esther Stevens, she's
always seemed to me a mighty decent sort—and the two
used to be getting along together well enough for them to go
to Paris the month after Gladys graduated to work in the
hospital of that Countess de Crecy."
"I said much the same to Gladys. Her explanation was
that there was too much difference in their ages for them to
be real friends."
"I don't believe her! Gladys is twenty-two or twenty-
three, and her step-sister is only five or six years older.
There's some other reason—I'll lay you a little bet on that.
And as for you, Cordie—she's asked you out because she


CORDELIA FACES A PROBLEM c-
thought she could use you. And I'll bet it all has some-
thing to do with Jerry Plimpton!"
Cordelia still wore her smile. "Whatever Gladys' real
reasons may have been for asking me, I guess they don't
make much difference at present since I'm not going out to
visit her." .
4
Suddenly Jackie's hand slipped across the table-cloth and
gripped Cordelia's wrist. "Speaking of Jerry Plimpton!"
she breathed. "There—coming out of the grill-room!"
Cordelia slightly turned her head. Jerry Plimpton's
course lay past their table, but as yet he had not seen them.
He was twenty-nine or thirty, tall, well-built, with high-bred,
handsome features, easy confidence in his every movement:
altogether an outstanding figure in any company. Since the
death ten years earlier of his mother, who had admittedly
been the social empress of New York City, there had been
no more important question to ambitious mothers with
queenly daughters than whom Jerry would select as his con-
sort, to try to fill, in her younger way, the place untenanted
in society since his mother's death—and likewise fill the great
house on upper Fifth Avenue, the Newport house and the
other Plimpton places.
Jerry sighted them, and bore down upon their table with
an eager smile. The greeting was that of old friends.
"If I didn't have a confounded business engagement with
my lawyer," he grumbled pleasantly, "I'd invite myself to
sit with you for a while."
"If you did, I'd have to tell you you couldn't stay," re-
turned Cordelia, "for I'm having, right now, a confounded
business engagement with Jackie."
His gaze fixed on Cordelia. "That sounds to me like an
order to hurry along. All right, Cordelia. But I'll be see-
ing you to-night out at the Grastons?"


12 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"No use bothering you with many details. It's a com-
mon story, anyhow; I'll bet that never before did so many
families go on the rocks as in this awful year of Our Lord
1921. I didn't know anything about our mess till last night;
then mother and I had a long session, and she told me some
things she'd been keeping from me. With the high prices
since the War she found it harder and harder to live on our
income. Result, she kept drawing on her capital by selling
off bonds. Result of this was that the income from her re-
maining bonds was so inadequate as to make her feel they
were hardly worth keeping. She saw only one chance.
Desperate, she decided to sell the bonds and speculate.
Mother picked out oil, and—everything's gone."
"Everything, Cordie?"
"Everything except a twenty-five-hundred-dollar annuity
from one of my father's life-insurance policies. Mother
said she'd tried to borrow; but nobody, not even old friends,
would loan in such hard times without the best security, and
of course we haven't that."
"I'll loan you money, Cordie!"
"Thanks! You're a dear, Jackie! If it were a small
amount, I'd take you up. But nothing less than thirty thou-
sand, and thirty thousand every year, would be worth while.
I wouldn't take that much from you, even if you could spare
it."
"Cordie—Cordie—what will it mean?"
"Isn't that pretty plain? As my mother put it last night,
'It means that the Marlowes, one of the best families for
generations, must necessarily sink out of their world into
poverty and dingy obscurity.' I'm sorriest for Lily; she's
only fifteen and was to have entered Harcourt Hall in Sep-
tember; but now Lily will never have a chance. As for my-
self—well, now you see why I can't be chairman of our class


CORDELIA FACES A PROBLEM
reunion—why I'm not going out to Gladys Norworth's—
why I'd back Gladys against myself so far as Jerry Plimp-
ton is concerned. I'm out of my old world, out of your
world, out of their world—out of it forever."
"Cordie!" breathed the dazed Jackie. "Cordie! . . .
My God!"
Cordie still tried to smile into Jackie's staring face. But
none the less she was feeling something of the poignant dis-
may that had pierced her and dazed her when her mother
had broken the news of the family disaster. She knew no
other world except this into which she had been born; she
loved it; and now she had lost it! She had indeed been a
social star; and now all that glory was lost! She liked
Jerry; subconsciously all her important plans had been bas-
ing themselves upon the growing possibility of being Mrs.
Jerry Plimpton and of having the splendid position that
would belong to his wife; and now she was out of his world,
their paths would never cross—now all that was lost!
"I guess you realize now what it means, Jackie," Cordelia
said mechanically. Then she added: "The only reason for
keeping the thing secret is my mother's wish. She feels the
disgrace, and is crazy to avoid it. Mother said that since
the rent for our apartment is paid in advance until the first of
July, it will be cheaper for us to live on there than any place
else. She hopes there may be some kind of a chance that
something may still turn up, and if something does then the
world need never know what's happened. She wants to
keep the thing quiet, on that chance."
Jackie nodded. "But you, Cordie!—what are you going
to do?"
"I've thought it all out, and the only thing is for me to go
to work."
"Work!" Jackie was scarcely less horrified and sym-


14 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
pathetic than at Cordelia's original announcement. "Cor-
delia Marlowe—go to work!"
And then Jackie's face lit up. "It might not be so bad
after all, Cordie. It's something new—it might be an awful
lark! What're you going to do?"
"That's what I've been wondering about—though I've not
yet had time to do any real thinking."
"I'll tell you what," Jackie cried inspiredly. "Let's have
a look at the want columns of a newspaper. They tell me
one can find everything in these want ads."
For the moment the vivacious Jackie had forgotten the
seriousness of the situation and was seeing the affair as an
exciting adventure into an unknown country. So when the
waiter set down Cordelia's iced tea and her own horse's-neck,
she ordered him to bring in a newspaper. Jackie quickly
swallowed two inches from her tall glass: "A little some-
thing from the hip will pep this Volstead stuff up so I can do
some heavy thinking," she whispered, and drew a silver flask
from her hand-bag and filled her glass to the brim. This she
stirred with a long spoon, and sipped her reinforced bever-
age. "Ah, that's something like!" she sighed. "Somehow
my booze tastes a lot better these days since they've told me
I can't have it."
The waiter returned with a newspaper and the next mo-
ment the two of them were scanning the columns headed,
"Help Wanted—Female." They finished these pleas for
assistance, and regarded each other glumly. It was Jackie
who spoke the thought of each.
"How monotonous! Nothing wanted but cooks, maids,
scrubwomen, nurse-maids, stenographers—and still more
cooks and maids. Not a thing that's in your line."
"No."
Simultaneously their eyes fell upon an adjoining heading


CORDELIA FACES A PROBLEM 15
"Positions Wanted—Female." Again Jackie had an inspira-
tion.
"I say, Cordie—why don't you put in a want ad for a
position? Miss Harcourt was always saying you were the
best Harcourt Hall ever turned out."
"That might be just the thing!" exclaimed Cordelia.
Then she asked: "Advertising to do what?"
"Well—um—well—you're a wonderful dancer, you
know."
"But not good enough to be a professional on the stage.
And I don't know how to be a teacher. And I don't think
I'd like to be one, either."
"Well—there's your swimming."
"Same answer, Jackie."
"I don't know any girl who can sail a boat better than
you."
"Same answer again."
"There's your tennis. Don't some tennis clubs have pro-
fessionals, the same as golf clubs?"
"Not women professionals. There's no money in tennis
for me."
"You're a regular wiz at driving a car. I've been in your
roadster when you were coaxing over ninety an hour out of
it."
"How much demand is there for a woman chauffeur—or
should I say chauffeuse? And with my record for arrests,
who would take me on as a careful family driver?"
"Well"— But here Jackie came to a pause.
"I guess you get all of my situation now, Jackie."
"Yes," Jackie said slowly. "You're broke, and you've got
to earn money. You've got every accomplishment, but you
can't do a damned thing that's useful—not a damned thing
that you can sell!"


16 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"That's exactly my situation, Jackie. And as you just
said, Miss Harcourt used to call me Harcourt Hall's best!"
The two looked at each other solemnly, even glumly, for
a long moment. Then a smile started on Jackie's piquant
face, and slowly became a challenging grin.
"What's up now, Jackie?"
"I dare you to do it?"
"Do what?"
"I'll tell you in a minute. Cordie, we've been following
the wrong line!"
"How?"
"In trying to compete with these people." Jackie ex-
citedly tapped the want columns. "They all either want to
buy or sell the commonplace, the useful. What are some
people often most eager to get and pay big money for?
Uncommon things that are not useful. Diamonds, for in-
stance! Beginning to get the idea?"
"I'm beginning to get excited. Go on!"
"Don't advertise yourself as a lump of coal. Advertise
yourself as a diamond. There's my idea. I dare you!"
A reckless gleam had flashed into Cordelia's eyes, and she
laughed. Into the two girls had come the spirit of old.
Again they were a couple of wild, harum-scarum girls hatch-
ing an escapade at Miss Harcourt's.
"I'll not back down on a dare!" cried Cordelia. "I'll ad-
vertise, but I'll tell the exact truth!"
"The more truth the better! We'll not waste any time
getting busy on this. Here, use the ads in this paper as a
sample, and dictate to me. I'll write the thing on the back
of this menu card. I'm all set—now shoot."
Laughing at the absurdity, the dare-deviltry of the enter-
prise—so much akin in spirit was the thing to one of their
schoolday larks—Cordelia began to dictate. After elabora-


CORDELIA FACES A PROBLEM 17
tion, condensation, revision, and frequent reference to the
newspaper for the proper form, the completed want ad on
the back of the menu card read as follows:
AMERICAN GIRL, 23, strong, considered good-
looking. Best social standing. Expert at swimming,
riding, tennis, dancing, and can drive racing car. Has
other accomplishments, but no useful training. Desires
position with adequate remuneration. What have you
to offer her?
Jackie summoned the waiter and paid the bill. "Just so
you won't have a chance to renege, Cordie, I'm going to take
this right over to the Times and pay for it. Come on."
Laughing, Cordelia followed Jackie out of the hotel and
over to the Times office, where Jackie copied the advertise-
ment upon the blank provided and handed it in. The clerk
counted the words, added "R 113 Times" and handed
Jackie a slip of paper. This Jackie gave to Cordelia.
"There's your lottery ticket, old dear—R 113. Sounds
like a lucky number. The clerk said you might have a
bunch of replies by Wednesday morning. You must tell
me what happens."
"Jackie, you dear fool you—nothing is going to hap~
pen!"
"You just wait and see!" prophesied Jackie.
But even Jackie did not guess what a good prophet she
was.


CHAPTER II
THE MAKING OF CORDELIA
Since this history is primarily a record of a brief period
in the life of Cordelia Marlowe, then to understand the strik-
ingj, gay, impulsive, confident creature that Cordelia was at
twenty-three, one must be equipped with some further
knowledge of her family and of Cordelia's history. The
Marlowes were for generations one of the bluest families in
that unnumbered group which tradition has baptized under
the numerical name of The Four Hundred. The family
had once upon a time been wealthy, though the Marlowes
had never been wealthy upon the scale by which present
fortunes are considered. The later males of the Marlowe
family, however, had lacked the ability to retain what
the earlier Marlowes had acquired, though there had always
been sufficient to maintain the family name as one of the
best in New York City. But Cordelia's thoroughly like-
able father, that almost famous polo player, had in an
even greater degree than any of his forbears the gift of
letting money slip through his hands; so that when a gal-
loping pony stumbled with him, and he was picked up dying
—this was when Cordelia was twelve—the lawyers had to
report to his widow that the estate had almost passed out
of existence with its last proprietor.
There was something left, however, and Bernice Marlowe,
who had always had everything, saw no reason why she
should not still have everything, or at least the appearance of
18


THE MAKING OF CORDELIA
everything. There followed great internal economies, of
course, and some borrowing: of which affairs it was not the
world's business to have any knowledge. So the long-legged
Cordelia was kept on at her very exclusive private school
(Lily, eight years younger, was as yet no such economic
problem) ; after which, as parents who are somebody do with
their daughters and as also do parents of recent wealth who
want to be somebody, Cordelia was sent at fourteen to one of
the hundreds of girls' finishing schools which find the vicin-
age of New York a rich soil for their growth and prosperity.
Harcourt Hall was of course one of the most, if not actu-
ally the most, exclusive of these schools. Miss Harcourt, for
the prestige of her establishment, tactfully did her very best
to restrict her enrolment to girls who came from families of
established social position. Miss Harcourt recognized and
deplored the growing fact—she never saw the fact in the
light of a social phenomenon of American life with conse- •
quent social problems—that never before were there so many
Americans with new-made fortunes, and never so many new
families who were trying to promote their daughters to higher
social spheres by sending them to schools where they might
mix and establish valuable relations with the daughters of the
socially elect. This practice was abhorrent to Miss Harcourt,
and it may be said to the credit of her watchfulness that few
indeed were the upstarts who escaped her scrutiny and got
within her walls to soil her carefully chosen group and mount
ambition-ward upon them.
Harcourt Hall sits in withdrawn dignity upon one of Long
Island's main highways, some thirty miles out of New York
City. To the neighbors, to motorists who pass and repass
it, to the members of the nouveau riche who would enter, it
offers to the eye no more than a long stretch of high brick
wall, a lofty pair of wrought iron gates with a porter's lodge


20 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
on guard beside them. Watchful observers see these gates
swing open only when big cars with liveried chauffeurs come
on Friday afternoon to whisk away young ladies, and then
return these young ladies Sunday night or Monday morn'
ing; or when of an afternoon, the day's toil done, the gates
emit a speedster with a girl at its wheel—on some after-
noons several such cars—on the errand of clearing away
the cobwebs of study by racing against the winds of Long
Island.
To the initiate, there is presented a very different view: a
park that is carpeted by meticulously shorn lawn; ribboned
with drives of white gravel that curve in and out among
noble elms and glistening copper beeches. In the heart of
this splendid seclusion sit three spacious buildings of closely
related architecture, for all are of red brick and their trim
of white woodwork has something of the majesty of the
colonial: the Gymnasium, the Dormitory, and the Adminis-
tration Building, the latter containing most of the class
rooms and the office of Miss Harcourt, whose sanctum is
finished with a rich austerity as might have been the room of
a not too unworldly abbess.
It was a wonderful place, Harcourt Hall. It taught a girl
sureness of herself, the proper manner to carry herself
through the great world.
At Harcourt Hall Cordelia shone, but not because of ex-
cellence in her studies. While the curriculum of Harcourt
Hall as published in the elaborate year book was rather ex-
tensive, even including business courses which none of the
girls took, regular application to study was not required.
Miss Harcourt was very considerate in this respect; it was
enough if her dear charges did just as much work as they
wanted to—their careers were to be those of ladies.
Cordelia had a jolly time during her four years at this


THE MAKING OF CORDELIA i\
model school for young ladies, which has so many duplicates
and imitations teaching their tens of thousands of girls the
ways of gentility. She was popular not only with the other
girls, but with the very proper Miss Harcourt, whose invari-
able wear was black silk, and who might have been of almost
any year above forty-five, for Miss Harcourt knew all the
secrets of preserving the appearance of an imposing middle
age. Miss Harcourt fully realized that Cordelia was not
rich as the other girls were rich; but then Cordelia had tre-
mendous "family," and was in every way an ornament to the
schooL
"My dear, I am just sending off the very best report to
your mother," she said in her grand dame manner in Cor-
delia's last year. "You are one girl—I may say the girl—
Harcourt Hall will always be proud of!"
And indeed, when Cordelia graduated, which was when
she was eighteen, she was easily the star of Harcourt Hall.
She was the school's star at swimming, tennis, riding, and
basket-ball. Also she drove a car with the daring if not
with quite the skill of a professional racing driver; she knew
the periods when the traffic officers were off duty, and so
could let her car out with the minimum danger of arrest.
Also she was an instinctive dancer—"a love of a dancer"
the girls called her. And very incidentally she knew enough
of the modest academic requirements of Harcourt Hall to
graduate not quite at the bottom of her class. Ailine Hark-
ness ranked next below her, and both Gladys Norworth and
Jackie Thorndike had too much money and standing not to
be given their diplomas.
Cordelia's debut a year afterwards at Sherry's (then an
institution, and not as now a memory), though modest as to
cost, was everything it should have been as to its appoint-
ments, and the best people were present. Her mother had


22 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
carefully seen to these matters. After her debut, Cordelia's
mother patiently and in silence waited for her to marry any
one of the several nice rich young men who paid her court.
Cordelia would swim with any of them, and out-swim them;
play tennis with any of them, and give any of them a man's
game; and would dance with any of them or all of them till
morning. But not one of them would she marry. She got
rather bored with saying "No," though always she felt
genuinely sorry for the perfectly tailored, heart-broken
young men she had to say it to.
During the year and a half America fought in the Great
War, Cordelia, of course, threw herself into the work of
entertaining the untrained soldiers encamped near New
York, as did most of the girls of her set. This was most
exciting—the boys in their blanket-fitting uniforms were
such dears! What the young fellows liked best was to have
her drive them about; and at times her imported sports car—
she still drove the same smart racer—scuttling through
country roads, could scarcely be seen because of the very
large portion of the American Expeditionary Army which
was attempting to adhere to it. But presently the War was
over, the soldiers were demobilized, and Cordelia declared
peace (though the official government was less prompt) and
turned to other matters.
When some two or three years had thus been spent in war-
relief work, and in having a good time socially, and in being
a brilliant sportswoman, and in rejecting proposals (Jerry
Plimpton had not as yet developed into a serious considera-
tion), and when at the end of this period Cordelia was still
unwed and even unbetrothed, her mother at last lost some-
thing of the patience she had been exercising with such diffi-
culty. Mrs. Marlowe, with affectionate, deprecatory insis-
tence, demanded that Cordelia marry one of the several de-


THE MAKING OF CORDELIA
sirable suitors, and backed up this demand by revealing
something of the Marlowe financial circumstances, which
until then she had protectingly withheld. Thirty thousand a
year— they'd been reduced to that, and the strain of making
ends meet on that figure—well, Mrs. Marlowe simply could
not stand it much longer! Cordelia was sorry about the
finances; she would do her best to keep down her expenses;
but she was not ready to marry. Perhaps a little later she
might: almost any time a man might come along whom she
really loved.
Cordelia had never known any sort of life but this which
she lived, and it simply did not enter her consciousness that
any other sort of life was possible. But after this talk with
her mother Cordelia did all she saw practical to reduce ex-
penses. There are innumerable ways of living cheaply, and
at the same time appearing to live otherwise, which are open
secrets to many women of Cordelia's world, and likewise to
many men. Of course the Park Avenue apartment meant
cash; nine thousand a year. But though Cordelia always
looked smart, she managed so that her clothes cost as little
as possible, and she managed so that her food cost her, in
cash, nothing at all. There was always a luncheon party,
a dinner party, a week-end party, a yachting party; as she
had told Jackie, she was a guest at this big house for a week,
at that big house for a month; there was hardly ever an
empty hour in her engagement book. She was welcome
everywhere, sought for on all sides. She was so clever, she
instinctively put life into the other guests, she was so good
at every sport—and what counted most of all with the
women, though she was immensely popular with the men,
she lacked utterly the instinct to take another woman's man
away from her or to monopolize male attention. She was
a brilliantly successful guest. She worked hard at being a


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
guest, and so spontaneous were all her social expressions
that she worked without ever knowing she was working.
Such was Cordelia Marlowe, made what she was by birth,
home traditions, school training, and the practices of the
world into which she had naturally been projected: distinctly
herself, altogether different, yet in many ways typical of the
ten thousand plus, or hundred thousand plus, other girls
turned out by Harcourt Hall and its peers and its struggling
imitations. . . .
"Magnificent" became attached to Cordelia's name in
much the way that most of the nicknames of every-day life
and the more formal sobriquets of history become attached
to their owners: through some minor incident—through the
color of the hair, size of body, a limp, a crooked back, a
terrible temper, a splendid manner.
In Cordelia's case it had been her manner. Her very
handsome and very popular father, when she was newly
born, had paid her only the casual attention which is the
common attitude of fathers until their offspring begin to
emerge from that mere generalization which is infancy into
an individuality of their own; besides, during those early
days, Mr. Marlowe was either very busy practising to make
the American Polo Team, or as equally busy at some of
his various clubs, discussing America's chance of bringing
back the cup from England. But when Cordelia was
between one and two, and her father had failed to make the
team—he was a brilliant performer, but he liked his whiskey
and the good-fellowship of his clubs too well to be a depend-
able player—he began to take more adequate notice of his
first-born. Already, he noted, she had the true Marlowe air;
the air which had made him so popular, made him accepted
as a leader among his fellows: an air composed of genuine
good-nature, pleasantly imperious self-confidence, an implicit


THE MAKING OF CORDELIA
belief that of course she was going to have her own way and
that, of course, her way was the best way. "A true Mar-
lowe !" he ejaculated proudly. "God—but she's a magnificent
child! Magnificent!"
He liked that word "magnificent." In his pride as a
Marlowe, in his new pride as a father, it seemed to him that
"magnificent" exactly hit off his daughter; the word had a
fine flavor upon the tongue, and he used it again and again.
Like so many chance words, chance phrases repeatedly
uttered by fond parents over their young, this word adhered
to Cordelia. It remained with her through childhood;
through her school days; and even through the years that
followed—though the father who had bestowed it had then
long been resting under a very handsome monument. Her
father had been quite right: she had the manner, the dash,
to carry off the word. Nowadays in her young maturity
the word, whenever it was used, was used lightly and
half-humorously; but never with irony or contempt as
might have been the case had Cordelia herself taken the word
too seriously. She seemed to regard it as an inescapable but
good-natured jest, trailing her from her childhood. Most
people, however, in their hearts, seriously believed Cordelia
deserved the title; and down in her own heart of hearts,
Cordelia was inclined to believe the same.
Physically, this title seemed a garment made for her.
She was above the middle height, was strongly and splen-
didly built, and withal was rarely light and graceful. And
her face deserved the attention that the photogravure sec-
tion of the Sunday papers had for years been giving it:
regular in its dark beauty, but with an aliveness of mind
and spirit, with a high good-natured confidence, which re-
moved all danger of that monotony which so often is the
fatal accompaniment of beautiful facial regularity: the kind


26 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
of vital, sparkling beauty that is most properly crowned
with just such glinting reddish-brown hair as was hers.
She would hardly have been normal or human had she
not privately believed in this appellation of her childhood.
She had always been a brilliant star, and popular as such
even among her girl friends; she had never faced a situa-
tion which she had not carried off with ease.
That is, not until this situation had arisen which she had
just outlined to Jackie Thorndike.


CHAPTER III
HOW IT PAID TO ADVERTISE
When Cordelia and Jackie parted, Cordelia drove her
smart roadster to the Marlowe apartment on Park Avenue,
still humorously regarding her want advertisement as an
absurd adventure. But beneath this amusement at herself
there was a very real excited expectation. Who knew ?—in-
deed something might happen!
However, the following morning, her mood was to dis-
count entirely the humor and the expectation of her adver-
tisement. The thing was just a bit of folly of two extremely
foolish girls.
Her eyes fell upon a stack of unopened envelopes on her
writing desk, and in Cordelia's mood those envelopes seemed
the concrete symbol of her present situation—indeed the
chief and bitter fact of the Marlowes' existence. They
were bills. Some were more than bills: were duns, even
threats of action if there should not be prompt payment upon
account. The first of every month saw just such a stack.
Bills—forever bills. Cordelia sighed. That was life's direst
tragedy—meeting bills!
She forced her thoughts to her more immediate problem,
making a living, and tried to consider it practically. But
Cordelia knew no more about the practicalities of earning
money than if she were the daughter of some distant planet
blissfully exempt from toil. She knew that the young
women who waited on her in the shops, and the young
27


28 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
women she had seen entering office buildings, must be paid
for their work, and in the first instance must have used some
method of gaining their positions; but how much they were
paid, and how they secured their places, she could not even
guess. She considered many kinds of possible work, and out
of the great number of undesirable possibilities, she tenta-
tively decided that a private secretaryship might be the
least undesirable. But she had to have information. In-
formation was something Jerry Plimpton might be able to
give her.
"I've just had a letter from an umpty-seventh cousin,
Jerry," she was presently saying over the telephone. "The
girl wants to come to New York to be a private secretary.
How much is a private secretary paid?"
"From nothing up to fifteen or twenty thousand a year.
How good is she?"
"I don't know. Suppose she's just fair."
"A girl has got to be mighty skilful and reliable to get as
much as thirty a week."
"Perhaps she doesn't know anything. What's the best
way to start in?"
"Tell her to go to a good business school, and then get
experience with any decent concern that will give her a
chance. But how about this evening, Cordie? Won't you
let me—"
Cordelia evaded the invitation. Thirty dollars a week!
But thirty dollars a week, considered merely as thirty dol-
lars, had no meaning to Cordelia. Obviously its meaning
had to be expressed in terms of what it would buy. Board
and lodging for instance. She had to know about this.
Half an hour later Cordelia was in a house over in the
West Seventies, the address of which she had found in a
newspaper under the heading "Boarders Wanted." Mrs.


HOW IT PAID TO ADVERTISE
Gregory led her up two flights, opened a door, and began:
"One of my best rooms. Very private. The bath only
two doors down the hall."
To Cordelia the room looked stiflingly small and was
stiflingly hot this June day, and she could see little else in it
besides an iron bed. Next Mrs. Gregory led her to the
dining-room in the front of the basement—a low ceilinged
dungeon, it seemed to Cordelia—with a view through grilled
windows of passing legs all uniformly amputated at the
knee.
"How—how much?" Cordelia managed to get out through
her muffling handkerchief.
"Only fifteen dollars a week. And the accommodations
cannot be equalled at the price in the city."
"Thanks—I'll tell my cousin," murmured Cordelia and
hurried out to her roadster and back across Central Park.
Half of her salary for such accommodations! And she
wasn't even earning that salary yet!
She drove back to the Park Avenue apartment—her
mother had fled the city to visit a distant cousin, taking Lily
with her—and spent the rest of that day and most of the
night, going over and over her situation. She had to go to
work, that was settled; and thirty dollars a week became
fixed in her mind as her first economical goal. She simply
had to earn at least thirty dollars a week! But how was she
going to finance herself until she was able to earn that much
—say by learning to be a private secretary?
There was only one way. That was to sell her car; her
beautiful imported roadster.
But while she thus planned through the night, a dizzy
» nausea seized her every time she thought of her swift and
appalling descent from her pleasant, her magnificent world.
From her wonderful world, to the dingy, smelly oblivion


30 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
of Mrs. Gregory's boarding-house or its kindred! . . .
The next morning, more out of obedience to her implied
promise to Jackie than out of any re-awakened expectation,
Cordelia went to the advertising office of the Times and
presented her receipt. Here she had her first great sur-
prise. The clerk handed her a twine-bound packet of what
seemed a hundred letters or more.
Her second great surprise came when, locked in her room
at home, she tore open the top letter of the parcel, and
read:
Dear Little R 113:
Your advertisement listens mighty good to me.
Let's get acquainted. You sound like just the girl
I've been looking for. Call up the telephone number
below, ask for me, and we'll arrange to have a nice
little dinner together and size each other up. After
that-
Well, if we make a hit with each other I think
you'll be satisfied on the point you made about adequate
remuneration. I have enough money and you'll find
me no tightwad.
Eagerly awaiting your ring.
Cordelia gazed in utter astoundment at this letter. Then,
as its obvious meaning penetrated her numbed conscious-
ness, she gave a gasp, went hot all over with rage, and tore
the letter to bits. How dared any one so insult her?
Breast heaving, she regarded the pile with horror.
Then she forced herself to read another letter—and
another—and another. Each she tore up as she read it.
With each her horror and her hot rage mounted. They
were different from the first only in text: the purpose be-
hind every one was identical.


HOW IT PAID TO ADVERTISE
Cordelia read no more. She simply could not under-
stand the thing! How could she possibly, possibly have
laid herself open to such insulting overtures? Then she
bethought herself of her advertisement. She had saved
a copy of the paper containing it, and this paper she now
secured and read the lines she and Jackie had concocted
over the tea table. She slowly read the advertisement
through two or three times; then she turned as cold as she
had been hot. She gasped again, and with a different kind
of horror, as she realized the unsuspected significance that
existed in the innocent advertisement drawn up by two
confident, worldly-wise, yet unworldly-wise young women in
a larkish spirit. To men of loose minds the thing of course
read like a veiled invitation. And she had written it!
For a space she was of a mind to destroy the rest of the
letters unread. But the very fascination of her horror
drew her on, and one after another she read some two
dozen more. They varied in expression as much as the
men might have differed in their physical appearance;
some were delicate, some direct, some leering; but every
writer had read her advertisement as had her first corre-
spondent.
At length she came upon the following, typed upon heavy
expensive paper, the firm's name embossed at the letter's
top.
My dear Miss R113:
If you will apply in person, show this letter, and ask
to see Mr. Franklin, it is possible that some work may
be arranged for you with our firm.
Very truly,
Kedmore and Franklin
Per M. G.


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
This letter brought her up with a start. Its impersonal
formality, its brevity, its typewritten signature, were coldly
refreshing after the odious familiarity of the letters which
had preceded it. "Kedmore and Franklin"—the name
sounded familiar. Who were they? The austere letter-
head conveyed no hint of their business. Oh, yes; she
remembered now. They were a firm of lawyers. Big law-
yers, too, for dimly remembered newspaper accounts con-
nected the firm with many important cases. And, oh, yes—
they were the chief counsel in helping Mrs. Henry Arnold
win her sensational counter-suit for divorce.
She hesitated. What help could she possibly be to such
a firm? Then suddenly she made her decision: they had
asked her to come, there would be nothing lost in seeing
them. So she locked in her desk the torn heap of repul-
sive letters, to be more fully destroyed later, and started
for the firm's address on lower Broadway.
An express elevator shot her up to the thirtieth floor.
Here was an impressive line of doors labeled "Kedmorb
and Franklin," one of which was marked "Entrance." As
she stepped through this door into an outer office of quiet
but rich appointments, a young woman of her own age arose
from a typewriter and courteously asked how she could serve
her.
"I wish to see Mr. Franklin. Please give him this letter."
The young woman passed through a side door, and al-
most at once returned. "You are to come right in, please."
With her heart in almost painful wonderment as to what
she was about to experience, Cordelia followed her guide
through another office, which instantly gave an impression
of quiet distinction, to a third door which the young
woman opened. "You'll find Mr. Franklin waiting," she
said.


HOW IT PAID TO ADVERTISE
Cordelia stepped through, and the door closed quietly
behind her. Her quick eyes took in a large room of yet
more simple distinction than the others, with windows that
looked downward upon the whole northern and eastern
stretch of the city. A man at the flat-top desk in the center
of the room stood up; she saw he held the letter she had
sent in to him.
"Will you please have a chair," he invited in a low
courteous voice, motioning to a chair beside his desk.
She obeyed, giving him a swift glance. Mr. Franklin
was perhaps thirty-five, clean-shaven, quietly but smartly
dressed, of athletic build, of easy bearing; he gave her an
instant sense that here was a man of power, a man who
would achieve great things if he had not already achieved
them.
He resumed his chair after she was seated. "And now
Miss—Miss"— He gave a start as he now saw her features
more clearly. "Pardon me, but I believe I already know
you."
"I do not recall ever having seen you before," Cordelia
said with some stiffness and in surprise.
"You are correct; we have never met. But I frequently
glance at the photogravure sections of the Sunday papers,
and no one more frequently appears there than yourself.
You are Miss Cordelia Marlowe."
"Yes," Cordelia had to admit. She had planned to use
her mother's maiden name, at least temporarily. Now with
the admission of her identity she felt with dismay that
the possibility of keeping the Marlowe disaster a secret, as
her mother wished, was instantly and entirely gone.
"You wrote the advertisement to which this letter re-
fers?"
"Yes."


34 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Indeed!" He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment.
"Excuse me just one second, please—a little item I had
overlooked."
He pressed a button beneath his desk, though there was
a double row of pearl-topped buttons in view beside his
telephone, and scribbled upon a pad. He folded this, and
apparently waited for some one to appear, meditatively tap-
ping his pencil upon the rich mahogany. But no one en-
tered.
"I guess this other matter will have to wait after all," he
remarked, turning his keen, steady, gray eyes again to Cor-
delia. "Would you mind telling me, Miss Marlowe, just
why you wrote that advertisement?"
"The advertisement itself answers that question. I want
work."
"But why should Miss Cordelia Marlowe want work?"
"Is my reason important to you? It seems to me that
the important consideration is whether I am suitable for
any work you may have in mind."
"That is partly correct, Miss Marlowe. But I think you
will admit that it is somewhat unusual to have one of the
best known young women of New York's smartest set ad-
vertising for work—and any sort of work at that. We are
a responsible firm, Miss Marlowe, and therefore must neces-
sarily exercise care regarding our personnel. I think you
will agree that we are not exceeding our legitimate require-
ments in wanting to know what prompted so unusual a
procedure on your part."
Cordelia had to admit to herself that he was in the right,
and she gave a brief account of the family reverses.
"Strange that I hadn't heard of this," mused Mr.
Franklin.
"No one has heard as yet."


HOW IT PAID TO ADVERTISE
35
"No one?"
"No one except my mother, myself, and my best friend,
Mrs. Murray Thorndike."
"Do you object to telling me why this misfortune has
been kept a secret?"
"It was mother's idea. You see, rent for our apartment
is paid in advance, and it will be cheapest to live there for
the present. So since we were not compelled to make a
change at once, it occurred to my mother that there was a
desperate last chance of something turning up which might
save us and make it unnecessary for the public ever to know
what our predicament had been."
"I see. And if nothing does turn up, what will happen
to your mother? How will she feel about it?"
"She's a proud woman, and you know what has always
been our family's position. I think you can answer your
question for yourself."
"I think I can. And your sister—what will become of
her?"
"I don't know. She's the one who will really suffer
most, for she will not have had a chance of any kind."
"Thank you for your information," he said quietly. And
then after a moment: "Just what did you think you might
do for us?"
"I had not thought. My advertisement was plain enough
in stating that I could do nothing useful. If you have
work for me, it will be for you to decide what I can best
do."
Mr. Franklin nodded.
"What sum had you in mind when you mentioned 'ade-
quate remuneration'?"
"I was hoping for something that would pay me thirty
dollars a week."


S6 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Mr. Franklin slowly shook his head. "At thirty dollars
a week I fear we could not use you."
Amost unconsciously, as the conversation had continued,
a very eager hope had been growing up in Cordelia. Con-
sequently Mr. Franklin's quiet words had the effect of al-
most flattening her.
"Why—why," she stammered, "I thought I would be
worth at least that much. I don't see how I can live on
less." Then, hesitantly: "Twenty-five?"
"We could not use you at twenty-five."
Cordelia stood up dully. "Then I might as well be going.
I suppose I should thank your for your kindness in seeing
me. Good-bye."
"One moment, please. I am not quite through. Won't
you be seated again?"
That even voice had a compelling quality. Cordelia sank
back into her chair.
"Since you have already permitted me to be inquisitive
relative to your personal affairs, I hope you will answer
just one more question. How much a year has it cost you
to Kve? I mean for the entire family, and in the manner
in which you have been living."
"I don't know exactly, but around thirty thousand."
"I should 'Say at least thirty thousand, to live the way
you were living. And at that you must have found it
hard. I have listened to your proposition, Miss Marlowe,
and I now ask you to listen to my proposition. My offer
to you is thirty thousand a year."
"Thirty thousand!" gasped Cordelia.
"It being expressly understood as part of the agreement,
if we do agree," the quiet voice went on, "that you and
your family are to continue to live in the exact manner


HOW IT PAID TO ADVERTISE
37
in which you have been living. There will of course be
other conditions."
"Thirty thousand!" repeated the dazed Cordelia. "Thirty
thousand—when you wouldn't pay me thirty a week! I
don't understand."
"It is very simple. Thirty dollars a week presupposes
that you have dropped from your present position, and
are just Miss Smith. As Miss Smith you are not worth
thirty dollars a week; and besides, you would not partic-
ularly interest me for I can get ten thousand Miss Smiths
to do the Miss Smith kind of work. But as Miss Cordelia
Marlowe, holding your present position, you are not one
of ten thousand, you are of a very small number, and
as such you are easily worth thirty thousand a year to my
firm."
"Doing what?" she inquired.
He shifted slightly, and seemed to be keenly watching
the effect of his carefully chosen words upon her. "You
must understand that much of our work is of a highly
confidential character and is performed for wealthy clients.
Many of our clients belong to your own set, or else come
in contact with it. Frequently a delicate situation arises,
and we must protect our clients' property and honor. We
can best do this if we are in a position to secure informa-
tion other than through our regular channels concerning
the conditions which threaten our clients. A person belong-
ing to your set, and moving on terms of intimacy in it, can
easily secure bits of information which, added to what we
already know, would prove of great value to us."
"Am I to understand that you are proposing that I am
to act as a spy upon my friends, and that I then pass on
this key-hole information to you?"


38 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
She said this in a voice of incredulous indignation. He
studied her flushed face a moment before replying.
"That is what I was intimating—yes."
"Then you may get some one else for your work!" She
started to rise.
"Please keep your chair, Miss Marlowe. I made that
intimation solely for the purpose of testing you. Had you
said 'yes/ we could not have used you. We require a
person of utmost honor—and if you were a person to sell
out your friends, you might also sell out us."
"Well?" she demanded.
"The general nature of the work is much as I have
outlined it, but you would be requested to do nothing that
would not be pleasing to your honor and good taste. Fur-
ther, you will have the privilege of refusing to participate
in any case that does not appeal to you. As a matter of
fact, I believe that most affairs would so engage your sym-
pathy that you will be happy to be of service."
"I don't know," Cordelia said doubtfully.
"The arrangement will obviate all the unpleasant features
that would attend your sinking to the level of "Miss Smith,"
he suggested. "I judge that you are not exactly eager
to give up your present position and your present friends?"
"No."
He pressed this point gently but firmly. "Also it would
obviate the fate your mother dreads for herself and would
solve the problem of your sister."
"Those are good arguments," she said. "But before I
can answer I'd like to know what are the other considerations
of which you spoke."
"Certainly. We must require that you never let a single
soul know the true character of your relations with our


HOW IT PAID TO ADVERTISE 39
firm. Your explanation for seeing us, if ever an explana-
tion' is necessary, is that we are your personal attorneys."
"I understand. What else?"
"You must never let any one know the real source of your
income. For the public to learn this would mean that the
public had also learned of your family reverses, and that
might in some way impair your own and your mother's posi-
tion. Since the general public does not know what your
predicament has been, you need explain nothing to the pub-
lic—the public will never know the difference. As for your
friend, Mrs. Thorndike, tell her your mother's fears were
premature and groundless and that all is now well. And as
for your mother—"
"Yes, my mother! How will I account for the money
to her?"
"She must be kept in ignorance of what you are doing.
Here is an instance where we may properly use a bit of
deception that you will agree is legitimate. You spoke of
your mother having some speculative stock which is worth-
less. Get that stock into my possession, and I will handle
it in some way which will make her believe she has recovered
her lost fortune. The money which you earn will then
come to you through your mother."
"I see. What are the other conditions?"
"We have covered them all. I am now waiting for your
'yes' or 'no.'"
"I can only say 'yes' to such an offer, especially when it
leaves me free to decline any work you may propose.
Though," she added, "your proposition doesn't yet seem real
to me."
"I am glad you are to be with us," he said. Even now
his voice did not alter in its courteous, business-like quality.


40 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"And you will soon find that the proposition is real enough."
"When do you want me to begin? And on what piece
of work?"
"I wish you to begin at once, if possible. I have one
case in hand in which I am certain you can render the
greatest service, but the circumstances are not yet quite ripe
for you. May I ask what were your own plans prior to
the time your mother gave you her bad news?"
"I had accepted an invitation to visit a school friend,
Miss Gladys Norworth. Of course I have canceled it."
"Gladys Norworth!" exclaimed Mr. Franklin. "The great
heiress—that Miss Norworth?"
"Yes."
Mr. Franklin's gray eyes held a surprised brightness for
a moment, then were as calm as before. "Since I am not
quite ready with the case I referred to, I suggest that in
the meantime you make your visit with Miss Norworth as
originally arranged."
Cordelia blinked at this.
Mr. Franklin hesitated an instant, then continued: "I
think it might be well for me to say a little more. Very
shortly I would have asked you to go to Miss Norworth's
anyhow. Her affairs constitute one of our cases. I think
you now begin to see the value that our connection with
you will be to us: you have the natural entree to the kind
of people we must keep in touch with."
"Gladys Norworth one of your cases!" exclaimed Cor-
delia.
"I said her affairs," corrected Mr. Franklin. "Miss Nor-
worth knows nothing of our firm being interested in her,
and I wish you to take care not to let her suspect it. If
she did, our efforts might be useless. We are confidential
counsel to the trustees of her estate. Her trustees believe


HOW IT PAID TO ADVERTISE 41
something is seriously wrong with her affairs, but they
themselves have been baffled as to what it is. That is why
they have secretly entrusted us with the matter. We have
gained some facts, and have some suspicions, but we have not
yet penetrated the mystery. That is what I wish you to
do, help us get to the heart of this baffling matter. You
will please notice everything, and report every detail to
me no matter how unimportant it may seem to you."
"That is exactly what I said I could not do—spy upon
my friends."
"I thought we had covered that," Mr. Franklin said pa-
tiently. "You are not acting as a spy—at least not in the
repugnant sense of the word. You are in reality your
friend's protector, though she does not know it, and must
not know it. You are really trying to help save your friend.
That is something very different, is it not?"
"Yes," Cordelia admitted.
"Then you will go, as soon as arrangements are made?"
"Yes. But would you mind telling me something about
the situation?"
"I cannot without a breach of good faith toward the
trustees. Besides, there is no need for you to know much;
what you need you will learn for yourself. Further, I
will very frankly admit I do not understand the thing
myself, except that something strange is going on behind
the surface. And now, Miss Marlowe, I believe that is
everything, except the discussing of financial plans involv-
ing your getting into my hands your mother's oil
stock."
Thirty minutes later that discussion was over, and Mr.
Franklin opened the door for her with a courteous bow.
As she shot down the elevator, and walked as in a dream
up Broadway, within her was a chaos of wonderment and


42 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
thrilling exultation: a whirling chaos that had three chief
elements.
This Mr. Franklin, clear-thinking, never hesitant for a
word, always courteous—could he possibly be other than the
polished gentleman, the discreet repository of other peo-
ples' confidences and worries, that he seemed to be?
What was the strange thing that was going on in Gladys
Norworth's affairs? Now that a point had been made of
it, it did seem that Gladys for a long time had been behav-
ing oddly. What was she, Cordelia, going to find out?
What was going to happen to her?
But more thrilling than either of these thoughts was the
change that had come in her fortunes. An hour before she
had been a pauper, seeking work at a miserable wage. And
now she was her old self again. Her mother was saved—
Lily was saved—she was saved! The family position was
unchanged; she was to remain up in her own world—the
world that loved her, the world she loved! And—and—the
world where she and Jerry Plimpton would be meeting as
before!


CHAPTER IV
FORTUNE'S OTHER FACE
Cordelia would have wondered even more had it been
possible for her to have remained invisible in Mr. Frank-
lin's office, and thus been able to see and overhear. The
moment Mr. Franklin was back in his chair, after seeing
Cordelia out, he remarked in a slightly raised voice:
"Come in, Kedmore."
A door at the side of the office opened, and from a little
private corridor that led to the adjoining office there stepped
forth a stockily built man of perhaps fifty-five with a pink-
ish bald head. His clothes had doubtless cost as much
as Mr. Franklin's, but their wrinkled and baggy appearance
suggested that they also served him as pyjamas. Seen in
repose he looked a very unimportant figure; but those ac-
quainted with the higher courts of New York knew that,
•given a case with a woman in it, no matter what its other
ingredients, Josiah Kedmore could win that case before
the most callous jury ever impaneled. His was the gift
of the golden voice, the apposite word, the bugle call to
tears.
In the privacy of his partner's company something seemed
to have dropped from Mr. Franklin's face: nothing so tan-
gible as a mask—perhaps merely that careful control which
was his face's professional attire. At any rate, his fea-
tures were more alive, expressive; the tow-toned even, per-
suasive quality of his voice had given place to vibrant in-
cisiveness.
43


44 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"You got my signal?" Mr. Franklin queried when his
partner was in the chair which had so recently held Cor-
delia.
"Sure!" It was a relaxation to Mr. Kedmore to be in-
elegant when the occasion did not require dressed-up Eng-
lish.
"Then you saw her and heard her. What do you think?"
"That she's a peach! Lord, man, I almost passed out
when I learned who she was. Cordelia Marlowe! To think
of Cordelia Marlowe writing an ad like that—Lord!"
"She's just the kind that would do it. Worldly-wise
and self-confident, and because of that as ignorant and easy
as they come."
Kedmore nodded his big pink head. "Just so. Lord,
if it wasn't for those swell schools, and what they do teach
and don't teach the dear girls, and if it wasn't for swell
society, and what it does teach and doesn't teach, where the
dickens would we poor lawyers be—what? Lord!"
"Then you think she'll do?"
"She'll be a wonder—if you can manage her."
"You saw this afternoon's performance. I was as much
surprised as you were when I learned who she was. I never *
guessed a real society person was behind that ad. Consider-
ing my surprise, I think you'll admit I handled her pretty
well."
"Yes, that was clever work, Franklin. Damned clever.
Lord, yes. But for a minute I thought your foot had
slipped."
"When?"
"When you suggested to her that Maggie the Blackmail
Queen thing, and she flared up."
"I had to sound her out, didn't I, to find whether she
was already of a mind to go in for something of the sort?


FORTUNE'S OTHER FACE
45
And when I learned she wasn't, I guess you'll admit I made
a quick recovery."
"Yes, your mind is quick on its feet. Lightning quick,
I'll say. But where did you get that idea, not hesitating a
second, of sending her out to that—what's her name?—
Gladys Norworth? And our being privately retained by Miss
Norworth's trustees to make an investigation of certain
matters? How did you come to send her to this Gladys
Norworth person? You certainly had me buffaloed, and it
still seems a mystery."
"If you listened carefully, you will recall that Miss Mar-
lowe was the first to mention Gladys Norworth. I'd not
even thought of Miss Norworth until Miss Marlowe spoke
of her invitation to visit Miss Norworth. So I decided to
send Miss Marlowe where she already had an invitation.
Almost every rich family has a closet with a skeleton or two
in it, and I thought Miss Marlowe might as well start with
these Norworth people, where she has an opening, as with
anybody else. It's all the same to us. Of course I did re-
call vaguely a few things about the Norworth situation, and
that helped. If Miss Marlowe doesn't find the key to the
Norworth closet, or if opening the closet she finds no
skeleton, then I shift her to some other family. And that's
all there is to that mystery."
"Simple as taking a litter of rabbits out of your grand-
mother's silk hat, after you've been shown how," com-
mented Mr. Kedmore. You've sure got a brain, Franklin,
up where some people only keep a custard pie."
"Thanks. You understand I don't care a damn about
this Norworth outfit; that is, not unless something big is
turned up there. What I care about is landing a young
woman like Miss Marlowe. That's the big thing!"
"Sure, I understand. But, Lord, man, offering her thirty


46 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
thousand. That's quite a piece of change, you know.
Seems to me you're mighty free with our dough."
"It's just as I told her: she will be worth that or nothing
to us. And you know she would be worth nothing to us
unless she stuck to her place in society."
"I suppose so. But how are you going to get that money
back?"
"You let me worry about that. It's going to be easy.
The tips she'll hand me, without ever knowing what she's
done, about the things that are happening among her rich
friends—why, there'll be a fortune in them if we follow them
up and use them right."
"But you can't expect to keep a girl like Miss Marlowe in
ignorance forever of what she's actually doing. Lord, no.
When she takes a tumble to the real game, how are you
going to handle her?"
"By that time I figure she won't need any handling.
She'll be willing to come in with her eyes wide open,
provided we keep on covering up her work. Don't I know
that sort of woman!—the woman who's about to topple
from her place in the big world and who don't want to
fall! New York, every big city, is full of them. String
those women along for a little while, keeping them just
balanced at the top, and then they'll be willing to do anything
to keep from going down. You know that as well as I do;
that's been our experience."
"I know. But we've never before handled a woman
that's had the real class of this Marlowe girl. Suppose
when her waking-up time comes the girl refuses to go
ahead?"
Franklin's mouth tightened. "That event will be pro-
vided for. If she refuses, she will find herself so involved,


FORTUNE'S OTHER FACE
47
without knowing beforehand that she is involved, that she
will not dare do anything except go ahead."
Kedmore raised a hand. "Say no more. Never tell me
what you're up to. I'm only the vocal chords of this or-
ganization; I'll handle any case in court that you've got
fixed so that the law cannot reach it—but it's up to you to
do all the thinking and fixing. Too much knowledge is
likely to be a damned dangerous thing for me. So let me
have the bliss and safety of ignorance."
"All right. You needn't worry. And, man, think of
the other side: how much we'll make when I've made her
what I want her to be! I tell you, Kedmore, I'm going to
make that girl, willing or unwilling, the ablest woman in this
line that New York ever knew. You just see!"
"I hope you do it. But it may be some job."
"I'll make her that—you just see!" repeated Franklin,
his eyes glowing. "These ladies' maids who want to sell
compromising letters—these women on the fringe of
society who hang on by their little retail trade in scandal
—all of them together won't be a tenth of what Miss Mar-
lowe will be when I've got her ready!" He became tense
in his certainty. "She's going to be a wonder! A year
from now—it will take time—it will require patience and
adroitness—but a year from now and that girl will be every-
thing I've said!"
"I believe you, Franklin; you have an admirable habit
of putting your plans across." The pink head nodded
slowly in meditation. "But I wonder now—I just natur-
ally wonder what your Miss Marlowe would be thinking
about if she knew this minute what she is destined to be in
a year."
To this Franklin made no reply.


48 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Of course you'll succeed," the heavy, meditative voice
.of Kedmore rumbled on. "But that girl had a look to
her that does make me wonder. She's no cinch. It'll be
mighty interesting, Franklin, watching how she develops
under your hands. Mighty interesting."
After his partner had departed through the private door
through which he had entered, Franklin swung around and
gazed down on the far reaches of the city, his brain fever-
ishly exultant, eagerly darting into the future. Robert
Franklin was a type of lawyer that has existed ever since
law has been practised as a business, but which has only
mounted to the peak of its success with the development
of modern wealth, of modern society and modern business,
and the rich opportunities these have offered. At the begin-
ning of his practice he had chanced upon a rather scan-
dalous secret and had been paid his price for suppressing
it. That incident had determined his career. Such money
comes so easily and comes in such large sums: money
paid by clients for helping them hide something, money paid
by clients for doing something illegal in such a way that
the law, even if awakened, cannot touch client or lawyer,
money paid for a closed mouth; and it is all so very safe,
if only one is clever and careful enough.
To-day it was Franklin's practice to watch for every
little domestic rupture among the respectable rich; to listen
for every rumor of an indiscretion that might develop into
a profit; to wait quietly for developments, collecting notes
of every detail—adding to these, ever adding to these, until
finally a crisis was reached in some affair in which reputa-
tions were at stake and in which those concerned were
frantically eager for nothing to leak out, and he was the
only outside person who had all the dangerous facts. These
affairs were his great chances; in such general direction


FORTUNE'S OTHER FACE
49
had the main portion of his law business developed—as
many a law business, in part at least, has developed.
Such, then, was Cordelia's saviour at the age of thirty-
five: a perfection of his type: respected in his profession,
and suspected by no one to whom he did not care to give
his confidence; prosperous; a finished man of the world;
he wore, and knew how to wear, the best of clothes; he was
a member of good clubs; and he was to-day far more am-
bitious than in his fiery early years.
His practice of watching every chance, however small,
every slip of folly and ignorance, every mistake of vanity
and pride and judgment, had finally brought him Cordelia.
He had never felt more exultant, more sure of himself, than
now. She was made to his hand! And of her he was go-
ing to make a wonder!
Thus mused Franklin, who was accustomed to the belief
that he could see into the far future and pull the proper
strings to make that far future fit his own desire. But
Cordelia, setting forth upon her mission, ignorant of the
true purposes that had prompted her orders, was not more
ignorant of what was to be the outcome of this planning
and striving than was the astute, sky-soaring Robert Frank-
lin.


CHAPTER V
ROLLING MEADOWS
On Monday afternoon of the following week Cordelia, at
the wheel of her spirited maroon roadster, a large black
suit case strapped upon its after deck (her trunks had been
sent in advance by express), was skimming easily over a
Long Island road at a third her engine's speed but many
miles over the speed permitted by the State law. She was
palpitant with the suspense of the adventure whose portals
she was now entering. She had taken part in many daring
matters before this, but in none had the stakes been so im-
portant to her and to others; in none had the outcome
seemed so unforeseeable; and in none had her personal sit-
uation been so strange a one.
Behind her she had left business affairs settled upon much
the basis Mr. Franklin had first outlined to her. There had
been many interviews with him in his office from which
one looked down, as from a watch-tower, upon the far-flung
city and its toiling, scheming, idling, suffering, loving mil-
lions. Mrs. Marlowe had been prevailed upon to come to
this office and leave with Mr. Franklin her unfortunate
securities. She had been greatly impressed by Mr. Franklin
on her first visit; and her respect had grown a hundred fold
when three days later he announced to her that she had been
the victim of fraudulent practices, and that he had succeeded
in getting a settlement out of her brokers and the companies
in which she held stock, under the terms of which settle-
so


ROLLING MEADOWS
51
ment she was regularly to receive twenty-five hundred dollars
monthly. He had handed her a cashier's check for the
amount of the first payment. She had been most grateful,
but extreme tact had been required in handling her indig-
nant demand for criminal action against those conscience-
less brokers who had tried to ruin her and who so nearly
had succeeded; and she had driven away, the saving check
triumphantly clutched in her hand-bag, with never a sus-
picion that she had been an unconscious actor in a care-
fully prepared bit of private theatricals.
Of course Cordelia had promptly sent off the ordered
note to Jackie Thorndike telling that her mother had been
premature in her fears of financial reverses, and telling
Jackie that their affairs were as sound as ever and that
therefore she, Cordelia, would not have to undertake any of
those foolish schemes they had discussed. Jackie had re-
plied with enthusiastic congratulations, and had promised
silence. It had hurt Cordelia a bit to tell this fib to a good
old friend like Jackie.
And of course there had been payments made upon those
awful bills.
There were flies buzzing about the sweet ointment of her
secret rehabilitation of the secret failure of her family.
Was she going to be found out? If so, what would happen
to her? And then there was that sense that she was acting
rather like a spy, coming to Rolling Meadows under such
circumstances. But this last fly she brushed away with the
mental gesture that she was coming to protect, not to betray:
—though at intervals this fly returned to its buzzing.
As she drew nearer her destination her excitement grew
more intense. She did not know Rolling Meadows, she
did not know the step-sister, or the other persons who might
comprise the household; she knew only Gladys. She was


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
about to enter a new world—a world that she now believed
contained a mystery, possibly a menace: a mystery that she,
always unsuspected, was to help discover and clear away.
Presently the maroon roadster turned through the gateway
of Rolling Meadows and swung over the low undulations,
now lush with hay that would soon be ready for the mower,
toward the house which sat upon a knoll that had the splen-
did exclusion bestowed by a quarter mile's removal from
the highway. It had been the gently curving lines of the
sweeping acres which had inspired the parents of Gladys
to call the estate Rolling Meadows when, twenty years
earlier, they had chosen this as the site of their country
home and had ordered architects and landscape gardeners
and builders to do their best.
Since she was the first of Gladys' friends to enter Rolling
Meadows, Cordelia looked with an explorer's interest at the
house she approached. Her first vision of course could
not take in details: but she was aware of a two-story red
brick house, containing possibly two-score rooms, trimmed
in white, and with cool wide porches upheld by white fluted
columns, the whole mounted upon the low pedestal of a
brick-walled terrace. Two hundred yards from the house
the hay left off and a lawn began whose nap was as perfect
as that of a putting-green. Cordelia had a consciousness of
long rose arbors in flamboyant bloom, of a sunken garden
at one side, of a thick pine wood as background to the en-
tire picture, with Long Island Sound on one side glistening
in the distance. Then she halted her car at the steps from
which Gladys had been eagerly waving to her.
"I'm so glad you were able to come after all!" Gladys
cried, and after Cordelia had lightly sprung from the car,
Gladys threw her arms around Cordelia and kissed her.


