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THE ROMANCE OF
A MILLION DOLLARS
By
ELIZABETH DEJEANS
|
Author of
THE TIGER'S COAT, NOBODY'S CHILD,
THE MORETON MYSTERY, Etc.
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBs. MERRILL company
tº Wºº
-i 3. . .
º
PUBLISHERS


;
THE ROMANCE OF A MILLION DOLLARS





THE ROMANCE OF
A MILLION DOLLARS
CHAPTER I
ARIE ANGOULEME shoved her modest suit-
case beneath the seat with a sense of satisfaction.
She was going to have the section to herself. Bon!
They were leaving Buffalo in the murky darkness
of a March evening. Wind-driven sleet peppered the
windows of the car and melted quickly into zigzag
rivulets that blurred the lights of the city; the car was
oppressively hot. The passengers were settling them-
selves in the usual fashion, disposing of their luggage
and preparing for the dining- or the smoking-car, with
the porter much in evidence.
Marie Angouleme, though a young person, was an
experienced and an economical traveler: she had
dined at a lunch-counter near the station and intended
to retire as soon as possible; the journey across from
Canada had been wet, cold and wearisome. So she
asked the porter to make up her berth at once and she
went to the dressing-room; at so early an hour, she was
less likely to be disturbed; she had noticed that there
I


2 THE ROMANCE OF
were many women passengers in the car and only a few
111en. -
When Marie returned, the car had cleared some-
what. Her berth was shrouded in green, and the
porter was busied making up other berths. Marie
noticed that the berth across from hers was unoccupied
and, as the berths on either side of it had been made
up, she had a nook in which to open her suit-case and
take out night-dress and kimono and boudoir-cap. She
gathered her curly black hair into a wad on the top
of her head, put on the much befrilled cap which left
little else than her nose and mouth visible, disposed of
her suit-case, then crept into her berth for a more
complete undressing.
There was not much of length or breadth to Marie
Angouleme, but stretched at her length, such as it was,
she meditated upon her adventure. In a soft leather
belt about her small waist was her entire fortune, one
hundred dollars, and several papers which she valued
highly. She was going to New York, which she had
never seen, not to make her fortune she had decided
modestly, but to earn a competence. With her qualifi-
cations that should be possible. Canada was so sad
since the war, and quite unbearable with both her good
aunt and her dear father dead. And to work as a
servant in a place where she was known was too morti-
fying. Far better to work in a strange place. There
were, of course, numberless intelligence offices in the
city of New York, but what she must do, even before
leaving the train in the morning, was to buy news-


A MILLION DOLLARS 3
papers and study the advertisements; it might result
in much saving of time. Thus ran Marie's thoughts,
anxious yet determined—until the cradling of the
train lulled her to sleep.
It was the cessation of motion that waked Marie,
and subdued voices. Passengers must have entered,
Marie thought, possibly some one for the upper berth?
She raised the blind a little and saw the lights of what
must be a considerable city. Then she peeped into
the isle, for some one was speaking to the porter. It
was a tall woman muffled in furs and elegantly
gowned. Marie knew about furs: merely by touch
she could tell the denomination and the quality of a
pelt. These were sables, the real Siberian, not Ameri-
can marten, and must be very valuable. They framed
a striking face, a woman of indeterminate age but not
old; strong, very regular features, and lashes and
brows as black as jet; her eyes were light, however,
which made her face the more striking. Her hair was
night-black and very abundant, and her lips were red
and her color high, a vivid brunette and with an air
of great distinction. She was taking the unoccupied
berth opposite.
Marie studied the woman’s face with interest and,
being an opportunist, she wondered if in the morning
she might be able to win the favor of so wealthy a
person. It might be of great assistance to her in New
York, to make such a friend. The woman told the
porter to call her at seven in the morning, then disap-
peared behind the curtains of her berth and the light


4. THE ROMANCE OF
overhead grew dim. Marie twisted about, seeking
slumber; and, finally, curled up and with her hand
under her cheek, she lost consciousness.
How long afterward, she did not know, Marie
waked with a sense of discomfort. Her limbs were
cramped and her left hand numb. She was rubbing
sensation into it when startled into consciousness of a
loss: her wrist-watch was not on her wrist. Stolen?
. . . Marie's hands went frantically to her waist.
The good Lord was kind! The money and papers and
the address of the New York boarding-house were
there! But the beautiful wrist-watch which had been
a gift from her dear father!
Then Marie remembered. Imbecile! She had taken
it off when she had washed in the dressing-room. She
had put it on the rack for towels—almost certainly it
was gone forever! The tears came in her eyes. But
she would go instantly and see. Marie pulled on her
shoes, gathered her kimono about her, and sped down
the car. When half-way down, she realized that she
was going in the wrong direction, her berth was fourth
from the vestibule in which was the ladies' room. She
hurried back. In the dressing-room was a row of
newly arranged towels, and Marie's heart sank to such
an extent that the rebound was upsetting—under one
of the towels was her watch, unharmed.
After kissing it with French fervor, Marie returned
to her berth and crept in . . . but upon a terrific sur-
prise, a blanketed body which started convulsively.
For an instant, Marie was conscious of that only, a


A MILLION DOLLARS '5
body that leapt up and away from her. The next in-
stant, she was seized and flung backward in the berth,
hot powerful hands gripped her throat, a body knelt
on her chest pinioning her arms, and a face panted into
her own; she was choked and smothered into an intol-
erable agony against which she writhed and struggled
in a blind animal frenzy. . . . Then suddenly the
grip on her throat loosened, the weight on her chest
lifted, and she was thrust into the aisle and fell to the
floor. Her congested eyes could not see and the roar-
ing in her ears deafened her, but, with the instinct to
flee, she crawled for a distance, then staggered to her
feet, plunged into the vestibule, still strangling and
eyes bursting. The movement of the train threw her
back and forth, thrust her finally against a door.
When Marie returned to a consciousness that was
not merely mad terror and a desperate struggle for
breath, she found herself inside the dressing-room
which she had left a few minutes before; she was
braced against the door. Her throat within and with-
out burned as if seared by a hot iron and there were
shooting pains in her chest. Though she could see,
black spots swam before her eyes, springing up and
down in queer time to the violent throbbing pains in
her chest. Her gasps were audible to herself now.
But no one tried to thrust the door in; there was
no outcry, only the noises of the train. She remained
unmolested and the pains in her chest lessened and
connected thoughts began to form in her aching head.
She felt weak and sick, but, with much effort, she


6 THE ROMANCE OF
thought it out, the thing she had done: it was the fur,
that woman's sables lying in the berth and against
which Marie's head and neck had been pressed, which
made it all clear.
It was so natural and dangerous a mistake: when
she had started for the dressing-room to look for
her watch, she had gone in the wrong direction and
then had turned about and that in itself was confusing;
then she had been excited at finding her watch, which
was confusing also. Most certainly when she had
hastened back to the berth she knew that hers was
fourth from the vestibule, but it was the left-hand, not
the right-hand berth into which she had crept; it was
the berth of the woman with the beautiful furs; when
flung back, her neck had felt the furs. That woman
was terribly strong; her hands had gripped like steel.
The creature had first leaped away from her as if
afraid of being seized herself, then she had gripped
her with the intention of choking her to death. It was
some second thought that had made the woman cast
her forth.
But why no outcry? Why not the porter called?
It was utterly unlike most women, not to notify the
porter. Most women would scream, not silently and
violently attack an intruder, and attack to kill, with a
vicious determination and a consciousness of strength;
then, as if having decided that the intruder was not
dangerous, cast her out and keep silently within her
berth. A thief who feared capture would behave in
that way, but not the woman who had nothing to fear;


A MILLION DOLLARS 7
a murderess fleeing from a crime might be ready to
murder again rather than be taken prisoner, but no
woman innocent of guilt would act as that creature had.
Marie was well acquainted with danger and ghastly
wounds and sudden death. The whine of shot and
bursting of shells were customary things; she had been
in France throughout the war. It was experience in
danger that helped her to rally so soon, then act with
caution.
So she examined her bruised and swollen throat in
the mirror, wrapped a towel soaked in ice-water about
it, and sat down then to think, and her decision was
this: to the porter, to her fellow passengers, not a word.
The woman had boarded the train long after every one
was abed and could have no idea who was in the berth
opposite. She could not have known even to what
berth the intruder belonged, for Marie was certain that
when she had crept into the woman's berth she had
been sound asleep, for she had started so convulsively
and had gasped. If she hid the bruises on her throat,
the woman would not be likely to recognize her, for it
had been dark in the berth, and when she had crawled
away the woman could not have seen her features, for
the light was dim and her frilled cap must have con-
cealed her face almost entirely.
Marie decided to stay where she was until daylight;
that was not far off, for it was now five o'clock.
Then she would ring for the porter and ask him to
bring her suit-case and her clothes, then there would
be no chance of the woman's recognizing her cap and


8 A MILLION DOLLARS
kimono. Marie was terrified at the possibility of being
recognized; she wished that she could leave the train
without having to return to her berth. She hoped
intensely that the woman would leave the train before
daylight; if she was a criminal afraid of detection, she
would be likely to leave before any one was stirring.
Marie's flesh crawled when she thought of the crea-
ture's proximity; she felt a sick terror. Ugh! That
hot panting breath in her face! The terror of those
murderous hands at her throat! Never in her life had
she felt such a horror of a human being.


CHAPTER II
HOUGH fully dressed, Marie lingered in the
dressing-room until two women entered with
their bags and crowded her out. When they pushed the
door open, Marie's heart stopped for an instant, for it
might be her assailant; her dread of the woman had
increased rather than lessened; the more she thought
of her experience, the more certain she was that the
woman was a criminal of some sort. When the porter
had accepted a generous fee and had brought her
things to Marie, he had shown no signs of knowing
anything about what had occurred, and the two women
who filled the dressing-room elbowed her in the usual
fashion, without curiosity or interest. Certainly the
woman had said nothing to any one; she wanted
secrecy.
Marie took her suit-case and went cautiously to her
section. Probably in recognition of her generous fee,
the porter had put up her berth; the berth opposite was
shrouded still, so were all the others. Marie had hoped
intensely that the woman had gone; evidently she was
still there. It was nearly seven o’clock, the hour at
which the woman had told the porter to call her, and
Marie braced herself for the time when she would
emerge from her berth. Marie had wound a scarf
9


IO THE ROMANCE OF
about her swollen and aching throat and, in addition,
she put her fur about her shoulders; she sat looking
out at the sleet encrusted landscape, but vividly con-
scious of the close drawn curtains of the woman's
berth.
Marie breathed quickly when, at seven o’clock, the
porter appeared and said to the closed curtains, “It's
seven o'clock, Madame.” Marie heard no answer, but
the porter departed as if satisfied with having done
his duty.
“She is there,” Marie said to herself, and continued
to look at the landscape. She decided that just as soon
as she could escape to the dining-car she would do so
and that she would remain there as long as possible.
But in a few minutes the porter returned and re-
peated his call: “It’s after seven, Madame.” This time
he parted the curtains and looked in, then drew them
aside: there was no one in the berth. He looked
puzzled. “I ain't seen her get out,” he said more to
himself than to Marie, and looked under the berth.
Then he looked the berth over and pulled the tumbled
covers apart and, finally, went forward, Marie guessed,
to the ladies’ dressing-room.
In a few minutes he returned. “Has you seen the
lady what was in that berth?” he inquired. “She ain't
in the dressin'-room nor waitin’ for the diner.”
Marie was more determined than ever not to con-
fide her experience to any one. If she should tell of
it now, she would be suspected of strange conduct.
Evidently the woman was a criminal of some sort and


A MILLION DOLLARS II
she had left the train as quickly and as secretly as
possible.
“I have seen no one leave the berth since I came
here,” she said. It was the first time she had spoken
aloud since she had been attacked; forming the words
hurt her; her voice was husky.
“It’s queer,” the porter muttered. “I’d like to know
where she got off at—we ain’t had a stop and only one
slow-up since midnight. She were bound for New
York too.” And he left the car, probably to consult
with the conductor.
Marie welcomed the first call to breakfast; if the
passengers were questioned, she might escape. Food
was an impossibility, but she managed to swallow some
coffee and spent as much time as she could over it. She
returned to her car with trepidation, but everything
was just as usual there; the porter, his black face in-
scrutable, sat in the rear of the car.
Muffled to the chin, Marie sat waiting for the
morning papers. She reflected that it was a very
good thing that she was inured to hardships, else she
would be ill, for her throat was so painful. She felt
much worse than she had ever felt after a hard day
of ambulance driving in France. The night's expe-
rience was the worst she had ever known; she had
come nearer to death than she had when a piece of
shell had torn her shoulder.
Such persons as took notice of Marie Angouleme
thought her a small person to be traveling alone, very
young and velvety-eyed and innocent-faced—she


I2 A MILLION DOLLARS
looked a young nineteen. She looked foreign, as if
her accent would be piquant and her little hands given
to gestures. In traveling there is almost always some
woman, either motherly, or curious, or ill-intentioned,
who takes an interest in pretty girls who are traveling
alone. It was a somewhat flamboyant woman who
came to Marie's seat and asked, “Have you any friends
in New York P”
Marie's velvety eyes lost their softness. She looked
the woman up and down, then turned her back on her;
Marie Angouleme was not an inexperienced country
child.


CHAPTER III
WO days later, at Kent House, on the north
shore of Long Island, the Dunbarton-Kent family
had just adjourned to the library for after-luncheon
coffee. The conversation had been desultory, which
may be the case either when a family group is at ease
or at swords' points. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had set-
tled her girth in a powerful armchair and her deceased
husband's two nephews and niece, the children respec-
tively of his three brothers, had chosen their positions.
West Dunbarton-Kent was seated in a rocker and
cupped in his hand was his gold cachou-case. Yet
West was by no means an exquisite. Though very
blond and regular featured, only a little over medium
height and gracefully slender, he looked an athletic
and capable young man. He had a clear eye and a
frank and exceedingly charming manner and, despite
his almost flaxen fairness, he was very good-looking.
He was so alertly alive and his expression was so
pleasant; there was a laughter-loving air about him
which the gravity of Kent House could not subdue; he
seemed to find amusement even in his after-his-meal
cachou, as if good-naturedly bent upon introducing a
touch of frivolity to the ceremonious monotony of the
Kent House family luncheon.
I3


I4 THE ROMANCE OF
Breck Dunbarton-Kent, his cousin, who stood with
his back to the mantelpiece and facing his aunt and
cousins, was broader and taller than West and was as
markedly dark as his cousin West was light. But his
features were much the same, the straight Dunbarton-
Kent nose, the same light blue eyes and well-chiseled
mouth and chin. It was his very black hair and brows
and lashes and the difference in his expression which
made him such a contrast to his cousin West. There
was a shadowed look about his dark-lashed eyes, and
his face was so immobile as to be remarkable. His
was not exactly a sullen personality, unapproachable
rather, distinguished but too unsmiling. He was
thirty, the same age as West, and three years older
than his cousin Bella.
Of Bella it might be said, that one of the beautiful
long icicles which hung from the eves of Kent House
had draped itself in artistic garments, had haloed its
regular-featured face with cornsilk hair and had in-
vaded the family circle. She was a superbly built
woman, wide-shouldered and small-hipped and with
extraordinarily long fair lashes and surprisingly light
blue eyes. She sat at a distance, by the window, but
with her back to the lovely view of the sound. Her
fingers knitted a pale blue sweater for her own wearing
and her cold eyes were on the group by the fire.
Apparently all was as it should be in a well-bred fam-
ily of millions and social prominence, but there was
an ominous undercurrent of which every one present
was keenly aware, even Buckingham Gibbs, the butler.


A MILLION DOLLARS I5
He had served them in his usual impeccable fashion and
now was standing aside awaiting the proper moment
for removing the coffee service. Seemingly he was
wrapt in the contemplation of his Roman nose, never-
theless he had an exact knowledge of the attitude and
the expression of every one present. Then his alert
ear caught the sound of a bell and he withdrew noise-
lessly.
In a few moments he returned and announced,
“There is a young girl to see you, Madame—for the
position of chauffeur.” -
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent held her coffee-cup suspended.
“A girl! . . . For chauffeur?” She tipped the scales
at three hundred, a tall big-framed woman grown fat,
and her voice had kept pace with her body, for it was
an astonishing baritone and volumed just now by secret
irritation. The entire family looked at Gibbs as if he
had ruffled frayed nerves.
“Yes, Madame. She states that she is an accom-
plished chauffeur.”
“Haslett would hardly play a joke on me—it's a he,
not a she-chauffeur I want,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent re-
marked forcibly.
“Yes, Madame. But I thought you would want
the matter brought to you.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent’s lips parted, then closed, and,
for a moment, she sat motionless. Then she heaved
her chair about so she could see every one in the room.
“Bring her in,” she said.
Gibbs withdrew and left a waiting silence behind


I6 THE ROMANCE OF
him. When he returned, he announced with unabated
dignity, “Marie Angora Lamb, Madame.”
The expected thing would have been at least a
smile, even from Bella, and certainly a chuckle from
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, for she possessed a sort of
grim humor; that was why, ordinarily, she appreciated
Gibbs, who had no sense of humor whatever. But, as
it was, the girl who emerged from behind Gibbs’ portly
form was subjected on every hand to an intent and
silent scrutiny.
They saw a small girl enveloped from cheek to heels
in an arctic-looking coat of rough fur and wearing a
tannish-brown service cap. Nestled in the collar of
the coat was a rounded chin and a mouth with an
upward turn at the corners. The nose was of no par-
ticular moment, and the remainder of the face was
principally eyes, large and black and velvety and soft-
ened still more by a tangle of black lashes. It was a
warmly tanned and appealingly smiling little face,
piquant rather than pretty. They all noticed that she
was smiling and that she glanced swiftly about the
room, then that her eyes widened suddenly when they
rested on Breck and that she lost her smile in a caught
breath. Her eyes were startled when she looked at
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent and her color rose.
“Well? What do you want of me?” Hulked in
her chair and with a red light in her small brown eyes,
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent resembled a suspicious bear.
“You—you wished a chauffeur—Madame?” Marie
faltered.


A MILLION DOLLARS 17
“Yes. Were you proposing to drive me about?”
“But—yes, Madame.”
“Who sent you here?”
“I was not sent, Madame—I came because of hear-
ing that a chauffeur was wanted at this place,” Marie
said confusedly. “It was also because of an advertise-
ment.”
“Indeed l’”
Marie conquered her embarrassment. She had com-
mitted no crime in coming here, though they all looked
at her as if she had. “It happened in this way,
Madame,” she said resolutely. “I must seek employ-
ment, so I looked in the papers for advertisements.
There I saw an advertisement for a chauffeur who was
accomplished and could give only the best of references.
He was asked to go to a room with the number 906,
in the Franck Building upon Wall Street, to present his
references. I went to that place. I was met first by
a boy,”—the color deepened in Marie's tanned cheeks,
for the experience had been an unpleasant one— “then,
he took me to a stenographer to whom I explained and
who said finally that the gentleman who was to decide
upon me was not there for that day. Then I left the
room, but at the elevator was standing a lady waiting
like myself to go down, and she asked me what I was
doing in the office of ‘the great Mr. Haslett, for so
she called the gentleman whose name was upon the
door of the room to which the advertisement had di-
rected me.
“I do not usually speak with strangers, Madame,


18 THE ROMANCE OF
but she had a pleasant face and a humorous manner.
I liked her, so I told her and showed her the advertise-
ment. She drew me aside then and asked me about my-
self and my qualifications, then told me to write down
the address of your home, and your name, and directed
me just how to come here. Her name she would not
tell me; she laughed only and said, ‘You go talk to
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent—I know she'll take you.’ So,
Madame, I came at once,” Marie concluded resolutely.
There was perfect silence until Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent asked, “What did the woman look like?”
“She was not tall, Madame, though taller than I,
and I think a little large, though I could not tell so
well because she wore a very beautiful long fur coat.
PHer face is round and she has small black eyes that
twinkle. All her features are small but very full of
fun.”
“How old a woman?” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent de-
manded.
Marie hesitated. “It is a little difficult to tell,
Madame, for she is made to look quite a young
woman.”
From any but so grave a company, Marie's earnest
desire to render a truthful account would have elicited
a smile. But Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent persisted grimly,
“Uses bad grammar?”
Marie was anxious not to be disparaging. “A little
bad perhaps, Madame, but my own English is so un-
certain that I should not criticize.”
There was another moment of silence, then Mrs.


A MILLION DOLLARS I9
Dunbarton-Kent asked curtly, “What's your correct
name? Where did you come from?”
There had been something breathless and uncomfort-
able about that moment's silence that oppressed Marie,
but she answered bravely, “Marie Angouleme is my
name, Madame. You see, Madame, I am twenty-three,
quite more grown up than I look. Since years I drove
for my father. He was a trader in skins, in Canada,
and to get them we must go distances. When we could
we went by automobile. When quite in the North
Country, we went by sleighs. The roads were difficult
and about the insides of cars and their troubles I know
everything. Though I appear little and without much
strength, I can place a tire upon any car, and the bat-
teries of them I understand perfectly. A car should
be kept clean within and shining without like a beauti-
ful house—like this one. I love a car that shines. . . .
Then, Madame, came the war. My father was a
French Canadian and a patriot, and he said all the time,
‘Eh, Marie, if you were a boy, you must go, but the
good Lord did not give me a son, only a little girl.’
I wished also that I was a boy. Then, in a little while,”
—her softly accented voice thickened—“my father—
he died. There was nothing in money for me, but that
did not matter, for I went to France to drive ambu-
lances.”
She paused to sigh. “But that is all over! . . . I
remained in France after the war, yet I wept sometimes
for Canada, so I came back. But without my father I
could not bear it there. I must work for my living


2O THE ROMANCE OF
and this country is very wonderful for those who must
work, so I came to New York. It seemed to me quite
as possible for me to be a chauffeur as for a man, so
I gave attention to such advertisements. I brought
my papers of service in France and came as that lady
directed, inquiring my way to Kent House. But first
I went to quite the wrong house, the large old house
which is nearest to this. There is a man there who was
—unpleasant—but now I am safely here.”
Her recital was followed by another pronounced si-
lence. Finally Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said, “Let me see
those papers.”
Marie saluted, then took from her bosom a packet.
She courtesied when she presented it. The military
salute and the feminine courtesy were a quaint com-
bination, but no one Smiled and no one spoke, though
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent spent some moments over the
papers. Then she looked up and asked abruptly,
“What did that drunken beast at whose house you
inquired say to you?”
Among other unrepeatable things derogatory to the
mistress of Kent House, the man had said, “So, you
pretty little chicken, you’re proposing to chauffeur that
old hippopotamus about, are you?” Then he had put
his arm around Marie.
“He was impertinent, Madame,” she said in confu-
sion.
“Did you go into his house?” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
demanded.
“I knocked upon the knocker, Madame, and he
º -


A MILLION DOLLARS 2I
opened the door a little way and asked what I wished.
Then, when I said I wished Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, he
said, ‘Come in.” We talked in the hall and from what
he said I knew instantly it was not Kent House in
which I was, and I went quickly.”
“Um! Allen Colfax gave me a bad name, did he?”
“He is quite too despicable to be noticed by any one,
Madame!” Marie declared warmly.
“Is that so. What did he do?”
Marie's eyes lost their softness. “I struck him in
the face—it was necessary,” she returned succinctly.
This flash of speech elicited a sudden chuckle from
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, but she made no comment.
“What do you look like under that coat?” she asked.
“Take it off.”
Marie had caught the gaze of both young men, West,
who was smiling encouragingly at her now, and Breck,
who was regarding her stonily; when she drew off her
coat she was crimson. She stood revealed, blushing
vividly, slender and petite and uniformed in tannish
brown, a mannish jacket and breeches and tan boots
laced to the knee, a picturesque ensemble to which was
given a touch of color, a red silk scarf wound about her
throat and the ends thrown over her shoulder. Her
throat was discolored still from her experience on the
train and she had muffled it well to hide the bruises.
She eyed Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent confusedly and
anxiously: “I designed this for being chauffeur to my
father—I hope it dòes not displease you, Madame?”
Marie felt that her case was hopeless. She was op-


22 THE ROMANCE OF
pressed. She felt a curious discomfort, as if she were
being accused of wrong-doing; with the exception of
the blond young man with the pleasant face, they all
stared at her so intently and coldly.
“I’ll pay you sixty dollars a month and board and
room,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said abruptly. “Your
room is above the garage.”
Marie was astounded and vastly pleased. “Thank
you, Madame,” she said quickly and courtesied.
“You have a trunk, I suppose?”
“Yes, Madame—at the boarding-house in the city.”
“Very well—I’ll send for it. Give her a pencil and
paper, West. . . . Write your name and the address
and your instructions if you have any.”
When West supplied her, Marie dropped on one
knee and, using the other for an improvised desk, com-
plied with Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's request. Hers was
the attitude of an officer in the field penning a des-
patch, entirely without self-consciousness and gravely
earnest. She was a pleasing picture as well; the bend
of her head revealed the little feminine curls at the nape
of her neck. West smiled down on her, watching her
appreciatively.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent took possession of the paper,
then turned to Breck. “Take her out to the garage,
Breck, and show her the cars and her room. . . . You
can bring the car around at four o'clock, Angouleme.”
She pronounced the name correctly, for, despite her
remarkable bulk and rough speech, Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent was lettered. She wore a very apparent red wig,


A MILLION DOLLARS 23
her small eyes looked pugnaciously out of a huge coun-
tenance, and her chins were treble. Nevertheless there
was an air of culture as well as an amount of impres-
sive force about the big woman; one could not stand
in her presence and not feel that she was a personage,
and more because of her individuality than because of
her wealth.
Breck stood motionless for a moment. Then he went
to Marie and took her coat from her arm. “It’s only
a short distance,” he said in an expressionless way.
“You won’t need it.”
He spoke without looking at her; it was West who
smiled at her in the same encouraging way in which
he had when she had been anxious and confused, and
the ever rebellious corners of Marie's mouth lifted in
a hesitant yet grateful smile. Then she followed the
grim-looking young man who walked before her
through the back hall and straight out to the garage
without even turning his head to see whether she fol-
lowed him.


CHAPTER IV
HEN Marie and Breck left the library, Gibbs
preceded them to the back door which he held
open for them, his eyes lowered and without even a
stolen glance at them as they passed. He did not look
at Marie when she said softly, “Thank you;” he bowed
only. -
But on entering the kitchen immediately afterward,
Gibbs whispered in the cook's ear and, with a startled
air, she went with him to the rear window where
together they watched Marie's progress to the garage.
Breck had opened the big garage doors wide, so Gibbs
and the cook could see them, Breck taking Marie up
to show her the chauffeur's room, then coming down
again and pointing out the cars to her. They watched
the two with absorbed interest, taking care that they
themselves were not seen.
And from an upper back window they were also be-
ing observed, for when Marie and Breck had gone out
the family party in the library had instantly dissolved.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had risen without a word and
gone up to her room where, with door locked and in
lowered tones, she had called a New York number.
“Is that you, Haslett?” she asked. “Yes? . . . Well,
this is Mrs. D. K. Something queer has happened—a
24


A MILLION DOLLARS 25
girl appeared this afternoon and applied for the chauf-
feur's place.”
“A girl!” came the answer. Then after a pause,
“That is strange. . . . There was a girl here in answer
to our advertisement, my stenographer told me about
it, but no one here gave her the address—who could
have done so?”
“Mrs. Brant-Olwin.”
“That can’t be—Mrs. Brant-Olwin is in Florida.”
“She says she doesn't know the woman's name who
sent her to me, but she described her and the descrip-
tion fits exactly. She says she met the woman just
outside your office door.” And Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
gave the history Marie had given her and related
Marie's experience with the woman at the elevator.
“If the woman wasn't Mrs. Brant-Olwin, it was some
one very like her, Haslett,” she concluded. “The girl
looks an honest sort and she's pretty. The papers she
showed me are straight, she must have served in
France. She looks and talks like a French girl, the
better educated sort—the thing is, who has put her up
to this and why? It's reported Mrs. Brant-Olwin is
in Florida, but is she?”
“I know positively that she is in Florida,” the man
reiterated. “Somebody may be impersonating her
though. And the girl may be either the gullible sort or
deep, used by them or acting for them. She did come
here to the office, for I had a description of her from
my stenographer. No one here in the office knows that
the advertisement was inserted by me for you, all


26 THE ROMANCE OF
they know is that I advertised for a chauffeur for my-
self. They were amused at a girl's having answered it,
and I think they laughed at the girl when she appeared.
My Stenographer told me about it as a great joke, so
she certainly didn't get your address from either the
boy or the stenographer. And she didn't get it from
Mrs. Brant-Olwin. The thing's ridiculous anyway, a
girl proposing to take charge of a garage like yours.
But they’re raising heaven and earth—” He caught
himself up, then went on. “The right sort of person
ought to talk to her, draw her out, I believe. You've
kept her, of course?”
“Yes—it seemed the only thing to do. You see,
Haslett, I'm certain she knows Breck. I received her
in the library—we were all there—and she recognized
Breck the moment she came in. He looked like stone—
as usual — but she looked queer, taken aback, I
thought.”
“That's curious,” he returned thoughtfully. “It was
certainly the wise thing to keep her, though.”
“I was afraid not to. I’ve sent her out to the garage
with Breck—Willetts is there.”
“That's just right. . . . I think I had better come
out this evening. You needn't send to the station for
me, I'll walk over and back. Oh, I want the address of
that boarding-house too—I’ll make a few inquiries.”
“I was going to give it to you. Her trunk is there
and I told her I would send for it.”
“I’ll attend to it. It'll be easy enough for us to go
through it too. And, whatever you do, don't show her


A MILLION DOLLARS 27
in any way that you're afraid of her. You need a
chauffeur, you'll give her a trial, and she must prove
that she is capable. If she is not, she will get her walk-
ing papers—let her understand that. And, Mrs. D.
K., try not to worry over this occurrence. If it leads
to trouble, we'll do our best to meet it—we'll talk it
over to-night. Remember that suspecting and proving
are two very different things.”
“Maybe they are,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent returned
bitterly. “At present Kent House is hell—that I
know.” And she rang off abruptly. She rose and
walked about her room restlessly. Then she sat down
heavily and closed her eyes, her expression pained and
troubled.
When Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had left the library,
West had taken up the afternoon paper and had gone
into the morning-room; and as soon as she was alone,
Bella had dropped her knitting and had gone lightly
and swiftly up to her room. It was a corner room, two
of its windows looked into the park, one of the big
oaks grew almost against her window, but from the
other two windows she could see the garage and the
windows of the chauffeur's room. With the aid of the
field-glasses which she took from a locked drawer, she
watched Breck and Marie disappear in the direction of
the stairway leading up to the chauffeur's room, saw
Marie come into the room and lay her coat on the bed,
stand and look about her for a moment, and dis-
appear again.
When, almost immediately, the two came into view


28 THE ROMANCE OF
in the garage below, Bella watched them intently. They
stood so plainly in view and the glasses were so power-
ful that she could almost see their expressions. When
Breck and the girl disappeared behind one of the cars,
she continued to watch, and when they appeared again
and Breck left the garage hurriedly and walked off
rapidly in the direction of Kent House farm, she
watched his going until the trees of the park hid him.
Then she watched Marie until she closed the garage
doors.
When Breck took Marie up to her room, he had not
entered it, and when they came down he had stood in
plain view from the house while he pointed out the cars.
“That roadster is West Dunbarton-Kent's, the young
man you saw in the library, and the other three cars are
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's,” he said perfunctorily.
“Which one will she wish to drive to-day?” Marie
asked.
“Ordinarily she would take the limousine, but to-day
she's likely to telephone you that she wants the road-
ster—it's better adapted for conversation,” he answered
dryly.
Marie felt that this showing her about was a great
nuisance to him. She stole glances at his profile: he
was very handsome, but he looked most stern and un-
happy, she thought. Frequently Marie had disarmed
unapproachableness by a genuinely pretty speech and
Smile. And she had discovered that the American man
likes to be called, “Monsieur.” So she said, “It is a
most beautiful place, this Kent House, Monsieur, and


A MILLION DOLLARS 29
the garage is more elegant than are most houses. I
shall take great care with the cars and try to please
your mother.”
He was giving her the keys and she was looking up
at him, smiling, but with the finished air of respect
which is rarely achieved by an American. But he gave
her no answering smile. “Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent is not
my mother,” he said coldly. “West and Bella, the two
you saw there in the house, and I, are only her step-
relations, her nephews and niece. We three are
cousins.” He raised his voice slightly. “Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent has a number of millions which were
left her by my uncle, West has a good income which
was left him by his father, Bella is entirely dependent
on Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, and I have nothing, so I am
earning my bread by managing the Kent House farm
—for the present. The Allen Colfax whom you
chastised is a distant cousin of the Dunbarton-Kent
family and is a much disliked neighbor. His place is
called Colfax Hall.” He studied her face in his
shadowed way. “But perhaps I’m telling you things
you already know?”
Marie's soft wide eyes had assimilated his informa-
tion. “No, Monsieur, I did not know. Thank you
that you tell me—it is kind.”
Then Breck went to one of the cars and stood close
beside it. “This car is new—it's been used only once
or twice,” he said, but when Marie followed him, ex-
pecting further instructions, he came close to her and
asked very low and swiftly, “Why did you look at me


30 THE ROMANCE OF
as you did when you came into the library?” His
black brows had lowered suddenly into a straight line
and beneath it his eyes were cuttingly keen.
Marie caught her breath. Not for anything would
she have explained why for a brief moment she had
stared at him. It was his eyes that had startled her,
they were such a light blue and the lashes black, like
that woman's on the train. It was a mere resemblance,
but anything that reminded her of her terrifying expe-
rience was sufficient to startle her, and for an instant
she had felt a sort of panic. She flushed warmly and
took refuge in a half-truth:
“You—you stood so like a soldier, Monsieur. I
looked, then I thought most certainly you had been in
France. . . . Were you not?”
He scrutinized her intently. “Yes,” he said finally,
“but most of the time in a German prison-camp.” He
spoke now without lowering his voice.
There was something in his manner as well as his
words that touched her; his eyes were keen yet so som-
ber. “Ah, Monsieur !” she exclaimed with genuinely
profound pity. “Now I know why you look so sad!”
A curious expression crossed his face; he flushed
suddenly and painfully, stood for an uncertain mo-
ment, then turned on his heel and hurried out of the
garage.
Marie looked after him, wide-eyed and perplexed;
he was a very strange man. . . . Then soberly she
began to inspect her domain, the steam-heated and
luxurious garage, and her own pleasant and well-


A MILLION DOLLARS 3I
lighted bedroom, but with thoughts only half given to
what she was doing. She was still warmed by her
good fortune, yet she was puzzled and troubled.
“Most certainly there is a strangeness about this
entire family,” she confided to herself. “I do not un-
derstand it.”


CHAPTER V
S Breck had predicted, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
telephoned to the garage shortly before four
o'clock that she wanted the roadster. “Put in a foot-
warmer and one of the fur robes, Angouleme,” she
commanded. “I don't propose to freeze myself, but
I do want a breath of fresh air.”
Marie was having her garage troubles: outwardly
the place looked well cared for, but a close inspection of
cupboards, mops, sponges and the like had wrought
Marie to a pitch of indignation. The seats of the
cars covered evidences of long continued neglect, but
worst of all there was a puzzling absence of necessary
tools; not one of Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent’s cars was
properly equipped. West Dunbarton-Kent's car was
in perfect condition, a high-powered roadster, shin-
ingly clean within and without and equipped with
every device for long travel: extra tires, a locked con-
trivance in the rear which was large enough to carry
a small wardrobe and blankets, every imaginable auto-
mobile tool, and gasoline tank and oiler well filled—
an object lesson to any chauffeur of what a car should
be.
“It is quite certain that the same abominably neglect-
ful person who has not cared for the cars of Mrs. Dun-
32


A MILLION DOLLARS 33
barton-Kent has had nothing to do with this car of
Mr. West!” Marie commented to herself indignantly.
When Marie brought Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's road-
ster to the porte-cochère, the glow of haste and irrita-
tion warmed her cheeks; the roadster had needed all
sorts of things done to it, a regular house-cleaning, and
Marie had been able to give it only a hasty brushing up.
Besides, a rear tire was in a very bad condition.
She had kept Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent waiting for
fifteen minutes and she was reprimanded for it.
“When I say four o'clock, I mean four o’clock" she
said sharply. “That is one objection I have to women
—they’re always either fussing around before time, or
forgetting that there is such a thing as a clock. . . .
Go down the driveway, then turn on the road to the
left—I want to go to the farm first.”
Marie's color deepened, but she said in soft accents,
“When everything is new to a person, it is a little diffi-
cult. I shall not again be late, Madame. There was
very much to be done to this car. I did the best I
could in a short time.” *
But Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was not appeased. “What
was the matter with the car? Glidden was a perfect
chauffeur—when he didn’t drink.”
Marie had not meant to tell at once of conditions in
the garage, to do so gradually, for Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent had impressed her as being in a state of continual
irritation. But Marie possessed a lively temper and
she was seething. “He must then have drunk often,
Madame. I think that that chauffeur was a two-


34 THE ROMANCE OF
face. It is evident that he polished your cars upon the
outside, out within they are abominable. You your-
self are now sitting above such a condition within the
seat as is disgusting and which I have not had time to
clean. Besides, I do not understand certain things
about this garage—nothing is there that should be.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent flushed crimson; the young
person was asserting herself early. “Indeed! My gar-
age doesn't please you, eh? Well, that's quickly
remedied,” she returned grimly. “There are several
trains into town to-morrow, for as your things have
been sent for, you’ll be wise to wait till they come.”
The big woman's anger set Marie afire: she had
done only her duty in telling of conditions in the gar-
age; why should she be spoken to in this way, as if
accused of wrong-doing? She turned hot eyes on Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent. “I think your garage beautiful,
Madame. It is because of deception to you that I am
angry. I think you do not know that in your garage,
aside from neglect of cleanliness, I have found not one
full set of tools and not one new tire. The extra tires
upon the backs of your cars, so carefuly covered, are
all worn-out tires, put there to deceive you, I think.
That same perfect chauffeur! I call him a two-face—
I do not like to apply the word “thief' to any one!”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's bulk stiffened suddenly and
curiously, and her expression changed to a bleakly
gray look, blank and troubled; so much so that Marie's
anger vanished. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent looked so terri-
bly distressed.


A MILLION DOLLARS 35
Marie's eyes became sympathetic. “I am sorry that
you should suffer such annoyance, Madame,” she said
softly. “It was thinking of it that made me so angry.”
“I haven’t thought much about the cars lately. It's
possible Glidden exchanged the tires for whisky, but
I doubt it,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent returned dully.
“I am sorry that I should worry you,” Marie apolo-
gized. “I spoke only because it did not seem possible
that in that beautiful garage everything should be
wanting. It is not so with the roadster which belongs
to Mr. West Dunbarton-Kent. It is in most perfect
condition.”
“Yes—West takes care of his own car—he's a me-
chanical genius,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent answered ab-
sently. Then she roused somewhat. “That is the road
to the farm, Angouleme. Turn there.”
The porte-cochère was at the side of the wide-
fronted house, off the library wing, and they had come
down the driveway which circled the slope of lawn and
into the park. Marie had come up through the park
when she came to Kent House, so she knew the road
and the big stone-pillared gateway at the entrance to
the park. Just this side of the gateway there was a
road that ran close to the park wall, and this was the
road into which Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent ordered Marie
to turn. The farm-house was hidden from Kent
House by the semicircle of woodland against which
Kent House backed; the only view Kent House pos-
sessed was its fine view of the sound. From the front
of the house to the water's edge was a long and widely


36 THE ROMANCE OF
undulating slope, a vivid lawn and a green meadow in
summer, a dun and snow-streaked slope in March.
Some distance beyond the entrance to Kent House
park, was another entrance with a winding and un-
kept driveway through neglected-looking trees to a
huge old brick house which Marie, on her way from
the station, had mistaken for Kent House and where she
had encountered Allen Colfax. Colfax Hall could not
be seen from Kent House, but from the lower end of
the park the brick pile was distinguishable. Marie had
thought it the nearest house to Kent House, but now,
as they drove along beside the park wall, she saw that
there was a small house between the two places, a
modern-looking and very artistic house that had been
built so close to the Kent House park wall, that its
windows topped the wall. It was built just above the
park cottage, a little vine-covered stone cottage that
backed against the park wall, and on a terrace reared
against the park wall, as if its owner was determined
to overlook both wall and cottage and gain a view of
Kent House park. The pretty little house had an im-
pertinent air, like a head lifted above a wall and prying
into the dignity of a neighboring estate.
It was a surprise to Marie, and she said involuntarily,
“Ah, I did not notice that house. I thought the house
of Mr. Colfax was nearest to yours. . . . It is very
close to the wall of your park.”
“It is indeed—fairly sitting on my cottage roof!”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent answered grimly. “Some of
Allen Colfax's work. He sold the narrowest possible


A MILLION DOLLARS 37
strip a house could be built on to that Smith woman,
purposely to spoil our privacy. He has ruined the
cottage which my husband built for a quiet retiring
place. The men about the place use the cottage now
for a sort of workshop—West has his tools and work
bench in one of the rooms. That’s what my dear hus-
band's little cottage has become. He loved the little
place.”
Marie discovered that the big woman's voice could
be low and soft; it was so when she spoke of her hus-
band. “She loved her husband very dearly,” was
Marie's instant conclusion. “In spite of much money,
I think she is lonely and distressed.”
Marie felt that though irascible and severe, Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent was a very upright and honest wo-
man. “It is difficult for a woman with much money
to be without a husband,” Marie reflected wisely.
“There are always those who wish to take advantage of
such alone women. She looked so shocked and dis-
tressed when I told her the truth about the garage, as
if there was no one whom she could trust. And as yet
she does not trust me, but I shall lead her to do so.”
Marie's wiles consisted mostly of a certain sympa-
thetic cheer, tinctured by native shrewdness; of softly
bright glances and pretty smiles. “I do not think well
of a woman who would build a house disagreeable to a
neighbor such as yourself,” Marie said to Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent with genuine sympathy. “She must be a
person who considers only herself.”
“She lives to herself, certainly,” Mrs. Dunbarton-


38 THE ROMANCE OF
Kent said grimly. “There are reasons why no one
here has anything to do with her. Happily she's not
here very much. . . . She's a handsome woman of the
high-colored sort and a good musician though,” she
added as if willing to give the woman her due. “They
say she is a Russian.”
Marie welcomed her first view of Kent House farm
as a better subject. It stood a pasture's width beyond
the park, was snowy-white and green-roofed and deep-
eaved, with tall elms about it and its white and green
barn. Even the barnyard, in which were several
horses and cows, suggested spotless neatness. “Ah,
Madame! This now is most charming!” she exclaimed
with genuine pleasure. “It is a little like my pretty
Canada, the green and white and the cattle! It seems
so peaceful and plentiful, even more lovely than a great
house, I think.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent glanced down at her and her
face softened. Then she asked with astonishing
abruptness, “Was it in France you met my nephew,
Breck?”
Marie's eyes widened, then the color swept into her
face. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had noticed then how she
had stared at her nephew and she had thought it
strange, just as Breck himself had thought. But she
could not explain to Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent any more
than she could to her nephew. Was she going to be
reminded forever of that hateful experience on the
train?
Marie's annoyance and embarrassment made her


A MILLION DOLLARS 39
denial very positive. “I never saw or heard of your
nephew, Madame, until I saw him in your house
to-day.”
“You looked as if you knew him. You looked as if
you'd seen a ghost,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent asserted
vigorously.
“He looks like a soldier,” Marie returned firmly.
“I looked at him, but in one minute I knew that I had
never seen him before.”
“The ghost of a soldier, perhaps,” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent remarked with bitter sarcasm, “come back to
haunt his family.”
Marie caught her breath and crossed herself hastily.
“Madame! You have not seen them die as I have!
Do not say such things!”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent eyed her in a puzzled and in-
terested way, but all she said was, “Don’t drive in at
the gate—keep to the right. You know the way to the
farm now, if ever I have to send you over here. Keep
on up this road. It comes out on the High Road which
runs behind all these places on the sound.”
They went on in silence up the road that skirted the
pasture and passed close to the barnyard. The house
and barn had hidden what Marie saw now was a con-
siderable chicken farm, numbers of runs each with its
white and green roofed house. It was feeding-time
and two men, Breck and an elderly man, were feeding
the chickens. They were all white, not a black fowl
among them, a pretty sight.
Marie wished that Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent would


4O THE ROMANCE OF
order her to stop, but she did not. “Anderson!” she
called to the elderly man who had paused to smile at
her. “Come down to the house this evening—I want
to see you.”
And he answered, “I will, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent.”
To Breck she said nothing, she did not appear to see
him, though he looked at them in his shadowed way
and lifted his cap.
They went on, passing a vegetable garden, an
orchard, and berry patches covered with straw, all in
perfect winter order, then came out upon a broad road
from which there were far views of the sound. But
the sight of her well-ordered estate seemed to have
afforded Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent no pleasure. Her look
was grim and, presently, she began to question Marie,
about her birthplace, upbringing and connections, just
where she had been and what she had done in France,
and particularly about the last few months, studying
Marie keenly meantime.
Marie answered her questions exactly, trying not to
be irritated, and succeeded in emerging from the ordeal
with her liking for Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent intact, for
it seemed that there was a restless distress behind all
this questioning; something which puzzled Marie.
“But she intends to keep me,” Marie consoled her-
self, for when they passed the Country Club, a palatial
place it seemed to Marie, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said,
“There's not much doing there now, but you'll drive
over here often in the warm weather.” And when they
turned homeward on the Lower Road which passed


A MILLION DOLLARS 4I
the station and led on past the entrances to several
estates, the road Marie had taken when going to Kent
House, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said, “You’ll come this
way to the station half a dozen times a day, for I'm
always having guests out from town, or some one of
us is taking the train in. You'll—”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent stopped abruptly, for they
were approaching the entrance to Colfax Hall and a
man stood there, aimlessly tapping his boots with his
cane, while a big mastiff circled about him. Marie
recognized the man instantly, Allen Colfax. She felt
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent stiffen and she herself held her
head high and looked straight ahead, though she was
conscious that he was grinning at her and also that
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was staring at him and through
him in no pleasant fashion. In the dimness of Colfax
Hall, Marie had not seen his features distinctly, but
she noticed now how dissipated he looked, a reckless-
looking man. He was young, as young as the two
Dunbarton-Kents, and he showed his Dunbarton-Kent
blood plainly; save for his mustache, he looked very
like Breck, for he was dark. He twirled his cane be-
tween his fingers derisively and grinned broadly at
Marie as they passed, then said something to his dog
which made it bark.
“He is making fun of us, the despicable man!” Marie
thought indignantly. “‘A sparrow driving a hippo-
potamus,” he says to himself.”
“Drunk, of course,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent muttered
with vivid contempt. Then she sighed heavily and


42 THE ROMANCE OF
said to herself so low that Marie barely caught it,
“This generation of Dunbarton-Kents! The Lord
help us!”
Marie brought the car to a stop beneath the porte-
cochère, her heart warmed by a feeling of sympathy
for her huge mistress. “There is here some great fam-
ily trouble,” she thought. “It is a pity it should be so
in the midst of so much wealth and beauty.”
Then Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent heaved herself out of
the car. “Make a list of the things that are needed for
the garage, Angouleme, and give it to me to-morrow.
I’ve given Gibbs orders—you will take your meals in
the servants' dining-room. Gibbs will telephone you
half an hour before each meal, so you'll have time to
get ready.” And she went slowly into the house.
In the hall she met West. She looked at the
satchel he was carrying. “Where now?” she asked.
“To Washington—to see about my patent. I told
you I was going, didn't I?”
“I don't remember—I suppose you did. . . . West,
you went through the supplies in the garage after Glid-
den left, didn't you, and found everything all right?”
“Yes—why?”
“That girl tells me there isn't a new tire in the place
and the tools are gone too.” She had lowered her voice.
They looked at each other, West's pleasant face
grown as anxious as hers. “That's something new,”
he said slowly. “A bit of defiance, I suppose. .
You're worried over this girl too, aren't you?”
“You heard what she said.”


