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 MERRILIE DAWES 
 
 OF CALIF. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES
 
 BOOKS BY FRANK H. SPEARMAN 
 
 PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
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 'Mr. Adrane'," she exclaimed her eyes still on him but 
 her words for Annie "seems very worthy 
 
 of his good fortune." See page 27
 
 MERRILIE DAWES 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK H. SPEARMAN 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 ARTHUR E. BECKER 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 NEW YORK::::::::::::::::::::i 9 i3
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published September, 1913
 
 TO MY NIECE 
 
 GRACE SWINTON LEWIS

 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "Mr. Adrane," she exclaimed her eyes still on him 
 but her words for Annie "seems very worthy of 
 his good fortune" Frontispiece 
 
 TACING 
 PAGE 
 
 She drew her wrap carelessly across her wrist, but he 
 turned and, taking the garment from her, laid it 
 again over her shoulders 156 
 
 She rose to her feet as if choking. "I will never sell it. 
 
 It is needless to think of it" 256 
 
 "You shall all have your money," he repeated unwa- 
 veringly and without emotion. "In time I will pay 
 you every dollar" 302 
 
 2133001
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A)RANE'S engagement to Annie Whitney had 
 been announced in Florida and at about 
 the time the winter tide of travel was setting 
 northward. 
 
 An engagement to marry is always a topic of 
 mild interest even among people of indifferent so- 
 cial activities. In this instance the fact that John 
 Adrane, not a New York man, was but slightly 
 known to those of the circle in which Annie moved 
 as a favorite, contributed further to the interest 
 of the moment in which the topic was under dis- 
 cussion in Mrs. Hamersley's car. Mrs. Ham- 
 ersley regularly felt in New York the call of 
 the country and the sea, and early in the season 
 made what usually proved a wintry trip to one of 
 the two Hamersley country places, Crossrips on 
 Crossrips Island, a stretch of sandy, heathery 
 moors in the North Atlantic that Mrs. Hamers- 
 ley described as farthest New England.
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Amos Hamersley, when nearing sixty, was 
 widely known to his restless and dissatisfied coun- 
 trymen as a public malefactor and more accu- 
 rately to his philosophic wife as an extremely 
 docile though high-strung and irritable domes- 
 tic tyrant. Such a man would naturally find it 
 easier to arrange for his wife's customary spring 
 trip to Crossrips than to argue about it. During 
 a period of thirty years for the Hamersleys had 
 been going to Crossrips as long as that Mrs. 
 Hamersley had once found the island weather 
 in early spring delightful. Unluckily, it had 
 happened in one of the first years of the con- 
 siderable period, and Mrs. Hamersley, hoping 
 annually for another such spring, was usually 
 driven back to the city for another long interval 
 by cold winds.. 
 
 On this occasion Mr. Hamersley had timed 
 with the Crossrips visit a trip for the inspection 
 of certain New England railroad lines, over which 
 he and his New York associates exercised a benef- 
 icent despotism. 
 
 There was, too, a stronger reason than any that 
 might on the surface be apparent for this yearly 
 Crossrips pilgrimage before even the lilacs bloomed. 
 But one child, a daughter, Mary or Madge, had 
 been born to Mrs. and Mr. Hamersley, and that 
 early in their married life. Madge, with Mer- 
 
 2
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 rilie Dawes for her closest companion, had been a 
 child of Crossrips. The summer years of her girl- 
 hood had been spent at Crossrips. At eighteen 
 Madge had died, and her place had not been filled. 
 Mrs. Hamersley never urged the memory as a 
 reason for going with the first hope of spring to 
 the island. Amos Hamersley never alluded to it; 
 but he understood. 
 
 The travelling arrangements of the two, with 
 their added years and growing requirements of 
 comfort, had gradually become extended to a gen- 
 erous scale and usually included two cars. One 
 of these provided a dining-room and its accessory 
 equipment, and, in addition to a number of sleep- 
 ing-compartments, a business office. The other 
 afforded a reception-room arranged for Mrs. 
 Hamersley with a series of compartments en suite. 
 The rear of this car was given over to an observa- 
 tion-room opening on a canopied platform similar 
 to those in American observation-cars. 
 
 At the table in the reception-room, where a 
 game of cards was ending desultorily, Mrs. Ham- 
 ersley had been paired with Harry Drake against 
 Mrs. Julia Robbins and Arthur More. Mrs. 
 Hamersley herself presented an agreeable instance 
 of the well-groomed American woman in the fifties 
 whose almost white hair and composed features 
 supplied a dignity not invariably sustained by her 
 
 3
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 frankness of speech. But she had penetration 
 and underlying good nature; and her Southern an- 
 cestry was reflected in a pleasantly deliberate man- 
 ner of speaking a manner reaching almost the 
 confidence of a drawl rather than in any intona- 
 tion in her utterance. The measured ease of her 
 attitude on all subjects contrasted with the alert- 
 ness of her partner, Harry Drake, a man of thirty, 
 whose anticipating smile and rather abrupt nerv- 
 ous pleasantries concealed, among other things, a 
 diffident self-consciousness. Drake, as the only 
 son of the head of a large American life-assurance 
 society, without slighting social interests, followed 
 nominally in his father's business activities. Mrs. 
 Robbins, his sister and a childless widow of thirty- 
 five, kept her youth through an abundance of 
 health but lacked the good nature predicated in 
 her plumpness, and her rather prominent eyes 
 were inclined to be critical in their unafraid ex- 
 pression. 
 
 David Spruance sat near the table reading The 
 Wall Street Times. He was older than Drake 
 and quieter. Spruance had preserved, upon a sea 
 of extended American monetary venture when 
 men had come and men had gone as bubbles 
 raised and pelted by squalls, a poise unshaken by 
 the slings of fortune. He was a director in many 
 of Amos Hamersley's corporations, a counsellor 
 
 4
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 of approved judgment and of restful integrity. 
 He held without effort a position among men of 
 larger means because his qualities of character 
 were, Merrilie Dawes said, at a premium among 
 thieves. He had the confidence of intelligent hon- 
 esty, tempered at forty by the realization of more 
 than one surprising failure in his own underta- 
 kings and those of other men. This tolerant and 
 even attitude was echoed in his blunt speech. 
 
 Arthur More, if reproached for less of candor, 
 would doubtless have pleaded that a stock-ex- 
 change broker could not afford so much as Spru- 
 ance stood fast in; and that a broker must, while 
 he invites business from all men, smile and speak 
 with care on all topics. But because a man does 
 not always feel free to express his convictions it 
 does not follow that he is false to those he may 
 have. The only loss is perhaps one of attention 
 to the man himself when placed beside an out- 
 spoken man of equal sense and judgment. We 
 watch any intellectual spendthrift with more in- 
 terest than we do one that regulates his mental 
 outlay with discretion. 
 
 "You've met Mr. Adrane, Harry," suggested 
 Julia while the talk was on the engagement of 
 Annie Whitney. "Tell us about him." 
 
 Drake had little to contribute. "I've just met 
 him, no more," he returned. "Father introduced 
 
 5 

 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 me to him once coming from London. He was 
 trying to get father to buy some of his West Shore 
 Mississippi bonds. I don't know a thing about 
 him. Ask Arthur More." He indicated More 
 with a quick nod, laughed, and looked at Mrs. 
 Hamersley for approval. "More's his banker." 
 
 "But I can't really say I know Adrane," re- 
 sponded More, "except that he is a customer of 
 ours. He made a report on a Western railroad 
 for us once. That was about the time of his first 
 appearance in New York." 
 
 "Was it a good report?" asked Spruance, with- 
 out looking up from his newspaper. 
 
 "It was, because it was the only adverse one we 
 got. Adrane sent me, after that, a very unusual 
 Indian rug; something finer than any I have ever 
 found. I believe he is the only man that ever 
 gave me anything without trying to borrow some 
 money on the strength of it." 
 
 "He may be back yet," suggested Spruance. 
 
 "Well, for two intelligent men," Julia Rob- 
 bins dwelt mildly on the last two words, "both of 
 whom have met the accused, you have accumu- 
 lated about as little information as you possibly 
 could. I can do better than that. Partner, shall 
 we play to a heart? Thank you. I saw them to- 
 gether at Palm Beach last winter just before the 
 races." 
 
 6
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Then you can tell us what everybody will want 
 to know," said Spruance. "How much money 
 he has and whether he's handsome. The news- 
 papers made him a decent-looking fellow." 
 
 "If they did, they. flattered him," declared Julia. 
 
 "We needn't dispute long about what he looks 
 like," remarked Mrs. Hamersley, "for you will 
 soon have a chance to see. Annie and he are to 
 join us at Boston, with her mother." 
 
 "Then you will see I am right," asserted Julia 
 confidently. "And I don't understand yet what 
 his business is." 
 
 "Adrane is an engineer a consulting engineer. 
 And a promoter," said More. 
 
 Julia looked to their hostess for confirmation. 
 "You might call his business that," volunteered 
 Mrs. Hamersley. "But he is really a railroad 
 surgeon." 
 
 "You don't mean he cuts the arms and legs off 
 people!" cried Julia. 
 
 "Certainly not. Mr. Adrane operates on sick 
 railroads. The arms and legs come off the in- 
 vestors. You know," continued Mrs. Hamersley, 
 "Mr. Adrane and Annie met for the first time on 
 one of Amos's inspection trips." 
 
 "Does your husband take pretty girls along 
 when he is buying a railroad?" exclaimed Julia. 
 
 "Not when he is buying one. Sometimes 
 7
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 after everything else has failed he does when 
 he is selling one/' explained Mrs. Hamersley pa- 
 tiently. "Annie and her mother were with us on 
 that trip it was in the South. And your part- 
 ner, Mr. Kneeland, was along," said Mrs. Hamers- 
 ley, speaking to More. "I noticed Annie was 
 with Mr. Adrane a great deal in the evening, on 
 the observation platform. But I couldn't hear 
 what they were saying. After the poor man had 
 spent the day explaining things to Amos's cus- 
 tomers, I suppose he spent the evening explaining 
 them to Annie. It didn't seem irksome to Annie 
 to listen to technicalities. She is such an engaging 
 child, and asks such perfectly delicious fool ques- 
 tions. They just seem to melt in her mouth." 
 
 "Especially when she pouts," interposed Julia. 
 
 "Well, why shouldn't she pout?" demanded 
 Mrs. Hamersley. "Annie has the lips of a 
 cherub." 
 
 "But I should have thought Miss Whitney de- 
 signed by nature for a man of well, very large 
 means," ventured More. 
 
 "Every Western man is potentially a million- 
 aire, isn't he?" asked Mrs. Hamersley. 
 
 "And whatever Annie may be designed for, she 
 isn't designing at least, not all of the time," de- 
 clared Julia. 
 
 "Certainly not," observed her brother; "Annie,
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 whatever she may pretend, has a vein of ro- 
 mance." 
 
 "Like Merrilie Dawes," suggested Mrs. Ham- 
 ersley. 
 
 Drake jumped a little in his chair. "Like Mer- 
 rilie!" he remonstrated, opening his eyes. 
 
 "Merrilie is such a flirt," objected Julia. 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley turned the accusation to her 
 purpose. "She wouldn't flirt if she hadn't a vein 
 of romance." 
 
 "But Merrilie flirts differently," contended 
 Drake. "She won't flirt with anybody she knows 
 she can have." 
 
 "The more romance we have, the more we strive 
 for the unattainable," murmured Mrs. Hamersley. 
 
 Drake shook his head. "Just the same, Mer- 
 rilie is the last girl in New York I should call 
 romantic!" 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley stuck to her point. "I said 
 she had a vein of romance. But I never could get 
 you to see it, Harry." 
 
 "There isn't any to see. Merrilie Dawes," de- 
 clared Drake, "is a totally different proposition 
 from Annie Whitney." 
 
 "She is and she isn't. Annie is a little lighter- 
 hearted, gayer perhaps. Merrilie is farther- 
 sighted. She has her father's way of seeing things. 
 But that doesn't exclude the romantic. Every 
 
 9
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 woman is romantic. Isn't that true, Mr. Spru- 
 ance?" 
 
 Spruance answered vaguely. "Who knows 
 anything about a woman? Merrilie is like every 
 other woman a bundle of contradictions. She 
 is clear-headed. And she is hard-headed. She 
 has plenty of sense and in some things she is as 
 reckless as a flying-machine man." 
 
 "I remember Merrilie used to tumble off the 
 fence regularly when she was four years old," said 
 Mrs. Hamersley reminiscently, "in spite of her 
 nurses and governesses; and that iron fence was 
 no joke, you know. It is standing yet." 
 
 Amos Hamersley, tall, stooping, and quick in 
 movement, came forward from the observation- 
 room with the banker Benedict Havens. Ham- 
 ersley's rather deep-set eyes and questioning man- 
 ner were habitually committed to suspicion. He 
 was unfeeling in manner and earnest, even vigor- 
 ous, in contradiction. But his wife professed not 
 to be afraid of him. 
 
 "It must be a good many years since Merrilie 
 climbed fences," observed Julia; "neither she nor 
 Annie is so killing young." 
 
 "The two girls are distant cousins, aren't they?" 
 asked Spruance. 
 
 "Only by a sort of family courtesy," explained 
 Mrs. Hamersley. "Mrs. Whitney and Mrs. Dawes 
 
 10
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 were brought up as foster-sisters there's no blood 
 relationship." 
 
 "Well, Annie must be twenty-three by this 
 time," persisted Julia, "and Merrilie is at least 
 five years older." 
 
 "What's that?" demanded Hamersley, motion- 
 ing Havens to a seat; and the tone of his inquiry 
 promised objection. "Merrilie Dawes twenty- 
 eight?" he echoed. "Nothing of the sort. She 
 is twenty-five." 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley intervened. "Or is it twenty- 
 six?" 
 
 "Twenty-six!" repeated her husband with the 
 distant thunder in his tones that was familiar 
 when he was bargaining for a railroad. "Noth- 
 ing of the sort. Why, Kate, the girl is exactly 
 Madge's age." 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley nodded assent. "I believe 
 you are right it is twenty-five." 
 
 "Why age Merrilie prematurely?" asked Spru- 
 ance. 
 
 "Why, indeed, poor child?" laughed Julia. 
 
 "And why call Merrilie a poor child?" de- 
 manded Hamersley with continued vigor. 
 
 "Because Merrilie is weighted down with re- 
 sponsibilities," answered Julia Robbins, imitating, 
 undismayed, the hammering emphasis of her host. 
 "Merrilie has always seemed older than she is. 
 
 ii
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 And so alone; none of kith or kin except that ter- 
 magant old aunt of hers. I remember Merrilie's 
 saying once to father: 'Oh, but I'm sick of being 
 an estate!' It was pathetic, if you could only 
 forget that every one is just dying to relieve her 
 of her burden of affluence." 
 
 "She must be growing incredibly wealthy, isn't 
 she, Mr. Havens?" asked Mrs. Hamersley, con- 
 fident of annoying Julia and secure in Amos's own 
 monetary pre-eminence. 
 
 Havens took a moment to consider. As presi- 
 dent, within a few years, of one of the most im- 
 portant Wall Street banks, his opinion had come 
 to be esteemed of value on any topic of American 
 gossip. "No doubt," he said deferentially, "your 
 husband is better qualified to speak on that sub- 
 ject than I am. But I suppose the income of the 
 Dawes estate to-day must be equal to the income 
 of a pretty fair-sized railroad." 
 
 " It must be larger than the income of any of 
 Amos's roads," observed Mrs. Hamersley lazily. 
 "Otherwise, Merrilie couldn't dress herself." 
 
 12
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 WITH her words Mrs. Hamersley looked re- 
 proachfully at her husband. Amos, who 
 had begun a cigar, benevolently ignored her at- 
 tempt to discredit him. 
 
 Arthur More took up the topic from another 
 angle. "It is getting to be an interesting question 
 where this sort of thing is going to end," he sug- 
 gested. "When one man, and he by no means the 
 most widely known of our men of wealth, can ac- 
 cumulate an estate as large as that of Richard 
 Dawes, people will soon be asking what we are 
 coming to." 
 
 The subject engaged Havens. "They are ask- 
 ing it now," he declared unhesitatingly. "But I 
 never expect to see another estate like that of 
 Richard Dawes probated in this country." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked More. 
 
 "I think Dawes represented the period of cleav- 
 age in our thought between old conceptions of 
 great wealth and new. Wealth, properly speak- 
 ing, is not a personal estate, and shouldn't be 
 considered as such it is a civic responsibility." 
 
 Spruance started almost violently. 
 13
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Havens whirled on him like a flash. "Oh, you 
 will come to it. You'll come to it. Wall Street 
 as well as the rest of us will soon have to reckon 
 with what this country is facing." 
 
 Spruance looked up, surprised. "Excuse me, 
 Havens. I was looking at More's hand. What 
 is it hearts, More?" 
 
 "Go on, Mr. Havens," interposed Mrs. Ham- 
 ersley sympathetically. "You can't expect to 
 convert these down-town cynics. Go on." 
 
 "Our philanthropists, our public men, our 
 thinking men, at least, understand this," continued 
 Havens, his combativeness aroused. "And / 
 agree with the men who to-day are endowing our 
 institutions of learning, our libraries, our hos- 
 pitals, our foundations for research," he recited 
 rapidly, "that before long it will be considered a 
 disgrace to leave a great estate." He rose with 
 his declaration as if to go and leave only the 
 weight of his words behind. 
 
 "Don't run away," said Hamersley. 
 
 "I want to look over Adrane's report on your 
 Mississippi Valley line," explained Havens, with- 
 out dropping his tone of defiance. Then he drew 
 himself up. "All that I contend for," he resumed, 
 returning to his subject, "is that a man should 
 accomplish his philanthropies while he is still 
 alive." He shot a contemptuous glance at Spru-
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 ance and More. They were not great principals 
 in any game. 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley looked at Havens in immedi- 
 ate assent: "That is the only hope Amos can 
 ever have of a large funeral," she declared, "and 
 it certainly is the most satisfying way of adver- 
 tising your philanthropies. I tell Amos so con- 
 tinually, but he won't listen. I want him to 
 found at least a refuge for broken-down railroad 
 owners we might get into such an asylum our- 
 selves for our old age." 
 
 "The difficulty is," persisted Havens, ignoring 
 with a more tolerant humor Mrs. Hamersley's 
 pleasantries, "these selfish dispositions usually de- 
 feat themselves. Fancy leaving an estate like the 
 Dawes estate to an only daughter!" David Spru- 
 ance's neck reddened a little. "The almost in- 
 variable outcome," insisted Havens with con- 
 tinued emphasis, "is a foreign marriage, a cad of a 
 husband and a smash-up." 
 
 "Merrilie Dawes," interposed Spruance harshly, 
 "won't marry a cad." 
 
 "Don't imagine I speak of individuals " 
 
 "You imply them," growled Spruance. 
 
 "Merrilie Dawes happens to be a girl of unusual 
 character. But what I have said is unfortunately 
 notorious," exclaimed Havens, and without wait- 
 ing for a rejoinder he walked into the forward car. 
 
 15
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Everybody, at one time or another," com- 
 plained Mrs. Hamersley, "seems worried about 
 whom Merrilie will marry." 
 
 "Except Merrilie herself," said Spruance, irri- 
 tably. "She doesn't appear to be losing any sleep 
 over it." 
 
 With the conclusion of the game, Drake and 
 More went back to smoke. Julia Robbins ques- 
 tioned Mrs. Hamersley. "When is Merrilie to 
 be at home?" 
 
 "She was due yesterday. I expect her to join 
 us at Crossrips, you know. And the only way to 
 secure her is to kidnap her the moment she lands 
 from the steamer. The yacht was waiting for 
 her all day yesterday." 
 
 "And do you turn everything over to her 
 while she is here?" asked Julia of Spruance. 
 
 "Everything was turned over to her a year 
 ago, under her father's will." 
 
 "Dear me," exclaimed Mrs. Hamersley, "that's 
 so, isn't it? Merrilie will really have to join the 
 ranks of the persecuted financiers. She deserves 
 a better fate. David, you will have to advise 
 her." 
 
 "Merrilie won't need me. Havens will supply 
 her with advice," said Spruance. "All she need 
 do is to turn her affairs over to his new trust 
 company." 
 
 16
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "But, Mr. Spruance," asked Julia, "how did 
 Mr. Havens get to be president of the Atlantic 
 National when the Dawes estate is the largest 
 stockholder, and Merrilie doesn't like him?" 
 
 "Merrilie doesn't dislike him, I fancy." 
 
 "She does. She told me so. I think he tried 
 to court Merrilie before he married Annie's sis- 
 ter, Fanny Whitney." 
 
 Spruance proceeded to answer her first question. 
 
 "Carlos Whitney, Annie's father, the old presi- 
 dent of the bank, was put in by Richard Dawes. 
 You know he died suddenly. Merrilie was in 
 Paris. I imagine she let the choice go by default. 
 At least, she didn't actively oppose Havens he 
 was the bank's counsel at that time and had just 
 married one of the Whitney girls. He scared some 
 of the stockholders into thinking immediate action 
 to fill the vacancy was necessary." 
 
 "They ought to have made you president, 
 David," suggested Mrs. Hamersley. 
 
 "I'm not built for a pillar of light," returned 
 Spruance indifferently. 
 
 "Mr. Havens must have felt stung when he 
 found his father-in-law hadn't left anything," said 
 Julia. 
 
 "But he did leave something," amended Mrs. 
 Hamersley. "He left Belle Whitney, his wife, and 
 she would be an asset in any estate; one daugh- 
 ter to Mr. Havens, a very successful man, and
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 one now to Mr. Adrane, the newest luminary on 
 the industrial horizon!" 
 
 "It's mean to talk in this way about Havens," 
 remarked Spruance. "I can't tell why I don't 
 like him. Jealousy, no doubt." 
 
 "No doubt," assented Mrs. Hamersley. "Suc- 
 cess is the only thing there is any excuse for being 
 jealous of. It is only a few years ago that Mr. 
 Havens was Amos's lawyer, isn't it? Did any 
 one ever see anything like the rise of some men, 
 nowadays? My father," she continued, "used 
 to say a man ought to know all about a business 
 before he tried to run it. How the dear man 
 would turn in his grave to see the lawyers man- 
 aging everything now except the law business. 
 Why don't you get hold of a great law firm and 
 run it?" she demanded peremptorily of Spruance. 
 
 "I'm not a lawyer." 
 
 "But if the lawyers are going to run the insur- 
 ance companies and manufacturing concerns and 
 banks and everything, why wouldn't it be a good 
 idea for some one to run their business awhile? 
 Do you suppose Merrilie will go to Mr. Havens 
 with her estate affairs?" 
 
 "I should be mean enough to say, I hope not," 
 confessed Spruance, still indifferent, "but he will 
 get her if he can. Mrs. Whitney will throw her 
 influence that way, of course." 
 
 Adrane's report, produced by Havens, was un- 
 18
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 der discussion a few moments later among Ham- 
 ersley's associates whom More and Drake had 
 joined in the directors' car. These were three 
 men: Henry Benjamin, a banker and broker; 
 Henry T. Kneeland, a Standard Oil man and 
 partner of Arthur More; and Willis McCrea, a 
 sugar refiner, of Kimberlys & Company. These 
 business associates were to be sent back to New 
 York in Mr. Hamersley's car from Boston, whence 
 Mrs. Hamersley with her guests was to proceed 
 to Woods Hole to meet her yacht for the run to 
 Crossrips Island. 
 
 Opposition to the tenor of Adrane's suggestions 
 concerning the western railroad, then in difficulties 
 in the Mississippi valley, arose in the discussion 
 at once. Havens defended the report. He ar- 
 gued with McCrea and Drake. "Everything de- 
 pends, in a tangle of this kind, on the character 
 and capacity of the man behind the report. 
 Adrane," he asserted with his accustomed energy, 
 "is the best authority in this country in questions 
 of western railroad strategy. He has demon- 
 strated his ability again and again. His line down 
 the west bank of the river is the finest thing yet 
 done in the middle West its success is no longer 
 a subject of dispute. As a constructionist I put 
 Adrane in the very front rank of American en- 
 gineers. There are no two ways about it, gentle- 
 men, the Mississippi bridge alone 
 
 19
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Henry Benjamin, whose bright eyes were always 
 wide open, turned them slowly on the banker 
 and his enthusiasm. 
 
 "Havens!" he remonstrated, adjusting his spec- 
 tacles calmly. "Are you talking about John 
 Adrane or Michael Angelo?" 
 
 Havens, whose vigor knew no restraint, shook 
 his finger at the sceptic: "Every word true, Ben- 
 jamin every word." 
 
 "I hope it is every word true," assented Benja- 
 min, "but unless you want to blast the man's 
 fortunes, Havens, for the love of Heaven be a 
 little more moderate, eh?" 
 
 "If Adrane hadn't built his road down the west 
 bank of the river, our road down the east 
 bank wouldn't be in a receiver's hands," objected 
 McCrea . 
 
 Havens continued to hammer away: "That is 
 exactly why Adrane's report is of value," he in- 
 sisted. "He knows the whole situation. His 
 judgment is the best, his integrity I have never 
 heard questioned. I would rather have Adrane's 
 views on the reorganization than those of all the 
 Eastern men you could send out there." 
 
 At the South Station, Annie Whitney with her 
 mother and Adrane awaited the Crossrips party. 
 Mrs. Hamersley, as the young couple greeted her, 
 
 20
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 mentally decided they would do. Annie Whitney 
 she knew very well. 
 
 The girl Adrane had chosen was more than 
 ordinarily attractive, the men thought. She had 
 abundance of life and spirits in her rather petite 
 make-up. Annie's laugh rippled easily among 
 those who surrounded her. She never missed 
 any point in the conversation; or if she did miss 
 it no one was the wiser. For Annie could look 
 from one to the other of the group around her 
 with so much sprightliness and such humor in 
 her eyes and respond with such quick appre- 
 ciation in a laugh to any one's comment, that 
 she was always popular. With a perfect com- 
 plexion; blue eyes, clear and well-set, and a par- 
 ticularly engaging manner, Annie Whitney made 
 a charming feminine appeal. Adrane, Mrs. Ham- 
 ersley knew only as a young man who had once 
 offered to Amos for a song a railroad that he 
 afterward made him pay an astonishing price 
 for. 
 
 While Annie and her mother talked to Mr. 
 Hamersley, Adrane joined the men, who inspected 
 him with varying degrees of curiosity. Mrs. 
 Hamersley, always more interested in men than 
 in women, noticed the prudent scepticism of 
 More's manner toward the newcomer, the un- 
 affected indifference of Spruance, the fidgety 
 
 21
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 efforts of Harry Drake to ignore him; and over- 
 bearing all in the scene, the aggressive eye-glasses 
 of Havens and his cordiality in championing 
 Adrane and warming up the reserved atmosphere 
 of his companions. 
 
 Adrane was taller than the men about him, but 
 his sloping shoulders cost him the advantage of 
 his height. They conveyed an impression of 
 amiability rather than severity, and when he said 
 good-by to the New Yorkers, whose car had been 
 attached to an outgoing express train, he left 
 only the impression of a brown-skinned and suc- 
 cessful but familiar type of the man of affairs, 
 who always has something good to offer in an in- 
 vestment and always needs round sums of money. 
 It is certain that these characteristics were Ad- 
 rane's and it was also apparent that he had strong 
 sponsors for some of his undertakings. Even his 
 engagement to Annie Whitney corroborated these 
 impressions of success. Henry Benjamin was 
 smoking out on the observation platform with 
 Kneeland as their car rolled out of the station. 
 Mrs. Hamersley surrounded by her Crossrips cir- 
 cle stood on the platform of her own car. 
 
 A truck piled high with baggage and attended by 
 several porters was pulled in haste past Ben- 
 jamin and Kneeland and a second truck with 
 more of the same baggage was hurried after the 
 
 22
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 first. The trunks of many shapes and sizes, but 
 all of one color and all marked with the same 
 initials and "New York," attracted Benjamin's 
 eye. A baggageman, accompanied by a foreign- 
 looking man who hobbled stiffly after him, hurried 
 down the platform with a handful of transfer 
 checks, distributed bunches of them to the por- 
 ters, and all hands began rapidly to recheck the 
 two truck-loads while the foreigner, in a soft hat, 
 loose overcoat, and with yellow gloves, looked on 
 and repeated his injunction that the trunks must 
 go on the Wood's Hole special. "Now, whose 
 baggage should this be, More?" demanded Ben- 
 jamin, as Harry Drake coming up greeted the 
 foreigner. "Is Mrs. Hamersley entertaining the 
 foreign ambassadors at Crossrips?" 
 
 "No, Benjamin," answered More, watching 
 the scene before them with a traveller's interest. 
 "This baggage is evidently feminine. Don't you 
 see the hat-trunks? And everything on both 
 trucks is blue-black. From the markings, I fancy 
 this luggage belongs to Miss Merrilie Dawes. The 
 man, I imagine, is her courier."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 MRS. HAMERSLEY'S arrangements had not 
 miscarried, and her yacht, the Divide, lay 
 anchored off Wood's Hole when the train arrived 
 from Boston. 
 
 A few moments later, with Harry Drake at her 
 side twirling her parasol, Merrilie Dawes stood 
 in the sunshine on the deck. She had come up 
 during the night from New York with her Aunt 
 Jane, Mrs. Havens, and Mrs. Hamersley's secre- 
 tary, who had met Merrilie at the steamer. When 
 the train bringing the Hamersley car reached 
 the pier, Drake had found a little launch and 
 come off ahead of the others to greet Merrilie. 
 
 She met Drake with the familiar cordiality of 
 an old friend, but when they sat apart from the 
 others and he began to ask questions, Merrilie 
 gave him scant satisfaction. Her escapes were 
 good-natured, but they were constant. Drake, 
 simulating hopelessness, frowned and shook his 
 head: "The same evasive Merrilie," he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 Merrilie laughed unsympathetically: "Harry, 
 24
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 do you know you always chafe a little when you 
 are crossed?" 
 
 "You never can be serious," complained Drake 
 nervously. 
 
 Merrilie seemed indifferent to his annoyance: 
 "There's nothing to be serious over, Harry. What 
 an idea!" she remonstrated. "To ask me flatly, 
 the very first minute, whether I'm engaged! I 
 could be serious if there were anything to be seri- 
 ous about. But I am surprised at you, Harry 
 how did you happen to let Annie Whitney be 
 stolen away from you right under your eyes?" 
 
 Drake made a wry face: "Do you remember 
 what your grandmother used to say? * Far-off 
 cows have long horns.' I couldn't hold Annie a min- 
 ute after she saw Adrane. You haven't met him." 
 
 "No, and to tell the truth," confessed Merrilie, 
 "I am all curiosity myself. What's he like, 
 Harry?" 
 
 Drake grimaced again and hung his head: 
 "Don't ask me. Havens calls him deep," he 
 continued in his quick, cryptic manner. "I sup- 
 pose that's because he doesn't talk." 
 
 "I hate people that don't talk," declared Mer- 
 rilie frankly; "women, especially. And my ex- 
 perience is, that every one of these glum men 
 can talk fast enough when he wants to." 
 
 Drake was looking across the water: "Here 
 25
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 they come. Try out Adrane now, Merrilie. You 
 can make him talk if anybody can." 
 
 From the pier, the tender was rapidly approach- 
 ing with Mrs. Hamersley's party. Annie Whit- 
 ney and Adrane sat toward the bow and Annie 
 waved her hand eagerly as she distinguished Mer- 
 rilie with Drake at the rail. To Adrane, as the 
 tender drew alongside, Merrilie appeared unex- 
 pectedly slight. Her figure was delicate, her hat 
 small, her costume simple, and her hair drawn low 
 on her forehead as if to defend her eyes. 
 
 "How French she grows," complained Julia 
 Robbins at Adrane's side. Merrilie, in light, 
 clear, and rather high tones, was calling down 
 to Annie. Adrane would almost have said it was 
 Annie's voice. He looked on a moment later 
 while Annie embraced and kissed her foster-cousin. 
 The two were really like enough, he thought, to 
 be sisters. Both, it happened, wore white, both 
 were light-haired and both blue-eyed. But Mer- 
 rilie's face seemed very slender. Her cheeks fell 
 from slight temples and almost directly to a mouth 
 equally delicate, and a white, transparent skin 
 added to the sensitive air of her face. Her eyes 
 really dominated her features. They had sweet- 
 ness of appeal without any weakness of uncer- 
 tainty, and their note of frankness was strength- 
 ened and restrained by a well-moulded nose. 
 
 26
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 It was as Adrane was brought forward to be 
 introduced that he noticed a tinge of pink creep- 
 ing into her upper cheeks. 
 
 " This," she declared, looking at him, "is what 
 I have been waiting for!" She caught Annie's 
 arm as if to gain courage. "Mr. Adrane," she 
 exclaimed her eyes still on him but her words 
 for Annie "seems very worthy of his good for- 
 tune." She turned swiftly to Annie herself. "Do 
 you mind, if I congratulate you both, now, here, 
 before all the world ? " 
 
 Adrane, arrested at once, tried to talk to her, 
 but the others took her attention. She did 
 not, however, lose sight of Adrane; and in a 
 moment made for him the opening he was un- 
 able to secure. "It almost seems, Mr. Adrane, 
 as if we had met before," she ventured, breaking 
 from several questions put to her at once. Adrane 
 responded with the eagerness of one slow of ex- 
 pression. "That's what I wanted to suggest, 
 Miss Dawes. It couldn't be, could it? But I 
 should know you from your portrait." 
 
 "Pray, what portrait?" demanded Merrilie, giv- 
 ing him the floor against others talking faster 
 than he. 
 
 "One in which you are standing between por- 
 tieres one of them clasped in your hand; and an 
 
 expression of expectancy in your eyes " 
 
 27
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Adrane, as if conscious the others were listen- 
 ing, paused. Merrilie's eyes invited him to go 
 on: "As if you were looking," he continued more 
 boldly, "into the room at some one not seen in 
 the picture." 
 
 "Oh, that's Mrs. Hamersley's portrait," in- 
 terposed Annie. 
 
 "Of course," assented Merrilie, "the one that 
 hangs in the library with Madge's. I can't recall 
 the expectancy," she added, speaking swiftly, 
 "but I remember I hated the gown I made the 
 first sitting in, and Mr. Sargent wouldn't let me 
 change it; it never did fit." 
 
 "And I remember the expectancy," persisted 
 Adrane, "because I wondered who might be in 
 the room with you." 
 
 Merrilie's eyes lighted: "If I am not mistaken, 
 it was Harry Drake," she asserted, turning to 
 Drake to restore him to the conversation. "He 
 was an occasional visitor during those sittings, and 
 was usually saying nice things to Annie while 
 the two were waiting to take me down-town." 
 
 Drake burst into a laugh: "I never could have 
 inspired a look like that." To ridicule Adrane's 
 description he shook his head incredulously and 
 gave a disparaging emphasis to the last word. 
 "Must have been some one else." 
 
 "It's of no consequence who it was," declared 
 28
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Merrilie. " Do you know it's two years since we've 
 seen each other?" she asked, turning to Annie. 
 
 "And do you remember," returned Annie, 
 "at Calais you said you were never coming back 
 to America?" 
 
 "Annie!" remonstrated Merrilie with spirit. 
 "You asked me when I was coming home to stay. 
 I told you I didn't know and you said if you were 
 I, you would never come back. " Merrilie raised 
 her hand resentfully. "Don't you make me out 
 an expatriate." 
 
 "What kind of a trip had you over?" asked 
 Mrs. Whitney, whose voice had been made 
 high by a slight deafness. "Mrs. Hamersley says 
 it was rough." 
 
 "Not very; but some of us were poor sailors. 
 Ernesto was half dead with rheumatism when we 
 started. I wonder whether he ever got to Bos- 
 ton with the trunks " 
 
 "He did," interposed Drake. "I saw and 
 spoke to him. You should have sent them to 
 New Bedford." 
 
 "Oh, I know, Harry. I'm very stupid. Bi- 
 anca," she resumed, "Ernesto's wife " then 
 parenthetically to Adrane, and adding to her 
 words a leisurely, sidewise glance, "poor Ernesto 
 is severely henpecked has wanted for years to 
 see America. And this seemed her opportunity 
 
 29
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 for doing so without expense which is a prime 
 consideration with Bianca, who never spends a 
 centime. The very minute we set foot aboard 
 ship, Bianca fell seasick and never left her cabin 
 until we docked in Hoboken. And what do you 
 suppose, Annie, she lived on, the entire trip? 
 Champagne and pickled onions. And Ernesto 
 spent his whole time waiting on Bianca! He did 
 serve a few dinners for us, and we went to the 
 dining-room for lunch. And Rose," Merrilie lifted 
 her hands in pantomime as she recalled her maid's 
 plight. "My poor Rose! Of all the demoralized, 
 haggard, seasick creatures, dainty, fastidious 
 Rose was for one dreadful week the worst ever. 
 Annie," she added abruptly, "you haven't writ- 
 ten me for six months. Now tell , me what you 
 have been doing." 
 
 Annie looked perfectly happy at the question: 
 "Directly after the holidays we went South and 
 we've been back only a few weeks. I haven't 
 been doing anything." 
 
 Harry Drake, who was tall, looked over at Ad- 
 rane. "Then somebody else must have been 
 doing," he put in. "This thing didn't do itself, 
 did it?" 
 
 Merrilie intervened. "Oh, I don't mean that. 
 How did you spend the winter?" 
 
 Annie looked mysteriously wise and her laugh 
 30
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 seemed to echo something pleasant she had no 
 mind to tell. "John plays golf. And he won a 
 cup, Harry did he tell you?" 
 
 While Drake listened without interest not to 
 Annie but to Mrs. Whitney concerning the de- 
 tails of Adrane's trophy Merrilie turned to Ad- 
 rane himself. "I never could get Annie to tell 
 me anything. Evidently, you have succeeded 
 where I failed. And perhaps you will inform 
 me what Annie has been doing." 
 
 Annie struck her hands together. "Merrilie, 
 I forgot! We did do something! Mr. Hamersley 
 gave us this yacht for a trip to Panama he 
 wanted John to see the work." 
 
 Merrilie's interest waned the least little bit. 
 "How delightful!" she murmured. 
 
 "But we never got there!" laughed Annie. 
 "We ran into one storm after another. Every 
 one fell sick it was dreadful. The Gulf of Mex- 
 ico is perfectly horrid. It's a wonder we ever got 
 back alive. John can tell you." 
 
 "No," protested Drake, "unless engaged people 
 are willing to hire their audience they shouldn't 
 be allowed to tell their story." 
 
 "Oh, was that when it happened!" exclaimed 
 Merrilie, looking with a fresh interest from Adrane 
 to Annie. 
 
 "Engaged people," ventured Adrane, struggling
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 with a flat feeling, "have nothing to tell. They 
 are necessarily uninteresting." 
 
 "I know of no reason why engaged people 
 shouldn't be interesting," declared Merrilie with 
 positiveness. She held her sunshade, laid across 
 her lap, in her two hands. 
 
 "Engaged people," asserted Annie, "have closed 
 the first door on society." 
 
 Harry Drake lowered his head. "Do they 
 always keep it tight shut?" 
 
 "Engagements," interposed her Aunt Jane sol- 
 emnly, "are not as serious affairs as they used 
 to be." 
 
 Merrilie held her ground. "All the better for 
 the interest. Certainty is depressing. On that 
 account I never could get up any feeling for 
 arithmetic. After you have struggled unendingly 
 with a problem the answer is always the same! 
 How can you work yourself into a fever over two 
 and two making four? If they made something 
 different every time " 
 
 "Merrilie" her aunt spoke gravely "you 
 know you don't think in that way about engage- 
 ments at all. You are talking nonsense." 
 
 "So is every one else," retorted Merrilie. 
 
 "What does she really think, Aunt Jane?" de- 
 manded Drake. "Put her to blush." 
 
 "Merrilie," remarked her aunt, stiffly senten- 
 32
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 tious, "thinks an engagement to marry is very 
 sacred." 
 
 "But that's wrong," declared Drake. "An en- 
 gagement is only a try-out. It's to give people a 
 chance to change their minds. Until they become 
 engaged, they haven't any minds to change." 
 
 "Just the same, Harry," interposed Merrilie, 
 "they shouldn't change them." 
 
 Drake affected a warning. ' That may be used 
 against you some time." 
 
 "I expect," responded Merrilie composedly, 
 "if I ever enter into an engagement, to stick to 
 it. I shouldn't change my mind." 
 
 "But the man might." 
 
 She only frowned quizzically. "One would 
 hope, of course, to escape such a man. If his 
 word were no better than that " 
 
 "That's just the point," persisted Drake. "If 
 a man's word isn't good, better know it before you 
 marry him." 
 
 " Better know it before you are engaged to him. 
 However, if he should change his mind I should 
 console myself with despising him," asserted Mer- 
 rilie, looking calmly out to sea. The yacht had 
 headed east and the deck party broke up. When 
 Adrane saw Merrilie again toward evening she 
 was sitting aft with Drake watching the sunset. 
 The Divide had raised Madaket Head light. 
 
 33
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Merrilie, walking forward with the two men, 
 pointed the lighthouse out to Adrane. "You've 
 never been at Crossrips?" she said. 
 
 "Only once, to see Mr. Hamersley for a mo- 
 ment. We ran over in the night and back again 
 next morning." 
 
 "You don't know Crossrips, then. There is 
 something in store for you. My first walk is 
 always to the Madaket light. We call that our 
 light because it's on our side the island. Mrs. 
 Hamersley says Captain Coffin promises a good 
 day to-morrow." 
 
 34
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 EVERY island has a charm. Isolation itself 
 invites, suggests its possible mystery. But 
 the island of the sea has incomparably more to 
 offer than its inland cousin. The moving mys- 
 teries of the sea encompass it, its eagerness en- 
 croaches upon it, its angers threaten it. Cross- 
 rips, crouching in the winds and currents of a 
 stormy ocean, is without the bolder scenery of 
 the mainland. With a scanty and reluctant soil 
 and long stretches of barren moors, it lies with 
 white bars of sand shifting in the cradle of the 
 wind and the wave. 
 
 It does not at once attract the eye. And those 
 who, like Adrane, see the island for the first time 
 wonder why any one should become fond of it. 
 At the end of twenty-four hours the newcomer is 
 ready to leave. But at the end of a week he is 
 ready to stay on. To summer on it is to surren- 
 der to the moors not really barren, but covered 
 with groves of scrubby pine, patches of broom 
 and heather, and islands of wild flowers. The 
 seeming dead-levels of its landscape offer suc- 
 cessions of hills with shrub-covered slopes, car- 
 
 35
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 peted valleys, a depth of teeming swamps, the 
 smell of aldered streams, the surprise of fresh- 
 water lakes. An ample inner harbor shelters the 
 fishing village of the island a town of a thou- 
 sand people, its New England philosophy reflected 
 in a variety of small-town church spires. The 
 village boasts, too, a town hall with a tower and 
 a clock. It possesses traditions, and its fisher- 
 men have manned Nantucket and New Bedford 
 whalers. Crossrips is the very sea frontier of its 
 rocky mainland, an outpost that has not yet sur- 
 rendered to the gales of the north Atlantic, and it 
 looks with condescension on its westerly neighbors. 
 
 Outside the village a good part of the island 
 is included in the Hamersley estate. Crossrips 
 House stands on the summit of an elevation a hun- 
 dred feet above the water. Almost natural ter- 
 races descending from the house to the pier have 
 been made good use of by the gardeners, and the 
 possibilities of the ocean climate have been util- 
 ized in the shrubs and vines and flowering plants. 
 Roses and geraniums abound in their season. 
 English ivy grows everywhere and hydrangeas, 
 which flourish as nowhere else, make the late sum- 
 mer brilliant. A garden of hydrangeas leads up 
 to the wide, flagged terrace on which the house 
 itself, a roomy Italian villa, opens toward the sea. 
 
 The following morning made good Mrs. Ham- 
 36
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 ersley's reckless promise of a fine day. Merrilie 
 appeared for luncheon and announced her in- 
 tended walk to Madaket Head. Drake, Adrane, 
 and Annie went with her. Their path lay across 
 the golf grounds where Amos Hamersley was play- 
 ing Havens. The scant, close-cropped turf of the 
 fair greens made fine walking and the steeply roll- 
 ing hills afforded exercise. At the tenth tee, 
 which crowned the highest hill south of the head, 
 the party sat down under a \clump of young 
 elms. The sun was bright in the west wind that 
 ruffled the sea. Coastwise sail dotted the horizon. 
 Far to the south, outside the shoals, a fleet of 
 torpedo-boats was manoeuvring. 
 
 "Merrilie," said Annie abruptly, "I want you 
 to help me work out a color scheme for John's 
 new car to-night." 
 
 Adrane interposed. "Don't understand from 
 that that I've ever had a car. I haven't." 
 
 Annie persisted. "But he's a railroad president 
 now." 
 
 "Of a very modest line," amended Adrane. 
 
 "And he must have a car of his own, of course," 
 added Annie. "John is diffident." 
 
 "I hope you'll give us all a ride, Mr. Adrane," 
 suggested Merrilie. "When is it to be ready?" 
 
 Adrane laughed. "As yet I have only asked 
 for one." 
 
 37
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "But you are sure to get it," protested Annie 
 impulsively. 
 
 "I can't say that the directors seem carried 
 away by the suggestion," commented Adrane. 
 
 "Then they should be convinced of the impor- 
 tance of it," decided Merrilie promptly. "Have 
 they been apprised of your color scheme, An- 
 nie?" 
 
 Annie pouted. "Not yet." 
 
 "How, then, could they realize their responsi- 
 bility?" demanded Merrilie. "Let us have the 
 scheme." 
 
 "Well," began Annie with more confidence, 
 "my idea is a combination of browns." 
 
 "Good!" 
 
 "The mahogany could be finished in an antique 
 brown " 
 
 "Though I never saw it done," interjected 
 Merrilie. 
 
 "Why, just the plain old tone of John's hat." 
 Annie pointed patiently with her parasol at her 
 fiance. 
 
 Adrane tried to look unconcerned as Merrilie 
 scrutinized his hat. "Then, for the upholstery," 
 continued Annie, "an uncut velvet in otter- 
 brown." Merrilie nodded. "And a russet car- 
 peting with just a fleck of cream." 
 
 "Lovely!" exclaimed Merrilie. "No board of 
 38
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 directors could say no to that. If they should " 
 She tossed her head. "To the lions!" 
 
 "Merrilie talks about a board of directors as 
 if they were a crate of rabbits," grinned Drake. 
 
 "I think," observed Merrilie coldly, "I share 
 my father's prejudice against directors." 
 
 "You mean you like to have your own way," 
 retorted Drake. 
 
 "Who doesn't?" asked Merrilie innocently. 
 "Annie and I were noted for that even as infants. 
 Kennedy, our old butler," she explained to Ad- 
 rane, "used to call us 'Tis Too and Tisn't Either.' 
 We quarrelled continually." 
 
 "Because you were always getting me into a 
 scrape," declared Annie. "Even poor Edith could 
 never have her way. When she wanted pistache 
 ice-cream Merrilie used to make her eat vanilla. 
 You did do her a good turn, when she wanted 
 to get married, though," conceded Annie. "Your 
 father was pretty bitter over her marrying an 
 Italian." 
 
 "Edith," explained Merrilie to Adrane as she 
 rose to lead the way again across the fields, "is 
 my half-sister, my mother's daughter. Father 
 had no objection in the world to Guido. He was 
 opposed to all foreign marriages. Isn't such a 
 feeling ridiculous when America is a byword for 
 frivolous marriages?" Merrilie directed her ques- 
 tion toward Adrane. 
 
 39
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Drake dug his stick resentfully into the sand. 
 "It's plain whither Merrilie is drifting," he de- 
 clared with conviction, "when she alienates her- 
 self for two years at a time from her native land 
 and gibes at our most sacred institution." 
 
 "At your attitude toward your most sacred in- 
 stitution," corrected Merrilie. 
 
 "Any way you choose to put it," persisted 
 Drake, "she is certain to end by " 
 
 "Don't be afraid to say it," interposed Annie 
 "marrying a foreigner. I accuse her of it." 
 
 Merrilie, without much concern, appealed to 
 Adrane. She asked him not to admit this to be 
 the foregone conclusion that Annie and Drake 
 would make it. "I should say such, at least, is 
 the logical conclusion," remarked Adrane unsym- 
 pathetically. 
 
 "But," protested Merrilie, awakening a little, 
 "you don't want a woman to be logical, do you? 
 Can't I do some of these dreadful things Harry 
 accuses me of without pursuing my views to the 
 bitter end?" 
 
 "A foreign marriage for an American girl is 
 usually, I should imagine, a bitter end," returned 
 Adrane. 
 
 Merrilie flushed. "Oh, Mr. Adrane, don't tell 
 me that you share the silly prejudice against in- 
 ternational marriages!" 
 
 "Why, John" Annie laughed to set Adrane 
 40
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 right "you are forgetting you've just been told 
 Merrilie's sister made a foreign marriage. And 
 if Merrilie hadn't set her foot down, Edith would 
 have had to give Guido Mocenigo up," concluded 
 Annie. 
 
 "I am forgetting," said Adrane, directing his 
 confession frankly to Merrilie. "I am always 
 forgetting. Impose any penance you like." 
 
 "No," observed Merrilie with dignity; "we are 
 discussing the subject in general, not in its happy 
 instances. It is perfectly defensible without in- 
 voking particular cases." 
 
 "You got off lightly, Adrane, with * silly prej- 
 udice,'" said Drake. "Merrilie uses stronger lan- 
 guage at times. I've heard her refer to all kinds 
 of provincialism and even 'vulgar prejudice. " : 
 
 Merrilie declined to be baited. "Only when 
 Harry irritates me," she said. "And then I use 
 the word only in the sense of common the feeling 
 certainly is wide-spread." 
 
 "We hear so much," volunteered Annie, "about 
 the wretched foreign marriages and so little about 
 the happy ones." 
 
 "A Parisian surgeon put it to me better than 
 that," remarked Merrilie, still resentful of Ad- 
 rane's bluntness. "You complain," said he, "of 
 our worthless men. The trouble is, you send us 
 such worthless girls with your American fortunes.
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Show me a real American woman among us and I 
 will usually show you a happy foreign marriage. 
 Some such marriages are failures, undeniably. 
 But do your good girl's at home always secure 
 good husbands? If so," he added, "I should like 
 to send my own daughters over." Merrilie bent 
 her eyes on Adrane. "What could I do," she 
 asked calmly "advise him to send them to 
 America?" 
 
 "No doubt I am wrong," admitted Adrane, re- 
 turning amiably the challenge of her scrutiny. 
 But Merrilie perceived that he remained uncon- 
 vinced and his unexpressed persistence irritated 
 her. 
 
 At a little landing-pier on the beach north of 
 the lighthouse, Captain Coffin, with a day cruiser 
 and a catboat, awaited the walking party. The 
 wind was shifting to the north. 
 
 "Fraid you'll get wet going back in the cat- 
 boat," said Captain Coffin warningly. 
 
 "Oh, captain!" objected Merrilie, "don't tell 
 us we can't sail home." 
 
 "Might be little rough crossing the bar." 
 
 A consultation followed. It was concluded to 
 go back in the cruiser. Adrane held out for the 
 catboat. 
 
 Neither Annie nor Merrilie wanted to get wet. 
 Captain Coffin suggested Adrane might take the 
 
 42
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 boat around outside the bar. Merrilie liked the 
 idea; Annie demurred at the whitecaps. She pro- 
 posed that John should take the cruiser back and 
 let the captain bring the catboat, but Adrane de- 
 clined to be responsible for a gasolene engine. He 
 preferred to go outside alone with the catboat 
 and Captain Coffin helped him make ready. As 
 he was about to give the word to cast off, Coffin 
 hesitated. "If you go too far you'll get caught 
 in the east rip." He explained to Adrane what 
 the tidal current was. " Better to cross the bar," 
 he suggested, pointing the course. 
 
 The others on the pier listened while the two men 
 debated. Merrilie came to the rescue. "Why, 
 I know the east rip perfectly well, Captain Coffin. 
 I can take Mr. Adrane and all the rest of you 
 around the bar without getting into that." 
 
 The objections of her companions and of Adrane 
 himself did not dissuade Merrilie. Captain Coffin 
 declared she could take the catboat anywhere he 
 could. Merrilie invited Annie and Drake to join 
 her. They refused, and she sprang down on the 
 catboat deck alone. Adrane, in the cockpit, 
 hastened forward to hand her over. Coffin cast 
 off and Adrane brought the boat around. 
 
 43
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 NO," said Merrilie definitively to Adrane, in 
 the catboat, something like an hour later, 
 "I don't want to discuss anything whatever that 
 is foreign. I'm home for a long stay and I want 
 to hear nothing but things American. I have 
 told you everything I know, anyway. And I'm 
 afraid," she suggested a second time, "you are go- 
 ing too far." 
 
 The wind had shifted and the boat, running 
 lightly on a starboard tack, was, in fact, well out 
 at sea. Merrilie's eyes turned toward the shore as 
 she spoke and Adrane, at the wheel, looked back 
 with her. On the western horizon the cliffs of 
 Crossrips could still be seen stretching in long, low- 
 lying horns to the north and south. The sun had 
 set, and almost in the middle of the dark cres- 
 cent rose in the afterglow beacon of fisherman 
 and coastwise mariner Madaket Head, its bulky 
 shoulders surmounted by Madaket light. 
 
 From the shore line Adrane's eyes turned to the 
 telltale. "We shall have a fair wind running in." 
 
 "If we have any," suggested Merrilie, who was 
 44
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 sitting near him. "And the tide will be against 
 us." 
 
 "The tide's worth fighting, for an hour like 
 this." 
 
 "Not if we get into the east rip." 
 
 "If we should, what would happen?" 
 
 "Oh, several things. We might drift below the 
 light-ship and it would be a liner on our heads. 
 There would, of course, be a chance for the coast 
 of Portugal. Or we could try for the Bermudas. 
 In any event, there would be annoyance for us, 
 confusion at Crossrips, and more likely than any- 
 thing else a motor-boat rescue and a midnight 
 supper instead of a good dinner." 
 
 "What are these rips?" 
 
 "Two of them give the island its name. The 
 north or east rip that runs straight out to sea and 
 the south rip that runs around Scallop Point. 
 They meet somewhere out here. In fact, I begin 
 to suspect we are in the east rip now " 
 
 "How far is it to the light-ship?" 
 
 "Fifty or sixty miles from Madaket Head." 
 
 "How far to Portugal?" 
 
 "About three thousand." 
 
 "As you say," commented Adrane, putting the 
 wheel over, "it might be done. But I think we 
 had better try for New England. I hope I shan't 
 keep you late for dinner." 
 
 45
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "We are sure to be late for dinner. That 
 doesn't matter much. And if we can't get in, 
 Orrin or Captain Coffin is sure to be out after 
 us with a motor. They know my irresponsibility 
 as a pilot except when I am sailing alone. And 
 you are a bridge-builder?" 
 
 Adrane raised a finger from the wheel. "One 
 bridge." 
 
 "Oh, I know better than that. And the one 
 such a huge one!" 
 
 " For a while it was a huge anxiety." 
 
 Merrilie regarded him leisurely. "I saw a pic- 
 ture of that bridge in a French paper," she said, 
 lending her eyes and the expression of her face to 
 the distinctness of her words. "With an article," 
 she added, "and a perfectly dreadful snap-shot 
 of the distinguished builder." 
 
 "Taken, I suppose, about the time every one 
 predicted the bridge would be a failure. I know / 
 felt rotten about it for a while. At one time 
 we were trying to borrow money in Paris; very 
 likely the publicity was part of the programme." 
 
 "Were you successful?" 
 
 "No," confessed Adrane. "I imagine the snap- 
 shot killed our chances." 
 
