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D AddttkxHl comments / Commentaires suppMtnentaJres: Thii inm h liim«t at tht rtdueiion rnio ehecfctd bekw/ C* docmmnt nt filmi tu taux dt rMuction indiwii ci-dnsous. lOX 14X 1IX 22X »X »X D / — n tjx 1«X 20X 24), 7ltX 15* The copy fllmad h«r« has baan raproduead thanka to tha ganaroaity of: McLennan Library McGill University Montreal Tha imagaa appearing hai« ara tha baat quality poaalbia conaidaring tha condition and iaglbility of tha original copy and in liaaping with tha filming contract apacificationa. L'axampiaira filmt fut raproduit grica i la Qtntro»\tt da: McLennan Library McGill Unl«anity Montreal Laa imagaa aulvantaa ont ttt raproduitaa avae la plua grand aoln, compta tanu da la condition at da la nattat* da l'axampiaira film*, at an eonformitt avac laa eonditlona du contrat da flimaga. Original copiaa in printad papor covara ara flimad baginning with tha front eovar and anding on tha laat paga with a printad or iliuatratad impraa- (ion, or tha bacii covar whan appropriata. All othar original copiaa ara flimad baginning on tha firat paga with a printad or iliuatratad Impraa- lion, and anding on tha laat paga with a printad or Iliuatratad impraaaion. Laa axamplairaa originaux dont la couvartuni an paplar aat ImprimAa tont filmia an commandant par la pramiar plat at an tarminant aoit par la darnltra paga qui comporta una amprainta d'impraaalon ou d'llluatration. aoit par la tacond plat, aaion la caa. Toua laa autraa axamplairaa originaux aont filmta an comman9ant par la pramitra paga qui comporta una amprainta dimpraaaion ou d'illuatration at an tarminant par la darnitra paga qui comporta una taila amprainta. Tha laat racordad frama on aach microflcha ahall contain tha aymbol ^^ (moaning "CON- TINUED"), or tha aymbol V (moaning "END"), whichavar appiiaa. Un daa aymbolaa auivanta apparaltra sur la darnitra imaga da chaqua microflcha. salon la caa: la symbola — » aignifia "A SUIVRE ", la aymbola ▼ aignifia "FIN". Mapa, piataa, charta, ate., may ba flimad at diffarant raductlon ratloa. Thoaa too larga to ba antlraly includad in ana axpoaura ara flimad baginning in tha uppar laft hand eomar, laft to right and top to bottom, aa many framoa aa raquirad. Tha following diagrama llluatrata tha mathod: Laa cartaa, planchaa, tabiaaux, ate, pauvant ttra flimia i daa taux da rMuction difftranta. Loraqua la documant aat trop grand pour ttra raproduit an un aaul cllchi, 11 aat filmt i partir da I'angia aupiriaur gaucha, da gaucho i droita, at da haut an baa, an pranant la nombra d'Imagaa nteaaaaira. Laa diagrammaa auivanta IHuatrant la mtthoda. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 MKxocorr iesoiution tist chart (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) M /APPLIED IIVMGE Inc 1653 East Moin Strwt Rochvitar, New York 1*609 USA (716) 4B2 - 0300 - Phone (716) 266-5989 - Fo« •HE »TOOO WATCHING THE RISE AND DIP OPTHE «TEAMEII» "OW Publiihed bj arrangement with Harpw ft Brothen, Th* lnn< 71772036 »" ■hrli niwil(|<, i«ol, ifD^ |>7 Raiiu a Bionnn. Pihlidwd Hit. 19119. THE INNER SHRINE THE INNER SHRINE 'THOUGH Ae had counted the stroke, of every 1 hour ,„ce midnight. Mrs. Eveleth had „^ &*1^"^«.S''^'^- When she Jsltsfttin! b^ upnght. mdrfFenent to comfort, in one o(Z. the aid of her cane, up and down the lone suite of -akns. hstening for the sound of wheeirihe k^.^^ Aat Geoige and Diane ^uld be suq,rised to S her waitmg up for them, and that they might ev^„ be annoyed; but in her state of dreadTt was 7^ ''Tk '' *"./!" " ■""'» considerations. She could hardly tell how this presentiment of o It must have come as imperceptibly as L fir«i flicker of dusk acn,ss the radiance of L aftemiT* 1-kmgback. she could almost make her^lJbX; ftction m her son's marriage to Diane. Certainly *e had felt « there before their honeymoon wal 5^-^55 T_H E INNER S H P r w .^ over. The four year, that had passed since then had been spent— or, at least, she would have said •o now— in waiting for the peril to present itself. And yet, had she been called on to explain why «he saw it stalking thio»gh the darkness of thn ^cular Jane night, she would have fotmd h difficult to give coherent statement to her fear Eveiythuig about her was pursuing its nonnaUy restless round, with scarcely a hint of the exceii 2°" ; ^^ Y"^ ^''"* ^^ ^"'•''"g "P again to that fevcnsh cKinax in which the season dies, it ^s only what she had witnessed every year since *e last days of the Second Empire. If Diane's ^yety was that of excitement rather than of youth if George's depression was that of jaded effort rather *an of satiated pleasure, it was no more than she had seen in them at other times. She acknowledged mat she had few facts to go upon— that she had mdfeed httle more than the terrified prescience which warns the animal of a storm. There were moments of her vigil v(*en she tried to reassure herself widi the very tenuity of her rea- »om for alarm. It was a comfort to think how little A^re was that she could state with the definite- first days of thetr Hfe together. If, on Diane's part, *e spontaneity of wtdded fove had graduafly C «»tMe the adroitness of domestic tact, there wa. 2 T HE ::: " '-^ -^ -t iv Jg "Sa^Lf 7f 'Xi- ^- Eveleth'. own power D;3n..'e P • • **^'' "'^^ extravagance of Evdeth's™:ipX >; "sr '"' ^• undoubtedly lanrp ,„A f » J . "'* ">come was uureaiy large, and, for all she knew, it iuitif-A ?! '"""P:"°"^ '''y'^ Diane and he kepTLp ' Me^e Ae purchasing power of money beg^ J„d end^ was something she had never kno^ Di^^A was so frequentin her own affairs thar^he„Ge pw up she had been glad to re^'^^J '°u^^ n^I.g.ble quantiy in such housekeeping as Aev the splendid Cst M« EvS ^^^^ ''"^'^ her husband could never' have r 7-' ?'""* *« haveb^i,,. whileXieXrihr:^ now George, who led th». i;f» „f n • • ' ras^j. i havefl *; Sf: l^r^d^ gTojf her Aought for that. She distiL her So" ^ Ae living atmosphere around her. She was no novice ,n this brilliant, dissolute society or J, th^ meanings hidden behind its appareniyVvJal J^ 3 THE INNER SHRINE cems. Hints that would have had slight signifi- cance for one less expert she found luminous with suggestion; and she read by signs as faint as those in whicii the redskin detects the passage of his foe across the grass. The odd smile with which Diane went out! The dull silence in which George came home! The manufactured conversation! The forced gayety! The startling pause! The effort to begin again, and keep the tone to one of com- mon intercourse! The long defile of guests! The strangers who came, grew intimate, and disap- peared! The glances that followed Diane when she crossed a room! The shrug, the whisper, the suggestive grimace, at the mention of her name! All these were as an alphabet in which Mrs. Eve- leth, grown skilful by long years of observation, read what had become not less familiar than her mother-tongue. The fact that her misgivings were not new made it the more difficult to understand why they had focussed themselves to-night into this great fear. There had been nothing unusual about the day, except that she had seen little of Diane, while George had remained shut up in his room, writing letters and arranging or dest.oying papers. There had been nothing out of the common in either of them — not even the frown of care on George's fore- head, or the excited light in Diane's eyes — as they drove away b the evening, to dine at the Spanish 4 THE I NNER SHRINE Embassy. They had kissed her tenderly, but it was not t.11 after they had gone that it seemed to her as If they had been taking a farewell. Then too other little tokens suddenly became ominous.' while somethmg within herself seemed to say Ihe hour is at hand I" The hour is at hand! Standing in the middle of one of the gorgeous rooms, she repeated the words i»ftly markmg as she did so their incongruity to herself and her surroundings. The note of fatality jarred on the harmony of this well-ordered life It was preposterous that she, who had always been hedged round and sheltered by pomp and circum- stance, should now in her middle age be menaced with calamity. She dragged herself over to one of the^long mirrors and gazed at her reflection pity- The twitter of birds startled her with the know}- edge that it was dawn. From the Embassy Georw and Diane were to go on to two or three great houses, but surely they should be home by this nmel The reflection meant the renewal of her fear. Where was her son.? Was he really with his wife, or had the moment come when he must take the law into his own hands, after their French manner, to avenge himself or her? She knew nothing about duelling, but she had the Angles Saxon mother's dread of it. She had always hoped that, lotwithstanding the social code under which 5 t B E I N N E R SHRINK he lived, George would keep clear of any sudk bratal senselessness; but lately she had begun n» fear that the convenuons of the world would pror* the stronger, and that the time when they would do so was not far away. Pulling back the curtains from one of the win- dows, she opened it and stepped out on a balcony, where the long strip of the Quai d'Orsay stretched below her, in gray and silent emptiness. On die swift, leaden-colqred current of the Seine, spanned here and there by ghostly bridges, mysterious barges plied weirdly through the twilight. Up on the left the Arc de Triomphe began to emerge dimly out of night, while down on the right the line of the Louvre lay, black and sinister, beneath the towers and spires that famtly detached themselves against the growing saffron of the morning. High above all else, the domes of the Sacred Heart were white with die rays of the unriswi sun, like those of the City which came down from God. It was so different from the cheerful Pans of broad daylight that she was drawing back with a shudder, when over the Pont de la Concorde she discerned the approach of a motor-brougham. Closing the window, she harried to the suirway. It was still night within the house, and the one dectric light left burning drew forth dull ^eaAn from the wrough -metal arabesques of the splen- didly sweepmg balustrades. When, on the ringing THE I NNER S H P r at t. i.^^}'u *' ^'^' °P*"*^ »"«' "he went down. Though she recalled that impression in after years, for the moment she saw nothing but Diane ll TVfu V" *\"" °''"""g the%oluminou; "Bonjour petite merel" Diane called, with a nervous laugh, as Mrs. Eveleth paused on the lower steps of the stairs, "Where is George?" She could not keep the tone of anxiety out of her vo.ce. but D,ane answered, witl, ready briskness home?'^' *'°"' '^"°^- "^''»'' ''« <=on^ "You must know he hasn't come home. Weren you together?" "We we.e together till-let me seel-whose house was a. ^-tiU after the cotillon at Madame JJ Jockey Qub w.th Monsieur de Melcourt, while I drove on to the Rochefoucaulds'." She turned away toward the dining-room, but it was .nr.poss.ble not to catch the tremor in her voice Z\^V :T°'''- ^" ^" '^'y English there was 9 sl|ght foreign mtonation, as well as that trace tJ^A- =";«''^^»»i<^'' qui^Wy yields tt, emotion. Standing at the table in the dining-room where n. 7 THE INNER SHRINE freshments had been laid, she poured out a glass of w.ne and Mr. Eveleth could see from the thresh- old that she drank it thirstily, as one who before eveiything else needs a stimulant to keep her up At the entrance of her mother-in-law she was on her guard agam, and sank languidly Into the near- est chair. "Oh, I'm so hungryl" she yawned, pulling off her gloves, and pretending to nibble at a sandwich. Uo sit down, she went on, as Mrs. Eveleth re- •named standing. "I should tliink you'd be hungry, too." ^ ^•JAren't you surprised to see me sitting up, iau' hid""'' '''" ^ "" '"'' '^*^"''' ""^ '="^" °'""« At the nonchalance of the reply Mrs. Eveleth r"' u"u T""!^' *'='"■ ''*="'^^«^- Was it possible that she had only conjured up a waking nightmare, and that there was nothing to be afraid of, after allf Possessing the French quality of frankness to an unusual degree, it was difficult for Diane to act a part at any time. With all her Parisian finesse ^LTTa Tc". ^''^ '" H^^ir^g. while her glance had that fulness of candor which can never be assumed. Looking at he. now, with her elbow, on the table and the sandwich daintily poised be- tween the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. »t was hard to connect her with tragic possibilides. O THE INNER S H R I n £ There were pearls around her neck and diamonds m her hair; but to the wholesomeness of her per- jonahty jewds were no more than dew on the tresbness of a summer morning. "I thought you'd be surprised to find me sitting up Mrs. Eveleth began again; "but the truth is, I couldn't go to bed while—" "I'm glad you didn't," Diane broke in, with an evident intention to keep the conversation in her ownhai.ds. "I'm not in the least sleepy. I could s.t here and talk till moming-though I suppose Its morning now. Really the time to live is be- tween midnight and six o'clock. One has a whole set of emotions then that never come into play dur- ing the other eighteen hours of the day. They say "8 the mmute when the soul comes nearest to partmg with the body, so I suppose that's the rea- son we can see things, during the wee sma' hous. by the light of the invisible spheres." world—""''' ^^ 1«"te content with the light of this "Oh, I shouldn't," Diane broke In, with renewed eagerness to talk against time. "It's like beinE content with words and having no need of music It s like being satisried with photographs, and never wanting real pictures." "Diane," Mrs. Eveleth interrupted, "I insist that you let me speak." "Speak, petite mere? What are you doing but 9 THE I NNER S H P r rj n speaking now? I'm scarcely saying a word. Pa «o ured to talk. If you'd ^p J ie lasrSght « ten hours tiyuig to get yourself down to the con- v«^uo„,I level of your partners, you'd ^ZiZ I ye been through. We women must be made 3 «^^.^tandi. If you had only seen mfth^ timetrth".'""' '''"""' '""'^J'"''^ ™''"- JJokel I never felt less Kke joking in my Kfe^ She broke off with a litde hysterical gasp, so that Mrs. Eveleth got another chance. do7 ''tiT ^°" ''""''/^ ^^^ ■'='^'"& '>"«' «ai '«• ao I. 1 here s somethmg wrong " «JlL*r^.r^rr ^■=»'« -"ad* »n effort «. berause I need 4e bracing effect of a litde scandal.'' Isn t ,t for you to teU me ? You're conceaUne somedjing of which—" '"aung "Oh. petite mere, is diat quite honest? Fint. you say d,eres something wrong; and Aen.when secret. Thats what you call ^n English a sell oft™"' ."^""l What a funny litlelrdlf otten wonder who mvents the slang. Pam,« P^ K along, of course, but it must' take ,^ ckvemess to start it. And isn't it curious." Z wttit on, breaAlessly. "how a new bit of slang TB E INNER S H R T K » •hrays fUU a vacant place !n the language? The mflnite you hear it jrou know it's what you've al- ways wanted. Isui ui-<5ui." came Diane's voice, speaking ^gerly. "Oui, c'est bien Madame Gcor^ EveleA Ou,.ou.. Non. Jecomprends. C'est Monsieur «4 THE INNER SHRINE de Mekourt. Oui— oui— Dites-le-moi tout de suite— j'insiste— Oui— oui. Ah-h-h!" The last, prolonged, choking exclamation came as the cry of one who sinks, smitten to the heart. Mrs. Eveleth was able to move at last. When she reached the other room, Diane was crouched in a little heap on the floor. " He's dead ? He's dead ?" the mother cried, in frenzied questioning. But Diane, with ^azed eyes and paned lips, could only nod her head in affirmation. DURING the days immediately following Geonj, found rr ^""'^ *^ "^° ^°"«" ^ho 'oved hZ with L.rs:^^^zystT^i-^p:z ?Seth di::,*%'"S^'^>' ^'"^ '^^^^'J °f. 'hat Mrs i-I!! T P ^'"'^ unexpected strength of char- 'h kra„7r ' ""^"-"f ™on kn^owledgelae «he shrank from none of the terrible details it was necessary to supervise, and that she was capaHe of g.vmg her attention to her son's practical affair It was not till a fortnight had passed that he y r"'^" "-"e face to face alone. The few occasions on which they had met hitherto had be^I those of solemn public mourning, when the z^. questions between diem necessar Iv „" .f^^ toucheH Tl,» J • necessarily remamed un- to both for • ?"'"■' '° ^''P "P^« ^as common to both for neither was sufficiently mistress o( her self to be ready for a meeting. The first move came from Diane. During hei lonfr speechless days of self- upbraiding ^frta^ i6 THE INNER SHRINE dioughts had been slowly forming themselves into resolutions; but it was on impulse rather than re- flection that, at last, she summoned up strength to knock at Mrs. Eveleth's door. She entered timidly, expecting to find some mani- festation of grief similar to her own. She was sur- pnsed, therefore, to see her mother-in-law sitting at her desk, with a number of businesshke papers be- fore her. She held a pencil between her fingers, and was evidently in the act of adding up long rows of figures. "Oh, come in," she said, briefly, as Diane ap- peared. "Excuse me a minute. Sit down." Diane seated herself by an open window looking out on the garden. It was a hot morning toward the end of June, and from th; neighboring streets came the dull rumble of Paris. Beyond the gar- den, through an opening, she could see a procession of carnages— probably a wedding on its way to Sainte-Clotilde. It was her first realizing glimpse of the outside world since that gray morning when she had driven home alone, and the very fact that it could be pursuing its round indifferent to her calamity impelled her to turn her gaze away. It was then that she had time to note the changes wrought in Mrs. Eveleth; and it was like finding winter where she expected no more than the first genial touch of autumn. The softnesses of linger- ing youth had disappeared, stricken out by the >7 THE IN NER S H R 7 AT « fc^llT'^'".'"^ ."^ gravity. Never having known her mother-m-Iaw as other than a womaf of fashicn, Diane was awed by this dignified, sor- rowing matron, who carried the sword of mother- nood in her heart. It was a long time before Mrs. Eveleth laid her penal down and raised her head. For a few min- utes neither had the power of words, but it was Uiane who spoke at last. "I can understand." she faltered, "that you don t want to see me; but I've come to teU you mat 1 m going away. "You're going away ? Where ?" absence of mmd. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Eveleth was scarcely thinking of Diane's words-she wa. so intent on the poor little, tear-worn face before her^ She had always known that Diane's attractions were Aose of colonng and vivacity, and now that she had lost these she was like an extinguished lamp. Dl. J "^?^ "P ""^ "'■'"' y^''" Diane L plied, but I want you to know that you'U be freed from my presence." "What makes you think I want to be-freed?" You must know that I WUed George. You said that night that his blood would be on my head— and it is." ' "If I said that. I spoke under the stress of tern« iOd excitement — " TAB. INNER SHRINE "Yon needn't tiy to take back the words; they were quite true." "Tme in what sense i" "In almost eveiy sense; certainly in eveiy sense dial's vital. If it hadn't been for me, George would be here now." "It's never wise to speculate on what might have happened if it hadn't been for us. There's no end to the useless torture we can inflict on ourselves in that way," "I don't tliink there ought to be an end to it." "Have you anything in particular to reproach jroarselfwith?" "I've eveiything." "That means, then, that there's no one incident —or person— I didn't know but—" She hesi- tated, and Diane took up the sentence. "You didn't know but what I had given George specific reason for his act. I may as well tell you that I never did— at least not in the sense in which you mean it. George always knew that I loved him, and that I was true to him. He trusted me, and was justified in doing so. It wasn't that. It was the whole thing — the whole life. There wa» nothmg worthy in it from the beginning to the end. I played with fire, and while George knew it was only playing, j was fire all the same." "But you say you were never — burnt." "tfl wasn't, others were. I led men on dH tlwjr 19 THE INNER s M n r m ^ thought-till they thought-I don't know how to "Precisely; and Bienville was one of them It w,?, r?u'" f"" °f Aingsf-and then when I was tired of h,m, I turned him into ridicule. I took advantage of his folly to make him the laughing- 1^^i1,aT' T'^ '° ^^^"Se himself he lied^ ffe said I had been h.s- No; I can't tell you." n^i .""n"'"^'"'- '^°" """'■"'' **=" >"«. You needn t tell me any more." ■JJt^'^ ''"'t' '""''' •""'" *° *"" *=>' I «n put mto words It was always-just like that-jus as .t was wth Bienville. He wasn't the only T ch^ted "Ty " ''"r''"^ ' S^*"^ '" -^•^'' i Cheated. I was never fair to any of them It', £ B '^-^f *r r''^ °*^^^ -re'more holrab than Bienville that's kept what has happened now from having happened long ago. It might ha^ come at any time I thought it a iine thfng to b" ab e to trifle with passion. I didn't know I wa, only tnflmg with death. Oh. if I had been a g^d ^oman. George would have been with us still I" You mustn;t blame yoursjf," the m',ther-in- Uw said, .peaking with, some difficulty, "for more Aan your own share of our troubles I wanT" «lk to you quite frankly, and tell you things you'v. 1/s THE I N N E R SHRINE never known. The beginning of the sorrows that have come to us dates veiy far back-back to a nme before you were bom." "Oh?" Diane's brown eyes, swimming in tears, opened wide m a sort of mournful curiosity. "I admit," Mrs. Evekth continued, "that in the first hours of our— our bereavement I had some such thoughts about you as you've just expressed. It seemed to me that if you had lived differently George might have been spared to us. It took reflection to show me that if you had lived different- ly, George himself wouldn't have been satisfied. Ihe life you led was the one he cared for— the one I taught him to care for. The origin of the wrong has to be traced back to me." "To you.?" Diane uttered the words in in- creasing wonder. It was strange that a first role in die drama could be played by any one but herself. 1 ve always thought it a little odd," Mrs. Eve- leth observed, after a brief pause, "that you've never been interested to hear about our family." "I didn't know there was anything to tell," Diane answered, innocently. "I suppose there isn't, from your European point of view; but, as we Americans see things, there s a good deal that's significant. Foreigners care so little about who or what we are, t.o long ai we have money." 21 And I've n»« affairs," Dian^ ,« ^ '''"« must be K. ■ .«_ L- '^"c murmured ft.- .l ^ business •omething. '"^*^''' w the sake of sav.V «J' °^ accord V„ I should like to hear af, sympathetically. The „ '^'"''" D>ane said fo take her nZ A "^"^ '"terest was hZ ■ ' "M ■ ^' "'^ herself " oeginnine /vjy husband and I " lu ^ T E 5ca- ■ of ■ith ar. ar- THE INNER SHRINE much. I was Naomi de Ruyter; my husband, on IMS mother's side, was a Van Tromp." "Really?" Diane murmured, feeling that Mrs tveleth's tone of pride required a response, "f know there's a Mr. van Tromp here-the American banker. "He is of the same family as my husband's mother. For nearly three hundred years they've lived on the island of Manhattan, and seen their farms and pastures grow into the second city in the world The world has poured in on them, literally in milhons. It would have submerged them if there hadn't been something in that old stock that couldn t be kept down. However high the tide rose they floated on the top. My people were thnfty and mdustrious. They worked hard, saved money, and lived in simple ways. They c- .ed lit- de for pleasure, for beauty, or for any of the forms ot art; but, on the contrary, they lived for work, tor religion, for learning, and ail the other high and senous pursuits. It was fine; but I hated it " "f^aturally." "1 longed to get away from it, and when I mar- ried I persuaded my husband to give up his pro- fession and his home in order to establish himself here. "But surely you can't regret that.? You were free." "Only the selfish and the useless are ever free. ness. or may not be." '^''~'^'"c'' may be happi- AiXm?5rNt •rr:;^-'>' -cb ad„.>ed. appeared at the Tuilenes L ' ' '^"^ ^''^'^ you H not ^ E.;S - - was .ore ,rL yetlquestionnowifldS ^'•'^^"Joyed "; and died, and George was TlitdVu ^"" "^ husband •ne last effort to induce m^."^', ""^ ^"''''^' ^ade ••""g Wm up in his „:;": '° ;:^%''- baclc. and op-nions. because all ZhT^- ^ '^nored their from mine. J was yfu^" ^'T-^^ - different enamoured of the hfe I Tawr '"'^^P^dent. and ^cruples of conscience from , '^" '° '^^'^^ ^ had .George grew up and deXlT^'' '"^V''"' '^''- '" h.m. I let other consiS.on "f ^ ^^''^ ''^^d THE INNER SHRINE cause of anything in yourself, but because you were Mademoiselle de la Ferronaise, the last of an illus- trious family. I looked upon the match as a useful al!iance for him and for me. I encouraged George in extravagance. I encouraged him when he began to hve in a style far more expensive than anything to which he had been accustomed. I encouraged him when he built this house. I wanted to impress you; I wanted you to see that the American could give you a more splendid home than any European you were likely to marry, however exalted his rank. I was not without fears that George was spending too much money; but we've always had plenty for whatever we wanted to do; and so I let him go on when I should have stopped him. It was my vanity. It wasn't his fault. He inherited a large fortune; and if I had only brought him up wisely, it would have been enough." "And wasn't it enough ?" In spite of her growing dread, Diane brought out the question firmly. Mrs. Eveleth sat one long minute motionless, with hands clasped, with lips parted, and with suspended breath. "No." The monosyllable seemed to fill the room. It echoed and re-echoed in Diane's ears like the boom of a cannon. While her outward vision took in such details as the despair in Mrs. Eveleth's face, ♦he folds of crape on her gown, the Watteau picture 25 THE INNER SHRINE TO the panel of moss green and gold that formed the background, all the realities of life seemed to be dissolving into chaos, as the glories of the sunset sink into a black and formless mass. When Mrs. Eveleth spoke again, her voice sounded as though it came from far away. "I want to take all the blame upon myself If it hadn't been for me, George would never have gone to such extremes." "Extremes?" Diane spoke not so much from the desire to speak as from the necessity of forcing her reeling intelli- gence back to the world of fact. "I'm afraid there's no other word for it." "Do you mean that there are debts?" "A great many debts." "Can't they be paid?" "Most of them can be paid— perhaps all; but when that is done I'm afraid there will be very Utrie left." ' "But surely we haven't lived so extravagantly as that. I know I've spent a great deal of n-oney— " "It hasn't been altogether the style of living. When my poor boy saw that he was going beyond his means he tried to recoup himself by speculation. Do you know what that is ?" "I know it's something by which people lose money." "He had no experience of anything of the kind, 26 THE INNER SHRINE "?^ /'" ™en of business tell me he went into it wUdly. He had that optimistic temperament which always believes that the next thing will be a success even though the present one is a failure. Then' too, he fell into the hands of unscrupulous men who made him think that great fortunes were to be made out of what they call wildcat schemes, when all the time they were leading him to ruin." Ruin! The word appealed to Diane's memoiy and imagmation alike. It came to her from her remotest childhood, when she could remember hear- ing It applied to her grandfather, the old Comte de la Ferronaise. After that she could recollect leav- ing the great chateau in which she was bom, and hving with her parents, first in one European capi- tal, and then in another. Finally they settled for a ftvf years in Ireland, her mother's country, where both her parents died. During all this time, as well as in the subsequent years in a convent at Auteuil, she was never free from the sense of ruin hanging over her. Though she understood well enough that her way of escape lay in making a rich marnage, it was impressed upon her that the meagreness of her a card. 39 I i THE INNER SHRINE "She's here," tlie banker grunted, readme the ame. Mr. Grimston shot up again. "Better let me see her," he insisted, )n a wamine tone. * "No, no. i"! have a look at her myself. Bring the lady .n," he added, to the youn? man in waiting Then I'll skip," said Mr. Grimston. suiting the actjon to the word by disappearing in one direction as Uiane entered from another. Mr. van Tromp rose heavily, and surveyed her as she crossed the floor toward him. He had been expectmg some such seductive French beauty as he had occasionally seen on the stage on the rare occasions when he went to a plav; so that the trim- ness of this little figure in widow's dress, with white bands and cufFs. after the English fashion, some- what disconcerted him. Unaccustomed to the ways of banks, Diane half offered her hand, but, as he was on his guard against taking it. she stood still before him. "Mrs Eveleth, I believe," he said, when he had surveyed her well. '«Have the goodness to sit down, and tell me what I can do for you." Diane took the seat he indicated, which left a discreet space between them. The heavy black satchel she carried she placed on the floor be- ^de her. When she raised her veil, Mr. van Iromp observed to himself that the pale face, 40 THE I N N E R SHRINE touching in expression, and the brown eyes, in which there seemed to lurk a gentle reproach against the world for having treated her so badly, were exactly what he would have expected in a woman coming to borrow money. "I've come to you, Mr. van Tromp," Diane b». gan, timidly, ''because I thought that perhaps— you might know— who I am." "I don't know anything at all about you," was the not encouraging response. "Of course there's no reason why you should—" Diane hastened to say, apologetically. "None whatever," he assured her. "Only that a good many people do know us—" "I dare say. I haven't the honor to be among the number." "And I thought that possibly— just possibly— you might be predisposed in my favor." "A banker is never predisposed in favor of any one— not even his ovm flesh and blood." "I didn't know thai," Diane persisted, bravely, "otherwise I might just as well have gone to any- body else." "Just as well." "Would you like me to go now?" The question took him by surprise, and before replymg he looked at her again with queer, bulgy eyes peering throug!: big circular glasses, in a way that made Diane think of an ogre in a faiiy tale; ♦I t THE INNER SHRINE "You're not here for what I like," he said at last, "but for what you want yourself." "That's true," Diane admitted, ruefully, "but I might go away. I will go away, if you say . so." "You'll please yourself. I didn't send for you, and I'll not tell you to go. How old are you ?" It was Diane's turn to be surprised, but she brought out her age promptly. "Twenty-four." "You look older." "That's because I've had so much trouble* per- haps. It's because we're in trouble that I've come to you, Mr. van Tromp." "I dare say. I didn't suppose you'd come to ask me to dinner. There are not many days go by without some one expecting me to pull him out of the scrape he would never have got into if it hadn't been for his own fault" "I'm afraid that's veiy like my case." "It's like a good many cases. You're no ex- ception to the rule." "And what do you do at such times, if I may ask ?" "You may ask, but I'll not tell you. You're here on your own business, I presume, and not on mine." "I thought that perhaps you'd be good enough to make mine yours. Though we've never met, I 42 THE INNER SHRINK •lave seen you at various times, and it always seemed to me that you looked kind; and so — " "Stop right there, ma'am I" he cried, putting up a warning hand, " ' Most important business,' was what you said in your note, otherwise I shouldn't have consented to see you. If you have any busi- ness, state it, and I'll say yes or no, as it strikes me. But I'll tell you beforehand that there isn't a chance in a thousand but what it '11 be no." " I did come because I thought you looked kind," Diane declared, indignantly, " and if you think it was for any other reason whatever, you're absolute- ly mistaken." "Then we'll let it be. I can't help my looks, nor what you think about them. The point is that you're here for something; so let's know what it is." "You make it very hard for me," Diane said, almost tearfully, "but I'l! try. I must tell you, first of all, that we've lost a great deal of money." "That's no new situation." "It is to me; and it's even more so to my poor mother-in-law. I should think you must have heard of her at least. She is Mrs. Arthur Eve- feth. Her maiden name was Naomi de Ruyter, of New York." "Very likely." "Her husband was related, on his mother's side, to the Van Tromps — the same family as your own." i ' •! THE I NNER S H P r at ^ '"ITiat's more likely still. There are as maBy Van Tromps .n New York as there are shrin,"s^J Ae Breton coast, and they're all related to me. be- cause I m supposed to have a little money." ^tl' . ''"""'* ^ ^=nt your help." ^^ That's a very good reason." "But since you take so little interest in us I will »^ri::z''" '"''•" *"'-'■"-- "I'll take that for granted." "The blow has fallen more heavily on my mother m-law than on me. She has lost evetyAing she had m the world; wh le I have still my own m^ey "Well?" her. bhe s the sort of woman who ought to have "I'd give her some." «f 2- '" °.•'"^f f*'' elp Jne .•nto'yo^l'L'a T" "'^ •^°"" '-'' ""^ ^''- «-- voI'^t'^' ?^"' '"•"I" r^^ ^^"^ S'''"?^^* I've had of you-I «.// say it!-I thought you looked kind." Well, now Aat you've had a better look, you «ee I dont How much money have you got? You haven't told me that yet." / " 8°" "Here's the memorandum. They said they were mostly bonds, and very good ones " fc^S'bi.r-''' K^PuP-' '" ^'' '''"'«' *« tanker tewed back m the chair, and took a longer time THE I N N E R SHRINE ^ was necessary to scan the poor little list. In reality he was turning over in his mind the unex- pected features of the case, venturing a peep at Diane as she sat meekly awaiting the end of his perusal. ^^ "Hasn't it occurred to you," he asked, at last, that you could leave your affairs in Hargous' hands, and still turn over to your mother-in-law A-hatever sums he paid you?" "Yes; but she wouldn't take the money unless she thought it was her very own." "But it isn't her very own. It's yours." "I want to make it hers. I want to transfer it to her absolutdy-so that no one else, not even I shall have a claim upon it. There must be way.' of doing that." "There are ways of doinf that, but as far as she s concetned it comes to the same thing. If she won't touch the income, she will refuse to accept the principal." "I've thought of that, too; and it's among the reasons why I've come to you. I hoped you'd help me — ' "To tell a lie about it." "I should think it might be done without that My mother-in-law is a very simple woman in bmi- ness affairs. She has been used all her life to having money paid into her account, when she had only the vaguest idea as to where it came from. 47 i LRJl inner shrine ff you should write to her now and say that some «nall funds m her name were in your hands, and 4at you would pay her the income at stated i„- t^vals, nothing would seem more natural to her She would probably attribute it to some act of foresight on her son's part, and never think I had anything to do with it at all." For three or four minutes he sat in meditation, stiU glancing at her furtively under his shaggy brows, while she waited for his decision. I don't approve of it at all," he said, at last. Uon t say that," she pleaded. "I've honed •o much that you'd—" ^^ fcs^e. I'll just venfy these bonds and certificate^ He took them, one by one, from the bag. and, havmg compared them with the list, replaced them! And, he connnued, "you can come and se« me again at this time to-morrow " "Oh, thank you!" n JIT """ ^^r^ .T r'""" ^'^<= *'°"« something- all R '•• Y"^ ^'^'^^ ^ '^''"'^ ^'^ a„ything%^ all. But .n the mean while you may leave you, satchel here, and not run the risk of being robbed .n the street If I refuse you to-morroJ-as is probable I shall-I'Il send a man with >ou to s« you and your money safely back to Hargous." He touched a bell, and a young man entered. 4« T HE I N N E R SHRINE On directions from the banker the clerk left the room, taking the bag with him; while Diane, feel- mg that her errand had been largely accomplished, rose to leave. "You can't go without the receipt for your securities. How do you know I'm not stealing them from you ? What right would you have to claim them when you came again? Sit down now and tell me something more about your- self." ' Half smiling, half tearfully, Diane complied. Before the clerk returned she had given a brief out- line of her life, agreeing in all but the tone of tell- ing with much of what Mr. Grimston had stated half an hour earlier. "It has been all my fault," she declared, as the young man re-entered. "There's been nobody to blame but me." "I see that well enough," the old man agreed, and once more she prepared to depart. "Look at your receipt. Compare it with the list there on the desk." Diane obeyed, though her eyes swam so that she could not tell one word from another. "Is it all right? Then so much the better. You'll find me at the same time to-morrow — if you're not late." "Since you won't let me thank you, I must go without doing so," she began, tremulously, "but I -• 1 you — " 49 THE INNER S H R T M j, "You needn't assure me of anything, but just come agam to-morrow." bottd '""''''^ '''""^'' ^^ """ °^" ^" *^'^' ""'' "I sNall not be-late." was aU she ventured to say, and turned to leave him. She had reached the door, and half opened it, When she heard his voice behind her. "Stay! Just a minute! I'd like to'shake hands With you, young wopian." _ Diane turned and allowed him to take her hand in a gnp that hurt her. She was so astounded by the suddenness of tlie act, as well as by the rapidity With which he closed the door behind her, that her tears did not actually fall until she found herself « the public depanment of the bank, outside IV ON board tht Pieardie, steaming to New Yort, Mrs. Eveleth and Diane were beginning to realize the gravity of the step they had taken. As long as they remained in Paris, batthng with the sordid details of financial downfall, America had seemed the land of hope and reconstruction, where the ruined would find to their hands the means with which to begin again. The illusion had sustained them all through the first months of living on little and stood by them till the very hour of departure It faded just when they had most need of it— when the last cliffs of France went suddenly out of sight m a thick fog-bank of nothingness; and the cold empty void, through which the steamer crept cautiously, roaring from minute to minute like a leviathan in pain, seemed all that the universe henceforth had to offer them. They would have been astonished to know that, beyond the fog. Fate was getting the New World ready for their rt- ception, by creating among the rich those misfort- unes out of which not infrequently proceed the blessings of the poor. 5« THE INNER SHRINE When that excellent aged lady. Miss Regina van Tromp, sister to the well-known Paris banker, was felled by a stroke of apoplexy, the personal calamity might, by a mind taking all things into account, have been considered balanced by the circumstance that It was affording employment to some refined woman of reduced means, capable of taking care of the invalid. It had the funher advantage that, coming suddenly as it did, it absorbed the attention of Miss Lucilla van Tromp, the sick lady's com- panion and niece, who became unable henceforth to give to the household of her cousin, Derek Pniyn, that general supervision which a kindly old maid' can exercise in the home of a young and prosperous widower. Were Destiny on the lookout for stiH another opening, she could have found it in the fact that Miss Dorothea Pruyn, whose father's di». cipline came by fits and starts, while his indulgence was continuous, had reached a point in motherless maidenhood where, according to Miss Lucilla, "something ought to be done." There was thus' unrest, and a straining after new conditions, in that very family toward which Mrs. Eveleth's imagina- tion turn -d from this dreary, leaden sea as to a possible .._ven. Since the wonderful morning when the banker had brought her the news of her little inheritance her thoughts had dwelt much on Van Tromps and Pruyns, as representatives of that old New York 5* THE INNER SHRINE clan with which she deigned to claim alhance; and she found no small comfort in going over, again and again, the details of the interview which had brtught her once more into contact with her kin James van Tromp, she informed Diane, as they lay covered with rugs in their steamer-chairs, had been gruff in manner, but kind in heart, like all the Van Tromps she had ever heard of. He had not scrupled to dwell upon her past extravagance, but he had tempered his remarks by commending her resolution to return to her old home and friends In the matter of friends, he assured her, she would find herself with very few. She would be forgotten by some and ignored by others; while those who still took an interest in her would resent the fact diat m the days of her prosperity she had neglected them. In any case, she must have the meekness of the suppliant. As her means at most would be small, she n.ast be grateful if any of her relatives would take her without wages, as a sort of superior lady's maid, and save her the expense of board and lodgmg. ^ "And so you see, dear," she finished, humbly, "it's going to be all right. George thought of me; and far more than any money, I value that. James van Tromp said that this sum had been placed in his hands some time ago to be specially used for me, and I couldn't help understanding what that meant When my boy saw the disaster coming he 53 THE INNER S H R rjJ_B' did his best to protect me; and it will be my part now to show that he did enough." If Diane listened to these familiar remarks, it was only to take a dull satisfaction in the working of her scheme; but Mrs. Eveleth's next words startled her into sudden attention. "Haven't I he^rd you say that you knew James ran 1 romp s nephew, Derek Pruyn ?" "I did know him," Diane answered, with a trace ot hesitation. "You knew him well ?" "Not exactly; it was different from— well " Different? How? Did you meet him often ?" Never often; but when we did meet—" The possibilities implied in Diane's pause in- duced Mrs. Eveleth to turn in her chair and look at her. "You've never told me about that." "There wasn't much to tell. Don't you know what It IS to have met, just a few times in your life, some one who leaves behind a memoiy out of pro- portion to the degree of the acquaintance ? It was something like that with this Mr. Pruyn." " Where was it ? In Paris ?" "I met him first in Ireland. He was staying with some friends ok ours the last year mamma and I hved at kilrowan. What I remember about him was that he seemed so young to be a widower- •caFceiy more than a boy." THE INNER SHRINE "Is that all?" "It's veiy nearly all; but there is something more. He said one day when we were talking in- omately-we always seemed to talk intimately when we were together-that if ever I was in trouble, I was to remember him." "How extraordinary!" "Yes, it was. I reminded him of it when we met ■gain. That was the year I was going out with Mane de Nohant, just before George and I were married." "And what did he say then ?" "That he repeated the request." ^ "Extraordinary!" Mrs. Eveleth commented again. Are you going to do anything about it f" "I've thought of it," Diane admitted, "but I don't believe I can." "Wouldn't it be a pity to neglect so goc.d an opponunity ?" "It might rather be a pity to avail one's self of it. There are things in life too pleasant to put to th« test." "^ "He might like you to do it. After all, he's a connection." Not caring to continue the subject, Diane mur- mured something about feeling cold, and rose for a httle exercise. Having advanced as far forward as she could go, she turned her back upon her feU wtr-passengers, stretched in mute misery in th«it 55 THE INNER SHRINK chairs or huddled in cheerful groups behind shelter- •ng projections, and stood watching the dip and nse of the steamer's bow as it drove onward into the m.st Whither was she going, and to what? With a desperate sense of her ignorance and im- potence, she strained her eyes into the white, dimly translucent bank, from which stray drops repeated- ly lashed her face, as though its vaporous wall alone Mood between her and the knowledge of her future. If she could have seen beyond the fog and carried her vision over the intervening leagues of ocean, so as to look mto a large, old ^ashioned New York house in Gramercy Park, she would have found Derek Pniyn and Lucilla van Tromp discussing one of the cardinal points on which that future was to turn. That it was not an amusing conversation would have been clear from the agitation of Derek's man- ner as he strode up and down the room, as well as from the ngidigr with which his cousin, usually a hmp person heJd herself erect, in the attitude of 1 woman who has no intention of retiring from the rftand she has taken. "You force me to speak more plainly than I like, Uerek. she was saying, "because you make your- self so obtuse. You seem to forget that years have a way of passmg, and that Dorothea is no loneet a very httle girl." * 56 THE I N N E R SHE I N E 1 She's barely seventeen— no more than a child." Uut a motherless child, and one who has been aUowed a great deal of liberty." "Is there any reason why a girl shouldn't be a free creature?" "..