A MILLION DOLLARS 43
His eyes grew merry. “A quaint little feminist!”
He mimicked her softly, “‘It seemed to me quite as pos-
sible for me to be a chauffeur as for a man.” She's a
charming little thing—keep her for a day or two and if
by that time she hasn't had enough of it and doesn't go
of her own accord, pay her well and persuade her to go
back to Canada—New York's no place for her. I'll
wager anything she's as straight as a die. Mrs. Brant-
Olwin had nothing to do with her coming here, she's in
Florida, I had a letter from her this morning. Some
plump black-eyed acquaintance of yours in town is play-
ing a joke on you, that's all. You've probably remarked
at some tea that you’d a deal rather be chauffeured by
a baby than by such a whisky soak as the magnificent-
looking Glidden. I’ve heard you say something of the
kind myself. Some one has taken you at your word.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent did not relax. “Possibly.
Did you see how she looked at Breck?”
West's face grew grave. “Yes, Breck's a striking-
looking man.”
“She told me she had never seen him or heard of
him before.”
“I’d believe her, I think. He made an impression
on her—another good reason for, not keeping her.”
“She wasn't telling me the truth,” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent said decidedly. “I know an open countenance
when I see one.”
“A still better reason for assisting her back to
Canada,” West persisted. “I’d be willing to swear
that she's just a sweet honest little thing. If she


44 A MILLION DOLLARS
knows anything about him, it will be far better to have
her out of the country.”
“I shall take Haslett's advice,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
said firmly. “A misstep may have tragic results.”
West shrugged. “Haslett's apt to be overly sus-
picious—in some ways. I fancy it'll be too much for
her, poor child, and she'll pack her small belongings
and depart within the week. . . . Wish me good luck,
Aunt Bulah, and a speedy return.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent’s face softened. “I do, West.
I wish you every success.”
“Success may come later,” he said cheerfully.
“There's one member of your family who may amount
to something after all.”
A spasm of pain crossed her face. “God grant it!
We seem to have reached a pretty low ebb."
“It’s bad, of course,” he said sympathetically, “but
try not to worry over it so much. And, Aunt Bulah,
take my advice: don't keep that child here.”
“I shall take Haslett's advice,” she reiterated.
West shrugged again. “So be it ! . . . I’m going to
take the roadster, Aunt Bulah. It’s at the cottage now
—I’m going there to pack my model. If the weather's
good, I may motor to Washington.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said indiffer-
ently, and went on toward the stairway.
West paused a moment, watching her ascend. He
Smiled slightly, his aunt climbing the stairs did resem-
ble the ascent of an elephant. Then, with shoulders
squared, he went out to meet the March chill.


CHAPTER VI
ER dinner that evening and her breakfast the
next morning in the servants' dining-room
proved a puzzling experience to Marie. Gibbs seemed
to have ordained that she should eat alone, for which
Marie was thankful until it became evident that she
was treated strangely. To her pleasant, “Good eve-
ning, Mr. Gibbs,” she had received a bow and an in-
tensely reserved, “Good evening, Miss.” He had de-
posited his tray of viands and had hastened away as if
to escape conversation. Then, at breakfast time, Marie
had encountered the cook in the passageway and to her
smiling, “Good morning,” she received a flurried mur-
mur followed by a hurried retreat into the kitchen.
The cook looked back at her in such a peculiar way,
then quickly averted her gaze.
“There is a strangeness in the kitchen as well as in
the rest of the house,” Marie said to herself, puzzled.
It troubled her, and her experience with the man
whom Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent sent her to the station to
meet after breakfast increased her bewilderment. It
was all well enough on the way to the house from the
station, the man chatted pleasantly with her about the
weather and complimented her on her skilful manage-
ment of the car, but, afterward, when Marie was or-
45


46 THE ROMANCE OF
dered by Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent to wait and take, “this
gentleman” to the farm and afterward to the Country
Club and bring him back to Kent House, it was quite
different.
Marie had decided that the man was a smoothly
spoken person who wished to make himself very pleas-
ant to her. He was a young man, very well groomed
and he evidently considered himself very charming,
he was so keen-eyed, smiling and facile-tongued. He
was not quite a gentleman, Marie decided, not a friend
of Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's, but perhaps of considerable
business importance to her, so he must be treated with
extreme politeness and a definite reserve.
After half an hour in Kent House, the man came out
to Marie as smilingly pleasant as before and his first
remark was a compliment: “You look like a pretty
Canadian snow-bird, perched on the seat there. Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent was telling me you came from
Canada. It’s a splendid thing for a girl to do, fill a
man's position, and do it so well too.”
Marie said, “Thank you, Monsieur,” and swept him
down the driveway.
He talked about Canada then, a country of which he
knew nothing, Marie decided, and interspersed his re-
marks with questions: By what route had she traveled
from Canada? What train had she taken out of Buf-
falo? On what day had she arrived in New York?
He talked then about New York, mentioning various
restaurants and streets as if she must be acquainted
with them. He seemed to think that she must have


A MILLION DOLLARS 47
met some gallant man in New York who had shown
her the city. “A pretty girl like you in New York and
no beau?” he said teasingly. “I can't believe that!”
“I was in New York but a few days,” Marie an-
swered calmly, though she was angry. What right
had he to question in this way? It was natural that
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent should wish to know all about
her, she was her employer. But for a strange man to
question and be so familiar! Evidently he thought.that
all girls were silly and easily impressed by smiling
looks. She did not like him.
Then, looking full in her eyes, he asked abruptly,
“But what of the little adventure you had on the train?”
Marie's heart gave a leap; she was terribly startled.
Was it possible that he was in search of that fearful
creature on the train?
He scrutinized her confusion. “He told you Kent
House was a good place to come, didn't he, little girl?”
Marie was swept by relief, and anger as well. The
conceited, impertinent imbecile! Did he think she was
some ignorant servant girl? The density of some men
was remarkable! They may be very keen and sensible
in conversation with men, but with girls they had no
judgment whatever, if the girls looked little and pretty,
they considered them as brainless!
Marie flamed at him. “I do not make friends with
strange men, Monsieur, nor do I speak with persons
on trains! I have no use whatever for the kind of man
who thinks by smiles and talk to make an impression
on me! I am in the employ of Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent


48 | THE ROMANCE OF
and will drive you where she has ordered me, but you
will kindly restrain yourself from questions which
would make me seem a silly fool!”
The man looked as if he had suddenly encountered
a hornet's nest, vastly taken aback, then driven into a
lively retreat. “I beg your pardon—it never occurred
to me to be impertinent,” he apologized hastily. “You
see, you have no idea how charming and unusual you
look. I was interested in you the moment I saw you,
and what Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent told me about you in-
terested me still more, so I seemed to be impertinent
when I hadn't the least intention of being so.”
“Perhaps that is so,” Marie returned severely, “but
I think rather that you formed a wrong impression of
me. It is necessary only for you to correct your man-
ner, then I have nothing further to say.”
She paused abruptly, for they had emerged from the
park and had come suddenly upon Breck, who was
standing beside the road. Evidently he was on his way
to Kent House and had stopped out of the road to let
them pass. He looked at them fixedly and he lifted
his cap, but his face was like granite and his eyes like
steel. Marie saw how he looked at the man beside her,
a cutting stare that traveled over him.
Marie smiled hurriedly at Breck, fearing that he
might wonder at her flushed and angry appearance.
Perhaps he had heard what she had said. It was most
unfortunate that she lost her temper so easily; he might
think that she had been rude to a guest of Kent House.
She felt anxious and miserable.


A MILLION DOLLARS 49
The young man beside her studied her drooping
lips and her wistful expression. Then he said without
a trace of his previous facetiousness, “That's Breck
Dunbarton-Kent, poor fellow! He had a dreadful
experience during the war. It's made a lonely sort of
him. What he needs is sympathy—some one to talk to.
He's standoffish, even with his family, but there are
few men who won’t melt if a woman's really kind to
them. It's a pity about him.”
Marie was so interested by this information that she
forgot to be severe. “Do you wish to stop at the
farm?” she asked. º
“No, thanks—just drive slowly by. . . . I'm think-
ing of buying property out here, and Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent offered to have me driven about. I want to take
a look at the Country Club too.”
They passed the farm in silence, apparently the man
engrossed in looking about him, and Marie thinking of
what he had told her. She wished he would tell her
more, but not for anything would she have asked a
single question.
Until they reached the High Road, her companion
was silent, but when they could see the roof and tall
chimneys of Colfax Hall, he spoke again. “That's
Allen Colfax's place,” he remarked. “He’s let it run
down, still it's a very valuable piece of property. His
land runs from this road clear through to the sound
and he owns half the field that's between Kent House
and the sound too. There's been trouble between Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent and Colfax over that field—Colfax


50 THE ROMANCE OF
could build on his part of it or sell it to some one who'd
build and shut off all the view Kent House has. Still,
Allen's not such a bad sort, though the Dunbarton-
Kents and society in general are down on him. What
he needs is a sensible wife to keep him straight. A
nice girl, if she took him in hand, could do wonders
with him and with Colfax Hall. The Colfax family is
one of the oldest on the North Shore.”
Marie received this information in expressionless
silence. She had her own opinion of Mr. Allen Colfax,
and her shrewdness wondered why this man was recom-
mending him. Everybody she had met here acted
strangely; it was unaccountable. It was interesting
though to learn just why the Dunbarton-Kents disliked
Allen Colfax so much. Evidently there was a family
quarrel over property and it caused Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent great anxiety.
The man continued to talk, his observant eyes on
Marie. “It’s too bad Allen sold off that strip next to
Kent House park to Mrs. Smith. She's a queer wom-
an. They say not a single woman out here has called
on her, but she seems to be satisfied with only her
piano for company. She's gay enough when she's
away from here though.”
This information also Marie treated with silence.
“This person is a gossip,” she said to herself with firm
disapproval.
As they went on, he commented on the places that
they passed, wealthy owners who were absent for the
winter, or families who lived the year round in their


A MILLION DOLLARS 51
North Shore houses. He talked for some time of a
Mrs. Brant-Olwin whose imposing house was near the
Country Club. She had grown up in a mining camp,
he told Marie, but, because she had immense wealth,
she had worked her way into society; she was noted
for her wonderful jewels and her lavish entertainment.
When they left the Country Club, he told of the parties
given there in the summer. “It’s a millionaire's play-
ground!” he declared.
Though she looked as expressionless as possible,
Marie was interested; it was entertaining to hear about
these people. But why should he care to tell her about
them? He looked at her too much, and paused too
often as if expecting answers. She maintained a de-
termined silence.
But he puzzled her most by what he said when she
brought the car to a stop at Kent House. “I’ve en-
joyed my ride immensely,” he declared, “and now I'm
going to tell you something, Miss Angouleme: I liked
best of all the way you sat down on my joshing. You
have plenty of good sense, and if I can ever be of any
assistance to you just let me know. This is my card,
my name is Walter J. Greene, and I can always be
reached at that address. There's trouble waiting
around the corner for almost everybody and, in case
you run up against it, please remember you have a
friend in me and make use of me.”
Marie looked at the card. “It is most kind,” she
said reservedly.
“And shake hands?” he asked.


CHAPTER VII
N the days that followed, Marie sighed often to her-
self. She did her very best, but things were not at
all as they should be. She was certain that Mr. Walter
J. Greene had complained of her, for the next time she
saw Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent she behaved so strangely.
Marie drove her about every day, but Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent would not talk to her and she gave her orders so
curtly. When the garage supplies arrived, Marie asked
her what disposition she should make of them and she
answered impatiently:
“I don’t want to be bothered about the garage,
Angouleme. Breck will look after the garage. He'll
give you my orders and you can report to him, so don't
come to me about anything—I have too many other
things to attend to.” Then she relapsed into a grim
silence.
So Breck appeared in the garage and inspected the
cars. Marie explained the shortage of tires and tools
and showed him the supplies she had unpacked. Hop-
ing for a word of praise, she told him, “The condition
within these cars was abominable, but now every inch
is clean—as you see.”
Breck looked but said nothing. Without a word, he
carried the useless tires into the store-room and helped
-

53


54 THE ROMANCE OF
Marie put the new tires into their cases. Then he
jacked up the roadster and took off the worn tire
which had worried Marie on her first drive with Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent. He declined her help: “No-it's
not work for a girl.”
He did not look at her, he seemed to be looking at
her hands, and Marie flushed: why did he not speak
more kindly? It pained her, his looking at her hands;
it was impossible to keep them looking well. “It is the
black oil that has stained the nails,” she said involun-
tarily. “Now that the cars are clean, my hands will
be different.”
Breck had glanced up at her then, a swift keen look
into her troubled eyes, and she had flushed still more
deeply. She wished that she had not spoken, and she
felt terribly hurt when he finished his work deftly and
departed with the brief order: “When there is a heavy
piece of work like this, I’ll do it. You can tidy up
now.” She was shivering with cold too, for he seemed
determined to work with the garage doors wide open.
And so it had continued. He was a very strange
man, Marie thought. She puzzled over him. Every
morning, and sometimes at noon, he came to the gar-
age door and delivered Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's orders
for the day, apparently determined not to enter the
garage unless it was absolutely necessary. Evidently
he hated having anything to do with the cars; Marie
felt that he thought it beneath him. Then he would
tramp off to the farm. Usually he would stop at the
garage on his way back in the evening, after dark, and


A MILLION DOLLARS 55
ask in an even voice, “Are the cars all right?” receive
her answer and stride on to the back entrance of the
house, then up to his room.
Marie knew which was his room, for, very often, he
did not draw down his blinds. To change his clothes,
he went into another room which Marie thought must
be his bathroom. He would reappear in evening dress,
then go down to dinner and return in about an hour,
wrap himself in a dressing-gown and sit at the desk
near his window and read and write late into the night.
Often Gibbs brought his dinner up to him on a tray;
that was when there was company for dinner, either
people from the neighborhood or guests whom Marie
was sent to the station to meet.
Marie could see all this from her bedroom window,
for she was given her dinner early, before the family
or the servants were served. If she brought guests
from the station, she must wait for Gibbs to telephone
whether she was to take them back that night or not.
When people came in their cars, either they themselves
or their chauffeurs, if the night was at all inclement,
ran their cars into the garage. The chauffeurs were
most troublesome, Marie thought, for they tried to talk
to her and even presumed to make love. She found
that, having seen the cars properly placed, the best
thing was for her to go up to her room and lock her-
self in. They soon tired of the garage then and went
off to the house where they were cared for by Gibbs.
There were sleeping apartments there for such servants
as Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's guests happened to bring.


56 THE ROMANCE OF
But it was not pleasant to discover that she was
regarded as a joke by every chauffeur in the neighbor-
hood and of course by their masters and mistresses.
Marie was aware of the covert smiles of the people who
passed them when she drove Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent.
Often they passed Allen Colfax riding a big gray horse
and followed by his mastiff, and always he grinned
widely; Marie driving Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent seemed
to afford him immense amusement. The guests whom
she brought from the station to Kent House asked her
all sorts of amused questions. When she parked her
car among others while waiting for Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent or Bella to emerge from some entertainment, she
understood perfectly the smiles and nods of the other
chauffeurs. Sometimes they persisted in surrounding
her car and talking to her facetiously. Occasionally a
chauffeur tried to be really friendly, for “Mrs. D. K.’s
French Baby,” as they called her, with fire in her
eyes and her black curls escaping from her service cap,
was a tempting vision. But Marie proved adamant;
she reared the huge collar of her fur coat against friend
and foe and turned a contemptuous back upon them.
During nine days’ time, Marie was literally a nine
days’ wonder and discussed in every household within
miles. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had defied custom; she
was trying to establish a precedent. And she had put
that little feminine tot of hers into trousers! Of course
their daughters rode astride and wore breeches, they
had done that for some time, but think of turning over
one's garage to a girl, and such a baby as that! And


58 THE ROMANCE OF
Ordinarily Buckingham Gibbs was a most lenient
father confessor to any man-servant, but on this occa-
sion he looked horrified. “You mend your own face,
you—chump!” he said aghast. Then solemnly, “Re-
member that angels are sometimes entertained un-
awares.”
But when questioned by the next visiting chauffeur,
Gibbs denied any knowledge of the occurrence and the
other servants were equally reticent; there was one
subject upon which they were dumb, and that was
Marie Angora Lamb.
Marie knew nothing about Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's
championship of her, or of Gibbs’ mysterious reproof.
She knew only that she seemed to be ostracized, that
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent would not talk to her, that Breck
avoided her, that Bella never even nodded to her and
looked at her as if she hated her; that she was regarded
with curiosity and amusement by every one in the
neighborhood, and that the Kent House servants
shunned her.
Those servants! What was the matter with them?
One day Marie, driven by loneliness, had approached
in friendly fashion Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's personal
maid, a bright-faced intelligent-looking girl who had
ventured upon the grass-plot between the house and the
garage. The girl had started convulsively and had al-
most run back to the house; she had looked frightened
out of her wits. Marie had been cut to the quick; she
had retreated to the garage with the tears burning her
eyes. It was so utterly unaccountable! The attempts


A MILLION DOLLARS 59
at rough love-making on the part of the chauffeurs
troubled Marie far less than the conduct of the Kent
House servants, for she had met with that sort of thing
before and felt quite able to defend herself. But to be
feared and avoided when she had done nothing to
deserve it! w
She was utterly lonely and miserable. What did it
all mean? It had never been so in any other place
where she had been; always her smile had been an-
swered by smiles. “Were it not for the good pay I
would leave to-morrow,” Marie confided to herself.
“It is as if I had committed a crime!”
But she was compelled by necessity. She had been
horrified by the high cost of living in New York. Her
hundred dollars would last her only a very short time
in that place. And her experience with the Kent House
servants gave her a terror of working in any household
capacity; the other servants might make life unbear-
able. No, she must cling to her present position until
she had saved enough to feel independent. Then,
when not utterly miserable, she was stubbornly deter-
mined to behave as if she was indifferent to the slights
shown her.
Fortunately, during the day, Marie had little time
for repining; there was so much to do. But when
night came it was very hard. Then she sat in her room
and thought. In the darkness, she could sit close to
the window and could see Breck sitting in his window
and studying. Marie felt certain that he was studying.
Even when his window-shades were down, she could


6o THE ROMANCE OF
see his silhouette cast upon the shade. In a way, it
was comforting to feel that some one besides herself
was lonely; he seemed quite apart from his family.
She wondered endlessly about him. What was the
dreadful experience during the war which had “made a
lonely sort” of him? Such a war experience should
have made his family sympathetic. It was strange
with this family: they were highly respected, that was
evident, and their servants were devoted to them, yet
no member of the family seemed to have any love for
any other member. Bella spent days at a time in the
city, Marie knew because she was constantly driving
her to and from the station, a duty which she dreaded,
for, though muffled to the eyes in a fur coat which
concealed all but her unusual height, Bella's eyes looked
cold contempt at her, and her icy commands were little
better than an insult, Marie thought. Why Bella hated
her she could not imagine, unless it was Bella's nature
to hate most people, yet Bella must have friends, for
she spent so much time in the city.
Certainly it was a strange family: between Bella and
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent there was almost no conversa-
tion, and certainly Breck was entirely apart from his
family. West Dunbarton-Kent was the only one who
seemed to have a smile in his eyes, but Marie had not
seen him since the first day and thought he must live
in the city as his roadster had disappeared from the
garage at the same time that he had from Kent House.
Perhaps the reason he was able to smile was because
he did not have to live in Kent House?


A MILLION DOLLARS 61
Marie decided that there was some bitter family
quarrel over property; it was so often the case in fam-
ilies where there was much money to quarrel over.
Certainly there was a quarrel with Allen Colfax over
property, and very likely Breck had taken some part in
it which displeased his family so much that he was in
deep disgrace with them; perhaps at some time he had
been a spendthrift. At any rate, this was an unhappy
family, so very different from the way it had been
with her father and herself; they had been like two
loving comrades.
Marie's throat ached when she thought of her
father. Then she would try to console herself by
thinking of the three years of the war when she had
been a favorite in her ambulance corps, and beloved by
many a soldier, by more than one officer too, and re-
spected always. It was that made her heart ache and
burn with indignation; to be treated with avoidance by
these people; to be compelled to loneliness and silence;
not one word of kindness or human interest. It was
cruel.
The result of Marie's puzzled and indignant medi-
tations was a desperate eagerness to prove her worth
to these people. She scrubbed and cleaned, oiled and
polished. She was proud of all her cars, but she loved
best the splendid new seven passenger car that was
not used much now the weather was bad. As one
must love something, Marie fixed her affections upon
the big car; its running-board was her favorite seat;
she patted it sometimes and talked to it. When the


A MILLION DOLLARS 63
a roundabout way through the park that had brought
him to the back of the garage. He had used caution
in coming, he had even crawled on his hands and knees
across the shrub-dotted space behind the garage and
had crept beneath the cedar-tree which grew against
the corner of the store-room. Here the roof sloped
to about twelve feet from the ground and, after listen-
ing intently for a few minutes, he had removed his
boots and had climbed up the corner as nimbly as a
cat. When his hands gripped the eaves, he had lifted
himself clear of the wall and had swung himself up on
the roof with the skill of an acrobat; he was a tall and
broad-shouldered man, but he did it with an ease that
suggested practise. Then he had crawled up the roof
to the row of windows and had lain prone; he had
opened one of the windows slightly so he could both
hear and see.
He saw Marie, chalk in hand, crawl under each car,
then saw her get to her feet and bow deeply to each car
in turn, calling it by name. With each bow, her loos-
ened curls fell over her face, then were flung back for
another effort. But for her half a yard of hair, she
might have been taken for a boy-soldier doing a stage
turn. A Cossack dance taught Marie by a Russian
soldier, a great clicking of heels and leaps into the air
and rapid whirls, completed the ceremony. She looked
a live, lithe little thing, brim full of fun, grace and
energy.
Flushed and smiling, Marie sat down then on the
running-board of the big car. Then, gradually, flush


64 A MILLION DOLLARS
and smile faded; her lips began to quiver and her eyes
filled and, suddenly, she flung herself down on the run-
ning-board and began to sob, a perfect passion of weep-
ing. Of what good were cars as companions!
Breck had watched her throughout, but also with his
attention given to the garage doors. When they
parted, he drew back, but still watching and listening;
Some one was coming into the garage.
i


CHAPTER VIII -
T was West Dunbarton-Kent who came into the ga-
rage. Evidently from the door he had seen Marie
doubled up on the running-board of the car, for he
tiptoed over and stood looking down at her. She was
a woebegone figure, given over to grief; for three
weeks she had been holding back her tears, now they
were a deluge.
West waited for some time, until she quieted, then
he said with concern, “What's the matter, Little
Chauffeuress?”
Marie came upright with a start and thrust back
her hair. When she saw who it was, she was utterly
confused. “Monsieur—” she gasped.
“What is it? What has happened?”
“It is not a-happening,” Marie returned with an
attempt at dignity. “It-it is—continuous, and I do
not understand.” She set her teeth on a quivering lip
and gathered up her hair. Her hair-pins being scat-
tered over the garage, she twisted it up in a knot.
Then, finding her handkerchief, she rubbed the tears
from her face, terribly ashamed at having been caught
weeping.
“Everything all wrong, of course. I was afraid it
would be so. It’s a shame!” he declared.
65


66 THE ROMANCE OF
They were the first kindly words Marie had heard
since she came to Kent House and her heart over-
flowed. “I do not understand the strangeness of your
people, that is my trouble, Monsieur!” she said pas-
sionately. “Am I a criminal that your people speak
to me with eyes turned away and even the servants run
from me? . . . Monsieur, you have been away, so
you have not seen, but indeed I have done my work
well—I have tried in every way to please—yet I am
treated as if I were in deep disgrace. If only I knew
the reason. If only I could understand what it is
about myself that displeases, I would try to be differ-
ent, but it is to me a mystery and no one will talk to
me to explain. You are the first person here to speak
kindly. On the first day you were the only one to
smile at me. Be kind still, Monsieur, and tell me what
it can possibly be.” Marie had begun hotly and had
ended in pleading.
“You’ve upset a few old-fashioned ideas, for one
thing, Little Lady,” West answered gravely but kindly.
Marie looked as puzzled as she felt. “I think I am
stupid, Monsieur, I do not understand.” The tears
still hung on her lashes, but her eyes were wide and
questioning.
West smiled at her. Then his expression changed.
“Oh, Kent House and the Dunbarton-Kents l’’ he said
scornfully. “Their troubles and their family pride!
. . . Mrs. Brant-Olwin, who came out of the West and
turned some of her deceased husband's gold nuggets
into strings of pearls and then invaded the North Shore,


A MILLION DOLLARS 67
once asked Bella how long she had lived on Long
Island. Bella looked over her head and said, ‘For four
hundred years.” Mrs. Brant-Olwin, whose original
name was Kelly, returned sweetly, “Good gracious! I
wouldn't confess to being that old, if I was you!’”
West laughed and sat down beside Marie, clasped his
knee in his hands and swung his foot. “You see, we
are a conventional lot. Aunt Bulah, that's Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent, occasionally tilts at tradition—that's one
reason why she took you. I think you're a bit too
modern for Kent House. You believe in doing as you
please, being a little chauffeur in trousers, if you want
to. And why shouldn't you! But some people can't
see it that way—it's a bit of a shock to them. . . .
It's the only explanation I can give you for what you
call the ‘strangeness,” little Marie. I’m a Dunbarton-
Kent, so I don’t like to say too much about my family's
troubles.”
At first Marie looked blank with amazement. Then
her dark little face flamed: Bella's frozen stare and
Breck’s avoidance and Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's manner
to her were explained. “But I do nothing wrong!” she
declared hotly.
West looked at her appreciatively. “Of course you
don't! I think you are a brave little woman—I thought
so that first day—but to them just the fact that you
spend the nights here in the garage unchaperoned is—
reprehensible.”
“But I have slept in dugouts or shell holes, any-
where, so did American girls, and with men all about


68 THE ROMANCE OF
me and not one word of censure! The war has made
changes in the independence of girls! We are proud
to have worked like men, together with men.”
“I know it. But families like mine can’t see broad,
Marie. The conventional man or woman is the great-
est evil thinker in the world!” His manner was very
earnest; he released his knee and pointed in the direc-
tion of the house. “I stifle over there, so I get away
as often as I can. Happily, business takes me away—
I have just been to Washington about one of my inven-
tions. . . . You know, it was some time before I
learned that, if surrounded by conventions, it never
pays to kick them over. Better to seek a different at-
mosphere. Unfortunately, my family is double-dyed
conventional—there is no such thing as changing their
prejudices.”
Marie's eyes.had grown brilliant. “You think it
would be best for me to leave this place? That always
I will be treated in this manner?”
“I would go, if I were you—at once. Ours is not a
cheerful family—it hasn’t been for some time, and
there is likely to be still more gloom. I know a dozen
families in the city and several in Washington and else-
where who would be glad to have such help as you can
give them. And there are office positions, too, for a
girl as capable as you are.”
Marie looked full at him. “I thank you for all you
have told me, Monsieur, and for your kind interest.
I think now I understand better, and I have decided:
because of this same narrow-mindedness of which you


A MILLION DOLLARS 69
tell me, I shall remain here. Perhaps to such prejudices
I can teach something.” She nodded her head decidedly.
“Yes, those who will come no farther than the garage
door and talk at me with eyes fixed on everything else
than myself—they will do differently before I leave
Kent House. That is my decision.”
West looked somewhat blank; then he laughed out.
“Well, I never!” He added admiringly, “You are a
plucky little person! I like it.” His eyes were merry.
“Go straight ahead, my little friend, and remember
this: I like you and I’ll do anything I can to help you.”
Then his look sobered. “I can’t change conditions
though, and there will be many things I shall not be
able to explain—my black-a-browed cousin, for one
thing. . . . Every family has its black . . . black-
sheep, I suppose—” he said slowly, and sighed.
“Monsieur,” Marie ventured timidly, “he seems to
me a man in trouble and depression. Is it not so?”
West said nothing; he looked down, for the moment
his expression as stern as his cousin's. His features
were more mobile than Breck’s and more clear-cut, his
fair-lashed, light blue eyes, merry one moment, keen
the next, then, again, as cold as Bella's or Breck's.
Marie did not venture another question, only noted his
extreme fairness, so unlike his cousin. Yet he looked
strong, trim and straight and with slim pointed-fin-
gered hands, suggestive of an infinite delicacy of touch.
He had strength as well as grace and charm.
“Without doubt he invents wonderfully,” Marie
thought admiringly and, to lift the cloud from his face,
93.


A MILLION DOLLARS 71
seemed to me a great world without limitations to those
who are not ignorant. But, Monsieur, the years I
loved best were those when I traveled with my father.
I loved the long snows of winter and the frozen lakes.
Then the beautiful flowers of spring and the brief heat
of summer! I love the country. And I enjoyed sell-
ing the skins. All over Canada we went, and often my
English was helpful. I talked with the American trad-
ers and my father would say, ‘Eh, little Marie, you
drive a better bargain than your old father—you have
Business sense.” He praised me, and in France they
praised me for competence and fearlessness, so to be
treated as I have been here is—painful.” Her lips
quivered, then set, and she flung back her head. “But
it shall not be so always!”
West had watched her absorbedly, his eyes now keen,
now smiling. “And in all that time, no lover who
legged to be a husband, little Marie?” he asked softly.
She lost her belligerent air. Her mouth lifted at
the corners and laughter glanced between her lashes.
“None who spoke the language I wished to hear,
Monsieur. The trees of your park are tall, but my
heart sits upon the topmost branch. A kiss flung
upward does not reach me, nor does he who climbs up
roughly. I think some day a little bird with red wings
will bring me a message from another tree-top, and
we will bend together—so,”—she lifted her arms and
brought her finger-tips together— “then we will come
down to earth together, but never forgetful of the tree-
tops seen against the sky.” She looked at him through


72 THE ROMANCE OF
the arch of her arms. “Is it not so, that love should
be, Monsieur?”
West made a quickly restrained movement, hands
raised to touch her, then withheld. “So you are quite
heart-free then, little Marie?”
The gleam of mischief fled from her eyes; she
dropped her lifted arms and sat with head bent, oddly
motionless, and West moved close to her. “You’re
not?”
She shrugged suddenly, then sighed, then sprang up.
“Who knows, Monsieur ! . . . Please look now at your
car. When I returned this afternoon it was here and
muddy. See now how it shines! I worked upon it.”
West followed her over to his roadster. “That was
very kind of you,” he said appreciatively. “I’ve been
thinking—some day would you like to see my work-
shop, in the park cottage?”
“Would it not be entirely against these family con-
ventions of which you speak?” Marie asked demurely.
He laughed. “I think it could be managed. The
best way to treat conventions is to walk around them.”
“Perhaps, Monsieur—I shall have to give the matter
a most careful consideration.”
West held out his hand. “Shake hands with me,
please? You know now that you have one friend at
Kent House, don't you?”
“I hope so indeed, Monsieur—that is why I am
happy. I thank you very much,” she said with genuine
gratitude.
There was a caress in West's eyes; he bent over her


A MILLION DOLLARS 73
hand, then straightened abruptly, for a sound at the
door startled them both. Breck was standing there,
looking at them from beneath bent brows. “I am sorry
to interrupt,” he said in level tones, “but I have a mes-
sage from Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent: she wants the limou-
sine ready to take her into town directly after break-
fast to-morrow.”
“Yes, Monsieur,” Marie answered unsteadily and
drew her hand from West's hold. She was frightened,
for, though Breck had spoken to her, he was looking
at West as a man does who levels a pistol with deadly
intent.
West eyed him calmly. “She gave me the message,
Breck, but I forgot to deliver it. Evidently you forgot
to deliver it at noon as you were told to.”
Breck made no answer, but he looked his cousin up
and down in a way that made Marie catch her breath.
Then he turned and went out.
“I am sorry, Marie,” West said with concern. “I
didn't know that thunder-cloud was going to burst in
on us.”
“It does not matter, except that he seems to misun-
derstand,” Marie said distressedly. “I have been so
long without pleasant conversation with anybody that
I smile more than I should.”
“He frightened you. Don't pay any attention to his
queer ways. I can't explain, but what he thinks or
says doesn't matter to anybody.”
“I am not frightened because of myself, Mr. West,
but tell me please why he is so strange?” Marie begged.


74 A MILLION DOLLARS
“I can't tell you, Marie. Just remember that we are
friends and forget about him. . . . I'm going now, but
I shall see you to-morrow.” And he lifted her hand and
kissed it. “My homage to a brave little woman and a
very charming one,” he said.
He went with a backward look at her.


