FREDERIC 
 ARNOLD 
 KUMMER
 
 "
 
 THE BRUTE
 
 OF CALIF. LIBRARY, LOS ATTCSKE
 
 "IT'S A LIE," HE GASPED HOARSELY, THEN SANK 
 BACK IN HORROR
 
 ~'J. A W 
 
 RUTE 
 
 FRED ERIC 
 /7\A RN O L D 
 KUMMER 
 
 Author 
 
 tHE GREEN GOD" 
 
 Illuslrationyjjx 
 FRANK SNAPP 
 
 K E W Y O 1^ K 
 
 W.J.VATT 6 COMPANY
 
 COPYBIGHT, 1912, BY 
 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 Published, April
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 2130677
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 EVERY evening, almost, Donald Rogers and 
 his wife Edith sat in a plain little living- 
 room in their apartment in Harlem, and worked until 
 ten or eleven o'clock. By that time they were both 
 ready to go to bed. It was not very exciting. Edith 
 darned stockings or sewed ; Donald toiled at his desk, 
 writing letters going over reports. Sometimes, 
 very rarely, they went to the theater. They had 
 done the same thing for nearly eight years, and to 
 Edith, at least, it seemed a very long time. 
 
 The room in which they sat reflected in its furnish- 
 ings much of the life these two led. It seemed to 
 suggest, in every line, an unceasing conflict between 
 poverty and ambition not, indeed, the poverty of 
 the really poor, of those in actual want, but the 
 poverty of the well born, of those whose desires are 
 forever infinitely beyond their means.
 
 8 THE BRUTE 
 
 This was evidenced by many curious contrasts. 
 The furniture, for instance, was for the most part of 
 that cheap and gloomy variety known as mission oak, 
 yet the designs were good, as though its purchasers 
 had striven toward some ideal which they had not 
 the means to realize. The rug on the floor, an imita- 
 tion oriental, was still of excellent coloring; the pic- 
 tures showed taste in their selection such taste, 
 indeed, as is possible under the limitations imposed 
 by a slender purse among them might have been 
 discovered a charming little water-color and some 
 reproductions of etchings by Whistler. 
 
 The curtains were imitation lace, the ornaments 
 on the mantel imitation bronze, the cushions in the 
 Morris chair imitation Spanish leather. The key- 
 note of the whole room was imitation everything in 
 it, almost, was the result of refinement and excellent 
 taste on the one hand, hampered by lack of money on 
 the other. The effect was somewhat that given by 
 twenty dollar sets of ermine furs, or ropes of pearls 
 at bargain-counter prices. Edith, caring more about 
 such matters than her husband, realized this note of 
 imitation keenly, but found it more satisfactory to 
 have even the shadow of what she really desired than
 
 THE BRUTE 9 
 
 to drop back to another level of existence, and con- 
 tent herself with ingrain carpets, shiny yellow furni- 
 ture, and the sort of pictures made of mother of 
 pearl, which are given away with tea-store coupons. 
 In her present environment, she chafed in the 
 other, she would have been suffocated. 
 
 On this particular night in March, they were at 
 home as usual. Donald had composed himself at his 
 desk, hunched over, his head resting upon his left 
 hand, staring at the papers before him. The only 
 sound in the room was the ticking of the trading- 
 stamp clock on the mantel, and the clanking of the 
 steam pipes. For a long time Donald stared, and 
 wrote nothing. Suddenly he turned to his wife. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Edith," he exclaimed im- 
 patiently, "what's the matter with those pipes?" 
 
 Edith glanced at him, but did not move. She came 
 back slowly from her land of dreams. 
 
 " The janitor has probably just turned on the 
 steam. It's been off for the past week on account 
 of the warm weather." 
 
 Donald rose, and went nervously over to the radi- 
 ator under the window. 
 
 " I can't write with this infernal noise going on,"
 
 10 THE BRUTE 
 
 he grumbled, as he turned to his desk. " Will it be 
 too cold for you? " 
 
 " Oh, no. I'm used to it." Mrs. Rogers' tone 
 was patient, resigned. 
 
 Donald resumed his writing, and sat for a few 
 moments in silence, but the tone of his wife's remark 
 had not been lost upon him. He turned toward her 
 presently, with an anxious look, searching her face 
 keenly. 
 
 " What's the matter, Edith ? " he inquired kindly. 
 "Don't you feel well?" 
 
 " Not particularly." Mrs. Rogers' voice was dis- 
 couraging. 
 
 " Anything wrong? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You haven't seemed yourself for the past week. 
 You don't seem to take any interest in things." 
 
 " What things ? " inquired Edith, with sudden as- 
 perity. She took a sufficient interest in the things 
 that seemed worth while to her, she well enough knew, 
 but they were not those which made up her present 
 surroundings. 
 
 Donald seemed hurt at her tone. He regarded her 
 with an injured expression.
 
 THE BRUTE 11 
 
 " Why," he ventured hesitatingly, " all the things 
 that make up our life our home.'* 
 
 The suggestion was not happy. It was, indeed, 
 those very things that Edith had been mentally re- 
 viewing in her inner consciousness throughout the 
 evening, and her conclusions had not been in their 
 favor. 
 
 " The steam pipes, I suppose," she returned scorn- 
 fully, " and the price of eggs, and whether we are 
 going to be able to pay our bills next month or 
 not." 
 
 " Don't be so unkind, Edith," said her husband, 
 with an expression of pain. Her remark had hurt 
 him, and, although she realized it, she somehow re- 
 fused to admit to herself that she regretted it. 
 
 " It's true, isn't it? " she asked. 
 
 " Surely you realize that I am doing the best I 
 can," he replied slowly. " I can't do any more." 
 
 " Well, suppose I do. Does that make it any 
 easier ? " 
 
 She felti angry and annoyed, first with Donald 
 because he seemed unable to realize how barren her 
 life with him was, and then with herself because she 
 had allowed herself to become involved in this useless
 
 12 THE BRUTE 
 
 discussion. Donald, she knew, would always be the 
 same. It was hopeless to expect him to change, or 
 to try, by argument, to make him do so. 
 
 " Are you angry because I couldn't afford to get 
 you that new hat for Easter? " he asked, as he began 
 to refill his pipe. 
 
 This falling back upon man's universal belief that 
 a woman's happiness or unhappiness depends solely 
 upon her clothes annoyed her still further. 
 
 " Don't talk like a fool, Donald," she exclaimed, 
 throwing down her sewing angrily. " I'm tired, 
 that's all. For eight years I've darned stockings, 
 collected trading stamps, done my own housework, 
 and tried to imagine that the hats I've trimmed my- 
 self looked as though they came straight from Paris. 
 When a woman has done that for eight years, she 
 has a right to be tired." 
 
 " But, Edith, it will not always be that way. You 
 know how I am working for the future." 
 
 Mrs. Rogers picked up her sewing and resumed her 
 air of patient resignation. " The future is a long 
 way off. When it comes, if it ever does, I shall 
 probably be so old that I won't care what sort of 
 hats I wear."
 
 THE BRUTE 13 
 
 " Haven't I had to endure it all, as well as you ? 
 Don't you suppose it hurts me not to be able to give 
 you everything you wish? " 
 
 " It's different with a man." She smiled a trifle 
 bitterly, as she spoke. "You have your business, 
 your friends, your ambitions. In ten years I shall 
 be an old woman; you will be just ready to enjoy 
 yourself." 
 
 Donald rose from the desk and began to walk about 
 the room nervously. He was too sincerely fond of 
 Edith to want to quarrel with her, and he knew, as 
 well as she did, the truth of what she had just said. 
 After all, he thought, perhaps the woman does have 
 the worst of the matrimonial bargain, in circum- 
 stances, at least, such as those with which he and 
 Edith were struggling. 
 
 " There's nothing I would care about enjoying, 
 Edith, without you. Surely you know that." 
 
 " I know. It's very good of you to feel that way. 
 It's lack of money, I suppose, after all, that makes 
 everything so hard." 
 
 " I can't do the impossible, Edith. You know 
 what my income is, and what I have been scraping 
 and saving for all these years."
 
 14r THE BRUTE 
 
 " To put every cent you had in the world into that 
 glass factory in West Virginia. I know very 
 well." It was clear, from the tone of Mrs. Rogers' 
 voice, that she felt little sympathy for this part of 
 her husband's plans, at any rate. 
 
 " Yes, I have. I know you have opposed it, but I 
 am convinced that it is a great proposition. In five 
 years, or possibly less, I expect to get big profits 
 from it. Isn't it worth waiting and saving 
 for? " 
 
 " I don't know whether it is or not." Mrs. Rogers' 
 tone was not encouraging. " Five years is a long 
 time. I'm not sure but I'd rather have a little bit 
 more human pleasure and enjoyment as I go along. 
 For years ever since Bobbie was born I've'had 
 to spend the summer here in this wretched, hot place. 
 It hasn't done me any good. It hasn't done him 
 any good. I'd rather you would put a little less into 
 the glass business and a little more into your wife's 
 and child's health and happiness." 
 
 Mr. Rogers stopped in his pacing up and down 
 the room. It was clear that his wife's remarks had 
 touched a sensitive spot. 
 
 " Edith," he exclaimed, " you cannot mean what
 
 THE BRUTE 15 
 
 you say. Everything I have done has been for you 
 and for him. Bobbie seems to me to be well enough. 
 Think of the hundreds of thousands of children that 
 have to spend the summer in the city. God knows 
 I'd give my life for him, or for you, too, if you needed 
 it ; it's what I am doing. I can't do any more." 
 
 " I know it," said Edith, with a sigh. " I suppose 
 I'm very unreasonable, but somehow my life has 
 seemed so empty, all these years." 
 
 " Haven't you everything you need? " 
 
 "Everything I need? Do you think three meals 
 a day and a place to sleep is everything a woman 
 needs? " 
 
 " Many women have less." 
 
 " And many have more. A woman's needs depend 
 upon her desires, her temperament. What may be a 
 necessity to one, another would have no use for. 
 Some women, down in Tenth Avenue, might think 
 this Paradise." She looked about the room scorn- 
 fully. " And a lot more, up in Fifth Avenue, would 
 think it well the other place. That's the dif- 
 ference." 
 
 Donald looked at her curiously, and noted her 
 flushed face, her heaving breast. These things evi-
 
 16 THE BRUTE 
 
 dently were very near her heart. " What are your 
 needs, Edith? " he asked kindly. 
 
 " How can you ask me such a question? " Edith 
 failed to appreciate his kind intention. She was 
 fairly launched upon her argument, and the tumult 
 of discontent which had been gathering in her breast 
 burst forth with bitter intensity. " Did you ever 
 suppose for a moment that I was a woman who could 
 be satisfied with the merest commonplaces of exist- 
 ence? Don't you see that I need life real, broad- 
 ening, joyous, human life, with all its hopes, its fears, 
 its longings, its successes, its failures? Do you think 
 I find those things here? " She swept the room with 
 an all-embracing gesture, and stood confronting 
 him with flushed cheeks, her eyes flashing rebel- 
 liously. 
 
 Her evidence of feeling both startled and hurt him. 
 He had supposed that all her years of patient wait- 
 ing had covered a mind serenely satisfied with the 
 present through a belief in the future. He looked 
 at her for a few moments in surprise. " I am very 
 sorry, Edith," he began haltingly. " I, too, feel the 
 need of those things, but I do not allow the lack of 
 them to spoil my life. I have borne my trials and
 
 THE BRUTE 17 
 
 done my duty as best I could, and I expect you to 
 do the same. If we have not money, and all the 
 pleasures and luxuries it brings, we at least have 
 health and our daily bread, and above all, our little 
 boy. We ought to be very thankful." 
 
 " Do you suppose for a moment that I do not ap- 
 preciate Bobbie? He is the only thing that keeps 
 me here.'* 
 
 The troubled look on Donald's face grew deeper 
 as he answered her, and with it came an expression 
 of alarm. He had never doubted Edith's love for 
 him, and her words were a great shock. 
 
 " The only thing that keeps you here ! " he cried. 
 " Is your love for me of no importance to you? " 
 
 Edith surveyed the plain, poorly furnished little 
 room with ill-concealed dislike. " This sort of 
 thing," she said bitterly, " doesn't offer much for 
 love to feed upon." 
 
 " Edith ! You surely do not realize what you are 
 saying. To hear you talk, anyone might suppose we 
 were on the point of going to the poorhouse." 
 
 " It couldn't be worse. I'm tired of it, and I can't 
 help saying so. I suppose you will think me very 
 ungrateful, but I can't help it. We never have any
 
 18 THE BRUTE 
 
 pleasures, any happiness, any real enjoyment. It's 
 nothing but mere existence." 
 
 " I don't agreel with you. I am not doing so 
 badly. We are both of us young. In a few years 
 I hope to be comparatively well off, and then things 
 will be very different. I am working and striving 
 for you every hour of the day. Do you think I would 
 do it, if I did not feel that you love me that you 
 believed in me ? " 
 
 He went over to her, and took her hand in his. 
 " What has upset you so, to-night, dear ? Is there 
 anything you particularly want anything that I 
 could do for you ? Tell me if there is, you know 
 I will do everything in my power to gratify you." 
 
 " No nothing that you could do." She seemed 
 unconscious of the pain she was giving him. 1 
 
 " I thought perhaps it was about this summer. 
 You told me that your mother and sister were anxious 
 to take a cottage at the seashore, and that they 
 wanted you to go with them is that it? " 
 
 " No," she replied. " It isn't important. You 
 said you couldn't afford it." 
 
 Donald left her abruptly and, walking over to the 
 desk, began to fumble nervously with the papers on
 
 THE BRUTE 19 
 
 it. It hurt him to the depths of his nature to be 
 obliged to refuse Edith this request; indeed, what 
 she had asked he had already himself thought of, and 
 been forced to conclude that, much as he wanted to 
 give her and Bobbie this pleasure, he could not do 
 it. He turned to her with a nervous twitching of 
 the mouth, which had of late become characteristic. 
 
 " Every year, Edith," he said, " we have this dis- 
 cussion. Your mother and sister have no responsi- 
 bilities. They can give up their rooms at the board- 
 ing house and go to the country without adding a 
 dollar to their expenses. You cannot do that. It 
 will cost a hundred dollars a month, at least, for 
 your expenses and Bobbie's, to say nothing of the 
 extra expense of my taking my meals at restaurants. 
 I can't afford it this year, Edith. I wish I could, 
 but I can't." 
 
 " Why can't you ? " Her tone was aggrieved 
 almost defiant. " Is business so bad? I thought 
 things had been so much better this month." 
 
 " It's the glass plant, Edith. We are having a lot 
 of trouble. It takes every cent I can scrape to- 
 gether to meet expenses. We are a new concern. 
 Our goods are not known. Competition is severe.
 
 20 THE BRUTE 
 
 We are trying to build up a new business. I can't 
 weaken on it now. Surely you can stand one more 
 summer in the city if I can. Perhaps, next 
 year " 
 
 " Next year ! " she cried. " It's always next year. 
 It's been that way now for eight years, and about 
 the only outing I've had has been a trip to Coney 
 Island on the boat. I'm sick of it. It's drudgery. 
 A hired girl has more freedom that I have and 
 more money, too, for that matter." 
 
 " Edith ! " 
 
 " Oh, I know what you are going to say. I made 
 my bed, and I ought to be willing to lie in it. I knew 
 you were a poor man when I married you. Well, 
 suppose I did. I didn't mind poverty then the 
 enthusiasm of youth made it all seem a pleasure, like 
 camping out, and living on canned beans and corn 
 bread. It's fine, for a time, but after a while, when 
 the novelty has worn off, you get sort of tired of it. 
 There comes a time in every married woman's life 
 when she sits down and looks at things from both 
 sides, and wonders whether, after all, it's really 
 worth while." 
 
 " I don't see why you should complain, if I don't,"
 
 THE BRUTE 21 
 
 said Donald wearily. " I'm sorry we haven't more 
 money, on your account and on my own, as well. 
 There are many things I should like to do." 
 
 " Oh, you're a man." Edith flung herself across 
 the room and began turning over the sheets of music 
 upon the piano. " If you have a couple of new suits 
 of clothes a year and can smoke the kind of cigars you 
 like, you don't bother your head if some other man 
 has a dozen suits and keeps a valet. It's different 
 with a woman. Home-made dresses, dollar corsets, 
 riding in surface cars, seem mighty hard, when you 
 see other women in their autos, their Russian sables, 
 their Paris gowns women who spend more money 
 on their dogs every month than I have to spend on 
 Bobbie. It's a thousand times harder for a woman 
 to be poor than it is for a man. Most men don't 
 know it, but that doesn't alter the fact it's true, 
 just the same." 
 
 She suddenly sat down at the piano, and after 
 striking a few discords, began to play the " Jewel 
 Song " from " Faust " in a rapid tempo. 
 
 Donald followed her with his eyes. " It seems to 
 me," he said gravely, " that when a man wants to do 
 so much for his wife and realizes that he can't it's
 
 22 THE BRUTE 
 
 the hardest of all much harder than doing without 
 things yourself." 
 
 Edith did not speak for several moments. 
 
 " I don't wonder Marguerite was tempted by the 
 jewels, and all that," she remarked, presently, then 
 concluded her playing with a series of crashing 
 chords, and rose from her seat with a harsh laugh. 
 
 " Edith, I wish you wouldn't say such things." 
 
 " Why shouldn't I? Perhaps they are true. How 
 do you know that I am not being tempted, too? I 
 suppose, if the devil were to come along and offer me 
 a million or two, I'd run away with him without 
 stopping to pack my trunk." She resumed her chair, 
 and picked up her sewing again. " Go on with your 
 writing, Donald. I'm sorry this discussion came up. 
 It hasn't done a bit of good. I suppose you think 
 me heartless and unkind. I can't help it. I'm not 
 the first woman who has found married life a harder 
 road than she had anticipated." 
 
 She bent over her sewing with a sense of anger and 
 annoyance with herself for having entered into such 
 a purposeless discussion. Donald sat down at his 
 desk and again took up his work. Only the ticking 
 of the clock and the scratching of his pen broke the
 
 THE BRUTE 23 
 
 heavy silence. Life had once more resumed its mo- 
 notonous procession. 
 
 After a long time, Edith put away her sewing, and 
 retired to her bedroom. What sort of a life was this, 
 she thought to herself, where one was forced to go 
 to bed at ten o'clock because there was nothing fur- 
 ther to keep one awake? She got into bed and read 
 a magazine for an hour. Then she fell asleep. 
 Donald was still writing.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 WHEN Donald Rogers left his apartment in 
 One Hundred and Tenth Street the next 
 morning, he had an unaccountable feeling that some- 
 thing out of the ordinary, something of a nature un- 
 foreseen and menacing, would occur to him before the 
 day was over. Being of a somewhat matter-of-fact 
 turn of mind, however, he laughed at his fears, and 
 attributed them to a slight attack of the great 
 American disease, brought on by over-much smoking. 
 Perhaps, had he been a Frenchman, and a magpie or 
 a hare had suddenly crossed his path, he might have 
 been tempted to take off his hat to the one, or to bow 
 politely to the other ; as it was, he put forebodings 
 out of his mind, as unworthy a practical man of af- 
 fairs. The uncomfortable feeling persisted, however, 
 in spite of his optimistic efforts to escape from it 
 in the depths of his morning paper, all during the 
 long ride down-town in the subway, and was forgot- 
 ten only in the complexities of his morning's mail. 
 
 24
 
 THE BRUTE 25 
 
 The unfortunate discussion with his wife, Edith, 
 the night before, which was the real cause of his de- 
 pression, he had religiously put out of his mind, at- 
 tributing her discontent to some purely temporary 
 irritability which would soon be forgotten. 
 
 They had neither of them referred to the matter 
 at breakfast ; Donald had been in his usual hurry, 
 Edith occupied with Bobbie, who had a habit of 
 awakening somewhat querulous and difficult to please. 
 Her manner had been serene, if a trifle distant and 
 reserved. Donald felt that already the storm had 
 passed, and dismissed the matter from his mind. 
 
 He spent the forenoon busily occupied in his 
 office. It was not much of an office, as such things 
 go in New York, being merely a small private room 
 with a larger and lighter one adjoining it, but it 
 sufficed for all the needs of his business, which was 
 that of a consulting mechanical engineer. 
 
 The inner room, which was the smaller of the two, 
 served to receive his clients, of which there were not 
 many ; the outer contained the draughting tables and 
 his assistant. Yet, small and plain as these rooms 
 were, they reflected to a surprising extent the char- 
 acter of the man. There were no attempts at deco-
 
 26 THE BRUTE 
 
 ration; no concessions to any sense of the artistic; 
 everything was plain, solid, durable, honest, like the 
 man himself. Only the photographs of Edith, his 
 wife, and Bobbie, his little boy, in a silver frame upon 
 the flat-topped oak desk, bespoke the sentiment which 
 was so deep and vital a part of Donald Rogers' na- 
 ture. 
 
 Existence had not dealt over kindly with this 
 descendant of the dour land of Wallace and Bruce, 
 but he met it with high courage, and head up, as 
 befitted one of his race. Born in a small town along 
 the upper reaches of the Hudson, he had known the 
 love of a father only long enough to clutch his fingers 
 in the first futile efforts to face the world upon 
 two feet, instead of on all fours ; the mother, however, 
 had survived longer, and it was to her that Donald 
 owed the sturdy lessons in the eternal Tightness of 
 things that underlay and governed all his actions. 
 
 He was sixteen when she was laid beside her long- 
 expectant husband, and Donald, her only child, went 
 out into the world with a very small patrimony and 
 a very great grief. Yet this sweet-faced woman, 
 locked in her long leaden sleep, was not dead; her 
 faith, her courage, her high ideals, lived and breathed
 
 THE BRUTE 27 
 
 in her son, and no act of his life but showed in some 
 way, however slight, their purifying effect. 
 
 Donald Rogers' father had been a steam engineer 
 without a college education ; his son determined to fol- 
 low in his footsteps with one, and, with this purpose 
 strong within him, gathered together the small store 
 of worldly goods with which the fates had endowed him 
 and went to New York and the engineering course 
 at Columbia. It took him five years to complete the 
 course, partly because his early education had been 
 somewhat incomplete, partly owing to the necessity 
 under which he labored, of earning sufficient money, 
 as he went along, to piece out the fragments of his 
 small inheritance and maintain himself. This he did 
 by doing draughting work at night; it was hard on 
 the eyes, but the experience helped him in his pro- 
 fession. At twenty-two he was graduated with 
 honors ; these, with his diploma, constituted his stock 
 in trade; his weapons with which to win fame and 
 fortune. 
 
 Five years of employment in subordinate positions 
 had not only given him practical experience, but had 
 taught him the futility of expecting the aforemen- 
 tioned fame and fortune while working on a salary ;
 
 28 THE BRUTE 
 
 his courage, his savings and some staunch business 
 friends all favored the idea of launching out for him- 
 self. The results had been encouraging; he now, 
 after eight years, had a substantial, if small, prac- 
 tice, and an unshaken belief in himself and his future. 
 
 It was about the time he first opened his office as 
 consulting engineer that he had met Edith Pope, and 
 they were married within a year. She was a girl 
 of unusual beauty, and through both inheritance and 
 training quite his opposite. Perhaps it was because 
 of this that she had attracted him. 
 
 Her father had been a real-estate dealer, and 
 through his ability and industry had made during 
 his somewhat short business career a large income. 
 His wife, on the other hand, had shown such ability 
 and industry in spending it that, when he died, which 
 he did about the time that Edith was just entering 
 her 'teens, he left only enough to provide a meager 
 living for herself, her mother and her sister Alice, 
 two years her junior. Mrs. Pope had never been able 
 to accustom herself to the blow; she lived in a con- 
 stant atmosphere of past glories and was never tired 
 of recounting to her daughters all the comforts she 
 had enjoyed when her " dear J. B.," as she mourn-
 
 THE BRUTE 29 
 
 fully designated her deceased better half, was alive. 
 Never a day passed, but Edith and her sister were 
 warned against the evils and dangers of marrying a 
 man without money; to some extent it might have 
 appeared that Mrs. Pope hoped to regain, through 
 the matrimonial successes of her daughters, those 
 luxuries of existence which she fondly believed were, 
 to her, absolute necessities. 
 
 Whether or not her children paid any serious at- 
 tention to her advice it would be difficult to say ; per- 
 haps the best answer to the question lay in the fact 
 that, when Edith met Donald in the boarding-house 
 on Tenth Street, which was for the time being their 
 mutual home, she straightway fell head over heels in 
 love with him, and married him before the year was 
 out, in spite of her mother's strenuous objections. 
 That was eight years ago, and, if Edith Rogers was 
 not entirely reconciled to living in a Harlem flat 
 and doing her own housework, she at least found a 
 large measure of compensation in her little boy, Bob- 
 bie, who was now six, and a darling, as even his 
 grandmother was forced grudgingly to admit. Her 
 assent was grudging because Mrs. Pope had never 
 forgiven her son-in-law for depriving her of her
 
 80 THE BRUTE 
 
 daughter ; one matrimonial asset thus rudely snatched 
 away forced her to concentrate all her hopes upon 
 Alice, and that young lady, at the age of rising 
 twenty-six, had begun to show signs of extreme 
 restiveness, possibly due to an inward conviction that 
 even a Harlem flat and a four-by-six kitchenette pos- 
 sesses some advantages not to be found in boarding- 
 houses of the less-expensive variety, and that a real 
 live man with a living income is better than an old 
 maid's dreams of a possible, but hitherto undisclosed, 
 millionaire. Emerson Hall, a friend of Donald's, 
 whom she had met a few months before, assisted her 
 greatly in arriving at these not unusual conclusions. 
 
 It was long after one o'clock when Donald Rogers, 
 absorbed in a problem of power transmission, be- 
 thought himself of luncheon. One was his usual 
 hour ; he dropped his calculations, seized his hat, and 
 and in a moment was threading his way through the 
 never ending throngs of lower Broadway, on his way 
 to a little chop house in John Street, long famous for 
 its English mutton chops and cream ale. 
 
 As he came abreast of the Singer Building, he felt 
 someone grasp his arm from behind and heard a 
 cheery voice, with a familiar ring about it, calling to
 
 THE BRUTE 31 
 
 him. He turned and looked into the handsome, 
 smiling face of a tall bronzed man, whose costume 
 indicated clearly that he hailed from the West. 
 
 " Billy West ! " he exclaimed, gripping the new- 
 comer's hand joyfully. "Where on earth did you 
 drop from? I thought you were in Colorado." 
 
 " I was, until four days ago. Thought I'd come 
 East for awhile and look the old town over. How's 
 everything? " His glance was full of smiling in- 
 quiry. " Making lots of money? " 
 
 " Not so much that I have to sit up nights thinking 
 how to spend it," replied Rogers, a trifle bitterly. 
 " Had your lunch? " 
 
 " No. Didn't want to eat alone. I've been away 
 so long I hardly know a soul in this blessed burg." 
 
 Rogers took his arm. " Come along with me," he 
 said. " I'm just on my way." 
 
 West nodded. " Got to see my lawyers some time 
 to-day, but later will do just as well." In five 
 minutes they were seated in the chop house, order- 
 ing luncheon. 
 
 " How are you getting along out there among the 
 miners? " laughed Donald, as he dismissed the waiter 
 with their order. " Hope you like it better than
 
 32 THE BRUTE 
 
 doing laboratory work down in Jersey. Ought to be 
 wonderful opportunities for a man, out there." He 
 paused for a moment, thoughtful. " You know I 
 always used to say, when we were in college, that I 
 meant to go West some day. I've never got there, 
 though. New York has become a habit, I'm afraid. 
 Can't seem to break away from it." 
 