ROLLING MEADOWS
53
That was only Cordelia's second kiss from her old school
friend, and it seemed uncomfortably strange.
A man in formal clothes came rapidly and noiselessly
down the broad steps of the terrace, crossed to the car
and began with quick practised hands to unstrap Cordelia's
bag. Cordelia, obeying the instructions given her by Mr.
Franklin, swiftly studied this newcomer, obviously Gladys'
butler. He was young for a butler, perhaps twenty-eight
or thirty; was above the medium height, rather lightly
built except for an unusual width of shoulders, and had that
clean-shaven, impersonal mask of a face which Cordelia in-
stinctively associated with male house-servants of the higher
order. If she had been asked at that moment to character-
ize him, she would have had to say that his outstanding
characteristic was his perfect conformity to his class, his
colorlessness, his lack of any individuality. And yet de-
spite this perfect usualness, Cordelia had an instant sense
that his appearance belied the man's real quality.
Bag in hand, the butler turned to Gladys.
"What time shall I serve dinner, Miss Norworth?"
"You can be ready in half an hour, Cordelia?" asked
Gladys. Cordelia nodded. "Dinner at eight, Mitchell."
Cordelia's eyes followed Mitchell as he moved easily away
with her heavy bag; and she noted that Gladys' eyes were
also fixed upon the impersonal butler.
As they went up the steps of the terrace, Gladys again
threw her arms around Cordelia in a clutching embrace.
"Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" she whispered. "You'll
—you'll help so much!"
"How?" asked Cordelia, rather bewildered by Gladys'
unaccustomed show of emotion.
"By—by just being here!" Gladys quickly recovered her


ROLLING MEADOWS
55
hold, as she had tried to appraise Mitchell. Esther Stevens
was the direct antithesis of the colorfully handsome, impe-
rious Gladys. She was twenty-eight or -nine; pleasant of
face and manner, though no radiant beauty; self-contained,
self-controlled, with a quiet graciousness, and obviously in
no awe of her rich and dominating sister. She gave off a
sense of reserve power, and a sense that for all her quiet
control hers was a nature capable of deep emotion.
Alert to record her impressions, Cordelia noted how in-
stantly she had been struck by the wide difference between
these two sisters; and she wondered how they got on together
in private, and how they had been getting on the many years
they had been together. She felt she was going to like this
quiet Esther, if Esther would let her.
There was no conversation at the dinner that Cordelia
afterwards recalled in detail. She retained only her im-
pressions. Gladys' attempts were all towards gossipy per-
sonalities concerning their friends. Esther said little, but
what she said was pleasant, and unobtrusively gracious; it
increased Cordelia's liking. Cordelia's most distinct, yet in-
distinct, impression was of Mitchell. The butler alone served
the dinner. Such was his ability to efface himself that he
hardly seemed to exist; yet there he was, serving noiselessly,
seeming to anticipate every want before it became conscious
in the minds of the three women, and in consequence re-
quiring no word. In his non-existence, in his swift effi-
ciency, he seemed to Cordelia the most perfect butlering
mechanism she had ever met.
A little incident happened at the end of the dinner that
gave Cordelia further glimpse of the flawless versatility of
Mitchell. He had served the ice and they were in the midst
of it, when a childish voice sounded from the main door-
way:


56 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Mother Esther, can't I have some ice-cream?"
Cordelia turned. There in pyjamas and bare feet stood a
handsome, yellow-haired boy of four, sturdy and manly,
blinking sleep-heavy but bright eyes at them. Esther and
Gladys were out of their chairs at the same moment, but
Gladys chanced to have sat the closer to him, and she seized
him sharply by the shoulder.
"You naughty boy, Francois! Why aren't you asleep?"
"Don't want you, Mother Gladys," declared the boy, try-
ing to pull away from her. "Want Mother Esther."
Esther Stevens was now on her knees beside him, her
arms about his small figure.
"I left you asleep with Jeanne watching, Francois," she
said gently. "How did you get down here?"
"I woke up, and I wanted you to tell me another story,
Mother Esther."
"Wasn't Jeanne there to tell you another story?"
The boy shook his head. Then he sighted Cordelia and
pointed a tiny finger at her.
"Who's that, Mother Esther?"
"You mustn't bother us, Francois," interrupted Gladys.
"You must go right back to bed!"
"He'll go in just a minute, Gladys," said Esther. "Come
on, Francois, and meet your new friend."
Gravely she led him pattering across to Cordelia and
gravely went through with the introduction. Gravely the
boy held out a hand to Cordelia.
"Are you going to be another one of my mothers?" he
demanded.
Cordelia felt a swift inward glow.
"I will if you will let me."
"Can you tell good stories?" he cross-examined.
"Perhaps she'll try to-morrow, dear," said Esther, start-


ROLLING MEADOWS
57
ing to draw him away. "Come upstairs, and Mother Esther
will tell Frangois a story now."
But at that moment the non-existent Mitchell materialized
on the opposite side of Francois, holding his other hand.
"Pardon me, Miss Stevens," he said, "but won't you
finish your dinner? I'm entirely through here. I'll take
him up to the nursery." And to Francois: "Don't you
want Mitchell to tell you a nice story? And let your
mothers finish their dinner?"
"Yes—yes, Mitchell!" the boy cried eagerly. "You tell
the nicest stories of anybody!"
"Then say good-night, Master Francois."
"Good-night, Mother Esther," and he put an arm around
her neck and kissed her. "Good-night, Mother Gladys; you
haven't kissed me good-night to-night and you didn't kiss
me last night."
He held up his face to Gladys, and the flushed Gladys
gave him a quick kiss, with "Now hurry off to bed with
Mitchell."
The boy said good-night to Cordelia, then trotted off
gravely with the butler. It seemed to the watchful Cordelia
that Esther was not entirely pleased—the reason for it Cor-
delia could not guess—to have the child go away in Mitch-
ell's charge.
The butler puzzled Cordelia. The servant question is
one of the established commonplaces of conversation; one
may discuss it, without seeming inquisitive, as one may
discuss the weather or prohibition. So Cordelia felt she
could ask questions about Mitchell without arousing sus-
picion of the curiosity behind the question.
"That seems a rather remarkable butler you have, Gladys."
"Yes, Mitchell is good."
"How long have you had him?"


58 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"About a year now."
"How did you happen upon him?"
"Oh, he just turned up as servants do, and applied for
the place."
"He seems to be almost without personality," Cordelia
chatted on—"nothing in his nature to attract one to him.
Yet I noticed that Francois seemed very fond of him."
"Oh, that is just Francois' way. He takes to every one."
With her next sentence Gladys changed the subject.
Cordelia had a vague sense that Gladys had purposely
changed the subject, that for some reason she preferred not
to talk about her butler.
There was little more said during the dinner. Left to
her own thoughts, Cordelia could not help considering the
members of this household into which she had been brought
by invitation and the instructions of the cool-eyed Mr.
Franklin: Gladys—Esther—Francois—Mitchell. She could
not then have explained why, but more than about any of the
others, she wondered about Mitchell.


CHAPTER VI
SHADOWS OF SECRETS
Dinner over, Esther Stevens went upstairs to see if all
was going well with little Francois. Cordelia took advan-
tage of her departure to say how pleasantly impressed she
had been with Gladys' step-sister.
"Yes, Esther is a dear!" agreed Gladys. "A perfect
dear P
Even had Franklin not given orders to learn all she
could, Cordelia's human curiosity would have prompted her
to be inquisitive concerning this step-sister and her pur-
pose in being at Rolling Meadows. As it was Cordelia
had two motives for asking questions, and she asked them.
Gladys was willing enough to talk, and led the way up to
the privacy of her own sitting-room.
Cordelia already knew something of Esther, and the ac-
count she now heard was added to by bits of facts and deduc-
tions which she picked up during the following days.
Gladys' father had died when she was ten. When Gladys
was twelve her mother had taken as her second husband Mr.
Stevens, a rich and daring western speculator, recently left a
widower, who had just come confidently to the East to pro-
mote some large mining enterprises. After his marriage he
had decided to settle in New York and to show Wall Street
that it possessed no monopoly of financial genius. Esther,
then eighteen, had been so outraged by her father's second
marriage, regarding it as an affront to the memory of her
59


6o CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
mother who had been with her only a few months before,
that she had flatly refused to come East and be a part of her
father's new family.
Three years of trying to outwit Wall Street had resulted in
Wall Street collecting to itself every dollar Mr. Stevens
had brought as a challenge from the West. A few
months thereafter he had collapsed from a bad heart and had
died within the hour, Esther had been in California, and
there had been no time for her to come to his funeral. He
had never touched a penny of the great fortune of
Gladys' mother—which included the large fortune left by
her father—and on her mother's death, when Gladys was
seventeen, in school at Harcourt Hall, the fortune had passed
on intact to Gladys under a will (its character due largely
to the suggestions of Mr. Stevens) which provided that the
entire estate should be in the control of trustees, save only
the income, until Gladys had married or reached twenty-five,
in either of which events the principal was to come into her
unhampered possession. The trustees were also named as
guardians of Gladys' personal well-being.
The death of her step-father and later of her mother
had left Gladys without a single blood relative; and the
three tired and busy trustees, bethinking themselves of the
step-sister and desirous of avoiding every responsibility that
could be evaded, had written Esther a pleading note present-
ing the care of Gladys as a charge which would have been
Esther's father's had he lived. Time and her father's death
had softened Esther's resentment, and out of sense of duty
to her father she had resigned her position as English teacher
in a Los Angeles high school to become mother, aunt, older
sister, chaperone, what-not, to the seventeen-year-old product
of the socially ambitious mother and of Miss Harcourt's
widely admired institution.


SHADOWS OF SECRETS
If Esther Stevens had different ideas about a young
girl's upbringing, she had entered Gladys' life at too late
a period, and with too little authority, to have tried to put
those ideas into practice without arousing the defiance of
her charge. So perforce Esther had accepted the situation
as she had found it, trying to do her father's duty, and dur-
ing the first months taking a lot of snubbing that tried her
patience; and when, after her graduation in 1916, Gladys
became captivated with the idea of being a nurse in the
very smart hospital of the very chic Countess de Crecy (then
in America campaigning for funds and volunteers) Esther
had also gone as a nurse and had remained in France with
Gladys for three years. While there she had co-jointly
with Gladys legally adopted the infant Francois, whom they
had taken from one of the many Paris institutions that the
War was constantly overcrowding with parentless children.
Gladys had made her work as historian of her step-sister
as brief as possible. She was eager to get to her own
affairs.
"Cordie, as I told you, I've been herding by myself too
much these last two or three years, and I feel I've been all
wrong. Oh, of course, I had good reasons," she justified
herself. This last came out with tense suddenness, but she
did not enlarge upon her reasons. "But I can't stand things
that way any longer. I've got a new program scheduled.
I'm going out a lot, and there's going to be some life at this
place. Lots and lots of people. That's what I want you to
help do—put life into this place."
To do just this had long been Cordelia's business as a
guest. "You can count on me to do what I can. And I
think you are right in deciding to have your friends about
you." i
"I've spoken to a few already." She hesitated. "Jerry


62 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Plimpton has promised to come. But when he promised,
he of course knew you were to be here."
"What I said about him that night out at Jackie Thorn-
dike's still goes with me, Gladys. You and I are not going
to have any difficulty about a man."
Until almost midnight they discussed plans for the social
revolution at Rolling Meadows. Long after she was in bed
Cordelia lay thinking about this household which for its own
good, so she believed, she had been set to study and to watch:
—Esther Stevens—the unobtrusive, ever-present Mitchell—
the child Francois—and, yes, Gladys. Some puzzling ques-
tions emerged from her patient thinking. Why should
Esther Stevens, good-looking enough, by nature independent,
competent, any real or sentimental obligation she may have
owed Gladys now fully paid off, remain here in what was
practically a position of dependence?—for Gladys had again
made plain that Esther had not a cent of her own. And
Gladys herself: now that she was concentrating upon the
matter, wasn't it more and more odd that Gladys had main-
tained a rather distant attitude toward her friends all these
years?
At length, wearied with self-questioning, Cordelia fell
asleep, only to find herself after a time sitting up in bed,
suddenly awake, with the sense that she had just heard the
sharp cry of a woman. This was followed instantly by her
definitely hearing the commanding voice of a man. The
words she could not make out. She sat for a long moment
straining her ears, but after that dominant male voice there
was only silence.
Obeying an impulse, she got quickly out of bed and into
a dressing-gown and slippers. She crossed to the door and
cautiously peered forth. The hall was lighted but empty.
She stepped through the door, silently closed it, and re-


SHADOWS OF SECRETS 63
mained in a moment's indecision as to which direction her
search should take her. As she so stood, around a corner
toward her came the noiseless Mitchell dressed in the
formal clothes he had worn at dinner. Startled, she shrank
back against the door, but he showed no slightest surprise
as he approached her.
"Is there something I can get for you, Miss Marlowe?"
he asked in his even voice.
She had recovered enough to have ready a fib explaining
her presence abroad. "No, thank you, I couldn't sleep, so
I thought I'd go out for a little air."
"Francois has been having a restless night; I was just go-
ing to see if I was needed," he said, and with a bow he
passed on.
To turn her fib into the semblance of truth, Cordelia went
down and stood on the porch for several minutes; then she
slipped back into her room and into bed. The man's voice
she had heard had undoubtedly been Mitchell's. But the
woman's voice—if there really had been a voice—had it been
Gladys' or Esther's?
She wished Mr. Franklin had been more open with her
and given her more of his knowledge of the situation in the
household of his client and her friend. It was difficult to
help Mr. Franklin straighten out this situation, starting as
she was in utter ignorance. But Mr. Franklin was right in
the main fact he had told her: there certainly was something
strange here.
She thought and thought. Morning was beginning to
break before her tired brain slipped into a swoon of weari-
ness and she slept again. And when she woke her mind
instantly returned to that outcry of a woman—the man's
commanding voice—Mitchell prowling about fully dressed.
And again she considered Gladys—Esther Stevens—the at-


64 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
titude of each toward their partnered son—the boy's ready
acceptance of the care of the neutral-tinted butler.
For a brief space she had an impulse to go to Mr. Frank-
lin, in compliance with his request that she report upon
every slightest detail. But she decided against this course;
as yet she had only faintest shadows, and one cannot trans-
port or communicate a shadow. For the present she would
just wait and watch: watch without seeming to notice any-
thing. She must be very adroit; always very, very adroit.
On this second day, in the casual manner one may use in
discussing servants, Cordelia again asked Gladys about her
butler. Again Gladys quickly veered from the subject,
as she had done the previous night at dinner. This was
further confirmation of Cordelia's suspicion that there was
more to Mitchell's place in the household than merely be-
ing its butler.
Cordelia made a careful survey of the other fifteen serv-
ants at Rolling Meadows. They all seemed no more than
just the better class of servants that are to be found in rich
families; they respected Mitchell, and gave him prompt
obedience, for they recognized him as an able, experienced
domestic commander; none of them, Cordelia judged, had
any part in the mystery she suspected. The same conclu-
sion she reached concerning Jeanne; Jeanne was just a high
type of the well-trained French governess—nothing more.
So all of them Cordelia dismissed from her consideration.
Mitchell, of the servants, was in this mystery alone—if
mystery there really was. And every day her interest was
more and more intrigued by the butler. Was that butler's
face of his merely a mask? Did the mask ever slip off?
What sort of person would be revealed if ever that mask
did slip its strings?
This increased interest was due partly to her sense that,


SHADOWS OF SECRETS
65
from the first day, Mitchell had several times been watching
her. She could feel his eyes intent upon her. She throb-
bingly wondered if he suspected her: suspected that she sus-
pected him. But when she quickly turned toward him, he
was busy about some butler's task and not even facing to-
ward her, or else he was approaching her, his face its usual
butler's mask, with the offer of some trifling butler's ser-
vice. She never once caught him gazing at her, never sur-
prised on his features an unbutler-like look. And yet she
was certain—certain!—that he was observing her, thinking
of her.
Why should Mitchell be studying her?
There was another item that added to her curiosity. On
that first night when Francois had gone off so gladly with
Mitchell, Gladys explained this willingness by saying that
Francois took to everybody. Cordelia noted that this was
not the fact. The boy got on well with all the servants;
but Mitchell was his preference over them all, even over
his governess. He would even slip away from Gladys and
Esther to be with Mitchell.
To this study there came a brief interruption, the reunion
of the class of '16 of Harcourt Hall. Cordelia went to this
with warm eagerness. Without her being fully conscious of
the fact, the school had been the strongest single influence in
Cordelia's life since the death of her father. The reason
for this is fairly obvious. For four years (except for vaca-
tions, which she had mostly spent with school friends) she
had lived there continuously, and since fourteen no other
place in which she had been had had a like quality of perma-
nence. Except for those four years she seemed always to be
visiting; even her stays at home had the character of brief
visits. At Harcourt Hall alone had she really unpacked and
settled down. In consequence it seemed more of a home to


66 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
her than the expensive apartment on Park Avenue which her
mother maintained as the most important item of that family
appearance which she had to show the world.
Besides Gladys, Jackie Thorndike, Ailine Harkness and a
score of other '16 girls were present. In every detail that
day was a triumph for Cordelia; as presiding officer, she
knew just how to handle these wilful young women; and for
their part, they fairly smothered the heroine of their school
days in their enthusiasm. It was "Good old Cordie!" and
"Just as ugly as ever, old dear!" and impulsive flinging of
arms about her all through the day.
It was all so splendid to Cordelia; it flushed her with warm
affection for her friends, and with confidence in her own
powers. She felt that she could do anything—anything!
At the end of the afternoon she had a few minutes alone
with that thoroughly-stayed figure of dignified portliness that
was Miss Harcourt, whose manner toward her was august
but deferential. Once in an impulsive moment during her
last school year Cordelia had kissed the rarely kissed cheek
of Miss Harcourt and had thereby almost unposed that lady;
but although Miss Harcourt was still an important person
to her, and although Cordelia was warmly alive with good
wishes for her former preceptress, Cordelia made no at-
tempt to kiss Miss Harcourt now.
"I'm so glad you were with us to-day, Miss Cordelia,"
Miss Harcourt said in her model of drawing-room gracious-
ness. "I have designs on you. You know I still consider
you one of the best products of Harcourt Hall—in fact the
very best—and I am always talking about you. Can't you
run out again to-morrow? I'd like to arrange a little affair
for you to meet some of my younger girls informally. They
have heard much about you, they are very eager, and will be
highly complimented."


SHADOWS OF SECRETS
67
Cordelia was herself highly complimented. "I'm very
sorry, Miss Harcourt, but my engagements won't permit my
coming." Miss Harcourt was also deeply disappointed.
Little more was said—there was no time for it. Cordelia
congratulated Miss Harcourt on the success of the school
during the year now ending, and wished it an endless succes-
sion of successful years. Miss Harcourt thanked her, and
when Cordelia started away she said:
"I hope your sister will make as good a name for herself
here as you have, and I hope that she will be as happy here."
"I'm sure she will be. Good-by, Miss Harcourt."
"Good-by, my dear," replied Miss Harcourt, in that voice
that was a model of dignity and deference. "And remem-
ber, Miss Cordelia—any time you can come, it will be an
honor to us."
Outside Cordelia experienced difficulty in breaking away
from her school friends. As her car rolled away, Jackie
turned to the group on the verandah steps and cried, "Al-
together, fellows—three cheers for Cordie Marlowe!" The
cheers that instantly followed almost choked Cordelia and
there were tears in her eyes as she turned and flung a kiss.
It was a wonderful place, good old Harcourt Hall! The
gracious lawn, the stately trees, the drive that curved among
them, all moved her deeply. And when she went through
the iron gates, and the precise old porter who had known
her since her hair was in a braid, raised his cap to her with
a permissible smile of friendship, she was almost impelled to
fling him a kiss. Yes, Harcourt Hall was really a wonder-
ful place!


CHAPTER VII
THE REWARD OF VIGILANCE
The days of adroit watching that followed brought no
new incidents and revealed few new facts. But they con-
firmed Cordelia's first impression that there was a hidden
something at Rolling Meadows, and confirmed and enlarged
her first impressions of the people. Gladys was fitfully gen-
erous and gay, fitfully cross and impatient; now that Cor-
delia was seeing her intimately, she noted that Gladys
seemed constantly under a nervous strain, for which the
planning of the coming party seemed hardly an adequate
explanation. The more Cordelia saw of Esther Stevens,
the more she liked the quiet step-sister. On several oc-
casions Esther spoke in amusement of herself; she had been
engaged before the War—had been jilted for a handsomer
woman with a handsome inheritance—an old maid had to
do something with her broken heart, so she had brought the
fragments to Gladys. She was congenitally lazy, she said,
so she had remained with Gladys ever since. To Cordelia
she seemed so competent that Cordelia could hardly believe
she was here just for a pensioner's ease.
The outstanding fact Cordelia noted about Esther was
her love for the adopted Francois. Her love seemed far
greater than that of Gladys. Had she been the boy's actual
mother she could not have shown greater concern in every
detail that affected him. And Francois plainly loved her
better than his other mother; really liked her better than
68


THE REWARD OF VIGILANCE 69
he did Mitchell, despite his delight in being with the butler;
perhaps this delight, so guessed Cordelia, was due merely to
the fact that Mitchell was the only man about the house to
whom the boy could turn.
Cordelia could hardly understand the devotion of Esther
to the adopted orphan. Had she been wiser in human na-
ture, she might have surmised that the strongest element in
Esther was the maternal instinct, and, denied outlet upon a
child of her own, this great maternal feeling had turned its
full power upon the foundling.
Cordelia's freshest experience these days was with little
Francois. From the first he adopted her as his third mother,
and she fell in love with him. This was altogether novel
for her. She had never really come in contact with a child,
much less played with one. The eight years difference be-
tween her and her sister Lily had been a chasm which had
never been bridged. Of course she had always had a real
affection for Lily, but for nearly ten years she had been al-
most constantly away from home. So now it was that
Francois was the first child that had vitally entered her life
—and what a dear Francois was.
As for her own part in this problem, this mystery, Cor-
delia considered herself as entirely outside it, except in so
far as it was a problem which she was to solve. Of course
this affair meant, in its secret financial aspect, her remaining
up in her splendid world—in the world where she was go-
ing to meet Jerry Plimpton as she had been meeting him.
Also she felt excitement in the adventure; gratification in
the exercise of her faculties for succeeding in anything she
tried to do. She was going to solve this problem—some-
how! No doubt of that! Also she wished to extricate
Gladys, or whoever else might be involved in the mystery.
But beyond these considerations, excited and intrigued


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
though she was, Cordelia did not feel herself personally in-
volved in the affair. She was entirely outside the picture,
looking for what the moving figures within the frame might
next do, and trying to learn what might be the motives that
prompted their actions, and what might be their various re-
lationships.
It never occurred to Cordelia that this particular mystery
might not be a thing apart to itself; that it might really be,
for her, no more than a minor element in a far more im-
portant mystery. In her unsophisticated sophistication Cor-
delia did not realize that Gladys and the household at Roll-
ing Meadows perhaps represented merely the ordinary mys-
tery, if there was a mystery, of relationships that are care-
fully kept secret:—just a few facts which are temporarily
concealed, and whose mere discovery may make an end of
all that is mysterious. This belief that she was not per-
sonally concerned, together with her exuberant confidence
in herself, prevented her from suspecting that she and all
her destiny might already have been subtly drawn into
this affair, and that this story had grown to be primarily i
her story. And this belief, this confidence, and the blind-
ness with which life shuts off the realities of our future
from us all, prevented her from perceiving that this busi-
ness upon which she was so impersonally engaged was, more
than any other series of experiences of her existence, to
shape and determine the answer to life's most dramatic
theme and question: What kind of person was Cordelia
Marlowe going to turn out to be? What was to be her fate?
Despite all Cordelia's trying to note every look, every in-
flection of tone, every act of these people, it was not until
she had been at Rolling Meadows a week that she gained
her first clue to the realities of the situation. Toward eleven
o'clock one night she caught a swift questioning look which


THE REWARD OF VIGILANCE
Gladys gave Esther, and saw Esther's almost imperceptible
nod. Instantly Cordelia's every sense was on the alert.
She pretended a yawn, said she was going to get a book
from the library with which to read herself to sleep. With
the book she ascended the main stairway with the tired man-
ner of one to whom a few pages will be an infallible sleeping
potion. Inside her room she dropped the book, slipped out-
side again, locked her door, and carefully made her way
down the hall toward a little-used stairway in the western
wing. Fortune favored her, for she gained the porch un-
observed.
Standing in a corner of the porch in the black shadow of
thick wistaria, not even feeling the chill that had come with
night, Cordelia waited in rigid expectancy, peering in every
direction into the gloom-flooded lawn. She had an insist-
ent, pounding sense that something was about to happen,
something about to be revealed to her; and she felt a con-
viction that the something, be it big or small, was not go-
ing to transpire in the illumined walls of the big house.
Minutes throbbed by; a half hour; an hour. Then from
the shadows of the house there emerged a vague figure and
hurried away to the right, avoiding the path and keeping
to the silent lawn. It was a woman's figure; no doubt of
it—Gladys. Its blurred outlines swiftly faded into the night.
Cordelia still waited. More minutes passed, then hurry-
ing from the house through the gloom of the lawn Cordelia
saw another vague figure. This also was a woman, and
indubitably Esther Stevens. She dissolved into the night
at about the same point Gladys had entered the blackness.
Undoubtedly they were headed for the same spot and ac-
cording to agreement; but what was there that these two
had to say to each other that they could not say as safely in
the whispered privacy of one of their rooms? The obvious


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
answer was that they were to meet a third person, or pos-
sibly a fourth.
With mounting tensity Cordelia waited for another
shadowy figure to cross the lawn. Minutes passed. But
no figure traversed the darkness. And then it came to her
that the other person or persons might have been waiting
over there in the unknown blackness before she had come
out upon the verandah. She delayed no longer, but went
swiftly down the steps and across the lawn in the direction
taken by the other two.
As she hurried she wondered where might be the rendez-
vous. Almost any spot in the groping blackness of the
pine wood; to find them there was well-nigh hopeless. And
then Cordelia realized the direction she was taking, and sud-
denly she remembered something.
Near the limit of the lawn, and sitting almost in the edge
of the pine woods, there stood a playhouse built for Gladys
when she was ten years old and used by her for two or three
years when in the occasional mood for playing at keeping
house. It was really as large as many a comfortable sum-
mer cottage, and had cost the indulgent mother of Gladys
above fifteen thousand dollars. When Gladys had outgrown
the toy, its chambers had been converted into bedrooms for
the use of guests when the big house's week-end hospital-
ity was overflowing. In recent years there had been no oc-
casion for such use, but it had been kept in order.
Cordelia recognized, since she was headed straight for it,
that the playhouse was the logical place of meeting. She
moved carefully around to its farther side, for she remem-
bered that the windows of the living-room faced toward a
little clearing in the pines. There were no lights. She
crept up toward the heart of a great syringa bush which
grew against the house. Cautious as she was, she rustled


THE REWARD OF VIGILANCE
the leaves slightly, and her over-acute ears magnified that
shuffling of leaves to the clatter of cymbals. Her heart grew
suddenly still. She was sure she had been heard.
But there came no sign from the house. More cautiously,
she crept further in and tried to make herself a part of
the syringa bush's arching branches. And then a leaping
thrill went through her like a current of electricity. She
had guessed right!—and luck still was with her! A window
was open and through it came lowered voices.
In her excitement she did not catch the first words; but
the voice was Gladys' and it was angry, loud. The first
words she really heard were in a man's voice—a cool, steady
voice.
"Soft pedal your talk a bit, Gladys," said the voice.
"You're not using the best sense in the world in crying out
like this—and the way you did the other night. The other
night you got Miss Marlowe out of bed. I don't mind it
so much, but it's not particularly safe for you."
Cordelia almost gasped aloud as she recognized this quiet
voice. It had the quality of authority, of assured mastery
over those it addressed. It was the voice of Mitchell, the
self-effacing, ever-present, soft-toned Mitchell—that perfect
butler.
"You don't expect me to take any such talk from you
calmly!" exclaimed Gladys, in a lower tone.
"You must acquire better control of your nerves, my
dear," responded Mitchell. Though assured, his voice had
an easy, pleasant, affable quality. "I must say that you have
lost a lot in the matter of nerves in the last five years. And
I must say that you're making things rather absurd when
your nerves make it necessary to arrange to slip off to a place
like this when a private talk is necessary. Esther here has
far better control. You should try to copy it, my dear."


74 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Will you please stop 'my clearing' me?" cried Gladys in
exasperation. "I'm tired of it!"
"Anything to please you, Gladys. Though I can't give
bond for my tongue; it's got a frightful memory."
"And another thing," the exasperated Gladys went on.
"I want you—and so does Esther—to stop making up to
Francois."
"Do you, Esther?" Mitchell inquired.
If Esther made any reply it did not come to Cordelia's
ears.
"Anyhow—what is behind your always trying to make
Francois so fond of you?" Gladys demanded.
"I like the boy, and I like to make him happy, as I have
told you. Isn't that reason enough?"
"Not reason enough for you!"
"Well, of course there might be other considerations
prompting my kindness." His tone was meditative, still
pleasant; Cordelia could guess how provoking that pleasant
quality was to Gladys. "Who knows, I may be thinking
of the desirability of some day kidnapping Francois."
"I wouldn't put it beyond you to try!"
"And if I should try, it would make the business very
much easier, and less dangerous, now wouldn't it, my dear—
beg pardon, Gladys; I forgot I wasn't to call you my dear—
much less dangerous, if Francois came along of his own
accord because he liked me so much? A neat plan. I
rather fancy that plan."
Neither of the two made response to this.
"Or who knows, perhaps I am thinking of something else.
For example, that I am getting ready to claim him as my
own son."
"You wouldn't dare!" burst from Gladys in a choked
voice.


THE REWARD OF VIGILANCE
75
"Mitchell—you're not in earnest about any such claim!"
breathed Esther.
Cordelia could not tell whether he was in earnest, or merely
taking his pleasure in exercising his power over these two.
He responded to neither of them, and went on in his pleas-
ant, meditative tones.
"That last idea is decidedly good. It would make a most
convincing and affecting newspaper story. Father enters do-
mestic service in search of son lost in war chaos of France.
Relationship proved by the instinctive affection between the
two; a slightly different version of the ancient Solomon-and-
two-mothers stunt. Yes, indeed, most affecting and convinc-
ing situation. On the whole I believe I like this plan much
better than any I have thought of. It's safer—and there may
be much more in it. Yes, when I get good and ready I think
I'll claim my son."
"You'll never get him away from me?" said Esther.
"Try that, and I'll fight you!" exclaimed Gladys.
"Fight me? Oh, will you, Gladys, my dear?" Mitchell
said softly. "Now will you? I do wish you'd try that
course. It would be most interesting to match evidence with
you in court, my dear—most interesting!"
Neither of the women spoke.
"Yes," said Mitchell, in his soft, meditative tone, "I think I
like this plan best. I'll claim Francois as my son."
There was silence for a moment or more. Cordelia was
sure that, in her tense eagerness, she had rustled the syringa
bush. But if so, there was no immediate sign that she had
been heard within.
Esther was the next to speak. "Suppose we change
the subject and get to the matter Gladys wanted to talk
about."
"Just as pleases the two of you," said Mitchell. "But be-


7b CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
fore getting on to that—Gladys, how about that money you
were to give me?"
"You've had altogether too much out of me as it is!"
"You'd have given me ever so much more if I'd only asked
for it, my dear," returned the pleasant voice of Mitchell.
"Oh, ever and ever so much more, and you know it."
"See here, you listen to what—" Gladys began hotly, but
was interrupted by the equable voice of her butler.
"My dear, if I've got to listen to much more I believe I'll
first close the window. It's getting chilly, and there's a draft,
and the draft must be directly upon Esther's back."
The window came down with a soft thud, and Cordelia
heard no more. She wondered what they were saying with-
in, but she had already heard enough to astound her. The
subservient Mitchell on a basis of equality with Gladys
and Esther—perhaps of superiority over them! What could
it mean? What was the true relationship among the three?
She recognized that her own immediate problem was to get
back to the house unobserved. But the trio within might
finish any moment, and start for the house. The safe
course for her, if she would avoid all danger of discovery,
was to remain where she was until the three had departed.
So she stood in the enfolding arms of the syringa bush, pal-
pitantly wondering, fearing to breathe fully, waiting until
the way was clear.


78 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
either, for such a procedure might rouse just as much
suspicion as ringing the bell. She was even thinking of
getting out her car and driving into the city when—
All the while that she had stood there thinking, she had
been mechanically fumbling at the knob of the main door, un-
consciously rattling it; and now, suddenly, the overhead
porch light went on, and this body of hers she had been so
frantically thinking how to conceal was now no more of a
secret than a statue stark against the sun. The door
swung open, and before her stood Mitchell. There was no
surprise or other emotion in his face; it was that butler's face
in which she had as yet seen no alteration.
"Pardon me for locking you out, Miss Marlowe," he said
in his impersonal servant's voice—so unlike that cool, as-
sured voice which had been coming to her through the open
window. "I thought every one was in."
She was afraid she had been caught. Also she felt very
absurd. She had to attempt some explanation, since she had
publicly announced two hours before that she was going to
bed; but the only words she found in her mouth were those
same words that had stumbled awkwardly forth that first
time she had slipped from her room in the middle of the night
and had encountered him.
"I couldn't sleep, so I went out for a walk in the air."
Her words sounded most unconvincing to her. He
seemed to accept them.
"There's nothing better for sleeplessness, Miss Marlowe,"
he said.
She stepped inside on her still uncertain legs. He closed
the door.
"It's rather late, and perhaps you are hungry. Shall I get
you a little something?"
"No, thank you, Mitchell. Good-night."


NEAR THE HEART OF MYSTERY
79
"Good-night, Miss Marlowe."
She started for the stairway. And then her tingling, un-
dependable legs buckled under her again, and the next mo-
ment she was sitting on the floor. Instantly he was on his
knees beside her.
"You're hurt—you're sick!" he cried.
For the first time, before her, his butler's grave imperson-
ality had left him. Face and voice were alive with quick
concern. Even though Cordelia had just been listening to
him when he had certainly talked like no butler, she was
nevertheless startled by this swift transformation—by this
glimpse at some one else.
She tried to cover the absurdity of her posture on the
floor with a little laugh; and in explanation she told a half-
truth.
"I'm not sick or hurt. I got tired walking and sat down
on the ground. My legs went to sleep—that's all."
She tried to struggle to her feet. That other person that
Mitchell had been, departed as swiftly as he had come, and
Mitchell was once more the butler.
"Let me help you, Miss Marlowe," he said, slipping his
hands beneath her arms.
"Oh, I can make it all right."
"You really need assistance," and he lifted her to her feet.
"And I'd better help you to your room."
She protested; but with his servant's formality he insisted.
And so they went up the stairway, she clinging to the banister
with one hand, his two hands beneath her shoulders with one
arm across her back. There was no more attempt at famili-
arity in those hands than if they had been the hands of a
traffic policeman helping a woman across a slippery street,
or than if she had been a faltering lady of eighty. But Cor-
delia was for some reason acutely conscious of those hands,


8o CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
not helping her too much, but alert for her to topple and
strong as steel if she should need such support.
"Thank you very much, Mitchell," she said at the door.
"Good-night." *
"Good-night, Miss Marlowe."
But as she started in, he spoke again.
"I beg your pardon—I wonder if I might venture to tell
you something—ask you something?"
At this her heart raced wildly and she stared at him. But
his expression was exactly as before; impersonal, respectful.
"Of course you may. Go on."
He seemed to consider for a moment.
"After all perhaps I'd better not, Miss Marlowe. Thank-
ing you just the same. Good-night."
"Good-night, Mitchell."
She slipped through her door, locked it, and stood leaning
weakly against it. Two dominant questions pulsed through
her. What was the thing Mitchell had been on the point of
telling her, or asking her, and about which he had decided to
remain silent? And did Mitchell suspect what she had really
been doing that night ?—what was her real purpose at Rolling
Meadows?
Presently she managed to get into bed, and she lay there
excitedly thinking, trying to arrange in order the fragments
she had discovered that night, and from the fragments trying
to reconstruct the whole. This last she was unable to do, but
four facts stood out, clear, indisputable.
First, there was a real mystery here at Rolling Meadows.
Second, that adopted French war orphan, Francois, was
somehow involved in the mystery—perhaps was its heart.
Third, Mitchell was the real master at Rolling Meadows.
He had some secret hold over both Gladys and Esther, and
through that secret he was able to demand money and get it.


NEAR THE HEART OF MYSTERY 81
He was not merely the perfect butlering automaton. He
was a clever man; a man of education; he had talked like a
man of the world. He had seemed to be what is usually
termed a gentleman; perhaps fairly decent, perhaps very evil;
but undeniably a gentleman. And with all this, he was un-
deniably a trained butler.
Fourth, Gladys had implied that she had known Mitchell
for only a year. From the overheard conversation it was
clear she and Esther had known Mitchell for five years, and
known him well; perhaps intimately—perhaps very inti-
mately. That is, they had known Mitchell from about the
time they had gone to France.
So much was fact. The rest was conjecture. And what
a world of conjecture Cordelia's mind traversed in swift
excitement. Each question was in itself an unexplored con-
tinent.
Who was Mitchell—really? What sort of a man was the
real Mitchell? A semi-scoundrel or a villain competent to
conceive and manage a great scheme, and who was now
managing it?
What was the character of Mitchell's secret hold upon
Gladys and Esther?
Who was Francois—really?
Could Mitchell be the father of the boy, as his light re-
marks in the playhouse might suggest? If so, that relation-
ship might explain the boy's fondness for Mitchell. But,
against this presumption, there were Gladys and Esther both
claiming Francois as their adopted son.
Could the explanation be that Mitchell had been secretly
married, in France, to one of the two and that Francois
was the son of that marriage? No—such a conjecture was
plainly preposterous. Gladys wanted to marry Jerry Plimp-
ton, and the clever Mitchell must know of this matrimonial


82 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
ambition. And as for Esther, the quiet, poiseful Esther did
not behave in the least as if she had married Mitchell;
and if there had been a marriage, there seemed no sane rea-
son why such a person as Esther should hide both the mar-
riage and her maternity.
Cordelia could not find answers to these questions. But
behind those questions was a relationship, a situation, that
bulked big—tremendously big! She had made great prog-
ress in getting at this mystery. And she was going to
clear up the whole of it. No doubt of that!
At last she had something worth while to report to Mr.
Franklin. She would see him the next morning—as early
as she could make it.
Finally Cordelia fell into a light, restless sleep.
At half-past nine she was at the wheel of her roadster
bound for the city. As explanation for the trip she had
mentioned casually to Gladys that she had an appointment
in town with her mother that morning; and had protected
herself by actually making an engagement by telephone to
meet her mother at their Park Avenue apartment at twelve.
At half-past ten, throbbing with excitement over her
achievement and also with suspense as to how Mr. Franklin
would take her report, Cordelia was ushered into Franklin's
office. The quality of professional reserve which had struck
her on her first meeting as Mr. Franklin's outstanding charac-
tertisic, vanished at sight of her. He greeted her with a
frank, cordial smile—though not too cordial. She had an
impression that he looked younger and more spirited than on
her previous visits, though he had then looked no more than
his actual thirty-five; perhaps years had been cut off his ap-
pearance by the fresh candor of his smile, perhaps by his
smartly cut gray suit.


NEAR THE HEART OF MYSTERY 83
"I've been hoping you wouldn't forget your promise to
call when you were in town," he said, as he pushed a chair
into place for her.
"This isn't a call. Not a social one anyway. I've come
on business. To tell you what I've learned."
"Then you have learned something already?"
"I think I have. And something big! But you are to
judge what it may be worth."
Excitedly, rapidly, Cordelia told of the conversation she
had overheard the night before—of Mitchell's hidden au-
thority in the household—of Francois—of the possibility of
there having been a secret marriage; and she outlined
the possibilities, repeated the questions, that had come to her
during the night. As he listened, Franklin was shot through
with amazement. He had never dreamed of such results!
But his surprise and exultation he concealed under a man-
ner of pleased commendation.
"What you have told me, Miss Marlowe," he said, "helps
much towards filling up the many holes in my information.
You are helping me a great deal in this case. A very great
deal, indeed."
From the day she had accepted Mr. Franklin's commis-
sion, Cordelia had felt absolutely confident of her ability to
succeed. Nevertheless she relished this praise; and she would
have liked it if the praise had been even stronger.
"You are sure you are not disappointed in what I have
done?"
That brought her just what she was hungry for. "How
can I possibly be disappointed in you, Miss Marlowe? I
expected much from you—very much, indeed—but you are
doing far, far better than I ever expected! No one could
possibly have improved upon what you have done!"


84^ CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
For a time they discussed the possibilities and the ques-
tions Cordelia had propounded. This discussion ended, Cor-
delia asked:
"Have you any particular directions you wish to give me
for my further action?"
"I'd like,to have you pay especial attention to that butler
Mitchell, and learn all you possibly can about him. He
seems the center of things out there."
"I had intended watching him and studying him."
"Good. And of course you will do the same with Miss
Norworth and Miss Stevens."
"Of course."
"I hardly need warn you that you must be most care-
ful not to let a soul suspect you. Not a soul must know
your mission there, much less guess your connection with
me."
"IH be most careful."
"Another point. Concerning that week-end party you said
Miss Norworth is going to give." Cordelia had told him of
Gladys' plans for a larger hospitality, and that Gladys' first
function under this new program was to be a party over
the following week-end. "I'd like very much to size up the
individuals in this case, and I might have a better chance
while a party is going on than when they are alone and on
their guard. I presume you can secure me an invitation?
As a"—he hesitated—'"as one of your friends? It would
be much better," he hastened to explain, "if they were not
to suspect that I was there for a business reason."
"I can invite any one I wish. Only—only the people there
—my old friends, you know—may be a little surprised at my
knowing you as a friend. You see, following out the spirit
of your instructions, I have never mentioned you to any one
as a friend."


NEAR THE HEART OF MYSTERY
85
Franklin perceived that he had been trying to move too
rapidly. "Perhaps then it will be wiser" if I write you to-
ward the latter part of the week that I wish to consult you
at once concerning your affairs. You of course cannot come
into town, and that will give you an excuse to ask me out
Saturday. I will then come out as your attorney, and not as
a friend or guest. In a few hours I can probably gain all
the first-hand impressions I desire."
To this Cordelia agreed.
"Won't you let me return this hospitality in advance, by
being your host at lunch to-day? Your mother and sister
are lunching with me—a matter of business."
Cordelia pleaded another engagement. As a matter of
fact, on her way to Franklin's office, she had stopped to
telephone Jerry Plimpton and he had promptly asked her to
lunch with him at the Grantham.
"Some other time, then," Franklin rose with her. "One
moment, please. I am still the only person who knows about
your situation? Your financial situation, I mean."
"Yes."
"I am glad of that. I must remind you to continue the
same reticence; and must remind you that the success of our
business arrangement necessarily depends upon your keeping
your social position as Miss Cordelia Marlowe. I hope you
don't mind"—he smiled pleasantly—"my being a partner
in your secret?"
"Why, no," she said. It had not before occurred to her
as a definite thought that he was the only person who knew
her secret; and it did not then occur to her that his pleas-
ant mention of it was a part of a skillful effort to develop
in her a growing sense that they two were bound together.
He saw her out with his gracious courtesy which did not
presume too far. And then before calling in Kedmore to


86 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
give his partner the news, he walked over to one of his lofty
windows and excitedly gazad down at the broad panorama
of the outspread city, seeing none of it. God, what a gold
mine this was he had stumbled upon!—stumbled upon with-
out ever seriously thinking it was there—and stumbled upon
it through merely having sent Cordelia Marlowe to Rolling
Meadows to fill her time till he found a worth-while case to
put her on. That just went to prove how right was the
working principle he had so often outlined to Kedmore:
that almost every rich and high-placed family had a skeleton
in its closet; just discover the skeleton, and the frantic family
would pay anything to be allowed to keep that skeleton in the
closet and keep the closet locked. The family closets of the
rich—those were indeed the world's richest gold mines, if
carefully worked!
And what a find, what a piece of luck, was this beautiful,
popular, self-confident Cordelia Marlowe! The ideal instru-
ment for working such mines!
But it was not over his particular Golconda, nor over
Cordelia as an instrument for precious mining, that Frank-
lin was now most excited. His highest excitement was over
Cordelia just as Cordelia; over a somewhat different arrange-
ment for her. In the days which had passed since he had
first met Cordelia and had conceived his bold plan for using
her, that plan had become a dozen times bolder and more
embracing. Instead of merely representing a hope for fi-
nancial gain, his plan now represented the sum of all his
hopes.
New York City, that crowded goal of great and strange
ambitions, contained no man with an ambition more calcu-
lated, more soaring, more multiform than Robert
Franklin's. He wanted money, of course, and was getting


NEAR THE HEART OF MYSTERY
87
it; money was fundamental to all else. But more than
money he wanted wide public recognition, wanted standing
with the best society. Hard and shrewd worker at law, his
leisure had been devoted to an intensive self-culture, includ-
ing those superficial graces popular in a man. He was well
up on all phases of art that were being talked about; was
a devotee of opera, the horse show, the fiow'er show, of all
important first nights in the theater. His dancing he had
developed under the highest-paid teachers, and each fall
he had his steps remodeled by the smartest experts to ac-
cord with the latest styles. He was as desirable a bridge
partner as he was a dancing partner. He had made him-
self, and had made himself carefully; and he had gone very
far. But for some time he had realized that the further
progress of a bachelor of no family would be inchingly slow
unless he could secure for himself the magic wings of a
fortunate marriage.
And so it had come to him as an inspiration that he should
marry Cordelia. He was making enough money, at least
enough for present purposes; she had incomparable posi-
tion. What a combination! And his good fortune had
brought her right to his hand! Of course he would be
patient and adroit and make the attentive love which every
woman desires. And if this did not win her—well, if he
skilfully played the cards she had unknowingly dealt him,
and skilfully played the additional cards he was dealing
himself, she would hardly care to refuse him. Of course
he would not go to extremes unless extremes were necessary.
His getting upon good terms with Mrs. Marlowe had
been a clever thought. And he believed he had managed
that business of going out to Rolling Meadows rather
cleverly. The other guests there would undoubtedly re-


88 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
gard him as Cordelia's friend and would therefore be in-
clined toward accepting him as one of themselves. That
would help.
Yes, he had, managed extremely well. In fact, marvel-
lously well!
As yet he did not perceive exactly how he was going to
carry out his two seemingly contradictory ideas in regard
to Cordelia: making her that amazingly valuable business
ally which he had first planned that she should be—winning
her for the wife who was to lift him to high position. But
he would manage it—somehow. Yes, he would manage it!


CHAPTER IX
CORDELIA'S PLACE IN THE SUN
Mr. Franklin's pleasant manner had had its carefully
calculated effect upon Cordelia. As she drove up town
she was thinking what a gentlemanly, considerately appre-
ciative man he was. It was a pleasure to do one's best for
such a man. As far as she could she was going to be nice
to him. In a social way, too. Perhaps he would like that.
Cordelia felt immensely pleased. Within herself she was
celebrating a national holiday that was all her own.
The sense of power she had always had, the consciousness
of her ability to do anything she set out to do, had just
proved both its authenticity and its reliability. She had
achieved what she had said she would achieve, and she would
achieve all the rest.
The memory of the dingy oblivion which had threatened
her and her family only a week or two before, now returned
to her, and she smiled. For a little while that menace, by
its strangeness and unexpectedness, had had her flounder-
ing; but how she had risen to the emergency—how she had
met the situation, saved it and conquered it! People of
course could never know how she had mastered this emer-
gency; but if they did know, they would certainly admit that
she deserved in all seriousness that old half-humorous title
of Cordelia the Magnificent.
This day, on the whole, was one of the most satisfying
89


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
days of Cordelia's life. She was going to have far greater
days—she knew that; but on this day she was filled with
the glorious, expansive sense of being her full self. And
so, with this sense of rich success and of having earned a
day off, she enjoyed every moment that she moved with the
heavy, sluggish traffic up Fifth Avenue, frequently held
stationary at the curb by the commands of the semaphore
towers. Her slow progress was a subdued, discreet ova-
tion; the unofficial parade of a first citizeness—just what
she had long been accustomed to whenever she moved
through a crowd. Shoppers in halted cars gazed across
at her; women on the sidewalk turned to stare and whispered
eagerly to their companions. She knew just what they all
were saying, even though their syllables did not carry to her
ears. "Look—driving that red car; that's Cordelia Marlowe
—the cleverest and handsomest young woman in New York
Society." "You'd know her from her pictures in the papers;
she certainly looks the leader they say she is."
She was pleasantly conscious she looked her part. She
liked these people; all of them. Yes, this was a wonderful
day!
Under this pleasant scrutiny she was waiting in the inter-
locked traffic near Fortieth Street, when a man stepped to
the side of her car, his head bared, his face a close-up of
delight, his mouth a fount of conversation. It was Kyle
Brandon, the motion-picture director-producer. Cordelia
was really glad to see him.
This Kyle Brandon, in his youth merely a poor relation of
a socially important family (that still very important lady,
Mrs. Phipps-Morse, was his aunt), had become a successful
portrait painter of smart ladies; then he had gone into mo-
tion-pictures as an art director. He had been the right man


CORDELIA'S PLACE IN THE SUN 91
at the right time, and now, still under forty and looking even
younger, he was reputed worth his millions and was the
president and director-in-chief of the famous "Brandon
Pictures." He had what few other of the big motion pic-
ture producers possess, social position. His social position
was perhaps of the second order; but such as it was, it was
indubitably genuine.
He had a pink chubbiness of face, and he exuded vitality
and confidence. If in manner he were a bit inclined toward
the grandiose, that was doubtless the effect upon him of his
glamorous business.
Cordelia was again aware that the crowded street was
staring; that the people were excitedly whispering that those
two were the famous movie man, Kyle Brandon, and the
famous society beauty, Cordelia Marlowe. And she sensed
that Brandon was conscious of this public attention and that
he liked it. She had an amused, flashing thought that he
was sorry that one of his camera-men was not over there on
the sidewalk shooting this effective picture.
"This is a piece of luck, my meeting you," Brandon was
saying in his brisk, confident, ingratiating manner. "I was
going to write you and ask you for a talk. About some-
thing my aunt, Mrs. Phipps-Morse, has wished on me. She
is giving a pageant—big thing of its sort—at her place near
Huntington early in September. She's trying to raise money
for devastated France, or some French milk fund, or French
orphans—don't know just what. And I don't know yet what
the pageant's going to be; she told me there was some fel-
low, some poet, writing it for her. My aunt asked me to
put the show on for her, be director-general, and of course
I had to say yes. But this much I do know about that show,
Miss Marlowe; I certainly want you in it, and if it shapes up


92 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
V
right I'll probably want you for the lead. And if I'm any
good as a director, I'll see that you get my best. How
about it?"
Cordelia could not help being pleased, used though she
was to being singled out. A charity show, a society show,
staged by the great Brandon—that should be an event in-
deed!
"I'll be glad to. That is, if you think I can do it."
"Of course you can! Then that's all settled for the pres-
ent." Kyle Brandon could not long keep away from what
he at times called his business, at other times reverently*
called his art. "Tell you what, Miss Marlowe—why should
you and I stop with this pageant? Ever think of going into
pictures?"
Cordelia laughed. "Pictures? I can't act!"
"How do you know? I bet you could! And with me
directing you, I know you could!" He appraised her with
admiring eyes. "Why, with me directing you, picking your
story, getting you the right cast, launching you with the
right publicity—you'd be a knockout! Society star deserts
social life to become screen star—just think of that pub-
licity! You'd be a sure-fire knockout!"
Cordelia was pleasantly flattered, but her response was a
soft laugh of unbelief. There had been a playful quality
in Brandon's words, for he knew that such a person as Cor-
delia would not seriously consider anything in his business
power to offer. None the less behind his half-jocular propo-
sition he had a most serious and long-cherished idea. There
would be publicity—wonderful publicity!—if he could get
hold of a famous society beauty who could also act. What
couldn't he do with her, in the smart society dramas which
were one of his specialties!—an actress who knew how to be
the real lady when she acted a lady, and whom the eager


CORDELIA'S PLACE IN THE SUN
93
public knew to be a real lady, instead of those damned, curs-
ing, temperamental ex-waitresses and ex-chorus girls!
"Oh, I hardly thought you'd take it seriously—not with
what you have before you," he conceded. "But it's nothing
to be laughed at. The money end's not bad. I'm not pay-
ing any Mary Pickford salaries, but among my people there
are three girls working for me—all really nobodies—not one
of whom had a fifth of the qualities to start with that you
have right now; and of these three, each girl cleared over a
hundred and fifty thousand last year."
"So much as that!" breathed Cordelia, mentally comparing
the amount with her own income.
"Not bad is it, for just letting some one point a camera
at your face? It's worth thinking about, anyhow. Perhaps
even you may some day change your mind. I want you to
promise me one thing, in case you ever do."
"Yes?"
"Promise to give Brandon Pictures the first chance at you.
I'll offer you a better contract than any other producer."
Again Cordelia laughed. "I guess I can promise that with
perfect safety."
"You just bear that in mind—I have your promise! Lis-
ten now"—and he smiled with that assurance, with that om-
niscience and omnipotence which are the gift and aura of
motion-picture directors and presidents—"if you'd come in
with me, you'd soon be a star, writing your own salary
check! And the bill-boards everywhere would be saying
'Kyle Brandon presents Cordelia Marlowe in Her Heart's
Desire.' You'll be a sensation! Wait and see!"
Cordelia laughed again. Traffic began to move.
"You're coming out to Gladys Norworth's for the week-
end?" she called. "I'm staying there now."
"Then of course I'll be there—to sign you up!"


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
As she rolled slowly northward along the curb, Cordelia
saw that which made her start. This was Mitchell, walking
south. His gaze was fixed casually over her head; she was
certain he had seen her; but he passed without meeting her
eyes. She had thought herself prepared for anything from
Mitchell, but she was none the less surprised to see the butler
strolling along Fifth Avenue in smartly tailored blue serge,
with malacca stick and yellow gloves, and looking as much
the well-groomed man of the world as any she might see
that morning upon the Avenue.
Yes, as Mr. Franklin had said, Mitchell was decidedly a
man to be most carefully watched and studied.
For a moment her mind went back to their little scene of
the night before: his letting her in when she had thought her-
self locked out—the collapse of her palsied legs, her absurd
sprawl upon the floor—the strong hands beneath her arms
as he had helped her up the stairway. And yes—that some-
thing he had started to tell her or ask her, and then had
checked himself—what could that something have been?
At twelve o'clock Cordelia was in their closed-up Park
Avenue apartment, talking to her mother. Mrs. Marlowe
was a kindly, warm-hearted lady, and she had the greatest
affection and concern for her two daughters. She was no
more than forty-five, her carefully coiffed yellow hair
scarcely showed its gray, and she might have appeared a
much younger and more elastic person except for her formal
bearing. All her life she had functioned within the rigid
and narrow frontiers of what a lady can do who has been
brought up in profound respect of her own position and the
position of a few others who were her equals. It had been
hard work to maintain that appearance of unruffled stateli-
ness these last dozen years; hard work, with unguessed cares,


CORDELIA'S PLACE IN THE SUN 95
to maintain her daughters in such a position as would guar-
antee their going on in such a position.
Mrs. Marlowe had been coming into town anyway that
day, so Cordelia's message had not inconvenienced her. The
talk of the two was almost wholly upon family matters.
Mrs. Marlowe explained that she was in the city primarily on
a shopping expedition which was to equip her younger
daughter with additional summer accessories—dancing
dresses were the main item—which Lily insisted were neces-
sities for any girl of fifteen who was really, according to
the standards of her day, a grown-up young lady. Fortu-
nately, so Mrs. Marlowe said, she could get these dancing
dresses at one of the shops where her credit was good for a
year or more; and thus the purchases would be no immedi-
ate drain upon the family income.
This led to finances, that eternal Marlowe topic, and for
a time they talked finance. And very naturally finances led
to Mr. Franklin.
Mrs. Marlowe was eloquent on the subject of Mr. Frank-
lin. He had been most thoughtful, most reassuring; so
kindly reassuring that she now looked upon the future with-
out a single financial worry, except of course the care re-
quired to live upon such a straightened income as thirty
thousand dollars. It was a pleasure to have one's affairs in
the hands of such an able and considerate gentleman. He
had written her several extremely clear letters, and had been
kind enough to come and see her twice when she had been in
town and explain matters to her.
Mrs. Marlowe was well pleased with the world and well
pleased with herself. "I hope you appreciate, Cordelia, what
I have done for you in this matter," she continued in her tone
of self-approval. "If I hadn't had the wisdom to see what


96 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFJCENT
Mr. Franklin could do for me, where would we all be to-day,
and what would have happened to you?"
That was one of Mrs. Marlowe's little traits: to forget
how matters started, and to assume that they had originated
in her maternal care. Cordelia managed to keep a straight
face.
As for Mrs. Marlowe, she was certainly grateful to Mr.
Franklin. That was why she and Lily were lunching with
him that day. One could not show such a man too great
appreciation.
Mr. Franklin was the bright spot of Mrs. Marlowe's con-
versation. But she had her worry—Lily. It was a dance or
something else every night with Lily. She had suddenly be-
come unmanageable! And the way Lily had begun to drink!
Mrs. Marlowe had always been accustomed to seeing wine
drunk by ladies and gentlemen, as ladies and gentlemen
should drink wine; but in all her life she had never seen such
quantities of liquor drunk as were being drunk by the chil-
dren! Drinking was becoming the most popular childish
game. Why, Lily now carried her own pocket flask. The
flask was a present; Mrs. Marlov/e refused to give money
or liquor to fill it; but her friends kept Lily supplied. And,
too, Lily did swear such an awful lot. It would be a re-
lief when Lily was in Harcourt Hall, where she would be
regulated by discipline. In the meantime couldn't Cordelia
do something?
To Mrs. Marlowe, Lily seemed a brand-new problem for
which there was no answer.
Cordelia went into the bedroom where Lily, having
changed into a fresh frock, was now carefully applying a
lip-stick. Lily was slight, with dark, bobbed hair, and had
that pert audacity, that shameless inclination to shock, which


CORDELIA'S PLACE IN THE SUN
97
sometimes seems the dominant instinct and delight of pres-
ent-day feminine fifteen^
"Hello, Cord, old girl. Don't touch me, for I don't want
to be mussed. Going to meet my best beau."
"See here, infant—how about all this boozing you're doing
these days?"
"Mother been telling tales?"
"Never you mind! Better cut that stuff out before it
gets you."
"Oh, don't be a damned pill! If a fellow doesn't drink
her share, the crowd doesn't want her along."
"How much do you drink?"
"Just keep step—that's all."
"Lily—"
"Don't be a gloom, Cord! Besides, you just please re-
member I've got a reputation to live up to. I'm the sister
of the great Cordelia Marlowe, and that means I've got to
travel. So there!"
Cordelia bit her lip. She wanted to slap the cheek of
this pert piece of sophistication. Cordelia herself was a con-
temporary of the flapper; but some quality in her had re-
strained her from that self-possessed audacity, that un-
ashamed directness, that itch to shock the world, that practice
of signalling the world to just watch her sow wild oats, *
which to Cordelia's mind characterized the flapper when fully
developed. If Lily kept her present direction, what would
this fledgling be when she reached the flapper maturity of
seventeen or eighteen?
"I can stop boozing if I want to," Lily continued. "Can
wean myself without anybody's help. Can taper off on one
of these infant's what-d'you-call-'ems ?—rubber pacifiers.
So there's nothing for you to worry your old bean about.