76 THE ROMANCE OF
***
“It would seem so to one who had not heard all Mr.
West said to me and had not observed his manner,”
she confessed to herself.
Marie was well aware of her attractiveness; in
France she had experienced any amount of love-mak-
ing. She had given many smiles and pretty speeches
and had listened to all sorts of things. It was quite a
matter of course, feeling that men were attracted by
her. West's manner to her had not flattered or
flustered her in the least, but she had been intensely
pleased that a Dunbarton-Kent liked her, in friendly
fashion and, as it seemed to Marie, with a touch of
genuinely charming gallantry. Marie felt that West
was a great social favorite, rich and of a proud family,
and all he had intended to convey to her was a kindly
and friendly spirit; he was sorry for the way in which
his family had treated her. She attached no impor-
tance to his gallantry; undoubtedly it was his manner
to all women.
But to be so misunderstood by the man by whom
she wished most intensely to be understood It was
useless to tell herself that he was “strange” and appar-
ently set apart from his family, that there was some-
thing, she could not imagine what, wrong with Breck.
It simply hurt her all over, the way he had looked and
had spoken. It made her feel quite ill.
Marie looked at Breck's windows and her throat
ached. There was a light in his room, the shades were
drawn and his silhouette was distinctly outlined against
the window-shade near his desk. The darkness was


A MILLION DOLLARS 77
*:
yielding to the rising moon, the outline of the house
grew distinct and the tops of the trees began to show
against the sky, and Marie thought of what she had
said to West, that her heart sat upon the topmost
branch. It was quite true. Almost ever since she could
remember, she had cherished a dream, and it had kept
her out of trouble. Some day there would be the man
of firm character, a man of worth and distinction, who
would love her profoundly. Marrying any one of the
men she had known had seemed so impossible; no one
of them had been in any way the man of her dreams.
It was for him she had taken such pains to speak
French and English correctly and had noted so care-
fully what were ladylike manners. And how wonder-
fully she would love him, when he appeared! How
carefully she would educate herself to be just what he
wished her to be! He would be a man to whom small
social prejudices did not matter, he would be above all
such trifling things—they would simply love each
other and help each other. Sometimes when wrapped
in thoughts of her dream-lover, Marie turned quite
pale with emotion; she thought of her dream-lover
now and grew tense. Then she thought of Breck's
frowning brows and was utterly depressed; he seemed
to regard her almost with aversion.
The garage stifled her; she could not sit still. She
opened her window to the night, felt the relief of the
cool air, and longed to get away from the garage and
out of sight of the house. She had never left the
garage, night or day, except for her meals or under


78 THE ROMANCE OF
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's orders. But she had not been
told that she must stay in the garage all the time.
There was no reason why she should not walk in the
park; there were no guests this evening and Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent had given no order for the car.
Marie put on her coat and went down into the moon-
light, crossed the grass-plot behind the house and went
into the park. It was clear and cold, the brisk air was
delicious; Marie felt better. After all, time was the
best test. She would go quietly on, doing her very
best, be polite to every one and very careful of her
manner to West; he must not talk much to her in the
garage. In time she would win the respect of the
entire Dunbarton-Kent household; to honesty and de-
termination were not all things possible?
It was very still under the trees, only the noise of
the dead leaves. . Marie looked up through the bare
branches at the fleece of clouds whitened by the moon.
Her spirits rose and she began to amuse herself by
making a great rustling among the dead leaves, seek-
ing out the hollows where they lay thick. She skipped
and danced about among them, gathering up armfuls
and throwing them up to the moon, then dodging the
descending shower. Then she stopped and listened,
for there was music somewhere, a piano touched
lightly. Then there followed brilliant chords and
thrills, then a thunder of bass notes.
At first, Marie could not determine just where she
was, for she had wandered aimlessly. Then she saw
that she had followed the slope of the park and that


A MILLION DOLLARS 79
she was near the park wall, some distance from the
park cottage, and that the piano must be in the house
just above the cottage, the pretty house that belonged
to the ostracized Mrs. Smith. Some one was playing
brilliantly.
Marie followed the wall along until she reached the
park cottage. It was shuttered and dark, but Mrs.
Smith's house was brightly lighted and the shades un-
drawn, for, even with the view cut off by the wall
which was a foot taller than she was, Marie could see
the ceiling of a room and pictures on the wall. Evi-
dently the piano was in that room, but she was not
tall enough to see who was playing.
It was tantalizing, and Marie looked for something
that would raise her high enough to look over the wall.
In the corner made by the joining of the wall and the
cottage, she found it, a stump on which she could
stand. She mounted it and looked full into the
brightly lighted room.
It was a lovely room, low-ceilinged and long, with a
big fireplace, a shining floor on which were soft rugs
and luxurious chairs and couches. There were a num-
ber of lamps of curious design and many paintings on
the walls and in the near end of the room was a grand
piano. Before it sat a woman who looked a fit tenant
for all this artistic luxury. Marie could see only her
back and her moving arms, but even so she impressed
Marie as supremely rich and graceful, her ink-black
hair was so abundant and banded with red, her should-
ers were so regal and her waist and hips so slim. She


8O THE ROMANCE OF
was wearing a clinging gown of some shimmering ma-
terial, there were gold and red lights in it, and the
sleeves were a wrinkled sheath over long arms. Her
head was thrown back as if enraptured by her own
playing and she swayed from side to side as her fingers
swept the keys. It was a magnificent, thunderous
thing she was playing, and Marie looked and listened
with parted lips, unconscious at first that there was
some one else in the room. Then she saw that a negro
woman in serving-maid’s cap and apron and carrying
a coat and furs had come up to the piano and appeared
to be waiting; evidently her mistress was going some-
where.
The music came to an end with final thunderous
notes, the woman sat for a moment with hands lifted
from the keys, then whirled about and stood up. The
queer crane-necked lamp suspended above the piano
cast its light full on the woman's face, features and
coloring were distinct, and Marie stood rooted to the
stump on which she stood, paralyzed, except for the
chills which crept from the roots of her hair and ran
down her spine, held motionless during the moments
while the maid helped her mistress with her coat and
adjusted the sables about her shoulders: the woman's
rich-hued face was unforgettable; the tickle of those
furs against her flesh a well-remembered horror.
Then the woman moved out of sight. Into the hall?
To the front door? Quite able to see a face staring at
her over the wall? . . . Marie sprang from the stump
and fled blindly, but for only a few steps, for she col-


CHAPTER X
HEN Marie waked to consciousness after her
fall in the park, it was at first only to a con-
fused realization that she had been wounded, a prick-
ing, smarting pain in the left side of her head. Then
she knew that it was a cut being bound up; there had
been the same sensation when they had dressed the
cut in her arm made by a piece of shell. She had the
same feeling of deafness and numbness all over, all
but the place that ached. She wondered vaguely
whether her ambulance had escaped. . . .
It came to her by degrees. She was not deaf; she
heard a cloth being torn and water dripping into a
basin. And she was in bed, her fingers felt a sheet.
Then she heard distinctly a voice she knew well and
which did not belong to France: “She is coming to
now. . . . Lie still, Angouleme! I want to fix this
thing.”
It was Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's booming command,
and Marie's confused visions of the past fled before an
onrush of recollections: the garage, the park, the ter-
rible woman coming out to her front door, the man
who had gripped her until he had been flung aside.
She had struck her head when she fell, now she must
be in her own room and it was Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
82


A MILLION DOLLARS 83
who pressed her head back on the pillow. She was
bandaging it, and it was her black satin bulk bent over
Marie which prevented her from seeing just where she
WaS.
Marie lay perfectly still, but thinking clearly now:
had Breck been hurt too, she wondered P. It was he
who had been behind her while she looked over the wall
and had gripped her when she ran and had kept her
from screaming; he had put his hand over her mouth.
Then some one had struck him, there had been a strug-
gle and another voice which had sounded familiar and
a third voice which she did not know and the barking
of a dog. It had been a terrifying experience.
But the thing that frightened her now, even when
safe with Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, was that woman.
That fearful creature at the very entrance to Kent
House! Marie never thought of her experience on the
train without a shiver of horror: there had been some-
thing so relentlessly murderous in the way the woman
had throttled her; nothing had ever frightened her as
had the steel-like grip of those fingers. There was
something secret and evil and desperate about that
woman; Marie was as certain of it as that her head
ached and as that she was still shaking with fright.
The woman must have seen her often; Marie had to
steady her breathing by reminding herself that on the
train the woman had not seen her and that she would
never connect her with the girl she had so nearly
killed.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent heard Marie's caught breath,


84 THE ROMANCE OF
for she said, “It must hurt, but it's not a bad cut, child.
You struck your head against a stone when you fell—
it stunned you, that's all. I know something about first
aid, and I’ve sent for a doctor, so don't be frightened.”
They were the kindest tones Marie had ever heard
from Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, as if she was feeling re-
gretful and sympathetic. “I am sorry to give you such
trouble,” Marie said faintly. She began to wonder
what she would say when Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent ques-
tioned her.
“Lie still on your right side and don't talk,” was Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent's next order. “I have the bandage
fastened now.” And she stood up. “Gibbs, take these
things away, but not to the house. There's no need of
frightening the girls by saying anything about it.”
“Certainly not, Madame.”
Marie could see the room now, her room as she had
thought, brightly lighted and Gibbs standing with a
towel over his arm and looking at his Roman nose,
quite as usual. He took the basin from the chair
beside the bed, gathered up sponges and strips of cloth
and vanished in the direction of the stairway without
even a glance at Marie; quite as if he were merely re-
moving the coffee-service from the Kent House
library. -
Marie thought that now Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent would
question her, but she did not. She switched off all but
the light on the landing, then sat down by the window.
There was silence for a time, then Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent sighed heavily. Marie had been cherishing hurt
º


86 THE ROMANCE OF
Marie was startled by the grimly eager way in which
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said, “About Breck?” It had
not occurred to Marie before, but it occurred to her now
that perhaps Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had not believed her
when she had declared that she had never seen or heard
of Breck before she came to Kent House. His family
seemed to regard Breck with anxiety and stern disap-
proval, perhaps at one time he had been a spendthrift
and had lived a fast life, so there was no telling what
wrong things they had been thinking about him and
about her, and that had had something to do with their
treatment of her. Perhaps that was the reason Breck
had acted so queerly? If he had been pleasant to her,
they might have thought wrong things? Whatever
had been his fault, Breck was certainly trying to do
right now, for no man could live more quietly than he,
work hard all day and study for most of the night.
It would be justice to him to tell Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
the truth.
“I do not feel too ill to talk, Madame—only the
burning of the cut,” she returned earnestly. “I feel
that your family must have thought wrongly about me,
because I seemed to have known Mr. Breck before I
came here. I wish to explain: it is all because of that
strange woman who lives in the pretty house next to
your park, and that comes about in this way.” And
Marie told shudderingly of her experience on the train.
“I was so certain that the creature was an escaping
criminal,” Marie said vividly. “And it would seem
so, for she left the train, as I have told you, quickly and


A MILLION DOLLARS 87
l
with no word to any one. She wished to be unnoticed.
. . . Let me explain further, Madame: the reason I
stared at Mr. Breck that first day was because I looked
first into his eyes and they looked to me like hers be-
cause of their lightness and the heavy black lashes.
Then in one moment I knew the features were not hers
at all nor the body. I had never seen this man before,
never, and I was confused. . . . Then, Madame, when
we rode together that day and you asked me where I
had met your nephew, I felt I could not explain and I
told you only half the truth. But I thought that,
though you were severe, you were going to like me, and
all I wished was to please you.” Marie's voice
quivered. “I–I have wished so much that all your
family should like me, and I worked so hard to be
worthy, but on all sides I met with avoidance, a
strangeness all about me which I could not understand.
Then, this evening, Mr. West talked with me in the
garage kindly. My heart was broken, so I asked him
what it was in me that displeased everybody, and he
told me that to a family like yours my filling a man's
position was shocking. I could see that it might be
so, and I was glad that at last I understood. I thought,
‘In time I will prove to them that, though I wear
trousers, I am womanly.”
“Still, I was distressed and lonely, so I walked in the
park to forget. Then, while walking without aim, I
heard music from the pretty house and went to the
cottage to listen and see who played. I stood up upon
a stump. Then I saw at the piano a magnificent wom-


88 THE ROMANCE OF
an with abundant black hair. She played wonder-
fully, with passion, but her back was toward me. Then
came a maid carrying furs, and the woman turned
about and stood and I saw every feature.
“Madame,” Marie said dramatically, “it was the
very same creature of the train! Anywhere in the
world I would know that woman and the expensive
sables she wore. Madame, I was like the wife of Lot!
I could not move, but from terror. Then she went as
if to the front door and my feet were suddenly loosed.
I was quite mad with terror and Iran, striking against
a man whom I did not know was there behind me. I
would have fallen, only he held me up, and he put his
hand over my mouth to keep me from shrieking and
startling everybody. He said, ‘Hush!" Then I knew
it was Mr. Breck. But no sooner did I know than he
seemed to be struck by a blow and I fell headlong,
striking my head and knowing nothing until I waked
here. But first I heard a dog bark and the voice of
Mr. Colfax and another voice I did not know. .
I have told you everything now, and I beg you to un-
derstand.” Then when Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent neither
spoke nor moved, “Madame, do you not believe me?”
“Yes—” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said slowly and
thickly, “I do. . . . I told Has—I’ve felt all along
that you had no—that you were honest.” She rose
suddenly and walked the floor, a big dark object, pass-
ing back and forth before the bed. Then she walked to
the window and stood there motionless.
From the bed, Marie stared at her. It was strange.


A MILLION DOLLARS 89
that she should be so moved. In her surprise, Marie
forgot to rejoice that she had won Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent's good opinion. But joy swept her when Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent came and stood over her.
“I can't change the peculiarities of my family or of
my servants,” she said steadily, “but, Marie Angou-
leme, just remember that I’m not a bit shocked over
your doing a man's job well, and that you have a friend
in me. West meant well when he told you what he
did, and he'll always have a pleasant word for you.
West has always been keen in reading character—he
liked you from the beginning. And I want you to
stay with me. I like you and respect you.”
“Ah, Madame! You make me happy!” Marie said,
almost weeping.
“Oh, don't cry over it!” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent ex-
claimed with a touch of her usual roughness. “Quiet
down now and try to sleep. I’ll stay here, so you
needn’t get shivers over that wearer of sables who tried
to choke the life out of you. She'll get her deserts—
I'm afraid.” Her voice dropped on the last words, and
she drew a quick breath. “It’s true—unfortunately:
‘What's bred in the bone will come out in the flesh.’”
“I hope she may flee from this neighborhood as she
did from the train,” Marie said earnestly.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said nothing.
There was another matter which had troubled Marie
throughout, but she approached it obliquely. “Why
did they fight in the park, Madame, and who brought
me here? I have wondered, for I know nothing.”


90 A MILLION DOLLARS
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent hesitated. “Why—as nearly
as I can gather, Allen Colfax, who happened to be tres-
passing on our property—he and his dog were in our
park—thought that Breck was taking his turn at chok-
ing the life out of you, or something of the sort, so he
came to the rescue. Then the night-watchman fell on
the two of them. It was the night-watchman who
brought you up here and called me.”
Marie had not known that Kent House possessed a
night-watchman. This information did not assuage
her anxiety however. “It was all my fault—all Mr.
Breck did was to keep me from falling when I ran
against him and from screaming aloud,” Marie said
distressed. “I think he must have been walking in the
park and came to see who it was who was looking over
the wall. Then suddenly I ran against him.” Then
when Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said nothing, she ventured
politely, “I hope Mr. Breck was not hurt, Madame?”
“No. He probably had his reasons for being where
he was, but I think he'll keep to his room in the eve-
nings, after this.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent answered so sternly that
Marie asked no more questions.
But she was troubled. Beneath all her abruptness
and severity, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had a kind heart;
why then was she so unforgiving of her nephew P Even
if he had done something wrong once, she ought to be
more kind. He had been for months and months in
a German prison-camp! Mon Dieu! Was that not
enough to make the whole world sorry for him!


CHAPTER XI
HE doctor made light of Marie's injury. “You’ve
raised a considerable bump,” he said cheerfully,
“but no harm done. There is no occasion to feel
anxious, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent—a day or two and
she will be about again.”
He was a narrow-faced, effeminate-looking man
who smiled a good deal and spoke to Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent with great deference. He gave Marie the im-
pression of wanting to please the rich, and whether
her wound was a serious one or not made very little
difference to him, except as it affected Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent. From his remarks Marie learned that he
lived at Huntington and this was the first time he had
been called to Kent House. West must have driven
his roadster at top speed to have brought him so soon.
He was a voluble man. “That dog of Colfax's,” he
said with disgust. “I certainly wouldn't want the brute
leaping at me out of the dark—I don't wonder your
little chauffeur was knocked down. Mrs. Brant-Olwin
was speaking to me of Colfax just before she went to
Florida—saying a good word for him—but I disagreed
with her, entirely. Colfax goes too far—much too
far.” And he shook his head in disapproval.
If he expected to please Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent by his
9I


92 THE ROMANCE OF
remarks, he was not successful, for Marie thought that
she had never seen her look more severe. It was sur-
prising how regal the big unwieldly woman could
look; her presence filled the chauffeur's room, a grimly
restrained contempt for the doctor and his efforts. It
was also evident to Marie that the doctor had been
given an erroneous account of her mishap. But that
was quite right, Marie reflected; it was best that no
one but the family should know that Breck and Allen
Colfax had fought; families who had pride in them-
selves should keep their troubles to themselves; the
night-watchman, if he was as devoted to Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent as were the other servants, would say noth-
ing, so there would be no neighborhood gossip, only
blame on the dog, to whom it would not matter.
But Marie could not help looking at West, who had
brought the doctor up and had stood aside while he was
examining her wound. While he watched, he looked
as immobile as his cousin Breck, but at the doctor's
verdict his face lighted and he smiled at Marie, a reas-
suring congratulatory smile, and Marie smiled also:
they were her friends now, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent and
West; the ache in her head did not matter. When, in
addition, she won Breck's friendship, then it would be
a smiling world.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent cut short the doctor's re-
marks. “Are you going to give her something to make
her sleep? There's been more or less excitement, of
course.”
“Oh, surely. I intend to give her something—if I


A MILLION DOLLARS 93
may have a glass and a little water? Just a few drops
of something soothing. She ought to sleep well on into
the morning then, without any trouble to you, Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent, and I’ll come over before noon.”
Glasses and water were at hand, and Marie swal-
lowed a sweetish draught. “There, we'll get on very
nicely now,” the doctor assured Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent,
and went on talking. “We have never forgotten the
lovely baskets of fruit from your garden, Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent. Delicious. I’ve always said that Kent
House was the most beautiful place on the sound. Mrs.
Brant-Olwin has a palace, of course, but it's too mod-
ern, money sticking out all over it, not the dignity of
Kent House. No wonder it’s been the mark for
thieves. They say—”
“I hope your wife's in better health?” Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent interrupted with an ill-concealed note of
exasperation.
“Oh, very much better, thank you, Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent. She wanted me to-”
“I’ll expect you at about eleven to-morrow,” Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent interrupted again, and with an air of
finality. “West, take the doctor down now and see
him safely home. Just telephone to Gibbs from down-
stairs, will you, that he may go to bed, that everything's
all right here.”
West covered her dismissal as well as he could by an
air of cordiality. “Come on, Doctor, we'll beat it for
wife and home now. We're all tremendously obliged
to you—you for mine, if I ever get a broken head!”


94 THE ROMANCE OF
But as soon as the doctor had embarked on the stairs,
West came back. He bent and stroke Marie's hand.
“I’m so sorry, Little Chauffeuress,” he said, his eyes
and voice tender. “I know it hurts like the deuce, but
it will be all right in a few days. There isn't a better
nurse on earth than Aunt Bulah, and I’ll do my best
too, so don't worry.”
Marie's eyes were misty with sleep and gratitude.
“I do not mind the hurt, Monsieur—by and by I shall
be altogether happy, so I am contented.”
“That's right,” he said with feeling. He straight-
ened, looked down at her in a grave absorbed way,
then turned to his aunt. “You’ll stay with her to-night,
won't you?” he asked with a touch of appeal.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was looking from him to
Marie in a curiously blank way, brows suddenly lifted
and jaw dropped; for a second she seemed to be search-
ing for her voice. “Yes—” Then she gained fuller
command of it. “Of course I’m going to stay.”
“Oh, Madame!” Marie objected, trying to rouse
from drowsiness. “You must not. I can not be of
such trouble.”
“I shall stay here,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent returned
briefly.
West looked relieved. “You’re a brick, Aunt Bulah!
I'll get back as soon as I can. I can make myself com-
fortable in the garage till morning.”
“It’s after midnight. Take that idiet back to Hunt-
ington, then go to your room and your bed, and I’d
advise you to do some thinking before morning,” Mrs.


A MILLION DOLLARS 95
Dunbarton-Kent said sternly. “The Lord knows I
have enough to think of to keep me awake.”
“Madame—” Marie began, but her voice trailed off;
her eyes were closing.
West bent to her again. “Don’t try to talk,” he
begged anxiously. “I want you to get well, Marie.
It means a great deal to me—your getting well.”
But Marie did not hear him; she was asleep. When
he straightened, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was eying him
even more sternly. “Have you lost your senses?” she
demanded.
“Oh, I don't know!” he retorted with an air of sup-
pressed excitement. “Why not? She's the sweetest,
most attractive thing I’ve ever known. It was too
much for me, Breck's performance—he's insane, I
think. . . . I don’t know, Aunt Bulah—I won't sleep
to-night, that I know. Why, she might have been
killed.” And he turned hastily and went down-stairs.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent stared after him. Then she
walked about the room, her brows knitted; she looked
as if an additional anxiety had been thrust upon her.
Several times she paused to listen, as if impatiently
waiting for West's and the doctor's departure. Then,
when Marie sighed in her sleep, she stopped and looked
at the little face framed in bandages, the sweet lips
parted slightly, dark brows and long lashes distinct in a
white tired face. On the counterpane, Marie's hand
lay relaxed; it was red and work-hardened, neverthe-
less a shapely little hand. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
moved it gently, put it beneath the covers.


CHAPTER XII
RS. DUNBARTON-KENT had told West that
she was going to stay with Marie, but, as soon
as there was quiet below, she went down and locked
the garage doors, then went into the store-room and
switched on the light.
In the store-room, Marie had evolved neatness out
of what had been dusty confusion: she had cleared the
shelves and had sorted out the rubbish that had littered
the place. When Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent turned on the
light, a man who had been sitting on the pile of old
tires rose and removed his cap. He was a stockily
built, powerful man with a heavy but by no means an
unintelligent face; it was the thick wool sweater and
his baggy corduroy trousers that gave him the appear-
ance of a pugilistic day-laborer.
“I couldn't come before, Willetts,” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent said hurriedly. “If only I’d had my wits about
me, I’d have told you to go straight back and watch
Mrs. Smith's house, but I was too worried over that
child. I want you to go at once and keep watch on
her house—see whether any one goes into it and
whether she leaves it. I haven't time to explain, but
it's important.”
The man nodded. “I got the same idea, so I went
96


A MILLION DOLLARS 97
back the minute I’d handed the girl over to you. Then
I put Jones on the watch and came back here. You
said for me to wait here, but I thought it best to go
back. And it’s a good thing I did, for—”
“Has she gone?” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent inter-
rupted.
“No, I think she's there still, but, Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent, something I hardly expected happened: Breck
went to the Smith house.”
“Willetts!” she said with a note of despair. “Since
talking with Angouleme I have been hoping against
hope that there was no connection between those two!”
Her flushed face grew alarmingly white.
“Don’t stand, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent,” the man said
quickly and took her arm. “I’m sorry I told you sud-
denly. Sit here on these tires—there may be nothing in
it after all, you know.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent seated herself mechanically.
“I thought Breck went to his room, Willetts. When
you and he were carrying Angouleme into the garage,
I told him to go to his room and I saw him go into the
house.” She was terribly shaken and distressed.
“He must have gone straight through the house and
out by the front way, for he beat me to the Smith house
by about ten minutes only, just the time it took me to
carry the girl up-stairs and then get Jones and take
him with me to the Smith house.”
“And he actually went into that woman's house?”
“Jones and I got there in time to see him come out
of it. He came out of the front door and slipped along


98 THE ROMANCE OF
the porch and went around the house and then struck
off up to the High Road. It was plain enough he
didn't want to be seen. But he came back to Kent
House though, for he came into the garage and spoke
to the doctor when the doctor came down from above.
He asked the doctor how the girl was. “Only stunned
—the cut won't amount to anything,” the doctor said,
and then Breck asked, ‘Can she talk?' The doctor
said, ‘Yes, of course—she’s quite all right,’ and Breck
went out quick as he came in. He left before West
came down. I had the door there a crack open, so I
heard and saw.”
“It's an entirely new devolpment, his connection with
that woman, but, if it's so, particularly after what
Angouleme has told me, it would explain a good deal
that's been puzzling,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said more
collectedly. “Perhaps he and the Smith woman will
leave, Willetts?”
“I don't think so, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent. He wanted
a word with her quick, no doubt of that, he'd want to
tell her just what the racket was about if nothing else
—he may have warned her to clear out, but, if both of
them went, it would be a dead give-away. He's too
cool a hand and too clever to do a thing like that. It
was a mistake on his part to go back to speak to her,
but he must have thought that she might be frightened
and do something rash. He knows perfectly well why
I'm here, he didn't expect me to be so quick, that's all.
. . . What did the girl tell you, Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent?”


A MILLION DOLLARS 99
“It's a curious story, but I believe her,” Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent said decidedly, and she told him of Marie's
experience on the train. “I know fear when I see it,
Willetts, and that child was still trembling at the mere
sight of that woman—she told me the truth, I'm certain
of it.”
Willetts said thoughtfully, “It was a perfectly pos-
sible thing to happen, that on the train, and I should
say that she drew the right conclusions. It's interest-
ing. But about the resemblance to Breck, that sounds
pretty far-fetched to me.”
“Have you seen Mrs. Smith nearby, Willetts?”
“No-only at a distance.”
“I’ve passed her once or twice driving her runabout,
but she's always veiled, and, anyway, I always avoided
looking at her. I have just the general impression of
a handsome dark woman with a good deal of high
color, showy, like the gold eagle on the nose of her
car. She always drives with the top down, affecting
a racing air, it seemed to me. I didn't care to look
at the woman, I wish now I had.”
“She may be some one Breck used to know,” Wil-
letts suggested.
“It's possible. I’ve thought of that,” Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent said heavily.
“Mr. Haslett ought to look into it for you.”
“I’m going to get Haslett first thing in the morn-
ing. He'll have to come out here. . . . Tell me just
what happened to-night, Willetts?”
“Why, some of it's guesswork, but it was like this:
74.7363 A


IOO THE ROMANCE OF
I saw the girl come out of the garage and go into the
park and I trailed her. I thought surely we were on to
something. Breck was in his room, for I saw his
shadow on his window-shade. Perhaps she did simply
go for a walk, for she scuttled about in the leaves like
a squirrel and led me a dodging chase. Then, when
Mrs. Smith began to play, she made for the cottage.
I'm certain now that Breck was trailing her too, but,
as I’ve often told you, when it comes to light foot and
keen ears, I’m not in his class. I’m no dub in my pro-
fession, but Breck can out-sleuth me every time.
“Well, I saw the girl looking over the wall, for her
head came into the moonlight then, and I stopped back
under the trees to watch. I saw Colfax coming up
from Kent House entrance, and then it struck me that
it might be him she’d come to see. He came up to the
cottage, then everything happened at once. The girl's
head suddenly disappeared and out of the black shadow
of the cottage, where I couldn't see anything, she let
out that choked scream and I ran. But Colfax was
nearest, and it wasn't until I was on them that I saw it
was Breck he was fighting. Breck had used the
shadow to hide himself. The girl was lying on the
ground, and Breck had kicked the dog into next week
and had already given Colfax one in the eye—they
were at it hard.”
There was the enjoyment of a fight and more than
a touch of admiration in Willetts’ voice. “Your
nephew's a good puncher, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, I’ll
say that much for him. . . . And a cool hand,” he


A MILLION DOLLARS IOI
added gravely. “He picked up the girl. “She's hurt,’
he said. “We must get her up to the house.’ He
didn’t bother about Colfax who was nursing his eye and
talking to his howling dog, but started off carrying the
girl, after I made sure Colfax was able to limp off
home—he may be a crazy loon, but he's got pluck too,
Colfax has-I caught up to Breck and we carried her
between us.”
“What did he say to you on the way?”
“Just what he said to you when we carried her into
the garage, that he was “on the road to the farm,” and
when he reached the cottage the girl ran into him
almost knocking him down and the next thing Colfax
and his dog attacked him. He said he thought some-
thing must have frightened the girl and, as for Colfax,
his intentions were all right, Colfax must have thought
he was attacking the girl—Just a concatenation of mis-
takes,’ he said to me. The dog tore his coat into shreds
and Colfax must have bruised him up some. Though
he talked quietly enough, he was white as paper and
excited, and when you sent him off he must have gone
the straightest road down to the Smith house. He
beat me to it, all right.” The fact evidently rankled,
for Willetts shook his shoulders impatiently. “I’d like
to have seen them together.”
“She must have heard the noise,” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent said.
“Sure she heard it. She came out on her porch to
see what it was. I was busy separating Breck and
Colfax, but I saw her. Then she went back in. The


IO2 THE ROMANCE OF
house was still lighted up when I went back with
Jones and saw Breck coming out of the house, Then,
in a little while, we saw the darky couple who work for
Mrs. Smith turn off the lights and then go off to their
quarters above the garage. If she left, it was Breck
who gave her the tip and she got out just before Jones
and I reached the house, for I'll guarantee she didn't
go while we were there—unless she made an astral
body of herself.”
“I don’t know that it makes any difference whether
she goes or stays!” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent burst out
suddenly in a sort of passionate depression. “Every
day seems to bring new complications and dangers!”
“I know, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, and Jones and I
are doing our very best. In spite of the servants
knowing, I don’t think a word has leaked. You have
friends about you who'd give a good deal to see this
thing cleared up in the right way.”
“That's good of you, Willetts,” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent said more calmly. “This miserable night has
brought me one comfort, and that's confidence in that
child up-stairs. I’m glad I was right about her.”
“Maybe,” he returned doubtfully. “It's certainly in-
teresting, what she told you.”
“It’s the truth, every word of it, I think, Willetts.
I must see Haslett and consult with him. Meantime
keep watch on the Smith house and Kent House—that
is all we can do to-night. I must go back to her now.
I'll let West in when he comes and send him to the
house, then lock up again. You have your keys, if you


A MILLION DOLLARS IO3
need to speak to me knock on the garage wall—I'll
hear you.”
There was that something about Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent which had won Marie, which attached her ser-
vants to her, which, in spite of her almost laughable
exterior, compelled deference, more than mere respect,
a genuine liking. There was real sympathy in Willetts'
answer. “I will, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent. Things look
bad, but I hope it'll come out all right.”
“God grant it, Willetts!” she said deeply. “I
thought I had problems enough on my hands, but to-
night has developed an entirely new one—love springs
up sometimes where it's least expected. . . . But that
has nothing to do with what we’ve been discussing.
Go now and do the best you can with one problem, and
I’ll try to think out the other.”


CHAPTER XIII
T was noon of the next day when Marie waked from
a vivid dream that it was spring and she was gath-
ering sweet-scented flowers in a meadow where the
birds sang. She opened her eyes to a room which was
not too much shaded to keep out the sun and, on the
table beside her bed, was a bowl of roses; they scented
her room, while on the window-sill a bird chirped and
ruffled its feathers. There had been a truly American
change in the weather, the third of April had dawned
mildly and the sun had risen vigorously warm; the
window where the bird preened itself was open.
Marie's eyes rested first on the roses, then on the
open window and the bird. Then she saw Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent sitting only a few feet away, her head laid:
back and her eyes closed. But she was not asleep, for
Marie noticed that her fingers played a noiseless tattoo
on the arm of her chair. She was pale, she looked as
if she had not slept at all; she looked very tired, yet
her lips were set firmly.
Marie felt that she had waked to an entirely new
world, April sunshine, flowers and a friendly spirit.
Cautiously she drew herself up in bed. Her head felt
muffled and sore, but there was no real pain. She felt
very hungry.
IO4


A MILLION DOLLARS Io5
Then Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent opened her eyes and
turned. “So you're awake! How do you feel?”
Marie had hoped that there would be the note of
kindness in Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's voice. It was
there, and Marie's smile was sunny. “I am so well that
I am hungry, Madame. I am afraid I slept without any
regard for you who have watched so kindly.”
“Hungry, are you? Well, you've waked just in
time for lunch.” And Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent heaved
herself out of her chair and felt Marie's pulse and
touched her cheek. “Your skin's cool and your eyes
are clear.”
“But, Madame, it can not be noon!” Marie exclaimed
aghast.
“It’s one o'clock.”
“And you sat with me through the night and all the
morning! Oh, Madame, it is no wonder you should
be tired ſ”
“I had plenty to keep me awake,” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent said grimly. “At any rate, we're rid of the
doctor's palaver, he's come and gone. I wouldn't let
him wake you. . . . Now, what are you going to eat?”
“Almost anything, please, Madame.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent chuckled. “Well, you're
going to be disappointed, for that gassing idiot ordered
spoon-food for to-day. And you're to keep to your
bed till to-morrow. It's all very well, I suppose, but a
little soap and water won't do you any harm while I
go and call up Gibbs.” -
“But your luncheon, Madame? I am quite able to


IO6 THE ROMANCE OF
»
be left. I must not continue to be a trouble to you,”
Marie protested.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent brought a basin and towels
to the bed. “I shall have my lunch here,” she said in a
tone that disposed of argument. “Stop bothering and
wash as well as you can, most of you is bandages.”
And she went off down-stairs.
While Marie washed, she thought with grateful ap-
preciation, “She is without false pride. She has
nursed me herself and now she eats with me in the
chauffeur's room. It is the mark of a true lady.”
Marie felt a huge devotion growing within her.
Gibbs, with eyes for nothing but the tray he carried,
appeared promptly, and Marie said softly, “Good after-
noon, Mr. Gibbs.”
Gibbs bowed in her direction. “Good afternoon,
Miss.”
His manner was exactly the same as it had been ever
since she came to Kent House, a scrupulous politeness
and as few words as possible. But it did not matter to
Marie now; if Breck became friendly, all would be well.
Bella might continue to scorn her, Marie felt that Bella
actually hated her, why she could not imagine; but
Bella spent so much of her time in the city that it did
not matter greatly, a silent cold-eyed creature wearing
a long fur coat that concealed all but her unusual
height. Marie disliked her—an arrogant frozen sort
of woman. She could not imagine her loving any-
body or being beloved by any one; what man would
want to caress such a woman or send her flowers?


A MILLION DOLLARS Io?
Marie had wondered about the roses on her table,
but she said nothing about them until Gibbs had gone
and, bolstered on the bed, she shared the table with
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent. Then she reached and touched
them. “They are so very beautiful and so sweet—I
waked thinking it was spring.”
“West got them for you,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent an-
nounced, and watched closely Marie's flush of
pleasure.
“Did he, Madame! That was most kind.”
“West has a way of being kind to girls. He's been
a much sought-after young man, Angouleme.”
Marie partook pleasurably of her milk-toast. “That
is quite natural, Madame, for he is both handsome and
of a distinguished family, and his manners are most
charming.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent suppressed a chuckle. She
wished, somewhat grimly, that her nephew could have
heard the speech, accompanied as it was by an enjoy-
ment of milk-toast. It bespoke so complete a heart-
wholeness and so entire a lack of self-consciousness.
But Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent knew that, despite a certain
volatile quality, West was both a persistent and a
skilful person. He was an odd combination of worldli-
ness and its opposite, of secretiveness and frankness, of
coldness and of kindliness, quick-witted to a degree,
but rarely sharp-spoken. He had great self-control,
for only those who knew him well detected a restless
spirit beneath his charm of manner; he seemed to be
craving something, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent could never


Io8 THE ROMANCE OF
determine what; that he was not a happy man, she was
certain. He lived well; the temptations offered to
money and good looks did not seem to stir him; women
either amused him or bored him, and if he had ever
had a love-affair deeper than a passing flirtation Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent did not know.of it; he had seemed
immune.
She had been utterly astounded by his manner to
Marie. And yet, when she considered the thing, was
it so astonishing? West was thirty, he had a consider-
able fortune, he was beholden to no one, and he was
ennuied. They were a highly conventional lot, per-
haps what he craved was the unusual. There was a
queer streak in those three Dunbarton-Kents, Breck
and Bella and West; West was showing his peculiarity
for the first time. This little Canadian girl had caught
his fancy, but it would take very little to disgust a man
as fastidious as West. He had announced his inten-
tions plainly enough: by that gift of flowers he had
notified her that he meant to court Marie. It might
or it might not be a short-lived courtship, West re-
quired careful handling. For that matter, every Dun-
barton-Kent did, that was why she had not been suc-
cessful with the children of her husband's brothers, she
was too downright and they were subtle. West and
this child! What an utterly impossible combination!
“How old did you say you were?” she asked abruptly.
“Twenty-three, Madame—but I am very little.”
“Well, never let yourself get fat. It's a curse. . . .
You've never had much illness, have you?”


A MILLION DOLLARS Io9
“In my recollection I have had the mumps only.
They were most disagreeable,”-Marie said with convic-
tion.
“You told me you were at a convent—you've never
been taught to keep a house, though, have you?”
Marie was pleased by Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's inter-
est. “Oh, yes, Madame! To keep a house was the
first thing that I learned. It was my father's wish,
and my good aunt in St. Felix taught me strictly how
a house should be managed. Afterward, with my
father, I cared for his house and he praised me as neat
and thrifty. And my aunt taught me how to sew
beautifully. If you will permit me, I will make for
you some of the lace which she taught me.”
“Very well. Did you make that lace on your night-
dress?” In spite of her anxiety the night before, Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent had noticed the lace-trimmed night-
dress. It was a beautifully formed little body she had
divested of its mannish clothes, a soft-skinned, well-
cared-for body.
Marie Smiled at Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent through her
tangled lashes. “Yes, Madame. There is some of it
upon most of my lingerie. I like very much soft and
pretty things.”
“A man's job hasn't made you dislike housekeeping
then P”
“Oh, no, Madame! I want very much to earn
enough that I may have a home. I should much prefer
to do a woman's work than a man's work, only the
pay is not so great.”


I IO THE ROMANCE OF
“Men seem to enjoy facing the world alone, but
there's never been a woman who did, whatever she may
say about it,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said with convic-
tion. “Why haven't you married?” she demanded.
Though Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had hurled her ques-
tions, Marie was not in the least discomposed; she was
so certain that Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was prompted by
kindness. “I think, Madame, because no man has
made me love him sufficiently. I think I do not love
very easily,” she confessed.
“Um! I should say you could love intensely.”
“Ah, Madame! The man who altogether pleased
me, yes. I could love him with great passion and ten-
derness.” The fire lifted in Marie's eyes. “There is
nothing I would not do and bear for him! . . . But
those who smile and make soft speeches because of
their conceit, or those who do not mean well, or those
who are rough—poof"
“You must have had some experience. I think you’ll
be able to take care of yourself,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
remarked. “Are you ambitious, Angouleme?”
“I think I am more ambitious than almost anything
else,” Marie answered promptly.
“Oh, you are You'd marry money, would you—
if you had the chance?”
Marie flushed. “You may not understand, Madame,
and will think me presumptuous, but I have always
desired to marry a man of worth, a character that has
strength, and that he should come of good ancestry.
Money I should enjoy, but it is his character I would


A MILLION DOLLARS III
love. . . . It is a dream I confess to you, Madame,”
Marie added apologetically, “but even to the chauffeur
of your car is permitted a dream.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent nodded. “Surely.” Then
she surprised Marie by getting up and walking the
floor, her look thoughtful.
She continued to walk until there was the sound of
some one on the stairs. She stopped abruptly. “Gibbs,
I suppose?” she said.
Marie knew it was not Gibbs, not that light step. It
was West who called, “May I come up?”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent went out hurriedly to the
landing and closed the door behind her. On the stair-
way she confronted West, and her look was of the
sternest. “You mustn't come up here, West.”
His smile vanished. “It’s Marie should decide that,
isn't it, Aunt Bulah?”
“It happens to be my garage, West.”
“I am determined, Aunt Bulah—do you mean you're
going to make it hard for me?”
“I don't approve of it. I think you've taken leave
of your senses.”
“I haven’t. She's different from everybody. It's
like finding a gem. I'm in earnest, Aunt Bulah.”
“I’m thinking of the family, West.”
He flung back his head. “The family! A little
honest blood would do it good! . . . See here, Aunt
Bulah,” he added more calmly, “I’m in dead earnest,
but it rests somewhat with you. If you give your coun-
tenance, it will be a romance, the Social ground won't


II2 THE ROMANCE OF
be cut from under her. If you object, play the family
against her, send her away, you'll as good as end it, for
I wouldn't ask a girl to subject herself to the treatment
she would receive. Don't make it impossible, Aunt
Bulah.”
“Choose some one in your own class, West.”
“Mrs. Brant-Olwin possibly?” he retorted with sar-
CaSIT1.
“You’ve been attentive to her.”
“Because she's amusing. But I couldn't love Mrs.
Brant-Olwin. But this little girl!”
“I don't approve of it,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent main-
tained stubbornly. “Leave her alone, West, or I shall
have to send her away.”
“I won't!” he returned hotly. “I can't! I shall see
her and talk to her the very first opportunity I get.”
And he turned and went down the stairs, his shoulders
Squared.
But at the foot of the stairs he stopped; then he came
back. “Jones tells that he had a chance to talk with the
colored servants at the Smith house and they told him
that Mrs. Smith left the house just after the commotion
in the park last night. They don't seem to know any-
thing about her, except that she comes and goes in her
runabout, and usually without any notice to them.
They told Jones that occasionally she telephones out
to them from town that she is coming, but her orders
are that the house shall always be ready, fires kept
going and food in the pantry, and so on. They said
she must be wealthy, that she never stinted in anything.


A MILLION DOLLARS II3
Jones says they are good enough servants, but particu-
larly stupid. Mrs. Smith hired them in New Orleans
and brought them up here. They didn't seem to know
anything about her reputation for gambling, which
queered her with every one here. The men about town
all know that she's a confirmed gambler, though, Aunt
Bulah. Haslett told you that, didn't he?” West had
lost his flush of anger; he looked as anxious as Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent looked as soon as Mrs. Smith was
mentioned.
“Willetts told Haslett and me this morning about
Jones' talk with the servants,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
said in lowered tones. “Haslett and I talked things
over. He went back to town and a messenger brought
me a letter from Haslett at noon. He found out at
once that the woman has been gambling heavily the
last month, losing big sums, winning too sometimes.
Every gambling resort knows her. But so far she has
put up nothing but ready money. He's trying to trace
her, find out just who she is, but that will take time.
If only she doesn’t stake a diamond or two sometime,”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent added heavily.
“I think she'd be too shrewd to do that, Aunt
Bulah,” West said reassuringly. “Discovering her
may be a way out for us all. I’d try to look at it that
way.”
“Possibly. It's what Haslett said,” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent returned drearily. “I’m glad of one thing
though, Haslett has changed his mind about that
child.”


214 THE ROMANCE OF
West's eyes flashed. “I should think so! I never
heard of anything so ridiculous! Any one with an
atom of sense would know that she's nothing but sweet-
ness! Haslett couldn’t risk talking to her himself of
course, but he might have chosen something better
than a jackass like Walter Greene to interview her.
I want to get her away from all this.”
“Not as you propose to do it though, West,” Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent said with an instant return to stern-
ness. “I won’t have it—leave her alone.”
West looked his defiance only. He went down the
stairs with his shoulders squared and his head high.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent looked after him. “Um!” she
said to herself.
When she went back to Marie, she said gravely,
“They say that the Smith woman has gone. She
cleared out last night.”
“Madame!” Marie exclaimed. “I think she has
gone forever! I think there is something secret and
very wrong about that woman. I am glad she has
gone.”
“Well, I fancy you can walk about the park now
without fear of death. I’d do my strolling in the day-
time, though. . . . Have you any girl's clothes,
Angouleme?”
Marie was surprised by the sudden change of sub-
ject. “But—yes, Madame. . . . In my trunk.”
“Good-looking ones?”
“A very neat suit, Madame, and furs that are really
handsome and a little hat which is pretty, I think. Also


A MILLION DOLLARS II5
some gowns for the house,” Marie answered with a
touch of pride.
“Well, as soon as you're fit, put them on and walk
about. Walking will be good for you and, when you
sit down, set to work on that lace you said you'd make
for me.”
“But, Madame, the cars?” Marie said wide-eyed.
“Oh, Anderson or somebody can do the heavy work
and run the errands and you can drive me. You turn
into a girl for a while.”
“Yes, Madame,” Marie said, submissive but amazed.


CHAPTER XIV
LAD in feminine garments, Marie found herself a
person of leisure. Even the lace-making was for-
bidden for a few days, besides the materials had to be
ordered from town which necessitated a delay. “Con-
sider that you're having a holiday. Walk about,” Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent commanded. “Get that head of yours
well as soon as possible.”
Willetts, Marie discovered, was the man who had
carried her up to the house when she was hurt. On
the first morning that Marie was able to go down into
the garage, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent brought him in and
introduced him. “Angouleme, this is Willetts,” she
announced with her usual abruptness. “He’s the night-
watchman, so if anything scares you again just remem-
ber that he’s about and call him.”
Marie liked Willetts instantly; though he looked
rough, he had a nice smile. “It is a pleasure to meet
you, Mr. Willetts,” she told him. “I wish to thank
you that you bore me to the garage the other night.
From experience I know that an unconscious person is
very heavy.” And, to Willetts’ evident surprise, she
held out her hand for him to clasp. Her big eyes
looked more than ever the larger part of her face, for
her accident had told on her.
II6


A MILLION DOLLARS 117
“Oh, that was all right,” he said with some embar-
rassment. “You’re no weight at all—besides Breck
and I had you between us.” His observant eyes soft-
ened pleasantly; few men would be proof against such
a glance as Marie bestowed on him, for when Breck's
name was mentioned the light in Marie's eyes became
a positive glow. So Breck had helped carry her!
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had not told her that.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was not pleased by the admis-
sion; it was so unlike the cautious Willetts. Then she
relaxed into amusement: it was Willetts, as well as
Mr. Walter J. Greene, who had regarded the little
chauffeur with suspicion, and now he was only too evi-
dently distracted by a smile. Such was man! Marie in
her chauffeur's uniform was highly picturesque, but,
in the little blue dress with lace at throat and wrists
and curly hair bound with a red ribbon, she was re-
markably pretty. With color in her cheeks she would
be beautiful, a purple-pansy sort of beauty that in a
picture-hat and furs would be ravishing, Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent decided.
She removed Willetts promptly with the parting in-
junction to Marie to, “Walk in the park.”
Marie said, “Thank you, Madame, I will,” but she
said nothing about a vague intention of hers which
took definite form as soon as Willetts had made his
admission; Marie had spent two days thinking of how
to win over Breck Dunbarton-Kent; that was the next
most important thing to be accomplished.
Her morning walk was down the driveway and de-


I 18 THE ROMANCE OF
signed to prove to Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent that she was
obeying her; Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent sat in her room in
the mornings and would see her. If she could keep
up her courage, she would take a longer walk in the
afternoon about which she would tell no one.
So in suit and furs and a little toque, Marie circled
the house and started down the driveway and was cap-
tured at once by the breath of spring; it was both chilly
and warm, invigorating. The birds had migrated from
somewhere and were announcing their arrival. Marie
stopped at the edge of the park and watched them;
they were greatly enjoying themselves among the
trees, Marie thought, but it would be much pleasanter
for them when the leaves came out; then they would
begin to build nests. And she would be there to see,
for Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent liked her now and would
keep her at Kent House; it was delightful to feel that
she had a home.
“Are you conjuring the birds, Marie?” a voice be-
hind her asked.
She turned quickly; it was West. He had come from
the house and had crossed the lawn, so she had not
heard him. He had gone straight to Marie, determina-
tion in every line of his body, a backward glance hav-
ing told him that Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent sat in her
window.
Marie smiled brightly. “No, Monsieur—still I do
not know the meaning of the word ‘conjuring.’ I was
thinking that soon in the trees there would be nests.”
“It’s the nature of birds—and men—to build nests,


A MILLION DOLLARS II9
if we can persuade a woman to help us.” He held out
his hand, his eyes intent yet smiling, and when Marie
gave him her hand he held it. “Are you feeling as
well as you look, little Marie?” From the entire front
of the house they could be seen, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
from her sitting-room, Bella from the library, and
Gibbs from the dining-room were witnesses of the
meeting. West knew that they were.
It did not occur to Marie that they were being ob-
served, it was West's manner that embarrassed her.
She drew her hand away and substituted a pretty
speech. “I think I am altogether well, Monsieur, and
partly because of the beautiful roses. I think they
brought the spring, and who could be ill in so lovely
weather?”
West's gaze swept her admiringly. “Are you going
for a walk?” he asked. -
“A little—in the park, Monsieur.”
“May I come with you?”
Marie was more surprised now than she was em-
barrassed. Most men either looked or made pretty
speeches, but there was something determined about
the way in which West looked and spoke, quite differ-
ent from his manner when he had talked with her in
the garage. Suddenly there was about him the air of
the determined lover. It was astounding; men like
West Dunbarton-Kent did not look and speak in this
way unless they were in earnest; not unless they were
openly and honestly courting a woman. Marie's color
rose and, with the feminine instinct to withdraw when


I2O THE ROMANCE OF
approached with unexpected determination, her air
was reluctant: “But I shall walk such a little way
only.”
“Very well, just to the park entrance then?”
“Perhaps, Monsieur—but you are without your
overcoat. I am afraid you will take cold.”
“I’m not in the least afraid of taking cold—I’m
warm from head to heels. It’s a delight to see you
again. Come!”
Having shown the proper degree of reluctance,
Marie had no objections to offer. However, she
looked at the trees and the road, at any object rather
than at West; she gave him her eyelashes to read and
answered his eager questions, meanwhile puzzling over
him. It was so utterly surprising; he was paying court
to her. But such an impossibility! He was doing it
quite openly, with Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent looking on.
The night she was hurt, he had seemed very anxious
and she had thought it was merely because he was kind.
But this way of looking and speaking?
“You really feel all right again?” West asked.
“Altogether well, Monsieur—only a little lazy.”
“You feel weak. I’ve worried terribly about you.
The other night, I didn't know you were hurt until
Gibbs began fussing around the house trying to find
lint and things for Aunt Bulah. When I went out to
the garage and saw you laid out on your bed uncon-
scious, I had a shock. You looked ghastly, Marie.”
He spoke with such feeling that in sheer gratitude
Marie looked at him. “I will never forget your kind-


A MILLION DOLLARS I2I
ness, Monsieur. You and Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, you
have made me happy so I begin to love Kent House.”
West looked at her in a way that made her eyes fall.
“I hope you will love Kent House still better, or rather,
that you will love—a Dunbarton-Kent better. . . . As
I told you, I am thoroughly sick of this life—there is
no satisfaction in a merely social existence. I want
to settle down and work. I have several inventions to
which I’d like to give my time. I can’t work here,
family troubles cast a pall of gloom over everything.
I want a home of my own. . . . I’d like to go to
Canada—what do you think of that, Marie? Some
beautiful place on the St. Lawrence?”
“There are such places, Monsieur, where you could
work most peacefully,” Marie answered with deter-
mined steadiness, though her heart was beating uncom-
fortably. She felt bewildered. She wished intensely
that she could escape to her room and think. Happily
they had reached the entrance to Kent House park; in
going back she would walk more quickly.
West looked at her lowered lashes and crimson
cheek. “You are utterly sweet, Marie,” he said with
sudden passion. “In all my life, I’ve never met any
one like you!” They had paused at the entrance and
he had come close. He slipped his hands into her muff
and held hers, drew the muff up against his breast.
“Listen, dear, I want to tell you something.”
Marie caught her breath. “Monsieur—please—”
West bent to kiss her and Marie recaptured her us-
ual elusiveness. She left the muff in his hands and


I22 THE ROMANCE OF
put the road between them. “I prefer that we walk
more apart,” she said, poised for flight, her manner
half grave, half mischievous. “I think I love this
Kent House greatly, but whether I love—a Dunbarton-
Kent—of that I am most uncertain. And I do not kiss
when I am asked—unless I wish to.”
“I am in earnest, Marie,” West said decidedly.
“But you are in earnest too suddenly, Monsieur.”
“I’m usually sudden—when there's something I
really want.”
“And I am most unsudden. . . . The thing I wish
for at this moment is my muff—my hands grow cold.”
And she shivered with a mock chill, her small feet pat-
ting the ground, about as tantalizing an object as man
could look upon.
West eyed her unsmilingly; then, suddenly, he re-
laxed. “Well, be ‘unsudden, if you want to—it’ll be
all the same in the end—you'll go with me wherever I
want you to go. You were a quaint thing when you
were a little chauffeuress—I thought about you all the
time I was in Washington, and the other night in the
garage, when you were crying, I didn't know whether
I was in love with you or not. But when you were
hurt, I knew. . . . In skirts, you're a formidably lov-
able person and the prettiest thing on earth. .
Now, here's your muff—will you come for it?”
“I think not, Monsieur.”
The half-serious laughter in her eyes had lodged in
his. “May I bring it across the road to you?”
“I think it will be best for you to throw it to me.”