 West looked at his friend with a faintly quizzical 
 smile, and hesitated for a moment, as though he al- 
 most feared to tell the other what had come into his 
 mind. Then he leaned across the table, and his face 
 suddenly became grave. " Don," he saic^ earnestly, 
 " the luck I've had out there has been so wonderful, 
 so almost unbelievable, that, even though it happened 
 nearly two years ago, I still can hardly realize that 
 it's true." 
 
 " Strike a gold mine ? " inquired Rogers, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " That's exactly what I did do, and believe me, 
 Don, it's some mine. We capitalized it last year at 
 a million, of which yours truly owns half, and it paid 
 over five per cent, from the start. I haven't got used 
 to figuring up my income yet^ but just at present I 
 think it's running pretty close to thirty thousand a
 
 THE BRUTE 33 
 
 year, and more corning." He leaned back in his 
 chair with a satisfied smile. " I'm vice-president of 
 the concern. The Lone Star mine, it's called, up on 
 the Little Ash river; but I haven't anything much 
 to do with the management leave all that to the 
 Boston crowd that put in the money. They're a fine, 
 conservative lot of fellows, with plenty of experience, 
 and I know my interests are perfectly safe in their 
 hands. So you see, I'm a sort of a gentleman of leis- 
 ure just at present, with plenty of money to spend, 
 and nobody in particular to spend it on, so I thought 
 I'd take a run down to little old New York and put 
 in a year or so getting acquainted with some of my 
 old friends. I was on my way to my lawyers, as I 
 said, when I met you, and, after attending to a little 
 matter of business, I was coming right up to your 
 office to see you. I looked up your address in the 
 telephone book." 
 
 Donald, who by this time had succeeded in digest- 
 ing this remarkable piece of news, reached across the 
 table and took his friend's hand. " Billy," he said, 
 with a look which left no doubt as to the sincerity of 
 his feelings, " congratulations from the bottom of my 
 heart."
 
 34 THE BRUTE 
 
 " Thanks, old man. I knew you would be glad to 
 know about my good luck." He attacked the chop, 
 which the waiter set before him with a flourish. 
 " And now tell me about yourself. How's your wife, 
 and the boy it was a boy, wasn't it ? The happy 
 event occurred just before I went West, and I'm not 
 exactly sure." He flashed on Rogers one of those 
 brilliant smiles which had always made him loved by 
 both sexes, and particularly the one in petticoats. 
 
 " Edith is very well, and the boy is fine. I don't 
 wonder you did not remember. They will be de- 
 lighted to see you. Why not come up to dinner to- 
 night. We can't offer you a feast, but you won't 
 mind taking pot luck." 
 
 " Well, I should say not. I was hoping you would 
 ask me. You can't imagine how lost I feel in this 
 town. I suppose it would be different if I had any 
 family, but you know I haven't even a second cousin 
 I can call my own. I've often thought of you and 
 Edith. You know that she might have been Mrs. 
 West, once, years ago, if you hadn't stepped in and 
 taken her away from me. I'd have been jealous of 
 anyone but you, Don, but I guess the best man won." 
 He laughed with a hearty frankness, and took up his
 
 THE BRUTE 35 
 
 mug of ale. " Here's to the youngster. May he 
 live long and prosper." 
 
 Donald drained his glass. " I suppose you will 
 be busy for a couple of hours," he said, " with your 
 legal matters. Why not come up to my office when 
 you get through I'm in the Columbia Building, 
 you know and we'll go up town together ? " 
 
 " I'll do it. We can stop at my hotel on the way, 
 and give me a chance to clean up a bit. I only got 
 in this morning on the sleeper, you know, and I feel 
 a bit grubby." 
 
 Some half-hour later they were making their way 
 slowly toward Broadway. " What a great town it 
 is, after all ! " remarked West, as they turned the 
 corner at John Street. " Every time a fellow goes 
 away for a few years they seem to build it all over 
 again before he gets back." He turned to look at 
 the towering mass of the Singer Building. " That's 
 a new one on me. Wouldn't it make some of my 
 friends back in Colorado have cricks in their backs ? " 
 
 " It is a wonderful city," replied Rogers grimly. 
 " I don't think I should ever care about living any- 
 where else, but the man who wins out in it has got to 
 deliver the goods. Big as it is, there is no room in
 
 36 THE BRUTE 
 
 it for failures." He waved his hand to West as the 
 latter turned into Wall Street. " Sec you around 
 four-thirty. So long." 
 
 " I'll be there. Wait for me if I'm a little late," 
 was the reply, as the two separated. 
 
 Donald went back to his plain little office and his 
 power-transmission problem with a curious feeling 
 of futility. Thirteen years of hard work had given 
 him but little more than the right to fight that never 
 ceasing battle with the grim city which could excuse 
 anything but failure. West pleasure-loving Billy 
 West who from his freshman days had looked upon 
 the world as little more than an amazing joke, had 
 by one stroke of fortune suddenly found all the 
 pleasures, all the luxuries that life contained, at his 
 feet. He did not envy West this good fortune, he 
 was too staunch a friend for that, but he thought of 
 Edith, and their little up-town flat, and as her tired 
 face rose before him he suffered the pangs of that 
 greatest of all forms of poverty, the inability to do 
 for those we love.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 DURING the year that preceded her mar- 
 riage to Donald Rogers, Edith had seen a 
 great deal of Billy West, and had liked him more 
 than anyone except herself had realized. His was 
 a personality, indeed, to compel the admiration of 
 women. Tall, good-looking, of a reckless and laugh- 
 ter-loving type, he naturally appealed to that pe- 
 culiar chord in the feminine make-up which responds 
 so readily to the Cavalier in the opposite sex, while 
 paying scant attention to the sturdy adherence to 
 duty characteristic of his Roundhead adversary. 
 For this reason, it is probable that, at one period of 
 Donald's courtship, she would have listened more 
 kindly to the love-making of his friend, had the lat- 
 ter, indeed, seen fit to make any. That he did not 
 was due to no Quixotic sense of friendship for 
 Donald, but to a very real and honest belief on his 
 part that marriage on the slender pay of an assistant 
 
 chemist was not for one of his type, an opinion in 
 
 37
 
 38 THE BRUTE 
 
 which he was entirely correct. Therefore he had 
 hidden his love, which was in truth a real and lasting 
 one, beneath his careless Jaughter, and had gone to 
 Colorado when the occasion offered, neither heart 
 whole nor fancy free, but just as determined to make 
 much money with the utrnost quickness as though 
 he and Edith Pope had never laid eyes upon each 
 other. After all, he and Edith were very much 
 alike. They belonged to that class which demands 
 of life its luxuries almost before its necessities, and 
 it is a curious fact that they nearly always get them. 
 After eight years of married life, Edith Rogers, 
 busy with her child, her household cares and the 
 various complexities of domesticity, had forgotten 
 her husband's friend as completely as though he had 
 never come into her life at all. He, on the contrary, 
 had thought of her continually, for his life in the 
 West had been too keenly devoted to business to leave 
 either time or opportunity for dalliance with the 
 opposite sex. Hence the memory of his first and 
 last love had not been effaced by the passage of 
 time, but remained in his heart as a sweet and pleas- 
 ing memory, gathering increased strength from the 
 years as they rolled swiftly by. It should not be
 
 THE BRUTE 39 
 
 inferred from this, however, that William West had 
 the slightest thought of ever renewing his courtship 
 of Edith, now that she had become Donald Rogers' 
 wife. His love for her was like a pleasant recollec- 
 tion, a package of old letters, a book read and 
 closed forever. For all that, he was conscious of 
 a queer feeling in the region of his heart as he fol- 
 lowed Donald into the tiny living-room of the Rogers' 
 apartment in Harlem. 
 
 Mrs. Rogers had not been apprised of her hus- 
 band's intention to bring a guest home for dinner, 
 least of all so unexpected a one as Billy West. The 
 reason for this was that the Rogers' apartment 
 boasted no telephone. The servant problem they 
 had solved by the simple expedient of not keeping 
 any. Hence it was that West's first glimpse of the 
 Edith of his dreams was of a tired little woman, 
 flushed from her efforts over the gas range, and in 
 no sweet temper with her husband for having taken 
 her unawares and at such a! disadvantage. It is 
 a fact worthy of record, however, that West found 
 her, in this homely garb, more humanly delightful 
 and attractive than would have been the case had she 
 spent hours of preparation at her toilette table. He
 
 40 THE BRUTE 
 
 had been living for five years among men who found 
 women more attractive as helpmates than as orna- 
 ments, and she appealed to him accordingly. As 
 for Donald, no thought crossed his mind that these 
 two were, or ever had been, anything more to each 
 other than the best of friends. 
 
 " Billy ! " Mrs. Rogers had gasped as she came 
 into the room to greet her husband on his arrival, 
 and had thus, by using the old familiar title, estab- 
 lished a footing between them that somehow refused 
 to return to the more formal one of " Mrs. Rogers " 
 and " Mr. West." After all it was of no great im- 
 portance Billy and Edith they had always been 
 to each other, and Billy and Edith they remained. 
 Donald, if he noticed it at all, was glad of the fact 
 that his wife and his old friend liked each other so 
 well. The meeting became a little reunion, in the 
 pleasure of which Mrs. Rogers soon forgot her plain, 
 cheap house-gown and her flushed face, and entered 
 into the spirit of the occasion with an unwonted 
 gayety. She was a beautiful woman, in spite of her 
 twenty-eight years; perhaps it would be more cor^ 
 rect to say because of them, for while at twenty she 
 had been exceedingly pretty, it was little more than
 
 THE BRUTE 41 
 
 a youthful promise of what she had now become. 
 
 Her grandmother had been a Southern woman, 
 and a noted beauty in those much talked of days " be- 
 fore the war," and whether this lady's beauty had, 
 as time passed, taken on added glory, like most 
 other things of that hallowed period, certain it is 
 that Edith Rogers had received from some source 
 a priceless inheritance as far as the perfection of 
 her figure or the beauty of her coloring was con- 
 cerned. Perhaps it was some forgotten strain of 
 Irish blood that was responsible for her deep violet 
 eyes and her dark chestnut hair, although her dusky 
 complexion belied it. 
 
 West observed the change which the years had 
 made in her, at once, and complimented her on it. 
 " I have never seen you look so well," he said, as he 
 grasped her hand. " You were a rosebud when I 
 went away, now you are an American beauty." It 
 pleased her mightily, for she felt that he meant it, 
 and, like most married women, she heard few com- 
 pliments from her husband. Mrs. Pope, her mother, 
 never lost an opportunity to tell her that with her 
 looks she could have married any man she pleased, 
 but she paid no attention to remarks of this nature,
 
 42 THE BRUTE 
 
 knowing as she did that her mother was only trying 
 to hit, indirectly, at Donald, whom she affected not 
 to like. 
 
 She knew from West's voice that he was very glad 
 to see her, and after all these years, when he grasped 
 her hand, and pressed it in his strong, firm grip, 
 she felt the old familiar shock, the sensation of glad- 
 ness for she knew not what, that almost took her 
 breath away. It had always been that way with 
 him. He was very different from Donald in many 
 ways, for, while Donald was serious and earnest and 
 very conscientious, West was always merry and gay 
 and careless, never seeming to worry about money, 
 although his income, at the time of her marriage, had 
 been smaller even than Donald's. 
 
 There was something about him that always at- 
 tracted women. She felt this whenever she was with 
 him, yet it did not come from any appreciation 
 of his character, or his mind, for she knew very lit- 
 tle about either. There was some sort of psychic 
 magnetism about the man, some vibrating sense of 
 physical vitality, which she felt whenever she was 
 near him. His mere presence made her strangely 
 silent and in a way afraid, yet, whatever it was
 
 THE BRUTE 4$ 
 
 that she feared, it at the same time attracted 
 her, and made her sorry when it had passed. She 
 had never felt that way with Donald, although al- 
 ways she had liked to be with him, for somehow she 
 felt more comfortable and sure, and could talk things 
 over better, and plan out the future. She had not 
 thought much about the future when she was with 
 West there did not seem to be any need for a 
 future the present had been all she had desired, 
 but that she had desired very much. All this had 
 passed, years ago, but still it came back to her, in a 
 measure, when she thus first met him again. 
 
 He looked at her, in that curiously intimate way 
 he had, and even his smile made her happy. She felt 
 his glance sweep over her face, her whole body, and 
 almost embrace her in its pleasant radiance it 
 thrilled her, yet she almost resented the way in which 
 it left her helpless and confused. In a moment he 
 had looked beyond her, at Donald, and was making 
 some laughing inquiry about their boy and then 
 she felt sorry and wanted him to look at her again. 
 
 Mrs. Pope had taught her daughters many things, 
 but cooking was not one of them. Edith had been 
 forced, like many another married woman, to learn
 
 44 THE BRUTE 
 
 it in the school of hard practical experience, and, to 
 her credit be it said, she had learned it surprisingly 
 well. She excused herself after the first greetings 
 had been said, added an extra dish to the partially 
 prepared meal, and hastened to her room to change 
 her dress. Of West's new fortunes she as yet knew 
 nothing; it was to the man that she wanted to ap- 
 peal, to the old friend, before whom her natural 
 woman's vanity made her wish to appear at her best. 
 When she served the dinner half an hour later, it 
 was in a light-green pongee that seemed to West 
 a triumph of the dressmaker's art. As a matter of 
 fact she had made the dress herself, but it would 
 have taken a far worse costume to have spoiled the 
 lines of her superb figure, or dulled the sparkling 
 mobility of her face. 
 
 Donald, with a father's pride in his boy, dug out 
 Bobbie from the recesses of his mother's room, and 
 .brought him to West to be admired. He was a 
 manly little fellow, with a large share of his mother's 
 good looks, and West took him upon his knee, won- 
 dering inwardly if he would ever have a son of his 
 own to inherit his newly acquired fortune. 
 
 To the boy he told stories about the Indians that
 
 THE BRUTE 45 
 
 made the youngster open his eyes very wide indeed, 
 and Uncle Billy, as West admonished him to call 
 him, became at once a very important personage in 
 his childish eyes. 
 
 It was when dinner had progressed to the stage 
 of the salad that Donald mentioned the matter of 
 West's sudden rise to fortune. " Billy had made a 
 ten-strike in the West," he remarked to his wife. 
 " Discovered a gold mine." 
 
 "Really!" Edith laughed. "Is there any gold 
 in it? Almost all the gold mines I ever heard of 
 were lacking in that important particular." 
 
 " This one wasn't." Donald looked at West and 
 laughed. " Billy tells me it's made him worth half a 
 million." 
 
 Mrs. Rogers gasped, then turned to her guest. 
 " You are not in earnest ? " she inquired wonderingly. 
 "Half a million?" 
 
 " About that," said West, trying to look as if he 
 were speaking of the price of a new hat, or some- 
 thing equally unimportant. 
 
 " But you you don't seem a bit excited about 
 it, or anything." Mrs. Rogers' own eyes were big 
 with interest. " I should think you would be simply
 
 46 THE BRUTE 
 
 overcome. I know I should. Half a million ! " She 
 glanced unconsciously about the poorly furnished 
 little room and sighed. Donald noticed it; her 
 thoughts, for the moment, had been his own. 
 
 " I was excited enough when I found it," remarked 
 West with a chuckle. " It came like a snowstorm in 
 August. Last thing in the world I had expected 
 at least just then." 
 
 " I suppose you just stood up and shouted," said 
 his hostess. 
 
 " No, I didn't. I lit my pipe. I didn't want the 
 rest of the bunch to know about it." 
 
 " Tell us the whole story." She was as interested 
 as a child. Half a million dollars sounded like such 
 a vast amount of money. All her life she had imag- 
 ined what she would do if she were only rich. She 
 had often thought it all out, in her day dreams 
 how she would give her mother so much for the trip 
 to Europe that she was always talking about, and 
 her sister so much more for the diamond necklace 
 she wanted, and have an automobile and a place at 
 the seashore and many other things. She had an 
 exalted opinion of wealth and its possibilities ; if she 
 had known any wealthy people she would probably
 
 THE BRUTE 47 
 
 have found them very much like everyone else, com- 
 plaining about the price of beef, and the difficulty of 
 keeping one's servants and paying one's bills. She 
 believed that it was not what one has, but what one 
 has not, that counts. The sound of West's voice in- 
 terrupted her thoughts. 
 
 " There isn't much to tell. I was on my vacation 
 at the time, and there were about a dozen of us, 
 camping up on the Little Ash river. There hadn't 
 been any gold found in that section, before that, but 
 I was always looking out for it you see I had 
 studied the formation up that way the summer be- 
 fore, and I was certain the rock was there. The 
 boys used to make a good deal of fun of me, poking 
 about with my geologist's hammer, instead of fish- 
 ing or the like. It was the last day of our stay, I 
 remember, and we had already begun to get our 
 things together, in readiness to break camp in the 
 morning. I had strolled up the river a few hundred 
 yards, feeling a little disappointed at going back to 
 Denver without even a piece of iron pyrites, when 
 I noticed a sort of whitish streak in the rocky bank 
 just a little above where it rose from the edge of the 
 river. It was mostly covered with underbrush and
 
 48 THE BRUTE 
 
 thick bushes, and I wonder that I saw it at all. I 
 climbed down and took a good look, and then I just 
 sat down on a rock and got out my pipe and had a 
 good smoke. I felt somehow as though a new life 
 had begun for me, and I wanted time to think things 
 out. After a while I broke off a few samples of the 
 quartz it was a beautiful outcropping, with a pay 
 streak in it as thick as your two fingers and I 
 stowed them away in my pocket and strolled back to 
 camp as though nothing had happened. One of the 
 boys said, as I came up, ' Find your gold mine 
 yet?' and laughed. 'Yes,' I said, 'and it's worth 
 a million.' They all laughed, for they thought I 
 was joking, but I felt my bits of quartz in my pocket 
 and said nothing. We got back to town the next 
 afternoon and I had made my assays before I turned 
 in that night." 
 
 " And then you knew ? " she asked eagerly. 
 
 " Yes. I staked out my claim very quietly. Of 
 course I gave up my position the next day. After 
 I had had the claim registered, I went to see a man 
 in Denver that I had come to know pretty well he 
 was the representative of a wealthy crowd in Boston 
 who dealt extensively in mining properties, and I
 
 THE BRUTE 49 
 
 told him what I had. I won't bother you with the 
 details. We formed a company, and they gave me 
 half of the stock and made me vice-president, and 
 then we started in to work the claim. In six months 
 we had got in our stamping mills and were taking 
 out ore. The rock got better, as we went into the 
 hill, and we began to pay dividends almost from the 
 start. There isn't any of our stock for sale now. 
 I don't have much of anything to do with the man- 
 agement. It's in good hands, and last month, when 
 I saw that everything was working smoothly, I made 
 up my mind to come East, and look up some of my 
 old friends." He glanced at Donald as he said this, 
 and then at Edith, and she felt somehow, that he 
 wanted her to feel that it was she that he meant. 
 
 She began to see, that very evening, something of 
 what it meant to have so much money that it was not 
 necessary to tliink about how one spent it. When 
 West suggested, after dinner, that they all go to the 
 theater, she said at once that it was too late that 
 they would never be able to get tickets at that hour. 
 It was then close to eight o'clock, but West laughed, 
 and said he would see to the tickets, so she put on 
 her hat and they went.
 
 50 THE BRUTE 
 
 When Donald and she went to the theater, 
 which was not very often, they used to think about it 
 for days ahead and were delighted if they were able 
 to get good seats in the balcony at less than the 
 prices charged downstairs. 
 
 Their evening was a delightful one. They 
 whirled downtown to the theater in a taxicab, and 
 went to supper afterwards at one of the best-known 
 restaurants, where Edith wondered how the count- 
 less array of young and very beautiful women man- 
 aged to get such gorgeous gowns and such magnifi- 
 cent jewelry. She and Donald did not often patron- 
 ize such places. 
 
 They came home in a whirl of excitement, and 
 Edith lay awake a long time after she had gone to 
 bed, wondering if after all her mother had not been 
 right in urging her to marry for money. She 
 looked at Donald, who lay at her side, and thought 
 long, long thoughts. She was not conscious of any 
 disloyalty to him she liked Donald very much 
 he seemed almost like a dear friend. Pres- 
 ently she began to try to analyze her love for him, 
 her marriage, and her after life. She respected and 
 admired his mind, his character, but was there not,
 
 THE BRUTE 51 
 
 after all, something else in life something deeper 
 and more vital in the marriage relationship, some- 
 thing that she had missed? Why was it that Don- 
 ald's presence, his touch, his look even, gave her no 
 such glow of happiness as she had suddenly found 
 with this man who had been a stranger to her for so 
 many years? It was wrong, she knew, but clearly 
 there was something lacking. Bobbie, waking fret- 
 fully, brought her to a sudden sense of the realities 
 of life. She got up and placed an extra cover over 
 him, and when she had once more succeeded in put- 
 ting him to sleep her questions seemed for the time 
 being answered.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 WEST spent the next few days in getting 
 comfortably located in New York, laying in 
 a supply of new clothes, and purchasing an automo- 
 bile. His life in Colorado had been unusually sim- 
 ple, since, with his time almost entirely given over 
 to business affairs, he had had neither inclination 
 nor opportunity for amusement. Now, however, he 
 felt himself on a holiday. His bank account was 
 bulging with unspent income, and he frankly admit- 
 ted to himself that he had come to New York to 
 spend it. Edith, who seemed almost continually in 
 his mind, provided the necessary outlet, and he pic- 
 tured the two of them making many delightful ex- 
 cursions into the country about New York in the big 
 touring car which he had selected. 
 
 During his visits to tailors, bootmakers, haber- 
 dashers, and the like, he found time to send her a 
 huge box of violets on two different occasions, and, 
 
 with a vague idea of salving his conscience, hunted 
 
 63
 
 THE BRUTE 53 
 
 up Donald one day and took him to luncheon. 
 
 It was nearly a week after his first visit to the 
 Rogers' apartment that he suddenly made up his 
 mind to call, and, as luck would have it, Donald was 
 not at home on that particular evening, having gone 
 to a meeting of one of the engineering societies of 
 which he was a member. The absence of a telephone 
 brought West before the Rogers' door without any 
 previous knowledge of his friend's absence. Edith, 
 who was sitting alone, reading a magazine, and, to tell 
 the truth, thinking of West himself and wondering 
 what had become of him, received her caller with un- 
 feigned gladness and insisted upon his remaining un- 
 til Donald's return, which, she assured him, would not 
 be late. Between spending the evening alone at his 
 hotel, and here with the woman he had half-begun 
 to believe was dearer to him, in spite of the lapse of 
 years, than anyone else in the world, there was no 
 choice. West came in and sat down, delighted at the 
 opportunity which fate had thus generously ac- 
 corded him. 
 
 They talked along conventional lines for a time, 
 West entertaining her with an account of his experi- 
 ences during the past week, and dilating upon the
 
 54 THE BRUTE 
 
 merits of his new automobile, which he insisted she 
 must try at once. Edith was delighted at the pros- 
 pect he told her that he was taking lessons in 
 driving, and would soon be able to manage it with 
 the best of them. 
 
 After a time, the topic having been exhausted, a 
 silence came upon them, one of those portentous in- 
 tervals that form a prelude to the expression of the 
 unspoken thought, the unbidden wish. 
 
 Edith was more than ever conscious of some power- 
 erful attraction in this man; he seemed to represent 
 vast possibilities possibilities for future happiness 
 of what nature she did not dare even to ask her- 
 self. She felt, whenever she was with him, a strange 
 confidence in the outcome of things; although what 
 things she did not know. " I should be so glad to 
 go," she had said, in reply to his suggestion regard- 
 ing the proposed automobile trips. " I am alone so 
 much ! " There had been a touch of sadness in her 
 voice that did not escape him. He looked at her 
 keenly. " Are you happy, Edith ? " he asked with 
 directness which startled her. 
 
 " Why yes of course I am. I hope you do 
 not think that I was complaining. I only meant that
 
 THE BRUTE 55 
 
 I am a good deal alone during the day, and 
 and " She hesitated. He knew quite well that 
 she was not happy or, at least, that she found her 
 life far more empty than she had ever dreamed it 
 would be when she married. 
 
 " And you will take pity on a lonely bachelor," 
 he completed her sentence for her. " As a matter of 
 fact, I haven't anyone else to go about with, you 
 know." 
 
 " And so you fall back on me. You're not very 
 complimentary, Billy. I'll have to find someone to 
 help you spend your money." She laughed, watch- 
 ing him narrowly as she spoke. After her eight 
 years of married life, the subtle flattery of this man's 
 attentions seemed doubly sweet, and, woman-like, she 
 wanted to hold on to them, and enjoy them, as long 
 as she could. 
 
 " I don't think I'd care about any young girl," 
 he remarked gravely. " You know I always liked 
 you better than anyone else, Edith, and I'm glad to 
 say I still do." 
 
 " In spite of my gray hairs," she laughed. She 
 had none, as a matter of fact, being especially youth- 
 ful in appearance for a woman of nearly thirty, but
 
 56 THE BRUTE 
 
 she longed for the compliment she felt sure her re- 
 mark would elicit. 
 
 " In spite of everything," he declared. " I have 
 never forgiven Donald for cutting in and marrying 
 you while I was away trying to make a fortune to 
 lay at your feet." He spoke banteringly, with a 
 laugh, but something in his voice told her that he 
 was far more in earnest than his manner indicated. 
 " Now that I have made it, I am determined that 
 you shall have some pleasure out of it." 
 
 " That's very sweet of you, Billy," she said, with 
 a touch of gravity in her manner. " I cannot tell 
 you how much I appreciate it." 
 
 " Nonsense. Think what old friends we are. If 
 you will take pity on my loneliness, and all that, I 
 shall feel that I am the one who should be grateful." 
 He rose from his chair and came over to where she 
 sat, near the desk. " Do you know, Edith," he said 
 suddenly, " that in all the time I have been away I 
 don't suppose a single day went by that I did not 
 think of you ? " 
 
 " Don't tell me that, Billy. If you thought of me 
 once in six months you did well." Her nervous 
 laugh, as she attempted to meet his gaze, sounded
 
 THE BRUTE 57 
 
 unconvincing. She almost began to believe that he 
 had thought of her every day. 
 
 " Do you remember that picture you once gave me 
 1 the one in the big Leghorn hat ? " 
 
 " Why, yes," she answered slowly. 
 
 " I've had it on my dresser always, wherever I've 
 been it was the last thing I looked at when I went 
 to bed at night. So, you see, I did think of you every 
 day honestly." 
 
 She felt her color coming something in his 
 manner, as he stood there gazing down at her, 
 alarmed her. She felt that he still loved her, and 
 that it would be only a question of time until he 
 should tell her so. She was by no means prepared 
 for any such rupture in their friendly relations, for 
 rupture she knew it would certainly be, should he 
 speak. She rose hastily and went toward the piano. 
 
 " Shall I play for you ? " she asked. In the past 
 it had been his invariable habit to ask her to do so. 
 
 " Will you ? " His voice showed his appreciation 
 of the fact that she had remembered. 
 
 "What would you like?" 
 
 " Oh, anything it's been so long since I've heard 
 any good music ! " He j oined her at the piano.
 
 58 THE BRUTE 
 
 " How about that beautiful thing you used to sing 
 sometimes Massenet's * Elegy,' wasn't it? Don't 
 you remember I always said I'd rather hear you sing 
 that than listen to a grand opera? " 
 
 " Oh I couldn't. I haven't sung for years." 
 " What a pity ! I shouldn't think Donald would 
 let you give it up." 
 