98 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Let's change the subject. I've got a new beau. Now what
d'you think of that?"
Even to Cordelia, this newest generation was at times
breath-taking.
"Who is he?"
"Can't claim yet that he's all mine. You may marry him,
or mother may beat me out. But I rather think he'll prefer
little Lily. He's been mighty nice to me. He's our brand-
new good angel—Mr. Franklin."
Cordelia swooped upon Lily, seizing her by either ear.
"Why, you brazen little imp!" she cried. I'll put some sense
into you!"
"Hell—ouch! You leave me alone!" Lily squealed. "I
know what's the matter with you. Jealous! You want Mr.
Franklin yourself!"
At this last Cordelia loosed her hold in exasperated amaze-
ment. Mrs. Marlowe, drawn by the outcry, came in and
wanted to know what was the trouble. Lily winked and
grinned in an aside at Cordelia, and spoke of having half
murdered herself with a damned old pin.
Five minutes later they were down in the street. All
were lunching at the Grantham, but Lily refused Cordelia's
invitation to ride in the roadster; she wasn't going to make a
mess of her fresh dress by crowding three in that dinky,
damned little seat; and besides she was going to look at hats
before they met Mr. Franklin. So away Lily and Mrs. Mar-
lowe went in a taxicab, and Cordelia rode off alone.
She would certainly have to do something about Lily's
precocious interest in men and drink! Was Lily really se-
rious, or merely trying to be glibly teasing and trying to give
herself airs in what she had said about Mr. Franklin? But
then Lily was young—perhaps her manners and practices
were no more than a pose; perhaps she was merely passing


CORDELIA S PLACE IN THE SUN
99
through some brief phase of adolescence; perhaps in a few
years she might outgrow it all—or something might happen
to her that would tear her loose from, or lift her out of,
all such things.
Jerry Plimpton was waiting for Cordelia in the lobby of
the Grantham. Cordelia hadn't seen Jerry since the eve-
ning before she had gone out to Rolling Meadows. Her heart
pumped warm pride through all her arteries as he came
eagerly, smilingly, toward her: he was so handsome, so easy
of manner, so distinguished, such a splendid figure of the
kind the world just naturally bows to. And when they
moved through the crowded dining-room to the table he had
reserved, she had an even stronger consciousness than on
Fifth Avenue that eyes were following her admiringly and
enviously; that people were whispering that there went that
famous social beauty Cordelia Marlowe and that terribly rich
Jerry Plimpton—and what a handsome couple they made!
Just being with Jerry, though she knew nothing important
was going to be said or done, seemed the proper culmination
of an expansive, glorious day.
While the luncheon progressed, and they talked gaily of
nothing in particular, Cordelia definitely came to a decision.
Some day she was going to marry Jerry Plimpton. He was
personally delightful; he had all those splendid accessories
which she knew how to use so well and which would
make all the years to come years of unbroken happiness
and triumph; and she knew that no woman could fill the
place of wife to him—a high place that of his wife, successor
to his great mother's glories and traditions—with so much
grace and distinction as herself.
She knew that Jerry admired Gladys. That was not to be
wondered at; for Gladys had real looks; she had real posi-
tion; she had more money than any other unmarried young


ioo CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
woman Cordelia knew; and her public manner was very-
agreeable—only her intimates suspected that Gladys might
have her little failings. The possession of Jerry Plimpton,
and the splendid things he represented, indubitably lay be-
tween Gladys Norworth and Cordelia Marlowe. And Cor-
delia did not doubt that she would win out over Gladys,
and she now let her full powers express themselves in the
pleasant effort to attract Jerry.
For the present, of course, it would not be wise to let an
open courtship develop. That must wait until she was
through with the important business she now had in hand—
till she was free from the necessity of keeping on amicable
terms with the easily aroused Gladys, who had her own pri-
vate dreams concerning Jerry. But Cordelia was in no
hurry; it suited her perfectly to drift along for a time in
this close friendship. Also Jerry was not the man to be hur-
ried. He regarded marriage too seriously to be likely to be
swept incautiously off his feet by any sudden tide of emotion;
Jerry would give his judgment ample time to consider any
urgent recommendations of his heart.
All in all she was most happy with the situation as it
stood. Of course there was suspense—great suspense. But
when she had decided that her time was ready—then there
would be certainty.
Again within her was a swift overwhelming upward rush,
as though the whole soul of her were a geyser of gratitude.
How great had been her fortune—how great her skill and
efforts—that had saved her from going down in disaster two
weeks before—that had kept her up here on her old plane
of existence, where she could meet Jerry Plimpton! At no
time since her escape, had her escape seemed so marvellous
a blessing as now when she was sitting here smile to smile
with Jerry.


CORDELIA'S PLACE IN THE SUN
101
There came an interruption: Lily advancing on their table,
followed by her mother and Mr. Franklin. Cordelia intro-
duced the two men. They bowed and shook hands formally.
"Just what Mr. Franklin is that, Cordelia?" Jerry asked,
when he and Cordelia were again alone.
Cordelia told him about Mr. Franklin; not quite every-
thing, to be sure.
"So he's that Mr. Franklin—and your family's new law-
yer," mused Jerry. "He should prove a real help to you.
I've heard quite a bit about him. They say he's an able cit-
izen and a comer."
At another table the irrepressible Lily was whispering:
"I say, Mr. Franklin—what do you think of that pair? I'll
bet you Cordelia marries him!"
"Indeed!" remarked Mr. Franklin. He glanced across at
Cordelia and Jerry, and his pleasant expression did not
change. "If appearances count for anything, Miss Lily,
you'll likely win your bet, for they do look a well-matched
pair."
Cordelia's eye caught Mr Franklin's gaze upon her. His
pleasant look warmed into a pleasant smile. She smiled
brightly back. Indeed she was going to be nice to Mr.
Franklin.
Yes ... this was simply a wonderful day!


CHAPTER X
MITCHELL IS INVESTIGATED
Cordelia drove back to Rolling Meadows in soaring
spirits after her gratifying day in town. Her thoughts were
inclined to play about Jerry Plimpton, and that brilliant
future whose brilliance was to be jointly hers and Jerry's.
But the practical aspects of her situation intruded upon
these pleasant prospects, and regretfully she let practicality
force fancy into subsidence. Before she could try to turn
these dreams, which included Jerry, into a permanent real-
ity, she had to clear up this situation at Rolling Meadows;
and as her roadster sped on she considered what should be
her next steps in trying to discover the fundamental facts
of the mystery.
Again she wished she might go straight to Esther or
Gladys and ask for and be given their confidence; that
would be so much the finer and simpler way. But she real-
ized that this direct approach was closed to her; they
would make denial or refuse to talk; and with them thus
put upon their guard, she would be able to learn nothing
from observing them. There was no other course but for
her to continue to be a spy. She hated being a spy, even
a spy in a good cause; but espionage seemed the only hope
for finding a remedy for, and bringing relief to, this situa-
tion.
She felt no such compunctions over spying upon Mitchell:
Mitchell, that semi-scoundrel, or great villain, who held
102


MITCHELL IS INVESTIGATED 103
Gladys and Esther in his soft and supple but relentless
hands. Mitchell, as she and Mr. Franklin had agreed, was
the one above all others to be watched and studied. It oc-
curred to Cordelia that even an investigation of Mitchell's
room might reveal some enlightening facts concerning this
pseudo and real butler. With Mitchell now in the city, this
afternoon might afford her the ideal opportunity for an in-
vestigation of Mitchell's effects.
But when, towards six, Cordelia hurried up the ter-
race at Rolling Meadows, there was Mitchell, again in his
formal black coat, starting into the doorway with the tea-
tray. He saw her, and waited with that impersonal for-
mality of his until she was upon the porch.
"Shall I serve you tea, Miss Marlowe?"
"If you please, Mitchell. Have Miss Norworth and Miss
Stevens had theirs?"
"They finished just a few minutes ago. They are now
playing with Master Francois."
She thought rapidly. "If I am to have tea alone, then
bring it to my sitting-room."
"Yes, Miss Marlowe. I'll have fresh tea up there for
you within five minutes."
She hastened to her suite. This might be her chance,
through adroit questioning, to learn something about Mitch-
ell. But her questions had to be indeed adroit; seemingly
without purpose beyond mere personal curiosity; otherwise
the man might take alarm, and his alarm might mean the
end of all her plans here. She knew Mitchell had it in his
power to secure the swift termination of her visit.
"I saw you in the city to-day, Mitchell," she began as he
set down the tray before her.
"Yes, Miss Marlowe. I had a few hours off and I went
in to attend to a little business."


104 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"I thought you saw me."
"Yes, Miss Marlowe."
"But you refused to meet my eye, to speak to me."
"A butler who knows his place, Miss Marlowe, does not
expect to be recognized in public by the guests of his em-
ployer."
He stood respectfully before her, with the air of being
entirely at her command. Never before had he seemed
more the perfect butler; never more bounded by the rigid
conventions of his position.
"But you do not seem like the average butler, Mitchell.
You seem to be—well, something very different."
"I once hoped and intended to be something different."
"Then how did it happen that you became a butler?"
"It started in college when I—"
"Then you're a college man?"
"Yes, Miss Marlowe."
"What college?"
"If you will pardon me, I would rather not say. My
parents also expected me to be something different; I would
not want their pride to be hurt by finding out what I am
now doing."
"I see. You're trying to hide your identity?"
"Yes, Miss Marlowe. So long as I remain a butler.
Telling you my college might somehow betray my identity."
"Yes, I see. Then I suppose Mitchell is not your real
name?"
"No, Miss Marlowe."
"I understand. You started to tell me how you became
a butler. Won't you please go on?"
"It's really a very commonplace experience, Miss Mar-
lowe. My people were poor and I had to work my way
through college. For four years I worked in, then managed,


MITCHELL IS INVESTIGATED 105
a college eating club. My first two summers I was a waiter
in a big resort hotel. That was the best paying work I
could get during summers. Then one summer I was chief
steward on board a private yacht. The owner liked me,
seemed to have confidence in me, and the next summer he
put me in charge of his country house as butler. My par-
ents needed financial help just then; I could earn more,
at least could save more, as a butler than by doing anything
else; so I remained with this gentleman as butler for over
a year. I had managed to save more than my parents
needed so I started to take a special course in electrical engi-
neering. But before I had finished my course my money gave
out and I started to work for a firm of engineers. But
when the War was over, and I was demobilized—"
"Then you were in service?"
"Yes, Miss Marlowe."
"Under the name of Mitchell, or your own?"
"Under neither, Miss Marlowe. I joined in with the
Canadians at the beginning of the War. I was afraid my
enlisting might cause complications with my own country,
so I took another name—just as many other Americans
did."
"Go on, please."
"I was among the last to be demobilized. You will recall
what a hard time the soldiers, particularly those who were
last discharged, had in getting their old jobs back. I could
not get mine, nor any other like it. No one seemed to want
an ex-soldier; especially a sickly one, for I still felt the ef-
fects of being gassed. But there were plenty of chances in
household service, so I decided to turn again to that. I
learned that Miss Norworth needed a butler, and she gave
me my present place. It's light work here, and I'm keeping
the place until I get back my strength."


io6 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Miss Norworth and Miss Stevens were in France dur-
ing the War. Perhaps you met them in Paris?"
"No, Miss Marlowe."
"Of course, Mitchell, you do not intend to remain a
butler?"
"I like it here; they are good to me, and a butler could
have no better place. But of course I have other ambi-
tions. With the experience I have had in managing house-
hold affairs I have thought I might do better to drop the
idea of being an engineer and start a restaurant, in New
York—that is, if I can find a partner with capital; a small
restaurant, but with an appeal to a discriminating clientele."
"You should make a success of it. I'm sure every one
will wish the very best for you."
"Thank you, Miss Marlowe. Pardon me for having
talked so much about myself—I'm sure your tea must have
become quite cold. Shall I get you some hot tea and toast?"
"What you have told me has been most interesting.
Don't bother about fresh tea, for I'm quite through. You
may take the (ray."
He had picked up the tray and was starting from the
room, when she thought of something else.
"By the way, Mitchell, last night you began to tell me
something, or ask me something. I suppose it was some-
thing important?"
"Yes, Miss Marlowe."
"Important to you?"
"Yes, Miss Marlowe."
"And perhaps important to other persons?" she suggested.
"Well—yes, Miss Marlowe."
"Perhaps you have changed your mind, and would like
to tell me as you first intended."
"That impulse of last night was wrong, Miss Marlowe.


MITCHELL IS INVESTIGATED
I think I should not tell you." He'waited for a moment.
"Is there anything else you wish, Miss Marlowe?"
"That is all, Mitchell."
After he had gone, Cordelia sat considering the things
he had told her. She had trapped him in two lies. He
had said he had not met Gladys and Esther in France; she
happened to know that he had known them in Paris very
well indeed. He had spoken about still being weak from
having been gassed; she recalled the ease with which he had
lifted her from the floor the previous night, recalled the
steely strength of the hands that had supported her up the
stairway. What a liar the man was! And that rigmarole
explaining how he had become a butler; paying his way
through college by working in an eating club, and in summer
working in hotels and private families—all that long tale
was just pure invention!
Examining the details of the interview one by one, she
could not find a single item which she felt she could safely
regard as a fact. As an investigation, the interview had
been a failure.
As she sat thinking, a disquieting doubt filtered into her
consciousness. After all, had she really been the person who
had directed that interview? Mitchell's story, such as it was,
had come out with surprising ease, requiring no urging at
all from her. Instead of her having adroitly drawn his
story from him, might the fact not be that he had been
adroitly thrusting that story upon her? And if so, what was
his purpose?
And again she wondered what was that thing which he
had been upon the point of telling or asking her. He piqued
her curiosity more than ever. More than ever did she feel
that the matter of first importance in her business was to
get at the truth behind this man.


io8 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
The opportunity to go through his effects came after
breakfast the following morning. Cordelia was in Esther's
sitting-room, and she and Esther and Gladys were playing
with Frangois, as was the custom while his governess had
her breakfast. There was a knock, and Mitchell stepped
in.
"Excuse me," he said. "I have come for Master Fran-
cois."
Esther looked up from the paper elephant she was cut-
ting out, and regarded him coldly."
"You need not bother. Jeanne will be here in a few
minutes."
"Jeanne wanted to look after Master Francois' laundry,
and I promised her I would take him out for his walk."
He turned to the boy. "Would Master Francois like to
come with Mitchell?"
"Yes, Mitchell!" the boy cried, jumping up and running
across the room, his paper menagerie fluttering to the floor.
"You'll tell me a story?"
"After I've taken you for a walk and shown you the
bunny I bought you in town yesterday. It came this morn-
ing."
"A bunny—oh, Mitchell! A really live bunny that can
really eat?"
"It can really eat, Master Francois."
"Come on, Mitchell! Let's run!"
"Master Francois must first say good-bye."
"Good-bye, Mother Esther—good-bye, Mother Gladys—
good-bye, Mother Cordelia. Now come on, Mitchell!"
Francois seized the man's hand and excitedly led Mitchell
from the room. Cordelia caught a quick flush in Esther's
cheek and a swift angry flash in Gladys' eye; and she
wondered again what was Mitchell's real purpose in court-


MITCHELL IS INVESTIGATED 109
ing the boy's liking: to show his velvet power?—to taunt
and tease them?—or might his impulse be a real affection
for Francois ?—a father's affection?
But this was no time to follow up these conjectures.
Here was her chance: Mitchell out on the grounds, the
other servants at breakfast. Cordelia excused herself and,
once out of the room, she hurried for the wing containing
the servants' quarters. Mitchell's room adjoined the trunk-
room; if seen in this part of the house, her explanation
would be that she had come for some article she had left
in a trunk.
Of course his room was probably locked. Cautiously
she tried the door. It was not locked, and breathlessly she
slipped in. Her quick glance showed her a room whose
formal orderliness matched Mitchell's butler personality.
She did not expect to find a great deal here; Mitchell was
too shrewd a person to be likely to leave anything of real
importance about; the most she hoped for was a bare clue
either to his identity or to his power over the household.
There were a number of books—not many. To her on
her present business they were vaguely suggestive, rather
than definitely informative. There were a number of vol-
umes dealing with problems of electrical engineering; and a
few novels—"Tom Jones," "Vanity Fair," "Gil Bias,"
"Don Quixote," Meredith's "The Egoist." Rapid as was
her survey, she retained a dim impression that the man's
fictional preference was toward comedy and satire.
She turned to his drawers and went swiftly through
them, then through his closet, scrutinizing each garment
and then replacing each article exactly as she found it. His
clothes were all of the best, even of the quality a Jerry
Plimpton might have worn, but aside from the makers'
names, they were unmarked or bore the admittedly assumed


no CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
name of Mitchell. Only two articles of any possible signif-
icance did she come upon. One was a bank-book in Mitch-
ell's name, showing a credit of a trifle over three hundred
dollars, the plausible savings of a servant; it made her think
of a safe deposit box, where his real savings, the tribute he
had collected here, and his important documents were doubt-
less hidden away, and it begot in her a desire some day to
learn the secrets of that box.
The second article was a letter which she found in the
coat Mitchell had worn the day before in town. It was
addressed care of General Delivery, New York City, was
stamped as received on the previous day, and was upon the
stationary of a Cleveland hotel; and address, contents and
signature were all typewritten, with many clumsy, amateur-
ish erasures and corrections in the body of the letter.
The letter read:
Dear Buddie:
That last two thousand you sent was was a life-saver.
A million thanks. Perhaps I have been trying to ex-
pand the business a little too rapidly, but the profits will
prove this has been the right course. Of course I could
have done nothing without the help of your money, and
you are going to have half the profits even if you won't
take a partnership in the business. I'm still keeping my
name out of the firm—still sticking to 'Excelsior'—so
that we can use your name if you change your mind
and decide to come in.
Of course I don't blame you for not wanting to come
out here and buckle down to this routine drudgery,
when you are cleaning up so much coin in New
York. I wish you would open up and tell me how you
are making all that dough. I didn't know that an out-


MITCHELL IS INVESTIGATED m
sider had a chance against those New York business
sharps. Not unless a fellow went into the bandit or
bootlegging business.
You are certainly the best and squarest pal a guy
ever had!
But say, boy, for a clever business man you are run-
ning a big risk in sending your remittances to me in the
form of drafts payable to "Cash" and "Bearer." Any
professional mail-looter would give three silent cheers
to get his hands on one of those. Better be more care-
ful.
I'm beginning to get the hang of this damned vest-
pocket typewriter you make me lug around to write my
letters to you on. Though I don't yet quite see the idea
of your wanting all my letters to you type-written, and
type-written by my own five-thumbed hands.
May the goddess who adorns the dollar continue to
regard you as her favorite child!
Yours till Gabriel toots for final demobilization.
}.
Cordelia returned the letter to the pocket from which she
had taken it, and a minute later she was hurrying away in
feverish thought. Who was this "J."? Also she asked her-
self the two questions which "J." implied: why was "J."
required to write on a typewriter?—and why was money
sent payable to cash or bearer?
In a few moments Cordelia had the answers, or at least
she thought she had: these were obviously measures to pre-
vent names appearing anywhere on paper which might
later disconcertingly appear as evidence, and to prevent
betrayal by an identifiable handwriting.
This letter which had told so little that was definite, had


112 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
made Mitchell a still more intriguing personality. Evidently
"J." liked him, admired him, trusted him. Mitchell must
have a lot of qualities she had not guessed behind that ex-
pressionless butler's mask of his.
Obeying a subconscious purpose, she had, all the while
she had been thinking of this letter, been moving about the
grounds in search of Mitchell; and now in a quiet spot
shut off from the sight of the house she glimpsed Mitchell
and Francois and the rabbit which could really eat. This
was still another Mitchell she now saw; not he of butler's
coat, not he of smart Fifth Avenue garb, not he of that
voice of taunting quality which had come to her in the dark-
ness from the open window. He was seated on the grass,
the rapt Francois on his lap, both watching the really live
rabbit nibbling at a lettuce leaf; and Mitchell was talking,
and his face had an eager, good-humored smile—almost a
boyish smile—which matched that of Francois; and when
he laughed his laugh seemed to have as much the ring of
spontaneous care-free happiness as that of the boy. Mitch-
ell was undoubtedly having a gorgeous time.
Cordelia slipped away unnoted. Who—who—and what
—was the real Mitchell?


CHAPTER XI
CORDELIA SEEKS A WAY
Cordelia wanted a place where she could think undis-
turbed upon this puzzle of contradictions that Mitchell had
become and upon the other problems of her business at
Rolling Meadows. She remembered the child's play-house
which was being set in order to accommodate the overflow
of guests at Gladys' week-end party but which at the pres-
ent moment was unoccupied. She crossed the grounds,
entered the play-house and seated herself at that same open
window which looked out upon the syringa bush beneath
which she had crouched listening two midnights before.
Less than thirty-six hours had passed since Cordelia had
discovered the dominating position of Mitchell in the house-
hold at Rolling Meadows, and during this period she had
been too much concerned with her information and her
actions to settle down quietly and attempt to apply sober
reason to the facts she had acquired. To this task she now
gave herself; and if Cordelia in all her life had ever
reasoned carefully, flawlessly, she believed she was now so
doing..
The secret, whatever it might be, was apparently known
to just three persons: Gladys, Esther and Mitchell. There
were probably no documents or papers of any kind contain-
ing the secret which the closest search would enable her to
lay hands upon; such valuable and dangerous evidence, even
if it had ever existed, was destroyed or else hidden away be-
113


H4 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
yond possible finding. This meant that the only sources
from which the truth might be learned were the lips of the
three; and this conclusion very naturally suggested in turn
the business of virtuous eavesdropping. From the popular
literature of detection Cordelia had some vague knowledge
of dictaphones, and other devices for bringing the cautious
ear into proximity with incautious lips; but a little further
thought caused her to dismiss entirely the stock-in-trade
strategy of listening. Even should she manage again to hear
the three in conversation, she would probably learn no more
than she already knew. The facts behind this situation were
probably so old, so thoroughly accepted by the three, that
they would never mention them. These old facts, the en-
tire story—this was what was wanted.
And then the only possible way came to her. She had
to secure the full story directly from the lips of one of
the three.
That was indeed a difficult task. It would be difficult
enough just to unseal any pair of those lips; and it was
made more difficult by the necessity that her act should
not seem the result of intention, and should not arouse
suspicion.
One by one she considered the three, beginning with
Mitchell. Mitchell had shrewdness, poise, self-control; he
was making a profit out of this secret; to give up the secret
would mean to him to give up his profit. She could not
imagine the butler ever being so thrown off his guard that
he would involuntarily let slip the truth; and he would not
tell voluntarily unless he saw that telling would be greatly
to his profit. Mitchell, she decided, was out of the ques-
tion.
Further thought also removed the lips of Esther. Esther
also had too much self-control, though of a different order


CORDELIA SEEKS A WAY 115
from Mitchell's, ever to be startled into any unpremeditated
disclosure. If she ever told, it would be because she had
come to a reasoned decision to tell.
That left Gladys. Gladys was the one who was paying
money, the one most desperately determined to keep the
unknown facts unguessed. She was the central figure; and
from the standpoint of Cordelia's purpose, she was the
weakest figure of the affair. For the autocratic, self-
centered Gladys had never been schooled to control of any
kind; anger, selfishness, whatever strong feeling rose in her,
possessed her utterly for the minutes or hours that the storm
might last.
Cordelia decided she would get the secret of Gladys from
the lips of Gladys.
Just what was that secret—probably? Among all possible
secrets, just what was the one possible secret that an un-
married, socially proud young woman would most desper-
ately desire to keep hidden?—would pay most readily and
lavishly to keep suppressed?
Cordelia felt no great surprise when, by swift elimination,
she reached the answer; for the answer had been lurking
unphrased in her mind since she had overheard the voices
two nights before in the play-house. An illegitimate child,
of course. Francois was Gladys' son.
The story of his being a French war orphan, the elabo-
rate business of his French and American legal adoption by
Gladys and Esther—all this was just careful camouflage to
protect the proud name and high position of Gladys. Fran-
cois had been born in France; Mitchell had known Gladys
and Esther in France; therefore Mitchell probably had
first-hand knowledge of the facts. No wonder he had power
over Gladys!
Of course it was possible, as she had before thought, that


u6 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Mitchell was the boy's father. That would explain his ap-
parently real affection for Francois. He might even be the
husband of Gladys. No, on further thought his being
Gladys' husband did not seem likely. With a husband liv-
ing in her own house, Gladys would hardly care to pose
as single and to be matrimonially interested in Jerry Plimp-
ton.
But these speculations were at best no more than spec-
ulations. She had to have facts. How was she to get facts
such as she suspected from the lips of Gladys? Her end
was laudable—to help Mr. Franklin free Gladys from her
entanglement; and any means was justifiable. She thought
long; and at length she decided that her best procedure
would be to play upon Gladys' great weakness, her lack of
self-control. Aroused to anger, to fear, Gladys might en-
tirely lose herself, and suddenly incited by just the right
happening or even just the right phrase, the fundamental
facts might come tumbling forth from her momentarily
unguarded lips. Of course the exact procedure that Cor-
delia would use would have largely to be determined and
shaped by opportunity.
Of this meditated quality of Gladys' temper Cordelia had
an almost immediate illustration, for at this point in her
thoughts Gladys walked into the play-house. There was
hot color in her cheeks and an angry light in her green
eyes.
"I thought you were going to help me settle that trouble
over the orchestra for Saturday night's dance?" she said
almost sharply.
"So I am. I was just starting back to the house. Come
on."
"One minute!" Gladys caught Cordelia's arm. "Ailine
Harkness just called up a minute ago about the party. She


CORDELIA SEEKS A WAY
said she saw you and Jerry Plimpton lunching together
yesterday. Is that so?"
"Yes. Why not? Jerry and I are old friends."
"You were behaving as though you were a lot more than
just old friends!"
Cordelia began to grow hot at this ungoverned arrogance.
"Gladys—say right out just what you mean!"
"You know what I mean! I told you that—well, you
know, that there is almost an understanding between Jerry
Plimpton and me. And that night at Jackie Thorndike's
you the same as promised not to cut in. Are you trying to
double-cross me?"
"Gladys Norworth! Do you want me to pack my things
and go home?"
"Not if you aren't—"
"Say anything more like what you've just said and I'll
slap your face! Now let loose of my arm!"
Gladys glared, hesitated, then obeyed; but her eyes still
gleamed with her sullen anger. Cordelia quickly regained
her self-control; a break would mean her leaving Rolling
Meadows before the mystery here was solved.
"Don't be silly, Gladys. I have a lot of friends who are
also your friends, and every time I accept a courtesy
from one of them you shouldn't construe it as an act of
conspiracy against you."
"Well, I didn't mean to be unfair," Gladys said grudg-
ingly. "But you know what I think about Jerry Plimpton.
And you know, or you've guessed, that it's mainly because
of him that I'm giving this party."
"I'll see that at your party you have the right of way with
Jerry as far as I am concerned. Now let's see to that or-
chestra."
Her mission here at Rolling Meadows was none too easy,


ii8 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Cordelia mused wryly, with the two of them both having
intentions toward Jerry Plimpton. Rivals! Well, as she
had decided while lunching with Jerry the day before, she'd
have to avoid danger by keeping Jerry at a distance till she
was well out of this business.
She thought much of this flare-up of Gladys on Jerry
Plimpton's account; could this ever-ready resentment be
so inflamed and played upon that it could be made to lead
to the revelation she sought? As the days passed she con-
sidered other possible means and qualities that might be used
to sweep Gladys into the necessary frenzy of uncontrol;
her temper still seemed the best; but Cordelia could settle
upon no definite procedure.
On Friday the guests began to come, and by Saturday
afternoon some score had answered the roll call of hospi-
tality. There were Jackie and Murray Thorndike, Ailine
and Peter Harkness, Jerry Plimpton, Kyle Brandon and a
small host who have no individual place in this history.
Cordelia tried to keep her promise to Gladys by avoiding any
semblance of a tete-a-tete with Jerry Plimpton; she noted
that Jerry was surprised by her behavior and she was
secretly pleased thereat. Gladys very openly absorbed him.
He seemed to enjoy her attention; perhaps pique at Cor-
delia may have had something to do with his apparent
pleasure. But then Gladys was at her very best in Jerry's
company, and Gladys when she tried to be her best was
second in attractiveness to few indeed. Charm, plus beauty,
plus position, plus great wealth—here is a feminine total
almost irresistible.
On Friday evening before dinner, according to an arrange-
ment Gladys had made in her invitation, up in Gladys' sit-
ting-room, there was another of those little reunions of the
four old Harcourt chums—Cordelia, Gladys, Jackie, and


CORDELIA SEEKS A WAY
Ailine. Rather promptly Gladys excused herself from the
gathering. She had her duties as a hostess, she explained;
her real reason was that Jerry Plimpton was waiting down
in the library.
The talk of the three friends who remained was, as was
the case at their meetings, almost entirely about themselves.
The pretty, eager, gay Ailine, of the tireless and talented
feet, was a-gush with Peter's recent successes in Wall Street.
Though a broker, and theoretically supposed to make his
money from executing commissions, Peter played the market
on his own account. His profits for the last few months,
said the flushed Ailine, had amounted to over a quarter of a
million; and that week they had bought the Fernwold house,
just off Fifth Avenue in the Seventies, and were redecorat-
ing it throughout. It was not going to be anything elaborate,
you know; it couldn't be, for altogether it was only going
to cost three hundred thousand; but it was going to be very
much nicer than what they now had-—they could entertain
ever so much better.
Cordelia was pleased to learn of Ailine's and Peter's good
fortune. They were lavish spenders, both of them; they
liked to keep pace with their richest and smartest acquaint-
ances; and sometimes their friends feared that their com-
bined inheritance, none too large for such living, was being
severely strained by their prodigal inclination. It was in-
deed splendid that Peter was doing so well that they did
not have to worry about money; and Cordelia congratu-
lated Ailine heartily upon her good news.
Her tale completed, Ailine left them, giving her reason
frankly, with her sparkling smile. There was to be a small
informal dance that night; one of the men was an excep-
tional dancer; and she had promised to meet him before
dinner to talk over some exhibition dances they might give.


120 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Dear big old heavy Peter was no dancer, and he good-
naturedly let her do just as she pleased about partners. In
fact, the spirited, tireless, pretty Ailine did just as she
pleased about almost everything; and almost every one—
particularly all the men—seemed pleased to have her do it.
Ailine was a sprite—a darling!
When Ailine was gone, Jackie drew closer to Cordelia
and said: "I'm glad to have you all to myself at last for a
minute or two, Cordie, old dear. I want you to do some-
thing for me."
"There's nothing in the world I wouldn't do for you,
Jackie." That was exactly as Cordelia felt toward her
room-mate at Harcourt Hall, her especial chum of their
especial quartette. "What is it?"
"You've been visiting Gladys long enough. I want you
to say good-bye to her, and come along home with me and
spend the summer."
"I can hardly do that, Jackie. I've already promised to'
stay the summer with Gladys."
"Gladys doesn't need you. And I do need you."
The abrupt emphasis of Jackie's last statement made Cor-
delia start.
"You need me! Why?"
Jackie slowly knocked the ash from her cigarette, lifted
her white shoulders, then composedly looked Cordelia
straight in the eyes.
"I rather believe you guess why, Cordie, so there's no-
reason I shouldn't put it into plain words. Murray and I
don't seem to be as popular with each other as we used
to be. I'm not seeing a lot of Murray these days, and it's'
a bit lonely being a married widow."
Cordelia was aware of this situation. She liked the
restless, generous, impulsive Jackie, and she liked the easy-


CORDELIA SEEKS A WAY 121
going Murray, and she had felt genuine regret over this
development.
"And I rather think you know why Murray isn't about
the house very much," Jackie continued. "A lot of people
seem to know why. It's that French dancer Ziegf eld brought
over and put into his last revue."
Cordelia knew this also.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"Oh, we're keeping up the appearance of a happy home."
"But, Jackie, if you really tried I'm sure you could
keep Murray away from all the dancers in the world."
Again Jackie lifted her beautiful shoulders.
"Perhaps yes. Perhaps no. But that's not the business
before the present meeting. The business is, I need you
and I'm asking you to come. Are you coming?"
"I'm sorry, Jackie. I've just told you why I can't come."
"Well, then, at least promise me this much: come if you
find you can come."
"Of course I'll promise that."
Cordelia went on to express sympathy but Jackie inter-
rupted. No need to worry about her; this was just about
what marriage was like; Cordelia would find this out for
herself after she'd been married a few years.
Nevertheless all Friday evening Cordelia did feel keen
regret over the situation between Jackie and Murray; though
whenever she looked at them, each seemed to be happy
enough, and several times she saw them dancing together.
On Saturday afternoon Mr. Franklin motored out, as had
been planned. He was going on down to Southampton to
work a little and play a little golf over Sunday. Cordelia
watched him closely when he was introduced to Gladys
and a little later when Mitchell, thinking him a guest, asked
about his bags. To neither of these two did Franklin be-


122 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
tray by any slightest move or inflection that he had any
interest other than that of a chance visitor. Particularly
did Cordelia watch, with a little catch in her breath, when
the butler and the lawyer faced each other, both strong,
subtle men. Each played his part to perfection. With a
little anticipatory thrill of excitement, Cordelia wondered
what would be the scene and what its outcome if ever these
two men should meet with masks removed.
Toward the guests he met, Franklin had an easy yet unob-
trusive manner. Several knew him slightly, more had heard
of him. Cordelia noted that Gladys appraised him thought-
fully; well-mannered, well-dressed single men of standing
are to be recorded as possible social assets. Cordelia ad-
mired the way he bore himself; each time she saw him she
found she was raising her estimate of him. He seemed so
courteously reserved, so strictly holding himself out of other
people's affairs; yet she was certain that not a thing was es-
caping him. As a matter of fact, he was seeing even more
than she thought.
Toward the middle of the' afternoon the entire party went
down to the beach; and presently, as she and Franklin walked
along the beach apart from the others, Cordelia was telling
him of her further discoveries concerning Mitchell, her con-
clusions concerning Gladys, and of her projected method of
procedure. He approved her energy and her judgment.
Again Cordelia pulsed warmly under his praise; it was in-
deed something to have one's ability recognized by so able
a man as Mr. Franklin.
He cautioned her, however, against trying to move too
rapidly. He would advise that she consult him before tak-
ing her next step. As a matter of fact, Mr. Franklin was
seeing before himself the danger of her learning too much,
getting too far into the inside. If that came to pass, it


CORDELIA SEEKS A WAY 123
would complicate immensely his own subtle, delicately ad-
justed plans.
He saw that the two of them were being observed by the
guests, and he held Cordelia in conversation as much as he
dared. He knew that he was establishing the impression
among this smart company that he and the very popular,
Cordelia Marlowe were friends—and that was well. He was
thinking of feigning illness in order that he might remain
at Rolling Meadows and improve upon his opportunity. But
this deception was not necessary; for on their return to the
house Gladys, having noted his attentiveness to Cordelia and
seeing him as a further barrier between Cordelia and Jerry
Plimpton, promptly invited him to stay on over the week-
end. After a decent hesitation he accepted.
Thus came about Mr. Franklin's introduction to Rolling
Meadows and its circle. Behind his pleasant, composed fea-
tures was a mighty exultation over the success of his ma-
nceuvers. First, Cordelia Marlowe had come his way. And
now, hardly more than two weeks later, he was among these
people—a guest—one of them! Oh, but he was getting on [


CHAPTER XII
HOW CORDELIA LEARNED THE TRUTH
Saturday night's dance was a real dance; a dance to please
the dancingest and thirstiest dancers. The guests, accus-
tomed to the gaiety, even the abandon of week-end parties,
were soon bent upon making this the gayest of the season.
To this spirited abandon they were incited partially by the
music, which was a smiling, gurgling, swaying negro or-
chestra; and partially by the plentitude and potency of the
punch, champagne and whiskey. Gladys, knowing what
would be expected from one who intended to be a popular
hostess all her life, had on her return from France laid in
a forty years' supply of wines and liquors while buying was
still legal.
Cordelia tried to hold herself in abeyance. This was
Gladys' party, and she wished Gladys to have the pleasure
and the credit that are properly the hostess'. But she could
not help it that she was more in demand as a partner than
any other woman; always it had been so; and secretly she
gloried in this popularity, else she would have been something
other than her sex. Whenever there was a dispute among
claimants for a dance, she invariably gave her favor to Mr.
Franklin; he was her guest, and then a further reason was
that choosing a neutral, an outsider, would excite the least
jealousy among her men friends; and so she found that a
third of her dances were with Franklin, who to her surprise
proved to be one of the best dancers in the party. This man
could apparently do everything!
124


HOW CORDELIA LEARNED THE TRUTH 125
She had a few dances with Kyle Brandon. As before,
he talked with enthusiasm of her possibilities as a great mo-
tion picture star. Also he told her he was now getting busy
on that pageant to be given at his aunt's, Mrs. Phipps-Morse.
It was going to a big thing; the biggest of its kind ever at-
tempted. And Cordelia's part was looking bigger and bet-
ter every hour he thought it over. She was going to like
the part. Just wait and see!
Despite all her seeming care-free gaiety, Cordelia took in
everything that was happening. She noted, with a stab
of jealousy, that Gladys' most frequent partner was
Jerry Plimpton. As for herself, she had not once
danced with Jerry. Well—that was just as she had planned
it.
And her eyes went inevitably to Mitchell, presiding imper-
turbably over the servants at the buffet, or moving with his
butler's perfect impersonality among the hilarious guests.
Again and again the thought shivered through her: what
would this smart crowd think and do, if that carved expres-
sionless face should suddenly alter and he should drop into
their joyous midst the bomb of what she guessed to be the
truth.
But the most persistent, most enduring merry-makers
eventually grow weary, even when stimulated by wine more
precious than diamonds and rubies. By four o'clock half
the guests were in their beds, and the crowd was rapidly'
dwindling, though the grinning, singing negroes twanged gui-
tars and blew into saxophones with an unabated vigor which
suggested that they could maintain their musical pace until
old Marse Gabriel sounded his clarion signal for them to
drop these instruments and take up harps of gold. Not
until this hour did Cordelia have her first dance with Jerry
Plimpton, which she told him was to be her last for the night;


126 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
and as they danced she noted that Gladys was swaying in
the arms of Franklin.
"Let's have a bit of fresh air before you go up," Jerry
remarked when the dance was concluded; and on Cordelia's
acceding, he led her out upon the porch and over to a shad-
owed corner. Neither was conscious that Gladys and
Franklin had also stepped forth, apparently with this same
desire for air.
Nor for that matter, did any of the four know that the
cautious, ubiquitous Mitchell was watching every move
of them all.
"Now I've got you here and you've got to listen to me,
Cordie," Jerry grumbled reprovingly. "Why have you been
dodging me the whole evening?"
'"Have I been dodging you?"
"'In that very answer you try to dodge me again. Till
just now you haven't danced with me once. Each time I
asked you, you had all the next dances promised. What
was the grand idea in treating me just as if I wasn't here?"
"It gave you all the more chance to pay your respects to
your hostess."
"Oh, Gladys can go to—" He checked himself. "You
are not going to get away with a thing like this without
paying for it. And a big penalty."
"What, for instance?"
""1*11 let you pay in instalments. The first instalment is,
I'm going to kiss you."
"You've drunk too much, Jerry. Don't be a fool."
*Td sure be a fool if I didn't."
He slipped his arms about her and kissed her. This was
far from being the first time Cordelia had been kissed, and
she neither felt surprised nor did she pretend resistance.
Also she recognized instantly that Jerry's kiss was not that of


HOW CORDELIA LEARNED THE TRUTH 127
a driving love, and she felt no lifting thrill. Rather it was
the semi-maudlin sentimental kiss that has for its inception
equal parts of titillating music, alcohol, and languorous sum-
mer darkness. Jerry could undoubtedly be the serious lover,
but he was not the serious lover now, and wisdom cautioned
her against letting his sentimentality sweep onward into
temporary fervor.
She loosed his embrace and moved a pace from him.
"You've had too much punch, Jerry. Behave. Let's go in
now. I want to go to bed."
"Not till you pay another instalment."
He kissed her again. Then they strolled back in, and a
minute later Cordelia was on her way to her room.
Franklin and Gladys had seen, in shadowy silhouette, the
embrace and kisses; but had not heard the whispered words
and so did not know the rather tepid quality of the dalliance.
Franklin felt Gladys' fingers bite into his arm; and that
clutch violently affirmed all that his watchfulness during the
evening had told him. For his own part, what the kissing
suggested suited him no better than it did Gladys. But he
controlled his wits; he perceived that in one respect at least
the girl beside him was an ally.
"I presume those two are engaged," he murmured softly,
and with subtle purpose, after Cordelia and Jerry had gone
in.
"She—she told me—there was nothing between them,"
Gladys returned, speaking with greatest difficulty.
"I'm sure they must be engaged," he insisted in his soft,
even voice. "I said as much to myself when I saw them at
lunch at the Grantham the other day. You should have seen
their manner to each other; there was no mistaking its mean-
ing. They are undoubtedly engaged, and for some reason
are hiding it for the present."


128 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Excuse me," Gladys choked out, and was gone.
Pranklin was satisfied. He had handled this situation
very skilfully. He had put a spoke into that wheel! He
had, indeed—but even the very clever Mr. Franklin was
hardly clever enough to foresee just how that spoke was go-
ing to affect the running gear of his own very complicated
plans.
Cordelia had been in her room no more than a moment,
and before starting to undress was before her long mirror
for a final appraisal of how she had looked during the eve-
ning, when her door was violently opened, as violently closed,
and there stood Gladys, her white bosom heaving spasmod-
ically, her green eyes blazing with wild accusation and mad
hatred.
"Gladys! What on earth is the matter with you?" Cor-
delia exclaimed.
Gladys came toward her, body tensely bent, fingers crooked
like talons. "You liar, you!" she shrilled gaspingly. "You
—you dirty liar!"
Cordelia stiffened, and a dangerous look came into her
own eyes. "What's this about?" she demanded sharply.
"Oh, you damned sneaking liar!" screamed Gladys.
"Are you crazy? Do you want all your guests to hear
you? If you'v£ got anything to say, at least lower your
voice."
"Let them hear me! I'd like nothing better than to have
them know the truth about you! The sort you are!"
There was, however, little likelihood of the guests hear-
ing even this shrill, defiant voice; for the rooms of Cordelia,
Gladys and Esther were side by side at the front of the
house, and the guest-rooms were all in the wings and to
reach these rooms the guests did not have to pass through


HOW CORDELIA LEARNED THE TRUTH 129
the part of the house where Gladys and Cordelia now faced
each other. Nevertheless, Gladys' fortissimo of anger had
in her last words subsided to a less penetrating tone.
"Out with it quick!" ordered Cordelia angrily. "What
are you trying to say?"
"As if you didn't know! I saw you kissing him! Kissing
Jerry Plimpton!"
"So that's it? What's that to you?"
"What's it to me? Why—why—kissing him after you
told me he was nothing to you—after you had promised not
to interfere between him and me! Why—why—Oh, I could
kill you, you rat!"
Gladys' face twisted and writhed with the vehemence of
unlovely passion. All that was primitive, elemental, child-
ishly and savagely direct in her undisciplined selfishness, now
ruled her utterly. She felt no shame, no reticence, no re-
straint due to the mere habits of civilized manners; she was
just an uncontrollable flame of mad egotism.
Cordelia herself had never been more angry. She had
come here to try to save this girl. Why, Gladys didn't de-
serve saving!
But before Cordelia's temper escaped its leash, there
flashed upon her partial remembrance of the inspiration she
had had the other day in the child's play-house. If she
could only make Gladys lose all control, in either anger or
fear! At this moment Cordelia was conscious of no clear
plan, but she proceeded exactly as if guided by one.
Her manner was angry, but her anger was assumed. Also
her manner was taunting.
"Why shouldn't I kiss Jerry? Jerry seemed to like it.
And what makes you so angry? Because Jerry didn't pre-
fer to kiss you?"


130 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Get out of my house! You hear me! Get out of my
house! You cheap flirt! Kissing like a cheap shop girl on
a park bench!"
"At least, Gladys dear, Jerry chose to kiss me, and not
you!"
It was an unseemly, unsightly quarrel between the star
graduates of fine old Harcourt Hall. Gladys grew yet more
wild.
"Jerry didn't choose; you made him! You're trying to
coax him away with your kisses. You're after his money.
Everybody knows you've got barely enough to live on, and
that's all! All you've really got is an empty name, and a
few good looks, and a cheap popularity, and a scheming
head! And you're scheming to get Jerry's money!"
At this Cordelia could barely hold herself in; perhaps it
was the element of truth in Gladys' words that so inflamed
her. But the growing anger she showed was still directed,
acted towards a purpose. She looked as if she were upon
the instant of exploding.
"What have you got, you poor ninny? Not a thing but
money! You admit I have family, looks, popularity, a good
head. And you haven't a thing but money! That's the only
way you'll ever get a man's attention—buying it with your
money!"
Cordelia had tried to say something which would rouse
Gladys to the last limits of her anger; she could have chosen
no greater insult.
"Get out of my house! Pack your things this minute!
Get out!"
"And you think you can buy Jerry Plimpton with your
money—the only thing you have to attract a man! When
money is the last thing in a woman that would interest Jerry


HOW CORDELIA LEARNED THE TRUTH 131
Plimpton! You poor fool! Why you know Jerry will
never—"
"You shut up!" Gladys' voice was an almost animal-like
snarl. "You get out of my house! Get out! You lie!
I'll show you which of us is the fool! I'll show you whether
I can interest Jerry! I'll show it to you by being married
to him inside of a year!"
Her panting voice cracked in its rage. She was utterly
gone, utterly lost. Cordelia's moment was come, and swiftly
she struck.
"You think Jerry Plimpton will marry you? Marry you
after you have told him Frangois is your childf—your ille-
gitimate child?"
The devastating Gladys swayed back. Her flaming rage
was gone as a candle that is suddenly blown out. Her tense
figure loosed as though it were about to collapse, her livid
features became gray and gaped and twitched with idiot
looseness, her green eyes now blinked with stupefying fear
and horror.
"How—how did you—find it out?" she finally asked, in a
choked whisper.
"I was told."
"But—they all promised they would never tell!"
The next moment Gladys was abjectly clutching Cordelia,
wildly pawing her, pouring out a frantic jumble of words.
"You must never tell, Cordelia! Promise me you'll never
tell! Please! For God's sake! It would ruin me—I
couldn't stand it—and I don't deserve it! I'll do anything
you ask me to—I'll give you anything—anything! Please!
For God's sake!"
The very sight of this cringing, cowering creature, the
instant before so arrogantly insulting, made Cordelia feel


132 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
sick. She wanted to throw off those clutching hands, close
her eyes against that slavering face. But before she could
reply to Gladys, Gladys had entered a new phase.
"It's all a lie, Cordelia! He is not my child! I swear
it! He's Esther's! They've put it on me to shield her!
To shield her! Just because by accusing me and threaten-
ing me they can make me pay money! I even have to pay
Esther. It's the God's truth! I swear it! You believe
me, Cordelia—of course you believe me!"
Cordelia pulled away from the hands that had alternately
clutched and imploringly patted her.
"Don't lie like that!"
"It's not a lie! It's the God's truth, Cordelia! It's the
God's truth! I swear it!"
There was a knock at Cordelia's door. Again Gladys was
clinging to Cordelia, whispering frantically.
"Don't make a sound! Don't answer!"
"Come in!" Cordelia called.
The door opened and Esther entered, wearing a dressing-
gown.
"I thought I heard Gladys in a temper at you, Cordelia,
and I thought I'd better come in and stop her," Esther said.
And then with surprise she noted the attitude of the pair,
Gladys imploringly holding to Cordelia. "Why this sudden
change? What's it all been about?"
"Don't say a word, Cordelia!" Gladys gasped quickly. •'
"Please! I never told that before to anybody, and I'll never
let it go any further. Not a word, please—for Esther's
sake!"
"What is it?" Esther demanded sharply.
Cordelia's reply was drawn from her not alone by Esther's
question; she saw in this new development of the situation
her opportunity to learn yet more of the truth.


HOW CORDELIA LEARNED THE TRUTH 133
"I had learned that Gladys was the mother of Francois,
and told her so. She was just denying it and was saying
you were his mother."
Esther crossed, took Gladys by one shoulder and looked
squarely and sternly into the frightened face for a long
moment. Gladys' gaze wavered and fell.
"I—I lost my head," Gladys stammered in a whisper.
"It's—it's true about me, Cordelia."
Esther loosed her hold upon her step-sister and turned to
Cordelia. "How did you learn of this?"
Cordelia had had her answer prepared these many days,
and it came out with convincing simplicity, and in a man-
ner to awaken no suspicion that all this might be the result
of preparation and part of a great plan.
"I told Gladys that some one had told me. That was not
true; I was angry when I said it. The fact merely is that
I had noted a likeness between Gladys and Francois, and
a possibility had popped into my head. A while ago Gladys
came in here and was very insulting. I completely lost my
temper, and struck back by accusing her of being Francois'
mother. She admitted it. With me, the whole thing was
just a shot in the dark that chanced to strike the target.
That's all there is to it. And I'm very sorry that I lost
my temper."
Cordelia perceived that her explanation had entirely con-
vinced the two.
Again Gladys was eagerly fawning upon her. "It's not
so bad as you think, Cordelia. You know only the worst;
it's not fair to me to have you think the worst of me. And
since you know the worst, I want you to know all of it.
Then you'll see that I'm not really to blame, that luck's
been unfair to me all the way through. Listen—I'll tell
you the whole story."


HOW CORDELIA LEARNED THE TRUTH 135
gether. But I must remain; I have business in this com-
pany."
"You get out of here!" snapped Gladys in her choking
scream. "Get out!"
Mitchell regarded her with sober, rebuking face. "Gladys,
I've often told you that I feared I'd be compelled to turn
you across my knee and spank you. Unless you compose
yourself, I shall have to conduct that somewhat intimate
ceremony before the eyes of the present assemblage."
She glowered at him furiously, but held her tongue.
"I shall remain," Mitchell continued, "because I over-
heard that our little story was to be told jn full to Miss
Marlowe. I feel that it is my right to be present to check
up on the details which concern me, and to see that I am not
slandered."
Cordelia, her interest in the story racing aheadf could no
longer hold back the surmise which had been with her these
many days.
"I already know your part. You are Frangois' father.
I've seen how fond you are of him."
Mitchell turned on her a pained, reproachful look.
"You are correct about my being very fond of Francois,
Miss Marlowe"—and at that moment she felt all doubts of
the sincerity of his affection for the boy vanish. "But really
now, aren't you rather unjust to me when you think that I
would choose such a person as Gladys to be the mother of
my child?"
"You—you—" choked Gladys.
"Careful, Gladys, careful. Remember your weak heart,
and don't forget the dangers of apoplexy. Shall we get
along with our history? It's a long story, and I'm sure we
will endure it better if we are seated."
He drew chairs together: not with his manner of a butler-


136 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
ing automaton, but with smiling ornate courtesy that was
seasoned with mockery: mockery which Cordelia sensed
was directed chiefly at Gladys. Cordelia could not keep her
eyes off his smiling face; she did not know what to make
of the man; but somehow she felt growing in her a tentative,
dubious liking for him, even though he did seem an un-
doubted scoundrel.
"And now that we are all comfortable and cozy," con-
tinued the easy pleasant voice of Mitchell, "let's unfold our
tale."