A MILLION DOLLARS I23
“Oh, very well—catch!”
Marie secured her muff. “Now we walk to the
house, but, please, you on your side of the road and I
on mine.” And she walked off resolutely, but with
the corners of her mouth rebellious.
West looked both exasperated and amused. “You’re
pretending,” he asserted. “At this moment, you're
thinking about as hard as you ever did in your life.”
It was true. Marie was walking jauntily, but in her
muff her hands were tightly gripped. “Indeed, Mon-
sieur! Of what is it I think so profoundly?” she asked
with determined lightness.
“Mostly of the great mystery, my black-a-browed
cousin, Breck.”
It was so correct a guess that Marie caught her
breath. She was embarrassed beyond words, and they
walked in silence up the driveway to where the lawn
touched the park and again they were in sight of the
house. Then West came determinedly to her side.
“Wait a moment, Marie,” he said earnestly. “You
must listen to me. I’m not dependent in any way on
my aunt, I can marry any one I please and whenever
I please, and I love you. I think you are the ‘unsudden'
sort—I’m glad you are. I’m going to make you love
me. . . . As for Breck—Marie, don't wonder too
much about him. There are things I can't tell you, but
the girl who lets him take hold on her imagination is
in for serious trouble. Don't misunderstand me,
Marie—I’m not saying this because I'm jealous, I'm
not in the least jealous of your interest in him, for if


I24 THE ROMANCE OF
you knew the truth about Breck, and you will in time,
you couldn't even pity him. I understand perfectly
why Breck is a tantalizing mystery to you, -it's be-
cause you are tender-hearted. It's a quality I love—
you're sweet clear through. But, Marie, if Aunt
Bulah suspected for a minute that you have any par-
ticular interest in Breck, she would be ruthless. I’m
telling you because I love you. I want you to stay
here and win out with everybody. I want you to feel
that you have a home and such a woman as my aunt
devoted to you; Aunt Bulah is a power, in a way—
she can do a great deal, either for you or against you.
. . . You know that I’m speaking for your own good,
don't you, dear?” There was forceful earnestness in
every word he had uttered.
Marie had grown white. “I must believe that you
speak for my good, Monsieur.”
“I do, Marie. I'm a Dunbarton-Kent, it hurts to
have to say what I have about a member of my family,
but I love you too much not to warn you. . . . Will
you try to love me, Marie?”
Marie looked at the hand he laid on her arm, then
up into his earnest face. “I like you very much, and
I am very grateful, but to love you—I do not know.
. . . I—I must think,” she said unsteadily.
His brows came together, then, suddenly, he smiled.
“That's somewhat doubtful encouragement, little
Marie, but I must abide by it, I suppose. You ‘think'
and I'll try to help you to ‘think.” We'll leave it that
way for the present, but, Marie, I never give up any-


A MILLION DOLLARS I25
thing I’ve sent my heart on, so ‘think’ hard, sweet-
heart.”
There was no coquetry in Marie's answer, and she
withdrew from his touch gently. “I will, Monsieur.
At the same time I am proud that you care for me, for
I am so unimportant a person. . . . I wish now,
please, to go to the garage alone.”
“Very well, we'll say au revoir here. But you'll find
fresh roses in your room—they’ll help you to ‘think'
kindly, I hope.” And raising his cap gravely, he went
off across the lawn to the house.
“Mon Dieu!” Marie whispered to herself as she
went on up the driveway. “Mon Dieu! Now I do not
know at all what to do.”


CHAPTER XV
REQUENTLY a warning proves a stimulus to
desire; more often than not “the other man”
paves the way to his rival.
“Mon Dieu! Now I do not know at all what to do,”
Marie had said to herself. She was far more dis-
tressed than elated over her conquest, for, in the
recesses of her being, was the longing to hear another
voice, the unacknowledged ache to feel the touch of
another hand.
Marie was so excited and troubled by her thoughts
that even so odd a thing as Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's
sending to the garage for the little dress Marie had
worn that morning scarcely stirred her into surprise.
She gave Gibbs the dress and went on with her
thoughts, or, more correctly, her longings. After
lunch, Willetts came to the garage and took out the
limousine; he said he was going to drive Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent, but he did not say where she was going.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, evidently desirous
of lingering as long as possible; Marie looked flushed
and vivid, a tempting vision.
“I feel quite tired,” Marie answered. “This after-
noon, I think I shall lie down because of my head.”
“That's right,” Willetts said approvingly. “I’ll tell
I26


A MILLION DOLLARS 127
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent you're being sensible. You
want to take good care of yourself.”
Then West came to take out his roadster, and Marie
fled to her room; she was thankful that he did not try
to talk to her. She lay down and told herself that she
would remain lying down until dinner-time, that it
was the right thing to do.
But when the sun began to slant through her win-
dow the urge was too much for her. She got up and
began to dress hurriedly. Why should she not do as
she had planned in the morning? What harm could it
do? She would be so much happier if she knew.
With nervous haste, she arranged her hair so that
it fluffed out becomingly beneath her toque, and her
furs she left open in front so as to show her pretty
blouse. She pinned one of West's roses on her blouse,
then quickly removed it; the red color was very be-
coming, but wearing it made her uncomfortable. She
compromised by wearing a string of red beads that a
French soldier had given her and when she remem-
bered what he had said, her face quivered into a smile
and, suddenly, she kissed the beads:
“It is the color that draws love, Mademoiselle.”
Then Marie went down into the garage, but not out
by the front way; she went through the store-room and
rapidly across the shrub-dotted space behind the gar-
age and into the far end of the park. To reach the
road to the farm-house, she must either semicircle
through the park, or go straight through the park and
walk along its outer edge until she came to the road,


I28 THE ROMANCE OF
a considerable walk and two fences to climb. She
chose the latter way.
She felt burning hot. It was the first time since
coming to Kent House, it was one of the few times in
her life, when she had sneaked to accomplish a pur-
pose. “They all speak ill of him, not one person to be
his friend, he is not allowed any longer even to come
to the garage!” she breathed passionately. “I do not
care if I try to discover for myself! I can not bear it
any longer!” And she mastered barbed-wire fences
without any great difficulty.
First there was a plowed field, then the farm-house
pasture. Marie kept close to the edge of the park
where there was undergrowth until she came to where
the road to the farm-house emerged from the park.
Then she chose the stump of a felled tree and sat down.
From her position she could see the farm-house and
barn, but she was well hidden from the park by the
undergrowth behind her and by the big oak tree; there
had been twin trees and one of them had been cut
down. Marie knew that feeding-time was over; she
sat very still and waited.
She did not have to wait long: Breck came out of
the barn and started down the road to the park. He
walked slowly and with observant eyes on the semicir-
cular sweep of park; when half-way down the road,
he bent as if taking something from the ground and his
backward glance swept the farm-house and what could
be seen of the High Road. Then he came on delib-
erately as before. It was not until he came quite near


A MILLION DOLLARS I29
that Marie noticed that he was carrying something
white in the bend of his arm. She saw it only vaguely,
for in her excitement everything but his face looked
blurred; his face she saw with peculiar distinctness,
its almost carved immobility and the shadowed eyes.
From the first moment Marie had seen Breck Dun-
barton-Kent, she had thought him the handsomest and
the strongest-looking man she had ever seen and, even
now, when throbbing with excitement and scarlet from
embarrassment, she felt rather than saw his splendid
physical perfection, his well-carried head and wide
shoulders. She felt a quiver of delight oddly com-
mingled with the fear that he would simply lift his cap
and pass her by without a word or the slightest change
of expression; his eyes were fixed on her, but a marble
face would have shown as little recognition. When he
came to within a few feet of her, without knowing in
the least what she was doing, Marie stood up. She
was quite speechless; she had no conception of the
appeal in her eyes. He lifted his cap then, without a
Smile, and, for an agonizing moment, Marie felt that
he meant to go straight on.
He stopped close beside her. “I saw you coming,”
he said. “I brought you something.”
Marie changed from red to white with alarming sud-
denness, for she was swept by the discovery that he
did not smile simply because the muscles of his face
were unaccustomed to smiles and that his eyes were
shadowed and watchful because of habit. His voice was
gentle; he was meaning to tell her not to be frightened.


I3O THE ROMANCE OF
“Yes—Monsieur—” she said with difficulty. She
did not know why, but she wanted to cry.
“See?” he said.
Marie's misty eyes followed his glance downward to
the curve of his arm in which was cuddled a spaniel
pup, a fluff of white with black splotches; from be-
tween its long silky ears, it was staring roundly at
Marie. “She’s a cocker spaniel,” Breck explained, his
voice soft, his expression changeless. “They're affec-
tionate and very little trouble.”
“Oh—” Marie said unsteadily. She was trying to
wink the tears out of her eyes; the result was that
they hung on her lashes, and she crimsoned with con-
fusion.
Breck looked down at the foreshortened view of wet
lashes and quivering lips and the muscles in his cheeks
twitched, whether with a desire to smile or from some
other emotion it would be difficult to tell. “Suppose
you sit down and take her in your lap,” he suggested
quietly. “She’ll soon make friends with you.”
Marie was glad of the chance to hide her face. “It
is a most beautiful dog,” she said with greater com-
posure.
“This baby's weaned, you can feed her almost any-
thing now. She'll be amusement for you.”
Marie lifted wide eyes. “You mean you give her to
me?”
“Yes—to take with you when you go away, if you
want to.” After a keen survey of the park, Breck had
backed against the twin tree. Its trunk hid him from


A MILLION DOLLARS I31
any one who might be in the park and he could see
any one who might be about the farm-house or on the
High Road. He looked down at Marie. “I’ve named
her, but perhaps you won't like her name.”
Marie's mouth began to curl upward at the corners.
He spoke so quietly and gently; there was a circle of
warmth about her heart; if she could make him smile,
she would feel like dancing because of joy. “I think
I guess the name,” she said, eyes laughing.
“Well?”
“Miss Angora Lamb.”
Marie saw the smile dawn in his eyes then creep
slowly over his face, as if struggling with stiff muscles.
“Poor Gibbs! . . . No-guess again.”
“I think I shall call her Dorothy, which means a
gift of God.”
“I called her the Little Detective.” His face had
become immobile again.
“But why such a name, Monsieur?”
“What do you think the most vicious crime in the
calender?” he demanded abruptly.
“But, Monsieur? . . . Why, to murder intention-
ally—or intentionally to injure a helpless creature—”
“And next?” he asked in the same even way.
“I think—to steal and lie.” Marie felt chilled, for
his face was like stone; again she felt like crying.
“There is a sin which is like unto it;” he said with
even bitterness, “to give a child a bad inheritance.” He
touched her shoulder. “Marie Angouleme, go away
from here!” he said low and yet emphatically. “Go


is: THE ROMANCE OF
back to Canada. Go at once and forget Kent House
and every one in it.”
“Monsieur—?” In her surprise and distress, Marie
stood up, the dog clutched close.
“I beg you to go,” he said profoundly.
West was right: Breck had taken hold on Marie's
imagination and, except to the mere animal, that is the
beginning of love. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's stern dis-
approval of her nephew and West's warning had
merely deepened her sympathy and interest. It was
entirely aside from her reason, the ache which had
lain in Marie ever since she had first seen Breck; he
was the person of whom she had thought constantly,
whom she had both pitied and admired, whose good
opinion she had longed for most, whose presence she
had desired most.
It was love and sympathy which had brought her to
him; the urge in her was too strong to be governed by
warnings or fears. She wanted to see him and talk
to him; she wanted to win him; she wanted his explana-
tion of why he was treated as he was. It was the long-
ing for oneness which is the kernel of love. His plea
was simply a part of the mystery which surrounded
him, he must explain. But to question him was not
easy; she held the dog closer. “Monsieur—why do
you make of me so strange a request?”
“Because you are in danger.”
Her eyes dilated. “In danger? . . . What do you
mean?”
“Will you please believe me and go? I can't explain.


A MILLION DOLLARS I33
There are those who do not mean well by you. There
is real trouble in this family, Marie Angouleme. The
storm will break one of these days—don't let it catch
you. You walked into it knowing nothing about it—
go, and try to forget us.”
Marie took her resolution in both hands. “I do not
know who could wish me harm, yet I am not afraid.
I do not wish to go, for I have learned to care for—
for members of your family. I could not forget. I
do not know what this trouble is that distresses your
family. . . . Monsieur, I wish to be honest, so do not
be hurt with me, because I came to-day purposely to
talk with you. Perhaps I am wrong, but it has seemed
to me that this family trouble circles about you. But,
in my heart, I have felt a great sympathy with you—I,
lonely and misunderstood, as it seemed to me, by every
one in your family, have felt that you also were very
unhappy. Is it not so, Monsieur?”
The color surged into Breck's face. He looked
down, but he said nothing.
In her earnestness, Marie put her hand on his arm.
“Monsieur, tell me what this trouble is? Why do they
treat you as they do? . . . I ask not at all from cu-
riosity—indeed I do not—but—but because I have such
sympathy. Tell me and, if you wish it, I will lock it in
my heart—no one shall know.”
Breck looked down steadily at the ground. He was
silent a very long time it seemed to Marie, until the
color slowly left his face and the muscles in his cheeks
began to twitch, as if he was setting his teeth tightly.


I34 A MILLION DOLLARS
He continued to stand with head hung, until Marie
began to feel ill; a guilty man would look like that.
Then the little spaniel began to squirm; she was
holding it too tightly. Marie drew back from Breck
and put the spaniel down. Her throat ached; why did
he hang his head like that?
Then, suddenly, he straightened and looked at her
in the immobile shadowed way that set her miles apart
from him. “It’s best to leave things as they are for the
present. Tell me—do you love my cousin, West?”
It was an abrupt question shot at her from beneath
keenly observant eyes, and Marie flamed scarlet. Out
of her confusion of feelings, a sickness at heart, pain
and surprise, she answered swiftly. “He at least is
kind. I think I shall not leave Kent House imme-
diately, Monsieur.”
“I judged as much, from what I have observed,” he
returned as coldly as Marie had ever heard him speak.
“I’ll wait a little and see.” He lifted his cap. “Thank
you for coming, Marie Angouleme, and I am sorry
you think I’m not ‘kind.” I hope you may never think
anything worse of me than that.” And he replaced his
cap and strode off.
Marie looked after him until the welling tears
dimmed everything. “I should not have told him that
he was not kind,” she said in sorrowful regret. “I
should not have questioned. It is worse than if I had
not come—nothing is plainer to me than it was before.”
But Marie was not telling herself the exact truth.
What hurt her most was the way in which Breck had
hung his head. -


CHAPTER XVI
T was some time before Marie thought of the spaniel.
She was feeling wretched enough, the ache in her
had become a tormenting pain, she did not know which
hurt her the more, the determined way in which Breck
had urged her to leave Kent House, or the way in
which he had hung his head when she questioned him;
when she thought that possibly the neglected dog was
following Breck, she felt desperate; Breck would think
that she cared nothing for his present.
She looked everywhere for the animal. It had not
gone up the road to the farm-house nor down the road
into the park; Marie searched the park for quite a ra-
dius. The high park wall ended at the edge of the
park, then there was a fence which ran along the road
to the farm and up to the High Road. It divided the
Kent House property from the neglected grounds of
Colfax Hall, and, finally, it occurred to Marie that the
spaniel might have wandered off beyond the fence.
She thrust through the undergrowth which made a
hedge row of the fence and anxiously scanned the field
behind Colfax Hall. At the rear of the house were
tall trees and a tangle of shrubbery, but the field was
fairly open, patched here and there by weeds. To
Marie's relief, half-way between her and Colfax Hall,
I35


I36 THE ROMANCE OF
she saw the spaniel. The little animal was nosing the
ground and going in the direction of Colfax Hall.
Marie climbed the fence and started down the field
in pursuit before it occurred to her that the spaniel was
in danger: Colfax's fierce huge dog would with one
snap end the life of anything so tiny and helpless as the
spaniel; it was probably the scent of Colfax's dog that
the spaniel was nosing. And there was danger to
herself too; both she and her little dog were tres-
passing.
Terror gave speed to Marie's pursuit, but the spaniel
was in search of its own kind and, having reached a
well worn path, it was running toward the house.
Marie did not think of stopping—it was Breck who had
given her the dog. For his sake she would have faced
both Colfax and his mastiff. When the spaniel disap-
peared in the tangle of shrubbery, she plunged after it,
praying fervently that Colfax and his dog might not
be at home. She tore through the shrubbery just in
time to see the spaniel maneuvering with difficulty the
steps of a side porch. There was a blanket beneath one
of the windows on the porch and the dog hastened to
it and nosed it eagerly; evidently it was the resting-
place of the mastiff—when the animal was at home.
Marie thanked the Good Father for immunity so far,
and tiptoed up the steps and across the porch. She
seized the spaniel, intent on getting away as rapidly as
possible, and she did not think about the window, but
as she lifted the dog she glanced in apprehensively and
what she saw held her fast for a brief space of dumb


A MILLION DOLLARS I37
astonishment: she looked into a large and very high-
ceilinged room carpeted in red and furnished in heavy
old mahogany; the evening sun streamed into it, so she
saw distinctly the two people in the room, Allen Colfax,
standing and facing the window, and, with arms about
his neck, a woman, the long lines of whose body were
terrifyingly familiar to Marie; the woman of the train,
Mrs. Smith P
For a paralyzing instant, Marie was certain of it, for
the woman wore a hat with a flowing veil which hid
her hair, and her face was hidden by Colfax's bent
head; they were clasped in each other's arms, cheek to
cheek, a passionate embrace. Marie stood aghast an
instant too long, for Colfax lifted his head suddenly
and the woman turned and looked, revealing not Mrs.
Smith's rich-hued face, but the flaxen fairness of
Bella Dunbarton-Kent; in the instant before Marie fled,
she had the queer impression that Mrs. Smith must
have transformed herself into a blonde, bleached lashes
and brows and hair, for the long, strong, graceful lines
of the body were so very like Mrs. Smith's, and yet
the woman was certainly Bella Dunbarton-Kent. Allen
Colfax was looking at Marie over Bella's shoulder,
brows raised and lips parted in blank amazement which
lowered on the instant into a look of rage.
Marie sprang off the porch and ran, into the shrub-
bery and straight up the path which led to the High
Road. She heard Colfax on the porch, knew he was
running after her, then heard him call, “Come back
here!” She heard him swear and she ran for her life.


138 THE ROMANCE OF
But it was impossible to out-distance him. There
was a stile giving on the High Road and Marie scram-
bled over it; Colfax cleared it at a bound. He was
within a few feet of her then, and Marie whirled and
stood at bay. “I came—only to—get—my dog—”
she panted. “If you touch me—I shall scream—I
shall scream!” she said wildly. She was holding the
spaniel tightly to her heaving breast; her eyes and her
voice and her cheeks were afire. -
Though he came close, Colfax did not touch her.
“Keep quiet! I'm not going to hurt you!” he com-
manded. He looked at the dog; he was hot, panting
and scarlet. “A likely story!” he said angrily.
“It is—quite true. My dog ran away to your house
—and I was afraid your dog would kill her. She ran
up on your porch—so I went to get her. . . . I could
not help seeing in your window.”
“How long were you there? You better tell me the
truth.”
“I wish to speak only the truth. I was there but a
moment.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw—the woman who was there.”
“What Woman?” -
“I thought at first it was—some one else—but it
was not.”
“Indeed! Who Was it?”
“It was Mademoiselle Bella—Dunbarton-Kent.”
“You’re mistaken,” Colfax said more quietly. “It
wasn't Bella, but some one who looks like her.”


A MILLION DOLLARS I39
Marie knew that she was not mistaken. And she felt
that he was not telling the truth. If only she could get
back safely to Kent House with her dog! She was
afraid of Colfax; he was a big reckless-looking crea-
ture; he was as broad-shouldered as Breck, but he did
not have Breck's clean look. On that first day when
she had gone to his house by mistake and he had
frightened her, he was drunk, he had been scarcely able
to keep his feet. He seemed to be sober now, but
flushed and very angry. One of his eyes was black-
ened—Marie remembered his fight with Breck—and
it made him look ugly, “tough.”
Marie was frightened, but she tried to be tactful. “It
does not matter to me who the lady was, Monsieur. I
am sorry, I did not mean to see into your house. It
was accidental. All I wish is to take my dog back
now to Kent House, so I say good-by.” And she
backed away from him.
“No you don't!” Colfax said roughly. “They call
you ‘the little detective’ at Kent House. I haven’t
believed it, you look like a little innocent to me, but
blamed if I don’t believe it now. You'll not go a step
until you’ve given me a promise you'll keep—that you .
won't tell Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent or any one else about
what you saw to-day.”
Marie flamed first into anger. “I am not a tattle-
tale! I would never run to Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent with
stories of her niece!” Then stung by the thought that
when Breck had named the spaniel he was making fun
of her, she flared almost into tears. “I do not under-


I40 THE ROMANCE OF
stand why I am insulted ' Why am I called a detective?
I do my work and am honest! Why ‘a little detec-
tive’ P”
Colfax's expression changed; he looked anxious
rather than angry. “You won't carry this to the old
lady then?”
“I would certainly not tell Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent that
I saw you and her niece embracing,” Marie retorted
hotly. “Of what business of mine is it? If you wish
that promise, I give it.”
Colfax looked so relieved, he showed so plainly how
desperately anxious he had been, that Marie was not
so afraid of him. It occurred to her suddenly that she
could make him tell her why she was called a detective.
Then it rushed over her, her great opportunity! “But
I ask something in return,” she added promptly. “I
wish to know what is the trouble in this Dunbarton-
Kent family that makes them all so strange. Why do
they treat Mr. Breck Dunbarton-Kent as they do, and
also why does he act so strangely?”
Colfax looked nonplussed. Then he collected him-
self. “Oh, it's just an abominable mess. . . . I tell
you, Marie Angouleme, I really haven’t a bit of hard
feeling because you used your fists on me that first
day. I was drunk—I’m a fool when I’m drunk.
When I get worried, I drink and then I do fool things.
You're not a little detective or any of the rest of it—
I take that back. I know you are not spying on us.
I think you're a nice little thing, that's why, when I
heard you scream the other night, I went for Breck—


A MILLION DOLLARS I4I
there was no telling what he was up to. So I'm giving
you good advice: there's going to be a worse state of
things at Kent House, it's sure to come, and the less
you know about it the better. Don’t get mixed up in
it—just quietly clear out.”
Marie eyed him for a moment. He did not look
angry, but he had a dissipated, reckless appearance.
He was quite the kind who, when drinking, would not
care what wild thing he did, an irresponsible man, as
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had said. Evidently he and
Bella were lovers—a very secret affair—for when
driving Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent and Bella they had
passed him often, and Bella had looked over his head
always, just as Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent did; they were
deceiving Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent.
Marie distrusted Colfax utterly; he was trying to be
pleasant simply because he was afraid she would tell
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent about his secret affair with Bella
and, naturally, he would want her to leave Kent House
as soon as possible. But it was strange that he should
say to her almost exactly what Breck had said. Breck
had refused to explain, but this man would have to tell
her what he meant by such advice; she would make
him do it. Besides, he also spoke ill of Breck.
Marie's little face was set hard. “I have no intention
of leaving this Kent House unless Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent should tell me to go,” she said. “I like this family
—there are those who have been kind to me. But there
is a thing I am determined to know: why is it that
even you speak ill of Mr. Breck Dunbarton-Kent?”


I42 THE ROMANCE OF
Colfax looked down. His hung head reminded
Marie painfully of Breck's; he looked so very like
Breck, all but his slight mustache and the dissipated
lines in his face. “Confound it!” he muttered. Then
he shrugged. “‘Curiosity killed a cat—it never killed
a woman.’ I bet it's killed many a man, though. . . .
Look here, it's dangerous for me to tell you. I'd rather
not tell you, Marie Angouleme. Hang it! My mother
was a Dunbarton-Kent!” He looked thoroughly dis-
turbed.
But Marie was immovable. “I will tell no one,” she
promised firmly. “Of it and of your secret I will say
nothing to anybody. I promise you and I keep a
promise.”
For a moment Colfax looked at her as keenly as
Breck might have. “You will, I guess,” he said finally.
“Perhaps Breck's the one you like. But you're making
a big mistake. West's a gentleman—he's straight.
He's been courted all his life, but it hasn't spoiled him.
He loves artistic and unusual things—he's very clever.
He has his own fortune too, he doesn't have to wait for
his third of the Dunbarton-Kent money. West won't
quarrel with any one—he's always treated me like a
cousin—I like West. Everybody likes West. West
and Breck and Bella, the Dunbarton-Kent money is to
go to them, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent has only the income
from it during her life. But there's a provision in Mr.
Dunbarton-Kent's will, that, if either of his heirs should
commit a crime, come under the law, he, or she, will
lose his portion. It's a queer thing—not that you're


A MILLION DOLLARS I43
not a fascinating girl and good enough for anybody—
but West has fallen in love with you. If you’re wise,
you'll leave Kent House and let West court you some-
where else and marry you and keep you away from all
this family trouble. That's my well-meant advice, so
don't ask me any more—just take it.”
“It is not advice for which I asked,” Marie flung at
him. “I am not in love with anybody and least of all
with any person's money. More than ever I wish you
to tell me the thing I asked.”
“Well, hear it then!” Colfax said in exasperation.
“You have me in a corner, I can't afford not to tell
you. . . . Breck was born and reared a thief. Before
he was twelve years old he was a skilful pickpocket.
When he was fourteen, he took to porch-climbing. He
spent his fifteenth year in a reformatory. Then an old
New England preacher took him into his family. He
stole a roll of bills from under the old man's pillow
while he was asleep and started out west with it and
was caught, and that time Breck went to prison—”
He was interrupted by Marie's gasp; she was dead
white and staring. Her arms had grown lax and the
spaniel slid to the ground. “It’s true, every word of
it,” Colfax said. “It happened away up in Maine, but
Haslett, Mr. Dunbarton-Kent's lawyer, heard of it, for
there was a trial and Breck gave his right name,
Breckenridge Dunbarton-Kent; the police had always
known him as Ken Smith. Then Mr. Dunbarton-Kent
went to Breck's rescue. He did all he could to get
Breck a short sentence—they gave him two years. . . .


I44 THE ROMANCE OF
Mr. Dunbarton-Kent was an awfully good sort, a good
business man too. He'd made a lot of money and he'd
helped West's father to make money. Bella's father
was no account and when he died Mr. Dunbarton-Kent
took Bella into his family. When West's father died,
he gave West a home and looked after West's money.
“That was the kind of man Mr. Dunbarton-Kent
was. He had faith in Breck, for there was something
to be said for Breck: Breck’s father had been the
black sheep of the family, crooked as he could be—
the Dunbarton-Kents had lost track of him years be-
fore—Mr. Dunbarton-Kent hadn't even known that his
brother had a son. Breck's father was about as low-
down the scale as a man could get when he died and
left Breck to shift for himself. Stealing came easy
to him, he'd been reared among crooks, you couldn't
blame him so much.
“Mr. Dunbarton-Kent believed in the reformation of
criminals. He used to go to see Breck while he was in
prison and when Breck was released he sent him to
school and then to college. He had so much faith in
Breck that he made him his heir equally with West and
Bella. It was Mr. Haslett who persuaded Mr. Dun-
barton-Kent to put that proviso in his will. Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent wanted it there too. She adored her hus-
band and she was willing that his nephews and niece
should inherit the money, for she had no children, but
she hadn’t her husband's faith in Breck. If he turned
out well, all right; if he didn't, he had no right to the
Dunbarton-Kent money—that's the way she argued.


I46 THE ROMANCE OF
took him prisoner and kept him till the end of the war
—he served out a pretty hard term with them, I guess.
If only he'd stayed in Europe then, but he came back
to Kent House. He was heir to several millions, for,
strictly speaking, he hadn't forfeited his right, it hadn't
been proved that he took that pendant. He asked Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent to give him a chance—that he'd run
Kent House farm for her. Haslett advised against
taking him in, but Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said she was
going to do what she thought her husband would have
done under the same circumstances, so Breck stayed.
Nobody about here knew his history, only the family.
“It was all right enough for eight months—Breck
was understood to be too much broken up by his war
experience to see anything of society, and he seemed to
want to keep away from people. Then there was the
devil to pay. I had a hand in it: I was broke and, too,
I wanted to get even with Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, so
first I sold that strip to an agent who sold it to Mrs.
Smith and she stuck a house up on a terrace against
Kent House cottage. I didn't know the agent was buy-
ing it for Mrs. Smith. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent raged
over it, so I told her next that I was going to sell the
Colfax share of the sound view to any one who'd buy
it and, if she didn't want Kent House ruined, she'd
have to buy my share and my price was just one hun-
dred thousand dollars. She had to come through, but
she said such things to me that to spite her I told her
I wouldn’t trust her check—she’d have to hand me the
cash when I handed her the deed.”


A MILLION DOLLARS I47
Colfax had warmed to a certain rueful enjoyment of
'lis revenge, but he looked grave enough when he con-
tinued. “Now, I’m telling you what's the trouble in
Kent House: nobody but the family knew that Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent got the money from her bank in the
afternoon. That night she put it under her pillow—
I was to give her the deed in the morning. It was
stolen from under her head while she was asleep. And
worse, a box of jewels, thousands of dollars’ worth,
were taken that same night from the safe at the head of
Mrs. Brant-Olwin's bed and she asleep within an arm's
length of the safe. At the Brant-Olwin house there
were signs of some daring porch-climbing, but not at
Kent House. Every window and door in Kent House
is burglar alarmed. The family were all in that night
and, when Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent went to bed, the alarm
was set and it was in working order the next morning.
Not a window or door had been disturbed, there was
not a foot-print or a finger-print, not a clue of any kind.
“But it would have been easy enough for some one
in the house to do what was done. Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent never locks her bedroom door—any one in the
house, if he were skilful, could have stolen that pack-
age of bills from under her pillow, and have gone to
the Brant-Olwin house and have done that stunt too,
for every one in Kent House knows how to turn the
burglar alarm on and off. Whoever robbed Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent could have turned off the alarm and have
gone to the Brant-Olwin house and have come back and
let himself into Kent House, then have turned on the


‘148 THE ROMANCE OF
alarm again. Or any one in Kent House could have -
let a thief in who did the job. It might have been a
one-man job, but it could have been done more easily
by two people, the money and the jewels passed on to a
confederate who would take care of the money and
dispose of the jewels. - -
“The Brant-Olwin theft made a great stir, but, ex-
cept for the questioning to which Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
and Haslett subjected every one in Kent House, the
Kent House theft has been kept dead quiet: the family
couldn't afford to advertise the thing, and the servants
were frightened stiff for fear they might get mixed
up in it. It's been an abominable situation: the family
certain of who had committed the thefts, and at the
same time detectives hired to protect Breck, to protect
the family name, and the servants with no idea of who
did it, but in deadly terror that they may be accused.
Mrs. Brant-Olwin has detectives searching for her
jewels, and Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent is doing her best to
keep suspicion from being directed to Breck. She's
afraid to send him away from Kent House for fear he
may bring suspicion upon himself, and at the same
time she loathes the sight of him—she’s not the kind
who enjoys shielding a criminal. Only a clever thief
would plan for just such a situation, to rob his family
and at the same time be protected by them. Only a
patient man could wait quietly until the thing blows
over and he can leave Kent House with nothing proved
against him and a sum of money laid by to tide him
over until he can lay claim to several millions. Breck's


A MILLION DOLLARS I49
both clever and patient. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent accused
Breck of having stolen her hundred thousand, and he
denied it as cool as could be. She and Haslett talked
to him again when the Brant-Olwin theft was known
and he took it calmly, denied it in the same way. No-
body else in Kent House has said a word to him about
it, even West left the matter to Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
and Haslett. -
“But the whole family feel as if they were on the
edge of a precipice: expecting any minute that Breck
will do something which will bring suspicion on him-
self; that he will be arrested for the Brant-Olwin theft;
that the theft of the hundred thousand will leak; that
their shielding a criminal will come out. Your coming
to Kent House gave them a scare. Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent was afraid not to keep you, for they were cer-
tain that Mrs. Brant-Olwin or some detective of hers
had sent you. Haslett had two theories: first that you
might be an innocent-looking detective in Mrs. Brant-
Olwin's employ, or that you might be connected in
some way with Breck, certainly that you were mixed
up in the thing in some way. Haslett had you looked
up and, meantime, there wasn’t a minute when you
weren't watched by the detectives, she has about the
place. They gave Breck opportunities to talk to you,
and he wouldn't take them. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
stuck to it that you were just what you said you were,
and so did West. West insisted that some one who
looks like Mrs. Brant-Olwin, some friend of Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent's was tickled at the idea of your proposing


I50 THE ROMANCE OF
to drive a huge thing like Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent about,
and sent you to her as a joke. But Haslett looked you
up thoroughly and, since the Smith incident, he grants
that he was overly suspicious. West believed in you
from the first. He's fallen in love with you as well,
and Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, whether she likes West's
wanting to marry you or not, likes you, so it’s come out
well for you.
“But you've been a detective unawares. They are
certain you've found Breck's confederate for them.
They’re finding out all they can about Mrs. Smith.
They think Breck knew her from back in the days when
stealing was his profession. The whole thing, her
building that house just before Breck came back to
Kent House, her sudden comings and goings and the
fact that nobody knows just who she is or where she
gets the money to gamble with—she’s been gambling
like a fury for the last two months—is suspicious. They
think that Breck was watching you that night you were
looking into Mrs. Smith's windows, and they know
for certain that Breck went to her house the minute he
got Willetts out of the way. They think Breck warned
Mrs. Smith to clear out, for that's what she did, in-
stantly. Clever thieves will go to any amount of trou-
ble to secure such a haul as the Brant-Olwin jewels.
Building a house, as she did, would be a small item,
and, as it happened, there was the lucky chance for Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent's hundred thousand too. There's one
suspicious thing and pretty convincing: that woman
calls herself Mrs. Kendall Smith, and that was the


A MILLION DOLLARS I5I
name by which Breck was known to the police, “Ken’
Smith. Breck was around New York for a time, both
before he went to France and after he came back, and
most likely he's married to the woman. Haslett is
trying quietly to find out all he can about the woman
and Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent is praying that the Brant-
Olwin detectives won't get on her trail. What Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent wants is by some means to get back
the Brant-Olwin jewels and return them secretly, then
force Breck to leave America.
“That's the whole history, and that's the way things
stand at Kent House, Marie Angouleme. You would
have the story, and it’s better to tell you everything
than to give you a fragment. It isn’t just your promise
that makes me think you’ll keep quiet. I can’t abide
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, but I’ve kept quiet about all
this because there are one or two people at Kent House
I'd hate to hurt—West is one of them. I know it's
the same with you—you have your favorites. Besides
it's dangerous to talk, and you have the sense to realize
it.” Colfax looked at her curiously. “I’d like to know
though, whether you're so set on staying at Kent House
now P It's been a shock to you, all right.”
Marie had listened to him without word or move-
ment, eyes wide and blank and face white. She had
listened so absorbedly that when he had finished she
looked as if still listening, as if what he had said was
being repeated by a voice in her brain. She was gaz-
ing at Colfax still, yet did not appear to see him; did
not seem to be conscious that he had stopped talking.


I52 A MILLION DOLLARS
He studied her blank silence. “I didn't know you
cared so much for Breck,” he remarked finally.
Marie turned away, as if trying vaguely to escape
him, and stumbled over the spaniel. The sun had gone
and it was cold; the little dog had nestled herself
against Marie's feet. Mechanically Marie bent and
lifted her, then started down the road.
Colfax followed her. “I’ll go as far as the farm-
house with you,” he offered. “You look ill.”
“It is not necessary, Monsieur,” she returned dully.
“Thank you that you have explained so fully to me,”
she added with an effort.
“What are you going to do? Not stay at Kent
House?” he asked urgently. “You’ll go, won't you?”
“What I shall do—I do not know at all,” Marie an-
swered lifelessly. “I say good-by now, Monsieur.”
And she moved off.
Colfax watched her go slowly along, and saw her
turn in to the Kent House road. She went on past the
farm-house, walking very slowly and with head bent,
holding the dog in her arms. Presently the trees of
Kent House park blotted out her small figure.
t


CHAPTER XVII
ER return to Kent House after her talk with Col-
fax was to Marie a complete blank; she had been
unconscious of objects about her, of the way by which
she had returned, unconscious even of the little spaniel
in her arms. She was back again in her room, it was
growing dark, she was lying prone on her bed and on
the floor the spaniel was whining: those were the first
outward things of which Marie was conscious. Her
first thought unconnected with the history Colfax had
given her was the realization that the little dog must
be fed; it is usually some immediate necessity which
steadies an excited brain.
Marie lifted the spaniel. “Poor little dog,” she said,
and began to wonder what she would do with her;
then it occurred to her that she must not tell any one
that she was a present from Breck. Then she began to
think of the future: she could not stay at Kent House;
how could she endure the misery of it? But where
could she go? She would be homeless.
Marie felt that Colfax had told her the truth. When
he told her of the Kent House theft, she had said to
herself, “No, no, some one else must have done it—
it is possible for a thief to reform.” But when he told
her about Mrs. Smith, her belief died in agony. That
I53


I54 THE ROMANCE OF
evil woman! She was secret and dangerous and
wicked, Marie was convinced of it. And beautiful,
the kind of woman to tempt a man into evil. She lived
in that house so that she might see Breck often. Such
a woman would urge a man to steal that she might
deck herself in shining garments and valuable sables.
Marie felt a scorching hate of the woman. There
was a steady pain tearing at her: she had never owned
it to herself until now, but Breck had been the man of
her dreams. And he had been a thief from the time
he was a little child. What one learns in childhood
persists. It was only natural that when a great tempta-
tion offered, that child grown into a man should steal
again, and for the woman he loved, who was almost
certainly either his mistress or secretly his wife.
It was the telephone ringing sharply in the garage
that disturbed her—it must be Gibbs telling her to come
to dinner. She went down and the spaniel came whin-
ing after her. The little creature rolled down several
steps of the stairway and Marie took her into her arms
again.
It was Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent. “Angouleme, I want
to see you,” she said. “I’ve told Gibbs to bring you
up to my room.” "
“Yes—Madame—” Marie managed to answer.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent rang off, and Marie was
gripped by fright: Colfax had said that there were
detectives watching her, perhaps they had seen her
talking with Breck and afterward with Colfax, and
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent meant to guestion her. But she


A MILLION DOLLARS I55
would tell her nothing—not a word. She had
promised, besides it would kill her to have to talk about
Breck. . . . It would be best not to explain at all,
simply say that she wished to leave Kent House.
Then Marie remembered the spaniel and carried her
up to her room and shut her in. After seeing Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent, she would bring the dog something
to eat; she thought desolately that she would like to
take the little animal with her when she left Kent
House.
She went down into the garage, and the spaniel be-
gan to yelp and whine with all the misery of a lonely
puppy. Then Willetts startled her: he came out from
behind one of the cars and, instantly, Marie was certain
that he was one of the detectives, not merely a night-
watchman. Very likely he knew that she had talked
with Breck that afternoon. “It is my little dog,” she
said confusedly. “She is hungry, yet Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent has sent for me and I must go.”
“I was looking at that car,” Willetts explained in
his turn. He smiled at Marie. “So some one wished
the dog on you, did he? I thought you were going to
lie down this afternoon?”
He did know then. Marie was frightened, yet de-
termined not to tell what either Breck or Colfax had
said to her. “I lay down until I was tired, Monsieur,
then I walked. The dog is hungry, so she cries.”
She looked like an ill and distressed child, very wide-
eyed and white and her black curls loose and tumbled
about her face. “Don’t you be scared about Colfax,”


156 THE ROMANCE OF
Willetts said soothingly. “I was looking about for you,
afraid you might have got into some more trouble. I
saw Colfax talking to you on the High Road and I saw
you bring the dog away with you. Colfax is mis-
chievous—he'd like to have you get into trouble with
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent over the dog. I guess he
wished some of his troubles on you as well, didn't he?
Told you he was broke and ill-treated by Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent?”
It was evident to Marie that Willetts did not know
about her meeting with Breck, and that was a relief.
And she could answer his question without breaking
her promise to Colfax. “Yes,” she confessed.
“I thought so. There's not a Dunbarton-Kent will
speak to Colfax. They have no use for him. He
doesn't know anything about their affairs, but he's cu-
rious. I suppose he worried you sick, trying to quiz
you about the family?”
Marie was not too frightened to use her wits: evi-
dently Willetts knew nothing about Colfax's affair
with Bella; evidently he did not guess that Colfax
knew all about the state of affairs at Kent House. It
was Bella, of course, who had told Colfax about the
theft of the hundred thousand dollars and just what
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was doing and what she wanted
to do.
“I would not answer such questions, Monsieur,”
Marie declared. “Besides I myself like Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent too well to be affected by anything Monsieur
Colfax might say against her. He seems to me a reck-


A MILLION DOLLARS I57
less man. I did not wish to talk with him, but it hap-
pened so that I could not help it.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Willetts said kindly. “He’s
always nosing around Kent House, and he's a good
person to avoid. He had no business frightening you
with his talk. You look pretty sick—does your head
hurt you?” Willetts had come completely to Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent's view of Marie, plus a very natural
appreciation of velvety eyes and a soft voice: the little
thing hadn't a particle of harm in her; she was not the
wily kind either; she was as honest as the day.
Did her head hurt her? Both Marie's head and her
heart ached. And she wanted desperately to escape.
“I am troubled about the little dog—I wish she did not
cry. And also my head hurts so I feel almost that I
must cry too. But I must go immediately to Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent, for she waits for me.” Like most women,
Marie could be wily when it was necessary; it was
quite evident that Willetts admired her.
“I’ll look after the dog—you go on to the house.
Tell Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent your head hurts and get her
to do something for it. I haven’t told her about Colfax
waylaying you, so you needn't be afraid she'll scold.
Don't worry about it, and, if anything else comes up to
bother you, tell me and I’ll help you the best I can.”
“Thank you, Monsieur—I will remember,” Marie
promised. She felt additionally wretched at having
misled Willetts, but it could not be helped. The im-
portant thing was to keep her secret and get away from
Kent House as soon as she could.