^^^,''^1^''^°'^ ""^y =* ^°y shouldn't be one." mischief!"' '*"'■ ^ ^^ '"""''^ ^^ ^"'"8 '"**' "Even a girl isn't proof against that possibility. It mayn t be a boy's kind of mischief, but it's a kind of her own." Unwilling to credit this statement, and yet un- able to contradict it. Pruyn continued his march tor a mmute or two in silence, while Miss LuciUa waited nenrously for him to speak again. It was one of the few points m the round of daily existence on which she was prepared to give him battle. It was part of the ridiculous irony of life that Derek with the domestic incompetency natural to a banker and a dub-man, should have a daughter to train, while she whose instinct was so passiontt -ly ma- ternal must be doomed to spinsterhood. She had never made any secret of the fact that to watch Derek bnngmg up Dorothea made her as fidgety as if she had seen him trimming hats, though she recognized the futility of trying to snatch the task trom his hands in order to do it properly. The ut- moet she had been able to accomplish was to be allowed to plod daily from Gramercy Park to Fifth 57 THE IN NER S H R T M n Avenue, in the hope of keeping bad from becom- mg worse; and even this insufficient oversight must be discontmued now, since Aunt Regina would monopohze her care. If she took the matter to heart ,t was no more, she thought, than she had a right to do seeing that Derek was almost hke a younger brother, and. with the exception of Uncle James m Pans, and Aunt Regina in New York her nearest relative in the world. ' r.t.f'I ^'T'' "P ^' ''''" '■'°'" "-"^ 'o rime she reflected, wuh some pride, that no one could have taken h.m for anything but what he was-a rising young New York banker of some hereditary S As m cenam English portraits there is an inborn aptitude for statesmanship, so in Derek Pruyn VanV u" t' ''""'" '"^-P^^ble from the Van Iromp kmship. of one accustomed to possess money, to make money, to spend money, and to support moneyed responsibilities. The face, sliaht- , ."Tl ^ "f "'*• '^'^^"^y 8^^^« ^y t>abit. and unned by outdoor exercise, was that of a man who ^elds h.s special kind of power with a due sense of Its importance, and yet wields it easily. Nature having endowed the Van Tromps with evety ex- ceUence but that of good looks, it was Miss Lucilla's tendency to depreciate beauty; but she was too much a woman not to be sensible of the charms of ..V f„.. rwo with proportionate width of shoulder, ly of standmg straight and looking straight; 58 and THE INNER SHRINE incompatible with anything but "acting straight," that was full of a fine dominance. That he should be carefully dressed was but a detail in the exacti- tude which was the main element in his character; while his daily custom of wearing in his button- hole a dark-red carnation, a token of some never- explained memory of his dead wife, indicated a capacity for sober romance which she did not find displeasing. "Then what would you do about it?" he asked, at last, pausing abruptly in his walk and con- fronting her. "There isn't much choice, Derek. Human society is so constituted as to leave us very little opportunity for striking into original paths. Aunt Regina has told you many a time what was possible, and you didn't like it; but I'll repeat it if you wish. You could send her to a good boarding-school—" Neverl" "Or you could have a lady to chaperon her properly." "Rubbish!" "Well, there you are, Derek. You refuse the only means that could help you in your situation; and so you leave Dorothea a prey to a woman like Mrs. Wappinger. You'll excuse me for mention- mg It; but—" "^'i/r^'^'^"^^ ''°" ^°^ mentioning anything; but eren Mrs. Wappinger ought to have justice. You 59 THE INNER S H R I N E know as well as I do that Uncle James wanted to marry her, and that it was only her own common - sense that saved us from having her as an aunt. You may not admire her type, but you can't deny that It's one which has a legitimate place in Amen- can civilization. Ours isn't a society that can afford to exclude the self-made man, or his widow." "That may be quite true, Derek; only in that case you have also to reckon with— his son." Derek bounded away once more, making mani- fest efforts to control himself before he spoke again. "You know this subject is most distasteful to me, Lucilla," he said, severely. "I know it is; and it's equally so to me. But I see what's going on, and you don't— there's the dif- ference. What should a young man like you know about bringing up a school-girl ? To see you in- trusted with her at all makes me very nearly doubt the wisdom of the ends of Providence. She's a good little girl by nature, but your indulgence would spoil an angel." "I don't indulge her. I've forbidden her to do lots of things." "Exactly; you come down on the poor thing when she's not doing any harm, and you put no restrictions on the things in which she's wilful. If there's a girl on earth who is beinj brought ii^ backward, w's Dorotfaa Prsya." 60 THE INNER SHRINE "She's my child. I presume I've got a right to do what I like with her." "You'll find that you've done what you don't like with her, when you've allowed her to get into a ridiculous, unmaidenly flirtation with the young man Wappinger." "I shouldn't let that distress me if I were you. As far as Dorothea is concerned, your young man Wappinger coesn't exist." "That's as it may be," Miss Lucilla sniffed, now on the brink of tears. ^ "That's as it is," he insisted, picking up his hat. "It's to be regretted," he added, with dignity, as he took his leave, "that on this subject you and I cannot see alike; but I think you may inist me not to endanger the happiness of my child." Even if Diane could have transcended space to assist at this brief interview, she would probably have missed its bearing on herself; but had she transported her spirit at the same instant to still another scene, the effect would have been more enlightening. While she srill stood watching the rise and dip of the steamer's bow, Mrs. Wappinger, m a larger and more elaborate mansion than the old-fashioned house in Gramercy Park, was read- ing to her son such poruons of a letter from James van Tromp as she considered it discreet for him to hear. A stout, florid lady, in jovial middle age, 6i THE INNER SHRINE ker appearance as an agent in her affairs wouM •ertainly ha-e surprised Diane, had the vision been vouchsafed to her. Parsing over those sentences in vi^hich the tAi man admitted the wisdom of her decision in reject- ing his proposals, on the ground that he saw now that the married state would not have suited him, Mrs. Wappinger came to what was of common interest. '". . . You will remember, my good friend,'" she read, with a strong Western accent, '"that both at the time of, and since, your husband's death I have been helpful to you in your business affairs, and laid you under some obligation to me. I have, therefore, no scruple in asking you to fulfil a few wishes of mine, in token of such gratitude as I con- ceive you to feel. There will arrive in your city by the steamer Picardie, on the twenty-eighth day of this month, two foolish women, answering to the name of Eveleth— mother-in-law and daughter-in- law— both widows— and presenting the soriy spec- tacle of Naomi and Ruth returning to the Land of ^Promise, after a ruinous sojourn in a foreign countr}'— with whose history you are familiar from your reading of the Scriptures.'" "Is there a Bible in the house, mother?" Carii Wappinger asked, swinging himself on the pian*- Kool. "I think there must be — somewhere. Thcrt 62 THE INNER SHRINE used to be one. But, hush! Let me go on. 'They will descend,'" she continued to read, '"at a modest French hostelry in University Place, t* which I have commended them, as being within their means. I desire, first, that you will make their acquaintance at your earliest possible con- venience. I desire, next, that you will invite thera to your house on some occasion, presumably in the afternoon, when you can also ask my nephew, Derek Pruyn, and LuciUa van Tromp, my niece, to meet them. I desire, furthermore, that though you may use my name to the Mesdames Eveleth, as a passport to their presence, you will in no wise speak of me to my relatives in question, or give diem to understand that I have inspired the in- vitation you will accord them. . . .' " Mrs. Wappinger threw do\vn the letter with the emphasis of gesture which was one of her char- acteristics. "There!" she exclaimed, in a loud, hearty voice, not without a note of triumph; "that's what I call a chance." " Chance for what, mother ?" "Chance for a good many things— and first of all for bearding LuciUa van Tromp right in her •wn den." "I don't see — " "No; but I do. We're on to a big thing. I've B»t to go right there; and she's got to come right 63 THE INNER SHRINE here. She's held off, and she's kept me off; but now the ice '11 be btoken with a regular thaw." "Still, I don't see. It's one thing to invite her, to oblige old man Van Tromp; but it's another thing to get her to come." "She'll come fast enough — this time; she'll comj as if she was shot here by a secret spring. There // a secret spring, you may take my word for it. I don't know what it is, and I don't care; it's enough for me to know thit it's in good working order — which it is, if James van Tromp has got his hand on it. James van Tromp may look like a foci and talk like a fool, but he isn't a fool — No, sir!" It is commonly believed that a woman never thinks otherwise than gendy of the man who har. wanted to marty her; and if this be the rule, Mrs. Wappinger was no exception to it. As she sat on the sofa in her son's room, the mere mention of the old man's name, attended by the kindly opinion she had just expressed, sent her off into sudden reverie. While it was quite true that, in her own phrase, she "would no more have married him than she would have married a mole," it was none the leij flattering to have been desired. The on- looker, like Lucilia van Tromp or Derek Pruyn, might wonder what were those hidden forces of affinity which led a man to single Mrs. Wappinger out of all the women in the world; but to Mrs. 64 THE INNER SHRINE Wappinger herself the circumstance could not be otherwise than pleasing. Seeing her pensive, Carli swung himself back to the keyboard again, pounding out a few bars of the dance music in Strauss' Salome, of which the scoi« lay open before him. He was a good-looking young man of twenty-two, of whom any mother, not too exacting, might be proud. Very blond— with well- chiselled features and waving hair — net so tall as to make his excessive slimness seem disproportionate — there was something in the perfection with which he was "turned out" that gave him the air of a "creation." Mrs. Wappinger's joy in him was the more satisfying because of the fact that, relative to herself, he was in the line of progress. He was the blossom of culture, travel, and sport, borne by her own strenuous generation of successful material effort. To the things to which he had attained she felt that in a certain sense she had attained herself, on the principle offaa't per alium, facit per se. In the social position she had reached it was a pleasure to know that Harvard, Europe, and money had given Carli a refinement that made up in some measure for her own deficiencies. "Well, what are you going to do about it?" he asked, breaking off in the midst of the cruel ecstasy of the daughter of Herodias, and swinging himself sack, so as to confront her. 'I'm going to give a little tea," Mrs, Wappinger 65 THE INNER SHRINE answered, with decision; "a tay antime, as th« French say. I shall have these two Eveletha — or whatever their name is — Lucilla van Tromp, and Derek and Dorothea Pruyn." "You may accomplish the first and the last. You'll find it difficult to fill in the middle. To •ay nothing of the old girl, Derek Pruyn is too busy for teas — intime, or otherwise." "I'm going to have him," she stated, with enei^. "You go round and tell Dorothea she's got to bring him — she's just got to, that's all. He'll come — ^I know he will. There are forces at work here that you and I don't see, and if something doesn't hap- pen, my name isn't Qara Wappinger." With this mysterious saying she rose, to leara Carii to his music. "How very occult!" he laughed. "Nobody knows James van Tromp better than I do," she declared, with pride, turning on th« threshold, "and he doesn't write that way unlets he has a plan in mind. You tell Dorothea what I •ay. Let me seel To-day is Tuesday; the Pi- tardit will get in on Saturday; you'll see Dorothea on Sunday; and we'll have the tea on Thursday Hext." With her habitual air of triumphant decision Mn. Wappinger departed, and the incident dosed. IT must be admitted that Diane Eveleth found 1 her entiy mto the Land of Promise rather dis- appointing To outward things she paid com- paratively httle heed. The general aspect of New York was what she had seen in pictures and ex- pected. That habits and customs should be strange to her she took as a matter of course; and she wtt too eager for a welcome to be critical. As a French- woman, she was neither curious nor analytical re. garding that which lay outside her immediate sphere of interest, and she instituted no compari- sons between Broadway and the boulevards, or >ny of the. tall buildings and Notre Dame. It may be confessed that her thoughts went scarcely hi yond the human element, with its possible b/arine on her fortunes. * In this respect she made the discovery that Mrs. Eveleth was not to be taken as an authoring. She Naomi de Ruyter to New York would be a matter Hes. and that they would scarcely have landed 67 THE INNER SHRINE before finding themselves amid people whom she knew. But forty years had made a difference, and Mrs. Eveleth recognized no familiar faces in the crowd congregated on the dock. When it became further evident that not only was Naomi de Ruyter forgotten in the city of her birth, but that the veiy landmarks she remembered had been swept away, there was a moment of disillusion, not free from tears. To Diane the discovery meant only that, more than she had supposed, she would have to depend upon herself. This, to her, was the appalling fact that dwarfed all other considerations. To be alone, while the crowds surged hurriedly by her, was one thing; to be obliged to press in among them and make room for herself was another. As she walked aimlessly about the streets during the few days fol- lowing her arrival she had the forlorn conviction that in these serried ranks there could be no place for one so insignificant as she. The knowledge that ihe must make such a place, or go without food and shelter, only served to paralyze her energies and reduce her to a state of nerveless inefficiency. She had gone forth one day with the letters of introduction she hoped would help her, only to find that none of the persons to whom they were addressed had returned to town for the winter. Tired and discouraged, she was endeavoring on her tetum to cheer Mrs. Eveleth with such bits of 68 THE INNER SHRINE forced humor as she could squeeze out of the com* monplace happenings of the day, when cards were brought in, bearing t'.e unknown name of Mrs. Wappingcr. That in this hufc, ci-prwhelTiii^ fown any one could desire to luikc tlTiu acquaii-ance was in itself a surprise; bui m ch ; ir.'i'i.-v. that followed Diane felt as th.jgh she Ivu heon taught up in a whirlwind and curriea a\ ar. Mrs. VVappirger's autocratic breeziness was so r jve' in character that ihe had no more tho'jn;!'.!; of resisting it than of resisting a summer stonn. Sha could only let it blow over her and bear her whither it listed. In the end she felt like some wayfarer in the Arabian Nights, who has b- :n wafted by kindly jinn across unknown miles of space, and set down again many leagues farther on in his career. Never in her life did Diane receive in the same amount of time so much personal informarion as Mrs. Wappinger conveyed in the thirty minutes her visit lasted. She began by explainmg that she was a friend of James van Tromp's — a very great friend. In fact, her husband had been at one rime a partner in die Van Tromp banking-house; but it was an old business, and what they call conservadve, while Mr. Wappinger was from the West. The West was a long way ahead of New York, though Mrs. Wappinger had "lived East" so long that she had dropped into walking pace like the rest. She 69 THE INNER S H R T M n meed her rise from a comparatively obscure positioa "" ilr"' «,^" P'*'"*' eminence, and gave details « to Mr. Wappmger's courtship and the number of chddi^n she had lost. Left now with one, she had spent a good deal of money on him. and was teppy to say that he showed it. While she pre- ferred not to name names, she made no secret of the fact that Carli was in love; though for her own part a feeling of wounded pride induced her to hope that he would never enter a family where he wasn t wanted: The transition of topic having thus become easy, the invitation to tea was given «nd Its acceptance taken as a matter of course. It 11 only be a iay antlme," she declared, m answer to Diane's faint protests, "so you needn't be afraid to come; ana .s I never do things by li;dves I shall send one of my automobiles for the old ady and you at a little after four to-morrow." With these words and a hearty shake of the hand, she bustled away as suddenly as she had come kaving Diane with a bewildering sense of havinr beheld an appariaon. * It was not less surprising to Diane to find herself. on the following afternoon, face to face with Derek Fruyn. Though she had expected, in so far as she Aought of him at all, that chance would one day throw them together, she had not suppo ied that the •rcntwouldoccursosoon. The lack of preparation, 70 THE INNER SHRINE the change in her fortunes, and the necessity to e» plain, combined to bring about one of those ran moments m which she found herself at a loss. On his side, Pruyn had come to the house with a veiy special purpose. In spite of the stout- Hess of his protest when young Wappinger^s name was coupled with his child's, he was not without some mward misgivings, which he resolved to allar once and for all. He would dispel them by seeing with his own eyes that they had no force, while he would convict Miss LuciUa of groundless alarm by •cular demonstration. It would be enough, he wm sure, to watch the young people together to prove beyond cavil that Dorothea was aware of the gulf between the son of Mrs. Wappinger, worthy woman though she might be, and a daughter of the i'ruyns. He had, therefore, astonished every one not only by accepting the invitation himself, but by insisting that Miss Lucilla should do the same, forcing her thus to become a v/itness to tlie vindica- tion of his wiidom. Arrived on the spot, however, it vexed him to tad diat mstead of being a mere spectator, per mitted to take notes at his ease, he was passed from lady to lady-Mrs. Wappinger, Miss Lucilla, Mrs. tveleth, in turn-only to find himself settled down at last with a strange young womar. in widow's weeds, in a dim comer of the drawing-room The meeting was the more abrupt owing to the circu». 71 ill I THE INNER SHRINE nance that Diane, unaware of his arrival, had just emerged from the adjoining ball-room, which was decorated for a dance. Mrs. Wappinger, coming forward at that minute with a cup of tea for her, pronounced their names with hurried indistinctness, and left them together. With her quick eye for small social indications, Diane saw that, owing to the dimness of the toom and the nature of her dress, he did not know her, while he resented the necessity for talking to one person, when he was obwously looking about for another. With her tea-cup in her hand she slipped into a chair, so that he had no choice but to sit down beside her. He was not what is called a lady's man, and in the most fluent of moods his supply of easy conver- sation was small. On the present occasion he felt the urgency of speech without inspiration to meet the need. With a furtive flutter of the eyelids, while she sipped her tea, she took in the salient changes the last five years had produced in him, noting in particular t^at though slightly older he had improved in looks, and that the dark- red carnation still held its place in his button- hole. "Very unseasonable weather for the time of jrear," he managed to stammer, at last. "Is it? I hadn't noticed." His manner took on a shade of dignity still more n THE INNER SHRINE severe, as he wondered whether this reply was a snub or a mere ineptitude. "You don't worry about such trifles as the weather," he struggled on. "Not often." "May I ask how you escape the necessity?" " By having more pressing things to think about." With the finality of this reply the brief conversa- tion dropped, though tlie perception on Derek's part that it was not from her inability to carry it on stirred him to an unusual feeling of pique. Most of the women he met were ready to entertain him without putting him to any exertion whatever. They even went so far as to manifest a disposition to be agreeable, before which he often found it necessaiy to retire. Without being fatuous on the point, he could not be unaware of the general conviction that a wealthy widower, who could still call himself young, must be in want of a wife; and as long as he was unconscious of the need himself, he judged it wise to be as litde as possible in feminine society. On the rare occasions when he ventured therein he was not able to complain of a lack of welcome; nor could he remember an instance in which his hesitating, somewhat scornful, advances had not been cordially met, until to-day. The immediate effect was to cause him to look at Diane with a closer, if somewhat haughty, attention, their eyes meeting as he did so. Her voice, with its blending 73 THE INNER SHRINE of French and Irish elements, had already made Its appeal to his memory, so that the minute was one in which the presentiment of recognition came before the recognition itself. In his surprise he half arose from his chair, resuming his seat as he exclaimed: "It's Mademoiselle de la Ferronaise!" His astonished tone and awe-struck manner called to Diane's lips a little smile. "It used to be," she said, trying to speak natu- rally; "it's Mrs. Eveleth now." "Yes," he responded, with the absent air of a man getting his wits together; "I remember; that Was the name." "You knew, then, that I'd been married?" "Yes; but I didn't know—" His glance ;jt her dress finished the sentence, «nd she hastened to reply. "No; of course not. My husband died at the beginning of last summer— six months ago I hoped some one would have told you before we met. But we have not many common acquaintances, have we f "I hope we may have more now— if you're mak- ing a visit to New York." ^'I'm making more than a visit; I expect to stay." ^ Oh I Do you think you'll like that ?" "It isn't a question of liking; it's a question of fcnng. I may as weU tell you at once that sinc« 74 DBAWH Br FRANK eUAIC THE INNER SHRINE my husband's death I have my own btead •• earn. To no Frenchwoman of her rank in life could thk statement have been an easy one, but by making it with a certain quiet outspokenness she hoped to cover up her foolish sense of shame. The moment was not made less difficult for her by the astonisli- ment, mingled with embarrassment, with which h« took her remark. "You!" he cried. "You!" " It isn't anything veiy unusual, is it ?" she smfled. " I'm not the first person in the world to make th* attempt." "And may I ask if you're succeeding?" " I haven't begun yet. I only arrived a few days ago." "Oh, I see. You've come here — " "In the hope of finding employment — just lik* the rest of the disinherited of the earth. I hope to give French lessons, and—" " There's always an opening to any one who can," he interrupted, encouragingly. "I'm not without influence in one or two good schools that my daugh- ter has attended — " "Is that your daughter?" she asked, glad w escape from her subject, now that it was stated plainly — " the very pretty girl in red ?" The question gave Pruyn the excuse he for looking about him. 75 I THE I N N E "l believe she's in red— but I don't see her » He sear.V-d the dimly lighted room, where Mrs. Wappmger sa^ silent and satisfied, behind her tea- table while Mrs. Eveleth was conversing with Luc^la on Kinckerbocker genealogy; but neither of Che young people was to be seen. His look of «nwc , id not escape Diane, who responded to it wita _er usual straightforward promptness. a foncy she's still in the ball-room with young Mr. Wappmger," she explained. "We were all Aere a few minutes ago, looking at the decorations for the dance Mrs. Wappinger is giving to-night it was before yoa came." The shadow that shoe across his face was a thine to be noticed only by one accustomed to read the most trmal signs in the social sky. In an instant r*?r '\^^ "="" P°'"'* "f '^^ "«« as accurately as If Mrs. Wappinger had named those names over which she had shown such laudable reserve Wouldn't you like to sec them.?~the decora- uoosf They re veiy pretty. It's just ii. he.e." ihe rose as she spoke, with a gesture of the hand toward the ball-room. He followed, because she led the way, but without seeing the meaning of the move until they were actually on the polished danc- ing-ioor. Owing to the darkness of the Decem- ber afternoon, the large empty room was lit up as brilhandy as at night. For a minute they stood on the threshold, lookmg absently at the palms grouped 76 THE INNER SHRINE in the comers and the garlands festooning the walls. It was only then that Pruj-n saw the motive of her coming; and for an instant he forgot his worry in the perception that this woman had divined hi( thought. "There's no one here," he said, at last, in a tone of relief, which betrayed him once more. "No," Diane replied, half turning round. "Per- haps we had better go back to the drawing-room. My mother-in-law will be getting tired." "Wait," he said, imperiously. "Isn't that—?" He was again conscious of having admitted her into a sort of confidence; but he had scarcely time to regret it before there was a flash of red between the tail potted shrubs that screened an alcove. Dorothea sauntered into view, with Carli Wap- pinger, bending slightly over her, walking by her side. They were too deep in conversation to know themselves observed; but the earnestness with which the young man spoke became evident when he put out his hand and laid it gently on the muff Dorothea held before her. In the act, from which Dorothea did not draw back, there was nothing beyond the admission of a certain degree of in- timacy; but Diane felt, through all her highly trained subconscious sensibilities, the shock it pio- duced in Derek's mind. The situation belonged too entirely to the classic repertoire of life to present any difficulties to a 77 THE I NNER S H P r at ^ woman who knew that catastrophe is often avened l»y keeping close to the commonplace Isn't she pretty!" she exclaimed, in a tone of polite enthusiasm. "Mayn't I speak to her? I kaven't met her yet." Before she had finished the concluding words. «^ Wappmger had withdrawn his hand from Dorotheas muff, she had glided across the floor. «d disturbed the young people from their absorpi Hon m each other. "^ "Mr. Wappinger." Derek heard her say. as he approached. 'I want you to introduce me to Mis. Pruy^. I m Mrs. Eveleth. Miss Pruyn." she con- onued. without waiting for Carli's intermedian- .t:Sto;our"'^^-^^--^''--^'"«i- If she supposed she was coming to Dorothea's r«cue m a moment which might be one of em- barrassment, she found herself mistaken. No ex- p*nenced dowager could have been more amiable to a nice governess than Dorothea Pruyn to a lady « reduced circumstances. A facility in adapting ,herself to other people's manners enabled Dianf to accept her cue; and presently all four were on Ae r ,,,y back to the drawing-room, where fare- wells were spoken. VVhile Miss LuciUa was making Mrs. Eveleth «^w her promise to come and see her, and «>nng young Mrs. Eveleth with her." Pruyn 78 ' THE INNER SHRINE found an opportunity for another word witli Diane. "You must understand," he said, in a tone which he tried to make one of explanation for her en- Ughtenment rather than of apology for Dorothea— "you must understand that girls have a good deal of liberty in America." "They have everywhere," she rejoined. "Even in France, where they've been kept so strictly, the old law of Purdah has been more or less relaxed." "If you take up teaching as a work, you'll nat- urally be thrown among our young people; and you may see things to which it will be difficult to adjust your mind." "I've had a good deal of practice in adjusting my mind. It often seems to me as movable at if it was on a pivot. I'm ratJier ashamed of it." "You needn't be. On the contrar)', you'll find it especially useful in this country, where foreigners are often eager to convert us to dieir customs, while we are tenacious of our own." "Thank you," she said, in the spirit of meekness his didactic attitude seemed to require. "I'll try to remember that, and not fall into the mistake." 'And if I can do anytliing for you," he went on, awkwardly, "in the way of schools— or-or— recommendations— you know I promised long ag* that if you ever needed any one — " "Thank you once more," she laid, hurriBdly, 79 Miatoconr msouition test cma>t (ANSI and ISO TEST CHAliT No. 2) 1.0 ^ ■ 2J 1^ 4.0 12.0 |l-8 1^ 1^ m J /APPLIED I^A^GE Inc S:^' 1653 East Main StrNt \S Rochester. Htm Yort. 14509 USA = (7T6) 483 - 0300 - Phone :^ (716) 283- 5969 - Fa> 1 : u 1! ■! THE INNER SHRINE before he had time to go on. "I know I can count on your help; and if I require a good word, I shall not hesitate to ask you for it." As she slipped away, Pruyn was left witli the uncomfortable sense of having appeared to a dis- advantage. He had been stilted and patronizing, when he had meant to be con'.ial and kind. On the other hand, he resented the quickness with which she had read his thoughts, as well as her per- ception that he had ground for uneasiness regard- uig his child. That she should penetrate the inner shnne of reserve he kept closed against those who stood nearest to him in the world gave him a sense of injury; and he turned this feeling to account during the next few hours in trying to deaden the echo of the French voice with the Irish intonation that haunted his inner hearing, as well as to banish the memory of the plaintive smile in which, as he feared, meekness was blended with amusement at his expense. VI IF the secret spring worked bj James van Tromp had been an active agency in bringing Diane and Derek Pruyn once more together, as well as in creating the intimacy that sprang up during the next two months between Miss Luci'la and the elder Mrs. Eveleth, it had certainly notliing to do with the South American complications in the business of Van Tromp & Co., which made Pruyn's departure for Rio de Janeiro a possibility of the near future. He had long foreseen that he would be obliged to make the journey sooner or later, but that he should have to do it just now was particu- larly inconvenient. There was but one aspect in which the expedition might prove a blessing in dis- guise — he might take Dorothea with him. During the six or eight weeks following the after- noon at Mrs. Wappinger's he had bestowed upon Dorothea no small measure of attention, obtaining much the same result as a mastiff might gain from his investigation of the ways of a bird of paradise. He informed himself as to her diversions and her dancing-classes, making the discovery that what 8i ill THE INNER SHRINE other girls' mothers did for them. Dorothea was doing for herself. As far as he could see, she was bnngmg herself up with the aid of a chosen band of eligible, well-conducted young men, varying in age from nineteen to twenty-two, whom she was training as a sort of body-guard against the day of her coiiimg out." On the occasions when he had opportunities for observation he noted the skill with which she managed them, as well as the chivalry With which they treated her; and yet there was in die situation an indefinable element that displeased him. It was something of a shock to learn that 4e flower he thought he was cultivating in se- cluded sweetness under glass had taken root of Its own accord in the midst of young New York'* great, gay parterre. Aware of tlie possibilities of this soil to produce over-stimulated growdi, he could think of nothing better than to pluck it up and, temporarily at least, transplant it elsewhere. Hav- ing come to the decision overnight, he made the proposition when they met at breakfast in the morning. A prettier object than Miss Dorothea Pruyn, at the head of her father's table, it would have been difficult to find in the whole range of " dainty rogues in porcelain." From the top of her bronze-colored hair to the tip of her bronze-colored shoes she was as complete as taste could make her. The flash of her eyes as she lifted them suddenly, and as sud- 82 i THE INNER SHRINE denly dropped them, over her task among the coffee-cups was hke that of summer waters; whik the rapture of youth was in her smile, and a be- coming school-girl shyness in her fleeting blushes. In the floral language of American society, she wa» "not a bud"; she was only that small, hard, green thing out of which the bud is to unfold itself, but which does not lack a beauty of promise specially its own. If any criticism could be passed upon her, it was tjiat which her father made — that there was danger of the promise being anticipated by a rather premature fulfilment, and the flower that needed time forced into a hurried, hot-house bloom. "What! And leave my friends!" she exclaimed, when Derek, with some hesitation, ' asked her how she would like the journey. "They would keep." "That's just what they wouldn't do. When I came back I should find them in all sorts of new combinations, out of which I should be dropped. You've got to !-• n the spot to keep in your set, otherwise you'r jst." " Why should you be in a set ? Why shouldn't you be independent i" "That just shows how much you under-^tand, father," she said, pityingly. "A girl who isn't in a set is as much an outsider as a Hindoo who isn't in a caste. I must know people; and I must know 83 THE INNER SHRINE the right people; and I must know no one but the right people. It's perfectly simple." "Oh, perfectly. I can't help wondering, though, how you recognize the right people when you see them." "By instinct. You couldn't make a mistake about that, any more than one pigeon could make a mistake about another, or take it for a crow." "And is young Wappinger one of the right people V It was with an effort that Derek made up his mind to broach this subject, but Dorothea's self- possession was not disturbed. "Certainly," she replied, briefly, with perhaps a slight accentuation of her maiden dignity. "I'm rather surprised at that." "Yes; you nhould be," she cCiiceiied; "but I couldn't make you understand it, any more than you could make me understand banking." "I'm not convinced of the impossibility of either," he objected, knocking the top off an egg. "Sup- pose you were to try." Dorothea shook her head. "It wouldn't be of any use. The fact is, I really don't understand it myself. What's more, I don't suppose anybody else does. Carli Wappinger be- longs to the right people because the right people say he docs; and there is no more to be said about it." 84 THE INNER SHRINE "I sliould think that Mrs. Wappingcr might be a — drawback." "Not if the right people don't think so; and they don't. They've taken her up, aiid they ask her everywhere; but they couldn't tell you why they do it, any more than birds could tell you why they migrate. As a matter of fact, they don't care. They just do it, and let it be." "That sort of election and predestination may be very convenient for Mrs. Wappinger, but I should think you might have reasons for not caring to indorse it." "I haven't. Why should I, more than anybody else." "You've so much social perspicacity that I hoped you would see without my having to tell you. It's chiefly a question of antecedents." Dorothea looked thoughtful, her head tipped to one side, as she buttered a bit of toast. "I know that's an important point," she ad- mitted, "but it isn't everything. You've got to look at things al! round, and not mistake your shadow for your bone." "I'm glad you see there is a shadow." "I see there is only a shadow." "A shadow on — what.?" Pruyn meant this for a leading question, and ai such Dorothea took it. She ga/ed at him for a minute with the clear eyes and straightforward ex- 8-: THE I N N E A SHRINE pression that were so essential a part of her dainty, self-reliant personality. If she was bracing her- »elf for an effort, there was no external sign of it. "I may as well tell you, father," she said, "that Carii Wappinger has asked me to marty him." For a long minute Derek sat with body seem- mgly stunned, but with mind busily searching for (he wisest way in which to take this astounding bit of information. At the end of many seconds of •ilence he exploded in loud laughter, choosing this method of treating Dorothea's confidence in order to impress her with the ludicrous aspect of the affair, as it must appear to the grown-up mind. "Funny, isn't it,?" she remarked, dryly, when he thought it advisable to grow calmer. "It's not only funny; it's the drollest thing I ever heard in my life." "I thought it might strike you that way. Tha 's why I told you." "And what did you tell him, if I may ask ?" " I told him it was out of the question — for the present." "For the present! That's good. But why the reservation .i'" " I couldn't tell him it would be out of the ques- tion always, because I didn't know. As .ong as he didn't ask me for a definite answer, I didn't fed obliged to give him one." 86 THE INNER SHRINE "1 think you might have committed yourself at far as that." "I prefer not to commit mj'self at all. I'm »«ry young and inexperienced — " "I'm glad you see that." "Though neither so inexperienced nor so young as mamma was when she married you. And you were only twenty-one yourself, father, while CarK is nearly twenl;^ -three." " I wouldn't compare the t\vo instances if 1 wen you." "I don't. I m.rely s'ate the facts. I want to make it plain thnt, though we're both very young, we're not so young as to make the case exceptional." " But I understood you to say that there was no —case." "There is to this extent: that while I'-n free> Carii considers himself bound. That's the waj* we've left it." "That is to s?.y, he's engaged, but you aren't" "That's what Carli diinks." 'Then I refuse to consent to it." "But, father dear," Dorothea asked, arching hei pretty eyebrows, "do you have to consent to what Carli thinks about himself.? Can't he do tliat juit as he likes V "He can't become a hanger-on of my famfly without my permission." "He says he's not going to hang on, but to stand 8? THE INNER SHRINE off. He's going to allow me full liberty of action and fair play." "That's very kind of him." "Only, when I choose to come back to him I ihall find him waiting." "I might suggest that you never go back to him at all, only that there's a better way of meeting the situation. That is to put a stop to the non- •ense now; and I shall take steps to do it." Dorothea preserved her self-control, but two tiny hectic spots began to bum in her cheeks, while she kept her eyes persistently lowered, as though to veil the spirit of determination glowing there. "Hadn't you better leave that to me .?" she asked, after a brief pause. "I will, if you promise to put it through." "You see," she answered, in a reasoning tone, "my whole object is not to promise anything — ^yet. I should think the advantage of that would strike you, if only from the point of view of business. It's like having the refusal of a picture or a piece of property. You may never want them; but it does no harm to know that nobody else can gt them till you decide." 