CHAPTER XIII
A ROMANCE OF REGRET
And so in the stillness of half-past four in the morning,
with the chief figures of Gladys' great world from which
she had been striving to hide her story sleeping in profound
unsuspicion all about her, the hidden and repented romance
of Gladys was at last unfolded to Cordelia: Gladys, Esther
and Mitchell all contributing their portions to the history.
In the telling there was bickering and denial from Gladys,
contradictions, explanations, elaborations, corrections from
the other two. It revealed no new aspect of Gladys' char-
acter: it merely threw into stronger, more dramatic light the
Gladys that was known: an heiress of leisure who believed
that to her belonged the world, who loved whatever shone
brilliantly at the top, whose egotistical will brushed aside
all opposition and seized with swift directness what it de-
sired, and who dodged and frantically ran away from any
unpleasant consequences of having had her own imperious
way.
The tale was a portrait of Gladys' soul. But in truth not
of her alone, for New York City, America, has its ten
thousand Gladyses: duplicates in soul, differing only in the
details of their different social levels.
Reduced to its essentials, and arranged in chronological
order, the history which the three told in fragments, was a
story which in its earlier phases was matched by scores of
love affairs that developed swiftly and rushed to swift con-
i37


138 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
summation during the reckless emotionalism of the Great
War. In the Paris of that period Romance took no thought
of the morrow; that vast belt of bursting shells and stifling
gas which bounded northern France had destroyed all cer-
tainty of a morrow. To-day was the only certainty; and
recklessly, without thought of the future, Romance seized its
only chance.
In 1916, Gladys had met a Sergeant Grayson of the Cana-
dian Forces while he was spending his leave in Paris. He
was the latest of those young heroes who, at that period,
were shining for their brief day with the glory of a supreme
fixed star, only to have their brilliant flames flicker swiftly
into oblivion. During this day of his glory he was being
universally praised, and he had been slated for a commission.
The glamour of his fame, the adulation with which his
friends exalted him, made him from the first moment a figure
of super-fascination to Gladys; and even when on the day
of their first meeting he informed her that he was a citizen
of the United States, and that until he had crossed into Can-
ada and enlisted he had been a mechanic in a Detroit auto-
mobile factory—even that admission of his lowly origin had
not lessened her fervid adoration. He was a great hero;
the hero of the hour. He was utterly splendid. Within
two days they were engaged, and they determined upon mar-
riage before his return to the front.
Gladys now confided her great honor and happiness
to Esther Stevens, who was at this time confined to the
hospital of the Countess de Crecy with influenza. Esther
had opposed the marriage.
"Do you think he's not good enough for me?" Gladys
had demanded, "because he was once a mechanic?"
"He may be altogether too good for you. I can't say,
since I have never seen him. But that has nothing whatever,


A ROMANCE OF REGRET
to do with my attitude. I am thinking of you both when I say
the two of you are now living in a period of hysteria, and
when I ask you both to remember that your marriage, en-
tered into in this time of high emotion, will be lived out
through sober, commonplace years. Neither of you is now
in a state of mind to choose the person who will best suit
you during the unexciting and perhaps disillusioning years
which will come when this awful war is over. Be good
friends in the meantime, but wait till peace and a normal
state of mind return before you decide upon marriage."
"Then you won't give your consent?"
"Most definitely I will not. Later on you will thank me
for holding you back from such a course."
Gladys had argued no further and had not told Sergeant
Grayson of Esther's objection. She was not going to let
any stick like Esther tell her whom and when she could
marry. She had taken the lead in the matter, and two days
later she and Sergeant Grayson, accompanied by his best
friend Sergeant Farrell, had slipped away and been secretly
married. Three days after the marriage Sergeant Grayson
had left Paris to rejoin his company.
He had not been gone another three days-—less than a
week had passed since the marriage—when Gladys had begun
to regret her action, and every day her regret had become
more acute. It grew into shame. Each day in that period
of the War had its own brilliant hero, and in the swift suc-
cession of radiances that flashed across the sky of hero-
ism, the fame of Sergeant Grayson was sadly dimmed—in
fact it was being all but forgotten save by a very few. In
that epoch of great and crowding events, a single day was a
long span of life for average hero-ship.
With Grayson's fame faded, his glamour gone, Gladys was
confronted with the unromantic reality that she was secretly


140 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
married to a nobody who was just an automobile mechanic.
Her soul writhed with the awful humiliation of her situa-
tion. She, Gladys Norworth, married to an ordinary me-
chanic! What would her world say when it learned? What
was she ever, ever going to do?
And then, when Grayson had left her hardly more than a
fortnight, and before his actual promotion to a lieutenancy,
there had come the news of his death in action. This news
had gained no more space than a brief paragraph; that was
how long hero-ship lasted in those tense days.
Gladys had wept when she heard this news. She had
wept from relief. Since soldiers had to die anyhow, his
death had been providential. How lucky she had been in
that the marriage had been a secret one! Now, no one need
ever know of her shame; not even Esther, who had advised
against the marriage. His death had given her story its
only possible happy ending.
Perhaps no young widow was ever before so happy as
Gladys.
A month after her husband's death, Sergeant Farrell, who
had just gained his commission as a lieutenant, reappeared
in Paris and called upon the widow of his friend. From the
first moment of his call Gladys made no attempt to conceal
that she considered her marriage a terrible mesalliance, that
she was happy to be so easily freed from such an entangle-
ment. Lieutenant Farrell called again, and on this occasion
she noted that his manner was strained, embarrassed; it
frightened her; and finally she drew from Farrell that which
made her profoundly grateful to the great luck which had
been guarding her. Before Sergeant Grayson had gone
into his final action, so Farrell told her, he had had a premo-
nition that his end was close upon him, and he had confessed
to Farrell that some fifteen months earlier he had married


A ROMANCE OF REGRET 141
a poor French girl in Paris; and he had asked his friend,
in the event of his death, to carry out his instructions for
providing for this earlier wife. To attend to these instruc-
tions was Farrell's present business in Paris. Through
Lieutenant Farrell Gladys met the French wife. There was
an infant of four or five months; also a wedding certificate.
With this new development Gladys at first went almost
frantic with fear—horror—with an even greater shame. A
bigamous wife! No marriage at all! The bigamous wife
of a mere mechanic, hardly better than her own chauffeur!
How her friends, how all Europe, how all America, would
laugh at her if they knew the truth!
And then she remembered. Grayson was dead. The
marriage had been a secret. In response to her frenzied
appeal, Farrell promised silence, as much for his dead com-
rade's good name as for her own. Again Gladys was saved!
No one need ever know! It would be just as though it
all had never happened!
She felt an inner shame, a vast chagrin, over her secret
humiliation; and she knew she would always feel this chagrin
and shame. But the world would never know of her shame
—that was the great thing! The world would never know!
Oh, but how luck had been with her when she had decided
to keep that awful marriage secret!
Relief flooded into her, her old pride in herself returned.
But this relief and pride were of brief duration. Soon
Gladys knew she was to be a mother. Once more a frenzy
of fear and shame seized upon her, unsettling all control,
all reason. No longer was silence possible. She told Esther
of the clandestine marriage; told her everything, and de-
manded to be saved. Esther wasted no single word in re-
proof; she suggested that they investigate that earlier mar-
riage. The frantic Gladys would not hear of this; the


142 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
marriage was all right, and investigation would lead inevi-
tably to the discovery of her own illegal marriage and of
her shame. Esther tried to discuss a reasonable course with
her; but Gladys would have no such procedure. She had
thought of a way by which the world would never know;
if Esther would not help her she would kill herself.
Esther had had to yield to Gladys' plan—in its essentials
a very ancient plan. At this time France was already ask-
ing aid of its friends in handling the problem of its war
orphans. In conformity with Gladys' demand Esther let
it be known that she and Gladys had decided to adopt an
infant, and had her application registered with the proper
relief organizations. Thus suspicion was forestalled. Then
—through the kindness of the Countess de Crecy the two
were transferred to duty in a hospital at Dijon. Shortly
thereafter they took a secluded villa in the hills outside the
city; and in this closely guarded sanctuary Frangois was
born. When Gladys' strength was fully regained she and
Esther returned to Paris, where Esther sent word to the
various relief organizations with which she had previously
filed applications that they had been suited in the matter of an
orphan. Thereupon, in due legal form, Esther and Gladys
jointly adopted little Frangois, and on their return to New
York at the close of the War this joint adoption had been
confirmed.
In Paris toward the end of the war Farrell, now a Cap-
tain, had once more called on Gladys. He had seen the
boy, and Gladys had told him of the adoption. He had
smiled, but by no word had he given a hint that he was
aware of the deception.
Back in America Gladys considered that all was safely
hidden. She was now even grateful that the marriage had
not been legal, was even reconciled to Frangois' illegiti-


A ROMANCE OF REGRET 143
macy; for had the marriage been legal, she would, in her
first terror at learning she was to become a mother, have
made known the marriage, and that marriage to a mechanic
would have made her an absurd figure to be forever laughed
at. Yes, granting her original mistake, things had all turned
for the very best.
For two years since her return to America, Gladys had
felt this security—though keeping to herself—and given
thanks to her protecting stars.
And then one day Farrell, now a civilian, had called upon
her. He was in a sad financial way, he had told her; he
had regretfully referred to an episode of Parisian days, and
had intimated that he might be driven to make profitable use
elsewhere of his knowledge of that adventure, and of the
maternity of Francois, offspring of that brief and regretted
romance. The old-time fear of Gladys had leaped from its
peaceful grave in twice-fold its former greatest panic. The
upshot was that Farrell had become her butler, and his
butler's wages were but a small fraction of the money he
was being paid.
Such was the story that came from Gladys, Esther and
Mitchell. Through it all Mitchell smiled with satiric, imper-
turbable good-humor, every moment perfectly at his ease,
with no evidence of feeling guilt or shame.
There was one aspect of the situation that still puzzled
Cordelia. Why should Mitchell, able to make Gladys pay
any price for his silence, have chosen to become her butler?
During the recital he had apparently shown no desire
to hold anything back, so Cordelia now asked him this
question.
"I was still suffering from having been gassed," he an-
swered. "I thought that a good home, a quiet life, and light
work would help my recovery."


144 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
His quizzical amiable smile made Cordelia feel that he
was playing with her.
"You said something of the same sort to me the other day.
But that wasn't your real reason."
"It was a real reason, but possibly not my greatest reason.
You see, Grayson was my best friend, and despite his some-
what Oriental aptitude for wives, I admired him as a real
man. I rather resented the manner in which Gladys
promptly began to look down upon him—even before she
knew of his instinct for connubial plurality. And somehow,
after she did learn, I was yet more resentful of the way she
came to be ashamed of him, not because of his mulierose fail-
ing, but because he had been a mechanic. So it pleased my
low, vengeful nature to be close to Gladys where I could rub
things in a bit and watch her squirm."
"That may also have been a reason," said Cordelia, "but it
doesn't sound like your main reason."
"And right you are, Miss Marlowe." His smile was bland,
enigmatic. "But that's all the witness can admit at the pres-
ent moment. Perhaps you will some day learn the main
reason—perhaps you will not. It will depend very largely
on what our dear Gladys does."
Through all the talk Gladys had maintained an attitude of
belligerent resentment toward the others, of an indignant,
poignant sympathy for herself. She now burst forth.
"It's not fair, the way you've talked about me!" she cried.
"And it's not fair, the fix I'm in and the way I suffer! I'm
not to blame! I never did anything wrong, not inten-
tionally!"
"People suffer sometimes as much from their foolish acts
as from their sins," said Esther.
"I wasn't foolish! I was just plain unlucky! And be-
cause I was merely unlucky, I've got this thing hanging over


A ROMANCE OF REGRET 145
my head—and with Mitchell always threatening to tell!"
"If you had only acknowledged your marriage at the time
as I begged you to," Esther remarked with the bored patience
of one repeating an oft-made argument, "and had not tried
to conceal the other things, people would have been inclined
to regard you merely as unfortunate, and many people would
have sympathized with you; and by now the whole affair
would have been accepted and partly forgotten. And you
would not have Mitchell and his threats hanging over your
head."
"Exactly what I have often told Gladys myself," com-
mented the bland voice of Mitchell.
"No use talking about what I might have done!" Gladys
cried bitterly.
"Even now," Esther continued, "it would be best for you
if you told the facts. That would free you instantly of
Mitchell."
"It's the truth," agreed Mitchell. "It would end me in a
second. I've often told you that, Gladys. And in the future,
please remember that I am now giving you that advice again.
So go to it, Gladys—tell everything."
"And have everybody laugh at me, and turn away from
me!" Her voice was again rising toward a shriek of exas-
perated rebellion at her unjust fate. "I may be suffering, I
may be paying, but what I've got is worth what I pay!"
"All the same," said Esther with a grim sigh, "I wish it
would all come out somehow, so we'd be through with this
business."
The very idea was too much for Gladys' raw nerves. She
again lost herself in panic and seized Esther's arm.
"Esther, if that ever happens, you'll stand by me! Re-
member, you promised! You'll stand by me, Esther! Like
you said!"


144 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
His quizzical amiable smile made Cordelia feel that he
was playing with her.
"You said something of the same sort to me the other day.
But that wasn't your real reason."
"It was a real reason, but possibly not my greatest reason.
You see, Grayson was my best friend, and despite his some-
what Oriental aptitude for wives, I admired him as a real
man. I rather resented the manner in which Gladys
promptly began to look down upon him—even before she
knew of his instinct for connubial plurality. And somehow,
after she did learn, I was yet more resentful of the way she
came to be ashamed of him, not because of his mulierose fail-
ing, but because he had been a mechanic. So it pleased my
low, vengeful nature to be close to Gladys where I could rub
things in a bit and watch her squirm."
"That may also have been a reason," said Cordelia, "but it
doesn't sound like your main reason."
"And right you are, Miss Marlowe." His smile was bland,
enigmatic. "But that's all the witness can admit at the pres-
ent moment. Perhaps you will some day learn the main
reason—perhaps you will not. It will depend very largely
on what our dear Gladys does."
Through all the talk Gladys had maintained an attitude of
belligerent resentment toward the others, of an indignant,
poignant sympathy for herself. She now burst forth.
"It's not fair, the way you've talked about me!" she cried.
"And it's not fair, the fix I'm in and the way I suffer! I'm
not to blame! I never did anything wrong, not inten-
tionally!"
"People suffer sometimes as much from their foolish acts
as from their sins," said Esther.
"I wasn't foolish! I was just plain unlucky! And be-
cause I was merely unlucky, I've got this thing hanging over


A ROMANCE OF REGRET 145
my head—and with Mitchell always threatening to tell!"
"If you had only acknowledged your marriage at the time
as I begged you to," Esther remarked with the bored patience
of one repeating an oft-made argument, "and had not tried
to conceal the other things, people would have been inclined
to regard you merely as unfortunate, and many people would
have sympathized with you; and by now the whole affair
would have been accepted and partly forgotten. And you
would not have Mitchell and his threats hanging over your
head."
"Exactly what I have often told Gladys myself," com-
mented the bland voice of Mitchell.
"No use talking about what I might have done!" Gladys
cried bitterly.
"Even now," Esther continued, "it would be best for you
if you told the facts. That would free you instantly of
Mitchell."
"It's the truth," agreed Mitchell. "It would end me in a
second. I've often told you that, Gladys. And in the future,
please remember that I am now giving you that advice again.
So go to it, Gladys—tell everything."
"And have everybody laugh at me, and turn away from
me!" Her voice was again rising toward a shriek of exas-
perated rebellion at her unjust fate. "I may be suffering, I
may be paying, but what I've got is worth what I pay!"
"All the same," said Esther with a grim sigh, "I wish it
would all come out somehow, so we'd be through with this
business."
The very idea was too much for Gladys' raw nerves. She
again lost herself in panic and seized Esther's arm.
"Esther, if that ever happens, you'll stand by me! Re-
member, you promised! You'll stand by me, Esther! Like
you said!"


146 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"On the condition we agreed upon."
"You mean Francois?"
"Yes."
"But, Esther—"
"You know Francois is the only thing that keeps me here
in your house. I care for him more than you do, and I'm a
better mother to him. He's to be mine—all mine, remember.
You still promise that?"
Gladys wet her lips. Her green eyes were still bright with
their frantic apprehension.
"Yes—yes," she whispered.
Before Cordelia could even wonder what this unknown
compact might be, Gladys had whirled about and had cring-
ing, fawning hands upon her.
"You see I'm just the victim of bad luck, Cordie, don't
you? You understand that, don't you, dear? And you'll
never tell what you've heard to-night! Promise me you'll
never tell! Think how it would hurt me! Give me your
word!"
Cordelia remembered her mission in this house, her obliga-
tion to Mr. Franklin. Her reply was carefully evasive.
"I give you my promise that I shall never say a word to
injure you."
"Thank you, Cordie—oh, thank you!" And then at once,
her hands menacingly crooked, she was glaring at Cordelia
in furious, suspicious hatred. "I don't believe you! It'll
be just like you to tell Jerry Plimpton! You'd play any
trick to get him away from me!"
"Gladys!" Esther caught her arm and pulled her back-
ward.
Once more there was a swift change in Gladys. Again she
cringed and cowered.
"I didn't mean it, Cordie. I just went out of my head.


A ROMANCE OF REGRET 147
That's all—I just went out of my head. If you'd been
through all I've been through, you wouldn't blame me for
forgetting myself occasionally."
"You're coming straight to bed!" ordered Esther in un-
disguised disgust, and with a "good-night" to Cordelia, she
led Gladys toward the door.
Mitchell held the door open for them, and bowed and
whispered a courteous, pleasant-toned "good-night" as they
passed. Then he turned and moved quickly back to Cor-
delia, and smiled at her his provokingly ironic but good-
natured smile.
"There are a few things we still have to say, you and
I, Miss Marlowe. I shall call for you in ten minutes. I'd
rather like a ride in that car of yours. You might change
into something suitable."
With that Mitchell moved swiftly out and closed the door.


CHAPTER XIV
A RIDE WITH MITCHELL
Mitchell's request, or command, accorded perfectly with
Cordelia's own desire. He had not half revealed his true
character, she was sure of that; and she was almost as
curious to learn more of his suave, debonair, mocking per-
sonality as she was to learn why he wished to talk to her, and
what he might have to say, at five o'clock in the morning.
She changed rapidly into a suit, her thoughts racing ex-
ultantly. At last she had the full secret of Rolling Meadows
which she had been commissioned to secure. Mr. Franklin
would be surprised—she could imagine his surprise when
she told him!—at the promptness of her work, as well as
at the clever manner in which she had stilled all suspicion
by pretending that her discovery was a pure accident pre-
cipitated by a pardonable loss of temper. He would praise
her again; praise her warmly, for she deserved it. Cer-
tainly Cordelia Marlowe had proved again that she could
manage things! No one could have handled the affair in
a more clever way!
And certainly she was earning the money which was keep-
ing her at the top. After this proof positive of her ability
and practical usefulness in helping to handle a big and deli-
cate affair—her ability as an endowed and very private good
angel to help save people in distress—there was no doubt of
her remaining in triumph and admiration, through her own
efforts, up in her accustomed place.
148


A RIDE WITH MITCHELL
She wondered just how Mr. Franklin was going to handle
the formidable yet indefinite force which Mitchell was.
Of course he would somehow quickly rid Gladys of her in-
cubus; that was Mr. Franklin's business. She felt regret
that she necessarily would receive no public credit for her
great share in this service.
And yet Cordelia felt no thrill of elation on the score
that it was Gladys whom her clever, anonymous efforts were
to extricate. Fundamentally, and aside from Gladys' char-
acter, Gladys' situation was commonplace enough, was even
excusable; a marriage she had believed legal, and a child
from that marriage. Only the fact that Gladys was Gladys,
and insisted on being Gladys, had developed what should
have been merely an unfortunate affair into a potential
charge of social dynamite. Really, it didn't matter much
what happened to Gladys. She deserved just about every-
thing she was likely to get.
But, oh, what an explosion the thing would make! That
is, if any one ever touched off the charge!
In her swift meditation, her hasty moralizing, Cordelia
did not perceive a certain likeness, a sistership, between
herself and Gladys: that in different ways, both she and
Gladys were striving for the same end: to keep from falling
from their high places into disrepute or oblivion—to retain
their splendid places in this beautiful world which was theirs
by right, the only world they knew, the only world in which
living seemed possible.
When a cautious knock sounded, Cordelia opened her door
and stepped into the hall. Mitchell had exchanged his but-
ler's coat in favor of a dark sack suit.
"No one will see us," he said, "there'll be nobody stirring
for hours. But if we are seen, you can mention casually
that you had a headache, thought a ride might cure it, and


150 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
asked me to go along as a sort of footman to guard against
the busy ubiquitous bandit who is making New York fa-
mous. Of course," he added with his mocking smile, "we
might have talked in your room—but a tete-a-tete in your
room at five a. m. with a man, and a butler at that, might
possibly have led to a scandal, and God knows we're not
starving for another scandal at Rolling Meadows."
Five minutes later the roadster was flitting through the
pearl-gray dawn. They drove inland a few miles, turned
into a dirt road, then swung into a track which led into an
unfenced woodland of the low scrub pine which on most of
Long Island is the only excuse for forest. A hundred yards
within, Cordelia stilled the motor in a little spot that had
been cleared by fire. Above the scrawny, ignoble trees the
morning was stealthily pushing up its edge of salmon-pink.
She turned to her strange passenger. His manner was
courteous enough, but he was regarding her with that iron-
ical, whimsical, challenging smile which that night she
had seen for the first time break through his butler's mask.
"Is this place quiet enough for your purpose?" she
asked.
"It is perfection," he answered. "I wish to compliment
you on your courage in coming to so secluded a spot with
a man of my character."
"Don't talk rot!" she said shortly. "Why did you wish
to see me?"
"Because I knew you wished to see me, and it is my
instinct to gratify a lady's every wish. No, no—excuse
me—don't be angry," he said quickly, as he noted the hot
flash in Cordelia's eyes. "I'm so used to chaffing Gladys
that I get started in that manner before I think. I'll be
serious. No, not too serious; but I'll try to talk sense.
I wanted to see you, and see you promptly, because I


A RIDE WITH MITCHELL
thought we might have some interests in common. At
least your discovery made you a possible menace to my
interests. So I thought we'd better talk things out."
"What shall I call you?" she asked abruptly.
"Mitchell will do as well as anything else."
"But that is not your real name."
"So I informed you. Nor is Farrell my real name.
We'll have to keep the real name on the list of things un-
knowable for a time. If you ever feel you know me well
enough, you may call me Bob. Till then, in private as we
now are, you may address me as Mr. Mitchell. But in pub-
lic I will be just plain Mitchell."
She saw this last speech was meant neither to tease nor
to offend her. She regarded him with a direct, cross-exam-
ining gaze, which he met with a courteous smile.
"Just who are you?" she demanded.
"I told you who I am the other day."
There was just one way of dealing with such an impudent,
facetious person: that was to take the upper hand, and to
give him straight-from-the-shoulder talk, to ask hard, direct
questions.
"I don't believe a bit of that story you told me the other
day," she said severely, "about how you came to be a butler.
You told at least two lies that I know to be lies!"
Her accusation did not seem greatly to fluster him.
"Just which two lies are you referring to?"
"You told me then that you had known Gladys and Esther
only a few months; that you had not met them in France.
You had known them for five years."
"Yes, that does sound rather as if I had fibbed. And
the other one?"
"You told me you were working as a butler because you
needed light work. You had been gassed, you said, and


152 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
were still weak. You weak! That night you let me in,
and I fell, you picked me up as if I were a feather."
"Yes, that does sound like another fib," he admitted.
"And what's more, I knew at the time you told them
that they were lies!"
"And I," he said gently, "at the time I told them knew
that you knew they were lies."
"What!" she stared at him. "Then why did you tell
them?"
"That I shall answer at some other time—perhaps."
"How did you know that I knew?"
"How did you know that I was lying?" he countered.
She did not answer. That eavesdropping at the window
of the child's play-house was a matter about which she
preferred to say nothing.
"I shall answer your question before we leave here," he
said. "And perhaps you may find that my answer is the
answer to both your question and my question. Now as to
the lies I told you"—his tone had become that of apologetic
inquiry—"is a person really lying when he is fully conscious
that his lies are not deceiving his listener?"
"That is pure quibbling!" she exclaimed.
"When is a lie not a lie? Always an interesting subject.
But discussing it might lead into metaphysical labyrinths
far from our present business. Perhaps we'd better return
to your original question: Just who am I?"
"Yes, who are you?" She was still trying to keep her
attitude of ascendency. "You have some of the qualities
of a gentleman. And you are something more than just
a butler. Why are you masquerading like this? Just who
are you?"
His answer was not direct; he spoke whimsically, mock-
ingly, teasingly.


A RIDE WITH MITCHELL 153
"Suppose we consider the possibilities—since you think
I'm masquerading. Just who might I be? I might be
a sociologist, or a novelist, masquerading to get first-hand
material for a book upon the idle rich. Or I might be
an ardent lover, playing a part to be near the one I love;
some more "She Stoops to Conquer" kind of stuff, this time
with reverse English. Or I might be Haroun-al-Raschid,
disguised and moving shadow-like about my own particular
Bagdad, to see how my subjects, my servants, live, so that
I may be more kindly and more wise and more just. Or I
might be an international spy, seeking to discover the docu-
ment and the plot and thereby foil the enemy. Or I might
be a gentleman detective. Or I might be a harum-scarum
clubman, lately on a carouse, now fulfilling the terms of the
foolish bet he lost. I might be— But why go on? You can
supply all the possibilities; you've met all these situations,
all these characters, in stories."
"But just which one of these are you?"
"Just which one I am not telling."
"But why not?" she persisted.
"For my own reasons. Perhaps because I like the amuse-
ment of keeping you guessing at mystery. And perhaps
because if I told you who I really am, and why I am doing
what I am, you wouldn't believe me. You'd say it was
utterly improbable. And it would seem so amazingly
improbable merely because it is really so simple and prob-
able."
"You are talking riddles," she said.
"No—just now I'm trying to talk most simple truth. If
ever you do learn all about me, that's what will surprise
you—the obviousness of everything. I'm the most obvious
man alive; you merely don't happen to see me, that is all.
The only surprise you'll ever get is that there is nothing


154 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
at all to be surprised at. So I warn you—please expect
nothing."
"That makes you sound more of a mystery than
ever."
"Who knows"—and his cool eyes were now laughing at
her—"perhaps that's just what I was trying to make myself
sound like!"
His talk, while piquing her curiosity, had half angered
her. It had seemed to her that all the while he had been
quietly trying to make sport of her.
"Whoever you are," she declared, "you will admit that
you have behaved like a scoundrel! And you will admit
that you are a scoundrel!"
"Yes, I am a scoundrel," he agreed amiably, as though
be liked the character. "And when you know all about me,
if you ever do, you'll know positively I am a scoundrel.
Whatever mistakes you may make concerning me, don't
mistake me for anything else."
"But you are a man of ability, even if you are a rogue.
Why waste your time being a butler?"
"I'm not wasting my time. I do not know of anything I
could do at present that would pay me as well as Gladys is
paying me. Besides, I am learning a lot which may later
be of use to me. Besides, I like comedy; and I don't know
of any better comedy than those self-appreciating fine
people now at Rolling Meadows giving me orders and my
taking them like an inanimate, errorless automaton. Besides
— But, excuse me—my chief reason for being a butler is
one of those little items I am keeping to myself for the
present."
"You realize, of course, that you are practising black-
mail?"
"Blackmail, of course," he agreed pleasantly.


154 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
at all to be surprised at. So I warn you—please expect
nothing."
"That makes you sound more of a mystery than
ever."
"Who knows"—and his cool eyes were now laughing at
her—"perhaps that's just what I was trying to make myself
sound like!"
His talk, while piquing her curiosity, had half angered
her. It had seemed to her that all the while he had been
quietly trying to make sport of her.
"Whoever you are," she declared, "you will admit that
you have behaved like a scoundrel! And you will admit
that you are a scoundrel!"
"Yes, I am a scoundrel," he agreed amiably, as though
be liked the character. "And when you know all about me,
if you ever do, you'll know positively I am a scoundrel.
Whatever mistakes you may make concerning me, don't
mistake me for anything else."
"But you are a man of ability, even if you are a rogue.
Why waste your time being a butler?"
"I'm not wasting my time. I do not know of anything I
could do at present that would pay me as well as Gladys is
paying me. Besides, I am learning a lot which may later
be of use to me. Besides, I like comedy; and I don't know
of any better comedy than those self-appreciating fine
people now at Rolling Meadows giving me orders and my
taking them like an inanimate, errorless automaton. Besides
.— But, excuse me—my chief reason for being a butler is
one of those little items I am keeping to myself for the
present."
"You realize, of course, that you are practising black-
mail?"
"Blackmail, of course," he agreed pleasantly.


A RIDE WITH MITCHELL 155
"Do you consider that honorable for a man?" she asked
indignantly.
"But, my dear Miss Marlowe," he mildly protested, "I've
just been telling you I am not an honorable man. I'm a
scoundrel. And a scoundrel just naturally blackmails. He
can't help it; it's what he was made for, just as a singer was
made to sing. And if he must blackmail, can you think of
any individual belonging to any discovered sex who more
thoroughly deserves to be blackmailed than Gladys?"
Cordelia found herself without an answer.
"As I said earlier to-night I could not touch Gladys if
she had the decency and courage to play square. But Gladys
is a snob and a sneak and a coward. She thinks she is
overwhelmingly important; what the world thinks of her
means everything to her. And I know of no worse indict-
ment against the world than that the fool world does bow
down and worship her and her kind. For proof of this,
see the photograph supplements of the New York Sunday
papers. I mean no personal offense, but your own portrait
is often in that same gallery of the brief immortals. I'm
no Socialist, no Anarchist; I'm not even a quasi-Malthusian,
if you know what I mean; but I sometimes think that a
social uprising, or a good-natured selective plague, that would
reduce the population to the extent of eradicating these
treasured, carefully bred feminine orchids—I sometimes
think that such misfortune would be a grand favor to the
human race. But I beg your pardon—I didn't mean to
grow serious and polemic."
Again Cordelia found herself without words, and found
herself wondering more than ever at her companion. Was
his talk mere persiflage, fantastic foolery, or behind it was
there a vein of seriousness?
"But to get back to my blackmailing of Gladys. I have


156 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
yet another reason: a personal grudge. Whatever may have
been Grayson's faults, he was a real man and the best and
truest friend I've ever had. If I ever loved a man, I loved
him. I'm talking serious talk now. When I saw Gladys
that second time in Paris and learned that, even before she'd
heard that story of his other marriage, she'd grown ashamed
of Grayson, my best friend, because he had been a mechanic
—when I learned that she was really glad he was dead,
because her secret marriage and her shame would not ever
have to come out—why, I made up my mind right then that
I'd make Gladys pay if ever my time came! And I'm mak-
ing her pay, not just with the money I'm getting—I'm mak-
ing her pay with the constant fear of being found out. And
that's the highest price you can get out of your Gladyses—
the fear that they'll be found out, and may go tumbling
from their dazzling pedestals!"
But instantly his grim tone was light again, and he was
once more smiling quizzically at her.
"I may have still another reason for my blackmailing—one
that's just a bit more human. Francois is the son of my
dearest friend; I regard him as my god-son; he's the near-
est thing to a relative that I now have living, and I think I
couldn't care more for him if he were my own child. Esther
and I are his best friends; but Esther has no money of her
own to take care of him with, and of course she has little
use for me for I'm a bold bad blackmailer. Who knows
when Gladys won't feel that she's got to throw Francois
overboard to save herself? And who knows when some
clever man—she'll fall for a man who'll flatter her in the
right way—may not get hold of her fortune and manage to
lose it, big as it is? And who knows that I'm not taking
Gladys' money, while she's still got it, in order to save and
invest it for Francois' later use? Who knows that what I'm


A RIDE WITH MITCHELL 157
doing is not merely taking out insurance for the son against
his mother's folly?"
Cordelia recalled the letter she had found in his room,
which referred to remittances which were to return a rich
profit.
"And that's what you've been doing—investing all that
money for Francois?"
"Who knows? And even if I were to declare I was doing
it all for Francois, you know you should not believe an
admitted scoundrel."
He was now smiling openly. "But why your repugnance
to blackmailing? Fundamentally it is one of our most im-
portant and respected business institutions. Its principle
is exactly the same as that of all other successful business;
one secures an advantage over another person which the
second person cannot resist, and one uses that advantage.
That's how the captains of industry, also the lieuten-
ants, sergeants, corporals and buck privates, all got theirs
if they ever got very much. And blackmail in its
less agreeable forms—why, we're all mixed up in
it. We're all either holding people up, or being held
up, because of big scandals or little annoyances and
inconveniences which we are able to threaten and inflict
or which we wish to escape. Why, I dare say even
you, Miss Marlowe, if you would scrutinize your life, have
paid or may be paying blackmail in some form in order to
avoid something which may seem to you unpleasant. No,
you really must not say anything against our sacred institu-
tion of blackmail. That would be sacrilegious. Without
exacting it or paying it how could we be comfortable and
respectable?"
She did not know exactly why, but Cordelia had a sense
that this talk was becoming uncomfortably personal.


i6o CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"I haven't had a chance to think since I've known just
what your hold on Gladys is. I see I can't call the police.
Can't I appeal to your better nature to drop this—this
persecution?"
"The better nature of a scoundrel? No. Besides, Gladys
won't want me to give up. She'll feel safer to have me
around where she thinks she knows what I'm doing. But
to help Gladys—is that your only motive for hunting down
this story?"
"What other motive could I have?"
"Gladys hinted pretty broadly at a possible one. It's
plain enough to every one that both you and she are inter-
ested in that very rich, very handsome, and very exalted Mr.
Plimpton. With this story you could certainly serve Mr.
Plimpton with Gladys' goose very thoroughly cooked."
This time Cordelia's indignation was sincere enough.
"I hope you do not think me that kind of a woman!"
"I think not. But knowing Gladys has made me able
to imagine a woman capable of doing anything." He
regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. "If you were not
already a rich person, there is still another motive that
might be ascribed to you. And a mighty big motive."
"What is that?'
"The one we were discussing a few minutes ago. The
ancient and universal motive of blackmail. If you needed
money, and were not handicapped with scruples, you could
not have dug up a better asset than this story. Gladys would
pay you any amount you cared to ask."
He caught the angry gleam of her eyes, and interrupted
her before the rush of hot words got to her lips.
"Oh, I don't believe that. I merely mentioned it as a
possibility that existed in the situation. Of course a per-
son with your money would never even be tempted. Let's


A RIDE WITH MITCHELL 161
shift to something more pleasant." He was smiling at her
again, respectfully enough, but with whimsical daring. "I'd
much rather be on friendly terms, if that is possible. For
I've read the cards and the tea-dregs and the stars in their
courses; they tell me that you and I are to be much involved
together. We are already mixed up a bit, you know."
"In what other way do they tell you we may be involved?"
"It's rather early in our acquaintance for me to be too
explicit," he replied with grave mischief. "Their predictions
pertain to—ah—romance. Cards, tea-dregs, the stars in
their courses, my own eyes—they all tell me that your fate is
entangled with the fates of many men. Excuse me for
mentioning names. There is Mr. Plimpton, a wonderful
match—wonderful! The usual social prophet would
promptly predict a marriage there, but the tea-dregs are shy
and non-committal. Then there is this lawyer, Mr. Franklin,
who—"
"Mr. Franklin!" she ejaculated.
"Didn't you know? I saw that in him at once. He wants
to marry you. He's clever and determined, and unless you
wish to marry him you'd better be careful. Take my advice
and be careful anyhow. There doubtless are many addi-
tional men who represent romantic complications, but I my-
self have knowledge of but one other."
"Since you are giving me a catalogue, what is the name of
the third?"
"His real name is not generally known. But people call
him Mitchell."
"You!"
"Oh, I'm not saying I'm really in love with you—yet. No
more than you are in love with me—yet. But I do admire
you, and you know what admiration often leads to. I do not
mean to be impertinent. At least, not too impertinent. But


162 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
since I was listing your possibilities, or your dangers—why,
as an honest statistician, I was compelled to include myself.
Now which of the three of us is it going to be? I wonder?"
"You are altogether too impudent! We'll be going back!"
Her foot reached for the starter.
"Just one more minute." All levity was gone from his
manner; he was impressively serious. "You may think I
have talked nothing but nonsense. In this day the only way
you can get hard facts listened to by the public is to play the
humorist or the fool and present your realities as a fool's
jestings. But, believe me—I've been talking nothing but
mighty hard facts! And perhaps the most important fact
of all to you I have still to mention."
"What is that?"
"Gladys. Your getting her secret may be the worst thing
that possibly could have happened to you. She'll fawn upon
you, but you've won her eternal hatred. She'll be always
afraid that you may tell on her, and she'll be always think-
ing how she can destroy you, so that you cannot tell—or so
that if you do tell, at least you will not be believed. And
there is nothing that she will stop at. So look out for Gladys.
And now you may step on that starter if you wish."
Twenty minutes later they were back at Rolling Mead-
ows. The household was still hushed in its heavy Sunday
morning slumber. The Mitchell who opened the front
door for Cordelia, and stood aside for her to enter, was
Mitchell the impersonal and impassive, whose butler's face
proclaimed that in all this thirty years he had never smiled.
Cordelia was more bewildered, more curious than ever
concerning this man. Just what was he, really? And par-
ticularly just how much of a scoundrel?


CHAPTER XV
CORDELIA MAKES HER REPORT
Although the household was still quiet with sleep, Cor-
delia did not even go to bed. Too many things had hap-
pened that night, and there were too many things to be
thought out; and so she sat at an open window, her brain
seething with meditations and plans.
Wonder about Mitchell kept pushing into her mind. She
promptly pushed it out. Mitchell could wait. She had more
pressing matters.
Her next step in this affair which she felt she was han-
dling with much finesse and brilliance was.to give Mr. Frank-
lin immediately news of her achievement. It seemed to her
indeed a happy coincidence, a fortunate omen—almost as
though High Destiny was approving her action by giving
this aid—that Mr. Franklin should be a guest at Rolling
Meadows at the very hour she had brought their common
endeavor to a successful issue.
But fortunate though his presence was, nevertheless so
serious an interview was not an easy matter to manage in this
houseful of guests. The interview would have to appear
unsuspicious to Esther, and particularly so to Gladys and
Mitchell, and very likely both would be watching her every
movement. As for Jerry, most important figure of them
all—Jerry did not dream there was anything for him to
suspect.
Breakfast had been announced the previous night for ten
163


164 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
o'clock for those who did not choose to be served in their
rooms at a more indulgent hour; and when Cordelia came
down at a few minutes before ten she believed she had
her stratagem for the interview worked out. Mr.
Franklin was waiting, and she managed a word aside with
him before they entered the breakfast-room.
"I have something to tell you," she whispered. "At
the table ask me openly to drive you around and show you
the country."
Of all the merry-makers of the night before, there were
only five whose energy or nerves brought them to the table:
Gladys, Cordelia, Esther, Jerry Plimpton and Mr. Franklin,
and of these probably only the two men had slept a moment.
Gladys had appeared, so Cordelia guessed, only because it
was her duty as hostess to greet her guests, and because
nervous fear made her prefer to come down and be in the
company of those who knew her secret, rather than remain
in her room in an agony of frenzy and doubt as to what
possibly was being whispered concerning her. Several times
Gladys flashed glances at Cordelia; her green eyes were in
turn pleading, defiant, dilated with swift terror.
Jerry Plimpton stole several questioning looks at Gladys;
he was puzzled.
"What's the matter this morning, Gladys?" he asked as
they were finishing. "Aren't you well?"
"Me? Oh, I'm all right!" She laughed, but her laugh
was high-pitched, almost hysterical. "I just didn't sleep
much—perhaps I was too excited from the dancing—and
I had one of my awful nightmares."
Just then little Francois, who had managed the great
adventure of an escape from his governess, came wander-
ing into the breakfast-room with the flushed happy smile of
childish success. Esther had a moment before gone out to


CORDELIA MAKES HER REPORT 165
search for him and relieve Jeanne. Gladys was nearest
him, and toward her he ran gleefully and clutched her arm.
"Oh, Mother Gladys—" he began.
Gladys sprang up frantically, overturning her chair.
"Don't you call me that!" she cried wildly, flinging off
his hand. "Go away from me! Leave me alone!"
Francois, frightened, began to cry. For a moment Cor-
delia thought that the truth was about to explode betrayingly
from Gladys before this group, which would doubtless
mean that all Gladys' world would soon know it. But
again it was Mitchell who relieved the situation. All dur-
ing the meal he had been the graven perfection of the
servant who has no private thoughts or feelings. He now
moved quickly to the boy's side and took his hand.
"Mitchell hasn't shown Master Francois the bunnies yet
this morning. Come on—let's hurry out and watch them
eat."
Instantly the boy was quieted, and Mitchell led him forth.
Gladys desperately gripped her nerves.
"He startled me so," she exclaimed, trying to smile, "I
just didn't know what I was doing. It's that awful night-
mare."
All were now standing. Franklin saw this as his oppor-
tunity.
"I have never seen the country around here. I wonder,
Miss Norworth, if you'd think I was running away from
you if I were to ask Miss Marlowe to show me through a
bit of it?"
To Gladys this was a heaven-sent interruption to a nerve-
racking situation. Besides it would improve her chances
to be with Jerry Plimpton.
"Not at all," she spoke up eagerly, and with affected light-
ness. "Take him out in your car, Cordelia—there's a dear


166 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
!—and show him everything. But don't let her race the
breath out of you, Mr. Franklin."
Half an hour later the low-slung maroon roadster crept
into the same fire-scarred clearing among the scrub pine
where six hours earlier Cordelia had had her long session
with Mitchell. Within ten minutes she had reported upon
her experiences of the night; though for some reason—she
could not have told what fundamentally that reason was—
she omitted most of what Mitchell had said to her, and she
only briefly sketched Mitchell's attitude.
"At least we have our suspicion backed up by facts,"
she ended eagerly. "You now know exactly what the situa-
tion is! You can now act!"
"Splendid!" he said. "I had no idea you would handle
the matter so effectively and with such dispatch. What
you've done has all been marvellous. I cannot congratulate
you too warmly." And he went on in further praise of her.
"Now that we have all the facts," said Cordelia, "just
what are you going to do to get Gladys out of this mess?
I'll help you, of course, for I take it to be part of our agree-
ment. Though I must admit," she added, "that I do not
feel a full one hundred per cent of undiluted sympathy for
Gladys."
"What am I going to do? Your success has come with
such unexpected rapidity that I really have not had time
to settle upon my exact procedure. Will you excuse me
if I think the matter over for a few minutes before answer-
ing?"
Leaning back beneath her low-angled steering-post, Cor-
delia, awaiting in suspense to learn what was to be their fur-
ther action, watched his keen handsome face staring straight
ahead in concentrated thought. She would have been sur-
prised indeed had she known that his quick brain was not


CORDELIA MAKES HER REPORT 167
giving first consideration to the facts that she had just pre-
sented; that first of all he was considering something far
different. This was the very devil of a situation, that her
unexpected quickness, and unexpected luck, had gotten him
into! He had never wanted that she should get all the in-
side facts of this case, or of any other case he might later
assign her to; he had merely planned that she should bring
him hints and fragments, which might mean little to her,
but which would mean much to him and which he might
follow up through other methods and agents to his
great profit, without her ever suspecting him or suspecting
that she had been used. But her having learned all there
was to be learned in this case complicated all his plans
like the very dickens! With her knowing all the facts, it
was going to be very difficult to profit out of this rich sit-
uation—this tremendously rich situation!—without her
guessing or even learning just exactly what he was doing.
Here, developed from an almost chance beginning, was
certainly the most delicate, difficult and complicated problem
he had ever had to handle.
He had started with the sole idea that Cordelia, with
her necessities, her ignorance, and her position, offered bet-
ter than a gambler's chance to make big money. Now funda-
mental to all else, dominating all else, was his far greater
dream concerning her: he was going to marry her—soar on
the wings of her social prestige. Cold reason had first form-
ulated this added plan. And now he realized that this
ambition to marry Cordelia was supported by an even
stronger force. He was in love with Cordelia Marlowe.
The discovery of this fact in himself had at first quite dumb-
founded him, rendered him uncertain of the very founda-
tion of his life. He had always been cynical toward love,
and his professional contact with love affairs, particularly


168 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
his very secret contacts, had developed that cynicism: love
always caused its foolish victims to make wreckage of them-
selves; and he was determined that sentiment should never
distort his clear vision nor disturb the smooth progress of
his careful plans. And here was he, fallen madly in love.
But his case had this alleviation: love was merely approv-
ing and coinciding with judgment.
His situation, as he now saw it, had many acute problems
and dangers. He must keep Cordelia from learning about
him—somehow. He must in the end win her for himself—■
somehow. And if she should ever learn about him, he must
have planned in advance to keep her silent—somehow.
His first measure, so he decided, must be to get Cordelia
away from Rolling Meadows where she might see things
that would cause her to suspect. At length he spoke:
"I find that I am not able, at the present moment, to say
just what course it will be best to take. Before deciding
I think I am bound to consult the trustees of Miss Nor-
worth's estate, in whose behalf I am acting in this matter.
But whatever the decision, I am certain that you will be
required to do nothing further."
"But I thought I was to help you see the whole affair
through!" she exclaimed.
"You have learned the facts; that was by far the most
important and difficult aspect of the situation. The rest of
the case can best be handled entirely by men whose business
is the law. You see that, don't you?"
"Yes, I suppose I do. But of course you'll clear the mat-
ter up?"
"Of course. Though," he added, "you must not ex-
pect immediate results. We must protect Miss Norworth,
so merely to rush matters along is not the most important
thing. We must figure out the best way to eliminate and


CORDELIA MAKES HER REPORT 169
silence Mitchell, and that means that we must have time to
learn more about him."
Before she could comment upon this he had deftly switched
to another subject. "Your work at Rolling Meadows is
entirely done. I think you will be happier out of the atmos-
phere of the natural resentment of Miss Norworth. Also
our private business arrangement will be best served if you
are now transferred to another case. I presume you can
arrange to leave here in a day or so."
"Why, yes."
She spoke hesitantly, with disappointment. She had
really started the clearing up of this mystery; its solution
thus far was her handiwork; and there were many un-
finished items about which her curiosity was acutely
inquisitive—for example, what sort was the real Mitchell,
what really was his part?
"That will be excellent," said Franklin. "Then you will
leave here to-morrow, or the day after. Just as soon as you
can get away—that will be best. But it so happens that I
do not have the next case quite ready for you. Is there
some friend you might visit while I am getting your next
case prepared?"
"Mrs. Thorndike was asking me only Friday to stay with
her."
"Mrs. Jacqueline Thorndike, the school friend you con-
sulted when you feared you had lost your fortune?"
"Yes."
"Very good. By the way haven't I heard rumors that
Mrs. Thorndike and Mr. Thorndike are—ah—having their
little domestic troubles?"
"There has been some talk—yes."
It occurred to Mr. Franklin that for the second time when
he had had to find a place for Cordelia, kind Fortune might


170 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
possibly be thrusting opportunity right into his hands.
Trouble in the Thorndike family—they had money—Cor-
delia would be there. Certainly the current of large affairs
had never swept more goldenly in the direction of his
desires.
"As a matter of fact I already knew of this trouble of the
Thorndikes," he confessed. "Again you and I happen up-
on a rather odd coincidence. Relatives of the Thorndikes
have confidentially approached me, asking me if I could not
straighten out their difficulties and bring them together.
It is a pity that such a couple should grow apart."
"Indeed it is," agreed Cordelia.
"I have tentatively promised to see if anything can be
done. As I told the relatives, the first step must be to get
the real facts which are causing the difficulty. Nothing
can be done without knowing those facts, for the sole pos-
sibility of a cure is the discussing, the forgiving, the re-
moval of these facts. You might help me very much if you
could learn the real facts. More important, you would be
helping your friends, the Thorndikes. Of course you would
be glad to help them."
"Of course I would!"
"Then, if you don't object, I suggest that when we get
back to Rolling Meadows, you tell Mrs. Thorndike that you
accept her invitation."
For a second time Mr. Franklin was on a new subject
before she could comment. "I hope you will excuse my
freedom if I now take up a purely financial matter." His
gaze was smilingly open, disarmingly direct—that of a bus-
iness man who is frankly grateful; perhaps he had never,
acted better, or with more caution, than now. "When we
made our business arrangement we fixed a certain sum as


CORDELIA MAKES HER REPORT 171
remuneration which was to be paid to your mother. That
was to be a fixed minimum payable in any event. In addi-
tion, in case of meritorious service, we spoke of a bonus
which was to be payable directly to you."
"A bonus!" exclaimed Cordelia. "I do not recall any
reference to a bonus!"
"I'm sure I must have spoken of it. Certainly I in-
tended doing so, for it was most definitely a part of my plan
for our arrangement. A bonus clause, or understanding,
is nothing less than your most ordinary rights. If you
were at all acquainted with modern business practices, you
would be aware that a bonus is almost invariably demanded
and provided for as a matter of course to meet cases where
unusual quality of service, or unusual rapidity of service,
may possibly be rendered. You have given both unusual
quality and rapidity of service, and you have certainly doubly
earned the bonus which we have always taken for granted
that, in the event which has come to pass, we should be
obligated to pay you."
This was all most unexpected and surprising; and yet the
idea of money, money which should be entirely her own,
was breathlessly alluring to Cordelia.
"If I did not understand any such obligation to be in
the arrangement, I do not think you should regard it as
binding," she protested hesitantly.
"We cannot take advantage of a technicality of that sort,"
he smiled. "And please remember that I am not personally
out of pocket in paying such a bonus; it will be charged up
in our bill of expenses. To speak very frankly, I can
understand the promptings of pride and delicacy, but I feel
you have no moral right to refuse. I hope you will forgive
my becoming personal; but you will recall that you took me


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
pretty fully into your financial confidence at the time of
our (first interview. I can't help knowing that you need
money. You could use the money, couldn't you?"
She could not help smiling a wry humorous smile. There
were her bills that somehow never got paid up: those miser-
able, insistent duns that came incongruously in the same
mail with insistent invitations from New York's finest homes.
"My creditors could certainly use it if I had it," she
admitted.
"Then you shall have it. And at once. As to the amount.
I had thought—don't hesitate to disagree if you think the
amount should be greater—I had thought that perhaps you
would consider a bonus of five thousand dollars fair."
She blinked at him. She could not speak. Five thou-
sand dollars! She moved an equal among the highest;
her friends had their millions; to Gladys the amount men-
tioned would be unimportant; Jerry Plimpton could lose it
in an evening of bridge and be pleasantly forgetful of it
in the morning. But Cordelia, for all her position, for all
the envy directed at her, had in all her life never had five
thousand dollars at one time; no, not the half of it. Why,
the miracle five thousand dollars would work among her
insulting creditors!
"Even if I had thought of a bonus," she at length found
voice to say, "I would not have dreamed of so large a sum,"
"Then we'll call five thousand satisfactory in the present
instance; but don't forget that there will be a bonus if you
do as well with your next case." He drew out a pocket
check-book and fountain pen. "You must give me the satis-
faction of settling this little matter at once. No, after all,
I can give you a check for only half the amount just now—
but I insist upon that. In this account my balance will just
about cover such a check. The other half I shall mail from


CORDELIA MAKES HER REPORT 173,
the office to-morrow. Not a word of objection—I insist!"
His swift resourceful mind, which had just hit upon this-
bonus idea only five minutes before, had at the last instant
perceived the superior protective value of two checks; if
ever evidence should be needed, two endorsed and canceled
checks would be more silencing or more convincing than
one. He filled out the check for twenty-five hundred, writ-
ing on his knee, blotted it by waving it in the air, then handed
it to her.
"Don't thank me, please; you've more than earned it.
And you may count upon receiving its twin in your Tuesday
morning's mail."
She slipped it into the pocket of her sport skirt. As for
Mr. Franklin, as they started away, he believed he had
handled the delicate matter extremely well—extremely well!
—considering. The pleasant smile he held upon her was
thoroughly genuine.


CHAPTER XVI
HOW JERRY WAS PROTECTED
On their homeward drive they spoke of many phases of
'the Rolling Meadows' situation; but all the while Cordelia's
mind was dominantly, exultantly upon that check in her
pocket and its soon-to-be-born sister. Fresh confidence
flooded her confident soul; she was experiencing the ancient
and somewhat sordid truth, that not courage, nor virtue, nor
conviction of one's rightness, nor sense of personal powers,
nor any inner glow' of the higher faculties, so enheartens the
average mortal as does the material fact of the sudden and
unexpected presence of a considerable sum of money in
one's pocket. Cordelia could now face anything!
All the party were up by the time they were back at
Rolling Meadows; and some, as substitute for Sunday
morning services, were already dancing to the phonograph.
Gladys was dancing with Jerry Plimpton; and it was per-
haps the added confidence and independence of the check in
her pocket which stirred Cordelia to regard this couple with
growing indignation in Jerry's behalf. She recalled the
Plimpton tradition toward their women; the utmost was
-demanded from them, they must be forever beyond scandal's
whisper. It was not decent the way Gladys was making up
to Jerry, when his family tradition would compel him
to draw away if he knew the truth. Jerry should be pro-
tected. But Cordelia could not tell him. To tell would not
174


HOW JERRY WAS PROTECTED 175:
be playing the game, and it might put her in the light of a
gossip and a sneak. But how save Jerry—without herself
being the one to put him on his guard? Somehow Jerry
had to be protected; she felt righteously decided as to that.
Perhaps Cordelia's thinking was not entirely disingenuous,
not entirely unselfish. Perhaps her righteous indignation
and her concern for Jerry had their real origin in her own
plans for Jerry's future. But for the moment she felt
flamingly lofty and selfless in her righteousness.
Inspiration—it seemed to her an inspiration—came to her
in her dilemma. When the dance ended, she crossed to
Gladys and Jerry, her determination masked beneath her
usual high-spirited smile.
"You'll excuse Gladys for a few minutes, won't you,.
Jerry? Gladys, I've a bit of news for you that I simply'
must tell you at once. Let's go up to my room."
She was certain that Gladys would not dare refuse-
Gladys did not. Cordelia took her arm, and they mounted
the stairway side by side, Cordelia chatting with the appear-
ance of lightness all the while, though she felt the arm she
held tense and quiver. Inside the room and the door closed,
Gladys turned sharply upon Cordelia. In her green eyes
was the suppressed hate, the cringing fear, the fawning
subservience which Cordelia had seen in the small hours of
that morning.
"What—what is it, Cordelia?" she asked in a tremulous
whisper.
"First of all I want to tell you that Jackie Thorndike has
asked me to visit her, and I'm leaving you in the morning."
This was good news for Gladys. Also bad news, for she
had counted it |as one point to her advantage that she had
Cordelia in her house where she could watch her, where a
sense of what is owed to hospitality might restrain Cordelia.


176 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Away from Rolling Meadows, what might not Cordelia do
'or say?
"But Cordie, you mustn't!" Gladys cried in dismay. You
promised to stay with me all summer. You've got to keep
your promise, Cordie! And—and after what's happened—
.you know I need you!"
"I've said I would go, and I'm going. We'll be just wast-
ing time if we discuss it. Besides, I asked you up here on
,something far more important than my leaving you."
The direct look of Cordelia awakened all of Gladys' fear.
Gladys shrank away cowering, her figure huddled down and
quivered as though her bones had turned to jelly.
"Cordie," she gasped, "Cordie—you don't mean—you're
going to tell?"
"No. But you are going to tell."
"I tell? I tell. . . . Tell—tell whom?"
"Jerry Plimpton."
"Tell Jerry Plimpton! I tell Jerry Plimpton!" Till now
her voice had been low-pitched; it now burst forth a defiant
shriek. "I'll not tell him! And you can't make me! I'll
not tell him—never!"
"Be quiet, or you'll tell everybody!" Cordelia caught her
commandingly by the shoulders. "Be quiet, I say. I'm
going to tell you exactly what you're going to do, and you're
going to do exactly what I order!"
Just then the door softly opened, and softly closed.
Cordelia felt no surprise whatever when she turned and saw
that for the second time their interrupter was Mitchell.
"At it again, Miss Marlowe," he remarked in his pleasant,
mocking tone. "I gave you to understand, since I knew you
were watching me, that I'd be watching you, and when I
overheard our dear Gladys' voice I knew that my place was


HOW JERRY WAS PROTECTED 177
with you two. Your affairs are my affairs—you would
have told me anyhow—so of course you will excuse me if I
remain. Don't mind me, please; go right ahead." He
seated himself comfortably and smiled encouragingly at
the two.
"She's asking me to tell Jerry Plimpton," Gladys angrily
explained to him. She turned back to Cordelia. "I won't
tell him, I say!"
Cordelia acted upon Mitchell's suggestion that the pro-
ceedings ignore him. "You will tell! For you're going to
listen to reason! You know as well as I do the attitude all
the Plimptons have had toward their wives, and you know
Jerry has that same attitude. They demand that their
women shall be absolutely above reproach. You are not
above reproach; at least not from the Plimpton standard.
It's not fair to Jerry for you to try to lead him on, with him
in ignorance. So it's up to you to tell him the truth. Jerry's
a gentleman; you can trust him, knowing it will never go
any further. But you've got to tell Jerry!"
"I tell you I won't do it! You can't make me lose Jerry
like that!" Glady's face twitched with convulsive hatred,
then with sudden understanding. "Oh, I see now what
you're up to! You're trying to make me do this so you'll
have a clear track to Jerry for yourself!"
"It doesn't matter what my motive is. You've got to tell
him!"
"And I say again that I won't tell!"
Their gaze locked. There was a moment of silence. Then
the bland voice of Mitchell was gently raised.
"It seems that my entrance was quite providential. When
two parties to a conflict cannot agree, then arbitration is the
modern remedy. I nominate and elect myself as the third


178 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
party—the arbiter. Now let's see if we cannot find a happy
solution that will satisfy the wishes of all three of us. I
take it that your chief desire, Miss Marlowe, is not so much
that Mr. Plimpton be told the whole truth, as that he will be
guaranteed protection against Gladys. I presume this latter
will satisfy you?"
"That will satisfy me—yes."
"I will state I am entirely with you, Miss Marlowe, in not
wishing matters to go too far at present between Gladys and
Mr. Plimpton. So far, so good. Now, Gladys, Miss Mar-
lowe's yielding a point puts it up to us to give her this guar-
antee which she requires. Now you don't want Mr. Plimp-
ton to know the whole truth. No more do I; it doesn't suit
my personal plans to have a single extra person know, for
there's no felling where the thing will stop, if it be told.
Once more we are in accord. That brings us straight to an
arbitrated agreement. On the one hand, Mr. Plimpton will
not be told. On the other hand, Gladys, you'll have to
break with Mr. Plimpton—give him up."
"I won't do it!" she stormed.
"You can't help yourself. You have only the choice be-
tween giving him up of your own accord, or having him
explosively removed from you by his being told. I am
quite certain that Miss Marlowe, if left no other recourse,
will not hesitate to give Mr. Plimpton the fullest informa-
tion. Just cast your mental eyes over those two horns of
your dilemma, Gladys, and then seat yourself upon the softer
horn."
There was a moment of silence. Gladys regarded him
with sullen defiance, and Cordelia was resentful of the cool
familiarity with which he had taken this matter out of her
hands.
Mitchell stood up. "I'm sure you have made the wiser


HOW JERRY WAS PROTECTED 179
choice, Gladys. There's a writing-desk over near the win-
dow. Come on over; we're going to take our pen in hand
and write a little letter."
Gladys hesitated, then sullenly followed him. At his
direction she sat down and picked up a pen.
"I'll help you out by dictating the letter," he went on.
"Of course it's to Mr. Plimpton. Shall we address him as
My dear Jerry, Dearest Jerry, or just Dear Jerry? I think
that Dear Jerry will be about the right compromise between
formality and affection, since this is to be a letter of farewell.
Make it Dear Jerry. All set—let's go."
This is the letter as Gladys' rebellious pen set it down:
Dear Jerry:
You are such an old friend, and such a good friend,
that I want you to be one of the very first to learn of
my secret. Remember it is a secret—you must not
whisper it to a soul and you must burn this letter. I
am engaged! And that is not the whole of my secret.
I am not even telling you the name of my fiance; that's
the biggest part of the secret. There are circumstances
which make silence for a time—but then I don't need
to go into explanations to you.
You may think my telling you this is a bit strange.
But I felt I'd best do so. Otherwise you might misin-
terpret the way I behaved Saturday night—dancing
with you so much—and other times. But I know
you'll understand.
Always your friend,
Faithfully,
Gladys Norworth.
When Gladys had finished, Mitchell ordered her to ad-
dress an envelope to Jerry's city home, to enclose the letter,


182 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Before she could attempt any response, he was holding
out to her the letter Gladys had written. She took it.
"Mail it at once. It is your ticket to paradise. No war
tax, and no speculator's profit. It will admit you—even-
tually. I hope you like the show, after the ticket-taker lets
you in. And while you still hold the ticket, and while
later on you enjoy the spectacle, I hope you will think over
my few remarks of this morning upon the subject of black-
mail."
Still with his smile of challenging mockery, he bowed
slightly and was quickly gone—leaving her blinking and
gasping at his last words.