158 THE ROMANCE OF
Gibbs, with his downcast eyes and bow, was waiting
for her at the entrance to the back hall. Marie remem-
bered how hopefully she had followed Breck through
the hall that first day. She had never been farther
than the servants' dining-room since, but she remem-
bered very well the wide front hall into which Gibbs
now preceded her. They passed the library, and Marie
felt poignantly ashamed when she saw West sitting
before the fire and reading. She had not thought of
him once since Colfax had talked to her; she had
thought of Breck, only Breck. She wanted to hurry
away from Kent House because she could not bear to
see Breck again, and she had not thought once of the
man who in an open and manly way had told her that
he loved her and that he meant to make her love him.
“I have been thinking and acting wildly,” Marie said
to herself. She was ashamed; she walked quickly past
the library door. West had been so honest with her
and perversely she had wanted to win the man who had
never shown her a particle of kindness; even the little
dog he had given her, he had called “The Little De-
tective,” coolly making fun of her ignorance. Marie's
white cheeks grew hot.
Then, when they reached the upper hall, Marie felt
a clutch at her heart, for, in the room which they
passed, sitting at the writing-desk and with her back to
the open door, was Bella, gowned in something clinging
and shimmering, her splendid shoulders, slim waist
and long lines so exact a reminder of Mrs. Smith as
she had sat at her piano that Marie experienced much


A MILLION DOLLARS I59
the same shock which had caused her to stand and stare
through Colfax's window that afternoon. And with
much the same feeling of gazing at an unreality,
Marie noticed Bella's halo of flaxen-yellow hair.
Bella turned her head and looked at her, but instantly
Marie forgot her, for a door at the end of the hall had
opened and Breck, dressed for dinner, came out and
toward her. Gibbs had paused to knock on Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent's door, so Marie had to stand still with
Breck's eyes fixed steadily on her. She shrank, she
could not help it, but though her hands and her fore-
head grew moist, she could not look away from his
intent gaze. She felt that he saw in her eyes the feeling
of sickness she could not control.
He passed her without speaking and she was in-
capable of speech. Then, in a dazed way, she heard
Gibbs say, “She is here, Madame.” He was holding
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's door open and was waiting for
Marie to go in.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had been walking about; now
she stood in the center of the room, an energetic bulk.
“I’ll be down in twenty minutes,” she said to Gibbs,
and to Marie, “Come in. You weren't at the garage
when I called up first?”
Marie courtesied. “I was walking, Madame,” she
answered huskily.
Then Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent noticed her white face.
“What's the matter?” she demanded.
“I am very tired, Madame—and anxious because I
must tell you—”


I6O THE ROMANCE OF
“You spent the afternoon walking and worrying, of
course,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent interrupted. “Have a
headache and all the rest of it, and all because of a man.
A man who's in love and thinks he's not going to have
things all his own way is harder to handle than a
porcupine. He's enough to make even a hippopotamus
nervous.” And Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent seated herself
as heavily as might the animal she mentioned. “You’ve
been picking out the porcupine quills all afternoon, of
course, and, as you’re not a hippo, you’ve made your-
self sick over it. . . . Put the pillows behind you on
the couch there—I want to talk to you.”
Marie obeyed her. Evidently Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
was going to talk about West. She was annoyed with
him, but she did not seem to be angry with her. Better
to hear what Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had to say, then tell
her that she could not love West and that she must
leave Kent House. Leaving Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
would be like parting from a dear friend, and leaving
Kent House like leaving one's home never to return.
Marie's throat ached from the tears she was trying to
restrain.
What Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said was utterly un-
expected. “Marie Angouleme, what sort of a life do
you think I have here at Kent House with three people
who don’t love me or one another?”
Marie was so surprised that she did not answer.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent answered her own question
and forcibly. “A lonely anxious existence! There's
something in the nature of these three Dunbarton-


A MILLION DOLLARS I6I
Kents that mixes with my nature about as successfully
as oil does with water. I had a wonderful husband,
child—I loved every inch of him and every word he
uttered, but I haven’t him any more. I’ve had an
empty heart ever since he left me,” her small usually
snapping eyes filled, “and evidently I didn't deserve a
child—I prayed every day of my married life for a
child—but I haven’t any.” She paused and steadied
her voice to its usual abruptness. “You’re a lonely
child—I like you. I'm not often mistaken in such
things—I know you like me. I’m a lonely old woman
—I want you to come into Kent House and be my
companion. Not a servant, mind you! Just a bit of
sunshine to offset the gloom.”
For one moment Marie stared into a desolate, home-
less space, a vista unobstructed by kindness or interest;
then her face began to quiver, “Oh—Madame—!”
Then she burst into tears.
“Come over here to me, child,” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent said in an astonishingly soft voice, and Marie
went gropingly to her and Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent drew
her down until Marie knelt beside her. She put her
huge arm about Marie’s neck and Marie buried her
face in Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's ample lap.
She stroked Marie's hair. “You be my little friend,”
she said in the same soft way. “You shall have a home
with me.”
“It is such—kindness—” Marie sobbed, “and I was
about to tell you—to tell you that I must leave Kent
House.”


I62 THE ROMANCE OF
“Why, child?”
“Because—because I was so unhappy. My heart
felt broken.”
“You didn't want to leave Kent House, but you
thought it was going to be pretty hard for you here,
eh P”
“Yes, Madame.”
“Every girl should have her chance to at least guess
at the nature of the man who wants her—give him his
chance too, I say. More often than not, marriage is
two guesses gone wrong—but let them have their
chance. There may be a good deal of the worse about
it—this is not a joyous household—but you'll dwell in
Kent House—for better or for worse—will you, Marie
Angouleme?”
Marie turned her face and kissed Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent's hand. “To have a home and you for a very
dear friend—I could not have thought of anything
more wonderful. I shall try very hard to be deserving,
Madame.” *
“I believe you,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said decid-
edly. Then with grim amusement: “It’ll be a sur-
prise to some people, but why not get a little fun out
of life? . . . Do you know why I wanted that dress
of yours, Marie?”
It seemed to Marie that a year had passed since the
forgotten incident. “No, Madame.”
“I took it to a woman who makes pretty things in
two days' time. You're going to have an evening
gown.”


A MILLION DOLLARS 163
“Madame!” Though the tears hung on Marie's
lashes, her lips trembled into a smile. Then she said
with quick independence, “But for that I must pay—
I will care for the cars and drive you.”
“Care for the cars nothing!” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
returned positively. “Didn't I tell you, you were to
turn into a girl? You can drive me and make lace the
rest of the time if you want to, but you’re going to have
the room next to mine and go down with me to break-
fast, lunch and dinner. I’ll see that you have pin-
money and plenty over, and you'll earn it—you'll have
your troubles.”
Marie had not grasped at all what Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent's offer of a home really meant: sitting at the same
table with Breck, with Bella and with West, to become
one of the family. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent meant that
she and West were to judge of each other. It would
be terribly difficult: seeing Breck every day, knowing
the family secret and hiding the knowledge; West
would be a difficulty. Then Marie gathered resolu-
tion: “Only by will can I do it,” she said to herself.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had watched Marie's expres-
sion. “Well?” she asked.
“I was thinking that I had not understood fully all
your kindness. I was afraid that I might not prove
worthy to be taken into your family. But, Madame, I
can try.” -
“Let us hope the family will prove worthy of you!”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said involuntarily. “We shall


164 A MILLION DOLLARS
3 *
see.” She heaved herself up. “You go over to the
garage and go to bed—Gibbs’ll bring you your dinner.
Get your things together to-morrow and we'll move
them over in the afternoon. And, mind you, not a
word of this to any one, Marie.” -


CHAPTER XVIII
T was her last night in her garage home, and Marie
had been certain that she would not sleep. She had .
wanted to think, for the day seemed a jumble of occur-
rences with the one fact outstanding: the painful his-
tory Colfax had given her. She had wanted to think
clearly of this future Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had sprung
upon her.
But sleep came before she began to think; in brain
and body she was exhausted. She slept heavily and
waked early to a feeling of lassitude; all that had hap-
pened the day before seemed unreal, and the future a
maze of difficulties. The thing to which she clung
with a sort of weary gratitude was Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent's friendship and her offer of a home. She
thought of West in the same way; she owed a great
deal to them both, and she was very grateful, to them.
How it would be with West, she could not tell; that
was one of the difficulties which she must solve as best
she could. -
Hope or expectancy lifts one buoyantly from one's
bed; love is a great vivifier, and duty a mere prod to
determination. Marie dragged herself out of bed and
prepared for her bath. Then she paused to listen to
steps on the stairs; her nerves were awry, for she
165


I66 THE ROMANCE OF
jumped when some one knocked on her door. “Who-
is it?” she asked with a caught breath.
“Willetts. I'm sorry to disturb you, but are you all
right?” he asked. There was anxiety in his question,
though he had pitched his voice to a cheerful note.
“Yes, Monsieur—but why—?”
“Is that puppy with you?” he interrupted.
“No. . . . Is she not in the garage still?” When
she had come into the garage the night before, after
her talk with Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, Willetts had
shown her the dog replete with supper and curled up in
a basket.
“She's disappeared,” Willetts said. “It gets me—
the garage was locked up tight.”
Marie had thought swiftly. She slipped on her
kimono and gathered up her hair, then opened the door.
“If the little dog has escaped, we can not help it,
Monsieur. I think I would not trouble about it,” she
said quietly.
Willetts hulked large in the passageway. He smiled
at Marie but his eyes were keen. “Even if the animal
made an astral body of itself, it's of no great impor-
tance,” he declared pleasantly. “I wanted to make sure
she wasn't up here, that's all—I didn't like for you to
lose your pet. . . . Did you sleep all right last night?
How are you feeling this morning?”
“I slept well, only I feel a little tired.”
It was Breck who had taken the spaniel away; Marie
felt certain of it.
Willetts looked at the little figure swathed in a ki-


A MILLION DOLLARS 167
mono; there were circles about Marie's eyes and she
was colorless. “You look as if you hadn't slept much,”
he persisted. “Did anything frighten you in the
night?”
Marie turned a shade whiter: perhaps Breck had
done more than merely steal back the dog; perhaps he
had done something dreadful again. “No. What has
happened?” she asked.
“Nothing—nothing at all,” Willetts declared reas-
suringly. “You look sick, that's the reason I asked.
You want to take good care of yourself, and don’t you
worry about the dog—she’s got out some way and
made for Colfax Hall, she's all right enough. . . . I
oughtn't to have bothered you and I won't keep you
talking,” he added pleasantly and retreated down the
stairs.
But as soon as he was out of Marie's sight, he
frowned angrily: the only way that puppy could have
been removed was through the narrow windows up
near the ceiling of the garage. It was a slick and
swift and noiseless climber who could reach those win-
dows and he, Willetts, circling about the garage all
night. The person who took that dog must have used
a rope-ladder or something like it to let himself down
into the garage. Breck was capable of the feat, but
the puzzling thing was that he had seen Breck’s
silhouette against the window-shade of his room, an
outline seated at the desk, until morning came. Who
then had got into the garage in that slick way—and
swiped the puppy, of all things? Willetts pondered.


I68 THE ROMANCE OF
In her room, Marie went on nervously with her
bathing and dressing. Why had Breck taken the dog
away? It was dreadful, a whole family kept in terror
by him. How could a man bear to live with every
action of his watched, knowing that he was suspected,
loathed and feared by his family and knowing that at
any moment discovery might come from without!
Then Marie noticed it for the first time: lying on
her pile of hair-pins was a pistol, a small but effective-
looking weapon, which a woman could easily carry and
handle, and, tied to it was a note. . . . Marie stared
at the pistol for some minutes, then untied the note
with trembling fingers, but not because she was afraid
of the pistol, she was accustomed to firearms, she had
often used her father's gun and had cleaned and loaded
his pistols for him.
The note was a single line, neatly printed: “CARRY
THIS WIHEREVER YoU GO—YoU MAY NEED IT.”
Marie did not touch the pistol; she went to her bed
and sat down: some one had been in her room while
she slept and had put the pistol there. It must have
been Breck.
Gradually Marie thought it out: “Because you are
in danger,” he had said when he had begged her to
leave Kent House. “There are those who do not mean
well by you.” Breck would not harm her, she was
determined to believe that, but if there were others,
like that fearful woman, who were implicated in the
Brant-Olwin and the Kent House thefts, if, after the
commotion in the park, Mrs. Smith suspected that she,


A MILLION DOLLARS 169
Marie, was the girl whom she had so nearly killed on
the train and that Marie had recognized her and would
tell of her experience, then, certainly she was in danger,
for that woman was capable of anything.
Breck had wanted her to leave Kent House so she
would not be harmed, there was that much good in
him. Why he had given her the spaniel and then had
taken it away, she could not imagine, but evidently he
thought now that she was going to stay at Kent House
and he had given her the pistol secretly that she might
protect herself. It was strange, yet it was quite true
that a man may know a woman to be wicked and at the
same time be enthralled by her. Mrs. Smith was such
a woman—a brilliant snake!
Marie wanted to believe that good struggled with
evil in Breck Dunbarton-Kent, it brought her a certain
comfort; but thinking of Mrs. Smith, her brilliancy
and beauty, turned Marie fiery hot. It might very
well be that by entering her room and leaving the pistol
with that warning message he meant to frighten her
away from Kent House, most likely a plan suggested
by Mrs. Smith. Because of that woman she was being
urged and frightened into leaving, was she? She
loathed the woman as she would a reptile, but she was
not afraid of her. Not one step would she go from
Kent House! If that was a plan between them, they
would see! The interests of the Dunbarton-Kents
were her interests now, even to protecting Breck, but
just let that woman try to harm her! She was not one
whit afraid of the abominable creature!


17o A MILLION DOLLARS
Marie had grown tense and flushed. She took the
pistol and examined it resolutely: it was loaded, a
dangerous weapon. No one must see it; she would
take it under her coat when they moved her things into
Kent House! it would not be safe to pack it in her
trunk.
When Gibbs appeared with her breakfast, Marie was
packing busily. She did not feel dull and tired any
longer; she felt as one does who has lost some one
who has been very dear, and yet has been left with a
determined purpose. She followed her small belong-
ings into Kent House and observed very quietly the
cream and pink and mahogany of her new room.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was there, looking grimly
pleased. “Like it?” she asked.
“It is very beautiful,” Marie returned quietly. “But
it matters still more to me to be so generously taken
into your family. Your interests now become mine,
Madame—it is of that I am thinking.”
“You’re a conscientious child,” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent said, grave in her turn. “I’ve done what I
thought was best. We'll see how it turns out.”


CHAPTER XIX
T was Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's maid, Margaret, the
same girl who had run from Marie's friendly ad-
vances some three weeks before, who assisted Marie
that evening into a cloud of red chiffon, red silk stock-
ings and red satin slippers, with Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
seated nearby, observing the proceeding.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent wore her grimly pleased ex-
pression, but Margaret's face was, as nearly as she
could make it, a blank, for the significance of Marie's
removal from the garage into Kent House had been
whisperingly discussed in the servants’ hall, and Gibbs
had delivered his solemn verdict. “There's a deep pur-
pose in this move—that girl's one of the cleverest born,
as I’ve often told you,” Gibbs declared. “She's taken
in Mrs. D. K., and now she's leading Mr. West around
by the nose, and all the time she's laying for—you
know what. It'll lead to a tragic climax, mark me!
“Be blind, deaf and dumb–it's the only way to keep
out of trouble,” that's what I’ve said from the begin-
ning. I, for one, intend to know nothing about any-
thing.” Margaret looked as if she knew nothing about
anything but hooks and eyes.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was pleased by Marie's poise.
It was surprising, and yet it might have been expected
171


172 THE ROMANCE OF
of the little thing, for she had not shown a particle of
elation over being courted by a Dunbarton-Kent. It
was enough to excite any girl, this being taken sud-
denly into the family and being given her chance, but
Marie seemed simply to have gained gravity; she ap-
peared to be taking her change of fortune too con-
scientiously to feel elated. When she and her maid
invaded Marie's room, Marie had courtesied, just as
usual, her unpacking had been accomplished, her room
was in perfect order. Her eyes had widened when
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had bidden Margaret hold up
the red gown for inspection, but Marie had gone into
no ecstasies, she had touched the dress lightly, “How
very beautiful,” she had said softly. “Thank you,
Madame.”
“I made a wild guess at the slippers—put them on
first. You'll have to get out of that dress,” Mrs. Dun-
bartón-Kent had commanded.
Marie had disrobed to her lace-edged chemise and
had drawn on the red silk stockings with an entire lack
of self-consciousness that had amused Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent. She smothered a chuckle when Marie sat
down on the floor like any child and tried on the slip-
pers, declining Margaret's help with a polite, “Thank
you, Mademoiselle, but it is best I try on for myself.”
Then she had stood up and had wriggled her toes in
the loose slippers, her face intensely grave. “They
are, I think, only a little too large,” she announced
judicially. “Some paper laid within the soles will be
helpful.”


A MILLION DOLLARS I73
Margaret “laid” some paper “within the soles,” and
the ceremony of dressing had proceeded. At its con-
clusion, Margaret twisted a bit of red tulle and had
banded Marie's hair with it and Marie surveyed herself
in the mirror. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent wondered
whether the girl would continue to view herself with
the same unbroken gravity; she was so really beautiful
in the little gown, flame-red made her brunette skin
whiter, emphasized the black of brows and hair and
eyes; she looked seductive, an exquisite little body
partly revealed.
Marie surveyed herself gravely enough, turned this
way and that, without any brightening of countenance.
Then, suddenly, her mouth lifted at the corners and
she broke into a smile. “It is a costume more becom-
ing than trousers,” she said with conviction. “It does
not displease you, Madame?”
“You’ll do,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent returned with
pleased brevity. “Clear out now, Margaret, and tell
Gibbs to announce dinner—we'll be down in a minute.
The extra plate must be between Mr. West and Miss
Bella. You can come up and tidy things here after-
ward.”
At the mention of the ordeal of which she had been
thinking all afternoon, Marie's face grew grave.
“Please, Madame, may I be permitted to put my own
room in order?” she begged. “It is necessary only that
I hang up my clothes. Mademoiselle need not trouble
herself then.” She smiled at Margaret with an entire
forgiveness of the slight which, at the time, had hurt


I74 THE ROMANCE OF
Marie so deeply. Poor servants! It was very difficult
for them, feeling frightened all the time, not knowing
what would happen and thinking of her as a detective
who might try to fix guilt upon them. “I do not wish
to give trouble to any one,” Marie added, and Margaret
flushed uncomfortably.
“Very well—just my room then, Margaret,” Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent said, and Margaret hurried off to
confide her impressions to Gibbs in the pantry.
“She seems awful sweet,” she whispered in an awed
way. “My, what a dress Mrs. D. K.'s given her!”
“Them high-class detective girls are good actresses,”
Gibbs returned darkly, and stationed himself in the
dining-room where he could, while looking at his
Roman nose, see to the best advantage the entrance of
the family.
West came in from the library and Bella from the
drawing-room, then Breck from up-stairs. They met
in silence and waited in silence, standing about the
table during the extra moment or two consumed by
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's ponderous descent from above.
Certainly there was no air of expectancy about them.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent came in through the hall fol-
lowed so closely by Marie that, except to one who was
on the watch as Gibbs was, her presence was not ap-
parent until Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had reached the
table; her nephews and niece had not looked at their
aunt, they were simply waiting for her to be seated.
Gibbs moved forward to Bella's chair—even the in-
tensest interest would not cause Gibbs to depart from


A MILLION DOLLARS I75
routine—and West started toward Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent; when he was at Kent House, West always seated
his aunt and Gibbs seated Bella. It was then West saw
Marie and caught his breath, and Bella turned and
stood petrified. Breck looked up and at West then,
but without the slightest change of countenance; if a
stolen glance had revealed Marie's small form follow-
ing in his aunt's wake and he was prepared for Marie's
entrance, Breck could not have shown a more complete
lack of surprise; he looked very steadily at West, then
at Bella, and lastly at Marie.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent put her hand on the back of
her chair and drew it back with an air of decision, for
West had stopped dead on a forward step; unlike most
fair-skinned men he did not flush easily, but at that
moment he was crimson. “Take that chair next to
Bella, Marie Angouleme—seat her, West,” she com-
manded in her deepest baritone. “We are ready now,
Gibbs.”
West spring to Marie's chair and held it for her;
Bella, grown very pale and with head held high, al-
lowed Gibbs to seat her, and Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
seated herself with an air of the utmost satisfaction.
In the general movement, Breck seated himself without
haste, his shadowed observant eyes on Marie's white
face and downcast eyes; the only change in his face
was the twitching of the muscles in his cheeks, as if
his teeth were clamped tight on some emotion.
Marie had visioned how it would be and had braced
herself for the ordeal, but she had not guessed how


176 THE ROMANCE OF
--
acutely she would suffer in those few minutes during
which she walked to her chair. Though she had looked
only once, then had kept her eyes down, she had a vivid
impression of two staring faces, West's and Bella's,
one crimson and the other white, and, most vivid of
all, Breck's utterly unchanged expression, neither sur-
prise nor anger, just the usual shadowed watchfulness.
Marie felt that he had known that she was coming.
She felt ill rather than confused; the table-cloth
glared white and wavering. It was West's pleasant
voice that steadied her. “Aunt Bulah, I took a look at
the boats to-day. Amy Bell will go to pieces if she's
not repaired.”
“I don't see the use of keeping them,” Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent returned, “no one uses them.” Her voice
was quite as usual.
So was Bella's, cool and steady. “Why don't you
get a motor-boat, West?”
“I’ve thought of it.”
Marie realized that to the Dunbarton-Kent type poise
is a thing carefully cultivated. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
had astounded West and Bella, but, after a moment of
stupefaction, they spoke quite in their usual manner.
At every step of the way into the dining-room, Marie
had kept saying to herself, “No matter what I feel, I
must be collected.” She lifted her soup-spoon and
swallowed a little of the soup, by main will holding
herself steady.
There was further talk of motor-boats and the Yacht
Club, a conversation carried on by West, Bella and


A MILLION DOLLARS 177
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, for Marie did not hear Breck's
voice once. Then West asked pleasantly, “Which do
you like best, Marie—a motor-boat or something with
Sails?”
Marie felt that she must be quite as much at ease as
he. “To arrive quickly, I should choose an engine, I
think, Monsieur, but for pleasure a sailing-boat. Sails
make one think of—wings.” There was the slightest
quiver in her voice.
West was smiling at her; his eyes seemed to be
lighted by an inward glow. “Have you done much
sailing?”
“Never, Monsieur. I have been in steamers only.”
“May I have the Amy Bell put in shape, Aunt
Bulah?” West asked. “She used to be a lively little
boat.”
“My uncle used to say that, if one wanted to drown
one's enemy, the Amy Bell would be a good boat to
choose,” Breck remarked. “There was some mistake
made when she was built.”
Marie could not help looking at him, his voice was
so deep and even, as cold as deep frozen water. And
she noticed West's face; the glow left his eyes; he
looked at Breck as he had looked at him that evening
in the garage, calmly and gravely, and Breck returned
his look, a flash of the eye, like the glint of steel.
It was Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent who spoke, restrained
anger in every word. “You have a habit of quoting
your uncle—it's a little out of place.”
“My uncle was right about most things,” Breck


178 THE ROMANCE OF
returned in the same even way. He did not look at
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent as he had looked at West; he
looked at his plate.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said nothing; an expression of
pain crossed her face. Until Breck spoke she had
looked pleased: she had accomplished an entire sur-
prise, and Marie had borne herself so well. For the
first time, Marie glanced at Bella; a faint smile had
disturbed Bella's regular profile; then she looked as
statuesque as ever. It seemed to Marie an utterly
unreal occurrence, the passionate embrace she had wit-
nessed the day before and the flushed face Bella had
lifted from Colfax's shoulder. Evidently there were
unguessed depths of passion in Bella; undoubtedly
Breck's immobility covered as secret and as passionate
a nature. Marie felt a shrinking dislike for Bella;
Bella's affair with Colfax was none of her business,
Marie considered that she had no right to judge her,
but Bella's long body, gracefully carried head and
haughty profile reminded her of Mrs. Smith; she
seemed to her the same type of woman, secret and out-
wardly cold, but brilliantly beautiful if she chose to
make herself so; and passionate to a degree, for the
face Bella had lifted from Colfax's shoulder had been
a revelation.
“I wasn't thinking of painful things,” West said
gently, his eyes on Marie. “I was thinking that ‘sails
make one think of wings.’ Some way or other we'll
manage a boat with ‘wings,” Marie.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was looking at Marie also.


A MILLION DOLLARS I79
“Are you chilly, child?” she asked as if looking at her
and speaking to her to soothe her feelings. “I forgot to
tell you to bring a scarf.”
Marie Smiled at her gratefully. “No, Madame, not
at all. There is a beautiful warmth in this room scented
with roses.”
“It’s a relief to sit down to dinner with beautiful
thoughts and not with suggestions of horrors,” Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent remarked grimly.
“It is indeed!” West said half to himself. He
drew a rose from the vase in the center of the table,
dried the stem, removed the thorns and offered it to
Marie. He said nothing, only looked at her in an
appealing way that made her drop her eyes. She held
the rose, not looking at it: it was going to be very
difficult for her with West doing such things while
Breck looked on with that menacing glint in his eyes;
he seemed to hate West. The way in which he looked
at West frightened her, and yet, when Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent had spoken so sharply to Breck, she had glanced
at him and his face had made her feel like crying; it
was so carven and still, so terribly unhappy, as if he
realized fully the aversion his family felt for him, and
steeled himself against it, enduring it with a certain
cold defiance.
Marie was very glad when they rose from the table.
“We have coffee in the library,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
said to Marie. “You can go to your room afterward,
if you want to, child—you've had a hard day.” She
took Marie's hand and drew it within her arm and led


I8O THE ROMANCE OF
the way into the library; the girl looked so very white.
It would be a stupider person than Marie who would
not sense the family discord and be troubled by it;
besides, West did not seem to be able to control his
feelings, an embarrassing thing to a girl who was not
in love and not in the least dazzled.
“Find a corner there on the divan,” she said reas-
suringly, and with a note of warning, “West, the
divan's not for you—you can enjoy your cachou in a
chair just as well.”
“Very well,” West answered quietly. -
But before he retreated to the chair and took out
his little gold cachou-case, he placed the cushions for
Marie and turned his chair so that he could look at
her. Bella went to a distant lamp and took out her
knitting, and Breck stood backed against the end of
the mantel-shelf, facing them all. It was exactly as it
had been on that first day, yet how entirely different,
Marie thought; she did not feel like the same girl at
all; that time seemed a hundred years ago; now she
felt a painful interest in the three seated there.
Marie only pretended to drink her coffee, and West
took the cup from her. Then, in spite of Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent's warning, he sat down beside Marie. “I am
going over to Huntington in the morning,” he said.
“Will you go with me? It'll make the ride a pleasure.”
Marie's answer was involuntary. “Oh, no, Mon-
sieur ! . . . It is most kind,” she added quickly.
“Another day I shall like to go, but to-morrow I think
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent will wish me to drive her.”


A MILLION DOLLARS I81
There was an appeal to Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent in the
refusal.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent smiled to herself. Then every
one stiffened at Breck's abrupt remark: “Look the
roadster over well before you ride in it, Marie Angou-
leme.” He leveled a gleaming look at West, then, with
an even, “Good night,” he turned and left the room.
Marie saw him go up the stairs.
Bella watched his going, her knitting suspended;
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent crimsoned with anger, and
Marie sat breathing quickly, terribly startled. Breck
had spoken as if he meant to frighten her, and he had
looked defiance at West. West seemed to be thinking
more of Marie's distress than of his own annoyance,
though he looked stern enough. “Don’t let yourself
be disturbed by Breck's speeches,” he said to Marie.
“He’s queer and we can't help it. The best we can do
is not to notice the things he says and does. I’m sorry
for him at times, in spite of everything, for he makes
his own hell, Breck does—he's a mystery to me.” He
rose from Marie's side and replenished the fire, mut-
tering an impatient sigh. “Lord!”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was restraining herself with
difficulty. “Depravity is a form of insanity, I sup-
pose,” she said bitterly.
West had straightened and a smile chased the gloom
from his face. “Never mind,” he said. “You’ve
managed to introduce a bit of sunshine into the situa-
tion.” He looked at Marie appealingly. “If you won’t
ride, will you walk with me to-morrow, Miss Marie?”


I82 THE ROMANCE OF
He was very persistent, Marie thought. If only she
did not feel so wretched and worried, she would like
him very much. He had done everything he could to
help her through the evening, but he showed too plainly
that he cared for her a great deal and it made her heart
ache the worse. He looked very handsome standing
there by the fire with the color in his cheeks and his
eyes bright, such a contrast to Breck's grim immobility.
Breck had frightened her; there was something alto-
gether wrong with Breck’s mind, and that might ex-
plain everything. She wanted to go to her room and
think about it. She wanted to be nice to West too, ap-
preciative and friendly. She was much too distressed
and excited to be in the least coquettish or elusive;
Marie felt as if she would never laugh again.
“If your aunt permits that I should walk with you,
Monsieur, I shall be glad to go,” she said with rather
a wan smile. It seemed a propitious moment for
escape, and Marie rose. “And now, Madame, I think
I shall go to my room, so I say good night to every
one.” And she courtesied to the three, even to Bella in
her distant corner.
It was a quaint “good night,” an old-fashioned dig-
nity clothed in modern firefly garments and sur-
mounted by a gravely troubled little face; she was so
utterly without self-consciousness and so anxious to
please. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent lost her angry flush.
“Don’t worry about anything, child,” she said kindly.
“Go to bed and sleep and wake up pretty. We'll ar-
range about to-morrow when to-morrow comes.”


184 THE ROMANCE OF
He bent impulsively to kiss her hand, but Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent drew it away. “Don't! Keep your gal-
lantry for some one else! You don’t love me a bit
better than I love you. You are secretive, you three
Dunbarton-Kents, and I'm brutally outspoken—you get
on my nerves, every one of you, and I on yours. By
nature we're antagonistic—you none of you have the
quality that made your uncle and me one.” Her deep
voice deepened. “I will say though that of the three
my dear husband left in my charge, you have shown
the best sense and the most consideration for the fam-
ily name. Doubtless you’ve had your escapades, but
you've never let them loose on the public like the sons
of many of my friends. I appreciate it, West. I'm
glad to do anything I can to help you win a sweet and
honest girl. I like that child—she suits me. I think
she'll make you a deal more satisfactory wife than any
of the girls who have tried to get you. I can help
you to a certain extent, but, West, it’s she who'll do the
deciding. You know best whether she cares for you
or not. I don't think she does—so far—and I think
you'll have to walk pretty carefully if you mean to win
out. Too much urging won’t do—there's an inde-
pendent streak in that child. She's not a whit dazzled
or elated—she's more troubled and conscientious over
her change of fortune than anything else. Remember,
I’ve warned you.”
West smiled at her and his smile was a very pleasant
one. “Thank you, Aunt Bulah. There is a good deal
of truth in what you say about us—we're not exactly


A MILLION DOLLARS 185
a congenial family. Nevertheless, I'm a good deal
fonder of you than you think—one may be born secre-
tive and yet have a big respect for the outspoken sort.”
“A respectful amusement would describe it better,”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said bluntly. “A half-respect-
ful, half-irritated amusement. Breck’s secretive to the
point of perversion—I don’t want to talk about him,
but you and Bella, the things you think about are the
things you don't talk about. It's always been so. You
have a frank manner and Bella's an oyster, yet, fun-
damentally, you're both the same—the thing you think
is the thing you don't say. Bella spends half her time
in town and I hear she's with this friend and that, but
not a word about what her interests are, never a detail.
She goes and comes and knits. I detest knitting in si-
lence. . . . What I’m meaning to say, West, is, that
I'm determined that Marie shall have her chance to
know you, not just the surface of you, but the inner
man. I wouldn’t want you for a husband—you'd drive
me mad—but perhaps a mysterious reserve is the very
thing which would make Marie happy. Anyway, she's
going to have the chance to discover what you are
under the surface.” -
West eyed her for a moment, and his expression
might be accurately described as “half-irritated and
half-amused.” Then he looked down at the fire
thoughtfully. “Marie said to me yesterday, ‘I’m most
unsudden, Monsieur.' I told her I liked the quality,
and I do. I'm fastidious—I’d feel a distaste for a girl
who'd be flustered over what you've done for her or be


I86 THE ROMANCE OF
elated over my subjection. She was exquisite to-night.
. . . I'm willing enough to have her discover all there
is in me to be discovered—but it's going to be hard
for me to control myself—I want her.” He hesitated,
frowning. “I wish I had more “mysterious reserve' in
my inner man than you say I have, for that's the thing
that has captured her imagination.”
“What are you talking about?” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent demanded.
West turned and looked at her, distress in every line
of his face. “What's the good of keeping it from you.
You're observant, it'll be plain to you in a day or two—
if she's not in love with Breck, it's something very near
it.”
“What?” It lifted Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent from her
chair.
“I think so, Aunt Bulah.”
“Think! You're jealous! Most men in love are
fools!”
“I’ll grant it,” he said quietly, “but I think I’m not
mistaken. She pities him—he's taken hold on her
imagination. Can't you see how it would be? She
doesn't know, and to one who doesn't he would appear
pitiful—I can't help pitying him myself sometimes.
And he's dangerously handsome.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said something under her
breath; she had grown white.
“Yes, ‘more trouble,’” West said wearily. “I wish
I had told you before, but, as you said, I’m apt to keep
things to myself. I didn't feel certain of it until I.


A MILLION DOLLARS 187
talked to her yesterday. I had begged you not to send
her away, but since yesterday I’ve hoped you would.
I’d have followed her, nothing will make me give her
up, but even your turning your back on her would be
better for her than staying where he is. . . . I haven’t
had a happy twenty-four hours—then the surprise
to-night!”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent stood massive and motionless.
“And he?” she asked.
West flung up his hands. “Set me another riddle!
. . . I think he's tied to Mrs. Smith in more ways
than one, yet he has designs of some sort—against
Marie. I can’t make it out exactly, only I know that
it's since I’ve been devoted to her that he has looked
as if he'd like to knife me. You saw how he looked
and spoke this evening.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent whirled about. “We’ll see!”
she said with grim determination, and made for the
hall.
West sprang after her and caught her arm. “Aunt
Bulah! You're not going to make her unhappy?” he
begged. “Don’t do it! I couldn't bear it! You can't
tell her the truth about him, we none of us dare do
that—let things be!”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent shook him off. “I’m not
likely to haul out the family skeleton, but I'll get at the
bottom of this, or I'll know the reason why!” And
she mounted the stairs with forcible decision.


CHAPTER XX
ARIE had undressed and had carefully disposed
of her red gown, pondering meanwhile an en-
tirely new idea: perhaps Breck was a little insane?
West seemed to think that he was. That would ex-
plain many things: Breck's brooding withdrawn look
and the strange things he said and did. Probably from
the time he was a child he had not been altogether
right in his mind. Think of the life he had lived, a
neglected criminal boy, locked up in prison where he
must have brooded. His uncle must have had a good
influence on him, but that had not been for long.
Then there had been no one to care for him and he had
begun to steal again. Then those fearful years in a
German prison! Perfectly sane men had lost their
minds under such privations and sufferings. Men
came out of prisons with faces carven and still like
Breck's, and minds quite changed.
And those who were unbalanced had strange hatreds:
Breck seemed to hate West; whenever he looked at
West his eyes were like a knife. It was terrifying, the
way in which he had looked when he said, “If one
wanted to drown one's enemy—” And the warning
way in which he said, “Look the roadster over well
before you ride in it, Marie Angouleme.” He wanted
188


A MILLION DOLLARS 189
to frighten West and he wanted to frighten her. He
had given her the pistol in a secret and terrifying way
He was trying to frighten her away from Kent House,
and instigating him was Mrs. Smith. She would use
a man who was not quite sane; she was capable of
anything.
Hot and at the same time shivering, Marie locked
her door securely, then got into bed and gathered the
covers about her. With knees embraced, she sat think-
ing: it was a horrible state of things in Kent House;
she had not fully realized until that evening. Was
every meal like this one? Every one on a strain:
Breck looking hatred at West across the table, Bella
deceiving her aunt and endangering her family by tell-
ing everything to Colfax, and Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
oscillating between anger and terrible anxiety, ignor-
ant, in spite of her detectives, of much that went on.
Marie's heated brain evolved question after question.
Why did Bella's height and long lines remind her con-
stantly of Mrs. Smith? She had not noticed Bella
particularly that first day when Gibbs had brought her
into the library, Bella had been seated at a distance,
and ever since she had seen Bella only when she was
wearing her veil and her long fur coat. But the mo-
ment she saw Bella in Colfax House without her coat
she had reminded her so vividly of Mrs. Smith that she
had been certain it was Mrs. Smith. It was very
strange, that hateful woman's resemblance to Bella and
Breck, light eyes with black lashes, like Breck's, and a
body like Bella's, long and strong and graceful.


190 THE ROMANCE OF
Then came the tormenting thought: Breck must
meet Mrs. Smith very often and very secretly. Doubt-
less he loved her passionately, as Bella loved Colfax.
Most likely Mrs. Smith had not really gone away, but
was hidden in her house. Certainly Breck had been
going to meet her that night when she was playing the
piano; she was going out to meet him, that was why
she was putting on her furs.
Then Marie indulged in despairing thoughts: Mrs.
Brant-Olwin had much money with which to search
for the thieves; Mrs. Smith was gambling recklessly
with the money she and Breck had stolen, she would be
caught and imprisoned, as she deserved to be; Breck
would be caught—that splendid strength of his would
waste away in prison, he would go altogether insane—
he, a Dunbarton-Kent! And his family would hang
their heads in shame; perhaps in court they themselves
would be held responsible? It would be terrible for
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent and it would drive West into a
country where he would not be known. He wanted to
leave Kent House; it was because he knew that dis-
grace to his family was certain. Breck's fate hung on
a thread; if Colfax should drink a little too much and
tell what he knew; if one of the detectives should be
bribed; if one of the servants should prove disloyal.
Discovery was a certainty; it was horrible!
Marie was so tense and excited that when some one
knocked on her door her heart leapt into her throat
and she could neither speak nor move. She found her
voice only when the knock was repeated. “Who is it?”


A MILLION DOLLARS I9I
“Have you gone to bed?” It was Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent's voice.
Marie hurried to let her in, and Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent closed the door, then looked Marie over, her
flushed face and wide eyes and her little figure in its
night-dress. “I suppose you were asleep? But it's
early, and I want to talk to you,” she said. “Get back
into bed, child—I’ll sit beside you.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had not rushed up to Marie's
room as West had thought; she had gone to her own
room and had walked the floor: if West's suspicions
were correct, she had done an utterly foolish thing in
bringing Marie into the house, just the blundering sort
of thing she was apt to do; they were keen-sighted,
those Dunbarton-Kent children, and she was not; West
was particularly accurate in his judgments, he was
rarely mistaken. But, if Marie did care for Breck—
and certainly when the girl first came, owing to Has-
lett's advice, Breck had been given every opportunity
to talk to her—there was no reason why Marie should
not tell her the truth about it. The girl was honest—
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was as certain of it as that she
was walking her room in doubt and anxiety. The
thing she must settle in her own mind was what dis-
posal to make of Marie, if West proved to be in the
right; just what to say to her without giving her an
inkling of the truth.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had thought the matter out
before she came to Marie's door, and her manner was
quite as usual. She was not in the least angry with


I92 THE ROMANCE OF
Marie; if the girl had fallen in love with Breck it was
largely her own fault for having yielded to Haslett's
advice; she would always be ashamed of herself for
having done it, kept the child who came to her in per-
fect honesty and then set spies on her, used her as a
lure, in a way. When Marie had been hurt in the park
and had made her confession, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
had felt deeply ashamed and distressed; between them
all the child had been abominably treated. If Breck
had taken advantage of Marie's simple honesty and
tender-heartedness, she, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, was
wholly to blame.
When she knocked on Marie's door, Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent was fully prepared for “more trouble.” She
must meet it as best she could. When she saw Marie,
looking like a child startled out of sleep, she felt im-
measurably distressed; she was a motherless girl, and
yet, because of mere suspicion, she had done nothing to
guard her from such a man as Breck. If Marie had
fixed her affections on him, there was a bitter heart-
ache in store for her.
“I’ll sit here beside you,” she repeated. “I simply
wanted to ask you something.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's coming was a relief from
wretched terrifying thoughts, and Marie lay as close
as possible to the chair Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent drew up
to the bed. “I am most glad you have come, Madame,”
she said with sincerity.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent put her hand on Marie's
shoulder and looked into her eyes. “Marie,” she said


A MILLION DOLLARS I93
gravely, “you know, don't you, that I am very fond
of you and would stand by you in any trouble? And,
too, that I would never pry into your heart out of mere
curiosity?”
Marie braced herself instantly to answer questions
and yet keep her secret; Willetts must have told Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent that she had talked with Colfax, also
about the spaniel; Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's manner was
affectionate, but so purposeful. “I am certain of it,
Madame,” she said gravely.
“I want you to tell me then, child, truthfully and
honestly—do you love my nephew, Breck?”
That question was utterly unexpected. Marie
flamed scarlet, but also she shrank and shivered and
her answer was instant, “No, Madame!” She met
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent’s keen look with flushed
directness.
“Has he ever made love to you, child?”
“Never, Madame. I am certain that he does not
even like me—he has always avoided me.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent drew a breath of relief; the
shiver that had run through Marie's body was as con-
vincing as the shudder that had shaken her when she
had told of her experience with Mrs. Smith. But there
was flushed misery in Marie's eyes as well and Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent persisted. “How do you feel toward
him, child? What do you think of him?”
Marie tried to explain very carefully and yet truth-
fully. “At first, Madame, I thought Mr. Breck a
strange but a lovable man, and I felt great pity for


A MILLION DOLLARS I95
pered, and Marie returned, “Oh, Madame, it is all love
for you in my heart. I wish to do only what will make
you happy.”
“Be kind to West then, child. He has his faults, but
at bottom he's a fine sort and he loves you. Outwardly
West is lively and care-free, but he's not a happy man
—there's a restless craving something about him which
I have never been able to understand—that and an
intense reserve. Love will make a fine man of West, I
think. I should like to see one member of this family
happy.” And she sighed.
“I will remember, Madame,” Marie said softly. “To
make you happy, I would do almost anything. I have
great respect for Mr. West and much gratitude, and I
think that by and by I shall feel more happy with him.
My interest is now entirely centered upon this family,
quite as if it were my own, and to you I have absolute
devotion.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent patted her shoulder. “Now
go to sleep,” she advised. “I’m glad we’ve had this
talk—it's brought us closer together. I did want to
know just how you felt toward Breck who is an anxiety
to us all. Owing to circumstances, when you first
came here, and for which I’m sorry enough now, you
saw more of Breck than of any one else. I got into a
panic after dinner, thinking that perhaps the reason you
didn't respond to West was because you might have
taken a fancy to his cousin. I might have known bet-
ter—your instinct is pretty true. I'm a plain-spoken
old woman, I don't know how to be anything else, so


I96 A MILLION DOLLARS
out I came with my question.” She patted Marie's
shoulder again. “But it's all right now.”
Marie wished that she could tell her everything. She
laid her hot cheek against Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's
hand. “There is one person whom I know I love,”
she said tensely, “and that is yourself.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent patted her cheek then and
smoothed her hair. “Good night, child, good night.”