 Merrilie made a deprecating gesture. "It really 
 was atrocious." She breathed, too, a professed re- 
 gret. "If they had only sent a good photograph, 
 
 46
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 the railroad map of the Mississippi valley might 
 have been changed. But, seriously, Mr. Adrane, 
 how do you build a great bridge?" 
 
 Adrane responded composedly: "Seriously, by 
 borrowing all the money you can." 
 
 "No, really," persisted Merrilie. "It must be 
 immensely difficult to build a big bridge." 
 
 "In this case," volunteered Adrane, "the diffi- 
 culty lay not so much in building the bridge as in 
 getting a railroad line down the west bank of the 
 river before we crossed." 
 
 Merrilie opened her eyes. They were, he saw, 
 a different shade from Annie's, and the expression 
 was different. Annie's eyes were apprehensive, 
 but Merrilie's were apprehending. "The dis- 
 pute," he explained, responding to her unspoken 
 inquiry, "was whether a road could be built 
 down the west side of the river at all. Mr. 
 Hamersley's engineers had made reconnois- 
 sances and surveys more than once and re- 
 ported against it; engineers for Eastern interests 
 had tried out lines. They all said it couldn't be 
 done. I was doing some bridge work for two 
 Western railroad men at the time Glover and 
 McCloud. We were figuring one day how we 
 could beat somebody out of some money it is a 
 popular diversion in the West when I told them 
 of this impossible railroad project, with three or 
 
 47
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 four fortunes in it. Glover thought if I could put 
 a bridge across the river at Wagon Wheel Mound, 
 he could show me where to run almost a water- 
 grade line down the west shore. That was our 
 combination." 
 
 "Splendid!" exclaimed Merrilie. Then she 
 raised her hand toward Adrane as if to ward off 
 a complication. She started to speak, suppressed 
 an exclamation, and regarded him laughingly. 
 Her face had lighted with a new and unex- 
 plained interest. She continued to look directly 
 at him and waited for his next words. He no- 
 ticed how animation warmed her eyes. Adrane's 
 own expression now put a question to her and she 
 explained in turn. "This begins to be exciting," 
 she declared. "I never knew that your road was 
 the West Mississippi line." 
 
 "How did you ever hear about it?" 
 
 Merrilie negatived his question in the Italian 
 manner, with her finger. "Never mind how 
 just go on." 
 
 "We hadn't a cent of money." His frankness 
 seemed nai've. "But it happened that Mrs. 
 McCloud and Mrs. Glover are both very wealthy 
 I mean," he stopped, as if realizing whom 
 he was talking with, "as wealth goes in the 
 West." 
 
 Merrilie, too, became self-conscious for an in- 
 48
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 stant. "I understand," she returned, not quite 
 pleased at her embarrassment. 
 
 "At any rate, they staked the enterprise," 
 added Adrane. 
 
 "I think that was fine!" exclaimed Merrilie 
 heartily "even if they did ruin me." 
 
 Adrane looked at her in astonishment. "Oh, 
 I'm joking, just joking," she laughed. "Do go 
 on." 
 
 "That is about all. We merely elected a treas- 
 urer and went to work." 
 
 "Who ran the lines?" 
 
 ' That devolved on me." 
 
 "And the bridge?" 
 
 "The bridge was easy " 
 
 "You certainly are modest," interposed Mer- 
 rilie. 
 
 "After," he paused on the word as he continued, 
 "we got a lot more money." 
 
 "Mr. Adrane!" Merrilie's cheeks were pink with 
 life. "Do you know what you did, when you 
 built that road? You spoiled the railroad down 
 the other side of the river." 
 
 "Oh, that road; yes. Well, that really never 
 was very much of a road anyway, Miss Dawes." 
 
 "Wasn't it, indeed?" 
 
 "No, indeed." They looked questioningly at 
 each other. Then something dawned on Adrane. 
 
 49
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Were you ever interested in that road?" he 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 "Only as one of the unlucky bondholders. You 
 know it is bankrupt." 
 
 "I know." And he remembered now he had 
 heard that the Richard Dawes estate was the 
 largest individual bondholder. Merrilie, how- 
 ever, did not, he perceived, take the situation 
 seriously. "It's a terrible mess," she acknowl- 
 edged, "but not of much consequence. What is 
 more to the point just now is that it is getting 
 dark." 
 
 Adrane looked around. "It is dark." 
 
 "And we are not getting in very fast." 
 
 "Not very." 
 
 "In fact," declared Merrilie looking carefully 
 toward her distant landmarks, "we are drifting 
 out to sea." 
 
 "Beyond doubt, the wind is dying," admitted 
 Adrane. 
 
 "The north wind is unreliable. See, the lights 
 are on in the village. Isn't it pretty?" 
 
 They turned toward each other to look and 
 their heads came near together. "Mr. Hamersley 
 gave them the electric-light plant last year," said 
 Merrilie with the measured indifference of ut- 
 terance that is pleasing at close range from any 
 woman's lips. "He gives them something every 
 
 50
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 year a town hall or a fire-engine. I think that 
 a beautiful scene!" 
 
 "It is beautiful." 
 
 " But you are worrying." 
 
 "Only about getting you in." 
 
 "Don't worry about that. It is my fault." 
 
 "My responsibility." 
 
 "We are in the rip. Orrin will be out very 
 soon. Hark! Can't you hear something?" 
 
 "I think I do hear a motor," reported Adrane 
 after a moment. 
 
 "It must be fine to be a man and build railroads 
 and bridges. Mr. Hamersley says you have whole 
 mountains of steel." 
 
 "Iron," amended Adrane. 
 
 "What's the difference?" asked Merrilie.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A'TER a change and the late dinner due 
 to the accident, Merrilie made light of the 
 excitement about her having been caught with 
 Adrane in the east rip. "I have perfect confi- 
 dence in Captain Coffin," she declared, contesting 
 her Aunt Jane's reproaches of recklessness. "He 
 knows me of old and expects to pick me up any- 
 where I happen to need him." 
 
 Annie, to whom she talked for a moment, Mer- 
 rilie reassured in the same strain. "I didn't mind 
 the delay at all. Mr. Adrane entertained me 
 beautifully. Isn't it interesting, all he is doing?" 
 Adrane joined the two girls while they were to- 
 gether. He and Annie were going bluefishing in 
 the morning with Orrin, Captain Coffin's mate. 
 
 "You will have a good pilot instead of a bad 
 one, Mr. Adrane," said Merrilie, "and better 
 luck sailing." Adrane professed he had no ground 
 of complaint. "It was my fault," insisted Mer- 
 rilie. "Orrin says the east rip is running farther 
 south than usual this spring. That's what de- 
 ceived me." 
 
 52
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Next morning Merrilie, sitting in the sunshine 
 on the south terrace, watched Adrane and Annie 
 descend the steps to the pier. In a few mo- 
 ments Mrs. Hamersley came from the garden to 
 join Merrilie. She walked with the leisurely con- 
 fidence of one of assured position, and if there 
 was at times a suspicion of gouty uncertainty in 
 her step, Mrs. Hamersley managed the annoy- 
 ance with skill. 
 
 "I don't like to joke about the creeping on of 
 time," she drawled her voice was soft and full, 
 and though it broke at times, it was not unpleas- 
 ingly "but, my dear," she continued, seating her- 
 self, "Amos tells me I am beginning to walk as 
 if I had been drinking." 
 
 "How outrageous!" cried Merrilie. "You may 
 tell Mr. Hamersley for me that his wife walks like 
 a queen." 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley reached for her handkerchief. 
 "Like the queen of clubs, I'm afraid, dear. Well, 
 how's my child?" 
 
 "Never better. I 
 
 "Not engaged yet?" Mrs. Hamersley did not 
 permit conversation to interfere with her flow of 
 thought. 
 
 Merrilie, well resigned to such inquisitions, an- 
 swered openly: "Not a hint of it." 
 
 "Merrilie," continued her hostess with preca- 
 53
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 tory but significant restraint, "don't spring any 
 surprises on me." 
 
 "Not for worlds." 
 
 "I don't like surprises," concluded Mrs. Ham- 
 ersley warningly. 
 
 "I am dreaming of none." 
 
 "Yet something tells me that in the end you 
 will inflict one. I hear that you have a lot of 
 attention." 
 
 "Who says that?" 
 
 "Harry Drake, Mrs. Havens, everybody." 
 
 Merrilie, with a little gesture, moved her head 
 slowly from side to side. "Harry and Fanny 
 Havens both know better. At all events, if I 
 have any attention it is not in the least of that 
 kind." 
 
 "I hear so much about your house in the Avenue 
 du Bois de Boulogne," she said, dwelling on the 
 name of the street with a shade of intimate 
 sarcasm. 
 
 "Why haven't you been over to see it? I've a 
 little garden." 
 
 "If Amos doesn't go over with me next sum- 
 mer, I am going alone. I feel reasonably sure," 
 reflected Mrs. Hamersley, "that he will follow 
 me if I stay long enough. You haven't told me 
 how you like Mr. Adrane." 
 
 "Julia Robbins says he is conceited," Merrilie 
 54
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 returned, swinging her foot, which did not quite 
 touch the ground, as if to aid a reflective mood. 
 "That's mere diffidence, I suppose. I think I 
 should like him. Annie is as happy as a child." 
 
 " For once," affirmed Mrs. Hamersley. "You've 
 heard all about how it happened, I suppose?" 
 
 "I've hardly seen Annie yet." 
 
 "Mr. Adrane has a clever sister living in 
 Chicago; rather a brilliant woman, but, like me y 
 she talks too much. Her husband is an army 
 officer Colonel Somebody. Mr. Adrane enter- 
 tained his sister at Palm Beach last winter, and 
 she and Mrs. Whitney engineered it, I fancy." 
 
 "Engineered it! Heavens, couldn't the man do 
 his own engineering? He builds bridges, doesn't 
 he?" 
 
 "These are the days of specialists, my dear, in 
 matrimonial affairs as in everything else. A man 
 might be capable of building an excellent railroad 
 bridge without being able to construct even the 
 social approaches to a domestic structure." 
 
 "Nonsense," exclaimed Merrilie with contempt. 
 " Doesn't a man know his own mind, or whom he 
 wants to marry, if he's a man at all?" 
 
 "Don't fly off the handle as to what men 
 ought to know, or be, or do. I've always in- 
 sisted, Merrilie, you lack a proper appreciation 
 of the delicacy of matrimonial affairs. You are 
 
 55
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 too sceptical, my dear. Because these things 
 don't interest you, you profess to ignore them." 
 
 Merrilie made no attempt to deny the accusa- 
 tion. "I've no patience with such ideas." 
 
 "But you must have. And you must remem- 
 ber there are, for instance, Western men like Mr. 
 Adrane, fine fellows in every way the best in 
 the world, / think but inexperienced in feminine 
 arts. They are not socially sophisticated. They 
 arrive, after their business success, novices in so- 
 ciety. And for such there must be social and mat- 
 rimonial engineers. Don't quarrel with the neces- 
 sary conventions." 
 
 Merrilie looked contemptuous. The pump on 
 her left foot, hanging just above the ground, swung 
 pro.testingly. "You must have noticed," contin- 
 ued Mrs. Hamersley placidly, "how difficult it is 
 for Mr. Adrane to say anything." 
 
 Her guest still frowned. " How long have Annie 
 and he been engaged?" 
 
 "Three or four months. Doesn't he strike you 
 as young for thirty-three?" 
 
 Merrilie pondered. "In some ways," she as- 
 sented. Then, after another pause: "I suppose 
 he is what you call acute in business and inexperi- 
 enced in social life. He sort of makes a " 
 
 "Makes a bluff at it," suggested Mrs. Ham- 
 ersley. 
 
 56
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Merrilie laughed without answering. Mrs. Ham- 
 ersley's eyes wandered and her thoughts with 
 them. "Well," she demanded resignedly, "what 
 have you come back to do this time, Merrilie 
 found a cat hospital or endow a university?" 
 
 Merrilie made no effort to turn the sarcasm. 
 "You would laugh at me if I told you why I 
 came; I was homesick. I wanted to see New 
 York." 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley raised a hand in triumph. 
 "What did I tell you?" 
 
 "You didn't tell me anything. I was home- 
 sick; but that isn't saying Paris isn't more at- 
 tractive than New York. And Edith is in 
 Venice." 
 
 "You will have to get married." 
 
 Merrilie showed only indifference. "You will 
 have to find the husband for me." 
 
 "Harry Drake is dying to marry you." 
 
 "The disease must be a lingering one, Aunt 
 Kate. Harry and I have known each other a 
 good many years." 
 
 "He told me once you wouldn't marry him." 
 
 Merrilie, sitting now with her feet crossed, 
 laughed at the absurdity of the statement. " Harry 
 never asked me to marry him. He only tried to 
 find out what I would say if he did ask me. I 
 didn't think that quite ingenuous. Subjects of 
 
 57
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 that sort are usually considered delicate. Some 
 one has to take a chance " 
 
 "I had to encourage Amos " interposed Mrs. 
 Hamersley meditatively. 
 
 Merrilie seemed not in precisely a jesting mood. 
 "I don't think a man, if he is afraid to take the 
 chance himself, should try to shoulder the risk on 
 the woman." 
 
 "But, Merrilie, would you marry Harry?" 
 
 Merrilie shot a look at her inquisitor. "You 
 are not his ambassadress, I hope." 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley moved in her chair. "No, 
 you mustn't think I am plotting. I should like 
 to see you happily married. You have everything 
 else on earth." 
 
 Merrilie was restive. "I don't consider that's 
 so at all. I think large means are the heaviest 
 possible handicap for any one, Aunt Kate. A poor 
 girl would have twenty chances to my one for being 
 happy." A tone of light helplessness followed. 
 "Truly, if I were to catalogue my suitors even 
 Falstaff would blush to enroll them." Merrilie 
 spread out her hands and laughed. "Most of 
 them treat me precisely as if I were an estate. 
 I suppose I am," she sighed resignedly. 
 
 "Perhaps," suggested Mrs. Hamersley with a 
 touch of mockery, "you think you would like to 
 be poor." 
 
 58
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Merrilie started. "Heaven forbid! Can you 
 imagine me poor? It would take a real woman to 
 be poor, not a hothouse imitation. What but 
 poverty would be absolutely insupportable? Life, 
 lacking the luxuries you can tempt yourself with, 
 would be worth less than nothing. It is bad 
 enough as it is." 
 
 "Well, in the name of Heaven, can you tell me 
 what you do want, Merrilie?" 
 
 Merrilie rested her chin in her hand and stared 
 at the distant sea. "I don't want anything." 
 
 "You will have to be a great philanthropist, 
 Merrilie. I don't mean a haphazard one, as you 
 are now, but a real substantial pillar of discrim- 
 inating, cold-storage charity." 
 
 "So Mr. Havens suggested the other day. 
 Systematic charity!" exclaimed Merrilie. "Ab- 
 surd pretence, isn't it?" She leaned forward: 
 "How can you move the poor," she demanded, 
 "unless you strip yourself and be one of them?" 
 
 " But, my conscience, child, you can't do 
 that." 
 
 "I know I can't. That is why I hate myself 
 when I go among them which isn't very often. 
 These charity boards, these trustees! I could 
 squirm sometimes, I get so sick of their mealy- 
 mouthing. But I've an excellent dig in Tilden. 
 He grills them unmercifully on efficiency. 'How 
 
 59
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 much of your dollar gets to the poor and how 
 much of it does your organization eat up?' he 
 always asks. They hate to be quizzed." 
 
 "You give them a lot of money." 
 
 "What else can I do? But I feel like a wretch 
 when I do it. Isn't it a miserable thing to be 
 sceptical? I know the money goes to make 
 salaries and jobs for these whining climbers. 
 Worthy, of course." Merrilie shuddered. " But 
 I can't like them. I get a lot more satisfaction 
 in giving where nobody else does." 
 
 "Where is that, pray?" 
 
 "I'm not going to tell. There is competition 
 nowadays, auntie, even in giving away money 
 you have no possible use for." 
 
 "I am glad, after all," drawled Mrs. Hamersley 
 reflectively, "that Amos has to work. It is bet- 
 ter. I make the servants go to church what 
 more can I do for the welfare of society? I sup- 
 pose some day I shall be an estate myself." 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Kate! Let us hope you will be 
 spared that." 
 
 "A responsibility," lisped Mrs. Hamersley, roll- 
 ing her eyes ironically. 
 
 "How I hate the word. Here comes Mr. Ha- 
 vens!" 
 
 "The word itself," observed Mrs. Hamersley, 
 rising. 
 
 60
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Havens, ready for golf, came through the per- 
 gola toward them. 
 
 "Don't go," whispered Merrilie. 
 
 "I must," declared her hostess. "I leave you 
 to your fate." 
 
 Havens asked first for Mr. Hamersley, but on 
 being told he was golfing took the chair Mrs. 
 Hamersley pointed to as she started for the house, 
 and began to talk to Merrilie. Directly from 
 the heart of American business life, he talked in- 
 terestingly on almost any subject, and usually 
 spoke with a reserved authority that strengthened 
 his pronouncement. He said something to Mer- 
 rilie about Paris and presently something about 
 current literature. He touched on such topics of 
 art as were then foremost in circles of large busi- 
 ness and made a mental note of some books of 
 essays and fiction to be sent to Merrilie in town, 
 where she said she should be the following week. 
 
 "I hope," he returned when she told him this, 
 "you are going to stay long enough this time to 
 get in some sort of touch with our own activ- 
 ities." 
 
 "Oh, yes," answered Merrilie languidly. 
 
 "There is danger, you know," he continued, "of 
 losing interest in things from which we separate 
 ourselves too long." 
 
 Merrilie, sitting in a deep hickory chair in her 
 61
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 favorite diminutive attitude that is, with one 
 foot swinging slightly as she supported her head on 
 one hand and with the other smoothed the folds of 
 her muslin gown smiled amiably. 
 
 "The movement of our American life and 
 thought is so unceasing," averred Havens, per- 
 ceiving that she meditated no reply, "that it is 
 the easiest possible thing to get out of tune with. 
 Yet," he continued, "it is always a misfortune 
 to do so. And even those of us compelled to 
 keep a finger on the pulse of what goes on around 
 us find it hard always to keep alive to the situa- 
 tion." 
 
 "It must be a tremendous bore to try to, don't 
 you think?" ventured Merrilie, whose foot had 
 begun moving again. 
 
 Havens laughed cordially. "What can one do? 
 Our responsibilities multiply." The toe of Mer- 
 rilie's pump rose resentfully. "And the serious 
 phase of it is that people of great wealth have 
 too long ignored their responsibilities. Society 
 threatens revolt. We are accountable for our 
 positions. And we must know what is going on 
 about us or we shall awake one day to find our- 
 selves " 
 
 "Asleep," suggested Merrilie recklessly. 
 
 Havens, in no way disconcerted, smiled as he 
 went on: "Precisely, if you don't mind the ab- 
 
 62
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 surdity. Every journal you pick up tells you of 
 what is coming." 
 
 "Frankly," confessed Merrilie, "I never pick 
 one up. But what is coming, Mr. Havens ? " 
 
 "Accountability. We must plead to justify, 
 each of us, before the bar of an enlightened public 
 opinion for what the public itself has given us 
 of opportunity and advancement. In American 
 thought, social unrest is the most significant as- 
 pect. Wealth is actually before the bar." 
 
 "That's the way these college presidents talk 
 when they are after money. And the more you 
 give them the more unrest they perceive. What 
 one gives doesn't permanently ease their minds on 
 the subject. Surely you are not hinting at some 
 endowment?" 
 
 Havens made a still cordial denial. " But there 
 is a business matter I do want to say a word 
 about," he added. Merrilie shifted herself slightly 
 in her chair and with that relief that we feel 
 when we have suspected the existence of a pro- 
 spective unpleasantness and brought it to light. 
 "You know our trust company is seeking a new 
 home." 
 
 "I didn't know it, Mr. Havens." 
 
 "And that brings up a suggestion that may 
 have an interest for you. You have seen, of 
 course, how powerfully the business interests of 
 
 63
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 the city are forcing themselves up-town. Your 
 home " 
 
 "I shall never surrender my home to the busi- 
 ness interests." 
 
 " I quite understand. In our own case, I thought 
 what I had to propose might have a different 
 appeal." 
 
 Merrilie disliked his confident smile and inter- 
 rupted: "Nothing that concerns the surrender 
 of my home would have any sort of an ap- 
 peal." 
 
 Havens laughed patiently. "Would you even 
 hear what I desire to suggest in behalf of our 
 directors all old friends of your father's?" 
 
 Her silence did not dismay him and he went 
 on: "They are, as I have said, seeking new 
 and adequate quarters for the trust company. 
 The company was, as you know, even in its in- 
 ception, one of your father's favorite ideas. He 
 was the first chairman of the board at the bank. 
 He, in fact, launched the bank and piloted it to 
 the extraordinary success it enjoys to-day." Mer- 
 rilie's pump beat now almost a humming-bird 
 tattoo. She knew all of this. It sounded patro- 
 nizing. 
 
 "We feel this pressure of the up-town movement 
 at the bank. With our directors and our cus- 
 tomers it is a subject of discussion whenever the 
 
 64
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 question of a permanent home comes up. As you 
 are perhaps aware, business has already gone 
 far beyond your home, and it has occurred to 
 those of us charged with the question of a new 
 location that the site occupied by your father's 
 home would make an admirable permanent home 
 for the trust company." 
 
 "Dismiss such a thought from your mind, Mr. 
 Havens." Merrilie spoke with decision. Havens 
 for an instant was confused. "You do not think 
 well of it?" he ventured. 
 
 "No," responded Merrilie tersely. 
 
 "We should attempt a building worthy of the 
 associations of the site the best that art could 
 suggest and ample means provide. I had thought 
 the fact that your father was the chief power of 
 our institution, and the pleasant fact of your own 
 substantial interest in it, would sustain in some 
 degree the congruity of the change from your 
 father's home " 
 
 Merrilie interrupted ruthlessly: "You used that 
 phrase, 'my father's home,' before, overlooking the 
 fact, apparently, that it is my home." He tried 
 to disclaim, but she overbore his words. "I would 
 not listen for an instant to any such suggestion. 
 The trust company can find abundance of places 
 for new quarters " 
 
 Havens tried to check the hostility of her 
 65
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 words with immediate assent. "Of course, Miss 
 Dawes " 
 
 "I shall never sell or alienate my home on any 
 pretext whatever." Her determination could not 
 be mistaken. "I should think it a sacrilege to 
 my father's memory to consider such a thing for 
 a moment. It is where he died and where my 
 mother died, and as long as I live it shall stand, 
 even if they put up detestable sky-scrapers all 
 around it." 
 
 "Quite, quite right. I understand your posi- 
 tion perfectly, if you will let me say so. Indeed, 
 I admire your resolution. And I am sure you will 
 not misunderstand me " 
 
 "Not at all, Mr. Havens," returned Merrilie 
 promptly, the pink still burning in her cheeks. 
 "I speak decidedly because the subject has been 
 hinted at in letters and brought before me so 
 much that I am sick of it I hope it never will 
 be broached again. You may make this as strong 
 as you like in telling the directors. I shall never, 
 under any circumstances, Mr. Havens, part with 
 my family home." 
 
 "I understand perfectly. And now will you 
 tell me what there is that I or any of your 
 friends down-town can do to serve you while you 
 are at home?" Before she could answer, he con- 
 tinued. "They are all anxious to be of any pos- 
 
 66
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 sible service; and while it is on my mind if you 
 have any wishes concerning the personnel of new 
 directorate we should be glad to have you express 
 them." 
 
 Merrilie made a gesture dismissing the subject. 
 "Thank you ever so much." 
 
 "Mr. Tilden still takes good care of your sec- 
 retarial work?" 
 
 "Very good, thank you." 
 
 "His habits, I understand, are more regular." 
 
 Merrilie uttered a reluctant little note of dis- 
 sent. "I am afraid there is no decided improve- 
 ment in his habits, but that," she added dryly, 
 " has only the disadvantage of making me a little 
 more careful about my own. As long as one of 
 us can be depended on, I feel reasonably safe. 
 And you must consider poor Mr. Tilden lives 
 with Mrs. Tilden!" 
 
 Havens laughed. "Quite so. But, jesting apart, 
 his post of duty in your employ is one of great 
 trust. You must not lose sight of what serious 
 confusion your confidential secretary could throw 
 your affairs into " 
 
 "Oh, do you think so?" 
 
 "Do I think so? For such a position you need, 
 above all else, complete trustworthiness. And if 
 you should ever feel the necessity of making a 
 
 change " 
 
 6?
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I should never discharge Mr. Tilden." 
 
 "Assuredly not so long as he is acceptable " 
 
 "He was left to me by father." 
 
 "Though his weakness for drink was not then 
 apparent, I presume.'* 
 
 "Father was only too well aware that Mr. 
 Tilden drank." 
 
 "He was?" 
 
 " But he knew him to be thoroughly honest." 
 
 Havens's failure to accomplish either object of 
 his mission left him unruffled. 
 
 "His composure makes me furious," declared 
 Merrilie, talking to Mrs. Hamersley when she re- 
 joined her. "No one has any business to be so 
 composed when he is being snubbed. It isn't 
 decent." 
 
 "Why do you snub him?" asked Mrs. 
 Hamersley, who knew but enjoyed being told 
 again. 
 
 "He persists in trying to get hold of every 
 affair I have in the world, and I won't have it." 
 
 "Every one seems to put great confidence in 
 Mr. Havens, Merrilie." 
 
 Merrilie was almost curt. "I don't." 
 
 "But you don't trust anybody." 
 
 "I'm sorry. Isn't it too bad to be born that 
 way, auntie?" 
 
 "All the same," persisted Mrs. Hamersley, re- 
 68
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 solved to quarrel with her stubborn favorite, "you 
 like Harry Drake." 
 
 Merrilie smiled faintly. "Everybody likes 
 Harry." 
 
 69
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 MERRILIE'S words came back to her that 
 evening at the boat-house. Mrs. Hamers- 
 ley had gathered the few early summer residents 
 that had reached the island and there was danc- 
 ing. During the supper Drake took Merrilie out 
 on the upper balcony. 
 
 "I always think of you in a little company, 
 Harry," confessed Merrilie when he sat down with 
 her. 
 
 "Why in a little company?" 
 
 "Oh, you do things well; you make whatever 
 is on go." 
 
 "You mean in company?" 
 
 Merrilie nodded. 
 
 "Is that the only time?" he demanded. 
 
 "Don't irritate me," pleaded Merrilie. "I 
 mean, you are always so alive." 
 
 Drake wore a sandy, close-cropped beard in the 
 Van Dyke fashion and it contributed to an expres- 
 sion of alertness in his light-blue eyes. They 
 sparkled with animation, they were never at rest, 
 
 70
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 their light never died; and his blond cheeks were 
 always flushed. 
 
 "It has been a struggle to keep alive for two 
 years, Merrilie," he declared. "Have you really 
 deserted us for good?" he asked, leaning forward 
 as he took her fan. 
 
 "I shall never desert New York for good I've 
 told you that." 
 
 " How much of an inducement would bring you 
 back oftener?" 
 
 "Something to come for, I suppose." 
 
 "I wish I could supply it." 
 
 "That is very kind, Harry." 
 
 "You will never come back if you marry over 
 there." 
 
 "I should hate to think I was giving up Amer- 
 ica." 
 
 "You will find some foreigner to stifle your 
 regrets." 
 
 Merrilie put out her lips. "It will take an ex- 
 traordinary foreigner to overcome my love for my 
 own country I mean my associations, traditions, 
 people," she added impatiently. "I am horribly 
 provincial. And I am afraid I like it." 
 
 "Merrilie," demanded her companion bluntly, 
 "do you know what the trouble is, with you?" 
 
 "I know a few of the troubles; not all, of course. 
 What is this particular one?"
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Oh, there isn't any plural to it. You are 
 too exacting. You have set your standard so 
 high- 
 
 Merrilie regarded him speculatively. "What 
 standard?" 
 
 "Your masculine standard. You've set it so 
 high nobody will ever reach it." 
 
 She laughed heartlessly. "That's nonsense, 
 Harry." 
 
 "Not a bit. You have scared all the men to 
 death." 
 
 "No doubt, Harry," she returned, subsiding 
 into a smile. "But not in the way you imply." 
 
 "I should really like to know what you require 
 in a husband." 
 
 "I have no requirements, none in the world 
 except, of course " 
 
 "There it is 'except, of course,' what?" 
 
 "That he should interest me a little if you 
 don't consider that too exacting." 
 
 "Merrilie," declared Drake, assuming a vexed 
 hopelessness, "it's impossible to pin you down to 
 anything." 
 
 "You mean," persisted Merrilie, her voice 
 bubbling a little, "to anything I ought not to be 
 pinned down to! I don't cross-examine you about 
 your requirements for a wife, do I? Who gave 
 you license to exact a bill of particulars from me?" 
 
 72
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I'm afraid you're a confirmed flirt." 
 
 Her eyebrows rose. She looked at Drake with 
 an expression from which he could read noth- 
 ing. When she spoke her hand rested on the 
 arm of her chair and she lifted it lazily from 
 the wrist. "Harry Drake, you are the flirt, 
 not I." 
 
 Drake laughed unrestrainedly. "I don't know 
 how you can talk in that way," he protested in 
 high humor. "I the flirt! I know this minute 
 of at least one girl that I asked once to marry 
 me and she wouldn't say yes or no." 
 
 Merrilie was amiably unmoved. "And I know 
 of at least one girl that you did not ask to marry 
 
 you 
 
 "What!" 
 
 She waved her hand. "Let's keep the record 
 straight, Harry." 
 
 Drake's head dropped in vexed protest. "Mer- 
 rilie, you don't like me." 
 
 "I didn't like you that summer especially 
 before Fanny Whitney's engagement was an- 
 nounced." He tried to speak. Merrilie cut him 
 off. " Don't let's get started on that only don't 
 you call me a flirt, even if I bear the unlovely 
 stigma among others." 
 
 Harry frowned. "Poor Fanny is married," he 
 apologized. 
 
 73
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "She and I never were congenial," observed 
 Merrilie dryly. 
 
 "Don't be hard-hearted." 
 
 "Not in the least. I hated Fanny and she hated 
 me. I was as mean as I could be to her, and she 
 was as mean as she could be to me. Her father 
 hated my father, and father heartily hated him. 
 I'm even glad Mr. Havens married Fanny. We 
 have no saints, you know, in our family except 
 Edith. The Daweses are just everything irritable 
 plain, black-blooded Highlanders " 
 
 Harry beat a retreat. "You've heard, by the 
 way, how enormously successful Havenshasbeen?" 
 
 "Mr. Hamersley said something about it, yes." 
 
 Adrane, coming out with Mrs. Whitney, asked 
 Merrilie for a dance. Drake rose. "The next is 
 mine," he reminded her. Merrilie nodded and 
 walked inside with Adrane. 
 
 When Adrane's dance was ended, Drake was 
 dancing with .Annie, and Merrilie, with Adrane, 
 sought the balcony again. Mrs. Whitney, coming 
 in, met them in the doorway. 
 
 "Merrilie," remarked Mrs. Whitney impres- 
 sively, "you must have Mr. Adrane tell you about 
 his wonderful steel companies." Merrilie looked 
 bored. The dancing hadn't gone to please Ad- 
 rane and he winced, Merrilie thought, at Mrs. 
 Whitney's confident reference to the company as 
 
 74
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 his. "You don't mean my companies," he said; 
 "you mean the Steel River Companies." 
 
 Mrs. Whitney opened her eyes with a significant 
 glance at Merrilie. "I know whose companies I 
 mean," she insisted cheerfully, and passed within. 
 
 "No matter whose companies," said Merrilie, 
 relieved at Mrs. Whitney's leaving them, and 
 settling herself as Adrane placed her chair and 
 sat down; "just tell me." 
 
 He demurred. "It would only tire you." 
 
 "Really do you mind being scolded? You 
 mustn't assume everything." 
 
 Adrane regarded her apologetically. "I wish 
 I could dance better. I tired you." 
 
 "You dance very well." He protested he did 
 not. "I mean it," insisted Merrilie. "It's not 
 quite the way I'm used to, that's all," she ex- 
 plained. He again regretted that the dance hadn't 
 gone better. "You talk about tiring me," com- 
 plained Merrilie, aware of his self-conscious con- 
 ceit. "The only people that tire me are those 
 that have to be coaxed. Isn't it just like a man 
 I mean by that, perfectly absurd to be an- 
 noyed at not catching a dance-step he never tried 
 before, when he has done things you've done! 
 Mercy, but men are vain, aren't they? If / had 
 built a bridge across a mud puddle I shouldn't 
 care if I couldn't dance the Virginia Reel." 
 
 75
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 She settled back in her chair. "Now you'll be 
 angry with me," she sighed, doubtfully content. 
 Adrane disclaimed annoyance. "Prove that you 
 are not," she said, "by listening to some of my 
 troubles will you?" She had crossed her feet, 
 and in the half-lights streaming from the dance- 
 room Adrane saw them, just below the hem of 
 her gown, shod in pink slippers and stockings. 
 He begged her to go on. 
 
 "The only reason," he exclaimed parenthet- 
 ically, "why I'm afraid to talk about steel is 
 because there is nothing to it but iron ore, and 
 coal, coke-ovens, furnaces, and rolling-mills it 
 wouldn't be interesting to a woman." 
 
 "More " Merrilie hesitated for a word. 
 
 "Conceit," suggested Adrane, now at ease again. 
 
 "No, assurance this time," corrected Merrilie. 
 "I've always been keen about business affairs. 
 And your rivers and mountains and mills they 
 all sound as if they might be extremely interest- 
 ing. And you remember you promised to tell 
 me more some time about the railroad." 
 
 "I think," ventured Adrane, "it was you who 
 said I must, some time." 
 
 "It really must be stunning to be able to do 
 such a thing. Let's move over a little out of 
 the wind do you mind?" 
 
 Everything she said whether she dictated or 
 76
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 differed, it was all one Adrane found interesting. 
 "Now for your trouble," he suggested after he 
 had seated her within the shelter of a dark corner. 
 
 "It's a terrible mess," Merrilie began. "You'll 
 have to help me because I know less than nothing 
 about railroads. And I don't think Mr. Spruance 
 or Mr. Havens is an expert." 
 
 "But your father was " 
 
 "Oh dear, no. We never had anything as ex- 
 citing as a railroad in the family. Papa always 
 avoided them; but it had to be my ill fortune to 
 get tangled up in one almost at once. Mr. Spru- 
 ance and Mr. Havens bought these bonds for me. 
 I was away at the time not that that would have 
 made any difference. But on that account, I have 
 told them frequently well, not frequently, but 
 sometimes to use their own judgment. And 
 here you have built another railroad across the 
 river and spoiled mine completely. Isn't it ab- 
 surd?" They laughed together. Annie and Harry 
 Drake, sitting at a distance, heard the laugh, but 
 could not see the laughers. 
 
 "If I had only known you were interested," 
 protested Adrane. 
 
 "That wouldn't have made any difference." 
 Merrilie shook her head with an assumed gravity. 
 "I am a mere estate. Who has any sympathy 
 for an estate?" Then she laughed again, low. 
 
 77
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 It was the kind of a laugh to suggest mischief. 
 "It's too late to undo the damage. But " She 
 knit her brows in a semblance of perplexity and 
 looked at Adrane. Merrilie had a way of making 
 her eyes and words appeal together. "Couldn't 
 we cajole your people, don't you suppose, into a 
 combination or consolidation some sort of cor- 
 porate wickedness to operate the roads in a way 
 together?" 
 
 Adrane, who could see the expression of her eyes 
 even in the darkness of the corner, responded in 
 answering humor. "Not a bad idea. Though at 
 first thought it seems awkward to work out " 
 
 "Why so? Just use the two lines as a double 
 track, up and down the river. Railroads are 
 always begging money nowadays for double 
 tracks, aren't they? Here is the double track 
 ready made " Merrilie set up her two hands in 
 diagram, and looked appealingly at her expert. 
 
 "But," objected Adrane, "being on opposite 
 sides of the Mississippi they are from ten to fifteen 
 miles apart " 
 
 Merrilie nodded undismayed. "Precisely. And, 
 very well; run all the trains going south down 
 the west side of the river, and all the trains going 
 north up the east side of the river. That's the 
 purpose of a double track, isn't it one-way 
 traffic? No head-end collisions? It seems very 
 
 78
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 plain to me, Mr. Adrane" Merrilie assumed an 
 air "that public safety and the common welfare 
 of the people demand such a step. Isn't that 
 what all these promoters say when they have a 
 particularly evil scheme to put across?" she asked 
 innocently, and as if she were already enjoying 
 the success of her suggestion. Adrane seemed 
 not quite clear on the subject. 
 
 Merrilie saw his hesitation. "Now pray," she 
 demanded, "what's the difficulty?" 
 
 " Rather a grave one, I'm afraid. You see, these 
 two tracks are on an average ten miles apart 
 
 "So you said." 
 
 "Between them lies what poets, and sometimes 
 engineers, term a mighty river." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Let us suppose, working on your idea, that a 
 man living in a small town on the west side of the 
 river wants to visit another small town ten miles 
 farther down 
 
 "I understand." 
 'He takes one of your trains- 
 
 "No, on the west side of the Mississippi he 
 takes one of your trains." 
 
 "As you will. When he is ready to go home he 
 asks for a train back and finds there is no train 
 running back on that side of the river don't you 
 see? What could he do? It would be like run- 
 
 79
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 ning all the trains out of a town every day and 
 running none back." 
 
 "Not at all," contended Merrilie with composure. 
 "Your trains would run north on our side of the 
 river and ours would run south on your side." 
 
 "But my passenger would have to loop the five- 
 hundred-mile railroad loop to get ten miles home 
 again." 
 
 Merrilie regarded Adrane frankly. "Remem- 
 ber, we must all of us at times give up slight private 
 advantages to secure great public ones." 
 
 Both were in good spirits. Sounds of music 
 came from the inner rooms. Adrane conscien- 
 tiously reminded Merrilie of her engagement: 
 "This must be your dance with Mr. Drake." 
 
 She made a little move in her chair. "He will 
 find me. Whereabouts is all this steel you are 
 interested in?" 
 
 "About thirty miles up the Steel River, at Iron 
 Mountain. There goes Mr. Drake across the 
 floor now." 
 
 "And where does all the steel come from," 
 asked Merrilie "out of the mountain?" 
 
 "No," answered Adrane gravely, "out of the 
 furnaces. He's coming this way." 
 
 Merrilie looked apprehensively toward the as- 
 sembly room. "Let's walk," she suggested, rising. 
 "I don't care about dancing." 
 
 80
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "It isn't too cool for you?" asked Adrane as 
 they turned the corner of the balcony into the 
 wind from the sea. Merrilie shivered slightly. 
 "Get my wrap," she said with the most innocent 
 authority. "I left it on the chair." 
 
 Adrane in retracing his steps encountered 
 Drake. "Where is Merrilie?" asked Drake, cav- 
 alierly, Adrane thought. 
 
 "She was here not a moment ago," returned 
 Adrane evenly. "Isn't she dancing?" 
 
 Hardly answering, Drake turned on his heel. 
 Adrane picked up the wrap and walked around 
 the corner to where Merrilie stood, laughing, with 
 her back and hands flattened against the wall. 
 "You did very well," she murmured, thanking 
 him with a look and turning for him to place the 
 chiffon across her shoulders. "I had no idea you 
 could tell stories." 
 
 "I didn't have to tell him where you were," 
 maintained Adrane. "He didn't work hard 
 enough to find you, that's all. If I had an en- 
 gagement with you I'd search the island to find 
 you." 
 
 "Be careful. I might put you to a test." 
 
 "I should never say to you anything I didn't 
 mean." 
 
 She looked up. "Why not, pray?" 
 
 "You don't like anything but the truth." 
 81
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Merrilie seemed amused. "No one ever told 
 me that before." 
 
 "Isn't it so?" 
 
 She hesitated. They were walking where they 
 could look through the windows at the dancers. 
 "Truly, I don't know." She arrested him to 
 watch the dancing. He placed himself between 
 her and the sea wind. "That's the prettiest step, 
 isn't it?" she said in low, pleased tones. 
 
 "It's the one we were trying," he returned. 
 "Too bad I spoiled it for you." 
 
 "Why, it's as easy as can be," asserted Merrilie. 
 "I can teach you in a jiffy. Here." She gathered 
 the skirt of her gown in one hand, placed her feet 
 for him to watch, and took the simple steps. 
 "One, two, three, four, sidewise; then, one, two, 
 three, four, around; then zigzag; then whirl. 
 Do you want to try?" 
 
 Her eyes shone as she looked up, her cheeks were 
 pink. She took her place in his extended arms. 
 Back and forth they stepped, Merrilie flushed with 
 interest, both laughing at Adrane's efforts to fol- 
 low her guiding. He broke the step. She made 
 him try again. He failed again, and she kept 
 him trying. In another moment he had it. "My 
 feet are too big," he declared. 
 
 "Not at all. You are a big man," returned 
 Merrilie, still guiding. "You shouldn't want small 
 feet." 
 
 82
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Let's try again," suggested Adrane when they 
 had done, not releasing her from his arms. 
 
 "Am I likely to get caught?" asked Merrilie, 
 looking back as she moved unresistingly on with 
 him. 
 
 "No," returned Adrane, watchful of the rhythm 
 of their steps. "Drake is dancing again with 
 Annie." 
 
 Merrilie turned her head from his shoulder to 
 look. She rested with perfect ease within his arm 
 and now let him guide. "So he is," she assented, 
 relieved. "You are doing beautifully. I like 
 your guiding ever so much. Some time we will 
 try longer steps together."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A) RANK returned next day to New York 
 with Havens and Amos Hamersley. The 
 Divide, at the end of the week, brought the rest 
 of the party down to New York, and Adrane met 
 the boat to take Annie and her mother home. 
 When the Whitneys parted from Merrilie at the 
 pier they had accepted an invitation, one which 
 included Adrane, to dine with her the following 
 week. 
 
 Mrs. Whitney had clung to her home in Madison 
 Avenue, a narrow but inviting and skilfully ar- 
 ranged brick house in a very good block, even 
 after her husband's death, when its maintenance 
 became something of a strain on her diminished 
 resources. She felt clearly for the interests of her 
 daughters the need of such a background as her 
 home afforded. Fanny's marriage to Mr. Havens 
 alone had justified the effort of keeping the home 
 up, she felt, and Annie's engagement to quite as 
 promising a man compensated her equally for an 
 unpleasant burden of expense. 
 
 Adrane left on business for Saint Louis on the 
 84
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 night of Annie's return and got back to New York 
 on the day of Merrilie's dinner. When he arrived 
 that evening in Madison Avenue Annie was com- 
 ing down-stairs. Her smile for him was framed in 
 white maribou that rose like a calyx around the 
 glow of her cheeks. Adrane followed her as she 
 walked to a glass in the half-lighted reception- 
 room. She resisted his caress only enough to 
 save her_ flowers, and, surveying her gown critically 
 in the mirror while he stood by, asked him about 
 his trip. He began to tell her something of what 
 he had been doing, but in a moment she excused 
 him from the recital and, studying her draperies, 
 told him his flowers were lovely. "And, John," 
 she added, rearranging them at her waist, "they 
 gave me an idea for the car interior. I believe I 
 should like a sage-green best." 
 
 Adrane conceived no objection to sage-green. 
 And if his interest in the subject of decorating the 
 car was the least bit tempered, it was not because 
 the green did not appeal to him but because the 
 directors had done nothing about authorizing a 
 car for the president, and he felt delicate about 
 urging a request, not greatly to his liking, anyway. 
 "Our suite," Annie added, as if in an afterthought 
 and fingering her neck ornaments somewhat 
 restlessly with the words, "might be pink the 
 Pullman people could give us a white enamel, 
 
 85
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 couldn't they, John? Or a faded rose would be 
 pretty. Don't you think so, mamma ? " she asked, 
 appealing to her mother, who now entered the 
 room. "I mean, for John's suite in his car." 
 
 Mrs. Whitney had advanced toward the plump- 
 ness of middle age and her round, soft face, into 
 which only a few lines had yet found their way, 
 lighted with amusement at Annie's appeal. Even 
 Mrs. Whitney's eyes, though of a not overwarm 
 gray and eyes that might forebode firmness in 
 difficulties were soft in expression, and her voice, 
 as she lightly answered Annie, was soft. 
 
 "I think," she suggested with matronly confi- 
 dence, "that John very likely has things of more 
 importance in his head than the question of a 
 color scheme for his car." 
 
 Mrs. Whitney, in whatever angle of a conversa- 
 tion, took Adrane's part; indeed, she qualified well 
 in many ways as a prospective mother-in-law. 
 She had told Adrane very prettily, when he asked 
 for Annie's hand, that having been denied, long 
 ago, the gift of a son to supplement her happiness 
 in her daughters, she hoped to gain one in him, 
 who should be as near and dear to her as her own 
 flesh and blood, adding, as a tribute to Adrane 
 himself, that he seemed already to have realized 
 such a success as she had once hoped a son of her 
 own might. 
 
 86
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 They left for Merrilie's in Adrane's motor-car. 
 The house before which they drew up stood on an 
 ample corner in a block and a neighborhood fast 
 losing its character as a residence district. But 
 the Dawes home bore a substantial, if ineffectual, 
 air of protest against the invasion of business all 
 about it. It was a long and high house, almost 
 square, and its wide front of reddish-brown sand- 
 stone was only nominally relieved by formal plate- 
 glass windows. It bore rather a worn and stern 
 air, as if wearied by city dust and clamor, but it 
 sustained on both streets a still uncompromised 
 dignity. Diagonally across the avenue, on the 
 northeast corner, rose a huge hotel, and an ama- 
 zing office building towered in marble across the 
 street to the south. The south half of the avenue 
 frontage in the block, the site of a range of resi- 
 dences and a church, had also been acquired by 
 Richard Dawes, and gave his estate the frontage 
 of the street to the south. The Dawes home it- 
 self stood as the solitary survivor of an earlier 
 day when Merrilie's mother could pick flowers in 
 the churchyard and gather mushrooms in the 
 meadow where the hot-houses stood. Every other 
 important residence within the neighborhood had 
 been either abandoned to the uses of trade, or 
 razed to make way for modern business build- 
 ings. 
 
 87
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 The interior of Merrilie's home, into which Ad- 
 rane followed Mrs. Whitney and Annie, was as 
 simply designed as the exterior. Half-way back 
 in the hall, proportioned for a good effect, an easy 
 flight of returning stairs led to the second floor. 
 On the left, a double drawing-room opened. On 
 the right, a reception-room, known as the east 
 room, communicated with the library; back of this 
 were dining and breakfast rooms. 
 
 In the east room, Adrane found Harry Drake, 
 who put aside a cigarette and summoned a smile 
 to meet him. The two were trying to talk, with 
 the effort of men naturally antagonistic, when 
 Adrane heard footsteps tripping down the muffled 
 stairs in the hall. He heard them then advancing 
 with a pleasing swiftness and in a moment turned 
 to see Merrilie standing in the doorway. 
 
 Drake hastened forward, but Merrilie, not un- 
 willing to annoy Drake and remembering her 
 duties of hospitality, turned to Adrane. Her eyes, 
 he noticed again, were quite unlike Annie's, but he 
 was at once too engaged in Merrilie's words to 
 analyze them. 
 
 An elderly lady clad in black silk and with a 
 head of snow-white hair entered with Mrs. Whit- 
 ney and Annie. This was Merrilie's aunt, Mrs. 
 Jane Bidwell, whom he had met at Crossrips. 
 Mrs. Bidwell glided in her walk, and her features
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 were normally composed in solemnity. Her greet- 
 ing of Adrane was solemn and her words were few. 
 Drake as an old acquaintance seemed to get on 
 with her, but Adrane, after some efforts to pene- 
 trate her manner of state, gave up. He could not, 
 however, sitting at her right hand at dinner, es- 
 cape the sensation of being under inspection. 
 Even Merrilie seemed inclined to scrutinize him as 
 a new arrival in the circle, though she was ob- 
 viously not disposed to reduce the process to one 
 of cruelty. Adrane, too, regarded Merrilie, at the 
 foot of the table, with the interest we naturally 
 attach to persons unusually situated in life. In- 
 deed, Merrilie possessed for all of her friends this 
 interest. And as those whom we frequently hear 
 discussed, before having met them, commonly 
 disappoint our preconceptions, Merrilie disap- 
 pointed Adrane's not only in her background but 
 in herself. 
 
 After hearing her so much talked about, he dis- 
 missed from his mind with difficulty the idea of a 
 ruddy, vigorous, confident American girl. Instead 
 of being tanned and rugged, Merrilie was white 
 and slender. Everything about her lent itself to 
 femininity. The candle-light softened her face, 
 which yet struck him as too slender, and her hair, 
 worn low on her forehead, contributed to soften 
 her features, though in this lay a feminine touch 
 
 89
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 beyond Adrane's ken. She had her father's 
 straight, fine nose; from his portrait, hanging be- 
 hind Merrilie, Adrane perceived how perfectly it 
 had been feminized without losing anything of 
 distinction. And her eyebrows, arching above 
 composed eyes, gave her countenance an open 
 expression; though this her mental attitude did 
 not always confirm. Merrilie, Mrs. Whitney 
 had said, could keep her own counsel; and her 
 Aunt Jane would always add, she could find 
 more reasons than one for having her own 
 way. 
 
 Annie, during the dinner, fell to recalling ju- 
 venile days with Merrilie, and their escapades to- 
 gether, from the trip Merrilie once took her on 
 to all the near candy stores, asking for absinthe 
 because she thought it was candy, to Merrilie's 
 showing her how to ring the door-bells of the 
 houses next the church and escape without get- 
 ting caught. 
 
 "Lovely reputation you are giving me before 
 Mr. Adrane," said Merrilie. "You might have left 
 some of the worst things till another time." 
 
 "Oh, I have," cried Annie joyously, "haven't I, 
 Aunt Jane?" 
 
 "I have a story myself," interposed Drake. 
 
 Merrilie affected a look of resignation: "See 
 what it is to have candid friends." 
 
 90
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Drake addressed himself to Mrs. Whitney. 
 "One day she rigged up as an old lady " 
 
 "Too easy to do," murmured Merrilie paren- 
 thetically. 
 
 " with bonnet, veil, spectacles, and curls, and 
 made a formal call on her father. Kennedy took 
 an old card from her at the door without a ques- 
 tion, ushered her in, and Mr. Dawes came down. 
 She pretended to be a distant Virginia cousin so- 
 liciting subscriptions for a young ladies' school, 
 and talked so well about the people her father 
 used to know as a boy he told her he would have 
 a check for a thousand dollars mailed to her in- 
 stitution. At this his distant cousin sprang to 
 her delighted feet and began dancing the High- 
 land fling a dance of Merrilie's that her father 
 was very fond of. She tossed the bonnet and 
 wig at him " 
 
 "Harry Drake!" cried Merrilie. "What a 
 story!" 
 
 ; and while he stood petrified with wrath, 
 threw her arms around his neck and kissed him." 
 
 Merrilie flushed as Adrane, laughing, looked at 
 her. "Heavens! How that innocent caper grows 
 with age!" she said resignedly. 
 
 "We certainly have had good times in this 
 house," sighed Annie. "And I'm crazy to see 
 your Paris home, Merrilie."
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I've been trying for a year to get you over to 
 see it," returned Merrilie. 
 
 "What's it like?" demanded Mrs. Whitney in- 
 quisitively. 
 
 "I'm not going to tell. Come and see." 
 
 "Oh, I hope we can," said Annie. "John is 
 going to London on business pretty soon." 
 
 Merrilie looked at Adrane. "That is your 
 chance," said she. And to Annie: "Make him 
 take you over." 
 
 "I've made up my mind I'm going to," an- 
 nounced Annie. 
 
 "The French house," interposed Aunt Jane, 
 breaking in with a harsh voice on the gayety, 
 "isn't nearly so attractive as this." 
 
 " But please, auntie, dear, don't refer to it as if 
 it were an industrial establishment. No house 
 could be as nice as this," assented Merrilie without 
 reserve. "But New York isn't Paris in every 
 way; and, as Edith says, here, we can't see all the 
 world going to the Bois." 
 
 "I don't really comprehend, Merrilie, how you 
 stand this big house any longer," observed Mrs. 
 Whitney in a frankly positive way. "I should 
 think it would get on your nerves. Some day you 
 will sell it," she prophesied. "Then we shall see 
 a sky-scraper here." 
 
 "Never!" exclaimed Merrilie indignantly. "I 
 92
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 will never sell it. Merciful heaven ! What have I 
 but my home? I lose my patience on the subject 
 when I am pressed too far. An old Wall Street 
 friend of father's, Henry Benjamin, began writing 
 me about it last winter. For a long time I 
 wouldn't answer him; but he became so insistent 
 I had to, and I was very short indeed. Then what 
 do you think he did? Came over to beg me to 
 name a price on the block. I told him never to 
 write to me or speak to me again of the subject 
 under any circumstances. I was almost rude. 
 But he said I was right to keep this block, though 
 for very different reasons from those that appealed 
 to me." 
 
 "Mr. Benjamin," said her aunt, rebuking Mer- 
 rilie for evading particulars, "told you if you 
 ever needed money you could raise it on this prop- 
 erty when you couldn't on government bonds." 
 
 Aunt Jane, still protesting, turned her solemn 
 eyes on Mrs. Whitney: "I have done all 7 could 
 to induce Merrilie to get rid of the place. It is 
 a terrible burden." 
 
 "Burden, yes," agreed Merrilie; "but this is not 
 a 'place' it's a home. And as for being a burden, 
 when we rid ourselves of all our burdens there's 
 nothing left to live for. And when every other ex- 
 cuse fails me, I tell Aunt Jane we must stand by it 
 as long as Kennedy, father's old favorite, lives. It 
 
 93
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 would break his heart to see this house torn down. 
 He won't go to Paris; he won't even cross to Ire- 
 land for a visit. He simply won't hear of leaving 
 New York; isn't it odd ? I have repeatedly offered 
 to buy or build a home for him farther up-town. 
 He only smiles feebly: 'This is the only house I 
 shall ever want, Miss Merrilie. Sure, it will out- 
 last me!' I fancy he spends half his time praying 
 for father." 
 
 "And when he isn't doing that," declared Mrs. 
 Whitney, "he is praying for a husband for you." 
 
 Merrilie supported the laugh good-naturedly. 
 "I tell him, that is the real test," she confessed, 
 and her cheeks reflected a touch of color again. 
 "If he can put that over, as Harry expresses it, 
 I shall believe his prayers worth while though 
 I am sceptical of miracles. He certainly was 
 deeply attached to my father, as we are to him. 
 How can I help being? I never knew any face 
 but his behind mother's or Aunt Jane's chair." 
 
 Adrane found himself listening with interest to 
 all of the chatter. He marked Merrilie's manner. 
 Her indifference, at times, to what others urged 
 hinted of the headstrong creature he had heard of. 
 And again, though Merrilie seemed persistent she 
 was almost timid in her manner of persistence 
 sometimes even appealing. But whatever else, 
 she was not uncertain. When the talk turned to 
 
 94
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 motoring, Merrilie told two stories : One, of an ex- 
 perience with the Hamersleys in a sand-storm in 
 the Texas Panhandle; the other of an encounter 
 with a "borer" wind in getting away once from 
 the Adriatic with Edith and her brother-in-law, 
 Guido Mocenigo. She recommended to Adrane 
 for the Continent, English drivers. 
 
 When her guests were leaving, Merrilie had 
 a little conference with Annie about an engage- 
 ment. 
 
 With Mrs. Whitney and Adrane standing by, 
 the two girls talked in the hall. A collie dog 
 descending the broad stairs at the rear attracted 
 Adrane's attention. 
 