CHAPTER XVII
READJUSTED PLANS
Cordelia's gasping astonishment at the parting words of
the smilingly polite and ironical Mitchell was swifty trans-
muted by the chemistry of her nature into flaming indigna-
tion. She made no attempt to search out the implications
and applications of his cryptic remark about blackmail.
She was too thoroughly angered. Mitchell might be some-
thing better than the average butler—indeed he was; un-
doubtedly he was clever, and undoubtedly he did possess
ability and power far above mere cleverness. But in his
instincts he was a boor; a clown who delighted in his clown-
ing; altogether too presumptuous.
Her hot resentment against Mitchell impelled her to make
immediate use of the letter he had induced Gladys to write,
and with it in her pocket she went down to the broad piazza.
In the chattering crowd she saw Mitchell, with his deft
impersonal precision, gathering the empty glasses of those
who had felt the need of a pick-me-up to prime them for
a new day; and there was Gladys, with high-pitched, nerv-
ous laugh, at the end of some story she was telling Mr.
Franklin and Jerry Plimpton.
Prompted by her resentment, her words intended partic-
ularly for Mitchell and incidentally for Gladys, Cordelia
said to Jerry:
"I'm driving into the village to mail a letter, Jerry.
Want to ride with me?"
183


184 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Glad to," he answered.
She did not look to see the effect of her words on
Mitchell and Gladys. On the run into the village, her spir-
its were wildly high. If Jerry only knew that she was
carrying a letter to him!—and such a letter! But Jerry
would never know of her connection with that letter.
Later in the day she somehow did not feel quite so com-
fortable over the letter. But she forced these thoughts
from her mind. That was the only way to dispose of dis-
turbing matters: not to think of them.
The party danced and drank all that Sunday afternoon
and evening. Diplomacy no longer had need to determine
Cordelia's policy, and Jerry was her most frequent partner,
with Mr. Franklin next. The latter improved upon the
impression he had made the previous day; not only was he
an adept and entertaining partner at dancing, but he was
skilful and considerate at the bridge tables. What Jackie
Thorndike said to Cordelia was said in substance by half
a dozen women who sought her out: "Cordie, old girl,
I think your Mr. Franklin is a regular find! I've invited
him out, and he's promised to come."
When Mr. Franklin motored into town that midnight,
it was with the triumphant feeling that he had never spent
thirty-six hours to better advantage. He was certainly on
his way up, thanks to Cordelia .Marlowe; and with the
cards he held and the care with which he intended playing
them, there was nothing which now could stop him!
The following morning Cordelia stood beside her road-
ster, saying good-bye; her trunks had already been called
for by a Thorndike chauffeur, and there was only her trav-
elling case for the impeccable Mitchell to set down in front
of the extra seat. A few of the other guests had not yet
gone, and since there was an audience Gladys was effusively


READJUSTED PLANS
185
affectionate at the parting; but Cordelia knew that, in
Gladys' heart, the urgent invitation to return soon was a
malediction, and that the kiss was a bite. Esther was
soberly gracious. Of them all little Francois was most
demonstrative. His arms around her neck held her tight,
and he kissed her again and again, saying over and over'
"Please come back, Mother Cordelia—please!" The spon-
taneous, simple affection of the little boy stirred her pro-
foundly; there had been little of such direct, free-flowing
love in her life; and she held him close in response, and
promised, and an inner voice remarked that Mitchell must
have been right about the boy's father:—whatever the
father's flaws, he must have been a simple, likeable man,
for certainly Francois derived none of his unspoiled sim-
plicity from Gladys.
As for Mitchell, till the last he was the efficient, emotion-
less butler, who could never possibly have had those two
scenes with her in her room nor that session in the burned
clearing among the scrub pines.
Thus Cordelia rode away from Rolling Meadows, re-
lieved to be going, and yet with a trace of inexplicable
reluctance; believing that her mission there and all per-
taining to it were for her at an end, and that she was about
to turn a fresh and more engrossing page; never dreaming,
in her young sureness of herself, that life does not snip in
two the thread of experience at one's will; her mind holding
no hint that all the important things which were about to
develop in her career were to be the direct consequences
of those experiences at Rolling Meadows and of these un-
analyzed ingredients which were in that human container
labeled Cordelia Marlowe.
During the days which followed Cordelia's life swept
onward in what she excitedly and exultantly felt was the


186 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
direction of her dreams, her greatest triumphs. The impor-
tant events were few, yet her days all seemed crowded.
She had never felt more satisfied with herself, never more
sure of herself, never more confident of the future. The
horrible stress and consequent maneuvering of her pov-
erty were now removed, thanks to that unexpected bonus
from Mr. Franklin, whose second check had come on Tues-
day morning as he had promised. She had the exhilarating
satisfaction of achievement, of abilities successfully exer-
cised; she had certainly justified Mr. Franklin's belief in
her. And she felt that, in due time, when she herself was
quite ready, Jerry Plimpton would swing in her direction—
now that Gladys was most properly removed as a counter-
attraction.
Of the undramatic but engrossing events of these days,
nothing gave Cordelia more acute satisfaction than the use
of the five thousand dollars which lay for a day or two in
her surprised bank account; for, to persons unaccustomed
to cash, cash is for a brief period quite the most thrilling
thing in the world. She sent checks upon accounts to all
her creditors; an hour of this scribbling, and her bank bal-
ance had swiftly receded to a little over one hundred dol-
lars, which was much above her average. (She hoped
her mother would not, for a time at least, learn of this
sudden liquidation of her debts; she did not see just how
she could render a plausible explanation to her mother of
her possession of a sum unprecedented in the family history.)
She had been pinched all season by the scantiness of her
wardrobe, had had to rack her brain and had been driven
to most difficult makeshifts and expedients in order to main-
tain the proper show of charming and ever-fresh plenitude.
But now, in company with Jackie—who was tautly restless
these days, and was eager for anything that would keep


READJUSTED PLANS
187
her forever moving—she ran into town on several consec-
utive days and was waited upon by her former creditors
whose faces the magic of her checks had rearranged into
alert and obliging smiles; and presently her old debts were
replaced with new debts, a trifle larger. But she had
clothes! And she had need of clothes; she had need of
everything that would make her stand out in attraction
above all other women; for she was now seeing a great deal
of Jerry.
Cordelia had luncheon or tea with Jerry about every
day; and several nights a week he ran out to Jackie's place.
He seemed to be able to make unlimited time to see her.
She wondered how he had taken Gladys' letter announcing
the secret engagement; she was prepared to act thoroughly
surprised in case he mentioned the news; but not so much
as by a hint did he refer to Gladys' note.
One day at luncheon she and Jackie and Jerry were
joined by Kyle Brandon, who wished to discuss Cordelia's
part in the French pageant. That magician of the mo-
tion picture had never known the English language
to hang back bashful and awkward and indigent in his
mouth; and this day it poured forth in its most easy and
confident affluence. His plans were now taking definite
shape; several of the best men on his staff were going to
assist with the details. The pageant was going to be a
wonder! Never had there been anything like it attempted
before for social or philanthropic purposes! Particularly
did he dwell upon Cordelia's part, making rapid sketches
on the back of luncheon cards of her in this pose, in that
costume. Let him advise her upon all the costumes—
better still, leave the costumes almost entirely to him; he'd
guarantee an effect never before approached by a figure
in a non-professional exhibition. And every pose, every


188 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
gesture would be a picture; in fact an art photograph. In
fact, he'd have his very best still-man and his very best
camera-men on hand to get these matchless photographs by
the score, by the thousand feet; and all the illustrated Sun-
day papers would grab her portraits, and millions of people
would see her when the news reels were flashed upon the
the silver screen. Superb! Magnificent!
Cordelia laughingly begged to be excused from such
publicity.. But she perceived that Jerry was impressed and
pleased. The Plimptons might be particular about their
women; but in all the generations there had not yet been a
male Plimpton who had not liked to have the public admire
the woman he admired.
At home that night Jackie said: "From the way Jerry's
eyeing you these days, he's soon going to be asking you what
size engagement ring you usually wear—if he has not al-
ready asked you."
"You're just dreaming, Jackie," Cordelia laughed. "Jerry
just likes to play around."
"I'll bet you any amount up to fifty cents that Jerry asks
you inside of three months. And you'll be a fool if you
don't say yes, and say it quick." Jackie sighed grimly.
"If you people do decide to have a try at it, here's hoping
you have better luck than some people I know."
Frequently during these days in town Cordelia was seeing
Mr. Franklin, and now and again she met him at evening
parties at various country houses; after every meeting her
liking for him was a little further advanced.
At one of the first of these conferences Franklin got from
Cordelia those facts he had commissioned her to get relative
to the domestic affairs of Jackie and Murray Thorndike.
Jackie and Murray were quite open about their breach.
Murray's case was unusual only in being so extremely usual.


READJUSTED PLANS
His inamorata was the premier danseuse of a popular sum-
mer show; he had bought her jewels, a foreign car, and
was understood to be paying the rent of her smart summer
cottage out near Rye. All this Jackie knew. As for Jackie,
in her need for something to fill her time, she was seeing a
lot of one Nicholas Drexel, more commonly known as
"Nickie," who shot across from the Hamptons almost
nightly in his racing car. Just how far intimacy had pro-
gressed between Jackie and Nickie, Cordelia could not tell,
but Murray knew all there was to be known and had as yet
said nothing about buying a gun and getting it into action.
Jackie and Murray had frequently talked with each other
about divorce; but neither wished to marry another person,
so they were just letting matters run along as they were.
Mr. Franklin pondered over this information carefully.
Certainly here might be scandal enough. But for his pur-
poses it had this fatal defect: no one was interested in
trying to conceal it. In the entire field of financial possi-
bilities, there is nothing less profitable than a big scandal
which no one has the decency to wish to hide.
Mr. Franklin thought of shifting Cordelia into some
situation which might prove financially more promising; but
this he vetoed for the present. The social connections he
was establishing through Cordelia's being where she was
were too valuable an asset to risk by manipulating her into
a situation that might be socially less fortunate. Besides,
more and more his various plans for Cordelia were becoming
subordinated to the great and consuming plan of joining
their powers and personalities with a wedding ring.
And besides, there was the business side of Gladys' secret,
needing all the attention, and the very shrewdest attention,
that he could give it. Yes, every consideration advised
him to keep Cordelia on at Jackie's; and to allay any scruples


igo CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
she might have about accepting money, if she seemed to be
giving no service in return, he assured her that the infor-
mation she was gathering about the Thorndikes was of the
greatest value to him and directed her to go on collecting
facts which would help him remedy the deplorable situation
<jf her friends.
Having eliminated Cordelia as his agent in Gladys' affairs,
Franklin's mind had turned to Mitchell as his most likely
instrument for the furtherance of his interests. Mitchell
was already collecting tribute from Gladys; if he could only
gain some hold upon Mitchell, then he could make Mitchell
greatly increase the amount of his levy, make Mitchell turn
the entire payments over to him, and he, Franklin, would
in no wise appear directly in the matter. Since Mitchell
was admittedly blackmailing, Franklin reasoned that Mitch-
ell was an experienced criminal. Very likely Mitchell had
a criminal record which he wished to conceal; possibly even
the police were now searching for him in connection with
some unpenanced crime; either hypothesis supplied a very
adequate motive for his hiding his identity in the guise of
a servant. To get a clever criminal in your power, and
make him do your work for you—what more simple, more
admirable!
Franklin realized that he had to handle this Mitchell with
very great care, for Mitchell was no ordinary person. Also
he had to be most careful on Cordelia's account. He must
not involve Cordelia, betray her; she who was to be his
wife must be kept clear of all admitted complications.
About a week after Cordelia's departure from Rolling
Meadows, Franklin motored out and had tea with Gladys,
who had invited him to come whenever he could. He made
himself extremely agreeable to her, and drove back leaving
behind with Gladys a highly increased opinion of himself;


READJUSTED PLANS 191
and he carried away with him a saucer on which were im-
prints of Mitchell's thumb and fingers. This saucer he
sent to the Police Department with the request that the
finger-prints be developed and that he be informed of the
identity and record of the person whose finger story had thus
been captured. He waited confidently and hopefully. But
the Police Department report was disappointing. The
owner of those fingers had no police record, nor was he
wanted as a suspect in connection with any crime.
This made Mitchell more difficult. But it did not make \
him impossible. He was undoubtedly a criminal, and as
such was amenable to skilful handling; the only question
was how to handle him. Through playing upon his cupid-
ity, undoubtedly that was the way.
Two days after the unfavorable police report upon the
finger-prints, Mitchell was in Franklin's office in response
to a skilfully worded letter asking him to call. Franklin
was cool, pleasant, direct.
"Visiting at Rolling Meadows I was much struck by your
obvious superiority to your position," he said. "I am sure
that you have had ambitions, and training, for something
much better. I am right in that conjecture?"
"Yes."
"Very good. Now I can use an intelligent man of your
type, and it occurred to me that I might offer you some-
thing which you might consider an improvement upon your
present situation."
"I fear I could not suit you, Mr. Franklin, for none
of my training has been along legal lines."
"Such training is not at all necessary for what I had
in mind. You can do the work—of this I have convinced
myself—and you will find it easy. I think the only serious
point is"—he hesitated for emphasis' sake, then said with_


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
bland, quiet significance—"is whether I can suit you in the
matter of terms."
"Terms?" queried Mitchell. "What terms did you think
of offering?"
Franklin had now reached the moment for what he con-
sidered the show-down. He had decided that the only way
to handle Mitchell, to work through him, was to offer him
more than he was now clearing; not offer it too bluntly, of
course—at least not at first. The man was a crook; he
would understand a hint.
The two men sat gazing eye to eye. There was expres-
sion in neither face.
"My terms?" said Franklin, steadily, choosing his words
so that their meaning could not possibly be mistaken. "Of
course I do not know what you are now clearing, from
salary, gratuities, and all other sources, but if you will come
in with me I will guarantee to double your present receipts.
Double them—whatever the source, whatever the amount."
He paused an instant to let this gather its full effect, then
added his weightiest argument.
"And do not overlook this further consideration: the
security one feels in handling one's affairs through a repu-
table and skilful legal firm."
He believed he could not have made his offer more
plainly.
Mitchell did not at once reply. His face retained its
clirect, thoughtful but otherwise expressionless look. Then
it showed apologetic regret.
"You have been most kind, Mr. Franklin," he said. "But
I have no personal ability, and no connection of any kind,
which could possibly warrant me in accepting so generous
an offer."
"Then you do not accept?''


READJUSTED PLANS
193
"No. It would not be fair to you."
"At least there has been no harm in making you the pro-
posal?"
"Quite the contrary. I thank you for the compliment."
Mitchell rose, and with courteous, poker faces the two
men parted. Franklin was certain that the other had under-
stood him perfectly; was more certain than before that
Mitchell was a clever criminal—even cleverer and bolder
than he had believed. Mitchell preferred to play a lone
hand, that was the explanation; and he believed he could
play it successfully no matter who might be sitting in the
game. Yes, the man certainly had nerve.
Well, he'd be eternally on his guard against this Mitchell.


CHAPTER XVIII
HOW EXPERTS DO IT
Franklin's only remaining course, so it now seemed to
him, to make a profit out of Cordelia's information—the
big profit of a great lawyer who was keeping safely within
the law—was through direct dealings with Gladys. But
he must be extremely adroit and cautious at every point: not
only was there the danger which follows inevitably when a
lawyer makes a slip, but also Gladys was one of that select
and lofty circle whose good offices it was his ambition to
win and keep. He planned with mathematical care, checked
up and proved his results, again wrote a skilfully phrased
letter, and two days after the call of Mitchell he received
in his office another visitor from Rolling Meadows, this
time Gladys.
She was openly interested in seeing him; it is the instinct
and habit of the Gladyses of this world to be interested in
every personable man who is not too old and the worth of
whose position is heing countersigned and endorsed by ex-
cellent signatures. Also she was flutteringly curious as to
the business that brought her here. She did not venture so
far as to be coquettish, but she made her best effort to be
charming, for she now saw Mr. Franklin as a polished and
able newcomer destined to an increasing popularity among
her sort of people.
Mr. Franklin made his approach with the slow and de-
vious consideration of a doctor announcing leaky heart-
194


HOW EXPERTS DO IT
195
valves. He was gracious—then sympathetic—then apolo-
getic—then self-deprecatory. The sparkle of Gladys' smile
died out; her face grew ashen, staring.
"I find myself in a most embarrassing, most humiliating
situation," Franklin went on. "Believe me, I would not
touch the matter I am about to broach to you, were it not
for the certainty that some other lawyer would handle the
matter if I declined, and I feel that I can give you consider-
ation and perhaps protection that you might not receive
from another. So it is largely for your sake that I have
consented to act in this affair. I daresay you have already
surmised what the matter is that I am referring to?"
Gladys dared not trust her voice. She shook her head.
"I regret, then, that I must put so delicate a matter into
words. Briefly, a person has just come to me with a most
unfortunate story: an affair of the heart in war-time Paris,
a child born out of wedlock—and everything most carefully
concealed from the public. I sincerely hope you now un-
derstand, so that it will not be unpleasantly necessary for
me to go into further details. Also this person has proofs,
and threatens to make the story public unless— But you
see what I am forced to lead up to. This person requires
a price'—a large price, in fact—in return for his part in
keeping the story a secret from the public."
Gladys attempted no denial; she sensed that it would be
useless. Her green eyes were now beginning to flash vin-
dictively.
"I know who the person is!" she exclaimed. "Cordelia
Marlowe! She always has needed money—she knows this
story—she told me you were her attorney! It's all as plain
as day—the person is Cordelia Marlowe!"
His eyebrows went up in a surprised protest that could
not have been more convincingly simulated.


196 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Miss Marlowe! I assure you, Miss Norworth, that
Miss Marlowe has never breathed a word to me of this
matter."
"Then it must have been Mitchell! He knows, and he's
the only other person who might have told!"
Franklin hesitated for the briefest moment. Perhaps it
might be as well to let her think Mitchell his informant.
No, that would not be wise. Mitchell was too able and too
potentially dangerous a man to be put in a false position;
he might strike back, and strike disastrously.
"It was not Mitchell," he assured her. "I can tell you
no more than that my client—I presume I must call him
my client, though I detest his business, and as I told you
am acting primarily to protect you—my client made it one
of his first conditions that I should not reveal his identity."
"Then it's Cordelia Marlowe!" Gladys cried with con-
viction. "It's just like her! She's already used that story
to hold me up!"
Here was interesting matter for Mr. Franklin. "Indeed!
And how?"
"She made me write a letter to Mr. Plimpton. Not tell-
ing him that story, but the sort of letter that would cause
him to keep away from me."
"But her reason for that?"
"Isn't her reason plain enough? He was—was attentive
to me. She wanted him for herself. She thought that
driving him away from me would help her chances. And
it most certainly will! It will send him straight into her
arms!"
This was most important news indeed: a new angle to
his situation, requiring most careful thought, most adroit
manipulation. Looking into the angry jealous face of
Gladys, it occurred to Mr. Franklin for the first time that


HOW EXPERTS DO IT
197
they two had a very large interest in common; thati some
time it might be to their advantage to unite their forces.
But his sympathetic face revealed no trace of this swift
premonition.
"I assure you again that Miss Marlowe is not the person
in question," he said soothingly. "And besides, the identity
of my client does not affect in any way the real subject of
this conference. This conference is necessarily limited
merely to the matter of terms. I may say that I have no
latitude as to terms; they were laid down for me in advance
by my client."
"What are the terms?"
"The essential requirement is that my client shall be fully
protected. Very frankly, we both know that he proposes
to practise blackmail, and blackmail has its very severe pen-
alties when it can be proved. That you may not take this
matter too hard," he went on, again in his soothing voice,
"let me say that you would be amazed, Miss Norworth, if
you knew the number of most respectable individuals and
families throughout the country who are paying heavily for
silence. Really, there is hardly a family of prominence
and wealth that is immune from such tribute. If you were
in my disillusioning profession, you would realize how sadly
true and commonplace this is. The skeleton in the closet"
—he permitted himself ever so faint a pleasant, propitiating
smile—"is the most expensive member of the family to
support. And every family is supporting one. So you
must not regard this situation as a personal disgrace, or as
an unusual injustice, that you are suffering.) Again I as-
sure you that your experience is almost the common experi-
ence."
"Perhaps you're right," was her indifferent response to
his last remarks; that others might suffer was no concern


HOW EXPERTS DO IT
199
much you are worth; I suspect he somehow gained access
to your last income-tax statement. He figures that you have
holdings valued at thirty millions, and that you have an in-
come of about a million and a half, less of course your
taxes. He will charge much less for his protection than the
government charges for its protection. Sixty thousand a
year for the retaining fee is the figure he fixed, which is
about four per cent of your gross income—reasonable, he
thought it."
"Sixty thousand!" she gasped.
"Please remember that I am not making this figure—I
am merely transmitting it," he apologized.
"Sixty thousand! It's preposterous!"
"I am inclined to agree with you. On the other hand"—
again he smiled at her, a bit humorously, as if to lighten the
situation for her—"on the other hand, if I were acting for
myself, and not for a client, I might ask even more."
"More?" she exclaimed.
"A very great deal more."
"How much more?"
"To be exact, a million and a half a year, less your
taxes?"
She blinked at him, and gasped again. "How—how could
you do that?"
His smile was disarmingly pleasant. "I might tell you
that the price of my silence would be your marriage to me.
Very simple, isn't it? But pardon me, I did not intend to be
led into a jest."
She laughed in her relief. He joined in her laughter.
At that moment, for the first time, it occurred to him that
what he had conceived and suggested in fancy was highly
practical and would not be a bad arrangement at all—not at
all!—were his interest not elsewhere engaged.


200 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"So you perceive," smiled he, "you might be faced with a
far more unpleasant demand."
"I suppose there's nothing for it except to agree."
"I think you are wise in saying that—though of course I
am not approving my client's procedure. As a matter of
fact"—a new idea was coming to him—"this arrangement
may possibly have some slight compensation for you. As
your attorney, even under such circumstances, I shall al-
ways be on the watch to serve your interests."
She liked this man, despite this unpleasant business so
obviously repugnant to him. "I accept that last offer,
and shall count on you."
"Then, that is also an agreement," said he.
Neither of them guessed, in that brief interval of light-
ness, how important that half-jesting compact was to be-
come to both of them in the events toward which they were
unconsciously sweeping.
"Is anything else demanded of me?" she inquired.
"Only one more thing. You are not to mention, not to
hint, to a single soul that you are being victimized in this
matter. My client has laid great emphasis upon this re-
quirement. If it is broken, the penalty will be immediate
publicity."
"Having swallowed the camel, I guess I can down a gnat.
I agree. And now I hope that's everything?"
"Yes. But since we have reached an agreement, and you
are here, we might as well take care of the mere formalities.
It will save you another visit. In fact I so far presumed as
to believe that we would come to terms, and I have every-
thing prepared, including the contract for my services.
Here is the contract. Also I have a little confession to
make: the last time I was out at Rolling Meadows I fore-
saw a probable emergency need for some of your personal


HOW EXPERTS DO IT
stationery, so I helped myself to a bit of it. Here is a sheet,
and a fountain pen. Suppose we first get rid of the letter
you were to write me, asking me to assume charge of
your affairs. Just date it— By the way, just when did
Miss Marlowe begin her recent visit to you?"
"She came during the early part of June."
"That was about when I thought. Perhaps it will help
us all—in fact my client made a point of the matter—if we
antedate both the letter and the contract a little. I will
date the contract the seventeenth of May, and you will date
the letter the fifteenth of May. Now for the letter. Per-
haps it will be easier for you if I dictate the letter's contents.
All ready?"
She took down his words in her large sprawling hand.
The letter done, he handed her the contract saying:
"Just glance that contract through. You'll find the terms
exactly as I outlined, and you'll note that I've dated it the
seventeenth of May."
He himself glanced through her letter. Most excellently
drawn! Then he touched the button that signalled Ked-
more, and on the appearance of his genial, porpoise-shaped
partner he introduced Gladys to him.
"Mr. Kedmore will help us execute our little understand-
ing," he explained to Gladys. "Just as a matter of form"—
holding out to her the letter written a few moments before
—"you identify this as a letter you wrote me some weeks
ago?"
"I do," said Gladys.
"Just glance the letter through, Kedmore. It is to be
filed with the contract. Note that it is dated as Miss Nor-
worth has just testified.'"
"I see, I see," nodded Kedmore—'"dated May fifteenth.
Everything in perfect order."


HOW EXPERTS DO IT
203
attachment; but what Gladys had told him made this danger
seem more acute. Steps had to be taken. One could not
be too careful. His quick brain became busy. He re-
called that Cordelia had told him she had checked out the
entire five thousand he had previously given her. That
meant that she was again hard up. Another check was the
thing; the more cancelled checks he had the surer he would
be. So he scribbled a note, full of more praise and grati-
tude, so phrased that she would have to regard the enclosure
as clearly earned, and yet so phrased that the note would
mean nothing to another person—besides he had advised her
for her own protection to burn all his letters, and she had
promised—wrote out a check for twenty-five hundred,
slipped it into the envelope, and himself went out into the
corridor and dropped the letter into the chute.
He was spending a lot of money—undoubtedly. But
then, one could not play for high stakes without putting a lot
of cash upon the table. And in the end the worth of his
money, a thousand times its worth, was coming back to
him, for he was going to win! For how can the man
possibly lose who unsuspected by all has loaded the dice,
stacked the cards?


CHAPTER XIX
GOLDEN DAYS
Cordelia was now playing the drama of her life upon a
stage, in a setting—however entrancing it may seem to those
who gaze enviously upon it from the cheaper seats—where
unusual and dramatic action is not considered good social
dramaturgy. The incidents of life must be interesting; in
fact, making them interesting is the chief motive and con-
cern of such life; but the incidents must run smoothly, in
their appointed order and according to the scenario of one's
engagement book. Furthermore, Cordelia was a lady; and
a lady may dream and even scheme, but if she would remain
impeccably a lady she must limit herself by the code of her
class and must wait with seemingly mild interest and even
smiling detachment for her plans to mature into events; she
cannot with compelling and colorful action hasten her desires
into swift and dramatic conclusions as may a spirited woman
who has a lowlier position to live up to and to risk. Here is
the most tedious, trying penalty that accompanies the bless-
ing of being a lady: one must forever be a lady.
Cordelia's career, which she never ceased to regard as
a thing of growing splendor, had now apparently reached
one of those pleasant, eventless stretches where a lady can
only wait.
The days and weeks which now flowed by were of course
exciting enough in their details, in their hopes, in their
suspense. But whatever might be happening outside the
204


GOLDEN DAYS
205
boundaries of her knowledge, or whatever forces might be
gathering, nothing of importance happened upon the surface
of Cordelia's life; and nothing of importance consciously
happened within her, and she ventured no further undertak-
ing. Every hour was interesting and full; she was seeing
Jerry Plimpton almost every day, and she sensed that they
were nearing a rapprochement; she saw Mr. Franklin every
few days; Gladys was frequently over to Jackie's place, and
Cordelia drove frequently across to Rolling Meadows—for
Gladys was insistently eager to maintain terms of friend-
ship; there were frequent sessions with the enthusiastic Kyle
Brandon who was always having new ideas for her part in
the pageant; and when not thus engaged, there were bridge
parties and dances at this country house and that, and drives
home through the beautiful but too prompt dawn. Just days
of delightful routine: moving triumphantly toward an ap-
pointed culmination.
But though Cordelia's life was now barren of large
dramatic events—that is, dramatic events of which she was
conscious—she was fully conscious that life for her had
never been richer, more full of promise, than during these
splendid days; that she herself had never been more able to
meet life, manage life, and, yes, adorn life. Never before
had she been happier; never so free from the care of money;
never had she had brighter dreams, and never had her
dreams been so certain of fulfilment. To her friends, to
the host who admired her from a distance, she was Cor-
delia at her best, a super-Cordelia. In a more resplendent
way than ever before she was that which all her life had
trained her to be. And in a thoroughly human way—a way
that warmed her with kindliness toward all and gave new
strength and dignity to her splendid self-confidence—she was
aware that she radiated ability, and charm, and graciousness,


206 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
and glory. Never before, to any such degree as during
these expansive and expanding weeks, did that old half-
humorous title of Cordelia the Magnificent seem so
thoroughly deserved, so perfectly fitting—so much an in-
spiration on the part of the proud father who had bestowed
it.
Cordelia the Magnificent! She was nothing less.
Occasionally her soaring spirits fluttered to earth and she
thought of Mitchell; in fact, her mind, particularly when
she wasn't watching it, flashed down to him several times a
day. Sometimes her thoughts were dominated by resent-
ment of the man's cool insolence; again by curiosity. He
had said that there was no mystery about him, that when she
learned the full truth she would be surprised only by its
simplicity, its utter obviousness. Perhaps he had not been
telling the truth when he had said this; certainly he was no
ordinary person. Who was he—really? What sort was
the real Mitchell, at bottom?
Not once during her several brief visits to Rolling
Meadows did Mitchell again break through his butler de-
meanor. 1
She was of course curious, even felt keen suspense, over
how Mr. Franklin was going to put an end to Mitchell's
hold upon Gladys, his admitted blackmail of her; this
achievement represented her cleverness, her effort. On one
of Mr. Franklin's early visits to Jackie's place—this was at
the end of the afternoon following his bargain with Gladys
—Cordelia drew him aside and questioned him upon this
business of Mitchell.
"As I once before told you, the clearing of this matter
will require time," he said. "But I am making progress.
Excellent progress, in fact; for I am no longer merely
working for Miss Norworth indirectly, as the attorney for


GOLDEN DAYS
207
her trustees. Miss Norworth has placed all her personal
affairs in my hands, as her attorney."
"Splendid! Is this arrangement a secret?"
"By no means. I'm sure Miss Norworth will confirm it,
if you care to ask her."
Here was a real accomplishment which Cordelia felt was
due to her efforts. And when, half an hour after his de-
parture, Franklin's letter of praise with the enclosed check
for twenty-five hundred dollars was opened (she had
slept till after lunch, and it was seven o'clock when she
turned to her morning mail) she felt that she really de-
served the tribute he paid her; and she glowingly agreed
with him, that her service was so unique and valuable that
she had fully earned this further bonus.
The following day Cordelia was over at Rolling Meadows,
primarily for an hour with Francois; and she managed a
few moments apart with Gladys, during which she con-
gratulated her upon entrusting her affairs to so able a man
as Mr. Franklin.
"That must mean, Gladys," she ended, "that there'll soon
be an end to Mitchell's bleeding you."
Gladys had been glaring since Cordelia's first word upon
the subject. She now exploded.
"It means that I am being bled ten times worse than
ever!"
"Worse than ever! How?"
Cordelia's appearance of astonished innocence was al-
together too much for Gladys. "How? You know how,
damn you! You damned hypocrite! You crook! That's
just what you are, a damned crook!"
Cordelia stiffened. A dangerous gleam flashed from her
eyes.
"Gladys, you'll please explain exactly what you mean!"


208 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT

But Gladys did not explain. Courage and anger left her
with panic abruptness. She remembered how much further
Cordelia might go, if provoked. And she recalled Mr.
Franklin's strict injunction to say nothing about paying out
hush money through him. So once more she cringed; spoke
of her uncontrollable nerves; vowed she meant no reflection
against Cordelia.
Cordelia went away puzzled. Also incensed against
Mitchell. At the very least Mitchell should have been con-
tent with the tribute he was already exacting. Instead,
Gladys had said he was demanding and receiving more!
Yes, the man was a scoundrel; his behavior answered all
doubt of that; and what a ruthless, unmitigated scoundrel
the man was!
Notwithstanding this unexpected failure in the matter of
Mitchell, or rather the delay in her success, Cordelia did
not return Mr. Franklin's twenty-five-hundred-dollar check
sent in recognition of services extraordinary. She did not
return it for the compelling reason that she no longer had it;
she had very promptly either spent it, or pledged herself to
its expenditure. Of course she had not paid anything on
her new accounts at the shops; those bills were less than a
month old, and of course could not be considered as really
owed for six months or so. But more than any other of her
possessions, that smart, foreign-built roadster was the true
index of her place in the world, and that roadster had been
getting noticeably shabby—scratched paint, a bent fender,
nauseated and regurgitant growlings which excited the fear
that the sickly car might some day spew out all its intimate
organs immodestly upon the public highway. Of course
there was not enough money for a new car—not for a smart
car, that is; so that morning she had driven her dependable
pet into a New York service station, and had ordered a


GOLDEN DAYS
209
thorough overhauling and a special paint job—the very best.
The estimate had been fifteen hundred dollars; and as
sophisticated automobile hospitals have the disobliging
practice of requiring cash payments upon the delivery of a
car, this meant that fifteen hundred dollars were, as it were,
held in escrow. And then her mother, always hard up, had
written despairingly of irritating creditors; and Cordelia, in
the full current of a spending mood, had endangered her
mother's weak heart by sending her a thousand-dollar check.
Thus once again Cordelia's balance had succumbed to habit
and returned to its home-like environment which was
bounded on the top by one hundred dollars.
It was just a bit annoying, even embarrassing, that she
had spent this money, and had to forego the graceful gesture
of returning it. But then—well, Mr. Franklin would soon
have Mitchell thoroughly checked. And besides, Mr.
Franklin must have known of this delay when he had written
her the letter of praise and sent the check. It was going to
work out all right.
It seemed as if this Mitchell was the thread upon which
were strung all the odds and ends of un-routine events of
this delightful routine period. She had been at Jackie's
a month or six weeks when Murray Thorndike amazed his
wife and the servants by coming home to dinner; this
phenomenon had a very simple explanation which Murray
was not called on to deliver. The dancing lady was just
then preparing to introduce a new number in the summer
show and what with the time and temper required for her
rehearsals—well, Murray decided to take a little vacation and
devote himself to domesticity.
His plump, good-humored, liquor-illumined, yet essentially
out-of-doors, face had the eager light of one who bears sur-
prising news. "Guess whom I saw lunching in the Gran-


210 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
tham Grill? All those grand dukes of waiters kissing his
feet; and him taking it as easy as if he'd never done any-
thing else with his feet except have them kissed by grand
dukes. Give you each ten guesses, and lay you ten to one
you don't come within ten thousand miles."
They had their guesses, then gave up.
"That beggar that's been Gladys Norworth's butler.
Mitchell's his name. And I tell you he looked just about as
top-hole as they come, and acted as if he'd always had
butlers, not been one. Now wouldn't that knock you dead!"
Cordelia had expected Mitchell's reincarnation in human
garb, and with a different status; none the less she was just
a bit startled by the event now that it had come to pass. She
counted it fortunate, though, that she was thus learning of
his transition at second hand, saving her from possible
embarrassment should she unprepared have chanced upon the
altered man.
Murray was going rapidly on: "He was lunching with
old Bill Graham; with old Bill of all men—remember,
Jackie, Bill was my best man. I stopped and was talking to
Bill before I even noticed the Mitchell person; hadn't really
seen him when Bill started to introduce us. Mitchell took
the introduction just as if he'd never seen me before; just
as easy as that. As for me, I almost passed out—almost
came apart. And that handsome beggar—cool as a cocktail
—has fed me my soup, God knows how many times! And
him as cool—as cool—"
It was Jackie who interrupted his incoherence with ques-
tions. Cordelia did not need to ask them; she thought she
already knew the answers.
"What was his idea in acting as a butler?"
"I didn't have the nerve to ask him. I didn't have the
nerve even to suggest that I'd ever seen him as a butler—
(


GOLDEN DAYS
211
not to that cool bird. Though damned if I didn't feel all
the while that he was grinning at me inside himself."
"What's he doing, now that he's stopped being a butler?"
demanded Jackie.
"Opened some kind of an office—don't remember just
what sort. Believe he represents some western interests; I
think he did say something about automobiles. On a very
modest scale, he said. I gathered that he'd just recently
come into a bit of money."
He had indeed come into a bit of money, Cordelia grimly
remarked to herself; and she knew just how he'd come into
it!
"Afterwards I saw old Bill Graham alone," Murray bab-
bled on. "Seems old Bill had known Mitchell a bit over in
France during the big scrap. Bill hadn't known Mitchell
well, for Mitchell was with the Canadians. Says Mitchell
had a buddy he was nuts about; the buddy was wiped out
in nineteen-sixteen, after which Mitchell started out to lick
the Germans all by his lonesome. According to Bill this
Mitchell was a humdinger; devil of a fine chap; cool, reck-
less, liked by every one. Didn't happen to make one of
those spectacular military reputations, though, which are
largely the result of accident, luck, and having a war corre-
spondent look your way at just the right minute. But Bill
says he certainly is one corker! Gee, wouldn't I like to have
the inside story of that bird!"
Wherever Cordelia went during the next few days, the
ex-butler of Gladys came excitedly into the conversation.
Mitchell was by way of being a mild sensation. No one
seemed to have news of him that was superior to Murray
Thorndike's vague incoherencies; and Cordelia did not
choose to enlarge the fund of common knowledge by re-
vealing her experiences, store of facts, suspicions and con-


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
jectures. The talk about him found expression chiefly in
the form of interjections and questions. An obvious gentle-
man who had chosen to assume the role of butler! How
interesting—how extraordinary! And why had he done it?
He must have had some big mysterious reason for working
as a butler! Guesses at his reason flew back and forth
across dinner tables: a list of the romantic guesses would
very closely have matched the summary of possibilities the
smiling, tantalizing Mitchell had made for Cordelia during
their first intimate talk in the little burnt clearing among the
scrub pines.
Gladys was present at one of these dinners, and she
was assailed for answers to these guesses. She professed
ignorance equal to that of her questioners.
"Didn't you ever once suspect, while he was with you,
that he might be something besides a butler?" was de-
manded of her.
"Not once," she replied. "And when he left me, and
turned out to be a gentleman, I was just as surprised as any
of you."
"Really! Just think of having had a man like that work
for you as a servant! Now that you know what he is,,how
will you treat him if you ever happen to see him?"
"I shall forget that he was ever my butler, and shall treat
him just as I would any other gentleman."
Really! Then they'd have to treat him that way, too,
they supposed.
Cordelia felt a grudging admiration for Gladys for the
naturalness with which she acted this little scene. Except
for Cordelia, not a soul at that dinner had a guess as to
Gladys' real emotions and motives.


CHAPTER XX
THE MYSTERY OF MITCHELL
On the following Sunday—the time was now late in
August—while out motoring with Jerry, Cordelia suggested
that they drop in at Rolling Meadows for tea; her secret
reason being a desire for a half hour's visit with Francois.
When they mounted Gladys' porch, there was Mitchell with
the eager Francois on his knee. Gladys introduced Mitchell,
and since Francois refused to leave his perch, Mitchell had
to acknowledge the introductions sitting, which he did with
a courteous modesty containing no hint of mockery. Jerry,
experienced man of the world, was perfectly at his ease in
shaking hands with and being pleased to meet the former
servant. Cordelia, watching, felt approval for the manner
of both men.
"Mother Cordelia," promptly interjected Francois, "don't
you think that Mitchell looks funny without his other coat?
Mitchell, what did you do with your other coat?"
"I'm saving it to give to your Brer Rabbit, when he
grows up," Mitchell answered with grave humor, "so he can
be a big butler rabbit like the one in your picture book."
Francois remembered the picture, and laughed gleefully.
"My rabbit will look funny in that coat, won't he?" He
snuggled closer. "I don't care which coat you wear, Mitch-
ell, I like you just the same!"
Just then Gladys' new butler, with outraged supercilious-
ness which it was beyond butler nature entirely to conceal,
213


214 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
handed the ex-butler his tea; and Francois, insisting that
the story he had been hearing be continued, Mitchell drew
apart from the others and resumed the interrupted narrative.
Presently Mitchell crossed toward the steps, Francois
clinging to his hand; and Francois called to Cordelia per-
emptorily:
"Mother Cordelia, you haven't seen my rabbit for 'most
a year. We're going out to see him, and I want you to come
along."
Cordelia surmised that the visit and the demand upon her
had been adroitly suggested to the boy by Mitchell, as a ruse
to get her away for a private talk. Instead of being averse
to such a meeting, she was flutteringly eager; and accom-
panied the two to the rabbit's private estate behind the
garage. Sure enough, Jeanne, the boy's governess, soon
appeared and Mitchell swore Francois to obedience to
Jeanne, administering a solemn oath with the humorous
gravity in which the boy delighted. Two minutes later Cor-
delia and Mitchell were face to face in the seclusion of the
sunken rose garden. She was the first to speak; her tone
was accusatory, contemptuous.
"So you decided to end the butlering masquerade, and
become a man of affairs."
He was not ruffled in the least by the rebuke of her at-
titude. He smiled pleasantly.
"Yes. I thought I'd better make a change, for rather
unexpectedly and suddenly I came into some money that
had long been owing me."
"Don't think you can deceive me by this story of having
come into money! I know whose money it is you came
into, and how you came into it! Gladys' money—and you
came into it by blackmail."


THE MYSTERY OF MITCHELL 215
She would have been at a loss to explain the fierce
strength of her anger against this man, had she been asked
for an explanation.
"I should have thought," she went on with more scathing
contempt, "that you would have been content with the
amount of blackmail you have been making Gladys pay you.
Instead, you make her pay more—ten times more! And
you try to cover it all by starting this story of having come
into money!"
His smile was gone, he was soberly alert.
"One moment, please! Who said I was making Gladys
pay me more?"
"Gladys!"
"Our dear Gladys has both a gift and an affection for
lies. She has been lying to you."
"I don't believe it!"
"Gladys has been lying to you. Or else—" He broke
off, a swiftly dawning thought in his eyes, and regarded her
with sharp intentness.
"Or else?"
He continued his intent gaze.
"Or else?" she prompted, mockingly.
"Pardon me if I seem abruptly to change the subject of
conversation. Mr. Franklin is your lawyer. How well do
you know him—how far do you think you can trust him?"
"He's my lawyer—that should be answer enough," she
replied haughtily.
"But how far is he to be trusted? I had a little talk with
him the other day, and from the way he spoke—" He
checked himself, then shot out a sudden question: "Have
you ever by any chance let slip in Mr. Franklin's presence
any of the facts of Gladys' situation?"


216 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
This was distinctly none of Mitchell's business, he was
most presumptuous; a lie was thoroughly justifiable. So
she lied, and lied convincingly.
"I have not!"
"Then Gladys is lying. No one is extorting further
money from her."
Against her will, Cordelia was convinced that Mitchell
was speaking the truth.
"Pardon me if I intrude so far as to give you a bit of ad-
vice," he continued. "About Mr. Franklin. From his
manner to me—well, he's a clever lawyer, no doubt of that;
but I wouldn't trust him too far. I suggest you don't men-
tion anything about Gladys to him, and do not mention any-
thing else to him that might ever be used against you or any-
body else."
"I believe that I am competent to form my own judgments
and guide my own actions," she returned stiffly.
He accepted her rebuff, and dismissed the subject of
Franklin with a slight bow.
"While we are on the subject of my blackmailing of
Gladys, I want to give you the full truth about that matter.
In fact, since I am once more myself, I'd rather like to have
you know all the truth about me. Or at least, almost all."
"Including the mystery?"
"Including the mystery." He was smiling again. "Only,
as I once warned you, you'll find it a poor mystery—really
no mystery at all. First as to the blackmailing of Gladys.
I plead guilty. I've made Gladys pay me two thousand a
month all the while I was with her. I did it for Francois'
sake. Every penny of it is invested for him."
Again Cordelia was convinced he was speaking the truth.
Suddenly she remembered the letter she had found the day
she had searched Mitchell's room; the letter had referred to


THE MYSTERY OF MITCHELL 217
money he was investing, and before she could check herself
a question leaped from her lips.
"The letter I found in your coat spoke of investments.
Were they investments for Francois?"
His face was suddenly tense. "What letter?" he de-
manded sharply.
Too late she saw her slip. She decided dignity would
be her best manner.
"You know very well I suspected you, and was trying to
find out things about you. I searched your room and found
a letter. It was typewritten, spoke of large drafts you had
been sending, and was signed "J."
He regarded her searchingly for a moment, then said
slowly: "If I remember that particular letter correctly, it
told you nothing further."
"It did not. But it made me ask myself a lot of ques-
tions."
"About me?"
"Yes. And why you should have that kind of a letter
written you."
"I think I understand. I think your questions can be
answered—I'm not saying this is the full answer—can be
answered by one fact which you are well acquainted
with. I was trying to conceal my identity, and desired to
have no clues about which might connect me with my
past."
This seemed a trifle vague; but it was a sort of answer
to the many questions that letter had aroused in her.
"Why have you gotten this money for Francois?"
His smile had once more returned.
"Haven't I already made that plain to you? Because I
wanted some protection for Francois in case Gladys ever
does some utterly wild thing, of which she is thoroughly


218 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
capable. And because his father was the best friend I ever
had, and I feel that it's up to me to look out for my friend's
boy. I have twenty-five thousand put away for his care and
education. That's absolutely all there is to my blackmailing
story."
Reluctantly, she began to feel a hesitant, dubious admira-
tion for this man; she rather liked his humorous smile, now
bold, now teasing. She did not kndw it, but her own face
had begun to relax into a smile.
"Then that brings us to your own story. Remember, a
few minutes ago you promised to tell me."
"The great Mitchell mystery?" He was laughing softly,
with dancing eyes. She became aware that he had rather
nice eyes.
"Yes. The mystery of why you became a butler."
"All right. A promise is a promise. Here goes. But
sure you're all braced for a shock?"
"Yes! Go on!"
"Remember I warned you that the great mystery was that
there was no mystery. That the great surprise was that
there would be no surprise. All ready for a shock like
that?"
He was just teasing her, and she knew it; but none the
less his light words whetted her expectancy, her suspense,
to a keener edge.
"I'm ready! Goon!"
"Well, I became a butler because—" He hesitated, still
teasing.
"Yes? Yes?"
"Because I was broke."
"Broke?"
"I was broke. I needed the money." He chuckled. "I


THE MYSTERY OF MITCHELL 219
told you the only real point to the solution of my mystery
was its utter simplicity, its utter obviousness. I went to
work for exactly the same reason that every other man goes
to work: I needed the money."
Her face had gone blank. She felt as though something
very large and brilliant had been deflated with dizzying sud-
denness; as though she had been cheated by some swift,
amazing trick.
"Is that—that all there is to it?" she stammered.
"Absolutely all there is to it."
"But to—to go to work—as—as a butler?"
"When a man's hard up, he turns to the thing he can do
best, or the thing which will pay him best. That's natural,
isn't it—and very simple?"
She was beginning to understand. How—how flat it
was! . . . But the thing was too far outside her experience
and the range of her thoughts, for her to understand it fully.
He saw the bewilderment in her face.
"Perhaps I'd better explain a bit. Remember what I
once told you about how I paid my way through college, by
working in eating clubs during the college year, and in big
resort hotels and country homes during the summer? That
was all true. Naturally you don't know about such things,
So I'll tell you that there's nothing a poor college chap can
do which will pay as much, or at least enable him to save as
much, as working in big resort hotels and summer houses.
Menial perhaps—but it gets you the money. You have no
idea how many college boys are doing just that. Also some
college girls. Naturally the better you are, the more money
you get; and I decided to become the best. Besides sol-
diering, butlering is the one trade I know; and if I do
say it myself, I certainly am one good butler! I challenge


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
the world! So you see at Rolling Meadows I wasn't a
fake, and I wasn't really masquerading. I was just an
honest-to-God butler working at his regular trade. Does
this line of talk make things any simpler?"
She nodded slowly, still dazed. "But your going back to
be a butler after—after being something better? For you
had been a captain, hadn't you?—or something?"
"That brings me to a situation which a rich girl like you
—a girl who has never been caught in a financial trap, and
had to pull herself out—simply cannot imagine yourself
ever being up against. So, since experience cannot help
your imagination, perhaps I won't be able to make the thing
plain to you. It was like this: When the War was over, I
found myself with a bit of an income; nothing big, you
understand, but enough to live on comfortably. My father
and mother had died during the War, and of the heirs men-
tioned in the will of an aunt I was the only one still living.
The money was all in securities, and I left it there. Since
I had a fair income I decided to finish the technical educa-
tion the War had interrupted. So I lived that life for a
year; took things easy, spending every cent; was quite a
swell of about the third rate, had my smart little car—noth-
ing like yours, of course—and things like that. Studied
pretty hard, but otherwise I was one of the lilies of the
field and enjoyed being a lily.
"Well, in the meantime a friend of mine had needed back-
ing in a business venture, and I had let him have all my
bonds to put up as security. About a year ago, when I was
at the height of my joyous glory—thump!—my friend was
wiped out, there was I suddenly without an income, not a
dollar in my bank, no idea where I was going to get a dollar,
and with no end of social obligations. I was by way of be-
ing a social favorite, or thought I was. A giddy social fa-


THE MYSTERY OF MITCHELL 221
vorite, suddenly gone broke! Imagine my fix, if you can.
But you can't!"
He laughed at the memory of his predicament. Cordelia
had a vague but most uncomfortable sense that this thing
had somehow become acutely personal.
"What did you do?" she asked hurriedly.
"Went to work; what else was there for a chap in my fix
to do?" he demanded. "Went to work at the one paying
job I really knew, being a butler. Since I'd known Gladys
in France, as I've told you, and had a certain influence with
her, I made her take me on. I've saved, on the average,
one hundred and fifty a month while I've been Gladys'
butler—out of wages and tips. How many young doctors
or lawyers save that much?"
"You mean to say—you've taken tips from Gladys'
guests?"
At her shocked tone he chuckled again.
"I took tips from every one of them. Except from you.
You didn't offer me any. That's one grudge I still hold
against you. And why shouldn't I have taken tips? I was
a regular butler, and all butlers take tips. Besides, as I told
you, I needed the money; I was saving towards a stake.
Shocked, are you? That's because you rich young ladies
of fashionable leisure, never having felt the need of a dollar,
can't put yourselves in the place of a person who has simply
got to have money."
He mistook her wide stare, her parted lips, for a look of
bewildered pity. He hastened to reassure her.
"Don't feel sorry for me. I don't deserve it. The
world's full of people doing more or less the same thing.
And really, it's not hard at all. If a fellow's caught in a fix
like mine—why, if he's willing to work, and is moderately
honest, and does not have any false pride, and isn't afraid


222 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
of people, and is able to see the points of the great human
comedy—why, there's nothing he can't do, and have a good
time doing it."
She again had the sense that his remarks were somehow
personal. She made haste to veer away from this discom-
fort.
"It's really true, then, that your only motive was just to
make money?"
"My dominating motive, yes; except for necessity I would
not have taken up my old trade. Of course there were other
motives. I'd long had it in for Gladys for her attitude to-
ward my friend. Remember, it was not because she be-
lieved him a bigamist that Gladys grew ashamed of him; a
lot of otherwise decent chaps, caught by the wild mood of
the Paris of those war days, forgot their Puritan morals and
followed where fancy led. Remember that Gladys grew
ashamed of him, once his glory flickered out, because he
had been a working-man, a mechanic; was ashamed of him
before she had heard anything against him or had heard of
his death. Being in Gladys' house gave me a chance to
make Gladys writhe. And believe me, I'm not through with
her yet! Wait till the right time comes!"
His closing words came out incisively, almost with a vin-
dictive snap—in sharp contrast to the humorous, half-quiz-
zical tone of all the rest of what he had been saying. But
instantly he was again smiling.
"I shouldn't have said that last. Sometimes my brain
falls asleep while supposed to be on duty, and then my
tongue wags just as it crazily pleases. So forget what I
said."
As if to cover his slip, he immediately went on. "You
were asking me about my other motives. I've always been
a bit of a—well, you might call it a plain and fancy fool.


THE MYSTERY OF MITCHELL 223
Was always ready for anything if I saw a chance for fun in
it. That part of my nature was perhaps another motive;
a very minor motive. At any rate it's better than a comedy,
acting the butler to Gladys' friends, and being treated as a
butler by them! And some of the things they've said to
me!—and before me! Undoubtedly there is a streak of
the devil in me, for I've certainly had a lark!"
He grinned, somewhat impishly, at his memories. The
next moment his smile had undergone yet another change:
was challenging, daring, dancing, held direct upon her.
"And these last few weeks there has been still another
motive for playing the man of mystery, and exaggerating
the part a bit. Really the biggest motive of all."
"What was that?"
"To excite your interest in me."
"What!"
"From the day I first saw you I've been interested in you.
A cat may look at a king, you know, and a butler may look
at a—I haven't the right tag to finish that sentence with.
But I couldn't expect you to look at a butler. Not unless
the butler was unusual—say a man of mystery. Half the
things I've done since you came to Rolling Meadows, I did
with the great purpose of puzzling you, making you curious.
Am I not honest?"
Outrage was beginning to swell in her; but she had a
swift suspicion, and a question she had been asking herself
over and over these many weeks she now asked him.
"That night you let me in—and picked me up—you
started to tell me something or ask me something. What
was it?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." His impish smile was
yet more daring. "That was just a carefully thought-out
little trick of mine to make you think about me—make you


224 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
curious. Was it pity, or curiosity, that some poet once re-
marked was akin to love? As for me, I staked my chances
on curiosity. I'm sure you get what I'm driving at, for
you will recall I once listed myself as one of the men you
might marry."
She had grown furiously red. "Of—of all the nerve!"
"Oh, I have the nerve all right. I've admitted that. My
nerve is my fortune, sir, she said. Also I rather like and
believe in myself. I haven't the money or the position of
the estimable Jerry person, and never will have, but other-
wise I have just as good qualifications for a husband. I
recommend myself most heartily."
She tried to say something, choked and lost her chance,
for he was off again.
"And now you know all there is to know about me: my
past, my present, also my future purpose. Oh, yes—I
should have mentioned that the friend I loaned my securi-
ties to finally got himself untangled and has squared him-
self with me. So I have my little income back, and my
sweating brain cells are going to add to it. No, you don't
know quite all about me. There are two things you still
don't know. First, my real name. That's not important,
and never will have the slightest significance; Mitchell is
just as good and means just as much; I'm merely holding
my real name in abeyance for a little personal reason.
Second, you don't yet know one other detail of my relations
with Gladys; that also I am holding back for a personal
reason—until, I might say, the market suits me. A man is
entitled to two minor secrets in his life, isn't he? Oh, yes—
there is a third thing you don't yet know about me. Now I
wonder if I should mention that?"
With the last sentence, his manner had become grave and
hesitant. She should have known him well enough by this


THE MYSTERY OF MITCHELL 225
time to have suspected that he might be laying a trap for
her. But with his two exceptions he had again adroitly
aroused her curiosity, thrown her off her guard,
"The third—what is that?"
He flashed his bold, dancing, whimsical smile at her.
"You don't yet know whether I'm going to be your hus-
band."
She stiffened, gasped, glared at this final outrage.
"If you feel I have not yet proposed to you in the proper
set terms, please consider I have now formally done so."
"I'm going to the house!" she exclaimed.
"Yes," he agreed pleasantly, "perhaps we had better be
strolling back to Jerry."
Smiling with whimsical delight, he followed her out of
the garden.