 " Donald doesn't care much for music." She felt 
 as she spoke that she had in some way criticized her 
 husband and hastened to make amends. " He's too 
 busy that's the reason. Donald is working very 
 hard, and has to do a lot of work at home nights. 
 If I sang, it would bother him." She began to play 
 the piece with considerable feeling and skill, and 
 West, who was intensely fond of music, leaned over 
 the piano and watched her happily. To have this 
 woman all to himself seemed to him the only thing 
 that fortune had denied him. The love which had 
 lain so quiet all these years surged up within him 
 with unsuspected force. His arms longed to draw 
 her to him, to clasp her to his heart. He looked at 
 her expressive, delicate face, her round, smooth neck, 
 her dark, heavy hair, and wondered how Donald 
 could bring himself to think that she could possibly
 
 THE BRUTE 59 
 
 be happy in the position of a mere household drudge. 
 His reflections did Donald scant justice; the latter, 
 poor fellow, was trying with all his strength to lift 
 both Edith and himself out of their present environ- 
 ment, but Donald was a silent man, who endured all 
 things patiently, and he expected his wife to do the 
 same. 
 
 West's intentions, if, indeed, he admitted to him- 
 self that he had any at this time, were directed 
 toward two ends his own amusement and Edith's. 
 Perhaps amusement is not the exact word it was 
 more than that to him, for he could have amused 
 himself with many women. He was really very fond 
 of Edith, more so, perhaps, than he himself fully 
 realized, and in giving her pleasure he gave himself 
 pleasure as well. The idea of making love to her, 
 of coming in any way between herself and Donald, 
 had never entered his mind. After all, we so rarely 
 erect barriers against certain experiences in life un- 
 til after they have occurred, by which time barriers 
 are no longer of any avail. 
 
 When Edith stopped playing, West begged her to 
 go on, and presently, running into the accompani- 
 ment of " Oh, Promise Me," she began to sing in a
 
 60 THE BRUTE 
 
 clear, sweet voice which brought back to him the 
 evenings, long before, when she had sung this song 
 to him. Unconsciously the years passed from them 
 he joined in the chorus of the song with his un- 
 cultivated, yet not unmusical, baritone, and once 
 more they seemed back in the boarding-house parlor, 
 she the young girl with life all before her, and he the 
 happy-go-lucky Billy West, making and spending 
 his small salary with joyous indifference as to the 
 future. 
 
 He stayed until nearly half-past ten, hoping that 
 Donald would return, but the latter evidently had 
 been kept longer than he expected. Edith did not 
 press him to remain somehow, in spite of her old 
 friendship for West, it seemed a bit queer, this sen- 
 sation of being here alone in her apartment with a 
 man other than her husband. She did not propose 
 to conceal the fact of his having been there from 
 Donald, but it seemed to her easier to tell Donald 
 that Billy had called during his absence than to have 
 him come in and find them together even as inno- 
 cently engaged as they were. She knew that this 
 feeling on her part was absurd, that Donald would 
 not have the least idea of jealousy or suspicion
 
 THE BRUTE 61 
 
 he was too clean minded a man for that. Her scru- 
 ples arose from a deeper cause. She had begun to 
 think about West in a way that caused her to feel 
 guilty of disloyalty to her husband when no dis- 
 loyalty had occurred to desire to avoid the ap- 
 pearance of evil where no evil existed. All that she 
 had done had been to liken her life with Donald, 
 to what it might have been had she married West. 
 It is a curious fact that the best of women are will- 
 ing at times to compare the husband at his worst, 
 with the lover at his casual best, and judge both ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 West rode back to his hotel in a maze of doubts. 
 He was genuinely fond of Donald he liked him 
 better than any man he knew, and this, probably, be- 
 cause he was in all things so nearly the other's oppo- 
 site. He wondered whether Donald would object 
 in any way to the attentions he proposed showing 
 Edith whether he would become jealous, and feel 
 that his wife's place was at home, rather than dash- 
 ing about in a five-thousand-dollar automobile with 
 another man. Perhaps it would be but natural that 
 he should, although not by nature a jealous man, 
 and West realized the confidence that he placed
 
 62 THE BRUTE 
 
 in both his wife and himself. What West did not 
 realize was the effect which his money and the pleas- 
 ures and luxuries it could command would have upon 
 this woman whose married life had been one long 
 lesson in economy. He had no conception of the 
 contrast in Edith's life between a quiet existence in 
 a Harlem flat and the land of dreams to which his 
 money was the open sesame, the golden key, unlock- 
 ing the barriers between poverty on the one hand 
 
 and all that the heart could desire on the other. He 
 
 \ 
 
 did not, could not, realize the upheaval which would 
 necessarily take place in her life, the dissatisfaction 
 which must inevitably ensue, if she were once drawn 
 into a whirl of pleasures and excitements to which 
 her existence for so many years had been totally 
 foreign. If she and Donald lunched or dined to- 
 gether at an expensive restaurant it was an event, 
 commemorating some anniversary such as their 
 wedding or a birthday. West, on the contrary, re- 
 garded dropping into any of the hotels or cafes for 
 luncheon or dinner as a most ordinary performance 
 he was forced to do it himself, and his only desire 
 was for company. As for going to the theater, 
 he knew that the best seats were always obtainable
 
 THE BRUTE 63 
 
 at the hotels, or on the sidewalk at a small ad- 
 vance in price, it is true. But what difference did 
 that make to a man who had a hundred dollars a day 
 to spend and no reason whatever for not spending 
 it? 
 
 Even before West's coming, the subtle poison 
 of dissatisfaction had begun to eat its way into 
 Edith's heart. Money had always appeared to her 
 a vital necessity in life her mother had taken care 
 of that but in the flush of youthful enthusiasm she 
 had believed that, with Donald at her side, she could 
 endure comparative poverty with a light heart, un- 
 til he had made his fortune, as so many another man 
 had done before him. She had not thought, how- 
 ever, that the time would be so long. West came 
 into her life at a moment when she was fertile soil 
 for the seeds of discontent which he so uncon- 
 sciously was planting in her nature. 
 
 She greeted her husband with indifferent coldness 
 upon his return, about half-past eleven, and told 
 him of West's call. Donald was unfeignedly sorry 
 that he had missed his friend, but showed no least 
 trace of annoyance on learning that West and Edith 
 had spent the evening together. " I hope he will
 
 64 THE BRUTE 
 
 come often," he said. " We have both been a bit 
 lonely of late. It will do you good, dear, to have 
 new interests in life. I am only sorry that I cannot 
 do more for you myself." He drew her to him, and 
 kissed her tenderly, but, somehow, under his caress 
 she shivered and grew cold. " Billy is a splendid 
 fellow, and I don't doubt you will be doing him a real 
 kindness to help him amuse himself a bit until he has 
 got settled in town. It makes a great difference 
 to a man, to be away from New York for five years." 
 West had suggested to Edith that they take a 
 trial trip in the new automobile the following Fri- 
 day, but of this Edith said nothing at the time. It 
 was not that she wished to conceal the fact, but it 
 seemed to her pointed, and as though drawing es- 
 pecial attention to an unimportant matter, to speak 
 of it at this time. So she said nothing. After all, 
 she had nothing to conceal or be ashamed of. It is 
 true that, in her more introspective moments, she 
 saw a dim shadow of danger ahead; but she put it 
 resolutely aside, and contented herself with a soph- 
 istry which has led many another along devious 
 paths. " Sufficient unto the day is th evil thereof."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 IT was early in March that West came to New 
 York, and from then on Edith Rogers lived 
 what was to her a new life. She had persuaded 
 Donald to let her have a nurse for Bobbie, a young 
 girl who came in every morning, took the child out 
 in the park, amused him during the day, and helped 
 with the housework. This left her comparatively 
 free to spend a large part of her time with West. 
 Their automobile trips became a matter of almost 
 daily occurrence. 
 
 Thrown thus so much together, these two closed 
 their eyes to the danger which they both knew was 
 impending; they walked gayly upon the edge of a 
 yawning chasm and refused to admit that one false 
 step would send them both crashing down into an 
 abyss of chaos and destruction. In a few weeks, 
 from talking first of themselves, then of each other, 
 during long days when Donald labored patiently in 
 his office down-town, it was but a question of time 
 
 when " you " and " me " became " we," and Edith 
 
 65
 
 66 THE BRUTE 
 
 would have missed Billy West from her life more 
 than she would have missed Donald, because he had 
 become more a part of it. Like a ship at anchor, 
 with all sails set and filled by a strong and ever in- 
 creasing gale, it was inevitably certain that before 
 long either the anchor must give, or the white sails 
 of her reputation be blown to rags and tatters 
 bitter state, indeed, for a wife and mother ! 
 
 One of the things about West which appealed to 
 her most was his ever ready sympathy. Donald, 
 made of sterner stuff, realized that sympathy, over- 
 done, weakens one's powers of resistance, and exag- 
 gerates one's burdens. He expected his wife to bear 
 what life accorded to her in the way of hardship as 
 patiently as he himself did. West, on the contrary, 
 was always sympathetic. Edith's cares, her wor- 
 ries, her troubles, he at once made his own, and 
 seemed only content if he could in some way relieve 
 them. That he had the means to do so, and could 
 not, made it all the harder for him. He would have 
 given her anything he possessed, yet knew she could 
 accept only the veriest trifles. Flowers, theater 
 tickets, automobile rides, served to intensify, rather 
 than lessen, her longings for the things she must
 
 THE BRUTE 67 
 
 perforce do without. Expensive restaurants implied 
 expensive costumes, hats, jewels, which she did not 
 have and could not get, and she often wondered that 
 her companion did not feel ashamed of her in her 
 home-made clothes. 
 
 By some system of more-than-rigid economy 
 known only to herself she had managed to procure 
 a few of the things she felt she most needed : a long 
 automobile coat reduced because shop-worn a 
 motor hat and veil, and an evening gown which had 
 once been part of the theatrical outfit of a well- 
 known star, and which she had picked up, second- 
 hand, at a little shop on Sixth Avenue. It was very 
 magnificent; she felt almost ashamed to wear it so 
 often, but she knew that it showed off her charms 
 to the greatest advantage, having been designed, 
 primarily, with that end in view. Had she ever 
 stopped to ask herself why she wanted to exhibit 
 these charms to West she would probably have been 
 unable to answer her own question, but she had long 
 ago ceased to catechize herself sufficient it was 
 that Billy was pleased that she looked well, and 
 that Donald did not blame her. She was floating 
 happily along from day to day, not daring to ask
 
 68 THE BRUTE 
 
 herself what the outcome of it all would be. 
 She was seldom alone with West alone, that is, 
 in the sense of being to themselves. She had not 
 dared, after that first night, to have him at the 
 apartment they had met at the doorstep, and 
 their hours together were spent over restaurant ta- 
 bles, or in theater seats, or the automobile. She had 
 a terrible fear that some time or other West would 
 reach out his arms to her and she knew that, if he 
 did, she would go to him without a question. He 
 had assisted her in avoiding such a contretemps, for 
 he, too, knew his power, and was fighting to hold 
 what he had, rather than lose it in a vague and 
 mysterious future, at the character of which he could 
 only guess. On one or two occasions, when they had 
 come in from automobiling, and West was waiting 
 until Donald should arive from the office, prepara- 
 tory to their all going to dinner together, she had 
 purposely brought Bobbie into the room. Once 
 when they had so come in, Bobbie was out with his 
 nurse, and she had wondered if Billy would take ad- 
 vantage of the fact. Much as she feared it, she was 
 conscious of a fierce hope that he would. These two 
 were like firebrands he longed in every fiber to
 
 THE BRUTE 69 
 
 take her into his arms and kiss her, and she knew it. 
 She equally hungered for his embraces, and he knew 
 that this was so ; in both their minds this maddening 
 thought had become a reality a thousand times. 
 She had acted it to herself over and over, as he had 
 done, and had felt, in her imagination, every thrill 
 of delight which this physical contact would give 
 her, yet something, some leash of conscience as yet 
 not worn to the breaking point, held them apart. 
 
 On this particular occasion he sat far from her, 
 and held on to his half-smoked cigar as though it 
 had been his salvation. She busied herself turning 
 idly the leaves of a magazine. He knew, if he threw 
 that cigar away, he would go over to her and take 
 her in his arms, and kiss her, and he dared not to do 
 it for fear of what might come thereafter. 
 
 In April, he had been obliged to go away for three 
 weeks, in connection with some business affairs in 
 the West, and the separation had come almost as a 
 relief to both of them. They had endured as far as 
 human flesh and blood could endure. West told her 
 of the matters which made it necessary for him to go, 
 but she felt that they were not so important as he 
 represented, and knew in her heart that he was going
 
 70 THE BRUTE 
 
 away because he wanted to give both himself and 
 her an opportunity to readjust themselves, to think 
 matters over calmly, without the presence of each 
 other to affect their judgment. 
 
 The time of his absence seemed interminably long. 
 Edith found that most of the long series of intro- 
 spective analyses to which she subjected herself ter- 
 minated in a mad desire to have him back again in 
 New York. His absence had shown her how abso- 
 lutely she had been depending upon him, how his 
 going had taken from her everything that made her 
 life joyous and happy, leaving only the dull back- 
 ground of duty and work, two things that she had 
 come to regard merely as unfortunate necessities of 
 existence. 
 
 During his absence she spent a great deal more 
 time with Bobbie than she had been in the habit of 
 doing of late, and found to her surprise that the 
 child depended upon her and thought of her less than 
 he had done before. His nurse was a kind-hearted 
 young girl, who had come to love the little boy 
 deeply and mothered him in all sorts of ways. He 
 had got out of the habit of seeing his mother all 
 day as he had done in the past and, with the easy for-
 
 THE BRUTE 71 
 
 getfulness of childhood, clamored for Nellie, as the 
 girl was called, and their daily walks in the park, 
 the games she had thought out to amuse him, the 
 easy comradeship that made her his playfellow rather 
 than a superior and distant grown-up. Edith re- 
 sented this, at first, but soon ceased her attempts to 
 change matters and busied herself in making dresses 
 for the coming summer. 
 
 She saw West again on a drizzly afternoon in 
 May. His frequent letters had told her of his life 
 while away and of the day of his return. He had 
 called rather unexpectedly about three o'clock, and 
 they had gone for a walk in the park. He seemed 
 strangely silent, at first, and neither of them spoke 
 much for a few moments ; they walked along side by 
 side, inwardly trying to bridge the gap which the 
 past few weeks had made in their lives. Presently 
 he spoke. 
 
 " I cannot tell you how glad I am to be back 
 again. I used to like the West, but I do not think 
 I could ever live there again." 
 
 She said what was nearest her heart. " I am 
 glad, too very glad," then grew confused and 
 silent.
 
 72 THE BRUTE 
 
 " I brought you a little souvenir," he said, taking 
 a small package from his pocket, and handing it to 
 her. She opened the box it contained and drew out 
 a magnificent gold chain purse. " I had it made 
 from some of the gold from our mine," he continued 
 hesitatingly ; " I thought you might like it." 
 
 " Oh, Billy ! " she cried, and looked up at him with 
 darkening eyes. " How lovely of you to think of 
 me ! It is beautiful beautiful." She gloated over 
 its exquisite workmanship with all the joy of sud- 
 denly possessing something which had always seemed 
 very far away. 
 
 " I hoped you would like it," he said. 
 
 " Oh I do more than I can tell you. I never 
 expected to have one, though I have longed for it 
 all my life." She smiled, dangling the purse de- 
 lightedly from its gold chain. " I only wish I had 
 more to put in it," she concluded thoughtlessly. 
 
 "So do I Edith so do I." His tone be- 
 trayed the intensity of his feelings. " I wish I 
 could do more for you but I haven't the right 
 I haven't the right." His voice trailed off help- 
 lessly. " I only wish I had." 
 
 She said nothing to this. It was perilous ground
 
 THE BRUTE 73 
 
 and they both knew it. " How is Donald ? " he 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 " Oh, he's very well. Busy as ever. Won't you 
 come in and see us this evening?" 
 
 " No not this evening. I have a man with me 
 from Denver that I must be with. He is going on 
 to Boston at midnight. One of our directors," he 
 added by way of explanation. " But we must take 
 a ride in the machine to-morrow. I suppose it will 
 be quite rusty for want of use." 
 
 " I suppose so. I've missed our trips." 
 
 He looked at her closely. " Yes, I can see that," 
 he said, " you do not look so well you are pale 
 and tired. What have you been doing with your- 
 self? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing much. Sewing, mostly." She did 
 not tell him that her principal occupation had been 
 waiting for him to return. 
 
 " You need the fresh air. Suppose we take a 
 run down to Garden City and have luncheon there. 
 I'll look in and see Donald in the morning and say 
 hello. Does he know* I am back ? " 
 
 "No I don't think so. I didn't mention it." 
 
 He said nothing to this at first and did not even
 
 74 THE BRUTE 
 
 look at her. " I wonder if Donald minds my our 
 our going about so much together," he ventured, 
 at last. " Do you think he does? " 
 
 "I don't think so," she replied. "Why should 
 he? I think he is rather glad that I have had so 
 much pleasure." She hesitated a moment, then went 
 on. " He has never said anything. You know 
 how fond he is of you." 
 
 " Yes I know it." He spoke as though the 
 thought brought up unpleasant ideas. " Isn't life 
 a terrible tragedy?" he said, as though to himself. 
 " The things we want most, it seems, we can never, 
 never have, without hurting someone else to get 
 them." 
 
 " Donald says that is sure proof that we ought 
 not to have them," she said in a low voice. 
 
 " And do you think so, too? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 " I I do not know." 
 
 He hesitated a moment, then went on impetuously. 
 " Is duty after all everything in the world? Is 
 there not a duty to ourselves as well as to others? 
 May not one duty conflict with another, and make 
 it hard to know which one we ought to follow ? Must 
 two people make themselves utterly wretched, to
 
 THE BRUTE 75 
 
 give happiness to a third? Isn't it somehow sort 
 of unequal paying too great a price for a thing 
 that is not worth it? " 
 
 She did not answer him, nor did he expect her to 
 do so. He was in reality only thinking aloud 
 expressing the thoughts which had been uppermost 
 in his mind for the past three weeks, and, woman-like, 
 she took refuge in silence, for she knew that were she 
 to answer him truthfully she would agree with him. 
 
 " If two people love each other enough, doesn't it 
 make up for anything else in the world? We can't 
 control our feelings. We can't help it, if love 
 comes to us and takes from us everything in our 
 lives, and leaves nothing behind but itself. There 
 must be some purpose in it all. If there is nothing 
 left to us but love, why should we have to give that 
 up as well, and go on and on in wretched misery 
 to the end? I can't do it and yet, I know that I 
 must." 
 
 She trembled as she heard his words so unlike 
 the care-free man she had come to know. He had 
 changed very much, in these past few weeks. The 
 lines of suffering in his face were new to it, and 
 only a great emotion could have set them there. He
 
 76 . THE BRUTE 
 
 loved her with a strong, compelling love, and he was 
 wrestling with the vital problems of duty and right. 
 She, on her part, loved him because of what pleasure 
 he had given her, and was wrestling with no problems 
 whatever. Her only thought at the moment was a 
 great desire to have him put his arms about her and 
 crush her to him. This, however, he did not know, 
 for he had idealized her and invested her with all 
 manner of high qualities and virtues which she by 
 no means possessed. She had begun to feel just a 
 trifle annoyed by his constant self-control. Some- 
 how it seemed to belittle her own powers of attrac- 
 tion. She feared, at times, that he might, casting 
 prudence, duty honor to the winds, overwhelm 
 her in a wild and rapturous outburst of love, but 
 the fact that he had not done so, up to now, annoyed 
 her a little, and almost made her desire the more 
 that he would. She liked to feel that West was a 
 firebrand, that she herself was keeping him at a dis- 
 tance she did not enjoy the thought that he was 
 controlling himself in spite of her. He pedestaled 
 her as a paragon of virtue, a creature of restraint, 
 which he, a devastating male, had caused to love him. 
 She was in reality far more frail than he, and the
 
 THE BRUTE 77 
 
 more he held aloof, the more she burned for his 
 caresses. Passion had made her shameless. 
 
 She walked along without replying for a long time, 
 and he, misconstruing her silence, thought he had 
 offended her, by what he had said, and began to 
 speak of lighter things. He told her of his trip to 
 Denver, of his friends and acquaintances there, and 
 she pretended to a deep interest, but all the while 
 she was longing to hear him burst forth with, " I love 
 you, I love you." After all, there was much of logic 
 in her position, for she knew perfectly well that the 
 time would eventually come when he would say those 
 words to her, unless, indeed, he were to go away 
 from her, and avoid yielding to temptation by flee- 
 ing from it, and of this there seemed not the slight- 
 est prospect. She knew she had a compelling hold 
 on him he might for a time prevent himself from 
 telling her his feelings, but she could hold him near 
 her as long as she pleased. 
 
 The rain made the afternoon unpleasant for walk- 
 ing. They turned into the Casino and had a cup 
 of tea, and chatted indifferently of subjects in which 
 neither of them was interested. West was in a 
 hurry to get away he seemed less sure of himself
 
 78 THE BRUTE 
 
 than usual, and ill at ease. At close to five o'clock 
 they returned to the apartment and he left her, with 
 the understanding that he would stop for her in 
 the machine at eleven the next day.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 EDITH came back from her walk very much 
 out of sorts. It seemed to her as though 
 Billy understood her so much better than Donald 
 ever had, or, as far as she could see, ever would un- 
 derstand her, and yet their love, for such she ad- 
 mitted it to herself to be, was leading to nothing. 
 The gloomy entrance of the Roxborough seemed 
 to grate upon her nerves, and her feeling of dis- 
 satisfaction persisted throughout the evening. 
 Dtmald had some work to do after dinner, and sat 
 at his desk in silence for a long time, writing steadily. 
 She, on her part, got out her sewing, and prepared 
 to spend the evening darning Bobbie's stockings. 
 She hated it she had always disliked to sew, but 
 in a way it seemed a sort of penance, a duty, 
 whereby she paid for the pleasures of the day. 
 
 DoHald was more than usually quiet over his let- 
 ters. Presently he sealed up the last one and, rising, 
 began to walk uneasily up and down the room. She 
 
 waited for him to speak, guiltily wondering if he 
 
 79
 
 80 THE BRUTE 
 
 suspected anything. Presently he turned to her. 
 
 " Edith," he said, " have you heard from Billy 
 West? " 
 
 For a moment she hesitated. To what was this 
 question leading? What had prompted it? Then 
 she dropped her sewing into her lap and faced him. 
 " Yes," she said slowly. " He was here this after- 
 noon." 
 
 "Then he is back?" He glanced at her sud- 
 denly, but without suspicion. " Queer he didn't let 
 me know." 
 
 " Oh, he just ran in for a moment to say he'd 
 returned. He intended to look you up in the morn- 
 ing. He was very busy he told me some man 
 from Boston to entertain one of the directors of 
 his company, I believe." 
 
 Donald seemed for a moment engrossed in his 
 thoughts. She observed a worried look cross his 
 face, but could not determine its cause. 
 
 " I'm glad he's back," he said. " I've got a mat- 
 ter I want to talk over with him." 
 
 "What is it?" His seriousness for a moment 
 frightened her. 
 
 " It's something I've been considering for a long
 
 THE BRUTE 81 
 
 time. I hardly like to speak of it to him, and yet 
 I don't know anyone else to whom I can turn. It's 
 about that glass plant of ours, in West Virginia. 
 We're awfully short of capital, and I have an idea 
 that there is trouble ahead. The money market is 
 getting tighter and tighter. The outlook for busi- 
 ness is bad. We are likely to need a little money, 
 before long, to tide us over. I'm thinking of sug- 
 gesting to Billy that if he wants to invest a few 
 thousands on first-class security bonds, he might 
 very easily do much worse than put it into our con- 
 cern." 
 
 She took up her sewing again with a sigh of re- 
 lief. So it was nothing but a matter of business, 
 after all, with which she was not greatly concerned. 
 Yet, before she replied, a curious pang of conscience 
 smote her. Billy would do this, she knew; do it 
 for her sake, if not, indeed, for Donald's, and for a 
 brief space she felt ashamed to think that Donald 
 would owe the assistance he needed to the fact that 
 Billy West loved her. The thought was fleeting 
 elusive and in a moment was swallowed up in 
 the greater knowledge of their love ; yet, for that mo- 
 ment, she had ranged herself beside her husband,
 
 82 THE BRUTE 
 
 resenting the suggestion for his sake, finding in it 
 something that humiliated and hurt her. 
 
 " If it is a good investment," she presently ex- 
 claimed, " I don't see why he should not put some 
 money into it." 
 
 " Of course it's a good investment. I shouldn't 
 have my own in it, if it weren't We need only a 
 small amount nothing to West. He can't begin 
 to spend his income." He looked moodily about the 
 room. " I'm not envious, but I wish I had a tenth 
 of it. There are so many things I'd like to do 
 for you, dear, if I only could. I'm glad that he has 
 been able to make the past few months more pleasant 
 for you. Billy is one of the best fellows I've ever 
 met generous and unselfish to a fault. I'm very 
 fond of him ; I haven't a friend I think more of." 
 
 Again the pang of conscience smote Edith. The 
 enormity of the deception which she and West had 
 been practicing upon Donald appalled her, and he 
 seemed so unsuspecting, so guileless. His next 
 words, however, drove the thought from her mind. 
 
 " I wish he'd marry. He really needs someone 
 to look after him. I wonder that your sister Alice 
 doesn't get along with him better. What's the trou-
 
 THE BRUTE 83 
 
 ble, anyway ? She hardly ever sees him. Why don't 
 you do more to bring them together? " 
 
 Edith instinctively resented the suggestion. Billy 
 West was hers, by right of conquest. The thought 
 of turning him over to anyone, even to her sister, 
 annoyed her. " Alice thinks too much of someone 
 else," she replied primly. 
 
 " You mean Hall? " 
 
 " Yes. They've been as good as engaged for 
 months. Mother objects, of course, but I think 
 Alice loves him." 
 
 Donald smiled. " In that case, we'll have to find 
 someone else for Billy. Emerson Hall is a splendid 
 fellow, and I'd be glad to see Alice marry him." 
 He came over to Edith and patted her shoulder af- 
 fectionately. " I never expected to play the role 
 of a matchmaker, but I'd be mighty glad to see Billy 
 fall in love with some nice girl, who would appre- 
 ciate him, and help him to make something of his 
 life. Just sitting around New York, spending thirty 
 or forty thousand a year, isn't good for any man. 
 With his money he ought to travel, see the world, 
 take up some hobby, have children that's about 
 the most human thing a man can do. With all that
 
 84. THE BRUTE 
 
 money at his command he could do so much for 
 them." 
 
 " Yes," she assented, not daring to look at him. 
 
 " What I'm afraid of is that he'll fall in love with 
 some woman who'll ruin his life somebody that 
 won't have an idea above clothes, and automobiles, 
 and physical enjoyment. There are so many like 
 that, here in New York, and, if he should happen 
 to care for one of them, it would spoil his whole 
 future. Billy is really quite simple in his tastes. 
 He'd love a big country place, and horses, and dogs, 
 and all that. This gay New York life attracts him 
 now, because he's been away from it for so long, 
 but in another six months he'll be sick of it. I'm 
 going to have a talk with him." 
 
 Edith said nothing. What, indeed, was there for 
 her to say? Donald's words cut deep. For a brief 
 space she almost hated herself. Was West's love 
 for her going to spoil his whole life? She shivered 
 at the thought. Then the picture of the man, his 
 smiling face, his attractive and alluring personality, 
 rose before her, and drove away the doubts which 
 had for the moment chilled her heart. She rose and 
 put away her sewing. " Perhaps you had better let
 
 THE BRUTE 85 
 
 Billy West manage his own love-affairs," she re- 
 marked quietly. 
 