 Half-way down the dog stopped and stood in 
 silence surveying the group before him. His dig- 
 nity arrested Adrane's eye. While the women 
 continued to talk, Adrane spoke to the dog and 
 Merrilie turned. "Do you like collies?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Very much." 
 
 She extended her hand and the dog walked 
 slowly down the stairs and came forward. He was 
 tall and rangy, a sable with white feet. "I have 
 a little kennel of them," Merrilie said. 
 
 "I know," assented Adrane, laying his hand on 
 the dog's head as the latter reached his mistress's 
 side. Annie shrank back when the collie turned 
 
 95
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 her way: "Go away, dear, do. Merrilie's dogs 
 never like me," she remarked apprehensively. 
 
 "Which is one way of saying you don't like 
 Merrilie's dogs," suggested her hostess tolerantly. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do, every one of them, Merrilie. 
 But I prefer lap-dogs, naturally. We stopped to- 
 night at Madison Square to see the Pomera- 
 nians." 
 
 Merrilie turned to Adrane. He noticed the 
 pearls on her neck and the pinkness of her skin. 
 "You are interested in dogs?" she said. 
 
 "Not in lap-dogs. The only dogs I really care 
 for are out of favor just now." 
 
 "What are they?" 
 
 "Collies." 
 
 "But I'm afraid of such big dogs," objected 
 Annie. "John has a whole lot of collies himself." 
 
 "Have you?" said Merrilie, looking at Adrane. 
 "We must compare notes." 
 
 He was prompt, Merrilie thought, with his re- 
 turn: "When shall it be?" 
 
 She laughed. "Oh some time. Annie, dear" 
 the party moved toward the vestibule "don't 
 forget Wednesday, at twelve." 
 
 96
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A)RANE, responding to an urgent telephone 
 message from Annie one afternoon not long 
 afterward, stopped in on his way up-town and 
 found Merrilie with her. 
 
 *' We've been waiting an hour for you, John. 
 You know I've told Merrilie about your trip to 
 London. And what do you think she has invited 
 us to do mother and me? You'll never in the 
 world guess. To go over with you and take her 
 Paris home for a month " 
 
 "No, for as long as you like," corrected Mer- 
 rilie. "But if Mr. Adrane is coming back so 
 soon " 
 
 "I shall be gone hardly three weeks," inter- 
 posed Adrane. ^ 
 
 "I thought that Annie," continued Merrilie, 
 speaking to Adrane, "would not consider a longer 
 definite stay." 
 
 "I could do all my shopping, John," exclaimed 
 Annie. 
 
 "And I will run over to Paris with you or, 
 better, follow you when I get through in Lon- 
 don," suggested Adrane. 
 
 97
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Annie's delight was unrestrained. "Ernesto is 
 dying to get back," continued Merrilie. "He and 
 Bianca will open the house, and Ernesto does ex- 
 cellently for a courier. It's very easy." 
 
 Annie looked at Adrane from under pretty eye- 
 lashes. "John, I am awfully ashamed for the 
 way I scolded you yesterday." She pouted ap- 
 pealingly with her apology. Merrilie, laughing, 
 looked at her and then at Adrane. He seemed 
 embarrassed. 
 
 "You didn't scold me," he said, deprecatingly, 
 as if to dismiss reference to the incident. "You 
 were merely disappointed. It was too bad," he 
 continued, explaining to Merrilie, "to have to 
 leave town and upset all her arrangements for 
 next month." 
 
 "I know you couldn't help it, but I was awfully 
 disappointed," confessed Annie, settling back. 
 
 "It's a business trip, of course," suggested Mer- 
 rilie consolingly. 
 
 "One I can't avoid," explained Adrane. "We 
 were speaking the other night of the West Shore 
 Railroad." 
 
 "I remember," returned Merrilie. 
 
 "Well, it's about that," said Adrane briefly. 
 "But this kindness of yours puts a new aspect on 
 the trip. We will make the business more than 
 half pleasure." 
 
 98
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I was awfully bad, John," insisted Annie peni- 
 tently, "wasn't I?" Adrane again showed embar- 
 rassment. "And you were kind of bad, too, John." 
 
 Merrilie picked up an antique ring-box from the 
 table and held it toward Adrane. "Don't you 
 think that's pretty?" 
 
 He took the box in his hand. "What is it?" 
 
 "Just a ring and trinket box." 
 
 "But conspicuously beautiful," he said, exam- 
 ining it. 
 
 "It would make a stunning puff-box," sug- 
 gested Annie. 
 
 "Oh, Annie," protested Adrane, "a puff-box! 
 What a beautiful woman!" he added, studying 
 the profile portrait relieved on the silver cover. 
 "What a cool, restful neck!" He looked at Mer- 
 rilie. "Can you make out the inscription?" 
 
 "John, let that woman go; forget her!" ex- 
 claimed Annie. "John will go crazy sometimes 
 about a woman that's been dead hundreds of 
 years," she confided to Merrilie, toward whom 
 Adrane had drawn his chair to decipher the text 
 around the portrait. 
 
 "She was Joanna Albiza uxor Laurentii de 
 Tornabonis," Merrilie read. "Isn't she quaint? 
 I am like you." She looked at Adrane. "I 
 should like to lift Joanna Albiza right off the box 
 and make her speak. Annie and I have a dis- 
 
 99
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 pute." Merrilie sat back in her chair. "You 
 decide it, Mr. Adrane. I want to give her a box 
 something like this, and I wanted her portrait on 
 the cover. She wants mine there. Don't you 
 think it should be hers?" 
 
 "I should say so beautiful a gift should recall 
 the giver," decided Adrane. 
 
 Merrilie frowned amiably. "But you don't 
 understand." 
 
 Annie sighed. "John, dear, you are very 
 stupid." 
 
 "You see," Merrilie went on, "it is to commem- 
 orate a certain happy event in your lives. It is 
 a nuptuale, and will bear, or should, an inscription 
 such as this: 'Anna, wife of John Adrane." 
 Merrilie swept a little curve with her finger and 
 arched her head the least bit as she regarded the 
 box-cover. "What would be the sense in setting 
 my portrait there?" 
 
 "I know I am stupid," returned Adrane. "I 
 thought the box should bear your portrait, even if 
 it changed the idea a little. I thought, too, I 
 might get your permission to duplicate the box 
 with Annie's portrait, and give it to her myself." 
 
 "John, you are too thoughtful," cried Annie; 
 "Merrilie won't refuse you that." 
 
 But Merrilie pondered. "No," she said, "I've 
 a better idea yet. I'll have both your profiles 
 
 100
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 put on the box. And the text shall run: 'Anna 
 and John Adrane.' And you can have the 
 reliefs made when you are in Paris at Viola's, 
 Annie. I haven't told you I've promised Mrs. 
 Hamersley for a yachting trip only for a week or 
 ten days, along the coast." 
 
 Merrilie left town first. Amos Hamersley not 
 only could not be persuaded to be of the yachting 
 party, but growled at his wife's going. "I think 
 it my duty to do something, Amos," contended 
 Mrs. Hamersley with dignity. "I take it that 
 Harry Drake is making his final effort for Mer- 
 rilie, I mean." 
 
 Amos scowled. "Merrilie doesn't care a rap 
 for that fellow." 
 
 "That of course remains to be seen. His sister 
 suggested the idea, so I suppose this trip is to en- 
 courage Harry to make one last dead-set. Let us 
 hope he will do so. I am getting frankly tired of 
 travelling the land and sea to spur two people up 
 to marrying. Yet, now that I've provided nicely 
 for Annie, I hate to desert Merrilie and Harry. 
 Merrilie ought to marry him." 
 
 "Why?" blurted Amos. 
 
 "To oblige him," retorted Mrs. Hamersley. 
 "And to oblige those of us who chase around the 
 country fiddling away our time to give him a 
 chance." 
 
 101
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Kate," asserted Amos, subdued but not con- 
 vinced, "you have no sense." 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley tossed her head in a leisurely 
 way. "Oh, I have, Amos. But I don't always 
 show it. Remember, I married you. Merrilie 
 is not young, and she ought to be thinking." 
 
 "Merrilie has perennial youth on her side as 
 long as she keeps her money and Merrilie is too 
 long-headed ever to let that get away from 
 her." 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley lifted her chin. "Harry also 
 has an estate." 
 
 Amos pooh-poohed the suggestion. "The coun- 
 try is full of estates like Harry's." 
 
 Nevertheless, Amos did not disguise his interest 
 in the question of Harry Drake's success. Mrs. 
 Hamersley came back home with rheumatism. 
 "And what about Drake and Merrilie?" demanded 
 her husband. 
 
 It was not necessary for Mrs. Hamersley to as- 
 sume the defensive, she maintained it. "Merrilie 
 never looked better in her life. And Harry cer- 
 tainly never was wittier. The weather was divine, 
 Amos. Merrilie and Harry just lived on the 
 deck. They seemed to have a very good time." 
 
 "But a very good time," returned Amos, snatch- 
 ing the weakness of his wife's last words, "doesn't 
 cook anybody's goose. Did they come to terms?" 
 
 102
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley raised her head. "Harry de- 
 clared himself, I believe." 
 
 "And she said 'No'?" 
 
 "She did not say 'No.'" 
 
 "Ha! accepted him!" 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley set her head. "In a way, yes." 
 
 "In what way did she accept him?" demanded 
 her husband, feverishly. 
 
 "She accepted him provisionally." 
 
 Amos started. "Provisionally! What do you 
 mean?" he demanded sharply. 
 
 "Amos, don't press me too closely. Merrilie 
 told him if she ever changed her mind," Mrs. 
 Hamersley let the words sink in slowly, "she 
 would marry him." 
 
 At this announcement Amos blew up; at least, 
 his hands and feet indicated an explosion. "You 
 call that accepting him provisionally! Why, 
 Kate, any woman on earth could tell any man 
 that," thundered her husband, "without caring a 
 straw for him." 
 
 "Amos, you are the most discerning man I 
 ever saw," half-lisped his wife softly. "There is 
 really no use trying to hide anything from men. 
 They just jump at the truth even when you are 
 most careful not to convey the slightest inkling 
 of it." 
 
 "Who told you this important news?" 
 103
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Julia." 
 
 "What did Harry say when she told him if she 
 changed her mind she would marry him?" asked 
 Hamersley grimly. 
 
 "He got mad." 
 
 "Humph! Harry got mad; you got the rheu- 
 matism. And Merrilie?" 
 
 "Escaped the fowler's snare." 
 
 "Nobody will snare that girl. Harry might as 
 well stop burning coal to get her. She's too smart 
 for all of them," declared Amos definitively. 
 
 Adrane was back from London and Paris soon 
 after Merrilie's return. Without waiting for an 
 appointment he called on her with messages from 
 Annie. Merrilie received him in the room in 
 which he had first met her. She was expecting 
 Harry Drake, but gave no sign of impatience at 
 Adrane's unlooked-for arrival. His pleasant im- 
 pressions were renewed the moment he took her 
 hand. Perhaps it was a merely personal attract- 
 iveness a spontaneous, open cordiality that 
 pleased; perhaps the atmosphere of the high- 
 ceilinged rooms, which preserved a stateliness of 
 background and gave Merrilie a setting. She 
 looked even better, Adrane thought, than when 
 he had seen her before, and the slenderness of 
 her cheeks when they were warmed, as now, with 
 pink, was not unattractive. The thought of her 
 
 104
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 alone in her surroundings lent interest to her. 
 Her inherited responsibilities, her realization of 
 them her ready understanding and her ample 
 fund of inconsequent anecdote for laughter, all 
 were engaging. 
 
 "You really liked my little house?" asked Mer- 
 rilie doubtingly, after the messages had been given 
 and the voyage and Annie discussed. 
 
 "You can hardly call your Paris house little," 
 Adrane glanced about the room, "except in com- 
 parison with this." 
 
 Merrilie's eyes followed his as if anticipating 
 the familiar objection. "I know," she said; and 
 then sinking back as if momentarily abstracted, 
 "but I can't help clinging to it." 
 
 "You are absolutely right to cling to it," de- 
 clared Adrane. 
 
 Merrilie revived. "Do you really think so? 
 Every one else discourages me. They think me 
 perverse. I shall remember your approval. You 
 certainly are not unpractical." 
 
 "I don't know about that 
 
 "Oh, you can't be! You are all business, Mrs. 
 Hamersley says. And I hear there is something 
 new in the papers almost every day about the 
 Steel Company. Can you really make steel 
 cheaper than anybody else, as Mr. Hamersley 
 insists?" 
 
 105
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "The ore and coal in our properties lie closer 
 together than anywhere else." 
 
 "I hear your stocks are advancing at a marvel- 
 lous rate." 
 
 "We have great advantages in low-cost produc- 
 tion and, of course," he smiled apologetically, 
 "great confidence in our future." 
 
 "But your ore is all soft, isn't it? I remember 
 the beautiful, black hard ores of the Marquette 
 region. I suppose you are behind this vigorous 
 movement to put up the price of your securities?" 
 
 Adrane answered quizzically. "Some of us 
 think they should sell higher." 
 
 Merrilie shook her head with good-humored vex- 
 ation. "You are bound you won't talk about it 
 when the town is talking about you and what 
 you are doing." 
 
 "But market business is rather prosy for 
 women." 
 
 "Not a bit. I love market operations, only I 
 should be deathly afraid of getting fleeced if I 
 ever speculated." 
 
 "Better you shouldn't." Adrane, in giving ad- 
 vice, seemed to gain in ease. "Of course," he 
 continued, "I could talk all day about coal and 
 steel. I can get wildly enthusiastic even over 
 iron ore and open-hearth furnaces, but I can't ex- 
 pect everybody else to. Tell me, where did you 
 ever hear of Marquette ores?" 
 
 106
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Father and I and the Hamersleys cruised Lake 
 Superior one summer. All you hear up there is 
 about iron and copper." 
 
 "I wish you could see what we have. We run 
 in a string of cars and load an ore train with a 
 steam-shovel. When I get started talking about 
 it I can't stop." 
 
 "Don't," urged Merrilie, laughing with him. 
 "I want to hear everything." 
 
 "By the way," he asked, "what have you done 
 about the bonds that you told me of?" 
 
 Merrilie made a helpless movement. "Noth- 
 ing. I don't believe the committee knows any 
 more about reorganizing the road than I do. And 
 the receiver is a government politician." 
 
 "Too bad. And you are the largest single bond- 
 holder." 
 
 "I did not say that." 
 
 "Mrs. Whitney told me, I think." 
 
 "Oh, did she?" Merrilie's face expressed re- 
 signed annoyance. "Mr. Adrane," she asked sud- 
 denly, "what are you operating your road for, 
 on your side of the river?" 
 
 "Fifty-four per cent," answered Adrane, some- 
 what surprised at the question. 
 
 Merrilie lifted her hand with a gesture of despair. 
 "And it costs us from sixty-four to seventy. 
 Think of it!" 
 
 107
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Of course," explained Adrane, "our big rev- 
 enue now is ore traffic." 
 
 "Still, that is one-way traffic," suggested Mer- 
 rilie. 
 
 Adrane stopped. "You must have been quiz- 
 zing me that night about running passenger- 
 trains up one side of the river and down the 
 other," he said after an instant. Merrilie's little 
 laugh committed her neither to assent nor denial. 
 "How do you come to know," he asked, "about 
 operating percentages and one-way traffic? You 
 must be an expert in disguise." 
 
 Merrilie was still laughing. "Nonsense," she 
 said lightly; "I don't know anything about rail- 
 road operation. I hear Mr. Hamersley discuss 
 it, that's all. Now I want to ask you something." 
 She assumed an inquisitorial air. "How came 
 you to know I had a kennel of collies?" 
 
 "Through a humiliating experience." 
 
 "A humiliating experience?" echoed Merrilie, 
 leaning forward. "How could my liking for collies 
 possibly involve you in a humiliating experience?" 
 
 Adrane seemed in no wise averse to explaining. 
 "Three years ago I thought I knew something 
 about collies. I had bred them for some time in 
 the West. I entered my best hope at Madison 
 Square, in the novice class, with every confidence 
 of capturing the blue ribbon. I invited all my 
 
 1 08
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 friends down to see my dog. Imagine my feelings 
 when the ribbon went to a dog entered by " 
 Adrane stopped as if to let Merrilie finish. But 
 she did not end the sentence for him. 
 
 "By whom?" she asked. 
 
 "Even the winner has forgotten!" he exclaimed. 
 Merrilie opened her eyes and lifted her hands as 
 the explanation flashed over her. "Entered," re- 
 peated Adrane, "by you." 
 
 "How perfectly ridiculous!" she exclaimed, sink- 
 ing back. "How did it happen? I hope the 
 judges weren't bribed. Was it a bad decision? 
 Mercy! What can I do?" 
 
 "I didn't expect then ever to have as good a 
 laugh as this out of it," returned Adrane. "Why, 
 no, I don't suppose it was a bad decision it was 
 just a development in breeding. I had held out 
 for a moderately broad muzzle and, I thought, 
 more intelligence as against the fashionable needle 
 type. I don't agree with the breeders at all." 
 
 Merrilie knit her brows for a moment and 
 looked at Adrane reflectively. "Neither do I," 
 she assented; "but I am a slavist. I am trying 
 to think," she continued. "You see, I've been at 
 home very little for some years. I did use to ex- 
 hibit; but they began to talk about me as a * dog- 
 fancier' and printed pretended photographs show- 
 ing me with my arms around a dog's neck, so I 
 
 109
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 gave it all up. But Mr. Tilden likes dogs, and it 
 must have been that year he exhibited once in 
 my absence. That's the way it happened, I am 
 sure. He sent me an armful of yellow newspa- 
 pers with pictures of the dogs and the mistress 
 of the kennel! I wrote him, 'Never again." 
 
 Harry Drake was announced. 
 
 Merrilie, after greeting him, turned to allow him 
 to speak to Adrane. Drake regarded her visitor 
 stiffly. 
 
 The awkward instant was broken by Adrane 
 himself, who spoke at once. Merrilie concealed 
 her resentment and tried to lead the conversation. 
 But after her efforts had obviously dragged, she 
 settled back to a restrained annoyance. Adrane 
 broke the situation by taking his leave. Merrilie 
 followed him into the hall. The two were at ease 
 again in an instant. "And you really are opera- 
 ting for fifty-four per cent?" Merrilie murmured, 
 professing to marvel. 
 
 Adrane looked at her as if uncertain whether she 
 was making game of him. Her face betrayed 
 nothing beyond the import of her words. "I 
 don't know whether you are joking or not," he 
 returned. 
 
 She frowned a denial. "Joking! I could talk an 
 hour longer about railroads. Come again do. 
 Aunt Jane will be so sorry she missed you to- 
 
 no
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 night." Merrilie, hesitating an instant, resumed 
 more seriously: "I don't suppose you can tell 
 me what to say to this pokey reorganization com- 
 mittee? It's so stupid a tangle." 
 
 "My advice would not be worth much, I'm 
 afraid." 
 
 Merrilie moved slowly with him toward the ves- 
 tibule. "The committee" she spoke languidly, 
 which was not like her, and her words did not 
 carry back to the east room "meets next Thurs- 
 day. I don't really much care what they do." 
 
 " But your interests should be safeguarded," ex- 
 claimed Adrane, reproving her indifference in her 
 own lower tone. 
 
 Merrilie, pausing in her step, looked at him 
 doubtfully. "Do you really think so?" 
 
 "Mr. Glover is in town. I might bring him 
 over to advise you," he suggested, concentrating 
 his mental resources on the responsibilities of the 
 situation. 
 
 Merrilie lost her indifference immediately. 
 "Oh, by no means; not at all. It would be quite 
 unnecessary." And, having peremptorily vetoed 
 the suggestion, she added uncertainly: "I have 
 no right to trouble even you." 
 
 "Don't speak of trouble," responded Adrane 
 with energy. "When shall you be free to see me 
 about it?" 
 
 in
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Her eyes relaxed at once. She appealed to 
 him to decide. "Hadn't you better set the even- 
 ing?" 
 
 "But your engagements?" he ventured. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders the least bit. "They 
 are usually of no consequence." 
 
 "Then, if the meeting is Thursday, shan't we 
 say Wednesday night?" 
 
 She raised her girlish under lip undecidedly for 
 the merest instant, then she nodded. "Are you 
 sure you are quite free?" 
 
 "Absolutely. Nine o'clock?" 
 
 "Nine o'clock will suit me perfectly. Good 
 night. Really" she was fingering her handker- 
 chief as she ventured the words "I think I could, 
 in time, convert you to the narrow muzzle, Mr. 
 Adrane." 
 
 112
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A)RANE, without giving sign of it, realized 
 that Drake's discourtesy only reflected a dis- 
 like for him that had already shown itself in certain 
 circles of monetary influence. The straightaway 
 persistence that established for him a growing 
 importance in country-wide industrial affairs, 
 while it made friends like Hamersley and Havens, 
 also made enemies. 
 
 Merrilie, who erred rarely in such situations, told 
 Drake rather wilfully, when he sought to influence 
 her, that she should rely on Adrane to advise her 
 in her dealings with the protective committee 
 managed by the attorneys of Drake and his asso- 
 ciates which sought the control of her interests 
 in the reorganization. Nothing was said by any 
 one, nor did Merrilie at first comprehend what 
 animated the recurrent opposition to her wishes as 
 the reorganization proceeded; but nothing that 
 Adrane suggested was received with favor. 
 
 Havens himself came to Merrilie to urge her 
 concurrence with what Drake's attorneys advised. 
 
 "3
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Drake, one night, told her flatly that the com- 
 mittee attorneys intimated Adrane's advice was 
 colored by his own interests in the West Shore 
 road, and that it was certain he would recommend 
 nothing to make a competing line an effective or 
 dangerous rival. The interviews left Merrilie in a 
 state of resentfulness and suspicion. She waited 
 with impatience a chance to see Adrane. It came 
 the next evening, at Mrs. Hamersley's. 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley had assembled for her guests 
 that night a part of the opera chorus and orchestra 
 and brought in two of the operatic stars. 
 
 Merrilie was sufficiently on edge mentally to 
 be thoroughly animated. Adrane took the first 
 chance to get near her. It pleased her, but she 
 was in a wilful humor. 
 
 "The committee won't do anything I want 
 them to," she complained when he asked how 
 she was getting on. "They are opposed to every- 
 thing Mr. Tilden proposes; and the ideas are all 
 yours, of course." 
 
 "The suggestions I made are positively right," 
 insisted Adrane. "I don't understand why they 
 should be opposed, unless these people don't want 
 to spend money enough to make a good road." 
 
 "They say," continued Merrilie calmly, "that 
 your suggestions are in line with your own inter- 
 ests, because you own a competing road." 
 
 114
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Adrane looked at her a moment without an- 
 swering. Merrilie delivered the words as if dis- 
 claiming responsibility, and her eyes met his com- 
 posedly. He flushed. 
 
 "Who says that?" he demanded. 
 
 She spoke with indifference. "Some of the 
 lawyers." 
 
 Her aloofness did not cool Adrane. "Did you 
 believe it?" he asked, resenting her attitude. 
 
 They were looking at each other, but in spite of 
 the spirit in Adrane's eyes Merrilie's features re- 
 flected no concern at having repeated the accusa- 
 tion. "I never believe anything that lawyers say." 
 
 "Why should you repeat it if you didn't be- 
 lieve it?" 
 
 It was Merrilie's turn to flush a little: "I 
 thought I might repeat it to you when you said 
 you did not understand why they " 
 
 Adrane was angry. "Some lawyers make good 
 railroad men " he interrupted. 
 
 "And although I didn't believe it, it annoyed 
 me" interposed Merrilie. 
 
 "But Eastern lawyers don't always shine as 
 managers of Western properties," he continued. 
 
 "So I resolved to inflict my annoyance on 
 you," she persisted. "And 
 
 "I haven't the slightest ulterior interest in the 
 subject," insisted Adrane doggedly. 
 
 "5
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Lawyers are always suspicious," suggested 
 Merrilie, ready to mollify his wrath. 
 
 "I detest lawyers and suspicious people as 
 well." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Adrane! I am very suspicious 
 don't detest me!" 
 
 He did not hesitate in his retort: "I should 
 rather detest a man without any reason than sus- 
 pect him without any. Shouldn't you?" 
 
 Merrilie's face fell and she looked defensively 
 out from under non-combatant eyelashes on the 
 little tempest she had stirred. "You said you 
 didn't understand," she reiterated. "And now 
 you are angry at me " 
 
 "Not in the least " 
 
 "Oh, yes, you are," insisted Merrilie sweetly. 
 
 "Indeed " 
 
 "You are as mad as hops." 
 
 "Truly, I " 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley leaned toward them and spoke 
 into their ears with a suffering air: "Have you 
 noticed the music?" she asked. 
 
 Merrilie started. "Oh, Mrs. Hamersley!" 
 
 "Yes, they are singing," continued their hostess 
 mincingly. "Won't you two dears stop your re- 
 organization long enough to give the poor Sig- 
 nora a chance at her polacca?" 
 
 Merrilie suppressed a laugh. She glanced at 
 116
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Adrane. Her eyes seemed to intimate they had 
 been in mischief together. Some changing of seats 
 followed the song. Merrilie chose an easy chair 
 that Adrane picked out for her in a cool corner of 
 the conservatory and next to Amos Hamersley. 
 A card was brought for Adrane from a newspaper- 
 man asking for a moment's interview. Adrane 
 spoke to the reporter briefly at a rear door of the 
 room and referred him to Mr. Hamersley, who 
 joined them. When the reporter left, Adrane 
 walked toward the dining-room. Hamersley came 
 back to his chair. 
 
 "What is it, Amos?" asked Mrs. Hamersley, 
 who had joined Merrilie. 
 
 "The Record is printing part of the West Shore 
 sale story in the early morning edition," explained 
 her husband, habitually grim. "The Gazette wants 
 a release of all of it." 
 
 "Did you release it?" 
 
 Adrane came back, bringing Merrilie an ice. 
 Amos answered his wife. "Might as well," he 
 said; "everybody knows it." 
 
 Merrilie, declining the refreshment, looked at 
 Mrs. Hamersley. "What is it everybody knows?" 
 she asked as Adrane walked away. 
 
 "That Amos bought Mr. Adrane's railroad, a 
 week or two ago." 
 
 Merrilie's eyes woke with a sudden light: "Has 
 117
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Mr. Adrane sold his railroad?" she demanded 
 quickly. 
 
 "Why, yes; he is going in for steel. Amos says 
 they will make the Steel Company the biggest one 
 in the country and we get the railroad business. 
 Didn't you know John had sold?" 
 
 "How should I know?" asked Merrilie tartly. 
 
 "I forgot, dear, you don't read the papers." 
 
 "It hasn't been in the papers over an hour, has 
 it?" 
 
 "True, but it has been talked about a lot." 
 
 "I no longer have any friends to tell me any- 
 thing," retorted Merrilie. 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley beckoned to her husband with 
 her fan. "My dear, look here. You may pacify 
 Merrilie if you can. She says she no longer has 
 any friends to tell her what is going on. Bless 
 my soul," she continued with feeling, "I only wish 
 somebody would buy one of our railroads! We've 
 so many that we are ruined buying engines and 
 rubber hose for them. Every time I ask for a 
 few acres more up at Sea Ridge " 
 
 "A few acres! A few miles," snorted Amos. 
 
 "Sometimes only a section, dear " 
 
 "Sometimes a township." 
 
 "Every time I ask for anything, some decrepit 
 Western road develops a pressing need for fifty 
 locomotives. And the irony of it is that when 
 
 118
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Amos buys a railroad he thinks he is paying for 
 it. He isn't. I pay for it, invariably. Something 
 that I want I have to do without. It will soon 
 be getting so I shall have to count my hats." 
 
 "When it does I'll get you an adding machine, 
 Kate," muttered Amos, turning benevolently to- 
 ward Merrilie. 
 
 Merrilie listened only perfunctorily to his par- 
 ticulars of the sale. When the singing began she 
 sat silent. Adrane came back but he could not 
 induce Merrilie to talk. 
 
 "I have offended you," he ventured at last, 
 "and without in the least meaning to do so." 
 She coolly disclaimed being offended. "I sup- 
 posed you understood," he went on, "that I had 
 no present interest in the West Shore road." 
 
 Merrilie looked at him resentfully. "Why did 
 you not tell me you had sold?" 
 
 " I couldn't give out anything until Mr. Hamers- 
 ley authorized it." 
 
 Merrilie raised her hands to join in applause 
 given at the moment to the singers. "I love that 
 chorus, don't you?" 
 
 "The sale was one of the reasons for my Lon- 
 don trip," continued Adrane. 
 
 "I like Puccini. Did Annie know?" 
 
 "So do I," Adrane assented to Puccini. "No 
 one knew," he added, answering her question. 
 
 119
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "You might at least have saved me from 
 making a fool of myself in trying to ex- 
 plain " 
 
 "I was upset at being placed before you in such 
 a light- 
 
 Merrilie looked directly at him. "With me," 
 she said slowly, "you need never have any fear 
 that idle talk can place a friend in a false light. 
 I trust very few people fewer, I dare say, than 
 you do, Mr. Adrane. I felt no doubt about your 
 advice." 
 
 "There is absolutely only one best thing to do 
 with your property," declared Adrane, resuming 
 his position with energy. "Put in Western men; 
 spend enough money to put the line in first-class 
 condition; sell it, when the opportunity offers, 
 to the Pennsylvania or the New York Central. 
 Your interests " 
 
 Merrilie indicated by a gesture her utter indif- 
 ference to the whole subject. Adrane could only 
 wait for what she should say. "You almost took 
 my breath away," she complained, looking toward 
 the orchestra, "you were so short with me." She 
 looked gravely again at Adrane. The mild re- 
 proach in her eyes broke the fall of her words. He 
 tried to express his embarrassment. She cut him 
 off. "Don't misunderstand me. You spoke a 
 moment ago of offending me. That wasn't it at 
 
 1 20
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 all. I very innocently offended you; you merely 
 hurt me." 
 
 He tried to speak but the music claimed her 
 attention. She laid her finger-tips on his arm as 
 she looked toward the singer. "This is Helen 
 Campbell. You mustn't miss a note of her Car- 
 men prayer." 
 
 When Merrilie was ready to go, Adrane took her 
 in his car. Even had he been less noticeably con- 
 siderate in his leave-taking, Merrilie would have 
 slept content. Her tiff had been diverting. If 
 it had any perils they were like the dangers of 
 the quarrels that result in better understandings 
 of a sort that pleasingly conceal themselves. 
 
 "Merrilie and Mr. Adrane didn't seem to care 
 very much for the music," remarked Mrs. Hamers- 
 ley to Amos. 
 
 "They squabbled over her railroad tangle," 
 returned Amos. "She is concerned about her 
 bonds." 
 
 "Amos, she doesn't care any more about those 
 bonds than I do. She likes to talk to John Adrane 
 about them, that's all." 
 
 "She couldn't help being interested in the re- 
 organization, could she?" demanded Amos ag- 
 gressively. 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley's response was cryptic. "Re- 
 organizations do absorb a great deal of people's 
 
 121
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 time nowadays; perhaps there are more to come 
 than are under discussion in Wall Street." 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Amos sus- 
 piciously. 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley dropped the subject so deftly 
 that her husband never suspected its disappear- 
 ance. "How much," she asked irrelevantly, "did 
 you pay Mr. Adrane for his railroad?" 
 
 " Fifteen millions. He doesn't get all, you un- 
 derstand." 
 
 "Why, Amos," exclaimed his wife, "you could 
 have bought it once for three, couldn't you?" 
 
 "I could have bought it once for one, but I 
 didn't want it then. And it wasn't worth one. 
 Now it's worth twenty and I had to have it. 
 Those fellows are smart. If they win out, Adrane 
 will go to the top." 
 
 It was in the midst of activities connected with 
 educating the public as to the value of the steel 
 properties that Adrane succeeded in conveying 
 to Merrilie his continued regret over his temper 
 at Hamersley's. Merrilie was surprised by the 
 beauty of his peace-offering and so pleased by his 
 promptitude that she called him up on the tele- 
 phone. 
 
 "Is this Mr. Adrane?" she asked when at last 
 she succeeded in getting him. "This is Merrilie 
 Dawes. How do you do? I suppose I've done a 
 
 122
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 dreadful thing in calling you up at your office. 
 And your telephone is very closely guarded, isn't 
 it? Who is the young lady that was going to re- 
 fuse to let me speak to you? Oh, your secretary! 
 I wish I had as prudent a one; all sorts of people 
 get me on the telephone. I suppose I ought to 
 have a woman instead of Mr. Tilden. All these 
 * service' and busy-bee 'uplift' women cajole poor 
 Mr. Tilden into letting them talk with me, and 
 then I have to be hard-hearted. I notice that all 
 great men I shouldn't say that, should I? all 
 men of large affairs have women secretaries. 
 But I don't like women. Odd? Not at all. I 
 suppose you are very busy. No? It's nice of 
 you to say so, anyway. Where did you find these 
 lovely wild orchids you've sent me?" 
 
 "They came as a peace-offering," answered 
 Adrane. 
 
 "I haven't seen so many for years. Really, 
 you can't imagine how the dear things have 
 cheered me. Indeed, I mean it. They made me 
 feel more as if I were at home again than any- 
 thing since I got back. I suppose there are a 
 dozen people waiting to talk to you Aren't 
 there, truly? Well, I really couldn't wait to write 
 I just had to call up. And now I've kept you 
 too long, so I'm only going to say, thank you, till 
 I can see you and do it better, and good-by. But 
 
 123
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 please don't say anything about 'peace-offering.' 
 It was / who broke the peace, not you. It was; 
 you know very well it was. And oh, I am forget- 
 ting to tell you one of the principal things I called 
 you up for. Talking over the telephone, espe- 
 cially if I try to be brief, always confuses me so, 
 I forget what I want to say men never do such 
 things, I suppose?" 
 
 Adrane thought even men, at times, might; 
 though not, perhaps, when they are talking to 
 men. 
 
 "Something very odd has happened," Merrilie 
 resumed, "and it would look so horribly flat if I 
 did not explain it was a coincidence that I must 
 tell you about it. I realized perfectly well after 
 you left me the other night that 7 had been the 
 peace-breaker, so I have been trying to think what 
 I could do to gloss over my meanness now please 
 don't interrupt. Yesterday, after some more 
 brain-cudgelling, I did think of what I should 
 like to do. And when your messenger came to- 
 day with the orchids mine was on his way to 
 your up-town apartment with my peace-offering. 
 When you get home, please don't think I de- 
 'spatched him after yours arrived. That is all. 
 Good-by. What is it? This evening? I'm afraid 
 I am engaged. Yes, I am free to-morrow even- 
 ing. Why, I should be very glad, indeed, to see 
 
 124
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 you. That will be fine. Good-by! Oh, Mr. 
 Adrane!" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I told you I always forget what I want to say. 
 What do you hear from Annie? Is she well? 
 And her mother? That's dear. I am so glad 
 they are having a good time. Good-by." 
 
 Adrane for the rest of the day looked forward 
 to the interest of getting home. As he looked 
 into his living-room he saw crouched on a rug 
 before the grate a large collie. The dog lay flat, 
 with his head stretched forward between his paws, 
 but his eyes were open and he looked up at the 
 intruder in silence. Before Adrane could observe 
 more than the proportions of the animal 
 the long, slender muzzle and the questioning 
 silence of the eye his man came down the 
 corridor. Adrane pointed. "What's the dog, 
 Oliver?" 
 
 "From Sea Ridge; this morning, sir." 
 
 "Sea Ridge." 
 
 "Miss Dawes's kennel-keeper brought him 
 down this morning with a note; on your table, 
 sir. I had some words with them down-stairs 
 about getting him in, but I thought best to 
 keep him here till you came. Rangy dog, sir, 
 isn't he? Took the novice cup two years ago at 
 Madison Square, the keeper said." 
 
 125
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 The light sable, the high-locked ears, the long 
 head would have identified the dog without any 
 words. "By George! it's Stumah II," exclaimed 
 Adrane, bending on one knee. He laid his hand 
 on the dog's head. The two were friends at once. 
 
 "Bring me the note," directed Adrane without 
 rising. He tore open the cover. 
 
 DEAR MR. ADRANE: 
 
 You have not quite convinced me that you are right about 
 the collie types. I feel certain that I can persuade you you 
 are wrong on one point; namely, that the narrow muzzle 
 means a lack of intelligence. I am sending you with this a 
 missionary, hoping to convert you to my views. He will, I 
 feel sure, prove his intelligence. And even if he fails in this 
 respect to measure up to your standard, he will win his way, 
 I hope, to your heart with his affectionate temper. 
 Cordially yours, 
 
 MERRILIE DAWES. 
 
 It is so long since I have had a letter from Annie. I 
 hope she is well and having a good time. 
 
 Adrane turned from the note to Stumah, and 
 from Stumah his eyes returned to the note. A 
 slight fragrance in it seemed to suggest Merrilie's 
 delicate face and the background of the little east 
 room. After dinner, with Stumah lying before 
 him silent and with his head stretched between 
 his paws, but with eyes wide open to every move- 
 ment and his ears locking stealthily at every sound 
 Adrane in his library wrote a long letter to An- 
 
 126
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 nie telling her, among other things, of Merrilie's 
 gift. He enclosed Merrilie's note with his letter, 
 and rang for Oliver to post it. Then, changing 
 his mind, he tore open the envelope, withdrew 
 Merrilie's note, sealed the letter again, and after 
 the man had closed the door behind him Adrane 
 read the little note again. 
 
 After a while he laid it down and his eyes fell 
 on Annie's photograph, framed on his writing- 
 table. Her face was shown in profile, her eyes 
 cast down in dreamy thought though, in matter 
 of fact, Annie did not give herself very deeply 
 to reflection. Adrane kept his eyes fixed a mo- 
 ment on the picture. Stumah was still regarding 
 him intently when, turning from the picture, his 
 new master once more picked up Merrilie's note, 
 examined the tiny French monogram, read it 
 again, replaced it within its cover, and put it in 
 the breast of his coat. Then he swung around 
 with rather a contented look to Stumah and held 
 out both hands. The dog rose without hesita- 
 tion, came slowly forward wagging his tail, and 
 laid his head timorously between Adrane's knees. 
 
 127
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 MERRILIE, next evening, received Ad- 
 rane's enthusiasm over her collie mildly. 
 " Annie, you know, has a handsome brother of 
 Stumah's," she said, making light of his pleased 
 expressions. The orchids had been placed on a 
 table in the library, where they were sitting. "I'm 
 so delighted with them," confessed Merrilie simply, 
 "that I keep them in my room. They were 
 brought down to-night solely in your honor." 
 
 "I didn't know Annie had a collie," returned 
 Adrane. 
 
 "She doesn't care particularly for him he is 
 too troublesome to take about. However, you 
 have the two now though a family relationship 
 doesn't always insure harmony, even in kennels. 
 Stumah, if you will love him alone, will shed his 
 blood for you; but he will brook no division of 
 favors." 
 
 "He's quite right." 
 
 "I think so; I know anything is spoiled for me 
 if it isn't all for me. It's a horridly mean disposi- 
 tion, but I can't bear to share favors with any 
 one." 
 
 128
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 They talked for an hour, and every topic 
 broached had unexpected interest. Even at the 
 vestibule door Adrane, quite at his slow liveliest, 
 lingered. "When may I come again?" he asked. 
 
 Merrilie pulled a rose from a jar and pushed 
 open the petals. "When do you want to come?" 
 
 "Whenever I shan't bore you." 
 
 Merrilie lifted her eyebrows and made a little 
 mouth as she looked up at him. 
 
 He extended his hand. "Whom is your bud 
 for?" he asked. 
 
 "You never bore me. For you if you want it." 
 She broke the stem and held out the flower. 
 
 "Couldn't you say Thursday?" he asked, ta- 
 king it. 
 
 "Do you want me to keep Thursday evening?" 
 
 "If it's a nice day, how would you and your 
 aunt like to motor awhile in the afternoon?" 
 
 Adrane was trying to run the stem of the rose 
 through his buttonhole. Merrilie saw he was not 
 succeeding. "You are spoiling it," she said, and, 
 stepping closer to him, she fastened the flower in 
 place. 
 
 "Why, yes, perhaps," she assented, retreating 
 and standing as she spoke with her back against 
 the wall, "provided Aunt Jane's cold is reason- 
 able." 
 
 "Then dinner at the 
 129
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Merrilie lifted her hand: "Don't be too strenu- 
 ous dinner in peace and quiet at home." 
 
 "Not again for me, Thursday " 
 
 "As you like, of course. But I couldn't keep 
 Aunt Jane out." 
 
 "I see. Well, of course, I should rather dine 
 here with you than anywhere else." 
 
 "Tell me, before you go, how you ever happened 
 to hunt Florida orchids." 
 
 "I spent a winter down there once as a boy, 
 with an engineering party. When we weren't 
 busy I used to shoot, in and about the Everglades. 
 Occasionally I met air-plant hunters and used to 
 camp with them, and watch them bring in their 
 loads." 
 
 "I wish you would tell me where you haven't 
 been." 
 
 "That would take a long time. When these 
 orchids came up they were so fine, I thought, that 
 I had two baskets made up and sent one to Annie 
 and one to you." 
 
 There was no perceptible change in Merrilie's 
 interest in the subject. But next morning the air- 
 plants were carried out. Merrilie would have 
 disclaimed any feeling in putting them out of 
 sight. Nothing could be more natural than that 
 Adrane should send his fiancee the duplicate of 
 what he had designed for her. But Merrilie was 
 
 130
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 quite frank with herself, and admitted disap- 
 pointment in learning that her basket had 
 been duplicated; and it was incontinently dis- 
 missed. 
 
 She fell into a mood of unrest and began to wish 
 that Annie would come home. She even thought 
 of giving up New York, as every one had pre- 
 dicted she would, and going back to Edith in 
 Cadore. 
 
 "I would go in a minute," she confided one day 
 somewhat moodily to Mrs. Hamersley, "except 
 Merrilie hesitated "that I don't fancy my com- 
 pany." 
 
 "Who is your company?" 
 
 "Myself." 
 
 "What's the matter, honey?" 
 
 Merrilie was plainly out of sorts: "Oh, I don't 
 know. I'm blue, I guess," she exclaimed pettishly. 
 
 "You are stale, dear," returned Mrs. Hamersley. 
 "Come up to Sea Ridge for Sunday if the weather 
 is right. That will freshen you." 
 
 "I should be the stupidest possible person for 
 a week end, Aunt Kate." 
 
 " But if you don't go, child, there 'ain't going to 
 be no party'; if you want to be mean, say so." 
 
 "Whom are you inviting?" 
 
 "Harry and his sister " 
 
 "I hate Julia." 
 
 131
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "So do I, but she's good company. Amos has 
 been up there for a week, and John Adrane is 
 going up Saturday to see him." 
 
 Merrilie shrugged her shoulders: "Don't in- 
 clude me." 
 
 "You are included." 
 
 132
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THAT very evening brought the relief Mer- 
 rilie seemed to need. At home she found a 
 wireless message from Edith and Guido begging 
 the food and lodging for a week, as Guido ex- 
 pressed it. The two landed in New York the next 
 evening, having run over from London to surprise 
 Merrilie. She was not only surprised but re- 
 joiced; and Edith, even at the pier, noticed that 
 Merrilie had changed since she had seen her. 
 She had grown younger, her older sister declared, 
 and demanded to know why. After a night of 
 incessant talking Edith had reached no solution 
 of the riddle, but she had made a second dis- 
 covery: Merrilie had grown more subdued. This 
 apparently contradicted the first impression; but, 
 paradox or not, there it was, Edith insisted; in- 
 stead of youth and gayety together, Merrilie had 
 paid for the former with the latter an unusual 
 barter, Edith thought. "What's the matter with 
 Merrilie?" she demanded of Mrs. Hamersley. 
 
 "Merrilie?" echoed Mrs. Hamersley, surprised. 
 "I haven't an idea. Possibly," she suggested, dis- 
 
 133
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 missing the inquiry in her favorite industrial 
 idiom, "Merrilie needs reorganizing." 
 
 Edith readily consented to Sunday at Sea Ridge. 
 Guido, for one thing, had never seen an American 
 country-place, and Mrs. Hamersley was at her best 
 in showing him about Eagle's Nest. Merrilie her- 
 self had not been up to Sea Ridge for five years, 
 and found much added to it. 
 
 "When we 'come down,' as the Irish say, I ex- 
 pect to retire here to live," announced Mrs. Ham- 
 ersley as she alighted with Guido and her guests 
 before Eagle's Nest house, and the party walked 
 around to the east terrace to get the view toward 
 the Sound. "Every time Amos goes freshly in 
 debt," she added, "I insist that he provide a few 
 hundred acres more for my Old Ladies' Home." 
 
 The house stood on the summit of a long hill 
 sloping to the south and west, and was, with its 
 modifications, Colonial, of ample dimensions, and 
 supplied with the modern resources of comfort for 
 those summer retreats from town, that Amos 
 periodically made when he could not go as far as 
 Crossrips. The undulating landscape was heavily 
 wooded in places, and to the south lay the garden. 
 Beyond this a small river flowed toward the 
 Sound. 
 
 "It would be very nice," suggested Edith, "to 
 be poor and live here with you, Mrs. Hamersley.'* 
 
 134
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Where will you put me?" demanded Merrilie, 
 looking over the low-lying landscape toward the 
 distant sea. "Do give me this view." 
 
 "I should expect to provide modest quarters for 
 all of my friends," answered Mrs. Hamersley. 
 Mr. Hamersley and John Adrane, coming from 
 the house, joined the new arrivals. 
 
 Adrane could hardly believe that Edith and 
 Merrilie were sisters. In comparison, Merrilie and 
 Annie looked much more alike. The Contessa 
 Mocenigo, it was again explained to him, was the 
 only other child of Merrilie's mother, who, wid- 
 owed early in life, had married Richard Dawes, to 
 leave him in turn a widower during Merrilie's 
 childhood. The older sister, more material, so to 
 say, in every way than the younger, was pos- 
 sessed of physique, a retrousse nose, attractive 
 aplomb, a contagious laugh, the step of a duchess, 
 and, having pride without vanity, was pleasantly 
 unaffected. To Adrane, Edith brought news of 
 a fleeting visit in Venice from Annie and her 
 mother. She was surprised to learn they were 
 not yet home. Guido, in soft, pointed-toe shoes, 
 and with the observing eyes and low-voiced in- 
 telligent deference of a Venetian, Mrs. Hamersley 
 pronounced a real comfort, and Julia Robbins at 
 dinner made at once for his brown eyes and his 
 stiff English. Merrilie, sitting with Harry Drake, 
 
 135
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 completely regained her spirits, and Adrane with 
 Edith felt himself deservedly out of her thoughts, 
 though, on the other hand, her eyes, when he 
 caught a glance across the table, seemed ex- 
 tremely alive. During the evening he remained 
 faithfully attached to Edith, who not only was 
 herself attractive, but, what was more to the 
 point, seemed interested in him. 
 
 Next morning Adrane, sitting on the east ter- 
 race in the sunshine, heard footsteps and saw 
 Merrilie coming from the house. She pointed a 
 finger toward him as he rose: "You are the first 
 soul I have seen. What are you doing up at this 
 unearthly hour?" she asked. 
 
 "What are you doing up?'* 
 
 "I'm going to the spring. You must have had 
 a bad night." 
 
 "No, but I talked nearly all night with Mr. 
 Hamersley. Where is the spring?" 
 
 Merrilie pointed south across the river: " Do you 
 see that hill? And the trees at the foot? It's in 
 that grove. You cross a foot-bridge " 
 
 "I love a spring." 
 
 Merrilie raised difficulties. "It's further than it 
 looks." 
 
 Adrane regarded her with professed considera- 
 tion. "You don't feel equal to it " 
 
 "Oh, I am a relentless tramper." 
 136
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 They took the path toward the foot-bridge, 
 and reaching the first meadow paused as they 
 walked to pick wild flowers pushing through the 
 heavy grass that encroached underfoot. Merrilie 
 at intervals pointed the way. The sun shone 
 temperately through a soft, clear air; meadow- 
 larks on swift morning errands skimmed the wide 
 fields, and among the rushes along the river 
 margin, blackbirds chimed in noisy chorus. The 
 morning breathed young summer. 
 
 "When we cross the bridge, we can go around 
 by the woods road, or take the path along the 
 brook it's a little wet that way." 
 
 "Don't mind me." 
 
 She looked at her boots. "I'm water-proof. 
 There are loads of cress in the brook and trout, 
 below the bridge." 
 
 After they crossed the river she took her way 
 through the second meadow with confidence and 
 easily found the hidden path. When they neared 
 the brook itself, Merrilie tiptoed forward in silence 
 to get a glimpse of a trout. They halted at times 
 to search the sandy bottoms of pools where the 
 brook, framed with rank meadow-grass, ran be- 
 tween flags that disputed for place with the gur- 
 gling water. The path was sometimes obscured 
 in tangles of wild grasses, the footing at times 
 was wet, but they found ways across the swampy 
 ground. 
 
 137
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Nearly reaching the spring, they encountered a 
 field of cress and Merrilie picked a handful for 
 Adrane. The tiny stream forked and it looked 
 as if they might be stopped; then finding a strip 
 of water that shot between narrow banks Merrilie 
 ran ahead and, before Adrane could speak, sprang 
 across it. He sprang after her. She had gained 
 the farther bank, but her foot slipped back in the 
 soft earth. 
 
 "Merrilie!" cried Adrane, catching her with his 
 arm. For an instant they toppled together, laugh- 
 ing with excitement. Then Adrane planted one 
 foot in the yielding mud and pushed Merrilie 
 forward. The moment she gained firm ground 
 she turned, and, taking his hand, steadied him 
 until he could pull himself up after her. 
 
 "Look what I've done!" she cried, pointing to 
 his feet and her own. "You will never forgive 
 me. Oh, Mr. Adrane, there's a water-snake!" 
 
 The mildest excitement brought a zest. When 
 the snake had made hastily away, a bumblebee 
 buzzed out of nowhere, and, challenging Merrilie's 
 curling hair as she shrank in alarm, swooped 
 with the swagger air of a courtier down on her 
 handful of flowers. Merrilie dodged hither and 
 thither until Adrane counselled quiet submission. 
 Afterward she stood rigid with courage and they 
 watched together while the clumsy fellow tumbled 
 
 138
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 over her blossoms and in a moment with fickle 
 swiftness fled. 
 
 The two reached the spring, bubbling into a 
 rocky basin, only to find they had no cup. Mer- 
 rilie handed her hat to Adrane, and, shaking back 
 her hair, knelt over the pool with Adrane waiting 
 while she drank. They sat down on a bench and 
 Merrilie told of two little lakes among the hills to 
 the west Black Lake and Green Lake. She told 
 Adrane which lake had the big-mouth green bass 
 and which the small-mouth black bass with the 
 red eyes. Her father used to come up to fish, 
 she told him, with Mr. Hamersley, while she 
 and Madge Hamersley made dams around the 
 spring and chased butterflies down the valley and 
 across the stony pastures. 
 
 Sunday afternoon, with Merrilie as a guide, the 
 party started to find the two lakes. Drake re- 
 lieved Merrilie of a gossamer coat and Guido 
 claimed a book of verse from her hand. With 
 Adrane and Julia Robbins following, they struck 
 out in rambling fashion through the deep woods 
 to the north. In these Merrilie found hollows 
 where ferns grew, and Drake, under protest, 
 carried such as Merrilie insisted must be taken 
 back to Mrs. Hamersley. At Black Lake they 
 found three small rowboats. Drake and Guido 
 got the best of the three and tried to tempt Mer- 
 
 139
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 rilie aboard. She settled the dispute by taking 
 the oars of the third boat herself inviting Adrane 
 as passenger. Leading the way, she pointed out 
 for the other boats the landing-place across the 
 lake and explained a fork in the Green Lake 
 trail which they should encounter on the first 
 hill. Merrilie drew Adrane's attention to the 
 features along the shores, and stopped at inter- 
 vals where the water was very clear to show him 
 the bottom, with fish gliding in and out of the green 
 lacery of water-plants. Loitering, they reached 
 the landing last and climbed the Green Lake trail. 
 The rest of the party were already over the hill. 
 
 At the top Merrilie paused for a breath. "I for- 
 got to tell them," she said reflectively, "I used to 
 know a place near here where there were lots of 
 brier-roses." Adrane wanted to find them. 
 
 She regarded the suggestion not unfavorably, 
 but doubtfully. "There are azaleas on the other 
 trail," she suggested. But Adrane held for the 
 wild roses and Merrilie assented. "Only, we must 
 hurry back or we shall be in disgrace," she said. 
 
 They set out eagerly. Merrilie again proved a 
 good guide, but professed to ignore his compli- 
 ments on her sense of direction. She held her way 
 almost straight down the hill and across a deep 
 ravine to a glade covered with roses. He asked 
 her to sit while he gathered some, and as he cut 
 
 140
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 the branches they talked. When Merrilie told 
 him to stop he sat down beside her. 
 
 "You were speaking yesterday of your father," 
 said Adrane as he watched her sort the cuttings. 
 "Mr. Hamersley was talking about him last night. 
 I should like to have known him." 
 
 "I wish you might have," returned Merrilie. 
 "Hardly any of the stories you hear about him 
 are within miles of the truth. He was described 
 as a man without emotion. That was nonsense. 
 The difficulty was, he despised the world he 
 moved in. I'm afraid I inherit his traits: it's 
 easier for me to feel contempt than respect for 
 most people. These tireless climbers with their 
 snug little fortunes and carefully nursed positions ! 
 I know I ought not to detest them, but I always 
 want to. And, naturally, I am credited with the 
 same unfeeling nature father was credited with 
 because I don't join the ranks of the brass-band 
 philanthropists. Father wasn't merely grasping. 
 'So much of it, Merrilie,' he often said to me, 
 'came unexpectedly. People give me credit for 
 a vast amount of foresight I never possessed.' I 
 really believe he felt at the last it would have 
 been better if he had been far less fortunate 
 in his undertakings. 'I am leaving you a lot of 
 trouble, Merrilie,' he said once." She looked at 
 Adrane. 
 
 141
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I understand perfectly," he said. 
 
 "And he was right," she went on. "I hope 
 I'm not, myself, of a genuinely grasping disposi- 
 tion. But I've something of pride at stake in 
 taking care of what father was so anxious I should 
 not fritter all away; and I know you can under- 
 stand that. It was the tragedy of his life that I 
 was a girl instead of a boy." Merrilie, with her 
 back against a beech tree and her hat hanging 
 loosely, continued to sort the roses. Adrane 
 hardly waited for her to finish speaking. 
 
 "I am glad you weren't a boy," he rejoined. 
 "There are too many men in the world not 
 enough women like you. Men need women of 
 your kind. They give them a better hold on life. 
 You are the cleverest girl I've ever known." 
 
 Merrilie looked up in astonishment at the out- 
 burst. Both were a little self-conscious as their 
 eyes met. 
 
 "Mr. Adrane," she exclaimed with entire re- 
 straint, "please!" 
 
 Adrane flushed but persisted. "It's absolutely 
 so," he went on. "I feel it every time I talk with 
 you. You are an inspiration." 
 
 It was the tone, even more than the words, 
 that brought a flush to Merrilie's face. She tossed 
 an armful of roses into his lap. "Help me 
 with these," she said coolly. 
 
 142
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I suppose," he continued, "you will say I am 
 talking nonsense?'* 
 
 "I should hate to be rude," returned Mer- 
 rilie composedly, "but we might advantageously 
 change the subject." She made an effort to shift 
 her position and free her face from the sun. "My 
 eyes," she continued, "are so sensitive to sun- 
 shine." 
 