CHAPTER XXI
A COMPACT AND A WARNING
In the ensuing days of industrious pleasure, Cordelia
glowered inwardly whenever she thought of that scene in the
sunken garden, and she thought of it often. To be pro-
posed' to by such a man as Mitchell—the effrontery of it!
And topping that insult, to have him laugh in her face while
he proposed!
It was a hab.it among her girl friends, dating back to the
old days of Harcourt Hall, to talk among themselves with
an excitement subdued to indifference (first swearing the
confidantes to secrecy which they hoped would not be kept),
of their aspiring love-affairs, their conquests, their pro-
posals. Well, here was one proposal no one would ever
hear her brag about!
Her inclination toward Mitchell, at its intensest, was an
itch to be his murderess.
In her angered and contemptuous thinking, there was an
aspect of the situation that never crossed the border of her
mind. If one of Mitchell's objects had been, as he had pro-
claimed, to make her think of him, he had in that purpose
been an unmitigated success. Cordelia had been proposed
to by many men, all of them desirable men, whom she had
pleasantly refused. But never had she thought so much,
and so intensely, of any rejected suitor as of the provoca-
tively smiling Mitchell.
In her less indignant moods her mind would drift to the
story Mitchell had told her in the sunken garden. The
226


A COMPACT AND A WARNING 227
more she considered the explanation of his mystery, the
more commonplace and uninteresting did the man and his
story seem to be; just so do all mysterious phenomenon sink
to insignificance in the human mind after they have received
the mortal blow of an unmysterious and perfectly natural
solution. After all, the thing was just as Mitchell had said;
he had gone to work for exactly the same reason as any other
servant—for wages. And where was there any romance in
a servant going to work for wages?
Yes, aside from his audacity, and a certain glib trick of
the tongue, the man was utterly commonplace! Negligible!
By degrees—more from the operations of the subcon-
scious than from any reasoned comparison—she had become
aware of elements of similarity between his story and her
own. Both had received unexpected financial blows, both
had had to meet a financial emergency or go under. Both
had met their emergency by work: he as a servant, she by the
valuable exercise of higher powers.
So he thought she had never known the pinch and fear of
the lack of money! If he only knew the truth of how she
had been pinched, and how she had worked! She laughed
grimly whenever she thought of this.
She was sure she despised and hated him. He was out-
rageously presumptuous. She decided to put him out of
her mind. Thank heavens, there was little chance of her
meeting him again. Despite what people had said in their
first surprise at learning he was not a butler by long descent,
they after all would hardly go so far as to invite him to
their houses; and if they did, he probably had enough
ordinary pride and sense of his own proper place to refuse
their invitations. Gladys' was the only house where he
was likely to be; Gladys wouldn't dare refuse to let him
come, and of course there was Francois to draw him to


228
CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Rolling Meadows. She'd go to Rolling Meadows as little as
possible, and when she did she'd go prepared to keep Mitchell
very coldly in his place.
He was permanently out of her world, out of her life.
That was one comfort.
And having decided that he was to be kept out of her
mind, being happy that he was closed out of her world, she
was naturally somewhat disconcerted and infuriated when
out driving with Jerry and when Jerry was chatting along
as smoothly as his purring motor, and when Jerry would
suddenly check his pleasant monologue with "Don't you
think that's so, Cordelia?"—it was somewhat infuriating to
be thus jerked back to herself and the consciousness that
her hands were angrily clenched and that for some time she
had been seeing only the whimsically smiling face of a man
who was explaining away his unmysterious mystery.
She only thought of him because he was so exasperating.
That was it. Time would make her indifferent to such ir-
ritations. He really was an incident that was closed; rather,
an incident that really had never been. Time would
thoroughly erase him.
While life, except for these irritating irruptions of
Mitchell in her mind, was sweeping onward for Cordelia
with thrilling eventlessness toward an ever more certain con-
summation, Mr. Franklin was regarding this development of
her affairs with no such content; and he had no such willing-
ness to let matters take their own course, happy in the cer-
tainty that they would eventually drift into the harbor of his
desire. He was the captain of his soul and of his fortune;
he did not like the set of the tide, nor the looks of certain
reefs that were lifting out of the sea; it was his part to
stand unintermittently on watch and do some very expert
steering.


A COMPACT AND A WARNING
229
Of course socially he was sailing in the right direction
and sailing smoothly and rapidly. With this aspect of his
situation he was satisfied. Tremendously so.
But he was not pleased with the manner in which the
lines of Cordelia's and Jerry's lives were moving undeviat-
ingly toward an intersection, a confluence. He could termin-
ate this affair, could turn Cordelia from her course so that
there would be no intersection—of this he had no doubt;
but he recognized that limitations were now upon what he
might have done, and upon what he desired to do. He was
not free to use his full wits, his full powers. He could not
injure Cordelia, his future wife, in public esteem, as there
was danger of his doing if he used all his power and there
should be an attending mishap.
A limitation which he recognized even more clearly was
that passion was a most treacherous impediment to clear, in-
fallible thinking. He was still somewhat dazed by the
wholly unexpected fact that he was in love with Cordelia;
that his personal plans involving Cordelia, first conceived
with a cool mind quick to see and calculate an advantage,
were now captured and dominated by the first love of his
life, a furiously passionate love. He was wildly jealous of
Jerry Plimpton; he recognized that, and knew jealousy to
be a weakness in any mind that sought to be cool and bal-
anced.
He realized that he was not fully competent, and that
realization made him hold himself in restraint, made him
cautious. He therefore decided that he would wait; time
might serve him better than he could serve himself. Ac-
cident, misunderstanding, temper, might end her affair with
Jerry. They might quarrel. Seemingly prospering court-
ships were forever being abruptly terminated. Yes, he
would hold back for that chance.


230 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Cordelia, Jackie, Gladys, Jerry Plimpton, his partner
Kedmore, the others who saw Franklin during this period,
never suspected from his pleasant, composed face, the tor-
ture of jealousy, of unaccustomed indecision and inaction,
that were tearing at his heart.
One decision he did reach. Since he hoped to win Cor-
delia without resorting to extremes, and since eventually
she was going to accept him anyhow, it would be the part of
wisdom to acquaint her now with his attitude. This would
give her time to grow accustomed to him as a suitor; and if
he were consideratively attentive, as he intended being, it
would make her final turning to him all the easier.
Two evenings after he formulated this decision—which
chanced to be just two days after Mitchell's proposal to Cor-
delia—he motored out to Jackie's and offered himself in
marriage. He told his love extremely well, simply, with
feeling; his was the advantage of being a most unusual actor,
who in this instance was an actor tremendously in earnest.
Cordelia was surprised, and genuinely pained. Whatever
her faults, she had never led men on, and had never taken
pleasure in giving the hurt of a "no" to a proposal. Ex-
cepting of course, Mitchell. His proposal she had not digni-
fied by giving it a refusal.
"I had no idea you felt toward me in any such way," she
said honestly. "Of course I'm complimented; it seems trite
to tell you that. But I'm sorry—I don't feel that way
toward you."
"Excuse my boldness in asking it—but do you feel that
way toward any other man?" he pressed with loverly eager-
ness. "No, I've no right to ask that. But may I ask this:
have yon given your promise to any other man?"
"No."
"Then I shall keep on hoping," he said.


232 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
that, since he had decided it was wisdom to bide his time and
use only his slow and less powerful measures, he had been
overlooking very considerable possibilities represented by
Gladys. Careful consideration of these possibilities
developed no concrete practical plan; nevertheless, on the
Sunday afternoon following his proposal to Cordelia, he
motored out to Rolling Meadows. Mitchell was there, but
was down at the beach with Francois and Esther Stevens;
so Franklin very easily managed a confidential session with
Gladys. He approached the matter of his visit with direct-
ness and every appearance of an impressive frankness.
"Miss Norworth, I am going to speak openly with you;
I am going to put all my cards, face up, upon the table.
When you and I reached our little understanding by which
it was agreed that I was to serve you nominally as your at-
torney, I then remarked that I hoped the time might come
when I might serve you in fact. If not serve you as your
attorney, then serve you as a friend. I believe that such
a time has now arrived. And on the other hand, a situation
has developed in which I believe you can serve me. We
have certain interests in common. I suggest that we join
forces, help each other, and thereby help ourselves."
He had roused her to excited eagerness. "Yes, of course,
if we can really help each other. What are the interests we
have in common?"
"Two individuals. Mr. Plimpton and Miss Marlowe."
Instantly her green eyes were glittering. "You should
know how much interest I have in Cordelia Marlowe!"
"Pardon me, you are interested in Miss Marlowe, and I
shall show you how in just a moment. I suggested that we
be very frank. I shall first be frank regarding myself.
Miss Norworth, I am in love with Miss Marlowe, and I have
very real hope that she will some day marry me."


A COMPACT AND A WARNING 233
Gladys stared. "Well!" she ejaculated. "Well! I
never guessed it! That certainly is news! You've asked
her?"
"Yes."
"What did she say?" This very eagerly.
"She refused me. But very kindly. And without being
egotistical, I have reason to believe she will some day answer
differently."
"Oh, no, she won't!" Gladys exclaimed bitterly. "She's
got Jerry Plimpton hooked, and you can just bet she'll hang
on to Jerry Plimpton!"
"I admit Mr. Plimpton is my difficulty. And his name
naturally brings up the other half of my proposition. I have
been very frank about myself, Miss Norworth; now I'm go-
ing to be equally frank about you—even though I may seem
presumptuous and intrusive. I know that you feel toward
Mr. Plimpton exactly as I feel toward Miss Marlowe: you
want to marry him. Now don't be angry—don't feel that
modesty requires you to deny this. We're both human; we
want what we want, and there's no reason we shouldn't have
what we want if we can get it."
Gladys regarded him non-committally. It irked her pride
to admit she wanted a man with whom another woman had
walked off.
"What's next?" she asked.
"You see our situations are identical: identical except for
the one detail that a different person represents the difficulty
in each case. If Mr. Plimpton were eliminated, I could
more easily attain my desire. If Miss Marlowe were elim-
inated, I am certain Mr. Plimpton would swing straight to
you. If I marry Miss Marlowe, your problem is solved;
mine is solved if you marry Mr. Plimpton. To repeat, our
interests are identical. Our first common effort should be


A COMPACT AND A WARNING 235
In his quick interest he leaned sharply forward. "Yes!
And what?"
"Tell Jerry Plimpton straight out where and how she's
getting that money she's spending! From me! And black-
mail! Wouldn't he drop her quick when he learned that!
And say—" In the excitement of a fresh idea she gripped
his hand. "You just said we'd work together, back each
other up. Right here's where we fit in together. You know
all about her getting that money from me, for she gets it
through you. Why, you and I can go before those two and
you can come right out and prove everything I say and
make her admit it!" •
His excitement, which had flamed high for a moment, died
into sudden ashes. There were a few facts bearing upon his
own relation to this blackmailing which he preferred to re-
main in blessed obscurity, and Gladys' idea of exposing Cor-
delia would almost surely drag these facts forth from their
protecting shadows.
"For your own sake we dare not try that plan," he said.
"If we accuse her of blackmail, we are certain to start Mr.
Plimpton asking the question 'On what grounds was she able
to extort blackmail?' That would lead straight to your—
ari—unfortunate experience, and the child. If we were to
force Mr. Plimpton into learning this— No, that plan will
not do."
"I should say not!" Gladys breathed in alarm.
"Have you thought of any other method?"
"No. Have you thought of anything?"
"Yes. But not a plan that would be immediately practi-
cable."
"What is it?"
He smiled. "As your lawyer, I think it wiser that you


236 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
should not know. Then you will always have the plea of
innocence. Besides, I do not wish to use this method until
all other methods have failed. There is an element of dan-
ger in it; it might possibly involve all of us unpleasantly.
But I will use it, if necessary; and I think, as your lawyer
and your friend, I can guarantee you that in time Mr. Plimp-
ton will be paying his attention to you."
He stood up. Her eyes were sparkling.
"I'm glad that we have had this understanding," he went
on, "and that we are now partners. I have just one further
suggestion. The opportunity—it may even come as an
Emergency—may arise at any moment. I think I may say,
without conceit, that I have had more experience than you
in handling sudden situations. I suggest, therefore, that
you watch me, and be ready at all times to follow my lead
and support my actions and statements. I'll go even further
than making this suggestion: I ask that you consent to its
being a part of our agreement."
*T agree!" she cried. "And gladly!"
They shook hands upon this fact. During the moment
that he held her hands and gazed down into her eager face,
a voice within him—not the voice of emotion, but perhaps
that of cold practical reason—once again whispered that
Gladys possessed everything which the great world admires,
and that he had only to stretch out his hand and take her.
Gladys was still talking with eager animation of this new
alliance and its hopes as she accompanied Mr. Franklin to
the piazza on his way to his car. She was so engrossed that
she did not see Mitchell sitting on the porch with Francois,
and was startled when he stood up. She flushed, for she
suddenly recalled the letter he had compelled her to write,
and his forcing her to promise to relinquish all aspirations
to Jerry. Then she stared at him defiantly.


A COMPACT AND A WARNING 237
"Mr. Franklin is my lawyer," she announced to him, "and
we have just been discussing a matter of business."
Without waiting for any response to this, she introduced
the two men. They greeted each other without embarrass-
ment, with equally matched ease: no restraint in their man-
ner over the fact that one had so recently been a servant,
and over the fact that so recently they had sat face to face,
all expression masked, while the lawyer had made a veiled
proposal. Franklin spoke of his pleasure in learning of the
change in Mitchell's fortunes, and wished him prosperity
in his new venture, and in his proper station in life. Mitchell
thanked the other for his good wishes. Their talk ran on
for a minute or more. Its substance was of no consequence;
the talk of men who are using words to hide their thoughts.
While they thus stood face to face, with no apparent pur-
pose beyond this courteous chatting, each was swiftly re-
measuring and revaluing the other. They were rivals in
love; but it was not as such that they were now consider-
ing one another; as rivals each regarded the other lightly.
Mitchell had guessed Franklin's intentions toward Cordelia,
he did not regard Franklin as the really dangerous con-
tender; Jerry Plimpton was that. As for Franklin, he did
not even know of Mitchell's proposal; Cordelia had kept the
oath she had given herself, and had let slip no whisper of
the insult he had offered her.
Rather, they studied each other as instinctive opponents;
and in their hundred seconds of well-bred small talk, each
altered his previous estimate. Franklin judged Mitchell to
be less formidable than he had formerly thought him. He
had learned from Gladys the amount she had been paying
Mitchell as hush money; and he could but set a man down
as a mental weakling or a coward who took so little when
he had power to take so much.


238 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
But for all that, instinct warned him that here was a man
who might still prove dangerous.
Mitchell's concern, while he studied his rival, was of a
very different order. Despite Cordelia's assurance to him,
there had persisted in him a fear that she might have uncon-
sciously let fall some fragment of Gladys' secret, from
which the whole had been reconstructed, and that she had
thereby become the innocent tool by which Franklin was
'enabled to extract blackmail from Gladys. But Franklin's
look, and more especially Gladys' cordial manner to the law-
yer, dissipated this fear. Gladys would never feel such
eager friendship for a man who had become a menace, who
was extorting her money. Mitchell was relieved that he had
been mistaken.
But though he acquitted Franklin of guilt in this matter,
he felt no increase of confidence in the man.
At parting the two men shook hands pleasantly, perfunc-
torily, like casual Sunday-afternoon acquaintances. But
when Franklin had gone, Mitchell turned to Gladys with
his cool, tantalizing smile. Francois had been led away by
his governess during the scene with Franklin.
"Just what might have been the nature of your business
with the legal gentleman, Gladys, my dear?" he inquired.
"My business with him is none of your business!" she
snapped.
"Your are forgetting, my dear," he returned pleasantly,
""that your business is always my business."//
"This is not, and I sha'n't tell you!"
"Oh yes, you will."
He regarded her meditatively with his amiable smile.
Perhaps it was Cordelia's presence in his mind but a few
moments before, as the possible unconscious instrument of
Franklin, that prompted his next question.


A COMPACT AND A WARNING 239.
"Was your business concerning Miss Marlowe?"
"It was not!" But Gladys' swift flush was a confession.
"So!—your business was concerning Miss Marlowe.
H'm. Now just what could be the nature of that business.
Let's think." He was silent for almost a minute. "Gladys,
your greatestl interest in Miss Marlowe is connected with
Jerry Plimpton. Jerry Plimpton—that's it."
She did not respond, but her angry flush was again an-
swer enough.
He spoke sharply. "Gladys, to oblige me, you are not go-
ing to interfere with Miss Marlowe."
"From the interest you take in Cordelia Marlowe, one
might think you were in love with her yourself!" This out-
burst was no more than the unpremeditated reaction of her
anger; but instantly she saw the possibilities that lay in her
words. "Oh, isn't that just too rich! What a story that
will make—my ex-butler in love with the proud Cordelia*'
Won't Cordelia just love it when that story gets around to
her!"
Mitchell perceived how humiliating such a story would
be to Cordelia, how utterly disastrous to him—if started
prematurely. But he gave no sign to Gladys' gleeful spite
that it had accidentally hit the bull's eye.
"You will start no such story—not if you have any re-
gard for your own happiness," he warned her in a low
voice. "I do admire Miss Marlowe, but my only interest
in her affair with Mr. Plimpton is for her to have a fair
chance to get him if she decides that he is the man she really
wants—and I'm going to see that she gets it. Even though
I may privately think Mr. Plimpton is not the right man.
A fair chance, without any complications, any tricks, from
you! That's why I made you write him that letter! Now
I believe I have made myself perfectly plain!"


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Never before had he spoken to her with such intensity.
His present force, his motives, may have had their origin
in that quixotism he had confessed to Cordelia; he loved
her deeply, but he desired her happiness so greatly that he
could fight against himself and on the side of the rival she
preferred.
Gladys was for the moment taken aback by his grim force.
But she was too rebelliously angry, too engrossed in her-
self, to question that intensity's significance.
"I'm tired of your always interfering with me!" she
flared at him. "I'm not going to stand it any longer! I'm
going ahead and do just as I please!"
"If you try any game, Gladys," he continued in the same
low even voice, eyes straight into hers, "I'll be sitting in that
game, and I warn you now that I'll be holding the highest
card! I may not play it till I get good and ready—but don't
you ever forget that I'll be holding that card!"
Though she was furious, her next words came in a whis-
per. "Oh, I know what you mean! You've threat-
ened to play it often enough! Francois. But other people
now also hold that card and it's not worth so much. Be-
sides, if any one of you dares play that card, it's then not
worth a cent to any of you!"
"That's what I've been telling you this long while, and
advising you to go ahead and play that card yourself. That
particular card. But I'm not saying whether I'm now re-
ferring to that card, or some other card."
"What other card can there be?"
"I'm not saying. I'm just telling you I hold the highest
card, and advising you to behave."
She glared at him in baffled puzzlement; then burst out:
"What will you take—how much—to clear out of my
life forever? Leave me alone?"


A COMPACT AND A WARNING 241
His smile came slowly back.
"There is a certain price I might ask. You just spoke of
what a delicious story it would make, if it were known that
Gladys Norworth's former butler were in love with Cordelia
Marlowe. Don't you think it would make an even more de-
licious story if Miss Norworth were to announce her com-
ing marriage to the said former butler?"
"You—you wouldn't dare ask such a thing!"
"And you, my dear—you wouldn't dare refuse."
Her face was pale, blank. Never before had he gone
so far as to suggest such a price.
He laughed softly.
"Don't worry, Gladys dear; I'm not going to ask you.
You should know that I know you so well that the only
terms on which I'd consider the proposition of being endowed
with thee and all thy worldly goods, would be with thee left
out. I rather fancy that the price I will require for clearing
out will be a very great deal more than that—and a very
great deal less. In fact I can give you this fairly positive
assurance; some day I shall go, and when I go I shall not
require the price of a penny for myself. But when the ac-
count is thus settled, I am very sure that you, if you still
had your choice, would vastly prefer to have paid by giv-
ing your former butler both your fortune and yourself. I
believe that's all I can think of just now, my dear, and if
you don't mind excusing me I'll see if I can't find Fran-
cois."
With a smile of ironic courtesy he strolled away, leaving
her cursing furiously in choking whispers. He was per-
vaded with grim satisfaction. As he had told Cordelia, he
had an old and long bill against Gladys and he was missing
no opportunities for exacting small payments upon account.


I
CHAPTER XXII
IN WHICH THE EXPECTED HAPPENS
At length mid-September came, and with it the long re-
hearsed pageant at Mrs. Phipps-Morse's country place near
Huntington.
Cordelia was destined to attain greater glories and more
satisfying ambitions, and to attain them soon. But in all her
splendid career, in all her lofty and up-pointing course,
which had latterly maintained the prosperous direction only
by smile-hidden efforts of which the envious world had
never a guess, the magnificent Cordelia had never yet been
so magnificent as at the French pageant. Considering her
career up ^o this time, this was Cordelia's day of days.
Once upon a time, in what might be termed its formless
youth, there had been words to this pageant. Lots of
words, cadenced words, stately words: the slow, sonorous
beauty of words, so inspiration had conceived, that should
be the proper marriage-mate of a pageant's measured dig-
nity. For many weeks during early and mid summer an
elderly youngish man, whose divine fire never seemed to
die down and give his purely mortal elements a chance to
cool off and undergo repairs, was at almost any hour of the
day or night to be seen eagerly drawing a fellow member
aside into a corner of the lounge at the Players' Club; and
such members as could not escape the poet's capture con-
fided to the poet that his poetry was indeed slow, sonorous,
stately, divinely fitted to be the word-bride of pageantry—in
242


IN WHICH THE EXPECTED HAPPENS 243
short that his contribution to the marriage was truly made
in heaven, and they hoped the couple would live happily for-
ever after; whereupon such members, being released, made
haste to seek the company of other members who were good
fellows and known to carry something on the hip.
Praise of much the same quality was uttered by Kyle
Brandon when, in due time, the elderly youngish man read
his beautiful words to the director-in-chief of the pageant.
The great Brandon thumped the poetic shoulder; corking
stuff, really—only there would have to be eliminations, just
a few, to get the show down into six reels—no, he meant
two hours. Of course, of course, agreed the gratified poet.
But as the eliminations began, and continued, the poet's
body seemed to diminish with the body of his verse; lines,
stanzas, whole pages, seemed to be daily crossed out of his
corporeal person—and the next day more pages; and this
physical dwindling of the poet continued until on the day
of the pageant there was present no more of his physical
substance than of his poetic, of which latter there was not
a syllable.
Thus does it happen to all the meaner arts when they
come into conflict with the noble and more puissant art of
the Movie. And thus does a character who had aspired to
a place of minor importance in this history of Cordelia Mar-
lowe vanish unnamed from its pages; existing here, as it
were, only parenthetically—as a foot-note, an explanation.
He was gently done to death, and lies in his unmarked
grave, because Kyle Brandon believed that the art of the
pageant is identical with the art of the motion-picture, and
the art of the motion-picture, according to the Brandon
canons, is to dress your people up and keep 'em moving.
Also there was another reason, not connected with art,
for this gradual but complete fade-out of the poet and his


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
poetry. As rehearsals progressed it became ever more clear
to Kyle Brandon that his greatest chance for making the
pageant a striking success for himself (he cared nothing
for the jealousies among his lesser society actresses, and in
his heart of hearts he believed all pageants a bore) was by
pushing Cordelia to the front, building up her parts, giving
her an infinite variety of costumes, postures and processions.
Yes, a thousand damns for the feelings of all those incom-
petent society would-be amateurs! And being human, and
observant, and having two extremely good eyes which were
kept extremely wide open to the future advantages of Kyle
Brandon, he was influenced by another consideration: he had
noted the approximation of Cordelia and Jerry in their
courses—Cordelia was plainly appointed by destiny to be
the outstanding social figure of her time—and since she
really was the best of an amateur lot, why shouldn't he make
her his star? And having such a star, and having his social
wagon deftly hitched to it—well, one could travel very
pleasantly in that wagon in the years to come.
Against such considerations as these, what chance was
there for an elderly youngish poet and his beautiful words?
—even had he possessed, and arranged in beautiful sequence,
all the beautiful words of the world?
Kyle Brandon was possibly right in his private judg-
ment that all pageants, especially society pageants, are a
formal bore; except, of course, to the actors, to the actors'
relatives, to the benefactees and to such members of the less
fortunate classes as are eager to buy tickets at bandit
prices in order to get within the gates of such an estate as
Mrs. Phipps-Morse's and to gaze upon those splendid
people to whom such estates are no more remarkable than
flats in Harlem. All interest shown by other persons, so


IN WHICH THE EXPECTED HAPPENS 245
Brandon held, was just pretense. At any rate, his dictum
shall be followed in this history—and that splendid pageant
—"the greatest spectacle Long Island Society has ever
known," so it was declared to be by one of the young Bar-
nums Brandon employed upon his publicity staff—shall here
undergo an elimination only less complete than that suffered
by the poet's word-garbed beauty. It was not what Cor-
delia did in the pageant, or what others did, that is impor-
tant to this history; rather it is the effect she created, the
stimulus to her social fame, the hastening of events that
had been leisurely in their march.
"Give the people what they know"—this was one of the
first principles of Brandon's art. So in a series of tab-
leaux and processions, Cordelia was in turn the conventional
figure of France in Phrygian cap; Joan of Arc; Charlotte
Corday; a vivandiere; a nurse in the uniform of the French
Red Cross.
Cordelia's triumph was complete; partly because the
people had been told to admire her, and crowd-like obeyed;
partly because of the skill with which Brandon had cos-
tumed and posed her; and most of all because of her beauty
and natural grace. When all was over, women re-
porters encompassed her; then the newspaper photogra-
phers took possession of her, though there were at their dis-
posal "stills" of her in all poses taken at Brandon's order
in advance, and though two of his crack camera-men had
been cranking their machines throughout the spectacle and
the results of this labor were promised free for all. "The
illustrated supplement of every paper in the country will
carry your pictures, and they'll be knockouts!" Brandon
had told her—a prediction which later became a fact; for of
beautiful pictures of beautiful women American papers


246 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
seem unable ever to get enough, and Brandon's "stills"
were altogether the most remarkable set of beautiful girl
pictures offered the papers that year. J
After the press people had released her, Cordelia's
friends swarmed about her, congratulating her, praising
her. The atmosphere was like that in a star's dress-
ing room, after the final curtain has fallen upon a radiantly
successful first performance. The three thousand people
seemed every one her friend, her eager admirer. Jackie
was there of course, and Ailine Harkness. Even Gladys
told her how well she'd done, and kissed her; and Cordelia,
who loved all the world just then, returned the kiss. And
Miss Harcourt worshipped quite openly, but with proper
respect, this former star of her school.
"You were to-day all that years ago I said you were going
to be!" she proclaimed fervently. "I am proud of you—
proud to have had you! And soon"—she laid a hand on
Lily's shoulder, and smiled expectantly—"soon I shall be
having your dear little sister."
"Dear little sister—my eye!" whispered Lily as Miss
Harcourt moved away. "Where does she get that 'dear
little' stuff?" Lily gave Cordelia a tight affectionate
squeeze, and kissed her. "You sure were all to the good,
old dear!"
Sometimes Cordelia really loved the bit of swaggering
precocity that was her younger sister. This was one of the
times.
Mrs. Marlowe took Cordelia in her arms and wept a bit.
"You were wonderful, my dear—wonderful!" And having
her lips so close to her daughter's ears, and the two of them
being for the moment apart from the others, she could not
restrain her worried heart. "I do hope, dear, that—that
after this you'll soon be marrying," she whispered tremu-


IN WHICH THE EXPECTED HAPPENS 247
lously. "Some of those old bills are bothering me terribly!
I appreciated that thousand you sent, though I don't know
how you managed to spare it—it's the first time you ever
did save anything out of your allowance. But, dear, with
prices what they are—I hate to say it, dear—but I simply
don't see how I can afford to keep up your allowance—
There, I won't say it; but you know how things are."
It was the old family trouble, the pinching lack of money,
which would not let itself be forgotten even on a state oc-
casion. But on this day the world was Cordelia's; and
such an item as mere money could not depress her. She
hugged her mother reassuringly.
"Don't you worry, mother. Everything is going to be
all right! Just you see!"
Comforted, Mrs. Marlowe gave way to others. Among
these others came Mr. Franklin, who expressed his admi-
ration with so fine a restraint upon his personal grief, that
again Cordelia thought inevitably of how like a thorough
gentleman he had proposed and how gallantly he had taken
his refusal. Her heart warmed toward him.
And among the others came Mitchell. He was there as
Brandon's friend. Brandon, who was tirelessly seeing pos-
sibilities everywhere and tirelessly seizing them, thought
he had perceived the germ of a picture story in Mitchell and
was cultivating Mitchell that the germ might be the better
incubated. Though Cordelia had vowed to cut Mitchell
dead when she next saw him, she was so in love with all
the world that she promptly took the hand he smilingly
offered and returned his smiles. Not until after he had
said his say and was gone did she realize that after having
greeted him thus cordially in public she could never as-
sume the proposed attitude of icy unawareness of his exist-
ence when they might meet in the future. Such an attitude


248 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
would make her seem silly. She would have to behave
toward him, at the least, as toward an acquaintance.
All this while, Jerry Plimpton had been standing on the
outskirts of Cordelia's court, observing, smiling at her when-
ever he could get her eye. It had been arranged that he
was to drive her back to Jackie Thorndike's.
At the most effective moment Kyle Brandon came for-
ward in true impresario manner and congratulated his star.
This was one of those moments that Kyle Brandon lived for.
He said much, and said it loudly that all might hear; and he
said it extremely well, for his little speech had been carefully
written out and "flimsy" of it was at this moment in pos-
session of all the reporters.
"And there's one thing I wish to remind you of, Miss
Marlowe, one promise I wish to hold you to," he concluded
in a manner of serious banter which gave the effect of his
being at bottom very serious indeed—"and that promise is,
if you ever decide to act for the screen, you are to come
under my management."
"I promise," laughed Cordelia.
"My greatest wish is that we may soon be working to-
gether!" However great his wish, it was not backed by
his belief, for he knew how the wind was blowing and he
was very certain it would never blow her into the Brandon
Studios. "What a picture we could make, you and I!
What a star I could make of you, Miss Marlowe—what a
star!"
The people clustered about applauded this speech and
then applauded Cordelia and grew murmurous with com-
ment. No doubt of it at all; if Cordelia Marlowe should
care to turn from a more glorious career to the movies, she
would be a star of stars.
Yes, this was Cordelia's day of days!


IN WHICH THE EXPECTED HAPPENS 249
At the last came Jerry, eyes bright with proud admiration.
"I'll tell you how really wonderful you were a little later—
when we're away from this crowd. Will you soon be ready
to start back?"
"Give me half an hour, Jerry."
And within the half hour, in Jerry's roadster, they were
humming toward Jackie Thorndike's, and Jerry was telling
Cordelia just how wonderful she was. That afternoon had
had its very positive effect upon him. He had long been
very fond of Cordelia, though from necessity he had kept
himself from being passionately in love. Taking unto him-
self a wife was a business requiring the functioning of a
careful brain rather than a rapturous and therefore perhaps
incautious emotion. He could hardly have regarded the
matter otherwise, having been brought up on the Plimpton
tradition, and having had it always held up to him that his
wife must be the social equivalent of that very remarkable
woman, his mother. These many weeks his duly careful
brain had been finding more and more to approve of in
Cordelia. Even if the pageant had been unimportant in all
other matters, it would still have been of vital importance in
Cordelia's history, in that it was the pageant which provided
the occasion for her beauty and her poise to stand out in
contrast above the qualities of other women, the occasion for
her to win the unqualified approval of Jerry's public and of
Jerry's judgment. It was the pageant which finally deter-
mined Jerry's mind to propose.
And Jerry, having decided to propose, proposed. And
Cordelia, having decided to accept, accepted.
Their minds, having already settled this essential in ad-
vance, had time for several practical details before the drive
was over. The announcement of the engagement was of
course to be left to Cordelia and Mrs. Marlowe, and no one


2jo CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
was to be told until after Mrs. Marlowe had received the
news. They would be married that fall. Neither cared for
a wedding journey. He would have the Plimpton town
house, which had not been socially open since his mother's
death, redecorated and they would/ be installed in it before
the social season was well under way and the big house
would return to the character it had held in his mother's
time.
At Jackie's that night, by ascribing all her high spirits
to the pageant, Cordelia managed to conceal the exultant
triumph that swirled and throbbed within her. She sent
a wire asking her mother to meet her the following morning
at the Park Avenue apartment; and then after she went to
her room for the night she decided, upon warm impulse, to
make just one exception to the agreement that the announce-
ment should come solely from her mother. There was one
person who had been so practically helpful, so considerate,
so thoroughly the gentleman, that it would be discourteous
and unkind to allow him to get the first news solely from
the newspapers.
She decided to send a letter. This is what she wrote
Mr. Franklin, though the letter was not mailed until the fol-
lowing afternoon:
Dear Mr. Franklin:
You have been so extremely kind to me that I feel
I owe it to you to let you have the news of something
which has just happened, directly from me. I am en-
gaged to be married to Mr. Jerry Plimpton.
Perhaps it will not be out of place to repeat here
that I shall always feel the honor of the question which
you asked me, and I shall always regret any pain which
my answer may have inflicted.


IN WHICH THE EXPECTED HAPPENS 251
Of course I hardly need tell you that with my en-
gagement our business relationship will necessarily come
to an end. I am glad indeed to have been so useful
to you, as you have kindly told me I have been; and I
am happy in thinking I really earned the sums you paid
me, as you kept assuring me I did. As you know, I
needed this money very badly. It will be pleasant to
remember, in connection with our relationship, that each
of us was of help to the other.
I hope that our friendship may be continued into
my married life. Wishing you all happiness, I am
Sincerely your friend.
Cordelia read the letter through carefully. Her mind
went to Mr. Franklin, and visioned him as he received the
letter. She felt profoundly moved. She could see him
flinch and pale at the blow. And then with that brave, quiet
smile of his, he would hide his heart-break and try to save
her the pain of any sight of his suffering.
Ah, there was a true gentleman!


354 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
was everything she could dream of in her dizziest dreams
as desirable in a son-in-law; of highest birth, highest man-
ners, highest money. As for Jerry, he was pleased with
his family-to-be: proud of Cordelia, of course; and in a
lesser degree proud of Mrs. Marlowe, for though he ad-
mitted she was not a brilliant woman she was none the less
of one of the best families; but of Lily he was not so proud,
fior so fond. He foresaw that Lily might prove to be the
one spot of irritation in this new life of his which was so
happily beginning.
Particularly was he not so proud nor fond of Lily when,
after asking her what he should give her for an engage-
ment present, she glibly answered, "Six thousand of your
own special brand of cigarettes, six dozen silk pyjamas,
and six cases of your best hooch," and after her ask-
ing him if it were true, what people said, that he was
really and truly and honest-to-Godly almost as rich as a
bootlegger. Jerry smiled at her request and inquiry, but
his smile was from the face outward. For all his having
mixed for some thirty years on familiar terms with all sorts
of the best people, Jerry was dismayed, and felt an exas-
perated inner shame, at the shameless out-spokenness of this
new generation of girls in their mid teens. He'd have to
find means, later on, for curbing this cheeky Lily. She,
too, was going to be a beauty like her sister when she grew
'up; he might be proud of her then; but she would certainly
take a lot of curbing! In the meantime he fervently
thanked God she was going to enter Harcourt Hall the fol-
lowing week; his little sister-in-law-to-be could not be in a
better reformatory, for Miss Harcourt had the name of tam-
ing the wildest material into well-bred ladies.
Over their tea, when they considered mundane details,
Cordelia asked Jerry, as a very great favor to her, to con-


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT 255
sent to a modest wedding. This request was born of an
earlier conference with her mother, in which Mrs. Marlowe
—who would have loved nothing so much as a big show
wedding—mentioned the predicament which arose from the
fact of the bride's family being supposed to pay the costs of
a wedding and from the further fact that they had nothing
at all with which to pay. Jerry delicately sensed something
of the motive behind this request, and he heartily agreed
that nothing would suit him so little as the usual big theat-
rical spectacle staged around the altar. So it was agreed
that the wedding should be very modest. Already Cordelia
had begun to consider privately if it might not be even
simpler, and therefore much easier for her mother, if the
two of them just slipped away and were married.
The following morning Cordelia found herself on the first
page of every New York newspaper; and it is indeed a
wondrous tribute to the extraordinary importance of an en-
gagement, or marriage, when it can compete on equal terms
with the ordinary divorce for first-page eminence. Her
pictures were in the papers, too; and a little later she was to
receive these pictures by the theusands from all parts o£
the country, for the moment he learned the news, Kyle
Brandon, instead of sending her florist's flowers, as he ex-
plained, subscribed to a press clipping bureau in her name.
If she had not known before how great was her success,
all this newspaper space would have made it plain enough.
And Kyle Brandon made it even plainer. When telephoning
her of the newspaper flowers he was sending her—he had
of course begun by congratulating her most warmly—he
lapsed for a few phrases into the levity of professional jar-
gon.
"If I had as big a picture story as you two have a
marriage story, I'd have the biggest picture the world ever


256 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
saw filmed!" he declared over the wire. "You've got a
hit—the biggest knock-out of ten years!"
And so, indeed, it was.
From the morning she drove back to the apartment in
her sheeny green roadster, Cordelia had determined that
her career as a popular guest who made ends meet by being
a guest was then and there forever at an end. She needed
a convenient place of her own, from which she could direct
her coming activities; the apartment was the only place she
had; and so she decided to remain in town, although the
time was then only mid-September and the days still had
their summer heat. For the next two months—in fact up
fo the very day she drove away to be married—the apart-
ment continued to be her headquarters; which was the
longest single period she had spent in her home since she
had started on her career of itinerant guest at eighteen.
Since the announcement of the engagement the telephone
was always ringing, one of the liveried attendants of the
building was always carrying up bundles of letters. Cor-
delia had always known she had a long list of friends and
had been popular with them—otherwise she could not have
lived these last four years; but she had never guessed
she had so many friends as now hastened to tell her of
their delight. The whole Social Register seemed to be taking
its pen in hand or taking its telephone receiver off the hook.
Among this multitude of congratulators were of course
the more intimate friends such as Jackie Thorndike and
Ailine Harkness. Mitchell wrote her a brief note, which
she considered rather nice. And Mr. Franklin answered
her letter to him with just the tone of gallant gentlemanliness
she expected; and later when he called, he wore just the look
of brave, smile-hidden grief that she knew would be on


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT 257
his face. Even Gladys wrote effusively; and even called
on Cordelia and kissed her, for Cordelia was about to be-
come a social figure of such unassailable importance that
one would be a fool not to be friends with her. Incidentally
it seemed to Cordelia she had not in all her previous life
been kissed by Gladys so frequently and fervently as during"
the weeks since she had discovered Gladys' secret.
But this kiss pressed against Cordelia's cheek was not
what was on Gladys' lips on that morning when she first
read the announcement of the engagement; nor was the fine,
brave look of nobly hidden heart-break which Cordelia's im-
agination saw upon Franklin's face, the exact look which
overspread his face the morning he received Cordelia's let-
ter. As he read of her engagement—her tribute to him
as a rejected suitor—her notice of the termination of their
business relationship which had been so agreeable and profit-
able to both of them, and of her gratification at having truly
earned the sums he had paid her as he had so frequently
assured her—the feelings aroused in him were quite other
than the noble resignation Cordelia had imagined.
As he studied the letter and the changes it meant to him,
some forty miles away, Gladys, in bed, was yawning over the
head-lines of her newspaper. The next moment she was
gasping, then swearing violently; swearing was one of the
very private courses, with complete instruction, which Miss
Harcourt did not know her excellent school provided; and
the following moment Gladys was flying across the room
in her nightgown toward her telephone. She got Mr.
Franklin at once.
"Have you seen the news?" she cried. "Cordelia Mar-
lowe and Jerry Plimpton engaged!"
"I've seen it—yes."


258 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"But you said you were going to stop any engagement!"
"Being engaged is not the same as being married," he
reminded her. "They are not married yet."
"But they will be! My paper says they're to be married
soon!"
"They're not married yet," he repeated. "A lot may hap-
pen before then."
"But what can we do to stop them—as you said we'd do?"
"Perhaps we'd better go over that in a little talk. Will
you be in the city to-day?"
She would be. They had their little talk. And the result
of it, so far as Gladys could see, was that Mr. Franklin's
only plan was his statement that a lot might happen before
the marriage. As a matter of fact, this really was Mr.
Franklin's chief hope.
It was after this that Gladys—somewhat discouraged by
Mr. Franklin in her idea of upsetting Cordelia—called upon
Cordelia and stamped her with the kiss of loyal affection.
And it was after this that Mr. Franklin called upon her,
wearing his look of secret sorrow nobly borne.
These days of late September and October were days of
intoxicating glory for Cordelia, what with the universal
congratulations, with her private sense of her achievement,
with her sense of the vast interest the public was taking
in her, and with the nearness of the greater triumphs which
should be hers after she was Mrs. Jerry Plimpton. Her
natural graciousness of manner became more gracious; her
high spirits became more sparkling, more communicative of
glad thrills to others; her wings grew more exultantly
strong for soaring. Invitations poured in upon her; they
were gratifying, but they no longer represented a livelihood;
and besides she was too excitedly busy with Jerry to spare
time for accepting invitations.


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT 259
She and Jerry were now devoting themselves to one prac-
tical matter they had decided upon on the afternoon of their
engagement. This was going over their various homes and
starting alterations which would fit them to Cordelia's taste
or fit them for immediate occupancy whenever needed. Ac-
companied by Mrs. Marlowe they spent a few days at sea
on Jerry's yacht, the Nordic, later to be Cordelia's floating
home. Not a change was needed here. With an architect
and a decorator added to the entourage—jotting down mem-
oranda of the instructions given to them—the three visited
the great cottage at Newport, disestablished for a decade;
and after that they spent a week at Jerry's Adirondack camp
whose rugged out-of-doorness was represented by a main
cottage and fourteen guest cottages, all steam-heated and
with tiled baths. But most of their redecorative energies
were given to the Fifth Avenue house, which was to be the
residence first used. Here Jerry smilingly allowed Cordelia
complete sway, as he had at the other establishments. It
pleased him to have the future Mrs. Plimpton be the mis-
tress, to the last detail, of her several future homes.
No material aspect of her coming marriage gave such day-
after-day substantial gratification to Cordelia as these homes
and the business of refitting them. These homes signified
to her a magnificent reversal of her formal role: no longer
was she to be merely a desirable guest—she was to become
a most desired hostess! And as a hostess, she would enter-
tain as she had never been entertained!
Gossip of course took note of these activities, and guessed
the social programme at which they pointed. Gossip's tongue
wagged excitedly with questions, conjectures, weak-voiced
doubts, loud-voiced affirmations: in country homes, in moun-
tain lodges, in the few drawing-rooms that were beginning
to open, and more discreetly in the society columns of the


26o CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
newspapers. Would Cordelia ever make the great social
figure that Jerry's mother had been? Some declared yes.
Some feared no. But all agreed that she would prove a
marvellous hostess, and all admitted that she was the most
brilliant young star in the social firmament.
The general attitude toward Cordelia was reflected, per-
haps in an exaggerated degree, by one of the great world's
lesser but respected figures on the day Cordelia drove Lily
out to Harcourt Hall to begin the treatment which was to
transmute Lily's dross into the pure gold of a lady. Miss
Harcourt almost made genuflections in her delight at Cor-
delia's visit; she no longer ventured to first-name or my-
dear her former pupil. "Miss Marlowe, I always foretold
that you, of all my girls, were destined to shine as the
brightest," she said in awed respect. "And, Miss Marlowe,
I was right! I hope you will honor us—we shall count it
an honor—by visiting your sister as often as you can. And
you may count on this, Miss Marlowe: we shall do our best
for Miss Lily—our very best."
When Cordelia drove away from the school which had
so largely shaped her life, she could not have felt that this
school had paid her greater obeisance even had Miss Har-
court creaked down on her pudgy knee-caps and reverently
kissed her feet.
In these happy pre-marital days the delicate considerate-
ness of Jerry did not pause with turning over his houses to
Cordelia. There were his mother's jewels. He took her to
the vault where they were stored and showed them to her:
the famous jewels that had not been upon a woman's person
for now almost a dozen years. Those jewels were now all
hers, he told her. Of course she would not want to wear
them until after the marriage. But they were hers.
She drew a deep quivering breath as she held those turn-


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT 261
bling masses of gleaming color, of leaping light, in her two
hands. Hers—all hers!
Nor did the delicate considerateness of Jerry pause even
here. He knew the exact condition of the Marlowe fortune,
or thought he did. He knew Cordelia would not have one
penny of her own after her marriage. That was quite all
right with him; he was under no necessity of having his
wife bring money into the family. But it was an old Plimp-
ton tradition that their wives have separate and independent
incomes, and when their wives did not bring the incomes, the
incomes were settled upon them; it had perhaps now grown
to be a matter of inherited pride with the male Plimptons
that their wives should never need to ask for money. At
any rate, with delicate frankness and excusing his action by
the Plimpton custom, Jerry brought up the subject of a
wifely income and pressed his point; with the result that
there were visits to the offices of his attorneys, and finally
papers were drawn up and executed, settling one hundred
thousand a year upon Cordelia, the transfer to go into effect
on the day she became his wife. Jerry made it clear to her
that all running expenses, all general bills, were to be paid for
out of his own funds. This hundred thousand a year was
for her own personal expenses—her modistes' bills and the
like—her pin money—to be spent exactly as she pleased,
with no accounting.
As the necessity for dining out in order to get a dinner,
of forever going visiting in order to keep a home, had been
banished—so now had that other terrible Marlowe spectre,
the eternal lack of money. She now had money! Money
all her own! And all the money any woman might by any
possibility ever possibly need!
All these days Cordelia lived in sparkling thrills succeeded
by yet more sparkling thrills: her body, her nerves, her


262 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
spirit, were all coruscations of delight. At last she had
everything—everything she had ever dreamed of: more of
it and all of it better! What difficulties she had secretly
surmounted!—how skilfully she had secretly managed!—
what a dazzling, dazzling road now stretched wide and open
and easy and far before her!
Yes—of a truth had she proved her sober right to that
old half-jesting title:—more than ever was she Cordelia the
Magnificent!


CHAPTER XXIV
HOW MITCHELL APOLOGIZED TO HIMSELF
All these exhilarating days Cordelia's sky had been ever
of deepest blue. Not a single cloud had marred that unfail-
ing blue, and if a cloud existed anywhere in all the heavens
it had remained below Cordelia's horizon.
Then a cloud did lift itself above the sky-line of her life.
It appeared first in the form of Mitchell.
These last several weeks Cordelia had not given Mitchell
a serious thought. She had been too busy to dwell upon
him; and she had not seen him since her triumph at the
pageant. To be sure, her mind had flitted to him a few
times, and had vagrantly wondered what he was doing; but
she asked no one about him, and had no slightest idea what
was this occupation he had turned to since quitting his butler-
ing career. As for Mitchell, aside from his brief note of
congratulation, he had made no slightest attempt to intrude
upon Cordelia's new life.
When they did meet it was not in consequence of an at-
tempt on his part at intrusion. It was pure chance, though
they were certain to have been thrown together sooner or
later.
The afternoon of their meeting was one of the few after-
noons that Jerry had not been able to spend with her. She
was coming out of a Fifth Avenue shop, alone, and was
crossing toward her limousine (Jerry's limousine, at her dis-
posal during these weeks) when she saw Mitchell almost
upon her. She stopped, and held out her hand with a smile.
263


264 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Why, Mr. Mitchell!" she exclaimed.
She had once planned, when she should meet, that she
would cut him dead. It now happened just the other way.
His face was white, tight, and blank with unrecognition;
and he ignored her hand and strode on.
Stupefied, she gazed after him. She could not believe
this thing!
But instantly he had turned sharply about and was grip-
ping her arm.
"After all I must say it!" he declared in a fierce whisper.
"I must see you a few minutes—where we'll be alone!"
Her compliance was determined as much by her paralyz-
ing stupefaction as by the fierce dominance of his manner.
"We—we can take a drive in my car," she suggested.
"And perhaps have your chauffeur overhear, and perhaps
understand! I'd rather risk a taxi-driver."
He hailed a taxicab, helped her in, called "Up the Ave-
nue" to the driver, and stepped in beside her. The eyes in
which heretofore she had seen only smiles, good-humored,
cynical or teasing, now blazed on her with withering ac-
cusation and disdain.
Her dazed spirit had begun to recover its vigorous con-
fidence.
"What's all this about?" she demanded.
"About several things, all of which are one thing," he
said fiercely, slowly, his eyes stabbing her with their disdain.
"In the first place, I have insulted myself most horribly. I
want to regain my self-respect, if that is possible, by apolo-
gizing to myself, and apologizing to myself in your pres-
ence."
"Go on!"
"I insulted my self-respect when I asked you to marry


MITCHELL APOLOGIZED TO HIMSELF 265
"What!" she flamed at him.
"I then said to myself that I loved you. I did love you
at that time. Perhaps my heart still loves you. But my
sense of decency doesn't love you. My self-respect, which
once let me ask you to marry you, now demands that I tell
you that I despise you more than any woman I know!"
"You dare say that to me!" she cried furiously.
"I do." He drove at her with his slow, fierce relentless-
ness. "And I'll tell you why I despise you. I despise you
because you are a liar! And a blackmailer! And a girl of
good chances who has turned into just an ordinary adven-
turess!"
Her amazed fury was for a moment almost incoherent.
"You say—you say—" And then: "You can't make
charges like those, and then think I'm going to rest quiet
under them! You've got to come out in the open, if you're
not a coward, and say just what you mean!"
"To say just what I mean—that's exactly why I've got
you here! But first of all, I'm going to tell you how I hap-
pened to find out about you. You remember about my hav-
ing a talk with your Mr. Franklin, and his making me a prop-
osition that sounded very suspicious. You remember tell-
ing me that Gladys had told you she was paying more
heavily than ever for blackmail; you accused me of getting
it; at the time I didn't take this seriously, for I thought
Gladys was just lying. You will remember that I asked
you if by any chance you had unconsciously dropped a hint
of Gladys" secret to your Mr. Franklin; it occurred to me
that if you had dropped a hint to your Mr. Franklin, then,
unknown to you, he might be the person who was levying
the blackmail Gladys had spoken about. You will remem-
ber that, to my question, you returned the reply that you
had made no mention of Gladys' affair to your Mr. Frank-


266 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
lin. I believe you remember all these things?—that you
will admit that these are statements of facts?"
If fury could have burned, Mitchell would have been
a cinder.
"I admit these things—yes! But you have not said a
thing thus far—not a thing!—that proves your cowardly
slander!"
"I'll prove it in two minutes—don't you worry! For a
time I paid no attention to these facts I have just outlined.
Then, somehow, by a natural affinity, they all came to-
gether in my mind. I began to think them over. Together,
they looked very suspicious. I decided to learn the truth.
You were concerned; I had to know the truth about you.
The one person easiest for me to get the truth, or part of
the truth, out of was Gladys. I remembered the trick you
had used to get her secret out of her: working her into
such a temper as made her forget all discretion, all self-
control. The other day I used your trick; in her wild rage
she let the facts come tumbling out of her. And those
facts, Miss Marlowe, prove everything I called you!'"
"You've not proved anything yet!" she cried.
"All right. If you will be obstinate in your pretense of
innocence, we'll just go over those names I called you one
by one. First, as to the liar. I asked you if you had told
your Mr. Franklin anything of Glady's secret. You told
me you had not said a word. You lied then—lied flatly.
I have the facts, and you might as well admit you lied."
"That was no lie!" she stormed. "No one but you would
dare call it such. A client's relations with her attorney are
confidential. Not even a court would demand to know
what had passed between a woman and her attorney in con-
fidence."
"Oh, so you would try to take refuge in that old evasion!"


268 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
He laughed harshly.
"If I thought you believed that yourself, I'd add an-
other word to those I've called you. I'd say that you are
a fool! You are many things, but you certainly are no
fool! You are far too wise to help in a game like this, and
still be ignorant and innocent of what was really going on.
Mr. Franklin could not be paying you any such sums as he
was paying you, unless it was blackmail money—you can't ex-
pect me or any one else to believe otherwise, and you your-
self know that what I've said is the truth. No, the money
you had from your Mr. Franklin was just ordinary black-
mail! Your whole game is now as clear as day! Your
whole purpose in coming out to Rolling Meadows was to
carry out your and Mr. Franklin's plan of blackmailing
Gladys!"
His injustice was going too far.
"It was not!" she cried hotly. "I came to Rolling
Meadows to protect Gladys!"
"Don't lie to me!" he commanded in savage contempt.
"I've caught you in one lie, and your lies don't fool me a
moment! And please don't insult my intelligence by telling
such a feeble lie as that you came to protect Gladys. Pro-
tect Gladys from me—when every penny I was taking from
Gladys was being saved to meet Gladys' own obligations in
case she ever flunked them! You protect Gladys!—when
right after you learned her story you told your Mr. Franklin,
and a few days later your blackmail machine was going full
speed! God, what a weak-wit of a liar you are!"
She tried to retort to this, but he snapped her off.
"Don't try more lies! Besides, you're not here to talk;
you're here to listen! This game against Gladys, I'll bet
it was not your only game of the sort! I'll bet you and
your Mr. Franklin have been playing it elsewhere right


MITCHELL APOLOGIZED TO HIMSELF 269
along. I've called you a liar and a blackmailer, and I've
proved both. Now I'm going to prove you an adventuress.
You've been using your social position to gain information
which you could use to levy blackmail. And you've been
using your blackmail money to make a splurge, to fascinate
men. Especially to trap Jerry Plimpton!
"Shut up!" he cried fiercely, when at this last she tried
to gasp out an interruption; and he went on with his torrent
of molten words, his eyes blazing at her. "I told you you
were here to listen! There, I've proved all three counts:
liar, blackmailer, adventuress! And to think that I was so
blind that I let you fool me, and let you use me! My friends
have called me an idealist—a Don Quixote—a good-natured
idiot who would be trapped by his own good-nature! They
were right. And I'm even worse than all that. To think
of it—I fell for you! And even helped you in your
schemes! I loved you, but thought I wasn't really good
enough for you. I wanted you to have the very best
chance, even with the man I saw as my chief rival. And
that though I had my doubts about Jerry Plimpton being
really fine enough for you. In my crazy idealism I made
Gladys step aside for you, I made her write that letter to
Jerry Plimpton. My God—to think that I fell for you!—
helped you!
"That's all! Except to say that, even with you what you
are I'm not going to tell on you. And except to say that
Jerry Plimpton's a hundred times too good for you. And
except to say that I'm ten thousand times too good for you.
You made a fool of me, yes—but now you know that I'm
one person who'll always be on to you! And I've apolo-
gized to my self-respect! Now I'm through with you!
Drive on! Good-bye!"
With that he stopped the cab, stepped out, handed the


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
driver five dollars, and without glancing back at her walked
rapidly away through the straggling crowd of upper Fifth
Avenue.
She stared after his erect figure with angry, horror-
filled eyes, forgetful of all else except him and what he had
said, until the drfver brought her to with, "Where to,
ma'am?" She gave the order to return to the waiting
limousine; and in a swirling chaos she drove to her
car, and in a swirling chaos she drove home and locked her-
self in her room. So dazed, so appalled, so wrought up was
she, that she did not definitely know what she thought or
felt; she could not possibly have separated and analyzed her
emotional content. But two sensations, each of them part
thought and part emotion, dominated all her other wild fer-
ment. One was outraged fury at the very real injustice
which had been part of the substance of everything
Mitchell had said. The other was a sense of the dazing
possibility that the other part of what he had said might be
true, and mixed with this sense was a shivering fear.
It was this fear, and not her indignation, which swelled
within her as the minutes and hours passed, with her sitting
there staring at nothing. Could those things possibly be
true? Could she have been fooled?—been made the instru-
ment of Mr. Franklin's devices? Was this money which
had been supporting the family, supporting her, all these
months in reality the fruits of blackmail?
She remembered that Gladys had said she was paying
more blackmail than ever; something now whispered insist-
ently in Cordelia that Gladys had then spoken the truth.
She remembered that Mitchell had said he had not increased
his exaction; the same whisper insisted that Mitchell had
also then spoken the truth. She remembered that Mr.
Franklin had said he could not stop the blackmail, to stop it


MITCHELL APOLOGIZED TO HIMSELF 271
would require time; and the same whisper began to suggest
doubt of these statements, and doubt of every aspect of Mr.
Franklin and her relations with him.
Beside, staring at her, was the fact that she had told him
Gladys' secret. And Gladys had told her she was paying
more than ever; and Mitchell had said that Gladys had told
him that all this extra money was being paid to Mr.
Franklin; both of which statements, it now seemed to Cor-
delia, might very likely be true. And, staring at her, was
** the fact that she and her mother had received large sums
from Mr. Franklin, who certainly had not protected Gladys.
She grew chill with the deductions which the logic of
these considerations forced upon her. Yes—it might all be
true!
And if true, why, she, Cordelia— But she shrank from
the direction in which that thought led.
It came to her that she might end this suspense, learn just
what was the truth, by going to Mr. Franklin and demand-
ing the facts. But on considering this as a practical action,
she found she lacked the courage for it; she did not want to
see Mr. Franklin again, or speak to him.
She admitted to herself she did not want to know the truth.
It would be better not to know. She—she was afraid.
And so long as she did not know the truth, she was inno-
cent.
One resolve she did make. It first flashed into her as
an inspiration; it came as a great light that clears away
all the black dreads of the nighf; it brought infinite relief.
She would pay back all they had had from Mr. Franklin!
Even were she unconsciously guilty this was the extent of
her guilt, that she had foolishly, but innocently, taken his
money. Well, she would pay him back—every penny!
That would make everything right!
1


272 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
She wished she could make this repayment instantly, and
so be all clean, so close the matter forever. But they had
spent the money from Mr. Franklin, they had never had less
ready money than at present; in fact, they were now living
almost entirely upon the credit which was being eagerly ex-
tended everywhere in view of the nearing marriage. That
was most unfortunate, her not having the ready money.
But—and here a swift thought thrilled her with further
relief—she soon would have the ready money! As soon as
she was married! Her own money—'the fortune Jerry had
settled upon her! Money for which she did not have to
account to a living soul! Once married, Mr. Franklin
would promptly have every dollar back; the whole affair
would then be wiped clean from her life.
The question came, Should she tell Jerry? If he knew,
Jerry would probably be prompted to advance the money im-
mediately, or pay off the obligation at once, and she would
be free of the matter without a day's delay. But as she
considered the idea of telling Jerry, objections developed;
small, but not exactly pleasant. The affair was rather com-
plicated, and it would be rather difficult to explain so that he
would understand. And then—well, after she explained,
would Jerry, could Jerry, fully understand?
She decided that it would be wiser and simpler not to tell
Jerry. The matter was not one that affected their relations
as an engaged couple. It was not as if her honor, her
standing, were affected; as if she were any the less per-
sonally. And anyhow, there was not much longer to wait;
she could wait, quietly repay Mr. Franklin with her own
money, and then when the whole affair had receded into the
untroublous region of distant memory—then she would tell
Jerry, tell it lightly, humorously, as a bit of the sort of


MITCHELL APOLOGIZED TO HIMSELF 273
foolishness which a girl may be drawn into before she has
a big wise husband to keep her from the paths of folly.
Tell it as a joke on herself. And at this later time, when
there was nothing to trouble over, Jerry would laugh at it as
a joke.
But despite these inspirations, these decisions, which
should have quieted her, Cordelia was not quieted. Follow-
ing that ride with Mitchell, there was not a day when this
matter did not recur to her, some days many times, and stir
her with unease. Two or three times Jerry caught a
strained, far-away look in her eyes.
"Anything worrying you, Cordie?" he asked.
"Not a thing in the world," she assured him. Then she
forced a look of whimsical trouble. "Nothing—except that
your wife's coming to you broke and a dead-beat, and she's
worrying about the awful amount of money you're spending
on her."
"That's one worry a kiss should eradicate;" and he so
eradicated it. "Now look pleasant."
She did so; and looked so effectively pleasant that he
gravely suggested, in case money should ever become a
worry with them, that he would rebuild their fortune by
putting canned kisses on the market as a magic beautifier.
They had settled upon the fifteenth of November for
their quiet wedding, and Cordelia began to look feverishly
forward to this day as the day of her release. When this
was still three weeks off, reporters and camera-men began to
haunt them in anticipation of the great event; and it was at
this time that they began to speak openly of a procedure
which had been nebulously in Cordelia's mind all during the
engagement—a run-away marriage. It was the end of
October that Jerry, provoked by a woman reporter from a


274 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
newspaper which made a specialty of love romances in its
colored Sunday supplement, came out flatly, unequivocally
upon the subject.
"I'm absolutely fed up on these news-hounds, with their
smelling and baying, as they trail a fellow's every footstep
to the altar!" he exclaimed. "What do you say, Cordie—
let's put one over on the whole damnable and forever-be-
damned bunch. Let's do what we've talked about: fade
quietly out of the scene, and have a marriage that's nobody's
business but our own! And let's do it to-morrow!"
"Let's!" she agreed.
"We'll get the license in the morning, and then be away.
None of our places are fit to stay in, and we don't want to
go to a hotel. How about Aunt Janet's place? You know
she's been begging us to take it for part of our honeymoon.
Aunt Janet's in town, but she keeps her Long Island place
running; plenty of servants and all that. All I need do is
just 'phone her; she'll do the rest. Any objections?"
"Carried unanimously!"
"Then to-morrow, my dear! To-morrow you and I'll
stage one wedding that isn't just a benefit performance for
the damned newspapers! We'll show 'em, my dear!"
Rapidly they discussed and settled the details of this
escape. Presently he kissed her good-night; never again,
he whispered, would a good-night kiss be a kiss of parting.
After Jerry had gone, Cordelia was free to walk her room
excitedly, to speak exultantly to herself in her vast relief.
Just one more day!