 Donald, busily engaged in refilling his pipe, failed 
 to see the trace of resentment which accompanied 
 her words. " Oh, I don't mean to interfere," he 
 said. " I'm not a fool. But Billy and I have been 
 friends for a long time, and I don't think he'd mind 
 a little advice from me." 
 
 " You are going to ask him about this this 
 money, to-morrow ? " Edith inquired presently. 
 
 " Perhaps. I may sound him out, at least. We 
 sha'n't need the money for some weeks may not 
 need it at all, in fact, but I want to be prepared." 
 
 He did talk the matter over with West the next 
 day, and the latter fell in with the plan at once. 
 He felt a deep sense of shame at the injury he was 
 doing his friend, and was anxious to make amends 
 in any way that he could. It occurred to him, 
 also, that perhaps in this way he might, indi- 
 rectly at least, help Edith. Deep down in his 
 soul he despised himself, felt himself a traitor, 
 in thought at least, if not yet in deed, to this 
 man who loved and trusted him. For a moment 
 he almost made up his mind to tell Edith at
 
 86 THE BRUTE 
 
 once that he could not see her again, that they must 
 part forever. The intention was an honest one, at 
 the time. Even he did not admit that one smile 
 from her one touch of her hand would consign 
 it to the paving operations in hell which is the des- 
 tiny of so large a proportion of all good intentions. 
 
 He refused Donald's invitation to luncheon, ex- 
 plaining that he meant to take Edith out for a drive 
 in the car. Donald even thanked him for this. 
 " You are a brick, Billy," he said, gripping his hand 
 at parting. " Since you've been back, Edith has 
 been like another woman. I believe she's gained ten 
 pounds, and all her nervousness is gone. Being out 
 in the air so much, I suppose. But we can't let her 
 monopolize you. Why don't you get married, 
 Billy?" 
 
 The suddenness of the question threw West for the 
 moment off his guard. " Married ! " he exclaimed. 
 " Why I what do you mean ? " He looked at 
 his friend narrowly. 
 
 " It's plain enough, isn't it Here you are, a 
 young and good-looking chap with plenty of money. 
 What more natural than to marry, and have a home, 
 and children ? It's the only way to be really happy.
 
 THE BRUTE 87 
 
 All this " he waved his hand toward the vista of 
 roofs and pinnacles which stretched endlessly north- 
 ward " doesn't really get you anywhere. You 
 know that, as well as I." 
 
 "I I guess you're right. I'd be glad enough 
 to get away from it all with a woman I loved. 
 I'd never want to see New York again. But 
 I " he hesitated, faltered "I guess I won't 
 marry yet awhile, Don not yet awhile." 
 
 " Better think it over, old man," he heard Donald 
 call out to him, as he turned away. 
 
 All the way up-town he hated himself, hated the 
 circumstances which had placed him in this horrible 
 situation, with love on the one side, duty on the 
 other, tearing at his heart. He felt so depressed 
 that he stopped on the way and drank two highballs. 
 They served to drive away the fog of doubts which 
 had begun to envelop him. 
 
 By the time he reached the Roxborough, his spirits 
 had commenced to revive. The presence of Edith, 
 her happy, smiling face, her unconcealed joy at 
 seeing him, completed the change. After all, he was 
 only taking for a spin in the country the woman he 
 loved, the woman he had always loved. There was
 
 88 THE BRUTE 
 
 nothing wrong in that. He had not been false to 
 Donald by any overt act. God had put this love 
 into his heart, and he had only responded as his 
 nature made him respond. The futility of blam- 
 ing the whole affair upon God did not at the mo- 
 ment occur to him. It was a convenient way of 
 shifting the responsibility, and one that has been 
 much utilized since the days of Adam. 
 
 Edith, on her part, felt that the time had come 
 for an understanding of some sort between West 
 and herself. It would be unfair to all concerned, 
 she decided, to allow matters to drift as they had 
 been drifting. If West should tell her that he 
 loved her, it would give her a reason for not seeing 
 him, an excuse for driving him away. Until he did 
 speak, she could do nothing. She was by no means 
 certain that, should he declare himself, she would 
 forthwith proceed to put him out of her life. That 
 question she left for the emotions of the moment to 
 decide. But she believed that, until the moment ar- 
 rived, she was quite helpless, for either good or ill. 
 To break with West, her husband's friend and her 
 own, now, without apparent reason, would be to as- 
 sume that he loved her, and loved her wrongfully
 
 THE BRUTE 89 
 
 she was not certain that this was true, not suffi- 
 ciently certain, at least, to deny herself the joy of 
 finding out. 
 
 For all these reasons she decided to do her best 
 to force West to declare himself. Then she would 
 have a crisis to face a reality, not a mere sup- 
 position. And whatever course she then decided up- 
 on, whether love, or duty, it would at least be definite 
 and final, and the present state of affairs was 
 neither. 
 
 By this complex system of reasoning Edith Rogers 
 justified herself in her intention to force from West 
 a declaration of his love, and justified herself so 
 completely that, when she joined him at the entrance 
 to the apartment, she had almost convinced herself 
 that she was about to commit a most laudable and 
 praiseworthy act.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 IT is a curious, but undeniable, fact that there is 
 something in the effect of rapid motion upon the 
 senses that generates love. Possibly it is the poetry 
 of movement which attunes the mind to thoughts of 
 a less practical nature. The dance, the swift motion 
 of an ocean liner, the whirl of a motor car, are they 
 not responsible for a multitude of sins; else why 
 the ballroom flirtations, the love-affairs on ship- 
 board, the eloping heiress and the chauffeur? Cer- 
 tain it is that there was something in the drive to 
 Garden City at Edith's side that morning, which en- 
 gendered in West a more passive attitude, a more 
 willing yielding to their growing love for each other, 
 than he had felt while walking with her in the park 
 the day before. She, on her part, dismissed all un- 
 pleasant thoughts from her mind, and reveled in the 
 joy of the moment. The day was brilliant, though 
 somewhat cold. The heavy fur-lined coat she wore 
 had been purchased a short time before by West, 
 
 for her especial use; she appreciated the motive 
 
 90
 
 THE BRUTE 91 
 
 which had prompted him to do this he thought 
 so continually of her comfort, her happiness. 
 
 She turned and glanced at him, and noted with 
 pleasure, even with a secret glow of happiness, the 
 strong, handsome lines of his face, ruddy in the sharp 
 wind, the strength of his arms, the poise of his shoul- 
 ders. Through the coat which enveloped her she 
 could feel the subtle warmth of his body she 
 nestled closer to him, and basked in a delightful 
 realization of his strength, his mastery over the on- 
 rushing car, his steady, unfailing nerves, which alone 
 stood betwen her and death. It seemed so fine to 
 know that her life rested in his hands, that a mo- 
 mentary weakness, a trifling slip on his part might 
 hurl them both to destruction against some tree, 
 or rock, or ever present telegraph pole. She began 
 to wonder, after all, how she had ever lived 
 these years without love, real, dominating love, such 
 as she believed this to be, to illumine and glorify her 
 life. Everything, indeed, with Donald seemed so 
 sordid. There was the everlasting talk of money, 
 the continual effort to make ends meet, the constant 
 fear least she spend a little more than his income 
 would justify. All this had passed from her, to-day.
 
 92 THE BRUTE 
 
 She moved along in a cloud of wonderful, waking 
 dreams, and life seemed once more a joyous, sen- 
 tient thing. She even forgot Bobbie, and it almost 
 seemed as though, if she could spend all the rest of 
 her life by West's side, anything else would be of 
 but minor importance. 
 
 West interrupted her day-dreams. " Are you 
 warm enough, dear? " he asked suddenly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, quite," she gasped against the wind 
 and wondered if he realized how in using that term of 
 endearment he had caused a glow of happiness to 
 flood her until her faced burned. It was something 
 he had never done before, yet it did not seem strange 
 to her. Their personalities seemed vibrant, attuned 
 to each other and to some great harmony of love 
 which was a part of the rushing wind, the brilliant 
 sunshine, the blue sky. She felt that he was going 
 to say something to her something that she 
 dreaded, yet waited for as a bride for her bride- 
 groom. Somehow all thought of disloyalty to Donald 
 had vanished. It was not that she put it aside, or 
 trampled upon it in this glorified atmosphere 
 of love it simply no longer existed. 
 
 Presently he turned to her, as they were slowly
 
 THE BRUTE 93 
 
 mounting a long stretch of hill. " I wish we could 
 go on and on, and never stop, for all the rest of our 
 lives," he said, looking at her hungrily. She met his 
 gaze with a glad smile and they told each other with 
 their eyes what had been growing in their hearts 
 for all these months. The road stretched before 
 them, gray and lonely. West put his left arm about 
 her with a caressing motion that seemed to embrace 
 within it not only herself, but all her hopes and fears, 
 her troubles and her joys. She did not passively 
 yield herself to his embraces, she leaped to him, her 
 brain on fire, her soul in her eyes. When their lips 
 met, she hardly knew it, all the music of the heavenly 
 choirs seemed singing in her ears, and in that mo- 
 ment of supreme happiness neither future nor past 
 for her existed. In an instant he had turned from 
 her and, with his hands on the steering wheel, swept 
 the road ahead with cautious eyes. The whole thing 
 seemed like a dream a fantasy of the imagination, 
 yet she knew it was the realest thing in her life at the 
 moment, the one great experience that eclipsed all 
 lesser experiences as though they had never been at 
 all. 
 
 They did not say much for a long time, for each
 
 94 THE BRUTE 
 
 seemed to feel the irrevocability of the thing that 
 had befallen them. It was not as though West had 
 kissed her, as a man might kiss a flirtatiously in- 
 clined woman. She knew that to him, at least, that 
 kiss had meant a seal of love ; what it had meant to 
 her she had not yet in her own mind decided. 
 
 After what seemed to her hours, he spoke again. 
 " I am thinking of going away, Edith," he said, and 
 his voice seemed to come to her from a long way 
 off, and wake her from happy dreams. 
 
 "Going away?" she asked, with a new timidity. 
 "Where?" 
 
 " To Europe, to Cairo, to the East." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because I cannot stay here any longer." 
 
 "Why not?" she found herself asking. "Why 
 not?" 
 
 " Because I love you, dear, and because, if I stay 
 here, I am afraid of what might happen. I want 
 to go away, to get out into the great, wide places 
 of the world, where air, and sunshine, and love are 
 free and God-given. I hate New York and all it 
 means. I cannot stay in it any longer as things 
 are."
 
 THE BRUTE 95 
 
 " Then I shall not see you any more? " she 
 asked in a voice from which she was unable to keep 
 a quivering sense of loss, of pain. 
 
 " Not unless you will go with me," he said sud- 
 denly, turning and looking into her face. 
 
 " Go with you go with you ? " She repeated 
 the words mechanically, as though the thought sug- 
 gested by them had not yet found a place in her 
 mind. " How could I?" 
 
 " Why not ? " His voice became suddenly in- 
 tense, trembling with feeling. " I love you, and I 
 want you, always, close by my side. I cannot think 
 of going on, all the years of my life, without you. 
 I know how wrong, how disloyal it all must seem to 
 you, but I cannot help it. I love you I love you 
 what more is there for me to say ? If you wish 
 it, I will go away from you at once to-day, and 
 never see you again, if it breaks my heart. Shall 
 I?" 
 
 She gave a faint cry. The thought hurt her, in 
 its unexpected cruelty. "How can you ask me 
 that?" 
 
 The car was running very slowly now, along a 
 stretch of road bordered by high trees, faintly green
 
 96 FHE BRUTE 
 
 in their early spring garb. He let the machine come 
 to a standstill beside the road and took her fiercely 
 into his arms. " Edith, I cannot go without you 
 my God I cannot. Come with me, dearest, come, 
 and forget all the troubles and cares of your life 
 here. 5 ' He pressed her to him with quivering mus- 
 cles and kissed her. "Will you? Will you?" he 
 demanded, and his voice seemed to her a command, 
 rather than a question. 
 
 She yielded to his embrace gladly, with a joyous 
 sense of freedom. " Yes yes ! " she cried, and lay 
 still in his arms. 
 
 Presently they heard, far behind them, the sound 
 of another car ascending the hill. West put her 
 from him, started the machine, and they rushed along 
 against the southeast wind, their hearts big with their 
 new-formed plan. 
 
 Then a long silence came upon them. Perhaps 
 they were both thinking of the pain which their love 
 must cause to Donald, the inevitable consequences 
 which must flow from it. It was a natural reaction 
 from the exaltation of the moment before. Edith, 
 too, was thinking of Bobbie, and already in her inmost 
 soul had begun to resent the demands of this new
 
 THE BRUTE 97 
 
 emotion, which required her to tear out of her heart 
 all that now lay within it, that there might be room 
 for her love for West alone. Yet so strange are the 
 ways of love, that, while resenting the result, she did 
 not resent the love which caused it to her Billy 
 West was, for the time being at least, the sum of all 
 earthly existence. 
 
 It was after one o'clock when they reached the 
 hotel at Garden City, and in a few moments they had 
 secured a table and were ordering luncheon. West 
 suggested a cocktail, which seemed very grateful 
 after the long ride. Edith did not feel hungry, but 
 ate mechanically, hardly knowing what was set be- 
 fore her. She looked timidly at him, and felt her 
 cheeks redden with a sudden flush. Somehow he 
 seemed so big, so masterful, so different from Don- 
 ald, and she knew that whenever he desired, from now 
 on, to take her in his strong arms, she would not re- 
 sist him, but would be glad. She seemed to feel to- 
 ward him an intense physical attraction, something 
 that she had never felt toward her husband, an un- 
 reasoning instinct, that made her long to be near 
 him, to hear his voice, to put her hand in his, and for- 
 get everything else in the blessed knowledge that this
 
 98 THE BRUTE 
 
 man of her desire possessed her completely and ut- 
 terly. 
 
 These thoughts came to her as an undercurrent, 
 far below the ripple of conversation with which the 
 meal passed. Only once did they look over the prec- 
 ipice upon the edge of which they walked so lightly. 
 She ventured, half-afraid, to ask him when he thought 
 of leaving New York. His answer showed that he, 
 too, had been thinking deeply of the matter which 
 lay nearest their hearts. 
 
 " I must go to Denver first," he said. " All my 
 property is there, you know, and I shall have to ar- 
 range about it." 
 
 " What are you going to do? " 
 
 " I shall sell out my stock in the mine, and resign 
 my position as vice-president. It may take a week 
 or two to do that. After I have converted the stock 
 into money, it will be necessary to put it into some 
 good security, bonds probably, which will require 
 no attention. That will leave me free to go abroad, 
 and stay as long as I please, without having to 
 bother about business affairs. We can go to Egypt, 
 to Persia, to India, to Japan, and when we come 
 back " He hesitated, halted.
 
 THE BRUTE 99 
 
 " When we come back ! Can we ever come back, 
 dear? " she asked timidly. 
 
 " Of course we can. Your husband will know that 
 we love each other ; and surely he will make it pos- 
 sible for us to be married. After all, you have 
 never been happy with him. He should be glad to 
 see you happy with someone else." 
 
 The matter-of-fact way in which he spoke of their 
 future jarred upon her. It was one thing to dream 
 of running away to some imagined country of palms 
 and eternal summer, in an ecstasy of love, but the 
 details, the sordid necessities of the thing, seemed 
 hard and cruel, even when viewed through the rosy 
 spectacles of love. To think of coming back to New 
 York and the chilly isolation of the social outcast 
 did not appeal to her it was like awakening from 
 the dream to realities anything but pleasant. He 
 must have seen her distaste, or felt it, for he changed 
 the subject abruptly, merely remarking that he had 
 decided to go to Denver that night. 
 
 " To-night ? " she asked " Why to-night ? You 
 have only just come from there." 
 
 " The sooner I go, the better. Matters are in 
 such shape now that I can sell out my interests
 
 100 THE BRUTE 
 
 quickly. I found that out, while I was there. If 
 I wait, it may be more difficult. The company is 
 thinking of taking over some new properties, and 
 that will require considerable money. I had better 
 go at once." 
 
 She trembled at the thought of what it all meant, 
 but said no word to discourage him. Somehow the 
 very success which had crowned her dreams now 
 seemed to make them less beautiful less to be de- 
 sired. Why couldn't they just go on loving each 
 other, without all this this upsetting of things ? 
 She suddenly found herself blushing at the realiza- 
 tion of just what it was that her thoughts actually 
 meant. 
 
 The run back to town was cheerless and cold, and 
 singularly symbolic of her state of mind. The 
 brightness of the morning had faded before the bank 
 of ashen-colored clouds that whirled up from the 
 southeast with a suggestion of winter in their form- 
 less masses. West drove the car at top speed, as 
 though he, too, felt the approach of something chill- 
 ing, an aftermath to their dreams. It was nearly 
 five when they reached the ferry in Long Island City, 
 and the lights in the stores and along the streets
 
 THE BRUTE 101 
 
 had already begun to sparkle through the gathering 
 mists of evening. 
 
 " We should have come back earlier," said Edith, 
 a bit worried. " Bobbie will wonder what has be- 
 come of me." She had left the child in Alice's care, 
 the nurse being out, and knew that the latter would 
 be anxious to get back to the boarding-house and 
 dinner. There was her own evening meal to 
 prepare as well. At once all the realities of life 
 arose to reach out to her, and draw her back to her 
 old routine. 
 
 " We can easily make it by half-past five," said 
 West, as they turned from Thirty-fourth Street into 
 Madison Avenue. " What time will Donald be 
 home? " 
 
 " A little after five, I suppose. We shall prob- 
 ably find him at home when we get there." 
 
 They drove up to the house just as Donald was 
 ascending the steps. Edith felt an overpowering 
 sense of guilt as he helped her from the machine ; she 
 said good-by to West rather hastily, as she stood 
 beside her husband on the sidewalk. Nothing was 
 said about the proposed trip to Denver; Donald 
 asked them about their day's outing, hoped they had
 
 102 THE BRUTE 
 
 had a pleasant time ; further than that there was no 
 conversation. As the motor rolled off, West looked 
 back and nodded, and in a moment Edith found her- 
 self ascending the elevator with her husband, wonder- 
 ing if, after all, the experience of the day had not 
 been a strange dream. 
 
 It seemed queer, unreal, to come down to the 
 commonplace things of life. Potatoes had to be 
 peeled, a steak cooked, all the details of the prepara- 
 tion of their simple dinner. Bobbie was cross and 
 hungry, and hung about her skirts as she moved to 
 and fro in the kitchen. Alice had hurried away, 
 with a rather nasty remark concerning her long stay. 
 More than ever she realized that life her life 
 was so full of things that meant nothing to her, so 
 barren of those that really counted. She placed 
 the dinner upon the table with a heart full of bitter- 
 ness, but she showed nothing of it to Donald. 
 
 He was full of his new venture in the glass busi- 
 ness. 'A friend by the name of Forbes had come to 
 him that afternoon with some patents for making 
 glass tiling; there was a fortune in it, he rattled on, 
 and she listened, only half-comprehending what it 
 was all about. She had always tried to take an inter-
 
 THE BRUTE 103 
 
 est in her husband's business affairs, but, to- 
 night, her heart was too full of other things 
 things that alternately lifted her up into realms 
 of hitherto unknown happiness, and then dropped 
 her into the black depths of despair. After all, it 
 would soon be over, she reflected, and then, fright- 
 ened by her thoughts, put them from her, and choked 
 down her dinner with a strange sense of desolation. 
 Billy was gone Billy, who had filled her days and 
 nights with a new joy of living. Gone gone! 
 Suppose something were to happen to him! The 
 thought that she might never see him again fright- 
 ened her.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ONE evening, about two weeks after West had 
 left New York for Denver, Alice Pope, 
 Edith's sister, came down to the Roxborough for the 
 purpose of spending the evening. 
 
 The two girls were very much alike in tempera- 
 ment and training and had always been great friends, 
 confiding to each other most of the affairs of their 
 rather uneventful existence. Alice was two years 
 younger than Edith, and while not so handsome a 
 woman, was the stronger nature of the two; as was 
 evidenced by her somewhat more firmly molded chin, 
 her lips, less full than Edith's, and her gray eyes, 
 which, set somewhat more closely together, gave to 
 her face an expression of shrewdness and determina- 
 tion only relieved by her good-natured and rather 
 large mouth. 
 
 She was not a frequent visitor at the Rogers' 
 apartment, at least in the evening, as she and Donald 
 did not get along very well they were good enough 
 friends, but neither found the other very congenial. 
 
 104
 
 THE BRUTE 105 
 
 Alice thought Donald hard and unsympathetic, a 
 feeling which arose largely from the tales of wo 
 with which Edith so frequently regaled her. Donald, 
 feeling this attitude of criticism, and too proud to 
 attempt to controvert it, remained silent, which but 
 convinced Alice the more of his lack of warmth and 
 geniality. Thus the two preserved a sort of armed 
 neutrality, the effect of which was to keep them for- 
 ever at arm's length. 
 
 Edith was in a state of extreme nervousness, and 
 even the pretense of looking at a magazine hardly 
 served to conceal the fact from Donald he would 
 inevitably have noticed it, had he not been busily oc- 
 cupied at his desk. 
 
 The cause of her nervousness reposed safely within 
 the bosom of her dress. It was a letter from West 
 which had come for her, three days before, and its 
 contents had caused her the gravest concern. She felt 
 glad that Alice was coming glad that Donald had 
 decided to go out for a stroll. She had been in- 
 wardly debating the advisability of taking her sister 
 into her confidence, when the door-bell rang. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock, and Donald was just 
 going out to post his letters.
 
 106 THE BRUTE 
 
 " Hello, Sis ! " said Alice, as she came in, then 
 she nodded to Donald. 
 
 " Good-evening, Alice," Edith replied. " Where's 
 mother? I thought she was coming with you." 
 
 " She'll be along presently." The girl took off 
 her long pony-skin coat and threw it carelessly upon 
 the couch. " She stopped at Mrs. Harrison's for 
 a few minutes to return a book she had borrowed." 
 She shivered slightly. "Pretty cold, isn't it? 
 Never knew such a late spring." 
 
 Edith turned to Donald, who was putting on his 
 coat. " Get some quinine capsules, Donald - two 
 grain. Bobbie's cold is worse to-night." 
 
 "Have you had the doctor?" inquired her hus- 
 band. 
 
 " Oh, no, it isn't as bad as that. Just a little 
 fever." 
 
 " Very well. I'll be back presently." He took up 
 his hat and went out. 
 
 Edith, instead of joining her sister, began to walk 
 aimlessly about the room. She had with difficulty 
 concealed her agitation from Donald, and, now that 
 he had gone, she still could not decide whether or not 
 it would be wisdom on her part to confide in her sis-
 
 THE BRUTE 107 
 
 ter. She felt the necessity of confiding in someone. 
 
 Alice presently observed the nervousness, and 
 commented upon it in her usual frank way. " For 
 heaven's sake, Edith," she remarked, " sit down. 
 Don't walk about like that. You make me nervous. 
 What's the matter with you, anyway?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing ! " Edith threw herself dispiritedly 
 into a chair, and, with an expression which bespoke 
 an utter weariness of spirit, gazed moodily at her 
 hands, roughened and red from the washing of dishes. 
 
 "Nothing?" said Alice, looking at her closely. 
 " You look as though you had lost your last 
 friend." 
 
 " Perhaps I have." The answer was significant, 
 although to Alice it meant nothing. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " she inquired. " I 
 think you might try to be a little more agreeable. 
 It wouldn't hurt you any. If you are going to sit 
 here and hand out chunks of gloom all the evening, 
 I think I'll go home." It was characteristic of Alice 
 to be determinedly cheerful on all occasions, a trait 
 born not so much of any inherent optimism as of a 
 dislike for being made uncomfortable. 
 
 Edith looked at her hesitatingly. " Don't mind
 
 108 THE BRUTE 
 
 me, Alice," she presently observed, in an apologetic 
 voice, " I'm worried." 
 
 " Do you suppose I can't see that ? You've been 
 acting like an Ibsen play for the past three days. 
 Why don't you get it off your mind ? " She hitched 
 her chair about, and faced her sister with a curious 
 look. " I'm safe enough. You ought to know that 
 by this time. Come out with it. What's wrong ? 
 Let's have the awful details." 
 
 " It isn't anything to joke about," remarked Edith, 
 not entirely relishing her sister's tone. 
 
 "I'm not joking not a bit of it. If you are 
 in any trouble, Sis, you know you can count on me. 
 I may be able to help you out ; two heads are better 
 than one, you know." 
 
 With a sudden glance, Edith decided to take her 
 sister into her confidence. Her question, quick and 
 unexpected, aroused Alice to new interest. " Do 
 you like Billy West?" she asked. 
 
 "Billy West? Of course I do. What's he got 
 to do with it?" 
 
 "Everything!" 
 
 Alice hitched her chair still closer, and looked at 
 her sister in surprise. " You don't mean to
 
 THE BRUTE 109 
 
 say ? " she began, then concluded her remark with 
 a significant whistle. 
 
 " Alice," said her sister, " you've known Billy for 
 a long time. You know he is one of Donald's best 
 friends " 
 
 " I always thought so. He must like one of you 
 pretty well, judging by the amount of time he spends 
 here." 
 
 " You didn't know, perhaps, that he was very 
 much in love with me, years ago, before he went to 
 Colorado." 
 
 " I always suspected it. Pity you didn't marry 
 him. He made about half a million out there, didn't 
 he, in that gold mine?" 
 
 " I don't know just what he made. That has 
 nothing to do with it. Ever since he came back to 
 New York to live, three months ago, I've seen a 
 great deal of him " 
 
 " I should say you had. If I hadn't thought him 
 such a good friend of Donald's I'd have been sus- 
 picious long ago. I've envied you often enough, 
 your auto rides, and luncheons at the Knickerbocker, 
 and dinners, and theater parties. He doesn't mind 
 spending his money that's one thing sure, but I
 
 110 THE BRUTE 
 
 never thought " She paused and looked at her 
 sister with renewed interest. " Is he in love with 
 you now? " 
 
 " Yes." Edith spoke slowly almost as though 
 to herself. The thought was apparently not dis- 
 tasteful to her. 
 
 "You don't say so! The plot thickens. So 
 that's why he's been here morning, noon and night. 
 Does Donald know? " 
 
 "Donald! Of course not." 
 
 " Has Billy said anything? " 
 
 "Said anything? To whom?" 
 
 " To you, of course. Has he told you that he still 
 loves you? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That wasn't exactly fair of him." [Alice was a 
 good deal of a Puritan at heart, and not at all lack- 
 ing in frankness. " He ought not to have done it. 
 I'm not so strong for Donald, goodness knows, but 
 it strikes me as being pretty rough on him, just the 
 same. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 " Yes, and I told Billy so." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 " He said he had tried his best to keep from tell-
 
 THE BRUTE 111 
 
 ing me, all these months. He went away, once, in 
 April, you remember, and stayed nearly a month, to 
 try to forget, but it didn't do any good. He says 
 he loves me more every day, and at last he had to 
 tell me of it he couldn't keep from it any longer." 
 
 "Well, what good has it done? He has sense 
 enough to see that it's perfectly hopeless, hasn't he ?" 
 
 " No, that's the worst of it." 
 