CHAPTER XXI
HEN Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent returned to the
library, West was pacing the floor; it was a
perturbed face he turned on her when she entered. In
all her experience with West, and he had been part of
her household since he was twenty, Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent had never seen him look as he did now. Since
Marie had taken hold on him, he had shown more genu-
ine feeling than she had observed in him in all the years
she had known him. He was so evidently suffering
that she felt a stir of affection for him.
She closed the door behind her. “It’s all right,
West,” she said reassuringly. “The honest little soul
told me the truth, as I knew she would,” and she re-
lated exactly what Marie had said. “She shivered
when she talked of Breck, and it was more convincing
even than what she said. She'll avoid him, you have
nothing to fear, so quiet down.”
West had quieted. He drew a long breath. “It’s a
relief! . . . Thank Heaven you didn't rage at her.”
“I had no intention of raging at her,” Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent said with feeling. “If there was anything
between them, I was to blame—I let Haslett have his
way. I didn't forget that for a moment. I’ve liked the
child from the beginning—I loved her to-night. I've
I97


198 THE ROMANCE OF
had little enough affection bestowed on me these last
few years. I’ve felt a desolate old woman, since your
uncle died. . . . You shall have your chance, West;
if she grows to care for you, well and good, marry her
and be happy—I shall rejoice over it. But, if you don't
succeed, the child shall have a home with me. When
the time comes, as it will, when we can’t hold up our
heads here on the North Shore, she shall go with me—
if she wants to.” -
West smiled at her. “You have a big heart, Aunt
Bulah.”
“And a big body,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent supple-
mented a little dryly. “I hurt your artistic sense a
thousand times a day. But that's neither here nor
there—Marie's quaint enough to satisfy your liking for
the unusual, so go ahead and win her, then make a
home somewhere for yourselves.”
“I will,” he said firmly. “That's exactly what I
want to do. . . . But, Aunt Bulah, I’m still desperately
anxious.” They had spoken in low tones, now he
dropped his voice to a whisper. “Breck has some ob-
ject in talking and acting as he did to-night. I’ve been
trying to think it out, and I’ve decided that he is afraid
of Marie—he wants her out of the way. He must
know that she recognized Mrs. Smith that night in the
park. Certainly the woman must have told him about
her experience on the train, and they are both of them
keen enough to have made the connection. They are
afraid of her, and I’m afraid for her. Breck was trying
to terrify her to-night—I think she's in actual danger.”
~


A MILLION DOLLARS I99
The look of grim distress returned to Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent's face; when she left Marie, she had looked
happy. “They wouldn't dare to hurt her,” he said.
“Their kind will dare almost anything—to remove
an obstacle. That incident on the train would be a tell-
ing bit of evidence against Mrs. Smith. I believe, as
Haslett does, that either she had Mrs. Brant-Olwin's
jewels with her on the train, or she had made some
journey connected with them.”
“If only we could get the jewels into our hands!”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said longingly.
“Yes, I know. But, Aunt Bulah, I’m thinking of
Marie,” he urged. “Don’t keep her here. I don't want
harm to come to her. I don’t want her to be mixed
up in any exposé there may be. “I love her, Aunt Bulah
—can't you understand?” He was tensely earnest.
“I know, West,” she said distressedly, “but where
could she go where she would be as safe as she is here?
I talked that over with Haslett, the morning after she
was hurt, and it was his advice to keep her here with
me. I was considering you too, here you can be in the
same house with her.”
“Send her to Canada—I’ll follow her there. Send
her anywhere that's a distance from here—clear away
from all this mess!”
“You talk as if she were a bale of goods!” Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent retorted with sudden exasperation.
“I’ve offered her a home with me, I tell you. The child
has a mind of her own and a will of her own—I can't
pack her off, hither and yon, at my pleasure! She


2OO THE ROMANCE OF
wouldn't accept even her traveling expenses—she's in-
dependent. She wouldn't stay here, if she didn't think
that she's earning her keep. If I showed her that I
didn't want her here, she'd go into town and work, and
that's the worst possible thing she could do. You see,
West,” she said more calmly, “I went over the whole
situation with Haslett. He thinks it would be a great
mistake to let her leave Kent House. Of course he
takes a lawyer's view: he says that to let her fall by
any chance into the hands of Mrs. Brant-Olwin's people
would be fatal; that she could give them the very clue
they want. He advised me to keep her here and to
attach her to me, make her our friend in every possible
way. God knows, I haven't acted out of mere self-in-
terest in offering her a home, I love the child; never-
theless I realized that Haslett was talking sense. And,
West, Breck's a crook, like his father, but I won’t be-
lieve for a moment that he'd do a bodily harm to that
child. He wouldn't do it. That woman might, if she
were in terror of capture, as she was on the train, but
I don't believe she'd do it deliberately—there'd be too
much danger in it for herself. I’m sorry you're wor-
ried, but Marie is going to stay here—if between us we
can’t protect her, we're a poor lot.” She ended with a
decision that dismissed appeal.
“Perhaps you're right, you and Haslett,” West said
doubtfully, “but I shall be anxious about her—I can't
help it—he looked ugly this evening.”
“Keep watch over her, West. And make her care
for you—that's the important thing.”


A MILLION DOLLARS 2OI
West was studying the fire. “If only there was
some way out of this trouble! Those damned jewels!
. . . Aunt Bulah, I haven’t meddled with suggestions
or advice, Haslett is much more capable of advising
than I am, but I’ve thought for some time that there
might be a way out.”
“What way?” she asked quickly.
“Ransom the jewels. . . . It makes me sick—it's
putting a premium on crime—but isn't it the only way
out for us? I believe it’s what they’re playing for—
their deep game. Hasn't Haslett ever suggested it?”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent hesitated. “Haslett has more
than suggested it, West,” she said finally.
“What do you mean?”
“He made Breck the offer—after we talked, the
morning after Marie was hurt.”
“No p.
“Yes, he did. He went to the farm and took Breck
aside and made him the offer—four hundred thousand,
the full value of the jewels. . . . I gave my consent
to his doing it—it was his advice.”
“What did Breck say?” West asked scarcely above
his breath.
“Haslett said that Breck looked at him without any
expression at all, except that the muscles in his face
twitched. Then Breck turned his back on him and
walked away—not one word.”
West had flushed hotly. “God! Think of it's being
possible to offer such an insult to a Dunbarton-Kent!”
“It made me feel ill,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said in a


A MILLION DOLLARS 2O3
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent stared at him. “How could
he? It would be fearfully dangerous! We have only
suspicions to go on.”
“Nevertheless, she is the one to bargain with. They
know they are in imminent danger, they’re just as
anxious to turn those jewels into money as you are to
receive them intact and return them secretly to Mrs.
Brant-Olwin. Don't you see, Breck isn't going to
risk losing his inheritance—he'll be careful to maintain
his innocence. Of course he turned down your pro-
posal. But Mrs. Smith won’t. They’ve counted on
your making some such offer—they're clever crooks.
She’ll demand a stiff sum, but with it divided between
them, or shared, Breck will cease to trouble us. He'll
go.”
“Perhaps Haslett had something of the kind in mind
when he said that the next thing was to find Mrs.
Smith?” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent asked quickly.
“Of course he did. . . . Think of being rid of this
incubus! Aunt Bulah, if it can be settled in that way,
I'll contribute something toward the ransom—tell Has-
lett so.”
“Go see him—talk to him yourself, West.”
“I have kept out of it so far, but I will,” West said
with decision.
“I suppose we can find a safe way of returning the
jewels—if we're fortunate enough to get them,” she
added with a sigh.
As was characteristic of West, he indulged in at
least an outward light-heartedness. “A safe way!


2O4 THE ROMANCE OF
Drop them down her chimney, tie them to her door-
knob, let her come out from trying on a thousand dol.
lar gown and find them on the seat of her limousine.”
Then he said longingly, “Little Marie and I and a clear
future—it's too much to hope for. Don't worry, Aunt
Bulah. Right is might, after all.”
“One might question the ‘right’ of what we’re
doing,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent returned grimly. “Mrs.
Brant-Olwin would probably have a different opinion.”
“She loves her pearls,” West said succinctly. Then,
“I didn't tell you, I was afraid you’d worry, but she's
back—she telephoned me just before dinner.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent looked anxious. “I did hope
she would stay away. I’ll have to call on her and I’m
a poor dissembler.”
“I’d be as friendly to her as possible,” West ad-
vised. “She feels that you've never really given her
your social countenance. It may help us in the future.
I've always liked the little woman.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent sat thinking for a time. Then
she announced abruptly, “The thing I ought to do—it
would make a friend of her—is to give her a party.
The right sort, West—a dinner-dance with all the
people included who have held off from her. I'd make
them come and be charming to her. It would be a
triumph for her—she’d forgive our family a good deal,
if ever I have to ask a favor of her.”
West considered a moment. “Well—why not?” he
decided. “Do it. I’ll get some men out from town—
men she'd like to meet.”


A MILLION DOLLARS 2O5
“I’ll have Haslett—have her meet him. It's just as
well she should meet him and like him.”
“Surely.”
“A week from Friday, that's—” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent began, then paused to listen. “Some one knocked,
West?”
“I’ll go,” he said. “It sounds like Gibbs' circum-
spect tap.” And he rose and went to the door.


CHAPTER XXII
EST was right; it was Gibbs whose gentle knock
had interrupted their conference. “The night-
watchman is asking to see Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, sir,”
he announced, and West saw Willetts looming behind
Gibbs’ portly body.
“It’s Willetts, Aunt Bulah,” West said.
“Tell him to come in,” she answered apprehensively.
“More trouble, I suppose!”
Gibbs gave way to Willetts and vanished in the di-
rection of the pantry. West stepped out into the hall,
looked up the stairway and into the adjoining rooms,
then returned to the library, closing the door behind
him.
“Nobody's about out there, Aunt Bulah. I’ll leave
you two to talk.”
“No, stay,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said anxiously.
“Willetts has something important to tell us.”
“It's more a suspicion of mine than anything,” Wil-
letts explained. “Just that I’m pretty certain that
many a night when we thought Breck safe in his room,
he's been out, very likely in town or at the Smith house
or anywhere else he chose to go.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent looked startled, and West
asked gravely, “What makes you think so?”
206


A MILLION DOLLARS 2O7
“Well, there was something happened last night—
or yesterday rather—the little girl brought a spaniel
pup into the garage. She'd been out walking and up on
the High Road and Colfax waylaid her and gave her
the dog. When we came back from my driving you
to the dressmaker's, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, I missed
her from the garage and was out looking for her and
saw Colfax talking to her and saw her bring away the
dog. . . . It was all right enough,” Willetts added
quickly, for Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's brow had dark-
ened. “I was there and saw it all, Colfax just nosing
about as usual and of course wanting to get her into
trouble with you over his having given her the dog.
Besides, she told me about it, that she didn't want to
talk to him and wouldn't answer his questions and
didn’t want to listen to his grievances. The little girl's
all right,” Willetts said positively, “the baby spaniel
appealed to her, that's all—she's been pretty lonesome.
She told me about it, she's all right. This morning
when the pup was gone, she thought it had got out of
the garage someway and gone back to Colfax Hall.”
West had been eying him keenly; it was so evident
that Willetts was still another friend Marie had made.
“Certainly she's all right, though you didn't always
think so,” he said. “We don’t need to discuss that,
just go on with your story.”
Willetts did not like West's tone. All Kent House
knew that West was vastly taken with Marie Angou-
leme, and Willetts had expended some irritated
thoughts on the subject: the kind of man the little girl


208 THE ROMANCE OF
ought to marry was the plain sort like himself. It was
all right enough for Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent to be kind
to the little girl, but to take her out of her station and
foist her into another, marry her to her nephew and
things like that, was rank foolishness; there was quite
an active jealousy stirring in Willetts. Possibly it was
jealousy sensing jealousy that made West eye Willetts
so coolly.
Willetts addressed himself pointedly to Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent. “The little girl was worrying about the
pup's being hungry, so while she was with you last
evening I got some supper into it and put it to bed in
the garage. When the little girl came back and went
to her room, I locked up the garage and I took the
house and garage watch and set Jones about something
else. Well, when I unlocked in the morning, the pup
was gone. I circled that garage a dozen times last
night, there was only one way that pup could have
been swiped and that was by some one's climbing the
store-house roof and letting himself down into the
garage through the ventilator windows, then going by
the way he came. I'll grant that Breck could have done
it, but I won't grant it to any one else about the place,”
Willetts said with decision, “and I'll grant it to him
only when I happen to be off my guard, for I saw
what I thought was his shadow on his window-shade
until early this morning. . . . Now, what I’ve come to
say is, that I’m convinced he's been fooling us this long
time—that it’s a dummy he sets up in his chair when-
ever he wants to take a midnight stroll.”


A MILLION DOLLARS 209
“But we’ve searched his room a dozen times!” Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent exclaimed. “You know how we have
searched it for the jewels, or some clue to where they
might be.”
“Sure. And I searched it again to-night while you
were all at dinner,” Willetts returned dryly. “There's
a big pot-bellied, long-necked water-pitcher in his
bathroom and a walking-stick in his cupboard and a
measuring stick just about as long as his shoulders are
wide lying on his desk and a roll of cotton in one of
his desk drawers. With plenty of soap out of which
to manufacture a nose and chin to stick on the inverted
water-pitcher and cotton laid on for hair, with bath-
towels and his dressing-gown draped on the cross-sticks
made out of his cane and the measuring-stick, a
stupider man than Breck could manufacture a dummy
that would throw quite a respectable studious shadow.
I may be wrong about the soap face and the cotton hair,
Breck may carry a mask and wig about with him in
his breast pocket which he uses on the water-pitcher,
but I venture that some three nights a week, ever since
this trouble began, Breck has been at large. The other
nights he's there, either with his shades up or down.
If you want to deceive the public, even a detective, es-
tablish a habit—I take my hat off to him.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's lips had dropped apart and
West's face had grown expressionless. It was West
who asked the practical question: “How does he get
out of the house and in again?”
“How did he get into the garage and out again?”


2IO THE ROMANCE OF
Willetts retorted. “Jones and I can't be on all sides of
the house at once! There are two oaks growing close
to Miss Bella Dunbarton-Kent’s bedroom windows,
and she's away half the time. I’ve watched those trees
pretty carefully. But while I was watching them and
Jones was doing his best on the other side of the house,
Breck may have been maneuvering the roof and sliding
down the front porch pillars. Or the low roof of the
servants’ quarters would serve him nicely—or any
down-pipe that came handy. . . . Don't ask me—I
know I’ve done my best.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had regained her usual
harassed expression. “You have, Willetts—you have
been a great comfort to me,” she assured him. “Go on
doing the best you can. I’ve hoped and hoped that by
keeping as close a watch on him as we could that we
might find the jewels. And, too, I’ve wanted the place
guarded—if Mrs. Brant-Olwin's detectives were about,
I wanted to know it. But I don't want any more men
knowing a secret that’s hard to keep. I have perfect
confidence in you and Jones, and all any of us can do
is our best. . . . But, Willetts, why should Breck
want that puppy? I don't understand it.”
“Just a bit of defiance,” West cut in. “The same
object he had in taking the tires and tools. . . . Some-
times I can explain him only by thinking that he's cun-
ningly insane.”
“Insane, nothing!” Willetts burst out. “His head's
in just as good condition as his eyes and his feet—he
can see in the dark and he can walk as light as a cat.


2I2 THE ROMANCE OF
wondering about the way her dog disappeared, so the
less said about it to her the better, I should think.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent nodded. “Yes, I’d like some
one in this wretched household to be happy—I could
even endure the presence of a puppy from Colfax Hall.
. . . Good night, Willetts.”
As soon as the door closed on him, West said
thoughtfully, “I suppose that is the way he has man-
aged his meetings with the Smith woman. I’ve won-
dered. But where? Hardly at her house—he'd not
risk that—not after the night Marie recognized her.”
He looked at his aunt's troubled face. “Don’t worry
so, Aunt Bulah,” he begged. “What Willetts has told
us doesn't alter anything—what we want is the jewels.
Their being able to see each other and confer is a help
to us rather than otherwise, they'll arrive at a plan so
much the sooner. They want to be rid of the jewels.
Let Haslett try to get in touch with her, and you go
right on with your party for Mrs. Brant-Olwin. And
don’t worry so much.”
“He has my hundred thousand dollars and he's likely
to extort a small fortune from me in addition, why
exert himself to steal tires and puppies!” Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent said bitterly.
“To accomplish exactly what he has accomplished—
keep you worried sick and in dread of him. The more
he can worry us—he certainly worried me to-night by
his looks and what he said—the more we will pay to be
rid of him. That's an easy sum in crook arithmetic.”
“I haven’t looked at him once, not in the eye, since


A MILLION DOLLARS 2I3
the day I begged him to confess like a man and I’d for-
give him, for my husband's sake. I begged him to
give up the jewels and go away and keep straight—
that I would provide for him—and he looked me
coolly in the eye and refused. And since, for all these
weeks, he's sat three meals a day within an arm’s
length of me, neither of us looking at the other.” She
laughed shortly. “What a situation! It would be
comic, if it wasn’t so horrible!”
“Try to forget it,” West urged. “You’ll get the
jewels and he'll go—I’m convinced of it. . . . Try to
think about your party—certainly we owe Mrs. Brant-
Olwin anything we can do for her. Go to bed now,
Aunt Bulah, do—try to sleep.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent rose with a heavy sigh. “I
envy that child up-stairs—she can sleep. My bed's
been a place of torment—for weeks.”


CHAPTER XXIII
RS. DUNBARTON-KENT was mistaken;
Marie had not slept; she had been unable to
sleep. Before midnight, the house had settled into per-
fect quiet, except for the big clock in the hall below
which tolled the hours and the half-hours. When she
could lie still no longer, Marie had sat up in bed with a
blanket wrapped about her shoulders and had looked
out through her windows at the black gulf dotted by
occasional lights which indicated the sound. It was a
very dark night, no moon and no stars; she sat in pitchy
darkness. She was afraid to turn on the light, afraid
even to get up and move about her room, for she might
startle a nervous household; Willetts or some other
detective might see the light, or her movements be
heard and they would think that something was wrong.
It was horrible to live like this.
She was wretched: she had deceived Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent; she had told her half-truths, for it would
have been impossible to explain and not break her
promise to Colfax. Marie felt a passionate affection
for the big woman who had kissed her as one would a
daughter. “I ought to tell her everything—it is most
dangerous to her interests, such a man as Colfax know-
ing everything that goes on here and all her plans, yet
2I4


A MILLION DOLLARS 215
it is impossible for me to speak. If I should break my
promise, Colfax in his anger might do something that
would be harmful to the entire family. It is a miser-
able position for me.”
Marie had stared into the darkness and had tor-
mented herself into a state of dazed distress. She had
flashes of thought, but mostly she simply suffered: it
was adominable what Bella was doing, deceiving her
aunt, giving herself to such a man as Colfax. If ever
a woman was possessed by a man, that woman was
Bella—it was written on the face she had lifted from
his shoulder. Undoubtedly when she was absent from
Kent House for days at a time and Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent thought she was with friends in the city, she was
with Colfax; she was another such woman as Mrs.
Smith, secret and dangerous. . . . There must be
times when Breck was wretched over what he had
done. Perhaps by some means Mrs. Smith had com-
pelled him to do it? . . . Though she ached for a
home and kindness, she should not have accepted Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent's offer. She should have left Kent
House. But if she had gone, she would have lived in
still greater anxiety, wondering all the time what was
happening at Kent House. She was between two fires.
. . . And what was she going to do about West? She
had promised Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent that she would try
to love him.
The darkness melted slowly into gray before Marie's
thoughts arranged themselves in any sort of order, and
then it was more a weary falling back upon her pre-


216 THE ROMANCE OF
vious resolution to do the best she could under the cir-
cumstances: be faithful to the family that had taken
her in, guard their interests in every possible way.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent longed for affection and devo-
tion, and that she could give in full measure.
Daylight is almost always a comfort to frayed
nerves; complexities are better defined, so more easily
grasped, and the fear that lurks in darkness, pressing
upon a distressed spirit, withdraws its oppressive hand.
Marie brought a white face and a fairly resolute spirit
with her to the breakfast table. They were all gathered
there, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent looking tired and grim;
West grave until Marie appeared, then his face bright-
ened by a smiling “good morning” to her; Bella look-
ing as impenetrable as usual and with her knitting in
her lap, and Breck wearing his usual stony expression.
It was a silent meal. West ate little, but looked as-
siduously after Marie's comfort. Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent's face softened when she saw her. “Well! I
thought you were still asleep or I'd have brought you
down with me. There wasn't a sound in your room,
and I meant to let you sleep.”
Marie did not say that she had not slept at all and
that for the last two hours she had been sitting dressed
and waiting for the soft notes of the Chinese gong
which had brought the others down to breakfast. “I
have been awake some time, thank you, Madame—I
sat and looked at the pretty room and then at the pass-
ing boats upon the water.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent buttered a hot roll. “Take


A MILLION DOLLARS 217
that with your coffee, child,” she said affectionately.
She eyed Marie's white face and heavy eyes anxiously.
“After breakfast walk a little in the park and later on
take a nap. I never sleep well myself in new surround-
ings.”
Marie thanked her, then bent upon giving pleasure
to the two people who were trying to make her happy,
she said to West, “From my window I saw you walk-
ing in the park this morning, but if you are not tired
perhaps you will walk again—with me?”
It cost Marie an effort which made the color come
in her cheeks, and then she grew white again, for
Breck lifted his eyes and looked at her in a way that
made her want to weep, haggard eyes in a set and
stony face. Then, swiftly, he looked at West, the
steady narrowed look of the man who would knife
his rival. West met his eyes as steadily, but without
antagonism, merely a calm observance of Breck.
They all saw it. Marie grew pallid and Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent looked apoplectic under the restraint she
put upon herself. But West said with quick pleasure,
“Will I walk with you? Rather! It's kind of you,
little Marie. . . . The jonquils are coming up in the
lawn border—I ordered some for you from the florist
yesterday. Do you like a garden? To fuss among
flowers?”
“My aunt at St. Felix had a most lovely garden—I
worked in it often. At the convent I studied flowers
also.” Marie knew only that she was making some
sort of an answer, for it had occurred to her suddenly


218 THE ROMANCE OF
that a jealous man would look as Breck had looked,
appealingly at her, then threateningly at his rival.
Marie felt a sudden elation.
West was talking lightly, “You had a Botany Book,
I suppose, and, under a plain little pressed daisy, wrote,
Chrysanthemum Leucanthemum, and things like that?”
There was laughter in his voice, but his eyes were very
bright and keen.
“Of all the long names, I remember but one, Mon-
sieur, and not because I have an erudite mind. It was
the little hornwort in the disagreeable pond in the con-
vent meadow. It was very grandly called, Cerato-
phyllum demersum. One of the pupils by the name of
Sarah, when sent upon a botanical walk, in trying to
seize the weed, fell into the pond and I said to the
others, ‘Sarah toppled-in-um demersum.” I was most
proud of my English at the time and meant no harm to
Sarah, but ever afterward she was called by that name.”
It was a burst of light-heartedness and broke the ten-
sion: Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent chuckled abruptly, West
laughed out, and Bella gave Marie an icy side-glance.
Breck did not look up; there was no change in his ex-
pression. Then he rose. “Excuse me, please,” he
murmured and left the room. He moved with extra-
ordinary lightness and opened and closed the door in
a noiseless way that suggested vividly the midnight
prowler.
Marie lost all animation; the weight returned to her
chest. For a moment she had forgotten completely;
forgotten Mrs. Smith, everything. She had talked


A MILLION DOLLARS 219
smartly, flushed by the thought that Breck hated his
cousin because of her, but the light-footed way in
which Breck had left the room made her feel ill; she
felt a sickening self-disgust. She was glad that Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent was speaking. Then she was startled
by what she heard.
“I am going to give a dinner-dance for Mrs. Brant-
Olwin, so don't make any engagement for the twenty-
first,” she was saying to Bella. “I want you to take
charge of the decorating, you’re good at that.”
A ripple of expression disturbed Bella's regular fea-
tures; Marie thought that she looked taken aback. But
she said quietly enough, “Very well, Aunt Bulah.”
Then after a pause, “I was going to Philadelphia on the
night of the twenty-first—you wouldn't mind if I left
before the party was over?”
“No, do as you like,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said
with a touch of irritation, “only don't appear to slight
Mrs. Brant-Olwin. I want you to go this afternoon to
call on her—with me.”
Again there was a slight pause. “Of course I'll go,
if you think it's best. You've called on her once before,
but I never have and she doesn't love me. Perhaps it
would be better for me to make friends with her at the
party—it would appear a little less as if the entire fam-
ily were suddenly laying itself at her feet.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent considered a moment.
“You’re right,” she decided. “Besides,”—there was
ill-suppressed irritation in her voice—“you've doubt-
less made plans of your own for to-day.”


22O THE ROMANCE OF
“I was going into town this morning to meet the
Brests, I was going for a week's trip south with them,”
Bella returned imperturbably, “but I can go this eve-
ning just as well, and I can come back on the twentieth
instead of the morning of the twenty-first as I intended.
One day will give time enough for the decorating.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent looked as she felt, that her
husband's brothers’ children were a sore trial to her.
Bella had made her own friends, most of the people
she visited were strangers to Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent,
she did not know even their names or where they lived.
Bella seemed to occupy her time pleasurably to herself
and, as she had always impressed Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent as too cold-natured and self-contained and
haughty to be drawn into entanglements of any sort,
and was punctilious always in her attentions to the
Dunbarton-Kent family friends, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
had no complaint to make—except the painful one that
hers was a divided and unhappy household. With her
husband's death all semblance of unity had disap-
peared; they were all waiting for a fat old woman to
die, that they might claim their millions.
“Go this morning, by all means, I don't want to in-
terfere with your pleasure,” she said with dreary grim-
ness. “All I ask is your help with the decorations.
You must be friendly to Mrs. Brant-Olwin—that I
demand.”
, “I shall be, of course, Aunt Bulah,” Bella answered
in her deep-voiced, clearly spoken way. She reminded
Marie of a gracefully built man, both supple and


A MILLION DOLLARS 22I
strong. Marie was repelled by Bella's superb body,
she made her feel little and frail.
Marie saw and understood Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's
grimly forlorn expression, and when Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent turned to her she smiled her affection. “Better
go for your walk now,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said.
“Then get a nap before lunch.”
Marie had guessed the reason for the dinner-dance
given for Mrs. Brant-Olwin: It was best for the fam-
ily to make her their friend. In case of exposure, she
might be more lenient. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was act-
ing wisely. “I was thinking, Madame, that if you
wished invitations to be written for your party, I might
be able to help?” Marie offered. “They took much
trouble with my handwriting at the convent, perhaps it
may please you.”
Bella's sidelong glance held full as much distaste
for Marie's purple-pansy, slender-stemmed beauty as
Marie felt for Bella's Junoesque proportions. Marie
sensed the glance and smiled the more brightly at
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent. She was determined never to
look at Bella if she could help it, for she might look
all the antagonism she felt.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent smiled in return. “Did they,
child? Well, I need a sunshiny secretary. We'll see
about it. West is waiting, so run along now, and I'll
be in my room when you get back. Wrap up well, for
it's windy.”
Marie hurried up-stairs, and Bella departed in her
leisurely way, knitting as usual: Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent


222 THE ROMANCE OF
and West were left alone. West had been dallying
with his breakfast, looking at Marie mostly, studying
her face, his own expressionless. Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent sighed. “She’s doing her best, but the gloom of
this house is affecting her—it would get on the nerves
even of a crocodile. Be careful what you say to her
to-day, West.”
“I intend to be,” West said gravely. “I thought it
out last night: the thing for me to do is to clear out for
a few days. I can't stay here and not show my feelings,
and she's not ready to listen to me. Besides, Breck
frightens her. He glares at me and it upsets her—
he does it purposely to upset her. Bella will be away,
I'll be gone, and you'll have a good excuse to break-
fast in your room with Marie, and you can have some
one in to lunch and dinner with you, so Breck can be
served in his room. I won’t worry so much about her
if you'll promise to keep her out of his way. I'll go
before noon, drive into town. I can have a talk with
Haslett then, and call you up after you’ve seen Mrs.
Brant-Olwin. You can tell me then what men I had
better ask out. Of course I'll come back for the party,
earlier if there is anything you want me to do. . .
What do you think of it?”
“It's the thing to do,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said
decidedly. “Many more meals like this one, and I'll
go wild. I can’t talk to Breck, I dread even the sound
of his voice. But I can keep Marie away from his
neighborhood, and I’d get a little peace. I believe too,
West, that your going would help you with Marie.”


A MILLION DOLLARS 223
“It cost her something to ask me to walk with her,”
West said heavily.
“Nonsense! You've never paid serious court to a
girl who's heart-free, or you'd know that when she
says a thing like that she means to listen to you. It's
just like a man to get discouraged when things begin
to look promising. Don't say much to her to-day and
then clear out—I hope you'll have the sense to stay
away until the day of the party. . . . And, West, urge
Haslett to make every effort to find Mrs. Smith. See
if between you you can’t evolve some plan.”
“I believe Mrs. Smith will allow herself to be found
as soon as they think fit, Aunt Bulah. The thing for
us to do is to be ready with our offer. Don’t worry—
since you told me of Haslett's offer to Breck and the
way he took it, I’ve glimpsed daylight.”
“I wish I glimpsed it!” she said deeply.
West lifted a warning hand. “Hush!” he said. “I
think I hear Marie coming.”


A MILLION DOLLARS 225
gers—I have reason to remember them. You ‘visit'
in Philadelphia and elsewhere, but where you are at
those times is close to your lover. He is in need of
money, perhaps to him you are furnishing it. And,
Mademoiselle, to one who has once done wrong, sus-
picion is easily directed—in my heart I have sympathy
for such a man, so never dare to speak ill of him to
me—you who sneak to the house of your lover and
betray the confidence of the family to which you
belong! . . . Move out of my way that I may go
down!”
Bella's knitting hung lax in her hand; Marie saw
her grow very white and her eyes grow blank. “I’m
no more Mrs. Smith than you are,” she said through
stiff lips. “What are you talking about?”
“Talk for talk, Mademoiselle. I have quite so capa->
ble a tongue as yourself. Go visit with your lover, but
be very careful of how you endeavor to frighten me
with false suspicions. . . . I intend to remain in this
house, so move out of my way upon these stairs.”
They looked for a full minute into each other's eyes,
Marie at white heat, Bella blanched and blue-lipped but
very steady-eyed now. “What you think you know
doesn’t trouble me,” she retorted cuttingly. “You
can't prove it. And you don't dare to talk, for you're
sailing under false colors. I repeat my advice: per-
suade Breck to take what Aunt Bulah is offering for
the jewels, then fade away, you and he. I think Mrs.
Smith will fade then too. . . . It's just a bit of advice
—take it or leave it.”


A MILLION DOLLARS 227
“It is unfortunate, Mademoiselle, that your jealousy
should lead you into such groundless suspicions,”
Marie said loftily. “I understand perfectly both
your insulting suggestions and your eagerness to have
me “fade away.’ But Monsieur Colfax thinks quite dif-
ferently of me. He is friendly to me. He has, I think,
entirely forgiven me for striking at him that first day
because he wished to kiss me. It is a mistake for me to
be angry at anything you may say—a jealous person is
laughable.” And Marie laughed softly with a very
good assumption of amusement.
Her shaft went straight through Bella's scornful
armor. “You keep away from Allen or I'll kill you!”
she said furiously. “You contemptible little schemer!”
She had flamed into scarlet, face and eyes ablaze, and,
for the short moment while she stood quivering and
hands clenched, Marie felt the burning sensation in her
throat that recalled her struggle for breath when Mrs.
Smith had throttled her. There was the wish to do her
a bodily harm in Bella's queerly light eyes and yet in
utter recklessness Marie pricked her again:
“You seem not to have much confidence in your
lover, Mademoiselle.”
Bella lifted her hands, Marie expected to feel them
at her throat and braced herself to fight tooth and nail;
they eyed each other, both quivering and glaring.
Then, suddenly, Bella turned and swept down the
stairs. Marie was certain that she was going to de-
nounce her to Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent and West, and
Marie started to follow her, ready to carry the fight


228 THE ROMANCE OF
into their presence, ready for anything, utterly reck-
less.
But Bella did not go into the dining-room; she went
on swiftly through the hall and out to the porte-
cochère. She closed the door behind her, Marie could
not see what became of her. Then, suddenly, Marie
felt weak and dizzy, as if she had run a long way. She
sat down on the stairs and stared at the knitting Bella
had dropped, her chest heaving and a sensation of sick-
ness in the pit of her stomach. Her head and her
throat ached. . . . She had said hateful things—it was
hateful to hate. But she had been attacked; Bella had
sneered at Breck, and words had sprung to her lips.
Instantly she had woven a story and had flung it at
Bella and then had taunted her cruelly. Fire leapt up
in Marie again. “It is not proved that Breck has
stolen! Then to say that he, that we together, should
extort money from Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent! Oh!”
Marie took her head in her hands and swayed as she
sat. “I do not believe it! I will not! It is more pos-
sible of belief, the wild thing I said to her, that she
herself is Mrs. Smith and that she has robbed for the
sake of Colfax.”
Marie sat still then and tried to think. . . . It was
very strange, like something revealed in a dream—the
accusation she had flung at Bella. Was it possible,
could it be possible that Bella was Mrs. Smith? Would
it be possible for Bella to play such a part and her
family not discover it? She and Colfax plotting for
money? . . . But he had seemed to speak so earnestly


A MILLION DOLLARS 229
and honestly, a reckless man, but not a scoundrel. Yet
how was it possible to tell? He might have had a pur-
pose? Why would it not be possible for Bella to dis-
guise herself so she could be near her lover, even to
build that pretty house on Colfax's land in which they
could meet during her absences from Kent House?
They would want the blame of the theft to fall upon
some one else than themselves and the person least
able to refute it would be Breck: “Once a thief, always
a thief.” . . . But perhaps much of what Colfax had
told her about Breck was not true, all that past history?
Perhaps there had been no wrong reason for Breck's
going to Mrs. Smith's house that night?
Marie grew vividly alive. If only it were so! If
only she had without intention hit upon the truth!
If only Breck were innocent, merely the victim of
others' plotting ! . . . It was utterly unaccountable,
why Bella should have told her that Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent was offering money for the jewels—there were
so many things she could not explain at all. But if
she could really believe that Breck was innocent, she
would be happy. Marie clasped her hands; if she could
help to prove him innocent! Mon Dieu!
Then she returned to earth again: all she could do
was to watch and wait, take note of every circumstance
and try to find out the truth without any one's sus-
pecting. Bella would tell no one but Colfax of their
quarrel; whether she was Mrs. Smith or not, she had
every reason for keeping quiet. . . . It was a great
mistake to have put Bella on her guard, but that could


230 A MILLION DOLLARS
not be helped now. She must take time to consider
what was best to do. . . . But West and Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent must be wondering what was keeping her.
Marie was decidedly an amateur detective, for it did
not occur to her to glance along the upper hall and
observe which door stood ajar; a man might have stood
full in the hall and she not have noticed it. She rose
alertly and hurried down to the dining-room, her
cheeks so flushed and her eyes so bright that both Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent and West exclaimed. “What has
come over you, child?” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent asked,
and West said, “What sort of an elixir have you been
taking, little Marie?”
“I ran down the stairs,” Marie said. “I felt that I
had kept you waiting.”
“And you're ready now?” West was studying her
intently.
“Quite ready, Monsieur,” Marie answered more
quietly. But there was no hiding the color in her
cheeks and the brightness in her eyes—she was a dif-
ferent being.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent looked at her with both
pleasure and curiosity. Girls were queer things. It
would seem that reluctance and doubt had fled. It
boded well for West. “Be off with you,” she said.
“Come to my room when you get back.”


CHAPTER XXV
EY went out together into the gusty April day.
The wind clutched at Marie’s hat and twisted
her skirt about her knees. West pulled his cap down
over his eyes and gave Marie a helping hand across
the lawn. “I didn't realize that it was blowing so
hard,” he said.
“Upon such a day I wish for my chauffeur's uni-
form,” Marie returned.
“I like you much better as you are. . . . But look
there ! What's the matter with my statuesque cousin?”
Marie brushed the hair out of her eyes and looked:
fully in the open, half-way between the slope of lawn
and the sound, stood Bella, her back toward them, ap-
parently staring at the ruffled water. The wind bil-
lowed her light morning gown and had loosened her
hair, setting it swirling about her head. She pre-
sented an extraordinary appearance, altogether out of
keeping with her usual severe dignity. Though the
wind was cold, she seemed oblivious of it; she sug-
gested an upheaval, the elemental broken loose. Marie
looked, then looked away. She said nothing, but her
lips tightened.
West scrutinized Marie, but he said nothing until
they had struggled into the park. Then he asked
231


232 THE ROMANCE OF
lightly, “Poor old Bella! Something's wrong with her
—what is it, Marie P’’
“Maybe the wind can tell you, Monsieur,” Marie re-
turned as lightly. “To great dignity a storm is some-
times disturbing.”
“I think you could be a whirlwind on occasion,
Marie.” He eyed her amusedly yet keenly.
“I have never whirled upon you, Monsieur.”
It was easy to bandy words now. She felt excited;
she could laugh again and the will to fight was tingling
in her blood. Since her talk with Colfax, there had
seemed nothing to fight for, only the stubborn deter-
mination not to be driven from Kent House and a bitter
detestation of Mrs. Smith.
“Whirled on me! The Lord forbid!” West said
fervently. “I’m being careful—I’m not going to make
a nuisance of myself to-day. . . . Let's take hands and
run away from the wind? Come!”
They sped down the slope of the park, literally racing
with the wind, and came to a stop at the park wall,
laughing and breathless, Marie's hair loose on her
shoulders. “Mon—Dieu-" she gasped, “I must look
worse than Sarah when rescued from the hornwort
pond.”
“You look—” West said and stopped. His blond
face was aglow. He was going to help her arrange
her hair, but she backed from him. “My hat, Monsieur
—please hold my hat—until I become respectable.”
“Oh—very well,” he said lightly, but his face dark-
ened. He watched her twist up her hair, a consuming


A MILLION DOLLARS 233
gaze that enveloped her, her daintiness, the vivid color
in her cheeks and her parted lips and softly rounded
throat. He looked frowningly over his shoulder at the
Smith house. “Fancy any one's marring that,” he said
through his teeth.
“What?” Marie asked, startled by his tone.
“I was thinking of what happened to you on the train
—to your throat.”
“I think such a thing will not happen again,” Marie
said firmly. “So Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent told you?”
“About that experience? Yes. . . . But I'm not so
sure that it will not happen again. It's one of my
greatest anxieties.”
“I am not afraid,” she said resolutely.
“And I am sick with fear over you. That wom-
an—” he stopped, Marie felt certain because he remem-
bered that he must not speak of the family trouble and
Mrs. Smith's connection with it. “I believe she’s a
dangerous criminal,” he added.
Marie said nothing. Happily another gust of wind
flung her fur tippet in her face. “Ugh! . . . This
wind is terrible!” she exclaimed. “I will not again ask
a gentleman to walk with me until I have carefully con-
sidered the weather. I think we must go back.”
“Oh, not yet!” West objected instantly. “It’s been
a happy walk for me—you're more like yourself.
You've seemed so unhappy ever since you came into
Kent House. I want you to come to the cottage with
me—I want to show you my workshop. We'll be out
of the wind there.”