CHAPTER XXV
THE WEDDING DAY
The practical details Cordelia and Jerry had settled be-
fore that last good-night kiss which would ever part them,
were these: To escape those confounded news-hounds, they
would that night pack their trunks with their honeymoon
equipment and at an unwatchful, slumbrous hour after mid-
night one of Jerry's cars would call for the trunks and
transport them out to his Aunt Janet's. Their more im-
mediate and intimate necessities each would pack into a
bag, and then, if the whim should strike them on the road
not to go to his Aunt's for a day or two, they would be
equipped to slip off to wherever fancy led them; these two
bags they would carry with them in their own car on the
morrow. But these bags would not be in their car when
they drove down to the City Hall in the morning to se-
cure a license; bags in a waiting car, plus two persons
emerging from the license bureau, might give their whole
show away if one of those damned reporters should be
hanging around. But merely getting a license was not in
their case a suspicious circumstance; a license was good
for any period, it was marriage kept in storage until needed;
most couples, as a matter of convenience, secured their
licenses several days in advance of the day of their in-
tended use. And there was a further circumstance that
would avert suspicion from Cordelia and Jerry: their
marriage had publicly been set for the fifteenth of
275


276 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
November, and if they were just moderately careful no one
would suspect a change of date until all was over.
Jerry would, in the early morning, bring his bag over to
the Park Avenue apartment and leave it there; they would
then drive down and in an unsuspicious manner get their
license; then they would return up town and quickly get the
two bags and shoot away. Yes, that would certainly be
putting it over on the newspapers!
And as it was planned, so was it done. At ten o'clock
the following morning—it was the morning of Hallowe'en,
by the way—they walked out of City Hall, the license in
Jerry's inner pocket, and unhurriedly crossed to Jerry's
roadster parked near the Hall of Records. No one had
seemed to notice them. The thing had worked.
But a few things had happened, and more now began to
happen, of which they were unaware. For instance, they
were both totally unaware that for many days past certain
apparently stolid gentlemen with obvious manner of unin-
terest in them, had been watching every move they made.
Two of these gentlemen had noted and followed up the post-
midnight movement of trunks; and another pair of these
gentlemen had observed the entrance of Jerry's suit case into
Cordelia's apartment-house. These two items, as had been
every other item of action, were duly reported over the wire
to Mr. Franklin. And even while Cordelia and Jerry, re-
joicing inwardly at the success of their strategy, were step-
ping into their car beside the Hall of Records, some one in
the office of the license clerk (stimulated to watchfulness
and obliging promptness by a gratifying fee) was duly report-
ing the issuance of the license to Mr. Franklin's office.
Trunks sent secretly to the country, plus a travelling bag,
plus a marriage license was not a difficult problem in addi-
tion and deduction for Mr. Franklin. He had kept to


THE WEDDING DAY
277
his policy, difficult though restraint had been, of waiting
for something to happen; something that would proceed
from outside himself, that would not involve him. But
something had not happened. He now must make some-
thing happen. He acted with the swift exactness of a
general who has been waiting "Zero" hour. Everything had
been thought out, prepared for. Just one minute after the
last of these reports had come in over the telephone, Mr.
Franklin had Rolling Meadows on the wire and was
talking to Gladys. His voice was sharp, peremptory.
"Miss Marlowe and Mr. Plimpton are planning to slip
away and be married to-day. We've—"
"What!" gasped Gladys. "And you promised to stop—"
"Don't interrupt! We've got to act quick. Now
get everything I tell you, and get it all straight. First of
all, get Miss Marlowe's apartment on the wire and ask her
to come out to you at once. Make it important—you've
got to see her at once—within the hour! Don't give
any hint that you suspect what they're going to do. They
are planning to spend their honeymoon out at Mr. Plimpton's
aunt's place; that's not far from you. They probably in-
tend to be married quietly somewhere out in that part of the
country. So coming to see you will not seem to them much
out of their way—it won't seem to them any real delay—and
particularly they'll not object since they can pretend to you
that they're just out for a drive, or a week-end visit. And
if you make seeing Miss Marlowe a most pressing matter,
they'll not have stopped to be married before they arrive.
Make it important—most important—and they'll be sure
to come!"
"But what important reason can I give Cordelia? A
reason that will bring her here?"
"Tell her something has suddenly come up about Fran-


28o CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
the country a bit, and for me it would turn business into an
hour or two of holiday."
The plan did suit Mrs. Marlowe; suited her very much
indeed; and she said so. It had been a dismal, nerve-ex-
hausting prospect, this sitting alone in the apartment while
her daughter was off somewhere going through the great cli-
max of marriage. The drive would be a most welcome re-
lief.
And so, hardly five minutes behind Cordelia and Jerry,
Mr. Franklin's limousine followed uptown.
When Cordelia and Jerry appeared in the apartment, Mrs.
Marlowe was careful not to mention Mr. Franklin's name,
but she reported that Gladys Norworth had just called up
twice and had left an urgent message that Cordelia should
ring her up the moment she came in. It was of the very
greatest importance. Cordelia, though restless to be away,
complied with the request, and over the wire Gladys repeated
what Franklin had ordered her to say concerning FranQois.
With Cordelia nothing else could have been so effective.
She liked Francois for himself, and then his small figure
was behind—most significantly behind!—all the larger things
that had recently happened in her life. This call, as she
reasoned, would not have come if this sudden development
concerning Francois did not also concern her. She asked
Gladys to hold the wire, muffled the mouthpiece with her
palm and turned toward Jerry. What each said, was in
substance just what Franklin judged would be their reac-
tions.
"It's Gladys, Jerry. She says something has happened
to Francois, and she asks me to come at once. If you don't
mind, I'd like very much to stop by. I'd like it very much,
Jerry. It won't take long, and it's really not much out of
our direction."


THE WEDDING DAY
281
"Just as you like, Cordie. And they won't guess what
we're up to. We're off for the usual week-end—that will
explain our bags if they notice them."
Five minutes later they were headed for Queensboro
Bridge, thence to streak across Long Island like a domesti-
cized meteor in Jerry's imported Hispano-Suiza car, with
its airplane motor—Jerry, especially, chuckling with delight
over the manner in which he had outwitted the news-hounds.
Neither had an idea that, only a few minutes behind them,
drove Mr. Franklin and Mrs. Marlowe, the latter giving her
approval to his ideas concerning those purely hypothetical
stocks upon whose income she had been supporting her
family these many months; and since Mrs. Marlowe was
content with his suggestions, she was quite content to drive
on and have a bit of the crisp Long Island air.
And neither Jerry nor Cordelia had an idea—as yet—
that after all they had not succeeded in that wonderfully
clever stratagem for eluding the reporters; that those three
closed cars behind, which seemed to be holding their own di-
rection, were each loaded with determined newspaper men.
Wise though both of them were in most worldly.matters,
Jerry and Cordelia were not fully acquainted with one sober
fact of modern life: that when newspaper men do not wish
to be eluded, newspaper men usually are not eluded. They
knew their marriage was an important event; but they did
not realize that the marriage of Cordelia Marlowe and Jerry
Plimpton could no more escape the newspapers than that of
England's Princess Mary to—to—the gentleman's name for
the moment escapes the present writer—when its turn came
to fascinate the public's romantic mind some four or five
months later.
As they stepped from Jerry's racer in front of Gladys'
house, Francois came darting from out the spruce, shouting,


282 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Mother Cordelia!" She kissed him and hugged him in
great relief. She had feared that Gladys' vague and peremp-
tory message might have meant that the boy was critically
ill. As she released him and straightened up to continue
into the house, she heard a voice call, "Better come to me
now, Francois," and she then saw Mitchell standing aloof a
dozen yards away. He was rather pale, but was otherwise
as composed as usual, and he bowed slightly. She bowed
formally in return, remembering the afternoon he had ab-
ducted her in a taxicab and the disdain with which he had
lashed her. Head held proudly high, she led the way up the
steps and to the door.
When Gladys' butler admitted Cordelia and Jerry, he said
that Gladys was busy with a telephone call, and that they
were please to wait in the library where she would presently
come, and to it he led the way and there left them. The
library was at the side of the house farthest away from the
main entrance, the driveway, the garage and all the ground
floor rooms in most common use; it had that apartness, that
remoteness, which are ideal for a library, having been
planned, by an architect who had provided for a greater
fondness for books and bookly quiet than had ever been
shown by the dead Mr. Norworth and his wife or by their
daughter. The architect had also provided a literary retreat
even more quiet, for, adjoining the library, with a door into
the library and another door opening into a private corridor,
was that dream of the luxurious bibliophile, a sound-proof
study.
Several minutes passed. Cordelia remarked to Jerry that
Gladys must be having one of those week-end telephone
visits. She was feeling restless, apprehensive, but she tried
not to show this to Jerry. Then the butler reappeared.
"Several gentlemen from the newspapers are here," he


THE WEDDING DAY
283
announced. "They say they would like very much to see
you."
Both Cordelia and Jerry had sprung up, and both had
gasped "Reporters!" It was Jerry who answered, and his
answer was emphatic.
"You may say to the newspaper gentlemen that we would
like very much not to see them!"
"Very well, sir. They said I was also to say to you, if
you refused to see them, that they know you are going to
be married to-day and that they simply must have the news.
I was to say to you that it would be very much pleasanter
for you and for them if you would consent to seeing them
and consent to their being present at the ceremony. Other-
wise they'd have too—"
"Tell them all to go to hell!" exploded Jerry. "Tell them
it's none of their damned business!"
"Yes, sir. Very well, sir."
As the butler made his exit, Cordelia and Jerry stared at
each other in dismay. Their inspired plan for non-publicity
had come to—to—this! They were incoherent in the exas-
peration of their suddenly foiled desire, and before coher-
ence could be regained the butler was back once more.
"Miss Norworth wishes to see Miss Marlowe in the
study," he said, and crossing the library he opened the heavy
door to the study, and after she had passed in he closed it
behind her.
The study was empty. Strange how many delays Gladys
was having this morning, Cordelia thought as she sat down.
A few moments passed, then the door which opened
from the private corridor softly opened and as softly closed.
Cordelia rose in sudden alarm as she saw that the person
who had joined her was not Gladys.
"Mr. Franklin!" she exclaimed.


284 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Good-morning, Miss Marlowe," he said pleasantly. "I
happened to be out here seeing my client, Miss Norworth,
on a matter of business. She will be detained a few minutes
more. While you wait, if you don't mind, I'd like to have
a little chat with you. Won't you please be seated?"
For the first time in his presence, Cordelia felt fear
and dislike of this polished man. But her pride concealed
both.
"I'd prefer not to talk with you, just at present," she
said formally. "I'll wait for Miss Norworth in the library."
She moved toward the library door. With a quick step
he intercepted her.
"Perhaps you will be willing to talk when you know what
I wish to talk about," he said, still in his pleasant manner.
"About our business relations. I really have not yet an-
swered your letter terminating our connections. I wish to
answer it now. I have something of very great importance
to say, and it should be said immediately."
His voice had not altered its agreeable quality, but for her
it had the quality of command.
"Very well. But please make what you say brief."
"I hope that you will help me make it brief. With your
permission I shall tell Mr. Plimpton I am with you—he
knows I am your attorney—so that he can check Miss Nor-
worth if she comes through the library. I'm sure we don't
wish Miss Norworth to overhear any part of our business
talk."
She was instantly certain that he was in the study by
arrangement with Gladys. But she assented with a nod.
He opened the library door, greeted Jerry, then said:
"Miss Norworth seems to be delayed. Miss Marlowe and
I wish to talk over a little matter of business—it will only
require a few moments—and if Miss Norworth comes


286 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"At that time you said no," he continued. "I then told
you that I should hope on, that I should never give you
up. I have not given you up. My real business is this: to
tell you again that I love you, and to ask you again to marry
me."
Her gaze was a scorching flame.
"You get me here with you by a trick—to tell me that—
on my wedding day!"
Whatever had been blazing within him, ravening at his
heart, he had up to this moment maintained a surface of
poise and pleasant-mannered self-restraint. But now there
was an instantaneous change. His face, his manner, his
words, were what his heart was and his heart was crazy in
its love for Cordelia. He made a quick stride and gripped
her upper arms.
"Cordelia, you're going to marry me—not that man wait-
ing in the library!" he cried, his voice shaking with his
passion. "He hasn't love to give you, Cordelia. He has
only money! I have love, and I'll get you all the money
you'll ever want! I love you, Cordelia—I love you—don't
you see how I love you? God, how I love you! And I
always will love you—always!"
During the first moment of the rush of his mad words,
Cordelia was so stunned and horrified by the sudden out-
burst that she was powerless to move or speak. "Let me
go—let me go !",she now gasped, and struggled to tear her-
self free from those clinging hands. She got one arm loose,
and with all her young strength drove a fist into those lips
spilling their abominable and abominated love. "You beast,
you!" she cried. "You beast! To dare to talk like that
to me! Let go my other arm!"
He loosed his clutch. Gasping, she glared at him for the
supreme insult he had dared put upon her. He had not, in


THE WEDDING DAY
287
his serious moments, ever believed that any such mad
avowal of love would avail to win her; but passion had seized
him, and swept him for a minute out of his mind's control.
But now once more, by a great effort, his mind was master
of his passions.
"Stand out of my way!" she cried imperiously. "I've
had enough of this!"
He made no move to obey.
"I love you," he said, his voice now quiet. "But if you
will not marry me for love, there is still another reason why
you will marry me."
The strange confidence with which he spoke, the ab-
surdity, the utter impossibility of what he said, were such
as to draw from her a question.
"What reason is that?" she demanded.
He was now on safe ground. He knew just how to
handle people when he finally had them in a position from
which they could not extricate themselves. He was calm—
though exultant within—because he knew that she was go-
ing to accept him, that in just a few minutes she was going
to be his fiancee, not Jerry Plimpton's.
"Because, though you may not love me, you love what
the world thinks of you," he said. "Therefore, you'd much
rather marry me than allow me to tell the world what I know
about you."
"Tell what you know about me?" she exclaimed, not yet
seeing in what direction he was leading her.
"Yes. Tell what I know. And all I know. There's
your choice, and it's simple: either marry me, or I tell."
"But what is there to tell?"
"Plenty. That you're a blackmailer. That you're an ad-
venturess. That you and your family have been making
a social show entirely on blackmail money."


igo CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Jerry," she cried, "Jerry—"
She broke off, somewhat taken aback. For instead of
the solitary Jerry that she expected, waiting in the library
were Jerry, Gladys, Esther and Mitchell.


292 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
invincible, she felt the reassuring strength of Jerry Plimpton.
"Jerry," she cried, after her brief pause, "I want to tell
you—tell all of you people—that this man here has just been
demanding that I break our engagement and marry him!
And he has tried to enforce that demand by threatening
me with exposure if I refused—has tried to blackmail me
into marriage!"
Jerry crossed the room in three strides, his face black,
his hands clenched.
"Damn you, Franklin, I'm going—"
"Don't strike me just yet," Franklin spoke up quickly,
in his composed tone. "Wait till you've heard all Miss
Marlowe's story and till I've made a few remarks. I'll
promise not to interrupt her, on the understanding that I
am likewise to be allowed to tell my story to the end. Then,
Mr. Plimpton, having heard all, if you still wish to strike
me, I give you leave to strike as often and as hard as you
like."
"Go on, Cordelia!" said Jerry.
"I'll tell you everything about this man! Yes, and I'll
tell all the world when—"
"One moment, Miss Marlowe—please!" Franklin broke in.
"I believe I noticed some reporters in another room: the
men who followed you to get the news of your marriage.
If you wish to tell all the world, I know of no better way
than to ask those reporters in."
"Yes, ask them in!" cried Cordelia.
"Miss Norworth," said Franklin, "as this is your house,
you are the proper person to ask the reporters to come here."
Gladys, remembering her instructions to obey Franklin's
every order and to follow his every lead, promptly went out.
No one in the room spoke until she returned a minute later


FRANKLIN CONDUCTS HIS TRIAL 293
followed by a dozen reporters. They ranged themselves
along the wall and became a silent audience to the drama
that was being played by the six characters in the room.
"Hounds," Jerry in his irritation had called them, but they
were all eager, alert men; and all were alive with excitement
over the possibility of some new twist to the much-written
Marlowe-Plimpton romance. For the benefit of these mes-
sengers to all the world, Cordelia repeated the beginning
of her story, though she directed her words at Jerry. Her
voice was vibrant with insulted pride, crushing contempt
and assured triumph.
"This man here, on my wedding day, has just demanded
that I break my engagement and marry him. He has tried
to blackmail me into marriage by threatening to make cer-
tain exposures concerning me. I shall make those ex-
posures myself, and in making them I shall show him to be
a crooked lawyer, a swindler, a professional blackmailer.
"I became acquainted with him about the first of last
June. I needed money; there is no news in that admission,
for every one knows my family has never had much money.
I inserted an advertisement; this man answered it, and that
is how we met. He made me believe that, unknown to a
certain woman, he was confidentially retained by other
people to protect that woman. He said there was some
secret in that woman's life which was being used against
her and which he did not know; and he said he could not
properly protect her unless he knew this secret, unless he
knew what he was protecting her against. The woman
is rich and of social prominence; I know her. This man
suggested that, through my knowing this woman, I might
be able to discover this secret and thereby be of great as-
sistance to him and to the woman. He proposed that I


FRANKLIN CONDUCTS HIS TRIAL 295
"One moment!" Franklin said quickly. "Remember, I
let Miss Marlowe have her full say on the understanding
that I was to be allowed a few remarks."
"Go ahead!" thundered Jerry. "But you'd better make
it snappy!"
"Thank you. Using your own word, I shall make it as
'snappy' as I can."
Franklin paused for a moment, seemingly to arrange his
thoughts. In reality it was a court-room trick of his: such
a pause let the effect of the opposing counsel's words upon
the jury wear off a little, helped center attention and sus-
pense upon himself. However much of wild passion might
be in his nature, cool lawyer brain ruled the whole of him
at the present moment. It was a trial, and he recognized
it as such—a trial with all the world sitting upon the jury;
and he further recognized that for the time being he was the
person on trial. Never before had he prepared for any
case as he had prepared for this; for in no other trial of
his life had he personally had so much at stake. Every
lawyer's wit in him was alert, yet he tried his best not to
look or seem the lawyer.
His manner was hesitant, uncertain, apologetic at the
start. "I must ask you all—and you especially, Mr. Plimp-
ton—to exercise restraint during my first statements. Be-
ing Miss Marlowe's friends, you naturally all believe her
story. If I have any defense, I must naturally contradict
some parts of that story. And naturally some of my con-
tradictions may give you serious offense. But please bear
with me until I am through.
"The first charge against me which I shall take up is her
account of what passed between us a few moments ago in
the study. She claims that I urged her to break the engage-
ment, and tried to coerce her into marrying me. Half of


296 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
that statement is true, half untrue. She referred un-
pleasantly to my character. For some time I have been
aware of certain things about her character which are gen-
erally unknown; just what they are and just what I learned
of them, I shall state later on. I will here merely say that
they are derogatory, and unfit her to be Mrs. Plimpton.
From motives which will later be clear, Mr. Plimpton, I
have on several occasions urged Miss Marlowe to end her
engagement of her own accord. She has refused, and has
made threats against me for my interference; one of these
threats she has carried out in this accusation she has just
made against me. I have had her watched and I learned
of your plan to be married to-day, and I arranged with Miss
Norworth to get the two of you here. My purpose in us-
ing this device was to gain a chance to make one last appeal
to Miss Marlowe to break the engagement and so prevent
an unfortunate marriage. That is absolutely all that passed
between us in the study: I made this last appeal—to save
you, Mr. Plimpton—and I once more failed. What she
has added to this account, such as my trying to blackmail
her into marrying me and the like, are all fabrications in-
tended to discredit me, exactly as she had threatened if I
should attempt to stop her by some means other than appeal
and argument. There you have the truth of what happened
in the study, and the whole truth."
Cordelia had barely been able to contain herself during
this long opening statement, with its few truths and many
falsehoods. She was amazed, wrothy, at the man's colossal,
incredible impudence.
"That's a lie!" she now burst out hotly. "Everything
he's added to my statement is all a lie!"
"I cannot prove that part of my story, I admit," Frank-
lin continued. "Perhaps, for the sake of establishing my


FRANKLIN CONDUCTS HIS TRIAL 299
Cordelia, and with wild suspense as to what he might do
next; but alloying that pleasure was a fear that something
might possibly happen to her. As for the reporters, they
were skeptical but excited; such a story about the famous
Cordelia Marlowe, Cordelia the Magnificent, that very hour
on her way to the altar with the rich Jerry Plimpton—that
would be a story indeed, if there was only a peg of unas-
sailable and unlibellous fact on which to hang it. But so
far there had been no such fact.
Franklin continued.
"I shall leave the charge of blackmail alleged by Miss
Marlowe until a little later. To repeat, I have long feared
this threat of Miss Marlowe, and since I was going to de-
liver to her my ultimatum this morning I came here to-
day especially prepared against her carrying out this
threat. To make my later points clear I shall now introduce
some evidence that may at the present seem unimportant.
Miss Norworth, will you kindly ask Mrs. Marlowe and Mrs.
Thorndike to join us for a few moments?"
Again Gladys promptly obeyed. Jackie came in and
looked about her in bewilderment; Mrs. Marlowe came in
with an expectant smile—she had an idea that she was to
be a witness to her daughter's marriage after all. Seeing
the crowd, and the tense attitude of every one, her smile
vanished and she blinked about the room in her surprise.
"Just a few questions and both of you ladies may then
be excused," said Franklin. "First you, Mrs. Marlowe.
About the first of last June your entire family fortune was
swept away, was it not?"
"Yes. But with Cordelia's help you very quickly got it
restored to us, Mr. Franklin. And I shall never stop being
grateful to you!"
"You believed, at least, that I restored your fortune to


302 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Miss Marlowe, and in helping to reveal her secret methods.
It reads as follows:
"'AMERICAN GIRL, 23, strong, considered good-
looking. Best social standing. Expert at swimming,
riding, tennis, dancing and can drive a racing car. Has
other accomplishments, but no useful training. Desires
position with adequate remuneration. What have you
to offer her?'
"I give this advertisement to you newspaper men to copy
in case you later decide to use it;" and Franklin so did.
"You newspaper men recognize that type of advertisement.
Formerly they appeared in certain newspapers under the
unsavory heading of 'personals'; nowadays all decent news-
papers, except when a clerk at the want-ad counter becomes
careless, vigorously exclude all such matter. As you
newspaper men know, such an advertisement is usually a
delicate suggestion that the lady, if satisfactory terms can
be arranged, is quite willing to become the temporary wife
of any agreeable man."
"You—you dare say that!" gasped Cordelia.
Jerry had seized Franklin by the shoulder.
"Damn you! Take that back, you damned slanderous,
foul-minded scoundrel!"
"Certainly, Mr. Plimpton, if you desire," said Franklin,
apologetically. "But there is hardly need for me to take it
back since I did not accuse Miss Marlowe of the intention
which that advertisement might imply. But doubtless I
was not the only one who was struck by that unusual ad-
vertisement; doubtless Miss Marlowe had many replies.
I should like to ask Miss Marlowe if the majority
of the men who wrote to her did not take her advertisement
as exactly the kind of an overture I have indicated?"


FRANKLIN CONDUCTS HIS TRIAL 303
Cordelia recalled the thick bundle of responses. Indeed
all of them, with the sole exception of Mr. Franklin's, had
taken the advertisement in exactly the suggestive manner he
had described. She flushed at the memory of those insults.
"That has nothing to do with the present matter!" she re-
torted.
He had made his little point; had added one more brick.
He had not expected his very plain innuendo to be accepted;
he had merely been following, in his lawyer way, that
proved device of using anything and everything that may
create doubt or suspicion against a hostile witness.
Contented, he went on.
"Personally, the worst I claim for that advertisement is.
that it shows a woman in desperate straits, ready for any-
thing. Please remember the situation as her mother de-
scribed it; they were suddenly penniless, and faced utter
social oblivion. Miss Marlowe here was the proudest of
them all, the greatest social figure, and the prospect of social'
oblivion was naturally more terrible to her than to the
others. As I have said, such a woman in such a situation is.
ready for anything.
"That unusual advertisement caught my eye. It seemed
to me suspicious; of such a character, indeed, that I felt it
my duty as a citizen to investigate it. So I answered that
advertisement and the writer of it came to see me; this was
in early June, as Miss Marlowe says. I recognized Miss
Marlowe at once, and was naturally amazed that a young
woman so well known in society should be using a device
that is more properly the method of a rather ordinary ad-
venturess. I was all the more interested in meeting her, in
such a strange situation, because she had been a school
friend and was a social intimate of my new client, Miss
Norworth—whom, as I have just proved to you, I was then


304 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
legally representing. Naturally I kept this legal connection'
with Miss Norworth a secret for the time being from Miss
Marlowe.
"Pardon me if I once more interrupt my narrative for
just a moment. There are a few other documents I wish to
show you." Again the black wallet was taken out and this
time several bits of paper were extracted from it. "Miss
Marlowe has admitted the family fortune was really gone.
Here are eight cancelled checks signed by me, totalling
twenty thousand dollars, five for twenty-five hundred dollars,
each made out to Mrs. Marlowe, and three for twenty-five
hundred dollars, each made out to Miss Marlowe. You will
see that they have all been endorsed by Mrs. Marlowe and
Miss Marlowe and were therefore cashed by them."
"Oh, I admit the money was paid and we got it," Cordelia
said with imperious impatience. She was tired of all this
wordy detail which was leading nowhere, and which was
certainly not going to enable Franklin to escape his just
deserts. "But I've told you I thought the money was
honestly earned, and I've told you that I would repay it. If
you have anything important to say, please get to it!"
"Again you mistake the real point, Miss Marlowe. The
importance here is not in your having received this money.
The important point is that the money represented by these
eight checks is all the money you and your family have re-
ceived since the first of June."
"I admit that, if it will get you forward any quicker.
Please come to something important!"
"We'll come to something important, most important, in
just a moment!" He now spoke, for the first time, with
swift, incisive vigor. "What I have said thus far has been
just preparation—we now come to the heart of the whole
sordid business! Please remember, all of you, that Miss


FRANKLIN CONDUCTS HIS TRIAL 305
Marlowe has admitted that the money represented by these
checks is all she or her family has had in the last several
months. Without that money she could not have kept her
high place in the world. To return once more to my nar-
rative, Miss Marlowe, after our first interview, tried to
sound me out with suggestions that grew more and more
dubious; I led her on, to see just what was her game. At
length she made me a proposition. The family had lost its
money, she told me, and she was in desperate straits; she
had a chance to make a splendid marriage, but she needed
money to put that marriage over; if I would help her, she
would pay me a large sum after her marriage. She had a
plan to secure money, but she could not swing that plan
alone, and she asked my aid. The plan she proposed
to me [was to blackmail a certain lady. The person she
named as the victim of her matrimonial scheme was your-
self, Mr. Plimpton. The first victim of the blackmailing
scheme was Miss Norworth."
"What—what infernal lies!" gasped Cordelia, now
furious.
"Of course you would say so, Miss Marlowe. Miss Nor-
worth, you have personal knowledge of some of these state-
ments. Have I lied in any statement that concerns you?"
"You have told only the truth," Gladys said emphatically.
"And I know that she was all the time scheming to get
Jerry Plimpton to marry her."
"Gladys—you—you—" But Cordelia's words could not
come out.
"Go on!" Jerry commanded Franklin in a harsh voice.
"Miss Marlowe made it a condition," Franklin continued,
"that if I went into her plan with her, no one was to know
of our arrangement; no one was to know of the lost family
fortune, and everybody was to suppose that the money re-


306 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
ceived from her plan was just the usual family income. If
people knew the facts, she pointed out, her position would
be lost and her whole plan would be worthless. I pre-
tended to accede to all she said. Meanwhile I consulted my
client, Miss Norworth, one of Miss Marlowe's proposed
victims. Miss Norworth ordered me to go right ahead with
Miss Marlowe. She told me of various shady things which
Miss Marlowe, because of her financial shortage, had done
to cling on to her position. Miss Marlowe's continual
shortage of money had long since made her a social parasite,
scheming for invitations on which she could live; that
shortage was now turning her into a desperate and dangerous
social menace. Miss Norworth and I determined to lead
her on in her plan to blackmail Miss Norworth, and then,
when we had her thoroughly involved, expose her and thus
rid society of her. In accordance with this prearranged
plan Miss Norworth agreed to submit for a time to being
blackmailed by Miss Marlowe, making the payments
through me, as Miss Marlowe had suggested. Miss Nor-
worth placed money in my hands for this purpose, though I
did advance the first amounts paid over. And exactly as
Miss Norworth and I planned, exactly was the thing carried
out. I believe that is a correct summary of what we did,
Miss Norworth?"
"That's exactly what we talked over and exactly what we
did!" Gladys cried quickly, exultantly. Not till the last
minute or two had she perceived just where Franklin was
driving. Now she saw. Cordelia was being struck down
—struck down—struck down!—and she was glad. "Cor-
delia Marlowe kept demanding more money—and more
money—and more money—but it was worth all I spent—for
at last we trapped her!"


FRANKLIN CONDUCTS HIS TRIAL 307
As Franklin had piled swift lie upon swift lie, Cordelia's
growing rage had been appalled into sheer inability to speak
by the unbelievable audacity of it all. At the moment she
could not conceive that any one would credit such prepos-
terous lies. She had not feared Franklin and did not now
fear him; and she had no fear of the outcome of this pre-
posterous scene. But Gladys had gone too far! At these
last glib, vindictive falsehoods of Gladys the rage in Cor-
delia found its tongue.
"Gladys Norworth!" she cried, crossing and facing
Gladys in her fury, "you can't tell such lies about me and
still expect me to be loyal to you and shield you! You've
been paying real blackmail, and you knew it! And you've
been paying blackmail to Mr. Franklin! And I'm going to
tell exactly why you were paying blackmail!"
"Stop her, Mr. Franklin!" shrieked Gladys in sudden
frenzy. "Stop her! For God's sake, stop her!"
But Franklin, for that moment, was interested in Gladys
only in so far as she might serve to clear himself. Be-
sides, he knew of no way of stopping Cordelia.
"At last the world is going to know the exact secret you
have been paying blackmail to have hushed up!" Cor-
delia's voice rang on. "And here it is. Because Francois
is your child! Your illegitimate child!"
A sudden hush filled the library. In her great anger,
outraged beyond all bearing by insult after insult, in her
righteous certainty of emerging a victor from this affair,
Cordelia wheeled swiftly upon Franklin like a scorching
flame.
"That's what your witness is worth!" she cried in her
mighty contempt. "All her life has been just a lie! Just
as everything she has said against me has been a lie! Just


308 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
lies! That's what your charges against me have been built
on—lies!"
With that she turned her back squarely upon Franklin,
and an erect, quivering, splendid figure, she stood gazing
down into the green eyes of the appalled Gladys.


CHAPTER XXVII
HOW A GREAT DREAM TURNED OUT
Slowly Gladys shrank away from Cordelia, ashen pale,
shivering, eyes wide with terror; stricken utterly dumb by
the disaster she had been fighting off for years. Esther,
Mitchell, Franklin, knew the truth, and their only shock was
the shock of its suddenly being made public. But to Jerry
Plimpton the thing came as an unbelievable surprise; he
gazed across in bewildered stupefaction at Gladys, whose
green eyes had turned their panic upon him. As for the re-
porters, it is difficult to surprise sophisticated, hard-boiled
men whose daily routine for years has been the tabulation of
surprises; but these men were all gaping with astoundment
at this latest development in the story of the wedding day of
Cordelia Marlowe.
For several moments the only sound in the library was
tense, excited breathing. Then again Cordelia's voice rang
out in accusing triumph.
"That's the secret you've been paying blackmail for,
Gladys Norworth! Francois, your alleged adopted child, is
really your own child! Your illegitimate child!"
And then suddenly Gladys came out of her paralysis as if
flung by a spring.
"It's a lie!" she gasped hysterically. "She's lying, I tell
you! I tell you it's a lie—it's a lie—it's a lie!"
She whirled about upon Esther and her frenzied hands
clutched her step-sister. "Tell them it's a lie, Esther! I
can't have people believe such a thing about me! Esther—
309


310 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Esther—remember what you promised! What you promised
if ever the time came! The time's come, Esther! Tell
them, Esther—tell them as you promised! Your promise,
Esther—your promise!"
And then Esther Stevens, for one who had no gifts as an
actress, performed a most excellent bit of acting. There
was good reason for its excellence; for years she had been
mentally rehearsing the business for some such scene as
this, and the lines were riveted in her memory by the
hammer of a thousand repetitions. Besides, she was acting
for the biggest stake, the highest price, which life just then
could offer her.
She caught Gladys in her arms, as if to shield her, and
eyed them all defiantly.
"Gladys is right—it is all a lie!" she cried. "Gladys has
tried to protect me, but I can't let her suffer or pay for my
fault any longer! Francois is my child! And since you
make a point of the word—my illegitimate child!"
They could only stare at her, all silent.
"For years Gladys has paid blackmail to shield me!"
Esther went on. "One or two persons even suspected that
Gladys was the boy's mother. So long as there was just
this tiny bit of suspicion, so long as Gladys was just paying
money, I could let her go on trying to protect me. But
when Gladys is publicly accused of my guilt, then the time
has come for me to clear her and admit the truth we've both
tried to hide. There—you now all know who's guilty, and
just what is behind this whole blackmailing business!"
Cordelia was the first to emerge from the general stupor.
"But, Esther," she protested, "you know what you've
said is not so! You know you are not Francois' mother!"
Esther wheeled on Cordelia with a manner which a truly
great emotional actress might have envied.


HOW A GREAT DREAM TURNED OUT 311
"Who are you," she demanded, "to tell a mother that she
is not the mother of her own child?"
Cordelia turned to Mitchell, and for the first time during
this long scene she addressed him.
"You know the truth, Mr. Mitchell. You know Esther is
not the boy's mother."
"I know nothing," said Mitchell, "that would carry weight
as evidence against the words of a woman who publicly
stands forth and claims that a child is her illegitimate child."
In that dazing moment, Cordelia still retained enough
sense to perceive that Mitchell had just uttered a profound
human truth.
Esther, facing them all defiantly, again spoke. "I have
just this much more to say. Now that the truth is at last
out, there is an end to all this blackmailing. I really have
no name, and no high position that might be hurt, and I
have no money of my own with which to buy silence, even
if silence were now possible. And I want to say this also."
The ring of sincerity in her next words was not the ring of
careful acting; it was the ring of genuine and great emotion.
"Now that the truth is out, I am proud to be the mother of
such a boy! And I hope he is going to be proud of me as a
mother! At least I am going to be the best mother to him
that I know how to be!"
Again there was an awed hush for several moments.
The figure of Esther, defiantly proud in her claim of il-
legitimate maternity, dominated them all; dominated Cor-
delia who knew but could not prove that she was lying.
It was Franklin who ended the silence.
"I think that we will all agree with what Miss Stevens has
implied," he said; "that we have just had revealed to us a
truly noble example of sympathetic womanly instinct, in the
way in which Miss Norworth has for years striven to shield


HOW A GREAT DREAM TURNED OUT 313
"It's not true, Jerry!" she cried. "Not a word of it, ex-
cept the things I told you! The rest of it's lies—all lies!"
Jerry's figure was taut, his face white, set. Franklin
gave him no chance to respond to Cordelia.
"For the sake of the honor of the Plimpton name, Mr.
Plimpton, I've tried not to carry this thing so far as this,"
Franklin went on quickly. "I tried my best to settle the
whole matter privately, without publicity or scandal, so that
your name would not be involved. But Miss Marlowe's re-
fusal to terminate your engagement, and thereby auto-
matically closing and hushing up the whole business, has
forced me to the present extreme measures. And even yet,
Mr. Plimpton, I have not told you all my measures. Acting
upon instructions from Miss Nprworth, I have drawn up
papers in a suit against Miss Marlowe to recover money se-
cured through methods of extortion. You so instructed,
Miss Norworth?"
"Yes—yes!" Gladys exclaimed quickly, aquiver with
wild exultant relief at now being free—free forever!—of
any danger from the secret which had kept her in shivering
fear for almost five years. And, oh—how she was getting,
even with Cordelia!—paying her back!
"For your sake, Mr. Plimpton," Franklin continued,
swiftly picking up while Gladys' second "yes" was still in
the air, "I prevailed on Miss Norworth to refrain from
starting this suit until I had exhausted all efforts with Miss
Marlowe. These papers have for some days been drawn up,
ready for filing. I was to make what I knew to be the last
possible appeal to Miss Marlowe this morning. I left in-
structions with my law partner, Mr. Kedmore, that if
he did not receive by telephone a satisfactory message by
eleven o'clock to-day, he was immediately to file the papers
in this suit." Mr. Franklin drew out his watch and glanced


3H CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
at it. "It is almost twelve o'clock. These papers are now
filed. They are now a matter of court record, they are now
public property, and I daresay the newspapers have already
taken note of them."
His last few sentences constituted one of the few facts
Mr. Franklin had uttered in the whole of his long, care-
fully built up statement. Those papers were a reality. At
that moment they actually were on file.
"But, Jerry—Jerry!" Cordelia spoke up frantically.
"The amount they're suing for is nothing—only twenty
thousand dollars! We can pay it, and settle the case!"
Again it was Franklin, not Jerry, who spoke. And he
spoke without permitting an instant's break.
"The suit cannot now be settled. It is no longer a matter
of money. It is now wholly a matter of principle, of duty
to society at large: the showing up of a social adventuress,
showing the world, for its own protection, the practice by
which such a woman bleeds society, maintains herself in
envied splendor, and carries out her schemes. I have given
Miss Marlowe every chance to save herself and to save
others; and having given her every chance, both Miss Nor-
worth and I are now determined to force this action for-
ward, in its every detail, to the very last extremity! And
I feel that I should say to you, Mr. Plimpton, that whether
you marry Miss Marlowe or not, this suit will be pressed on
to its bitter finish! And I should also again remind you,
Mr. Plimpton, that every charge that has been made we shall
prove in court!"
"Jerry!" breathed Cordelia— "It's not true! None of it!
It's not true!"
"It is true!" cried Franklin in his now terrible voice.
"But even were it not true—and it all is!—here is a matter
for Mr. Plimpton to consider: even if it is not true, the


HOW A GREAT DREAM TURNED OUT 315
world, the whole world, will believe it is true! Mr. Plimp-
ton still is not married to Miss Marlowe. It is still in his
power to decide whether he wishes to give the splendid, the
honored name of Plimpton to a woman whom all the world
will know to be an adventuress, who all the world will
know has kept up her social show with money blackmailed
from society! It is still in Mr. Plimpton's power to de-
cide whether he wishes to try to place a woman of such a
reputation in the position once occupied by his mother!"
Cordelia had a sense that she was falling—falling—fall-
ing; dizzily falling with infinite swiftness, falling to an in-
finite depth of black disaster. But Jerry there—Jerry with
the strength of his great position in the world—Jerry could
defy all these people—Jerry still could save her! Save her
by a word! As Jerry's wife, all these slanderous lies against
her would collapse to nothingness!
"Jerry!" she whispered pleadingly. "Jerry! . . .
Jerry! . . ."
For a single moment, Jerry met the wild entreaty in her
eyes. Then his gaze shifted from her. There followed a
moment of breathless waiting, all eyes on Jerry. Perhaps
Jerry himself never knew just what passed in his brain
during that moment. But Franklin had analyzed his man
with a scientist's precision; his last words had beeen aimed
with the unerring skill of the perfect marksman who
is sure of the vital spot. These last words must have been
what filled the whole of Jerry's brain for the space of that
long tense moment. Perhaps it was true about Cordelia,
perhaps not. But even if not, all the world would believe it
true, and would always believe it true. And a woman of
whom the world believed such things—as his wife—in his
mother's place—in that proud white yacht—in the camp in
the Adirondacks—in the marble cottage at Newport—in the


HOW A GREAT DREAM TURNED OUT 319
So dazed was Cordelia from the blow which had fallen
upon her, so dizzy from her fall, that after Franklin's last
word she hardly knew what she did, or what was done to
her. In her numb pain she was at best just a silent, slow
automaton; a bit of human furniture that was pushed here,
pulled there. Afterwards she had a dim memory of
pulling off her engagement ring, and Jerry's other presents,
and letting them fall to the library floor, not noticing Jerry
so far as to hand him the gifts. And afterwards she had a
dim memory of Gladys dragging her into a corner, some-
where, and gloating over her, and saying, "I told you I'd
get even with you!— I told you I'd get even with you!—
but God, I never dreamed it would be as good as this!"
Some one—at the moment she didn't note who—led her
silently out and put her in a car. And then this some one
silently transferred from Jerry's Hispano-Suiza to this other
car her bag containing her intimate bridal glories. And then
this some one silently got in beside her. Only then did she
become conscious that the person next her was Mitchell, and
that she was in Mitchell's car, and that the some one who had
silently taken charge of her since she had been stricken help-
less was Mitchell.
And thus, hardly more than an hour after Cordelia Mar-
lowe had driven magnificently up to her wedding day, Cor-
delia Marlowe, slumped and huddled and benumbed, drove
ingloriously away from it.


CHAPTER XXVIII
HOW FRANCOIS LOST ONE MOTHER
One brief episode happened as this silent pair drove to-
ward the city; and the telling of this episode shall conclude
the record of what happened that day at Rolling Meadows,
so far as events there concern this history.
Gladys and Franklin were in the midst of a scene of ex-
tremely private but extremely enthusiastic congratulations,
when word was brought to her that Esther wished to see her
immediately in Esther's sitting-room. When Gladys en-
tered, Esther was standing, hat and coat on, over one arm
Frangois' cap and overcoat, and on the floor near her were
two big travelling-bags. Esther's usually gentle face was
hard, her eyes were flashing.
"Why, what's this all about, Esther?" exclaimed Gladys.
"Do you think, after what's happened this morning, I'd
stay a minute longer than I had to in this house?" Esther
whispered intensely. "You—you sneaking little beast, you!"
"But—but—Esther—" stammered Gladys.
"That's what you've always been!" cried the other, "a
crawling, cringing, sneaking, cowardly, treacherous little
beast! I was sorry for Miss Marlowe this morning—what
you helped do to her! I was sorry for her, but I couldn't
have done much for her. The most I could have done
would have been to say that you really were Francois'
mother, but that wouldn't have really done her much good,
the way things were going. Besides, it was my chance at
320


322 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
(
After all, Gladys did have mother love of a sort for her
son; but her love was hardly more than a weakly and
spasmodically fluttering emotion compared to the overwhelm-
ing selfless passion that was Esther's.
"You won't let me?" cried Esther. "You can't stop
me! I've kept my promise to you! Only two people alive
know who really is the mother of Francois—know it so they
can prove it! You and I. You made me promise, in case
you were ever about to be found out publicly, that I would
say I was the mother. No one could prove I wasn't. I
gave you my promise on one condition: that was your
promise that if ever I did save you by saying he was my
child, then you were to let him become entirely mine. I've
kept my promise! Now you've got to keep your promise!"
"I won't do it!" snapped Gladys, with sullen, obstinance.
"I never thought it really would ever turn out like this, and
it's not fair of you to try to hold a mother to any such
promise!"
"You'd try to back out of it, would you? Well, so can
I back out! And I'll back out of it in a way that will make
you sick all your life!"
Gladys looked frightened.
"How?"
"You ought to know how! It's simple enough. I've
just said that you and I are the only two people that really
know how to get the proof of who is the mother of Francois.
Well, I'll get all the proof—certified copies of all documents,
even if I have to cover every square foot of France to get
them—and I'll prove who is the real mother! And I'll
prove you are his mother, and I'll make it all public!"
"Esther—you wouldn't do a thing like that?"
"Wouldn't I? I've heard a lot of talk about blackmail
to-day—people being forced to do things by threats of ex-


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
drove through that entrance, and for the last time. Of
course the newspapers learned of this second departure.
They treated Gladys with marked consideration in the
matter; Gladys saw to it that they got the hint which gave
them the proper angle upon the regrettable affair. The
papers said—no, they did not put it so bluntly as this; but
their intimation was clear—the papers intimated that since
Miss Norworth's step-sister had publicly admitted herself
the mother of an illegitimate child, Miss Norworth, out of
deference to the ordinary standards of decency and to main-
tain the irreproachable propriety of her home, had had to
perform the painful duty of requesting her unfortunate
step-sister to withdraw from Rolling Meadows and with
her child to retire into obscurity.


CHAPTER XXIX
ALL THE KING'S HORSES
A gentleman occupying the place of topmost honor in
the somewhat punishing art of pugilism, while speaking
upon the subject of the challengers to his fame, is credited
with having grimly snapped out the remark that "The bigger
they come, the harder they fall!" This rather inelegant but
classic colloquialism may perhaps be applied with equal fit-
ness to those who challenge for the championships of life
which are contended for outside the squared ring.
Cordelia had been a big figure in her world; among the
younger people, none bigger. And she had fallen hard.
How very hard, how very, very far, she was still too
stunned to realize as she drove away from Rolling Meadows
at almost exactly the hour she had confidently expected mar-
riage to crown her as life's most brilliant champion. How
hard she had been hit, how hard she had fallen, how un-
believably far had been her fall, she was not to realize fully
until days later when her head had had time to clear and she
could measure all that had happened.
As she and Mitchell drove back to the city, little was said
between the two; only a few sentences. At the time Cor-
delia hardly knew what they were saying; her own few
words were mechanical; not until long after did her stunned
memory, then partially recovered, report to her their brief
conversation.
Mitchell was the first of the two to say a word and they
325


ALL THE KING'S HORSES
327
"Oh, but I wish I could make them pay! And if things
come right, I will make Gladys pay! And if luck, or life,
should ever turn up the right card, how I'd love to make
Jerry Plimpton pay—that beast of a cad! And Franklin.
Franklin, too!
"But it's too much to expect even of crazy luck to give
me a chance at a man like Franklin. He's forever got the
deck stacked, and his sleeves are full of aces; and he's too
smooth, too tricky a lawyer ever to be caught. If he's ever
caught it will be because he's made some little slip when he's
tried to be too clever. New.Yqrk is filled with just such
clever, scheming, deck-stacking lawyers, and they're never
caught, except now and then one, not much worse than the
rest, like little Abe Hummel.
"But Gladys and Jerry Plimpton—by their birth and
breeding we've a right to expect better of them than of
Franklin. They're the two I want to get! If ever I prayed
for anything, it's this—that sometime I can make them
pay!"
This outburst she received in silence. When he again
spoke his voice was once more composed.
"About Esther, I admire her a lot, even though I've
teased and irritated her a lot; I could hardly avoid that,
since in the matter that has been the basis of my teasing,
she and Gladys have in a way been one person. You and
I both know Esther lied about being Francois' mother, but
I couldn't have proved it. She couldn't have helped you
much, either. She likes you well enough, I think. But
about Francois she is simply crazy. Against such a love as
that you could hardly expect her to give much consideration
to you. What Esther did to-day, I'm sure she did because
she was thinking wholly of Francois."
"I don't blame Esther at all," said Cordelia.


328 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Days later, when her mind went back to this talk, the
foregoing was all that she recalled.
From that terrible hour in Gladys' library until days later,
chronology did not exist for Cordelia. Time was just an
endless, unvarying string on which were strung hours that
were exquisite beads of pain, undistinguishable from each
other in their perfectly matched agony. And there was to
her no orderly sequence of events; things just happened,
swiftly, coming from each and every direction, everything
painful—all blurred together. Since there was no chron-
ology and no sequence in Cordelia's life as she then lived it,
there shall be none in this portion of her history. Each
series of related events, and related emotions, shall be
grouped together and tied into a single compact parcel.
There was Mrs. Marlowe. There is no expressing the
utter confoundment, the stabbing, bewildered dismay of
that lady when she had the first news of the disaster, and
when each day piled on its further disaster. In her own
way, she had her soul all poised for a flight through majestic
bliss, and her eagerness and certainty had been as great as
Cordelia's own. Therefore her fall was very like Cordelia's
fall. She did not blame Cordelia; hers was not a recrim-
inating nature. She wept and wailed and walked helplessly
through the cruel bewildering days. But all of Mrs. Mar-
lowe cannot go in a single bundle; bits of her must be dis-
tributed through the other parcels.
There was the social fall. Mr. Franklin, in Gladys' library,
had stated hesitatingly and with seeming modesty—the mod-
esty here was all in the seeming, for the keenest news editor
in New York City did not have a quicker or surer sense of
news value than Mr. Franklin—that what he had brought
out and pieced together might possibly make a rather in-
teresting newspaper story. It did: to the extent of columns


330 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
toric tumble. Cordelia knew this; and she knew that the
rest of the tragic lines also fitted her: that all the King's
horses and all the King's men could never put together again
her once splendid social figure. And this much can be put
down to the credit of her sense, when her sense did begin to
return, that she did not indulge in any vague, wild dreams
of regaining what she had lost, of valiantly reconquering
society's respect. Socially, she was ended, forever and for-
ever. If she was to have a further life, it was to be life of a
very different sort.
Then there was the financial fall.
If this history, particularly in the pages which follow,
seems to be largely about the sordid unromantic detail of
money, it should be remembered that, for people who have
less money than they spend, money is the most poignantly
dramatic theme of life. Its feverish suspense never sub-
sides, its high emotion knows no fall. Compared to it, love
is a mere placid day-dreamy flutter—merely the heart turn-
ing over on its other side during a pleasant sleep.
All their lives the lack of money had been the tragic skele-
ton in the Marlowe family closet; it now stalked forth and
filled their entire stage. For years they had been living be-
yond their income, always deeply in debt; for months they
had had no income that was bona fide; recently, with the
unlimited credit eagerly urged upon them in view of Cor-
delia's marriage, they had bought right and left, spending
thousands upon thousands of dollars which they did not
have. And now they were practically penniless; the only
real money they had in sight was the twenty-five hundred
dollars annuity which came from Mr. Marlowe's life-in-
surance policy. This tragic situation, Gladys, with her in-
fallible aptitude for finding a way to give pain, had sensed
instantly. It suited her vengeance, and her personal safety


332 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
upon their damned bills, which were all made up of swindlers'
prices anyhow, was to take back all recent purchases, unused
or used, and give credit for the original purchase prices.
The shopkeepers raved at his audacity; but in the end they
all carried away the smart articles which they had sold at
a pleasant one hundred or two hundred per cent
profit.
Mrs. Marlowe and Cordelia sometimes listened through
door cracks to these arbitration conferences, and Mrs. Mar-
lowe would blink at Cordelia over the language of this new
man in the house. Cordelia had never heard Mitchell really
swear before; his talk with her, except that time in the
taxicab, however serious his purpose might have been, had
always had the character of persiflage. She had heard
people speak of the way soldiers swear. Well, if general
ability as a swearer was an index of ability as a soldier,
then Mitchell was undoubtedly that much debated person,
the man who won the Great War.
Then there was Lily; the effect of all this upon Lily's
life. Mrs. Marlowe wept with sympathy over how her
youngest was now to have no chance; and shivered with
apprehension over the hard way in which Lily would take
the blow. Cordelia also felt acute anguish for Lily, and
blamed herself for bringing Lily down in her disaster. She
also knew how hard the spoiled, self-centered, pleasure-lov-
ing Lily would take the results of that disaster as they af-
fected her.
But their great surprise was how Lily really did take it.
They jointly wrote her of the misfortune—Lily had gleaned
the main facts much earlier from the papers—and here is
part of what the spoiled, unthinking, frivolous child wrote
from Miss Harcourt's polite finishing school:


ALL THE KING'S HORSES
333
Sorry for you Mums and Cordie—sorry as hell!
Say, Cordie sure got handed one rotten deal! If I was
allowed to tote a gun like a lady ought to be there's
some damned birds I'd shoot up so they'd be fit for
nothing except to be cut up in little pieces and peddled
around for button-holes. But don't you people at home
worry none about me. I was all fed up on this school
before I was even fed my first bite of it. Anyhow I'd
never be comfortable trying to be a lady. Think I'll
go into business. Guess I'll start as a stenographer;
I've already got most of the education to make a good
one; I can chew gum. Where do I go from here?
And when?
"She takes it very bravely," sniffed Mrs. Marlowe after
reading this—"though—though I did hope she'd stay at Miss
Harcourt's until she learned not to swear."
Lily's school represented another financial problem. Mrs.
Marlowe, at the beginning of the school year a few weeks
earlier, had been in funds, owing to a little saving she had
done and to a recent monthly check from Mr. Franklin; and
so had been able to meet Miss Harcourt's inflexible rule of
"full amount of fees payable in advance" and had written
her check for three thousand dollars. These facts she re-
lated to Mitchell; also further facts. Lily would have to
come straight home; they simply didn't have the money
for her "extras," and "extras" at Miss Harcourt's amounted
to almost as much as the regular fees. And then there was
still another printed rule "no fees returned in case a pupil is
removed during the school year," and that was a rule Miss
Harcourt never broke. To think of it—to have paid in
advance three thousand dollars which they could not use
and could not get back!