 Alice sat back in her chair in alarm. " Good 
 heavens, Edith," she gasped, " you must be losing 
 your mind." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "It isn't possible you are thinking of " She 
 paused and left her sentence incomplete, gazing in- 
 tently at her sister. " Do you care for him? " 
 
 " I don't know. Sometimes I think I do. You 
 know what my life has been here. You know what 
 it is going to be, for years. I suppose you will 
 think me very disloyal and wicked, but, when a 
 woman's whole existence is made up, year after year, 
 of wishing for all the things that make life worth 
 while, and never, never being able to afford them, 
 her love for her husband seems somehow to become 
 dried up, and unimportant."
 
 112 THE BRUTE 
 
 " H-m I suppose it does. I've never yet 
 got to the point, myself, where I can really enjoy 
 making over my last season's clothes. I try to think 
 they look as good as new, but they never do. I'm 
 afraid I haven't enough imagination. But all that 
 doesn't make any difference now. You're married 
 to Donald, and you've got to make the best of it. 
 What a pity you didn't choose Billy! Half a mil- 
 lion hm-m it sounds like heaven to me. I won- 
 der if he wouldn't like me as a second choice," she 
 rattled on. " We certainly ought to try to keep 
 that money in the family, somehow." 
 
 " Alice, don't talk such nonsense. It isn't Billy's 
 money I'm thinking of." 
 
 " If you can persuade yourself that that's true," 
 said her sister grimly, " you really must be in love 
 with him. But what's the use of talking about it? 
 It's absurd." 
 
 Edith stood up and walked nervously over to 
 the desk, where she began idly fumbling with the 
 papers upon it. Presently she turned to her sister 
 who was regarding her with an inquiring look. 
 
 " He he wants me to leave Donald," she cried, 
 in a half-frightened way.
 
 THE BRUTE 113 
 
 " No ! What a nerve ! " Alice seemed to re- 
 gard the whole affair as a huge joke. 
 
 " He says that I am wearing myself out," con- 
 tinued her sister, " that I am wasting all the youth, 
 and sweetness and joy of life, grinding on here in 
 this hopeless situation. He says that, if Donald 
 really loved me, he would see that, too." 
 
 " It sounds like the latest best seller. The hero 
 always says that to the neglected wife, doesn't he? " 
 
 " If you are going to make fun of me," remarked 
 Edith with a show of anger, " I think we had better 
 drop the subject." 
 
 Alice got up and went over to her sister. " Oh, come 
 now, Edith," she said kindly, " don't get so grouchy. 
 I don't see anything so tragic in all this. Suppose 
 Billy does love you what does he propose to do 
 about it run away with you ? " 
 
 " Yes." Her sister's quiet tones had a ring of 
 earnestness to them, of finality almost, that was 
 alarming. 
 
 " The idea ! Billy West of all people ! I can't 
 believe it. I suppose you indignantly refused." 
 
 " No, I didn't. He told me how lonely he was ; 
 how bad it all made him feel; how it seemed so dis-
 
 114 THE BRUTE 
 
 loyal to Donald, but he he couldn't help it. He 
 said I was everything in the world to him that he 
 had never loved any other woman, and never 
 would" 
 
 " Oh, I can imagine what he said," interrupted 
 Alice. " That's easy. The question is, what did 
 you say? " 
 
 Edith looked at her in a frightened way, seemingly 
 for a moment unwilling to meet her glance. " Alice," 
 she said, slowly and very softly, "I I told him I 
 would go." 
 
 " Edith, you really can't mean it." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Rogers, nodding her head 
 slowly. " Yes. That was over two weeks ago. 
 We had gone down to Garden City in the auto, and 
 had luncheon there. It was a wonderful day so 
 clear, and bright and beautiful. I had had a row 
 with Donald, the night before. It was about go- 
 ing away this summer. When I met Billy the next 
 day, everything seemed so different. He was telling 
 me about a wonderful trip he was planning, to India, 
 and the East. We talked it over like two children, 
 and then all of a sudden he said he wouldn't he 
 couldn't go, unless I went, too "
 
 THE BRUTE 115 
 
 " It sounds fine." Alice's voice was not approv- 
 ing. " But what about Bobbie? " 
 
 Her sister passed her hand over her forehead and 
 shivered slightly, glancing as she did so at the 
 door of the adjoining bedroom. "Can't you see 
 that is why I cannot do it ? " she cried with bitter- 
 ness. 
 
 " Oh you aren't going to, then ! " exclaimed 
 Alice in a tone of relief. " I thought you said you 
 had agreed to go." 
 
 " I did. I must have been mad. I didn't think 
 of Bobbie, or of Donald, or anything, except that 
 Billy and I loved each other, and were going away 
 together, to be happier than I had ever dreamed of 
 being in all my life. It all seemed so wonderful 
 almost like being born over again and living a new 
 existence in a new and happier world. Then when 
 I got home " She hesitated, and a look of pain 
 crossed her face. 
 
 " You weakened on the proposition, of course. 
 That's the effect of habit. It's a wonderful thing 
 how it keeps us in the straight and narrow path. I 
 once heard a divorced woman say that it took her 
 over a year to get out of the habit of being married
 
 116 THE BRUTE 
 
 to her first husband. What did Billy say when you 
 told him you had changed your mind? I'll bet he 
 was furious." 
 
 Again Mrs. Rogers seemed unable to meet her 
 sister's keen gaze. " I haven't told him," she ex- 
 claimed, her voice little more than a whisper. 
 
 " Good heavens ! Why not? " 
 
 " Because he had gone away. He went to Denver 
 that same night. Didn't you know? " 
 
 " Now that you mention it, I believe I did hear 
 you say that he was out of town. I thought it 
 strange I hadn't seen anything of him, lately. 
 What did he go to Denver for? I must say, it seems 
 rather inconsiderate of him, under the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " He went to Denver, Alice, because his property 
 is there. He intends to sell out his interest in the 
 mine, and close up his affairs so that we can go 
 away together, don't you see? He said he was go- 
 ing to dispose of everything he had, and put all the 
 money in bonds, so that he would be free to go away, 
 and stay away the rest of his life, if he felt like it." 
 
 " Well, I must say," cried her sister, " he seems to 
 be in earnest, at any rate, even if you are not."
 
 THE BRUTE 117 
 
 " Alice, Billy West loves me as truly and deeply 
 as any woman was ever loved. 
 
 " Then it seems to me that you are treating his 
 love pretty shabbily. Why don't you tell him the 
 truth? " 
 
 " It wasn't until after he had gone away that I 
 began to realize what a terrific mistake it would all 
 be that I would probably ruin his life as well as 
 my own. I ought to have written him at once, and 
 told him I couldn't do what I had agreed." 
 
 "Why didn't you?" 
 
 " I don't know. I suppose I was weak. I hadn't 
 the courage. Every day I put it off till the next." 
 
 " Well, it isn't too late yet, is it? If I were you, 
 I would sit right down and write him a letter." 
 
 Edith flung herself despairingly into a chair. 
 " I don't know whether it is too late or not," she 
 wailed. " That's what is worrying me so. I haven't 
 slept for three nights ever since I got his last let- 
 ter." 
 
 Alice went over to her sister's chair, and put her 
 arm about her shoulder. " Look here, Edith," she 
 said, her tone showing plainly her anxiety 
 "what's all this about, anyway? You seem to be
 
 118 THE BRUTE 
 
 terribly upset. I can't make head or tail of the 
 matter. What's worrying you so?" 
 
 " Three days ago," said Edith, with quivering lips, 
 " I got a letter from him. He'd been writing me 
 every day up to then. That letter told me that he 
 had appendicitis, and had gone to a hospital in Den- 
 ver to be operated on. It was written last Thurs- 
 day that's six days ago. Since then, I haven't 
 heard a single word." 
 
 Alice appeared greatly relieved. "Is that all?" 
 she cried. " I shouldn't worry about it, if I were 
 you. When anyone is lying flat on his back in a 
 hospital, he doesn't feel much like writing letters. 
 Appendicitis isn't very dangerous. I've known any 
 number of people that have had it." 
 
 " I know, but I can't help worrying. I don't know 
 what to do." 
 
 " I should think the first thing you would do 
 would be to sit down and write him that letter." 
 
 " I don't dare to." 
 
 " I don't see why not." 
 
 " Suppose something has happened to him. How 
 can I know who might get the letter? I don't dare 
 to write the things I've got to say to him."
 
 THE BRUTE 119 
 
 Alice considered a moment. " No, I don't sup- 
 pose you'd better. I didn't think of that. Can't 
 you find out, some way, how he is? " 
 
 " I don't know a soul in Denver." 
 
 Her sister paused for a moment, thinking deeply. 
 " What is to-day, Edith? " she suddenly inquired 
 "The twentieth?" 
 
 " Yes, I believe so. Why? " 
 
 " Then Emerson Hall got to Denver last night. 
 He wrote me from St. Louis that he was going there 
 this week, and would arrive the night of the nine- 
 teenth. He expects to be there several weeks. I 
 might ask him." 
 
 " Will you? " Mrs. Rogers looked at her eagerly. 
 " I must find out somehow. It seems terrible, not 
 to write to him, now that he is so sick. I I care 
 a lot for him, Alice, even if I have decided not to 
 run away with him. Do you think Mr. Hall will 
 do it for you ? " 
 
 "Who, Emerson? Of course he will. He'd do 
 anything for me. And, besides. I think he knows 
 Billy slightly. They're both Columbia men, you 
 know." 
 
 " Send him a wire. Ask him to go to the hospital
 
 120 THE BRUTE 
 
 at once and find out how Billy is. I've got to know." 
 
 " All right," said Alice, as she made her way 
 to the desk. "Got a blank? " 
 
 " I think there are some here." Edith accom- 
 panied her sister to the desk. " Here's one." She 
 handed Alice the blank. 
 
 " What shall I say ? " asked Alice, as she seated 
 herself at the desk. 
 
 " Just ask him to go to the City Hospital and in- 
 quire for William West. I'll get the elevator boy 
 to take it." She stepped out into the hall and 
 pressed the electric button. " How much is it for 
 ten words do you know ? " she asked as she re- 
 entered the room. 
 
 " Haven't the least idea," said her sister as she 
 handed her the message she had written. 
 
 Edith glanced at it, took a dollar bill from her 
 purse, and gave it and the message to the elevator 
 boy who had answered her ring. " You'll probably 
 get the answer in the morning, Alice." She turned 
 to her sister as she closed the door. " You'll bring it 
 right down to me, won't you ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " And not a word to Donald that goes without
 
 THE BRUTE 121 
 
 saying. I wouldn't have him know for anything." 
 " All right. Billy is probably all right by this 
 time, anyhow. As soon as you know that he is, I 
 advise you to sit down and write him a nice, sensible 
 letter tell him you have reconsidered, and all that. 
 You certainly owe it to him." 
 
 " I will, Alice. I ought to have done it long ago. 
 There's the bell," she added, wearily. " It's prob- 
 ably mother.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 IT was on a cold raw morning, that William West 
 arrived in Denver, and, as he made his way 
 slowly from the sleeper to the waiting 'bus, he shiv- 
 ered under his heavy overcoat. He was not glad to 
 be back. Denver and all its associations had faded 
 into the pale background of past memories his 
 face was set toward the future, a future that prom- 
 ised all that joy of living, of loving and of being 
 loved in return, which he so eagerly desired. 
 
 It cut him bitterly to think of his treachery to 
 Donald, a treachery in no way lessened by the fact 
 that love was its motive, yet he argued to his con- 
 science that the future happiness of both Edith and 
 himself was at stake and demanded of him even the 
 sacrifice of his friendship. 
 
 He did not go to his accustomed rooms at the 
 Prairie, for he intended to make his stay in the city 
 as short and uneventful as possible. There was but 
 one purpose in his mind to dispose of his hold- 
 ings in the mine, resign his office as vice-president
 
 THE BRUTE 123 
 
 of the company and invest his entire fortune in safe 
 and desirable bonds, upon the interest of which he 
 would be able to carry out his future plans with 
 no greater attention to business affairs than that 
 involved in clipping off his quarterly or half-yearly 
 coupons. Therefore he held aloof from his old 
 friends, his former associations. If he should let 
 the men at the club know of his presence in the city, 
 they would not only take up a great deal of his time, 
 but would inevitably inquire into his plans in a way 
 that might easily prove embarrassing. He there- 
 fore betook himself to a quiet hotel, not usually 
 patronized by the traveling public, and, after a 
 smoking-hot breakfast, proceeded to the offices of the 
 company. 
 
 West had anticipated that his associates in the 
 Lone Star Mining Company would be the most prob- 
 able purchasers of his holdings and for this reason 
 had determined to offer them the first opportunity; 
 to buy. His interview with Atkinson, the president, 
 was entirely satisfactory. While expressing deep 
 regret at West's desire to withdraw from active par- 
 ticipation in the business, the astute Boston man 
 grasped at once the opportunity to acquire at, or
 
 124 THE BRUTE 
 
 near, par, a block of stock which would be worth 
 double its present value in the course of a few years. 
 He at once closed with West's offer, taking an op- 
 tion on his holdings for ten days, during which time 
 he expected to arrange for the necessary capital 
 to carry out the purchase. A meeting of the board 
 was called to act upon West's resignation, and, when 
 the latter left the office for luncheon, he had, as far 
 as was possible, for the moment, completed the busi- 
 ness that had brought him to Denver. 
 
 The following ten days were a nightmare. There 
 was nothing to do, but write to Edith, it seemed, and 
 to read her daily letters over and over, drawing from 
 them new inspiration for his plans with each re- 
 reading. Slowly the ten days passed. Atkinson re- 
 ported entire success in his plans for the syndicate 
 he was forming to take over West's holdings ; within 
 a week the latter expected to be flying eastward, 
 leaving the matter of reinvesting his money until he 
 should reach New York. 
 
 His anxiety to return as quickly as possible was 
 accentuated by traces of a change of heart which he 
 fancied he detected in some of Edith's later letters. 
 She had spoken of her fears for the success of their
 
 THE BRUTE 125 
 
 plans her duty to her husband, her boy. " Poor 
 little girl," thought West, " she needs me with her, to 
 keep up her courage in these most trying hours of 
 her life." 
 
 The night of the ninth day he went to bed early, 
 with a dull, insistent pain in his right side which 
 he attributed to a cold, a result of the raw, unseason- 
 able weather. In the morning the pain had in- 
 creased ; he had passed a restless, broken night, and 
 arose feeling dizzy and half-sick. He determined 
 to consult a doctor, but not until he had completed 
 his business. 
 
 At ten o'clock he met Atkinson and his associates, 
 and within an hour the stock had been delivered, and 
 the certified check for close to half a million dollars 
 deposited in the bank. A great sense of relief filled 
 his mind he was free, to seek happiness wherever 
 in the broad expanse of the world he might find it. 
 Yet beneath all his joy his exultation, there 
 throbbed a double sense of pain, the dull gnaw- 
 ing of conscience at his heart, and the sharp, insist- 
 ent throbbing that, knife-life, shot through his right 
 side. Clearly this latter was not a matter to be 
 trifled with. He turned into the first doctor's of-
 
 126 THE BRUTE 
 
 fice that met his eye, and joined the other unfor- 
 tunates waiting in the anteroom. 
 
 The doctor would see him presently, the low- 
 voiced maid informed him. He sat bolt upright in 
 an uncomfortable chair and gripped his hands to- 
 gether fiercely as the sharp pangs of pain tore at 
 his vitals. Would these people never be through ? he 
 wondered. From within the doctor's office, shut 
 off by glass doors, came the faint echoes of conversa- 
 tion ; some unfortunate, no doubt, hearing the dread 
 sentence of life or death, or perhaps only a nervous 
 woman, being prescribed bread pills for a fancied in- 
 disposition. There were two men and a woman wait- 
 ing ahead of him. They looked healthy enough ; he 
 wondered what they could have the matter with them 
 that made their faces so grave. 
 
 For nearly an hour he was forced to wait in an 
 agony of mind and body, until his turn came, and his 
 thoughts were the thoughts of a man upon whom the 
 hand of death has already laid its icy touch. He 
 knew it was all nonsense engendered of pain- 
 racked nerves, yet his conscience smote him, and 
 would not be stilled. The pain in his side spelled 
 disaster, and he could not shake off the thought. He
 
 THE BRUTE 127 
 
 had never believed in the direct intervention of Provi- 
 dence in the affairs of mankind, yet here was he, at 
 the moment when all his future, as he had planned 
 it, lay smiling before him, stricken with an illness 
 which, laugh at it as he would, he could not help 
 fearing might mean an end to all his hopes. 
 
 He sat up and shook his head with a quick, nerv- 
 ous motion which had been characteristic of him 
 since childhood. This was all the height of folly, he 
 argued the natural train of gloomy thoughts 
 which resulted from his surroundings. Even the 
 faint odor of carbolic acid, compounded with that 
 of other unknown chemicals, was enough to make a 
 man feel blue. He rose as the maid beckoned to him 
 the other consultations had happily been short. 
 
 Dr. Oliver was a man of few words. He had not 
 time for more, for his practice was one of the larg- 
 est in the city. He glanced at West's pain-drawn 
 face, listened to his few words of explanation, felt his 
 side with practiced hands, and delivered his opinion 
 in a few terse words. " Appendicitis," he said 
 quickly, " and an aggravated case. You must un- 
 dergo an operation at once." 
 
 Somehow or other West felt a sudden sense of re-
 
 128 THE BRUTE 
 
 lief at these words. After all, an operation for ap- 
 pendicitis was not such a serious matter. He knew 
 any number of people who had been through it. " I 
 am stopping at a hotel," he observed. " I do not 
 live in Denver. I suppose I shall be obliged to go to 
 a hospital at once." 
 
 " By all means." The doctor turned to his desk 
 telephone and called a number. " I will arrange for 
 an operation at the City Hospital, if you wish it." 
 
 " Thank you," replied West, " I do wish it." 
 
 The doctor held a short conversation over the 
 telephone. " I presume you can go to the hospital at 
 once? " he inquired. 
 
 West nodded. 
 
 " I will send for a carriage," the doctor went on, 
 as he drew a thermometer from a leather case and 
 placed it beneath West's tongue. " Your case is an 
 acute one, Mr. West, and we cannot afford to lose 
 any time." He again spoke sharply over the tele- 
 phone, then, bidding West bare his arm, gave him a 
 quick hypodermic injection which diffused a blessed 
 sense of relief through every nerve of his pain-racked 
 body. He sank upon a couch, and awaited the com- 
 ing of the carriage. His thoughts were no longer
 
 THE BRUTE 129 
 
 gloomy. He seemed to be floating in a sea of 
 warmth, which caressed him pleasurably and filled 
 him with a delicious feeling of well-being. Even the 
 dull-figured flowers on the walls of the doctor's office 
 seemed alive, and glowing with color. The coming 
 of the carriage seemed unimportant; nothing, in 
 fact, seemed to matter, now that the gnawing of that 
 terrible pain had left him. 
 
 It was Wednesday afternoon when West arrived 
 at the City Hospital, and within two hours there- 
 after the operation was over, and he slowly returned 
 to a sense of the reality of life, with a feeling of 
 deadly nausea, and the pain once more throbbing in 
 his right side. Over him bent a clear-eyed nurse, 
 sympathetic as to his comfort, offering him a glass 
 of water. Presently a physician joined her. West 
 looked at them without interest and from the jum- 
 bled impressions of the day once more passed into a 
 dreamless sleep. 
 
 It was in the early morning that he first began to 
 think of Edith. Her letters would be awaiting him 
 at his hotel. He must send for them he must 
 write to her and tell her of all that had happened. 
 He felt that she would be alarmed at not hearing
 
 130 THE BRUTE 
 
 from him, for, until the day before, he had not failed 
 to post a letter to her each night, telling her of the 
 events of the day. 
 
 In response to his repeated requests, the nurse 
 sent a messenger boy for his mail, and, when the lat- 
 ter returned, she read him Edith's letter at his re- 
 quest. He could not read it himself he lay flat 
 on his back, in semi-darkness, and even the slight 
 effort of moving his hands seemed to send innumer- 
 able sharp quivers of pain through every portion of 
 his body. 
 
 The nurse read the letter haltingly, as one reads 
 an unfamiliar handwriting; it was signed, like all 
 the letters, with initials only, and told him of Edith's 
 anxiety to see him, of her hopes and fears, and all 
 the other foolish things that women write to men 
 they love. To him it seemed a message from 
 heaven, for he loved her very deeply, and her slight- 
 est word became a treasure to him, invested with a 
 new significance; lifted from its commonplace sur- 
 roundings ; something to ponder over, and think 
 about all through the long, weary day. He sent a 
 reply, treating lightly of his illness, so as not to 
 alarm her needlessly. The nurse carefully wrote it
 
 THE BRUTE 131 
 
 down for him at his dictation. He hesitated when it 
 came to telling the woman the address he did not 
 wish to compromise Edith, to give her name to a 
 stranger. There was no other way, however, and, 
 after all, he believed that, within a month at the out- 
 side, they would be standing hand in hand at the 
 taffrail of some great ocean liner, watching the tow- 
 ering skyline of New York as it disappeared in the 
 hazy distance along with their troubles and cares. 
 The mere fact that their secret was known, now, to 
 a hospital nurse, could do no harm ; in a few weeks 
 all the world would know it, but they would be in 
 each other's arms, and the opinion of the world 
 would not matter very much. 
 
 The day seemed strangely long and he was glad 
 when night came, and with it some respite from his 
 pain^ He felt tired, terribly tired, and his head 
 throbbed with a burning fever. They gave him 
 things to make him sleep, and water for his crack- 
 ing lips. As the evening wore on even the thoughts 
 of the morning's letter no longer interested him. 
 He turned his face to the wall, and tried not to think 
 of anything at all. After a while he slept, while the 
 nurse and the doctor on his evening round spoke
 
 132 THE BRUTE 
 
 together softly, and in grave tones, with many anx- 
 ious glances in his direction. 
 
 The next morning his fever was better, and the 
 letter brought him from his hotel made the day seem 
 for a time full of joy and brightness, but after a 
 little while a great sense of weariness overcame him. 
 Nothing seemed to matter much ; whether he lived or 
 died. He was conscious only of a desire to sleep 
 how long, even though forever, he did not care in 
 the very least. 
 
 About noon he was roused by the approach of 
 someone toward his bed, and opened his eyes to see 
 Doctor Oliver standing beside him. The doctor 
 looked very grave as he took his patient's hand, his 
 fingers mechanically feeling the rapid, weak pulse. 
 " Mr. West,*' said the doctor, " I think you should 
 let your family know of your illness." 
 
 West tried to raise his hand, then fell back with 
 a sigh of weariness. " Am I as sick as all that ? " 
 he inquired faintly, as he gazed into the doctor's in- 
 scrutable eyes. 
 
 " You are a very sick man, Mr. West. I do not 
 wish to needlessly alarm you, but it would be best 
 to communicate with your people, and put your af-
 
 THE BRUTE 133 
 
 fairs in order, so that, whatever happens, you will 
 be ready to meet it." 
 
 The sick man looked at the doctor with a long, 
 intent look. His lips quivered, his hand tightened 
 fearfully upon the one that held it. " You mean 
 that I am going to die ? " he asked bravely. " Tell 
 me the truth, doctor. I would rather know." The 
 doctor nodded his head slowly, but made no other 
 reply. 
 
 West was a long time in realizing the truth, yet it 
 seemed as though he had always known it. He had 
 never quite believed that all the happiness he looked 
 forward to so gladly would ever really come true. 
 It seemed almost too much to ask of fate. And 
 now it was all ended. He must die, here alone, with 
 not even Edith's presence to gladden his few remain- 
 ing hours. For a long time he looked at the doctor 
 with burning eyes, yet no words would come to say 
 that which he felt. The doctor must have under- 
 stood, for he, too, stood silent, his eyes fixed tenderly 
 upon the dying man's face. At last he spoke. 
 
 " You should send for your people, Mr. West," he 
 said. 
 
 " I have no people, doctor."
 
 134 THE BRUTE 
 
 " Is there no one you would care to see ? " 
 
 " No no one that could come to me here." He 
 thought of Edith so far away even if she could 
 come to him, he knew there would not be time. He 
 looked once more at the grave face which bent over 
 his. " How long have I to live, doctor? " he asked. 
 
 " I am afraid the time is not very long, Mr. West. 
 If you have any business affairs that you wish to at- 
 tend to, I would advise you to do so at once." 
 
 Business affairs ! What business affairs could in- 
 terest him now? His fortune lay in the Central Na- 
 tional Bank, and beyond some distant relatives in 
 New Hampshire whom he had never seen, and who 
 scarcely knew of his existence, there was no one on 
 earth to whom he could leave it. No one? The 
 thought flashed through his mind what about 
 Edith? She was nearer and dearer to him than all 
 the relatives in the world she must have this 
 money; at least it would bring her comfort and the 
 ability to make her life what she had always wished 
 it to be. He raised his hand, and began to speak. 
 " You must send Austin Williams here, doctor. He 
 is a lawyer in the Pioneer Building. You can call 
 him up on the telephone." He sank back, exhausted
 
 THE BRUTE 135 
 
 from the effort of speaking. Williams had done 
 work for him in the past. It would be a small thing, 
 to make his will. The doctor and the nurse would 
 act as witnesses. He asked the former to hurry 
 there was no time to be lost he felt his strength 
 ebbing away even as he spoke. 
 
 The long silence that followed until the lawyer 
 arrived was unbroken save by the labored breathing 
 of the man in the bed. What thoughts passed 
 through his pain-tortured brain what agony of re- 
 gret, of remorse, of self-accusation, he did not show 
 by word or look. He lay with his eyes closed, the 
 seal of death upon his forehead. At last the lawyer 
 arrived, and in a few moments was apprised of the 
 sad circumstances which had called him. He gripped 
 West's hand with a silent pressure of sympathy, and 
 listened to the broken words that told him of last 
 wishes. His entire property was to be left to Edith 
 Pope Rogers, wife of Donald Evan Rogers, of New 
 York City. That was all. The lawyer called for 
 pen and paper, and rapidly drew up the short, con- 
 cise will. West's attorney in New York, Ogden 
 Brennan by name, of the firm of Gruber, McMillan, 
 Brennan & Shaw, was named as executor.
 
 136 THE BRUTE 
 
 Within fifteen minutes the will had been drawn, 
 signed and duly witnessed, and William West had 
 completed his last earthly task. He bade Williams 
 a steady farewell, and then turned toward the wall. 
 " I'm so tired ! " he moaned, then became quiet. 
 They thought he was sleeping, and did not disturb 
 him. He was, but it was the sleep from which there 
 is no awakening.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE bells in Old Trinity were chiming the hour 
 of five and all New York began to turn its 
 face homeward. The human tide flowed from of- 
 fices to elevators, from elevators to corridors and 
 thence in an ever growing stream toward the sub- 
 way and elevated stations. The sun, like a round 
 red Chinese lamp, was poised above the gathering 
 mists of the Jersey shore, ready for its plunge be- 
 hind the distant hills. Office boys and bank presi- 
 dents, stenographers and captains of industry 
 fought democratically for seats in the overcrowded 
 trains, while over all sounded the shrill call of the 
 newsboys as they disposed of the afternoon papers. 
 Down-town New York had completed another day 
 the tides now moved on to Jersey, Harlem, Brook- 
 lyn, or the great center of life that throbs unceas- 
 ingly about Times Square. 
 
 Against this ever increasing torrent of humanity 
 Mr. Ogden Brennan of the firm of Gruber, McMil- 
 lan, Brennan & Shaw, Attorneys-at-Law, struggled 
 
 137
 
 138 THE BRUTE 
 
 irritably, as he forced his way from a down-town 
 subway train, and hurried to the firm's extensive 
 suite of offices in Wall Street, near Broadway. 
 