 "Yet you spread it everywhere." 
 
 Merrilie struck her hands together, vexed. 
 "Don't be ridiculous!" she protested. "I didn't 
 mean to be taken in such a way as that." 
 
 Adrane made no answer for a time. He only 
 looked at her and she was conscious of his eyes, 
 which, however controlled, were confusing. "I 
 know you didn't," he returned; "but I rather 
 wish you had." 
 
 In spite of herself some color surged up from 
 Merrilie's neck. She pointed resolutely to his lap. 
 "Haven't you briers enough in hand?" 
 
 Adrane began to sort the branches. "If these 
 were the only ones in life!" 
 
 "At least, don't stumble into bramble-bushes 
 that don't lie in your path." v 
 
 "All I want to explain is " 
 
 Merrilie made a swift gesture. "Don't explain." 
 
 "You fairly radiate sunshine " 
 
 Merrilie raised her hand. "If you aren't going
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 to arrange those give them to me. You are too 
 imaginative for this unfeeling world." 
 
 "Blow the unfeeling world. The first time I 
 ever met you " 
 
 She laughed suddenly and looked quickly at 
 him. "Tell the truth! If you do you will say 
 you were disappointed." 
 
 Adrane denied. "It's not a matter of the 
 slightest moment," continued Merrilie objectively. 
 "You needn't deny. I know it's hard to be frank. 
 But I'll be frank about you no, I won't, either." 
 
 "That's not fair," rejoined Adrane. "The first 
 time I met you I found you different from every- 
 thing I had ever heard and I was trying the whole 
 time to reconcile reality with rumor " 
 
 She was loftily sceptical. "What a delicate 
 way to put it " 
 
 "Merrilie! "protested Adrane. Her name spring- 
 ing to his lips had all the excitement of a first 
 step. She could not and would not look up. Her 
 hands moved slowly among the branches in her 
 lap, and the two breathed in the challenge of the 
 instant. 
 
 "Are you wholly unbelieving," demanded 
 Adrane after a pause, "when I am absolutely 
 honest? You are totally different in every way 
 from what I imagined. What do you think I said 
 to myself?" 
 
 144
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Merrilie, her eyes occupied, pulled more lei- 
 surely at the briers. "What?" 
 
 "Can this simple, lovely, irresponsible young 
 girl, really be the distinguished and important 
 Miss Merrilie Dawes?" 
 
 Merrilie quite realized she was inviting it; what 
 annoyed her was that she had underestimated her 
 composure. But it was, after all, no more, she 
 reflected, than a thunder-shower of pleasantries. 
 The big drops dashing down on her restraint 
 shocked her more than she had anticipated; but 
 the shock was of a new sort and pleasant. She 
 raised her loose-gloved hands and her disclaiming 
 eyes with a despairing murmur. "Simple, irre- 
 sponsible young girl! Shade of my dear mother! 
 And you had pictured me, of course, an Amazon 
 with college measurements and a megaphone 
 voice." 
 
 Adrane bunched the roses up in his two hands. 
 
 "You will be stuck full of thorns," said Merrilie 
 warningly. 
 
 "I don't know how I pictured you. If I were 
 to die for it, I couldn't tell you now. All I know 
 is, what you were and are. Each time I met you, 
 it was a fresh surprise. I found pretty soon that 
 the simple young girl who, I was fool enough for 
 a moment to think, wanted to run all the trains 
 up one side of the Mississippi and down the other 
 
 US
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 had in her head the simple wit of a dozen women 
 and the sense of several dozen men." 
 
 Merrilie had regained herself. "Really, you 
 deal in round figures. I am not surprised you are 
 a successful market operator." 
 
 "Nothing of the sort only honest. Now I 
 have accepted your challenge; tell me what you 
 thought of me." 
 
 Merrilie laughed. "I'm not the first one that 
 has tipped a boat by rocking. But now that I've 
 rocked it I dread tipping it clear over." 
 
 "Tip it. You dared me." 
 
 "You wouldn't speak to me again." 
 
 "Out with it." 
 
 Merrilie picked the loose leaves slowly from her 
 lap. "I thought," she confessed reluctantly, "you 
 were very conceited." Adrane burst into a laugh. 
 Merrilie joined. 
 
 "It's always so," exclaimed Adrane. "The 
 woman, right the very first instant: the man, 
 blundering along as usual to a hard-earned con- 
 clusion." The expression in Merrilie's eyes as 
 she looked at him from under her long lashes was 
 duly guarded. 
 
 "But you shouldn't blame the poor man after 
 all," contended Adrane, who had put aside the 
 briers and used his hands now to emphasize his 
 
 words. "You wanted to appear simple " 
 
 146
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "And young of course." 
 
 "You couldn't appear anything but that. And 
 you succeeded perfectly in attaining simplicity. 
 You left the snare open: naturally, I walked in." 
 
 Merrilie glanced at him and put something in 
 the form of a question: "As you always do?" 
 
 "As I always do," he assented frankly. "And 
 in this case I don't care. I would rather be fooled 
 by at least one sophisticated girl than " 
 
 "Than what, Mr. Dreamer?" 
 
 "Not to have the chance to know her." 
 
 "You are never at a loss for words." 
 
 Adrane put up his hand. "Don't be unbeliev- 
 ing. Every time you are, you supply my retort." 
 
 Merrilie allowed herself the semblance of a 
 mental yawn. "What is it this time?" 
 
 "It would be rude." 
 
 "Oh, we've been rude for some time. What's 
 the retort?" 
 
 "That this is just what you are accused of, 
 being never at a loss for words. Not that I be- 
 lieve it; I don't. All I know is, that I never talk 
 to you without becoming interested, stirred, and 
 lying awake afterward thinking it all over so 
 what's the difference? I enjoy it; no headaches 
 follow. Nothing but an eagerness to to hear 
 you again." 
 
 Merrilie's hands lay crossed. Her head rested 
 H7
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 indolently against the tree. She made no effort 
 to speak. "What are you thinking about ? " asked 
 Adrane. 
 
 "I can tell you what I might be thinking about," 
 she answered lazily. "If I wanted to allow your 
 remark about 'words,' I should say that out of the 
 faint, far expanses of the golden West has come 
 one who is more than my poor match in them. 
 You do the nice ones," observed Merrilie, "all so 
 freshly. 
 
 "But that isn't what I was thinking of," she 
 added, "for I pay no attention to what people say 
 about me, any more than I should to what they 
 might say about you, for instance. I was think- 
 ing of something father once said. 'I can't re- 
 member, Merrilie,' he said, 'that any one ever de- 
 ceived me. But the times I've deceived myself!' 
 It applies so perfectly to what you spoke of a 
 moment ago being interested, and so on. It 
 hasn't been what I've said that interested you. 
 It's what you've said yourself " 
 
 Adrane finished her sentence: "To you." 
 
 "Not necessarily." 
 
 "Most necessarily; no other person has the 
 same effect on me." 
 
 "But there are things that have, I understand. 
 Let's talk about steel." 
 
 "I'd rather stick to the higher subject." 
 148
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Don't be merely complimentary again. I 
 want to listen to you on something worth while." 
 
 "Miss Dawes " 
 
 "You are formal." 
 
 "Merrilie- 
 
 "I didn't mean that either just begin. Say, 
 'Lady Steel is lovely, young, artless,' and all that; 
 and then tell me simply and clearly just what you 
 mean to do with the engaging creature." 
 
 "I can tell you in a word. I, we, mean to 
 make the public appreciate her. My associates 
 and I " 
 
 "I hear, largely you." 
 
 "Are undertaking to put our properties or the 
 securities that represent them in the market 
 where they intrinsically belong." 
 
 "A bull campaign " 
 
 "Why yes." 
 
 "Then I shan't buy any of them. Father said 
 never to buy stocks except when they get on the 
 front page of the newspaper in a bear campaign." 
 
 "We certainly have work laid out, but we have 
 the goods and the Steel Trust must feel us some 
 time. We are getting publicity without effort 
 but you don't read the papers " 
 
 "I will, if you are to be in them." Then she 
 added : " I hope you are sure of your ground." 
 
 "Absolutely." 
 
 149
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Everything with you is 'absolutely.' But you 
 are an optimist and with an optimist things have 
 to be absolute." 
 
 "Stumah came to me the other night and laid 
 his head on my knee as if he were homesick. I 
 said to myself, he's longing for a sight of his 
 mistress." 
 
 "Stumah is a dear brute. Look at that sun 
 through the trees." 
 
 "He looked at me as if he wanted to ask me to 
 take him to you " 
 
 "Turn so that you can see the sun." 
 
 "I don't want to." 
 
 "I want you to." Merrilie raised her arm and 
 pointed with her ringer. "Look! Now, thank me." 
 
 " But I want to say something " 
 
 "You can do that at any time; the sunset will 
 pass. Lady Steel won't fool you, will she, as you 
 say the simple little New York creature did?" 
 
 "If Lady Steel fools me as as you did, it 
 
 would only be iron turning to gold on my hands, 
 j " 
 
 "Look at the sunset. Don't let us talk." 
 
 "I know what that means - " 
 
 "What does it mean?" 
 
 "It means you've said all you want to say- 
 
 "And that I don't want to hear what you want 
 to say. Quite right," she agreed. 
 
 150
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 A shout across the ravine interrupted Mer- 
 rilie. Drake and Guido stood on the brow of the 
 opposite hill with Julia and Edith, looking over. 
 Adrane attempted to rise. "Don't get up," said 
 Merrilie warningly. "Pay no attention. They 
 will come over, anyway." She beckoned. When 
 the party had nearly reached them, Merrilie rose. 
 Every one began talking at once. 
 
 "Where have you been?" demanded Drake. 
 
 "Where have you been?" retorted Merrilie, 
 pointing toward the fork in the trails. "I told 
 you to go to the right, and we've tramped these 
 woods looking for you till I am exhausted." 
 
 "You do look travel-stained," declared Drake 
 ironically. "Mr. Adrane, allow me Merrilie's 
 coat." He placed the garment with some cere- 
 mony in Adrane's hands. Guido followed suit 
 with his armful of branches and his book. 
 
 Adrane looked at Merrilie. "Will you trust 
 these with me?" he asked gravely. 
 
 "Provided you won't be peeved, Mr. Adrane, if 
 I get lost again on the way home. Harry," Mer- 
 rilie appealed to Drake, "now that you've loaded 
 Mr. Adrane down, carry these roses for me. Let's 
 go back through the ravine to the boats. I want 
 to get some wild asparagus Mrs. Hamersley 
 loves it." 
 
 After dinner the party motored in the rising
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 moon to the seashore. Merrilie gave the evening 
 to Drake; and when Adrane, in the second car, re- 
 turned from the drive he found Drake searching 
 for a thorn in Merrilie's finger. The two were in 
 the billiard-room and Adrane could get no chance 
 for a word with Merrilie until late. He encoun- 
 tered her coming down-stairs alone. 
 
 "I cut the roses," objected Adrane, confronting 
 her. 
 
 She looked questioningly at him: " Apres ?" 
 
 "I think you might have let me hunt for the 
 thorn." 
 
 Merrilie looked wisely up. She held the ends 
 of her fan in her two hands. "That wasn't your 
 thorn," said she evenly. "It was just a tiny 
 consolation thorn," she added, holding up her 
 thumb and forefinger to make an infinitesimal 
 measurement. 
 
 Both were speaking in low tones. "Haven't 
 you another I could try for?" asked Adrane. 
 
 She answered uncertainly: "It is pretty late." 
 
 He looked toward the terrace. "The moon is 
 fairly good yet. Let me see if I can't find one." 
 
 Merrilie regarded him meditatively. "Thorns 
 hurt less in the moonlight. And, by the way, 
 have you looked your own fingers over?" 
 
 "I don't want to lose any that I've picked up 
 to-day."
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Merrilie retorted in kind: "How do you know I 
 want to lose all of mine?" 
 
 "I wish to God I did know. It would make " 
 He stopped. Merrilie was as calm as the evening. 
 "Come out just for a moment," he urged. 
 
 "We should intrude on Harry and Guido and 
 Edith on the terrace. I just left them." 
 
 "The bridge?" 
 
 Merrilie raised her shoulders the least bit. 
 Neither spoke. They walked together toward the 
 west door and through it. The night air was cool. 
 As they stood looking at the moon a shiver passed 
 over her. "You must have a wrap," said Adrane. 
 
 "I haven't any down-stairs." 
 
 "You will get chilled. Let me go for some- 
 thing." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Merrilie was determined. "If you insist, there 
 will be no walk to the bridge." 
 
 "The Lord knows I want to go to the bridge 
 bad enough, but I won't let you go with your 
 shoulders bare in this night air, even if I miss 
 going." 
 
 She showed some impatience. "Don't be 
 fussy." 
 
 "But I will be obstinate, Merrilie. I won't 
 expose you to an illness." 
 
 153
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "If I go up to get a wrap, Mrs. Hamersley or 
 some one will intercept me, and then good 
 night." 
 
 "What am I thinking about? your coat is in 
 the hall." 
 
 "Get it. I'll stay here." 
 
 When he laid the garment across her shoulders 
 she shuddered again. "What is it?" he asked. 
 
 She laughed carelessly. "Some one walking 
 across my grave." 
 
 "Never mind, so long as you're not in it." He 
 took her arm and they started in step. 
 
 "It's too far" to the bridge," said Merrilie. 
 Adrane thought not. "Let's be sensible and go 
 into the garden," she suggested. 
 
 "How do you know I want to lose all of 
 mine?' you asked." Adrane repeated the words 
 slowly. "I wish I did know," he added. 
 
 They entered the garden. To the west the 
 woods were ins^ ^itably black, in the east the 
 distant Sound la^-raint in the moonlight, and the 
 south wind stirred softly. 
 
 "We were speaking in figures," returned Mer- 
 rilie, putting back a ringlet that the wind blew 
 across her temple. "They don't mean any- 
 thing." 
 
 "Even at that, let's continue. How can I 
 find out?" 
 
 154
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "You don't expect me to solve your difficulty 
 for you, I hope." 
 
 "No. Only create difficulties for me. But I 
 rather like to take figures seriously. Tell me, 
 should you like to lose the other thorns or not?" 
 
 "If you thought you could get an answer to 
 that by bringing me out here, you are very much 
 mistaken." 
 
 "I brought you out here because you said they 
 hurt less in the moonlight." 
 
 "But you mustn't forget this same moon shines 
 everywhere. While we are talking here it is shi- 
 ning all the way across the ocean. When is it 
 Annie gets back?" 
 
 "Saturday," answered Adrane. "Don't think 
 in the least I am forgetting that. I made a blun- 
 der to-day in trying to tell of my first impressions 
 of you," he went on. "I failed to find the right 
 word to describe how I seemed to find you." 
 
 "You'd best let it go. Imr, vements don't al- 
 ways improve. And even esta :es have feelings." 
 
 "I want to risk it, anyway. I said 'simple'; I 
 meant ' unspoiled.' ' 
 
 "You are back to town to-morrow?" she mur- 
 mured unconcernedly. 
 
 "Unavoidably." ' 
 
 "Then perhaps I may hope to remain unspoiled 
 a while longer. You go to Lady Steel." 
 
 155
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "She is at most only a lady in waiting." 
 
 "To whom?" 
 
 He hesitated a moment. "Shall I tell you to 
 whom I wish she might be?" 
 
 Merrilie looked, unmoved, at the moonlighted 
 sea. "I dare say I could guess." 
 
 "Don't be overconfident." 
 
 She stood motionless, but there was a little 
 hard note in her question when it came. "To 
 whom, then?" 
 
 "To an unspoiled goddess." 
 
 They were standing close together. She drew 
 her wrap carelessly across her wrist, but he turned 
 and, taking the garment from her, laid it again 
 over her shoulders. Without speaking, she caught 
 the folds in her left hand and, standing within the 
 lee of his arm, put back, with the hand nearest 
 him, the ringlet that the south wind had blown 
 again across her temple. 
 
 156
 
 She drew her wrap carelessly across her wrist, but he turned 
 
 and, taking the garment from her, laid it 
 
 again over her shoulders.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 " JT^RNESTO put us on the boat at Cherbourg. 
 
 1 J We never could have got off without 
 him," declared Annie, speaking to Merrilie over 
 the telephone. "Oh, your Paris house is heav- 
 enly. I never can thank you for the time we've 
 had. Isn't it a shame I missed Edith and Guido 
 here by a single day? John told me they sailed 
 yesterday. And oh, Merrilie, Venice! I'll never 
 be able to tell you how they entertained us for 
 five days! 
 
 "How many trunks? Only thirty-two, dear, of 
 mine; no, excuse me thirty-three. Mamma had 
 twelve. Just a few heavy things are coming by 
 freight. I found some stunning tapestries in Lon- 
 don. We couldn't pick up much in such a hurried 
 trip it's nothing, of course. And, Merrilie, I am 
 simply dead. I slept nearly all the way across. 
 Come over just as soon as you possibly can." 
 
 Adrane had gone down the bay to meet the boat. 
 His first sight of Annie was a shock. She looked 
 foreign and not quite natural. Her hat seemed 
 queer, and for Annie to fail on a hat was unheard 
 
 157
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 of. But when Adrane reached the deck she ran 
 to him with such unaffected delight that he was 
 a little conscience-stricken at rinding so trifling a 
 thing as a new hat hard to get used to. Annie her- 
 self was ruddy with health, bubbling with spir- 
 its, overflowing with incident, and so unconscious 
 of others that what she had to say could be en- 
 joyed by those near at hand as well as by Adrane. 
 This most unexpectedly annoyed him. Eyes were 
 directed their way, as Annie, between her mother 
 and her fiance, talked freely of people she had met 
 at the English hockey club in Venice and of a 
 luncheon on board the Hohenzollern yacht with 
 Edith. He had never before noticed that Annie 
 talked to be heard by others. 
 
 But these were petty impressions, fleeting. The 
 great thing was the home-coming, its labors and 
 excitements. If months had passed instead of 
 weeks, the moments could not have been more 
 crowded with recounting. But Adrane felt a sec- 
 ond evanescent impression coming slowly back, 
 and he reflected now it was a characteristic that 
 the more of an audience Annie had the better 
 she talked of what she had seen and done. He 
 thought it odd he had never before observed it. 
 
 Then all of Adrane's story was to be heard; and 
 at the last, one moment of surprise and disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 158
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "John!" cried Annie when he told her in tri- 
 umph he had successfully sold his railroad. 
 
 He looked at her without quite understanding. 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Sold the road! And what about our private 
 car where will you keep that now?" 
 
 He smiled good-naturedly. "That went with 
 the sale, of course. When you sell a railroad 
 you sell your stock, and that includes all prop- 
 erty; don't you see?" 
 
 Annie's eyes fell. "No, I don't see," she pro- 
 tested with nai've grief. "Why need you sell the 
 car at all? Surely, you didn't need the money, 
 John?" 
 
 He felt almost nettled at her simplicity. 
 "Annie, the car was not my private property." 
 
 Adrane paused, waiting for the comprehension 
 to sink in. It did not sink. Some moments 
 went to explaining. To every attempt to make 
 things clear, Annie only responded: "I went 
 down and picked out the decorations myself 
 and you ordered them exactly as I specified 
 I certainly don't see why the car isn't ours, 
 John." 
 
 No effort could save the evening. Annie felt 
 personally humiliated; Adrane, vexed. It was all 
 very well for Adrane to urge that he had made his 
 fortune by the sale; to recount to Annie what a 
 
 159
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 long and at times seemingly hopeless struggle it 
 had been, waiting for some big railroad man to 
 come along and pay him and his backers their 
 price for their daring and, many wise men held, 
 unsuccessful venture. What had that to do, 
 Annie asked, in frank disappointment, with her 
 car? 
 
 She made up her mind to bear the blow, to suffer 
 uncomplainingly but she was resolved to suffer. 
 She thought of all the friends that had been told 
 of the decorations, and the explanations to face 
 were appalling; but she determined to bear it for 
 John. 
 
 Merrilie went over next day while the glow of 
 the journey was still fresh. Annie came in with a 
 lap-dog in her arm so tiny that Merrilie gasped. 
 "Where in the world did you get it?" she asked. 
 
 "Through Ernesto, Merrilie. Isn't he a dear?'* 
 
 "What do you call him?" 
 
 "Piccolo." 
 
 Annie's eyes reflected her delight in Merrilie's 
 surprise at the pretty things she had brought back. 
 Her face glowed so that only a miser could have 
 begrudged her her happiness. Her voice was so 
 clear and fresh that everything she said engaged 
 Merrilie's interest. And when Annie told of 
 Edith's hospitality in Venice the story grew spir- 
 ited: the afternoons at the hockey club on the 
 
 1 60
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Lido; the entertainments proffered by Guide's 
 own family such men, such women, such charm; 
 and how Edith had enhanced, among all Vene- 
 tians, the reputation of American girls. 
 
 Annie, in telling it all, took on a prettier air than 
 ever. She seemed to have brought back some- 
 thing of the distinction of the Venetian centuries 
 themselves. Merrilie only wished it might have 
 struck deeper. Within a week something of it 
 had evaporated. Annie had grown restless again 
 and turned to her calendar of days. 
 
 Mrs. Tilden came in one afternoon to see Mrs. 
 Whitney and found Annie at home alone. Ad- 
 rane's name came into the conversation. Annie 
 was proud of the great sale he had made, and 
 incidentally told Mrs. Tilden of her disappoint- 
 ment over the car. Mrs. Tilden approved An- 
 nie's own idea of self-sacrifice. 
 
 "It is right," she said calmly, and with her 
 mouth puckered into many lines of suffering per- 
 sistently endured. "We women have to bear our 
 burdens uncomplainingly. And you you have a 
 man worth bearing them for. I but no matter. 
 Mr. Adrane, every one says, will be, in the next ten 
 years, the man of this country. No one has so 
 brilliant prospects. Of course," added Mrs. Til- 
 den, "such a man can't help being popular. I 
 myself don't always blame exceptional men for 
 
 161
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 doing foolish things. I do blame the reckless 
 girls that turn their heads with adulation." 
 
 "I hope you don't mean any one is turning 
 John's head?" observed Annie, laying her hand 
 apprehensively on her little dog. 
 
 Laura hastened to disavow. "By no means. 
 Mr. Adrane, I think, is everywhere esteemed, and 
 popular beyond everything. He seems to please 
 the most exacting: you know, if there is a critical 
 person in all New York, Merrilie Dawes is one." 
 
 "Merrilie is critical," assented Annie. 
 
 Mrs. Tilden clinched the verdict with a smile. 
 "She has taken more interest in Mr. Adrane while 
 you've been gone than she ever took in any man 
 in her life that I know of and I have known Mer- 
 rilie since she was a child. Indeed, I taught her 
 everything until she insisted on going to that 
 French convent. She certainly must feel you are 
 making a brilliant match and so you are, dear. 
 Mr. Adrane told you of the beautiful dog Merrilie 
 gave him?" 
 
 " Dog ? Why, no; what dog ? " demanded Annie 
 nervously. 
 
 "She gave him her Stumah II the collie that 
 took the novice prize two years ago. Mr. Tilden 
 was offered twenty thousand dollars for him 
 right after the bench-show. Don't you remember 
 his beautiful picture in the newspapers, Annie? 
 
 162
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Of course you do. Merrilie sent him up to Mr. 
 Adrane's apartments a fortnight ago. The dear 
 girl certainly is generous when she likes any one. 
 I have always said that of Merrilie." 
 
 Julia Robbins was announced. "Isn't it nice," 
 continued Mrs. Tilden, "to see Merrilie looking 
 so young and pretty again? She seems to take a 
 new interest in life in spite of her years. You 
 heard about Mr. Adrane getting lost with her in 
 the woods one afternoon at Sea Ridge?" 
 
 "No, I didn't hear." 
 
 "Julia can tell you," smiled Mrs. Tilden. "I 
 suppose you've noticed how heavy Julia has 
 grown ? " 
 
 Julia, her soft brown eyes starting forward a 
 little as if from surprise at the distinct and sus- 
 tained pressure in the vicinity of her heart and 
 lungs, came in well-groomed but breathing, as 
 always, carefully. Julia asked for a cigarette. 
 Annie rang and ordered tea also. Mrs. Tilden 
 took tea only, and puckered her loose lips into 
 a mass of virtuous pockets. "I was just telling 
 Annie about Merrilie's getting lost with Mr. 
 Adrane up at Sea Ridge " 
 
 v"Lost?" echoed Julia, letting her lids droop 
 before she lifted her eyes. 
 
 "What was it?" demanded Annie restlessly. 
 
 "Well, Merrilie called it lost." Julia smiled at 
 163
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Annie as she composedly drawled her intimation. 
 "And you know how innocent Merrilie is. That 
 girl makes me tired with her behavior." Julia 
 rose to get a handkerchief from her hand-bag, and 
 having, with the prudence of the unhappily plump, 
 reseated herself, began to fan vigorously. 
 
 "Merrilie doesn't mean any harm, Julia," pro- 
 tested Mrs. Tilden. "You know she doesn't. 
 It's just her way with a new friend," she smiled 
 with pain. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Adrane certainly was patient with 
 her. If he was bored, he gave no evidence of it. 
 I don't blame him in the least. I think he is 
 dear, Annie, truly I do. And isn't it fine that he 
 and his brother have made so much out of their 
 railroad sale? Everybody is talking about it. 
 And every one says, Annie, you will distance every- 
 body in town yet. I hope to heaven you will." 
 
 It took Julia some time to tell the whole story 
 of the Sea Ridge week-end, but she got it all in 
 before she and Mrs. Tilden left. 
 
 When Adrane arrived in Madison Avenue a 
 little later from down-town, Annie, slightly flushed 
 about the eyes, greeted him with constraint. She 
 introduced Merrilie's name into the conversation 
 and watched Adrane while he spoke of her. She 
 asked so many questions about when and where 
 he had seen Merrilie during her own absence that 
 
 164
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Adrane felt wonder at her persistence. But he 
 was frank and made no concealment of his admira- 
 tion for Merrilie, and his new understanding of her. 
 
 The conversation had developed a suggestion 
 of friction when Annie's maid brought in Piccolo. 
 Annie cuddled him affectionately, Adrane looking 
 on without comment. "John," exclaimed Annie, 
 presently, with an air of conviction, "I don't 
 think you care for Piccolo a bit.'* 
 
 Adrane protested Piccolo was agreeable to him, 
 but Annie was not to be convinced, and he was 
 rather compelled to acknowledge that his interest 
 in the tiny pet was not acute. 
 
 "I don't see how anybody could help loving an 
 exquisite little creature as appealing as this," 
 murmured Annie, resting her chin regretfully 
 against Piccolo's diminutive head. 
 
 "I never could get up as much interest in a little 
 dog as in a big one," admitted Adrane. 
 
 "Why?" demanded Annie gravely, thinking 
 things to herself. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "Dogs like that," 
 he nodded toward Piccolo, "are abnormal. You 
 know how the little wretches are bred 
 
 "Wretches, John!" 
 
 "Well, their fate is certainly wretched. You 
 couldn't help pitying them, if you think of it. 
 
 Starving and selection and all that " 
 
 165
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Annie gazed at Piccolo; she was evidently hurt 
 and had no intention of saying more. Adrane 
 stumbled on, trying to set Annie right, but he had 
 only a listless auditor. When Annie did speak 
 again, which was not until after he had begun to 
 show restiveness himself, her tone was conciliatory, 
 and she gave him opportunities to refer to his 
 gift from Merrilie. These he did not improve. 
 Annie at length asked him pointblank about 
 Stumah. As soon as the dog was mentioned, Ad- 
 rane talked of him with enthusiasm, and when 
 Annie wanted to know why he hadn't spoken of 
 him before, Adrane answered he had done so in a 
 letter. A question of fact arose. Adrane stuck 
 to his assertion, and, by summoning Mrs. Whitney 
 as witness, succeeded, in a way, in establishing his 
 contention; in a way, because even her mother's 
 confirmation did not wholly satisfy Annie. Her 
 mother, she knew, had before now borne testimony 
 to bring peace to troublesome disputes, and might 
 be doing it again. 
 
 "If you did mention it," persisted Annie, after 
 she had been overborne, and her mother had left 
 the room, "you said nothing about her giving you 
 a dog worth a modest fortune." 
 
 "Very modest, I imagine." 
 
 "She refused twenty thousand dollars for him 
 after the bench-show." 
 
 166
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Adrane showed some annoyance. "I never 
 heard of that. And Merrilie, of course, doesn't 
 sell dogs." 
 
 "I don't think you ought to accept a present 
 like that from Merrilie Dawes, John." 
 
 He flushed. "It did not occur to me to refuse 
 it," he said. 
 
 "It just makes talk," declared Annie sorrow- 
 fully. ' 
 
 "Nonsense, Annie; what can have put such an 
 idea as that into your head?" 
 
 "I think, John," she repeated, deliberating, 
 "you ought to send Stumah back to Merrilie." 
 
 Adrane started visibly; nor was the resentment 
 he felt all reflected in his manner. He merely 
 drew back his shoulders: "My dear Annie, that 
 is absurd." 
 
 "It isn't absurd." 
 
 "I think it hopelessly so." 
 
 "I do not." 
 
 "Surely you don't mean it seriously." 
 
 "John, I do mean it seriously. I don't want 
 your name associated with an expensive gift from 
 Merrilie Dawes." 
 
 To Adrane's consternation, Annie's eyes filled. 
 He was upset, at first, then gentle and consoling; 
 but he succeeded indifferently with his consola- 
 tion. As he comforted her, Annie insisted on 
 
 167
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 her wish that Stumah be returned. Adrane re- 
 sisted. He was obstinate, Annie declared. She, 
 Adrane contended, was unreasonable. They parted 
 under a strain. 
 
 It was five o'clock. Annie, recovering her calm 
 after the front door closed, returned to her room. 
 She was paler than usual about the lips as she 
 threw herself into a chair, and her set mouth re- 
 flected her feelings. 
 
 It was the first time Adrane had refused her 
 anything, and her feeling grew during every mo- 
 ment that she thought over what she had heard 
 during the afternoon. Nor did her anger cool 
 with recollection. It seemed rather, as it grew, 
 to clear her perceptions and to reveal clearly 
 Merrilie's perfidy. Annie, especially in those 
 matters in which she considered she had not 
 been treated right, sometimes made up her mind 
 quickly. She rang, ordered the limousine to the 
 door, and, getting on her hat and gloves, awaited 
 it with impatience. She had taken a resolve which 
 she meant to lose no time in carrying out. When 
 she stepped into her car she gave orders to drive 
 to Merrilie's. 
 
 Merrilie herself emerged from the library as 
 Annie was ushered in from the vestibule. The 
 expression in Annie's eyes showed the intensity 
 of her feeling, and a pink spot in either cheek con- 
 
 168
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 trasted with a white in her face more pronounced 
 than usual. The firmness of her mouth arrested 
 Merrilie's attention, and she responded stiffly to 
 Merrilie's greeting. 
 
 "I want to see you a moment, alone." Annie's 
 dry, quivering tone implied something serious, but 
 Merrilie surmised nothing of what was impending. 
 
 "Come right up-stairs, Annie," she exclaimed 
 sympathetically. 
 
 Annie, without hesitation, looked toward the 
 east room. "It will be better down here." 
 
 "Just as well." Merrilie waited for Annie to 
 pass and followed her into the room. Annie, her 
 parasol clinched stiffly in her hand, sat down on 
 the divan. 
 
 "Close the door, please, will you?" she asked 
 before Merrilie could join her. 
 
 Merrilie, with growing surprise, closed the door 
 and taking her handkerchief from her belt sat 
 down beside Annie. "What in the world, dear, 
 has happened?" 
 
 Annie, looking apprehensively at Merrilie, 
 moved somewhat away from her. "Don't call 
 me dear, please, for a moment," she said, still 
 regarding her friend fixedly. "Merrilie, why are 
 you trying to take John Adrane away from me?" 
 
 Merrilie inwardly reeled. But she returned 
 Annie's look steadily, and her feeling showed 
 
 169
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 only in her instant reply. "Annie, what do you 
 mean?" 
 
 With their excitement growing every instant, 
 each eyed the other. "I trying to take Mr. Ad- 
 rane away from you?" echoed Merrilie, coloring. 
 "What on earth has put such an idea into your 
 head?" 
 
 Annie seemed hardly able to control herself, and 
 Merrilie's anger contributed to the blaze of her 
 own. "He has been spending all his time with 
 you," she exclaimed. "He has been writing most 
 in his letters about you. Wherever he has been 
 seen, it was with you." 
 
 In spite of herself, Merrilie whitened. "Annie, 
 Mr. Adrane has 'been with me' just as my other 
 friends, and yours, have been." 
 
 "At Sea Ridge you ran away from all the others 
 and spent hours in the woods with him." 
 
 Merrilie's heart stopped beating. Her breath 
 almost refused to come. "Annie," she rejoined, 
 not restraining her resentment, "some one has 
 simply poisoned your mind." 
 
 Annie lifted her hand. "Do you deny it?" she 
 demanded heatedly. 
 
 "I don't deny we were together," replied Mer- 
 rilie angrily, "sometimes through mere chance. I 
 spent many more hours at Sea Ridge with Guido, 
 
 Harry Drake " 
 
 170
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Annie cut her off. "Whom did you spend an 
 hour with in the garden Sunday night at one 
 o'clock," she asked passionately, "when every one 
 else was in the billiard-room?" 
 
 "With no one. I walked through the garden 
 Sunday night with Mr. Adrane," retorted Merrilie 
 defiantly. "Was that a crime? Am I accountable 
 to you for walking with Mr. Adrane in Mrs. 
 Hamersley's garden when we are thrown together 
 at a week-end?" she flamed, rising. "You are in- 
 tolerable, insulting. I won't endure it." 
 
 Annie rose, eager and trembling. "Merrilie 
 Dawes, you are perfectly despicable. You have 
 everything in this world, and always have had, 
 that I ought to have had means, chances, atten- 
 tions everything I wanted and have been de- 
 prived of and you try to rob me of the man that 
 wants to marry me, when I am your guest in Paris 
 at your own invitation. You think, with your 
 money, you can play fast and loose with whom 
 you please. You have done it with other men." 
 
 With blazing eyes Merrilie listened, but she 
 made no effort to check the outburst. " Every one 
 knows you have been nothing but a flirt all your 
 life," trembled Annie in her fury; "but I never 
 dreamed you would take advantage of me in such 
 a way. Merrilie Dawes, I hate you!" she sobbed. 
 
 Merrilie stood rigid. It was a moment before 
 171
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 she could frame words. When she did speak her 
 voice was unnatural. "Annie," she said slowly, 
 "this is nothing new; you have always hated me. 
 From the first time you ever came to this house 
 to play with my dolls you hated me. You have 
 gone home and cried half the night because I had 
 one more Japanese doll than you. I thought your 
 dislike of me had died out when you outgrew 
 your childhood. It never has died; it never will. 
 Now some malicious wretch has poisoned your 
 mind about Mr. Adrane and me, and you burst 
 into a fury without finding out whether there is 
 any foundation for the slanders. I despise your 
 accusation. It is falsehood. You dare not tell 
 me who has accused me." 
 
 Annie raised her streaming eyes. "Don't think 
 for an instant I am afraid of you. Dare not tell 
 you!" she echoed contemptuously. "Laura Til- 
 den told me." 
 
 Merrilie started. "Oh! That viper!" she ex- 
 claimed. "And you take Laura Tilden's accusa- 
 tion against me, do you, Annie Whitney?" de- 
 manded Merrilie vehemently. 
 
 "Laura Tilden's husband is good enough to take 
 care of your affairs. " 
 
 "He doesn't take care of my affairs. He does 
 what I direct him to do," blazed Merrilie. "And 
 if I had taken his wife's continual slanders against 
 
 172
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 him I shouldn't have him near me now. Laura 
 Tilden was not at Mrs. Hamersley's. The mali- 
 cious wretch has patched up something Julia 
 Robbins told her, and between them they've made 
 up a tissue of falsehood. Annie Whitney, I 
 wouldn't condemn a dog on the word of such 
 women." 
 
 The declaration proved unlucky. "And you 
 gave him a twenty-thousand-dollar collie besides." 
 
 "If Mr. Adrane is likely to be turned from his 
 devotion to you by a collie puppy," returned Mer- 
 rilie scorchingly, "I should advise you to turn the 
 puppy loose and chain up your fiance. I decline 
 to lower my dignity any further by squabbling 
 over this contemptible affair. If you wish ever 
 again to say anything about my conduct toward 
 Mr. Adrane, you will please bring him to me, with 
 you." 
 
 Annie interrupted. Merrilie poured forth invec- 
 tive. Both talked at once. The footman wait- 
 ing in the hall pricked up his ears. Then the 
 door of the east room was flung open, Annie with 
 tear-stained face hurried through it, and, behind 
 her, Merrilie with angry eyes curtly signalled the 
 servant to attend the door. When it closed behind 
 Annie, Merrilie, fainting with excitement, tried to 
 walk up-stairs. Her knees carried her, trembling 
 and uncertain, from step to step. The instant she 
 had closed and bolted her room door behind her 
 
 173
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 she felt the burning in her cheeks of rage, aston- 
 ishment, and humiliation. 
 
 It was, in fact, the first furious hour of Merri- 
 lie's unruffled life. Sensations of wrath, pangs of 
 wounded pride, stingings of conscience swept over 
 her as she recalled the incredible scene down-stairs. 
 Annie's words made Merrilie resolve to retaliate. 
 Her manner excited in Merrilie's recollection the 
 utmost violence of resentment something that 
 cried for vengeance. 
 
 She was readily determined never to see or 
 speak to Annie again, and became slowly con- 
 scious, sitting with both hands clenched on the 
 arm of her chair, of how fast and hard she was 
 breathing as the recollection of the shocking 
 quarrel drove like a hurricane through her mind. 
 She was almost defiantly glad at the last, that it 
 was all out all of Annie's long-cherished jealousy, 
 the concealed hatred of the Whitneys for the 
 Daweses. She knew, too, the vicious treachery 
 of Mrs. Tilden, and a dozen revengeful purposes 
 flashed through her mind. In her surging wrath 
 she could have ordered all of her accusers be- 
 headed together. 
 
 But vengeance unexecuted will exhaust itself 
 in a normal mind, even though it issues in aver- 
 sion for its object. Depression, together with dis- 
 gust for everything and every one, overcame Mer- 
 rilie as her anger subsided. She began to think 
 
 174
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 of Adrane himself and in her mind to go over 
 every detail of her words and acts while with him. 
 The suspicion that she was perhaps a little guilty 
 innocently guilty began to assail her. But 
 could there be, she asked herself, any just grounds 
 for Annie's outrageous accusation? It was not 
 pleasant to think, even in the seclusion of her own 
 heart, that there possibly could be. But Merrilie 
 forced herself to think, and, thinking, she was de- 
 fiant and unwilling to condemn herself. 
 
 She had been, she admitted, frankly attracted 
 to Adrane. He had been, apparently, just as 
 frankly attracted toward her was that treason 
 to Annie? Was it criminal to divert one's self, in 
 conventional fashion, with Annie's fiance when she 
 was thrown with him? Had not Annie herself 
 moved heaven and earth many times to get 
 Harry Drake away from her? She felt disdainful 
 of her accusers. She might have been, she con- 
 ceded, a little careless, but she knew not design- 
 ing, when with Adrane. Perhaps in a word, an 
 intonation, she might have erred never in any- 
 thing more. Her conduct had not been other 
 than that which American girls freely permit 
 themselves, and upon the score of moderation in 
 this respect her conscience brought to Merrilie no 
 reproaches. She had merely been natural with 
 Adrane, he with her. It was pleasing to recall
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 how a mutual liking had, in this natural way 
 alone, developed. All she could be accused of, 
 she felt, was that for a few weeks she had let a 
 mutual attraction drift nothing more. As for 
 any design on Mr. Adrane, Merrilie knew her- 
 self incapable of such. 
 
 Yet her self-vindication did not leave her quite 
 happy. She felt instinctively that there must 
 have been a talk, perhaps a scene, between Annie 
 and Adrane before Annie had angrily burst in on 
 her. Had her own name been bandied, or any- 
 thing she had said or done, between the two? 
 Was a fresh humiliation awaiting her in Adrane's 
 own view of their their could it be tortured into 
 the name of a mild flirtation? Could Adrane 
 have thought it such and possibly have used such 
 an expression in justifying himself to his jeal- 
 ous fiancee? If so, it implied that he considered 
 Merrilie had lowered herself her cheeks burned 
 afresh far enough to engage an interest in him. 
 Dare he justify himself by accusing her? A burn- 
 ing wave overwhelmed Merrilie with the thought. 
 Sleepless on her pillow that night, her suspicions 
 fell keenly on Adrane. She was angry that she 
 had not demanded from Annie just what, if any- 
 thing, he had said. She was angry with him, 
 angry with herself, filled with anger for her tra- 
 ducers, sick to death of the world. 
 
 176
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 DAY brought to Merrilie a revulsion of feel- 
 ing and the suspicion that she might have 
 been overscrupulous; that she was lacerating her- 
 self not because she had been too reckless, but 
 because she was too conscientious. Resentment 
 toward Annie, who had directly humiliated her, 
 was pretty definitely coupled with resentment to- 
 ward Adrane. If he had done nothing more, he 
 had engaged himself to marry Annie, and this in 
 itself was condemnation enough. Annie, in the 
 cold light of an angry detachment, was subjected 
 to a searching criticism which issued in a new 
 aversion for her weaknesses. 
 
 Tilden had a conference for the noon hour. 
 Merrilie dared not, in conscience, say anything 
 to him about his wife for fear he might drown his 
 humiliation in an unbecoming fashion. He left 
 before luncheon, and in the afternoon Merrilie, 
 arraying herself with defiant gayety, ordered 
 horses and carriage for a drive. Her Aunt Jane, 
 who was always boring her to drive, did not, it 
 happened, want to go. Merrilie insisted. She was 
 
 177
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 minded to make people do that day as she pleased. 
 When the two walked together to the carriage 
 step, Merrilie's eye inspected the equipage from 
 liveries to harness-chains in merciless fashion. 
 Nothing was at fault. The trappings were ir- 
 reproachable, and on the box the face of the old 
 coachman beamed such gratitude that Merrilie 
 was gratified at having ordered the horses out. 
 It had been weeks since she had even seen her 
 driver's face. And as Merrilie seated herself 
 beside her aunt it brought a fleeting memory of 
 her father and their last drives together. 
 
 But the difficulties of getting up the Avenue, 
 crowded with motor-cars, with a team were almost 
 insuperable. Even in the Park the horses seemed 
 pocketed much of the time, and the chauffeurs in- 
 solently ignored their dignity. Her aunt, in the 
 circumstances, was not an enlivening companion. 
 She was old, and nearly always crabbed, and now 
 was doing something she had no mind to do. Mer- 
 rilie decided to seek next time a young companion 
 though not too young, lest that should make 
 her seem old. And on reflection she could think 
 of no one just fitted for such a need. Her own in- 
 terest in her attempt to secure diversion for the 
 afternoon soon died. 
 
 Before they had turned home, Merrilie felt that 
 the horses, the coachman, Aunt Jane were out 
 
 178
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 of date and she herself twenty-five. The land- 
 scapes of the Park were stupid an unfortunate 
 contrast to the nurtured simplicity of the Bois, to 
 which she had become attached. Driving home, 
 she doubted whether she should ever care to see 
 the Park again, and could not shake off the re- 
 curring thought of being twenty-five years old, 
 chained to a hateful old relative, a now mournful 
 old house, surrounded by old servants, and the 
 prey of a loneliness from which the sole escape 
 seemed some man in whom she took no interest. 
 And her youth where was it? Gone. Yet, not 
 gone, she said bitterly to herself, because she had 
 never had any except with her father. And, 
 after all, youth must have been meant for some- 
 thing more than even a devoted parent. 
 
 She had been at home less than an hour when 
 Rose brought a card in to her. It was John Ad- 
 rane's. Merrilie's mind had been already made 
 up. "Not at home, Rose," she said almost curtly. 
 But after she had spoken the words she was un- 
 easy. Outside her door she heard Rose repeating 
 her message. Some sort of a qualm, she could 
 not have said what, crept over her. But she 
 would not see Adrane. Why should he call on her 
 when clearly he belonged to some one else? She 
 had in thought anticipated his coming, and fancied 
 that in rebuffing him she should feel the satisfac- 
 
 179
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 tion of vindicating herself. But he had come and 
 gone away, and Merrilie experienced nothing other 
 than an increasing aversion for everything in life, 
 including Adrane himself. 
 
 Yet, in spite of all, he was her continual interest 
 in thought. She wondered next day whether he 
 would try to see her again. In the afternoon she 
 was at Mrs. Hamersley's. When she came home 
 Rose took her hat and Merrilie walked to a window 
 of her boudoir and looked down the Avenue. A 
 big motor-car stood at her curb step. The very 
 first person she saw was crossing the sidewalk 
 toward the door, and his eyes were raised and 
 bent upon her as she stood clasping the curtain 
 in one hand. It was Adrane. Merrilie turned 
 instantly from the casement and went to her 
 writing-desk. A moment later she heard steps 
 in the hall and was prepared. 
 
 "It is Mr. Adrane," Rose announced in French. 
 
 "I am not at home, Rose." The message went 
 down. Merrilie's temples burned, for this was a 
 very different situation. He must have seen her, 
 and the cut was complete and irremediable. 
 After the incident she was less at ease than the 
 day before. Harry Drake had the evening for a 
 theatre-party. The play gave Merrilie time to 
 wonder whether in the afternoon she had been in- 
 excusably rude. She could not, or would not, 
 
 1 80
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 decide, but the suspicion that she had been r 
 lingered. 
 
 Some time after she had reached home she was 
 called on the telephone. Rose gave her the in- 
 strument. 
 
 "Is this Miss Dawes?" In an instant of forget- 
 fulness Merrilie heard the question unsuspectingly. 
 
 "Yes," she answered. 
 
 "Miss Dawes, this is John Adrane." Merrilie 
 felt trapped, but there was nothing to do but face 
 it out. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Adrane," she answered evenly. 
 
 "I called on you yesterday but without finding 
 you at home." 
 
 "I am sorry." 
 
 "And again to-day." 
 
 She hesitated a moment. "I am sorry," she 
 repeated, only varying her intonation. 
 
 "I was sorry, too so sorry that I have ven- 
 tured to call up to ask whether you are declining 
 to see me." 
 
 Merrilie was silent. 
 
 "I am hoping, of course," he added, during the 
 pause, "that I was mistaken even in thinking it 
 could be so." 
 
 "Mr. Adrane," returned Merrilie, her pulses 
 racing with excitement, her face burning to her 
 ears, and her voice rebellious but controlled. 
 
 181
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Yes," he answered. 
 
 "I thought," she continued, determined to make 
 a start toward ending the situation, "I was doing 
 what was best." 
 
 "If I were not sure of that I shouldn't have 
 called you up. I suppose I may confess how 
 stunned I was." 
 
 "I had no wish to seem rude. I did not feel 
 equal to seeing any one." 
 
 "Anyone?" 
 
 "You should not press me too closely." 
 
 "After seeing you to-night at the theatre " 
 
 "An engagement I could not cancel," rejoined 
 Merrilie protestingly. 
 
 "I understand. May I not see you for just a 
 few moments some day very soon?" 
 
 She hesitated, but spoke, after a pause, with de- 
 cision. "I think it would be better not, Mr. 
 Adrane." 
 
 "Will you tell me why?" 
 
 "You know something very painful has hap- 
 pened." 
 
 "Several unpleasant things have, but nothing 
 to prevent my seeing you." 
 
 "Frankly, it would hurt Annie's feelings, Mr. 
 Adrane, and I have no desire to wound her." 
 
 He paused. Then he spoke in a lower tone, and 
 in his words she heard regret rather than any 
 
 182
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 discomposure at her explanation. "I did," he 
 said slowly, "wish very much to see you to- 
 day." 
 
 Merrilie relented the least bit. "What did you 
 wish to see me about?" she asked with prudent 
 reserve. 
 
 Adrane paused. "You will think it absurd, but 
 I asked myself that very question driving home to- 
 night, and I couldn't really answer it clearly. I 
 do want to see you, if, for nothing more, to tell 
 you how mortified I am that you should have 
 been the innocent victim of a misapprehension of 
 Annie's " 
 
 "Please don't give that any thought." 
 
 "If I could see you " 
 
 "It is not necessary for that, and I think you 
 had better not." 
 
 " I hope you are not going to refuse to see me at 
 all." 
 
 "For the present, it is better I should not see 
 you." 
 
 Urge what he could, and Adrane did not hesitate 
 to urge strongly, Merrilie would not see him. 
 And though he held on long it was without avail. 
 
 On the following day, at five o'clock in the after- 
 noon, Merrilie was at home and a card was 
 brought to her. She took it from the tray and 
 it was Adrane's. 
 
 183
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I am not at home." 
 
 "The gentleman did not wait," explained the 
 servant; "he only asked the card be given Miss 
 Dawes." 
 
 The next day Merrilie was out. On her return 
 to dinner she found, among other visitors, that 
 Adrane had called. 
 
 "Find out, Rose," directed Merrilie, "at what 
 time Mr. Adrane was here." 
 
 "I saw his car at the door about five o'clock, 
 mademoiselle," responded Rose. 
 
 "Do you know whether he asked if I was in?" 
 
 Rose made inquiries. "He asked only that his 
 card be given Miss Dawes," she reported. 
 
 Merrilie shrugged her shoulders. "A protest," 
 she said to herself. 
 
 She affected to treat it at first with contempt; 
 then with indifference. But she was neither 
 wholly contemptuous nor completely indifferent. 
 She was interested in spite of her attempts to be 
 indifferent, and was likewise curious to know what 
 might be going on in Madison Avenue. The next 
 day Mrs. Hamersley called. Merrilie took her to 
 her own favorite room up-stairs, still called the 
 nursery. 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley, resting a moment after she sat 
 down, regarded the big' fireplace retrospectively. 
 "Merrilie, do you know I never envied your dear 
 
 184
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 mother but once. That was when she moved into 
 this house. And I told her so. Well, how are 
 you? And why have I never guessed before that 
 my little Merrilie was a really volcanic personage ? 
 Why didn't you ever tell me?" 
 
 "Volcanic! Aunt Kate," exclaimed Merrilie. 
 "Why volcanic? What can the matter be now?" 
 
 "Why, child, you've started an earthquake over 
 in our little neighborhood. Annie is having hys- 
 terics; Adrane has become unmanageable; Mrs. 
 Whitney is at her wits' end to restore the peace; 
 and I well, to be frank, I am the scapegoat and 
 all on account of Merrilie." 
 
 " Poor Merrilie ! " echoed Merrilie. " Do tell me 
 what I am accused of now. But don't let your tea 
 get cold. Just give it to me piecemeal." 
 
 "I never gave Belle Whitney credit for so much 
 tact," continued Mrs. Hamersley reflectively. 
 "She really has saved a difficult situation." 
 
 "Is it as serious as that?" demanded Merrilie 
 suspiciously. 
 
 "Serious! Well, with Annie frantic with jeal- 
 ousy you know what a firebrand dear little Annie 
 is sometimes John Adrane as sullen as a Sioux 
 Indian, and Mrs. Whitney upbraiding me for ruin- 
 ing Annie's future with my poor little house-party, 
 things have been fairly serious," intoned Mrs. 
 Hamersley lazily. "When affairs reached their 
 
 185
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 worst young people are so explosive and Belle 
 couldn't calm John Adrane any longer, she made 
 me send for him. Now, what do you think of that ? 
 And what do you suppose I had on my hands? A 
 bear the sullenest, stiffest, most obstinate man I 
 ever talked to. He was going to break the en- 
 gagement oh, determined to. I appealed to him, 
 on every ground I could think of, not to do it." 
 Mrs. Hamersley leaned back heavily. "I am 
 completely used up." 
 
 Merrilie declined to avail herself of the chance 
 to interpose a word. 
 
 "I thought for an hour," continued Mrs. 
 Hamersley, "I should fail miserably, and finally 
 convinced him or, I suppose, more accurately, 
 bullied him into conceding that his honor was 
 involved and it would be disgraceful for him to 
 break his engagement. I asked him to consider 
 what a position it would put me in, and, most of 
 all, what a position it would put you in, Merrilie." 
 
 Merrilie's eyes had in them a look of steel they 
 could at infrequent moments harden to. 
 
 "Most of all," repeated Mrs. Hamersley, "I 
 begged him to consider the position it would put 
 you in to have such a story abroad putting your 
 house in Paris at the disposal of Annie, while you 
 were stealing her fiance from her at home." 
 
 "I put it at her disposal," burst Merrilie, "be- 
 186
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 cause Annie had hinted so long about my doing so 
 I was ashamed not to why didn't you say that?" 
 
 "I didn't know it." 
 
 "It's the truth," declared Merrilie hotly. 
 
 "Even so," continued Mrs. Hamersley calmly, 
 "it would not matter. People would believe it 
 designed, and I told John so. How he squirmed 
 when I put it in that way! I told him you cared 
 nothing for him" Merrilie's eyelids never moved 
 "and that it would involve your name most 
 unpleasantly if he were to break his engagement. 
 Was I right?" 
 
 "How can I tell?" asked Merrilie with a touch 
 of scorn as well as of habitual prudence. "You 
 know the situation better than any one else." 
 
 "He was, at least, more amenable after I had 
 hammered that idea at him. I simply told him 
 that if he refused to protect us in so delicate a 
 matter we should disown him." 
 
 " Protect us ?" exclaimed Merrilie, dumfounded. 
 Two round spots burned in her cheeks. "Surely, 
 you didn't bring my name in it in that way?" 
 
 "No; I said, protect me," explained Mrs. Ham- 
 ersley remorselessly. "It is all the same. I knew 
 just how you would feel. Annie has lost her head, 
 that's all. She wanted him to send back the dog 
 you gave him." 
 
 Merrilie's hand shut. "Oh!" 
 187
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "He refused persistently. I told him he was 
 right." 
 
 The blaze in Merrilie's eyes did not lessen. 
 "And, with all the rest of it, the poor man is just 
 in the midst of making his steel market! He 
 hasn't time to eat or sleep. Isn't it perfectly ab- 
 surd? I've sent to Chicago for his sister. She 
 made the match, you know." 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley left Merrilie unpleasantly 
 dazed. While her visitor remained, she could 
 decide on nothing to do or to say. As Mrs. Ham- 
 ersley had rambled on, Merrilie had cast up her 
 mental accounts over and over again without ven- 
 turing to put down the totals. And at the very 
 moment of Mrs. Hamersley's departure something 
 confusing had occurred. Mrs. Hamersley had 
 hardly seated herself in her limousine before the 
 door when Adrane's big car, coming from down- 
 town, slowed up immediately behind it waiting for 
 the step. Merrilie saw the incident. A malicious 
 satisfaction came to her in the thought of Mrs. 
 Hamersley's astonishment at seeing Adrane's car 
 stopping again at her door. In the momentary 
 contretemps Merrilie's mind cleared the air for 
 action. A sudden revulsion of feeling, a rebellion 
 at the position she was now being put in toward Ad- 
 rane, swept over her and she took a new resolve. 
 
 With the trepidation of a girl of sixteen she rang 
 1 88
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 for Rose and ran to her mirror. The hurried in- 
 spection of her features, eager with excitement and 
 anticipation; of her glowing eyes, steady with reso- 
 lution; the running of her finger-tips around those 
 obstinate little hollows where a longed-for plump- 
 ness should be in her cheeks; the nervous pushing 
 at her belt-buckle, which because of her slender 
 figure never dreamed of pushing itself up, all went 
 quickly while she waited for Adrane to be an- 
 nounced; and all proclaimed that Merrilie meant 
 at last to see him. She meant to consent to that 
 talk he had asked for the talk concerning which 
 he had confessed he didn't know what he meant 
 to say and in which she certainly did not know 
 what she was going to say they should have it 
 with a formal reproof for him, she reflected, as 
 both her hands flew over her brown hair, for being 
 so absurd as to leave his card every day for a 
 week without even asking for her. Obviously, he 
 must learn not to take a woman's "no" too seri- 
 ously; but how, without saying too much, could 
 she tell him so? 
 