334 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Mitchell quietly suggested that they let him go out and
bring Lily home. They let Mitchell do it.
Miss Harcourt received him with dignified aloofness. He
was pleasantly, almost obsequiously polite, but Miss Har-
court did not know him and sensed no danger in his ex-
treme politeness. Yes, she'd been expecting they'd come to
take Lily out of school after—after such disgraceful happen-
ings. It really was most inconsiderate toward her school,
even if she were driven to say it (she said it with majestic
severity) for a family to keep a child in Harcourt Hall after
the family had been involved in such a scandal. After such
a scandal—the child still in Harcourt Hall! No, she could
not return any part of the fee; that was never done under
any circumstances. Never. Yes, he could see Lily; and
he'd please tell Lily to hurry about packing her things.
Yes, he could see Miss Harcourt again for a moment—
but only just one moment—as he was taking Lily away.
Mitchell saw Lily. They took to each other as sponge to
water, as flowers to rain. In five minutes these two had
known each other forever. She was as flippant with him
as she might have been with Cordelia.
"Say, you nursling," he growled in mock severity at one
of her audacities, "you half-ounce bottle of paprika—cut
out the rough talk! Like to have' me turn you over my knee
and spank you?"
"Sure I would!" she said heartily. "I'd like 'most any-
thing you'd do to me!"
"Hold on there, Cleopatra! Don't you try to turn your
just punishment into a means of being too intimate with me!
I guess, for the sake of self-protection, I'd better tell you
something; on the q. t. you understand. Here it is: if
things work out the way I intend them to work out, one of
these days I'm going to be your brother-in-law."


ALL THE KING'S HORSES
335
"You mean Cordie? Holy mackerel, Cordie is a quick
worker! Or else she carries a lot of spare parts! But,
gee, this is some blow. Here you tell me you're going to be
my brother in-law, and here was I getting all primed up to
slip in to Cordie when I got home and tell her you were
going to be her brother-in-law! Hell, but this's a hard
life!"
"See here—let's change the subject—quick! I'm too
young to be talking to an old woman of the world like you.
Let's—"
"All the same, you should feel sympathy for me. I've
always been unlucky in love."
"Cut it out, I say! Let's get down to business. That old
hen downstairs— But we needn't go into that. Will you
..do something unpleasant for me?"
"Bless you, old bean—sure. I've already done some-
thing unpleasant for your sake. Mighty unpleasant. I've
given you up!"
"You!" He made as if to slap her, then grinned.
"Listen, I'm serious. Would you be willing to stay on here
in this school, where they don't want you—if I told you to?"
She made a vinegary face. "Oh, all right. Yes, if you
tell me to I'll stick on here till hell—even longer than that—
till Miss Harcourt grows real hair under her wig."
"I'll be back in about five minutes and tell you whether
it'll be that long."
He re-entered Miss Harcourt's room, smiling pleasantly,
a bit of paper in his right hand.
"About the money, Miss Harcourt—"
She interrupted him sharply, severely.
"I have already informed you that no fees are ever re-
funded!"
"Oh, that money. I wasn't thinking of that money. I


CORDELIA REBUILDS HER HOUSE 339
it was a highly desirable apartment and Mitchell, by his
same unabashable methods of bargaining, had sublet it for
the balance of the period of the Marlowe lease for a thou-
sand a year advance upon the Marlowe rental, and this
windfall was of course a help. The furniture had been sold
to the last kitchen chair—Mitchell compelled decent prices—
and the proceeds were turned over to the creditors, Mitchell
demanding and getting receipts in full. Mrs Marlowe had
decided to retire to some small, obscure city where living
expenses were comparatively low; upon her income she
could no longer afford New York, and her pride could not
countenance the probability of her meeting, in her now re-
duced circumstances, the friends and satellites of her reign-
ing days. Cordelia was remaining in New York to try to
make her own way; and Lily elected to stay with Cordelia.
Lily, after much discussion, was given by her mother an al-
lowance of fifteen dollars a week—she would not take more;
Cordelia refused to accept anything whatever.
In such manner, and upon such terms, the Marlowe fam-
ily parted and began its effort to start life afresh.
There was one financial matter which troubled Cordelia
more than all others. This was the humiliating twenty
thousand dollars she had received: Franklin's or Gladys'
money—the money they were suing to recover. How she
did itch to return that money—if only she could!—and feel
herself cleansed of at least this much of her soilment.
"Now don't you worry about that money," Mitchell or-
dered her. "Gladys and Franklin are tickled to death with
having spent it! Neither of them ever before got so much
for his or her money in his or her life! They certainly got
a bargain. And here's another way of looking at the whole
situation: by rights, if you only had the evidence, you should
be suing each of them for about ten million for defamation


CORDELIA REBUILDS HER HOUSE
341
That beautiful, aristocratic, foreign-born car had been
Cordelia's pet since she was eighteen—five years. It had to
be sold, of course. But no one could kill that pet except
herself; besides, Mitchell had been doing enough for the
family. So Mitchell left the disposal of the pet to Cordelia.
Cordelia's education in the facts of life now began to pro-
ceed rapidly. She learned about life—real life—from that
car.
She offered that beautiful and rare roadster to one second-
hand dealer; then to another. She was astounded, outraged,
personally insulted, at the price she was offered. She de-
cided the low price was due to the fact that she was offering
an open car for sale at the beginning of winter; she would
get ever so much better terms if by some means she could
only hold the car until spring. She took counsel from the
poor man's and poor woman's ever ready adviser, the want-
ad section of a newspaper. Here she sought the columns
that are crowded with three- and four-line offers to buy and
sell automobiles; and tucked away here she found several
nuggets of purest hope. Several philanthropists, giving
only their telephone numbers, offered to loan the full sale
value upon cars, strictest confidence being observed. Cor-
delia telephoned one of these good Samaritans, and half an
hour later she eagerly entered his office.
Sure enough, he did offer to loan her upon the car almost
as much as the dealers had offered her. This was splendid!
She gratefully told him he needn't be delicate on her account
in the matter of her pawning her automobile, for now that
her social position was gone she had no reasons for asking
that strictest confidence be observed. She then discovered
that the reasons for this delicacy in observing strictest con-
fidence, a confidence so strict that it amounted to an un-
provable relationship, were entirely his reasons. His rea-


342 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
sons had to do with Interest rates. In New York State
usury is illegal, and penalties are attached to its practice.
Usurers, who are plentiful enough despite the law, are there-
fore rather diffident gentlemen, tongue-tied in the presence
of a third person, and disinclined to put very many words
on paper. This particular good Samaritan asked, for a four
months' loan, interest at the rate of one hundred per cent,
the interest to be deducted in advance from the sum he
offered to loan.
Cordelia left him, returned to the first dealer she had seen,
and sold the car at the price which had been first offered
her. People who sold second-hand cars in the closing weeks
of 1921—when the financial slump was at its lowest, and
cars were being sold for songs and very poor songs at
that—have already guessed to the very dollar what Cordelia
was paid. For that high-born, dashing racer which had
originally cost thousands and thousands, and on which she
had recently spent fifteen hundred for internal repairs and
beauty-treatment, she got an even five hundred dollars. But
then, of course, the car was five years old.
This five hundred dollars became the basis of Cordelia's
new fortunes.
At this time she and Lily had just moved into a two-room
kitchenette apartment in Harlem; they were doing their
own cooking, housework, washing—clumsily, of course, for
they knew as much of such things as Columbus knew of
America prior to 1492; and Lily was freshly entered in pub-
lic high school.
Cordelia now turned to the great problem of ways and
means. Henceforth, she had her own way to make. She
might have asked aid of Jackie Thorndike; and Jackie
would probably have loaned her money, for the restless
Jackie had a generous enough heart. And Ailine Harkness


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
He looked most uncomfortable. The easy flow of ample-
gestured language seemed entirely lost. His speech came
haltingly; it was made up of isolated, orphaned phrases;
sentences that weakly began nowhere and breathed their
last before they got anywhere. These tattered fragments,
broken odds and ends, so incongruous and alien in that
fluent mouth, touched with vague staccato quality upon such
subjects as the general financial depression, you know—
worst year picture business ever had, you know—small ex-
hibitors closing their houses—this censorship that makes
you afraid to make anything—we're up against it, what can
we do—our Eastern studios closed down, only two com-
panies working in Hollywood—most actors and directors
idle, glad to work at a fifth what we used to pay:—and so
on and on the great man wandered through the by-ways and
labyrinths of his inarticulation.
But while his visible and audible lips staggered drunkenly,
his invisible lips were the open flood-gates for a rushing,
roaring torrent of words, all curses and all directed at her.
Why the hell had he let his damned good nature trick
him into letting her in to see him! Why the hell had she
come anyhow! . . . He was a most unhappy man, Kyle
Brandon, and in his behavior in this scene with Cordelia, he
should be judged as such. The ingredients of Kyle Bran-
don were the ingredients of the best of the so-called "motion-
picture magnates"; a large dash of fake, buncombe; a gift
for splendid promises; a touch of very real genius—do not
doubt the genius; the whole diluted and well shaken up with
coloring matter and a large quantity of water, like bootleg-
ger's whiskey. But instead of water and coloring matter, it
would be more fair to Kyle Brandon to state that these
last ingredients were just plain ordinary human nature.
And human nature—yours, or mine, or a motion-picture


346 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"recently exposed famous society blackmailer"— Why—
why—put her in pictures!—put her in pictures!
Kyle Brandon almost dissolved quite away in the mental
perspiration of the very thought.
When Cordelia finally got the solid residuum, the slight
precipitate of his murky speech, she perceived that the
golden opportunity for stardom had in some manner dwin-
dled to this: a chance to be used as an "extra woman"—the
pay five to fifteen dollars a day, according to importance of
character, and according to clothes required, she to furnish
her own wardrobe—perhaps two days' work a week, perhaps
not, certainly no more—she to pay all travelling expenses
to Los Angeles and all living expenses—and no part of this
to be considered as a guarantee on his part, or as a promise.
This was the day Cordelia decided she was not going to
be a motion-picture actress.
Cordelia learned about life—real life—from motion pic-
tures.
She had been fully aware that Brandon had been embar-
rassed to see her, and this made her angry all during the in-
terview. In this she was, in a degree, unjust to Brandon.
There was some substance, in a business sense, to those un-
spoken objections which shivered through his mind. And
then, as a matter of fact, Cordelia really could not act. She
could walk gracefully about, she could take an easy, graceful
pose, as when Brandon directed her at the pageant; but as
for any natural, spontaneous ability as an actress, why Cor-
delia could no more act than—than—well, than the average
motion-picture star.
After giving up motion pictures, her mind turned to
something which she knew she really could do. She was an
excellent all-round athlete, the star of her years in Harcourt
Hall; and although she had been gay in the years since then,


CORDELIA REBUILDS HER HOUSE
she had never dissipated and was now in fine trim. The re-
turned Lily had told her that the position of physical in-
structor at Harcourt Hall had just become vacant. Cor-
delia determined to apply for it. She was competent as a
teacher, she believed; in her school days the girls had taken
to her naturally as a leader; she would make an ideal coach.
Sh$ was the right person.
Swallowing her pride—what was left of it—and putting
on the pleasant smile she had worn into Brandon's office,
Cordelia went out to her dear old school home and asked to
see Miss Harcourt. Always before, when she had dropped
in here for a visit, Miss Harcourt had instantly hurried out
with a proud, ingratiating smile. Now Miss Harcourt's
secretary asked her kindly to state her business. This Cor-
delia did, and the secretary vanished softly into the inner
shrine. Presently she reappeared and reported to Cordelia
that Miss Harcourt could not spare the time to see her and
did not care to consider her for the vacant position.
And so Cordelia also learned about life—real life—from
Miss Harcourt.
One of the things which she was beginning to learn about
life was this: when you are down and out, about the only
old friend of your splendid days whose friendship you can
still count upon is yourself. And she was learning this
other thing: that it's mighty fine if this particular friend is
equipped to help you by being equipped to do something
for which people will pay money.
Cordelia might have tried for a place as physical instruc-
tor at some other school; but she judged her chances slight,
with the school year under way and all positions doubtless
filled; and besides she had neither practical experience nor
recommendations. And so, at last, Cordelia's mind turned
toward that very occupation which had occurred to her in


348 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
the beginning of this history when she called up Jerry'
Plimpton and asked him how much stenographers were paid.
She would become a stenographer. Here her determination
settled and here it remained. She entered a business college
and took up stenography and typewriting.
And in such manner, at last, Cordelia Marlowe, Cordelia
the Magnificent, twenty-three going on twenty-four, started
out upon the humble end of that long road which stretches
between trained competency and true magnificence. She
was starting out to try to learn to be, fundamental to all
else, just an ordinary, average, self-supporting person.
She found it hard, tremendously hard. What her studies
most required was application; and in all her life she had
never applied herself to anything, except pleasure. But she
was determined, for there were only the few dollars from
the car between her and bitter necessity. She had to learn
to be competent, and learn in a few months, or else die.
And so during that fall and winter Cordelia drove herself
relentlessly all day at school; and then again at night, when
her share of the housework was done, she drove herself at
the keys of her rented typewriter until exhaustion and sleep
would let her drive no more.
If the old friends of the years of her magnificence could
have seen Cordelia during the days and nights of this winter,
they would have been bewildered; they simply could not
have understood. Cordelia Marlowe doing such things,
living in such a way—why, it just couldn't be so! Some
might have pitied her, but most of them would have been
very glad that they no longer had to know her.
As for Lily, that lazy, irreverent child lived the life of
these days with a tireless zest as if this were the great ad-
venture for which she had always hungered. Lily decided


CORDELIA REBUILDS HER HOUSE
to add to her original qualification for being a stenographer,
her ability to chew gum, by learning to typewrite; and when
she was not busy at other work, and when Cordelia was not
using it, she was hammering away at the typewriter, en-
deavoring under Cordelia's instruction to master the touch
system.
The two of them did not remain alone, nor in that first
tiny flat, for more than a month. Escorted by Mitchell,
Esther came to call; and after a visit or two, and debates
about the basis on which expenses should be divided, a larger
flat was taken; and after that the household was composed
of Cordelia, Lily, Esther and Francois, with Mitchell call-
ing almost every evening. Esther's finances were a bit
easier now than when she had first left Rolling Meadows, for
Mitchell was turning over to her the income from a small
sum which he, as the best friend of Francois' father, had
managed to recover from the father's muddled estate. He
told Esther this fib, as he confided to Cordelia, for the rea-
son that if Esther knew the truth, that the money he was
turning over to her was really the income from the sums he
had extracted from Gladys, he knew she would regard the
money as Gladys' and would refuse to take it.
From this time on, Francois, who seemed to have a true
collector's mania for mothers, again had three mothers as
in the days of Rolling Meadows; and of the three Lily took
her adoptive motherhood with the most airs of importance;
hers was a mothership that fairly strutted. Pleas and com-
mands from her mother and her other elders had had no
effect whatever in restraining Lily's profanity. But some-
how this son of hers, with no plea having been made to her,
almost instantly brought about what those in authority had
vainly striven for; her swear-words seemed suddenly to


CORDELIA REBUILDS HER HOUSE
Mitchell was a prodigious worker. He worked long hours,
and his mind never slowed down. As he explained to Cor-
delia: "You see I lost almost five years out of my working
life through the War, and I've got to work myself double
shift to make those five years up." He was certainly work-
ing double shift, and undoubtedly he would make up those
years.
Also she learned that the facetious, fantastic, jesting
quality which had so irritated her at first, because she had
set it down as an assumed mannerism, was a true element
of the man. He was just that way in all things. In him
was a lot of the mischievous boy, the Peter Pan who would
never grow up; perhaps it was this left-over boyishness
which gave him his amazing zest. She knew that he worked
with a jesting smile; he had made love to her with a jesting
smile; and she imagined that he had gone into battle with
that same smile of high banter. That smile, she now real-
ized, signified no lack of seriousness, of high purposes, of
grim determination; it was merely the way in which this
particular man faced the great problems, the great dangers,
the great desires of his life. And back of that fantastic,
jesting smile, she now knew, was an infinite tenderness.
Also she realized that he had this tenderness' reverse: a
grim, patient, relentless, almost maniacal vindictiveness to-
ward any injustice, particularly an injustice or insult directed
at his friends: this last she sensed, in its most marked de-
gree, in his unchanging attitude toward Gladys. Toward
Gladys, she judged, he would stop at nothing. In fact, he
had said as much.
Imperceptibly the conviction grew upon her that Mitchell,
if the chances of life did not turn all against him, might
some day be recognized as a very remarkable man. Per-
haps even a very great man. For the able man who smiles


352 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
at everything, and keeps right on going—he is the man that
nothing less than Fortune's malignant and unchanging ill-
will can ever stop.
These ideas concerning Mitchell were not so much definite
conclusions, the result of conscious and careful observation,
as the final sum of almost unconscious impressions which
filtered into her as the busy weeks and months moved slowly
by.
From the newspapers, during that winter and early
spring, Cordelia occasionally got bits of gossip about persons
who had formerly been important in her life. Jerry Plimp-
ton, as she had known, had started for Japan the day after
he broke his engagement to her; in February the papers re-
ported him back in New York. Of the others, Gladys was
the one of whom the papers told her most. Socially, that
winter was the biggest and best Gladys had ever had; for
this was the first active social season since she was nine-
teen—she was nineteen when Francois was born—when her
spirits had not been repressed and her activities restrained
by her ever-present fear of exposure. Now that old dread
was gone. Esther had removed it. Her spirits swept her
where they wished. She entertained frequently and lav-
ishly—having dug up from some obscure spot, as a substi-
tute for her step-sister, an elderly lady of dignified aspect
who responded promptly and obligingly when addressed by
Gladys as "Aunt Gertrude" [though the lady took the role of
Gladys' aunt without a day's rehearsal and with no previous
knowledge of Gladys] and who gave the element of propri-
ety to the social activities of Gladys' spinister household.
And when Gladys was not entertaining, she was being en-
tertained. She was immensely popular, immensely success-
ful.
If by misadventure these pages have given any impres-


354 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
had suddenly vanished on the magic carpet which seems
ever at the disposal of all absconders, leaving behind him
debts, wailing claimants, and a penniless wife. Ailine, how-
ever, appeared not to be prostrated by her misfortune. Re-
port had it that she was living upon the benevolence of, and
finding great solace in, the company of, a rich gentleman
who looked young and handsome (if one did not inspect his
make-up too closely) despite his fifty-five years; at any rate,
she dined openly with him almost nightly at the smarter
restaurants and went with him to the first nights of all the
new plays.
As she lay awake Cordelia often thought of the four of
them: Gladys, Jackie, Ailine, herself. And included with the
four she sometimes thought of other girls much like them-
selves; her mates at Harcourt Hall, her friends in society.
But mostly her thoughts dwelt upon the four; and these
thoughts began to form the weak bones of a philosophy that
thus far was amorphous. All four of them had been envied
girls; superficially, at least, all clever, brilliant girls. They
had had everything. They had been heiresses of leisure,
with nothing to do but enjoy themselves. And starting
with everything, what a mess they had made of their lives!
All of them! Gladys, now the most successful of the lot,
at bottom a sneaking, scheming, crawling creature, afraid of
the one real thing in her life, her own child. The restless
Jackie—Cordelia no longer placed the major blame on
Murray—always so eager to be on the go that she had not
cared to make a real home; and now apparently about to
develop into that type of woman whose life is just a series
of rapid pilgrimages from the present husband to the next,
and for whom life's only variety is this matrimonial change.
And pretty, dashing Ailine—now apparently on her way to


CORDELIA REBUILDS HER HOUSE
355
becoming a woman of the town of the smarter class. And
herself: publicly, at least, she had come the most inglorious
cropper of them all.
Yes, what a mess they had made of life! All of them!
And as a bit of philosophy began to come into her life,
Cordelia's views toward herself and her career began slowly
to alter. She had been unjustly used—had been tricked—.
lied about; but then, after all, she herself was most to blame
for all the evil that had overtaken her. Her confidence had
been based on nothing real. Her sense of mastery over,
herself and over others had no solid powers behind it.
She had been just pretense, self-deception. An utter ama-
teur at life, and yet so confident! She had sought to build
a great mansion on a foundation of sand, and some one
had come along and their touch had helped topple it over.
If she had conceived the right sort of house, and had
builded her house properly, all the strength of these people
could not have moved so much as one of its smallest
timbers.
And while she did not hate and despise Franklin the less,
she blamed herself the more for their relationship. She'
now saw that she had taken the wrong turn, because it was
the easier turn, at the very start; she now saw that she, and
girls like her, had been the destined prey, the especially
trained prey, for the men who had written her those odious
letters or for the Franklins of the world. Her self-confi-
dence, her tremendous belief in herself, had made her
Franklin's easy dupe. But for that conceit, that sense of her
high value and great power, she would not have taken as a
matter of course that she, an untrained person, could honestly
earn thirty thousand dollars a year and could honestly do the
things Franklin had asked her to do. Yes—it had been not


356 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
so much Franklin, as her own great conceit, that had made a
fool of her: the same conceit that was making, in various
ways, fools out of other girls of her kind.
It was about this time in Cordelia's vague philosophizing
(the calendar time was then March) that there began to
grow up in Cordelia—its first sprouts were tingling and
awing thrills—the strange, unreal sense that, perhaps after
all, her misfortune was in time to prove her salvation! She
had been lucky! That was it—she was lucky! She hadn't
deserved luck—she had no merit—but she was lucky! . . .
Every day this sense grew stronger, more tingling, with more
of lift to it. . . . Through sheer blind luck she might
eventually escape into something fundamentally better, finer,
more worth-while, than the most glorious of her former
dreams!
It was when Cordelia began to think like this that her old
friends, could they have known her thoughts, would have
understood her least of all. . . .
She finished her business course in March. She had
been working at her stenography and typewriting from
twelve to fifteen hours every day, including Sundays. All
those extra hours of self-imposed drill now counted. She
was a fair stenographer, for one without experience; and
she had the makings of an exceptional typist, for the swift-
ness and exactness of muscle and nerve which had made her
an unusual athlete were assets of equal value upon the
typewriter.
The day she graduated Mitchell, proposed to her again.
Mitchell had gradually come to be an accepted part of her
life; she felt more of easy comfort, of at-homeness, with
him than with any other man she had known. But she
didn't know whether she could ever love anybody; the nerve-
centers of romance were still dazed from what had hap-


CORDELIA REBUILDS HER HOUSE 357
pened to her, and perhaps there was permanent paralysis.
These things she told Mitchell. And she added one other
thing.
"I'm not any too proud of what I used to be. But every-
body believes I was a blackmailer. I was not—at least not
consciously; but it wouldn't be fair to any man for me to
come to him as his wife bringing along my terrible reputa-
tion as a blackmailer. And I'm not going to."
"If we could ever clear that reputation, what would you
say?"
"You're suggesting the remote and improbable, if not the
impossible."
"But if we ever could—and ever do—may I ask you
again?"
"I suppose you may." Then she smiled at him. "I'm
only saying you may ask, though, merely because I know I
couldn't stop you anyhow."
"I'm taking that as a promise. Please remember it.
Now I've got another proposal. If you won't marry me,
will you work for me?"
This proposal she accepted. But not until after a long,
wrangle about salary. He offered to start her at twenty
dollars a week. She knew that was more than a beginner
ordinarily could get, and refused it. They finally compro-
mised on fifteen. And at fifteen dollars a week Cordelia
the Magnificent began her career as a wage-earner.
What Cordelia needed to improve her was practice and
experience, and Mitchell saw that she got both; besides
which she kept hammering at the typewriter at home
at nights to develop her speed. During the weeks that
followed she made rapid progress; she gained that self-con-
fidence which is based upon trained ability to do a thing,
which is a different sort from her more glorious confidence


358 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
which was based. on nothing at all. She knew she was
better; so when on the first day of May—that was her
birthday, and she was twenty-four—Mitchell again offered
her twenty dollars a week, this time she accepted it.
Her first twenty-dollar pay-envelope brought Cordelia one
of the very greatest moments of her career. She was making
twenty dollars a week, and she could live on twenty dollars
a week. For the first time in all her life Cordelia Marlowe
was living within her income!
A few days later, on Fifth Avenue, she saw Gladys walk-
ing toward her with Jerry Plimpton. This was the first
time she had seen either since that century-distant day in
Gladys' library. Jerry held his face straight ahead, though
she knew that he had seen her. But Gladys gave her a look
of hard, exultant triumph, not otherwise recognizing her,
slipped a hand through Jerry's arm, laughingly said some-
thing close against his ear; and thus, arm in arm, they swept
by her.
She knew from Gladys' manner what had happened, and
was therefore not surprised the following morning when she
read the announcement of their engagement.


CHAPTER XXXI
MITCHELL SAYS HIS SAY
The engagement of Gladys and Jerry was almost as great
a social sensation as had been the engagement of Jerry and
Cordelia. Gladys, however, despite her wealth, was not
the figure Cordelia had been when Cordelia was making the
world her eager and admiring servant; Gladys never could
be such a figure for she lacked the true good will toward
others, the graciousness, the social readiness, which Cor-
delia, despite her many failings, really did possess.
Even so, Gladys had no cause to complain of lack of envy,
applause and publicity. There were columns and columns
about this brilliant social romance, two hearts united as well
as two great fortunes; their handsome faces gazed forth
from all the papers of the country, and there were pictures
of Rolling Meadows, and Gladys' town house and of Jerry's
various houses and of his yacht. All the world loves a
lover; and newspapers have an especial love for lovers who
have many mansions and many estates.
Cordelia read all this; read that work had once more been
started on Jerry's houses to put them into fit condition to re-
ceive the new heiress to the glories of Jerry's famous
mother; read that the pair, after their marriage which was
set for only a month away, were to be very active socially;
that they would, in fact, resume the Plimpton social activities
which had been allowed to decline since Mrs. Plimpton's
death. In brief, it was all a reprint of love's splen-
did prospectus of months and months before, with Gladys'
3SQ


MITCHELL SAYS HIS SAY 361
and unready of speech. Cordelia saw little of him but was
inclined to like him; he was up often during the day, Cor-
delia gathered, and went on walks with Esther and Fran-
cois or played with Francois in the flat while Esther was
busy with the housework; and Cordelia gathered that both
liked the stranger. It seemed to Cordelia that there was a
vague, strained something in Mr. Aldrich's manner, but she
had not the time, and was not sufficiently interested, to try
to analyze this quality.
It was just a week after the announcement of the engage-
ment of Gladys and Jerry—and all that part of the world
which is interested in the doings of society was still aflutter
at the news—that, when Cordelia appeared in the office at
the usual nine o'clock, Mitchell said to her: "I'm going to
have a little conference here to-day. I want you to be
present, and I want you to keep hold of yourself."
Cordelia had need for this control when the parties to the
conference began to arrive at ten o'clock. There were two
strangers whom Mitchell, then and later introduced as "Mr.
Emerson and Mr. Bailey, interested in a little matter with
me"; they were silent, composed men, and so remained
throughout the conference. Then came Esther. Then, to-
gether, came Gladys Norworth and Jerry Plimpton. Their
entrance was the real surprise to Cordelia; she now began
to wonder what this business could be about and she won-
dered by what means these last two had been brought to
Mitchell's office.
The means was then known only to Mitchell and
Gladys; there had been a brief note from Mitchell to Gladys
of which this was a portion: "I now have the definite proof
of who is the real mother of Francois. I shall let the il-
legitimacy of his maternity become a matter of widest pub-
lic knowledge, if you are not in my office Wednesday morn-


364 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"Mr. Franklin also referred to an alleged contract for his
services, also signed by you about the middle of May. Did
you sign this contract at this date, or sign it much later?"
"I signed it much later."
"On this same occasion Mr. Franklin stated that, as your
attorney, he devised a plan, in fact the two of you devised
a plan in advance for trapping Miss Marlowe in a black-
mailing scheme. You testified to the truth of these state-
ments. Now, as a matter of fact, was any such plan made
in advance, or was there not?"
"There was not."
"On this same occasion Mr. Franklin stated that, in carry-
ing out this plan, you had been paying blackmail to Miss
Marlowe through him. You testified that this was the
truth. As a matter of fact, was any of your money paid
to Miss Marlowe directly or indirectly, that you can prove
to have been blackmail money?"
She hesitated a moment over this, frantically searching
her mind for proof. Cordelia, bewildered by the manner
in which at last facts were coming out, gazed breathlessly at
Gladys, awaiting her answer.
"No," Gladys said finally.
"But you did pay money to Mr. Franklin that you were
morally certain was blackmail?—which, in fact, you were
told was blackmail?"
"Yes."
"In brief, all these statements which you made against
Miss Marlowe on that day—which was to have been her
wedding day—all your statements were lies?"
Gladys hesitated again; but the answer came.
"Yes."
"And you know of nothing whatever against Miss Mar-
lowe, which you can prove, that is to her discredit?"


366 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
pectedly, still seemed incredible to her. And just how
Mitchell was making it happen she could not understand.
"I should explain to you, Miss Marlowe," he went on,
*'that what I have just done now I could not have done on
that day at Rolling Meadows because I then did not have
the evidence I now have, especially the support of Miss
Stevens."
"I—I think I like it this way very much better," Cordelia
said.
Mitchell turned to the others. "In order that you all may
have for your personal records, as a memorandum of what
you have just heard and witnessed, I shall give each an un-
signed copy of Miss Norworth's affidavit."
This he proceeded to do. Gladys and Jerry refused the
copies offered them, but Esther accepted, and also the two
silent men about whose business there Cordelia had been
wondering. With the second signed affidavit Mitchell
crossed to his office safe, deposited the affidavit therein,
locked the safe and returned to his former position.
"And now," said he in his pleasant voice, "let's get to our
real business. But before going further, Miss Marlowe, I
desire to remind you that I once remarked to you that when
the proper time came I might have something to say. You
remember?"
"Yes—I remember," said Cordelia.
*'The right time has come for me to say what I have to
say. I shall now proceed. But first, Mr. Plimpton, in
order that you may understand what is to follow, you should
know a few facts which are already known to most of us
here. One of these preliminary facts is that I have known
Miss Norworth since 1916, now almost six years. We got
to know each other rather well in Paris shortly after she
first went over. That is correct, is it not, Miss Norworth?"


MITCHELL SAYS HIS SAY 369
just a mechanic; and within a day I was convinced his hero's
radiance was indeed all she really cared for. I urged Billy
Grayson not to marry her; I didn't think she was good
enough, and it was my business to save my friend if I could.
But he was thoroughly infatuated, and my advice did no
good. Miss Stevens, for very different reasons, urged
Miss Norworth against the marriage. But there was no
stopping her. They were married—secretly, at Miss Nor-
worth's insistence, for she wished to avoid trouble with her
step-sister—and thereafter the marriage was kept a secret.
Of all their friends I was the only one who knew; I was a
witness.
"I particularly ask you, Miss Marlowe, to give careful
attention to what I next say. You already know the facts,
most of them; I am retelling the facts chiefly for Mr.
Plimpton's sake. It is the point of view behind those facts
that I want you to get—my point of view.
"Before our leave was over, I saw how completely right
I had been about Miss Norworth. Billy Grayson's glory
had already begun to pass to other heroes; she saw him now
as just an ordinary mechanic. With him stripped of his
glory she was ashamed of him, and was now glad that no
one knew of the marriage. It made me hate her, her at-
titude toward my friend, the finest simplest fellow alive.
In my behalf I ask you to remember, Miss Marlowe, that
I was then only twenty-four. Well, we went back to the
front; and almost at once we got in a bit of action. Gray-
son was reported killed. I was wounded slightly, and
landed in a Paris hospital. Within a month from the time
Grayson and I had said good-bye to her, I saw Miss Nor-
worth again. She was tremendously relieved, she even re-
joiced, at the death of Grayson. She was now more happy
than ever that the marriage had been kept a secret; she


370 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
need never admit it now, the world need never know her
terrible mistake and disgrace. I despised and hated her
more than ever.
"Up to this time, Miss Marlowe, though I disliked her,
I had never done a thing against Miss Norworth beyond
urging my friend not to marry her. But this attitude of
hers was too much. I made her even happier yet about
keeping the marriage a secret by something which I told her.
I told her that before going into his last action Billy Gray-
son had had a premonition that this was to be his end and he
had asked me, in case he did go West, to tell Miss Norworth
the truth—that he already had a wife, a French girl he had
married a year and a half earlier. I told Miss Norworth
this, produced the French wife and her six-months-old
child, and the marriage certificate. Miss Norworth was
horrified. The bigamous wife of an automobile mechanic!
What if that were known in her world—the disgrace of it!
She thanked God again that the marriage had been kept
safely secret, and that the bigamous husband, who had never
been her husband at all, was safely dead.
"A little later she learned she was going to have a child—
Grayson's child—an illegitimate child. That threatened to
bring the awful story of her mistaken marriage before the
public, and she was more horrified than ever. Miss Stevens
urged her to admit the facts, and have the child openly.
Miss Norworth would not hear of such a thing. The dis-
grace! So at Miss Norworth's insistence a plan was ar-
ranged whereby the child was born in secret. Later, fol-
lowing a practice then much in vogue of adopting French
war orphans, Miss Norworth sought to conceal the whole
affair by adopting her own son, supposedly the orphan of
nameless French parents.
"I knew the truth, and later a few others learned it. And


372 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
"You need not have had one single moment of fear!" he
repeated. "There was nothing to fear! Nothing what-
ever to be ashamed of, except yourself! For everything I
told you was lies!"
"Lies?" she said stupidly. "Lies? How?"
"Isn't it getting pretty obvious? I wanted to make you
suffer for being ashamed of such a man as Grayson. I
thought a lot about it; thought as well as a young fellow of
twenty-four could think. And I saw a way. My friend was
dead; a slander on his name wouldn't hurt him; besides,
it probably would never become known. Since you were
ashamed of being married to a mechanic, and afraid it might
be found out, it struck me that nothing else would hurt your
snobbish pride so much as feeling you were not merely the
wife of a mechanic, but worse than that, his illegal wife,
his bigamous wife. The great Gladys Norworth, bigamous
wife of a mechanic!—how you would squirm with the
shame of it, how you would squirm with the fear of its ever
becoming public! So I worked the plan out and put it over.
And it was all a lie!"
There was still stupid bewilderment in the stare of
Gladys' wide eyes. It is difficult, all at once, to. accept the
reversal of an obsessing fear that has been the central fact,
the ever uncertain foundation, of one's existence.
"But—but that marriage document? That other wife,
the child?"
"That document was forged. And purposely forged so
clumsily that its forgery would have been obvious if you
had had the nerve to demand its investigation. The woman
was the widow of a French poilu; the child was hers. The
poor thing needed money, and she really didn't know what
she was doing. I paid her a hundred francs."
Gladys gazed at him, blinking, speechless.


MITCHELL SAYS HIS SAY 373
"At the time I did this, I had no thought beyond making
you personally do a lot of squirming in the place your
pride is located. I then did not foresee your child. When
I learned of the child and how you were ashamed of his
father—well, I decided you had earned any new suffering
your pride and cowardice might bring to you. But I did not
intend the boy ever to suffer; I was going to see to that."
Gladys' dazed faculties were slowly realizing the, to her,
stupendous facts.
"Then—Billy Grayson was not what you said—a biga-
mist—a crook—"'
"Billy Grayson was about the finest and straightest man
any woman ever had the honor to call her husband!"
"And—and—my marriage—it was—"
"As legal as law can make a marriage."
"And—and—then Francois—"
"If a thoroughly legal marriage is what makes a child
legitimate, then there was never a more legitimate child than
Francois."
"Then"—there came a quaver of self-pity in her voice—
"then I've suffered all these years—without deserving it!"
"Don't waste any sympathy on yourself! You've de-
served all you've got. The point for you to think of is
that you've suffered all these years without needing to suffer.
For in all these years there has not been a moment when,
by being a real woman, you could not have instantly have
cleared things away. Even when I told you that lie in
Paris, I still had a lingering hope that you would come out
like a real wife and hotly declare you would not believe any
such slander against the man you had just married, and who
had just bravely died in action. If you had shown that
much respect for the memory of Grayson, I would have
shown you all my cards right there, and have ended the mat-


374 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
ter. And ever since I've been hoping you'd call my bluff,
defy me; in which case I'd instantly have come out with the
facts—they were always right on the surface for you any-
how. There never was a more flimsy frame-up; one more
purposely flimsy. You had but to stretch out your hand and
at the bare touch it would have toppled over. Only one
thing made so flimsy a frame-up possible: you are so proud,
so snobbish, so selfish, so self-centered—and again snobbish
and self-centered—and forever and ever snobbish and self-
centefed!"
Gladys heard but little" of this final tirade. Her mind, as
it came out of its palsy, had gone reaching toward things
of more importance than these vain might-have-beens. As
Mitchell finished an excited glow, a glow of vast relief, had
lighted her face, and that glow she now turned on Jerry.
"Oh, Jerry—Jerry!" she cried sobbingly, happily. "Jerry
—everything's all right! You heard—there's nothing
against me! Nothing! My marriage was legal! Fran-
cois is legitimate! And I'm—I'm a real widow! Oh,
Jerry, after what I've been through—isn't it wonderful!
There's nothing now to stop our marriage, Jerry! We can
go right ahead!"
Jerry, still pale with the pallor of a man who has almost
found a skeleton in what was to have been his family
closet, gazed at her uncertainly. Cordelia could see that the
substance of what he had been hearing was not quite clear to
him; it had not yet had time to become settled into its proper
place, become adjusted to its proper relation to the other
facts of his life, his life's other considerations.
Gladys turned again to Mitchell. Cordelia had never
seen a swifter transformation in a person than in Gladys.
Gladys, so abject and lifeless but a moment before, had never
been more haughty, more imperious, more triumphant.


378 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
He was more in love with you than ever. And you—you
weren't fit to kiss the rags of shoes he wore. He wanted
to get right to you. I wasn't going to let a fine, loyal man
like Billy be humiliated by you, have him break his heart
in your presence. I wasn't going to let the man I loved, a
man with the tremendous woman-hunger that a war-prison
creates in one, go silly about your foolish self again. I was
going to cure him, if a cure was possible.
"But I certainly had my work cut out for me. I broke
the thing to him bit by bit. I told him a few technical lies,
but in its essence everything I told him was the truth. I
told him that you were ashamed of him because he was a
mechanic; that you had never acknowledged your marriage
to him; that when the report had come of his death, you
had been glad, for it had freed you of the shame of ever
having to acknowledge him as your husband; that, hiding
the marriage of which you were ashamed, you were passing
yourself off as an unmarried woman. There was one im-
portant fact I held back from him—Francois. I was afraid
if he knew he had a son it might upset all my plans to cure
him, to save him. I felt sure Esther would save the son;
just then the most important thing in the world to me was to
save the father. So I told him these things; later he had a
chance to prove them to himself. He has seen you often,
Mrs. Grayson, when you didn't know he was watching you.
What he learned at first broke his heart, but it cured him.
He's simple and modest, Billy Grayson is, but he's got a real
man's pride; he wanted nothing to do with a wife who was
ashamed of him."
Again slow, dazed words came from Gladys' stiff lips.
"So—he's really alive? . . . Still alive?"
"He's still alive, Mrs. Grayson. He's gone back to his
old trade. He runs a garage out in Cleveland. I'm sure,


382 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
say he's not interested in another woman; his one marriage
has cured him of women; he's satisfied to let the cards
rest exactly as they've fallen. You can't get a divorce in
the State of New York; you haven't grounds for action,
and you won't be given grounds. And if you go to another
state and start suit on some such grounds as desertion, he'll
be in that state, and in court, to prove that he hasn't deserted
you. He's not anxious to live with you; not at all; though
if you insist, you can have half of his apartment above his
garage. No use trying to get out of it—you are now Mrs.
William Grayson for keeps; wife of the garage-man.
"And now, Mrs. Grayson, for the second part of your
question," Mitchell went on. "But first there is still one
other little fact I should make known to you and Mr.
Plimpton. I have told you that these two gentlemen, Mr.
Emerson and Mr. Bailey, were interested in our conference,
but I did not tell you the nature of their interest. That
information I shall at this point give you. You and Mr.
Plimpton will recall that on an earlier occasion when Mr.
Plimpton's marriage arrangements were disturbed, there
was present a very considerable representation of the press.
It seemed to me that on this occasion, when Mr. Plimpton
might feel that his marriage arrangements were being a
second time disturbed, it would be no more than fair that
the press should again be represented. But I could not
accommodate a crowd. Only these two. Mr. Emerson rep-
resents the Associated Press, which serves newspapers
throughout the country—and, through allied agencies,
throughout the world. Mr. Bailey is from the City News
Association, which serves news to all the papers of New
York City. Together, I am certain they will secure us
adequate publicity."
Neither Gladys nor Jerry at that moment seemed con-


384 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Mitchell now turned to Jerry.
"On that previous occasion, Mr. Plimpton, you were
asked if you had any little announcement you wished to
make to the press concerning your marriage. You had.
The situation now is more or less the same. So again the
same question is put to you: Have you any little announce-
ment you wish to make to the press concerning your mar-
riage?"
The sick-faced, benumbed Jerry apparently had neither
anything to say, nor the power of saying it if he had had.
"Then I'll say it for you!" Again Mitchell's voice was
hard, driving. "And if the newspaper men, fearing libel
laws, think it safer not to express their opinions of you in
their own words, they are at full liberty to quote all I say
and to quote me as saying anything I should have said but
have left out. If you feel this a disgrace to the important
Jerry Plimpton, and a disgrace to the sacred Plimpton
name, just remember that you had it coming to you and
that you brought it upon yourself! Instead of being man
enough to respect and trust and believe the woman you had
promised to marry, when the worst against her was nothing
dishonorable but was that in her Ignorance she had acted a
bit foolishly and had been duped—instead of being a real
man, you chose, on Miss Marlowe's wedding day, to believe
the lies of this liar here, and the lies of another liar, as
against your promised wife's truth, and you publicly cast
her aside and publicly discredited her! I hope, you damned
cad, that you, and your Plimpton dignity, writhe till your
last days! And I hope that the newspapers laugh you out
of the country!"
Mitchell took Jerry by his arm.
"I've been a butler in my time, Mr. Plimpton, and as
such it has been my duty to show many men the door. But


MITCHELL SAYS SOME MORE 385
in all my life I have never had so much pleasure in showing1
any man the door as I now have in showing you the
door! And I hope that all the world shows you the door!"
As he spoke, Mitchell had been pressing Jerry, unresist-
ing and still speechless, before him across the room. At
the last words Mitchell pushed Jerry through the door, and
then closed it.
Cordelia had been watching Mitchell and Jerry; but
Gladys, eyes on her husband, had taken no notice of this
last. Cordelia's gaze now shifted to this pair. For a space
there was utter silence in the room, not a motion. Gladys'
look was still what it had been when she had first seen her
husband enter the room: that stricken, appalled stare of one
gazing upon the unwelcomely resurrected dead. His white
face continued gazing steadfastly into her eyes. He had
not uttered a single word.
Thus, with wife and husband gazing at each other, several
moments passed. Then Gladys' eyes wavered; she turned
away, and without another word to him or any of them, her
body drooping forward, she unsteadily crossed the room,
fumbled at the door, and passed out.


CHAPTER XXXIII
THE MAGNIFICENCE CORDELIA FOUND
Cordelia's eyes remained upon the door, for several
moments after Gladys had gone. Her own feelings toward
"Gladys at that period she could not have analyzed; dom-
inating these personal feelings was an awed sense of what
had happened to Gladys. Gladys had lied with her lips and
her life, she had schemed, she had twisted this way, she
had turned that way, she had used every trick her wit could
command—all to serve her pride, her vanity, her supreme
selfishness; and this was what all her lying and scheming
and selfishness had brought her.
They had lost her Jerry Plimpton. They had lost her a
husband who looked a fine, simple, sincere man. They had
lost her her son, a darling, manly little fellow. They had
brought on her the humiliation of this broken engagement.
They were making public the long-hidden story of her
marriage, with its details of her being ashamed of her hus-
band because of her snobbery—her relief in her husband's
reported death because that death made it possible for her
to keep the marriage secret—her hidden maternity and her
adoption of her own son—her submitting to blackmail—
her public denial of her son—and, capping the vast edifice of
chagrin built by her pride, this final fact that everything had
been quite regular and legal from the first and that the years
of her suffering from a supposed shame had been brought
upon her solely because of her snobbishness and cowardice.
386


388 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
a single thought; just then thought was beyond her. Wild
sensations dizzied through her, but they were as inarticu-
late, as formless, as impermanent as are the swift, roaring
phantasms of a person who is going into, or coming out of,
ether.
And for her, just then, time was as much a nullity, a void,
as it is to a person in ether, and its twilight stages. And
in so far as she was conscious, consciousness was merely a
series of hiatuses with brief instants when mind or soul
seemed barely to touch a bit of reality and then flash
away. . . . She heard voices in the room she had left,
many voices; and her subconsciousness, from its vastly re-
mote distance, told her that these were the voices of many
reporters. . . . And then, after a timeless interval, the
voices were gone; no sound came from the next room. . . .
And then, after another timeless interval, her door seemed
to open, a paper seemed to be laid before her, the door
seemed to close. That remote subconsciousness dimly told
her Mitchell had slipped in, and then slipped out. . . .
An hour, perhaps several hours, may have passed. She
pulled herself up out of her swirling emotional anaesthesia,
and looked at the paper Mitchell had brought her. It was
an afternoon paper, and in it was a hasty, preliminary ac-
count of that morning's happenings. But there, printed in
full, was Gladys' affidavit.
Her brain began to clear, to function. Her heart leaped
at that affidavit—Mitchell's work!—clearing her. She was
cleared! The world might think her a fool—she herself
thought she had been a fool. But the world could no longer
think her consciously and wilfully dishonest. At last the
world would have to admit that she had been lied about—
that in intention she had always been honest!
She was glad that at last the world would acknowledge


THE MAGNIFICENCE CORDELIA FOUND 389
her honest. But aside from this, she seemed to care very
little what the world thought of her.
She pushed the paper from her, and her clearing brain
began to go about in the groove of a circle her thoughts
had worn a few months earlier when she had begun slowly
to re-win her self-respect and had first begun to philosophize
a bit, a circle whose course was determined by Gladys,
Jackie, Ailine, herself—a circle whose circumference con-
tained innumerable mates at Harcourt Hall, countless friends
of society—smart, brilliant girls, all of them—but a circle
whose high, determining points were ever Gladys, Jackie,
Ailine, herself. . . . Gladys, Jackie, Ailine, herself. . . .
Herself, Ailine, Jackie, Gladys. . . . Round and round in
its groove went her mind. . . . Yes, they had been a smart,
brilliant lot. And to-day? To-day, the restless Jackie start-
ing out to string herself a necklace of husbands; only no
knot at the end of her string, and the latest bead slipping off
as the newest is slipped on. And Ailine? Ailine, living
alone for pleasure; dancing her life away; turning all her
splendid youth into nothing better than a smooth floor for
her dancing feet; just a decorated and decorative wanton.
And Gladys? Gladys, by her own selfish acts bereft of all;
shamed and laughed at; nothing left but her money. And
herself, Cordelia? Why, she—
She was dazed, her breath was swept from her, by the
swift upward rush of her thoughts.
Why, after all, she was making the best finish of the lot!
She had found something real in life, something worth
while! Of the four, she was the success!
It was toward this concrete realization that her mind
had been moving all that while it had been away from her,
circling its remote ether: all the long while she had been
sitting here in her little office. And as she lit upon this


THE MAGNIFICENCE CORDELIA FOUND 391
of her. Hours must have passed. She did not know.
"There is just one little last thing I have to tell you," he
said quietly. "My name—my last name. It's Harrison.
Harrison nobody-at-all. I told you long ago Mitchell was
quite as good a name, and quite as important. My only
reason for not using my own name was, when I went to
work as a butler, I thought another name might do as a
butler just as well. And I kept the name, after my plans
concerning Gladys began to take shape, because I feared,
if my real name were known, through my real name some
one might trace down Billy Grayson and the truth would
come out before I was quite ready for it to come out.
That's all there is to that. That's the last of my little mys-
teries, and now you know as much about me as I know
about myself."
She hardly heard this. He had been looking at her very
steadily while he spoke. She had never before noted, so
clearly as now, what fine, candid, sympathetic, understand-
ing eyes he had. All the great feelings in her—she felt as
though they were about—
His quiet voice went on; but there was that look in those
fine eyes that required no words.
"You will remember you once said, if you were ever
cleared, I might again ask—"
That was as far as she let him go. That gratitude,
humility, joy, swelling in her, had now swelled to where
nothing could confine them. They burst forth.
"You needn't ask!" she cried. She flung her arms about
his neck, and held him tightly as one clutches joy and
salvation; and her words went on, broken and choked with
thrilled ecstatic sobs: "Oh, I'm so happy! ... so happy!
'. . . And I haven't deserved it! ... I haven't deserved it!
... I haven't deserved it! ... I haven't deserved it! . . ,


CHAPTER XXXIII
THE MAGNIFICENCE CORDELIA FOUND
Cordelia's eyes remained upon the door for several
moments after Gladys had gone. Her own feelings toward
-Gladys at that period she could not have analyzed; dom-
inating these personal feelings was an awed sense of what
had happened to Gladys. Gladys had lied with her lips and
her life, she had schemed, she had twisted this way, she
had turned that way, she had used every trick her wit could
command—all to serve her pride, her vanity, her supreme
selfishness; and this was what all her lying and scheming
and selfishness had brought her.
They had lost her Jerry Plimpton. They had lost her a
husband who looked a fine, simple, sincere man. They had
lost her her son, a darling, manly little fellow. They had
brought on her the humiliation of this broken engagement.
They were making public the long-hidden story of her
marriage, with its details of her being ashamed of her hus-
band because of her snobbery—her relief in her husband's
reported death because that death made it possible for her
to keep the marriage secret—her hidden maternity and her
adoption of her own son—her submitting to blackmail—
her public denial of her son—and, capping the vast edifice of
chagrin built by her pride, this final fact that everything had
been quite regular and legal from the first and that the years
of her suffering from a supposed shame had been brought
upon her solely because of her snobbishness and cowardice.


THE MAGNIFICENCE CORDELIA FOUND 387
All these, Cordelia in this awed summary foresaw, were
things the world of Gladys would never forget.
Nothing . . . nothing that could possibly have happened
to Gladys could have struck more truly the heart of her
vanity than these things which had happened. Of all the
things which she had once had, and dreamed of having,
Gladys had only one thing left—her money. . . . Only her
money! . . .
While she thus thought Cordelia had been conscious of
voices in the room, but not of the words spoken. Now the
words dimly registered upon her brain; they came from the
City Press man.
"It's a whale of a story! The papers won't be satisfied
with City Press dope on a story like this. I'll 'phone in to
my office, and the office will flash a bulletin to all the papers,
and in about ten minutes you'll have ten dozen reporters
here. Might as well get ready for them."
Cordelia was aware that the next moment the two news-
paper men had gone. She was utterly dazed by what had
happened; by what might be its meaning to her. Just then
she wanted nothing else quite so much as to be alone—to
clear her brain—to think.
She stood up, and spoke to Mitchell.
"I want to thank you—for all you've done for me—and
that's all I can say now."
She shook the hand he offered her. And she gripped
Esther's hand, and Grayson's, neither of whom spoke.
"If you don't mind, please," she went on, "I'd like to be
alone—for a while."
She passed into her little cubby-hole of an office, closed
the door, sank into her chair and dropped her head in her
folded arms upon the desk beside her typewriter. She sat
there soundless, tremors running through her. She had not


390 CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
truth, she straightened up in her chair with a thrill and
gazed with distant, be-dazzled eyes at her wall three feet
away.
Of them all she was the success!
For she had found her real self; perhaps a small self; but
such as it was, she had found it, and upon it she could
build, and keep on building; it would grow, and keep on
growing. Build and grow, until finally—
From out of nowhere that old haunting phrase flashed
back upon her: Cordelia the Magnificent. How empty
it sounded! She smiled at its pretension. . . . And then
she sobered, as an awing thought, related to that old title,
surged into her mind. Why—why—if there was any such
thing as true magnificence—that magnificence which comes
from discovering one's self, and keeping on being one's
best self, and helping one's best self to grow—why, her
feet were now in the beginning of the one path that led
to it!
Cordelia the Magnificent! But, oh, such a different
kind of magnificence! So very, very different! . . .
But if she was anything now, and was ever to be any-
thing more, credit for it did not belong to her. Oh, but
she had been lucky! For luck, that was all that had won
for her!—saved her and let the others go! Luck, just
luck!
Luck! . . . and—why—why, of course! Mitchell!
Mitchell! . . .
Gratitude, humility, joy inexpressible, swelled within
her . . . kept on swelling . . . kept on swelling . . . and
her distant eyes fixed on her three-foot-away partition grew
more awedly bright with the miracle of it all. . . .
Presently Mitchell came in again and quietly sat
down, the room's tiny size forcing him to sit within a foot


THE MAGNIFICENCE CORDELIA FOUND 391
of her. Hours must have passed. She did not know.
"There is just one little last thing I have to tell you," he
said quietly. "My name—my last name. It's Harrison.
Harrison nobody-at-all. I told you long ago Mitchell was
quite as good a name, and quite as important. My only
reason for not using my own name was, when I went to
work as a butler, I thought another name might do as a
butler just as well. And I kept the name, after my plans
concerning Gladys began to take shape, because I feared,
if my real name were known, through my real name some
one might trace down Billy Grayson and the truth would
come out before I was quite ready for it to come out.
That's all there is to that. That's the last of my little mys-
teries, and now you know as much about me as I know
about myself."
She hardly heard this. He had been looking at her very
steadily while he spoke. She had never before noted, so
clearly as now, what fine, candid, sympathetic, understand-
ing eyes he had. All the great feelings in her—she felt as
though they were about—
His quiet voice went on; but there was that look in those
fine eyes that required no words.
"You will remember you once said, if you were ever
cleared, I might again ask—"
That was as far as she let him go. That gratitude,
humility, joy, swelling in her, had now swelled to where
nothing could confine them. They burst forth.
"You needn't ask!" she cried. She flung her arms about
his neck, and held him tightly as one clutches joy and
salvation; and her words went on, broken and choked with
thrilled ecstatic sobs: "Oh, I'm so happy! ... so happy!
". . . And I haven't deserved it! ... I haven't deserved it!
... I haven't deserved it! ... I haven't deserved it! . . ,


CORDELIA THE MAGNIFICENT
Gladys is in California, living pleasantly at Santa Bar-
bara, the while her suit for divorce progresses through the
courts. She charges "mental cruelty," which, whatever the
phrase may mean, is adequate grounds in California. Per-
haps the phrase means a "psychic headache." which is per-
haps what' Gladys has; anyhow, a divorce is quite as easy
to get in California as a headache powder, the former
merely requiring a little longer for the prescription to be
compounded.
During Glady's few months of social brilliance, culmi-
nating in her engagement to Jerry Plimpton, Kyle Brandon
often spoke to her with eloquent enthusiasm of what a hit
a handsome, popular young society woman, such as she
was, would make if she would only go into pictures under
his direction. Now, despite her living right next door to
his studios, so to speak, he has not again broached the bril-
liant project to her.
Notwithstanding Mitchell's declaring to Gladys that any
action for divorce she started would be fought by Grayson
her suit is not being contested. This is due to one of the
tangles that human affection sometimes involves humans in.
Esther may not be sure that she loves Grayson, and Gray-
son may not be sure that he loves Esther; but Esther loves
Francois and is determined to keep him; and Grayson loves
Francois and is determined to keep him; and Francois loves
them both and is determined to keep them both; and
so, as the only compromise by which this difficulty can be
arbitrated to suit all these unchangeable determinations,
Esther and Grayson are going to be married as soon as
Gladys gets her decree, and all three are going to keep each
other. They are going to live in Cleveland.
But this necessary loss of Francois to Lily does not mean
that Lily's bantam-like, strutting mothership will abruptly


ADDENDA
395
cease to function. Its direction will be changed—has al-
ready been changed—that is all.
Cordelia still has a job; rather a new job. It is over
this new job that Lily is so busy and bossy and strutty.
This job is three weeks old and is of the feminine gender.
The parents have not yet decided upon a name. Both par-
ents have decided, most enthusiastically, that the daughter
is magnificent—simply magnificent! Down in her heart,
however, where her stoutest resolutions are made, Cor-
delia has secretly decided that her daughter's magnificence
is not to be trained toward a social career.
And that, as Mr. Franklin once remarked—that, I be-
lieve, is all.
S (i)
THE END
I





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Princeton University Library
11
r
21
01
065840348


This Book is Due
DEC 1 9 '33