 He gave a quick glance about as he entered, and, 
 making rapidly for his private office, called sharply 
 to young Garvan, one of his assistants, to ask Mr. 
 Shaw to join him at once. Mr. Brennan was tall 
 and gaunt-looking, and peremptory alike in his phys- 
 ical and mental processes, and, when he entered his 
 office, as he did on this occasion, in a more than usu- 
 ally energetic fashion, everybody, down to William 
 the office boy, was galvanized into an unwonted ac- 
 tivity. 
 
 Mr. Shaw, the junior member of the firm, with a 
 dinner on at his club, had already donned his over- 
 coat and was giving some parting instructions to 
 his stenographer as young Garvan entered and de- 
 livered the message. He took up his hat with a sigh 
 he was of a more placid and phlegmatic tempera- 
 ment than his partner and, picking up his 
 afternoon paper, folded it carefully, selected his 
 walking stick from the stand near the door, and pro- 
 ceeded in a leisurely manner to Mr. Brennan's pri- 
 vate office.
 
 THE BRUTE 139 
 
 The firm of Gruber, McMillan, Brennan & Shaw 
 was a large one, and its principal practice lay in the 
 handling of the affairs of corporations and estates. 
 Criminal practice knew it not, but it was said of Mr. 
 Shaw that he could draw a better contract, or han- 
 dle a difficult merger, more successfully than any 
 other lawyer in New York, which was saying much. 
 Mr. Brennan dealt with estates and wills the lat- 
 ter were his hobby. He claimed that none drawn 
 by himself had ever been broken. 
 
 As Mr. Shaw entered his partner's private office, 
 with a bland look of inquiry upon his well-bred coun- 
 tenance, he observed Mr. Brennan throw down upon 
 his desk, with an exclamation of annoyance, a thin 
 legal document, comprising but two pages, written, 
 as he noted, in longhand, instead of the usual type- 
 written characters. Mr. Brennan looked up with 
 a frown. 
 
 " Sam," he said hurriedly, " you know that young 
 Billy West? He's dead." 
 
 Mr. Shaw put on his eyeglasses, and regarded Mr. 
 Brennan curiously. " I don't seem to remember 
 him," he replied. " Who was he? " 
 
 " Son of old Josiah West, the patent attorney.
 
 140 THE BRUTE 
 
 He made a fortune In mining operations in Colo- 
 rado. His father used to be a client of mine, twenty 
 years ago. Don't you recollect the suits he brought 
 against the paper trust ? " 
 
 " Before my time, I think," replied Mr. Shaw. 
 
 " Well, it's not important now. I've been want- 
 ing to see you about the matter all day, but that case 
 of the Webster estate has kept me on the jump. 
 Young West died in Denver last Friday. I've just 
 received a copy of his will from an attorney out 
 there by the name of Williams." Mr. Brennan re- 
 ferred to the papers impatiently, adjusting his 
 glasses with a jerk. " Austin Williams. He writes 
 a long letter, telling me of West's death in the City 
 Hospital there, following an operation for appendi- 
 citis. Very sudden affair. West was interested in 
 a mine out there, but had sold out his holdings and 
 put the proceeds in bank. About half a million, I 
 believe. I'm executor of his estate." He looked at 
 Mr. Shaw with a frown. 
 
 " What of it, Ogden ? Simple enough affair, I 
 should think. No contesting claims, I hope, or any- 
 thing of that sort." 
 
 " None, so far as I can see. It's the terms of the
 
 THE BRUTE 141 
 
 will that I can't quite understand, and they impress 
 me unpleasantly." 
 
 " What are they ? " Mr. Shaw regarded his part- 
 ner wearily. He wondered why Brennan troubled 
 to explain to him all these apparently unimportant 
 details, just when he was in an especial hurry to get 
 up-town and change in time for dinner. " Is there 
 anything in the matter that requires action to- 
 night ? " he inquired. " I have a rather important 
 engagement, and " 
 
 " Sam," interrupted his partner, " I won't keep 
 you long. My object in telling you of this matter 
 is to find out if by any chance you know a man in 
 town named Donald Rogers. The name, somehow, 
 sounded familiar to me, and I thought possibly you 
 might be able to tell me something about him. You 
 know everybody, almost." 
 
 " Rogers," repeated Mr. Shaw to himself, slowly ; 
 "Donald Rogers. Isn't he a mechanical engineer? 
 There was a chap by that name who had something 
 to do with the Sunbury Cement case. Expert wit- 
 ness, if I remember rightly. Seemed a very decent 
 sort of a fellow, and knew his business. We won 
 the case on his testimony. What's he got to do with
 
 142 THE BRUTE 
 
 it? " The junior partner took a chair, and laid his 
 cane, newspaper and gloves carefully upon the desk. 
 " Go ahead," he said quietly. " Let's have the de- 
 tails." 
 
 Mr. Brennan took off his glasses and nervously 
 put them on again. " This will that West made, 
 upon his deathbed " he picked up the document 
 from the desk and regarded it distastefully - 
 " leaves his entire estate to a woman." He paused 
 and glanced at his partner as though to note the ef- 
 fect of his statement. 
 
 Mr. Shaw turned restlessly in his chair. He evi- 
 dently saw nothing strange in this. " Well, why 
 not? " he asked. " I don't see anything about that 
 to cause anyone any alarm. It had to be either a 
 woman or a man, I suppose, if he left no children." 
 
 " The strange part about the affair, Sam, is this : 
 Young West was not married. He left this money 
 to the wife of another man with whom he was madly 
 in love. So far as I can learn, she was equally in 
 love with him. They were planning an elopement, 
 or something of the sort, when he was stricken with 
 this illness. He insisted upon leaving her every- 
 thing."
 
 THE BRUTE 143 
 
 ** You don't say so ! Who is she ? " asked Mr. 
 Shaw, for the first time manifesting an .interest in 
 his partner's story. 
 
 Mr. Brennan took up the will, and, opening it, read 
 aloud, " Edith Pope Rogers, wife of Donald Evan 
 Rogers, of New York City." 
 
 Mr. Shaw arose. He took up from the desk a 
 telephone directory and consulted it with interest. 
 " Donald Evan Rogers," he presently read, " me- 
 chanical engineer, Columbia Building." He put 
 down the book and glanced at his partner. " That's 
 the man. I remember him well now. Bright young 
 fellow, and very hardworking. I took quite a fancy 
 to him. Rather a queer state of things, I must say." 
 He whistled softly to himself. 
 
 " Decidedly so. I have no choice in the matter, 
 of course, but I fancy this document is likely to 
 cause considerable trouble in the Rogers' household." 
 
 Mr. Shaw wrinkled his brow in a frown. " You 
 don't suppose for a moment he'd let his wife take 
 this money unless, of course," he added reflect- 
 ively, " she intends to leave him." 
 
 Mr. Brennan threw the will upon the table with a 
 snort. " That's the whole trouble, Sam. The
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 woman had been writing young West every day. 
 Williams has sent me all her letters to him, along 
 with his other papers. I've glanced through some 
 of them. She had evidently made up her mind to 
 leave her husband at once, as soon as West got back 
 from Denver." 
 
 " I don't see that there is anything for you to do 
 but to go ahead with the matter as the law requires. 
 You are not supposed to know anything about 
 West's relations with this man's wife. Possibly her 
 husband doesn't know, either. It is none of your 
 affair." 
 
 " I know it, but doesn't it occur to you, Sam, that 
 this is likely to explode a bombshell in this young 
 fellow's home ? " 
 
 "Did West know Rogers well?" inquired Mr. 
 Shaw. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 "Why don't you call on them this evening and 
 find out? Possibly the husband may see nothing 
 queer in this money being left to his wife. West may 
 have been a friend of his. The woman will say 
 nothing, you may be sure of that." 
 
 " It's the only thing to do, I know, but I can't
 
 THE BRUTE 145 
 
 say that I look forward to the interview with much 
 pleasure. I thought at first of asking Mrs. Rogers 
 to come here, and telling her the whole story; but, 
 if I do, she will of course ask me to keep quiet about 
 the matter, and that will put me in the position of 
 aiding and abetting her in deceiving her husband. 
 I want him to be present, when I see her." 
 
 " Then I would suggest that you go to their house 
 to-night. You will most probably find the husband 
 at home." He took up the city directory and 
 searched its columns carefully. " Here you are," 
 he exclaimed at length. " Roxborough Apartments, 
 One Hundred and Tenth Street. Drop in on them 
 this evening, why don't you ? " 
 
 " I suppose I had better," observed Mr. Brennan 
 slowly, " though I must say it is a damnably dis- 
 agreeable task. The case presents some extremely 
 unpleasant problems." 
 
 Mr. Shaw picked up his stick, his gloves, and his 
 newspaper, and began slowly to button up his coat. 
 " Decidedly so," he observed. " I can't say I like it. 
 This woman has been on the point of eloping with 
 another man, who leaves her a large fortune. She 
 might of course refuse to accept it, or at least dis-
 
 146 THE BRUTE 
 
 pose of it in some way, but I fail to see how she can 
 do so, without arousing her husband's suspicions. 
 If, on the other hand, she can convince him that West 
 left her the money from pure friendship, and good- 
 ness of heart, she places herself in the position of 
 accepting the money of her lover to spend upon her 
 husband her children if she has any. Pretty 
 rough on the husband, I must say. No self-respect- 
 ing man could permit such a thing. The worst of it 
 is that we have got to be a party to it. What sort 
 of a woman can she be, I wonder? " 
 
 " That is just the thing we must determine. Un- 
 derstand, this woman knows nothing of the will as yet. 
 I confess I feel considerable curiosity as to what her 
 course of action will be when she learns of it. It's 
 a mighty difficult position for any woman to be in, 
 there's no denying that. She may, of course, re- 
 fuse to accept it at all." 
 
 " She couldn't very well. It's hers by law." 
 
 " Of course, I understand that. But she could 
 dispose of it in some way, possibly." 
 
 " Not without its looking very queer to her hus- 
 band." Mr. Shaw moved toward the office door. " I 
 guess I wouldn't worry about the matter, Ogden, if
 
 THE BRUTE 147 
 
 I were you. Let them fight it out themselves. After 
 all, it's their funeral, not ours, you know. If there 
 is anything I can do in the matter, let me know. 
 Good-night. I've got to hurry." He passed out, 
 the expression on his face indicating a sort of morose 
 satisfaction. Perhaps he was congratulating him- 
 self upon the fact that he was not married. 
 
 Mr. Brennan put the will into his pocket, called 
 in his stenographer, and spent half an hour in clear- 
 ing his desk for the night. He tried to dismiss the 
 matter of the will from his mind as he rode up-town 
 in the subway, but it persisted with annoying regu- 
 larity, and prevented his usual enjoyment of his 
 evening paper. He was a man whose gaunt and for- 
 bidding exterior masked a nature innately kind, and 
 he deeply regretted the circumstances that forced 
 him to play the part in the affairs of the Rogers' 
 family which now confronted him. The more he 
 thought of the matter, the more difficult it became 
 to evolve any course of action that would obviate 
 the apparently inevitable crash. The law required 
 that he, as executor of West's estate, should turn 
 over all the property to Mrs. Rogers, and that duty 
 he could in no way evade. His conscience told him
 
 148 THE BRUTE 
 
 that to do so in such a way as to hoodwink or deceive 
 her husband would be wrong, and yet he hesitated 
 to put the matter in a light that would result in a 
 complete disruption of the Rogers' domestic affairs. 
 It spoiled his enjoyment of his dinner, which, being 
 a bachelor, he ate at his club, and it clung to him 
 like a cloak of gloom all the way up to the Rox- 
 borough. It was close to half-past eight when he 
 entered the vestibule of the apartment house, and, 
 after inquiring whether Mrs. Rogers was in, sent up 
 his card by the elevator boy.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 MRS. POPE did not often spend an evening at 
 her son-in-law's. She lived some distance 
 down-town, at a boarding-house kept by an old ac- 
 quaintance of hers, on Fifty-ninth Street, and she 
 had an aversion to the trip to Harlem. She often 
 told the girls that New York stopped at Fifty-ninth 
 Street and that she could never endure living be- 
 yond it. 
 
 Her object, on this particular occasion, was to 
 induce Donald, if possible, to change his mind with 
 reference to the seashore cottage which she was so 
 anxious to take for the summer. 
 
 She came in puffing audibly, accompanied by Alice. 
 Her usual dissatisfied expression was in evidence. 
 Mrs. Pope was chronically dissatisfied with every- 
 thing her income, her life, her increasing flesh, 
 her daughter's marriage, and the weather. 
 
 " Edith," she announced, as she entered the room, 
 " the elevator service in this place gets worse every 
 
 day. I've been waiting downstairs for a car for 
 
 149
 
 150 THE BRUTE 
 
 over five minutes, and the boy had the impertinence 
 to tell me he had been out running errands for one 
 of the tenants. You ought to complain about it." 
 
 " I'm sorry, mother," said Edith, as she helped 
 in the removal of Mrs. Pope's coat. 
 
 " Why don't they have a hall boy ? " demanded 
 her mother, glaring at Edith as though it were her 
 daughter's particular fault that this service was 
 lacking. 
 
 " I suppose it's on account of the expense." 
 
 " Humph ! That's one of the j oys of living in 
 such cheap apartments. When I lived at the Boling- 
 broke Arms " 
 
 "Please, mother, don't tell us about it again," 
 exclaimed Alice impatiently. The story of her 
 mother's former grandeur was an oft told tale in the 
 family. 
 
 " Alice, you are impertinent." Her mother's tone 
 was deeply aggrieved. " Before your dear father 
 died, we had everything heart could wish. It is 
 not strange that I find myself unable to get ac- 
 customed to Harlem flats." She turned to Edith, 
 who had taken up her sewing. " Edith, where's 
 your husband ? "
 
 THE BRUTE 151 
 
 " He went out to post some letters, mother. He'll 
 be back presently." 
 
 Mrs. Pope glared about the room with an im- 
 patient snort. " Huh ! " she exclaimed. " I don't 
 wish to make unkind remarks about Donald behind 
 his back, but, when I consented to your marriage, 
 I certainly never expected to see you come to this. 
 I've just come from the Harrisons'. They have 
 taken an apartment in the St. George. You ought 
 to see it, Edith. Persian rugs all over the place, 
 real-lace curtains, Circassian-walnut furniture in 
 the dining-room, cold-storage ice-box, vacuum cleaner 
 free every week. It's perfect, and only two thousand 
 a year. I couldn't help thinking that that was the 
 kind of a home I hoped to see my daughter in, 
 instead of a fifty-dollar-a-month tenement." She 
 sank heavily into a chair, and emitted a windy sigh. 
 
 Alice threw down the magazine which she had been 
 looking over and laughed. " Well, mother, you may 
 see it yet, you know. I'm still in the running." 
 
 " Not unless you give up your ridiculous idea of 
 marrying that young Emerson Hall, and pick out a 
 man with some money. He need not be a millionaire, 
 but he at least ought to be able to keep you in the
 
 152 THE BRUTE 
 
 style to which you have always been accustomed." 
 
 Alice laughed. " Don't forget, mother," she said 
 with a mischievous look, " that he has been to our 
 boarding-house. I guess he'll be able to match that, 
 at least." 
 
 " Alice, I see no necessity of your reminding me 
 of our present poverty. When your father, my poor, 
 dear J. B., was alive, we lived just as well as the 
 Harrisons'." 
 
 " I know it, mother. That's one reason why 
 father left debts, instead of a bank account." 
 
 " Alice, how can you speak so of your poor father? 
 He was the best husband I ever knew. He never re- 
 fused me anything." She took out her handkerchief 
 and applied it gently to her eyes. " I shall never 
 get over his untimely end never." 
 
 " Don't mind me, mother. Poor old dad was the 
 best father in the world." Alice went over to her 
 mother and patted her consolingly on the shoulder. 
 
 " He certainly was," continued Mrs. Pope. " I 
 never had to ask him for a dollar. He anticipated 
 my every wish. One of the last things he said was, 
 * Mary, see'that the girls marry well.' I often think 
 of it, Edith, when I look at you."
 
 THE BRUTE 153 
 
 " Oh, well, mother," rejoined Edith, " I certainly 
 wouldn't have wanted to marry any man just for his 
 money." 
 
 " It's just as easy to fall in love with a rich man, 
 my. dear, as with a poor one. I always told you 
 that. With your looks, you might have had anyone 
 you pleased." 
 
 " How about me, mother ? " asked Alice mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 " You certainly ought to do better than that 
 young Hall, as I've told you before. I doubt if he 
 has five thousand a year." 
 
 " Four, mother, I understand." 
 
 " Then he is worse than impossible. Four thou- 
 sand a year! Your father never spent less than 
 fifteen and we had hard enough work to make ends 
 meet as it was, but I always had my maid, and my 
 carriage. I'm an old woman now, and it doesn't 
 make any difference if I have to do without 
 though I can't say I've ever become used to it but 
 you are young ; you ought to have pleasure, luxury, 
 the good things of life. Look at Edith, poor child, 
 stuck here in this awful place without a cent she can 
 call her own. It ought to be a lesson to you."
 
 154 THE BRUTE 
 
 " Sort of horrible example, I suppose," remarked 
 Mrs. Rogers, with a trace of bitterness in her voice. 
 
 " Well, you're not happy, are you ? " asked her 
 mother, turning on her suddenly. " Why should 
 you be? Donald may be a very faithful husband 
 at least I don't know anything to the contrary, but 
 why he should expect a girl like you to bow down 
 and worship him, just for permitting you to cook 
 his meals, is more than I can see. If he only had a 
 little more spirit, he would get out and make money, 
 the way other men do, instead of being content to 
 live on little better than a clerk's hire. I don't like 
 to hurt your feelings, my dear, any more than I can 
 help, but you know I've always thought him a 
 pretty poor sort of a stick." 
 
 " I know you've never liked Donald, mother. Let's 
 talk of something else." 
 
 " What we really came for, Edith, was to talk 
 over our plans for the summer." Alice drew up her 
 chair and looked significantly at her^ mother. 
 
 " Exactly," said Mrs. Pope. " I know that Don- 
 ald hasn't given his consent, but I intend to talk 
 to him about the matter myself." Mrs. Pope looked 
 at her daughter as though she believed the matter
 
 THE BRUTE 155 
 
 as good as settled already. " Alice and I are paying 
 thirty-five dollars a week where we are. If you and 
 Bobbie could pay twenty-five that would make let 
 me see " she paused, absorbed in the effort of men- 
 tal calculation " two hundred and sixty a month." 
 
 " Two hundred and forty, mother," corrected 
 Alice. 
 
 " Oh, well two hundred and forty, then. We 
 could rent a bungalow, furnished, for a hundred a 
 month ; that would leave a hundred and forty for 
 living expenses we wouldn't need to keep a girl 
 Donald could come down for week ends." 
 
 " I'm afraid I can't do it, mother. Donald says he 
 can't afford it. I told you what he said." 
 
 " Edith, for goodness' sake, have a little spirit. 
 Your health demands a change. Your child's health 
 demands it. And, besides, if you don't come, Alice 
 and I shall be obliged to go to a hotel and live in a 
 couple of stuffy rooms. We couldn't afford to take 
 a cottage, just for the two of us." 
 
 " We can't spare the money, mother. I'm sorry, 
 but I can't do anything more." 
 
 " What on earth does Donald do with his money, 
 Edith? He certainly doesn't spend it on you."
 
 156 THE BRUTE 
 
 " He is investing it in a glass factory, in West 
 Virginia, I believe." 
 
 Mrs. Pope looked supremely disgusted. " Glass 
 factory!" she snorted. "Isn't that just like him. 
 He thinks little enough of your happiness. Poor 
 Edith! My poor child! You certainly are to be 
 pitied." 
 
 " He hopes to make a great deal out of it, some 
 day." 
 
 " Fiddlesticks! He might just as well throw it in 
 the street. My poor dear J. B. always said that 
 Government bonds were the only safe investment. 
 Glass factory, indeed ! " She seemed unable to con- 
 tain her indignation. 
 
 The rattle of a key in the door warned her of 
 Donald's approach. She composed her face in a 
 smile, and rose to greet him as he entered. " My 
 dear Donald," she exclaimed effusively, " I'm so glad 
 to see you ! " 
 
 " Good-evening, mother. You don't mind ? " Don- 
 ald replied pleasantly, holding up the cigar he was 
 smoking. 
 
 " Oh, not in the least." Mrs. Pope resumed her 
 chair with a self-satisfied air. " My poor dear J. B.
 
 THE BRUTE 157 
 
 always smoked the very best Havanas. I love the 
 odor of a good Havana cigar." 
 
 Donald went over to the desk and seated himself 
 in his accustomed chair. " I'm afraid you won't 
 like this one, then," he said, with a short laugh. 
 " Pure Connecticut, five straight. I can't afford 
 the imported kind." 
 
 Mrs. Pope took no notice of his remarks on the 
 subject of cigars. She looked from Alice to Edith, 
 as though to gather courage, preened herself 
 with a conscious effort, then plunged into the fray. 
 " Donald," she began, " we were just speaking of our 
 plans for the summer. I know you will be interested 
 on Edith's account, and Bobbie's. The poor child 
 doesn't look very well. Edith tells me he has a rack- 
 ing cough. Now let me tell you what we propose 
 to do. Edith thinks it a perfectly splendid plan." 
 
 " Mother, you know what I told you," began Mrs. 
 Rogers warningly. 
 
 " Never mind, child. I wish to place the matter 
 before Donald in a businesslike way. I am an old 
 woman, but I am willing to sacrifice myself for my 
 children's sake." 
 
 " I couldn't think of letting you do anything of
 
 158 THE BRUTE 
 
 the sort on Edith's account," remarked Donald 
 dryly. 
 
 " Edith is my child, Donald. I must think of her 
 welfare. I propose to rent a cottage at the sea- 
 shore a little bungalow " 
 
 " I know all about it, mother," interrupted Donald, 
 with a look of weariness. " Edith has told me. We 
 can't do it this summer." 
 
 " But, Donald, surely you realize what it would 
 mean for her, and for your child? " 
 
 " Quite as well as you do. I'm sorry, but I can't 
 do it. We have to make sacrifices now, for the sake 
 of the future." He turned to his desk, and began 
 to look over some papers which he drew from his 
 pocket. 
 
 " But surely you realize you can't mean 
 stammered Mrs. Pope feebly, her face reddening 
 angrily. 
 
 " I shouldn't say anything more about it, mother, 
 if I were you," remarked Edith. 
 
 Mrs. Pope sank back into her chair, with an air of 
 deep resignation. " Very well," she said, as though 
 allowing the whole matter to pass from her hands 
 into those of Divine Providence. " I've tried to do
 
 THE BRUTE 159 
 
 my duty. If anything happens to Bobbie, remem- 
 ber that, Donald." It was quite clear that whatever 
 might happen she would regard as solely her son-in- 
 law's fault. 
 
 " I shall," remarked Donald, going on with his 
 reading. 
 
 There was an ominous silence, broken only by the 
 ticking of the clock upon the mantel. It was in- 
 terrupted by the sudden ringing of the door-bell. 
 Donald rose and went over to the door. The others 
 hear'd him talking with someone outside. Presently 
 he turned, with a card in his hand. " The boy says 
 there is a gentleman downstairs to see you, Edith," 
 he said to his wife. 
 
 Edith rose in surprise. " To see me? " she asked. 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 Her husband looked at the card. " Mr. Ogden 
 Brennan, the card says. Do you know him? " 
 
 " No, I never heard the name before." She came 
 over to Donald and, taking the card, looked at it 
 curiously. " Perhaps we had better ask him to come 
 up." 
 
 " Send him up," said Donald to the boy at the 
 door, as he closed it.
 
 160 THE 'BRUTE 
 
 " I wonder who he can be? " Edith asked in mys- 
 tified tone. 
 
 " Possibly a bill-collector," said Mrs. Pope sar- 
 castically. 
 
 " Hardly, at this time of the night." Donald 
 looked at his watch. " It's almost eight-thirty." 
 He took a match from the desk, and carefully re- 
 lighted his half-smoked cigar. 
 
 Mrs. Pope rose. " Alice, I think we had better 
 be going," she remarked, with a frown. 
 
 " Nonsense, mother. Sit down. You've only just 
 come. There is some beer on the ice." She paused, 
 and Mrs. Pope relapsed into her chair with sudden 
 promptness. " Very well, Edith, if you insist," she 
 said resignedly. , 
 
 " Let's make a welsh rabbit," suggested Alice, 
 looking up from her magazine. As she spoke the 
 door-bell rang. Her sister hurried over to the door 
 and threw it open. 
 
 Mr. Brennan came in with a slight show of hesita- 
 tion, looking about him curiously. The household 
 of the persons who were to have the spending of 
 West's fortune had a peculiar interest for him. 
 What sort of persons were they? he had asked himself
 
 THE BRUTE 161 
 
 half a hundred times since he left his office. " This 
 is Mrs. Rogers' apartment? " he inquired, as he 
 came in. 
 
 " Yes," answered Edith, returning his glance of 
 scrutiny with interest. 
 
 " I wish to see Mrs. Rogers." 
 
 "I am Mrs. Rogers." 
 
 " I am here on a matter of business, Mrs. Rogers." 
 He glanced about the room, embracing the others 
 in his comprehensive survey. " Of course, if you 
 have guests, I could perhaps come at some other 
 time." 
 
 " I hardly think it will be necessary," remarked 
 Edith nervously. She had not the least idea what 
 this dignified-looking old gentleman could want with 
 her, but it was clearly evident that he was neither 
 a book-agent nor a bill-collector. She was conscious 
 of a growing presentiment of evil and, in her per- 
 plexity, she turned to her husband. " Mr. Bren- 
 nan," she said, " this is my husband." 
 
 The two men bowed. " I am glad to meet you, 
 Mr. Brennan," said Donald, coming toward him. 
 " You have business with my wife, I understand." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Rogers. Business of great impor-
 
 162 THE BRUTE 
 
 tance." Mr. Brennan's tone was significant 
 ominous. 
 
 Donald took the lawyer's coat and hat. " My 
 mother and sister, Mr. Brennan," he observed. 
 " Won't you take a seat ? " 
 
 Brennan bowed, but declined the chair. " I shall 
 keep you but a moment. My business is with your 
 wife, Mr. Rogers, but I came at this hour, in the 
 hope of finding you at home as well. The matter 
 concerns you both. I am an attorney, of the firm 
 of Gruber, McMillan, Brennan & Shaw, of Number 
 11 Wall Street." 
 
 " Yes ? " replied Donald, looking in surprise at 
 Edith. She with Alice, and the mother, who had 
 risen from her chair, stood regarding the visitor 
 with interest. 
 
 " I regret to say," continued Mr. Brennan, in 
 an even tone, " that I have come upon a very sad 
 errand." 
 
 The fears which had been torturing Edith all 
 the evening suddenly took a more concrete form. 
 " What ! " she cried, clutching at her breast "I 
 I don't understand." 
 
 " You were acquainted with Mr. William West,
 
 THE BRUTE 163 
 
 were you not, Mrs. Rogers?" He turned to her 
 with a look of interrogation. 
 
 Edith stared at him in wide-eyed terror, her 
 fingers convulsively clutching the lace at her throat. 
 " Were ! " she cried, " Were ! " then relapsed into 
 silence. Donald seemed surprised at her agitation; 
 to him it meant nothing. He turned to Mr. Bren- 
 nan. " Certainly. Billy West. He's one of my 
 best friends." 
 
 " It is with the deepest regret that I am obliged 
 to inform you of his death." Mr. Brennan's voice 
 was not so even as it had been, and held a note of 
 sorrow. He had been genuinely fond of West, and 
 the latter's death was a great shock to him. 
 