 The knock came at her door. Rose had run 
 into the bedroom for a handkerchief and Merrilie 
 opened to take the card herself. She was careful 
 enough to hear the footman's message before she 
 spoke, but she looked keenly at him. It was 
 almost a moment of fate, Merrilie felt. She was 
 
 189
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 minded now to brush aside every fictitious diffi- 
 culty and let come what would nothing or every- 
 thing. The servant spoke. "With Mr. Adrane's 
 compliments to Miss Dawes." 
 
 "Say I will be down," said Merrilie quickly. 
 
 "He did not wait." 
 
 The door closed before the man could turn 
 from it. 
 
 Within an hour Merrilie had regained her self- 
 control. The fever for breaking all restraint and 
 facing every consequence had subsided a little 
 tartly, perhaps, but it was gone. She felt only 
 calmly disappointed with Adrane out of patience 
 with him. If he had waited! What might not 
 have happened in that hour? But were not men 
 always stupid? 
 
 It was Saturday. Nor could Merrilie know 
 what effect a day of rest would have upon Ad- 
 rane's own study of his intimate personal problem. 
 At all events, on Monday Adrane called at five 
 o'clock with the feeling that his protest had been 
 carried far enough. At five o'clock he rang, and 
 this time asked to see Miss Dawes. 
 
 Kennedy acknowledged the card with a barely 
 perceptible smile. "Miss Dawes," he said, "is 
 out of town." 
 
 A confused recollection that he had noticed the 
 drawn shades when he ascended the steps swept 
 
 190
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 over Adrane. "Out of town?" he echoed, taken 
 aback. 
 
 "Miss Dawes," explained Kennedy, in his 
 slight, dry, low-pitched voice, "sailed this morn- 
 ing for Paris." 
 
 
 
 191
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 ADRANE'S first sight of Merrilie's house in 
 the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne on the fol- 
 lowing Sunday recalled the day on which he had 
 first driven up to it with Annie and Mrs. Whitney. 
 It made him think, too, of her home in New York. 
 With allowance the two places were not unlike. 
 The Paris house, though large, was smaller and 
 without the ample setting of Merrilie's New York 
 home; but the decided differences became notice- 
 able once more only when Adrane, an hour after 
 his arrival in Paris, had been admitted by Ernesto, 
 who served the door, and was shown through a 
 familiar small reception-room opening to the right 
 to a similar room back of it, in which when he sat 
 down he saw again a full-length portrait of Richard 
 Dawes. 
 
 Ernesto remembered Mr. Adrane very well. He 
 liked all Americans, whom he deemed princely. 
 Adrane sent no card to Merrilie, but confided his 
 desire to surprise Miss Dawes, and Ernesto entered 
 into the spirit of the pleasantry. He sent to his 
 mistress word that an American friend, passing 
 through Paris and on his way to New York, asked 
 
 192
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 to see her for a moment. And he brought word 
 down that Miss Dawes would see the American 
 friend. Some moments of delay followed. Ad- 
 rane looked around the room, but nothing except 
 the portrait fixed itself in his mind and he stared 
 at it. To him it was vitally interesting, and he 
 was still regarding it when he heard a quick, light 
 tread, to which his ear seemed used, coming 
 through a room opening on the one in which he 
 was sitting. Merrilie, quite fresh and composed, 
 halted on the threshold in dismay as her eyes fell 
 on Adrane. Involuntarily she drew back and her 
 composure momentarily deserted her. 
 
 "Mr. Adrane!" she exclaimed, almost staring. 
 
 Adrane, his head bent a little in the familiar, 
 uncertain angle he liked to assume, stood before 
 the chair from which he had risen. 
 
 "What?" demanded Merrilie, recovering her 
 breath while she looked searchingly into his eyes, 
 "has brought you to Paris?" 
 
 His characteristic smile and his usual calm- 
 ness showed how undisturbed he was. "I came to 
 see you," he answered coolly. 
 
 Merrilie resisted her impulse to make light of the 
 surprise and merely advanced a step to take a chair 
 as she motioned him to be seated. But he did not 
 sit down, and Merrilie, standing by her own chair, 
 spoke. "You understand, Mr. Adrane, why I 
 
 193
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 couldn't see you in New York?" she asked to 
 bridge the awkward pause. 
 
 "Perfectly." 
 
 "The same reasons," she added, though not 
 without a shade of consideration, "make it just as 
 hard for me to see you in Paris." With the words 
 she sat down on the edge of her chair and motioned 
 him to be seated. 
 
 Adrane, sitting, looked at Merrilie half seriously 
 and half humorously, but took a tantalizing inter- 
 val to answer in. "I know," he assented after the 
 long pause. 
 
 "So, don't you think you ought to spare me?" 
 she demanded; but she did not put the question 
 as resentfully as she meant to; in spite of her in- 
 flexible intention, it fell almost flat. There were 
 moments, she found, in talking with him, in which 
 her assurance sustained her perfectly; but there 
 were moments when without any reason it capri- 
 ciously deserted her. 
 
 "I wanted very much that you should see me," 
 he urged, embarrassed in turn. 
 
 Merrilie summoned all her rigor. "And as de- 
 cently as I could, I declined, Mr. Adrane. It was 
 due to myself to do so, and I must do so still." 
 
 Again he embarrassed her by a pause. "I hope 
 you are not going to turn me right out, Merrilie," 
 he said. And he seemed to speak unmoved. 
 
 194
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Merrilie answered with some vexation. "No, 
 Mr. Adrane, I am not going to turn you out, since 
 you say you have come to see me. I am going 
 to see you, and in doing so to expose myself to 
 further humiliating criticism. Does that satisfy 
 you ? " 
 
 "I deny the right of any one to criticise you," 
 he replied. 
 
 "Though that does not prevent the criticism," 
 returned Merrilie dryly. "What is it, then," she 
 demanded with an inward flutter, "that you per- 
 sist so in wishing to see me about?" 
 
 "Frankly," he answered, hesitatingly "I don't 
 know." 
 
 "You don't know?" cried Merrilie blankly. 
 "And you crossed the ocean to say this? Pray, 
 when did you reach Paris?" 
 
 "At noon." 
 
 "At noon! But when did you leave New 
 York?" 
 
 "The day after you left." 
 
 "How could you get here so soon?" 
 
 "By Fishguard and Calais. Mrs. Hamersley 
 insisted it would expose you to further humiliation 
 if I broke my engagement is that so ? " 
 
 He could ask startling questions, reflected Mer- 
 rilie, in spite of his deliberate manner. She felt a 
 crisis upon her but under fire made up her mind 
 
 195
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 instantly. Her answer was disconcerting in its 
 frankness. "Mr. Adrane, Annie and I have been 
 lifelong friends. No serious difference has ever 
 come between us I do not speak, of course, of 
 childish quarrels and girlish misunderstandings. 
 You may realize how crushed I felt when she came 
 to me with the complaint that I that you 
 oh, why do you force me to refer to the detest- 
 able subject!" she exclaimed. Blood mantled her 
 face. She tried to back up her words with a 
 severe look, but her eyes fell; that added to her 
 annoyance. 
 
 "I don't force you," interjected Adrane in- 
 stantly. 
 
 Merrilie gave him no chance to speak. "If you 
 have her confidence you certainly understood," 
 she declared with emphasis. 
 
 "I do understand. All I want to know is where 
 how you stand now." 
 
 She made an angry gesture. "Aloof, I hope 
 and pray, from the whole wretched business." 
 
 "If I have exposed you to humiliation, and it 
 would expose you to still more " 
 
 "Oh, don't let us speak of it. Can't we forget 
 it? Do not think of me in the matter. I ask no 
 consideration of any sort whatsoever only never 
 to hear of the subject again." 
 
 His eyes fell to the carpet. She thought he 
 196
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 would never answer, and her heart beat beyond 
 control. "No doubt you are right. I think per- 
 haps I understand," he remarked at length, 
 though poor Merrilie quite realized that he did 
 not at all understand. What she further realized 
 was that if she but lifted her finger she could take 
 him from Annie, and that she must not do. 
 He seemed densely stupid in this, though acute 
 in so much else. He was going at the thing 
 in quite the blundering way of a considerate 
 man. 
 
 Yet his very stupidity did not alienate sym- 
 pathy. Merrilie even wanted to help him; she 
 rather longed to set him right and a glance 
 from her eyes would have done it, but she dared 
 not on her life venture the glance. To know that 
 his sympathy was all with her and not with Annie 
 was like enjoying something that did not really 
 belong to her. 
 
 "Pray, then," she interrupted in a softened tone, 
 and letting her hand fall definitively on her knee, 
 "do let us put it all aside and forget all about it." 
 She drew a deep breath. "My conscience!" she 
 exclaimed, invoking precisely the mentor she 
 should not have summoned, considering that she 
 now meant to sip of a forbidden cup. "I can't 
 get over the shock of seeing you here in this 
 house, in this room. What could have possessed 
 
 197
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 you?" she demanded, dwelling incredulously on 
 every word of her question a question which even 
 Adrane understood was not to be answered. 
 "And those were your flowers brought up a few 
 moments ago. They are beautiful," 'she con- 
 fessed, as if it were a wrongful thing condoned. 
 "But for a cool-headed, restrained, sensible 
 American business man to do such a thing as to 
 run from New York to Paris like this!" Her 
 frown of incredulity was restrained, even dignified, 
 but it was sadly effective. If Merrilie felt that it 
 smacked of cruelty to profit by a situation not of 
 her making, she justified herself at the moment by 
 remembering the cruelty of the world. She real- 
 ized she was growing hard-hearted, careless, per- 
 haps, of consequences; but the moment that 
 brought Adrane back to her after she had formally 
 resisted him was a grateful one, and Merrilie had 
 about decided not to put any more grateful 
 moments behind her until they passed in their 
 regular chronological way even that, she felt, 
 would be soon enough. "Of course you had 
 other business on this side?" she asserted with 
 assumed confidence. 
 
 "Not a scrap," returned Adrane without a 
 trace of humor. 
 
 Merrilie looked at him, reflecting blank amaze- 
 ment tempered only by a hint of restrained merri- 
 
 198
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 ment. She raised her hands with a gesture of 
 despair. "My guest, solely?" 
 
 He brightened a grim shade. "Your guest, 
 solely." 
 
 She looked down at her hand depending now 
 from the arm of her chair. It was a fair hand 
 with only an Indian ruby on one finger but that 
 contrasted vividly with its whiteness. 
 
 "When are you going back?" she asked, add- 
 ing hesitatingly: "I'm asking so rude a ques- 
 tion only to arrange some little time for you if 
 I can." 
 
 "I am leaving Paris to-night at eleven." 
 
 Merrilie refused the temptation to utter a dis- 
 sent. She merely shook her head at the hopeless- 
 ness of it as she asked: "Which way?" 
 
 "I catch a German boat at Cherbourg." 
 
 "Giving me hardly time even to dress for a 
 visitor of distinction. I doubt whether my trunks 
 are up." 
 
 "Of course, you know, I didn't come to see you 
 arrayed. I came just to see you." 
 
 Merrilie tossed her head. "Though perhaps 
 you will let me be the judge of how I should pre- 
 fer to be seen by American visitors. However, 
 it is too late to discuss trifles. We must make 
 something of the hours. You know Paris. What 
 should you like to see this afternoon?" 
 
 199
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I don't know Paris. I should like to see you 
 this afternoon." 
 
 "Don't be absurd. You must see something 
 of the town. And by the way, do you know you 
 have never given Viola your profile for the nuptu- 
 ale he is making for Annie? This is your chance 
 to-day!" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 Merrilie almost started at the emphasis of the 
 refusal. "Mercy," she remonstrated, "don't take 
 my head off. I suppose I must be patient with 
 my poor little box. Since you are bound to be 
 obstinate you'd better suggest something your- 
 self." 
 
 "Your afternoon is engaged?" asked Adrane 
 gloomily. 
 
 "No, but I am a wretched one to run about 
 town in the daytime. Before dinner I rarely at- 
 tempt anything more than a drive in the Bois." 
 
 "Drive in the Bois with me." 
 
 "Oh, no; I would suggest your driving with 
 me except that it is so threatening to-day." 
 
 "Threatening?" echoed Adrane incredulously, 
 stepping to the window to draw back the curtain. 
 "Not at all; the day is perfect." 
 
 "Is it?" questioned Merrilie in turn, and even 
 more incredulously, as she joined him to look out. 
 "It has cleared a little, hasn't it? Of course, 
 
 200
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 driving is stupid for a man and your time is so 
 short 
 
 "I couldn't ask anything more than to drive 
 with you," urged Adrane. 
 
 Merrilie considered the sky dubiously. "Horses, 
 should you think, or a motor?" The appeal was 
 deftly delivered. 
 
 "Horses, if you leave it to me." 
 
 "We can't go far," she objected, "with horses." 
 
 "But we should get back too soon with a car. 
 I don't want to go far, anyway. Drive around 
 the block all the afternoon." 
 
 She looked at him as if she would spare a con- 
 temptuous rejoinder. "I like horses much bet- 
 ter for the Bois," she returned calmly, "and I 
 must dress." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, don't." 
 
 Merrilie opened her eyes. "Why not?" 
 
 "It wastes so much time." 
 
 "Nonsense. No time," she added gravely, "is 
 so well spent by a woman." 
 
 She waved his continued objection aside: 
 "Don't rush in where angels fear to tread just 
 possess yourself in impatience till I come down. 
 The horses by that time will be at the door." 
 
 "And this" he gazed about the room as he 
 rose "is where you live 
 
 Merrilie paused. "These French interiors ap- 
 201
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 pear cold to us; one gets used to them and grows 
 to like them." 
 
 She led Adrane to a rear room and a tableful 
 of books. When she came down she was arrayed 
 from tip to toe in white, the only touch of color 
 being in her lavender plumes and the lavender 
 lining of her parasol. Lace hanging from her hat 
 brim softened her face, with its straight nose, firm 
 mouth, and girlish under lip. Her eyes burned 
 newly and seemed to restrain, without condemn- 
 ing, a smile that brought Adrane with an ex- 
 clamation to his feet. 
 
 The formal equipage at the door, the impatient 
 horses, the nervously alert and watchful attend- 
 ants combined to give Adrane the impression of a 
 function as the two left the house together. Hand- 
 ing Merrilie to her seat and taking his place 
 beside her, he felt as if attending a personage. 
 She spoke in low and even tones of Paris, as they 
 started down the avenue. When they reached 
 the cool woods she directed the conversation 
 along innocuous channels. Adrane chafed, but 
 he found himself securely leashed and resigned 
 himself a bit dully to the commonplace. When he 
 grew over-dull Merrilie judiciously restored him 
 to spirit. 
 
 They came to open country with Adrane some- 
 what in the dumps. "You are not quite happy," 
 
 202
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 observed Merrilie. "What is it you don't like 
 my white?" she asked, looking at him. "It was a 
 risk to try lace, I know," she added, overbearing 
 his protest. "I yielded to Rose." 
 
 "I do like it. I like everything. You never 
 looked so charming." 
 
 "I suppose I invited an insipid compliment, so 
 I am the one to apologize, not you. And it was 
 only that you seemed distrait; I couldn't think 
 what was the matter." He twisted about as if he 
 wanted to say something, but she would not let 
 him. "I have something unpleasant to tell you," 
 she continued. "Don't look startled. It isn't 
 awfully serious only unpleasant for me to ex- 
 plain. My dear aunt who left New York on two 
 days' notice, very much against her will does pe- 
 culiar things. She is not guided at all times by 
 my wishes. And if she hears of your being in 
 Paris and calling on me she is morally certain to 
 let Mrs. Whitney know at once that you have 
 been here." 
 
 Adrane showed brusqueness: "I care nothing 
 about that." 
 
 "But I do care, very decidedly. And it forces 
 me to to seem inhospitable. I wanted you to dine 
 with us at home." 
 
 "That is very kind but I couldn't have thought 
 of it." 
 
 203
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Couldn't you!" echoed Merrilie. "You could- 
 n't have thought of anything else but for this 
 complication. So let me confess everything. I 
 haven't told you, either, that Edith and Guido 
 are here. You won't be sorry to hear that, I 
 know. They are. And they are coming to our 
 to the rescue. We shall dine at a funny little 
 rotisserie near Versailles. It is a favorite place of 
 Guido's. He suggested it and has arranged, and 
 Edith and he are motoring out later. After our 
 drive we meet them at the inn, send the horses 
 home, and motor back together see the criminal 
 subterfuges to which you put a helpless American 
 girl." 
 
 Adrane's revival of spirits was almost vehement. 
 "Thank Heaven one American girl is equal to 
 them, particularly " 
 
 "Particularly, if she has lived awhile in Paris." 
 
 "No particularly, if she is the cleverest of 
 American girls." 
 
 "Don't be vapid." 
 
 "But, Merrilie, I am sick to death of the real 
 truth. It oppresses me. I want to be rid of it 
 to have it out. I feel as if we were playing two 
 parts." 
 
 "And if we are, whose fault is it that I am forced 
 to play a part, and that quite a thankless one, in 
 your concerns?" He tried to break in. "Don't 
 
 204
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 speak I forbid you. Just play your own as you 
 have agreed to. I am too amiable as it is," she 
 exclaimed, as she straightened herself and read- 
 justed her cobweb parasol to the sunshine. "There 
 is the racing-course Longchamps," she added. 
 "But, of course, you know." 
 
 "I will do whatever you say," protested Adrane, 
 ignoring the field she indicated. "All I want to 
 find out is, what you want." 
 
 "That," rejoined Merrilie lightly, "is the easiest 
 thing in the world : To make your absurd trip to 
 Paris, to ask one absurd question, as agreeable to 
 you as I may without raising another hornets' 
 nest about my own ears is that plain?" Then a 
 laugh lightened her voice and eyes. She looked at 
 him: "Do you remember the bumblebee at Sea 
 Ridge?" 
 
 "There be many times, Merrilie, when I can't 
 remember anything but the bumblebee and Sea 
 Ridge and Crossrips. Lord! the first time I 
 ever saw you! It makes me faint to think of 
 it." 
 
 "I want to hear now all about your market 
 campaign," said Merrilie with authority. "Peo- 
 ple were talking on the boat about it. I am very 
 dense about market operations." 
 
 "This is, as I told you, just an ordinary bull 
 campaign." 
 
 205
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 " But it can't be ordinary, for everybody is dis- 
 cussing it." 
 
 "So much the better." 
 
 "But just what are you undertaking to do in the 
 market?" she persisted. 
 
 "Make the securities sell twice as high as they 
 are selling now." 
 
 "And who is directing the campaign ? " 
 
 "I am supposed to be." 
 
 Merrilie gazed at him severely: "Don't you 
 think you are magnificently careless about busi- 
 ness?" 
 
 He returned, undisturbed, her critical look: 
 "The market campaign is not my sole concern." 
 
 Merrilie grew ironical. Adrane met her ridicule 
 with humor. After their long drive they stopped 
 in pleasantly combative spirit before the wayside 
 inn. 
 
 "I love to come here," confessed Merrilie, as she 
 laid her hand in Adrane's to alight and he kept it 
 a little longer than necessary. "I suppose it's be- 
 cause I can't come alone. Don't mind the looks 
 of things about the place. The appearance is 
 disreputable, but the dinner will excuse all. If 
 Edith and Guido haven't arrived, I shall die. In 
 fact, we shall just have to drive away again." 
 
 Excitement attended Merrilie's appearance at 
 the rotisserie door. Over the high counter, which 
 
 206
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 enclosed a space to the left within the first room, 
 beamed the delighted face of a cook who, cap in 
 hand, bent forward as far as he possibly could to 
 greet Merrilie with smiles and welcomes. On the 
 right hand, surrounded by a modest store of wines, 
 liqueurs, and table waters, sat a plump young 
 woman peeling mushrooms. She started up with 
 a cry. From the rear room, an elderly and gouty 
 waiter, whose benevolent nose too amiably re- 
 flected the tag-ends of unnumbered dinner wines, 
 hobbled urgently forward. "Ah! Monsieur Fe- 
 lix!" exclaimed Merrilie, gayly greeting the pro- 
 prietor-cook behind the counter. "Annette!" she 
 added, turning to the wife with the mushrooms, 
 "is the dinner good?" 
 
 The question was smothered in a chorus of 
 greetings and particulars. "But where," de- 
 manded Merrilie, cutting short an impulsive of- 
 fering of exhibits, "are Count Guido and the 
 countess?" 
 
 "In the garden, mademoiselle, in the garden. 
 They wait." 
 
 "We will join them," announced Merrilie. She 
 nodded to the aged waiter, whose labored bowing 
 pleaded for acknowledgment: "Henri, you will 
 lead the way and you serve, of course ? " 
 
 "It is my honor, mademoiselle. To the gar- 
 den." 
 
 207
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Edith came forward cordially to receive Ad- 
 rane's greeting and recalled their visit at Sea 
 Ridge. Guido took the American's hand warmly: 
 "But the next time we meet, I hope," he added, to 
 Edith's words, "Venezia!" 
 
 The dinner, in a very shabby pink room over- 
 looking the garden, was a series of surprises. 
 Henri, marshalling his assistants, forgot his gout. 
 The assistants, unnerved by the importance of 
 the occasion, showed at moments traces of con- 
 fusion and Guido accused Henri of having pressed 
 them from the neighboring fields. Adrane begged 
 leave to ask questions. "Felix used to be Mer- 
 rilie's chef," explained Edith, "didn't she tell you? 
 He and Ernesto both fell in love with Annette, one 
 of the maids behold the result! Ernesto com- 
 mitted a dignified suicide by marrying Bianca." 
 
 "Felix bought the place from a certain Paul," 
 added Guido in stiff English. "The sign read 
 Paul's Rotisserie. Felix, to avoid buying a new 
 sign, although he was beginning a different busi- 
 ness, had Paul's name painted out and his own 
 painted in. There are three floors. To dine on 
 the second would be compromising. But even to 
 be seen on the third would be scandalous." 
 
 " Guido ! " protested Merrilie, "how can you ? I 
 don't believe a word of your stories about Felix. 
 His brother is one of our florists," she frowned. 
 
 208
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "It is he who tells me," added Guido, "he is 
 jealous because Felix makes so fast money. But 
 who would dare to quarrel with a man who cooks 
 a dinner like this? And his vintages they are 
 already far from being despised. You are slight- 
 ing a good wine now, Mr. Adrane." 
 
 Adrane raised his glass. Merrilie's lips were 
 touching hers. Their eyes met for an instant. 
 Then Adrane looked evenly back at Guido; he 
 wished the dinner might never end. The restful- 
 ness of it the measured steps of the red-faced 
 Henri, Annette, with excited face, peeping fur- 
 tively into the room to mark the success of 
 the varied courses, the countess with her droll 
 murmur of pleasantries, Guide's unaffected hos- 
 pitality, and, across the lowering level of the 
 wine each time he raised his glass, Merrilie's 
 eyes. 
 
 "It's too bad that our American business man 
 must leave to-night," protested Guido as they 
 finally rose from the table. 
 
 "But he thinks he may stay till to-morrow," 
 observed Edith, who had been talking with Adrane 
 apart. "I have almost persuaded him." 
 
 Merrilie looked startled and then alarmed. 
 "Oh, no, Mr. Adrane leaves to-night. You must 
 not persuade him, Edith." Merrilie's companions 
 looked at her. "He must not be imposed upon," 
 
 209
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 she added firmly and meeting all objection with 
 unconcern. "His business affairs at home are de- 
 cidedly urgent." 
 
 "But, Merrilie," pleaded her sister, "he will lose 
 only a day if he stays over " 
 
 "A day is sometimes vital in New York, my 
 dears. Mr. Adrane is going to-night." She 
 joined Adrane as she spoke and led the way ahead 
 of Guido and Edith to the garden door. "You 
 must not miss going to-night," she insisted hur- 
 riedly in English. 
 
 He was exasperatingly slow in answering. "You 
 don't want me any longer." 
 
 She made an impatient gesture. "I don't want 
 to be blamed for keeping you here one moment 
 and I positively decline to be oh, don't you un- 
 derstand," she demanded, "what a target for sus- 
 picion I am?" 
 
 There was a moment of reproachful colloquy. 
 "If anything should happen," she continued, "who 
 will be blamed ? I. Your place is in New York, 
 with your finger on the market pulse. " 
 
 "Last Monday I wanted keenly to lay my fin- 
 ger on a pulse beating on the Atlantic Ocean." 
 
 Her solicitude deepened with his indifference. 
 "It seems impossible for you to be serious. Here 
 you are captaining a very important market 
 movement in New York why, if it should go 
 
 210
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 wrong you might lose everything you have in the 
 world." 
 
 Guido and Edith had gone ahead. Adrane took 
 Merrilie's gloves. "Should you think less of me 
 if I did?" he asked, as if deliberating. 
 
 "I should think very much less," she exclaimed 
 energetically. "It would be extremely unpleas- 
 ant if it happened through me. I am horribly 
 practical." 
 
 "I suppose by 'practical,' you mean hard- 
 hearted." 
 
 "Call it what you please, I certainly mean it," 
 returned Merrilie with spirit. There was even 
 something of defiance in her eyes. "And that 
 isn't all," she added, setting her red lips as she 
 separated an orchid from the bunch over her 
 heart. Then she stopped. 
 
 "Say it, Miss Practical," pressed Adrane. 
 
 "It is merely a generalization. You will find I 
 am not the only hard-hearted woman in the 
 world." 
 
 She could not extinguish him. "You are the 
 only soft-hearted woman I've ever known," he 
 smiled, "who imagined she was hard-hearted." 
 
 Merrilie fingering the orchid kept her eyes down. 
 "Just the same you had better get back to New 
 York." 
 
 Edith and Guido strolled past the garden door. 
 211
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 They looked in questioningly. Adrane spoke. 
 "It is to-night." 
 
 "At what hour?" demanded Guido. 
 
 "Eleven." 
 
 "Then there isn't time to lose," remarked 
 Guido, consulting his watch. 
 
 Adrane turned slowly to Merrilie. His face 
 wore a humorous, helpless expression. Her own 
 attention was fixed on the orchid which she was 
 gradually tearing to pieces. She did not raise her 
 face as, with a petulant expression around her 
 mouth, she lifted her eyes to Adrane: "The night 
 express leaves at eleven," she assented, "yes. 
 But " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "You can easily make the boat if you leave at 
 one o'clock 
 
 "I was told there was no other train.'* 
 
 "You can get one." 
 
 Adrane's eyes lighted with a little flash. "A 
 special?" 
 
 "Ernesto arranges." 
 
 "Can we reach Ernesto?" asked Adrane, fast 
 waking. 
 
 "Guido, get him right away on the telephone," 
 directed Edith impulsively. She hastened her 
 husband to a booth. 
 
 Merrilie, still looking down, stroked her dismem- 
 212
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 bered bloom. "If I were only as clever as you,'* 
 sighed Adrane, regarding her heavily. 
 
 "If you were," interposed Edith, hearing him 
 as she returned, "you wouldn't be in the box you 
 are in." 
 
 "I'm more than usually stupid when I'm with 
 her," confessed Adrane without embarrassment. 
 "It is certain I shan't get my wits back before I 
 reach New York. But if I never regain them I 
 shall always be grateful " Merrilie, waiting for 
 him to finish, looked up: "for this two-hour re- 
 prieve." 
 
 "But what shall we do with the two hours now 
 that we have them?" demanded Edith. "The 
 theatre first?" 
 
 "Countess," begged Adrane, standing close to 
 the two sisters, "don't let us go to the theatre. 
 Help me: I need the two hours." 
 
 Edith's eyes sparkled as she fixed them on 
 Adrane. "What for?" 
 
 "To learn from your sister to be clever." 
 
 "Perhaps if you were, you would deprive her 
 of the pleasure of being clever for you. Let me 
 tell you, Merrilie is a great boss." 
 
 213
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 GUIDO and Edith gave them every decent 
 opportunity of saying good-by, but these 
 concessions Merrilie persistently evaded. During 
 the final hour she took her turn of wilfulness and 
 refused to be serious. She tore all of her orchids 
 to pieces, showed petulance, answered questions 
 or ignored them as she pleased, and altogether 
 treated Adrane so cavalierly that Guido felt em- 
 barrassed. When Adrane did put out his hand 
 to her in parting it was something of a strain for 
 both, but Adrane had arrived at a mental conclu- 
 sion a declaration of independence which he did 
 not divulge that enabled him to seek Merrilie's 
 eyes openly and in spite of her disinclination to 
 meet his. 
 
 Much against the American's protests, Guido 
 accompanied him to the station, where they found 
 both Ernesto and Adrane's secretary, who awaited 
 him with a batch of cablegrams. 
 
 "And you go home from here?" asked Adrane, 
 after he had thanked the Venetian. 
 
 214
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "To Senigallia. When are you coming to 
 Venice?" 
 
 "Next year, I hope." 
 
 "On your wedding journey, perhaps?" 
 
 "Guido," responded Adrane energetically, and 
 glancing at his despatches as he spoke, "I never 
 was further from getting married in my life." 
 
 "Married or single, come. But come in April 
 before the great warm; otherwise you must join 
 us in Cadore." 
 
 A fortnight later, Guido and Edith, going home, 
 left Merrilie alone with her Aunt Jane, who felt 
 that she had been kidnapped into returning to 
 Paris at all. Her retaliation was soon conceived. 
 For her health, always a matter of concern to her, 
 she began walking about Paris, beginning with 
 daily excursions to the Tuileries. These walks she 
 gradually extended until she reached at different 
 times the most distant and unexpected quarters, 
 coming back at night sometimes late for dinner, 
 and always in a dishevelled state. Merrilie strove 
 to combat this vagary, but realized that her efforts 
 would be in vain. Her aunt declined to drive and 
 declined an attendant on her walks; she insisted 
 that her health demanded the exercise and refused 
 to be hampered by a companion. Merrilie, feeling 
 after each controversy with her some qualms of 
 conscience at having brought her over in such a
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 rush, as her aunt termed it, at length submitted 
 uneasily to the apprehensions and uncertainties of 
 Aunt Jane's daily programme. 
 
 But submission was not what Aunt Jane desired, 
 and she undertook further measures of provoca- 
 tion. She began getting lost in quarters of the 
 city as widely removed from the Avenue du Bois de 
 Boulogne as Montmartre and the cemetery of Pere- 
 Lachaise in which she developed a melancholy 
 and sustained interest. Telephone calls from Mer- 
 rilie's Parisian friends, and sometimes from 
 strangers, began to reach her, asking for instruc- 
 tions concerning an elderly American lady claim- 
 ing to be her aunt. The department of the police 
 occasionally came into the difficulty and at times, 
 as evening fell, detectives brought in Aunt Jane, 
 who joined her repentant exhaustion to the anx- 
 ious and angry tears of her niece but within the 
 next day or two, extended her wanderings. 
 
 Merrilie knew there could be but one issue. 
 Either she must resign herself to bedlam, or do 
 what she had resolved not to do take her aunt 
 back to New York. This, to secure peace, she 
 reluctantly did. 
 
 She reached New York without being detected 
 even by the alert, and the town, as she hoped, was 
 pretty well deserted. Aunt Jane, restored to her 
 familiar haunts, subsided and contented herself 
 
 216
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 with making the servants confidants of her griev- 
 ances; and Merrilie was left for matter of interest 
 in life to her own devices. She ascertained gradu- 
 ally where her various friends were scattered 
 some were in New England, some at sea, some in 
 Europe. The Hamersleys were at Crossrips; An- 
 nie and her mother were away with the Havenses. 
 
 Nor had Merrilie much wish to see any of her 
 friends. She was conscious of a sense of isolation. 
 It was as if a vague something kept her, in interest, 
 apart from her circle. Deprived, then, of her or- 
 dinary sources of information and with the hours 
 dragging, Merrilie fell to the newspapers. These, 
 in turn, brought her mind more consciously back 
 to Adrane, who always lingered within the penum- 
 bra of her daily thoughts. 
 
 "Steel" news, "steel" gossip, and "steel" ru- 
 mors filled the less urgent columns of the vari- 
 ous journals, and Adrane and his associates, who 
 included some of the best-known down-town 
 names, shared, with the passing criminal and the 
 social wreckage of the day, the attentions of the 
 tireless press. 
 
 Merrilie read every line about Adrane, no mat- 
 ter how absurd or far-fetched she knew its sub- 
 stance to be, with avidity. She turned him over 
 critically in her mind and diverted herself with 
 forming and re-forming estimates of his charac- 
 
 217
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 teristics and capabilities that differed widely from 
 those she saw offered in the prints. Her interest 
 in him was different in kind, rather than in degree, 
 from any she had ever felt for other men. She 
 was alive to his weaknesses and his peculiarities, 
 but she felt a confidence that these were negligible 
 or correctable and that to her, at least, John 
 Adrane was amenable; that she could, and did, 
 despite his reputed stubbornness, influence him. 
 
 Merrilie, indeed, was not conscious of any no- 
 ticeable stubbornness in Adrane. She never felt 
 it, and every estimate she read of his reputed char- 
 acteristics she rewrote to accord with what she 
 confidently knew to be right. She felt more 
 vividly than she had ever felt anything, it seemed, 
 in her life, that she understood, to the tips of his 
 fingers, John Adrane. He was becoming to her 
 something like a problem that others professed to 
 be unable to comprehend and that she burned to 
 solve. She even went so far as to tell herself he 
 was the only man she had ever met whom she 
 might have loved; not reckoning that she already 
 loved him, and realizing all only when too late. 
 
 Business of her own afforded Merrilie occupa- 
 tion for a time after her return. The unlooked-for 
 redemption of an issue of bonds of which the es- 
 tate had been a large holder, a slackening of gen- 
 eral business together with a lull in the street de- 
 
 218
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 mand for call funds, left her with unusually large 
 cash balances in bank, and made the consideration 
 of new investments necessary. David Spruance 
 was called in from Sea Ridge to discuss the situ- 
 ation and, in the belief that money would be in 
 better demand later, he advised a waiting policy. 
 
 Spruance brought the passing news of the down- 
 town district and Merrilie heard Adrane Brothers 
 named among the active operators in an otherwise 
 featureless market. His gossip threw new light 
 on the burden of the newspaper talk about the 
 two Adrane brothers and their strong connections. 
 After her illumining talk with Spruance, Merrilie 
 followed the market comment with more under- 
 standing and, insensibly, with fresh interest in the 
 securities the Adranes were exploiting. 
 
 It was in this way that a thought one day came 
 to her as a question: Why not own some Adrane 
 Steel shares herself? It was hardly more at first 
 than a pleasurable satisfaction in being easily able 
 to become a part owner in his pet properties. The 
 thought of profit did not appeal to Merrilie; it was 
 more in the spirit of adventure and as a means of 
 interesting herself in something that she allowed 
 the suggestion to lodge in her mind and she felt 
 keenly that she needed the diversion of new inter- 
 est of some sort in life. One in common with 
 Adrane seemed in itself stimulating. 
 
 219
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 The more Merrilie considered such a step, the 
 more it pleased her. To be at one with him 
 and, of course, secretly so in his greatest under- 
 taking gave her more zest in awakening to the 
 day than she had felt since she saw him standing 
 before her in her reception-room, silent and with- 
 out apology, in Paris. 
 
 Meditating as to whom she should act through 
 and referring, as in everything, back to her father's 
 ways of doing, Merrilie recollected a stock-broker 
 whom he had employed in buying and selling, 
 Henry Benjamin, who had the previous winter 
 sought her in Paris, and whose particularly bright 
 and spectacled eyes she well remembered. She 
 directed Tilden to ask Mr. Benjamin to come to 
 see her. The very same day the broker, who was 
 promptitude itself, called on Merrilie. His eyes 
 were as bright as they were the day she had been 
 so brusque with him the winter before. "I was 
 extremely sorry I offended you last winter by 
 asking you to set a price on your beautiful home," 
 said Benjamin regretfully. "I did it at the urgent 
 request of a very dear friend and a man just about 
 as set as your own father. Nothing would do but 
 he must have it, and I must try to get it for him. 
 I'm sure you understand my position." 
 
 Merrilie received his apologies more graciously 
 than he had hoped. "Father would turn over in 
 
 220
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 his grave if I were to dream of selling this, Mr. 
 Benjamin," she smiled relentingly. Then for some 
 moments he would talk of nothing but her father. 
 
 "I sent for you, Mr. Benjamin," interposed 
 Merrilie, frankly, at length, "because my father 
 trusted you." 
 
 Benjamin's eyes opened seriously and wide. 
 Like the down-town men, always active, he sat 
 forward in his chair and spoke with briskness. 
 "Miss Dawes, your father was the greatest man I 
 ever knew." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Benjamin." 
 
 "I say it, not because you are his daughter; I 
 say it almost whenever his name still comes up. 
 And I can add also this," he continued, with an 
 emphasizing finger, "he was too big for me I 
 am candid I was afraid of him. He was so big, 
 Miss Dawes, he continually frightened me. That 
 is the truth. If I had done what he told me, I 
 should have been a many-times millionaire." 
 
 "You are that anyway, Mr. Benjamin." 
 
 "If I were, I shouldn't be in Wall Street, I can 
 tell you that." 
 
 "We all think we shouldn't do what we are 
 doing if we didn't have to, but we should just the 
 same," insisted Merrilie pleasantly. "Mr. Ben- 
 jamin," she added incidentally, "tell me about 
 Adrane Brothers." 
 
 221
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Fine young men, both of them. John is the 
 giant." 
 
 "What about their steel properties?" 
 
 "They are of the very best in the country." 
 
 "Do you know anything about the properties 
 personally?" 
 
 "I do not, but I know of them through half-a- 
 dozen sources that are unimpeachable. Your 
 bank knows all about it," added Benjamin sud- 
 denly. "Mr. Havens, your president, is a great 
 friend of the Adranes and their undertakings. He 
 headed a party of financiers less than three months 
 ago who inspected all the Adrane properties. 
 Havens is enthusiastic." 
 
 Merrilie shrugged her shoulders. "That is the 
 worst thing I have heard against the undertaking," 
 she half laughed. 
 
 "I agree with you," assented Benjamin 
 promptly. "I shouldn't want Havens enthusi- 
 astic for me. Bu ' h", "i turn, shrugged his 
 shoulders, "Mr. r a ne naturally wants every- 
 body friendly." 
 
 "What I want to ask you about," continued 
 Merrilie, "is buying some of the stock." 
 
 "Don't do it." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "No; excuse me, that isn't the first question. 
 The first question is: Why?" 
 
 222
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Because I want to. I have answered your 
 question, now answer mine." 
 
 "Because it is highly speculative, just at pres- 
 ent; because it will be subject to violent fluctua- 
 tions, and, most of all, because you don't have 
 to." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean to speculate in it " 
 
 "Then let it alone. That would be your only 
 legitimate reason for buying it." 
 
 "I mean merely to buy a few thousand shares 
 outright." 
 
 Benjamin again shrugged his shoulders. "I don't 
 see the why of it, Miss Dawes." 
 
 "Will you content yourself then with executing 
 my order 
 
 The broker bowed instant acquiescence. "That 
 is quite another thing. Tell me what you wish." 
 
 Merrilie shifted the rings on he fingers of her 
 right hand with her thum'< ittt'is ; the first place, I 
 don't wish to be know vestment." 
 
 "That can be taker 
 
 (( -\7 3 ' L.i . 
 
 You are surer 
 "Don't give it a thoug 
 
 "Then suppose we say really I don't know 
 what to say ten thousand shares? What is it 
 selling at?" 
 
 "Ninety, Miss Dawes." 
 
 "Well, let us say, ten thousand. And I want 
 223
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 you to use your own judgment in picking the stock 
 up. You understand you are to carry the certifi- 
 cates and keep me strictly out of it?" 
 
 "I understand." 
 
 "And do the best you can at the market it is 
 an open order." 
 
 "That is, it stands while I am picking the block 
 up and until you withdraw it?" 
 
 "Precisely. Tilden will forward your cheques 
 as fast as you advise me you've bought." 
 
 "Ten thousand shares at the market." Ben- 
 jamin rose. "Miss Dawes, thank you." Then 
 his bright eyes fixed upon her keenly. "Do you 
 know what your father once said to me?" 
 
 "No, I do not." 
 
 "That you ought to have been a man." 
 
 Merrilie smiled. "I am making a wretched fail- 
 ure of things as a woman." 
 
 Looking back, afterward, Merrilie asked herself 
 whether her very discontent was not what led her 
 into buying something she did not want and had 
 no use for. The underlying cause of the discon- 
 tent itself she did not, even afterward, examine 
 into. All that she felt when she gave Henry Ben- 
 jamin her first order that afternoon was a rest- 
 less resolve to have some part in the affair of the 
 day. And the affair of the day happened to be 
 Adrane Steel. 
 
 224
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 She found her venture quite as interesting as 
 she hoped something to occupy her thoughts, to 
 occasion inquiry, apprehension, to bring her into 
 touch with that which engaged other people. And 
 with Adrane leading, had not Merrilie more reason 
 than countless others for embarking at this par- 
 ticular moment in it? 
 
 She at least felt this; felt abundantly justified 
 in "going into Steel." She had never been so cut 
 off in her own life, never more alone. Whether 
 she mingled with people or avoided them, she 
 realized the same sense of loneliness. Estranged 
 now from the Whitneys, she missed them; yet she 
 did not wish them back. People appeared or dis- 
 appeared from her view and it was all one to Mer- 
 rilie. Acquaintances, to her, were no more than 
 acquaintances. She was sceptical of the existence 
 of friends and real friendships she had, in any 
 event, never known either. 
 
 "It is only the loose use of words that leads peo- 
 ple to talk about * friends.' Neither they them- 
 selves nor their fancied friends really care for one 
 another," she said to Mrs. Hamersley, after the 
 latter, coming to town for a few days with Amos, 
 had discovered her presence in New York and 
 made Merrilie come to see her. 
 
 "Well, Merrilie," protested Mrs. Hamersley 
 lazily, "I do believe in friends. And I don't think 
 
 225
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 you do right to hide yourself. And there is an- 
 other thing: I was brought up a Christian, 
 Merrilie." 
 
 Merrilie raised her eyes with contained irony. 
 "Really?" 
 
 "And one of the mottoes that I wrote many 
 times to perfect my flowing hand was: 'Satan 
 finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.' I 
 think it is from the Bible. I am not sure." 
 
 "And if you are not, how can you expect me to 
 be?" 
 
 "No matter what it's from " 
 
 "Nor whether it's a motto at all," interrupted 
 Merrilie. 
 
 "I quote it for you, my dear, because if you 
 don't keep something going, you'll get into mis- 
 chief. From all I continue to hear," drawled Mrs. 
 Hamersley, "you've given John Adrane's head a 
 very serious twist already." 
 
 A few weeks earlier, Merrilie would have hotly 
 resented such an accusation. Now, with a laugh, 
 she fell back into her habitual indifference. She 
 resisted Mrs. Hamersley's urging to run up to 
 Crossrips with her and went home to find out 
 how many more Steel shares she was owner of 
 than she had been in the morning. The invest- 
 ment gave her more real satisfaction than any- 
 thing for years. "And if this is mischief," mur- 
 
 226
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 mured Merrilie to herself, "let them make the 
 most of it." 
 
 She consulted often with Tilden transferred a 
 large balance from her own bank to the Ham- 
 ersley bank drew her cheque herself and watched 
 her holdings in Steel grow from day to day with 
 extraordinary satisfaction. The rise and fall of 
 the market supplied a daily interest. As her 
 order approached completion, Merrilie was ready 
 for more. She laughed to think of what she should 
 do with it all. And at how she should, perhaps 
 some day, compare notes with Adrane concerning 
 her secret trading in his specialty. 
 
 When Henry Benjamin reported her first order 
 executed, Merrilie gave him a second and larger 
 order, and before the second was completed she 
 surprised him with a third still larger. The mar- 
 ket felt the stimulus of her buying and responded. 
 Much other Steel business came to Henry Benja- 
 min, and as a result of his aggressive buying he 
 became known as one of the group of "Steel" 
 houses. Traders sought his advice. And as Ben- 
 jamin consistently advised his customers not to 
 buy Adrane Steel, buying orders poured in on him. 
 
 Adrane and his associates frankly counselled 
 every one to buy. They made open efforts to en- 
 list the co-operation of each prominent street in- 
 terest and met with a good measure of success. 
 One cloud only rose on the horizon of their ven- 
 
 227
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 ture money began to tighten. No one could say 
 precisely why. Benjamin, who in executing her 
 orders now supplied Merrilie with her best infor- 
 mation, and who was temperamentally suspicious, 
 agreed with Hamersley that the causes lay wholly 
 outside market operations; but by late summer 
 money had become very tight. 
 
 The circumstance was not allowed to interfere 
 with Adrane's campaign. On the twentieth of 
 August Adrane Steel, as the stock was popularly 
 known, touched a hundred and eighty and all the 
 way up on the rise large blocks of it were taken. 
 A lull in the demand for the shares was followed 
 by a reaction, then the market was again strongly 
 supported and the shorts were punished. 
 
 The weather was hot. Merrilie periodically 
 made arrangements to leave town and periodically 
 changed them. Every day she became more ab- 
 sorbed in her new investment; at times apprehen- 
 sive of, at times jubilant over, her venture really 
 the first she had ever undertaken. Her substantial 
 gains alone would not have accounted for her 
 enthusiasm. Something deeper than mere ac- 
 quisitiveness raised her spirits, and she realized 
 this without wishing to question precisely what it 
 was. In looking ahead for a year she found no 
 pleasure; but in looking ahead for a day, much. 
 For the present she was, she knew, almost Adrane's 
 unknown partner in his ambitious undertaking. 
 
 228
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 The secrecy of her co-operation was assured; yet 
 the very danger of detection was stimulating, 
 sometimes exciting, as her account grew and grew, 
 and the speculation in the stock became almost 
 country-wide. 
 
 Meantime the market itself had developed acute 
 sensitiveness. Merrilie opened her newspaper one 
 evening to find a break in steel shares recorded in a 
 first-page column with highly colored comments on 
 what might be expected in the street the following 
 day. Early next morning she placed herself at the 
 telephone and found herself chained to it for two 
 hours. 
 
 It was Saturday and a short day. But what 
 the day lacked in length it made up in intensity. 
 With the opening, large holdings of Steel had been 
 pressed for sale. So heavy and insistent were the 
 offerings that for the first hour an incipient panic 
 reigned. Sales were made in the same moment at 
 variations of a full point. Five and ten thousand 
 share blocks were thrown on the market. As the 
 price went down each sharp break uncovered a 
 flood of stop-loss orders which could hardly be 
 executed. By eleven o'clock Steel had gone off 
 more than twenty points, brokers were fighting 
 with telegrams and telephones for margins, trading 
 on the floor outside the Steel post was almost 
 neglected, messengers raced up and down the 
 
 229
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 street, crowds of traders choked the brokers' 
 offices and hung about the tickers, collateral clerks 
 checked accounts feverishly, banks began calling 
 loans, and the street seethed with excitement. 
 
 Then men began running from the Steel post 
 with faces less drawn. A new babel and another 
 roar of voices rose from the circle of fighting 
 traders. Adrane's brokers, with fresh energy, were 
 bidding up the market. Widely distributed buy- 
 ing orders placed by Benjamin & Company 
 began to absorb Steel offerings. Up ran the quo- 
 tations till Benjamin, fearful of overdoing the 
 advance, began selling in moderation to supply 
 shorts. The market closed firm within a few points 
 of the opening. But harm had been done Steel. 
 That afternoon extra clerks filled every office of the 
 so-called Steel houses in the street. It was hours 
 before even Benjamin & Company knew just 
 where they stood. At five o'clock Henry Benja- 
 min himself drove up-town in a closed car to report 
 to his particular client whose voice, directing the 
 continued buying over the telephone, had shown 
 no tremor of apprehension. The broker sub- 
 mitted his sheet to her. 
 
 "Tell me briefly, Mr. Benjamin, just what it 
 means?" said Merrilie, looking undisturbedly at 
 him. 
 
 230
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Briefly, Miss Dawes," retorted Benjamin with 
 much distinctness, "it means that Monday morn- 
 ing at eleven o'clock we must have a lot of cash." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 He named a sum in millions. 
 
 231
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 MERRILIE lifted her brows protestingly : 
 "That's a lot of money, Mr. Benjamin." 
 
 "Would you let me make one suggestion?" re- 
 turned Benjamin, wiping a brow on which the 
 anxieties of the heated day were plainly reflected. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "To drop this business right where you are." 
 He spoke with an emphasis of manner that ex- 
 pressed more than his words. 
 
 "Thank you for the suggestion," answered Mer- 
 rilie evenly. "I am glad always to have your own 
 view. Of course you are keeping my identity 
 rigidly out of everything, Mr. Benjamin?" 
 
 "Positively and completely. But 7 should stop 
 right where we are." 
 
 Merrilie lifted her shoulders very slightly. " I 
 am interested in this, Mr. Benjamin. And I 
 don't often get interested in things. You know 
 some of my mother's people the Whitneys are 
 close to Mr. Adrane. We should all, naturally, 
 like to see him do well. I shall want you perhaps 
 
 to sell some bonds Monday " 
 
 232
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Benjamin made an immediate and sweeping 
 gesture: "And then, away goes the bond market!" 
 
 "Why, surely, a few millions won't affect the 
 bond market." Benjamin looked serious. "Have 
 you any idea how scarce money is?" 
 
 Merrilie moved restively. "Don't let us mag- 
 nify our difficulties. The thing is very simple: I 
 want the money; you will find plenty of people 
 that want the bonds at a price." 
 
 "Certainly. Don't misunderstand me. I want 
 your business," he exclaimed with the utmost 
 emphasis. "What I am saying is wholly in your 
 interests." 
 
 "I understand, Mr. Benjamin. And with 
 
 Mr. Tilden I will meet you Monday morning 
 ,,*. " 
 
 a.\. 
 
 "Ten o'clock?" 
 
 "That is awfully early." 
 
 "I should say nine," objected the broker 
 gravely, "if it weren't earlier." 
 
 "Ten o'clock then, at the Atlantic Trust Com- 
 pany vaults." 
 
 Benjamin continued to regard her as if she had 
 forgotten something: "What about Monday's 
 Steel market?" 
 
 "Don't let it break too far. How many shares 
 have we?" 
 
 "Over a hundred thousand." 
 233
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 If he meant the information to intimidate her, 
 it failed of effect. 
 
 "It isn't on our shoulders, of course, to support 
 Mr. Adrane's operations," she remarked inno- 
 cently. " But as a considerable holder I intend 
 to protect my own interests in the property." 
 
 Tilden was too experienced to ask questions as 
 they drove home from the trust company bank 
 after meeting Benjamin on Monday morning, but 
 Merrilie felt him entitled to some sort of an expla- 
 nation for selling so many bonds. She made it as 
 brief as possible. She was, she told him, buying 
 Steel. 
 
 Tilden smiled feebly. "Like everybody else," 
 he observed uneasily. And Merrilie invited no 
 further comment. 
 
 Monday's market threatened no repetition of 
 Saturday's turmoil. It was supported from the 
 start and at night Merrilie felt reassured. But 
 she was resolved not to be caught again unawares, 
 and in spite of the difficulties of liquidating in such 
 a market she began on Tuesday selling standard 
 railway shares. Nearly the whole day went to the 
 signing of certificates and to the relentless selling 
 of so many thousand shares she dared not reckon 
 the aggregate. The persistent and unyielding liqui- 
 dation demoralized the already suffering market, 
 and the result was disastrous to the whole list. 
 
 234
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 At the close of the day, though at the cost of 
 an enormous sacrifice, Merrilie's strong-box was 
 filled again. Curiously enough, in the severe pres- 
 sure of her selling, Adrane's Steel suffered very 
 little. There were, it is true, steady offerings of 
 Steel and when they became too heavy the price 
 did recede. But the retreats were orderly and 
 after them the Adrane brokers always succeeded in 
 lifting the quotations back to where they insisted 
 they belonged. The money scarcity did not lessen; 
 but it did not frighten the bulls, who held that in 
 Steel they had something better than money. 
 
 After the more hopeful day, and when Ad- 
 rane's friends had begun to take heart, Wednes- 
 day brought a disagreeable surprise. Weakness in 
 Steel was apparent at the opening of the market 
 and the whole list gave so seriously that every one 
 was disturbed. A general calling of loans added 
 to the confusion. Steel sunk almost like a plum- 
 met until the closing hour, when Benjamin & Com- 
 pany began buying. In the last thirty minutes 
 they were compelled to take forty thousand shares 
 above their sales. Scare-heads filled the first 
 pages of the evening papers. Henry Benjamin 
 himself sought John Adrane in person and de- 
 manded in angry terms to know who was dumping 
 on him all the Steel in the United States as well as 
 part of what was in Cuba and Mount Vesuvius. 
 
 235
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "What did you find out?" asked Merrilie, when 
 her broker came to report to her at five o'clock. 
 
 "What did I find out? Nothing. It isn't 
 Adrane that's doing it. It's none of his crowd. 
 But who is it? Somebody was selling that stuff 
 to-day like soft strawberries." 
 
 Merrilie made inquiries and Benjamin answered. 
 He countered with only one question: "Why did 
 you give me such an order to hold the market to 
 a hundred and fifty ?'' he demanded. 
 
 "People that have sold what they haven't got, 
 deserve to be punished and I hope they will be," 
 returned Merrilie. 
 
 Benjamin waved his hand with impatience. 
 
 "How much money do you want! 1 " she asked 
 with a touch of defiance. He called for a stagger- 
 ing sum, but he could not see that she blanched. 
 She only asked another question: "How much for 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 "To-morrow! Who can tell how much to-mor- 
 row? Somebody is after that man " 
 
 "Whatman?" 
 
 "John Adrane." 
 
 "Make an estimate so one trip will do. How 
 much money altogether?" 
 
 He waved his hand uneasily. "Ten millions a 
 day would be little enough." Benjamin shook his. 
 head as he spoke. "I don't like it." 
 
 236
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "If it's a fight I shall stay in it, Mr. Benjamin. 
 If you feel unsafe " 
 
 "Unsafe? With you? N'ot for one minute. 
 Get that completely out of your head." 
 
 The next day more of Merrilie's bonds were 
 poured upon the market to strengthen her re- 
 serves. They were good bonds of the sort that 
 come out of strong-boxes only when money hides. 
 Appalling shrinkages developed in the prices, but 
 Benjamin sold inexorably. 
 
 Stocks under fresh pressure at the same time 
 from the bears wavered and staggered like stricken 
 men. Steel began coming out, not now in big 
 blocks nor bearing the earmarks of aggressive sell- 
 ing, but in steady and persistent offerings that 
 called for continual watchfulness and entailed con- 
 stant anxiety on the Adrane following. The house 
 of Benjamin was made a target of attack for 
 information and enlightenment, but the princi- 
 pals were dumb. The Benjamins were said to 
 be Adrane's brokers, Rothschild's brokers, Am- 
 sterdam's brokers, Frankfort's brokers; from 
 themselves nothing of assent or denial was forth- 
 coming. 
 
 On Thursday a conference of bankers was held 
 to consider the condition of the market. Henry 
 Benjamin was invited. He knew why he was 
 asked: they wanted to find out who his clients 
 
 237
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 were. But he could say nothing and he kept away. 
 Late on Thursday afternoon he spent an hour with 
 Merrilie. The situation, he told her, was grave. 
 