'Neither does it do any harm to let somebody else have a chance, when you know that you can't take them." "Of course not; but I couldn't say that now. I quite realize that I'm too young to know my own THE INNER SHRINE mind; and it's only rca. lable to consider thingt all round. Carli is ric' and good-looking. He has a cultivated mind and a kind heart. There are lots of men, to whom you'd have no objection what- ever, who wouldn't possess all those qualifications or perhaps any of them." "Nevertheless, I should imagine that the fact that I have objections would have its weight with you." "Naturally; and yei: you would neitiier force me into what I didn't like to do, nor refuse me what I wanted." With this definition of his parental attitude Dorothea pushed back her ch:.ir and moved sedately from the room. Physically, Derek was able to go or. with his breakfast and finish it, but mentally he was like a man, accustomed to action, who suddenly finds Aimself paralyzed. To the best of his knowledge he had never before been put in ^. position in which he had no idea whatever as to what to do. He had been placed in some puzzling dilemmas in private life, and had passed through some serious crises in financial affairs, but he had always been able to take some course, e en if it was a mistaken one. It had been reserved for Dorothea to cher'cmate him in such a way that he could not move ac all That the feminine mind possessed rtSoUtces which his own did not was a claim Derek had 89 I fi THE INNER SHRINE made it a principle to deny. The theory on which he had brought up Dorothea had been based on his belief in his own insight into his daughter'^ character. Though he was far from abjuring that confidence even yet, nevenhcless, when the suc- ceeding days brought no enlightenment of counsel, and the long journey to Soutli America became more imminent, he was forced once more to turn his steps toward Gramercy Park, and seek inspi- ration from the great, eternal mother-spint of man- kind, as represented by his cousin. Miss Lucilla van Tromp passed among her friends as a sort of diffident Minerva. Though deficient in outward charms, she was considered to possess intellectual ability; ard, having once been told that her profile reseml)Ied George Eliot's, she made the pursuit of learning, music, and Knicker- bocker genealogy her special aims. Derek had, all his life, felt for her a special tenderness; and having neither mother, wife, nor sister, he was in the habit of coming to her with his cares. "You're a woman," he declared, now, in sum- ming up his case. "You're a woman. If you'd been married, you would probably have had children. You cught to be able to tell me exactly what to do." Flushes of shy rapture illumined and softened her ill-assorted features on being cited as the type of maternity and sex, so that when she replied it was with an air of authority. 90 THE INNER S H K T rjj, aII ?^'"'/'"/°" ^hat to do, Derek; but Pre done K already, and you wouldn't li ten. V^ should send her to a good school-" ^ ..iV '°^ '«^^, '■°'- that. She wouldn't go." n-.en you should have some woman to live in your house who would be wise enough to Jlna^ "No." He jerked out the monosyllable, and becan ac cording to his custom when Duz4d ° S''"* ^J to s.ide up and down the HbL; '^^ " ''""^y^'- hous"» '^ ''°'" ^°" '° ''^ =» """g" in the "Naturally." "And so you would sacrifice Dorothea to v ^ personal convenience " ' "*' to'^Hhit,''' '^f"\-- - -o-nan competent » Jake the place; but there isn't." *^ "Who?""' '^''^''^'' °''"^ Eveleth." .•tcTtt"l7f .''^"u-^^'P' '"'° '''^ f-e -ade purpose of""' ^ ^^^•'^^ 'l^f """ -- "°t put for Derek d„? '"'?™^''°n- She had remarked in p ared on the scene, Lucilla had noticed that h 01 i THE INNER SHRINE was flight with a curious tendency to looking back- ward. "I said Diane Eveleth," she replied, in tactful answer to his superfluous question; "and I assure you she's fully equal to the duties you v^ould re- quire of her. I suppose you've never noticed her especially — f " "I used to know her a little," he said, in an off- hand manner. "I've seen her here. That's all." " If a woman cofild have been made on purpose for what you want, it's she." "Dear me! You don't say so!" " It's no use trying to be sarcastic about it, Derek. She's not the one to suffer by it; it's Dorothea. Though, when it comes to suffering, she has her share, poor thing." "I suppose no decent woman who has just lost her husband is expected to be absolutely hilarious over the event." "She hasn't just lo-.t him; it's getting on toward a year. And, besides, it isn't only that. As a mat- ter of fact, I don't believe she ever loved him as she could love the man to whom she gave her heart. If grief was her only trouble, I am sure the poor thing could bear it." "And can't she bear it as it is ?" "The fact that she does bear it shows that she can; but it must be hard for a woman, who has Uved as she has, to be brought to want." 92 THE INNER S H R T hT R "Want? Isn't that a strong word? One isn't m want unless one is without food and shelter." "She has the shelter for the time being; I'm not sure that she always has the food." ^' mat ? You don't know what you're saying " I know exactly what I'm saying; and I mean exactly what I say. There have been days when I ve suspected that she's pinching in the essentials of meat and drink." "But she has pupils." "She has two; but they must pay her very little. Its dreadful for people who have as much as we to havejo look on at the tragedy of others going "Good Lord! Don't pile it on." Striding to a window, he stood with his back to her, staring out. " I'm not piling it on, Derek. I wish I were." Well, can't we do something? If it's as you say, they mustn't be left like that." "It's a very delicate matter. The mother-in- T r 5?' ""T^ °^ ^^' °^"; !>"' Diane has nothing. It s difficult to see what to do, e.xcept to find her a situation." "Then find her one." "I have; but you won't take her." "In any case," he said, in the aggressive tone of a man putting forward a weak final argument, you couldn t leave the mother-in-law all alone " 93 THE INNER SHRINE "I'd take her," Lucilla said, promptly. "You have no idea how much I want her, in this bi^ empty house. It's getting to be more tJian I can io to take care of Aunt Regina all alone." Minutes went by in silence; but when Derek turned from the window and spoke, Lucilla shrank with constitutional fear from the responsibility gh« had assumed. "Go and ring them up, and tell young Mi». Eveieth I'm waiting to see her here." "But, Derek, are you sure — ?" "I'm quite sure. Please go and ring them up." " But, Derek, you're so stanling. Have you re- flected ?" ' "It's quite decided. Please do as I say, and call them up." " But if anything were to go wrong in the future you'd think it was my — " "I shall think nothing of the kind. Don't say any more about it, but please go and tell Diane I'm waiting." The use of this name being more convincing to Lucilla th.-jn pledges of assurance, she sped away to do his bidding; but it was not till after she had gone that Derek recognized the fact that the word had passed his lips. VII DURING the half-hour before the arrival of I. . ^ '■^'"'' ="'*^ ^'="^' Miss Lucilla's tact .Mowed Derek to have the library to himself. He was thus enabled to co-ordinate his thoughts, and «iact the laws which must henceforth regulate his domestic life. It was easy to silence the voice that for an mstant accused him of taking this step m order to provide Diane Eveleth with a home; for Dorothea s need of a strong hand over her wa. imperative. He had reached the point where that circumstance could no longer be ignored. The avowal that the child had passed beyond his con- trol would have had more bitterness in it, were It not for the fact that her naive self-sufficlencr touched his sense of humor, while her dainty beauw wakened his paternal pride. Nevenheless, it was patent that Dorothea had neen too much her own mistress. Without ad- mitting that he had been wrong in his method, hitheno he confessed that the rime had come When the duenna system must be introduced, u a Mtter not only of propriety, but of prudence. OS THE INNER SHRINE He assured himself of his regret that no American lady who could take the position chanced to be on the spot, but allayed his sorrow on the ground that any fairly well-mannered, virtuous woman could fulfil the functions of so mechanical a task, just as any decent, able-bodied man is good enough to be a policeman. It was somewhat annoying that the lady in ques- tion should be young and pretty; for it was a sad proof of the crudity, of human nature that the mere residence of a free man and a free woman under the same roof could not pass without comment among their friends. For himself it was a matter of no importance; and as for her, a woman who has her living to earn must often be placed in situations .vhere she is exposed to remark. To anticipate all possibility of mistake, it would be necessary that his attitude toward Mrs. Eveleth should be strictly that of the employer toward the employed. He must ignore the circumstance of their earlier acquaintance, with its touch of some- thing memorable which neither of them had ever been able to explain, and confine himself as far as possible, both in her interests and his owai, to such relations as he held with his stenographers and his clerks. What friendliness she required she must receive from other hands; and, doubtless, she would find sufficient. Having intrenched himself behind his fortifica' 96 THE INNER SHRINE tions of reserve, he was able to maintain just the nght shade of dignity, when, in the half-light of the midwinter afternoon, Diane ghded into the big, book-hned apartment, in which the comfortable air mduced through long occupancy by people of means did not banish a certain sombreness. She entered wich the subdued manner of one who has been sent for peremptorily, but who acknowledges the right of summons. The perception of this called an impulse to apologize to Derek's lips; but on reflection he repressed it. It was best to assume that she wo.-'d do his bidding from the first Standing by the fireplace, with his arm on the mantelpiece, he bowed stiffly, without ofl=-ering his hand. Diane bowed in return, keeping her own hands securely in her small black muff. "Won't you sit down?" Without changing his position he indicated the large leathern chair on the other side of the hearth, "•ane sat down on the veiy edge-erect, silent, submissive. If he had feared the intrusion of the personal element i.-.to what must be strctly a busi- ness affair, it was plain that this pale, pinched lit- tie woman had forestalled him. Yes; she was pale and pinched. Lucilla had been right about that. There was something in l^ane s appearance that suggested privation. Derek hented of mankin., but never in his own rank in 97 «i THE INNER SHRINE Uk. With her air of proud gendeness, of gallant acceptance of what fate had apportioned her, she made him think of some plucky little citadel hold- ing out against hunger. If there was no way of ihowing the pity, the mingled pity and approba- tion, in his breast, it was at least some consolation to know that in his house she would be beyond the most terrible and elemental touch of want. "I've troubled you to come and see me," he be- gan, with an effort to keep the note of embarrass- ment out of his vpice, "to ask if you would be willing to accept a position in my family." Diane sat still and did not raise her eyes, but it seemed to him that he could detect, beneath her veil, a light of relief in her face, like a sudden gleam of sunshine. "I'm looking for a position," was all she laid, * and if I could be of service — " " I'm very much in need of some one," he ex- plained; "though the duties of the place would be peculiar, and, per.':aps, not pardcularly grateful." "It wou'd be for me to do them, without quea- tioning as to whether I liked them or not." "I'm glad you say that, as it will make it easier for us to come to an understanding. You've al- ready guessed, perhaps, that I am looking for a lady to be with my daughter." "I thought it might be something of that kind." The difficult part of the interview was now to q8 int ih« Id- of )» on h« «- i»- be ut er »! i, i- •e THE INNER SHRINE begin, and Pruyn hesitated a minute, considering how best to present his case. Reflection decided him m favor of frankness, for it was only by frank- ness on his side that Diane would be able to cariy out his wishes on hers. The responsibility imposed upon him by his wife's death, he said, was one he hsd never wished to shirk by leaving his child to the care of others. Moreover, he had had his own ideas as to the manner in which she should be brought up, and he had put them into practice. The results had been good in most respects, and if m others there was something still to be desired, Jt was not too late to make the necessary changes, whether in the way of supplement or correction. Indeed, in his opinion, the psychological moment for introducing a new line of conduct had only just arrived. "It is often better not to force things," Diane murmured, vaguely, "especially with the verv young." ' To this he agreed, though he laid down the prin- aple that not to take strong measures when there was need for them would be the part of weakness. Uiane havmg no objection to offer to this bit of wisdom, it was possible for him to go on to explain ^e emergency she would be called on to meet Briefly, it arose from his own error in allowing Uorothea too much liberty of judgment. While be was m favor of a reasonable freedom for all 99 THE INNER SHRINE young people, it was evident that in this case the pendulum had been suffered to swing so far in one direction that it would require no small amount of effort on his part and Diane's— chiefly on Diane's— to bring it back. In the interest of Dorothea's happiness it was essential that the proper balance should be established with all possible speed, even though they raised some rebellion on her part in doing it. He explained Dorothea's methods in creating her body-guard of young men, as far as he understood them; he described the young people whose society she frequented, and admitted that he was puzzled as to the precise quality in them that shocked his views; coming to the affair with Carii Wappinger, he spoke of it a" "a bit of preposterous nonsense, to which an immediate stop must be put." There were minor points in his exposition; and at each one, as he made it, Diane nodded her head gravely, to show that she followed him with understanding, and was in sympathy with his opinion that it was "high rime that some step should be taken." Encouraged by this intelligent comprehen-ion, Derek went on to d.r'. the good offices he woul<" j expect from Diane. Sne should come to his house not only as Dorothea's inseparable cor.ipanion, but as a sou of warder-in-chief, armed, by his au- thority, with all the powers of command. There was no use in doing things by halves; and if Dorothea THE INNER SHRINE needed discipline she had better get it thoroughly, and be done with it. It was not a thing which he, Derek, would want to see last forever; but while it did last it ought to be effective, and he would look to Diane to make it so. As it was noi be- coming that a daughter of his should need a body- guard of youths, Diane would undertake the task of breaking up Dorothea's circle. Young men might still be permitted "to call," but under Diane's supervision, while Doiothea sat in the background, as a maiden should. Diane would make it a point to know the lads personally, so as to discriminate between them, and exclude those who for one reason or another might not be desirable friends. As for Mr. Carli Wappinger, the door was to be rigorously shut against him. Here the question was not one of gradual elimination, but of abrupt termination to the acquaintanceship. He must request Diane to see to it that, as far as possible, Dorothea neither met the young man, nor held communication with him, on any pretext whatever. • He laid down no rule in the case of Mrs. Wappinger, but it would follow as a natural consequence thar the mother should be dropped with the son. These might seem drastic measures to Dorothea, to begin with; but she was an eminently reasonable child, and would soon come to recognize their wisdom. After all, they were only the conditions to which as he had been given to understand, other young 1 01 THE INNER SHRINE |tils were subjected, so that she would have nothing to complain of in her lot. The probability of his •wn departure for South America, with an absence lasting till the spring, would make it necessary for Diane to use to the full the powers with which he commissioned her. He trusted that he made him- «eli clear. For some minutes after he ceased speaking Diant sat looking meditatively at the fire. When she spoke her voice was.Iow, but the ring of decision im '« was not to be mistaken. "I'm afraid I couldn't accept the position, Mr. Pruyn." Derek's start of astonishment was that of a man who sees intentions he meant to be benevolent thrown back in his face. "You couldn't—? But surely— f "I mean, I couldn't do that kind of work." " But I thought you were looking for it— or some- thing of the sort." "Yes; something of the sort, but not precisely that." "And it's precisely that that I wish to have done," he said, in a tone that betrayed some irrita- tion; "so I suppose there is no more to be said." "No; I suppose not. In any case," she added, rising, " I must thank you for being so good as t« think of me; and if I feel obliged to decline your proposition, I must ask you to believe th»t my I02 THE INNER SHRINE Motives are not petty ones. Now I will say good- aftemoon." Keeping her hands rigidly within her muff, and with a slight, dignified inclination f the head, she turned from him. She was half-way to the door before Derek re- covered himself sufficiently to speak. "May I ask," he inquired, "what your objections are?" She turned where she stood, but did not com* back toward him. " I have only one. The position you suggest would be intolerable to your daughter and odious to me." "But," he asked, with a perplexed contraction •f the brows, " isn't it what companions to young ladies are generally engaged for ?" "I was never engaged as a companion before^ so I'm not qualified to say. I only know — " She stopped, as if weighing her words. "Yes ?" he insisted; "you only know — what?" "That no girl with spirit — and Miss Pruyn is a girl with spirit — ^would submit to that kind of tyranny." "It wouldn't be tyranny in this case; it would be authority." "She would consider it tyranny — especially aftei the freedom you've allowed her." " But you admit that it's freedom that ought to be mrbed ?" •*>3 m i' i; THE INNER SHRINE "Quite so; but aren't there methods of restric- doii other than those of compulsion ?" "Such as— what?" "Such as special circumstances may suggest." "And in these particular circumstances — ?" "I'm not prepared to say. I'm not sufficiently familiar with them." "Precisely; but I am." "You're familiar with them from a man's point of view," she smiled; " but it's one of those instances in which a man's point of view counts for very little." "Admitting that, what would be your advice f" "I have none to give." "None?" She shook her head. Leaving his fortified posi- tion by the mantelpiece, he took a step or two toward her. "And yet v^hen I began to speak you seemed favorably inclined to the offer I was making you. You must have had ideas on the subject, then." "Only vague ones. I made the mistake of sup- posing that yours would be equally so." "And with your vague ideas, your intention was— ?" "To adapt myself to circumstarces; I couldn't tell beforehand what they would lie. I imagined that wh'it you wanted for your daughter was the society of an experienced woman of the world; and I am that, whatever else I may not be." 104 THE INNER SHRINE "You're very young to make the claim." "There are other ways of gaining experience than by years; and," she added, with the intention to divert the conversation from herself, "tht small store I happen to possess I was willing to share widi your daughter, in whatever way she might have need of it." " But not in my way." "Not in your way, perhaps, but for the further- ing of your purposes." "How could you further my purposes when you wouldn't do what I wanted ?" "By getting her to do it of her own accord." "G)uld you promise me she would f" "I coulun't promise you anything at all. I could only do my best, and see how she would respond t :. it." "She's a very good little girl," Ke hastened to declare. "I'm sure of that. Though I don't know her well, I've seen her often enough to understand that whatever mistakes she may make, they are those of youth anu independence. She is only a mother- less girl who has been allowed^who, in a certain way, has been obliged— to look after herself. I've noticed that underneath her self-reliant manner she s very much a child." 'That's true." "But I should never treat her as a child, except— except in one way." IDS THE INNER S H RIN M "Which would be— r "To give her plenty of affection." "She's always had that." "Yes, yours; she hasn't had her mother's. Don't thuik ine cruel in saying it, but no girl can grow up nourished only by her father's love, and not mist something that the good God intended her to have. The reason women are so essential to babies and men is chiefly because of their facuhy for un- derstanding the inarticulate. With all your daugh- ter has had, there is one great thing that she hasn't had; and if you had placed me near her, my idea, which I call vague, would have been — as far ai any one cculd do it now-to supply her with some or that. Derek retreated again to the fireside, alanned by a language suspiciously like that he had heard on other occasions concerning the motherless condi- tion of his child. Was it going to turn out that all women were alike ? There had been minutes dur- ing the last half- hour when, as he looked into Uiane s face, it seemed to him that here at last was one as honest as air and as straightforward as light But no experienced woman of the world, as she declared herself to be, could forget that this was a ludicrously delicate topic with a widower. She must either avoid it altogether, or expose herself to misinterpretation in pursuing it. It took him a Jew mmutes to perceive that Diane had chosen th« io6 THE INNER SHRINE latter course, and had done it with a fine disdain ^ anything he might choose to think. She was not of the order of women who hesitate for petty con- siderations, or who stoop to small manoeuvrings. I m afraid I must go now," she said, when ht had stood some time without speaking. "Don't go yet. Sit down." His tone was still one of command, but not of the same <,uality of command as that which he had used on her entry. He brought her a chair, and she seated herself again. "You said just now," he began, resuming his former attitude, with his arm on the mantelpiece, that you didn't expect me to be so definite. Sup- pose I had been indefinite; then what would you have done .?" ' "I should have been indefinite, too" "That's all very well; but, you see, I have to look at things from the point of view of business." And IS there never anything indefinite in busi- ness r "Not if we can help it." ''And what happens when you can't help it?" Ihen we have to look for some one to whoa, discretion we can trust." 'Exactly; and, if you'll allow me to say it, Miss f myn IS at an age and in a position where she needs Ihori^ » *''™*^ ^'* discretion rather than au- 107 Jkn TH E I N N E R S H R I N E "Well, suppose we were agreed about everything -*e d.scret.on and all-what would you be^in by "I shouldn't begin by doing anything. I should to^ to wm your daughter's confidencf; and if I couldn't do that I should go away " wc2£'at:!;sJi;.r^'^'''^''p-^^--Hi"s "It might happen so. 1 shouldn't expect it Good heart, are generally sensitive to gLd in- fluences; anc' beneatf, her shell of manner Miss l2mtiP ^' ""'" ""^ "°' '^^^ '"'"' ' Again he was suspicious of a bid for favor: but St^rrugi^'^''-^"''^"^''^^''--^-^- "I'm glad you see that," was the only comment he made. "But." he added, once moi taking a step or two toward her. "when you had won L confidence, then you would do things that I sug- gested, wouldn't you ?" ^ -t i sug th"^ l'"'"'?r'' ^T^ '°- ^''^ ^•'"'^ Probably do *.T._ herself, and a great deal banter than you "I don-t see how vou can je sure of that If you don't make her—" "When you've watered your plant and kept it n the sunshme you don't have to make it bl^m. It will do that of itself." io8 THE INNER SHRINE "But all these young men f— and this youn* Wappinger — ?" ' * "I should let them alone." "Not young Wappinger!" "Wliat harm is he doing? I admit that the present situation has its foolish aspects from your pomt view and mine; but I can think of things a great deal worse. At least you know there is nothing clandestine going on; and young people who have the virtue of being open have the very first quality of all. If you let them alone-or leave them to sympathetic management-you will prob- ably find'that they will outgrow the whole thing, as diildren outgrow an inordinate love of sweets " There was a brief pause, during which he sto" sfie admitted; ""only it's one I find difficult to answer. If it wasn't important -urgently important-that I should obtain work. 1 should prefer not to answer it at all. I must • 109 THE INNER SHRINE teU you that I haven't always been discreet. I'y, had to learn discretion— by bitter lessons." I'm not asking about the past," he broke in, hastily, but about th : future." "About the future one cannot wy; one can only "Then suppose we try it r" His own words took him by surprise, for he had meant to be more cautious; but now that they were uttered he was ready to stand by them. Once more as It seemed to him, he could detect the lighL of relief •teal into her expression, but she made no response Suppose we try it?" he said again. uiy^ ^°'. y°" *° decide," she answered, quietly My position places me entirely at the disposal of any one who is willing to employ me." "So that this is better than nothing," he said, in «ome disappointment at her lack of enthusiasm. I shouldn't put it in that way," she smiled; but then I shouldn't put it in any way, until I saw Whether or not I gave you satisfaction. You must remember you're engaging an unuied person; and, as 1 ve told you, I have nothing in the way of lec- ommendations." "We will assume that you don't need them." "It's a good deal to assume; but since you're ?ood enough to do it, I can't help being grateful. Is there any particular time when you would like me to begin f" IIO THE INNER SHRINE "Perhaps," he suggested, drawing up a small chair and seating himself nearer her, "it would be best to settle the business part of our arrangement first. You must tell me frankly if there is anything in what I propose that you don't find satisfactory." "I'm sure there won't be," Diane murmured, family, with a feeling akin to shame that any one should be offering to pay for such feeble services as hers. She was thankful that the winter dusk, creep- ing into the room, hid tlie surging of tlie hot color in her face, as Derek talked of sums of money and dates of payment. She did her best to pretend to give him her attention, but she gathered nothing from what he said. If she had any coherent tjiought at a!!, it was of the greatness, the force, the authority, of one who could control her future, and dictate her acts, and prescribe her duties, with something like the power of a god. In times past she would have tried to weave her spell around tliis strong man, in sheer wantonness of conquest, as Vivian threw her enchantments over Merlin; now she was conscious only of a strange willingness to submit to him, to take his yoke, and bow down under it, serving him as master. She was glad when he ended, leaving her free to rise and say his arrangements suited her exactly. She had promised to join iVss Lucilla van Tromp and Mrs. Eveleth at tea, and perhaps he would come with her. THE INNER S H RI N B "No, I'll run away now," he said, accompanying her to tlie door, "if you'll be good enough to make , my excuses to Lucilla. But one word more 1 You , I ask-d me when you had better begin. I should say : as soon as you can. As I may leave for Rio de ; Janeiro at any time, it would be well for things to j i be in working order befbit I go." j^l So it was settled, and as she departed he opened ! Il *e door for her and held out his hand. But once ill ""pre the little black muff came into play, and ! ' Diane walked out as she had come in, with no >^ other salutation than a dignified inclination of the i-l head. Derek closed the door behind her and stood with his hand on the knob. He took the gentle rebuke like a man. "I'm a cad," he said to himself. "I'm a cad." Returning to his former place on the hearth, he remained long, gazing into the dying embers, and rehearsing the points of the interview in his mind. The gloaming closed around him, and he took pleasure in the fancy that she was still sitting theie —silent, patient, ei.-ct, with that pinched look of privation so gallantly borne. "By Jove! she's a brave one!" he murmured, under his breath. "She's a brick. She's a soldier. She's a lady. She's the one woman in the world to whom I could intrust my child." Then, as his head sank in meditation, he shook 112 THE INNER SHRINE himself as though to wake up from sleep into actual day. "I've been dreaming," he said— "I've been dteaming. I must get away. I must go back to the office. I must get to work." But instead of going he threw himself into one of the deep arm-chairs. Dropping off into a reverie, he conjured up the scene which had long been the fairest in his memory. It was the summer. It was the country. It was a garden. In the long bed the carnations of many colors were bending their beauty-drunken heads, while over them a girl was stooping. She picked one here, one there, in search of that which would suit him best. When she had found it — deep red, with shades in the inner petals nearly black — she turned to offer it. But when she looked at him, he •aw it was — Diane. VIII JT had apparently been decreed that Derek Pruyn was not to go to South America that year. On more than one occasion he had been delayed on the eve of skiling. From February the voyage was postponed to May, and from May to September. In September it had ceased for the moment to be urgent, while remaining a pos.ibil- .ty. It was the February of a year later before it became a definite necessity no longer to be put off. In the mean while, under the beneficent processes of time, sunshine, and Diane Eveleth's cultivation. Miss Dorothea Pruyn had become a "bud." The small, hard, green thing had unfolded petals whose delicacy, purity, and fragrance were a new con- tnbuaon to the joy of living. Society in general showed Its appreciation, and Derek Pruyn was proud. He was more than proud; he was grateful. The development that had changed Dorothea from a ioryvard Imle girl into a charming maiden, and which might have been the mere consequence of growth, was to him the evident fruit of Diane's 114 THE INNER S H R I N B influoice. The subtle diiFerences whereby his own dwelling was transformed from a handsome, mon or less empty, shell into an abode of the domestic amenities sprang, in his opinion, from a presence shedding grace. All the more strange was it, there- fore, that both presence and influence remained as remote from his own personal grasp as music on the waves of sound or odors in the air. Of the many impressions produced by a year of Diane's residence beneath his roof, none perplexed him more than her detachment. Moreover, it was a detachment as difficult to comprehend in quality as to define in words. There was in her attitude nothing of the retreating nymph or of the self-effacing sufferer. She took her place equally without obtrusiveness and without affectation. Such effects as she brought about came without noise, without effort, and without laboriousness of good intentioh. Simple and straightforward in all her ways, the neverthe- less contrived to throw into her relations with him- self an element as impersonal as sunshine. In the first Jay^ of her coming it w:.s he who, in pursuance of his method of reserve, had held aloof. He had been frequently absent from New York, and, even when there, had lived much at one or another of his clubs. Weeks had already passed when the perception stole on him that his goings «nd comings meant little more to her than to the «ees waving in the great Park before his door. ^.liW THE INNER SHRINE The discovery that he had been taking such pains to abstract himself from eyes which scarcely noticed whether he was there or not brought with it a little bitter raillery at his own expense. He was piqued at once m his self-love and in his masculine instinct for domination. It seemed to be out of the natural order of things that his thoughts should dwell so much on a woman to whom he was only a detail in the scheme of her surroundings— superior to the but er, and more animate than the pictures on the wall, but as little in her consciousness as either. It was certainly an easy opportunity in which to display that self-restraint which he had undertaken to make his portion; but when the heroic nature finds no obstacles to overcome, it has a tendency to create them. Without obtruding himself upon Diane, Derek began to dine more frequently at his own house. On those occasions when Dorothea went out alone It was impossible for the two who remained at home to avoid a kind of conversation, which, with the topics incidental to the management of a common houseliold, often verged upon the intimate. When Diane accompanied his daughter to the opera, he adopted the habit of dropping into the box, and per- haps taki^i, them, with some of Dorothea's friends, to a restaurant for supper. He planned the litde parties and excursions for which Dorothea's "bud- ding" offered an excuse; and, while he recognized ii6 THE INNER SHRINE the subterfuge, he made his probable journey, with the long absence it would involve, serve as a pallia- tion. Since, too, there was no danger to Diane, there could be 'he less reason for stinting himself in the pleasure of her presence, so long as he was prepared to pay for it aftenv ard in full. Thus the first winter had gone by, until with the shifting of the environment in summer a certain change entered into the situation. The greater freedom of country life on the Hudson made it requisite that Diane should be more consciously circumspect. In her detachment Derek noticed first of all a new element of intention; but since it was the first sign she had given of distinguishing berveen him and the dumb creation, it did not displease him. While he could not affirm that she avoided him, he saw less of her than when in town. During those difficult moments when they had no guests and Dorothea was making visits airong her friends, Diane found pretexts for slipping away to New York, on what she declared to be business of her own— availing herself of the seclusion of the lit- tle French hostelry that had first given her shelter. It was at times such as these that Derek began to perceive what she had become to him. As long as she was near him he could keep his feelings within the limitations he had set for them ; but in her a bsence he was restless and despondent till she rMumed. The brutality of life, which made him master of the THE INNER r ff j, r ^ fj b«uty of the country and the coolness of the hills, while ,t drove her to stifle in the town, stirred hSj w.th alternate waves of indignation and con^alron There was a torrid afternoon in August whe. the s.ght of Let trudging along the dustfj ghw" » the star. on. almost led him to betray himself bj h^s curses upon fate. Dorothea haWng left for Newpo., .„ ,he morning. Diane was. as us^ual. seek- weeks the g,r s v.sit was to last. Understanding her des.re not to be alone with him for even a few hou„ when there was no third person in the house. De"ek had t,te„ the opportunity to motor for lunch r. a fnend s house some miles away. With the in-en- t.on of not returning till after she had gone he had ordered a carriage to be in readiness'o d rive her to her tra.n; but his luncheon was scarcely end^ when d,e thought occurred to him that. b^Turll .ts'ta:ed"'«''"'^''^'-'^''-'-^Herbl.f He had already half smothered her in dust when he perc.ved that the little woman in black, und" a black parasol, was actually Diane. To his in d.gnant quenes as to why she should be plodding her way on foot, with this scorching sun overhead her rephes were cheerful and uncompiabTnf A ^s o s,.all accidents in the stable-suclf had can«antly happened at her own little chateau io iiS THE INNER SHRINE the Oise— liaving made it inadvisable to take the horses out, one of the men had conveyed her lug- gage to the station, while she herself preferred to walk. She was used to the exigencies of country life, in both France and Ireland; and as for th« heat, it was a detail to be scorned. Dust, too, wa* only matter out of place, and a necessary con- comitant of summer. Would he not drive on, without troubling himself any more about her ? No; decidedly he would not. She must get in and let him take her to the station. There he could work off his wrath only by buying her ticket and seeing to her luggage; while his charge to the negro porter to look to her comfort was of such a nature that during the whole of .ne journey she was pelted with magazine literature and tormented with glasses of ice-water. That nigiit he found himself impelled by his sense of honor as a gentleman to write a letter of apology for the indignity she had been exposed to while in his house. When it had gone he considered it insufficient, and only the reflection that he ought to have business in town next day kept him from following it up with a second note. Arrived in New York, where the city was burn- ing as if under a sun-glass, he found his chief sub- ject for consideration to be the choice of a club at which to lunch. There, in tht solitude of the 119 .1' ■" THE INNER S H R T M n deserted smoking-room, where the heat was tem- pered, the glare shut out, and the very footfall sub- dued, he thought of the little hotel in University Place. Because human society had mysterious un- written laws, the woman he loved was forced to steal away from the freshness and peace of green helds and sweeping river, to take refuge amid the noisome ugliness from which, in spite of her cour- agt, her exquisite nature must shrink. He whose needs were sin.ple, as his tastes were comparatively coarse, could command the sybaritic luxun. of a Roman patrician, while she, who could not lift her hand without betraying the habits of inborn re- finement, was exposed not only to vulgar contact. but to a squalor of discomfort as odious as vice Ihe thought was a humiliation. Even if he had not loved her, it would have seemed almost the duty of a man of honor to step in between her and the cruel pathos of her lot. It was a curious reflection tjiat it was the very fact that he did love her which held him back Could he have turned toward Paradise and said to the sweet soul waiting for him there, "This woman has need of me but you alone reign in n,y heart,'' he would have felt more free to act. But t]--^ time when that would have been possible had eone by Anything he might do now would be Irss^ for I-r need than his own; and his own he could endure If loyalty to his past demanded it. None tlie less 120 THE IN E R SHRINE was It necessary tc find a wa/ in which to come to Diane's immediate rehet; and by the time he had finished his cigar he thought he had discov- ered it. "Having been obliged to run up to to^vn," he explained, when she had received him in the little hotel parlor, "I've dropped in to tell you that I'm going away for a few weeks into Canada." "Isn't it ratlier hot weather for travelling .?" she asked, with that clear, smiling gaze which showed him at once that she had seen through his pretext for coming. "It won't be hot where I'm going— up into the valley of the Metapedia." "It's rather a sudden decision, isn't it?" "N— no. I generally try to get a little sport some time during the year." "Naturally you know your own intentions best. I only happen to remember that you said, yester- day morning, you hoped not to leave Rhinefields till the middle of next month." "Did I say that ? I must have been dreaming ?" "Very likely you were. Or perhaps yoj're dreaming now." "Not at all; in fact, I'm particularly wide awake. I see things so clearly that I've looked in to tell you some of them. You must get out of this stifling hole and go back to Rhinefields at once." "I don't like that way of speaking of a place I've 121 THE INNER SHRINE become attached to. It isn't a stifling hole; it's a clean httle ,nn. where the service is le v r; law of kindness. The an may be of a periodToi: what earher than the primitive." she laughed. look- -ng round at the highly colored chromos of lake and mountam scenery hanging on the walls, "and .Ee furn.ture may not be strictly in the stv le of Louil Qumze. but the host and hostess treat me a, a daughter, and every garfon is my slave." K'sLTpTare^r;:^''"'''^^'^"'^"*^-- emodon i„ T^ *'''" ^' ^'^'^' ^'^ -^den emotion in his voice. "I think I ought to say it." she insisted, "first of all because it's true; and then becau e Jol ;;You know that I'm not at ease about you." my o^wLr "'^ ^ •""'' ^' discontented with my lot when-,n a certam sense-I'm not at all livin. t r •P"''"'^ *^' ^ P«f" --''-g for a hving to having money of my own; but I'vf found I ve found that life grows richer as it gc^s on m whatever way one has to live it. It's as i? Z ~s that fed it became more nume'ufS farther one descended from the height." 122 THE INNER SHRINE "I'm glad you're able to say that—" "I can say it very sincerely; and I lay stress upon u. because I know you're kind enouj, to be worned about me. I wish I could make you understand how little reason there is for it, thoS you mustn't think ti,at I'm not touched by i, S that I mistake its motive. I've come to see diat jvhat I've often heard, and used scarcely to t heve, IS qu.te true, that American men have an attitude toward women entirely different from that of our men. Our men probably think more abou women than any other men in the world; but they thmk of them as objects of prey-with joys and sorrows not to be taken seriously. You on £ contraty, are willing to put yourseff to gre;t incon- vemence for me merely because I ..'a woZ" himl^Jtrslt ™^°'''"'"°"^'=P^™"-'^ du,7 wr"*"'' ^t'^^ """'^"^ ^' '^'^^y ^-^^e gold- dust. When we have their general trend we have vn, .