 Edith shrank back with a cry, her hand over her 
 eyes, as though trying to ward off this sudden blow. 
 Her sister put her arm about her. " Edith ! " she 
 whispered, and spoke to her in a low voice. The 
 others were too much surprised by the lawyer's an- 
 nouncement to give much attention to her agita- 
 tion. 
 
 Donald was the first to speak. " Dead ! Billy 
 West dead ! Impossible ! " He gazed at Mr. Bren- 
 nan with a stare of incredulity.
 
 164 THE BRUTE 
 
 " Unfortunately not, Mr. Rogers. I only wish it 
 were. Mr. West died suddenly last Friday in Den- 
 ver, Colorado, following an operation for appendi- 
 citis." 
 
 In his sudden realization of his friend's death, 
 Donald turned away, the tears very near the surface. 
 " Poor old chap ! " he muttered. " Poor old Billy ! " 
 He looked over at his wife. " Edith, isn't it terri- 
 ble? Think of it, Billy West dead." 
 
 " Why do you come to tell us ? How do you 
 know ? " asked Edith, staring at Mr. Brennan in a 
 frightened way. 
 
 " I have been Mr. West's attorney for a number 
 of years. I received word of his death this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " Poor young man ! I always liked him so much ! " 
 Mrs. Pope assumed an expression of deep solicitude. 
 " He was very well off, was he not, Mr. Brennan? " 
 
 " Very," answered Brennan shortly, then turned 
 to Donald. " You knew Mr. West very well, I 
 take it?" 
 
 " Intimately. We had been bosom friends for 
 years. He was in my class at college. I loved him 
 like a brother. He had a heart of gold, Mr. Bren-
 
 THE BRUTE 165 
 
 nan. Of all the men I know, he was the squarest 
 and best friend. You cannot realize what his death 
 means to us. Edith, isn't it sad? " 
 
 Edith began to cry. "I I can't realize it," 
 she sobbed ; " it seems so terrible." 
 
 Brennan drew a thin, folded document from his 
 pocket, and regarded it critically through his eye- 
 glasses. " He must have thought a great deal of 
 you and Mrs. Rogers," he observed, glancing at 
 Donald. 
 
 " I am quite sure he did, Mr. Brennan, but 
 why?" 
 
 Brennan interrupted him with a wave of his hand. 
 " I will explain," he said. " Before Mr. West died, 
 he made a will. It was drawn up by an attorney in 
 Denver who, acting on Mr. West's instructions, at 
 once communicated with me. I am the executor of 
 the estate." 
 
 " But, Mr. Brennan, how does the matter concern 
 us? " Donald was becoming a trifle impatient un- 
 der the continued strain of Mr. Brennan's signifi- 
 cant manner. 
 
 " The best way to answer that, Mr. Rogers," said 
 Brennan, adjusting his eyeglasses, and unfolding
 
 166 THE BRUTE 
 
 the document he held in his hand, " is to read the 
 will." 
 
 With a sudden start, Edith dashed the tears from 
 her eyes and turned toward the lawyer. She was 
 conscious of a horrible fear a feeling of dread lest 
 this document, to which Mr. Brennan evidently at- 
 tached such sinister importance, might contain some- 
 thing, she knew not what, which would apprise Donald 
 of her relations with the dead man, and, like a voice 
 from the grave blast her whole life. " Why is it 
 necessary to read it? " she asked, her voice trembling 
 with emotion. 
 
 Brennan turned and observed her gravely through 
 his glasses. " Because, Mrs. Rogers," he replied, 
 " this document concerns you most intimately. It 
 isn't very long." Again he took up the will and 
 prepared to read. 
 
 " I I don't want to hear it," sobbed Edith. 
 
 "Edith, what is wrong with you? Why should 
 Mr. Brennan not read the will if it contains matters 
 which concern us?" Donald turned to the lawyer. 
 " You must pardon my wife, Mr. Brennan. This 
 sad news has completely upset her. Go ahead." 
 He went over to Edith and, taking her arm, led her
 
 THE BRUTE 167 
 
 to a chair. " You had better sit down, Edith, and let 
 Mr. Brennan finish what he has to say. There is 
 no occasion for all this excitement." 
 
 " But, Donald listen I " 
 
 " Never mind now. We are detaining Mr. Bren- 
 nan." His voice was impatient, and he looked at 
 her curiously. " Go ahead, sir," he said, " and let 
 us have the matter over with, whatever it is, as 
 quickly as possible." 
 
 Brennan, clearing his throat with a nervous cough, 
 took up the will and began to read. 
 
 " ' I, William West, being of sound mind, do 
 hereby make this my last will and testament. 
 
 " * I give, devise and bequeath all my property, 
 whether real or personal, and wherever situated, to 
 Edith Pope Rogers, wife of Donald Evan Rogers, of 
 New York City.' " 
 
 He paused, and glanced about to note the effect 
 of his words. Edith had slowly risen from her chair, 
 and her face was a picture of horrified amazement. 
 Donald, almost equally surprised, looked from the 
 lawyer to her, apparently unable to speak. Alice 
 and Mrs. Pope were dumfounded. The whole party 
 stood in silence regarding Mr. Brennan as though
 
 168 THE BRUTE 
 
 they could scarcely grasp what they had heard. 
 
 Suddenly the tenseness of the moment was broken. 
 Edith had come slowly toward Brennan, her hand out- 
 stretched, her face white with horror. " No ! my 
 God ! No ! " she cried, then tottered and would have 
 fallen had her mother not stepped quickly forward 
 and supported her. " I can't take it I can't take 
 it!" she cried, in spite of her mother's attempts 
 to quiet her. 
 
 " The remainder of the will," continued Brennan 
 coldly, as he folded up the document and placed it 
 in his pocket, " refers only to my appointment as 
 executor." He removed his glasses and looked at 
 Donald. 
 
 " You mean that he has left everything to my 
 wife? " gasped the latter, faintly. 
 
 " Everything." 
 
 "No! No !" cried Edith. 
 
 " Be quiet, my child," Mrs. Pope said soothingly, 
 then turned to the lawyer. " How much did he leave, 
 Mr. Brennan ? " she asked. 
 
 " I cannot say exactly, madam. It will be im- 
 possible to tell until the estate is settled up. Proba- 
 bly not less than half a million."
 
 EDITH HAD SLOWLY RISEN FROM HER CHAIR, AND HER FACE 
 WAS A PICTURE OF HORRIFIED AMAZEMENT
 
 THE BRUTE 169 
 
 " Half a million ! " Mrs. Pope collapsed limply 
 into a chair. " Edith ! Half a million ! Think of 
 it ! " She sat gazing before her with a half-in- 
 credulous smile, as though the thought of so much 
 money were difficult of digestion. 
 
 " Mr. Brennan, I can't understand it I can't 
 believe it." Donald's voice was trembling with excite- 
 ment. "Why should he have left Mrs. Rogers all 
 this money ? Had he no relatives no connections 
 who would have a better right to it ? " 
 
 " None, I understand. In any event, the will 
 would stand. Mr. West has shown his affection for 
 your wife by leaving her his entire fortune. No 
 court could break that will." 
 
 " What a man ! " exclaimed Donald. " I knew 
 he was very fond of us; we had been friends for 
 years, but I never thought of anything like this." 
 He went up to his wife and took her hand. " Edith," 
 he said earnestly, " do you realize what it means ? 
 Poor old Billy has made you a rich woman." 
 
 " I cannot take this money," cried Edith, her face 
 dull with despair. " I cannot I cannot." She 
 tore herself away from her husband and faced Bren- 
 nan with the look of an animal at bay.
 
 170 THE BRUTE 
 
 K 
 
 "Edith, my dear, are you losing your senses?" 
 inquired Mrs. Pope. 
 
 " I cannot take it," repeated Mrs. Rogers, me- 
 chanically. 
 
 "Why not?" asked Donald. His question came 
 like a blow. 
 
 She did not dare to tell him that she clenched 
 her hands until the blood came, looking at him in 
 sudden confusion. 
 
 " Of course, it is a very large amount," he went 
 on, " but if he wished it " 
 
 " You are right, Donald." Mrs. Pope favored him 
 with a smile which seemed almost genial, compared 
 with those she usually bestowed upon him. " Edith, 
 my dear, it is your duty to respect the wishes of 
 the dead. Don't you think so, Mr. Brennan? " 
 
 " The will allows me no latitude, madam. What- 
 ever your daughter's feelings in the matter may be, 
 it is my duty as executor to turn over to her Mr. 
 West's estate in its entirety. What disposition she 
 may see fit to make of it afterward is, of course, 
 no affair of mine." He turned and picked up his 
 hat and coat from the chair where Donald had placed 
 them. " It will be desirable, Mrs. Rogers, for you
 
 THE BRUTE 171 
 
 to come to my office at your early convenience for 
 a business consultation. There are some papers I 
 shall want you to sign. If possible, I should be 
 glad to have you come to-morrow say at twelve 
 o'clock." 
 
 "I I tell you I don't want this money," faltered 
 Edith. " I I have no right to it " 
 
 " Mr. Brennan has just explained to you, Edith, 
 that the money is yours by law. He is obliged to 
 turn it over to you. I can understand, of course, 
 that it is a great surprise to you, but surely, if it 
 was his wish, there is no reason for you to feel so 
 strongly about it." She fell to sobbing softly and, 
 clutching at his arm, put her head upon it. " Don- 
 ald oh, Donald ! " she moaned. 
 
 " I think, Mr. Brennan," said Donald, turning to 
 the lawyer, " that you can depend upon Mrs. Rogers 
 coming in to see you at twelve to-morrow. Good- 
 night." 
 
 " Good-night," said the lawyer, as he bowed and 
 left the room. 
 
 " Think of what this money will mean, Edith," 
 exclaimed her mother, her face aglow with anticipa- 
 tion, " to you to Bobbie to all of us." She
 
 172 THE BRUTE 
 
 looked at Alice with a joyful smile. " I guess we 
 can have that cottage after all." 
 
 "Don't! Don't!" cried Edith. "My God, you 
 don't realize what you are saying." 
 
 She swayed suddenly forward, overcome by the 
 terrible strain of the past half-hour, and fell heavily 
 to the floor.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 AT twelve o'clock the following day, Edith 
 Rogers entered the offices of Messrs. Gruber, 
 McMillan, Brennan & Shaw, at Number 11 Wall 
 Street, and asked to see Mr. Brennan. She was at 
 once ushered into the latter's private office, and found 
 him awaiting her. 
 
 This visit to Mr. Brennan's office was to Edith 
 an ordeal that she greatly dreaded, and one that 
 it had required all of her courage to face. All the 
 night before she had lain awake, thinking about it, 
 and even with the coming of the day her fears had 
 not to any great extent left her. 
 
 For one thing, however, she felt thankful. Donald 
 had, at the last moment, decided not to accompany 
 her. At first he had insisted upon doing so, partly 
 because of her unfamiliarity with business affairs, 
 more because of her nervous and unstrung condition, 
 the result of the terrible shock which the news of 
 West's death had given her. She had done her best 
 
 to conceal her sufferings, or at least so to modify 
 
 173
 
 174 THE BRUTE 
 
 them that Donald might have no suspicion of their 
 real cause, and in this she had been more successful 
 than she had supposed possible. After the first 
 shock which Mr. Brennan's words had given her, she 
 was conscious of a reaction, resulting in a sort of 
 numbness, in which her mind was filled less with 
 thoughts of the man she had supposed she loved than 
 with a ghastly fear lest the fact of this love might 
 become known to her husband. 
 
 Had she been able to analyze, during all the 
 eternities of that horrible night, the cause of this 
 fear, she might have realized that her love for West 
 had been no love at all, but only a sudden infatua- 
 tion, born of her overweening vanity and love for the 
 good things of life on the one hand, and her utter 
 failure to appreciate her husband's rugged honesty 
 of purpose on the other. The very fact that her 
 horror at the thought that Donald might learn of 
 her affair with West overshadowed all else in her 
 mind, might have told her that she still valued her 
 husband's love and that of her child, far above that 
 of the man who had so suddenly been taken away 
 from her. 
 
 Donald, who sat beside her most of the night, was
 
 THE BRUTE 175 
 
 too generous, too unsuspicious a nature, to attribute 
 her tears to anything but a very natural grief at the 
 loss of a dear friend. He felt the matter keenly 
 himself, but, man-like, strove to hide his own suffer- 
 ings in order that he might the more readily com- 
 fort her. 
 
 Mrs. Pope and Alice had remained until midnight. 
 They would have stayed longer, but Edith would not 
 permit it. " I'm all right, mother," she said, choking 
 back her tears. " Go home and get your rest. I'll 
 see you to-morrow." 
 
 So the mother departed,, accompanied by Alice. 
 Her whole attitude toward Edith seemed to have un- 
 dergone a sudden transformation. The latter was 
 now rich the possessor of half a million dollars, 
 and hence no longer to be criticised or blamed for 
 having married a poor man. Even toward Donald 
 her manner had changed. She addressed him as " my 
 dearest boy," and threw out vague hints concerning 
 Edith's and Bobbie's health and the sea air which 
 they so greatly needed. Donald paid little attention 
 to her. He recognized her shallow-souled adoration 
 of money and secretly despised it* 
 
 It was after they had gone, and Edith had lain
 
 176 THE BRUTE 
 
 sobbing upon the bed for a long time, that Donald 
 brought up the subject of her visit to Mr. Brennan's 
 office. " Perhaps I had better call him up in the 
 morning and postpone it," he said. " Any other 
 day will do. There is no hurry, and I'm afraid, 
 dear, that you are hardly in a condition to discuss 
 business matters." 
 
 "Oh no no. I'd better go and get it over 
 with." She dried her eyes and sat up, looking at 
 him, half-frightened. " I'll be all right in the morn- 
 ing. I'd better go." 
 
 " Very well, if you think best. Of course I shall 
 go with you, and, really, the whole affair need not 
 take long." 
 
 The thought that Donald was to be with her was 
 terrifying. For a time she was afraid to speak. 
 She did not know what Mr. Brennan might have 
 learned about herself and West what information 
 might have come to him along with the dead man's 
 papers and effects. Suppose Donald were to find 
 out. She glanced at his careworn face, upon which 
 the lines of suffering were set deep, and her heart 
 smote her. He must never find out. After a time 
 she spoke.
 
 THE BRUTE 177 
 
 " I think, Donald, that perhaps I had better go 
 alone." 
 
 " Why ? " He seemed surprised. 
 
 " Oh I can hardly say. Mr. Brennan might 
 prefer it so. Don't you think it would look just a 
 little bad ' for both of us to go as though 
 we were so anxious for poor Billy's money?" 
 Her tears broke out afresh. 
 
 He regarded the idea as a foolish whim, born of 
 her hysterical condition, but good-naturedly humored 
 her. " I'm not at all anxious to go," he said. 
 " Poor Billy I don't want his money. I only sug- 
 gested going with you because I thought you would 
 rather not go alone. We can decide in the morning, 
 however. You'd better lie down now, and try to get 
 some sleep." 
 
 Edith began slowly to undress. As she did so, 
 the letter from West, which she had been carrying 
 about in her bosom all day, fell to the floor. Donald 
 picked it up with a queer little smile and returned 
 it to her. " Poor old Billy ! " he murmured. " How 
 strange, to think that we shall never see his hand- 
 writing again ! " 
 
 The incident increased Edith's fears ; the letter
 
 178 THE BRUTE 
 
 was filled with expressions of love, and Donald, un- 
 suspecting, trusting her always, had not even asked 
 to see it. She went into the kitchen on the plea of 
 making a cup of tea, and burned the letter at the 
 gas range, fearful every moment that he would come 
 in and see what she was doing. There were many 
 other similar letters, locked in a drawer of her bu 
 reau. She determined to destroy these as well, in 
 the morning. 
 
 Later on, Donald slept, supposing that she was 
 doing likewise, but she only made pretense, designed 
 to hide her feelings. She sobbed softly to herself 
 throughout the long hours till daybreak, but morn- 
 ing found her dry-eyed, ready to face whatever dis- 
 aster the day might bring. 
 
 Mr. Brennan was standing behind his broad ma- 
 hogany table-desk, his eyeglasses in one hand, the 
 other grasping a package. Edith, in her agitation, 
 did not observe the latter. She sank into a big 
 leather-covered chair and looked at the lawyer ex- 
 pectantly. 
 
 He pushed some papers across the desk to her and 
 requested her to sign them. She did so, without 
 reading them, or knowing what they were. These
 
 THE BRUTE 179 
 
 formalities completed, he drew the package, which 
 appeared to contain a large number of letters, toward 
 him and began to tap it in gently emphatic fashion 
 with his eyeglasses. 
 
 " There is a certain matter, Mrs. Rogers, about 
 which I must speak to you," he began, after a long 
 contemplation of the letters. 
 
 "Yes?" she answered, with a rising inflection. 
 Something in his manner warned her that what he 
 was about to say would concern her very deeply. 
 
 " When Mr. West died, his papers and other effects 
 were forwarded to me, as executor of the estate. 
 Among them I find these letters." He indicated the 
 package on the desk before him. 
 
 " Yes ! " she repeated, her heart sinking. A cold 
 perspiration broke out all over her. She wiped her 
 lips with the ineffective bit of lace which she held 
 crushed in her hand. 
 
 Brennan reached over, took up the bundle of let- 
 ters, and handed it to her. He knew from the hand- 
 writing, from the initials with which they were signed, 
 from all the attendant circumstances, that she had 
 written them. " As executor of the estate, Mrs. 
 Rogers," he said slowly, " I feel that the best use I
 
 180 THE BRUTE 
 
 can make of these letters is to turn them over to 
 you." 
 
 For a moment she hardly grasped his meaning. 
 His grave manner of speaking had made her believe 
 that some terrible fate overhung her some mysteri- 
 ous requirement of the law which she did not realize, 
 or understand. Now, since it appeared that the only 
 disposition of the letters that Brennan intended to 
 make was to hand them over to her, she could 
 scarcely believe that she had understood him aright. 
 " You you mean that I am to to take them ? " 
 she said haltingly. 
 
 " Yes. Take them, and, madam, if you will per- 
 mit me to advise you, I strongly recommend that 
 you lose no time in destroying them." 
 
 The color flew to her cheeks at his tone, implying 
 as it did the guilty nature of the correspondence. 
 It terrified her to think that this man had it in his 
 power to destroy her utterly, merely by saying a few 
 words to her husband. Yet he could not have any 
 such intention, else why should he advise her to de- 
 stroy the evidence of her folly, her guilt ? She took 
 the letters with trembling fingers and thrust them 
 into her handbag. " I will destroy them at once,"
 
 THE BRUTE 181 
 
 she said faintly, but very eagerly, hardly daring to 
 look at him. 
 
 The further conversation between them was short. 
 Mr. Brennan informed her that he would be happy 
 to advance her any money she might need, pending 
 the legal formalities attendant upon the administra- 
 tion of the estate. She thanked him with down- 
 cast eyes, but assured him that she would not re- 
 quire any. The thought of touching any of West's 
 money horrified her. Her one concern had been to 
 keep the knowledge of their mutual love from Don- 
 ald this, she felt, was now accomplished. To the 
 money she did not at this time give so much as a 
 single thought. On her way up-town she made a sin- 
 cere effort to analyze her feelings. Why had West's 
 death not affected her more deeply? Why had the 
 most important feature of the whole affair been her 
 desire to keep the truth from Donald? The answer 
 came, clear and vivid. It was Bobbie. She feared 
 the destruction of her home on his account. It was 
 love for him that had caused her to repent of her 
 promise to West to go away with him, even before 
 the latter had much more than started on his way 
 to Denver.
 
 182 THE BRUTE 
 
 The thought pursued her all the way home. 
 When she arrived, Bobbie had finished his luncheon 
 and was just going out with Nellie. She went up to 
 the boy and clasped him in her arms. " Dear little 
 man ! " she said as she kissed him, then noticed, in 
 her sudden thought of him, how pale and thin he 
 looked. " Run along now, dear. The more fresh 
 air you get, the better." 
 
 After the child had gone, and she was alone, she 
 took the letters Mr. Brennan had given her, drew 
 from her bureau drawer those she had received from 
 West, and, without looking at any of them, proceeded 
 to make a bonfire of them all in a tin basin in the 
 kitchen. It seemed hard to destroy his letters. 
 They had meant so much to her when she had re- 
 ceived them. For a moment she was tempted to read 
 them all through for the last time, but the fear that, 
 should she do so, she might weaken in her intention 
 to destroy them stopped her. Donald must never 
 know Donald must never know. These let- 
 ters were the only proof in the whole world of 
 her wrong-doing. She applied a match to the 
 mass of paper with trembling fingers, and, with 
 tears in her eyes, watched the flames mount and
 
 THE BRUTE 183 
 
 crackle, the sheets blacken and fall to soft gray 
 dust. 
 
 In a short time the little funeral pyre it seemed 
 to her the funeral pyre of the past with all her 
 hopes and fears, her guilt and her love, had crum- 
 bled to a tiny pile of ashes. She threw them out of 
 the window and watched them blow hither and 
 thither in the eddying currents of wind. When she 
 had closed the window, it seemed to her that she had 
 also closed the door upon the past. Before her the 
 future lay bright and smiling. She did not admit 
 for a moment to herself that its brightness might be 
 a reflection from Billy West's gold. The very 
 thought would have made her shudder. Neverthe- 
 less, the knowledge that one has half a million dol- 
 lars in the bank is apt to lend a brightness to the 
 future, no matter how clouded the immediate present 
 may be.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 IT took Edith Rogers many weeks to make up her 
 mind to spend any of William West's money, 
 and then she did it on account of Bobbie. Her 
 mother had used every effort to convince her that 
 she was acting like a fool in not launching out at 
 once upon a career of wild extravagance, but the 
 thought of her love for West, the folly she had con- 
 templated, the latter's sudden and tragic death, all 
 filled her with horror. The money lay idly in the 
 bank, and she could not bring herself to touch it. 
 
 With the coming of the hot weather, however, she 
 began to listen to her mother's arguments with a 
 more willing ear. Bobbie was clearly not well. His 
 cough, product of a March cold, still hung on in 
 spite of all her efforts. His appetite was failing, 
 his cheeks pale and wan. She felt the desirability 
 of getting him away from the oven-like city at once, 
 and one evening broached the subject to Donald. 
 
 " Don't you think, dear," she said, " that I ought 
 
 to take Bobbie to the sea-shore? " 
 
 184
 
 THE BRUTE 185 
 
 Donald looked up quickly. " I do, indeed," he 
 said. " I've thought so for some time." 
 
 " Then why haven't you said anything about it? " 
 
 " I was waiting for you, dear. I know how you 
 have felt about using this money that West left you, 
 and I hesitated to suggest it on that account." 
 
 " Do you think I ought to use it? " 
 
 " I can see no reason why you should not. His 
 wish was that you should have it. He wanted you 
 to enjoy it, otherwise he would not have left it to 
 you. I regretted the poor old chap's death quite as 
 keenly as you did, but for all that I cannot see why 
 you should feel so strongly about this money." 
 
 Edith knew very well that he could not see why she 
 felt as she did, nor had she any intention of allowing 
 him to do so. " Very well," she replied quietly. 
 " I think I'll look for a cottage somewhere along the 
 Sound to-morrow. That would be much nicer than 
 staying at a hotel, and you could come down every 
 week end. In fact, Donald, I don't see why you 
 couldn't just as well give up business altogether, and 
 spend the summer with us. In the fall we might go 
 abroad." 
 
 He frowned at this. " I couldn't think of it,
 
 186 THE BRUTE 
 
 dear," he replied. " I've got my practise to keep 
 up and the business in West Virginia to look after. 
 I shouldn't care to live on you, you know." He 
 smiled, and, coming over to her, patted her head af- 
 fectionately. " It's very good of you, Edith, to 
 want me with you, and I should enjoy it more than I 
 can tell you, but I couldn't give up my work, my in- 
 dependence. You wouldn't respect me if I did." 
 
 She did not attempt to argue the question with 
 him. Perhaps in her heart she felt that he was 
 right. " Mother is coming up to-morrow morning," 
 she said. " I think I'll try New London. I was 
 there one summer for a month when father was alive, 
 and I have never forgotten how lovely it was. 
 Mother knows all about it. We'll run up there to- 
 morrow and see what we can find." 
 
 Led by Mrs. Pope, the expedition in search of a 
 cottage by the sea was an unqualified success. 
 Edith had had in mind a small bungalow a tiny 
 house with a view of the water, but Mrs. Pope was 
 burdened with no such plebeian ideas. To her 
 money-loving mind a cottage such as befitted her 
 daughter's newly acquired wealth consisted of a pic- 
 turesque mansion of some eighteen or twenty rooms,
 
 THE BRUTE 187 
 
 with a private bathing beach, extensive grounds, 
 garage, stables, and a retinue of servants. 
 
 She had some little difficulty in finding what she 
 wanted. Edith remonstrated with her continually, 
 but she was not to be balked. She told the real-es- 
 tate agent to whom they had gone on their arrival 
 that her daughter was prepared to pay as high as 
 five hundred dollars a month, for the proper accom- 
 modations, furnished, and she refused quite definitely 
 to consider anything that did not front on the 
 water. 
 
 There were but three places answering her descrip- 
 tion that were available. The first Edith thought 
 perfect, but her mother dismissed it at once. 
 " Quite too small, my dear," she remarked, with up- 
 turned nose. " And I never could endure a house 
 with no conservatory." 
 
 The second place had a conservatory, it seemed, 
 but Mrs. Pope found the plumbing antiquated, the 
 number of bathrooms insufficient, and the furnish- 
 ings not at all to her taste. 
 
 " We shall entertain a great deal," she informed 
 the overpowered real-estate man, who was mentally 
 trying to adapt Mrs. Pope's extravagant ideas to
 
 188 THE BRUTE 
 
 her anything but extravagant clothes. Edith won- 
 dered whom they were going to entertain, but fore- 
 bore asking her mother at this time. 
 
 The third place withstood even Mrs. Pope's at- 
 tempts at criticism, and Edith fell in love with it at 
 once. It was not quite so large as they had wanted, 
 her mother remarked, but it might do. Edith was 
 very sure that it would do. The house, a long, low, 
 shingled affair, with many timbered gables, was 
 partly overgrown with ivy. Climbing roses, in full 
 bloom, embowered the wide verandas. The gardens 
 were filled with handsome shrubbery and well-kept 
 flower beds. There was a stable, a greenhouse, and 
 a little boathouse and wharf. The lawns were im- 
 maculate, the furnishings within artistic and costly. 
 The agent explained that Mr. Sheridan, the banker, 
 who owned the house, had left unexpectedly for Eu- 
 rope the week before, and the place had just been 
 placed on the market. Mr. Sheridan had intended 
 to occupy it himself until the last moment, but his 
 wife had been taken ill, and was obliged to go to one 
 of the Continental baths to be cured. The price 
 was two thousand dollars for the season, and would 
 have been- a great deal more had the place been put
 
 THE BRUTE 189 
 
 on the market a month earlier. Two parties had 
 looked at it already, and it was not likely to remain 
 unoccupied very long. 
 
 " We'll take it," said Mrs. Pope promptly. 
 " We'll move in on Monday." She began to plan 
 aloud the disposition of the various bedrooms. 
 
 Mr. Hull, the agent, on the way to town, sug- 
 gested the necessity of executing a lease and making 
 a deposit to bind the bargain. " My daughter will 
 give you a check for the first month's rent in ad- 
 vance," said Mrs. Pope loftily. " You have your 
 check-book with you, my dear, I hope? " 
 
 Edith had. Her mother had insisted upon her 
 taking it when they left the house. The first check 
 she made against the income which William West's 
 half-million of capital was piling up to her credit 
 at the bank was one for five hundred dollars to the 
 order of Thomas Hull, agent. She signed it with 
 trembling fingers. 
 