 "Adrane has borrowed money everywhere," 
 said Benjamin tersely. "He had a conference this 
 afternoon with Amos Hamersley. Hamersley is 
 in this pretty deep, himself." 
 
 "Every one seems to be," assented Merrilie. 
 
 "But if they can't locate this selling and stop 
 it, it will stop them. And stop Steel and every- 
 body behind it. That's all." 
 
 The night turned warm and Merrilie lay a long 
 time wakeful. She realized for the first time and 
 it came with the suddenness of a shock how 
 heavily she was involved. She rose after an al- 
 most sleepless night, and even Rose's tempting 
 bath did not refresh her. Tilden began sending 
 in messages early asking to see her. Merrilie 
 was not eager to see Tilden. The reckoning of 
 the day before, she was afraid to face. It had 
 confronted her all night long in the darkness, and 
 the very thought of a reckoning vaguely dis- 
 turbed her. 
 
 When she finally admitted Tilden, with his ac- 
 counts, his hollow eyes were sunk within their 
 sockets. Merrilie, who seeming to see nothing 
 saw everything, started inwardly at the sight of 
 his face; it appeared to symbolize her own acute 
 
 238
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 misgivings of her foolish conduct. Tilden spoke 
 in an empty voice: "I've been working all night 
 on the books." 
 
 Merrilie met the implication with reserve. 
 "These are troublesome times, Tilden. Every- 
 body is upset, I fancy. Well?" 
 
 "In this Steel speculation you have gone a long 
 way beyond the limit of safety." 
 
 "I'm afraid I have, Tilden. But it is an invest- 
 ment, not a speculation. How is the cash ac- 
 count ? " 
 
 "Bare." 
 
 "Again?" 
 
 "Your millions are going like the wind." 
 
 "How is the bond account?" 
 
 "Bare." 
 
 Merrilie swallowed: "What do you mean?" 
 
 "You have no bonds left." 
 
 "Not any bonds?" 
 
 "No salable bonds. No bonds at all but those 
 East Shore fours." 
 
 Merrilie looked thoughtful. While Tilden re- 
 garded her doubtfully, she took the telephone and 
 called up Benjamin. Her talk with him was not 
 encouraging, but when she put down the receiver 
 she turned to Tilden and met his eyes without 
 change of expression. "He says they will bring 
 about sixty. And they are first-mortgage fours! 
 
 239
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Great Heavens! Well, beggars cannot be choosers. 
 We need money. I wish Mr. Adrane had left 
 our railroad peacefully alone on our side of the 
 river." 
 
 "I wish to God we had never seen or heard of 
 the man," exclaimed Tilden fervently. 
 
 Merrilie raised her brows, pouted, and, with 
 what seemed annoying indifference, tossed her 
 head and laughed. Tilden scowled. He couldn't 
 understand. It was too much like pleasantry 
 over a powder magazine. The telephone rang. 
 Benjamin was calling Merrilie. He told her it 
 was reported in the Street that Havens, at the 
 Atlantic National, had thrown out Adrane Steel 
 as collateral. 
 
 Merrilie caught her breath. She made a few 
 rapid inquiries over the wire. Benjamin noticed 
 how cutting her tones and how keenly direct her 
 questions were. She told him she should see to 
 this at once, gave him orders to sell the entire 
 block of East Shore fours at the market, and asked 
 about stocks. They were weak, Benjamin re- 
 ported, with Steel leading the decline and getting 
 very poor support. "They've got Adrane on the 
 run," he explained bluntly. "We are doing most 
 of the buying. If the rest of the banks follow 
 Havens and refuse Steel " 
 
 Merrilie shut off. She excused herself, rang, 
 240
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 dressed hurriedly, and with Tilden drove down- 
 town to the Atlantic National. 
 
 It was not until she found herself actually walk- 
 ing up the old-fashioned stone steps of the bank 
 in Pine Street that she remembered she had not 
 been inside it since the death of her father. The 
 interior arrangements completely changed, the 
 apartments enlarged, made over, and renovated, 
 dismayed her at first. In appointment every- 
 thing seemed much more elaborate than she 
 remembered in her father's day. The thought 
 swept over her, as a reproach, that she had neg- 
 lected to keep in touch with her own interests in 
 the bank as she ought to have done, and that, 
 had she been less indifferent, she might easily have 
 prevented this serious blow to Adrane. Tilden 
 found only temporary difficulty in arranging for 
 Merrilie to see the president, and it revived her 
 confidence a little to perceive that her name still 
 had potency. Havens left a directors' meeting to 
 receive her in a luxurious anteroom. 
 
 "I hear that you have thrown out Adrane Steel 
 this morning as collateral on loans, Mr. Havens?" 
 said Merrilie rapidly, cutting short Havens's cor- 
 dial pleasantries upon her unexpected appearance. 
 
 Havens's face expressed his surprise. "Are you, 
 too, interested in Steel?" he asked with a bland- 
 ness that irritated his visitor. 
 
 241
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Yes," responded Merrilie promptly and with 
 emphasis that spoke her whole mind in one word. 
 "Like every one else, I suppose. Why have you 
 thrown it out?" 
 
 "My dear Miss Dawes!" Havens smiled very 
 considerately, but back of his lively manner Mer- 
 rilie could see he was clearly disturbed. "That 
 is a long and rather an involved question to 
 answer." 
 
 "It ought not to be. There is no good reason 
 for such a course. You know the whole situa- 
 tion " Havens made no attempt to express his 
 astonishment in words; he appeared mute with it. 
 "You know the situation of Adrane Brothers," 
 Merrilie went on hurriedly. "You know as well as 
 any one in New York the intrinsic value of their 
 properties, the efforts being made by speculators 
 to crush the firm, the stringency of the money 
 market, the vast amount of their stock held in this 
 town as collateral, the panicky condition of the 
 whole country at this moment " 
 
 The words would hardly come fast enough, yet 
 Merrilie couldn't have told where they came from 
 or how she knew what to say. She was con- 
 scious only of the blaze in her eyes and the an- 
 ger she felt at this stabbing of Adrane by her 
 own bank. "Is it good banking," she demanded 
 curtly, "to help in this way to precipitate a panic? 
 
 242
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Isn't a panic about the worst thing for banks that 
 can happen?" 
 
 "My dear Miss Dawes, you are speaking of a 
 situation of which you have only the most super- 
 ficial information. In a moment like this we can't 
 reckon with intrinsic values. Iron ore, furnaces, 
 rolling-mills, railroads are not money. Self- 
 preservation 
 
 Merrilie interrupted sharply. "Is self-preserva- 
 tion to be secured by showing the white feather 
 in the heat of a fight in running before you are 
 beaten?" 
 
 Each chopped heedlessly in on the other's 
 words. At times both were gesticulating and 
 speaking at once. 
 
 "I tell you you don't understand," stormed 
 Havens. 
 
 "I tell you I do understand!" Merrilie's eyes 
 burned with her words. "You have made a mis- 
 take. It should be corrected at once." 
 
 "I am charged with the safety and policy of this 
 bank 
 
 "Don't fear I shan't remember that later on, 
 Mr. Havens." 
 
 "Do not threaten me." 
 
 "Do not try to intimidate me. I know per- 
 fectly well what I am about, and as one at interest 
 in this bank I protest against your action in this 
 crisis." 
 
 243
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "You make this a personal matter. It is ridic- 
 ulous for you to blame me so severely. The loan 
 committee of our board decide our policy on 
 loans " 
 
 "Where is your loan committee?" 
 
 "At their various offices of business. You 
 would not expect them to be in session here all the 
 time?" 
 
 "In a crisis like this, I should expect them to be 
 in session here all the time. Your action threat- 
 ens the interests of your stockholders." 
 
 Havens could hardly believe his ears. "I can 
 think of but one explanation for your extraordi- 
 nary excitement," he retorted furiously. "But I 
 venture to hope you have not been speculating 
 in Steel." 
 
 "I am an investor, not a speculator. And for 
 protecting my interests both within and without 
 this bank I expect to hold those responsible who 
 ought to be held responsible. If you have influ- 
 enced your committee you will be held responsi- 
 ble for that. Your conduct at this time, Mr. 
 Havens, in view of all the facts, is simply out- 
 rageous!" 
 
 She was up, and almost out of the room, with the 
 last word. Fast as Havens could follow and pro- 
 test, he could neither overtake Merrilie nor hold 
 her ear to his words. She swept along the pas- 
 sageway to the private offices and into the large 
 
 244
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 counting-room, with her resolute heels ringing on 
 the marble floor as she strode toward the street 
 entrance. At the outer door of the bank she ran 
 blindly into a man, entering, who was lifting his 
 hat. Merrilie looked up and saw John Adrane. 
 
 She started, halted, almost gasped. The expres- 
 sion of her face changed like a sky in a thunder- 
 storm. She tried to laugh as her eyes met his and 
 she saw in his face the lazy smile that so irritated 
 his enemies and had begun so to calm Merrilie. 
 
 "What in the world?" he demanded in the low- 
 est possible tone. Then anew: "I hadn't the 
 slightest idea you were in New York 
 
 "Nor had I you were," fibbed Merrilie bravely. 
 
 "I?" He could not restrain the surprised echo. 
 "I have to be," he said, stepping toward a recess 
 beside the doorway. Merrilie did not mean to fol- 
 low, but her feet moved against her will, step by 
 step with his. Then, when still chatting, the two 
 stopped face to face, her resistance relaxed to the 
 pleasure of the meeting. It was gratifying to see 
 and hear him. 
 
 "So do I," she was replying when Adrane de- 
 clared he had to be in New York. 
 
 "But not down-town," he ventured. 
 
 "Yes, down-town," she averred hurriedly. His 
 look rested on the clear pink, high in her cheeks 
 the flush of her Havens interview and he had 
 
 245
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 never seen such an expression in her eyes. "Look 
 for me," she added abruptly, "everywhere you 
 don't expect me." 
 
 "Good," he said, outwardly unmoved. "I'd 
 rather see you, any time, or anywhere, than I 
 would a million dollars and I never needed money 
 so bad in my life," he continued half jestingly. 
 
 "Neither did I ever need it so bad," returned 
 Merrilie, leaving Adrane to think she imitated 
 his jest. "And if you have come here for it 
 you've come to a bad place." 
 
 Adrane made a droll face: "And your bank, too! 
 That's rather hard from the owner, I must say." 
 
 "But I don't manage the bank," retorted Mer- 
 rilie swiftly. 
 
 He looked at her more searchingly and with a 
 quite different expression : " Merrilie, I didn't get 
 a chance to say all I wanted to say to you in 
 Paris." 
 
 "Surely," she exclaimed, almost overcome at his 
 assurance, "you don't expect to say it here!" She 
 glanced, as she spoke, at the stream of men and 
 messengers hurrying in and out of the doors, some 
 of them regarding sharply Adrane's broad back 
 as he stood turned away from them. 
 
 "May I come to see you?" he asked eagerly. 
 
 "No, I may go to Crossrips to-morrow." She 
 was starting for the door. Adrane couldn't be 
 
 246
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 shaken off. "I'll go to Crossrips Sunday if you'll 
 see me," he declared, quickening his pace out to 
 the sidewalk to keep up with her. 
 
 Merrilie stopped in a little pause. "I will not 
 see you there. And I won't speak to you again if 
 you follow me." A servant opened the door of 
 her car. 
 
 "See me to-night," pleaded Adrane as she 
 stepped into the tonneau. 
 
 "I have an engagement. Good-by. Home, 
 Reynolds." 
 
 The final glimpse she had of him was as he 
 stood with lifted hat on the curb smiling, after her 
 rebuffs, a farewell, and with not a trace that Mer- 
 rilie could see of anxiety in his manner. She rode 
 up-town thoroughly angry. Her own anxieties 
 almost overwhelmed her, and he bore his without 
 a quiver. She remembered of a sudden that she 
 had forgotten poor Tilden at the bank and had to 
 go back and send into the bank to find him. 
 
 When she finally got home she felt better in 
 spite of everything and some confidence returned. 
 Within her own big walls she felt in some way so 
 much safer. And Adrane's persistence, however 
 she repelled it, was at the least satisfying even 
 though she could do nothing for him without 
 embroiling herself with Annie. Merrilie disliked 
 Annie very much, of that she was certain. She 
 
 247
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 had ceased blaming herself for the absurd situation 
 the three were in and fearlessly blamed Annie. 
 Annie had failed to hold Adrane how could she 
 hold him? Merrilie asked herself indignantly. 
 Adrane Merrilie's pulses stirred with the thought 
 needed a woman strong enough to to do 
 what with him? Merrilie could not think of the 
 right word; but she could feel it to the very tips 
 of her fingers. She knew perfectly well she could 
 hold John Adrane, if the situation were reversed, 
 not only against Annie, but against all comers. 
 Rose came in to say it was lunch time. 
 
 "Oh, very well," sighed Merrilie. Then, with a 
 little weariness as the light in her eyes lessened, 
 "I won't go down. Have something served up 
 here." 
 
 248
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 SHE could eat nothing when her lunch was 
 brought. Her thoughts of Adrane's affairs 
 were followed by the recollection of her en- 
 counter with Havens. This brought only the dis- 
 appointing memory of a futile effort. Beyond 
 getting angry she had accomplished nothing, and 
 no battle, she remembered, could be won in such 
 a way. There was now ten times more for her to 
 do to save herself incomparably less to do it with. 
 It was money, money; money she must have 
 how could she get it? She sat half-buried in the 
 corner of a couch, absorbed in thought, when she 
 was told Mr. Benjamin was on the telephone. 
 Merrilie dreaded to lift the receiver. 
 
 "They are selling Steel again," Benjamin 
 began. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "My God! Everybody. We must have some 
 money." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "This afternoon." 
 
 249
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Merrilie looked vacantly across the receiver out 
 of the window as she answered. "Mr. Benjamin, 
 can you borrow some on my bank stock?" 
 
 "In ten minutes." 
 
 "Come up then and get it." 
 
 "I can't leave here now. I will send my cash- 
 
 5> 
 
 ier. 
 
 "I shall have it ready." 
 
 She felt no excitement when the broker's mes- 
 senger asked her, a few moments later, to sign the 
 dozen odd certificates. She did not even look at 
 the dates they bore, and took, without question- 
 ing, the memorandum receipt of the thousands of 
 shares which the cashier handed back to her. All 
 she could recall was that he said something about 
 eleven or twelve million dollars. Benjamin called 
 her again on the telephone toward the market 
 close. 
 
 "It's behaving better," he answered when she 
 asked about Steel. "I've got money on some of 
 the bank stock. We are safe, I guess." 
 
 "For how long do you think?" 
 
 "For to-night. I daren't talk here. Will you 
 be home at six o'clock?" 
 
 "Yes, are you coming up?" 
 
 "I am. I want to say something wireless." 
 
 "Now I can't tell you why I think so," began 
 Benjamin the instant he set foot in Merrilie's 
 
 250
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 library and even before he seated himself. "It 
 may be I am all wrong. But I begin to suspect 
 where this Steel is coming from who is selling 
 it." 
 
 Merrilie regarded him in stony silence. "He 
 was the most upset man in Wall Street this after- 
 noon," continued Benjamin, "and I think he is 
 heavily short on Steel 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, who?" 
 
 "Benedict R. Havens." 
 
 Merrilie found herself breathless. Astonish- 
 ment quite stunned her. Then rage like a vise 
 gripped her heart. Her face turned white. "Jt's 
 impossible," she exclaimed. 
 
 "It's true, before Heaven, I believe," asserted 
 Benjamin. "It's Havens selling. What in the 
 name of God the man is doing, what he means, I 
 don't know. But he is selling." 
 
 "Can you prove it?" demanded Merrilie fever- 
 ishly. 
 
 "No." 
 
 If he had said "Yes" the word would have car- 
 ried less conviction to his listener. "I can't prove 
 it not now," snapped Benjamin doggedly, "but" 
 with his clinched fist he struck the arm of his 
 chair "I will prove it on him some day if he 
 drives me far enough." 
 
 The two stared at each other. Merrilie spoke 
 251
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 first. "If I were sure of it I would denounce him 
 to Amos Hamersley to-night." 
 
 Benjamin held up his hands. "I've told you I 
 can't prove it," he said warningly. 
 
 Merrilie looked at him as if she would look 
 through him. "What shall we do?" 
 
 Benjamin answered her question with another. 
 "What can we do?" 
 
 She was silent looking at him, he said once 
 afterward, with the set look of Richard Dawes 
 himself and as if he himself were the villain in- 
 stead of her mere Wall Street broker. "The only 
 thing we can do get out you won't do," he 
 added rebelliously. 
 
 The blood colored her cheeks. "You want me 
 to close my account." 
 
 Benjamin sprang to his feet. "Nothing could 
 be further from the truth!" 
 
 "Oh, I know." She flung the words like a de- 
 fiance. "When I ask you for advice that is what 
 you give me: 'Get out!' If I were a man and 
 you a woman, do you suppose I should say that? 
 Did you ever suggest that to my father?" 
 
 Benjamin seated himself. "My dear Miss 
 Dawes, will you excuse me? Let me be blunt. I 
 always knew, when your father was in a deal, why 
 he was in. If you'll tell me why you are in this 
 deal risking every dollar you have in the world 
 
 252
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 I'll be in a position to advise you." He fell back 
 in his chair. " I'm not now," he concluded moodily. 
 
 "Then just consider that I no longer ask you 
 for advice," she retorted sharply. "I am in Steel 
 because I believe in it, and all I ask of you is to 
 execute my orders." 
 
 "And they are, to support the market to- 
 morrow?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then I must have money." 
 
 "How much?" she asked. 
 
 Her hands tightened at the sum he named. 
 More than once since her father died she had told 
 herself it would not be humanly possible to get 
 to the end of her seemingly boundless resources 
 the packages upon packages of shares in the great 
 railroads, the bulky blocks on blocks of bonds 
 that filled compartment after compartment in her 
 safe-deposit boxes. Her liquid assets had seemed 
 impregnable in their astonishing totals. She had 
 reached their end. 
 
 In spite of himself, Benjamin, as he watched the 
 hunted expression in her eyes, pitied her. 
 
 "It's a plain proposition," he tried to say coolly. 
 "We have got to clean the other side out or they'll 
 clean us out." 
 
 She rose, walked like one in a trance to her open 
 desk, stood before it a moment, and sat slowly 
 
 253
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 down. A cheque-book lay at her hand; she tossed 
 it away. Looking abstractedly at the big bal- 
 ance-sheet Tilden had placed there, her fingers 
 moved uncertainly over it. "You will have to 
 raise some money for me," she said at length, "on 
 Steel collateral." 
 
 He threw up his head scoffingly. "I couldn't 
 raise ten thousand dollars on Steel collateral. 
 That's flat. We might as well face it first as last." 
 "You've got to do it, Mr. Benjamin. Do you 
 mean to say a stock selling at a hundred and sev- 
 enty to-day is absolutely worthless?" 
 
 "I mean to say you can't raise money to-night 
 on government bonds." 
 
 "Can't you borrow more on the bank stock?" 
 "Yes, but I must have more and lots more." 
 "You have some East Shore fours." 
 "I offered them at thirty-eight to-day; I couldn't 
 get twenty. I couldn't even get a bid. This isn't 
 a market. A million melts in a minute. Don't 
 you understand? This is a panic." 
 
 She seemed, as he flung the pitiless facts at her, 
 to be hardening to steel herself. Nothing he 
 could say would break her nerve. She sat look- 
 ing directly at Benjamin and her gaze disturbed 
 him. He caught the mahogany arm of his chair 
 in his hand. When he looked back to Merrilie, 
 her eyes were still on him. "Do you know," she 
 
 254
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 asked, referring steadily to the enormous sum he 
 had called for, "of any way we can raise that 
 much money to-morrow?" 
 
 It was only by the forced evenness of her tone 
 that he understood, and, reading her mind in- 
 stantly, he thought he knew the answer she ex- 
 pected. But it was an answer that even she 
 could not wring from him at such a juncture. He 
 lied without hesitation. "No." 
 
 She made no move to speak again. The silence 
 was almost unbearable. It was a duel, he knew, 
 between her and himself as to which should make 
 the suggestion, but he was resolved she should 
 not extort it from him. Merrilie flung a letter 
 from under her hand. 
 
 "Who," she asked slowly, "was your friend 
 that wanted to buy this property last winter?" 
 
 This was the question he had waited for. He 
 answered as if he expected it. "It was Robert 
 Kimberly." 
 
 "Why did he want it?" 
 
 "He was to be married. He wanted to put a 
 building here to give his wife." Merrilie held her 
 breath an instant. "Does he want it yet?" she 
 demanded briefly. 
 
 "The woman he was to marry died two weeks 
 before the day set for the wedding. I haven't 
 seen Robert Kimberly for months." 
 
 255
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 She rose to her feet as if choking. "I will never 
 sell it. It is needless to think of it." 
 
 "You would be crazy to think of it," retorted 
 Benjamin significantly. "Your father would turn 
 over in his grave if you did sell it. Good-night." 
 
 "You must think of some way to get money 
 to-morrow," rejoined Merrilie warningly as he 
 started toward the door. 
 
 He halted as if in resentment and looked back 
 at her, but his impatience did not pass his lips; 
 her assurance silenced him. 
 
 "If you think after dinner of any way," she 
 added composedly, "let me know. By the way, 
 Mr. Benjamin, the Gazette to-night speaks of a 
 trust company being in difficulties " 
 
 "They are all in difficulties," snapped Benjamin. 
 
 "You know what I mean acute," said Merrilie 
 with impatience. 
 
 "So do I mean acute," vociferated the broker. 
 "Everybody is in difficulties. There are runs on 
 half the trust companies in town." He stretched 
 his arm suddenly toward the window. "Down- 
 town to-night they are standing in lines two blocks 
 long waiting for the bank doors to open to-morrow 
 morning difficulties!" His gesture as he jerked 
 back his stocky head was hopeless. Merrilie felt 
 for the first time, in all its keenness, the fear 
 that hung that night over New York. 
 
 256
 
 She rose to her feet as if choking. "I will never sell it. 
 It is needless to think of it."
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Can they stand these runs?" 
 
 "No," he blurted. "Two Wall Street trust 
 companies may close their doors to-morrow." 
 
 "Is there any ground for the Street rumors 
 about Adrane Brothers?" 
 
 Benjamin shot a look at her and his eyes flashed. 
 "They have got a load for a dozen trust com- 
 panies." 
 
 "Can they carry it, Mr. Benjamin?" 
 
 "That is up to John Adrane. He doesn't de- 
 serve any sympathy." 
 
 "He doesn't ask any, does he?" returned Mer- 
 rilie coolly. 
 
 "He has stirred the animals up; let him feed 
 them. Fine time for a bull campaign, with bonds 
 selling for old iron!" 
 
 "Do you think he will hold out?" 
 
 "If he can hold out for the last three hours to- 
 morrow he can hold out forever," 
 
 Merrilie asked nothing further. She returned 
 in silence to her room. She thought of her father 
 and vainly wished him back; and with the more 
 compunction because she knew she had already 
 done things so rash with his trust that she hardly 
 dared look at his face before her or think of his 
 rebuke. 
 
 And keener compunction underlay the reflection 
 that she had conceived of still more desperate ex- 
 
 257
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 pedients to support Adrane in his desperate com- 
 mitments. Her unexpected failure to raise funds 
 for the morrow on her remaining bonds had only 
 stirred her to further measures. The difficulties 
 of banks and trust companies excited her contempt 
 as they had excited her father's before her. Of 
 him she now recalled, with angry determination, 
 that once embarked on a course nothing swerved 
 him. And from the thought of him her mind ran 
 constantly to the thought of John Adrane. 
 
 Toward Adrane she would not analyze to the 
 uttermost her feelings. That they were friends 
 just good friends was reason enough why she 
 should not desert him now when others were 
 failing. She who looked with scepticism on faith 
 in friends and on professions of friendship now 
 prided herself that her friendship should mean 
 something to him. He was bound to Annie, true; 
 it was a hateful thought, one she chafed under 
 more and more. But the ropes that bound him 
 were ropes of sand, and Merrilie liked to think 
 with continuing pride that if she but lifted her 
 ringer John Adrane would come. 
 
 She sat for an hour in moody silence wishing 
 that the telephone might ring, that the door-bell 
 might ring, that he would come and, in spite of 
 her rebuffs, intrude himself on her as he had done 
 more than once before. But no bell rang, noth- 
 
 258
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 ing broke in on her thoughts, and these turned 
 always to means for helping him. Now, tied 
 hand and foot by a wretched panic, she saw her- 
 self helpless to aid him helpless, unless she 
 could bring herself to part with her home. 
 
 Staring at her father's face on the wall, she 
 gripped her hands together. She tried to think 
 of the less dreadful aspects of the step. It would 
 bring money, so much money, when nothing else 
 would. Some time it must give way, anyway, to 
 the irresistible expansion of the city. Some one, 
 she remembered, had once told her it might be 
 condemned by the city and taken, in spite of 
 everything, for a public use. Was not her resolve 
 to keep it mere obstinacy, after all ? Its price now 
 in gold would mean so much; perhaps tide John 
 over. She realized for the first time she was think- 
 ing of him as John, as he thought of her as Merrilie. 
 She might some time in the future decide to sell 
 the house anyway. What would the money mean 
 to her when she had no use for it? 
 
 And for the future? From her deep chair, in 
 which she sat curled, she stared long into vacancy. 
 If she could only read the future! She resisted 
 putting the longing that was in her heart into men- 
 tal words. She hated to admit even to herself that 
 she cared so much for John Adrane. She went 
 over and over every word he had ever said to her, 
 
 259
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 every look she could recall that had significance, 
 and she knew with the sureness of a woman's in- 
 stinct that Adrane cared deeply for her, and for 
 her own sake for her eyes, her voice, her words, 
 herself. 
 
 And she knew, and would no longer deny, it was 
 a fondness for him that was pleading for him now 
 not that he was asking for support, not that he 
 would even know who had given it, but because 
 she cared for him she wanted to give it. To lend 
 him strength to fight his enemies when no one else 
 could lend it the thought came with a thrill. 
 That she, of all others, had the power consoled her 
 pride. Prudence told her she had already trav- 
 elled, even with all her great resources, too far on 
 a very dangerous path moved at first, perhaps, 
 by caprice, recklessness, whatever it might be. 
 But, after all, it had been a caprice well 
 grounded, excited by one lively motive because 
 she was fond of this man who had come so 
 strangely into her life. His eyes pleased her, his 
 voice moved her, his presence gratified her, his 
 stubborn advances continually excited in her 
 heart a vivid interest. She had fed her pride on 
 rejecting them and, with capricious tenderness, 
 softly breathing new life into them again. 
 
 If they should cease, what should she do? 
 When had life ever looked emptier than it looked 
 
 260
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 in that thought? Merrilie sprang to her feet. 
 She drew a deep, deep breath and stretched her 
 hands high above her head. Then covering her 
 eyes with the back of her hands as she turned to 
 her divan, she sank down on it and buried her 
 face in a pillow as if she would hide her thoughts 
 even from her burning cheeks. 
 
 She would love him nothing in all the world 
 should stop her, and some day he should know it. 
 Neither reproaches nor resentment on the one 
 hand, neither poverty nor ruin on the other, should 
 defeat her. The supreme moment in her life had 
 come and she would meet it. Let him choose, 
 when he must, between Annie and her. If Mrs. 
 Whitney and his sister had intrigued, because he 
 was a "good catch," into engaging him to a pretty 
 and marrying girl, they might hold him to his 
 entanglement if they could. To let her hand 
 linger for one moment within his, to let her eyes 
 speak in but one glance to his eyes, to let her voice 
 fall in a single caressing accent on his listening ear 
 that was all the test Merrilie would ask for John 
 Adrane. If her Samson should fail, at even so 
 slight a beckoning as this, to rise with the gates 
 of Gaza posts, bolts, and all on his shoulders 
 and follow her, then the strength of his longing 
 had wofully deceived her. 
 
 But she knew, as she compressed her lips, that 
 261
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 she was not deceived. From the pillow she raised 
 herself upon her arms with a flushed face and 
 looked around her room. The room itself bore 
 another aspect in the light of her resolve. Every- 
 thing within it was already but a means to one 
 great end, to bring to her her love. She put her 
 hands to her forehead; it was hot with blood. 
 Her deep breathing pleasantly swayed her senses. 
 For an instant she let the flood of her emotions 
 sweep fully over her, and, raising her hands again 
 above her head, lifted her eyes, unveiled, to a 
 vision. 
 
 The faint ringing of a bell brought her back 
 to earth. It startled her, for the hour was very 
 late. Rising, clear-headed, composed, and resolved, 
 Merrilie stepped into her writing-room to an- 
 swer the telephone. When she said "Yes," she 
 was masking so much in her heart that her tone 
 sounded false to her own ear. 
 
 262
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 BENJAMIN was on the wire. "I am speak- 
 ing from the Waldorf," he explained. "I 
 have just heard on pretty good authority that two 
 of the trust companies that are in trouble won't 
 open to-morrow." 
 
 Merrilie was silent for a moment. "Do you 
 suppose it's true?" she asked presently. 
 
 "Nothing would surprise me after all I've heard 
 to-night." 
 
 "What else of importance?" 
 
 "Rumors no use repeating them over the 
 wire." 
 
 "Mr. Benjamin, can you hear me?" 
 
 "Perfectly." 
 
 "I have changed my mind. I am going to let 
 Mr. Kimberly have my Fifth Avenue property 
 the whole frontage within the three streets. And 
 I want the money to-morrow do you hear me?" 
 
 "I hear you." 
 
 "Try to get hold of him to-night and close the 
 deal, will you ? " 
 
 263
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Get hold of him to-night? That is not pos- 
 sible. Neither of the Kimberlys has been in 
 town all summer." 
 
 "Get him on the wire at Second Lake. Tell 
 him this is his chance. I may not wish to sell 
 to-morrow night he knows what that means. If 
 he wants it he must act." 
 
 Her courage oozed a little with every word she 
 spoke, but she stuck to her determination and 
 gave Benjamin clear and cogent instructions as 
 to what to do the price to demand, the things 
 to say much of it with her heart beating like a 
 trip-hammer but Benjamin could not hear that. 
 The night air was still and oppressive. She rang 
 for a negligee. When Rose left her, Merrilie 
 turned out the lights and, walking to the middle 
 window, pushed back the curtains and, standing in 
 the darkness, looked out on the Avenue. The 
 dark asphalt pavement gave back to the higher 
 level of the house the swift, subdued whir of the 
 procession of motor-cars. At intervals a cab or 
 carriage passed and the sharp ring of hoofs 
 punctuated the steady hum of the engines. The 
 scene was one to which she had always been in- 
 different and to which her attention could have 
 been drawn only with a dislike for this ceaseless 
 stream of motoring thousands. But she was look- 
 ing now on the neglected spectacle with a feeling 
 
 264
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 she had never experienced: the feeling of a fare- 
 well to something we have never prized and con- 
 cerning which we ask, in parting, whether we shall 
 not some time miss it. She had raised one arm 
 to lean against the casement, and as she rested on 
 it her forehead fell again on the back of her 
 drooping hand. 
 
 Motionless, Merrilie looked down on the familiar 
 street, and its clustered lamps, its retreating shad- 
 ows, its darkened houses, and its flitting head- 
 lights, with a sense of confusion and disquiet. 
 After all, it was home the old house, the old 
 street, this babel of sound, this swiftness of flight. 
 She was giving it up and for an arrow shot into 
 the air. Her head rested heavily on her hand. 
 Her eyes blurred. 
 
 Merrilie had never known what patience is. 
 This night she knew. When she at length left 
 the window, she sat pitifully down near the tele- 
 phone to await her call, and long before it came 
 she had forced herself to await it calmly. 
 
 She heard Benjamin's voice almost before she 
 had placed the receiver to her ear. 
 
 "I have talked with Charles Kimberly at Sec- 
 ond Lake," he said slowly and distinctly. "His 
 brother is somewhere on the north Atlantic, cruis- 
 ing, and hasn't been heard from directly for weeks. 
 Charles Kimberly tells me it is very certain that 
 
 265
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Robert Kimberly will not now consider buying 
 real estate of any description." 
 
 "Will Charles buy?" demanded Merrilie before 
 Benjamin could continue. 
 
 "Yes and no." 
 
 "What do you mean? Where are you speaking 
 from?" 
 
 "From the hotel. He might buy. But he 
 would not pay what his brother would have paid." 
 
 "How much less does he want it for?" 
 
 "I will never sell for such a figure," exclaimed 
 Merrilie when she heard the answer. "It is ridic- 
 ulous. You had better come over here right 
 away." 
 
 When Benjamin reached the house he found her 
 in the library. "It is absurd for Charles Kim- 
 berly to make such an offer," she declared before 
 her visitor could utter a word. "Robert sent a 
 representative, Mr. McCrea, to me here once with 
 a much larger offer." 
 
 She emphasized her words with a confidence 
 that astonished Benjamin. He held up two 
 fingers. 
 
 "Just a moment. Charles Kimberly didn't 
 make any offer to me. I drew out his mind by 
 questioning him. He isn't anxious to buy," as- 
 serted Benjamin with all the emphasis he himself 
 could show. 
 
 266
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Merrilie tossed her head. "No buyer is willing 
 to appear eager. I happen to know they have 
 wanted this place for years. I know how much 
 they want it. Charles is a harder buyer than his 
 brother I know them both. Mr. McCrea asked 
 if I would consider four millions, and I said no. 
 Tell Charles Kimberly that, to-night" she dwelt 
 on the last word "I will take three million 
 dollars for the property nothing less. And if he 
 doesn't want it, it goes to-morrow morning to the 
 best bidder in the street." 
 
 She spoke so rapidly, so firmly, without hesita- 
 tion or slip, and with the stubbornness of an auto- 
 crat instead of the fluttering apprehension of a 
 needy seller. Benjamin extended his clinched 
 hands as he listened. "By Heavens, Miss Mer- 
 rilie," he exclaimed, "you're a marvel." 
 
 The sudden outburst upset her. She threw her- 
 self into a chair. "What do you mean, Mr. Ben- 
 jamin?" she demanded, annoyed. 
 
 "The way you go at a thing, the snap you 
 put into it, the confidence you have!" 
 
 Merrilie, supporting her head on her hand as 
 she rested her elbow on the arm of her chair, 
 looked at him dismally. 
 
 "We must have money go, do your duty." 
 She rose uneasily to her feet as she spoke the 
 words. "And I don't know whether I most 
 
 267
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 want you to succeed or to fail," she added. "It 
 kills me to part with this place; yet it must go 
 some time. I used to hope it would outlast my 
 day." 
 
 When he had gone she went up-stairs and threw 
 herself, without undressing, on her bed. Rose, 
 peeping through the door at daylight, saw her 
 mistress lying on the mull coverlet. She threw 
 a scarf over her and left her until eight o'clock, 
 when she roused her out of a heavy sleep to 
 say that Mr. Benjamin would be back at nine 
 o'clock and must see her promptly. He came a 
 little before the time. Merrilie met him with her 
 heart in her throat. She was hoping he would 
 say he had failed. But the word she had feared 
 he brought he had sold to Charles Kimberly. 
 
 He told it all. She regarded him helplessly. 
 Dazed, she heard him add that a lawyer would 
 soon arrive with a contract for her to sign, and 
 that the stipulation was she should have half her 
 money at eleven o'clock that morning and the re- 
 mainder Monday morning at eleven. Her hands 
 and feet grew cold. It was difficult for her to 
 speak connectedly until she thought of inviting 
 the broker, who confessed to having been up all 
 night, to sit down with her to coffee and rolls. 
 
 When the papers were laid before her in the 
 library she tried hard to follow the words of the 
 
 268
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 smooth-spoken, young, and alive-looking lawyer, 
 who explained that she was signing a contract 
 to sell. 
 
 Merrilie cared little for his words or his explana- 
 tions; she was only collecting courage enough as 
 she listened to take, calmly, the pen he handed 
 her and sign away, without trembling, her home. 
 The very composure with which she succeeded 
 frightened her. When the two men were gone 
 and they left very quickly, for Benjamin showed 
 in his manner the fever of his anxiety to com- 
 pass the undertaking and fortify himself against 
 the market at the earliest possible moment 
 Merrilie, limp and nerveless, went up-stairs. She 
 sat down in her room and stared at the gold on 
 her dressing-table. Again and again she tried to 
 drive herself into sending for Tilden. He must 
 be told, but she could not summon courage to 
 tell him, and was not roused from her apathy 
 until Rose entered and said Tilden had asked to 
 see her. Merrilie's conscience misgave her could 
 he already have heard? 
 
 He came in with a newspaper extra to tell Mer- 
 rilie an up-town trust company had closed its 
 doors and a panic had struck Wall Street. She 
 bade him be seated. 
 
 "I was told last night two trust companies 
 would not open to-day," said Merrilie, resolved 
 
 269
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 now to go through with her task. "Things must 
 be very bad on 'change, Tilden " 
 
 "Yes, Miss Merrilie." 
 
 "And I have sold the house." 
 
 "The house?" 
 
 "This house." 
 
 Tilden started. "This house?" 
 
 Merrilie nodded confirmingly. "Charles Kim- 
 berly has bought it, Tilden." 
 
 She told him the price. The old secretary 
 caught at the arms of his chair. "Why what ! " 
 He stopped. 
 
 Merrilie leaned forward sympathetically: "It 
 would have had to go some time, Tilden. I have 
 fought against it for years. The Kimberlys have 
 long wanted it for an office building, and I have 
 refused them again and again " 
 
 Tilden's face turned gray. His straining eyes 
 rested on Merrilie's lips as if he feared he did not 
 hear aright. His consternation was unnerving, 
 and she continued to speak as if she did not per- 
 ceive how visibly he failed under the blow. When 
 he got up to leave the room he was uncertain in 
 his movements. In the few moments he had aged 
 years. 
 
 The young lawyer was announced again almost 
 at the moment that Tilden disappeared. He 
 brought Charles Kimberly's check. Merrilie 
 
 270
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 thanked him and, with the little slip for her mil- 
 lions in her hand, ran up-stairs to indorse it di- 
 rectly to her brokers and despatch it by Tilden in 
 a sealed envelope to them. The receipt of the 
 money brought renewed courage. Hope succeeded 
 depression. She convinced herself that all would 
 come well. 
 
 On the stock exchange half the traders in the 
 great room crowded for the opening toward the 
 Steel post. The instant the gong sounded a flood 
 of selling orders overwhelmed the few brokers that 
 stood under the market. These, through an in- 
 stinct of defence, huddled together and, back to 
 back, fought the mob that howled around them. 
 Enormous blocks of Steel were thrown, without 
 heed of buyer or price, at the pool brokers. Sales 
 were made at the same moment points apart. In 
 the opening panic there was no such a thing as a 
 quotation. Values gave alarmingly all over the 
 room. A crop of terrifying rumors sprang up, 
 stop-loss orders went to the dogs, quotations could 
 not be caught in the swaying fight. In ten min- 
 utes the stock had dropped twenty points. In the 
 height of the panic feeble buying began. At every 
 wild drop Benjamin's brokers took Steel. Adrane 
 Brothers' men got near them and fought back the 
 panic-stricken sellers. Call money, which had 
 risen to eighty per cent, sunk later, but the relief 
 
 271
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 brought no cessation of Steel selling. Every com- 
 mission house was loaded with selling orders until 
 the last ten minutes, when, with Steel fifty points 
 under the opening, brokers for Benjamin & Com- 
 pany began stemming the tide for a rally. Short 
 sellers, dismayed by an unexpected resistance, 
 turned to cover. The rumored bank failures did 
 not materialize. Bargain-hunters began to buy. 
 Adrane Brothers and the pool houses timidly 
 pushed Steel up. The closing gong sounded. 
 Wilted brokers crowded out of the room. Benja- 
 min saw Bob Adrane. He was wiping the perspi- 
 ration from his face. "The whole United States 
 was after us this morning, Henry," he cried. 
 
 "Monday," retorted Benjamin, "it will be the 
 whole world. If you've got anybody over at your 
 shop that looks like Atlas, scrub him up, Bob. 
 You'll need him." 
 
 Late in the evening Benjamin called Merrilie to 
 say it would be morning before the bookkeepers 
 could tell where they stood. He only knew they 
 were up to their ears in Steel, with enough still 
 coming to sink the British navy. 
 
 Merrilie dressed for dinner with her accustomed 
 care. If her dinners in her father's home were 
 numbered, those that remained should not be 
 slighted. Her aunt did not come down, and 
 Merrilie was forced to confess to being desper- 
 
 272
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 ately lonely once she tried to fancy John Adrane 
 opposite her. But the dinner was no more than 
 begun when Rose, with a flutter of apologies, en- 
 tered the dining-room. She regarded her mistress 
 with apprehension, and Merrilie saw the confusion 
 in her pretty maid's eyes. " What is it ? " she asked 
 quietly. 
 
 Rose's eyes lost none of their startled expression 
 as she answered : "Mr. Adrane." 
 
 "Say, merely," returned Merrilie, "I am not at 
 home." 
 
 Rose caught at the ruffle of her apron. "I am in 
 trouble," she stammered, "for I say you are .not at 
 home. Mr. Adrane say, will you be home to- 
 night. I tell him I do not know. He sit down and 
 say he waits till you come." 
 
 Merrilie rose in subdued consternation. She 
 stood a moment confronting Rose. Then, with 
 her finger bent upon her lips, Merrilie said, low 
 and in French: "Go back, Rose. Tell Mr. Ad- 
 rane you have seen Kennedy that he tells you I 
 shall not be back to-night." Giving the instruc- 
 tion hurriedly, Merrilie, slipping through a side 
 door, went by a private stairway up to her room. 
 
 Adrane, in the library off the dining-room, met 
 Rose with a searching gaze when she returned with 
 her message. "Rose," he said bluntly, "I hope 
 you are telling me the truth." 
 
 273
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Oh, monsieur!" 
 
 "I must see your mistress. Ask Kennedy where 
 she has gone " 
 
 "I ask," returned Rose, improvising hurriedly; 
 "he said he does not know; perhaps she will not 
 come back to-night." 
 
 "She does not leave home for all night without 
 taking you, Rose. I will wait here till she comes. 
 I must see her." 
 
 "What shall we do?" exclaimed the maid, giv- 
 ing his words to Merrilie. "That man he will 
 stay all night." 
 
 "He will not stay an hour, Rose. Be patient. 
 Take papers to him, and magazines." 
 
 In the library Adrane brushed aside Rose's 
 sophisms with scant ceremony. His manner was 
 abstracted, unconcerned, uncivil, arbitrary. He 
 sent for Kennedy and questioned him without 
 result. Rose at length proposed that her mis- 
 tress should steal away from the house through a 
 private door and in a curtained limousine in which 
 she could return later if she wished. Merrilie 
 rejected the proposal almost pettishly, and the 
 troubled maid found her mistress as difficult as 
 her visitor. At length Merrilie reached a de- 
 cision. She looked at the clock; it was ten 
 minutes past nine. She would let him sit until 
 ten o'clock. If he remained till then she would 
 
 274
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 go down and demand to know why he was so 
 unmannerly. 
 
 But Merrilie's clock moved with leaden hands. 
 She hung out alone, and in silence, twelve minutes 
 longer. By that time Merrilie had confessed to 
 herself she wanted to see Adrane as much as he 
 wanted to see her, and resolved that she would see 
 him now, at once. She summoned Rose for a 
 critical inspection and asked for ornaments. One 
 after another of these she rejected. The last, a 
 rope of pearls, seemed heavy on her neck. She 
 threw it off, chose a rosebud from a jar, picked 
 up her skirt, walked without hesitation across the 
 hall, and tripped swiftly down-stairs. 
 
 275
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 SHE met Adrane without a trace of em- 
 barrassment. "I have kept you waiting." 
 She gave him her hand because he held out his 
 hand patiently. "Rose tells me you have been 
 here some time. I am sorry," she added coldly. 
 
 His manner was grave. "I am sorry," he re- 
 turned, "to be importunate. I had or thought 
 I had to see you." He clung to the hand she 
 had given him. 
 
 Merrilie regarded him indifferently. "You 
 only thought you had?" she echoed, endeavoring 
 resolutely to pull her hand away. 
 
 "You shall see," he answered without releasing 
 her reluctant fingers. He stood looking at her 
 fixedly. Something in his expression alarmed her 
 and her eyes surrendered to the authority of his 
 gaze. "Merrilie," he said frankly, "I have lost 
 everything." 
 
 She stepped closer and, with her eyes still look- 
 ing into his, mutely laid her left hand over the big 
 one that imprisoned her right. When she spoke 
 her voice faltered. "What do you mean?" she 
 asked. 
 
 276
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Every dollar I have in the world is gone all 
 that I have and a great deal more." 
 
 She recovered herself first. She made him sit 
 down on the divan and sat down beside him. 
 He would not let her hand go. It seemed heart- 
 less at such a moment to take it away. 
 
 "I have fought as long as I could," he went 
 on doggedly. "They have got me I am broke. 
 This is and is not the reason I have come to 
 tell you before I have told any one else. No 
 one knows yet; no one will till late to-morrow 
 morning. Perhaps we can weather it another 
 day. But we are gone. To-night," he went on 
 in the same grave way, "I heard something that 
 worries me, and that is why I came. I heard, 
 Merrilie, that you have been buying Steel." He 
 looked searchingly at her. She met his gaze with- 
 out flinching, but he would say no more. She 
 was compelled to speak. 
 
 "Well?" she managed to return when the strain 
 of his eyes forced a word from her. 
 
 "I am sorrier," he said, "than I can tell to 
 think of your losing money in any venture of mine. 
 Have you lost very much?" Her reticence defied 
 penetration. She was smiling but indifferent. He 
 kept on. "At all events, I have come to tell you 
 to place selling orders to-night for such stock as 
 you have bought, and you may as well sell all that 
 
 277
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 you can on top of that." Her eyes opened wide 
 at his suggestion and she regarded him strangely. 
 "It may help," he explained, "to recoup your 
 losses. Do you care to tell me just how you 
 stand?" 
 
 "I am so sorry you are in trouble, John," she 
 answered with tender sincerity. He regarded 
 her in silence. "Are you sure it is as bad as you 
 tell me?" she asked, confused before his look, 
 which expressed almost too much for her com- 
 posure. 
 
 "I know precisely how bad off / am," he an- 
 swered. "The news of your being in this was 
 unnerving. I want above everything in the world 
 to see you get out as lightly as possible. I want 
 to escape having been the innocent cause of the 
 slightest loss to you. You have been dealing 
 through Benjamin & Company." 
 
 Merrilie's eyes flashed. "Who told you that? 
 Did they?" 
 
 "Don't for a moment fancy it. It came to me 
 by the merest accident, through one of our book- 
 keepers. He is an elderly man. Years ago he 
 worked for your father and is a chum of your 
 secretary, Mr. Tilden." 
 
 "Tilden!" echoed Merrilie, appalled. 
 
 "Merrilie," insisted Adrane, "I don't want you 
 to lose one dollar through my misfortunes." The 
 
 278
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 pressure on her ringers tightened. "In the morn- 
 ing sell everything." 
 
 Merrilie was looking at the floor. His warm 
 hand upon her own was all she could endure and 
 think. The blood burned in her cool cheeks, and 
 in spite of her own critical situation she was sur- 
 rendering with quickened breath to the moment 
 that now so powerfully drew them together. It 
 was in knowing he was crushed under his misfor- 
 tune that she felt safe in giving way to her heart. 
 She looked up. Her flushed eyes as they met his 
 own told their story. In them he read for the 
 first time beyond every doubt what she felt to- 
 ward him, no matter what denials should ever 
 intrench her lips. 
 
 "Sell everything," she echoed evenly. "And 
 that means only you left to buy to-morrow." 
 
 "Forget me I am ruined." 
 
 "Sell everything take a few paltry dollars for 
 myself, and for every one I save, sacrifice a hun- 
 dred of yours " 
 
 "I tell you hundreds or thousands are nothing 
 to me I am gone." 
 
 "Sell everything because, after your efforts 
 to enrich your friends, you have found yourself 
 crippled." 
 
 He started as if in horror. "Merrilie, did I ever 
 tell you to buy Steel?" 
 
 279
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "You never mentioned such a word to me 
 don't accuse yourself of that." She drew away 
 her hand and rose. She was unable to breathe so 
 near him. "I won't sell," she said. "I won't sell 
 one dollar's worth of Steel to-morrow. Go to your 
 other friends with that chance it is not for me. 
 John!" She turned suddenly on him. "It is for 
 you to sell to-morrow. Sell every share you can. 
 Smash the market it will go anyway recoup 
 yourself." 
 
 "I couldn't do that my honor is in it." 
 
 The retort burned on Merrilie's lips: "My heart 
 is in it!" but she bit back the words. "No," she 
 said, "I will buy to-morrow. I intend to buy 
 to-morrow all I can." 
 
 He was very firm. "You shall not buy one 
 share, Merrilie." 
 
 She defied him. "I will as long as I've money to 
 buy." 
 
 He sprang to his feet. He caught her arm. 
 " Don't you understand ? You will lose every dol- 
 lar you risk." 
 
 "It is mine to risk and mine to lose," she re- 
 torted contemptuously. 
 
 "Not," he exclaimed passionately, "on any 
 wreck of my hopes. Tell me you won't do this," 
 he insisted, taking her hands in his own. 
 
 "I will do it," she returned, pulling defiantly 
 from him. 
 
 280
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "By the God above us, Merrilie, you shall not 
 buy!" 
 
 "Who will prevent me?" 
 
 "I will prevent you, if I have to proclaim my 
 bankruptcy to-morrow morning when the market 
 opens." 
 
 "Do so if you like. I will buy all the more!" 
 
 Adrane, stunned by her defiance, staggering al- 
 ready under his own difficulties, gave her a look 
 of reproach that brought her, full of remorse, close 
 to him. 
 
 "What am I saying, John!" she laughed, low 
 and deliberately. "Wild, ridiculous things! It's 
 only I am hurt at your being in trouble! Forget 
 it all; be calm. What have we of all others in 
 the wide, wide world to quarrel about?" 
 
 "It's only my apprehension for you, Merrilie," 
 he interrupted moodily. 
 
 "Don't you think I know?" 
 
 "It cuts me like a knife to think " 
 
 "Don't think. Why think? Let us eat, John 
 that would be a thousand times better now. And 
 I'm going to confess everything. I was just sit- 
 ting down to dinner when you came in. You 
 thought I was out 
 
 "No, I didn't think so." 
 
 She frowned at him. "John! You ought to 
 have thought so." 
 
 281
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I heard your voice." 
 
 "Wretch!" 
 
 "I was going to wait, if I had to stay all night." 
 
 "You may do that, too, if you like. But I am 
 hungry and you haven't had dinner." 
 
 "I don't want any. I've eaten nothing all 
 day." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you do want some. And I've a 
 special reason for asking you. You mustn't re- 
 fuse." 
 
 "I must go back to the office " 
 
 "After dinner." 
 
 She rang firmly. "Mr. Adrane will dine with 
 me," said Merrilie, ignoring Kennedy's not wholly 
 concealed surprise. "Call us as soon as you are 
 ready," she directed. "And Kennedy cham- 
 pagne some of father's." 
 
 She turned with glowing eyes on Adrane. "No 
 more business now. Let's talk about Crossrips. 
 I am dying to go up there again. Do you remem- 
 ber that night we got caught in the east rip?" 
 
 Adrane had nothing to say. He waited for 
 Merrilie to sit down and, placing himself as close to 
 her as he possibly could get on the divan^listened, 
 smiling grimly. Merrilie, intent on diverting him, 
 talked. But she did not talk too fast nor was 
 she silent through too long intervals. Adrane, 
 under her spell, sat as if he were dumb. 
 
 282
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 When dinner was again announced it was near- 
 ing ten o'clock. As Adrane seated Merrilie she 
 looked up at him with the most care-free of smiles 
 and her eyes followed him joyously until he looked 
 again at her across the table after he had been 
 seated himself. 
 
 But Adrane, eying Merrilie like a man in a 
 trance, shook his head irresolutely. "This is a 
 queer business," he remarked. "My head is 
 thumping so I don't really know what I'm doing." 
 
 "It's not at all necessary you should. I'll keep 
 track of you " 
 
 "You certainly are kind." 
 
 "Whereabouts are Annie and her mother?" 
 
 "In Berlin, I think, with Mrs. Havens. If 
 everybody down-town hadn't been so kind, Mer- 
 rilie, I shouldn't dread to-morrow so much." 
 
 "Don't dread to-morrow. Your friends won't 
 bother you after to-morrow with kindness or 
 anything else you'll be freed at once from all 
 obligation." 
 
 "I know that, too. But the way they have 
 stood by me!" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "That's the queer part of it. I don't know 
 exactly who they are. Again and again in the last 
 two weeks some one has stood under the market 
 till I could get a breath. It took such a stack of 
 
 283
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 money. When a man's friends back him in that 
 way, Merrilie my God! it cuts to let them 
 down " 
 
 "It wasn't your fault that a money panic struck 
 the country, was it?" demanded Merrilie tartly. 
 "John! taste your clams, why don't you? They 
 are Crossrip clams don't you remember the fuss 
 you used to make about them?" 
 
 "Go ahead don't mind me." 
 
 "I won't go ahead," declared Merrilie flatly. 
 "I won't touch one single morsel until you do." 
 
 Her resolve extorted a feeble smile. He took 
 a clam upon his fork. "Here's for a Crossrip 
 clam." 
 
 "Here's for another! The hydrangeas," sighed 
 Merrilie, "must be gorgeous on the terraces 
 now " 
 
 "As late as this?" 
 
 "They are weeks behind New York. Do you 
 remember the marvellous blues?" 
 
 "I like the pinks." 
 
 "Contrary, as usual." 
 
 She left him no time to think. Only when 
 the wine was served did she falter near to the 
 serious. She asked Adrane to toast her father. 
 And it was then he who talked Merrilie was 
 silent. 
 
 "Merrilie?" he remarked toward the end of the 
 284
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 hour. She waited for him to proceed. " You said 
 you had a special reason for asking me to dine with 
 you to-night." 
 
 "But I'm not going to tell you what it is. 
 Yes, I will, too. You are my last guest, John, at 
 this table." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "I am entertaining to-night in my home and 
 my father's home for the last time." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Mr. Charles Kimberly is now the owner of this 
 house." 
 
 Adrane arrested his fork. "You have sold your 
 home!" 
 
 Merrilie made an expressive face. "I held out 
 against the inroads of business as long as I pos- 
 sibly could v They are already tearing down the 
 old residences in the next block. In another month 
 there will be a twenty-story steel skeleton going 
 up there. What is the use? This had to go 
 some time. They pay for it in cash There is a 
 reason for my telling you, John. It explains why 
 I happen to have a good deal of ready money. 
 And I want you to take one million of it your- 
 self to do exactly what you please with." 
 
 "I would not take one cent of it under any 
 condition." 
 
 "You could pay me back when you pleased." 
 285
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Dismiss it from your mind." 
 
 "I should not care, I tell you, if you never paid 
 me back, John." 
 
 He made an impatient gesture. "Please forget 
 it, Merrilie." 
 
 "Take half of it, John. You know perfectly 
 well" she dwelt on her words "I should never 
 even miss it!" 
 
 "And I tell you that every one of your million 
 dollars would be a million tongues to cry out 
 against me if I touched a penny of your money, 
 Merrilie. I could not do it. Don't suggest it. 
 Don't think I don't understand, don't appreciate; 
 but, Merrilie" he almost rose to his feet "if I 
 say more I shall forget myself." 
 