-, r ^ '''^"' y°" *° '^' '^^' I understand you, while I must ask you not to be hurt if I still persist in not availing myself of your courtesy I wish you wouldn't question me any more about it. because there are situations in which one cheapen hmgs by the very effort to put them into worTs feen"'' ' ''°"'"' >'°"''' comprehend my "Let us assume that I do, as it is. I have stiD "3 THE I N N ^ R S H R I N B another suggestion to make. Admitting that I stay at Rhinefields, why can't you ask your mother-in- .»w to come and make you a couple of weeks' visit there ?" For a moment Diane forgot the restraint she mide it a habit to impose upon herseif in the new conditions of her life, and slipped back into the spontaneous manner of the past. "How tiresome you are! I never knew any one but a child twist himselFin so many directions to get his own way." "You see, I'm accustomed to having my own way. You ought not to think of resisting me." "I'm not resisting you; I'm only eluding your grasp. There's one great obstacle to what you've just been good enough to propose: my mother-in- law couldn't come. Miss Lucilla van Tromp couldn't spare her. As a matter of fact, she — Miss Lucilla- -asked me to go to Newport and stay with her all the time Dorothea is with the Prouds; but I declined the invitation. You see now that I don't l?.ck cool and comfortable quarters because I couldn't get them." "I see," he nodded. "You evidently prefer— this." "I'll tell you what I prefer: I prefer a breathing- space in which to commune with my own soul." "You could commune with your own soul at Rhinefields." ia4 THE INNER SHRINE "No, I couldn't. It's an exercise that requires not only solitude and seclusion, but a certain with- drawal from the world. If I were in France, I should go and spend a fortnight in my old convent at Auteu.1; l.ut in this country the nearest approach 1 can make to that is to be here where I am. After all that has happened in the last year and more I am trying to find myself again, so to sneak-I'm uying to re-establish my identity with 'the Diane de la Ferronaise, who seems to me to have faded back into the distant twilight of time. Won't you •et ine do it in my own way, and ask me no more questions ? Yes; I see by your face that you will- and we can be friends again. Now," she added, briskly, springing up and touching a bell, "you're going to have some of my iced coffee. I've taught them to make it, just as I used to have it at the Mauconduit-that was our little place near Com- piegne— and I know you'll find it refreshing." It was half an hour later, while he was taking leave of her, that a thought occurred to him which promised to be fruitful of new resou ,es. _ "Veiy well," he declared, as they were parting, _ If you persist m staying here, I, too, shall persist in looking in whenever I com^j to town-which will have to be pretty often just now— to see that you're not down with some sort oi fever." "But," she laughed, "I thought you were going away— to Canada ?" ^ * i2S THE INNER i> H R I N E "I'm not obliged to; and you've rather succeeded in dissuading me." "Then let me succeed in dissuading you from everything. Don't come here again — please don't." "I certainly shall." "I'm generally out." "In that case I shall stay till you come in." "Of course I can't keep you from doing that. 1 will only say that the American man I've had in mind for the past few months — wouldn't." The fact that he did not go back to University Place, either on this or any subsequent occasion when she thought it well to withdraw there, em- phasized his helplessness to aid her. By the time autumn returned, and the household was once more settled in town, he had grown aware that between Diane and himself there was an impalpable wall of separation, which he could no more pass than he could transcend the veil between material existence and the Unseen World. He began to perceive that what he had called detachment of manner, more or less purposely maintained, was in reality an element in the situation which from the beginning had precluded friendship. Diane and he could not be friends in any of the ordinary senses of the word. -As employer and employed their necessary dealings might be friendly; but to anything more personal, under the present arrangement, there was attached (26 I j THE INNER S H R I Nj. I die impossible condition of stepping off from term i nrma into space. I The obvious method of putting their mutual re- I lauonship on a basis richer in future potentialitiei i Derek still felt himself unable to adopt of his own I initiative act. The vow which bound him to his dead wife was one from which circumstances— and i not merely his own fiat— must absolve him; but as winter advanced it seemed to him that life had begun to speak on the subject with a voice of im- perative command. It was the middle of January, when a small, accidental happening drew all his growing but still debatable intentions into one sharp point of reso- lution. It was such an afternoon as comes rarely, even m the exliilarating winter of New York— an afternoon v.-hcn the unfathomable blue of tlie sky overhead runs through all the gamut of tones from lavender to indigo; when the air has the living keenness of that which the Spirit first breathed into the nostrils of man; when the rapture of the heart is that of neither passion, wine, nor ner^■ous excite- ment, but comes nearer tlie exaltation of deathless youth in a deathless world than anything else in a temporary earth. It was a day on which even the jaded heart is in the mood to begin all over again in renewed pursuit of the happiness which up to now has been elusive. To Derek, whose heart was by no means jaded, it was a day on which the in- 127 THE INNER SERINE stinctive hope of youth, which he supposed he had outlived, proved itself of one essence witli the con- tcious passion of maturity. When, as he walked homeward along Fifth Ave- nue, he overtook Diane, also making her way home- ward, the happy occurrence seemed but part of the general radiance permeating life. The chance meeting on tlie neutral ground of out-of-doors took Diane by surprise; and before she had time to put up her guards of reserve she had betrayed her youth in a shy heightening of color. Under the protection of the cheerful, slowly moving crowd she felt at liberty to drop for a minute the subdued air of his daughter's paid companion, and in her replies to what he said she spoke \\ ith some of her old gayety of verve. Tt was an unfortunate mo.Tient in which to yield to this temptation, for it was, perhaps, the only occasion since her coming to New York on which she was closely observed. Engrossed as they were, the one with the other, they had insensibly relaxed their pace, becoming mere strollers on the outside edge of the throng. The sense of being watched came to both of them at once, and, looking up at the same moment, thejr saw, approaching at a snail's pace, an open victoria, in which were two ladies, to whom they viere objects of plainly expressed interest. The elder was an insignificant little woman, who looked as though she were being taken out by her costly furs, while the 128 THE INNER SHRINE younger was a girl of some two or three and twenty, of a type of Leauty that would have been too imperious had if not been toned down by that air which to th, .inmtelligent means boredom, though the wise ki-ow it to spring from something gone amiss in life. Both ladies kept their eyes hxed so exclusively on Diane that they had almost passed before remembering to salute Deiek with a nod. "I've seen those ladies somewhere." Diane ob- served, when they had gone by. "I dare say. They've probably seen you, too. The elder is Mrs. Bayford, sister of Mr. Grimston, my uncle's partner in Paris. The girl is Marion Linmston, his daughter." " I remember perfectly now. They used to come Vind" "^ "*'*"' '•"•^-''"''-anything of that Pruyn laughed. "Anything, you mean, that was open to all comers. Mrs. Grimston would be flattered." "I didn't mean to speak slightingly." she hastened to say. There were plenty of nice people in Paris whom I didn't know." | "And plenty, I imagine, who thought you ought to have known them. Mrs. Grimston. and Mrs Bayford, too. would have been among that n«un. ber. "Well, you see I do know them— by sight I I2Q I! lii! THE INNER SHRINE recall Miss Grimston especially. She's so band- some." "I shall tell her that to-night." "To-night?" "Yes; it's with them that Dorothea and I are dming. The name conveying nothing to you, you probably didn't remember it. The fact is that, ai Mrs. Bayford is the sister of my uncle's partner— my partner, too— I make it a point to be veiy civil to her twice a year- once when I dine with her, and once wlien she dines with me. The annual festivals have been delayid this season because she has only just returned Kor< a long visit to Japan and India, with Marion in her wake." There had been so much to say which, in the glamour of that glorious afternoon, was more im- portant that no further time was spent on the topic. Derek forgot the meeting till Mrs. Bayford recalled It to him as he sat beside her in the evening. She was one of those small, ill-shapen women whose infirmities are thrown into more conspicuous relief by dress and jewels and dhoUetage. Seated at the head of her table, she produced the impression of a Goddess of Discord at a feast of well-meaning, hap- less mortals. "I want a word with you," she said, parentheti- cally, to Derek, on her left, before turning her atten- tion to the more important neijjhbor on her rivht. "3° ^ H E I NNER S FT P r f^ "One is .cant measure." he laughed, in reply, but I must be grateful even for that " It was the middle of dinner before she took notice of h>m agam, but when she did she plunged mto her subject boldly. j"""gea "I suppose you didn't think I knew who you were walkmg with tnis afternoon ?" "Yes I did, because the lady recognized you. She sa,d you and Mrs. Grimston were among^the nice people m Paris whom she hadn't met-but Whom she knew very well by sight." If Derek thought this reply calculated to appease ..n^^L "^' ^^ ^''<'°^"^d his mistake. U>d she have the indecency to say she hadn't met me f tJ'/,?'"'' '^/■'^f' ''"' '^^ P'°^^^^y '^■dn't know that the word mdecency could apply to anything connected with you." /"""g "Why, I was introduced to her four times in one season! ''I suppose she hasn't as good a memoo' as yours." Oh, as for that, it wasn't a matter of memory Nobody was permitted to forget her-she was quite notorious. ^ "I've always heard that in Paris the mere posses- sion of beauty is enough to keep any one in the public eye. "It wasn't beauty alone-if she has beauty; though for my part-I can't see it." »3i r T^ H E INNER SHRINE "It IX of rather an elusive quality." "It must be. But if it exists at all, I can tell you that It's of a dangerous quality." " Hasn't that always been the peculiarity of beauty ever since the days of Helen of Troy ?" "I'm sure I cant say. I've alwrays tried to steer dear of that sort of thing—" "That must be an excellent plan; only it deprives one of the power of speaking as an authority, doesn t it? ' "I don't pretend to speak as an authority. If I say anything at all, it's what eveiybody knows." ITl"^."' ^''^'V^^^y '"'ows is generally— scandal." This was certainly scandal; but it wasn't the fact that everybody knew it that made it so." "Then I'm sure you wouldn't wish to repeat it." "I don't see why you should be sure of anything of the kind. I consider it my duty to repeat it." "Then you won't be surprised if I consider it mine to contradict it." "Certainly not. I shouldn't be surprised at anythmg you could do, Derek, after what I've heard since I came home." "I won't ask you what that is—" "No; your own conscience must tell you. No one can go on as you've been doing, and not know he must be talked about." "I've always understood that that was more flattering than to be ignored." «3a THE INNER SHRINE "It depends. There's such a thing as receiving that sort of flatter)- first, only to be ignored in the •equel. I speak as your friend, Derek -" , "I thoroughly understand tliat; but m.;y I ask u It s in the way of warning or of threat =" "It's in the way of both. You must see that whatever risks I may be prepared to run n>ys If. her to^ as I have Marion with n.e I can't expose "To what.?" Not^vith.standing his efforts to keep the conversa- tion to a tone of banter, acrimonious though it had to be, Derek was unable to pronounce the two brief sy lables without betraying some degree of anrer Glancing up at him as she shrank under J,er weight of jewels. Mrs. Dayford found him very big and menacing; but she was a brave woman, and if she shnvelled, ,t was only as a cat shrivels before sprine- •ng at a mastiff. ^ "I can't expose her to the chance of meeting—" l>he paused, not from hesitation, b- -;•], the rhetoncal intention of making the end of her phrase more telling. ' "My future wife," he whispered, before she had time to go on. "It's only fair to tell you that." Good heavens! You're not going to marrv tlie creature!" ' Mrs. Bayford brought out the words with the dramatic action and intensity they deserved. In 133 THE INNER SHRINE the hum of talk around and across the table it was doubtful whether or not they were heard, and yet more tlian one of the guests glanced up with a look of interrogation. Dorothea caught her father's eyes in a gaze which he had some difficulty in retum- mg with the proper amount of steadiness; but Mrs Bernngton Jones came to the rescue of the com- pany by asking Mrs. Bayford to tell the amusing story of how her bath had been managed in Japan 5>o the inciaent passed by, leaving a sense of mys- tery in the air; though fot Derek, all sense of an- noyance disappeared in die knowledge that he was Uiane s champion. He was thinking over the incident in the luxurious semi-darkness of the electric brougham as they were going homeward, when the clear voice of Dorothea broke in on his meditation. "Are you going to be married, father ?" The question could not be a surprise to him after the occurrence at the table, but he was not prepared to give an affirmative answer on the spur of the moment. ^ '"WTiat makes you ask .?" he inquired, after a second s reflection. "I heard what Mrs. Bayford said." I' And how should you feel if I were I" "It would depend." "On what !" '34 THE INNER S H li r m , I'S" ^''^^f «• or not it was any one I liked." you^d'iL r ^' ' " "^"^ --^ °- -»>- "And if it was Diane ?" "I should be very glad." "Why?" She slipped her arm through his and snuggled up to him. ss'*;" "Oh, for a lot of reasons. First, because I've always supposed you'd be getting married one day; and I ve been ternbly afraid you'd pick out some one I couldn't get along with." thZ w"'"' ^'°"" ^"^ ^^'"P'°'" '° i"-fy •*N-no; but you never can tell-with a man." Can you be any surer with a woman ?" No; and that's one of my other reasons. I'm not very sure about myself." "You don't mean that it's to be young Wap- f" he began, uneasily. ^ ' "I suppose it will have to be he^r some one else. They keep at me." to hoid'^o^"" •'^"'' ^'"^ ''°" '°"^ ^°" ""'y ''« ^"' ^ "I'm holding out as well as I can," she laughed, « w „"" ', ^° °" ^°'*=^"- And then-if I d<^» Well — ^what ?" '35 ' J : THE INNER SHRINE "You'd be left all alone, and, of course, I should be worned about that— unless you— you— " "Unless I married some one." "No; not some one; no one— but Diane." They were now at their own door, but before she sprang out she drew down his face to hers and kissed him. IX DURING the succeeding week Derek Pruyn, having practically announced an engai^ement which did not exist, found himself in a somewhat ludicrous situation. Too proud to extort a promise of secrecy from Mrs. Bayford, he knew the value of his indiscretion— if indiscretion it were— to any purveyor of tea-table gossip; and while Diane and he remained in the same relative positions he was sure It was being bruited about, with his own au- thority, that they were to become man and wife. It did not dimmish the absurdity of the situation Uiat he was debarred from proposing and settling the affair at once by the grotesque fact that he actually had not time. There was certainly little opportunity for love- making in those hurried days of preparing for his long absence in South America. He was often obliged to leave home by eight in the morning, rarely returning except to go wearily to bed. Though nothing had been said to him, he had more than one reason for suspecting that Mrs. Bayford was at work; and, at the odd minutes when he saw «37 THE INNER SHRINE Diane, it seemed to him as if her clearness of look was extinguished by an expression of perplexity He would have reproached himself more keenly for his lack of energy in overcoming obstacles had It not been for the fact that, owing to their peculiar position as members of one household, and that household his, he was planning to ask Diane to become his wife on that occasion when he would also be bidding her adieu. She would thus be spared the difficulties of a. tiying situation, while she wo •. 1 have the season of his absence in which to adju.c her mind to the revolution in her life He resolved to adhere to this intention, the more especially as a small family dinner at Gramercy Fark, from which he was to go directly to his steamer, would give him the exact combination of circumstances he desired. When, after dinner, Miss Lucilla's engineering of the company allowed him to find himself alone with Diane m the library, he mude her sit down by the fireside, while he stood, his arm resting on the mantelpiece, as on the afternoon of their first senous interview, over a year b fore. As on that other occasion, so, too, on this, she sat erect, silent, expectant, waiting for him to speak. What was' coming she did not know; but she felt once more his commanding dominance, with its power to ordam, prescribe, and regulate the conditions of her life. '38 THE I NNER S HR JJ^ talk'^oim^^ ""^'^ ^°" ""■"' "'--- «- '-« "I often think of it," Diane said, faintly, t^ing to assume that they were entering on an ordinarj conversation. "As you didn't agree with me-" ri<,J '"°^' u "^'x' ''"'''''>'• "I ''' yo" ^ei* right, in e^eiythmg. I want to thank you for what you ve done for Dorothea-and for me. I didn\ dream a year ago, that the change in both of u. could be so great." ■'Dorothea was a sweet little girl, to begin with-" Ves; but I don't want to talk about that now. ishe will express her own sense of gratitude: but in the mean while I want to tell you mine. You will understand something of its extent when I say tftat 1 ask you to be my wife." Diane neither spoke nor looked at hin^ The only sign she gave of having heard him was a slight bowing of the head, as of one who accepts a decrL. Ihe first few instants' stillness had the ineffable quahty which m.ght spring from the abolition of time when bliss becomes eternity. There was a space not to be reckoned by any terrestrial count- mg. during which each heart was caught up in*, wonderful spheres of emotion -on his tide the rt lief of having spoken, on hers the joy of having heard; and though it passed swiftlj it was lo^f enough to give to both the vision of a new heav^ and a new earth. It was a vision that never f^ but with the semi-diaphanous lightness of roseate vapor mounting mto winter air. As he came nearer, rounding the protective barrier of the arm-chair, she retreated. "I should have to solve some other question, before I could answer that," she said, tiyine to meet his eyes with the necessary steadiness. »+5 THE INNER SHRINB "Couldn't I help you?" She shook her head. "Then couldn't you consider it first?" "A woman generally does considei it first, but ■he speaks about it last." "But you could tell me the result of what you think, as far as you've drawn conclusions ?" "No; because whatever I should say you would find misleading. If you're in earnest about what you say to-night, it would b? better for us both that you should give me time." " I'm willing to do that. But you speak as if you had a doubt of me." "I've no doubt of you; I've only a doubt about myself. The woman you've known for the last twelve months isn't the woman other people have known in the years before that. She isn't the Diane Eveleth of Paris any more than she is the Diane de la Ferronaise of the hills of Connemara, or of the convent at Auteuil. But I don't know which is the real woman, or whether the one who now seems to me dead mightn't rise again." "I shouldn't be afraid of her." " But I should. You say that because you didn't know her; and I couldn't let you marry me without telling you something of what she was." "Then tell me." "No, not now; not to-night. Go on your long jowney, and come back. When it's all over, I 146 THE INNER SHRINE •hall b« sure— sure, that is, of myself— sure on the point about which I'm so much in doubt, at to whether or not the other woman could re- turn." "I should be willing to run the risk," he said, with a short laugh, "even if she did." "But I shouldn't be willing to let you. You forget she ruined one rich man; she might easily rum another." ''That would depend ver>' much upon the man." No man can cope with a woman such as I was only a few years ago. You can put fetters on a cnmmal, and you can quell a beast to submission, but you can't bind the subtle, mischievous woman- spint, bent on doing harm. It's more ruthless than war; it's more fatal than disease. You, with your large, generous nature, are the very man for it to fasten on, and waste him, like a fever." She moved back from him, close to the book- shelves against the wall. The eyes which Derek had always seen sad and lustreless glowed with a fire like the amber's. "You must understand that I couldn't allow my- •elf to do the same thing twice," she hurried on, and, if I married you, who knows^ut what I might ? I'm not a bad woman by nature, but I think I must need to be held in repression. You'd be giving me again just those gifts of money, position, and power which made me dangerous." "47 THE INNER S H R I N B "Suppose you were to let me guard against Aat ?" he said. " You couldn't. It would be like fighting a poison- ous vaporwith the sword. The woman's spell, wheth- er for good or ill, is more subtle and more potent than anything in the universe but the love of God." "I can believe that, and still be willing to trust myself to yours," he answered, gravely. "I know you, and honor you as men rarely do the women they marry, until the proof of the years has tried them. In your case the trial has come first. I've watched you bear it— watched you more closely than you've ever been aware of. I've stood by, and seen you carry your burden, when it was harder than you imagine not to take my part in it. I've looked on, and seen you suffer, when it was all I could do to keep from saying some word of sympathy you might have resented. But, Diane," he cried, his voice taking on a strange, peremptory sharpness, "I can't do it any longer! My power of standing still, while you go on with your single-handed fight, is at an end. If ever God sent a man to a woman's aid. He has sent me to yours; and you must let me do what I'm appointed for. You must come to me for comfort in your loneliness. You must come to me for care in your necessity. I have both care and comfort for you here; and you must come." Without moving toward her he stood with open arms. 148 THE INNER S H R I N B "Come!" he cried again, commandingly. The tears coursed down her cheeks, but she gave no sign of obeying him, except to drag one hand from the protecting bookcase ledge, to which she leemed to cling. "Come, Diane!" he repeated! "Come to mel" The other hand fell to her side, while she gazed at him piteously, as though in reluctant submission to his will. "Come!" he said once more, in a tone of au- thority mingled w tli appeal. Drawn by a force she had no power to withstand, she took one slow, hesitating step toward him. " I haven't yielded," she stammered. " I haven't consented. I can't consent— yet." "No, dearest, no," he murmured, with arm* yearning to her as she approached him; "never- theless — comeJ" X NOTWITHSTANDING the fact that she had wept m his arms— wept as women weep who are brave in tlie hour of trial, only to break down m the moment of relief— Diane would give Derek Pruyn no other answer. She could not° consent- yet. With this reply he was obliged to sail away, gettmg what comfort he might from its implications. Dunng the three months of his absence Diane took knowledge of herself, appraising her strength and probmg her weakness. She was too honest not to own that there were desires in her nature which leaped into newness of life at the thought that there might again be means to support them. Diane de la Ferronaise was not dead, but sleeping. Her love of luxury and pleasure— her joy in jewels, equipage, and dress— her woman's elemental weak- nesses, second only to the instinct for maternity- all these, grown lethargic from hunger, were ready to awake again at the mere possibility of food. She was forced to confront the fact that, with the »wne opportunities, she had it in her to go back »o the same life. It was a humiliating fact, biM it ISO THE INNER S U P r kt p stared her in the face, that experience had shown her a creature for a man to be afraid of. Derek Fruyn had seen her subdued by circumstances, as the panther .s subdued by famine; but it wa, not yet proved that the savage, preying thing was tan*d. Ihere was only one force that would tame her; but there was th^t force, and Diane knew that she had submitted to its domination. From weeks of tonuous self-examination she emerged into thi« knowledge, as one comes out of a labyrinthine cavern mto sunshine. Even here in the open, how- ever, there was a problem still to solve. Could sh« marry the man who had never told her that he loved hsr, even though she herself Joved him ? Had she the power to give herself without stint, while asking of h.m only what he chose to offer her.? Would she, who had made men serve her, with httle more than smiles for their reward, be rontent to serve m her own turn, getting nothing but a half-loaf for her heart's sustenance? She asked herself these questions, but put off answering them -waitmg for him to force decision on her So the rest of the winter passed, and by the time Derek came back the hyacinths were fading from the gardens and parks, and the tulips were comiW .nto bloom. To both Diane and Dorothea sprinf was bnngmg a new motive for looking forward together with a new comprehension of Uie human heart s capacity for joy. »5i THE INNER S H H T r^ n Perhaps no day of their patient waiting was so long in passing as that on which it was announced to them that Derek Pruyn had landed that after- noon. He had sent word that he could not come home at once, as business required his immediate presence at the office. Having already exhausted their ingenuity m adorning the house, and putting everything he could possibly want in the place where he could most easily find it. there was noth- ing to do but to sit thro,;gh the long hours in an impatience which even Diane found it difficult to disguise. The visits of the postman were wel- comed as affording the additional task of arranging Derek's letters on the desk in the small, book-lined room specially devoted to his use; and when, in the evening, a cablegram arrived, Diane herself propped It m a conspicuous place, with a tiny Mlyer dagger, for opening the envelope, beside it The act, with its suggestion of intimate life, gave her a stealthy pleasure; and when Dorothea glided in and caught her sitting in Derek's own chair at the desk, she blushed like a school-girl detected in « crime. It was perhaps this acknowledgment of weakness that enabled Dorothea to speak out, and say what had been for some time on her mind. "Diane," she asked, dropping among the cush- ions of a divan, "are you going to many father?" Diane felt the color receding from her face as nly as it had come, while she gained time ia 152 I which to collect her astonished wits by putting the silver dagger down beside the telegram with feed less exactitude before attempting a'respoLe . Do you remember what Sir Walter Scott said m the days when the authorship of fFaJ/f^ till a secret, to the indiscreet people who asked him Ih/dT k'T""^ 'No/ he answered; ght be taken to imply something of the dellll' """" °^ *"'"' ^ '"PP"^*^ " ^«"'d be more delicate on my part not to ask you." I won't attempt to contradict you there." I shouldn t do It if I didn't wish you w.r, goins to ma_riy him. I've wanted it a long time7K want It more than ever now." > "•" i "Why more than ever now?" lon^^ys'llf."' """' " '^ --^•^ »'^^- vety J^3 ^ "'"'"'■" '° '"'I"'" *° ^h'-ch of the "To none of the many. There's never, really been more than one." ^^ "And his name — .?" "Is Carli Wappinger." "Oh, Dorothea 1" "That's just it That's why I want you to '53 THE INNER SHRINE many father. I want to put a stop to the 'Oh, Dorotheas!' and you're the only person in the World who can help me do it." "How?" "1 don't have to tell you that. It's one of the reasons why I rely on you so thoroughly that you always know exactly what to do without having to receive suggestions. I put myself in your hands endrely." "You mean that you're gjoing to many a man to whom your father will be bitterly opposed, and you expect me to win his joyful benediction." "That's about it," Dorothea sighed, from the depth of her cushions. "Of course, I must be grateful to you, dear, for this display of confidence; but you won't be sur- prised if I find it rather overwhelming." "I shall be very much surprised, indeed. I've never seen you find anything overwhelming yet; and you've been put in some difficult situations. You only have to live things in order to make other people take them for granted. You've never done anything to specially please father, and yet he listens to you as if you were an oracle. It's the same way with me. If any one had told me two years ago that I should ever come to praying for a stepmother I should have thought them crazy; and yet I have come to it, just because it's you." After that it was not unnatural that Diane 154 THE INNER S H H r f^ n should go and sit on the dJvan beside Dorothea for an exchange of such confidences as could not be conveniently made from a distance. If she admitted anything on her own part, it was by ZL h "r ."i'" *^" "^y ''--' assertion and 1 JS ")\^'^ not promise in words to co^e to KT °/'''\J'°"''^f"' 'overs, she allowed the pos- sibihty that she would do so to be assumed. ^ i^o, m soft, whispered, broken confessions the evening slipped away more rapidly than the day had done, and by ten o'clock they knew he mus^ be near. The last touch of welcome came when Aey passed from room to room, lighting up the big house in cheerful readiness for its lord's in! spection. When all was done Dorothea stationed herself at a window near the street, while Diane, with a cunous shnnking from what she had t^ face, took her seat in the remotest and obscures. rZ" 'Vk T' *^''""' °^ '^' "^° drawing, rooms. When the sound of wheels, followed by a loud ring at the bell, told her that he was actually Dorothea danced into the hall, with a en. and a laugh which were stifled in her father's embrace IJiane rose mstinctively, waiting humbly and silently where she stood. At their parting she III torn herself, weeping and protesting, from his arms: but when he came in to find her now. he '55 THE INNER SHRINE would see that she had yielded. The door was half open dirough which he was to pass— never agam to leave herl "Diane is in there." It was Dorothea's voice that spoke, but the reply reached the far drawing-room only as a murmur of deep, inarticulate bass. "What's the matter, father?" Dorothea's clear voice rose above die noise of servants moving articles of < luggage in the hall; but agam Diane heard nothing beyond a confused muttering in answer. She wondered that he did not come to her at once, though she supposed there was some slight prosaic reason to prevent his doing so. "Father"— Dorothea's voice came again, this time with a distinct note of anxiety— "father, you don't look well. Your eyes are bloodshot." "I'm quite well, thank you," was the curt reply, this time perfectly audible to Diane's ears. "Sim- mons, you fool, don't leave those steamer rugs down here I" Diane had never heard him speak so to a servant, and she knew that something had gone amiss. Perhaps he was anroyed that she had not come to greet him. Perhaps it was one of the duties of her position to receive him at the door. She had known him to give way occasionally to bursts of anger, in which a word from herself had soothed THE I N N E R SHRINE him. Leaving her place in the comer, she ^-af kunying to the hall, when again Dorothea's voice anested her. "Aren't you going in to see Diane ?" "No." From w^ere she stood, just within the door, Diane knew that he had flung the word over his shoulder as he went up the hall toward the stair- way. He was going to his room without speaking to her. For an instant she stood still from con- sternation, but it was in emergencies like this that her spirit rose. Without further hesitation she passed out into the hall, just as Deiek Pruyn turned at the bend m the staircase, on his way upward, for a bnef second, as, standing below, she lifted her eyes to his in questioning, their glances met; but, on his part, it was without recognition. XI HALF an hour after Derek's return Diane wu suinmoned into his presence in the little room where she had arranged his 'etters in the afternoon. The door was standing opeh, and she went in slow- ly, her head high. She was dressed as when she had parted from him; and the whiteness of her neck and shoulders, free from jewels, collar, or chain, was the more brilliant from contrast with the •evere line of black. In her pale face all expression was focussed into the pained inquiry of her eyes. She entered so silently that he did not hear her, or lift his head from the hand on which it leaned wearily, as he rested his elbow on the desk. Paus- ing in the middle of the room, she had time to notice that he had opened a few of the letters lying before him, but had thrust them impatiently from him, evidently unread. The cablegram she had laid where his glance would immediately fall upon it was between his fingers, but the envelope was un- broken. His attitude was so much that of a man tired and dispirited that her heart went out to him. It was perhaps the involuntary sigh that broke ic8 THE INNER SH RINK ftom her lips that caused him to looic up. When he did so his eyes fixed themselves on her with a dazed stare, as though he wondered whence and for what she had come. In the eager attention widi which she regarded him she noted subcon- Kjously that he was unshaven and ill-kempt, £wd that his eyes, as Doro hca had said, were bloodshot He dragged himself to his feet, and with forced counesy asked her to sit down. She allowed her self to sink mechanically to the edge of the divan where, only an hour ago, Dorothea and she had «changed happy confidences. In the minutes of iilence that followed, when he had resumed his own ttax, she felt as if she were in some queer night mare, where nothing could be explained. "Did you ever hear of a young French explorer named Persigny?" She nodded, without speaking. The irrelevancy of die question was m keeping with the odd horror of the dream. "Did you know lie was exploring in Brazil?" "I think 1 may have heard so." "He came up from Rio with me— on the same fteamer." She listened, with eyes fixed fast upon him, won- dering what he meant "He wasn't alone," Derek went on, speaking in a lifeless monotone. "There were others of hk party with him. There was one. especially, with »S9 THE INNER S H K T ,^ n whom I became on terms that were aImo«— intimate." For the first time it occurred to her that he was tiymg to see through her thoughts; but in her be- wilderment at his words, she met his gaze steadily •There was something about this young man that attracted me," he continued, in the same dull voice and Ilistened to his troubles. In particular he told me why he had fled from Paris to hide him- self in the forests of the Amazon. Shall I teU yon the reason ? ' •' "If you like." "It was an old stoiy; in some respects a nilnr «oiy. He had got into the toils of an unscnipulou. woman." C"-"!" Her sudden perception of what he was leadinc up to forced her into a little involuntaiy xaofl ment. "I see you understand," he said, quickly, wiik Ae glimmer of a smile. «I thought you would: for, as a matter of fact, much of what he said broueht back our conversation on the night before I saHed. 1 here was not a litde in it that was mysteiy to me at the time, which he— illumined." She sat with lips parted and bosom heaving, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. If she was con- scious of any sensation, it was of terrible curiositr to know how the tale was to be turned. "What you said to me then," he pursued, in dw i6o THE I NNER S H K tm ^ wnie cruel <^ietness of tone-" what you said to me then, as to the influence of a bad womar. in a mans ife, seemed to me-what shall I say?-not precisely exaggerated, but soir.cwl.ut ovenvroueht i d.dn t know u could be so tr.e ro the actual facts of experience. My friend'-. .v.„. du exactly what they aie; but I know that, in France, when people die dw registers tell just what tliey died of." "I've already sent for the necessary information. I've done even mr.r- than that. I couldn't wait for the slow process ;.c mails. I cabled this morn- ing to Grimsto. , xjoe of my Paris partners, to wire me the cause of Cjeorge Eveleth's death, as officially registered. This is his reply." He held up the envelope Diane had placed on die desk earlier in the evening. " Why don't you <^en it f she asked, in a whis- per of suspense. "I've been afraid to. I've been afraid that it would prove him right in the one detail in which I'm able to put his word to the test. I've been hoping against hope that you would clear yourself; but if this is in his favor — " "Open it," she pleaded. With the silver dagger she had laid ready to his hand he ripped up the envelope, and drew out the paper. "Read it," he said, passing it to her, without enfolding it. Though it contained but one word, Diane took a long time to decipher it. For minutes she stared at it, as though the power of comprehension had fonaken her. Again and again she lifted her eyes 170 THE INNER SHRINE to his, in sheer bewilderment, only to drop them then once more on the all but blank sheet in her hand. At last it seemed as if her fingers had n* more strength to hold it, and she let it flutter to the floor. "He was right r The question came in a hoarse undertone, but Diane had no voice in which to reply. She could only nod he; .lead in dumb assent. It grew late, and Derek Pruyn still sat in the position in which Diane had left him. His hands rested clinched on the desk before him, while his eyes stared vacantly at the cluster of electric lights overhead. He was hving through the conversa- tions with Bienville on shipboard. He began with the first time he had noticed the tall, brown-eyed, black-bearded young Frenchman on the day when they sailed out of the harbor of Rio de Janeiro. He passed on to their first interchange of casual re- marks, leaning together over the deck-rail, and watching the lights of Para recede into the dark- ness. It was in the hot, still evenings in the Carib- bean Sea that, smoking in neighboring deck-chairs, they had first drifted into intimate talk, and the young man had begun to unburden himself They had been distinctly interesting to Derek, these glimpses of a joyous, idle, light-o'-love life, with a tragic element never very far below its surface, 171 THE INNER SHRINE ■o different from his own gray career of busi- ness. They not only beguiled the tedious nights, but they opened up vistas of romance to an imagination growing dull before its time, in the seriousness of laige practical affairs. In propor- tion as the young Frenchman showed himself will- ing to narrate, Derek became a sympathetic listener. As Bienville told of his pursuit, now of this fair face, and now of that, Derek received the impression of a chase, in which the hunted engages not of necessi^r, but, like Atalanta, in sheer glee of ex- citement. Like Atalanta, too, she was apt to over- estimate her speed, and to end in being caught. It was not till after he had recounted a number of petites histoires, more or less amusing, that Bien- ville came to what he called "Paffaire la plus terieuse Je ma vie," while Derek drank in the tale with all the avidity the jealous heart brings to the augmentation of its pain. To the idealizing purity of his conception of Diane any earthly failing on her part became the extremity of sin. He had placed her so high that when she fell it was to no middle flight of guilt; as to the fallen angel, there was no choice for her, in his estimation, between heaven and the nrtner hell. Outwardly he was an ordinary passenger, smok- ing quiedy in a deck-chair, in order to pass the time between dinner and the hour for "turning in." His voice, as he plied Bienville with questions, be- 17a THE INNER SHRINB trayed his emotions no more than the darkened surface of the sea gave evidence of the raging life within its depths. To Bienville himself, during these idle, balmy nights, there was a threefold in- q>iration, which in no case called for strict exacti- tude of detail. There was, first, the pleasure of talking about himself; there was, next, the desire to give his career the advantage of a romantic light; and there was, thirdly, the stoty-teller's natural in- stinct to hold his hearer spellbound. The little more or the little less could not matter to a man whom he didn't know, in talking about a woman whose name he hadn't given; while, on the other hand, there was the satisfaction, to which the Latin is so sensitive, of showing himself a lion among ladies. Moreover, he had boasted of his achievementt so often that he had come to believe in them long before giving Derek the dettiled account of his vic- tory on the gleaming Caribbean seas. On his part, Derek had found no difficulty in crediting that which was related with apparent fidelity to fact, and which filled up, in so remarkable a manner, the emp^ ^aces between the mysterious, broken hints Diane had at various times given him of her own inner life The one story helped to tell the other as accurately as the fragments of an ancient stele, when put to- gether, make up the whole inscription. The very independence of the sources from which he drew his knowledge negatived the possibility of doubt " '73 MICXOCOPY (ESCHUTION TEST CHAIT (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) ,|M UTS 1.8 — iJ4 l^ ^ /APPLIED INA^GE Inc ^r. 1653 East Mom Street ^£ Rochester, New Tort. 1*609 USA i^S (716) *aZ - 0300 - Phone ^S (716) 2B8- 5989 - Fo« THE INNER SHRINE There was but one way in which Diane could have put herself right with him: she could have •wept the charge aside, with a serene contemptuous- ness of denial. Had she done so, her assertion would have found his own eagerness to believe in her ready to meet it half-way. As it was., alas! her admissions had been damning. Where she ac- knowledged the smoke, there surely must have been the fire! Where she owned to so much culpability, there surely must have been the entire measure of guilt I For the time being, he forgot Bienville, in order to review the conversation of the last half-hour. Diane had not carried herself like a woman who had nothing with which to reproach herself; and that a woman should be obliged to reproach herself at all was a humiliation to her womanhood. In the midst of this gross world, where the man's soul naturally became stained and coarsened, hers should retain the celestial beauty with which it came forth from God. That, in his opinion, was her duty; diat was her instinct; that was the object with which she had been placed on earth. A woman who was no better than a man was an error on the part of nature; and Diane— oh, the pity of it!