234 THE ROMANCE OF
Marie hesitated. She was longing to get back to her
room and think.
“Do come,” he begged and he added firmly, “I
promised not to make a nuisance of myself. I want to
tell you some things, not about myself, about other
people.”
Marie yielded; it was a small thing to do for one
who had been as kind to her as he had been. Her
mind and her heart were full of Breck; she felt excited
and hopeful—and very sorry for West. It was hard to
love and not be loved in return.
They struggled along to the cottage door and West
took a key from his pocket and unlocked it, ushering
Marie into a large room. There was only the one
room with a beautifully beamed chapel-like ceiling of
dark wood and book-shelves built into the walls. In
one side of the room was a wide and deep fireplace
with paneling on either side. There were casement
windows above the book-shelves, but the large win-
dows above the paneling on either side of the fire-
place were designed to furnish most of the light for
the room, and Marie saw at once why Mrs. Smith's
house had ruined the cottage, for the foundation wall
of the Smith house must have almost entirely shut out
the light. The windows were boarded up now; the
only light in the room was from the casement windows
which were on the park side of the cottage. The Smith
house stood on a terrace which was almost on a level
with the Kent House park wall; before the house had
been built, there had been a restful view of the sound


236 THE ROMANCE OF
It was not right to use it as a workshop, Marie
thought. On the oil-cloth cover of the table were
dried lumps of sculptor's clay, some rusty sculptor's
tools, soiled water-cups, and a box of paints and
brushes thick with dust. At the right of the fireplace,
against the rich paneling, was a rough pine table on
which were coils of tiny wire, insulators, bits of copper,
piles of little disks that looked like miniature talking-
machine records, a litter of all sorts of things an elec-
trician might use. There were several nude dolls on
the table, from which the body stuffing had been re-
moved, grotesque objects that would seem to have no
connection with the electrical apparatus to which wires
were attached. The wires were evidently let into the
wall from the outside, just under the window which
was boarded up, and were attached to the paneling
behind the table, then to the apparatus on the table. To
Marie it seemed a desecration, using this chapel-like
place for a workshop; and the contrivance of an evil
mind, shutting out the light from those splendid win-
dows. The gusts of wind struck against the house, as
if angry at such a deed.
While Marie looked about her, West went to the
fireplace and set a match to the fire which was laid
there. Then he came back to her. “What do you
think of it?” he asked.
“It seems to me wicked!” she said indignantly, point-
ing to the boarded windows. “Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
told me of it.”
“It was wicked,” he returned decidedly. “Little


238 THE ROMANCE OF
switch. It would make a fascinating entertainment for
children, wouldn't it?”
Marie looked at him wide-eyed, thoroughly inter-
ested now. “It is a most unusual idea, Monsieur.”
“A good educator too!” West said with enthusiasm.
“Think of what might be taught children by means of
these records. And the stories the child's toys could
tell: the Teddy-bear or the Uncle Remus rabbit would
be wonderful things, instead of mere cotton stuffing
made interesting only because of the child's imagina-
tion.”
“It is most wonderful!” Marie agreed. “It would
be like becoming a God to a world of children—teach-
ing them through their toys good thoughts and how to
live well.” She looked at West with respect and ad-
miration. “Such a work as yours must absorb every
moment of your time. Had I such an idea, I would
work ceaselessly.”
“It’s what I ought to do—it's what I want to do—
but Kent House and its troubles drive me wild !” He
tossed the record on the table and flung more wood on
the fire. “Perhaps there'll be an end to it before long,”
he said through his teeth, “then I can work in peace.”
He turned and looked at Marie and broke into a smile.
“Tell me, small person, what did you say to my cousin
Bella that sent her flying out into the wind? You're
potential, you know, in spite of being so tiny.”
Marie did not know what to say. He was an unusual
man; what he had said about his work interested her.
She had thought him kindly and very charming, but


A MILLION DOLLARS 239
of course worried by his family's troubles. It seemed
that he possessed originality. Certainly he was obser-
vant; it was he who had first suspected that she cared
for Breck, and now he suspected her interest in Bella.
She wished that she could confide in him, but that was
impossible.
She decided to say, “I suppose, Monsieur, she went
into the wind because she wished to do so.”
“A sphinx couldn't do better!” He sat down beside
her, his face grown grave. “Bella is one of the people
I want to talk about. Don't quarrel with her, Marie.
I think Bella has her very serious troubles, though I
don't know what they are, exactly. I do know that
under that cold surface of hers she's seething, and that
she doesn't love you. I know what Aunt Bulah seems
never to have discovered, that under all her calm, Bella
is a violent woman. She can be wildly jealous and
revengeful, and that kind of woman is dangerous;
don’t give her an opportunity to hurt you. . . . Let me
explain a little: the night Breck and Colfax fought
and you were hurt, while all that was going on here
below Mrs. Smith's window Bella and I were sitting
in the library up at Kent House. We knew nothing
about it until Gibbs came in and asked Bella for some
lint and stuff which was in Bella's closet. Though
Gibbs never knows anything about anything that goes
on and always knows more about it than any one else,
he declared that he didn't know what had happened,
some trouble with Colfax, he thought. Bella jumped
to the conclusion that Colfax was hurt. She went


24O THE ROMANCE OF
wild; “Allen's hurt! Allen's hurt!' she kept repeating,
and she quieted down only when I went out and found
just what had happened and came back and told her.
Then she flew out at you: “She went down there to
meet Allen' she kept insisting. It was a revelation to
me—evidently she cares for Colfax, a thing she has
kept from everybody. If it's true, I’m sorry for Bella.
Any woman who persists in clinging to a man in spite
of every warning and in spite of her own knowledge of
him is simply committing suicide!” Then he added
more quietly. “But not for anything would I make
trouble for Bella by talking about what I suspect. I
felt I must tell you, though, for it's not Mrs. Smith
only that I am afraid may do you a harm, Bella's a
danger too.”
In the beginning, Marie had listened with interest,
but now she was not thinking of what he was saying:
her little card house of hope had fallen about her ears,
for, if Bella was sitting in the library during that eve-
ning when she, Marie, was gazing over the wall at
Mrs. Smith, Bella was not Mrs. Smith. She was back
again just where she was before she built her house of
cards, only she understood Bella somewhat better.
She felt utterly depressed, lifeless. “Thank you,
that you have told me,” she said tonelessly, “and it is
kind of you to feel anxiety over me. I think, however,
that there is no reason to be fearful.” .
“Kind” he said with sudden passion. “I love you—
I’m worried to death over you—in more ways than
one! I'm tempted to tell you everything! If anything
A


A MILLION DOLLARS 24I
happens to you, it would kill me!” He breathed
quickly and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “But
—I can't tell you—I don't know that it would do any
good anyway—some women will love a man—in spite
of everything—as Bella's doing!”
Then he spoke more quietly. “Listen, Marie, I want
to tell you some things about Mrs. Smith: They say
she is a foreigner of some sort, probably a Russian—
nobody seems to know where she originated, or where
she gets the money with which she gambles. She is a
confirmed gambler, and always plays for large sums.
She disappears then appears again, a mysterious
woman and with no apparent connections. Such a
woman comes in contact with crooks and thieves—
she may well be at the head of some gang of criminals,
the most dangerous kind of a woman. If she is in fear
of the law—and, from your experience with her on the
train and from the way she disappeared after you
recognized her in the park, I think it's very likely—if
she is afraid of you, she would not hesitate to put you
out of the way. . . . You see, dear, for a number of
reasons, I’m desperately anxious about you. I told you
once that I wanted you to stay at Kent House, but that
was before I realized the danger you were in here.
Aunt Bulah doesn't realize it, she doesn't know to what
desperate lengths crooks and thieves will go when they
are hard pressed, but I do. She wants you here, but, if
she felt it was for your good, I know she would make
a home for you somewhere else, help you in any way
she can. So would I. It's because I love you unself-


242 THE ROMANCE OF
ishly, that I'm begging you to go away from Kent
House for a time—only a little time, Marie—until we
are certain that that woman,”—he pointed to Mrs.
Smith's house—“will not come back, and until there
is a happier state of things in Kent House itself. Marie,
I beg you to go—for your sake I beg you to go!” He
ended in passionate pleading.
Marie made no answer. She understood so much
better than he thought she did, why he urged her to go
“for a time”; if they ransomed the jewels, Mrs. Smith
would go, and so would Breck, and Kent House would
be at peace. . . . Perhaps it would be best for her to
go, she thought despairingly; “against hope, she had
believed in hope.”
She ran her fingers absently over the upholstery on
the arm of the divan, thinking of the future: how
would she be able to endure it? . . . Then her fore-
finger touched something, a hair clung to its moisture,
giving her a queer thrill, a hair from the pelt of some
animal. Marie lifted her hand and looked at the hair,
then looked at it more closely. A wave of heat passed
over her and she sat upright, staring at her hand.
“What is it?” West asked surprised, and Marie an-
swered involuntarily.
“It is a hair from the tail of a sable.” She was see-
ing distinctly the row of tails on Mrs. Smith's sable
stole—the light above their berths had made the hairs
glisten; they were unusually long and beautiful, those
hairs, like this one.
West took her hand and looked at the hair; then


A MILLION DOLLARS 243
looked into her startled eyes. “You’re certain?” he
asked.
“Yes.” She was thinking, “How did it get here?”
“So this is where they—!” He caught himself up.
“It's a hair from some dog,” he declared. “When any-
body says ‘sable’ in my presence I have visions of Mrs.
Smith. Ugh! I’ve worried about you until my nerves
are on edge.” He sprang up, shaking his shoulders.
“Let’s get out of here, dear—where the air's more
wholesome.”
Marie was thinking of Mrs. Smith and of another
who must have been beside her on the divan; many
times she had wondered where it was they met. She
looked up at West with wide hurt eyes. “Do others
than yourself have the key to this place?”
“Yes, there are several keys. . . . But do rub that
thing off your finger, then forget it.” He held out his
hand to help her to rise.
Marie started to rise, but she held the hair tightly
between her thumb and forefinger. Then she lost her
feet, for they were startled by a thunderous bang and
a rush of wind into the room which swept up the ashes
in the fireplace and scattered them about and blew the
smaller objects off West's work-table and made the
paneling beside the fireplace rattle. The whole place
seemed in a commotion.
But until Marie got to her feet she could not see
what had caused it all. She was astounded when she
turned and saw Breck in the room. He looked dis-
heveled by the wind, but his face was even more set


244 THE ROMANCE OF
than usual. West had seen him first, for he had been
standing and facing the door. The two were looking
at each other, Breck in the narrow threatening way in
which he seemed always to look at his cousin and West
with a blaze of anger that turned him scarlet.
“Will you close the door?” he said thickly.
Marie saw his hands clench and unclench.
“I’m sorry,” Breck returned in a tone so level that
it was an insult. “The wind is responsible for the
banging of the door. And why close it when you are
about to go?”
West made no answer. He had grown perfectly
calm, an exhibition of great self-control. He was a
little stiff-lipped, that was all. “Come, Marie,” he
said gently.
Marie did not know why she did it, only that the
thing sprang up in her; jealousy is accountable for
many strange deeds. She went swiftly to Breck and
instantly he looked from West to her. She still held the
hair between her fingers; she parted them and showed
him what she held. “It is a hair from a woman's sable
cape, Monsieur. . . . I found it upon the divan. . . .
Perhaps you can tell to whom it belongs?” She was
white and quivering, and her eyes were ablaze.
Breck looked, then he looked at her, a long look,
grave and steady and observant. Then he took the
hair from her outstretched finger and looked at it
closely, his face utterly expressionless, except that the
muscles in his cheeks twitched. Then he looked at her
again in his shadowed distant way. “I see,” he said so


A MILLION DOLLARS 245
softly that his voice was caressingly sarcastic, “but why
should such a little thing hurt you so much?”
Marie could not help it, the tears sprang into her
eyes. Then shame and anger swept her. She looked
neither at him nor at West, but went out through the
open door; if the wind had permitted it, she would
have run.
But though she hurried, she caught what the two
men said to each other, West's voice raised but very
steady, and Breck's so coldly triumphant that it was
stinging:
“You’re cruel to the one being who has had faith in
you.”
“Who has faith still, you mean, and always will.
Walk carefully, my fine cousin.”
Marie knew then that West was following her, but
when he reached her she was beyond speech, choked by
shame and misery and smothered by the wind. Driven
by jealousy, she had bared her heart; Breck had seen
with cruel keenness and had smiled to himself, then had
taunted the other man. And, because he loved her,
West pitied her.
Marie struggled on. West said nothing, only took
her arm and helped her along. He led her into Kent
House hall and there he took off her hat and her fur.
Then he put back her hair and looked at her white
face. His eyes were very bright. “Marie, will you
marry me—will you go with me to-day—let me take
you away from all this? . . . You can try to love me
afterward—I'll ask nothing but that.”


246 THE ROMANCE OF
She knew only that she could not do it. “Monsieur,
I can not.”
“You know that he must belong to that woman—
that is one of the things about him that worries us.”
“Yes, I think it must be so.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then, “I can
wait,” he said evenly. “I’ll go away for a little while.
You're not the sort to give yourself to a man who—”
He stopped, then went on. “I love you too much to
stay—I want you too much to stay. I would only dis-
tress you. Will you promise me to keep close to Aunt
Bulah? Not let him come near you or speak to you?”
“I do not need to promise that—I will never speak
to him again—I could not. I can not stay in this
place.”
West's face brightened. He drew her to him im-
pulsively. “Marie, I love you so dearly . . . Kiss
me—please?”
But she bent her head and he kissed only her hair.
Then he let her go. “You know what he is now—I
can wait,” he said more quietly. “I know that you'll
leave Kent House as soon as you can. I shall say
nothing to Aunt Bulah about what happened to-day,
she's worried enough over him as it is. You'll say
what you think best and arrange as you think best, but
I know that she’ll help you to do anything you insist
upon, for she really loves you. I'm not going farther
away than into town—I shall be near you and help you
if you need me. I think he will leave us before long,
Marie, then you can come back to those who love you.”


A MILLION DOLLARS 249
pointing upward. “That's the reason she's been cry-
ing.”
Then the cook asked a question. “You took his din-
ner up to him—how does he look?”
Gibbs turned on her. “Not one word of that!” he
said with mingled sternness and horror. “Haven't I
told you all along that being made out accomplices is
our danger? Lord, woman"
“My nerves has gone to pieces,” the cook said in
plaintive extenuation. “It’s awful being tied here—
afraid to give notice or anything. I was only wonder-
ing—that's why I asked.”
“Curiosity is responsible for half the trouble in the
world—it's woman's besetting sin,” Gibbs returned
scathingly. “I’ve done my best to keep you girls out
of trouble, but I wash my hands of you, if you begin
that “wondering’ business. “Wonderlust,” it is—noth-
ing more nor less. “Wonder not had ought to have
been put into the Bible and enforced on women! Don't
wonder about anything and what you don’t know you
can't tell. Nerves! There'll be those, when the climax
comes, who'll know just what day you spoiled the soup
and me spilled it on the tray carrying it up. It's little
acts like that a smooth detective builds on. Nerves!
You couldn't choose a worse time to have nerves!”
And Gibbs bore the immaculate tray up to Marie.
And later he stood a butleresque statue while Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent told Mrs. Granveston—a stiff-necked
social autocrat of the North Shore who was as remark-
ably attenuated as Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was bulky—


250 THE ROMANCE OF
of how attached she had become to Marie Angouleme.
Related by Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, Marie's history made
an interesting story, a splendid brave little girl, one of
the best ambulance drivers in all France. Her service
papers were good reading and, in addition, Mr. Haslett
had communicated with Marie's Canadian connections
who had nothing but good to say about her. “She has
the most lovable disposition and is the most companion-
able person I have ever known,” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent declared. “I have grown to love the child. I’ve
taken her into my family—as one of us.”
Mrs. Granveston was profoundly interested. So
was Gibbs. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had aroused the
“wonderlust” of her guest, and Gibbs was also actively
breaking the thirteenth commandment which he had
so strongly advocated. Both were wondering whether
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent would add that she had legally
adopted Marie Angouleme. Mrs. Granveston knew
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent too well to venture the question,
one did not ask Bulah Dunbarton-Kent questions like
that, but she judged that it was exactly what Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent had done. She was that kind of
woman, flinging a gauntlet at convention every now
and then—like this queer freak of taking up that Brant-
Olwin woman—risky things didn't frighten Bulah. Of
course every one knew that the three Dunbarton-Kent
children inherited, but Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had quite
a nice little fortune of her own besides the huge income
from the Dunbarton-Kent money. Marie Angouleme,
adopted, would be a person of consequence.


A MILLION DOLLARS 25I
“Where is she to-night?” she asked. “I’d like to
See her.”
“Up-stairs with a headache,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
answered, and proceeded to angle for an invitation to
tea.
Urged by curiosity, Mrs. Granveston said finally, “If
you’re out driving to-morrow afternoon, stop in for
tea, both of you.” Then she added with caution,
“There'll be just the three of us.” Mrs. Granveston
did not take people up except after due consideration.
Then Mrs. Granveston—and Gibbs—heard more
about Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's call upon Mrs. Brant-
Olwin. Mrs. Granveston had received with such frigid
silence Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's announcement that she
intended to give a dinner-dance for Mrs. Brant-Olwin,
that Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had turned to the subject of
Marie Angouleme. That matter satisfactorily settled,
she took up Mrs. Brant-Olwin again. -
“I like her,” she said decidedly. “I haven’t enter-
tained her before simply because I’d never troubled to
discover what a good sort she is. You know that most
of the younger set like her and go to her house.”
“They'll go almost anywhere they’re given a good
time, but that's not the way you and I were reared,”
Mrs. Granveston retorted severely. “I’ve never had
any desire to know Mrs. Brant-Olwin.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent proceeded. “Well, I had a
delightful call on her. She told me all about her life at
the Nevada mines, and it was interesting. She makes
no pretenses, and I like her for it.”


252 THE ROMANCE OF
“I’ve never talked to her, but I’ve heard her talk,”
Mrs. Granveston said. “Most women of her sort get
the roughnesses smoothed off before they attempt
society.”
“The big-heartedness and honesty taken out of them,
you mean, Lucile. Her grammar doesn’t disturb me.
I haven't given a big party for a long time, Kent House
is growing dull, so I'm going to stir things up a bit, a
party for young and old, the sort of thing we used to
have at Kent House in my dear husband's time. West
has always liked the little widow, and he's pleased over
it—he telephoned me from town this evening that Mr.
Haslett and Ward Wakefield and half a dozen other
men are coming. I have Marjorie and Bess Caswell on
my list—why don't you have them out for the week-
end and some of the fun that's sure to follow the
party?”
This was bringing pressure to bear upon Mrs.
Granveston, for Marjorie and Bess were granddaugh-
ters; Mrs. Granveston's daughter had married a Cas-
well who afterward lost his money, and the two girls
had few opportunities of meeting eligible men. Then,
too, Mrs. Granveston was intrigued by the possibility
that there might be something between West and Mrs.
Brant-Olwin–that would be a good reason for Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent's giving the party. West was re-
garded as non-capturable, but Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
was a healthy sixty and, though very well off, West
might not object to the Brant-Olwin millions as a stop-
gap. When he came into his fortune, the combination


254 THE ROMANCE OF
Mrs. Granveston—that Mrs. Brant-Olwin had shown
no telltale self-consciousness, not even when Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent had said, “Some woman she met casually
in Burton Haslett's office building told her that I
wanted a chauffeur, but wouldn't give her name, so
Marie's as ignorant as I am of who did us a kindness.
I suppose it was meant as a joke, but it has turned out
a blessing.”
Mrs. Brant-Olwin had listened interestedly, but all
she had said was, “She sounds good to me. I call her
a lucky kid.”
“I’m going to have them all here, the little set that's
held out against Mrs. Brant-Olwin,” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent told Marie. “They're going to meet you too.
Between us we're going to bring them around.”
“I will help you all I can, Madame.”
“To-morrow morning we'll have breakfast in my
room, then set to on the invitations,” Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent said vigorously. “We’ll have two of the disaf-
fected in for lunch and when they’re gone we'll go for
a ride and stop for tea with Mrs. Granveston—she
wants to meet you. I'll have some one for dinner too.
. . . Breck has his meals in his room whenever there's
company, so we won’t see much of him,” she added.
“Yes, Madame,” Marie said with as little expression
as possible, though she was immensely relieved.
“West won't be back till the day of the party—it's a
comfort sometimes not to have a man bothering
around.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent knew that Marie had had an


A MILLION DOLLARS 255
unhappy morning. West had not looked cheerful when
he had bidden her a hasty good-by, and when she had
gone into Marie's room afterward and had found her
asleep she had seen that she had been crying. She had
covered Marie up, reflecting as she did so, that, in
matters of the heart, men were “perfect fools!” But
she asked no question. She kissed Marie good night
and told her to go to sleep and sleep soundly.
When she had gone, Marie wrote to West:
“DEAR MoMSIEUR WEST :
“I have thought, and I must tell you that I can not
leave Kent House. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent I love too
dearly to do it, and this seems my home. I beg you
not to feel frightened about me. I shall be careful and
be only with Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent until you return.
This I promise.
“It is only a short letter I write, but one which is
full of gratitude to you for all your kindness to me.
“Affectionately,
“MARIE ANGOULEME.”
She had been thinking about it all evening and had
decided: she could not leave Kent House. If she left,
she would go mad with anxiety—that would be worse
than the shame she would feel whenever Breck looked
at her. Danger to herself was nothing; if disgrace
fell upon the family, perhaps she could be of some com-
fort to them.


CHAPTER XXVII
OT once during that week of helping to launch
Mrs. Brant-Olwin and—quite unconscious of any
efforts in her own behalf—of helping to launch herself,
not once did Marie see Breck. She did not even hear
him pass through the hall, though often she listened
intently. He was at Kent House, for every night she
saw the line of light beneath his door. But he moved
so noiselessly; Marie shivered when she thought of
the way in which he went in and out of a door.
In twos or fours Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's guests
came to lunch or dinner and left converted. Marie
saw the big woman at a different angle, as an enter-
taining and skilful hostess and justly a leader in her
set. Marie admired her very much. She was so inter-
ested in the way in which Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was
making “the disaffected swallow Mrs. Brant-Olwin,”
that it did not occur to her that she herself was a suc-
cess. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent did not need to repeat
Marie's history, Mrs. Granveston had done it for her,
for, at her cautious tea for three, Mrs. Granveston had
taken a fancy to Marie. Attempting conversation in
rather bad French was a fad of Mrs. Granveston's.
“Speaking with you in French has given me great
pleasure, Madame—I hope we may speak together
256


A MILLION DOLLARS 257
often,” Marie had said with such a genuine desire to
please that Mrs. Granveston became her advocate.
“She’s a wonderfully sweet, pretty girl,” Mrs. Gran-
veston declared to her friends. “Such an interesting
history too and authentic. I hope Bulah will adopt her,
if she hasn’t done so already. She needs a devoted
companion.”
By no means all of Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's friends
took Mrs. Granveston's view of the matter, but those
who came to Kent House during that week were first
surprised then charmed by Marie's quaint courtesy,
soft accent, and her unassuming wish to please. With-
out Marie's realizing it, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent drew
her out, vivid descriptions of the Hudson Bay country
and of ambulance work in France, tender recollections
of her childhood in St. Felix and of the good aunt and
the dear father who had gone. She was so utterly un-
affected and so genuinely deferential. And pretty!
With color in her cheeks and her eyes alight, Marie was
beautiful. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent looked at her with
pride; her child was a success. Gibbs looked at his
nose; when in the pantry, he shook his head.
“She's that deep it's astounding!” he confided to the
“girls,” gloomily. “She takes them all in and, as for
Mrs. D. K., she's completely blinded. So is West—
flowers out from town every day and him telephoning
all the time. Now, mark me! Mrs. Brant-Olwin knew
what she was about when she placed her here, that girl
could give this family away to-morrow, there's not
much hid from her, the great question is, is she going


258 THE ROMANCE OF
-
to do it? I’ve watched her face—she's worrying over
something and it's this, “shall I do my duty by those
who sent me here, or shall I play them false, hold my
tongue and get myself adopted and marry West?”
“I should think she’d do the last—I would,” said
Margaret.
“Doubtless you would, being a woman and not ac-
customed to weigh chances,” Gibbs retorted. “But
those high-class detective girls has a man's and a
woman's brains as well. There's some grave danger
in it for herself, is the way I explain her looks—she's
not sure she can carry it through. Mark me! it'll end
in total disaster—especially to those who don't keep a
close tongue in their heads. It's the warning I’ve give
you girls all along. Just you wait and see! It's the un-
expected that happens in these cases!”
It seemed to Marie that they were all waiting. In
spite of the quiet mornings spent over lace-making in
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's room, of the coming and going
guests, and the pleasant hours when she drove Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent; in spite of the white cherry bloom
and the pink-tinged peach trees in the orchard, spring
really smiling on them, each day breathed tense ex-
pectancy. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent chuckled over her
successful campaign, but it was always followed by a
sigh. When the telephone rang she jumped, and she
scanned her letters as if under a life sentence and look-
ing for a reprieve. Several times Gibbs brought Wil-
letts to Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's room, and Marie knew
that they talked earnestly together. Frequently it was


A MILLION DOLLARS 259
West who telephoned, and then Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
would send for her and the usual questions would
follow :
“How are you, little Marie?”
“Very well, thank you, Monsieur—I find myself
very busy and happy with Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent.”
“That's right. Nothing has happened to frighten
you?”
“Oh, no, Monsieur ! Please do not be anxious about
me.”
Marie could hear him sigh. “I think about you
night and day. Take very good care of yourself—
perhaps better days are coming. I hope so.”
“He is waiting also,” Marie thought to herself.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had long talks with West over
the telephone: “I am consulting constantly with Has-
lett,” was the gist of what he told her. “We’re doing
everything we can to locate that person. We have
agents in all the cities. We have decided on the limit
sum we thought you should offer for the property you
want—in case we can approach the owner. Haslett is
writing you about it. . . . I suppose there are no signs
of a return?”
“No. Jones says the servants tell him they have not
heard a word from her since she left. But, West, Wil-
letts is certain that he is never in his room now, after
late at night. Willetts is in and out of the house now
at night—I thought it was safer to have him. How he
makes his exit is a mystery to us.”
“I don't know that it matters—even if you find it,


A MILLION DOLLARS 261
appear again in the dining-room. Then two days of
tiring bustle over a party in which she felt only an
anxious interest. It was an intolerable state of things;
every time she and Marie drove through the park
entrance and she glimpsed Mrs. Smith's house, her
face burned.
Marie experienced the same discomfort. Her eyes
were drawn to the Smith house. She believed that
Mrs. Smith was still there, keeping herself hidden; that
she and Breck met in the cottage. They passed Colfax
Hall entrance daily, but never met Colfax. Marie was
certain that somewhere he and Bella were together.
On the afternoon of the day on which Bella was ex-
pected, Marie drove Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent to the farm
by the road they had taken on the day of Marie's ar-
rival at Kent House. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said that
she wanted to leave a message at the farm, but Marie
suspected that she wanted a closer view of Mrs. Smith's
house. Marie was just as eager to see whether she
could detect any signs of the woman's being there; in
most of us there is the perverse urge to look upon the
thing that torments us, though we know that the sight
of it will augment the ache. Hitherto, Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent had avoided the road that passed the cottage,
but to-day she was particularly depressed: time was
passing and nothing had been accomplished; the storm
might break at any moment. She was thinking grimly
that the party would be a good setting for an exposé—
Breck taken from their midst—the staring faces of her
guests—quite a drama!


262 THE ROMANCE OF
“Drive by the cottage,” she said to Marie. “It’s the
shortest way to the farm.”
Marie determined that when they passed the place
she would not glance at it, but she did, and at the house
that topped it. Mrs. Smith's house presented a smiling
appearance, its window-shades up and smoke curling
from its chimneys. It was a contrast to the grimly
forlorn stone cottage; the shades of its casement win-
dows were down and the windows themselves were
streaked and dusty; Marie had a vivid recollection of
how the interior looked.
They passed it in silence, but after a moment or two
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said with suppressed feeling.
“Poor little cottage! Many’s the evening I’ve spent
there with my dear husband, he reading aloud to me.
He had a wonderful voice.” Then she added with an
indignation that would not be suppressed, “I ought to
have torn it down when that woman built her house,
but first I let Breck use the place, he slept there all
summer, then Bella with her clay—”
She had paused so abruptly that Marie was startled
into looking at her. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's lips had
fallen apart and her eyes stared. They were in the
roadster and she leaned out and gazed back at the cot-
tage. Then she sat back, silent and grim. “How con-
venient—” she muttered.
Marie guessed the suspicion that had flashed into her
mind: it had occurred to her for the first time, as it
had occurred to West when he saw the hair she had
found, that the cottage had been the meeting-place of


A MILLION DOLLARS 263
those two. West had said that he would not tell Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent about it, but she had come upon it
herself.
She was silent until Marie was about to drive in at
the farm-house gate, then she aroused suddenly. “No,
go on,” she said. “Talking of the cottage has upset me.
I'll send the message over to the farm after I get
home.”
Marie complied in silence; her heart ached so that
she felt ill. They came out on the High Road, and
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent told her to take the first cross-
road which would bring them down into the Lower
Road. Unconsciously Marie drove fast, but she did
not forget to give warning before they reached the
Lower Road for they were between high banks which
hid them from cars that might be passing along the
Lower Road. It was a dangerous spot, marked
“Danger” on the sign-post for all autoists to read, but
the driver of the car that was exceeding the speed limit
along the Lower Road apparently neither heard nor
saw. Marie's skill and quickness alone saved them
from a crashing impact; instead of jamming on the
brakes, which would have made an accident inevitable,
she jumped the road and the other car cut across their
rear, missing them by a bare six inches. Marie had
measured the speed and the distance of the oncoming
car, and had noted the shallowness of the ditch across
the road and the level space beyond. They cleared the
ditch with only a bump and on the bit of level Marie
whirled her car about. She brought it back into the


264 A MILLION DOLLARS
road and then she looked at Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent.
The speeding car had not stopped, it had disappeared
around the curve.
They looked at each other, both very white and
trembling, but neither of them exclaimed over their
escape. “Madame! It was she?” Marie said. -
And Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said, “She has come
back.”
For in those few instants they had seen distinctly:
it was a roadster with top down and on the nose of the
car was a gold eagle with wings spread, and the driver
was Mrs. Smith. A veil wrapped her, its ends flutter-
ing in the breeze, but the regular features, high color,
and raven hair of the woman could be glimpsed
through the veil. And the way she sat, as if her fingers
were on the keys of a piano and her body arrogantly
tense.
“It was she,” Marie repeated.
“Yes,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent returned thickly,
“she's on her way home. . . . Drive on, child. You
saved our lives.”


CHAPTER XXVIII
AR better to gamble on the chance,” West said.
“Mr. Haslett and I talked it over on the way
out.”
It was nine o'clock and West and the lawyer were
with Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent in the library. As soon as
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent and Marie had come in from
their drive, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had telephoned to
Haslett and he had said that he would come out to Kent
House that evening. He and West had dined together
in town, then West had brought him out in his road-
Ster.
“I shouldn't call it gambling on a chance,” Haslett
objected quietly. “It’s not merely the fact that it's
risky to approach her, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, but it is
one of my rules in practise not to force my opponent's
hand. Nine times out of ten a waiting game is more
effective. I knew that Breck would not risk his uncle's
millions by accepting our offer, but as soon as I felt cer-
tain that he had a confederate, it was good tactics to
indicate to them that we were willing to pay. Now I
advise sitting still—let them make the first move.”
He spoke slowly; in speech and manner Burton Has-
lett was a deliberate man, a very handsome man of
fifty-five with iron-gray hair and deep-set dark eyes.
265


266 THE ROMANCE OF
He was a capable office lawyer and an indefatigable
worker; for many years, he had been Mr. Dunbarton-
Kent's legal adviser. “Haslett works too much by
rule and precedent and too little by instinct—he's not
a good judge of character,” Mr. Dunbarton-Kent some-
times complained. “Haslett couldn't be a criminal
lawyer—he lacks imagination and he has too conven-
tional a view-point. But he's a very safe adviser in fi-
nancial affairs—I know of no one who is a safer guar-
dian of property.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had thought often of her hus-
band's criticism; certainly Haslett had been altogether
wrong in Marie's case. Both he and Walter Greene
had erred in their judgment of her: Walter Greene
had pronounced her, “A girl who thinks she knows it
all, but is being used by the Brant-Olwin people just
the same. She's their tool and doesn't know it.” And
Haslett had gone further, “She’s an innocent-looking
girl only. Either she is in their employ, or she is con-
nected with Breck in some way.” West had been the
only person who had been right about Marie—and she
herself; her instinct had told her that Marie was honest
and nobody's tool.
So Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent appealed to West. “And
you really think, West, that we should do nothing—
just wait?”
“I do, and mainly because I think that they are des-
perately anxious to be safely rid of the jewels. I be-
lieve that you will hear from them very soon.”
“What do you call ‘soon’?” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent


A MILLION DOLLARS 267
demanded irritably. “I wish it were over with—no
matter what it costs!” She looked ill; the barely
averted accident coupled with the return of Mrs. Smith
had been a shock.
West looked at Haslett. “I think, as West does, that
we will hear from them—perhaps in a few days.”
“I hope so!” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said tensely.
“I shan’t be able to endure the sight of that stone image
at my table much longer! He has more nerve than she
—she must have been having a nightmare of capture as
she drove along the Lower Road this afternoon. But
for Marie she'd have killed herself and us. . . . And,
West, I think they have met at the cottage. It occurred
to me to-day that, as soon as Breck came to Kent
House, he asked if he might use the cottage. He
stopped spending all his time there only after you and
Bella began to use the place. But you were never
there at night and he has a key—think of the little cot-
tage being used for such a purpose!”
Again West looked at Haslett, but he did not tell
his aunt of Marie's discovery. “It’s possible,” he said
soothingly, “Mr. Haslett and I have talked of its being
a possible meeting-place, and we think that perhaps it's
as well for us that they have had an unsuspected place
in which to meet. . . . Aunt Bulah, I beg you not to
worry so much. You had a trying experience this af-
ternoon and you have the strain of this party in addi-
tion—it would be terrible if you were seriously ill.
You have a deal of self-control—do use it.”
“West is right, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent,” Haslett sup-


A MILLION DOLLARS 271
“In her room now.”
When he left them, West remarked, “He’s not a
brilliant man, but he's honest. He's a little long-
winded, I get impatient sometimes, but I like him for
his loyalty to Aunt Bulah.”
“He and Jones and Greene all have clean records,”
Haslett said in his precise way. “Nothing would in-
duce either one of them to take a bribe. Willetts is
particularly valuable to us, for he is one of the best
gem experts in New York—no paste pearls will ever
pass his inspection. . . . Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, our
wisest course is simply to wait. Go on and give your
party as if you had not a care in the world.”
“And West will stay here?”
West answered, “Yes, for I'm anxious about Marie.”
Haslett looked down. He had his opinion of Marie
and of West's infatuation for her. She knew what she
was about, that girl. In the end, they might have to
buy her off, but, for the present, it was best to let
sleeping dogs lie. West seemed to have a fixed idea
that harm would come to Marie and he had urged
Haslett to send a detective to Kent House especially to
watch over her. Haslett had chosen to send Walter
Greene. West had agreed with Haslett that a final
room to room search of Kent House might not be a bad
idea, and Haslett had given Walter Greene a few in-
structions which he had not confided either to West or
to Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent.
But Burton Haslett was a politic man. “How is
Miss Marie P” he asked.
y


272 THE ROMANCE OF
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent knew that it was not belief
in Marie but fear of Mrs. Brant-Olwin's detectives
which had made him urge her to keep Marie at Kent
House. But it didn't matter; when he knew Marie
better, he'd change his opinion.
“She was shocked by what happened this afternoon,”
she replied, “but the way in which she kept her head
and managed our car at the crucial moment was mar-
velous. She can think clearly and act quickly, that
child.”
West drew an audible breath; he had been terribly
shocked when Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had told them of
their afternoon’s experience. “I wish we could clear
the neighborhood of that woman—whether we get the
pearls or not!” he exclaimed. “She’ll do Marie a harm
yet!”
Haslett considered him as completely an infatuated a
man as he had ever known. “I doubt it,” he said a
little dryly. “However, let us go back to the important
thing: you both insist that, if they demand it, you will
pay as high as four hundred and fifty thousand for the
jewels. West says that he will contribute fifty thou-
sand of that amount. I’ve told you that I don’t ap-
prove of it—that I would not pay those crooks one
cent more than the jewels are worth, four hundred
thousand, but it is your money and not mine that’s to
be paid, so I have nothing more to say. . . . Now we
must have the sum where we can get it at a few hours'
notice—they may give us a very short time.”
“I don’t need to disturb any investments—I can ar-
w


A MILLION DOLLARS 273
range with the bank to advance me the sum, for steel
and oil pay in before the end of the month, Haslett.”
“I know—over five hundred thousand, Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent. . . . And you, West?”
“I can give you a check for fifty thousand at any
moment.”
“We shall be ready for them then,” Haslett said.
“And now, West, get me to the station.”


CHAPTER XXIX
FTER Haslett and West had gone, Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent went up to Marie's door. “Gone to
bed, Marie P’’ she asked.
Marie opened her door promptly. “No, Madame—
I do not sleep all the time.”
She spoke brightly, but she took sympathetic note of
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's strained look. Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent had told her that West was bringing a man
out to talk over business matters with her, and Marie
felt certain that it must be about ransoming the jewels.
She had not gone to bed, for she knew that West would
want to see her after the business conference was over.
She had decided that she wanted to see him. Every
day during that long week there had been affectionate
messages, the loveliest flowers love could choose and
money could buy, expressions of tenderness and long-
ing.
Marie had said to herself in utter self-disgust, “Are
you an imbecile, that you think and think of one who
is despicable! Turn your back upon it and think of one
who really loves you.” The sight of Mrs. Smith, with
arrogant head high, bearing down upon them, had
aroused a vivid anger in Marie: let Breck depart with
274


A MILLION DOLLARS 275
his woman—the man with the gentleman's heart be-
longed to her.
“Come to my room,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said.
“West will be back in a few minutes.”
“I hoped that he would,” Marie answered in a tone
that was significant.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent set aside her own troubles and
considered her. The girl looked so flushed and de-
termined, not exactly as a girl who was eager to see
her lover should look. Involuntarily she said, “Be very
sure before you promise, child. I love you too much to
have you make a mistake.” She put her big arm about
Marie's shoulders and drew her toward her room.
“We'll talk a little before he comes back.”
She was thinking now of Marie's problem and not
her own, so she did not notice the square of white
which lay on the rug just inside her door. It was
Marie who picked up the envelope and saw that it was
directed to Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent.
“It is a note for you, Madame,” she said. “Some
one has put it beneath your door.”
“Who in the world from ?”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent scanned the envelope, it was
a handwriting she did not know, but not until she tore
it open and saw the first lines did she have the least
suspicion of what the contents might be; the long
expected and much discussed so often comes as a com-
plete surprise.
There was no address and no date:
–


A MILLION DOLLARS 277
“Madame, do not be so excited and go carefully
down the stairs!” Marie begged, for Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent was so dangerously flushed that it frightened
her.
Then she ran. In the back hall, down-stairs, she col-
lided with Gibbs and so violently that he lost his foot-
ing and sat down with a thud on the waxed floor.
Marie cleared his portly form at a bound and tugged
at the back door which Gibbs had double-locked—
at the stroke of nine, as was his nightly custom. But
Marie wasted no time over Gibbs; she ran into the
passage leading to the kitchen at a speed that gave the
cook a severe shock and gained the outer air by a dash
through the servants’ entrance.
But on her way to the garage she was brought to an
abrupt stop, for, as she rounded the servants’ quarters,
she was seized by powerful hands and whirled about
and a flash-light was thrust into her face. It was
Willetts. He dropped the light and his arms went
about Marie in a protective rather than a detective
fashion:
“Why—it's the little girl!” he said. “What's the
matter?”
“It is—Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent—wishes—the car—
instantly—” Marie gasped.
“I’ll be-blessed P And he loosed his hold and
Marie was off like a dart to the garage.
Willetts followed. “I didn’t know who it was at
first,” he apologized confusedly. “Hope I didn't hurt
you?”


278 THE ROMANCE OF
“No, no!” Marie said, though her arm ached.
“Open the doors wider!” And she flew to the big
Car.
“What's happened?” Willetts demanded.
“Only that Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent must overtake Mr.
West and the gentleman with him—before the train
takes him.” -
Willetts pulled out his watch. “You can't make it—
the train's due in eight minutes.”
Marie had started the engine; her face darkened.
Then she smiled; she pointed to the telephone. “I
shall try. Meantime, telephone to the station-man a
message from Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, that they tell the
gentleman with Mr. West to wait until Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent shall join him.” And she shot out of the
garage and whirled around the servants' quarters and
on then to the porte-cochère.
“That's quick thinking!” Willetts said to himself
as he went to the telephone.
And, in the kitchen, Gibbs, while he rubbed sur-
reptitiously that portion of his body which had been
bruised by his fall, was saying to the cook, “You quiet
down! Nothing's happened except that Mrs. D. K.
has got to get a message to Mr. Haslett before he
catches the train—she told me so. And that girl’ll get
her to the station in time, mark me! She don’t give
up to no highsterics! She's got brains.” Gibbs did
not mention his fall; Buckingham Gibbs knew how to
maintain his dignity; for fifteen years he had ruled,
below-stairs, in Kent House.


A MILLION DOLLARS 279
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent sat in grim silence while
Marie whirled her along the Lower Road. She was
collected now : if they made it, well and good; if they
didn't, she would have to consult with West and per-
haps follow Haslett into town.
They had covered two-thirds of the distance to the
station when the whistle of the train told them that
speeding was useless. Marie slowed down and Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent said resignedly, “We did our best,
child. We may as well turn around and go home and
wait for West to come.”
“I think perhaps not, Madame,” Marie said hope-
fully. “While I hurried with the car, I told Mr. Wil-
letts to telephone to the station the message that the
gentleman with Mr. West should wait till you came.”
“You did! I can't thank you enough, child!”
“Shall we not go on, Madame?”
“Yes—of course.”
They were very near the station, when Marie said
of the car that rounded the curve, “It is they!”
She was right, it was West who drew up beside them
and Haslett who said, “I received your message, Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent.”
“Marie's message,” she answered. “I hadn't wits
enough to think of it. . . . Time's precious and you’ll
miss the next train, but you'll have to come back to
Kent House. I’ve had a letter about that property.”
“If you wish to save time, Madame, I can leave you
here while I drive on to where I can turn,” Marie sug-
gested. “Then the next train need not to be missed.”


28O THE ROMANCE OF
West had left his car and had come to them. “Trust
little Marie for finding a way! . . . Get into my car,
Aunt Bulah, and if you and Mr. Haslett want to talk
business, I’ll talk to Marie.”
“It’s the best thing to do. But you stay here with
us, West, while Marie drives on.”
“Very well. Bring your car back, Marie—don't run
away from us,” he said brightly.
But as soon as Marie was out of hearing, he asked
tensely enough, “Have they written to you?”
“Some one has,” she said, as he helped her into his
seat. “But is there light enough here for Haslett to
read it?”
“I have a flash-light.”
West stood beside Haslett and held the light while
they both read the note. “It’s disguised, but it's
Breck's handwriting!” West exclaimed almost at once.
Haslett read the note twice, then he said with pro-
found anger. “Damn them! Five hundred thousand!
Where they should be is behind the bars. Even with all
the Dunbarton-Kent millions, I’d not let myself be
gouged like this—I’d rather turn them over to Mrs.
Brant—Olwin ſ”
“I shall pay it,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said deeply.
“Keeping my husband's name clean before the world is
more to me than all the huge income that I don't begin
to use. But, Haslett, I’ll make them understand that
it’s the last! Any other attempt, and I shall put him
behind the bars!”
“And you’ll stand for this?” Haslett asked West.


A MILLION DOLLARS 285
She stood near her door and she reached behind her
and opened it a little. “By and by—not to-night, Mon-
sieur,” she said softly. With a twist of her lithe little
body, she escaped his outstretched arms; his hands
touched a closed door.