 She laughed at the little storm. He made her 
 promise to stop, and she promised. Half delirious 
 herself with excitement, she picked up her wine- 
 glass. "John, shall we drink one toast to the old 
 home?" " 
 
 "The old home!" he echoed. His eyes rose to 
 the ceiling. "What a glorious old home! The 
 stateliest, loveliest old home I've ever known. 
 The dearest old home opened to me in all my 
 life 
 
 "Stop!" The word was as stifled as a cry. 
 Kennedy re-entered the room. Adrane looked, 
 amazed, across at Merrilie. "You are too too 
 
 286
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 eloquent," she tried to say coherently, clutching 
 her wine-glass as she fought for words. "Drink 
 with me, Mr. Adrane, to the old home in si- 
 lence." 
 
 He did not speak until they were again alone. 
 "Merrilie," he said, "I never saw you wrought 
 up before in this way why did you stop me 
 like that? I'm an idiot, I know, but I'm not 
 eloquent." 
 
 "Forgive my abruptness. But the servants 
 don't know the house is sold. I want to break 
 the news in my own way." 
 
 "I understand. Well, Merrilie, you are the 
 most sensible, level-headed the cleverest woman 
 I ever met in my life " 
 
 "That will be enough for the vintage of 1893," 
 she laughed with a note of recklessness. 
 
 "But that's where I am a fool," he went on. 
 "I never could have done it." 
 
 "Done what?" 
 
 "Sold the old house." 
 
 Merrilie's eyes were quite steady as she regarded 
 him: "Oh, yes, you could, John under certain 
 combinations of circumstances. Yes, you could. 
 If you couldn't under the necessary circum- 
 stances you are not the John Adrane I take you 
 for. And I don't often make mistakes about 
 men." 
 
 287
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "You never made a bigger one in your life than 
 when you gave me credit for knowing anything. 
 But, Merrilie" Adrane's hand, with some of the 
 emphasis of Richard Dawes's wine in it, fell on the 
 table rather heavily "this home has given me 
 a friendship a lovely woman's friendship that 
 I value more than everything on earth except 
 my bankrupt honor. I've never had a chance to 
 talk to you, Merrilie, to be natural with you. I've 
 been in a false position, and it seems as if you and 
 everybody else have sort of combined to hold me 
 in it. But the unpleasant truth is that Annie and 
 I have as little in common as the two poles. And 
 our dissimilarities are as certain to part us as the 
 sun is to rise to-morrow. And I am going to say 
 this now ruined, down and out, and lacking the 
 right to say anything to anybody if I never say 
 another word on earth: I'd rather touch the hem 
 of your garment with my lips than marry all the 
 women I've ever seen in the world." 
 
 Merrilie's smiling eyes held in check the tumult 
 in her heart. "Gracious, but you're excited to- 
 night," she laughed. "And so extraordinarily 
 kind! How does it seem to be ruined, John?" 
 He regarded almost with horror her lack of 
 sympathy and understanding. "I don't believe 
 it's any worse than getting into the surf at Cross- 
 rips," Merrilie went on, unabashed. "Once you're 
 
 288
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 under you're all right," she declared, rising and 
 leading the way back into the library. 
 
 "I hope to God," he said moodily, following, 
 "you'll never know how it feels." 
 
 "All I mean is, John, don't take it too seriously. 
 Money isn't all of life." 
 
 "It isn't the money. Oh, can't you under- 
 stand ?" he added harshly. "While we are talking, 
 Hamersley's messengers are this minute running 
 over town calling my principal creditors together. 
 I am to meet them at his house at twelve o'clock 
 to-night. The humiliation, the disgrace, Merrilie! 
 I'm sick of the world." 
 
 Merrilie pointed toward the divan. "John, sit 
 down here one moment." He did as she bade him 
 and, leaning forward in his dejection, supported 
 his head upon his two hands. Merrilie, her own 
 hands folded in her lap, took her place on the edge 
 of a seat close beside him. "I am going to talk 
 very plainly to you," she said decidedly. "I 
 don't understand exactly just what has happened 
 in your affairs; but you have lost all of your 
 money 
 
 "All of mine and some few millions more." 
 
 "You have done nothing dishonorable 
 
 "That's not it " 
 
 "But having lost all your money, 'and some few 
 millions more,' makes your whole sea of troub- 
 les- 
 
 289
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 He jerked his head savagely. "Great God! 
 isn't that enough?" 
 
 "Not so loud. Enough, yes; but, John Ad- 
 rane not too much. John Adrane, you have 
 health yet, strength yet, energy yet, capability 
 youth. And with all these treasures, you talk 
 to-night about being ruined and down and out." 
 
 He stared at the rug, but Merrilie, without the 
 slightest agitation, spoke on. "You ought to be 
 ashamed of yourself. John Adrane," she said 
 severely, "if I had just your earning power I 
 should think myself rich. You have lost your 
 money; you can make more. You think yourself 
 the most wretched creature in the world. Sup- 
 pose a woman were to lose all of her means 
 suppose I were to lose everything I had, and 
 did not know how to earn a single dollar such 
 a one might well call herself ruined, mightn't she? 
 I might well call myself ruined, mightn't I? 
 Answer me." 
 
 "What's the use of supposing an absurdity!" 
 
 "But answer me," she persisted. 
 
 "I suppose so," he said. 
 
 "You know so. And you are worrying yourself 
 sick about meeting some of your creditors to- 
 night. You are going there to tell them openly 
 you are ruined and to act as if you would jump 
 into the East River if anybody took it into his 
 head to suggest it. Banish all that from your 
 
 290
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 mind. You are not ruined; you are, at the worst, 
 embarrassed nothing more." 
 
 "It's a little more than that, Merrilie," he 
 amended dryly. "I am damnably embarrassed." 
 
 "Call it that here, if you like. But listen to 
 what I tell you. Whatever you do, make no 
 apologies. All men that risk money must calcu- 
 late on losing money. Stand up to the situation 
 and face every side of it. Answer every question 
 boldly. What have you to fear? Hasn't the 
 worst come?" 
 
 "It has." 
 
 "Then from this instant better begins." 
 
 Looking silently into her eyes, his own express- 
 ing eloquent admiration, Adrane took her hands. 
 He spoke but one word: "Merrilie!" 
 
 With a laugh she dragged her hands free. "You 
 are going to an angry creditors' meeting, aren't 
 you? Very well. Be defiant as a lion, collected 
 as a bear, sulky as a cow." 
 
 Without realizing it they had risen to their feet. 
 "I suppose," he suggested grimly, "I'm to do it 
 just as you're doing it now?" 
 
 Merrilie drew herself up to her full height. "Pre- 
 cisely," she answered proudly, "as I am doing it. 
 now. Put 'ruin' and the idea of 'ruin* out of 
 your head. An embarrassment, even of millions, 
 is not ruin, by a long shot." 
 
 291
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Looking at each other, they were standing in the 
 middle of the room. Adrane drew a breath that 
 seemed to Merrilie fathoms deep. With his eyes 
 looking down into hers he stretched his hands, 
 without speaking, out again for her hands. She 
 drew them skilfully behind her just fast enough 
 to evade his fingers. He stepped closer. "Give 
 them to me for this last minute, Merrilie. I know 
 I've no business, now, saying what is in my heart 
 to say, even in this complete destruction of all my 
 hopes. I will wait to say that. But, Merrilie, 
 I am going to face things exactly as you tell me." 
 He dared say no more. Merrilie herself was at 
 the snapping-point. He took his leave. When 
 the front door closed Merrilie went back to the 
 library, mechanically put a chair into its place, 
 and stood thinking. Starting from her revery, 
 she rearranged the pillows in the divan corner. 
 Nothing more was needed to restore the orderly 
 quiet of the room, but Merrilie lingered. Then 
 she started to go up-stairs. Something halted 
 her again on the threshold. She did not look 
 back, but as she walked out of the room she put 
 her hands to her face and burst into tears. 
 
 292
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 WHAT Adrane had told Merrilie was quite 
 true. While he was talking in her library, 
 automobiles were summoning those chiefly inter- 
 ested in the Adrane pool to Amos Hamersley's 
 residence in Madison Avenue to discuss the situ- 
 ation as affected by the embarrassment of Adrane 
 Brothers. The heat of the autumn night, the 
 prostration of the great city, would, it might seem, 
 afford the privacy necessary to the gathering, even 
 from the newspapers. But so guarded was the 
 meeting that the motor-cars discharged their own- 
 ers at different points near the Hamersley resi- 
 dence, the men approaching the house singly, on 
 foot. 
 
 When Henry Benjamin, summoned from his 
 bed, was ushered into the dimly lighted Hamers- 
 ley hall he saw a dozen men chatting in three or 
 four groups about the room. Some were sitting, 
 some standing, most of them smoking. Some 
 were in evening dress, others belted in hot-weather 
 negligee. On Benjamin's heels, John Adrane ar- 
 
 293
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 rived. He nodded to Benjamin and after speak- 
 ing with him crossed the room to where Hamersley 
 was standing with Havens and David Spruance, 
 and told Hamersley he was ready to confer with 
 those present. Hamersley by a nod indicated 
 the library as the meeting-place. Adrane walked 
 toward it. As he entered the room two life- 
 size companion portraits confronted him at the 
 farther end. Lighted sharply from above, they 
 stood out of the dimness with almost startling dis- 
 tinctness. One was the portrait of Mary Hamers- 
 ley; the other of Merrilie Dawes. Merrilie was 
 standing between portieres as if looking into the 
 room, and to Adrane her eyes seemed to fall with a 
 questioning expectancy on him. He halted, with 
 his eyes fixed on this delicate girl of eighteen look- 
 ing so gravely at him; then, advancing slowly, he 
 took a chair facing her. 
 
 The diffused light of the ceiling dome, lighted a 
 moment later, fell on a group of notable faces clus- 
 tered about the long table. They were the faces 
 of men hardened to difficult situations and set 
 to meet ordinary shock or tumult without a 
 tremor or the quiver of an eyelid, but to-night 
 they were plainly on edge. Henry Kneeland, rep- 
 resentative of the Standard Oil interests, square- 
 browed, taciturn, even-tempered, sat formally be- 
 side Arthur More, his associate, and Adrane's own 
 
 294
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 directing broker. Willis McCrea, in all emer- 
 gency conferences charged with the views of the 
 sugar people, had taken his place near More, and in 
 the grave circumstances to-night Hamilton, their 
 banker and the chairman of the clearing-house 
 committee, had come, and was talking in low tones 
 to David Spruance, director in a group of banks 
 known as Wall Street institutions and an intimate 
 of Amos Hamersley's reticent as always and 
 courting silence. From the seashore, summoned 
 hurriedly, Harry Drake, the roi faineant of the 
 insurance companies and their allied trust com- 
 panies, had come to take his place under the wing 
 of Benedict R. Havens. Havens himself, restless 
 and vigorous, listened to incidental asides from 
 Markover, of the board of governors of the stock 
 exchange, and leaned in deferential intervals to- 
 ward Harry Drake with brief suggestion or answer. 
 
 Either by accident or because others avoided 
 the distinction, Henry Benjamin, who better than 
 any other voiced the sentiment of the Waldorf 
 crowd, had taken the seat next the foot of the table 
 where, in lonely eminence, John Adrane had chosen 
 his chair somewhat back from the end of the table 
 itself. 
 
 "John," observed Benjamin, leaning toward Ad- 
 rane, his keen eyes peering over his glasses, " this 
 looks to me more like a coroner's inquest than a 
 
 295
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 financial conference. Look at Havens's face. 
 And see the way he's filling up Drake." 
 
 Adrane's lips returned a shadow of a smile. "If 
 it's an inquest, Henry, you are sitting pretty close 
 to the corpse." 
 
 "What?" demanded Benjamin. "It isn't really 
 you, John?" 
 
 "An impression to that effect is abroad, 
 Henry." 
 
 "You don't look like a mark for the undertaker 
 yet." 
 
 "I don't feel like one, either, Henry." 
 
 Hamersley's voice interrupted the talk about 
 the table. "Gentlemen, our interests in the Steel 
 pool call for attention. John Adrane as the party 
 most at interest tells me Adrane Brothers are 
 overloaded. Mr. John Adrane himself is with 
 us." 
 
 All faces were turned on Adrane. "There is lit- 
 tle to tell," he said slowly, "except that stock has 
 come on us faster than we can take care of it. 
 The money market has hurt us. We may have to 
 close out our trades to-morrow." 
 
 "Adrane Brothers busted!" echoed Benjamin, 
 looking incredulously from one to another around 
 the table. "What will happen when the boys get 
 that!" No one answered. Amos Hamersley looked 
 glum. 
 
 296
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "What will happen when London gets that!'* 
 intoned Benjamin. 
 
 "Why, Adrane," exclaimed Drake insolently, 
 "you told me there was plenty of money in sight 
 to put this deal through." 
 
 "It was thirty days ago, Drake, that you talked 
 with me," replied Adrane. "It was you" he 
 leaned forward "who asked me where the money 
 was coming from. I told you that you had the 
 same sources of information I had." He waved his 
 hand toward Kneeland, McCrea, and Hamersley. 
 "And it was you who said that meant plenty of 
 money." 
 
 "Well, if there was plenty of money," persisted 
 Drake, "what are you lying down for?" 
 
 "Because there's no money now at any price." 
 
 "Drake," snapped McCrea, "if you would stay 
 in town, instead of running your business from 
 the deck of a racing yacht, you'd know where the 
 money was thirty days ago and where it is now." 
 
 "Gently, McCrea," remonstrated Hamersley. 
 
 McCrea refused to be silenced. "It makes me 
 weary to hear such talk. Neither the city nor 
 the country is in shape to stand a Wall Street 
 panic. The question is what to do." f 
 
 "The question is," blurted Benjamin, taking the 
 words from the sugar magnate's mouth, "where is 
 all this stock coming from? That's the first ques- 
 
 297
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 tion we want answered. Where has it been coming 
 from? Where will it be coming from to-morrow 
 morning? Who in this room is selling Steel?" 
 
 "Hang it, Benjamin," snapped McCrea again, 
 his jaws closing like a steel trap, "we are gentle- 
 men here. Do you think 7 have been unloading on 
 you or Hamersley?" 
 
 Benjamin sprang up in his chair. "Not for one 
 moment, Mr. McCrea, neither of you acquit me 
 of that, if you please," he insisted, with emphasis 
 on every word. "But " 
 
 "Then what are you talking about?" thundered 
 McCrea. 
 
 "You'd a good deal better figure out what is 
 to be done to-morrow," said Havens, addressing 
 Benjamin. 
 
 "You keep still, Havens," cried Benjamin, sha- 
 king his finger at him pugnaciously. 
 
 "What do you mean?" cried Havens, starting 
 up in turn. 
 
 "Mr. McCrea," stammered Drake, "my busi- 
 ness shows quite as successful results from my 
 attention as the sugar business shows from 
 yours " The rest of his words were lost in 
 the confusion. Benjamin and Havens stood ges- 
 ticulating at each other across the table. Drake, 
 white with anger, confronted the choleric McCrea. 
 Hamersley tried to hear what Markover was say- 
 
 298
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 ing to Kneeland and himself. Adrane, flushed, 
 and with perspiration beading his forehead in the 
 muggy heat, sat in a dogged silence, the most 
 unconcerned of the conference. 
 
 "Sit down," roared David Spruance, "every- 
 body!" 
 
 Hamersley pounded the table with a ruler. 
 "Gentlemen," he commanded in stentorian tones, 
 "stop this squabbling. Listen to what Mr. Mark- 
 over is saying, will you?" 
 
 The angry voices ceased. "It's not what I'm 
 saying, it's what I'm discussing," explained Mark- 
 over. "Mr. Drake has asked whether the stock 
 exchange ought to open to-morrow morning." 
 
 The inquiry let loose a flood of suggestions. 
 Markover turned to Adrane. "You say you 
 may have to announce your suspension to-morrow. 
 Do you mean you will have to?" 
 
 "It is practically certain we can't get through 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Why did you wait till the last minute before 
 telling us?" demanded Drake. 
 
 "I was under no obligation to advise you, 
 Drake. Mr. Hamersley, Mr. McCrea, and Mr. 
 Kneeland have seen our balance-sheet every day 
 for a week." 
 
 "Haven't people been lending you money every 
 day?" demanded Drake. 
 
 299
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Adrane eyed him composedly. "Against Steel 
 pledged every day." 
 
 "What is Steel good for directly you suspend? 
 Why didn't you give us a chance?" 
 
 Adrane, drawing closer to the table, pushed a 
 book from in front of him. "I don't know what 
 you mean. I may as well say to the whole con- 
 ference what I say to you 
 
 "You should have said it all sooner," com- 
 plained Drake petulantly. 
 
 "The banks, at least, were entitled to some 
 warning " interposed Havens. 
 
 "No," protested Kneeland. "This puts every- 
 body on the same basis." 
 
 "It's not a case of women and children first, 
 Havens," put in Benjamin. 
 
 "Nobody will lose a dollar through us," insisted 
 Adrane. "We shall pay every cent; but we can't 
 do it to-morrow." 
 
 "Ought the exchange to be opened to-morrow," 
 demanded Drake, "or closed for a brief interval 
 until we can find ourselves?" 
 
 "Open it," rejoined McCrea savagely. 
 
 "No," insisted Drake. "Not for two or three 
 days, anyway." 
 
 Benjamin rose. "Gentlemen, the New York 
 Stock Exchange is not an association of pikers. 
 It is not a life-boat proposition. It invites the 
 
 300
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 confidence of the world as one of its own financial 
 corner-stones. To close it for one hour is to put 
 your credit, your banks, and your city back fifty 
 years. It is to put a full-grown man into a cradle 
 with pap for nourishment. Adrane Brothers are 
 busted. Very well. Open your stock exchange 
 doors and let the liquidation take its course. But 
 don't play the baby with London, Paris, Frank- 
 fort, and Berlin looking on. The man doesn't sit 
 here to-night that will live long enough to see the 
 damage of such a mistake repaired." 
 
 Harry Drake turned on Adrane. "What are 
 your liabilities?" He did not spare the insolence 
 of the creditor in his tone. 
 
 "My brother and his accountants are working 
 on the books," answered Adrane. "I can't tell 
 you at this moment." 
 
 "I never could see what a man wants to bull a 
 market for without knowing exactly what he has 
 got to take care of," observed Drake. "That's the 
 mystery of it. Haven't you any idea of where 
 you stand, Adrane?" he persisted. 
 
 Adrane, answering half a dozen questions at 
 once, kept his head and his tongue. "I have an 
 idea, of course, where we stand," he responded. 
 "But I won't hazard a guess at what we owe or 
 whom we owe. I repeat, you will none of you 
 lose your money. We will pay what we owe; we 
 
 301
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 can't do it now. I am crippled temporarily and, 
 having apprised those most interested in our 
 affairs that we are seriously involved, my duty 
 is done. If I can be of no further service to you, 
 I bid you good night." 
 
 "Tut, John," interposed Amos Hamersley. 
 "Don't get mad. Sit down." 
 
 "It's a hot night," said Benjamin, rising. 
 
 Adrane paused on his way to the door. "If 
 I can answer any reasonable question for any- 
 body, I am here to do so." He paused a moment. 
 No one offered an inquiry. "If not, good 
 night." 
 
 Hamersley followed him into the hall. The 
 others, talking in twos and threes, rose, drifted 
 after them, and there, about Adrane, the talk began 
 all over again. Benjamin left the house first. As he 
 passed through the door he looked back. Adrane 
 stood confronted by a semicircle of questioners. 
 He was near a portrait of Amos Hamersley and the 
 light on the picture fell also on Adrane. His hair 
 was tumbled and his collar wilted. The questions 
 hurled at him by his tormentors compelled him to 
 face and answer them all at once. He stood with 
 his back to the wall, but his dull eyes did not 
 flinch before angry inquiries, and if his answers 
 were deliberate they were collected. 
 
 "You shall all have your money," he repeated 
 302
 
 'You shall all have your money," he repeated unwaver- 
 ingly and without emotion. "In time I 
 will pay you every dollar."
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 unwaveringly and without emotion. "In time I 
 will pay you every dollar." 
 
 Merrilie had a recital of it from Benjamin 
 hardly an hour later. It was after one o'clock in 
 the morning when she was aroused by Rose. 
 Henry Benjamin, who had secured entrance after 
 extraordinary efforts, waited down-stairs, and 
 greeted Merrilie on her appearance only with 
 the apology that for financiers, whether men or 
 women, distinctions between night and day were 
 not always possible. 
 
 "I had to see you to-night. Adrane Brothers 
 have failed," he announced bluntly. He was 
 standing almost precisely where John Adrane had 
 stood two hours earlier. 
 
 "I know," responded Merrilie to his words. 
 
 Benjamin started. "You know?" 
 
 Merrilie followed her blunder with composed 
 deceit. "I felt they must have, Mr. Benjamin. 
 Has the failure been announced ? Tell me." 
 
 She listened with an attention that measured 
 every word of his story and lost no inference from 
 his intonation and manner of telling it. Not 
 until he had done did she begin her questions. But 
 when she had finished them there was no more to 
 be disclosed unless Benjamin could have called on 
 his imagination for details. Merrilie asked even 
 of Adrane's words and of his manner. 
 
 303
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I give him credit," confessed the cynical bro- 
 ker. "His nerve is good. I've seen many men on 
 the rack, but I never saw one, with the ropes 
 straining, that kept himself better in hand. I 
 hand it to him." 
 
 "I like a game loser," said Merrilie slowly. 
 
 "We haven't time to think about game losers 
 we must pull for shore, if there is any shore left. 
 It will be something fierce down there to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 "What do you propose, Mr. Benjamin?" 
 
 "Sell, sell, sell and charge all to Adrane 
 Brothers." 
 
 "No; at least, not for my account. I won't sell 
 a share of Steel myself. I am satisfied with my 
 investment. I will keep it." 
 
 He looked at her dumfounded. "Sell as much 
 as you like for your own account," she said firmly, 
 "but not a share for mine." He attempted an in- 
 articulate protest. "I am absolutely decided on 
 that," she added, silencing him. "But " 
 
 "But what?" he demanded. 
 
 "The minute the suspension is announced on 
 the floor, buy." 
 
 Benjamin could only stare. "Not Steel?" 
 
 "Yes, Steel. When the worst comes, and not 
 till it comes, begin to buy, and buy Steel as long 
 as my Kimberly money lasts." 
 
 304
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 "Yes, yes, Mr. Benjamin," insisted Merrilie 
 with irritation. 
 
 "It would be suicide " cried Benjamin. 
 
 "Call it what you like. Do as I direct." 
 
 The broker jumped from his chair. "I can't 
 take orders that will absolutely ruin you. I 
 won't." 
 
 She faced him undaunted. "Take exactly the 
 orders I give you, Mr. Benjamin." 
 
 "You ask me what I cannot and what I never 
 will do for a child of your father." 
 
 Merrilie blazed. "I am my father," she cried 
 angrily. "Obey my orders as you obeyed his. 
 It is not for you to tell me what to do. I tell 
 you what to do." 
 
 Grasping with one hand the back of his chair, 
 he fixed his eyes on her. Merrilie watched his 
 set mouth and stood unmoved as he shook his 
 head slowly from side to side. 
 
 He realized that if he refused she could find 
 others to do what she ordered, and he sat down 
 and tried to argue. He begged her to be reason- 
 able to listen to him as her father's trusted 
 agent who had, in this crash which would involve 
 he knew not how many in ruin before another 
 sunset, only her interest at heart. He warned 
 her what she insisted on doing would reduce her 
 
 305
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 to beggary: that a receivership for Adrane's steel 
 companies was inevitable that her enormous 
 holdings would in ten hours be worth lessT than 
 the paper on which the certificates were printed. 
 
 "I have made up my mind," repeated Merrilie 
 for the twentieth time. "Do precisely as I direct. 
 If I am to be a beggar I will be one. I won't 
 deviate. I have heard you and I will discuss this 
 no longer. It isn't fair for you to keep on." 
 
 Benjamin took up his hat. He looked old and 
 careworn. His eyes fixed on her hopelessly. Mer- 
 rilie was sorry for him. "Under protest," he said 
 distinctly, "I follow your instructions. I do it 
 because you know, and I know, others will do it 
 if I refuse; and I can do it best. But if you lose 
 every dollar you have" he put forth his hands 
 prophetically "hold me blameless." 
 
 "I shall blame no one. I went into this with 
 my eyes open. I believe thoroughly in this prop- 
 erty and in the men that are back of it He 
 drew back in consternation. "Yes, I do," she 
 repeated, strained with excitement. "And I will 
 risk my fortune on the conviction I am right." 
 
 Benjamin strode toward the door. On the 
 threshold he turned to say the good night that 
 courtesy required. Merrilie stood in the middle 
 of the room. She looked to him, in her tenacity 
 of purpose, so frail, so fixed, so unyielding, yet so 
 
 306
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 alone. The very atmosphere of the night, charged 
 with the sense of impending catastrophe, she faced 
 without flinching. Benjamin, moved by a sudden 
 impulse, walked abruptly back and held out both 
 his hands. "Good night, Miss Merrilie." She 
 put her hands in his. "Good night," he repeated, 
 vigorously. "I will do the best I can." 
 
 She watched him leave the room and heard the 
 door of the vestibule close. Breathing less con- 
 strainedly, she raised her handkerchief and wiped 
 the cold moisture from above her lips. She clasped 
 one hand within the other. Both were like ice. 
 Sinking on the divan, she put them to her throb- 
 bing temples. It seemed as if her heart would 
 burst in its labored beating. For a long time she 
 sat with her head bowed. A cough from Kennedy, 
 discreetly passing in the hall, brought her to her- 
 self, and, rising, she smilingly bade him good 
 night and walked slowly up-stairs. 
 
 30"
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE gong sounded and Steel began pouring 
 on the market. The bigger posts on the 
 exchange that morning held their accustomed 
 groups of brokers only for a time. The idlers fol- 
 lowed the crowd to the Steel post. It was ru- 
 mored and denied that the big house which earlier 
 had stood fast under floods of the stock had gone 
 over to the enemy; but within a few moments 
 the uncertainty was ended and it was known up 
 and down the Street that Benjamin & Company 
 were selling Steel. 
 
 In the Steel ring a mob of excited men crowded 
 together and a storm of offerings swept the few 
 scattering buyers off their feet. Prices dropped 
 by leaps and bounds. A frenzy of selling drove 
 the stock down thirty points. Each lull, as news 
 of the panic spread over the city, was followed by 
 new and immeasurable confusion marked by even 
 more violent recessions. 
 
 The remainder of the market, demoralized in 
 sympathy, added to the confusion. Rumors of 
 
 308
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 disaster impending in every direction met with 
 only half-hearted denials. Men, breathless and 
 livid, struggled about the Steel post roaring fresh 
 offers without finding takers to stem the headlong 
 drop in prices. With eleven o'clock came an in- 
 terval in which anxious glances were cast toward 
 the rostrum, but no announcement came. More 
 & Kneeland were forcing the market further and 
 further down, and nailing the faintest bid from any 
 quarter at any price, when the crack of the presi- 
 dent's gavel rang from the pillar and Markover, 
 calling for silence, announced the suspension of 
 Adrane Brothers. The gavel fell again. It was 
 no longer a market; it was a pandemonium. In 
 the din of yelling and struggling, men tore their 
 way by main strength into the frantic, swaying 
 jam or staggered, white and dazed, out of it, glaring 
 at questioners without answers. The first quo- 
 tation on Steel after the announcement of the sus- 
 pension was recorded sixty points lower with the 
 entire market in a violent decline. Reports of a 
 receivership for the Adrane steel companies gained 
 and lost ground as the stock, now in the gutter of 
 values, declined and reacted. Half an hour before 
 the closing it became definitely known to a few of 
 the bear leaders that a receiver for all of Adrane's 
 companies had already been asked, and, it was 
 said, by a large life-insurance society. The stock 
 
 309
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 could hardly suffer more of obloquy spurned even 
 by petty traders and tossed like a football about 
 the floor of the exchange, it receded to the depths 
 of utter contempt and ridicule. 
 
 But at each fresh disgrace of decline it was 
 observed by a few that its offerings found un- 
 expected takers. New brokers, not previously 
 known in Steel, now began working their way to- 
 ward the post and buying at the bankrupt prices. 
 They were thought at first to be floor traders 
 who as hardened speculators take up market junk 
 after it has been rejected by reputable houses. 
 But the new buying began to reach an unex- 
 pected volume. 
 
 Floor spies from Benjamin's own office were 
 the first to discover a definite and concerted buy- 
 ing movement in opposition to their own. Word 
 went instantly to Henry Benjamin that Macy & 
 Handy and Crooks & Overholt were taking all the 
 Steel offered, and scenting a mystery he awoke 
 to the responsibility of his own situation. Fresh 
 buying orders were placed by him with half a 
 dozen houses, and to the confusion of an already 
 sensational day was added the spectacle, in the 
 closing moments, of a scramble among the best- 
 known brokers on the floor to secure the shares of 
 a nominally bankrupt concern. Shorts, alarmed, 
 likewise tried to bid in their commitments only to 
 
 310
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 find the newcomers taking the offerings away from 
 them. 
 
 Emboldened by the mysterious movement, a 
 floating speculative contingent began buying Steel. 
 Competition, concealed at first, became suddenly 
 keen, and Crooks & Overholt were soon openly 
 pitted against all buyers, with Benjamin's brokers 
 fighting them for all offerings. 
 
 The Overholt contingent pushed the price reck- 
 lessly up by quarters, halves, and points, but Ben- 
 jamin disputed for every hundred shares that came 
 out, and following Overholt's open offer for ten 
 thousand Steel came the terrific bid of Benjamin 
 & Company for any part of one hundred thou- 
 sand shares a full point higher. The stock, which 
 had opened in the morning at one hundred and 
 thirty and sold freely at six and seven dollars 
 during the panic hour, closed in a new fever of 
 excitement, with Benjamin & Company taking 
 every share about the post. 
 
 At the end of the day action by the associated 
 banks, the co-operation of large financial interests 
 in the Street, the deposit in New York by the gov- 
 ernment of substantial Treasury balances, and the 
 friendly attitude of strong foreign houses com- 
 bined to relieve the strain and avert further panic. 
 
 That night a messenger reached John Adrane's 
 apartment, and standing before his desk Adrane
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 tore open a note addressed to him by Merrilie. 
 The note itself, on paper bearing her monogram, 
 was neither addressed nor signed. 
 
 I was told how well you faced your ordeal last night. I 
 know how well you will continue to face it. I am as proud 
 of you as I am distressed over your difficulties. These, be- 
 lieve me, will come out right. I am only mortified not to 
 be in a position to-night myself to put funds at your imme- 
 diate disposal. I never have been really greedy for money 
 before in my life. I do want it now! 
 
 The paper on which her hand had rested 
 seemed to exhale a fragrance. He held it a mo- 
 ment to his lips, and in the midst of the confu- 
 sion he sat down and wrote an answer. 
 
 I could not take a penny of money, not if you offered me 
 millions. But I am greedy for your friendship and encour- 
 agement. I never hungered for it more than now. For one 
 reason I am glad I am penniless perhaps some day I can 
 tell you why. 
 
 He signed only his initials and despatched it 
 before meeting some of his creditors that night in 
 his apartment. He had already cabled Annie to 
 Berlin. Two days passed before an answer came 
 from her. "My poor, dear John!" she cabled in 
 return: "Mamma and Fanny and I are simply 
 heart-broken over your misfortune. But cheer up, 
 we are coming right over to be with you. It may 
 not be half as bad as you fear, dearest. And what- 
 
 312
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 ever it is, you well know it could make no differ- 
 ence in my feelings, dear John, for you. Send us 
 frequent word. We long for good news and I shall 
 be thinking of you every moment until I see you. 
 With lots of love. Annie." 
 
 Mrs. Whitney's own cablegram of the same date 
 to Havens asking him whether her interests were 
 safe in the monetary storm was sent at the same 
 time, and by him she was fully reassured. 
 
 Adrane wrote Annie the night he heard from her 
 and expressed his gratitude for her loyalty and 
 sympathy. It was a fresh humiliation to reflect 
 on the position he occupied toward her painfully 
 indifferent yet definitely pledged; in love with 
 one woman, bound to another, and half-suspect- 
 ing that Annie herself was by no means wild about 
 himself, but not able to resolve his doubt. It 
 seemed all a part of the wretched mess he had 
 made of his affairs, and his increasing depression 
 could be relieved only by thinking of one who 
 should have no business in his thoughts Merrilie. 
 
 With Annie true to him in his poverty, what 
 could he do but prove true to her, and he forced 
 himself to write what his thoughts of another made 
 it seem shameful to say. He was thus in no mood 
 to minimize the magnitude of his failure, and even 
 Drake's faithful account of it to Mrs. Whitney 
 gained nothing in comparison with Adrane's open
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 discouragement over his situation expressed to 
 Annie. He was crippled, he feared, irrevocably, 
 and said so. He cut his daily personal expenses 
 down to the lowest possible notch. But his serv- 
 ant, Oliver, whom he had dismissed in retrench- 
 ing, could not wholly be shaken off, and while 
 waiting for a new situation still came every morn- 
 ing and evening, in spite of Adrane's protests, 
 to take care of his rooms. 
 
 Annie, meantime, sent frequent cablegrams of 
 affection and sympathy. She complained in these 
 that Adrane was forgetting her and begged him to 
 cable her daily as she did him. At length a day 
 intervened without any word from Paris, whither 
 Annie had removed. The next day a long message 
 of affectionate import acknowledged receipt of his 
 letter. After a further interval of some days she 
 wired that she was ill and that their arrangements 
 for starting home were upset. She asked John to 
 come over to her. 
 
 Adrane, strained to the limit of endurance in the 
 untangling of his affairs, was not sorry to hear the 
 home-coming had been delayed. He cabled his 
 sympathy, explained how impossible it would be 
 for him to come to her unless her condition was 
 critical, asked her mother for full particulars, and 
 plunged with all the strength he could command 
 into his affairs to aid the committee of his credit-
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 ors. Mrs. Whitney in a brief message reassured 
 him as to Annie's condition. Adrane forgot to 
 acknowledge the word. 
 
 In the interval following, and during the legal 
 fight of the Drakes for a receiver for the Adrane 
 properties, Henry Benjamin, though not the most 
 heavily interested, had become the most active 
 man on the Adrane committee. He represented 
 Hamersley also, and through patience and persist- 
 ence in digging out information became intimate 
 with the details of Adrane's disastrous campaign. 
 His tireless efforts to make himself familiar with 
 everything connected, both with Adrane's com- 
 panies and his market operations, alternately 
 excited Adrane's impatience with him as an in- 
 tolerable interloper or aroused his interest in him as 
 a sagacious counsellor. Moreover, Benjamin, with 
 abler counsel than Adrane could afford to secure, 
 had joined with him in resisting Drake's attempts 
 to throw his steel companies into the hands of a 
 receiver. 
 
 To protect himself in the new fight into which 
 Drake's action plunged him, Adrane was com- 
 pelled to go with his lawyers to Saint Louis to 
 fight the Drake suit. Indeed, against Drake and 
 those behind him Adrane was fighting for his 
 very life, and all he had been through in the mar- 
 ket seemed little in comparison to the efforts he
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 was now compelled to put forth to save his crip- 
 pled undertakings. He was struggling without 
 money, and almost without hope, to keep con- 
 trol of the results of his life's endeavors. He 
 cabled and wrote Annie before starting, apprising 
 her of his movements, and, delayed day after 
 day by court proceedings in Saint Louis, Adrane 
 cabled his Western address for mail. It was 
 some time before he got back to New York. A 
 long conference with Benjamin after his return 
 made Adrane ashamed of his former brusqueness, 
 and meeting the broker at lunch one day he 
 intimated as much. Benjamin gave him a shock. 
 "Don't thank me, John," he exclaimed with 
 disconcerting candor. "Don't think for a min- 
 ute I'm doing anything for you. I've a client 
 practically cleaned out by your doings. It's my 
 client I'm working for, not you. But I've in- 
 cidentally uncovered the pit you dropped into, 
 John." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 Benjamin looked keenly at him. "We've got 
 the governors after Crooks & Overholt and Macy 
 & Handy to-day." He paused. "Your creditors 
 are going to meet to-morrow, afternoon at three 
 o'clock at Drake's offices. John, I want you to 
 meet me at my office at two o'clock. I may be 
 able to make things clear by that time, and, 
 
 316
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 incidentally, make your hair stand on end. Come 
 prepared to be surprised. Will you do it? Very 
 good. Afterward we will go to Mr. Drake's little 
 meeting." 
 
 317
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 IN Drake's offices on the following afternoon 
 practically the same group of men gathered 
 that had met at Amos Hamersley's residence the 
 night before the Adrane suspension. Hamersley 
 himself, impatient and curt, sat at the head of the 
 table. Obstacles arose almost as soon as the con- 
 ference began, and while criticism and comment 
 were plentiful they were not of a character to clear 
 the air materially. At this unsatisfactory junc- 
 ture Havens rose from his chair. He stood for 
 a time silent. It was only after every eye was 
 directed toward him that he spoke. 
 
 "I think some of the difficulties before us are due 
 to our lack of complete information concerning the 
 affairs of Adrane Brothers," he began. "We all 
 know they have been frank and straightforward 
 under trying conditions. Where we have fallen 
 down, it seems to me, is in a lack of effective team- 
 work in investigating their affairs I mean as to 
 just how they themselves stand and what they 
 mean to try to do." 
 
 McCrea nodded assent. "That sounds right. 
 318
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 We have been getting nowhere waiting for the 
 information we need to drop down on us itself. 
 Make it a committee, Havens, to get together 
 what we lack and report to another meeting. As 
 it is, we are wasting our time. How many mem- 
 bers should the committee have?" 
 
 Havens sat down as he answered: "Not so 
 many as to be unwieldy; not too few to be rep- 
 resentative," he suggested sententiously. Ham- 
 ersley snorted, but made no comment. Havens, 
 when urged, moved that an investigating com- 
 mittee be appointed by the chair. 
 
 With the motion carried, Hamersley, over his 
 eye-glasses, looked testily around the table. 
 "Chairman, Benedict R. Havens," he announced. 
 "Who else?" 
 
 Henry Benjamin rose. "Mr. Chairman," he be- 
 gan in a restrained and placating tone, "may I 
 speak for a moment on the naming of this commit- 
 tee?" 
 
 Hamersley scowled at him. "Go on " 
 
 "This is an extremely ordinary occasion for some 
 of us especially for those of us whose hair has 
 begun to fall out," he continued. "But the 
 occasion develops, under this motion, an extraor- 
 dinary situation one that I, personally, have 
 never seen in any creditors' meeting in my life. 
 Nor can I recollect, in such scattered reading as 
 
 319
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 too few leisure moments have enabled me to 
 snatch from a busy life, any precedent in human 
 history for such a situation." 
 
 "Cut it short," growled Henry Kneeland, crush- 
 ing a cigar between his fingers. 
 
 "It will be too short, Kneeland. These credit- 
 ors want information. When this committee is 
 appointed it will devolve on me to supply all that 
 is material in this case." The words^were care- 
 fully chosen. Even Hamersley began to scowl, 
 which meant he was listening. 
 
 "What I purpose doing at this moment," Ben- 
 jamin went on, "is only to tell all of you, now, 
 what I should tell this new committee and what it 
 afterward would ask me to tell you anyway. My 
 surprise" the words fell with pointed distinct- 
 ness "at Mr. Havens' s motion for a committee 
 on information concerning the affairs of Adrane 
 Brothers is not shared or understood by you as 
 it soon will be. I move to amend, Mr. Chairman, 
 by asking Mr. Havens to disclose fully to this meet- 
 ing, here and now, his own confidential relations, 
 as banker and friend, with Mr. John Adrane. For 
 this, too, we need Mr. Adrane's presence. And, 
 by the way" Benjamin looked toward the open 
 door of the anteroom "here, at my instance, 
 comes Mr. Adrane now." 
 
 All eyes, following Benjamin's gesture, fixed on 
 320
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 John Adrane standing in the doorway. Adrane 
 walked slowly forward and, nodding to Hamersley 
 as chairman, sat down half-way between the table 
 and the door. Havens, speaking with amiable 
 frankness, broke the silence. "Just what there may 
 be in Mr. Adrane's relations to me as a debtor to 
 enlighten this meeting, Mr. Benjamin may have 
 in mind; I haven't." 
 
 Benjamin, sitting with his elbows on the arms 
 of his chair, looked not at Havens, but at the table 
 in front of him. "Very good," he retorted inscru- 
 tably, "only don't say I didn't give you a chance 
 to tell the story." 
 
 "But, Benjamin," interposed Harry Drake im- 
 patiently, "as chairman of the committee we are 
 appointing, Mr. Havens " 
 
 "That," exclaimed Benjamin energetically, "is 
 what I find unprecedented making Mr. Havens 
 chairman of a post-mortem on Adrane Brothers. 
 I've heard of queer things in my lifetime " 
 
 "Get to the point," scowled Hamersley. 
 
 "But I never heard," continued Benjamin un- 
 abashed, "of Joab's being put on a committee to 
 investigate the stabbing of Amasa. Yet this, gen- 
 tlemen, would have been a congruous proceeding 
 compared to asking Benedict R. Havens to 
 tell us why Adrane Brothers failed." Benjamin 
 dropped his mask of sarcasm and looked directly 
 
 321
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 at Havens. "He is the Joab, the Judas of this 
 whole affair. It isn't Adrane Brothers who owe 
 us money, it is that man right there!" His finger 
 shot out at Havens like a catapult. 
 
 White with rage, the banker sprang up. "You 
 scoundrel," he cried, clenching his fists and 
 scarcely able in his passion to frame the words. 
 
 "I mean," retorted Benjamin, at white heat but 
 composed and shaking his stubby finger with every 
 phrase, "that John Adrane sold you, at different 
 times, block after block of Steel fifty, sixty, 
 seventy points below the market with the un- 
 derstanding," roared Benjamin, "that you would 
 keep it off the market. You took this stock from 
 John Adrane, and through Macy & Handy and 
 Crooks & Overholt you sold it back to John 
 Adrane at the market y fifty, sixty, and seventy 
 dollars a share above what you paid for it. That's 
 what I mean, Mr. Benedict R. Havens." 
 
 The listeners about the table leaned forward. 
 Adrane sat motionless. Havens, green with fury, 
 tried to break in. "You scoundrel," he cried again, 
 "every word of that is a lie " 
 
 "I mean," roared Benjamin relentlessly and 
 with his finger going like a hammer, "you blood- 
 sucked John Adrane and the Steel pool. I mean, 
 I have the facts. I mean, the suspension of Macy 
 & Handy will be announced on the floor at the 
 
 322
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 opening to-morrow morning. I mean, I already 
 know their books. I mean, I've got you dead to 
 rights at every turn of your game, Mr. Benedict 
 R. Havens! Now talk!" 
 
 He sat down to get his breath. Drake sprang 
 up angrily. "This isn't fair, and I, for one, pro- 
 test against such ruffianly abuse of a business as- 
 sociate." 
 
 Benjamin, almost breathless, only glared at 
 him in contemptuous silence. But no one came 
 to Drake's aid. A suspicious gloom settled over 
 the table. Havens, still on his feet, his face set 
 in stone, gray and ugly, regained a semblance 
 of composure. He looked coldly around the stu- 
 pefied circle. "I didn't expect to be made the tar- 
 get of an outrageous attack at this meeting," he 
 said heatedly, "but I stand here absolutely confi- 
 dent of the integrity of my position. Every deal- 
 ing I have had with Adrane Brothers or with John 
 Adrane will confirm what I say and give the lie 
 to this blackguard. He has told you half-truths 
 to support a tissue of falsehood. I have traded 
 through Macy & Handy as others in this room 
 have done. I don't care what their books show 
 as to my business. But he has dragged in also, to 
 bolster up his insinuations, the name of one of the 
 oldest and most reputable houses in the Street, 
 Crooks & Overholt. They may be called before 
 
 323
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 any committee you like to give the lie to these 
 scandalous assertions!" 
 
 "Don't call Crooks & Overholt," objected 
 Benjamin doggedly. "I can tell you everything 
 they can." 
 
 "That is of a piece with all his damnable asser- 
 tions!" Havens towered with passion. "This 
 scoundrel knows that Crooks & Overholt have 
 reputation and standing in circles where he has 
 none. He knows that either Mr. Crooks or Mr. 
 Overholt, men of the highest sense of honor, can 
 give the lie to everything he has said " 
 
 Benjamin put up his hand to fend off the storm 
 of denunciation. "I am glad to hear every word 
 Mr. Havens urges as to the unspotted reputation 
 enjoyed by the house of Crooks & Overholt," he 
 assented gravely. Then he rose again to his feet, 
 his eyes darting anger at the accused banker as 
 he sprung his crushing rejoinder. "I thank Mr. 
 Havens," cried Benjamin deliberately, "for his 
 commendation of the high sense of honor possessed 
 by these men and I want to add that they 
 proved unwilling witnesses. But, gentlemen, in- 
 terrogated under pressure by the governors of the 
 Exchange within an hour, Mr. Crooks and Mr. 
 Overholt reluctantly gave up as the client for 
 whom they had been selling Steel for thirty days, 
 the name of Benedict R. Havens!"
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 A bombshell dropped on the table would have 
 proved no more astounding. "Hell!" roared Henry 
 Kneeland. 
 
 "Havens!" bellowed McCrea, looking in con- 
 sternation at Hamersley. Amos Hamersley's jaws 
 chopped and pounded like a propeller screw in 
 and out of water; it was as near overwhelming 
 wrath as he ever got. 
 
 "That's all we want to know," said More 
 savagely. 
 
 Havens put his hand on More's arm. "No," he 
 thundered in a voice shaking but defiant. "I 
 care not whose books and whose testimony are 
 dragged into this thing. I took collateral from 
 Adrane and gave him money repeatedly he owes 
 our bank to-day. When I felt unsafe I disposed 
 of my collateral as I had an unquestioned right to 
 do and as any banker may do." 
 
 "No," protested Benjamin, "not when you had 
 given your word " 
 
 "Given his word!" echoed Drake sneeringly. 
 "Does a banker give his word not to sell his col- 
 lateral?" 
 
 Benjamin, enraged at the equivocation, pointed 
 his deadly finger at the insurance magnate. "If 
 you had brains enough, Drake, I should say you 
 were in with him!" he vociferated. 
 
 Drake turned on Benjamin with unmeasured 
 325
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 abuse. Kneeland tried to check him. Hamersley 
 pounded for order. Every man in the room was 
 talking or trying to talk. 
 
 "Adrane," shouted Kneeland, turning, above 
 the confusion of tongues, "what is there to this 
 part of Henry Benjamin's story?'* 
 
 Adrane sat as if only objectively interested. 
 "Mr. Benjamin," he answered curtly, "has told 
 the exact truth." 
 
 "The truth ? " echoed Havens, turning, outraged, 
 on his new accuser. "He doesn't know what truth 
 is " 
 
 "See here, Havens," interposed Adrane rudely. 
 "You bought Steel from me, outright, at par when 
 Steel was selling above a hundred and fifty, and 
 agreed to hold it -" 
 
 Havens cut in. "Only as long as conditions war- 
 ranted." 
 
 "Don't interrupt. You agreed if you felt un- 
 safe to sell it back to me at par." 
 
 "You had no money to pay for it," shouted 
 Havens. 
 
 "You never offered one share to me under that 
 agreement," thundered Adrane, rising menacingly. 
 
 Others jumped up. No one cared to see Adrane 
 in action. Hamersley restrained him. 
 
 "What more do you want, gentlemen?" de- 
 manded Benjamin in stentorian tones. "There's 
 
 326
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 the whole story. You weren't any of you born 
 yesterday " 
 
 Adrane, with gathering anger, was answering 
 Havens over Hamersley's shoulder. "I had money 
 to take everything offered me and did take every- 
 thing to the end. Don't lie about it." 
 
 Benjamin turned on the infuriated banker. 
 "You sold his Steel a month before he suspended! 
 It was pouring his money into your bottomless 
 bucket that broke him, and nothing else!" 
 
 Havens in a frenzy rushed toward his accusers. 
 Kneeland caught his arm. "No man can give me 
 the lie," shouted Havens, livid. "Let me go!" 
 
 "Gentlemen, gentlemen!" protested Arthur 
 More. 
 
 "This is outrageous," cried Drake. 
 
 Spruance, with Kneeland, forced Havens back. 
 "Am I to be outfaced," he demanded, "by this 
 bankrupt and this Jew?" 
 
 "Havens," thundered Hamersley, so enraged 
 that his eye-glasses danced on his nose, " stop where 
 you are." 
 
 "Sit down, all of you," stormed Spruance. 
 "Get in order here. We don't want fighting; we 
 want facts." 
 
 The last word only fired Benjamin anew. 
 "Facts!" he echoed shrilly. "You have the facts. 
 Day after day 
 
 327
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Sit down!" cried Kneeland. 
 
 "Give Mr. Havens a chance to speak," insisted 
 Drake. 
 
 "Day after day," roared Benjamin above the 
 tumult, "Adranetook Steel that he was paying one 
 hundred and fifty for on the floor, to this man," 
 pointing his inevitable finger at Havens. "He 
 sold it to Havens at par, gentlemen, to take this 
 stock off the market. Have you heard the senti- 
 ments of Mr. Havens, 'The undeviating rule of any 
 great bank, to-day, should be clean, high-minded, 
 purposeful service/ And this clean, high-minded, 
 purposeful Mr. Double-breasted Benedict Right- 
 eous Havens, before Adrane's trusting footsteps 
 were cold on his threshold, turned these stock cer- 
 tificates over to Macy & Handy and Crooks & 
 Overholt, and dumped them right back through 
 the market on Adrane at one hundred and fifty 
 and up. No wonder he broke him! He would 
 break the Treasury of the United States. And 
 that isn't all. Not satisfied with bankrupting 
 Adrane, he, with our blond life-insurance magnate 
 here, put in buying orders for Steel the minute 
 Adrane suspended, with the high-minded purpose 
 of wresting from him the control of his crippled 
 companies. They wanted not only his money, 
 gentlemen, they wanted his hide!" 
 
 Havens, struggling to free himself at every word, 
 328
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 shouting epithets of abuse, interrupting, denoun- 
 cing, was forced, under the restraint of Spruance 
 and Kneeland, to take every word. Drake was 
 beside himself. "I won't listen to these lies," he 
 protested in a fury. 
 
 "While I was moving heaven and earth for a 
 month to find out where this avalanche of stock was 
 coming from," panted Benjamin, despite every in- 
 terruption, "this was going on under my very nose. 
 A Jew, gentlemen, he calls me. He calls me a 
 Jew!" Benjamin's arms shot upward: "My God! 
 What a king was lost to Israel when this pillar of 
 rectitude, this founder of universities, this bene- 
 factor of struggling brotherhoods was stolen from 
 us in his mother's cradle and baptized a Chris- 
 tian!" 
 
 Bedlam broke loose. 
 
 "I move, Mr. Chairman," yelled Kneeland, 
 "that for thirty days the synagogues be draped in 
 black." 
 
 "At the expense," returned Benjamin, like 
 a flash, "of Henry Kneeland and the curb 
 pikers!" 
 
 Hamersley was pounding for order. "And I 
 move further," persisted Kneeland in the din, 
 "that the freedom of a pew be tendered Mr. 
 Havens!" 
 
 "As soon," yelled Benjamin, "as we can get the 
 329
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Talmud chained and the carpets and furniture 
 nailed down, Henry yes!" 
 
 "I declare the meeting adjourned," thundered 
 Hamersley. 
 
 "This is grossly unjust," cried Havens. "I have 
 been outrageously slandered. I demand to be 
 heard." 
 
 "We've heard too much," snapped Hamersley 
 savagely. 
 
 There was a movement for the door. Drake 
 led Havens toward his private office. No one fol- 
 lowed them. The others, talking in angry under- 
 tones, converged toward the vestibule; Adrane, 
 Hamersley, and Benjamin, still gesticulating furi- 
 ously, with Spruance, McCrea, More, and Knee- 
 land. 
 
 330
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 ADRANE rode up-town with Amos Hamersley. 
 He spent an hour with him in Madison 
 Avenue discussing Havens. He refused to run up 
 that night to Crossrips with his host, though 
 Hamersley importuned him. The incidents of 
 the afternoon had left him humiliated and savage 
 and he wanted to be completely alone. 
 
 Oliver, the next evening, by the merest accident 
 gave him another shock. He spoke of hearing that 
 Mrs. Whitney, Mrs. Havens, and Annie were in 
 town. Adrane, at his desk, going over copies of 
 the papers filed in Drake's application for a re- 
 ceiver to complete his destruction, turned hastily in 
 his chair. He disputed his servant's information. 
 Oliver persisted. He had had the news from 
 Drake's own man; Drake had met the ladies at the 
 boat. When Adrane brusquely declared it impos- 
 sible, Oliver after some search produced a copy of 
 a newspaper of the evening before announcing 
 among the arrivals from Europe Mrs. Carlos 
 Whitney, and her daughters, Mrs. Benedict Ha- 
 vens and Miss Annie Whitney. 
 
 Adrane studied the item for some moments be-
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 fore he put down the paper. This, perhaps, ex- 
 plained his failure to receive any recent letter. 
 But that he should have had no message from 
 Annie, apprising him of her coming, angered him. 
 
 He pushed aside the litter of documents to 
 try to think it out, but of all phases of the per- 
 plexity, the one he was least minded to endure was 
 that of .uncertainty. He left his desk somewhat 
 abruptly and, taking his hat and gloves, started 
 to walk over to Annie's. 
 
 He walked rather swiftly as if his errand were 
 an impetuous one, and not until he had almost 
 reached the door of the Whitney home did he 
 slacken his pace. His impulse had been to see 
 Annie, to ask every question and resolve every 
 doubt; the second thought was to ask himself 
 whether he ought to go at all, or whether he 
 ought to wait till he should hear from her. It was 
 this doubt that slowed his steps. But he kept 
 on, and with each continuing stride he returned to 
 his first impulse. 
 
 A new butler opened Mrs. Whitney's door; the 
 faces of the Whitney servants were always new. 
 This in itself irritated him, and while Adrane 
 waited, after his name had gone up-stairs, he 
 was thinking of the dignity of Merrilie's household 
 instead of thinking of Annie for whom he was 
 waiting. 
 
 332
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 He glanced around at the familiar furnishings of 
 the room, a charming little anteroom off the larger 
 reception-room to the right, and remembered that 
 this was where Annie had received him the first 
 time after their return from Florida. They had 
 been so extraordinarily happy that evening; it 
 seemed almost curious now looking back at it. 
 But he had been so stimulated at that time with 
 big undertakings, and was so exultant in his first 
 considerable doing and succeeding. 
 
 He confessed to himself that his head had been 
 turned then by his succeeding and with more 
 consequences than one. Annie, it seemed to him 
 now, had come into that first burning sunshine of 
 his life as a child might come in and make complete 
 a rather heady happiness springing from the fair- 
 ness of success. And the thought of Florida and 
 sunshine brought back the night at Palm Beach 
 in which it seemed now so horribly patent that he 
 had made a fool of himself the display of fire- 
 works, the moment he had very blunderingly kissed 
 Annie and felt it necessary in consequence to ask 
 her to be his wife. He had more than once since 
 then had misgivings about that impulsive evening 
 dash from the precincts of his natural reserve. A 
 slow man, he reflected gravely, always makes a 
 mess of it when he dashes at anything. 
 
 Annie seemed long in coming down she was al- 
 333
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 ways longer than Merrilie was. Adrane was trying 
 to remember just what he had said that night on 
 the beach while the bombs were bursting above the 
 water and raining marvellous sheets of fire down 
 the sky. When he kissed her she had looked up 
 at him so frightened, mute, appealing, that he 
 had felt he must say something to back it up 
 he had felt, in a way, committed and he had 
 told her he loved her. Even yet he could re- 
 member how taken aback and guilty he felt when 
 she whispered, "You don't love me, John. You 
 only think you do." 
 