— had put her- self down on the man's level with a naivete which showed her unconscious of ever having been higher up. She had confessed to weaknesses, as though Jie were of no finer clay than himself, and spoke 174 THE INNER SHRINE of being penitent, when the tragedy lay in the fact that a woman should have anything to re- pent of. The minutes went by, but he sat rigid, with hands cimched before him, and eyes fixed in a kind of hypnotic stare on the cluster of lights, taking no account of time or place. Throughout the house there was the stillness of midnight, broken only by the rumble of a carriage or the clatter of a motor m the street. The silence was the more ghostly owing to the circumstance that throughout the empty rooms lights were still flaring uselessly, wel- commg his return. Presently there came a sound- faint, soft, swift, like the rustle of wings, or a weird spirit footfall. Though it was scarcely aud'ble, it was certain that something was astir. With a start Derek came back from the con- templation of his intolerable pain to the world of common happenings. He must see what could be movmg at this unaccustomed hour; but he had barely risen in his place when he was disturbed by still another sound, this time louder and heavier, and characterized by a certain brusque finality! It was the closing of a door; it was the closing of the large, ponderous street-door. Some one had left the house. In a dozen strides he was out in the hall and on the stairway. There, on the landing, where an hour or two ago he had turned to look down upon Diane. •75 THE INNER SHRINB stood Dorothea in her night-dress — a little white figure, scared and trembling. "Oh, father, Diane has gone awayl" For some seconds he stared at her blankly, li!:e a man who puzzles over something in a strange language. When he spoke, at last, his voice came with a forced harshness, from which the girl shrank back, more terrified than before: "She was quite right to go. You run back t» bed." iL^i XII FROM the shelter of the little French hostelry in University Place, Diane wrote, on the fol- lowing morning, to Miss Lucilla van Tromp, tell- ing her as briefly and discreetly as possible what had occurred. While withholding names and sup- pressing the detail which dealt with the manner of her husband's death, she spoke with her charac- teristic frankness, stating her case plainly, '''hough she denied the main charge, she repeatec r le ad- missions Derek haa found so fatol, and accepted her share of all responsibility. " Mr. Pruyn is not to blame," she wrote. " From many points of view lie is as much the victim of circumstances as I I have to acknowledge myself in fault; and et, if I were more so, my problem would be easier to solve. There are condi- tions in which it is scarcely less difficult to discern the false from the true than it is to separate the foul current from the pure, after their streams have run together; and I cannot reproach Mr. Pruyn if, looking only on the mingled tides, he does not see '77 THE INNER SHRINE that they flow from dissimilar sources. Though I left his house abruptly, it was not because he drove me forth; it was rather because I feel that, until I have regained some measure of his respect, I cannot be worthy in his eyes — nor in my own — to be under Mie roof with his daughter." To Miss Lucilla, in her ignorance of the world. It seemed, as she read on, as if the foundations of the great deep had been broken up and the windowi of heaven opened. That such things happened in romances, she had read; that they were not unknown in real life, even in New York, she had heard it whispered; but that they should crop up in her own immediate circle was not less wonderful than if the night-blooming cereus had suddenly burst into flower in her strip of garden. Miss Lucilla jwned to being shocked, to being grieved, to being puzzled, to being stunned; but she could not deny the thrill of excitement at being caught up into the whirl of a real love-affair. When the first of the morning's duties in the sick- room were over she waylaid Mrs. Eveleth in a con- venient spot and told her tale. She did not read the letter aloud, finding its phraseology at times too blunt; but, with tliose softening circumlocu- tions of which good women have the secret, she conveyed the facts. There was but one short pas^' sage which she quoted just as Diane had written it; 178 THE INNER S .[ R I N E "'I am sure my mother-in-law will stand by me «nd bear me out. She alone knows the sort of life I led with her son, and I am convinced that she wiU see justice done me.'" Mrs. Eveleth listened silently, with the still look of pam that belongs to those growing old in the expectation of misfortune. "I've been afraid something would happen," was her only comment. "But surely, dear Mrs. Eveleth, you don't think any of it can be true!" The elder woman began moving toward the door. "So many things have been true, dear, that I hoped were not!" This answer, given from tlie threshold, left Misi Lucilla not more aghast than disappointed. It brought mto the romance features wliich no single woman can afford to contemplate. She would have entered mn the affairs of a wronged heroine with enthusiastic interest; but what was to be done with Aose of a possibly guilty one ? She was so ready tor the unexpected that as she stood at a back win- dow, looking into the garden, it was almost a sur- prise not to find the night-blooming cereus really lifting Its exotic head among the stout spring shoots of die peonies. With the vague feeling that the Park might prove more fruitful ground for the >79 it THE INNER SHRINE phenomenon, she moved to a front window, where f'e was not long unrewarded. If it was not the night-blooming cereus that drove up in the handsome, open automobile, turning into the Park, it was something equally portentous; for Mrs. Bayford had already played a part in Diane's drama, and was now, presumably, about to enter on the scene again. Miss Lucilla drew back, so as to be out of sight, while keeping her visitors in view. For a minute she hoped that Marion Grim- ston herself might be minded to make her a call, for she liked the handsome girl, whose outspoken pro- tests against the shams of her life agreed with her own more gentle horror of pretension. Marion, wreathed in veils, was, however, at the steering- wheel, and, as she guided the huge machine to the curbstone, showed no symptoms of wishing to alight. Beside her was Reggie Bradford, a large, fat youth, whose big, good-natured laugh almost called back echoes from the surrounding houses. As the car stopped he lumbered down from his perch and helped Mrs. Bayford to descend. When he had clambered back to his place again the great vehicle rolled on. It was plain now to Miss Lucilla that a new act of the piece was about to begin, and she hurried back to the library in order to be in her place before the rising of the curtain. For Miss Lucilla's callers there was always an immediate subject of conversarion which had to be i8o THE INNER SHRINE exhausted before any other topic could be touched upon; and Mrs. Bayford tackled it at once, asking the questions and answering them herself, so as to get it out of the way. "Well, how is Regina? Very much the same, of course. I don't suppose you'll see any change m her now, until it's for the worse. Poor thingi Mie could almost wish, in her own interests, that our Heavenly Father would think fit to take her to Him- self. Now, I want to talk to you about something serious." * Mrs. Bayford made herself comfortable in a deep, low chair, with her feet on a footstool. "I suppose you've never guessed," she asked, at last, "why Marion has been with me all this time ?" "I did guess," Miss Lucilla admitted, with a faint blush, "but I don't know that I guessed right" "I expect you did. No one could see as much of her as you've done without knowing she had a love-afFair." "That's what I thought." ^^ "It's been a great trial," Mrs. Bayford sighed, "and it isn't over yet. In fact, I don't know but what it's only just beginning." Wi.s.n't he— desirable r "Oh yes; veiy much so, and is so still. It wasn't that. He was all that any one could wish— old family, position, title, good looks, everything." "But if Marion liked him, and he liked her—?" i8i % 1: THE INNER SHRINE " I could explain it to you better if you knew more about men." "I do know a— a little," Miss Lucilla ventured to assert, shyly. "There is a case in which a little is not enough. You've got to understand a man's capacity for lov- ing one woman and being fascinated by another. I think they call it double consciousness." "I don't think it's very honorable," Miss Lucilla declared, in disapproval. "A man doesn't stop to think of honor, my dear, when he's in a grand passion. Bienville has honor written in his very countenance, but this was an occasion when he couldn't get it into play. It was perfectly tragic. He had already spoken to Robert Grimston in the manliest way — told all about him- self — found out how much Marion would have as her Jot — and got permission to pay her his ad- dresses — when all came to nothing because of another woman." With this as an introduction it was natural that Mrs. Bayford should go on to repeat the oft-told tale in its entirety, lending it a light that no one had given to it yet. With the information she already possessed from Diane's letter it was impoj^^'ble for Lucilla not to recognize all the characters as readily «s Derek Pruyn had done, while she had the ad- Tantage ovei him of knowing Marion Grimston's pUcc in the action. It was a dreadful stoiy, and 183 THE INNER S H R I M E if Miss Lucilla was not mort ,- ofoundly shocked It was because Mrs. Bayford, \ overshooting the mark, rendered it incredible. None the less she agreed with Mrs. Bayford on the main point she had come to urge, that Diane, on one side, and Manon and Bienville, on the other, should be kept, if possible, from meeting. "Not that I think," Mrs. Bayford went on, "that Raoul— that's his name— would ever take up with her again. Still, you never can tell; I've seen such cases. A fire will often blaze up when you think It's out. And now that everything is going so smoothly it would be a thousand pities to throw any obstacle in the way." "Everything is going smoothly, then.? I'm glad of that, for Marion's sake." "Yes; it's practically a settled thing. When it seemed likely that he would return to France by way of New York, Robert Grimston wrote me t > say that if anything happened it would have his full consent. Things move rapidly m Paris, and the whole episode is as much a pare of the past as ast year's styles. Then, too, evetybody there knows now that Raoul ddn't kill George Eve- leth; and, of course, that removes a certain unpleas- ant thought that some people might have about him." "Have you seen him yetf" "I heard from him this morning. He asked if '83 THE INNER SHRINE he could call on Marion and me this afternoon. You can guess what was my reply." The nature of this having been made clear, Mrs. Bayford went on to express her fears as to die complications which might arise from the chance meeting of Bienville and Derek on the steamer, of which the former had given her information in his note. Nothing would be more natural now than for Derek to invite Marion and Bienville to dinner; and there would be Diane I "I think I can relieve your mind on that point," Miss Lucilla said, tiying to choose her words cautiously. "There would be no danger of their meeting Mrs. Eveleth just now, as she has left Dorothea for the present." There was so much satisfaction to Mrs. Bayford in knowing that, as far as Diane was concerned, the coast was comparatively clear, that she gathered up her skirts and departefl. After she had gone. Miss Lucilla's sense of being the pivot of a romantic plot was heightened by the appearance of Diane. She came in with her usual air of confidence in her ability to meet the world, and if her pale face showed traces of tears and sleeplessness, its expression was, if anything, more courageous. Had it not been for this br.ive show Miss Lucilla would have wanted to embrace her and hold her hands, but, as it was, she could only retire shyly into herself, as in the pres- ence of one too strong to need the support of friends. 184 THE INNER S H R T ,sin "No; don't call my mother-in-law yet," Diane pleaded, as Miss LuciUa was about to touch a bell I want to talk to you firsts and tell you things I couldn't say m writing." Then the stoiy was told again, and from still another po.nt of view. Once more Diane acknowl- edged the weaknesses of conduct she had con- fessed already, but Miss LuciUa was a woman and understood her speech. "I knew you'd believe in me." Diane said, half soLbmg, as she ended her tale. "I knev ^u'd un- derstand that one can be a foolish won..n without having been a wicked one. Mr. Pruyn would not «crf.V ''"'' °" '"*' '^^^ '"'<' *o"ght of that." bhall I go and tell him f "No; it's too late. The wrong that's been done needs a more radical remedy than you or I could bring to It. Bienville has lied, and I must force him to retract. Nothing else can help me." To poor Miss Lucilla this was a new and alarm- ing feature in the situation. If it was so, then Manon Gnmston ought not to be allowed to marry T; L !f"^ '^'"' right-and she must be right -Mrs. Bayford was mistakenly urging on a match that would bring unhappiness to her niece. This complication was almost more than Miss Lucilla's quietly working intellect could seize, and she fol- iowed Diane's succeeding words with but a wander- ing attention. i8s THE INNER SHRINE She understood, however, that, next to being justified by Bienville, Diane attached importance to the aid she expected from Mrs. Eveleth. Hers was the only living voice that could testify to the happy relations always existing between her son and his wife. She could tell, and would tell, that George had fallen as the champion of Diane's honor, and not as tVje victim of her baseness. If he died it was because he believed in her, not be- cause he was seeking the readiest refuge from their common life. Diane would explain all to Mrs. Eveleth, to whose loyalty she could trust, and on whose love she could depend. "I'll go and find her," Miss Lucilla said, rising. "You'd like to see her alone?" "No; I'd rather you were present. My troubles have got beyond the stage of privacy. It's best that those who cire for me should hear what can be said in my defence." Miss Lucilla went, and returned. A few min- utes later Mrs. Eveleth could be heard coming slowly down the stairs. But before she had time to enter the room Derek Pruyn, using the privilege of a relative, walked in without announcement. XIII IF the morning had brought surprises to Miss Lualla van Tromp, it had not denied them to the Marquis de Bienville. They were all the more astonislung in that they came out of a sky that was relanvely clear. As he stood in his dressing-gown, with a cigarette between his fingers, at one of the upper windows of his tall, towerlike hotel, he would have said that his life at the moment resembled the blue dome above him, from which, after a cloudy dawn and dull early morning, the last fleecy drifts were being blown away. There were many circumstances that combined just now to make him glad of being Raoul de Laval, Marquis de Bienville. The mere material comfort of modern hotel luxury had a certain joyous novelty after nearly two years spent amid the unprofitable splendors of the tropical forest. True. New York was not Paris; but it was an excellent distributing centre for Parisian commodities and news, and would do very well for the work he had immediate- ly in hand. So far, all promised hopefully. His valet had joined him from France, with whatever 187 THE INNER SHRINE he could wish in the way of wardrobe; and Mrs. Bayford's reply to his note contained much informa- tion beyond what was actually written dovm in words. Moreover, the statement he hail found awaiting him from the Credit Lyonnais revealed the fact that, owing to the two years in which he had little or no need to spend money, he could now live with handsome extravagance until after he married Miss Grimston. He might even pay the more pressmg of his debts, though that possibility pre- sented itself in the light of a work of supererogation, seeing that in so short a time he should be able to pay them all. Then would begin a new era in his life. On that point he was quite determined. At thirty-two years of age it was high time to think of being something better in the world than a mere man-beauty. His experience with Persigny had shown that he was capable of something worthier than dalliance, as his fathers had been before him. He did not precisely blame himself for short- comings in the past, since, according to French ideas, he had not enough money on which to be useful, while his social position precluded work. He could not serve his country for fear of serving the republic, nor live on his estates, because Bien- ville was too expensive to keep up. However well- meaning his nature, there had been almost nothing open to him but the career of the idle, handsome, i88 T H ^ I itIiJ_ R S H R I N S high-bom youth with money enough to pay for the luxuries ofl.fe. whil. ds name secured credit tor Its necessities. With his looks and his address it would have been easy to find a wife who, by meeting his finan- cial need would have facilitated his path in virtue- but on this point he was fastidious. Rather oer- phase of die French social mind which, while still acknowledging the supremacy of the family in matnmonia affairs, insists on some freedom of personal selection. That his future wife should have enough money to make her a worthy chatelaine of Bienville, as well as to meet the subsidiary ex- penses the position implied, was a foregone con- dusionj but It was equally a matter beyond dispute Aat she should be some one whom he could love umil f "°' t"" • "^'X ~™''i"-''on of essentials until he met Marion Grimston, and the hand he vras thereupon prepared to offer her was not wholly empty of his heart. ^ In her he saw for the first time in his life the in- trepid maiden who seems to dare a man to come and master her. That she should be the daughter -^°''«« Grimston. with his commercial prim- ness, and Mrs. Grimston, with her pretentious snob- beiy, was a mystery he made no attempt to solve It was enough for him that this proud creature was in the world, especially as her bearing toward i' THE INNER SHRINE him inspired the hope that he might win her. It was a pity that he should have turned aside from such high endeavor in a foolish dash to make himself the Hippomenes of Diane Eveleth's Ata- lanta. Putting litde heart into the latter contest he would have suffered little mortification from defeat, had it not been that tlie high spirits of the pursued lady invited the world to come and laugh with her at his expense. Then it was that the Afarquis de Bienville, in an uncontrollal)le access of wounded vanity, had thrown his traditions of honor to the winds, and lied. It was not such a lie as could be tolfl— and forgotten; for there were too many people eager to believe and repeat it. Within twenty-four hours he found him- self far.ious, al! llie way from tlie Pare Monceau to the rue dc Vaicnnes. After his conscience had given him a sleepless night he got up to see that any modification of his statement meant retraction. Retraction was out of the question, in that it in- volved the loss of his reputation among men. He was caught in a trap. He must lie and maintair his place, or he must confess and go out of society It must not be supposed that he took his predica ment lightly, or that he made his choice withoui pangs of stif-pity at the cruel necessity. It was his honor, or hers! and if only the one or tlie other could be saved, it must be his. So he saved it — i»ccording to hi.s lights. He saved it by being very iqo T_H^ INNER SHRINB bold in his statements by day, and heaping ignominy on himself during the black hours of slltss^sT He found, however, that the process paid; for bold ness engendered a son of Litious' he icf whtt pa^lyzed the tendency to self-upbraiding undlt Aat gray dawn when he stood up before Geor« Eveleth m a corner of the Pre cLlan. He hS not the moral force to confess himself a peij er „ t A °^. ^f"'' •'"' ^^ <^°"" ^tand ready to take Ae bullets m his breast. In going to the eLounte he had no mtent.on of doing othe^ise. He wouM not atone to an injured woman by setting her right iH;Thifiir^"^^^--^^-^'^^-^e It was a satisfaction now to know, as he was as- sured by letters, that the incident was pract ca Iv forgotten and that Diane Eveletl, had disappeared He himself found ,t easier than it used to be to d's nnss the subject from his mind; and if he recall d It at times ,t was gcnerally_as it had been on ship- I^IT V ''"' ^"'^ ^'''"■^ «-<= of confidentfal anecdotes He was thinking, however, of dropping Ae storv from h,s repertoire, for he had morc'^Lf once remarked that its effect was siiahtly sinister last tvyenty-four hours op the steamer. Derek ruv^ avoided him, while he on his part had felt a cui^^ 191 THE INNER S H R I N £ impulse to slink out of sight, wh" h could onlj be explained by the supposition that a often happens on long voyages, they had seen nx: f-uch of each other. Finding that he had let his cigarette go out, he threw it away, and turned from the window tc com- plete his toilet. As he did so his valet entered with a card, stating that the gentleman who had sent it in was waiting in the hall outside. "Ask him to come in,'' he said, briefly, when he had read the name. He was scarcely surprised, for Prayn had spoken more than once of showing him some civilities when they reached New York, and putting him up at one or two convenient clubs. "My dear sir," he cried, going forward with outstretched hand; but the words died on his lips as Derek pushed his way in brusquely, without greeting. Again the young nan attempted the ceremonious by apologizing for the informality of h.h surround- ings and the state of his dress; out again he faltered before the haggard glare in Derek's eyes. "I want to talk to you," Pruyn said, abruptly. Bienville made a gesture of mingled politenest and astonishment. "Certainly; but shall we not sit down while we do it ? Will you smoke ? Here are cigarettes, but you probably prefer a cigar." Educated in England, like many young French- 192 TH_E_ I N N E R S TT If r kt « men of the ' classes. English Bienville uuentiy ana with little accent. '•I want to talk to you," Derek said again. He took no nofce of the pK,frered seat, and they re- ma ned standing, as they were, with the round table, bestrewn with letters, betNveen them. "You remember, Derek continued, speaking with diffi- culty- you remember the story you told me on the voyage— about a woman f Bienville nodded. He had a sudden presenti- ment of what was coming. for South Amenca, three months ago, I asked that woman to be my wife." "In that case," Bienville said, promptly, and w,4 a tranquiUity he did not feel, "I withdraw my statements. ^ "Withdrawal isn't enough. You must tell me they were not true." Bienville remained silent for a minute. He wai beginning to realize the firmness of the ground he stood on. His instinct for self-preservation wat strong, and he had confidence in his dexterous use or the necessary weapons. "You must give me time to reflect on that." he •aid, after a pause. "Why do you need time? If the thing isn't true, you've only got to say .so " It's not quite so easy as tliat. You 193 can't cut Mm THE INNER SHRINE eyeiy difficulty with a sword, as they did the Gor- dian knot. One may go far in defence of a woman's honor, but there are boundaries which even a gal- lant man cannot pass; and, before I speak, I mu»* see where they lie." "I want the truth. I want no defence of a woman's honor — " "Ah, but I do. That's the difference." "Damn your difference! You didn't think much of a woman's honor when you began your infernal tales." ''Did you, when you let me go on ?" "No. That's where I share your crime. That's all that keeps me from striking you now." "I let that pass. I know how you feel. I know just how hard it is for you. I've been in something like your situation myself. No man can have much to do with a woman without being put there in one way if not another. It's because I do understand you that I share your pain — and support your in- sults." The tremor in his voice, coupled with the dignity of his bearing, carried a certain degree of conviction so that when Derek spoke again it was less fiercely 'Then I understand you to confirm what you told me on board ship ?" 'On the contrary; you understand me to take it back. Wliy shouldn't that be enough for you— without asking further questions ?" '94 THE I NNER S H R r ^ ^ "Precisely; and yet, wouldn't it be wise, under te.HSre\?tS^"°''°^^>'°-''-'''«<>f "I can quite see that it might strike you in that way; but you'll pardon n,e. I know, if I^see t f^m anoAer po.nt of view. No man in :>,y situado" would consider it a matter of telling you the 1™* so much as of coming to the aid o^a lady whot' S:L"T ^'- 'T'^ ""^•"«'"g'^ ^perille'd m; supreme duty is there; and I'm willing to do it I everything I have ever uttered tliat could t*.II against her. Can you ask me to do mo"!" res; 1 can ask you to deny it." .he knows everything that you know, and she knows one thing more. She knows what some S "''"'"* *^y ^as the way in which-George Diane uttered the last two words in a kind of sob, and Mrs. Eveleth looked up, stanled. "George-died?" she questioned, slowly, with a look of wonder. Diane nodded, unable, for the minute, .o speak But we know how— he died." "Mr. Pruyn tells me that we don't." "I beg you .lot to put it in that way," Derek said, hurriedly. "I repeated only what was told rne, and what was afterward verified. Do you not think we can spare Mrs. Eveletli wlur must be so painful ?" "There's no need to spare me, Mr. Pruyn. I thmk I've reached the point to which old people often come-where they can't feel any more.'' Oh, mother, don't say that," Diane wailed, with a cixnoisly childlike cry. She had never be '99 i m j' i w T_fI^E INNER SHRINE fort called Mrs. Eveleth mother, and the word •ounded strangely in this room which had not heard it since Miss Lucilla was a little girl. "My mother would rather know," she declared, almost proudly, speaking again to Pruyn, "than be kept m ignorance of something in which she could help me so much." "What is iti" Mrs. Eveleth asked, eagerly. Then Diane told her. It had been stated, so she said, that George had not fallen in her defence, but by his own hand—to escape her; anc ■:here was no one in the world but his own mother to give this monstrous calumny the lie. During the recital Mrs. Eveleth sat with clasped hands, but with head sinking lower at each word. Once she mur- mured something which only Miss Lucilla was near enough to hear: "Then that's why they wouldn't let me look at him in his coffin." "He did love me, didn't he?" Diane cried. "He was happy with me, wasn't he, mother dear? He understood me, and upheld me, and defended me, whatever I did. He didn't want to leave me. He knew I should never have cared for the loss of the money— that we could have faced that together. Tell them so, mother; tell them." For the first time since he had known her Derek saw Diane forget her reserve in eager pleading. She stepped forward from Miss Lucilla's embrace. THE I NNER S H K r M t, «anding before Mrs. Eveleth with palms opened outward. ,„ an attitude of petition. The older woman did not raise her head nor speak. He was happy with me," Diane insisted. "I have had, but he was satisfied with me as I was, in spite of my imperfections. He was worried some- times, especially toward - toward the last; but JearT" ' ^''"^"^ "'^" ™^' ^""^ ^'' "««»»" Still the mother did not speak nor raise her "T^-f '.^? '°°^ ^ "'P """"'^ ^"'^ ''^g^n aga'-a I AiA 'tl ' .'"'' """^ ''^'"g ''^3'ond our means. 1 didn t know what was going on around me. I reproach myself for that A wiser woman ^ould have known; but I was young, and foolish, and ve^. veiy happy I didn't know I was ruining George, though I'm ready to take all the respon! sibihty for ,t now. But he never blamed me, did he, mother? never, by a word, never by a look. Uh, speak, and tell them!" Her voice came out with a shaip note of anxiety, m which there was an inflection almost of fear but when she ceased there was silence. Petite mere," she cried, "aren't you going to say anything I" / 6 S i" The bowed head remained bowed; the only sign came from the trembling of the extended hand, »«sting on the top of the stick. 201 m' THE INNER SHRINE "If you don't speak," Diane cried again, "they'll think it's because you don't want to." If there was a response to this, it was when the head bent lower. "Mother," Diane cried, in alarm, "I've no one in the world to speak a word for me but you. If you don't do it, they'll believe I drove George to his death — they'll say I was such a woman that he killed himself rather than live with me any longer." Suddenly Mrs. Eveleth raised her head and looked round upon them all. Then she staggered to her feet. "Take me away!" she said, in a dead voice, to Lucilla van Tromp. "Help me! Take me awayl I can't bear any more!" Leaning on Miss Lucilla's arm, she advanced a step and paused before Diane, who stood wide-eyed, and awe-struck rather than amazed, at the magnitude of this desertion. " May God forgive you, Diane," she said, quietly, passing on again. "I try to do so; but it's hard." While Derek's eyes were riveted on Diane, she stood staring vacantly at the empty doorway through which Mrs. Eveleth and Miss Lucilla had passed on their way up-stairs. This abandon- ment was so far outside the range of what she had considered possible that there seemed to be no avenues to her intelligence through which the con- viction of it could be brought home. She gazed fHE INNER SHRINE IS though her own vision were at fault, as though her powers of comprehension had failed her. Derek, on his part, watched her, with the fasci- nauon with which we watch a man performing some strange feat of skill-from whom first one support, and then another, and then another, falls away, -ntil he is left witli notliing to uphold him, perilously, frightfully alone. When at length the knowledge of what had oc- curred came over her, Diane looked round the familiar room, as though to bring her senses back out of the realm of the incredible. When her eyes rested on him it was simply to include him among the common facts of earth after this excursion into the impossible. She said nothing, and her face was blank; but the little gesture of the hands— the little limp French gesture: the sudden lift, the sud(l n drcpj the soft, tired sound, as the arms fell against the sides— implied fatality, finality, inex- plicability, and an infinite weariness of created XIV Do you think he did— shoot himself?" They continued to stand staring into each other's eyes— the width of the room between them. A red azalea on the long mahogany table, strewn with books, separated them by its fierce splash of color. The apathy of Diane's voice was not that of worn-out emotion, but of emotion which finds no adequate tones. The very way in which her in- quiry ignored all other subjects between them had its poignancy. "What do _you think?" 'Oh, I suppose he did. Every one says so; Jien why shouldn't it be true ? If it we'c, it would only be of a piece with all the rest." "I reminded you last night that he had other troubles besides — besides — " " Besides those I may have caused him." "If you like to put it so. He might have been .riven to a desperate act by loss of fortune." "J.*aving me to face poverty alone. No; I can't Aink so ill of him as that. If you suggest it by way of offering me consolation, you're making a THE INNER SHRINE mistake. Of the two, I'd rather think of him a. seeking death from horror-horror of me-tha« trom simple cowardice." "It would be no new thing in the histoiy of money troubles; and it would relieve you of the blame " To fasten it on him. I see what you mean; but I prefer not to accept that kind of absolution. If there s any consolation left to me, it's in the pnde of havmg been the wife of an honorable man Don t take it away from me as long as there's any other explanation possible. I see you're puzzled; but youd have to be a wife to understand me Accuse me of any crime you like; take it for granted that I ve been guilty of it; only don't say that he deserted me in that way. Let me keep at least the comfort of his memory." "I want you to keep all the comfort you can get, Diane. God forbid that I should take from vou anything m which you find support. So far am I fron, that, that I come to offer you-what I have to otter. There was a minute's .ciience before she replied: ^ 1 don t know what that is." 'My name." There was another minute's silence, during which she looked at him hardly. "What for.?" "I should think you'd see." " I don't. Will you be good enough to explain r '* 205 ii :... ..L- THE INNER SHRI NK "Is that necessary? Is this a minute in which to bandy words ?" "It's a minute in which I may be permittee to ask the meaning of your — generosity." "It isn't generosity. I'm saying nothing new. I've come only for an answer to the question I asked you before going to South America, three months ago." "Oh, but I thought that question had answered itself." "Then perhaps it has-^in that, whatever reply you might have given me under other conditions, now you must accept me." "You mean, I must accept— your name." "My name, and all that goes with it." "How could you expect me to do that, after what happened last night .?" "What happened last night shall be— as though it had not happened." " Could you ever forget it .'" "I didn't say I should forget it. I suppose I couldn't do that any more than you. I said it jshould be as though it hadn't been." "And what about Dorothea ?" "That must be as it may." "You mean that Dorothea would have to take her chance." "She needn't know anything about it— ^yet" "You couldn't keep it from her forever." 206 THE INNER S H R I N P. "No. But she'll probably marry soon. After that she'll understand things better." "That is, she'll understand the position in which you've been placed— tliat you could hardly have acted otherwise." "I don't want to go into definitions. There are umes in life when words become as dangerous as explosives. Let us do what we see to be our ob- vious duty, without saying too much about it." "Isn't it your first duty to protect your child .?" "My first duty, as I see it row, is to protect you." "I don't see much to be gained by shielding one person when ycu expose another. Wiiat happens to me IS a small matter comfared with the con- sequences to her." "Your influence hasn't hurt her in the past; why should it do so now ?" "You forget tliat there are other things besides my influence. Her whole position, her whole life, would be changed, if she had for a mother— if yoii had for a wife— a notorious woman like me." "There are situations where the child must fol- low the parent." "But there are none, as far as I know, in which the parent must sacrifice the child." "I don't agree with you. There are moments 111 which we muEt act in a certain definite manner, no matter what may be the outcome. Don't let us 207 II THE INNER SHRINE talk of it any more, Diane. You must Itnow as well M I that there is but one thing for us to do." "You mean, of course, that I must marry you." "You must give me the right to take care of you. " " Because it's a duty that no one else would as- sume. That's what it comes to, isn't it?" "I repeat that I don't want to discuss it—" "You must let me point out that some amount of discussion is needed. If we didn't have it be- fore marriage, we should have it afterward, when it would be worse. You won't think I'm boasting if I say that I think my vision is a little keener than yours, and that I see what you'd be doing more clearly than you do yourself. You know me— or you think you know me— as a guilty woman, home- less, penniless, and without a friend in the world. You don't want to leave me to my fate, and there's no way of helping me but (5ne. That way you're prepared to take, cost what it will. I admire you for it; I thank you for it; I know you would do it like a man. But it's just because you ivouli do it like a man — because you are doing it like a man- that your kindness is far more cruel than scorn. No woman, not the weakest, not the worst, among us, would consent to be taken as you're offering to take me. A man might bring himself to accept that kind of pity; but a woman— never! You said just now that you had come to offw me— what you had THE INNER SHRINE to offer; but surely I'm not faUen so low as to haw to take It." "I said I offered you my name and all that goes with It. I would try to tell you what it is, only that 1 hnd something in our relative positions transcend- ing words. But since you need words— since ap- patently you prefer plainness of speech— I'll tell you something: I saw Bienville this morning." She looked up with a new expression, verging on that of curiosity. "And—?" "Since then," he continued, "I've become even more deeply conscious than I was before of the ii>. eradicabie nature of what I feel for vou " "Ah ?" ^ ■ "I've come to see that, whatever may have hap- pened, whatever you may be, I want you as my wife." ' "Do you mean that you would overlook wrong, domg on my part, and— and— care for me, just the same ?" "I mean that life isn't a conceivable thing to me without you; I mean that no considerations in the world have any force as against my desire to get you. Whatever your life has been, I subscribe to It. Listen! When I saw Bienville this morning he withdrew what he said on shipboard— as nearly as possible, without giving himself the lie, he denied it— and yet, Diane, and yet I knew his first 209 THE INNER SHRINE ttory was— the truth. No, don't shrink. Don't ciy out. Let me go on. I swear to God that it makes no difference. I see the whole thing from another point of view. I'll not only take you a< you are, but I want you as you are. I give you my honor, which is dearer than my life — I give you my child, who is more precious than my honor. Everything— everything is cheap, so long as I can win you. Don't shrink from me, Diane. Don't look at me like that — " " How can I help sh rinking from anything so base ?" Her voice rose scarcely above a whisper, but it checked the movement with which, after the min- utes of almost motionless confrontation, he came toward her with eager arms. "Base?" he echoed, offended. "Yes — base. That a man should care for a woman whom he thinks to be bad is comprehensible; that he should wish to make her his wife is credible; that he should hope to lift her out of her condition is admirable; but that he should descend from his own high plane to stay on hers is despicably weak; while to drag down with him a girl in the very flower of her purity is a crime without a name." The dark " ish showed how quickly his haughty spirit responded to the flicker of the lash. "If you choose to put that interpretation of my words — " he began, indignantly. 'I don't; but it's the interpretation they deserve. LKA. INNER s rr p TATj^ There's almost no indignity that can be utteied wh.ch you haven't heaped upon me; and ofS all this last IS the hardest to be borne. I bear if I forgive ,t; because it convinces me of what I've' been afra.d of all along-that I'm a woman wh^ throws some sort of evil influence over men. Even you are not exempt from it -^ven you! Oh Derek go away from me ! If you won't do it for y;ur owL' BienviIIe s accusations now. Perhaps I n,ay never do battle wuh them at all. What does it matter whether he tells the truth or lies? The prTssTng thing just now is that you should be saved-" Ihank you; I can take care of myself. Let's have no more fine splitting of moral hairs. Let us settle the thing, and be done with it. There's one big fact before us, and only one. You can't do without me; I can't do without you. It's a crisis at which we've the right to think'only ofZ^Z and thrust every one else outside." nn'Tf " 'mx.'"'?'^'/'' ^^ ="'^'"**'' »"«:« more upon her. 'Wait! Let me tell you something. Vou mustn't be hard on me for saying it. You asked just now for my answer to your question of three months ago. My answer is—" 'Diane!" he said, lifting his hand in warning. Be careful. Don't speak in a hur^:. I'm not in a mood to plead or argue any longer. What you say now will be— the irrevocable word." 211 THE INNER SHRINE if; "I know it. It will not only be the irrevocable word, but the last word. Derek, I see you as you are, a strong, simple, honest man. I admire you; I esteem you; I honor you; I'm grateful to you as a woman is rarely grateful to a man. And yet I'd rather be all vou think me; I'd rather earn my bread as desperate women do earn it than be your wife." They looked at each other long and steadily. When he spoke, his words were those she had is- vited, but tiiey made her gasp as one gasps at dial which suddenly takes one's breath. "As you wiU," he said, briefly. XV AS the pivot of events, Miss Lucilla van Tromp r-V was beginning to feel the responsibilities of her position Only a woman with an inexhaustible heart could have met as she did the demands for lympathy, of various shades, made by the chief participants in the drama; while there was one phase of the action which called for a heroic dis- play of conscience. It was impossible now to contemplate Marion Onmston s peril without a grave sense of the duties imposed by friendship. Some people might stand by and see a girl wreck her happiness by giving her heart to an unworthy suitor, but Miss van Tromp was not among that number. It was, in fact, one of those junctures at which all her good instincu prompted her to say, "1 ought to go and tell her." As a patriotic spinster, she held decided views on the question of marriage between American heiresses and impecunious foreign noblemen— and, in her •yes, all foreign noblemen were impecunious— in any case; but to see Marion Grimston become the ««mi of her parents' vulgar ambitiun gave to the 213 THE INNER SHRINE subject a personal bearing which made her duty urgent If ever there was a moment when a goddess in a machine could feel justified in descending, for active interveition, it was now. She had the less hesitation in doing so, owing to the fact that she had known Marion since her cradle; and between the two there had always existed the subtle tie which not seldom binds the widely diver^-e but essentially like-minded together. Accordingly, on a bright May morning, withm a few days of the last meeting between Derek Pruyn and Diane Eveleth, she sallied forth to the fashionable quarter where Mrs. Bay- ford dwelt, coming home, some two hours later, with a considerably extended knowledge of the possibilities inheient in human nature. The tale Miss Lucilla told was that which had already been many times repeated, each narrator lending to it the color imparted by his own views of life. As now set forth, it became the stoty of a girl sought in m.arriage by a man who Las inflicted monal wrong upon an innocent young woman. With unconscious art Miss Lucilla placed fvlarion Grimston herself in the centre of the piece, making the subsidiary characters revolve around her. This situation brought with it a double duty: the one explicit in righting the oppressed, the other in»- plicit — for Miss Lucilla balked at putting it too plainly into words — in punishing a wicked marquij. The girl sat with head slightly bowed and r.ch 214 THE IN ^ JR^JJiJUJ^ color deepening. f she show. - emotion at aS, it was in her haughtj s illness, ■. , though she volun- tanly put all expression out of her face ur.fil the recital was ended. The effect on Miss Lucilla, as they sat side by side on a sofa, was slightly discon certmg, so that she came to her conclusion lamely. "Of course, my dear, I don't know his side of the story, or what he may have to say in self-deferce 1 m only telling you what I've heard, and iust rs 1 heard it." " I dare say it's quite right." The brevity and suggested cynicism of this reply produced in Miss Lucilla a little shock. "Oh! Then, vou think—.?" "There would be nothing surprising in it. It's the sort of thing that's always happening in Paris. It's one of the peculiarities of that societ;^ that you can never believe half the evil you hear of any one —not even if it's toi,] you by the m.an himself. I might go so far as to say that, when it's told you by himself you're least of all inclined to credit it " "But how dreadful!" "Things are dreadful or not, according to the degree in which you're used to them. I've grown up in that atmosphere, and so I can endure it. In fact, any other atmosphere seems to me to lack some of the necessary ingredients of air; just as to some people -to Napoleon, for instance— a woman who isn't rouged isn't wholly dressed." 