CHAPTER XXXI
T was West who, at half past six the next morning,
hoisted the big flag which the wind from the sound
unfurled and set waving above Kent House. The wind
whipped it into action, causing a slapping sound that
waked Marie. When she looked from her window, she
could see nothing, but when she leaned out she saw the
flag directly above her; the hoisting ropes led down
the side of the house, not two feet from her window;
when the wind whipped the flag, the ropes, though
drawn down and securely fastened below, slapped taut
against the side of the house, the noise Marie had
heard.
“They raise the flag in honor of the party,” Marie
thought, and she bathed and dressed in a determined
way. She felt that she had decided upon the future;
that she had put Breck out of her mind. She won-
dered how many women buried a dream and, in the
end, were the happier for having done so.
Marie did not glance at Breck's vacant place at the
breakfast-table. She lifted Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's
hand to her cheek, smiled at West who sprang up
when she came in, and returned Bella's frigid, “Good
morning,” with a level look and as stony a greeting.
286


A MILLION DOLLARS 287
Bella did not look well, there were shadows about her
eyes, but she held herself quite as erectly as usual.
Marie learned the plans for the day: West was going
to take Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent into the city directly after
breakfast and return with her at noon; Bella would
superintend the decorating and the arrangement of the
banquet table in the music-room, and the placing of the
half a car-load of palms and flowering plants which
had been ordered for the big glazed room off the ball-
room, once the conservatory, but now a room used
only on an occasion such as this. Gibbs had entire
charge of the kitchen and of the caterers and their
swarm of assistants. To Marie was assigned the list of
guests and the box of dinner-cards, bearing the Dun-
barton-Kent crest. Marie looked at the crest with in-
terest and, bending over her, West read softly the line
in Latin, “Malo mori quam faedari. . . . I would
rather die than submit to disgrace,” he translated.
Marie thought of Breck and her lips tightened.
Bella was talking with Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent. Evi-
dently she was very capable—she did not seem to be
in the least daunted by the day's work. “We'll have
everything in order by three o'clock,” she told Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent, and added, “You remember, Aunt
Bulah, that I told you I expected to leave before the
party was over—for my southern trip? I packed my
trunks last night, and I’ll send them to the station this
afternoon.”
“I’d forgotten,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said in a pre-
occupied way. She thought for a moment. “Come to


290 THE ROMANCE OF
emit many colors, but the prevailing color a deep
orchid, tipped with red and hinting of gold. And her
little slippers were gold. She looked like some vivid
butterfly with wings sheathed about its slender body.
When Margaret had brought it to her, there had
been a note pinned to it: “I ordered this and West
chose it—put it on and be happy, or I shall be un-
happy.” It was another present from Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent, and Marie went straight to her. “Madame—l”
was all she could say, but her little outstretched hands
and her eyes spoke for her. All afternoon, Marie had
been fighting depression, calling on all the resolution
she possessed; she had come down to the family gath-
ering determined to make Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent happy,
whatever the cost to herself.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent kissed her and patted her
shoulder. Her eyes twinkled. “You didn't have to
“lay paper within those soles,” did you?”
The dress was short, as was the fashion, and Marie
did not have to lift her skirt for Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent's inspection. “No, Madame, not at all. They
fit most perfectly.” She looked down anxiously at her
rounded legs and tiny ankles. “In my chauffeur's uni-
form I never thought of it, but this skirt displays very
much.”
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent chuckled, West laughed
amusedly, and Bella turned away with a contemptuous
curl of the lip. Marie saw what escaped Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent's notice and the softly accented words left
her lips before she knew it. “However, if I hold up


A MILLION DOLLARS 291.
my head and make my shoulders look like a man's, per-
haps no man will even look at my feet. To be unlov-
able must be my endeavor.”
She could bring the blood to Bella's face; Bella
flushed scarlet, so much Marie saw before West took
her away. “I want to show you the rooms before any
one comes,” he said; then low and amusedly, “Little
hornet!”
As soon as the words were out, Marie had been
sorry. “I should not have spoken so,” she said con-
tritely, “but she curled her lip at me.”
“Bella curls her lip at most people and manages to
be unlovable, as you say, but there's nothing gained by
making her angry. . . . Little Marie, you look very
lovely to-night. You've been shut up in your room all
day and I have been afraid to try to pry you out of it,
but to-night is mine,” he added determinedly. “I have
something in my breast pocket which I mean to put on
your finger to-night.”
Marie crushed the feeling of desolation that assailed
her. She looked resolutely ahead and was acutely con-
scious of the scent of flowers. But she said nothing;
West saw only her long lashes and the firm set of her
lips. He said no more on that subject.
“These rooms have been closed ever since we went
into the war. Aunt Bulah gave thousands to war chari-
ties and stopped all expensive entertaining.”
They had come through the big doors at the end of
the drawing-rooms; Marie had never seen them open.
This was the wing of Kent House that jutted into the


A MILLION DOLLARS 293
Marie thought of Mrs. Smith; she was a brilliant
musician. She had stung Bella a few minutes before
because her regal beauty reminded her of Mrs. Smith.
West took her into the banquet-room and Marie ex-
claimed, “How beautiful!”
It was Bella's work, but Marie could not withhold
her praise: a long oblong table reaching from corner
to corner of the deep room, or, rather, a table con-
structed about an oblong fountain, three cupids en-
twined, each with a dimpled arm extended and holding
an arrow. From the three arrows poured tiny streams
of water into the basin of the fountain which was sunk
to a level with the table and in which floated pink and
white water-lilies and their broad leaves. Moss clung
to the feet of the cupids and to the edges of the basin
and a tracery of tiny orchids spread from the basin over
the table, even to its farthest ends; the faintly earthy
scent of the water-lilies sweetened the air.
“Bella is a genius at this sort of thing,” West de-
clared. “Mrs. Brant-Olwin would have stacked that
fountain with solid gold apples and sheaves of silver
bananas, or something of the kind—I hope she can ap-
preciate this beautiful thing. . . . Look at the con-
servatory, then we must go—the ballroom is like most
ballrooms, a place to dance in and a screen of palms
hiding the musicians. We are going to have the organ
during dinner—that was my suggestion—I loathe jazz
with my meals. Campetti is going to play for us.”
The conservatory was delightful, couches and chairs
arranged behind groups of palms and flowers. “The


294 THE ROMANCE OF
card-tables are in the regular dining-room where noth-
ing will disturb the fiends,” West said. “I have to
play host at dinner, Mrs. Brant-Olwin is at my right,
but she will have Ward Wakefield, who is a lion, at her
right and the very important Countess de Lantinelle,
who is being fêted in New York just now and who,
they say, wants to marry John van Rouvervant, will be
at my left. But, as she will devote herself to John Van
on her left, I shall be free to look at you most of the
time, for you will sit where the table curves, almost
as if you faced me. . . . But, dear, we must go back.”
When they reached the drawing-rooms, though Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent and Bella were alone, several guests
were descending the stairs, Mrs. Brant-Olwin and Mrs.
Granveston in the lead, talking amicably together, and
behind them Mr. Granveston, a very tall old man with
a peaked beard and bright keen eyes, and John van
Rouvervant, a man of perhaps sixty who betrayed over-
good living more by his thick speech and slightly
watery eyes than by his well-cared-for girth. He was
very wealthy and a jovial bachelor. Others were
above, and others were arriving, the chatter and laugh-
ter had begun.
Even before Gibbs' magnificent voice announced
her, Marie recognized Mrs. Brant-Olwin, the little
plump woman with the round, attractively humorous
face and small, intensely black eyes and blue-black dyed
hair who had sent her laughingly on her way to Kent
House. She was exceedingly well made up, her skin
whitened into a youthful contrast to eyes and hair.


A MILLION DOLLARS 295
But a mouth is unchangeable; Mrs. Brant-Olwin's
mouth turned up naturally at the corners, a little like
Marie's, a sweet little smiling mouth. Marie succeeded
in concealing her surprise—Mrs. Brant-Olwin might
not like to be reminded of their meeting.
Marie was right, Mrs. Brant-Olwin either did not
or chose not to remember her; she looked at Marie
pleasantly, but without any sign of recognition. Mrs.
Granveston set the fashion for the evening; she patted
the hand Marie shyly extended to her while she dipped
in the courtesy which every woman who had met Marie
declared was “simply fascinating—just like a child of
ten.”
“How are you, my dear—but need I ask! You look
like a veritable orchid—an exquisite little gown.”
Marie answered her in French, and Mrs. Granveston
said mischievously, “You must speak French to Mrs.
Brant-Olwin,” and passed on, for Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent and that lady had turned toward them. “I’m
glad to meet you,” Mrs. Brant-Olwin said before Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent had time to introduce her. “Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent was telling me about you the other
day, a regular romance. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's a
dear—I’ve always thought so—and you're as sweet as
you can be.” She gave Marie's hand a cordial squeeze
and Marie saw that her eyes twinkled; it was as if she
had said, “Goodness! Don’t give me away! It was
all a grand joke.” At least that was what Marie made
of her expression.
Then Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent presented Mr. Granves-


296 THE ROMANCE OF
ton and John van Rouvervant and they all stood
together. West joined them and Mrs. Brant-Olwin
spoke to him as one would to an old acquaintance.
“I feel as shabby as an old squaw to-night—no
pearls.”
She looked far from shabby, a gorgeous gown of
black and silver. Her hair was bound by a jet fillet
studded with diamonds and her jet ear-rings had as
pendants two magnificent diamonds and the jet bar-pin
at her breast had a center diamond as large as a pea.
“I should say that you had gone into rather mag-
nificent mourning for your pearls,” West said smil-
ingly, and yet with kindly sympathy. “Have you had
no trace of them yet?”
She made a moue. “Clues.” Then her eyes
flashed. “I’ll find the thief, and when I do, he'll have
reason to remember me. Back in Nevada, I’ve seen a
cotton-wood decorated with the likes of him. Being
it's New York, I'm offering a big reward.” Then she
changed to laughter; she wrinkled her small retroussé
nose in a delightful way. “This set I'm wearing be-
longed originally to a Spanish grandee, but it always
make me think of Mrs. Rudy, who kept a boarding-
house in Virginia City. She had supported three hus-
bands, one at a time, of course, and wrote a book of
poetry. When her last husband died, she wrote:
“‘Oh, drape me in black,
He'll never come back,


A MILLION DOLLARS 297
I’ll go on scrapin’ toast,
And watchin' the roast,
But he'll never come back,
He'll never come back!’”
They all laughed, though there were several in that
group who felt sick at heart. Then a number of young
people came in and it was evident that they liked Mrs.
Brant-Olwin. They shook hands with Marie and
looked at her interestedly, but none of them paused to
talk to her; they were busy greeting one another.
Marie stood beside Mrs. Brant—Olwin, for Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent had told her to stand there, and Bella was
also in the receiving group and West stood near with
a watchful eye on Marie. He looked very handsome,
Marie thought. She felt very proud of him: after all,
it was her dream come partly true, “a man of worth
and distinction.”
It was evident that West liked Mrs. Brant-Olwin;
he made her say amusing things. It was evident that
she was either liked or was going to be liked by almost
everybody; she said something bright or amusing to
every one. Marie was very glad, both for Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent's and Mrs. Brant-Olwin's sake; she liked
Mrs. Brant-Olwin quite as much as she had liked her
when she first met her.
And many people said nice things to Marie. The
women she had met during Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's
campaign in Mrs. Brant-Olwin's behalf were almost
affectionate, and the men looked at her in a way that
Marie understood instantly: they thought her attrac-


298 THE ROMANCE OF
tive. Burton Haslett had been among the first to ar-
rive and, after talking to Mrs. Brant-Olwin, he stood
beside Marie for some time. Marie liked his gravely
courteous manner, but not the intent way in which he
looked at her. She knew now who he was, the “Has-
lett” Colfax had mentioned, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent's
lawyer; it was he Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had wanted to
overtake the night before; it was he who had persuaded
Mr. Dunbarton-Kent to have the proviso put in his
will; he had never had any faith in Breck, and Marie
felt that he was not friendly to her.
But Marie Smiled at him from beneath her lashes.
He was speaking to her when Mrs. Brant-Olwin
touched her arm. “Who is that stunning-looking man
just coming in? A relation? . . . He must be.”
In the entrance to the drawing-room, standing tall
and straight, one white-gloved hand touching the front
of his vest, his head thrown back slightly as he looked
at the gathering, was Breck. He was in evening dress
and it accentuated his natural air of distinction. He
was a strikingly handsome man and unmistakably a
Dunbarton-Kent; Mrs. Brant-Olwin's exclamation was
not surprising.
Marie could not answer. Happily their little group
was looking at Breck and not at Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent,
for she blanched as at the sight of a ghost. A flash of
vivid anger crossed West's face, and Bella stiffened
into ice. Breck could see how they looked at him, they
were not looking at one another.
Yet he came forward, lightness and strength in every


A MILLION DOLLARS 299
movement, unembarrassed and with a casual glance
for all but Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent. When he stood be-
fore her, he said as any nephew would speak to an aunt
he had surprised by an unexpected appearance. “I met
Ward Wakefield in town, you know we were in France
together, Aunt Bulah. At the last moment, he was
unable to come and asked me to take his place—he sent
you this note.” And, with his eyes steadily on her, he
handed her the bit of white which he had been holding
against his vest.
They were quick in an emergency, that family. Even
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent said with only a trifling thick-
ness in her voice, “I’m glad you were able to come,
Breck.”
And West, who had come to her rescue, introduced
Breck with graceful ease. “Mrs. Brant-Olwin, you
have never met my cousin Breckenridge. Ward Wake-
field was more successful than we've ever been in per-
suading him to attend a party.”
Breck bowed over Mrs. Brant-Olwin's hand, and
she said with genuine interest and sympathy, “You’ve
been an invalid since the war, haven't you? I’ve
always wanted to meet you. I’m real glad you're better
and beginning to go out.”
“So am I, Mrs. Brant-Olwin—particularly as I am
going to sit beside you at dinner.” It was quietly but
distinctly said, and accompanied by his slow smile that
impressed Mrs. Brant-Olwin, as it had impressed
Marie, as pathetic.
Marie had slipped away, and Breck lifted to meet


300 A MILLION DOLLARS
Haslett's extended hand. They shook hands, a steady
look into each other's eyes. Then Bella's cool voice
said at Breck’s shoulder, “You must meet some of these
people before dinner, Breck. Come over and talk to
Mrs. Granveston.”
West and Haslett had moved to Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent's side. “What does he mean by this?” she asked
scarcely above her breath.
“To cover his tracks,” West answered, and Haslett
said, “There is no telling. You have the money on you
still P”
“In the belt—next to me. They couldn't get it
without killing me.”
“They would never attempt anything like that,” Has-
lett said decidedly. “Don’t be anxious, I shall not leave
your side all evening and I’m going with you to-night.
I'll tell Greene not to take his eye from him and we
must have Willetts close to us. They are not planning
a double-cross—I think as West does, that he came in
order to appear to have no connection with the thing—
he's looking to the future. . . . Is the note genuine?”
“It seems so to me.” She slipped it into West's
hand. “You know his handwriting better than I–I
know they were together in France.”
West went into the hall for a few minutes, then came
back. “Wakefield wrote it—you'll have to give him
Wakefield's place. . . . Greene must watch her dia-
monds.”
“Perhaps that's what brought him,” Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent said with bitter contempt.


CHAPTER XXXIII
ARIE lived through the dinner in a sort of pain-
ful dream set to music, the all-pervading organ.
She saw Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent at the far end of the
table, somewhat pale, but the usual capable hostess, and
Haslett beside her. Every one was talking and Marie
was conscious that she herself talked; she did her best
to please Mr. Granveston and John van Rouvervant.
John van Rouvervant paid her compliments, all she
needed to do was to smile at him and occasionally
answer brightly, besides, the Countess de Lantinelle
was on his other side and she was very vivacious. She
talked alternately to West and John van Rouvervant,
or to both of them; she seemed to admire West very
much.
But to Mr. Granveston, Marie was forced to pay
closer attention, for he talked to her of Canada; he
had spent his boyhood in Canada. In the early days,
his father had made a fortune in the fur-trade. Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent had shown good judgment when she
placed Marie between the two elderly gentlemen: John
van Rouvervant had a penchant for pretty girls and
Mr. Granveston would really appreciate her. Both
thought her charming, and Mr. Granveston became
really interested, for Marie had much to tell him of the
present-day fur-trade.
3OI


302 THE ROMANCE OF
But it was of the two at West's right of whom Marie
was acutely conscious, Breck and Mrs. Brant-Olwin;
of Breck's face, grave, except occasionally when he
smiled. He did not forget to talk now and then to the
girl on his right, Marjorie Caswell, Mrs. Granveston's
granddaughter, but it was to Mrs. Brant-Olwin he
gave his attention. She spoke to West occasionally,
otherwise she seemed to be absorbedly interested in
Breck; theirs was a tête-a-tête almost throughout din-
ner. Marie felt that Mrs. Brant-Olwin was a very in-
dependent sort of woman, she would not care in the
least whether any one remarked, as John van Rouver-
vant did, that, “The little widow seems to have fallen
head over heels for that handsome young fellow.”
Marie heard the remark with commingled feelings,
an ache in her throat and a sick apprehension; from the
moment Breck had appeared, she had felt wretchedly
foreboding. That immobile, inscrutable face of his and
his pathetic smile that made one want to weep from
pity. She wished that she could hear what he was
saying; she felt an aching envy of Mrs. Brant-Olwin,
and at the same time a certain sympathy. She noticed
the footman who rarely moved far from his position
behind the two; his face was familiar to Marie, then
she realized that he was Walter Greene, the young man
who had tried to question her on the day after her
arrival at Kent House—a detective. And behind Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent stood Willetts, Marie had recognized
him at once, though he looked strange in a footman's
livery. Why were they there? What did they think


3O4 THE ROMANCE OF
circling arm, a grave tender smile, and he smiled his
rare smile in return. “She is beginning to love him,”
Marie said to herself.
Then Mr. Granveston took her to the group that
was about Mrs. Granveston. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
was there and Haslett with her and Willetts was near
them. Marie spoke to Willetts, a soft “Good evening,”
and he smiled and flushed, then busied himself with
a chair which he offered to Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent.
“No, I’m getting the bridge people together,” she
said. “Come along with me—I’ll need you.” She
patted Marie's cheek affectionately. “Have a good
time, child—West is looking after you.” Then she
moved on, Haslett carrying her scarf and fan, and fol-
lowed by Willetts.
West claimed the next dance, “This dance, sweet-
heart, then I must do my duty,” he said, “but after
that—”
He held her as a lover would, the clasp a man longs
to make closer. But he talked very little and Marie
was grateful to him. When she stole a glance upward,
she saw that his eyes were bright and watchful; he had
great self-control, but he was excited; he was appre-
nensive, just as she was. Breck was with Mrs. Brant-
Olwin now, and Marie saw that from behind a group
of people, Walter Greene was watching them; they
were talking while they danced, in the same absorbed
way in which they had talked at dinner, Breck’s head
bent to catch what she said, and her face lifted to his.
Gradually the ballroom cleared. Groups moved into


A MILLION DOLLARS 309
“In my happiness, I have forgotten!” she said half
aloud.
She sprang up and started to follow them, she had
almost reached the banquet-room, when some one
caught her by the arm, “Wait a minute, Marie Angou-
leme.”


CHAPTER XXXIV
T was Bella who had stopped her. “I want to speak
I to you,” she said coolly. She was dressed in street
clothes and carried a hand-bag. She looked as if ready
for a journey, and Marie remembered that Bella had
said that she was leaving that night, before the party
WaS OVer.
As always, Bella aroused vivid antagonism in Marie;
unconsciously she brushed her arm where Bella's cold
fingers had rested. “Speak quickly then, Madem-
oiselle—I wish to go to my room,” Marie returned
curtly.
There was a mocking gleam in Bella's eyes. “I was
going to advise you to go—after I’ve told you some-
thing that will interest you. . . . Come over here
behind the palms, where people won't see us.”
Marie hesitated, then followed her, and Bella said
without preamble. “The jewels are going to be turned
over to Aunt Bulah to-night in exchange for five hun-
dred thousand dollars.” Then her lip curled in scorn-
ful amusement at Marie's suddenly widened eyes.
“Mrs. Smith has done pretty well, hasn’t she-behind
your back? . . . Aunt Bulah got their offer last night
and accepted it, and to-day, at noon, she got a note
fixing the place of meeting—the cottage, at half past
3Io


A MILLION DOLLARS 313
would make a final search. He reported to you and
not to Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent, for she's at the breaking-
point as it is.”
West's voice was milder. “Yes, of course. But I
know Marie had nothing to do with it. And there's
nothing we can do—except to wait and see what hap-
pens to-night. The important thing is to get the
jewels.”
“But will we get them? Whoever took them out of
this trunk was in a hurry, a thief relieving a thief of
his plunder, it seems to me.”
“Or Breck taking them from the place where he had
put them,” West said impatiently. “Doubtless he had
his reasons for putting them there and certainly there
is a good reason for his having removed them—they
have to have them to-night.”
It was Walter Greene's voice that cut in. “I went
through that trunk when we got it from the boarding-
house two months ago. There was no double bottom
to it then—I’d take my oath on it. And no pistol in
the trunk either. It’s an amateur's job anyway, the
way that lining's been taken off and put back. Any
one could detect it, Miss Angouleme would have, if
she ever went to the bottom of her trunk. Perhaps she
might throw some light—”
“Mention Marie Angouleme's name again and I'll
throw light into you!” West interrupted furiously.
“I know what he's capable of any scheme to discredit
her! I've felt from the beginning that they'd do her
a harm if they could. Marie has no more idea that


3I4 THE ROMANCE OF
her trunk has been tampered with than—Aunt Bulah
has. Marie's as honest as the day—any one who in-
timates anything else shall answer to me!”
“There, there,” Haslett said. “No one is intimating
anything. I want to get the pearls to-night—that is
all that's worrying me. We can do our investigating
and suspecting afterward. Greene, put those wrap-
pings back in the false bottom and put back the lining
as nearly as possible as you found it. Put the ring
back too, and the pistol. Pack the trunk just as it was
and put it back in the closet where it was. We'll go
and you can lock the door again. Keep close watch on
this room and Jones will be watching outside. Willetts
is going with us to the cottage.”
Haslett and West were coming out, for Marie heard
the key turn in the lock. She sprang away from the
door. Across the hall, Bella's door stood ajar, offering
her shelter, and Marie reached the room and closed
the door just as Haslett and West came out of her
room. As on the train, Marie stood braced against
the door; as a farewell, the enemy had dealt her a tell-
ing blow; fastened suspicion on her, and suspicion is a
difficult thing to combat; there had been good reason
for Bella's look of triumph.
It was some moments before Marie moved from the
door. Bella had left her light burning; the room wore
a denuded look; all the little things a woman collects
about her were gone. Evidently Bella had taken all
her belongings. In the confusion of preparations for
the party, who would notice how many trunks or boxes


A MILLION DOLLARS 3I5
Bella had sent away? Not Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent pre-
occupied as she was. Bella had gone and evidently not
to return.
For a few moments, Marie walked the floor, her
clenched hands pressed to her burning temples. She
was angrier than she had ever been in all her life before,
a profound settled rage, a consuming sense of outrage
that demanded reparation. “A double-cross,” Bella
had said; well, it would be something more than that!
But she must not stay here—her plan would
succeed only if she was very careful. Walter Greene
would come out of her room in a few minutes and be
on the watch; both he and Haslett suspected her; they
had always suspected her.
Marie put the key Bella had given her in her bosom.
Then she set the door ajar and looked out. The door
of her room was closed still and she saw no one, so
she stole out and went down-stairs. There they were
still at supper and Marie went to the card-room where
refreshments were being served and sat between Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent and Mrs. Granveston. The latter
said, “My dear, your eyes look like great black saucers
and your cheeks like two flames,” and Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent patted her shoulder. “Don’t tire yourself
out—go to bed whenever you want to.” But for her
own flushed cheeks, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent would have
looked haggard; her eyes were strained and tired.
Then West searched her out and she danced with
him several times, smiling softly at the things he said
to her. Then, at last, Marie went to her room and


316 THE ROMANCE OF
West went with her to her door. It was one o'clock.
“I am most sleepy and tired,” Marie sighed wearily.
“I shall sleep so soundly not even thunder could wake
me.”
“You’ve promised to tell Aunt Bulah in the morning,
Marie.” And he kissed her.
“Yes,” she promised again; her eyes were almost
closed.
But when alone, with her door securely locked, Marie
was wide awake. She turned on the lights and drew
down the window-shades. Then, without instituting
any apparent search, she made sure that there was no
one hidden in her room, in her bathroom or in her
clothes-closet. Then, with her closet door half closed,
she opened her trunk and took from it her chauffeur's
uniform, but she wasted no time in examining the
trunk. She took out the pistol, hesitated, then put it
back again in the trunk; her chauffeur's uniform she
left on the floor of the closet. Going back into her
room, she undressed, donned her night-dress, and, go-
ing to the windows, raised the shades; any one who was
watching without would have a glimpse of her in night-
dress and with hair down. Then she turned out the
lights and got into bed.
But Marie did not stay there; in less than ten minutes
she crept out cautiously and, as many and many a
time when a light would have been a target for a shell,
she dressed in the dark; she twisted up her hair in a
knot and put on her chauffeur's uniform, even her
thick leather driving gloves. Then she went to the


32O THE ROMANCE OF
with all those diamonds on her, running the risk of a
hold-up. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen.”
“I talked with him,” Haslett had returned. “He’s
armed—he told me so—and he has the chauffeur with
him. Either he had to take Mrs. Brant-Olwin home,
or she would have to spend the night here, and I agreed
with him that of the two dangers taking her home was
the lesser. And we dare not tell Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent
anything about it to-night—if she gets through without
a collapse, we'll be fortunate.” Then Haslett had sent
for Jones and Willetts and had told them of Greene's
discovery. “Keep a close watch on her windows,
Jones, and you, Greene, keep watch up-stairs here—
don't allow her to leave her room to-night.”
Possibly it was those few moments during which
Haslett had talked to the detectives that had given
Marie the chance to escape from her room. At any
rate, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent had gone to the cottage
with two men who were convinced that Mrs. Brant-
Olwin's jewels would not be ransomed that night.
Willetts was very certain that Marie knew nothing
about the use to which her trunk had been put, yet he
did not agree with West's explanation. He was
puzzled. He had no hope of getting the jewels that
night, however.
It was a very still night, no moon to lend shadows
which would suggest life, only silence and gloom; the
cottage might have been the home of the dead. “There's
no light in the place,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent whispered
anxiously. “Perhaps she'll not keep the appointment?”


324 THE ROMANCE OF
used her left hand when she had uncovered the jewel-
case, he could not see her right arm, the sable stole
covered it, but he felt very certain that her right hand
held a pistol, as did his. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent looked
at Willetts; so much depended on his decision. She
was crimson and tense with excitement.
Willetts was doing his work thoroughly. He ex-
amined through his glass each pearl of the magnificent
rope which was the pièce de résistance of the collection,
then the ear-rings, rings, and the very beautiful but
shorter strings of pearls which were designed for a
head ornament. In the lower tray of the jewel-case
was a yellowed paper, giving in French the history of
the collection and, appended to it, the receipted bill of
sale and the listing of the French firm from whom
Mrs. Brant-Olwin had purchased the pearls. Willetts
counted them, all were there save the single pearl ring
which they had discovered in Marie's trunk. Then he
placed them on their cream satin couch where they
gleamed faintly blue, palely lovely. No wonder Mrs.
Brant-Olwin prized her pearls.
Haslett caught Willetts' nod. “Correct?” he asked.
“Yes, sir—lacking the one ring.” And he brought
the jewel-case to the desk-table.
“Give it to Madame,” Mrs. Smith said. “I promise
you the mislaid ring—for that you must take my
word.”
Willetts gave the jewel-case to Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent, and her hands shook as she took it; it was the
end of a long and painful journey. At the same mo-


A MILLION DOLLARS 327
lay scattered on the floor, the jewel-case gaped wide
and pearls mingled with their ransom, but they had
forgotten. Though a struggle of thief with thief, had
Breck struck the woman, Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent would
have cried out; Haslett and Willetts would have
dragged him off. But Breck had grappled with her
only and now he was holding her pinioned. She had
struck at him again and again, the blood trickled from
a wound in his forehead, twice she had flung him off
and had had him down, they had rolled over and over;
her sable stole was a twisted mass beneath them, her
hat had been dragged from her head, pulling away
from her face its framing of raven hair, her gown was
torn from throat to waist, revealing her chest. Now,
when he had her pinioned and they saw the face of
the creature whose strength had been almost equal to
Breck's, she was strangely metamorphosed; there was
a fringe of fair hair on her forehead, one eyebrow was
broad and black, the other light, her cheeks were
ruddled, her bosom flat and hairy.
For the first time during the struggle, Breck really
saw the face of the creature who had fought with the
strength of a mad-woman. He loosed his hold and
sprang to his feet. “You!” he said.
It was not the prostrate man who answered. It
was Marie who said clearly, “Yes, Monsieur—it is
West Dunbarton-Kent.”


A MILLION DOLLARS 333
too much of a Dunbarton-Kent ever to tattle to you
and, as he was clear off the track, it didn't worry me
particularly. We had a thorough detestation of each
other, though. I’d always hated him.
“I didn’t lie about my inventing, I’ve always wanted
to be an inventor, but the gambling fever got me too
often. I had the cottage back then and I did try to
work, but I was down to my last cent. Then came the
chance for your hundred thousand as well as the pearls.
You were all of you determined to think Breck the
thief—with his record, what use was there of his deny-
ing it? I had counted on that, for, you see, it was I
who had relieved Breck's partner, at the college party,
of her pendant. The hue and cry scared me and I put
it in his room, then let the college authorities worm
Breck’s history out of me. It was effective—“once a
thief, always a thief.”
“I wanted Breck to clear from Kent House. But he
stuck. You didn't want him to decamp with the jewels,
try to raise money on them and get himself jailed and
the family disgraced, but certainly you made it a hell
for him, with your detectives and your safeguards and
your offers of a competence and forgiveness, if only
he would confess and turn the jewels over to you. He
simply set his face and waited. It annoyed me, but I
wasn’t afraid of him, for I knew that he had the out-
cast's respect for the man who holds an assured posi-
tion. He might not approve of my morals, but he
could no more conceive of my being a burglar than of
your being one.


334 THE ROMANCE OF
“What worried me was my need of money. Nearly
all of your hundred thousand was gone. I’d never
played in such bad luck—I lost and lost. I was actually
in need of the small sum I got for the tires and tools in
your garage, besides it served my purpose—you would
lay the theft to Breck. I had the jewels, but I didn't
dare to dispose of them, or attempt another burglary.
It was on my return from my last disastrous spree that
I encountered Marie Angouleme on the train. For a
few minutes I thought a Brant-Olwin detective had
me. Then I knew my mistake and cleared from the
train as soon as I could.
“Then, by a queer chance, she came to Kent House.
I guessed who she was and why she stared at Breck;
either she had seen Mrs. Smith on the train, or she had
seen her elsewhere. I knew she was no detective, but
exactly what she said she was—a decided danger to me,
nevertheless. I tried to persuade you to turn her off,
but you wouldn't. I went away myself, thinking that
she would have enough of Kent House in a day or two
and leave of her own accord. But when I came back,
she was still there and, after talking with her, I knew
that she was staying because she had fallen in love with
Breck.
“After that I played against heavy odds, I was in
danger, not only because I might remind Marie of Mrs.
Smith, but because of Breck. He had acquired the
suspicion that Mrs. Smith might have some connection
with the thefts. He was watching the cottage and
Mrs. Smith's house, doing some detective work of his


A MILLION DOLLARS 335
own. He was very certain that Marie was in Mrs.
Brant-Olwin's employ and was afraid that she would
try to fix the thefts on him, and as certain that she
meant to marry me, so he tried to frighten her away
from Kent House in any safe way he could. He de-
cided that the most effective way of scaring her was to
act as if he were going to knife me, and also by inti-
mating that my intentions toward her were not of the
best, that she was in the utmost danger of some sort.
“That was the way I sized up the situation when I
came back and I thought it would be as well for Mrs.
Smith to show herself in her house, quite openly, as if
afraid of nothing. But I had not calculated on Marie’s
being abroad that evening. You know what followed:
Breck was watching Mrs. Smith, Marie Angouleme
was hurt, and you learned of her experience on the
train and, of course, deduced that Mrs. Smith was
Breck’s confederate. So far I was safe, but I had to
get Marie Angouleme away from Kent House and by
some means that would not injure me. I have never
had the least desire to or intention of marrying any
woman, least of all Marie Angouleme, a wife would be
unendurable. I dumfounded you by my sudden pas-
sion for your little chauffeur—I thought that if any-
thing would remove her tactfully from Kent House,
a Dunbarton-Kent bent upon a misalliance such as that
would do the trick! But I forgot that you sometimes
do unexpected things—you deceived me by a pretended
opposition, then actually brought Marie Angouleme
into Kent House! I had to keep up the deceit.”


336 THE ROMANCE OF
Again West laughed shortly. “Then I got inter-
ested, not in Marie Angouleme, but in the game I was
playing—it's the gamester in me, I suppose—I wanted
to win out. She was breaking her heart over Breck,
knowing that he was ostracised for some very good
reason, she didn't know what, yet determined to believe
in him. A woman will get a man, if she is determined
enough—I meant that she shouldn’t get Breck. She
began to suspect that Breck was entangled with Mrs.
Smith, and that Mrs. Smith was a desperate character
and a wholly evil woman was Marie Angouleme's con-
viction; she was sick with jealousy and disgust and
coming inch by inch to me. I even took her to the
cottage, here, to prove to her what a convenient meet-
ing-place Breck and Mrs. Smith had had. Her finding
a hair from Mrs. Smith's sable stole and presenting it
to Breck, who was in the habit of following us around,
was not a denouement for which I had planned, how-
ever—so greatly do the plans of men and mice go
astray! Breck is a cautious man, else he would have
given his explanation of Marie's find. Instead, he
asserted Marie's undying faith in him which served
to bring her nearer to me.” He shrugged. “Breck
cared no more for Marie Angouleme than I did—he
wanted her to clear from Kent House, and hurting her
was one way of accomplishing his purpose. He
thought that ‘the little detective’ was trying to fasten
something on him and he taunted her—he thought he
was taunting me as well. Undoubtedly I had set up an
establishment for Mrs. Smith, nevertheless I was de-


A MILLION DOLLARS 337
termined to marry Marie Angouleme, she being a later
infatuation—such was Breck's judgment of me.”
West's look and tone showed scornful amusement.
“The situation had its comic side: you, Aunt Bulah,
doing all you could to forward a match; Marie Angou-
leme hanging fire and altogether at sea about every-
thing and every one and with the best of intentions all
around; Bella convinced that Marie Angouleme, Breck
and Mrs. Smith were responsible for the thefts and that
Marie Angouleme had engaged the sympathy and, she
was afraid, the affections of Allen Colfax; Breck cer-
tain that Marie Angouleme was a spy acting for Mrs.
Brant-Olwin and a vital danger to him and as certain
that she was going to marry West Dunbarton-Kent;
and all three of us, Breck, Bella and West, bent upon
the difficult task of driving Marie Angouleme away
from Kent House without danger to ourselves.
Funny!”
His lips had twisted in a smile. Then he grew
grave. “Meantime, I was desperate for money. It
was a big relief to me when I knew that you were
headed in the right direction. The pearls ransomed,
and I would be safe. Mrs. Smith could disappear
forever and some other disguise serve me. Breck
could not prove his innocence, you would be absolutely
certain that his confederate had double-crossed him
and had made off with the money—he would take the
sum you would give him and clear from Kent House—
he would never jeopardize his heirship by making a
public row. And Marie Angouleme would have no


338 A MILLION DOLLARS
hold on me—I could discredit her. I had spent a few
hours over her trunk. The cellar of my house is damp
and I had had the pearls hidden there for weeks
wrapped in chamois-skin and cotton wool. I put the
wrappings and one ring into her trunk. You might lay
the thing to Breck, but Haslett would not, he never
had any faith in Marie Angouleme. With five hun-
dred thousand in my pocket, I too could lose faith in
my fiancée. I would be done with Marie Angouleme—
I would have won.”
Throughout, he had addressed himself to Mrs. Dun-
barton-Kent, had looked only at her. Now he turned
to Marie, who still clung to the table, silent and motion-
less as were the others. His bow and his smile were
ironical. “As it has turned out—I have lost and you
have won, Marie Angouleme. All the detectives and
all the thieves in the world, rolled into one, are not
the equal of one perfectly well-intentioned and blunder-
ing young woman.”


342 THE ROMANCE OF
arrangements? That I would not telephone to the
house of Mrs. Brant-Olwin and talk with her detec-
tive? That I have not allowed you to consume time in
order that your capture may be the more certain? The
reward offered by Mrs. Brant-Olwin will make me
rich!” She looked across at him, laughing a little in
her triumph, queer laughter coming from so white a
face. “Whether you go, or whether you remain, your
fate is as certain. Very truly I have won, Monsieur
West Dunbarton-Kent!”
Marie was right: West had gambled on his last
chance and had lost. Her scorn of Breck had rung so
true, her revenge triumphant was so ringingly clear, so
amusedly certain. West had shrunk: a high-handed,
perfectly assured, nonchalant gamester, a conscience-
less, clever man-of-the-world, an artist and actor of
talent perverted. West Dunbarton-Kent changing,
while they looked on, into the hunted criminal. His
body seemed to shrink and his stature lessen; his
shoulders lifted and rounded, his neck shortened, his
jaw protruded and sharp lines narrowed his forehead;
his eyes, grown furtive and gleaming, peered from a
face that belonged rightfully in a rogue's gallery. The
metamorphosis was more astounding and far more
painful than the superficial change wrought by a dis-
guise removed; that had been a superb woman changed
into an erect, arrogant, well-featured man; this was a
revelation of mental deformity, revolting, sickening.
He was looking from this side to that, swiftly con-
sidering. He moved sidewise toward the black open-


A MILLION DOLLARS A.
349
strangely quiet and self-contained man, Mrs. Dunbar-
ton-Kent. And very capable. I have been endlessly
grateful to him for insisting that Mrs. Brant-Olwin's
pearls must be put back at once in the hole in the cellar
where West had had them, and that her detectives
should be allowed to make the discovery. As it turned
out, West's setting fire to his house before he made
off was a most fortunate thing, for it disclosed the en-
trance to the cellar and brought Mrs. Brant-Olwin's
detectives to the scene. Breck saved the day for us.”
“And Marie,” Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent-said jealously.
“Yes, indeed—Miss Angouleme too,” Haslett agreed
promptly. Her love for Marie was Mrs. Dunbarton-
Kent's greatest joy, and Haslett grasped at the safe
subject. “How is she?”
“Her shoulder is well again,” she said more brightly.
“You’d gone to the fire, so you didn't hear what she
said to the doctor. She had all her wits about her!
When Jones brought that jabbering idiot over from
Huntington, she saved me and Breck from any ex-
planation. “Monsieur, Doctor,” she said, “once before
my head fell upon a stone, now my shoulder fell against
a desk, so again you must mend me.” That little
sycophant was all deference to her this time,” Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent said with grim amusement. “‘The
little adopted daughter,’ as he called her. He was
quite right in that—that’s what she is, my daughter.”
Her voice sank again. “I’d like to see her happy too.”
Haslett rarely asked Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent an abrupt
question, but it was a thing he had pondered. If Breck


354 THE ROMANCE OF
family from exposure. . . . But he had turned to
another. It was a bitter punishment.
Marie's hands came together, gripping. Then she
stiffened, for Breck was speaking. He had said
abruptly, “I am going away, Aunt Bulah. . . . Mrs.
Brant-Olwin has an immense tract in Arizona. She
wants me to make salable property of it, irrigate it and
divide it up into ranches. It's work I can do. It will
be just as well for me to live at a distance, there is
always the likelihood of the past's flying up and hitting
you, through me. I have been considering it for the
last two weeks—to-day I decided. Mrs. Brant-Olwin
says that she will come to see you and explain.”
There was perfect silence for a moment. In the
days past, had West made such an announcement, Mrs.
Dunbarton-Kent would have said, “And when are you
and Mrs. Brant—Olwin to be married?”
But of Breck she asked no questions: there were few
people whom Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent respected as pro-
foundly as she did Breck, or of whom she stood in
greater awe, or over whom her heart ached more. And
there was her child to be considered—Marie first of
all. Breck and Mrs. Brant-Olwin had decided wisely;
Mrs. Brant-Olwin belonged in the West. They would
go west and be married and live there; Breck would be
happy. And, for her little Marie, it would be far
better. Breck and Mrs. Brant-Olwin in Mrs. Brant-
Olwin's great house, happy, and Marie looking on 1
This was the best solution of a wretched situation.
“It is for you to decide, Breck,” she said in the af-


A MILLION DOLLARS 355
fectionate way Marie knew so well. “I have hoped
that you would stay at Kent House,”—there was a
slight quiver in her voice—“find your happiness here
and, in a way, take the place of my dear husband. I
am not in the least afraid of your past—it's made the
finer man of you. All that will ever worry me is that
I misjudged you. . . . But you know best in which
direction your happiness lies. And, Breck, I have
already made arrangements, I want you and Bella to
live in comfort: there are two millions of your uncle's
money that I have saved for you children. I have
settled one million on Bella and with a proviso, Colfax
—the other million is yours, without any proviso.
West doesn't exist.”
Breck had flushed to crimson. He held out his hand
to his aunt. “Thank you, Aunt Bulah. I–don't
know how—to thank you enough. . . . It's what
you've said—not the money—” he said jerkily. “Mrs.
Brant-Olwin has been—kind—too. I’ll explain—be-
fore I go away—I can't—now—” And he left the
room. He went outside, for they heard him close the
hall door. The window-shades were up and it was a
white night, no haze and a radiant moon. Marie saw
Breck pass the windows; he was going into the park.
Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent was looking at her child. The
light fell full on Marie's face; she was looking at Breck
through the window. There are times when misery
invites sympathy; there are other times when sympathy
would be an added hurt. Mrs. Dunbarton-Kent rose
and left the room as noiselessly as possible.


360 THE ROMANCE OF
Marie stroked his bent head. “Do not tell me any
more, dear one—I know everything, and I under-
stand.” i
“I must! I've longed so to tell you. . . . Aunt
Bulah wrote me to go on in college and try to do well.
She hadn't much faith in me, and I worked the harder
because of it. I stood well in college. But no one
knew my real history. Then West did to me what he
said. Every one shunned me—I went through hell. I
went to France to get away from it. . . . It helped me
though. It got worked into my marrow that Ger-
many's cause was that of the world thief. When they
took me prisoner, I felt that they imprisoned me be-
cause I had done right. There's a vast difference.
And I lived through it somehow, to come back to Kent
House. It was my dream, to come back to the home
of my family and make myself respected and loved.
Aunt Bulah took me in for my uncle's sake. . . . But
West was here—that—!”
“Monsieur! Breck, do not!” Marie begged.
He calmed instantly. “I will not, dear. I should
not denounce, for I know them so well, those who have
allowed an obsession to eat away their souls. And who
knows? When he has reached the depths, perhaps even
he will find his soul. It was my uncle's belief that
there is no depravity that can not be cured, that the
spark of regeneration lies in every criminal, however
great his criminality. My uncle's belief is the right
one—it redeemed me: optimism vivifies life, pessimism
destroys it.


A MILLION DOLLARS 363
to surprise society. They are very much in love with
each other. While she was in Florida, she used to
make stolen visits to New York to see him, and it was
on one of those visits to his office that you met her
and she sent you to Kent House, and not as a joke.
She has told me that you were so young and pretty and
she knew that Aunt Bulah would take an interest in
you. Little she knew to what she was sending you.
. . . Gibbs had telephoned me to come back and, as
Ward was not feeling well, I took his place at the din-
ner. I wanted Mrs. Brant-Olwin to like me—I liked
her as soon as I met her, she is wholesome, genuine.
I was Ward's friend and I knew their secret, and that
made her my friend too, but, Marie, from beginning to
end and world without end, you have been my love. I
hadn't a hope left, I thought you still abhorred me, you
scarcely looked at me or spoke to me, and I couldn't
endure it. And though I have my arms about you
now, it still seems a miracle! . . . But I have made
you cry—I didn't mean to make you cry, dear—”
Marie's thoughts were as disjointed as her words.
“It was such suffering for you! . . . I suffered too—
my heart ached and was broken—I wished these last
three weeks to be dead. . . . Mr. Gibbs is a noble man,
so long as I live will I love him. Purposely he sent
me to you to-night, by showing to me about Mrs.
Brant-Olwin in the paper. I know it now. . . . In
the past which will never come back, I was wicked with
jealously over a bad woman who did not exist. Never
again will I be jealous like that without reason!”