 He knew well now that Annie in her desire to 
 be reassured had, quite unwittingly, stumbled in 
 these words on a distressing truth. Too well he 
 remembered how he had protested he did love 
 her and had simulated a warmth that was forced, 
 thinking the reason why it sat awkwardly on 
 him was because he was so inexperienced in 
 love-making. 
 
 The blood flooded his whole face in the humilia- 
 tion of thinking it over. This, love, indeed ! It 
 was shameful to recall, crushing to vanity, sober- 
 ing to impulse. It had been less than a year ago 
 but he felt in the interval too many harsh 
 years older and, worst or best of all, he knew too 
 well what the real love of a man is long-smoth- 
 ered and deep-burning, growing by resistless leaps 
 
 334
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 and bounds into a living, mastering fire, heedless 
 of protest, fierce of restraint, eating its blind, 
 feverish way deeper and deeper to its answering 
 glow in a woman's heart. The shame of it all, 
 to have mistaken the common heat of a kiss for 
 the white-hot flame of a love that burns with life 
 itself. 
 
 Annie hurried down-stairs. She ran to him with 
 a little troubled laugh as he sprang forward. 
 "Oh, John," she cried. "I am so glad to see you." 
 She caught his extended hands prettily in her own, 
 pressed them in hers impulsively to his own breast, 
 giving him, he noted, as she stood close and he 
 stooped gravely to kiss her, her forehead instead 
 of her lips. It was a relief to both women are 
 so clever and men so awkward in managing situa- 
 tions. "Where have you come from, John ? I sup- 
 posed, of course, you were in Saint Louis! You 
 cabled from there " 
 
 "I did, Annie." 
 
 "You dear old fellow." 
 
 "But why," he asked, already successfully 
 nettled, "are you here without my knowing any- 
 thing of it?" 
 
 "Why, John! You don't know sit down. 
 Oh, such a time as I have had!" They sat down 
 side by side, Adrane still keeping one of her hands. 
 She looked reproachfully up into his face. "Why 
 
 335
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 didn't you come to me, John, when I was so 
 ill?" 
 
 "How could I leave here with my affairs in such 
 a hideous tangle unless you had been critically 
 ill " 
 
 "But I was!" 
 
 "Your mother cabled it wasn't at all serious. 
 Those were her words " 
 
 "Poor mamma didn't want to alarm you. I 
 was very ill, John." 
 
 "I am sorry." 
 
 "And the minute I could lift my head, mamma 
 came down." 
 
 "Has she been ill, too?" 
 
 "Oh, John!" 
 
 "What was the matter?" 
 
 "Anxiety about me. And then the terrible 
 panic over here her own affairs. And I alone 
 with her and Fanny. I was so frightened. And 
 we had a horrible crossing simply horrible." 
 
 "Why didn't you write or cable me?" 
 
 "I supposed you were somewhere in the awful 
 West. How could I tell? I did write that we 
 were coming, you know." 
 
 "You wrote me you were coming this month. 
 But that wouldn't tell me what boat to meet." 
 
 "Of course not, John, I know. We landed only 
 
 yesterday " 
 
 336
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 " Drake met you 
 
 Annie's eyes were so frank and appealing. "He 
 was at the boat, yes. All of mother's poor little 
 affairs, you know, are in his hands, John, and she 
 cabled Harry. She was so upset by the talk on 
 shipboard about your troubles " 
 
 "My troubles?" echoed Adrane with surprise. 
 
 "The whole talk was of nothing else. Two gen- 
 tlemen from Poughkeepsie; no, from White Plains, 
 or one was from Poughkeepsie and one from White 
 Plains had lost everything they had in your Steel 
 stocks. And mother was so frightened, not being 
 strong." 
 
 "I expressly asked her not to buy Steel." 
 
 "Oh, she didn't, John. But naturally, she felt 
 mortified " 
 
 "And you didn't let me know you were com- 
 ing," he mused. 
 
 "Why, only in a general way, John, in my let- 
 ters. And I didn't know where to cable you." 
 Annie's distress was so apparent that Adrane 
 smiled sombrely. "You couldn't miss me in the 
 United States, Annie." 
 
 "I really believe not, John, you've been dis- 
 cussed so much," laughed Annie with relief. 
 
 She withdrew her hand to reach for her hand- 
 kerchief. "Your name was on everybody's lips." 
 
 "My troubles have made me conspicuous." 
 337
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Isn't it. just awful, John? Why, people on the 
 boat cut me as if I had some contagious disease, ^t 
 almost killed me." 
 
 "I am sorry, Annie, you should be humiliated on 
 my account." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind that, John." 
 
 "Who cut you?" 
 
 "Those two gentlemen from Poughkeepsie or 
 White Plains, or one was from " 
 
 "I am very sorry, Annie." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind that. I keep thinking of all 
 the others who have lost. I called up poor Cousin 
 Merrilie this morning and what do you think? 
 Even the telephone is taken out. Isn't it perfectly 
 awful to think she has lost everything?" 
 
 Adrane stiffened: "What do you mean?" 
 
 " Don't you know ? " Annie's eyes opened wide. 
 "Why, John, of all men! Don't you know Mer- 
 rilie has lost every dollar she has in the world 
 through this dreadful Steel speculation?" He lis- 
 tened, stunned. "She had to sell her house. Of 
 course, you know that ? " 
 
 His senses whirled at Annie's words. "I knew 
 she had sold it," he answered stonily, hardly know- 
 ing what he said. 
 
 "And her beautiful house in Paris went all fur- 
 nished just as it was, to pay her debts the whole 
 thing for a song, too. Poor mamma was heart- 
 
 338
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 sick when Harry Drake told her. There was so 
 much in it she herself would have paid poor Mer- 
 rilie generously for if she had only known. And 
 you know Kennedy is dead?" 
 
 "Kennedy dead?" echoed Adrane, thunder- 
 struck. 
 
 "Completely heart-broken. Poor, dear Ken- 
 nedy. And Mr. Tilden is drinking himself to 
 death since the house was dismantled. His poor 
 wife! She was here this morning. And all from 
 speculation! Isn't it perfectly terrible?" 
 
 Adrane felt his brain on fire. Annie enjoyed in 
 a melancholy way the stupefying effect of her 
 news, but without knowing how successfully and 
 completely she had cut her disordered fiance to the 
 heart. 
 
 He spoke in a tone new to him and as impassive 
 as a judgment. "It might not be wholly fair to 
 lay poor Tilden's drunkenness at my door, but 
 that is a trivial matter." He bent his head on his 
 two hands. 
 
 "John, dear! Don't understand me for a min- 
 ute as laying anything at your door " 
 
 "Tilden may well lie there with the rest," he 
 said, looking up. She saw in his face new and 
 haggard lines. "Where is Merrilie?" he asked 
 curtly. 
 
 "Nobody knows, John." 
 339
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I must know. And I must see her to-night/' 
 He rose to his feet. "Annie?" he looked down at 
 her almost fiercely. For the first time in her life 
 she was afraid of her great, business-man fiance 
 and disliked his brusqueness. She knew what was 
 coming and her heart stood still. "I must go," 
 he said harshly; "I am going to find Merrilie. 
 You have something you want to say to me. I 
 know and feel it. Let me, in turn, say only this: 
 Don't be afraid; say it without hesitation." 
 
 "Why, no, John," her eyes were so sweetly wide- 
 open and sincere. "I have nothing special to say. 
 Only how sorry I am for all this trouble you have 
 had. ' How I wish, oh, how I wish I could help 
 you! That is what hurts me, John. I feel utterly 
 helpless. I feel as if I were doomed to be a bur- 
 den upon you. And I don't want to be a burden, 
 John." 
 
 "Good, Annie. I understand you. You don't 
 want to be a burden and if I were to insist you were 
 no burden you would still feel that you are, 
 shouldn't you?" 
 
 "I couldn't help knowing it, John, dear. And 
 this awful whirlpool of speculation! Oh, how I 
 dread it!" 
 
 "I see, Annie." 
 
 "I'd rather live anywhere, in Paris, even, than 
 ever to see or hear more of it." 
 
 340
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Annie, do you want me to release you from 
 your engagement?" 
 
 For a moment she could not speak. Then she 
 looked tearfully at him: "John, I wouldn't hurt 
 your feelings for the world. And I don't want you 
 to release me unless it seems best to you, 
 John 
 
 "I am only ashamed of myself for ever having 
 asked for your hand. It is free, Annie, if you wish 
 it." 
 
 She faltered, and her eyes brimmed over with 
 tears: "Why, John. I don't know what to say! 
 We can always be good friends, can't we, John?" 
 
 "Always, Annie."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 ADRANE made his way out of the house. 
 In the street his mind began to work again. 
 Of the scene behind him he thought only for a 
 moment and as if at least one mountain of anxiety 
 had been lifted from his heart. But a worse was 
 imposed upon it. It was Merrilie of whom he 
 now feverishly thought Merrilie ruined if that 
 were possible and through him. He tried to 
 discredit the story. In recalling Annie's sweep- 
 ing assertions and reckless innuendoes he seemed 
 to hear the studied treachery of her mother's 
 hateful voice. Yet the benumbing conviction 
 would come back that in this she had told the 
 truth that Merrilie was ruined. 
 
 It was Merrilie, then, who had been Benjamin's 
 powerful client. She, single-handed, who had sup- 
 ported the market and to her destruction, when 
 every one else in Steel the pool, Hamersley, 
 McCrea, he, himself had lain down. He clenched 
 his hands and set his teeth at the thought it drove 
 him frantic to think of her great fortune swallowed 
 up through his wretched mistake. He found a tele- 
 
 342
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 phone booth and tried to get Merrilie's number. 
 After delays and annoyances and questioning, the 
 trouble operator confirmed what Annie had told 
 him the telephone had been taken out. He was 
 so heated, so infuriated, by the time he had learned 
 this that he turned into Fifth Avenue and resolved 
 to see for himself whether the house was empty. 
 
 Long before he came within sight of it, appre- 
 hension played cruelly with him. He fixed his 
 eyes straight ahead, and as each object obstruct- 
 ing his view passed, he strained his eyes for a 
 glimpse of her home. At last, in the night, as 
 he neared her corner its outlines rose before him. 
 The big house was utterly dark. For a moment 
 he thought he saw a light in Merrilie's window and 
 his heart leaped. Then he perceived it was the 
 reflection of a street lamp and hope sank. He 
 had never before seen the house without a light 
 somewhere. 
 
 He leaned against an area railing. Then he sat 
 down on a step and looked at the silent, gloomy 
 pile, thinking poignantly of its mistress of her 
 humor, her laugh, her resolution, her courageous 
 eyes, always enlivening, questioning, inspiring him. 
 And through him, this magnificent girl, knowing 
 so little of the world, queen of all the women 
 he had known or dreamed of, had come to pov- 
 erty. He sat some time without moving. When 
 
 343
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 he rose and walked heavily on, he told himself 
 that whatever his sins, he knew suffering now. 
 
 One thought alone possessed him, one determi- 
 nation fiercely moved him as he strode to find 
 Merrilie. That was all he wanted or could think 
 of. The name of Henry Benjamin crossed his 
 mind. Why hadn't he thought of him before? 
 He surely must know where she was. 
 
 In another telephone booth he secured Benja- 
 min's house number. It was away up-town and 
 Adrane took the subway. When he found Ben- 
 jamin at home he breathed more freely. 
 
 "John," exclaimed the broker, coming hastily 
 into the room to greet his unexpected visitor, 
 "what brings you so far this time of night ? Come 
 into the other room. It's only a family game of 
 bridge." 
 
 "Thank you, Henry, no. I am come, hoping 
 you can give me what I need worse than anything 
 else in the world." 
 
 "Money, John? Sure. Say what you want, 
 and take enough." 
 
 "Not money, at all, Henry " 
 
 "You don't mean, John, to say there's anything 
 in the world you need worse than money " 
 
 "I want the address of Miss Merrilie Dawes.' v 
 
 Benjamin knit his brows, looked at the floor and 
 up again. "By heaven!" he confessed bluntly, 
 
 344
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "you ask me for the one thing in the world I 
 can't give you." 
 
 "You mean to say you don't know where 
 she is?" 
 
 Benjamin hesitated. "I mean to say what I 
 say." 
 
 "You know where she is?" 
 
 "I didn't say." 
 
 Adrane leaned forward. "Henry, don't play 
 with me. I must see Merrilie Dawes to-night. 
 Where is she?" 
 
 "You can't see her to-night unless you take an 
 air-ship or a hydroplane." 
 
 "Where is she, Henry?" 
 
 "Frankly, John, I am not at liberty to say where 
 she is." 
 
 "Equally frankly, I want to ask you to disre- 
 gard any injunctions you have from her on that 
 score. Something has occurred vitally affecting 
 both her position and mine. I can't explain, 
 Henry, but I must see her. I take all the re- 
 sponsibility. I will stand between you and any 
 blame." 
 
 "Why, man, you talk as if it were a life and 
 death matter." 
 
 Adrane's manner left no doubt of his mood. " It 
 is, substantially, that," he said. "I only assure 
 you that she will not blame you for telling me 
 
 345
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 what I should find out in a few days at the 
 furthest, and by telling me now you will save that 
 much suspense and uncertainty for both of us. 
 Don't argue with me." 
 
 Benjamin regarded Adrane meditatively before 
 he answered: "If I couldn't patch certain things 
 together in my own head, John, I shouldn't feel 
 at liberty to disregard her positive instructions any 
 more than I should your positive instructions un- 
 der similar circumstances. And all I can say even 
 now, is, that I am not permitted to tell you she 
 is at Crossrips Island. And that she sails Satur- 
 day morning for Italy." 
 
 Both men rose at once. "I should have known 
 it!" exclaimed Adrane. "Thank you, Henry," 
 he added simply. 
 
 Benjamin raised a finger: "Remember, I hold 
 you." 
 
 "I assume all responsibility." 
 
 "Now, is that all?" 
 
 "That is all." 
 
 "You heard the news from Saint Louis, to- 
 night?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "A receiver was appointed late this afternoon 
 for your Steel Companies." 
 
 If Benjamin expected to see Adrane stagger 
 under the blow he was disappointed. 
 
 346
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "That would have been serious news an hour 
 ago, Henry," was all Adrane said. 
 
 "I've got some more news for the creditors' 
 meeting to-morrow, John. News that will surprise 
 them and surprise you. The real fight has just 
 begun. I want you to be there. Don't fail me." 
 
 Adrane looked at Benjamin frankly. "You have 
 been fair with me to-night and I want to be fair 
 with you: I am leaving for Crossrips on the mid- 
 night train." He took out his watch. "I have 
 barely time now to make it. I can't be with you 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Can't!" cried Benjamin, incensed. "You must 
 be. Mr. Hamersley is coming down from Cross- 
 rips to-morrow for it." 
 
 "I am sorry to disappoint you. Nothing would 
 hold me. I must be at Crossrips to-morrow after- 
 noon." 
 
 "No, see here, hold on." Adrane was already 
 at the front door. Entreaties and threats were 
 useless. Adrane with only repeated thanks and 
 farewells hastened down street with Benjamin, 
 bareheaded on the doorstep, talking after him. 
 The pugnacious broker returned to the card-table, 
 still shaking his head. "I give the man credit," 
 he declared, sitting down. "I give him credit. 
 Nothing shakes him. What's trumps again, 
 mother?" 
 
 347
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Hearts. Who was it came, Henry?" 
 
 "It was only the Jack of hearts, mother. 
 Play." 
 
 "Jack of hearts, crazy man! What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "I mean it was only another crazy man, John 
 Adrane." 
 
 "Where is he now?" 
 
 "Hot-footing it to Forty-second Street for the 
 New England Express. He is the least worried, 
 the coldest man in trouble, I ever paddled in a 
 canoe with. But I've suspected before he's dead 
 in love with Merrilie Dawes now, I know it." 
 
 His wife regarded his observation incredulously. 
 "Why, Henry! What are you talking about? 
 Mr. Adrane has been engaged to Annie Whitney 
 for a year almost." 
 
 Benjamin knit his brows. "I don't care whom 
 he's engaged to, mother; I know whom he is in 
 love with. Never mind these high-fliers. You 
 can't tell anything about such people: they do as 
 they please. And if she isn't dead in love with 
 him, tell me why she throws two, three, four mil- 
 lion dollars a day after him? That isn't mere ad- 
 miration, is it? Not three or four millions a day; 
 it's too much. Anyway, I guess I made no mis- 
 take in telling John what he could have found 
 out from Amos Hamersley to-morrow by asking. 
 
 348
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 And now I get Hamersley down from Crossrips to 
 meet Kneeland and McCrea and Adrane to-mor- 
 row, and Adrane goes up to Crossrips to-night! 
 I'll be in things, some. Come, mother, play. 
 Jack of hearts!" 
 
 "It's your play; what did he want?'* 
 "I told you what he wanted the queen; 
 Merrilie." 
 
 349
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 MRS. HAMERSLEY, in her room at Cross- 
 rips, was thinking seriously of rising. 
 She rang to ask about Merrilie, and on learning 
 that she was in her room Mrs. Hamersley sum- 
 moned her. Merrilie appeared, dressed very sim- 
 ply in white and with her Panama hat tailored as 
 plainly as her gown. Her face was perhaps a lit- 
 tle whiter, but all in all, Mrs. Hamersley thought 
 Merrilie bore the overwhelming change in her for- 
 tunes remarkably well and her white face gave a 
 slightly sweeter appeal to her eyes. "Child," 
 demanded Mrs. Hamersley as Merrilie kissed her, 
 "where are you going?" 
 
 Merrilie sat down beside the bed. "Just for a 
 little walk." 
 
 "Where are you going to walk?" 
 
 "Somewhere over the moors." 
 
 "I am going over after a while with Captain 
 Coffin and Orrin after the mail," announced Mrs. 
 Hamersley. "And Coffin says the light-ship is 
 flying the guest signal." 
 
 "Whom are you expecting?" asked Merrilie. 
 
 "Nobody. It must be a mistake. But it's 
 350
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 such a lovely morning you'd better come along, 
 anyway." 
 
 Merrilie shook her head: "No, I'm for the 
 moors. This is my farewell tramp." 
 
 "What is this I hear about your being in the 
 kitchen this morning?" 
 
 Merrilie, holding her gloves, put her right hand 
 up to her lips: "I went down to make some gin- 
 gerbread for Mr. Hamersley. You know he said 
 I couldn't make it. I burned my finger, of course. 
 I made a sala.de chiffonade for dinner, too." 
 
 "Gingerbread! You must be getting ready to 
 be some poor man's wife, honey." 
 
 "Not at all. I wrote Edith I was coming over 
 to wed the Adriatic there's really nothing else 
 for me to do. I couldn't stand being a poor 
 man's wife. It would be horrid. We think we 
 can do these things, auntie, but we can't. We are 
 helpless creatures of environment. What could 
 I do as a 'poor* wife for anybody?" 
 
 "You could make gingerbread for your husband 
 nothing could be more democratic. Where is 
 your Aunt Jane, by the way?" 
 
 "Well, not wishing Aunt Jane any bad luck, I 
 hope she is going to stay here with Mrs. Tilden. 
 Rose and I are going to Edith alone. I told Rose 
 if she would stay with me till then I would divide 
 all my old belongings with her."
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I hear Rose is dissolved in tears.'* 
 
 "I wish she were more stoical," sighed Mer- 
 rilie, fastening her hatpins as she rose. "I'll be 
 back before you are, auntie." 
 
 "Why don't you drive?" 
 
 "I'd rather walk." 
 
 "Josephine," said Mrs. Hamersley to her maid 
 when Merrilie had gone, "if you ever lose all 
 your money, just remember Miss Merrilie Dawes. 
 Merrilie down to a single cabin on an Italian boat 
 for herself and maid ! If she isn't a world's won- 
 der. Gingerbread!" 
 
 A little later Mrs. Hamersley sat on the deck 
 of her launch, passing Madaket Head. Orrin came 
 back from the wheel. He pointed to the cliffs. 
 "There's Miss Merrilie waving at you." 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley looked toward shore. "Wa- 
 ving at me? Where, Orrin?" 
 
 "Right up there at the Head." He handed 
 Mrs. Hamersley a glass and gave her the direc- 
 tion. "See that bit of white against the sky-line? 
 That's her." 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley looked carefully. "How could 
 she get so far by this time?" 
 
 Orrin laughed. "Miss Merrilie can outwalk 
 anybody at Crossrips." 
 
 "She is waving her hand. Run up a signal, 
 Orrin. She couldn't see it, though." 
 
 352
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "I seen her read the time of day on the old 
 Unitarian steeple clock from the jetties once. I 
 used to be able to do it myself," averred the mate, 
 "before I had the rheumatism. She likes the 
 flag," he said, running up the colors. "Look at 
 that," he added proudly, after a moment, "she's 
 saluting." 
 
 "So she is," murmured Mrs. Hamersley. "It is 
 a shame to lose an American girl like that, Orrin." 
 
 The mate smiled wisely. "She won't stay with 
 those dagoes long. Look at her waving." 
 
 Shooting out across the shoals, the launch soon 
 lost Madaket Head. Mrs. Hamersley sat in a 
 study until the fast-moving craft approached 
 Crossrips light-ship. Slowly pacing the deck of 
 the latter and looking at intervals toward the ap- 
 proaching boat, Mrs. Hamersley saw the tall 
 figure of a man reflecting in manner the nervous 
 expectancy of a traveller. Orrin in the launch 
 tender brought off the mail and the traveller 
 with it. Mrs. Hamersley, sitting under the rear 
 deck awning, recognized, to her surprise, John 
 Adrane. 
 
 She went forward to meet him at the side and 
 extended her hand. "Welcome, John." He looked 
 very care-worn, she saw. "Welcome," she re- 
 peated lazily. "But I'm afraid the bird you want 
 
 has flown " 
 
 353
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Adrane regarded her with anxiety. "Flown?" 
 he echoed. "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Amos is in New York." 
 
 "But Merrilie?" 
 
 "Merrilie? Why, she's with me, of course." 
 
 His face lightened. Mrs. Hamersley laughed at 
 the familiar, homely, amiable smile. She called 
 it John's silly smile, but it was touched now by 
 something deeper and sterner. "Then the bird 
 hasn't flown," he said with relief. The launch was 
 already headed for home. "It's Merrilie that I 
 want to see." 
 
 "What do you want to see Merrilie about?" de- 
 manded Mrs. Hamersley, maintaining her lazy 
 manner of inquiry. 
 
 "About my marriage," he answered recklessly. 
 
 She looked at him in astonishment. "Are you 
 going to get married, John?" 
 
 He countered with a question. "Shouldn't you 
 think me a promising subject?" 
 
 "I didn't so much as intimate on that score. 
 Answer my. question: Are you going to get mar- 
 ried?" 
 
 "I can't tell till I see Merrilie." 
 
 "What has Merrilie to do with it?" 
 
 "I want Merrilie's advice. How is she?" 
 
 "You know what has happened?" 
 
 "Has she lost everything?" 
 354
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Everything." 
 
 Adrane's jaw set. "Annie told me so last night," 
 he said sternly. "I couldn't believe it." 
 
 "It is true." 
 
 He shrank. "I would rather have lost my right 
 hand." 
 
 "We know it isn't your fault, John. But it's a 
 terrible tragedy just the same," continued Mrs. 
 Hamersley. "Merrilie had no more business 
 plunging in Steel than I had not a bit. Why 
 did she do it? So you are going to marry An- 
 nie?" 
 
 "No " 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley drew herself up. "John Ad- 
 rane, what do you mean?" she demanded feebly. 
 
 Adrane faced her surprise stoically. "Annie 
 broke our engagement last night." Mrs. Ham- 
 ersley stared. "She is greatly relieved, I am 
 sure." 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley drew a deep breath. "Well, 
 that is news." She shook her head slowly. "I 
 should hardly expect Annie to throw you over just 
 because you're in trouble. Her mother might. 
 But," she added reflectively, "you two never 
 were crazy about each other, as far as I could 
 see." 
 
 "How is Merrilie?" asked Adrane anxiously. 
 "How does she stand it, Mrs. Hamersley?" 
 
 355
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 ? "How should you expect Merrilie to stand it?" 
 returned Mrs. Hamersley reproachfully. "Pro- 
 fessing the coldest indifference, and in reality eat- 
 ing her heart out. Her home gone, everything in 
 it dispersed and disposed of, every dollar she could 
 rake and scrape gone to her creditors; her fiendish 
 old aunt crucifying her with threats, abuse, cal- 
 umnies, and humiliations such as only she is ca- 
 pable of inflicting; Mrs. Tilden practically ditto 
 through it all, and poor Tilden consistently and glo- 
 riously drunk and all of Merrilie's affairs in help- 
 less confusion. My Lord, what that child hasn't 
 been through! I told her yesterday just what she 
 must do. Merrilie must marry a rich man. She 
 can do it. She has good looks though, perhaps, 
 her face is a little thin." 
 
 "No," exclaimed Adrane hotly. "It isn't thin. 
 Merrilie Dawes is a beautiful woman." 
 
 "Well," Mrs. Hamersley, rapidly perceiving the 
 light, drew in a breath and exclaimed, "except 
 that, perhaps she is. She certainly is intelligent 
 and clever, and with the proper background of 
 means would make a good wife. She is no^fitted 
 for a poor man's wife and she knows it and said 
 so, this very morning." 
 
 Adrane drank the cup in silence. "She has 
 made a liberal provision for her miserable old 
 aunt," Mrs. Hamersley rambled on, "though her 
 
 356
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 father never would do it. And Edith she gave a 
 princely dot when she was married, besides the 
 palazzo on the Grand Canal and the Cadore estate 
 in the Dolomites. Poor Tilden is the one most 
 on Merrilie's conscience the child really doesn't 
 think about herself. I told Merrilie yesterday 
 that Amos would take care of Tilden. He can 
 make him president of one of his wild-west rail- 
 roads. Well, why not?" 
 
 Adrane shook his head mournfully. "You are 
 certainly a wonder, Mrs. Hamersley." 
 
 "Amos told me he has been trying to induce you 
 to take the job of looking after our galaxy of rail- 
 way presidents. Why don't you do it, John? 
 He said he offered you seventy-five thousand dol- 
 lars and a lot of passes. That's more than he gives 
 me for looking after him." 
 
 Adrane smiled helplessly. "I am so mixed up in 
 every way just now, I told him. I may be glad to, 
 when I can get straightened out. I know it is a 
 fine offer particularly to a beggar." 
 
 "Nothing of the sort," retorted Mrs. Hamersley 
 with resentment. "Merely a magnate in eclipse, 
 John; a billionaire in the making. Amos used to 
 be that way all the time. /> Once when he thought 
 we were rich we had a railroad out West. Amos 
 was president. The hard times came on and they 
 kept reducing him down toward the bottom until 
 
 357
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 he was only superintendent. Upon my word, if 
 I hadn't protested they would have had him 
 sweeping out the passenger coaches." 
 
 "What did you do?" 
 
 "I traded an old building of father's, down in 
 Wall Street, for another railroad. And pretty 
 soon we had both the railroads and the building 
 back again that's the way it goes. You mustn't 
 mind little things. So Annie threw you over," she 
 mused, regarding him critically. "Well you are 
 having your own troubles, aren't you?" 
 
 "My engagement was a trouble. It was a mis- 
 take from the beginning. When Annie broke it I 
 felt as if a millstone were off me." 
 
 "I should think as much from the way you talk 
 getting advice already about marrying some one 
 else. You men! Whom are you wanting to 
 marry now?" 
 
 Adrane made a hopeless gesture. It required 
 little to unnerve him, and Mrs. Hamersley's view 
 of Merrilie's needs had been enough. "No one, I 
 guess," he said, looking moodily toward Crossrips 
 as the familiar shoulders of Madaket Head out- 
 lined themselves. 
 
 "Oh, come: no nonsense with me. I'll tell you 
 what you ought to do, even if she is poor. You 
 ought to marry Merrilie." 
 
 He started forward, his hands grasping his 
 358
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 chair. " If she would even dream of marrying me, 
 I would swim to Madaket Head to ask her." 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley, quite undisturbed, looked to- 
 ward shore. "She was walking up near the light- 
 house when we left. Do you see anything on the 
 cliffs that looks white, John?" 
 
 Adrane with burning eyes scanned the barren 
 shore. But no girlish figure could he anywhere 
 discover and he turned from the search depressed. 
 In the final moments of his precipitous journey 
 from New York apprehension now seized him. 
 He questioned whether it was not presumptuous 
 in him to invade Merrilie's seclusion. Suppose 
 she, like others, should reproach him as the cause 
 of her misfortunes? It would be just: but how 
 could he face her reproaches, even if unspoken they 
 showed in her eyes. The anticipation of such a 
 scene benumbed his faculties. And this he was 
 gloomily picturing when the launch rounded Teal 
 Point and there, sitting on the pier bench in the 
 flooding sunshine, Adrane saw Merrilie. 
 
 359
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THERE were many things that Adrane might 
 at times make mistakes about, but never 
 at any time was he uncertain about recognizing 
 Merrilie at any distance. In his excitement he 
 stood at Mrs. Hamersley's side waving his hand 
 toward her with a confidence he did not alto- 
 gether feel. Nor did Merrilie commit herself 
 beyond responding pleasantly with her handker- 
 chief. But when he came nearer and she made 
 sure who was greeting her, her face lighted with 
 the welcome that always animated him when he 
 met her. 
 
 He handed Mrs. Hamersley up the landing- 
 stairs. He realized in the next instant he should 
 touch Merrilie's hand. 
 
 She was greatly surprised, even a little fluttered. 
 "Why, John Adrane!" she exclaimed, looking to 
 him for an explanation of his presence. 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley, who could fabricate with non- 
 chalance, volunteered that he had come up to see 
 Mr. Hamersley. And at this, two hearts took a 
 respite of courage for the dreaded encounter that 
 
 360
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 one knew was to come and the other instinctively 
 feared, from the eagerness of a slow man's eyes, 
 might come at any instant. 
 
 The greetings were hardly over before Mrs. 
 Hamersley resolved to put them without delay 
 to the test. She had forgotten in her excitement 
 to call at the village for a friend for luncheon 
 would Merrilie go with Adrane in the launch and 
 bring her across? Adrane was eager. Merrilie 
 said, "Of course, Mrs. Hamersley," but she al- 
 lowed herself to be handed down by Adrane, al- 
 most like one condemned. Something pricking 
 in her finger-tips told her of impending danger, 
 yet there was a deadly fascination in anticipating 
 it. At moments this fascination was so strong 
 that Merrilie grew reckless. The moment the 
 boat started she took a wicker chair under a 
 diminutive awning, but Adrane was already in 
 another chair as close as could be and appre- 
 hension was knocking at her expectant heart. 
 
 "Annie is home," Adrane began, almost the 
 instant they were seated. "I learned by the mer- 
 est accident last night through Oliver," he con- 
 tinued, "that she landed Thursday. I went to 
 see her at once. We had a perfectly friendly and 
 frank little talk. She broke the engagement." 
 
 "Broke it?" echoed Merrilie helplessly. 
 
 He repeated the exact words of his conference 
 361
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 with Annie. "And she told me, Merrilie," he went 
 on, "that you, through my own wretched failure, 
 had lost everything. Every blow that has fallen 
 seemed a blessing compared with that. I could 
 not eat nor sleep till I saw you. You know, 
 you must know, I admire, esteem, love you 
 above all other women. To think that through 
 me you have suffered these horrible losses it 
 kills me." 
 
 "John," she said firmly, "that is all wrong. 
 Look up." He looked at her. "As usual," 
 she continued composedly, "you are shouldering 
 everything that belongs to you and much that 
 doesn't. You are in no way responsible for my 
 foolish conduct. You distinctly begged me, when 
 you suspected I was buying Steel, to keep out of 
 it have you forgotten? The past is past. I 
 don't want to discuss it." She looked frankly 
 into his eyes. "I know you think kindly of me. 
 It is like you, John, to express your sympathy 
 warmly. I prize your friendship, believe me " 
 
 "But, Merrilie " 
 
 Merrilie shook her head. "And I hope I shall 
 always deserve it." 
 
 "But, Merrilie " 
 
 "John, Orrin is looking at us!" 
 
 "But, Merrilie, I love you." 
 
 "Please move your chair away, John," Merrilie 
 362
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 insisted, withdrawing her own from the range of 
 vision of the watchful mr -.e. 
 
 "I want to ask you," he persisted, moving his 
 chair feverishly after her, "if, in spite of all this 
 horrible mess, Merrilie, you would marry me?" 
 
 "Orrin, I think, is moving also," observed Mer- 
 rilie, giving her chair a vigorous hitch to starboard 
 which was followed by a like one from Adrane. 
 She drew her handkerchief. But she could not 
 drive the blood from her pink temples. "It is 
 the kindness of your heart that makes you speak," 
 was all she said. 
 
 "Merrilie!" exclaimed Adrane despairingly, 
 "it is my longing for you that makes me speak. 
 It isn't new. You must have known this a long 
 time haven't you? Look at me with your dear, 
 blue eyes. Tell me haven't you?" 
 
 "I thought you liked me, John. And I will be 
 honest: I prize your offer, believe me. But I will 
 never marry any man, rich or poor, to be a drag 
 on him. I can bring nothing to any one now. I 
 should be a useless ornament." 
 
 "You make everything work against me," he 
 remonstrated. "When you were wealthy, I loved 
 you and I was tied with Annie. I wanted to 
 break my engagement because I loved you. You 
 wouldn't let me. I didn't go to extremes because 
 I was afraid you would think me a fortune- 
 
 363
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 hunter. Now that I am poor, Annie frees me 
 something I couldn't have hoped for before. And 
 you have lost everything through me." 
 
 "No, not through you " 
 
 "And now," he persisted, cutting her off, "Mrs, 
 Hamersley tells me you must have a man of large 
 means for a husband! It is hopeless. I'd better 
 jump into the sea." 
 
 "But Mrs. Hamersley isn't choosing a husband 
 for me!" retorted Merrilie, raising her head with 
 surprising spirit. "I expect to choose my own, I 
 hope!" 
 
 "You say you are not fitted for a poor man's 
 wife " 
 
 "I said I didn't want to be a drag on a poor 
 man, John." 
 
 "It's the same thing." 
 
 "It isn't " 
 
 "You don't want to marry me." 
 
 Merrilie objected decidedly. "It's not the 
 same thing " ; 
 
 "Now you talk of my offering myself through 
 sympathy!" 
 
 "Well, John" Merrilie was demure "you 
 mustn't blame me for wanting to be sure it isn't 
 sympathy." 
 
 "Merrilie, I will work forever to make you 
 happy. Don't depreciate my devotion. I wanted 
 
 364
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 long ago to speak out. You never would let 
 me." 
 
 Orrin, seemingly possessed of a devil, came for- 
 ward to shift the awning where it would shade 
 the engrossed lovers in their new retreat. Merrilie 
 looked meaningly at Adrane as the faithful sea- 
 dog struggled behind them with the canvas. She 
 put such mischief, sympathy, encouragement into 
 that look! She laid her hand so unconsciously on 
 Adrane's hand, and with such instinctive dis- 
 trust in her eye for Orrin, that Adrane, though 
 wholly undismayed, was obliged to desist. 
 
 The two, after they had performed their errand 
 and brought over the guest, walked up from the 
 pier together. But Merrilie insisted on an ar- 
 mistice. At luncheon, both were visibly restless. 
 When Adrane asked Merrilie, the moment their 
 hostess rose from the table, if she would sail she 
 made only the lamest pretence of declining. And 
 as they afterward moved together leisurely across 
 the terrace toward the long flight of steps to the 
 pier, Mrs. Hamersley heard Merrilie laugh. It 
 was the laugh that comes to a woman when her 
 lover has spoken and she knows he will not long 
 be denied. Mrs. Hamersley only sighed. 
 
 Orrin was making the catboat ready when the 
 two reached the landing-stairs. It was impossible 
 to say that Merrilie was excited. She watched 
 
 365
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Orrin raise the boom and held tightly in her arm a 
 tiny camera as if its safety were her chief concern. 
 Every move the busy mate made, whether to 
 throw the cushions uselessly from side to side of 
 the pit or officiously to sound the well, seemed to 
 Merrilie intended from all time to prelude what 
 was coming before the sun should set again. It 
 was her day, Merrilie well knew, her hour out of all 
 eternity, to listen, to glow, to yield herself pledged. 
 She was going out this evening with the great tide, 
 free, and coming in with it toward the setting 
 sun, bound. And in it all she was only extremely 
 fastidious in every step and movement. Her voice 
 was modulated until its calculated indifference 
 would deceive no woman though it might be- 
 wilder many men. Her eyes like her ears were no 
 more than ordinarily alert. And she could speak 
 and answer without letting her eyes meet Ad- 
 rane's eyes long at a time. She was too much 
 occupied with the wind and waves and horizon 
 even to look Adrane's way as Orrin, on the pier, 
 cast off. 
 
 Adrane himself, stimulated by the situation, 
 fouled with his topping-lift the mast of Orrin's own 
 little catboat, and before he could clear, the big 
 boat slowly capsized the tiny one. Merrilie gave 
 no heed whatever to the accident; instead of a 
 suppressed scream from a timid girl there was an 
 
 366
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 unrestrained laugh. The small boat, ballasted, 
 slowly sank what was a catboat more or less at 
 the bottom of the sea in a moment that had cost 
 the budget of a navy to bring about? 
 
 From the pier, Orrin shouted to Adrane never 
 to mind but to go on, and Adrane, weighing the 
 responsibilities of the moment, did go on. Close- 
 hauled, he rounded the point and headed for the 
 open sea. The wind came from the north. Mer- 
 rilie took the wheel while Adrane, going forward, 
 shook out a reef. When he came back Merrilie 
 rose to give him his place. He held she had always 
 been the better sailor, whether in a catboat or out, 
 and sat down close beside her to watch her quick 
 eye glance at the telltale and come back to the sail 
 and rest upon the waves, marvelling how so slight 
 a creature could do this and respond to all his 
 questions as briskly as if she had nothing what- 
 ever on her mind. 
 
 It seemed to Adrane and Merrilie as if they had 
 really never talked together before. Now, at all 
 events, there were practically no reserves every- 
 thing was overhauled to be explained; and there 
 was so much that needed explaining, some of it 
 more than once. The hours went like the wind, 
 unheeded. Adrane had the wheel when Merrilie 
 told him it was time to come about for home. 
 
 " But suppose I refuse to come about, Merrilie?" 
 demanded Adrane. 
 
 367
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Suppose I should insist on going on and on 
 what should you do?" 
 
 She was sitting extremely close to the wheel her- 
 self. The setting sun was bright yet over the wide 
 waters. In the east the sails of a collier were out- 
 lined against the blue sky. "I am only a passen- 
 ger," returned Merrilie softly. "You are skip- 
 per. I should have no say whatever in the matter. 
 I shouldn't do anything. But, John, there is one 
 contingency in which I fancy I should like to go 
 on forever." He had already come into the wind 
 and they were waiting for the boom to swing. 
 
 "What contingency?" 
 
 "I suppose it's an absurdity. You'll laugh at 
 me, John." 
 
 "With you never at you, Merrilie." 
 
 "I have an appalling apprehension that Annie 
 might sue you for breach of promise." 
 
 Adrane laughed aloud but alone; Merrilie 
 looked serious. "It wouldn't be any joke, I can 
 tell you. I should die of humiliation." 
 
 "Annie never would dream of such a thing " 
 
 Merrilie doubted. "You don't know Annie. 
 She was horribly jealous of me " 
 
 "Annie jealous? Why, I can't believe it." 
 
 "Oh, can't you! Well, I can. You don't know 
 how she acted, I fancy. The day she came to me 
 at home, just after our escapade at Sea Ridge, she 
 
 368
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 pitched into me as if I had taken everything in 
 the world from her. I was afraid of my life even 
 to look at you." 
 
 "Merrilie?" demanded Adrane as they sat close 
 together. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Did you ever feel inclined to relieve her of any 
 of her burdens?" 
 
 "What a brazen question, John Adrane! No, of 
 course not." 
 
 Adrane looked disappointed. "I hoped you 
 might perhaps some time have felt, very faintly, 
 such an inclination." 
 
 "Upon my word!" 
 
 "I hoped you might have cared just a trifle for 
 me even then." 
 
 "Well." Merrilie drew a deep breath. She 
 lifted her eyebrows, pouted a little, slipped her 
 disengaged hand down to her belt. "I don't say 
 I disliked you. You didn't act as if you disliked 
 me. But" she looked with conscious innocence 
 at Adrane as she added, "that wasn't trying my 
 best to get you away from her, was it?" 
 
 Adrane laughed. "Certainly not." 
 
 "If I had just felt free to do exactly as I liked," 
 continued Merrilie pugnaciously. "I said to my- 
 self after she abused me so I'd just like to show 
 you my best with your great catch, pretty Annie! 
 
 369
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 That's what Mrs. Whitney was always drumming 
 in my ears, 'Annie's great catch,' meaning, of 
 course, I couldn't catch anybody. After I met 
 you oh, how can I say it, John? I, some way, 
 couldn't try to catch anybody that's the real 
 truth. You robbed me of my cunning. But I 
 gave Annie every chance to hold you didn't I? 
 She did hold you a good while, didn't she ? " Mer- 
 rilie looked judicially toward Madaket Head and 
 held her arching brows high. 
 
 "According to the nominal bond, perhaps." 
 
 "I never gave you the slightest encouragement, 
 did I?" 
 
 She looked at him solemnly. When he looked 
 back she could stand it only for an instant. They 
 burst into a laugh together. "No, now, really," 
 persisted Merrilie, "did I?" 
 
 "Not what you could really call encourage- 
 ment," answered Adrane. "I just kept getting 
 crazier about you all the time." He drew himself 
 up. 
 
 "But I couldn't help that, could I?" she de- 
 manded. 
 
 "No. And if you hadn't been such a divinity, 
 Merrilie so far above me, and so far away from 
 me I could have shaken myself free sooner." 
 
 "But I wouldn't have had you in that way, 
 John; I couldn't. Do you think I could have 
 
 370
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Annie pointing at me the rest of her life and say- 
 ing, thief? My gracious! And, for that matter,- 
 all girls enthroned behind generous fortunes seem 
 divinities, no doubt. Thank Heaven, all this is 
 behind me. I feel so free since I'm poor. I am 
 down where people can see all my faults and 
 blemishes and defects. And there won't be any 
 more nonsense about thrones and divinities." 
 
 His voice fell lower than she had ever heard it. 
 "Oh, Merrilie! How can I ever hope to be worthy 
 of you?" 
 
 She held up the forefinger of her right hand. 
 "Look at my burn, John," she murmured plain- 
 tively. He caught the hand in his own and kissed 
 it eagerly. "I did it making gingerbread for Mr. 
 Hamersley this morning," she struggled to say, 
 while looking perfectly unconcerned. "You don't 
 even ask whether it hurts," she complained, try- 
 ing to draw the injured finger away. 
 
 Adrane bent over her. She was startled at 
 what she had lighted in his eyes. She real- 
 ized only vaguely he had dropped the wheel, and 
 felt herself dreamily sinking deeper and deeper 
 into an embrace that almost took her senses but 
 only to give back to her all she had ever asked 
 of the fickle, weary world. For an instant she 
 ceased to struggle and his lips burned upon hers. 
 
 The boat lurched. A shower of spray swept
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 aft. His left hand was on the wheel again, she 
 knew. Neither spoke. Sitting within his arm, 
 Merrilie could feel his deep breathing as he rig- 
 idly held her and bent his eyes into the night 
 ahead. She had clutched, without realizing it, his 
 bony fingers at her side, and with her own eyes 
 straining into her new future she heard his low 
 and pleading words. When he begged her to an- 
 swer she realized how faint and relaxed she was. 
 "I don't want to be a drag on you, John," she 
 faltered. "I meant what I said, really. I like 
 you too much to stand in your way of newer and 
 greater successes truly, I do." 
 
 "You will be my dearest success, Merrilie, if I 
 can ever achieve you. If you want to encourage 
 me to every effort, say you will be my wife." 
 
 It seemed as if she could not speak. But she 
 knew John and his patience. He had caught her 
 right hand under his own at her waist and nothing 
 in the situation was really being lost. 
 
 "Merrilie?" he asked after a pause. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "I forgot to tell you how sorry I am you burned 
 your hand. Does it hurt very much ? " 
 
 Merrilie drew a deep breath: "I don't suppose 
 I ought to care now whether it hurts." 
 
 "Why not?" he demanded hoarsely. 
 
 "Because it isn't mine any more." 
 372
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 She felt herself again swept up in a dream. 
 Afterward, her head rested limply against his 
 shoulder. It was long before she woke from her 
 vision. She started, scrutinized the horizon across 
 the waste of twilight, and looked, sailor-like, at the 
 canvas: "We're past Madaket Head, John," she 
 said softly. 
 
 "Forever, I hope, Merrilie.'* 
 "The tide is with us to-night." 
 "It was against us a long, long while." 
 "Take the two towers for your range between 
 the rips. They will carry us straight home." 
 
 373
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 SOME time after the Christmas holidays Mrs. 
 Whitney, calling on Mrs. Hamersley, found 
 her at home. And experience in timing Mrs. 
 Whitney's visits as precursors of coming events 
 led Mrs. Hamersley to look for some interesting 
 announcement. 
 
 She was not disappointed: "You know, Kate, 
 how long Harry Drake and Annie have been good 
 friends," premised Mrs. Whitney, whose voice with 
 her slight deafness gained in clarity and strength. 
 "And it isn't the first time though this is a 
 secret, of course that Harry has sought the dear 
 girl's hand. If Mr. Adrane hadn't so completely 
 turned the child's head with his spectacular per- 
 formances I really think Harry would have won 
 her a year ago " 
 
 "You don't mean," drawled Mrs. Hamersley, 
 "when he was pursuing Merrilie so energetically?" 
 
 "My dear Kate! There was no pursuit what- 
 ever on Harry's part, of Merrilie: I happen to 
 know all about it. Harry was only trying to coun- 
 sel her wisely, to keep her from losing her fortune 
 through rash speculation their fathers were such 
 
 374
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 friends, you know. Every one thought so highly 
 of Mr. Dawes and it has seemed such a pity to 
 see his magnificent fortune swept away in reckless 
 ventures like John Adrane's. I feel as if it had 
 taught us all a great lesson his utter collapse. 
 And our own conservative young men, like Harry 
 Drake, brought up so close to us that we can't 
 appreciate them, shine now in their true light as 
 financiers in comparison with these irresponsible 
 outsiders who rush dramatically into our large 
 monetary circles and are received by every one 
 with open arms," declared Mrs. Whitney without 
 pausing for breath. "Don't think I am reproach- 
 ing Mr. Hamersley at all." 
 
 "He wouldn't mind it, dear." 
 
 "But I am not. We are all to blame, all of us. 
 And it has been a lesson. But Harry with his 
 conservatism is certainly a comfort. And this 
 time he simply wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. 
 They are not to be married until fall. Of course, 
 it is a relief to me as a mother to see dear Annie 
 settled before I die. And Harry is so kindly 
 you know him well 
 
 "Not so well as Amos does." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "Amos usually borrows the money for the fam- 
 ily, so he sees more of Harry than I do " 
 
 " Kate ! You must have your joke." 
 375
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "That, unfortunately, is no joke. But I have 
 always heard that Harry is kind-hearted and I 
 think he will make Annie perfectly happy." 
 
 "And where has Merrilie disappeared to? Some 
 one had an absurd story that she and John Adrane 
 were engaged?" 
 
 "They are engaged still." 
 
 "Can it truly be? / couldn't believe it. But 
 they are two such such " 
 
 "Rattlebrains," suggested Mrs. Hamersley. 
 
 Mrs. Whitney laughed deprecatingly: "They 
 are so high-strung." 
 
 "John is a regular jumping-jack," observed Mrs. 
 Hamersley dryly. 
 
 "I don't mean that: no one could accuse Mr. 
 Adrane of ever moving rapidly. And is Merrilie 
 still in Italy?" 
 
 "She and John are at Senigallia with Edith." 
 
 "Poor Merrilie." 
 
 "Edith says she and John are absurdly happy. 
 We took them over on the Divide, you remember, 
 just before Thanksgiving. John came back with 
 us and returned to Merrilie last month after he 
 finally won the receivership fight against Harry. 
 The wedding is to be in St. Mark's directly after 
 Easter. A regular festa and the church illumi- 
 nated in the evening; a real old-time Venetian 
 wedding." 
 
 376
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "For Americans!" 
 
 "But Edith is giving it, dear, and she is a 
 Mocenigo, you must remember. Why, the Hohen- 
 zollerns are on her visiting list. It's to be an 
 affair." 
 
 "I beg your pardon!" 
 
 "It's to be an affair " 
 
 " Really ! " exclaimed Mrs. Whitney defensively. 
 "Do you expect to go?" 
 
 "We shall go," declared Mrs. Hamersley firmly, 
 "if Amos has to sell a railroad. I do want to 
 meet a few people before I die : And the Venetians 
 are so dear." 
 
 "Isn't such a function rather burdensome on 
 poor Edith in view of their, eh, changed cir- 
 cumstances?" 
 
 Mrs. Hamersley showed surprise: "Why, the 
 function is really in honor of their changed cir- 
 cumstances. Haven't you heard?" 
 
 "I knew, of course, Merrilie had lost every cent 
 she had in the world." 
 
 "But, Belle, dear, she has it all back again 
 
 "Wearing black again?" 
 
 "Has her money all back again; in fact, she 
 never actually lost it. She was merely enormously 
 overloaded with Steel stock during the money 
 panic. Poor Merrilie, Belle, actually owns the 
 great Adrane steel properties." 
 
 377
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "But they are bankrupt, I thought!" 
 
 "Not at any time; not even embarrassed. Mr. 
 Adrane was not his companies. That is why 
 Mr. Drake's suit for a receiver failed even after 
 one had been appointed. They are not only 
 prosperous, but Amos says they are producing 
 steel so cheap the Steel Trust is moving heaven 
 and earth to get hold of them. It seems Mr. 
 Havens and some friends of his supposed, after 
 the panic, that they had control of the stock. 
 But, lo and behold, when they counted all the 
 shares Mr. Benjamin had control with the hold- 
 ings of Merrilie Dawes! Extraordinary, isn't it?" 
 
 "I can't understand it, Kate!" 
 
 "Neither can I. But I heard Amos tell David 
 Spruance that Merrilie will be far richer than ever 
 her father was. It is astonishing." 
 
 "Do you know," drawled Mrs. Hamersley, when 
 in Venice some weeks later she was talking with 
 Merrilie in Edith's apartments in the palazzo, "I 
 believe, from the way Belle talks since she has 
 found out you didn't really lose your money, she 
 thinks you have won John by some sleight of 
 hand." 
 
 "It was a very old-fashioned trick, Aunt Kate," 
 said Merrilie. "I won John because I cared more 
 for him than for anything else in all the world 
 
 378
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 and he found it out. That is all there is to that. 
 It is true, I came through safely, but there were 
 days and days when I thought every dollar I had 
 in the world had been swept away does she think 
 I suffered nothing then? 
 
 "I wasn't born to escape such things," she sighed 
 frankly. "I wish I could be a lovely, peaceful 
 creature like Annie; but I can't." Adrane walked 
 in while she was speaking. "John," she contin- 
 ued plaintively and standing before him, look- 
 ing trustingly into his eyes, Merrilie was plaintive 
 without effort "I am afraid you are marrying a 
 terrible creature do you mind if I storm once 
 in a while?" 
 
 "Storm any time you like. Mr. Henry Ben- 
 jamin, from New York by steamer and the last 
 Alpine tunnel, is down-stairs with Mr. Hamersley. 
 He is charged with important communications to 
 you from the Steel Trust supplementing what 
 Mr. Hamersley told you last night." 
 
 "Oh, what a nuisance communications are now, 
 John! But Mr. Benjamin was my best friend 
 when I was in trouble. I must see him. Come, 
 Aunt Kate." 
 
 They all went down together. Henry Benjamin 
 stated his mission openly, and told Merrilie with- 
 out reserve what he was authorized to offer her 
 for her Steel shares. 
 
 379
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Mr. Benjamin," objected Merrilie at once, 
 "did you get my bank stock all back?" 
 
 "I did get it all back, Miss Dawes," answered 
 Henry Benjamin. 
 
 "And you've gone on the board of direc- 
 tors?" 
 
 He bowed. "Through your courtesy." 
 
 "No, through your faithfulness. And you asked 
 Mr. Havens for his resignation?" 
 
 "Mr. Havens has resigned." 
 
 "I'm shocked," declared Mrs. Hamersley, turn- 
 ing to Merrilie. "I supposed you would charita- 
 bly overlook Mr.Havens's little purposeful schemes 
 and forgive him." 
 
 "Oh, I have forgiven him, Aunt Kate, of 
 course," returned Merrilie. "I wanted his resig- 
 nation only that he might be free to continue his 
 uplift work in other directions." 
 
 "The Steel Trust has taken over all the South- 
 ern plants, you know," continued Benjamin, un- 
 folding his subject to Merrilie. 
 
 Merrilie's eyes lighted sceptically. "Yes, but 
 they took them over for nothing. They don't 
 think they are going to take our property in that 
 way, do they?" 
 
 "I am authorized to offer you the market value, 
 as of to-day, for all of your stock and a bonus equal 
 to an appraised value of the properties." 
 
 380
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 Merrilie gasped. "Why, that's nothing at all!" 
 
 "It is more than twice what you paid for it," 
 urged Benjamin meekly. 
 
 "Yes, but I bought it from a friend at a bargain, 
 and I have to settle with him, don't you see?" 
 She glanced at Adrane. "Do you think I am 
 going to let these Pittsburghers have the proper- 
 ties for twice what I paid? Heavens, what assur- 
 ance. John, why don't you say something?" 
 
 "Merrilie, you know so much more than I do, it 
 isn't necessary. You're exactly right in holding 
 out. You have the last great deposit of iron in 
 the United States. Make them give you three 
 times, if you like. They must have it." 
 
 "You mean, give us, John." 
 
 "No, you. I am out of Steel. I am going into 
 buying railroads again and selling them to Mr. 
 Hamersley." 
 
 "John Adrane," protested Mrs. Hamersley, 
 "do you want to see me in the poorhouse,.or 
 writing beauty hints for women, at my age? 
 That's where you will land me if you keep Amos 
 buying railroads." 
 
 "I am authorized to pay you, for a control, prac- 
 tically your own price, Miss Merrilie," said Ben- 
 jamin. 
 
 "Then let the stock go, Merrilie," suggested 
 Adrane. 
 
 381
 
 Merrilie Dawes 
 
 "Right," interposed Amos ftamersley deci- 
 sively. "Let it go." 
 
 Merrilie raised her hand. "It is gone. John 
 and Mr. Hamersley will confer with you on a fig- 
 ure, Mr. Benjamin." 
 
 Henry Benjamin rose. "I must cable." 
 
 "But you will be with us to-morrow?" de- 
 manded Adrane. 
 
 "Nothing could keep me away." 
 
 "I've been trying for months," observed Ham- 
 ersley to Merrilie, "to induce John to join me in 
 railroads use your influence with him. And 
 instead of bleeding me as you have in the past, 
 John," he added, turning on Adrane, "take me as 
 a partner. Give me a part of your profits as 
 seller instead of gouging me as a buyer. Live 
 and let live. When do Venetians dine?" 
 
 In the evening Merrilie stole with Adrane out 
 on her terrace and they stood together in the 
 moonlight. "If I can only get the old home back 
 for you, Merrilie," he said, "I shall die relieved." 
 
 "No, not the old home. The old life is gone. 
 It is the new life for us, John. And a new home." 
 
 382
 
 BY FRANK H. SPEARMAN 
 
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