215 THE i N N E R SHRINE "I know that's only youi way of talking, dear. Oh, you can't shock me." "At any rate, the way of talk-'ng shows you what I mean. I can quite understand how Monsieur de Bienville might have said that of Mrs. Eveleth." Lucilla's look of pain induced Miss Grimston promptly to qualify her statement. "I said I could understand it; I didn't say I respected it. It's only what's been said of hundreds of thousands of women in Paris by hundreds of thousands of men, and in the place where they've said it it's taken with the traditional grain of salt. If all had gone as it was going at the time — if the Eveleths hadn't lost their money— if Mr. Eveleth hadn't shot himself— if Mrs. F , eleth had kept her place in French society — the story wouldn't have done her any harm. People would have shrugged cheir shoulders at it, and forgotten it. It's the trans- ferring of the scene here, among you, that makes it grave. All your ideas are so different that what's bad becomes worse, by being carried out of its inilieu. Monsieur de Bienville must be made to understand that, and repair the wrong." "You seem to think there's no question but that — there is a wrong .?" " Oh, I suppose thore isn't. There are so many cases of the kind. Mrs. Eveleth is probably neither more nor less than one of the many Frenchwomen of her rank in life who like to skate out on the thin 216 THE INNER S H RI N n edge of excitement without any intention of going Arough. There are always women like my aunt Bayford to think the worst of people of that son. and to say it." "And yet I don't see how that justifies Monsieur de Bienville." "It doesn't justify; it only explains. Respon- sibihty presses less heavily on the individual when Its shared." "But wouldn't the person— you'll forgive me, dear, won't you, if I'm going too far ?-wouldn't the person who has to take his part in that kind of responsibility be a doubtful keeper of one's hap- piness ?" "^ Miss Grimston, half lowering her eyes, looked at her visitor with slumberous suspension of expression, and made no reply. "If a man isn't good— " Miss LuciUa began again, tremblingly. & 6 •» "No man is perfect." _ "True, dear; and yet are there not certain quali. Oes which we ought to consider as essentials—?" "Monsieur de Bienville has those qualities for me. "But surely, dear, you can't mean—?" "Yes, I do mean." The avowal was made quietly, with the still bearing of one who gives a ity, drops of confession out of deep oceans of reserve. Miss LuciUa gazed ai7 THE I r N E R S H R I N at her in astonishment. That her parents shou sacrifice her was not surprising; but that she shou be willing to sacrifice henelf went beyond the limi of thought. The revelation that Marion coui actually love the man was so startling that it shockt her out of her timidity, loosening the strings of h( eloquence and unsealing the sources of her mi ternal tenderness. There was nothing original i Miss Lucilla's subsequent line of argument. was the old, oft-yttered, futile appeal to the heat when the heart has already spoken. It premise the possibility of placing one's affections where on cannot give one's respect, regardless of the fact tha the thing is done a thousand times a day. ] reasoned, it predicted, it implored, with an elFec no more disintegrating on the girl's decision thai moonbeams make upon a mountain. Through i all, she sat and listened with the veiled eyes am my.sterious impassivity which gave to her pel scmality a curiously incalculable quality, as of ; force presenting none of the ordinary phenomen; by which to measure or compute it. It was not till Miss Lucilla touched on the sub j'ect of honor that she obtained any sign of the efl^ec she was producing. It was no more, on Marion' part, than an uneasy movement, but it betrayed it cause. Miss Lucilla pressed her point with re newed insistence, and presently two big tears hum on the long, black lashes and rolled down. 218 THE INNER "I should like to see Mrs, Eveleth " i^ike the hasty laising and dropping of a curtain face to face on tl.e neutral ground of Gramercy ?,A. It was a meeting that, when it toot place, would W been attended with en,barrassn,^t haZ" both young women been practised in tl,e ways rf sTdes of ?h. r- ''''"'>^ the existence, on both sides, of the European view of life, with its fus^ of .nterests, its softness of outline, its give and tk^ of toIerat.on. ,n contradistinction to the sharp clear insistent American demands for a cer^a n linl nf conduct and no other. Five minutes had nitne by .n talk before each found in the other's "esfn" thatse„,eof repose wh-:ch comes frou,aimilarhab"ts ftleat t, '^'^"^"« ^^J' '"■■ght find, they were, at least rai ged on the same side in that battle upon each other as to the main purpc^.-s if Uff Thus tey were able to approach th'eir^ubiecfwt^ Wt that first prehminarv shock which «akes it aio THE INNER SHRINE difficult for races to agree; and thus, too, Marion Grimston found herself, before she was aware of it, pouring out to Diane Eveleth that heart which, in response to Miss Lucilla's tender pleading, had been dumb. They sat in the big, sombre library where, only a few days before, Diane had seen Derek Pruyn turn his back on her, without even a gesture of farewell. On the long mahogany table the red azalea was in almost passionate luxuriance of blossom; while through the open window faint odors of lilac came from Miss Lucilla's bit of garden. "I don't want you to think him worse than you're obliged to," Marion said, as though in de- fence of the stand her heart had taken. "I've been told that very few men possess the two kinds of courage — the moral and the physical. Savonarola had the one and Nelson had the other; but neither of them had both. And of the two, for me, the physical is the essential. I can't help it. If I had to choose between a soldier and a saint, I'd take the soldier. When the worst is said of Mon- sieur de Bienville, it must be admitted that he's brave." "I've always understood that he was a good rider and a good shot," Diane admitted. " I've no doubt that in batde he would conduct himself like a hero." The girl's head went up proudly, and from the B THE INNER S H RJJ^ languorous eyes there came one splendid flash be- fore the lids fell over them again. "I know he vould; and when a man has that •ort of courage he's wonh saving." "You admit, then, that he needs tc be— saved .?" Again thf i^eavy iids were lifted for one brief, search-light glance. "Yes; I admit that. I believe he has wronged you. I can't tell you i.ow I know it; but I do. It's to tell you so that I've asked you to come here. I hoped to make you see, as I do, that he's capable of doing it without appreciating the nature of his crime. If we could get him to see that — " "Then— what?" "He'd make you reparation." "Are you so sure ?" "I'm very sure. Ifhe didn't—" The consequences of that possibility being diffi- cult of expression, she hung upon her words. "I should be sorry to have you brought to so momentous a decision on my account." "It wouldn't be on your account; it would be on my own. I understand myself well enougli to see that I could love a dishonorable man; but I couldn't marry him." 'You have, of course, your own idea as to what makes a man dishonorable." "What makes a man dishonorable -s to persist in dishonor after he has become aware of it. Any •» 121 THE INNER SHRI MB S 1 one may speak tkmghtlegsly, or boastfully, or fool- ishly, and be forgiven for it. But he can't be for- given if he keeps it up, especially when by his doing so a woman has to suffer." The movement with which Diane pushed back her chair and rose betrayed a troubled rather than an impatient spirit "Miss Grimston," she said, standing before the girl and looking down upon her, "I should almost prefer not to have you take my affairs into your consideration. I doubt if they're worth it. I can't deny that I shrink from, becoming a factor in your life, as well as from feeling that you must make your decisions, or unmake them, with reference to me." "I'm not making my decisions, or unmaking them, with reference to you; it's with reference to Monsieur de Bienville. He has my father's con- sent to his asking me to be his wife. I understand that, according to the formal French fashion, he's going to do it to-morrow. Before I give him an answer I must know that he is such a man as I could marry." "You would have thought him so if you hadn't heard this about me." "Even so, it's better for me to have heard it Any prudent person would tell you that. What I'm going to ask you to do now will not be for your sake; it will be for mine." 222 THE IN N E R S H R r ?^ '•You're going to ask me to do something?" Yes; to see Monsieur de Bienville." Wane recoiled with an expression of dismay. I know ,t will ',e hard for you," Miss Grimston pursued, and I wouldn't ask you to do it if it were not the straightest way out of a perplexing situation. 1 ve confidence enough in him to believe that when he has seen you and lieard your story, he'll act accordmg to the dictates of a nature which I know to be essentially honorable, even if it's weak You can see what that will mean to us all. It will not only clear you and rehabilitate him, but it will bring nappmess to me." ^ There was something in the way in which these bnef statements were made that gave them the nature of an appeal. The veiy difficulty of the reserved heart in speaking out, the shame-flushed dieek-the subdued voice-the halting breath- had on D,ane a more potent effect than eloquence. What was left of her own hope, too, at once put forth ,ts claim at the possibility of getting justice It was a matter of taking her courage in both hands] in one tremendous effon. but the fact that this girl beiieved in her was a stimulus to making the at- tempt. Before they parted— with stammering ex- pressions of mutual sympathy-she had given her word to do it XVI IN the degree to which masculine good looks and elegance are accessories to impressing a maid's heart, the Marquis de Bienville had reason to be sure of the effect he was producing, as he bent and kissed Miss Marion Grimston's hand, in her aunt's drawinp-roon, on the following afternoon. He was not surprised to detect the thrill that shot through her being at his act of homage, and com- municated itself back to him; for he was tolerably certain of her love. That had been, to all intents and purposes, confessed more than two years ago; while, during the intervening time, he had not lacked signs that the gift once bestowed had never been withdrawn. He had stood for a few seconds at the threshold on entering the room, just to re- joice consciously at his great good -fortune. She had risen, but not advanced, to meet him, her tall figure, sheathed in some close-fitting, soft stuff, thrown into relief by the dark-blue velvet portiere behind her. He was not unaware of his unworthi* ness in the presence of this superb young creature^ and as he crossed the room it was with the humilitir of a worshipper before a shrine. 224 i. ~ THE INNER SHRINE "Mademoiselle," he said, simply, when he had raised himself, "I come to tell you that I love you." The glance, slighdy oblique, of suspended ex- pression with which she received the words en- couraged him to continue. "I know how far what I have to give is beneath the honor of your acceptance; and yet when men love they are impelled to offer all the litde that they have. My one hope lies in the fact that a woman like you doesn't love a man for what he is— but for what she can make him." The words were admirably chosen, reaching her heart with a force greater than he knew. "A woman," she answered, with a certain stately uplifting of the head, "can only make a man that which he has already the power to become. She may be able to point out the way; but it's for him to follow it" "I don't think you'd see me hesitate at that." "I'm glad you say so; because the road I should have to ask you to take would be a hard one." "The harder the better, if it's anything by which I can prove my love." "It is; but it's not only that; it's something by which you could prove mine." His face brightened. "In that case. Mademoiselle — speak." She took an instant to assemble her forces, stand- ing before him with a calmness she did not feel. 225 li! A THE FN N.E R SHRINE "You must foi^e me," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "if I take the initiative, as no giil is often caUed upon to do. Perhaps I should hesi- tate more if you hadn't told me, two years ago. what I know you've come to repeat to-day. The fact that I've waited those two years to hear you say it gives me a ri^ that otherwise I shouldn't claim." He bowed. "There are no rights that a woman can have over a man which you,' Mademoiselle, do not po»« sets over me." " Before telling me again," she continued, speakH ing with difficulty^ "what you've told me already, I want to say that I can only listen to it on one condition." ;|„ "Which is— ?" ,, "That your own conscience is atpeace with itselfi" There was a sudden startled toss of the head, but he answered^ bravely: . "Is one's conscience ever at peace with itself i A. woman's, perhaps; but a man's— F' He shook his head with that wistful smile of contrition which is already a plea for pardon. "I'm not speaking of life in general, but of somer thing in particular. I want you to understtUd, before yoii ast me— what you've come to aski that yon couldn't make one woman happy while you're doing another a great wrong." 326 THE INNER S H R T K n. He was sure uow of what was in store for him and braced himself for his part. He was one of those men who need but to see peril to see also the way of meeting it. He stood for a minute, very araight and erect, like a soldier before a court- martia!-a culprit whose guilt is half excused by his very manliness. "I have wronged women. They've wronged me, too. All I can do to show I'm sorry for it \s— not to give them the same sort of offence again." I m thinking of one woman-^ne woman in pameular." He threw back his head with fine confidence. 1 don t know her." "It's Diane Eveleth. She says—" "I can imagine what she says. If I were you, I wouldn t pay it more attenrion than it deserves." It deserves a good deal— if it's true." "Not from you. Mademoiselle. It belongs to a region into which your thought shouldn't enter." My thought does enter it, I'm af.aid. In fact, I think of It so much that I've invited Mrs. Eveleth to_ c6me here this afternoon. I hope you don't mind meeting her .?" "Certa inly not. Why should I ?" he demanded. With an air of conscious rectitude. Miss Grimston touched a bell. _^*Asfc Mrs. Eveleth to come in," she said to tiMr rodtrtian who answered it. ' ;;;•! :,;u'j-m> sd' 127 THE INNER SHRINE I n As Diane entered she greeted Bienville with a slight inclination of the head, which he returned, bowing ceremoniously. "I've begged Mrs. Eveleth to meet us," Ma- rion hastened to explain, "for a very special rea- son. "Then perhaps she will be good enough to tell me what it is," Bienville said, witli a look of courteous inquiry. "Miss Grimston thought — you might be able — to help mt." ' There was a catch in Diane's voice as she spoke, but she mastered it, keeping her eyes on his, in the effort to be courageous. " If there's anything I can do — " he began, al- lowing the rest of his sentence to be inferred. He concealed his nervousness by placing a small gilded chair for Diane to sit on. He himself took a chair a few feet away, seating himself sidewise, with his elbow supported on the back, in an easy attitude of attention. Marion Grimston withdrew to the more distant part of the room, where, with her hands behind her, she stood leaning against the grand piano, with the bearing of one only indirectly, and yet intensely, concerned. Bienville left the task of beginning to Diane. In spite of his deter- mination to be self-possessed, a trace of com- punction was visible in his face as he contrasted die subdued little woman before him with the 228 THE INNER SHRINE sparkling, insouciant creature to whom, two o three years ago, he had paid his inglorious court. " I shall have to speak to you quite simply and frankly," Diane began, with some hesitation, still keeping her eyes on his, " otherwise you wouldn't understand me." "Quite so," Bienville assented, politely. "You may not have heard that since — my— my husband's death, I have my own living to earn ?" "Yes; I did hear something of the kind." " I've had what people in my position call a good situation; but I have lost it." "Ah .? I'm sorry." "I thought you would be. That's why Miss Grimston asked me to tell you the reason. She was sure you wouldn't injure me — knowingly." "Naturally. I'm very much surprised that any one should think I've injured you at all. To the best of my knowledge your name has not passed my lips for two years, at the least. If it had it would only have been spoken— with respect " "I'm sure of that. I'm not pretending when I say that I'm absolutely convinced you're a man of sensitive honor. If you weren't you couldn't be a Frenchman a.id a Bienville. I want you to understand that I've never attributed— the— things that have happened— to anything but foil) and imprudence — for which I want to take my full share of the blame." »*9 T H E I\N N ^ R SHRINE "I've never ventured to express to you my own regret," Bienville said, in a tone not free from emotion, "but I assure you it's very deep." "I know. All our life was so wrong! It's be- cause I feel sure you must see that as well as I do that I hoped you'd help me now." He said nothing in reply, letting some seconds pass in silence, waiting for her to come to her point. "On the way up from South America," she be- gan again, with visible difficulty, "you were on the same ship with my— my — employer. From cer- tain things you said then — " "But I've withdrawn them," he interrupted, quickly. "He should have told you that. Made- moiselle," he added, rising, and turning toward Marion Grimston, "wouldn't it spare you if we continued this conversation alone ?" "No; I'd rather stay," Miss Grimston said, with an inflection of request. "Please sit down again." "He should have told you that," Bienville re- peated, taking his seat once more, and speaking with some animation. " I did ray best to straighten things out for him."' " Then he didn't understand you. He told me you had taken back what you had said, but only in a way that reaffirmed it." "That's nothing but a tortuous construction put on straightforward words." 230 t_H^ I N N E R SHRINE "Quite so; but for that very reason I thought that perhaps you'd go to him again and explain what you meant more clearly." He took a minute to consider this before speaking. "I don't see how I can," he said, slowly. "I've already used the plainest words of which I have command." "Words aren't everything. It's the way they're spoken that often counts most. I'm sure • ou could convince him if you went the right way to work about it." *'I doubt that. I'm afraid I don't know how to force conviction on any one against his will " "You mean—?" " I mean— you'll excuse me; I speak quite bluntly —I mean that he seemed very willing to believe anything that could tell against you, but less eager to credit what was said in your defence." "You think so because you don't understand him. As a matter of fact — " "Oh, I dare say. I don't pretend to under- stand the gentleman in question. But for that very reason it would be useless for me to try to enlighten him further. It would only make mat- ters worse." "It wouldn't if you'd put things before him just as they happened. I don't want any excuses made for me. My best defence would be — the truth." 231 THE INNER SHRINS There was a perceptible pause, during which hi* eyes shifted uneasily toward Marion Grimston. "I should think you could tell him that your- self," he suggested, at last. " It wouldn't be the same thing. You're the only person who could speak with authority. He'd ac- cept your word, if you gave it — in a certain way." "I'm afraid I don't know what that way it." "Oh yes, you do, Bienville!" she exclaimed, pleadingly, leaning forward slightly, with her hands dasrci in her lap. "Don't force me to speak more plainly than I need. You must know what I refer to." He shook his head slowly, with a look of mysti- fication. "What you may not know," she continued, "is all it means to me. I won't put tin .natter on any ground but that of my need for earning money. Because Mr. Pruyn has — misunderstood you, I've had to give up my — my — pla.e" — she forced the last word with a little difficulty — "and until some- thing like a good name is restored to me I shall find it hard to get another. You can have no idea of what that means. I had none, until I had to face it. There's only one kind of work I'm fitted for — the kind I've been doing; but it's just the kind I can't have without the — the reputation you could pive back to me." That this appeal was not without its effect wa» 232 THE INNER SHRINE evident from the way in which his expressive brown eyes clouded, while he stroked his blacW beard nervously. The fact that his pity was largely for himself— that with instincts naturally chivalrous he should be driven to these miserable verbd shifts —being unknown to Diane, she was encouraged to proceed. "You see," she went on, eagerly, "it wouldn't only bring me happiness, but it would add to your own. You're at the beginning of a new life, just like me— or, rather, just as I could be if you'd give me the chance. Think what it would be for you to enter on it, I won't say with a clear con- science, but with the knowledge that in rising your- self you had helped an unhappy woman up, instead of thrusting her further down I It isn't as if it would be so hard for you, Bienville. I'd make it easy for you. Miss Grimston would help me. Wouldn't you ?" she added, turning toward Marion. "It could all be done quite simply and confidentially between ourselves — and Mr. Pruyn." "Oh no, it couldn't," he said, coldly. "If I were to admit what you imply, secrecy wouldn't be of any use to me." "Does that mean," she asked, fixing her earnest «y^ upon him, "that you don't admit it?" "It means," he said, rising quietly and standing behind his ohair, "that this conversation is extreme- ly painful to me, and I must ask to be excused from 233 THE ; IXNLNJE £ , S M R I N E i! i li' I taking any fbrjCheEpait Hi it. I know only vagudy what you niean^ Madame; and if I don't inquirt more in detail, it!s: because I want to spare you distressing explanations. I think you must agree with me. Mademoiselle," he continued, looking toward Miss Gnraaton, "that we should all be well advised in letting the subject drop." i ; ; c^ Marion carpe skiwly forward, adviancing tq! the side of- Diane, lover whose shouWcr, as she remiained ceaited, she allowed hei h«nd to fall, in a pose wg? ^tiye of prdtectiori. : ::i! T,;'Ctf course, Monsieur," /she agreed, "w*;;i8u^ let)the,H>bject drop, if you Have nothing ^morcnftp Wtf"' \ ':: .:i •^.^\- ->:\'.: A: /.■''.' :,--;i-m:v L.- He Stood stknta msfms, looking at her steadij^ j; 'fl'm afraid I hdvenV he said, theiu ■.■.[; V 11 "Nor l,t Miss Griitistim returned, signifiesindyi .0 Ag^in ithere was » minute or two of silence, duB- ing which BienviUe aeetoed to. probe for thertteai^ inig : of., the two latontci woiiEds. If anything ooiild be read from his ccfuotefoajnce, it was doubt aa 40 Ivhether.tfa hilinquish die'ptize with dignity or to pay its price in hu^iation. There was an instant in which he appeared to be bracing himself to d6 the ktter; but whcrt he spbke his interrogition direw the respansibiJitje for decision on Mife| fjni^ Jjtbn.i'.v. Ijrui /Irji.'i' '..J ■. ,: . . ■. ,;.;i;-j.';i j[" -j.^'HavelreceiTed— my answer ?" . '^ S'ji .11 She waitol, finding it hard to give himhis 2epi}l, THE INNER SHRINE It was as if forced to it against her will that her head bent slowly in assent. "Then," he said, in a tone of dignified regret, "there's nothing for me but to wish Mademoiselle good-by." He bowed separately fD Miss (^nmston and to Diane, and, with the self-possession of a man MCiistoaiei} tQ tjj^ vacious Ulcus of drawingt^aosi ^^V00»tMM%^,V3ptli,, \ ■ ,, ,..,,-■: ...,^- ^1 r.u\\:i)U'-- ri-j')7 ! yrini'Ti-vj.-iiiiiit;; Lt,. rioirii r. jth 'grubjt >!:! ;Iuv/ bsiii'ifri'i.) -n-^h io •j-'.ioi dill :'ii( min-o^.-^T. -A .;rj;T3;ic it!? ; ■u.ic.Tr n) ■.■jir\r-n-\\>''u- 2^:3;;. ii;-...-/ V.J v;;:; jr! ,"A\ r!;.// /'li/ijirii - -'iiCO.I ,•; ■<. r',isA hi.:! :,-! !; Wj':.,: I./iu:i;,i ;iii,v r ;i;in;; -j-!, ^i^i ia !I,; t ■ ;;■ jT. ,. r ■•'X i-A\ no ■:: ;.-;r 'Io '■■ \ n 7ii ;■, Villi .1 ii: r:jv: j/Kii nil Vi'-A .'!! fiiorj 07i;(i oi ju^i .j'^iuori) noi.iiii.irnijii (br.lErn Iinrijrn lE-iit viTiv bf.iiij .-ij;i.-iu7/ 'u, fi..^ :i-.r|] •■ju^KV ■j;!t 7.ii;;o2d ".nnrnoT/'to no,- ;;;rir' Ijii;,- all !o jwni.-i,: .>(!, o? o-w;,;- i7.;y ixnn eri: "io ?«,■ ijrl iriij;! Tiv/o o; bai;; tj;! :!■,!.!// i;:i 7 j!i;,n;[p3^a: ^ r.Kql.j •3. iLinr..-; i!iui afn.v •,:(-.;] j o: i,ii'; Ljicic-a ll ' obaaCi L::,: olJ-ifliO u- ^Ijjo^ at!' i!.:.; 7 ojfii 3!;fl3 ?i; : HmJ J/! Ll.iT .::-.>[• ;;/0) ^f;'Jj l,7,,;, I.i^:^! CflOfl: /; )Tj':}orns ^.7,..i nA:A\?^ bi;jov,' jii :;;,i:;)/ '-o -00!/ ■■•jJi.Gi! i-j.)'/ 7/^/; K .^rue-J 7fH ; 7oi'.q .; -Xv. n iji !j::;- ,:jyi j.o,;;/ ,'r^i.M, ,,!i ._,.;; ,j, ,.; v!;,,:, [_,i^o3 ^d 'i: ;!7. ;■;..]«!, TK] o<; n:ia b-jJaj.M,ri I'l/jri bBrI ■j-.no,- j;i-:s j;:iii , :; -£/? nX ^^nnP^'w ■ '\t- i'.;-- ;■!;! ,'\ .-nun BE /:iin XVII DURING the summer that followed these events Derek Pruyn set himself the task of stamping the memoiy and influence of Diane Eveleth out of his life. His sense of duty combined with his feelings of self-respect in making the attempt. In reflecting on his last interview with her, he saw the weakness of the stand he had taken in it, recoiling from so unworthy a position with natural reaction. To have been in love at all at his age struck him as humiliation enough; but to have been in love with that sort of woman came very near mental malady. He said "that sort of woman," because the vague- ness of the term gave scope to the bitterness of resentment with which he tried to overwhelm her. It enabled him to create some such paradise of pair- as that into which the souls of Othello and Desde- mona might have gone together. Had he been a Moor of Venice he would doubtless have smothered her with a pillow; but being a New York banker he could only try to slay the image, whose eyes and voice had never haunted him so persistently as now. In his rags of suffering he was as little able 236 THE INNER S HRINE ro ^a!re a reasoned view of the situaaon as the mad- daied buii ii. rKe arena to appraise the skill of hit tormentors. When in the middle of May he had retired lo Rhinefields it was with the intention of laying waste all that Diane had left behind in the course of her brief passage through his life. The ptocess being easier in the exterior phases ot existence than in those more secret and remote, he determined to work from the outside inward. Wherever any- thing reminded him of her, he erased, desr"iyed, or removed it. All that she had rhan^d within the house he put back into the state in which it was before she came. Where he had followed her sug- gestions about the grounds and gardens he re- versed the orders. Taken as outward and visible signs of the inward and spiritual change he was trying to create within himself, these childish acts gave him a passionate satisfaction. In a short time, he boasted to himself, he would have obliter- ated all trace of her presence. And so lie came, in time, to giving his attention to Dorothea. She, too, bore the impress of Diane; and as she bore it more markedly than the inani- mate things around, it caused him the greater pain. He could forbid her to hold intercourse with Diane, and to speak of her; but he could not control the blending of French and Irish intonations her voice had caught, or the gestures into which she slipped •• 237 t H E J N N B R S H R J N B thirbiigh youth's mimetic instinct. In happier days Yit had been amused to note the degree to which Dorothea had become the unconscious copy of Diane; but now this constant reproduction of hei nrays was torture. Telling himself that it was not the child's fault, he bore it at first with what self- restraint he could; but as solitude encouraged brooding thoughts, he found, as the summer wore on, that his stock of patience was running low. There were times when some chance sentence or imitated bit of mannerism on Dorothea's part al- most drew from him that which in tragedy would be a cry, but which in our smaller life becomes the kasty or exasperated word. In diese circumstances the explosion was boura t« come; and one day it produced itself unexpect- edly, and about nothin]^ Thinking of it afterw aid Derek was unable to say why it should have takerc place then more than at any other time. He wa» standing on the lawn, nodng with savage comr placency that the bit by which he had enlarged it^ at Diane's prompting, had grown up again, in hixuriartt grass, ••hen Dorothea descended the steps of the Georgian brick house, behind him. " Would you be afther wantin' me to-day ?" she called out, using the Irish expression Diane affected if moments of fun. "Dorothea," he cried, sharply, wheding round on her, "drop that idiotic Way of speaking. If yov Z38 THE IM N M R S H R J N E think it's amusing, you'ps mi^talcen. You can't even do it properly." The words were nc soonei out than he regretted them, but it was too late to take them back. More- over, when a man, nervously suffering, has once wounded the feehngs of one he loves, it is not infrequently his instinct to go on and wound them again. " We have enough of that sort of language from the servants and the stable-boys. Be good enough in future to use your mother-tongue." Standing where his words had stopped her, a few yards away, she looked up at him with the clear gaze of astonishment; but the slight shrug of the shoulden before she spoke was also a trick caught from Diane, and not calculated to allay his ani- noyance. "Very well, father," she answered, with a quiet- ness mdicating judgment held in reserve, "I won't do it again. I only meant to ask you if you want me for anything in particular to-day; otherwise I shall go over and lunch at the Thoroughgoods'." "The Thoroughgoods' again? Can't you get through a day widiouf going there?" "I suppose I could if it was necessary; but it isn't." "I think it is. You'll do well not lO wear out your welcome anywhere." "I'm not afraid of that." 2 to !■ 1- ^ H £ INNE R SH RINE "Then I arc; so you'd better stay at home." He wheeled from he<- as sharply as he had turned cO confront her, striding off loward a wild border, where he tried to conceal the extent to which he was ashamed of his ill temper by pretending to be engrossed in the efforts of a bee to work its way into a blue cowl of monk's-hood. When he looked around again she was still standing where he had left her, her eyes clouded by an expression of wondering pain that smote him to the heart. Had he possessed sufficient mastery of himself he would have gone back and begged her pardon, and sent her away to enjoy herself. It was what he wanted to do; but the tension of his nerves seemed to get relief from the innocent thing's suffering. The very fact that her pretty litde face was set with his own obstinacy of self-will, while behind it her spirit was rising against this capricious tyranny, goaded him into persistence. He remembered how often Diane had told him that Dorothea could be neither led nor driven; she could only be "man- aged"; but he would show Diane, he would show himself, that she could be both driven and led, and that "management" should go the way of the wall-fruit and the roses. As, recrossing the lawn, he made as though he would pass her without further words, he was an excellent illustration of the degree to which the tdult man of (he world, capable of taking an impor- 240 THE INNER SHRINE lant part among his fellow-men, can be, at times, nothing but an overgrown infant. It was not sur- prising, however, that Dorothea should not see this aspect of his personality, or look upon his com- mands as other than those of an unreasonable despotism. "Father," she said, "I can't go on living like this." ^ "Living like what?" "Living as we've lived all this summer." "What's the matter with the summer? It's like any other summer, isn't it ?" "The summer may be like any other summer; but you're not like yourself. I do everything I can ro please you, but — " "You needn't do anything to please me but what you're told." " I always do what I'm told— when you tell me; but you only tell me by fits and starts." "Then, I tell you now: you're not to go to the Thoroughgoods'." " But they expect me. I said I'd go to lunch. They'll think it very strange if I don't" "They'll think what they please. It's enou^ for you to know what I think." " But that's just what I don't know. Ever since Diane went away — " "Stop that! I've forbidden you to speak — " "But you can't forbid me to think; and I think 441 I-' I' «;: ; I I I tflT I'm uttierly bewildered. You d^-^ihat'ii6 itbuble should, keep me from loving, her;^ritf iHatter what tt was, ' , . , ■ I ' -1 • ^''m Vle'^S^sed hrow. Th^ rigidity of her attitude, the! Wt of hef head, the, set.of her lips, the; directness of heri^afice, pu^estpdj not merely rebellion against his will, but the assertion o£ her own. It occurred t« him then that k^ cpuld break her little body to pieces before he could fofc^ her to yield; an4 l|i hi* pride in thip temperar ment, so like his own, he almost uttered the cty pf "Braval" that hiiing on his lip?.. Hf m^ht h^ve done so if Oorotheahad not fowd it a convenient! moment at wlvch to maJEe all ! her confessionft an. once and have them off' her nund. It; \r^t bfiJt to do iti she thoughi^i i»Ois that,. her coti^ag^ 1r*s-:up. . "And, fatheiT," she went oin,, "it,may b* a goo4 oppOrtumity ti^ tell you soniethiflg; els*,; I'n i^ «aded,to »any Mr.rWs(ppii>g«r/;': ui ■ ■. ■.-.,. :„:ii During the brief silence that foUojwed this at)r pojjnwmeht h« had, mne to, throw the hi^mp for it upon Diane, Using the fact a^ pftf ; jnore ai^^umwit against her. Had she taken his; SMgge^Ons at t^ be^Boing, and suppressied theWappittget a^\is(ii^. an«r this distressing folly would have, r^ceiy^d ,« definite check. As it was, the odium of putting » «top. to it, which must bow &U on i«n, was but Mo >dditio<)al part: of the penalty/he had t<> pay fp^ eVcf h»vii»g known ben So^ b« iti' : He wo^d maJM) THE INNER^4,HRINB i'-- -^ die same sort of frenzied salsfacdon i»ia defacing Diane's image in his heart. "You shall not," he said, at last. "I don't understand how you're going to stop me. "I must ask you to be paOilht — and see. You can make a beginning to-day, by staying at home from the Thoroughgoods*. That will be enough for the minute." Fearing to look any longer into her indignant ^es, he passed on toward the stables. For some min- utes she stood still where he left her, while the collie gazed up at her, with twitching tail and question- ing regard, as though to ask the meaning of this futile hesitation; but when, at last, she turned ilowly and re-entered the house, one would have •aid that the "dainty rogue in porcelain" had been transformed into an intensely modem little creature made of steel. She did not go to the Thoroughgoods' that day, Aor was any further reference made to the dis- cussion of the morning. Compunction having suc- ceeded irritation, with the rapidity not uncommon to men of his character, Derek was already seeking lome way of reaching his end by gentler means, when a new move on Dorothea's part exasperated him still further. As he was about to sit down to his luncheon on the following day, the butler made the announcement that Miss Pruyn had asked him 244 THE I l¥^^E R SHRINE to inform ner father rfiat she had driven over in the pon^-cart to Mrs. Thoroughgood's, and would not be home till late in the afternoon. He was not in the house when she returned, and at dinner he refrained from conversation till the servants had left the room. "So it's— war," he said, then, speaking in a casual tone, and toying with his wine-glass. "I hope nor, father," she answered, promptly, making no pretence not to understand him. "It takes two to make a quarrel, and — " "Ana you wculdn't be one?" "I was goinji vo *;\y ;h?« I hoped you wouldn't be." "But you yourself would tig;-.. ' "I should have to. I'm fighting ic. liber;, which is always an honorable motive. You're fighting to take it away from me — ' "Which is a dishonorable mouvt. Veiy well; I must accept that imputation as best I may, and still go on." "Oh, then, it is war. You mean to make it so." "I mean to do my duty. You may call your rebellion against it what you like." "I'm not accustomed to rebel," she said, with significant quietness. " Only people who feel them- selves weak do that." And are you so strong V "I'm very strong. I don't want to measure 07 «45 T J? E IN N E R S H RJNB stravgth against yours, fatherrbut if you insist on measuring yours against miiMyl •! nought ta< tpafii you." lu -jid ir.j -jr > I sen "Hiankyou. It's in the-^heofa^iniming-ifcat I view your action to-day. You i^baUy w«iit to meet Mr. Wappinger." si li. In saying this his bow was drawn»«Bl entirely at a venture that he was astonished at.the skill with which he hit the mark. '"I did." . ,:, He pushed back his chair; half rose; sat down a^in; poured out a ^ass of Marsala; drank it thiretiiy; and looked at her a second or two m helpless distress before finding words. -i "And you talk of honorable motives 1" . "My motive was endtely honorable. I wettt to cxplani to himithat I couldn't see him any more~« just now." -i , i!*' While you wwe about it you might as well have, said neititer just now— nor at any otfaet time." ''■She was silent 3-. :jo'/ a...; ■ ■ ..i-jiii .riO" V "Do you bear P' : ' r n I' "Yes; I hear, fat&et.^ li'.'si: jt hi^Ajid you understand?" ro; rr. I' trifl; understand what yt)u mean:" r " :r-.':i/'v;,- "And you promise me that it shall be so??' i.;^ "No, fadier." J' "You ny that deCbevately ? SxmeBiber. Tm 246 asking y,■) r- ■ ■ ii:rW»^,m^r H© pished back his chair again. awJrose. fl^had already crossed the room, when, a new thoughfepccurring to him, he turned at the 4qor. At leftst I presume I may count on yo« ^^t_^to see this young am again without teUing ''Not without telling you-^fterward. I couldn't uaderuke more than that" «tu"'"t' ^* ejaculated, before passing out; Ihen I must take active measures." It was easier, however, to talk about attive measures than to devise them. While Dorothea was sobbing, with her elbows on the dining-room table, and her face buried in her hands, he wai pacmg his room in search of desperate remedies, it was a case in which his nund turned instinctively to Diane for help; but in the very act of doing so he was confronted by her theories as to Dorothea'* need of diplomatic guidance. For that, he told himself, the time was past. The event had proved how impotent mere "management" was to control he^ and justified his own preference for force. Before she went to bed that night Dorothea was summoned to her father's presence, to receive the commands which should regulate her conduct tow- 247 ^w THE INNER SHRINE «rd "the young man Wappinger." They could have been summed up in the statement that she must know him no more. She was not only never to see him, or write to him, or communicate with him, by direct or indirect means; as far as he could command it, she was not to think of him, or re- member his name. His measures grew more drastic in proportion as he gave them utterance, until he himself become aware that they would be difficult to fulfil. "I will not attempt no extract a promise from you," he was prudent enough to say, in conclusion, "that you will carry out my wishes, because I know you would never bring on me the unhappiness that would spring from disobedience." "It's hardly fair, father, to say that," she replied, firmly. "In war, no one should shrink from — the misfortunes of war." "That means, then, that you defy me?" She was calmer than he as she made her reply. "It doesn't mean that I defy you. I love you too much to put either you or myself in such an odious position as that. But it does mean that one day, sooner or later, I shall marry — Mr. Wap- pinger." He looked at her with a bitter smile. "I admire your frankness, Dorothea," he said, after a brief pause, "and I shall do my best to imitate it. If it's to be war, we shall at least fight 94S THE INNER SHRINE in the open. I know what you intend to do, and you know that I mean to circumvent you. The position on both sides being so pleasantly dear, you may come and kiss me good-night." During the process of the stiff litde embrace thai followed It was as difficult for her not to fling her- self sobbing on his breast as for him not to seize her m his arms; but each maintained the restraint inspired by the justice of their respective causes. When she had closed the door behind her, he stood for a long time, musing. That his thoughts were not altogether tragic became manifest as his brow cleared, and the ghost of a smile, this time without bitterness, hovered about his lips. Suddenly he slapped his leg, like a man who has made a dis- covery. "By Gad!" he whispered, half aloud, "when all u said and done, she knows how to play the game!" ^ >v d. A \\ T 1 .TEsb vjjfiiiir.-jlq o:; -^r\hd .'oWi-. i';:>:she resdmni'hcr.acoustomed Ways, land, is far as he could tell, grew cheerful. Always having iisedit^d' 'heciwitblcaniraoirfseiuei^'he'was) pleased Hamitfi sae heqmakefluse'faf^aeiiii.a.Wa^.orf'iwhicfa few girls of nineteen would have been capable. She accepted his surveillance with so much docility that, by the time they returned to town in the autumn he was able to congratula..e himself on his success. On her part, Dorothea carried out his instructions to the letter. Notwithstanding the opening of the season and the renewal of the usual gayeties, she lived quietly, accepting few invitations, and rarely going into society at all, except under her father's wing. On those accidental occasions when Carli 2jO THE I NNER S fT P r at p Wappinger came within their range of vision, it was only as a distant ship drifts intfsight at sel-L to dnft silendy away again. If Dorothea per- OMved him, she gave no sign. I. was dear to Derek Aat her spun of rebellion was over, and that h« htde experience had done her no harm. The name SIS'T ''''"^ T'^y 'snored between d,em. he could only express his pleasure, in die results he had achieved, by an extravagant increase of Do, ihi'd£!f'"'r '^''" u '^"i f""--"-'""""- She'll get "It's a pretty safe alternative." Diane smfled "Reggie is a good-natu -: boy." \J,s A,-. p.-iger pursued, "but a n-.uh, vacrr-, .>,. i, ^i^ ril^r/"^'^'"^""' "'■'''^" -''■■- only Lt to turn the faucet. It's just a , s. ,1, -(,3, )„. ,v k*. cau^wha^verCariiisi^ptoRe.,-::,!!'^^ :tV!„Tee\t!!:^ '^'"°" ^^'-^ ''"-• '' "Oh, but I don't— not now." ^;TT«t's a pity If you did. you could pump her." thing." *" "°' "'"'^'' 8°°'' ^' 'h'*' ^«" of to'Z*"!!' J ""^ r*"" ^ ^' ' '=^*"«- I'*" bound killing a cat than by giving it poison." A few weeks later still Mrs. Wappinger in- formed Djane that Dorothea Pruyn was'n'otfapp" plaiS I''7"g^g7ds told the Louds," she «- plained, and the Louds told me. Her father "^'•ke a convict-always with an eye open for .^T "'^ T^'X '^^" •"»" - more'u^do! stand, women than he does making pie." *55 THE INNER SHRINE " I've always noticed that the really strong men rarely do. There's almost invariably something petty about a man to whom a woman isn't a puzzle and a mystery." " If it comes to a puzzle and a mystery, I don't Icnow where you'd find a greater one than Derek Pruyn himself. After the way he's acted— and treated people — " Diane flushed, but kept her emotions sufficiendy under control to be ablfe to follow her usual plan of straightforward speaking. "If you mean me, Mrs. Wappinget, I ought to say that Mr. Pruyn has done nothing for which I can blame him. He was placed in -i situation with which only a very subde intellige.:ce could have dealt, and I respect him the more for not having had it. It's generally the man who is most com- petent in his own domain who is most likely to blunder when he gets into the woman's; and I, for one, would rather have him do it. I've had to suffer because of it, and so has Dorothea; and yet that doesn't make me like it less." "No, I dare say not," Mrs. Wappinger responded, sympathetically. "Mr. Wappinger himself was just such a man as that. He'd put through a deal that would make Wall Street shiver; but he under- stood my woman's nature just about as much as old Tiger there, wagging his tail on the grass, fol- lows the styles in bonnets. Only, I'll tell you what, 256 THE INNER SHRINB Mrs. Eveleth: it's for men like that that God created sensible, capable wives, like you and me; and they ought to have 'em." 1 his theme admitting of little discussion, Diane did not pursue it, but she went away from Water- wild with a deepened sense of Derek's need of her, as well as of Dorothea's. She could so easily have helped them both that the enforced impotence was a new element in her pain. To walk the town in search of work to which she was little suited, when that which no one but herself could accomplish had to remain undone, became, during the next few weeks, the most intolerable part of the irony of cir- cumstance. The wifely, the maternal qualities of her being, of which she had never been strongly conscious till of late, awoke in response to the need that drew them forth, only to be blighted by denial. The inactivity was the harder to endure because of the fact that, as autumn passed into early wintP"", there came a period when all her litde world seemed to have dropped her out of sight. There were no more "off-days" at Waterwild, and Miss Lucilla's occasional letters from Newport ceased. Between her mother-in-law and herself, after a few painful attempts at intercourse, there had fallen an equally painful silence. Even her two or three pupils fell away. From the papers she learned that one or another of those for whom she cared was back in town 257 THE INNER SHRINE again. She walked in the chief thoroughfares in the hope of meeting some of them, but chance re- fused to favor her. In the dusk of the early de- scending November and December twilights she passed their houses, watching the warm glow of the lights within, against which, now and then, a shadow that she could almost recognize would pass by. She could have entered at Miss Lucilla's door, or Mrs. Wappinger's; but a strange shyness, the shyness of the unfortunate, had taken hold of her, and she held back. In the mean time she was free to watch, with sad eyes and sadder spirit, the great dty, reversing the processes of nature, awaken from the torpor of the genial months into its winter life. No one knew better than herself that thrill of excited energy with which those bom with the city instinct return from the acquired taste for moun- tain, seaside, and farm, to enter once more the niaze of purely human relationships. It was a moment with which her own active nature was in sympathy. She liked to see the blinds being raised in tl-ie houses and the barricading doors taken down. She liked to see the vehicles begin to crowd one another in the streets and the pedestrians on the pavement wear a brisker air. She liked to see the shop-windows brighten with color and the great public gathering-spots let in and let out their Arongs. She responded to the quickened anima« ■on with the spontaneity of one all ready to take 2j8 I THE INNER S HJJJ^ her part till the thought came that a part had been refused her It was with a curious sensation of being outs.de the range of human activities that dunng those days of timid, futile looking for em- ployment she roamed the busy thoroughfares of New York. As time passed she ceased to think much about her need of sympathetic fellowship in her anxiety to get work. She wrote advertisements and answered them; she applied at schools, and offices, and shops; she came down to seeking any humble drudgeo' which would give her the chance to live. It was not till one day in early December that the last flicker of her hope went out. Chance had made her pass at midday along the pavement op- posite one of the great restaurants. Lifting her eyes instinctively toward the group of well-dressed people on the strps, she saw that Mrs. Bayford and Marion Gnmston were going in, accompanied by Reggie Bradford and the Marquis de Bienville. i>he had heard httle or nothing of them during the last four empty months; but it was plain now that the lovers were agreed and her own cause aban- doned. Up to this moment she had not realized how tenaciously she had clung to the belief that the proud, high-souied girl would yet see justice done her; and now she had deserted her, like the rest' i* or the first time during her years of struggle she felt absolutely beaten-beaten so thoroughly that 259 THE INNER SHRINE it would be useless to renew the fight. She had been on her way to see a lady who had advertised for a nursery governess; but she had no strength left with whicli to face the interview. In the winter-garden of the restaurant Mrs. Bayford was purring to her guests, Reggie Bradford was whis- pering to Miss Grimston, and the Marquis de Bienville was ordering the wines, while Diane was wandering blindly back to the poor little room she called her home, there to lie down and allow her heart to break. But hearts do not break at the command of those who own them, and when she had moaned away the worst of her pain, she fell asleep. When she awoke it was already growing dark, and the knocking at her door, which roused her, was like a call from the peace of dreams to the desolation of reality. When she had turned on the light she received from the hands of the waiting servant that which had become a most rare visitant in the blank- ness of her life — a note. The address was in a sprawling hand, which she recognized. What was written within was more sprawling still: " For Heaven's sake, come to me at once. The ex- pected has happened, and I don't know what to do. The motor will wait and bring you. Clara Wappinger." 3nx AS Diane entered, Mrs. Wappinger, dishevelled ,. * !"'' /"'"raught, was standing in the hall, a slip of yellow paper in her hand. "Oh, my dear, I'm so glad you've cornel I'm just about crazy! Read this!" Diane took the paper and read: "p. and I atB to be married to-njght. receive us to-moirow. Be ready to Caru," When did this come.?" Diane asked, quickly ^ About half an hour ago. I sent for you at once " I see It's dated from Lakefield. Where's tiiat f" Mrs. Wappinger explained that Lakefield was a small winter health resort some two hours hy train from New York. She and Carli had stayed there more than once, at the Bay Tree Inn. Ht w->u1q naturally go to the same hotel, only, when she had telephoned to it, a few minutes ago, she could find no one of the name in residence. Under the cir- cumstances, Diane suggested, he would probably not give his name at all. There followed a few 261 THE INNER SHRINE i 11 minutes of silent ejection, during which Mrs. Wappinger gazed at Diane, in the half-tearful help- lessness of one not used to coping with unusual situations. "Won't you ^ Tie in and sit down ?" she asked, with a sudder. . 'iization that they were still stand- ing beneath ,' a light in the hall. "No," EHaiie answered, with decision; "it isn't worth while. May I have the motor for an hour or so.'" " Why, certainly. But where are you going ?" " I'm going first to Mr. Pruyn's, and afterward to Lakefield." "To Lakefield? Then I'll go with you. We could go in the car." Diane negatived both suggestions. The motor night break down, or the chauffeur might lose his way; the train would be safer. If any one went with her, it would have to be Mr. Pruyn. "But don't go to bed," she added, "or at least have some one to answer tlie telephone, for I'll ring you up as soon as I have news for you." "God bless you, dear," Mrs. Wappinger mur- muied. "I know you'll do your best for me, and them. Keep the auto as long as you like; and if you decide to go down in it, just say so to Laporte." But Diane seemed to hesitate before going. A iush came into her cheek, and she twisted her ingers in embarrassment. 26a THE INNER SHRINE "I wonder," she faltered, "if— if— you could let me have a litde money ? I shall need some, and— and I haven't — any." "Oh, my dear! my poor dearl" Mrs. Wappinger bustled away, crumpling the notes she found in her desk into a little ball, which she forced into Diane's hand. To forestall thanks she thrusL iier toward the door, accompanying her down the steps, and kissing her as she entered the automobile. "Why, bless my 'eart, if it ain't the madaml" This outburst was a professional solecism on the part of Fulton, the English butler, at D°rek Pruyn's, but it was wrung from hirn in sheer joy at Diane's unexpected appearance. "You'll excuse me, ma'am," he continued, re- capturing his air of decorum, "but I fair couldn't help it. We'll be awful pleased to see you, ma'am, if I may make so bold as to say it— right down to the cat. It hasn't been the same 'ouse since you went away, ma'am; and me and Mr. Simmons has said so time and time again. You'll excuse me, ma'am, but — " "Yj>"'r= very kind, Fulton, and so is Simmons, but I'm in a great hurry now. Is Mr. Pruyn at home?" "Why, no, he ain't, ma'am, and that's a faa He's to dine out." 263 THE INNER SHRINE "Where?" "I couldn't tell you that, ma'am; but perhaps Mr. Simmons would know. He took Mr. Pruyn's evening clothes to the bank, and he was to change there. If you'll wait a minute, ma'am, I'll ask him." But when Simmons came he could only give the information that his master was going to a "sort o' business banquet" at one of the great restaurants or hotels. Moreover,, Miss Dorothea had gone out, saying that she would not be home to dinner. "Then I must write a note," Diane said, with that air of natural authority which had seemed al- most lost frtm her manner. "Will you, Fulton, be good enough to bring me a glass of wine and a few biscuits while I write ? I must ask you, Sim- mons, for a railway guide." In Derek's own room she sat down at the desk where, six months ago, she had arranged his letters on the night when he had returned from South America. She had no time to indulge in memories, but a tremor shot through her frame as she took up the pen and wrote on a sheet of paper which he had already beaded with a date: "I have bad news for you, but I hope I may be in time to keep it from beiKg worse. I have reason to think that Dorothea has gone to Lakefield to be married there to Carii Wappinger. Should there be any mistake you will 264 THE I N N E R SHRINE forgive me for disturbing you; but I think it well to be prepared for extreme possibilities. I am, therefore, going to Lakefield now— at once. A train at seven-fifteen will get there a little after nine. There are other trains through the evening, the latest being at five minutes after ten. Should this reach you in time to enable you to take one of them, you will be wise to do so; but in case it may be too late, you may count on me to do all that can be done. Let some one be ready to answer the telephone all night I shall communicate with the house from the Bay Tree Inn. I must ask you again to forgive me if I am inter- fenng rashly m your affairs, but you can understand that I have no time to take counsel or reflect. "Diane Eveleth." Having made a copy of this letter, she called Simmons and Fulton and gave them their instruc- tions. There had been an accident, she said, of which she had been able to get only imperfect in- formation, but it seemed possible that Miss Doro- thea was involved in it. She herself was huriyino to Lakefield, and it would be Simmons' task to find Mr. Pruyn in time for him to catch the ten-five 'n'u VJ^'T "^ '^^'^ '° P^'^'^ "^° ^^!'^es with all that Mr. Pruyn could require for a chan<.e. H« was to take one of the two letters, and one of the two valises, and go from place to place, until he tracked his master down. Fulton was to say noth- ing to alarm the other servants, merely informing Miss Dorothea's maid that the young lady was 265 m MKIOCOrT IISOIUTION TiST CHADT (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) IJJS iU |t« mm I /1PPLIED IM/IGE Inc teS3 East Main Streit Rochesler, New York 14609 US* (7)6) *B2 -0300- Phone (716) 288- 5989 - Fo« 1 1' ;£f|! ] THE INNER SHRINE absent for the night and that Mrs. Eveleth waa with her. He would talce charge of the second letter and the second valise, in case Mr. Pruyn should return to the house before Simmons could find him. The imponant charge of the telephone was also to be in P'ulton's trust, and he was to an- swer all calls through the night. In concluding her directions Diane acknowledged her relief in having two lieutenants on whose silence, energy, and tact she could so thoroughly depend. She committed the matter to their hands not merely as to Mr. Pruyn's butler and valet, but as to his trusted friends, and in that capacity she was sure they would do their duty and hold their tongues. In a similar spirit, when she arrived, about half- past nine, at the Bay Tree Inn, she asked for the manager, and took him into her confidence. A runaway marriage, she informed hin., had been planned to take place that very night at Lakefield, and she had come there as the companion and friend of a motherless girl, her object being to post- pone the ceremony. The manager listened with sympathy, and prom- ised his help. As a matter of fact, a gentleman had arrived, driving his own motor, that very afternoon. He had put the machine in the garage, and taken a room, but had not registered. Their season hay- ing scarcely begun, and the bote! being emp^, they were somewhat careless about such formalities, 266 THE I N N E R_ SHRINE He could only say that the young man was tall fair, and slender, and seemed to be a ZT ^ means. He believed, too, that aV rh ^ ^ '^ he was smoking on thTterrace K^' '"T '"'""'" If Diane had not come un h T ''"' '^'^'• must have met him 71 r^ u^ ^"°'^'' ""^y '^ - and see roiTeVsef Je/ras thVX she was looking for or not. ^ Being tolerably sure of that already. Diane ore- wodd aTkr'''"^ '" arrangement ,r7 Z would ask for a room as near as possible to the mam door of the hotel, so that when ^heyimrial arnved she could be ushered directly into i .^S tuna^ely the establishment was able to offer her exacdy what she required, one of the invalids' suit« which were a special feature of the house-a litde sittmg-room and bedroom for the use of person, whose mfirmmes made a long walk between their own_ apanments and the sun-parlor inadvisable Having inspected and accepted it. Diane bathed her face and smoothed her hair, after which she stepped out to confront Mr. Wappinger "^ XX SHE saw him at the end of the terrace, peering through the moonlight^ down tlie driveway. She did not go forward to meet him, but waited un- til he turned in her direction. She knew that at a distance, and especially at night, her own figure might seem not unlike Dorothea's, and calculated on that effect She divined his start of astonishment on catching sight of her by the abrupt jerk of his head and the way in which he half threw up his hands. When he began coming forward, it was with a slow, interrogative movement, as though he were asking how she had come there, in disregard of their preconcerted signals. Some exclamation was already on his lips, when, by the light stream- ing from the windows of the hotel, he saw his mis- take, and paused. "Good-evening, Mr. Wappinger. What »n ex traordinary meeting!" Priding himself on his worldly wisdom, Carli Wappinger never allowed himself to be caught by •iny trick of feminine finesse. On the present occa- sion he stood stock-still and silent, eying Diane as 268 TJl E INNER S fT T ijjjjT^ a bird eyes a trap before hopping into it. Though he knew her as a friend to Dorothea and himself. he knew her as a subtle friend, hiding under her sympathy many of those kindly devices which ex- perience keeps to foil the young. He did not com- plam of her for that, finding it legitimate that she should avad herself of what he called "the stock m trade of a chaperon"; while it had often amused hjm to out^yit her. But now it was a matter of Greek meeting Greek, and she must be given to understand that he was the stronger. How she had discovered their plans he did not stop to diink; but he must make it plain to her that he was not duped into ascribing her presence at Lakefield to an -cident Is It an extraordinary meeting, Mrs. veieth— tor you r "No. not for me." Diane replied, readily. "I only thought it might be— for you." "Then I'll admit that it is." "But I hoped, too." she continued, moving a lit- tie nearer to him. " my coming might be in the way of a— pleasant uprise." 'Oh yes; certainly; very pleasant-very pleas- ant indeed." ' '^ "I'm a good deal relieved to hear you say that, Mr. Wappinger." she said, "because there was a possibility that you mightn't like it " "Whether I like it or not." he said, warily, "will depend upon your motive." •* 269 THE INNE R S HRI NE " I don't tliink you'll find any fault with that. I came because I thought I could help Dorothea. I hoped I might be able indirectly to help you, too." "What makes you think we're in need of help V She came near enough for him to see her smile. "Because, until after you're married, you'll both be in an embarrassing position." "There are worse things in the world than that." "Not many. I can hardly imagine two people like Dorothea and yourself more awkwardly placed than you'll be from the minute she arrives. Re- member, you're not Strephon and Qiioe in a pasto- ral; you're two most sophisticated members of a most sophisticated set, who scarcely know how to walk about excepting according to the rules of a code of etiquette. Neither of you was made for escapade, and I'm sure you don't like it any more than she will." "And so you've come to relieve the situation ?" "Exactly." "And for anything elsef" "What else should I come for?" "You might have come for — two or three things." "One of which would be to interfere with your plans. Well, I haven't. If I had wanted to do that; I could have done it long ago. I'll tell you zjo r^-4 ^LP.^ ^ f r^ M R SHRINE outright that Mr. Pruyn requested me more than once to put a stop to your acquaintance with Doro- thea, and I refused. I refused at first because I didn't think it wise, and afterward because I hked you. I kept on refusing because I cam- to see in the end that you were bom to marry Dorothea, and that no one else would ever suit her I'm here this evening because I believe that still, and I want vou to be happy." ' "Did you think your coming would make ui happier f" "In the long run-yes. You may not see it to- night, but you will to-morrow. You can't imagine that I would run the risk of forcing myself upon you unless I was sure there was something I could do. •^ "Well, what is it.?" "It isn't much, and yet it's a great deal. When you and Dorothea are married I want to go with you. I want to be there. I don't want her to go friendless, men she goes back to town tcvmorrow, and everything has to be explained, I want her to be able to say that I was beside her. I know that mine is not a name to carry much authority, but I m a woman— a woman who has held a position of responsibility, almost a mother's place, toward Do- rothea herself— and there are moments in life when any kind of woman is better than none at all. You may not see it just now, but—" 271 THE INNER SHRIN E "Oh yes, I do," he said, slowly; "only when you've gone in for an unconventional thing you might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb." "I don't agree with you. Nothing more than the unconventional requires a nicely discriminating taste; and it's no use being more violent than you can help. You and Dorothea are making a match that sets the rules of your world at defiance, but you may as well avail yourselves of any little miti- gation that comes to hand. Life is going to be hard enough for you as it is — " "Oh, I don't know about that. They can't do anything to us — " "Not to you, perhaps, because you're a man. But they can to Dorothea, and they will. This is just one of those queer situations in which you'll get the credit and she'll get the blame. You can always make a poem on Young Lochinvar, when it's less easy to approve of the damsel who springr to the pillion behind him. I c' )n't pretend to ac- count for this idiosyncrasy of human nature; I merely state it as a fact. Society will forget that you ran away with Dorothea, but it will never for- get that she ran away with you." "H'm!" "But I don't see that that need distress you. You wouldn't care; and as for Dorothea, she s got the pluck of a soldier. Depend upon it, she sees the whole situation already, and is prepared to face 272 THE INNER SHRINE it That's part of the difference between a woman and a man. Tou can go into a thing liice this with- out looking ahead, because you know that, what- ever the opposition, you can keep it down. A woman is too weak for that. She must count every danger beforehand. Dorothea has done that. This isn't going to be a leap in the dark for her; it wouldn't be for any girl of her intelligence and social instincts. She knows what she's doing, and she's doing it for you. She has made her sacrifice, and made it willingly, before she consented to take this step at all. She crossed her Rubicon without saying anything to you about it, and you needn't consider her any more." "Well, I like that!" he said, in an injured tone, thrusting his hands into his overcoat pockets and beginning to move along the terrace. "Yes; I thought you would," she agreed, walk- ing by his side. "It shows what she's willing to give up for you. It shows even more than that. It shows how she loves you. Dorothea is not a girl who holds society lightly, and if she renounces it — " "Oh, but, come now, Mrs. Eveleth! It isn't going to be as bad as that." "It isn't going to be as bad as anything. Bad is not the word. When I speak of renouncing society, of course I only mean renouncing — the ben. There will always be some people 273 THE INNER SHRINE Well, you remember Dumas' comparison of the sixpenny and the six-shiiling peaciies. If you can'« have the latter, you will be able to afford the former." They walked on in rilence to the end of the ter- race, and it was not till after they had turned that the young man spoke again. "1 believe you're overdrawing it," he said, with some decision. ^ "Isn't it you who are overdrawing what I mean ? I'm simply trying to say that while things won't be very pleasant for you, they won't be worse than you can easily bear— especially when Dorothea has steeled herself to them in advance. I repeat, too, that, poor as I am, my presence will be taken as' safeguarding some of the proprieties people expect one to obser»'e. I speak of my presence, but, after all, you may have provided yourself with some one better. I didn't think of that." "No; there's no one." "Then Dorothea is coming all alone?" "Reggie Bradford is bringing her— if you warn to know." "By the ten- five train?" "No; in his motor." "How very convenient these motors arel And has she no companion but Mr. Bradford ?" "She hasn't any companion at all. She doesn't even know that the man driving the machine u 274 THE I N N E SHRINE Reggie. He thought that, ^jing veiy slowly, as he promised to do, to avoid all chances of accident, they might arrive by eleven." "And Dorothea was to be alone here with you two men ? ^ "Well, you see, we are to be married as soon as she arrives. We go straight from here to the clergyman s house; he', waiting for us; in ten minutes time I shall be her husband; and then everything will be all right." "How cleverly you've arranged it!" "I had to mike my arrangements pretty close," l-arli explained, in a tone of pride. "There were a good many difficulties to overcome, but I did it Dorothea has had no trouble at all, and will have none; that is," he added, with a sigh, at the recol- lection of what Diane had just said, "as far as getting down here is concerned. She went to tea at the Belfords', and on coming out she found a motor waiting for her at the door. She walked into It without asking question? and sat down; and that s all. She doesn't know whose motor it is, or where she's going, exc « that she is being taken toward me. I provided her with everything. S' e's got nothing to do but sit still till she gets here, when she will be married almost before she knows she has arrived." "It's certainly most romantic; and if one has ts •Jo fuch things, they couldn't be done better." »75 11 : THE INNER SHRINE "Well, one has to — sometimes." "Yes; so I see." "What do you suppose Derek Pruyn will say?" he asked, after a brief pause. "I haven't the least idea what he'll say— in these circumstances. Of course, I always knew — But there's no use speaking about that now." "Speaking about what now?" he asked, sharply. "Oh, nothing! One must be with Mr. Pruyn constantly — live in his house — to understand him. You can always count on his being kinder than lie seems at first, or on the surface. During the last months I was with Dorothea I could see plainly enough that in the end she would get her way." He paused abruptly in his walk and confronted her. "Then, for Heaven's sake," he demanded, "why didn't you tell me that before ?" "You never asked me. I couldn't go around shouting it out for nothing. Besides, it was only my opinion, in which, after all, I am quite likely to be wrong." " But quite likely to be right." "I suppose so. Naturally, I should have told you," she went on, humbly, "if I had thought that you wanted to hear; but how was I to know that ? One doesn't talk about other people's private affairs unless one is invited. In any case, it doesn't 276 THE INNER SHRINE matter now. A man who can cut the Gordian knot as you can doesn't care to hear that tliere's a way by which it might have been unravelled." "I'm not so sure about that. ITiere are cases in which the longest way round is the shortest way home, and if—" ' "But I didn't suppose you would consider so cauuous a route as that." "I shouldn't for myself; but. you see. I have co thmk of Dorothea." "But I've already told you that t' re's no occa- sion for that. If Dorothea has n ..e her choice with her eyes open — " "Good Lord I" he cried, impatiently, "you ta'k as |f all I wanted was to get her into a noose." Well, isn't it? Perhaps I'm stupid, but . thought the whole reason for bringing her down here was because — " "Because we thought there was no other way," he finished, in a tone of exasperation. "But if there is another way — " "I'm not at all sure that there is," she retorted, with a touch of asperity, to keep pace with his nsing emotion. "Don't begin to think that be- cause I said Mr. Pruyn was coming round to it he's obliged to do it." I' No; but if there was a chance — " "Of course there's always that. But what tnen r 277 THE INNER S H R I N E Well, then— there'd be no particular reason for m*h.ng the thing to-night. But I don't know, though, he continued, with a sudden change of tone; "we're here, and perhaps we might as well go through with it. All I want is her happiness; and since she can't be happy in her own home—" Diane laughed softly, and he stopped once more m his walk to look down at her. "There's one thing you ought to understand about Dorothea," she said, with a little air of amuse- ment " You know how fond I am of her, and that I wouldn't criticise her for the world. Now, don't be offended, and don't glower at me like that, for I must say it. Dorothea isn't unhappy because she hasn't a good home, or because she has a stem father, or because she can't marty you. She's un- happy because she isn't getting her own way, and for no other reason whatever. She's the dearest, sweetest, most loving little girl on earth, but she has a will like steel. Whatever she sets her mind on, great or small, that she is determined to do, and when it's done she doesn't care any more about It. When I was with her, I never crossed her in anything. I let her do what she was bent on doing, nght up to the point where she saw, herself, that she didn't want to. If her father would only treat her like that, she — " "She wouldn't be coming down here to-night. That's what you mean, isn't it i" 278 THE INNER SHRINE "Oh no I How can you say so?" "I can say so, because I think there's a good deal of truth in it. I'm not without some glimmering of msight mto her character myself; and to be quite frank, it was seeing her set her pretty white teeth and cimch her fist and stamp her foot, to get her way over nothing at all, that first made me fall in love with her." "Then I will say no more. I see you know her as well as I do." "Yes, I know her," he said, confidently, march- ing on again. "I don't think there are many cor- ners of her character into which I haven't seen." Several remarks arose to Diane's lips, but she repressed them, and they continued their walk in silence. During the three or four turns they took, side by side, up and down the terrace, she divined the course his thought was taking, and her speech was witli his inner rather than his outer man. i>uddenly he stopped, with one of his jerky pauses, and when he spoke his voice took on a boyish quality that made it appealing. "Mrs Eveleth, do you know what I think? I think that you and I have come down here on what looks like a fool's business. If it wasn't for leaving Dorothea here with Reggie Bradford, I'd put you in the motor and we'd travel back to New York as fast as tires could take us." "Upon my word," she confessed, "you make me 279 rMnhiTrrfflrm J' THE INNER SHRINE almost wish we could do it. But, of course, it isn't possible. There must be some one here to meet Dorothea — and explain. I could do that if you liked." "Oh no!" he exclaimed, with a new change of mind; " I should look as if I were showing the white feather." "On the contrary, you'd look as if you knew what it was to be a man." "And Derek Pruyn might hold out against me in the end." "It would be time enough, even then, to do — what you meant to do to-night; and I'd help you." He hesitated still, till another thought occurred to him. "Oh, what's the good? It's too late to rectify anything now. They must know at her house by this time that "she has gone to meet me." "No; I've anticipated that. They understand that she's here, at the Bay Tree Inn — ^with me." Ha moved away from her with a quick backward leap. "With you? You've done that? You've seen them? You've told them? You're a wonderful woman, Mrs. Eveleth. I see now what you've been up to," he added, with a shrill, nervous laugh. "You've been turning me round your little finger, and I'm hanged if you haven't done it very cleverly, 280 THE INNER SHRINE You've failed in this one point, however, that you haven't done it quite cleverly enough. I stay." "Very well; but you won't refuse to let me stay too — for the reasons that I gave you at first." "You're wily, I must say! If you can't get best, you're willing to take second best. Isn't that it ?" "That's it exactly. I did hope that no mar- riage would take place between Dorothea and you to-night. I hoped that, before you came to that, you'd realize to what a degree you're taking ad- vantage of her wilfulness and her love for you — for it's a mixture of both — to put her in a false position, from which she'll never wholly free her- self as long as she lives. I hoped you'd be man enough to go back and win her from her father by open means. Failing all that, I hoped you'd let me blunt the keenest edge of your folly by giving to your marriage .the countenance which my pres- ence at it could bestow. Was there any harm in that ? Was there anything for you to resent, or for me to be ashamed of? Is a good thing less good because I wish it, or a wise thought less wise because I think it ? You talk of turning you round my little finger, as though it was something at which you had to take offence. My dear boy, that only shows how young you are. Every good woman, if I may call myself one, turns the men she cares for round her little finger, and it's the men who are worth most in life who submit most readily to the 281 i! THE INNER SHRINE process. When you're a little older, when, per- haps, you have children of your own, you'll under- stand better what I've done for you to-night; and you won't use toward my memory the tone of semi-jocular disdain that has entered into nearly every word you've addressed to me this evening. Now, if you :i excuse me," she added, wearily, "I think I'll go in. I'm vety tired, and I'll rest till Dorothea comes. When she arrives you must bring her to me directly; anrl she must stay with me till I take her to— the wedding. My room is the first door on the left of the main entrance." She was half-way across the terrace when he called out to her, the boyish tremor in his voice more accentuated than before. "Wait a minute. There's lots of time." She came back a few paces toward him. "Shouldn't I look very grotesque if I hooked it ?" "Not half so grotesque as you'll look to-morrow morning when you have to go back to town and tell eveiy one you meet that you and Dorothea Pruyn have run away and got married. That's when you'll look foolish and cut a pathetic figure. As things are it could be kept between two or three of us; but if you go on, you'll be in all the papers by to-morrow afternoon. Of course your mother tnows ?" "I suppose so; I wired when I thought it was mo late for her to spread the alarm. But I don't 282 THE INNER SHRINE mind about her. She'll be only too glad to have me back at any price." "Then— I'd go." The light from the hotel was full on his face, ana she could almost have kissed him for his dole- ful, crestfallen expression. "Well— I will." There was no heroism in the way n which he said the words, and die spring disappeared from his walk as he went back to the hotel to pay his bill and order out his "machine." Diane smiled to herself to see ho,, his head drooped and his shoulders sagged, but her eyes blinked at the mist that rose before them. After all, he was little more than a schoolboy, and he and Dorothea were but two children at play. She did not continue her own way into the hotel. Now that the first part of her purpose in coming had been accomplished, she was free to remember what the comedy with Carli had almost excluded from her mind— that within an hour or two Derek Pruyn and she might be face to face again. The thought made her heart leap as with sudden fright. Fortunately, Dorothea would have arrived by that time, and would stand between them, otherwise the mere possibility would have been overwhelming. Yes; Dorothea ought to be coming soon. She looked at her watch, and found it was nearly eleven. On the stillness of the night there came a sound, a ?,8^ -Oi^ iSSi THE INNER SHRINB clatter, a whiz, a throb — the unmistakable roise of an automobile. She hurried to the end of the ter- race; but it was not Dorothea coming; it was Carli going away. She breathed more freely, standing to see him pass, and knowing that he was really gone. A minute later he went by in the moonlight, waving his hand to her as she stood silhouetted on the terrace above him. Then, to her annoyance, the motor stopped and he leaped out. For a mo- ment her hean stood still in alarm, for if he was coming back the work might be to do all over again. He did come back, scrambling up the steps till he was at her feet. But it was only to seize her hand and kiss it hastily, after which, without a word, he was off again. Then once more the huge machine clattered and whizzed and throbbed, rat- tling its way down the drive and on into the dark, till all sound died away in the solemn winter silence. 3na DURING the next half- hour small pracdcal tasks occupied Diane's mind and kept the thought of Derek Pruyn's arrival from becoming more than a subconscious dread. She informed the manager of her success with his mysterious young guest, and arranged that Dorothea, when she came, should spend the night with her. Then she put herself in telephonic communication, first with Mrs. Wappinger, and then with Fulton. She gave the former the intelligence that Carli had departed, and received from the latter the information that Sim- mons had found his m.aster, who had been able to leave for Lakefield by the ten-five train. These steps being taken, there was nothing to do but to sit down and wait for Dorothea. Allowing thirty or forty minutes for possible delays, she calculated that the girl ought to arrive a good half-hour be- fore her father. This would give her time to deal with each separately, clearing up misunderstand- ings on both sides, and preparing the way for such a meeting as would lead to mutual concessio-s and future peace. " 28c THE INNER SHRINE Physically dred, she took ofF her hat and threw herself on the couch in her little sitting-room. By sheer force of will she continued to shut out Derek fiom her though^ concentrating all her mental faculties on the arguments and persuasions she should bring to bear on Dorothea. She had no nervousness on this account The naughty, head- strong child that runs away from home does not get far without a realizing sense of its happy shelter. She divined that the long ride through the dark, with an unknown man, toward an unknown goal, would have already subdued Dorothea's spirits to the point where she would be only too glad to find herself dropping into familiar, feminine arms. At eleven o'clock she got up from her couch with a vague impulse to be in a more direct attitude of welcome. At half- past eleven she went to the office to inquire of the manager how long a motor going slowly should take to reach Lakefield from New York, assuming that it had got away from the city about six o'clock. Alarmed by his reply, she begged him to keep a certain number of the ser- vants up, and the hotel in readiness to cope with any emergency or accident, promising liberal re- muneration for all unusual work. After that came another long hour of waiting. It was about half -oast twelve when there waa a sound of a carriage coming up the driveway. It was probably Derek; and yet there was a pot- 286 THE INNER SHRINK ftibility tliat, the automobile having broken do»w>, Reggie and Dorothea had been obl.-ged to finish their journey in a humbler way than that in which they had started. Diane hurried to the terrace. The moon had disappeared, but the stars were out, and ihe night had grown colder. The pines surroundin|t the hotel shot up weirdly against the midnight sky, soughing with a low iiurmur, hke the moan o) primeval nature. Up the ascent from the main road the carriage crept wearily, while Diane's heart poured itself out in a sort of incoherent prayer that Dorotliea might have arrived before her father. The horses dragged themselves to the steps, and Derek Pruyn sprang out. Instinctively Diane fell back. "Oh, it's you," she gasped, unable for the in- stant to say more. "Yes," he returned, quickly, peering down into her face. "What news?" "Dorothea hasn't come. The — the other per- son has gone." " Gone ? How — gone ?" " He went away of his own accord." "That is, you sent him." ■ Not exactly; he was wiUing to go. He sun he'd been doing wrong." A porter having come from the hotel and seized Derek's valise, it was necessary for them to go in and attend to the small preliminaries of arrivaL 287 THE INNER SHRIN K When they were finished Derek returned to Diane, who had seated herself in a wicker chair beside one of the numerous tea-tables to which a laige part of the hall was given up. Under the eye of the d rowsy clerk, who still kept his place at the office desk, she felt a certain sense of protection, even though the width of the hotel lay between them. "Now, tell me," Derek said, in his quick, com- manding tones; "tell me everything." The repressed intensity of his bearing had on Diane the effect of making her more calmly mistress of herself. Quietly, and in a manner as matter-of- fact as she could make it, she told her tale from die beginning. She narrated her summons from Mrs. Wappinger, her visit to his own house, her arrangements there, her journey to Lakefield, and her interview with Carli Wappinger. Without making light of what he and Dorothea had under- taken to do, she reduced their fault to a minimum, turning it into indiscretion rather than anything more grave. She laid stress on the excellence of the young man's character, as well as on the prompt- ness with which he had relinquished his part in the plan as soon as he saw its true nature. In spite of himself Derek began to think of the lad as of one who had sprung to his help in a moment of need, and to whom he was indebted for a service. Not until Diane ceased speaking was he able to brush this absurd impression away, in the knowl- 288 THE INNER SHRINE edge that Dorothea, who should have arrived nearly two hours ago, was still out in the «' rk. That, for the moment, was the one fact to which everything else was subordinate. " I can't understand it," he said, nervously. " If they left New York by six, or even seven, they should have been here by eleven at the latest. That would have given them time for slow going or taking a circuitous route." He rose nervously from his seat, interviewed the clerk at the desk, went out on the terrace, listened in the silence, walked restlessly up and down, and, returning to Diane, enumerated the different pos- sibJities that would reasonably account for the delay. Glad of this preoccupation, since it di- vened thought from their more personal relations, she pointed out the wisdom of accepting whatever explanation was least grave until they knew the cenainty. When he had gone out several times more, to listen on the terrace, he came back, and, resuming his seat, said, brusquely: "You look tired. You ought to get some rest." The tone of intimate care reached Diane's hean more directly than words of greater import. "I would," she said, simply— "that is, I'd go to my room if I thought you'd be kind to Dorothea when she came." "And don't you think so ?" 289 THE INNER S H R I N E "l think you'd want to be," she smiled, "if ww knew how." ' "But I shouldn't know how?" "You sec, it's a situation that calls directly for a woman; and you're so essentially a man. When Uorotfiea arrives, she won't be a headstrong nm- sway g.rl; she'll be a poor little terrified child, frighN ened to death at what she has done, and wandng nothmg so much as to creep sobbing into her motln « f.fr'! ^"^ ^^ comforted. If you could only— " I H do anything you tell me." "It's no use telling; you have to know. It's a case m which you must act by instinct, and not by rule of thumb." In her eagerness to have something to say which would keep conversation away from dangerous themes, she spoke exhaustively on the subject of parental tact, holding well to the thread of her topic until she perceived that he was not so much listen- ing to what she said as thinking of her. But she had gained her point, and led him to see that Dorothea was to be treated leniendy, which wa« sutticient for the moment "Now," she finished, rising, "I J,ink I'll tak« your advice, and go and rest till she comes. That*! my door, just opposite. I chose the room for iu convenience m receiving Dorothea. You'll be sum to call me, won't you, the minute you hear th> •ound of wheels f" / «• 290 TBB INNER SHRINE He had sat gazing up at her, but now he, too, rose. It was a minute at which their common anxienr regarding Dorothea slipped temporarily into the background, allowing the main question at issue between them to assert itself; but it asserted itself silently. He had meant to speak, but he could only look. She had meant to withdraw, but she remained to return his look with the lingering, quiet, steady gaze which time and place and cir- cumstance seemed to make the most natural mode of expression for the things that were vital between them. What passed thus defied all analysis of thought, ?s well as all utterance in languagr, but it was understood by each in his or her own way. To her it was the greeting and farewell of soul^ in different spheres, who again pass one another in space. For him it was the dumb, stifled ciy of nature, the clai'Ti of a heart demanding its rightful place in another heart, the protest of love that has been debarred from its return by a cruel code of morals, a preposterous convention, grown suddenly meaningless to a woman like her and to a man like him. Something like this it would have been a relief to him to cry out, had not the strong hand of cus .om been upon him and forced him to say that which was far below the pressure of his yearning. "This isn't the time to talk about what I owe you," he said, feeling the insufficiency of his words; "it's too much to be disposed of in a few phrases." 291 THE INNER S H R I N E ^' On the contraiy, you owe me nothing at alL" ** We'll not dispute the point now." "No; but I'd rather not leave you under a misapprehension. If I've done anything to-night- been of any use at all— it's been simply because I loved Dorothea— and— and— it was right. When It was in my power, I couldn't have refused to do it for any one— for any one, you understand." "Oh yes, I understand perfectly; but any one, m the same circumstances, would feel as I do. No, not as I do," he corrected, quickly. "No one else in the world could feel — " "I'm really veiy tired," she said, hurriedly; "I'll go now; but I count on you to call me." He watched her while she glided across the room; but It was only when her door had closed and he had dropped into his seat that he was able to state to himself the fact that the mere sight of her again had demolished all the barricades he had been building in his heart against her for the last six months. They had fallen more easily than the walls of Jericho at the blast of the sacred horn. The inflection of her voice, the look from her eyes, the gestures of her hands, had dispelled them into nothingness, like ramparts of mist. But it was not that alone 1 He was too much a man of affairs not to give credit to the practical abilities she had shown that night. No graces of person oc charms of mind or resources of courage could zgz 'I'll THE INNER SHRINE have called forth his admiration more effectively than this display of prosaic executive capacity. What had to be done she had done more prompdy, wisely, and easily than any man could have accom- plished it. She had foreseen possibilities and fore- stalled accident with a thoroughness which he him- self could not have equalled. "My God!" he groaned, inwardly, "what a wife she would have made for any manl How I could have loved her, if it hadn't been for—" He stopped abruptly and leaped to his feet, look- ing around dazed on the great empty hall, at the end of which a porter slept in his chair, while the clerk blinked drowsily behind his desk. "I do love her," he declared to himself. "All summer long I have uttered blasphemies. I do love her. Whatever she may have been, she shall be my wife." Out on the tenace the cold wind was grateful, and he stood for a minute bareheaded, letting it blow over his fevered face and through his hair. It had risen during the last hour, making the pines rock slowly in the starlight and sweUing their moan into deep sobs. As Derek Pruyn paced the terrace in strained expectation he was deceived again and again into the thought that something was approaching. Now it was the champing and stamping of horses toiling 293 !'H iiil THE INNER S H R I tf R up the ascent; now it was the bray and throb of the automobile; now it was the voices of men, con- versing or calling or breaking into laughter. Twenty times he hastened to the steps at the end of the terrace, sure he could not have been mistaken, only to hear the earth -forces sob and sough and shout again, as if in derision of this puny, pre- sumptuous mortal, with his evanescent joy and pain. So another hour passed. His mind was not of the imaginative order which invents disaster in moments of suspense, so that he was able to keep hi8 watch more patiently than many another might have done. Once he tried to smoke; but the mere scent of tobacco seemed out of place in this curious world, alive with odd psychical suggestions, and he threw the cigar away into the darkness, where its light glowed reproachfully, like a dying eye, till it went out. It was after three when a sudden sound from the driveway struck his ear; but he had been deceived so often that he would pay it no attention. Though it seemed like the unmistakable approach of an automobile, it had seemed so before, and he would not even look round till he had reached the distant end of the terrace. When he turned he could see through the trees, and along the dark line of the avenue, the advance of the heralding light. Doro- thea had come at last. She was even cIom upon 28+ THE INNER SHRINE them. In a few more seconds the would be alight- ing at the steps. He hurried inside to wake the porter and warn Diane. "She's here!" he called, rapping sharply at her door. "Please come! Quick!" There was a response and a hurried movement from within, but he did not wait for her to appear. When she came out of her room she could see from the light thrown over the terrace that the motor had already stopped at the steps. Some one was getting out, and she could hear men's voices. Advancing to a spot midway between her room and the main entry, she stood waiting for Derek to bring her his daughter. A moment li -r he sprang into the light of the doorway with features white and alarmed. "Go back!" he cried to her, with a commanding gesture. "Go back!" " But what's the matter ?" "Go back!" he ordered, more imperiously than before. "Oh, Derek, it's Dorothea! She's hurt. I must go to her. I will not go back." She rushed toward the entry, but he caught her and pushed her back. " I tell you you must go back," he repeated. "It's Dorothea!" she cried. "She's hurt! She's killed! Let me go! She needs mel" 195 THE INNER SHRINE "It isn't Dorothea," he whispered, forcing her over the threshold of her own room and trying to close the door upon her. " Then what is it f " she begged. " Tell me now. YouVe hurting me. Let me go! You're kiUing me." "It's—" But there was no need to say more, for the main door swung open again and the Marquis de Bien- ville entered, followed by a porter carrying his valise. At his appearance Derek relinquished Diane's hands, and Diane herself was so astonished that she stepped plainly into view. Not less astonished than herself, Bienville stopped stock-still, looked at her, looked into the room behind her, looked at Derek with a long, half- amused, comprehending stare, lifted his hat gravely, and passtJ on. When he had gone there was a minute of dead silence. With parted lips and awe-stricken eyes Diane gazed after him till he had spoken to the clerk at the desk and passed on into the darker recesses of the hotel. When she turned toward Derek he was smiling, with what she knew was an effort to treat the situation lightly. "Well, this time we've given him something to talk about," he laughed, bravely. She shrugged her sh./ulders and spread apart her hands with one of her habitual, fatalistic gestures. 296 THE INNER SHRINE "I don't mind. He can't do me more harm than he's done already. It's not of him that I'm thinking, but of Dorothea. She hasn't come." "No, she hasn't come." The fact had grown alarming, so much so as to make the incident of Bienville's appearance seem in comparison a matter of little moment. Diane remained on the threshold of her room, and Derek in the hall outside, while, for mutual encouragement, they rehearsed once more the list of predicaments in which the young people might have found them- selves without serious danger. Diane was about to withdraw, when a man ran down the hall calling: "The telephone! — for the gentleman!" Derek started on a run, Diane following more slowly. When she reached the office Derek had the receiver to his ear and was talking. "Yes, Fulton. Go on. I hear. . . . Who has rung you up .? ... I didn't catch. . . . Miss— who ? Oh, Miss Marion Grimston. Yes ? ... In Phila- delphia, at the Hotel Belleville. ... Yes; I under- stand . . . and Miss Dorothea is with her Good! . . . Did she say how she got there ? . . . Will explain when we get back to New York to-morrow morn- ing. ... All right Yes, to lunch. ... She said Miss Dorothea was quite well, and satisfied with her trip! . . . That's good. . . . Well, good-night, Fulton. Sorry to have kept you up." 197 THE INNER SHRINK He put up the receiver and turned to Diane. "Did you understand?" " Perfectly. I think I know what has happened I can guess." "Then, I'll be hanged if I can. What is itT 'I'll let them tell you that themselves. I'm too tired to say anything more to-night." She kept close to the office where the clerk wa« shutting books and locking drawers preparatory t» closing. "You must let me come and thank you — " he began. "You must thank Miss Marion Grimston,'' she interrupted, "for any real service. All I've done for you, as you see, has been to bring you on an unne<;essary journey." "For me it has been a journey — into truth." "I'll say good-night now. I shall not see you in the morning. You'll not forget to be vety pfinde with Dorothea, will you — and with him? Good- night again — good-night." Smiling into his eyes, she ignored the hand he held out to her and slipped away into the semi- darkness as the impatient clerk began turning out the lights. li XXII DEREK PRUYN was guilty of an injustice lo the Marquis de Bienville in supposing he would make the incident at Lakefield a topic of conversation among his friends. His sense of honor alone would have kept him from betraying what might be looked upon as an involuntary con- fidence, even if it had not better suited his purposes to intrust the matter, in the form of an amusing anecdote, told under the seal of secrecy, to Mrs. Bayford. In her hands it was like invested capital, adding to itself, while he did nothing at all. Months of insinuation on his part would have failed to achieve the result that she brought about in a few days' time, with no more effort than a rose makes in shedding perfume. Before Derek had been able to recover from the feeling of having passed through a strange waking dream, before Dorothea and he had resumed the ordinaty tenor of their life together, before he had seen Diane again, he was given to understand that the little scene on Bienville's arrival at the Bay Tree Inn was familiar matter in the offices, banks, 299 THE INNER SHRINE and clubs he most frequented. The intelligence was conveyed by a score of trivial signs, suggestive, satincal, or over-familiar, which he would not have perceived in days gone by, but to which he had grown sensitive. It was clear that the stoiy gained piquancy from its contrast with the staidness of his hfe; and his most intimate friends permitted them- selves a litde covert "chaff" with him on the evenL He was not of a nature to resent this raillery on his own accoi-.it; it was serious to him only because it touched Diane. For her the matter was so grave that he exhausted his mgenuity in devising means for her projection. He refrained from even seeing her until he could go with some ultimatum before which she should be obliged to yvld. An unsuccessful appeal to her, he judged, would be worse than none at all; and until he discovered arguments which she could not controvert he decided to hold his peace. Action of some sort became imperative when he found that Miss Lucilla Van Tromp had heard the stoiy and drawn from it what seemed to her the obvious conclusion. ''I should never have believed it." she declared, tearfully, " ,f you hadn't admitted it yourself I told Mrs. Bayford that nothing but your own words would convince me that any such scene had taken place." "Allowing that it did, isn't it conceivable that it nught have had an honorable motive f" )0O THE INNER SHRINE "Then, what is it ? If you could tell me that — " "I could tell you easily enough if there weren't other considerations involved. I should think that in the circumstances you could trust ms." "Nobody else does, Derek." "Whom do you mean by nobody else? — Mrs. Bayford ?" " Oh, she's not the only one. If your men friends don't believe in you — " "They believftjft me, all right; don't you worry about that." "They may believe in you as men believe in one another; but it isn't the way I believe in people." " I know how you believe in people if ill-natured women would let you alone. You wouldn't mis- trust a thief if you saw him stealing your watch from your pocket." "That's not true, Derek. I can be as suspicious as any one when I like." "But don't you see that your suspicion doesn't only light on me i It strikes Diane." "That's just it." ■'Lucilla!" he cried, reproachfully. "Well, Derek, you know how loyal I've been to her. It's been harder, too, than you've ever been aware of; for I haven't told you — I wouldn't tell you — one-half the things that people have hinted to me during the past two years." "Yes; but who ? A lot of jealous women — " •0 ^01 THE I N N E R SHRINE "It's no use saying that, Derek; because your own actions contradict you. Why did Diane leave your house, if it wasn't that you believed—?" "Don't." He raised his hand to his face, as if protecting hinrelf from a blow. "I wouldn't," she cried, "if you didn't make me. I say It only in self-defence. After all, you can only accuse me of what you've done yourself. Diane made me think at first that you had misjudged her; but I see now that if she had been a good woman you wouldn't have sent her away." "I didn't send her away. She went" "Yes, Derek; but why?" "That has nothing to do with the question under discussion." "On the contrary, it has everything to do with It. It all belongs together. I've loved Diane, and defended her; but I've come to the point where I can't do it any longer. After what's hap^ pened — '^ " But, I tell you, what's happened is nothing! If It was only right for me to explain it to you, as I shall explain it to you some day, you'd find yo.. owed her a debt that you never could repay." "Veij, well! I won't dispute it. It still doesn't attect the mam point at issue. Can you yourself, Uerek, honestly and truthfully affirm that you look upon Diane as a good woman, in the sense that w usually attached to the words ?' T HE INNER SHRINE "I can honestlj and truthfully affirm that I look upon her as one of the best women in the world." "That isn't the point Louise de la Valliere be- came one of the best women in the world; but there are some other things that might be said of her. But I'll not argue; I'll not insist. Since you think I'm wrong, I'll take your own word for it, Derek. Just tell me once, tell me without quibble and on your honor as my cousin and a gentleman, that yoH believe Diane to be — what I've supposed her to be hitherto, and what you know very well I mean, and I'll not doubt it further." For a moment he stood speechless, trying to formulate the lie he could utter most boldly, until he was struck with the double thought that to de- fend Diane's honor with a falsehood would be to defame it further, while a lie to this pure, trusting, virginal spirit would be a crime. "Tell me, Derek," she insisted; "tell me, and I'll believe you." He retreated a pace or two, as if trying to get out of her presence. "I'm listening, Derek; go on; I'm willing to take your word." "Then I repeat," he said, weakly, "that I be- lieve her, I know her, to be one of the best women in the world." "Like Lo se de la Valliere?" 3°3 THE INNER S H R r isr ^ "Yes," he shouted, maddened to the retort, "like Louise de la Vallierej^.'bid what then r He stood as if demanding a reply. "Nothing. I have no more to say." "Then I have; and I'll ask you to listen." H« drew near to her again and spoke slowly. "There ^ were doubtless many good women in Jerusalem in , the t.me of Herod and Pilate and Christ; but not the least held m honor among us to-day is-the Magdalen. That's one thing; and here's some- thmg .nore There is joy, so we are told, in the presence of the angels of God-plenty of it, let us hope!-but .t isn't over the ninety-and-nine just persons who need no repentance, so mur', , 'ver the one poor, deserted, lonely sinner that re- penteth— that repenMh. LuciUa, do you hear?- and you know whom I mean." With this as his confession of faith he left her to go m search of Diane. He had formed the ultimatum before which, as he uelieved, she should nnd herself obliged to surrender. It was a day on which Diane's mood was one of comparative peace. She was engrossed in an occu- pation which at once soothed her spirits and ap- pealed to her taste. Madame Cauchat, the land- lady, bewaihng the continued illness of her lingh-e Diane had begged to be allowed to take charge of the hnen-room of the hotel, not merely as a mean. 304 THE INNER SHRINE ef earning a living, but because she delighted in •uch work. Methodical in her habits and nimble with her needle, the neatness, smoothness, and purity of piles of white damask stirred all those house- wifely, home-keeping instincts which are so large a part of every Frenchwoman's nature. Her fin- gers busy with the quiet, delicate task of mending, her mind could dwell with the greater content on such subjects as she had for satisfaction. They were more numerous than they had been for a long time past. The meeting at Lakefield had changed her mental attitude toward Derek Pruyn, taking a large part of the pain out of her thoughts of him, as well as out of his thoughts of her. She had avoided seeing him after that one night, and she had heard nothing from him since; but she knew it was impossible for him to go on thinking of her altogether harshly. She had been useful to him; she had saved Dorothea from a great mistake; she had done it in such a way that no hint of the escapade was likely to become known outside of the few who had taken part in it; she had put herself in a relation toward him which, as a final one, was much to be preferred to that which had existed before. She could therefore pass out of his life more satisfied than she had dared hope to be with the effect that she had had upon it. As she stitched she sighed to herself with a certain comfort, when, glancing up, she saw him standing at the door. 305 THE INNER SHRINE The nature of her thoughts, coupled with hi» ludden appearance, drew to her lips a quiet smile. "They shouldn't have shown you in here," sh« protested, gently, letting her work fall to her lap, but not rising from her place. "I insisted," he explained, briefly, from the threshold. "You can come in," she smiled, as he continued to stand in the doorway. "You can even sit down." She pointed to a chair, not far from her own, going on again with her stitching, so as to avoid the necessity for further greeting. "I sup- pose you wonder what I'm doing," she pursued, when he had seated himself. "I'm not wondering at that so much as whether you ought to be doing it." "I can relieve your mind on that score. It's a case, too, in which duty and pleasure jump to- gether; for the delight of handling beautiful linen is like nothing else in the world." "It seems to me like servants' work," he said, bluntly. "Possibly; but I can do servants' work at r pinch — especially when I like it" "I don't," he declared. " But then you don't have to do it.** "I mean that I don't like it for you." "Even so, you wouldn't forbid my cooing i^ would you?" 306 THE IN R SHRINE "I wish I had t' '; 'ight to. I've come here this afternoon to ask j^u -igiin it you won't give it to me." For a few minutes she stitched in silence. When she spoke it was without stopping her work or lift- ing her head. "I'm soriy that you should raise that question again. I thought it was settled." "Supposing it was, it can be reopened — if there't a reason." " But there is none." "That's all you know about it. There's a verjr important reason." " Since — ^when ?" "Since Lakefield." "Do you mean anything that Monsieur de Bien<' ville may have said ?" "I do." "That wouldn't be a reason — ^for me." "But you don't know — " "I can imagine. Monsieur de Bienville has a^ ready done me all the harm he can. It's beyond his power to hun me any more." " But, Diane, you don't know what you're saying. You don't know what he's doing. He's — he's — I hardly know how to put it — He's destroying yoiK reputation." She glanced up with a smile, ceasing for an iii< to sew. 307 THE INNER S H R 1 N B "You mean, he's destroying what's left of it Well, he's welcome! There was so little oi it—" "For God's sake, Diane, don't say that; it breaks my heart. You must consider the position that you put me in. After you've rendered me one of the greatest services one person can do another, do you think I can sit quietly by while you are being robbed of the dearest thing in life, just because you did it?" ^ "1 should be sorry to think the opinion other people hold of me to be the dearest thing m life; but, even if it were, I'd willingly give it up for— Dorothea." "It isn't for Dorothea; it's for me." " Well, wouldn't you let me do it— for you ? I'm not of much use in the world, but it would make me a little happier to think I could do any one a good turn without being promised a reward." "A rewardl Oh, Diane!" "It's what you're offering me, isn't it? If it hadn't been for- for— the great servica you speak about, you wouldn't he here, asking me again to be your wife." "That's your way of putting it, but I'll put it in mine. If it hadn't been for the magnitude of the sacrifice you're willing to make foi me, I shouldn't have dared to hope that you loved me. When all pretexts and secondaiy causes have been considered and thrust aside, that's why I'm here. 308 THE INNER SHRINE and for no other reason whatever. If you love me," he continued, "why should you hesitate any longer? If you love me, why seek for reasons to justify the simple prompting of your heart ? What have you and I got to do with other people's opin- ions ? When there's a plain, straightforward course before us, why not go right on and follow it ?" She raised her eyes for one brief glance. "You forget." The words were spoken quietly, but they startled him. "Yes, Diane; I do forget. Rather, there's noth- ing left for me to remember. I know what you'd have me recall. I'll speak of it this once more, to be silent on the subject forever. I want you to forgive me. I want to tell you that I, too, have repented." "Repented of what?" " Of the wrong I've done you. I believe your soul to be as white as all this whiteness around you." "Then," she continued, questioning gently, "you've changed you- point of view during the last six months ?" " I have. You charged me then with being will- ing to come down to your level; now I'm asking you to let me climb up to it. I see that I was a self-righteous Pharisee, and that the true man is he who can smite his breast and say, God be merci< ful to me a sinnerl" 309 ly THE INNER S H R I N E "A sinner — like me." "I^tJon't want to be lej into further explana- tions, he said, suddenly on his guard against her .ns.nuat.ons. "You and I have said too much to each other not to be able to be frank. Now I've been frank enough. You've understood what I've telt at other times; you understand what I feel to- pSnl 1"^ *"" °'"' '° '"^''' "'^ 'P"*^ ""^"^ "t7t ""? "°' "^""^'"S yo" °"t." she declared. It 1 ask you a question or two, it was to show you that not even the woman that you take me for -not even the forgiven penitent-could be a good wife for you. I can't marry you, Mr. Pruyn I miKt beg you to let that answer be decisive " There was decision in the way in which she lolded her work and smoothed the wliite brocaded surface in her lap. There was decision, too. in the quickness with which he rose a»d stood lookine down at her. For a second she expected him to turn from her, as he had turned once before, and leave her with no explanation beyond a few laconic words She held her breath while she awaited them. Ihen that means," he said, at last, "that you put me in the position of taking all, while you give "I don't put you in any position whatever. The arcumstances are not of my making. They are as much beyond my control as they are beyond yours." 310 THE INNER SHRINE "They're not wholly beyond mine. If there ar« some things I can't do, there are some I can p». vent. "^ "What things?" His tone alarmed her, and she struggled to her tccc "You're willing to make me a great sacrifice; but at least I can refuse to accept it." "What do you mean.?" She moved slightly back from him, behind the protection of one of u.e tables piled breast-high with its white load You re wilhng to lose for me the last vestige ot your good name — " "I don't care anything about that," she said, hurriedly. " But I do. I won't let you." "How can you stop me?" she asked, staring at him with large, frightened eyes. "I shall tell Dorothea's part in the story." "You'd—?" she began, with a questioning cry All who care to hear it, shall, /hey shall know W from Its begmnmg to its end. They shall Jose «io detail of her folly or of your wisdom." l^'You would sacrifice your child iike that?" Yes, hke that. Neither she nor I can remain so indebted to any one, as you would have us be to you." *' You— wouldn't— be— indebted— to— me ?" "Not to so terrible an extent. If it's a choke 3" THE INNER S H R 1 M » between your good name and hers-hers must ga ^>he d agree with mc herself. She wouldn't hesi- Ote for one single fraction of an instant— if she knew. She'd be grateful to you, as I am; but she couldn t profit by your magnanimity." "So that the alternative you offer me is this- I' can protect myself by sacrificing Dorothea, or I can marty you, and Dorothea will be saved." "I shouldn't express it in just those words, but It s somethmg like it." "Then I'll many you. You give me a choice ot evils, and I take the least." "u^' ^''^" '° "^^^^ ""^ ^°"'^ ''«— an evil ?" ^ What else do you make it.? You'll admit that It s a little difficult to keep pace with you. You come to me one day accusing me of sin, and on another announcing my contrition, while on the third you may be in some entirely different mood about me." "You can easily render me ridiculous. That's due to my awkwardness of expression and not to anything wrong in the way I feel." "Oh but isn't it out of the heart that the mouth speaketh? I think so. You've advanced some ex- cellent reasons why I should become j^our wife and I can see that you're quite capable of believ- ing them. At one rime it was because I needed a home, at another because I needed protection, while to day. I understand, it is because I love you." 3" THE I NNER S H P r M ^ "Is this fair?" ' "I dare say you think it isn't; but then you haven t been tried and judged half a dozen times, unheard as I ve been. I'll confess that you've shown the most wonderful ingenuity in trying to get me mto a position where I should be obliged to many you, whether I would or not; and now you ve succeeded. Whether the game is worth the candle or not .s for you to judge; my part is limited to saymg that you've won. I'm ready to mariy you as soon as you tell me when." "To save Dorothea?" "To save Dorothea." "And for no other reason ?" "For no other reason." ^ men, of course, I can't keep you to your "You can't release me from it except on one condition. "^ "Which is—?" "That Dorothea's secret shall be kept." '•I must use my own judgment about that." On the contrary, you must use mine. You've made me a proposal which I'm ready to accept. As a man of honor you must hoW to it— or be silent." "Possibly," he admitted, on reflection. "I shall have to think it over. But in that case we'd be just where we were — " 313 II THE INNER SHRINE "Yes; just where we were." "And you'd be without help or protection. ITiats the thought I can't endure, Diane Trr to be just to me. If I make mistakes, if I flounder about, ,f I say things that offend you, it's because 1 can t rest while you're exposed to danger. Alone, as you are, m this great city, surrounded by people who are not your friends, a prey to criticism and misapprehension, when it is no worse, it's as if J saw you flung into the arena among the beasts. Can you wonder that I want to stand by you? Can you be surprised if I demand the privilege of clasping you in my arms and saying to the world. This IS my wife? When Christian women were thrown to the lions there was once a heathen hus- band who leaped into the ring, to die at his wife's side, because he could do no more. That's my impulse-only I could save you from the lions. I couldn t protect you against everything, perhaps, but I could against the worst. I know I'm stupid I know 1 m dull. When I come near you. I'm like the clown who touches some exquisite tissue, spun of azure; but I'm like the clown who would fight for his treasure, and defend it from sacrilegious hands, and spend his last drop of blood to keep it pure. It's to be put in a position where I can't do Aatjhat I find hard. It's to see you so defence- "But I'm not defenceless." 3'4 THE INNER S H R I N E ■ -no- "Why not? Wliom have you? Nobody- body in this wo'Id but me " "Oh yes, I have." "Who?" She smiled faintly at the fierceness of his brief ^uesuon. "It's no one to whom you need feel any opposi- oon. even though it's some one who can do for me what you cannot." "What I cannot?" " What you cannot; what no man can. Asperges me hyssopo, et muniahor. Thou shalt purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean. Derek, He has purged me with hyssop, even though it has not been in the way you think. With the hyssop of what I ve had to suffer He has purged mt from so many thmgs tliat now I see I can safely commit my cause to Him." "So that you don't need me?" She looked at him in silence before she replied: ^•Not for defence." ^ "Nor for anything else ?" She tried to speak, but hor voice failed her. •Nor for anything else?" he asked again. Her voice was faint, her head sank, her bodjj trembled, but she forced the one word, "Na" XXIII "M ADEMOISELLE has sent for me ?" Bien. villa kissed the hand that Miss Grimston, without rising from her comfortable chair before the fire, lifcifl toward him. The hand-screen with which she shielded her face protected her not only from the blaze, but from his scrutiny. In the same way, the winter gloaming, with its uncertain lig^t, nerved her against her fear of self-betrayal, giving her that assurance of being mistress of herself which she lacked when he was near. "I did send for you. I wanted to see you. Won't you sit down ?" "I've been expecting the summons," he said, significantly, taking the seat on the other side of the hearth. "Indeed? Why?" "I thought the day would come when you would be more just to me." "You thought I'd— hear things?" "Perhaps." "I have. That's why I asked you to come." During the brief silence before she spoke agaiv 316 THE INNER SHRINE he was able to congratulate himself on his diplo- macy. He had checked his first impulse to come to her with his great news immediately on his re- turn from Lakefitld. He had seen how relatively ineffective the information would be were it to proceed bluntly from himself. He had even re- strained Mrs. Bayford's enthusiasm, in order to let the intelligence filter gently through the neutral agencies of common gossip. In this way it would •eem to Miss Grimston a discovery of her own, and appeal to her as an indirect corroboration of his word. He had the less scruple in taking these precautions in that he believed Diane to have justified anything he might have said of her. It was no small relief to a man of honor to know he had not been guilty of a gratuitous slander, even though it was only on a woman. He awaited Miss Grimston's next words with complacent expec- tancy, but when they came they surprised him. "I wondered a little why you should have been at Ukefield." "I'm afraid you'll think it was for a very foolish reason," he laughed, "but I'll tell you, if you want to know. I went because I thought you were there." "I? At three o'clock in the morning.'" "It was like this," he went on. "You'll pardon me if I say anything to give you offence, but you'll understand the reason why. On the day when we 3'7 I THE INNER SHRIN E all lunched together at the Restaurant Blitz — you, Madame your aunt, your friend Monsieur Reggie Bradfcird, and I — I was a little jealous of some understanding between you two, in which I was not included. You spoke together m whispers, and exchanged glances in such a way that all my fears were aroused. .Vterward you went away with him That evening, at the Stuyvesant Club, I heard a strange rumor. It was whispered from one to another until it reached me. Your friend Monsieur Bradford is not a silent person, and what he knows is sure to become common property. The rumor — which I grant you was an absurd one — ^was to the effect that he had persuaded you to run away and marry him; and that you had act- ually been seen on the way to Lake field in his car. "I was in his car. That's quite true." "Ah f Then there was some foundation for the report. Madame your aunt will have told you how I hurried here, about eleven o'clock rfiat night. You had disappeared, leaving nothing be- hind but an enigmatic note saying you would ex- plain your absence in the morning. What was I to think. Mademoiselle ? I was afraid to think. I didn't stop to think. I determined to follow you. It was too late for any train, so I took an auto. I reached the Bay Tree Inn — and saw what I saw. Foilhr' 318 THE INNER SHRINE A smile of amusement flickered over her graw features, but she made no remark. "If I was guilty of an indiscretion in following you, Mademoiselle," he pursued, "it was because of my great love for you. If you had chosen to marry some one else, I couldn't have kept you from It; but at least I was determined to try. Though I thought it incredible that you should take a step like that, in secrecy and flight, yet I find so many strange ways of marrying in America that I must be pardoned for my fear. As it is, I cannot regret It, smce, by a miracle, it gave me proof of that which you have found it so difiicult to believe. It has grieved me more than I could ever make you understand to know that during all these months you have doubted me." "I'm sure of that," she said, softly, gazing into the fire. " But haven't you wondered where I was that night when you followed me to Lakefield i" "If I have, I shouldn't presume to inquire." "It's a secret; but I should like to tell it to you. I know you'll guard it sacredly, because it concerns — a woman's honor." Though she did not look up, she felt the startled toss of the head, characteristic of his moments of alarm. "If Mademoiselle is pleased to be satirical " 'No. There's no reason why I should be satir- ical. If, in spite of everything, my confidence in 3'9 i"'l: THE INNER SHRINE you wasn't absolute, I shouldn't risk a name I hold so dear as that of Dorothea Pruyn." "Tiens!" he exclaimed, under his breath. "Miss Pruyn is a charming girl, but she's been very foolish. What she did was not quite so bad in American eyes as it would be in French ones, but it was certainly very wilful. If you heard rumors of an elopement, it was hers." "Mon Dieul With the big Monsieur Reggie.?" "Not quite. I needn't tell you the young man's name; it will be enough to say that the big Mon- sieur Reggie, as you call him, was in his conlidence. It was Reggie who undertook to convey Dorothea to Lakefield, where she was to meet the bride- groom-elect and marry him." "And then?" "Then Reggie told me. It was silly of any one to intrust him with a mission of the kind, for he couldn't possibly keep it to himself He told me while we were lunching at the Blitz. That's what he was whispering. That's why I went away with him after lunch and left you with my aunt. I saw you were annoyed, but I couldn't help it." "You wanted to dissuade him?" "I tried; but I saw it was too late for that Reggie wouldn't desert his friend at the last minute. The only concession I could wring from him wat that he should let me take his place in the motor." "You?" 3» THE INNER SHRINE "l drive at least as well as Mr. Bradford. I made him see that in case of accident it would make all the difference in the world to Miss Pruyn's future life to be with a woman, rather than a man." " Did you make her see it, too ?" "I didn't try. The arrangements these wise young people had made rendered the substitution easy. Dorothea had apparently considered it pan of the romance not to know with whom she was going, or where she was being taken. At the time and place appointed she found an automobile, driven by a person in a hig fur coat, a cap, and goggles. It was agreed that she should enter and ask no questions." "And did she.?" "She fulfilled her engagement to the letter. As icon as she was seated I drove away; and for six hours I didn't hear a sound from her." "Six hours? Did it take you all that time to reach Lakefield ?" "I didn't go to Lakefield. I took her to Phila- delphia. My one object was to keep her from meeting the young man that night; but perhaps that's where I made my mistake." "But why? It was better for her that she shouldn't." "For her, perhaps; but not for every one else. You see, I lost my way two or three times; though, as T had been over the ground twice already, I was 321 THE INNER SHRINE always able to right myself after a while. Near Trenton, Dorothea got frightened, and when I peeped inside I could see she was crying. As all danger was over then, I stopped and let her so* who I was." "Was she ang:y?" "Quite the contrary! The poor child was terri- fied at her own rashness, and very much relieved to find she had been kept from being as foolish as she had intended^ I got in beside her, and let her have her cry out in comfort. After that we ate some sandwiches and took heart. It was weird work, in the dead of night and along the lonely roads; but we pushed on, and crept into Phila- delphia between one and two in the morning." "That was a very brave act. Mademoiselle." Bienville's eyes glistened and his face lighted up with an ardor that was not dampened by the casual, almost listless, air with which she told her story. "It might have been better if I had let the whole thing alone." "Why so ?" "You can rarely interfere in other people's affairs without doing more harm than good. If I had let them go their own way, Diane Eveleth wouldn't have been put in a false position." "Ahr "That's the other part of the story. If I had known, I should have left the matter in her band*. 322 THE INNER SHRINE She would have managed it better than I. A» it was, she made my bit of help superfluous." "I should find it hard to credit that," he said, twisting his fingers nervously. "You won't when I tcU you." In the quiet, unaccentuated manner in which she had given her own share in the action she gave Diane's. Shading her eyes with the hand-screen, she was able to watch his play of feature and note how the first forced smile of bravado faded into an expression of crestfallen gravity. "You see," she concluded, "they were frantic at Dorothea's failure to appear. When you ar- rived they naturally thought it was she; and if Derek Pruyn hadn't lost his head when he s,aw you, he wouldn't have tried to thrust her out of sight as though she were caught in a crime. It was so like a man to do it; a woman would have had a dozen ways of disarming your suspicion, while he did the very thing to arouse it. I don't blame you for thinking what you did— not in the least. I don't even blame you for telling it, since it would •eem to bear out— what you said before. I should only blame you — " "Yes, Mademoiselle ? You would only blame me— r "I should only blame you if—now that you know the truth— you didn't correct the impression you have given." 3*3 THE INNER SHRINE "Are you going to begin on that again ?" he asked, in a tone of disappointment. "I'm not beginning again, because I've never ceased. If I say anything new on the subject, it ^ this — ^that it's time the final word was spoken." "I agree with you there; it is time for that trord; but you must speak it." There was a ring of energy in his voice which caused her to turn from her contemplation of the