 Once the plunge was taken, however, the rest 
 seemed easy. On the journey home Mrs. Pope 
 mapped out a campaign of shopping that made her 
 daughter's head whirl, but she had ceased to object. 
 One thing she insisted upon, in addition to her moth-
 
 190 THE BRUTE 
 
 er's never-ending list of clothes, and that was a pony 
 and cart for Bobbie. It had been the constant de- 
 sire of his childish heart, ever since he had ridden 
 in one the summer before at Brighton. Mrs. Pope 
 approved the cart. She also suggested an automo- 
 bile. 
 
 When Edith told Donald of the result of their 
 trip that night his face became grave, but he said 
 little. " It is your money, dear," he contented him- 
 self with observing, " but if I were you I would not 
 allow my mother to influence me too much. She has 
 foolishly extravagant ideas. There is no use in bur- 
 dening yourself with a mansion and a house full of 
 servants just because you can afford it. The air 
 isn't any sweeter, the sun any brighter, because of 
 them. I should have preferred a more modest es- 
 tablishment myself, but I suppose it's too late to 
 change matters now. I hope you have a wonderful 
 summer, and that Bobbie and yourself get as well 
 and strong as I should like to see you. I can't be 
 with you except on Saturdays and Sundays, but no 
 doubt your mother and Alice will keep you com- 
 
 pany." 
 
 Yes. They will be with me, of course. Mother
 
 THE BRUTE 191 
 
 says she is looking forward to the happiest summer 
 of her life. She hopes, too, she says, to entertain a 
 great deal." 
 
 "Entertain? Whom?" 
 
 " Why, all her old friends. And I'm going to 
 have some of mine down, too, and Alice has already 
 invited Mr. Hall to spend a week or two with us. 
 He is coming east for his vacation." 
 
 Donald raised his eyebrows. " I don't mind the 
 opinions of other people as a rule," he remarked, 
 " but how do you propose to explain our sudden 
 wealth?" 
 
 Edith had not thought of that aspect of the mat- 
 ter. " I shall tell them the truth," she answered, but 
 the suggestion bothered her for many days there- 
 after. She by no means intended to tell her friends 
 the truth. Such of them as had already heard the 
 news had congratulated her upon her good fortune, 
 with a secret wonder that West had left the money 
 to her instead of to Donald, but Mrs. Pope, with 
 characteristic bluntness, had set this right. " Poor, 
 dear Mr. West had always been in love with my 
 Edith," she said. " He'd have married her, if it 
 had not been for Donald. He hadn't anyone else
 
 192 THE BRUTE 
 
 to leave his money to, and, of course, he left it to 
 Edith. He was a noble young man. We owe him 
 a great deal." 
 
 Edith shuddered as she listened, but could say 
 nothing. Once she ventured the remark that Mr. 
 West had been Donald's lifelong friend, but her 
 mother would have none of it. " Pooh ! " she said. 
 " It was you he cared for, my dear. Anyone with 
 half an eye could see that. Didn't he spend all his 
 time with you, right up to the time he died? " 
 After that Edith ceased to remonstrate. She felt 
 that in this direction she was treading on dangerous 
 ground. 
 
 Once launched upon a career of spending, Edith 
 soon came to acquire the habit, as any other habit 
 may be acquired, if dutifully persisted in. A few 
 weeks before she would have stood aghast at the 
 mere thought of paying fifty dollars for a hat. 
 Now she bought costly hand-made lingerie dresses 
 with the calm assurance of one whose bank-account 
 is increasing at the rate of a thousand dollars a 
 week, and signed checks in an off-hand manner that 
 seemed as natural to her as though she had never 
 haggled over a bargain counter, or searched the col-
 
 THE BRUTE 193 
 
 limns of the daily papers for opportunities at 
 marked-down sales. 
 
 She failed to satisfy her mother, however. That 
 estimable lady seemed to think that Edith's wealth 
 was measured only by the number of checks in her 
 check book, and criticised her daughter loudly for 
 her petty economies. " Don't buy those cheap 
 shoes, Edith," she would remark. " It's quite im- 
 possible to get anything fit to wear for less than ten 
 dollars a pair." Or, " Ready-made corsets, my dear, 
 are an abomination. I insist that you go at once 
 and be measured for half a dozen pair that will really 
 fit." Edith drew the line at such extravagances, 
 and very nearly precipitated a row. " Let me alone, 
 mother," she said. " I know what I want, and, after 
 all, it is my money we are spending, not yours." My 
 money! The irony of the thing did not occur to 
 her. She bought Donald a new gold watch-chain, 
 with match-box, cigar-cutter, knife, pencil and seals, 
 all of gold, attached. When she presented it to him, 
 she felt disappointed at his lack of enthusiasm, and 
 wondered why he did not wear it. The reason was 
 simple as simple and homely as Donald himself. 
 He detested jewelry, and contented himself with the
 
 194 THE BRUTE 
 
 leather fob initialed in gold which Edith had given 
 him, years before, upon a birthday. He had loved 
 this, because she had saved and denied herself to get 
 it for him. The other, somehow, meant nothing to 
 him.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 EMERSON HALL was a young civil engineer, 
 who had pushed his way to the front in his 
 chosen profession because he had both energy and 
 ability. He had been graduated from Columbia 
 some year or two later than Donald, and had at once 
 left New York for Chicago, where he had entered 
 the employ of a large contracting company. Sheer 
 hard work had forced him to the front, and he was 
 now one of the concern's most trusted men. 
 
 Alice Rogers he had met, some time before, at a 
 commencement hop, and he had straightway fallen 
 in love with her. Being in New York but seldom, 
 he had seen very little of her, but the impression 
 she had made upon him persisted, and their court- 
 ship, carried on largely by means of an extensive 
 correspondence, had progressed so favorably that 
 Mrs. Pope felt obliged to place him under the ban 
 of her displeasure. Alice, however, paid little at- 
 tention to her mother's objections. She had a very 
 
 clear idea of what she wanted in the world, and what 
 
 195
 
 196 THE BRUTE 
 
 she wanted she determined to get. Emerson Hall 
 was one of the things she wanted, and she bent all 
 her energies to the task of making that young 
 man conclude that life without her to share it would 
 be but a barren waste. 
 
 Pursuant to her intentions, Alice had written to 
 Mr. Hall, inviting him to spend his vacation with 
 them at New London. She had asked Edith's per- 
 mission, and the latter had granted it gladly. The 
 latter had never met Mr. Hall, but she felt as though 
 she almost knew him, both because he had been an 
 acquaintance of Donald's and because Alice talked 
 about him so much. Then, too, she felt that she 
 owed him some recompense for his services at the 
 time of West's death. He had gone to the hospital, 
 in answer to Alice's wire, only to find that West had 
 died some three days before. This information he 
 had wired to Alice the following day. 
 
 The two girls looked forward to his coming with 
 delight. The extensive entertaining which Mrs. 
 Pope had planned had failed to materialize. She 
 found that, after dropping from her visiting-list the 
 friends of her poverty, there remained but few among 
 the elect whose acquaintance she might claim, and
 
 THE BRUTE 197 
 
 these, it seemed, were mostly away for the summer. 
 
 Hence the two girls were somewhat lonely in the 
 big and stately house, and Edith found that the time 
 between Monday morning, when Donald departed 
 for the city, and Saturday afternoon, when he re- 
 turned, hung heavily upon her hands. 
 
 She had no housekeeping details to occupy her 
 Mrs. Pope had insisted upon a competent house- 
 keeper; her duties were confined to signing checks, 
 her pleasures, to enjoying Bobbie's delight in his 
 surroundings. His pony cart, the boat she had 
 got for him, all his new experiences, made the 
 child feel that he had suddenly entered heaven itself. 
 His cough, his pale cheeks, his fretful nights were a 
 thing of the past. He lived the life of a little sav- 
 age and health flowed in upon him accordingly. 
 
 Mrs. Pope did not share her daughter's loneliness. 
 The atmosphere in which she now lived and moved 
 charmed her. With Alice and Edith at her side, a 
 houseful of expensive and competent servants to 
 gratify her slightest wish, with Donald on hand only 
 over the week ends, she felt that her cup of blessed- 
 ness was once more filled to the brim. 
 
 It was late Saturday afternoon. The Sound
 
 198 THE BRUTE 
 
 lay sparkling in the hot August sunshine. Mrs. 
 Pope came into the handsomely appointed hall of 
 their new home, and sank heavily into a padded- 
 leather chair. After all, she felt, this was indeed 
 life in its fullest sense. She fanned herself lan- 
 guidly with a lace fan, regarding her elaborate gown, 
 meanwhile, with much satisfaction. She glanced up 
 as Edith entered the room, looking very lovely in a 
 costume of white lace. 
 
 " Has Alice come back from the station yet, 
 mother ? " inquired Edith. 
 
 " Not yet, my dear. I'm waiting for her now. I 
 suppose I am expected to welcome this young Hall 
 though I can't say I want to. I wish Alice had 
 not invited him. If she would take my advice, she 
 would send him about his business. Four thousand 
 a year! Pooh! a beggar! 
 
 " Well, mother, now that we have asked him, we 
 must make him welcome. How do you like my 
 dress ? " She came around in front of her mother's 
 chair. 
 
 Mrs. Pope observed it critically through her 
 gold lorgnon. " Oh, it will do, my dear," she re- 
 plied. " I should have preferred the Irish point."
 
 THE BRUTE 199 
 
 " But, mother, it was five hundred dollars." 
 
 "What of it? Why shouldn't you look as well 
 as possible? Of course, Donald would never care, 
 but there are others. I heard several people at the 
 hotel say last night that you were the best-looking 
 and the best-dressed woman there." 
 
 "I don't care what they said, mother," replied 
 Edith, selecting a rose from a jar on the table, 
 and putting it in her bosom. " I'd rather please 
 Donald." 
 
 Mrs. Pope sniffed audibly. " Oh, very well, my 
 dear," she observed. " Have your own way. It's 
 some satisfaction, at least, to know that you can 
 buy a dress when you feel like it, without having to 
 account to your husband for it. My poor, dear 
 J. B. always gave me a most liberal allowance. I 
 never could dress on less than three thousand a 
 year." 
 
 " Well, mother, you know you did manage to get 
 along on much less, the last few years." 
 
 Mrs. Pope assumed a deeply hurt expression. 
 " Edith," she exclaimed irritably, " it is most un- 
 kind of you to remind me of my temporary poverty. 
 Before my poor, dear J. B. died "
 
 200 THE BRUTE 
 
 "Frightfully hot this evening, isn't it?" Edith 
 interrupted. 
 
 The mother glared at her daughter in annoyance. 
 " Where's Donald ? " she suddenly asked. 
 
 " In his room, mother." 
 
 " Didn't he get here on the five-o'clock train? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then why doesn't he come downstairs ? I hope 
 he bought the afternoon papers." 
 
 " They're in the library. Donald says the trip 
 down was terribly hot and stuffy. He's changing 
 his things." 
 
 Mrs. Pope snorted. " If he would spend the sum- 
 mer down here with you, as a husband ought, instead 
 of staying in town, fooling with that engineering 
 work of his, he wouldn't have that hot trip to make 
 every Saturday." 
 
 " Nonsense, mother ! " replied Edith. " Donald is 
 perfectly right. I wouldn't want him to become an 
 idler, living on his wife. He has too much spirit for 
 that." 
 
 " Then if he must stay in town, why doesn't he 
 get a decent place to live? I don't think it looks well 
 for him to be staying at that cheap little flat, now
 
 THE BRUTE 01 
 
 that you have plenty of money to take your proper 
 place in society." 
 
 " He likes the old place. He says he was happy 
 there. He thought he might as well stay on till 
 the lease expired." 
 
 " Well, there's no accounting for tastes. If you 
 are satisfied, I see no reason why I should object." 
 Mrs. Pope began to fan herself vigorously. " I can 
 get along very well without him." 
 
 Mrs. Rogers went to the door and looked down 
 the long, shady drive. 
 
 " Alice seems to be gone a long time. I hope the 
 machine hasn't broken down." 
 
 " The train is probably late. They generally are 
 on this road. What room are you going to give 
 Mr. Hall?" 
 
 " I thought I'd give him the one over the library," 
 said Edith, as she resumed her chair. " It has a 
 lovely view of the Sound. I know he'll be glad 
 enough to see it again after being West over six 
 months." 
 
 Mrs. Pope snorted indignantly. " I wish he had 
 stayed there," she grumbled. " I cannot imagine 
 what Alice sees in him to rave about."
 
 202 THE BRUTE 
 
 " Donald tells me he's a very bright fellow. He 
 knew him in college. She might do a great deal 
 worse." 
 
 " Not much. Why can't she pick out a man of 
 means, like poor Mr. West was? Think of what we 
 owe that poor young man ! " 
 
 " Don't, mother ! " Edith cried. " Please ! " 
 
 She rose and went to the fireplace, her face con- 
 vulsed with emotion. 
 
 " Why is it, Edith, that you always seem annoyed 
 whenever I speak of Mr. West? You don't show 
 proper feeling. Think of all you owe him. I don't 
 see how you can let a day pass without thanking him 
 from the bottom of your heart for all the happiness 
 he has given you." 
 
 " I appreciate it very much, mother." Edith's 
 voice trembled there was a trace of a sob in it. 
 
 " You certainly do not act like it," pursued her 
 mother relentlessly. " Every time I mention his 
 name you change the subject." 
 
 Edith turned, her face flushing. " Can't you see," 
 she cried, " how it hurts me? I don't want to be 
 reminded of his death every minute of the day. God 
 knows, I wish he were alive again ! "
 
 THE BRUTE 203 
 
 " There's no use in wishing that, my dear," re- 
 marked her mother. " God, in His wisdom, orders 
 all things for the best." She glanced about the 
 richly furnished room with a satisfied smile. 
 
 Edith was about to reply, when the afternoon 
 stillness was broken by the sound of wheels upon the 
 gravel road, accompanied by the honk of an auto- 
 mobile horn. She hurried to the door, and, as she 
 did so, Alice appeared, accompanied by a heavily 
 built young fellow in blue serge, carrying a suit-case. 
 Mrs. Pope rose. 
 
 " Well, mother, we're here at last," cried Alice. 
 " The train was fifteen minutes late." She turned 
 to the man behind her. " Mother, you know Mr. 
 Hall." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Hall, I'm so glad to see you ! " said 
 Mrs. Pope effusively, as she offered the newcomer her 
 hand. 
 
 Mr. Hall shook hands. He was a genial, whole- 
 souled sort of a fellow, and, as he turned to acknowl- 
 edge his introduction to Edith, she felt an instinctive 
 liking for him. He was telling Mrs. Pope how glad 
 he felt to be East again, after six nights in a sleep- 
 ing-car.
 
 204 THE BRUTE 
 
 " Yes," he rattled on, in his breezy way, " I've 
 come all the way from 'Frisco. We're building some 
 docks there. Ever been in 'Frisco, Mrs. Rogers?" 
 
 " No," replied Edith, " though I've always wanted 
 to go." 
 
 " Great place. Nothing like it this side of the 
 Rockies. Wide-open town, I can tell you." 
 
 "Do you like that kind of a town, Mr. Hall? " 
 asked Mrs. Pope grimly. 
 
 "Do I? Well, rather. Chinatown's got any- 
 thing I ever saw wiped right off the map. Great ! " 
 
 " Indeed? " The amount of reproof that Mrs. 
 Pope could put into that single word exceeds be- 
 lief. " I should hardly suppose any respectable 
 person would want to visit such places." 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm not respectable, Mrs. Pope. I'm 
 only honest," laughed Hall, as he turned to Edith. 
 " I looked for your husband on the train, Mrs. 
 Rogers. Hoped I might be lucky enough to run 
 across him." 
 
 " He came earlier. He's dressing now. I'm ex- 
 pecting him down at any moment." 
 
 "Dressing!" ejaculated Mr. Hall, with a wry 
 face. " Whew ! I'm afraid I'll disgrace the party.
 
 THE BRUTE 205 
 
 I didn't bring my evening togs. Somehow, I'd got 
 the idea from your sister that you were roughing it 
 down here. She wrote me you had taken a cot- 
 tage " He looked about the stately hall with 
 a broad smile. " Some cottage ! " he observed. 
 
 " Don't bother about not dressing, Mr. Hall. 
 Mr. Rogers generally wears flannels, hot nights like 
 this. Shall I show you to your room? " 
 
 " Let me do so, Edith," said Mrs. Pope, puffing 
 forward importantly. " And, really, I'm going up, 
 anyway." 
 
 She swept up the staircase, with their guest meekly 
 following in her rear. 
 
 " Dinner at seven," called Alice, after them. 
 
 "Well, Edith, how do you like him?" she asked, 
 when they were alone. 
 
 " He's awfully breezy, isn't he? I imagine he's 
 very sincere and straightforward." 
 
 " Emerson's as straight as they make them. No 
 foolishness about him. We're engaged almost, 
 that is. Don't let on to mother." 
 
 " Engaged ! Not really ! When did he ask 
 you? " 
 
 " Coming up from the station."
 
 206 THE BRUTE 
 
 " He certainly didn't lose any time," observed 
 Edith, laughing. " Did you accept him ? " 
 
 " Of course not. Now he'll have to do it all over 
 again. To-night, perhaps, down on the rocks. I 
 shouldn't think of accepting a man in an automobile. 
 It isn't romantic enough." 
 
 " Didn't he feel discouraged ? " 
 
 " Not a bit. You couldn't discourage Emerson 
 with a pile-driver. Anyway I guess he under- 
 stood." She smiled quietly to herself. 
 
 " I thought," Edith said, somewhat nervously, 
 " that he seemed rather surprised at the way we are 
 living here. I suppose he wonders where all the 
 money is coming from." 
 
 " I suppose so. He did seem a bit overcome, when 
 he saw the auto. Asked me if Donald had struck a 
 gold mine." 
 
 " A gold mine ! Alice ! He doesn't Icnow any- 
 thing about the will, does he?" Mrs. Rogers 
 seemed troubled, her face had lost its animation, her 
 eyes took on a hunted look. 
 
 "I don't think so," replied her sister, "but why 
 shouldn't he?" 
 
 " I'd rather he didn't. It might look well, sort
 
 THE BRUTE 207 
 
 of queer and then, Donald might not want him 
 to think " 
 
 " To think what ? " interrupted Alice sharply. 
 
 " Oh, nothing ! I suppose he'll have to know, some 
 time. Only it seems, somehow, to make Donald look 
 sort of cheap don't you see? " 
 
 "No, I don't," said Alice bluntly. "There is 
 nothing to be ashamed of at least, nothing that 
 anybody knows anything about. You seem to be 
 getting awfully considerate of Donald lately." 
 
 " Perhaps I'm only just beginning to find out what 
 a splendid fellow he is." 
 
 " Well, if you are, I'm glad of it, but I shouldn't 
 get up any more excitement about this money if I 
 were you. It will look suspicious." 
 
 " Did Mr. Hall ever write you anything more 
 about about Mr. West after that telegram we sent 
 him? " 
 
 " No, never. You remember the answer he sent 
 the next day, telling us poor Billy was dead. He's 
 never mentioned the matter since. You know he 
 left Denver shortly after that." 
 
 " Yes, I remember. I wonder if he could know 
 anything."
 
 208 THE BRUTE 
 
 Alice looked disgusted. " Don't be absurd, 
 Edith," she said. " How could he ? How could 
 anybody? For heaven's sake, don't get yourself all 
 worked up about nothing. I'm the only person in 
 the world, outside of yourself, that knows anything 
 about your affair with Billy West, and I certainly 
 am not going to say anything. I wouldn't have 
 Emerson know for the world. He might change his 
 mind about me." 
 
 " Alice ! " exclaimed her sister. " That's an awful 
 thing to say." 
 
 " Well, it's true, isn't it? I don't mind his know- 
 ing that Billy left you the money. I think he ought 
 to know that. But when it comes to his knowing 
 why he left it I draw the line. Of course, he 
 couldn't blame me, but if he thought that my sister 
 was living on the money left her by her well, I 
 don't want to hurt your feelings, Edith, but he might 
 not care so much about becoming one of the family." 
 
 Edith shrank away from her sister, her face quiver- 
 ing. " You say that to me you, who advised me 
 to take it ! " 
 
 " Don't try to blame it on me, Edith. I advised 
 you to keep your mouth shut, and not make things
 
 THE BRUTE 209 
 
 any worse than they were. I advise you to do the 
 same thing now." 
 
 " So that you can go on enjoying the fruits of 
 my wrong-doing." Mrs. Rogers looked at her sister 
 scornfully defiantly. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, don't get so melodramatic. 
 The thing's past. Why not forget it? " 
 
 " Can you forget it ? You are ashamed to let the 
 man you love know about it, for fear he might not 
 want to marry you not want to marry you, on 
 account of me." 
 
 " You take the thing too seriously, Edith. You 
 never told me much about your affair with Billy 
 West, and I never asked you. Every family has a 
 skeleton in its closet. Most of them are lucky if 
 they haven't several, but they don't make a practice 
 of parading them before the public. What on earth 
 do you want to talk about this thing for? It can't 
 do any good now." 
 
 " Because I'm sick of living this lie. I've a great 
 mind to tell Donald everything." 
 
 "You are getting just plain, ordinary dippy, 
 Edith. You ought to take something for it. Do 
 you know what he would do ? "
 
 210 THE BRUTE 
 
 " He couldn't do anything that would make mat- 
 ters worse than they are." 
 
 "He couldn't? You think he couldn't? Well, 
 I'll tell you what he would do. He'd make you give 
 up every cent of this money so quick it would make 
 your hair stand on end." 
 
 " Alice ! What do you mean ? " Mrs. Rogers 
 was horror-struck. This phase of the matter had 
 evidently not occurred to her. 
 
 " I should think it was plain enough. He couldn't 
 do anything else. If you didn't do as he wished, he 
 would leave you. He might do it, anyway. He 
 isn't the sort of a man who would stand for any 
 foolishness, kind as he is. You know that. You'd 
 lose either your husband or your money. Then 
 where would you be ? " 
 
 " Donald would never do a thing like that." 
 
 " Of course he would. Any man would, who had 
 a grain of self-respect. Then you'd have the pleas- 
 ure of giving up all this " she waved her hand 
 about the room " and going back to that wretched 
 hole in Harlem, and doing your own cooking, while 
 Bobbie plays on the sand pile on the corner lot, and 
 pretends he has a pony cart with a soaj) box. You
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 would enjoy that, wouldn't you? Oh, of course you 
 would ! " 
 
 "Don't! Don't!" cried Edith, with a shudder. 
 " I could never stand it never ! " 
 
 " Furthermore," pursued her sister, " Emerson 
 would be bound to know. He's seen this place, and 
 wouldn't understand what it all meant, if you gave 
 it up. He probably would have no further use for 
 me. I'm sorry for you, Edith, but you have got us 
 all into this situation, and you haven't any right to 
 upset it at least, not now. Wait until Emerson 
 and I are married, at any rate." 
 
 Edith was on the verge of tears. " I ought to 
 have told him long ago," she wailed. " In the very 
 beginning. Now it's too late. If he knew the truth, 
 he might never forgive me." 
 
 " I wouldn't take any chances, if I were you," 
 observed Alice dryly. 
 
 " And Donald has been so fine, so strong, so splen- 
 did," sobbed her sister. " I never realized before 
 all that he has been to me. I can't tell you how I 
 admire him." 
 
 " Very likely. It's a great deal easier for a 
 woman to realize her husband's good points when
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 she has thirty thousand dollars a year than when 
 she hasn't thirty cents." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose it is," said Mrs. Rogers, drying 
 her eyes. " I guess I'll have to make the best of it." 
 
 " That's sensible, Edith. Nothing else to do. 
 Now I think I'll go up and dress. What's on for 
 this evening? " 
 
 " We might go to the hotel for an hour or so. 
 There's a dance. After that you and Mr. Hall can 
 take a walk along the beach. That will give him 
 another chance," she added, with a meaning smile. 
 " Mother isn't at all favorable." 
 
 " I know it. She thinks Emerson hasn't money 
 enough. She's right, too; he hasn't. But I guess 
 he will have, some day. I'm willing to take a chance, 
 anyway. You know, Edith, I'm very fond of mother, 
 but I don't intend to let her interfere between Emer- 
 son and myself. As a mother-in-law I can see her 
 weak points. I've never said so before, but I believe 
 she is responsible for nine-tenths of the trouble be- 
 tween Donald and yourself." 
 
 "What trouble?" 
 
 " Oh, your discontent and everything. You would 
 never have thought of running away with Billy West
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 if she hadn't sympathized with you all the time. 
 When I get married I'm going to live as far away as 
 possible somewhere where I shall see mother about 
 once in six months. I don't propose to have her 
 making any trouble in my domestic arrangements." 
 She started toward the staircase. " I've barely time 
 to dress. Hello, Donald ! " she said, as she met her 
 brother-in-law descending the stairs. " How's every- 
 thing? "
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 DONALD ROGERS looked worried, although 
 he tried not to show it. He glanced about 
 the hall eagerly. 
 
 " Where's Bobbie ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Having his supper, dear. He was out driving 
 when you came. They drove over to the lighthouse 
 to try his new pony. You can't imagine how de- 
 lighted he is with it. I'm trying to keep him out 
 of doors as much as possible. He looks like another 
 child already. The sea air is just what he needs." 
 
 " Great, isn't it? " Donald said. " I don't wonder 
 he feels better. You are looking very charming your- 
 self to-night, Edith. You're gaining weight." 
 
 " I've gained eight pounds since we've been here. 
 I shouldn't have believed it possible, but I weighed 
 myself the day we came just to see. I wish you 
 would take a few weeks off, and have a good rest 
 you don't look yourself. What's the matter? Busi- 
 ness ? " 
 
 '* Yes. Things aren't going very well." 
 214
 
 THE BRUTE 215 
 
 She came up to him, and put her hand affection- 
 ately upon his arm. 
 
 "After all, Don," she said, looking at him fondly, 
 " it doesn't make so much difference now." 
 
 " Just as much as ever, dear," he said, taking her 
 hand. " You know how I feel about this money. 
 I'm glad, for your sake, and Bobbie's, but it isn't 
 mine, and I can't forget it." 
 
 " Everything I have is yours, dear everything ! 
 You know that." 
 
 " Thank you, Edith. I appreciate it even if 1 
 can't take advantage of it. I want to succeed on my 
 own account I can't stop work just because my 
 wife happens to be a rich woman. You wouldn't re- 
 spect me if I did that. I'll win out, all right. You 
 believe that, don't you? " He looked at her eagerly. 
 
 " Of course I do," she replied, patting his hand. 
 " I know you will. I only wish you would let me 
 make it easier for you. It spoils all my happiness, 
 not t-o be able to do so." 
 
 " I don't see what you could do, Edith, more than 
 you are doing." 
 
 " How is business, Donald? " 
 
 He began to walk gloomily up and down. " The
 
 216 THE BRUTE 
 
 work at the office is all right," he said presently. 
 " It's that confounded glass plant that worries me. 
 We haven't enough working capital, and can't seem 
 to borrow any. The worst of it is, there's a payment 
 due on the property September first, five thousand 
 dollars. You know the condition of the money- 
 market, I suppose. The papers are full of it." 
 
 " You mean about the stock-market ? " asked 
 Edith timidly. 
 
 Donald threw himself into a chair. " Yes," he 
 replied, " that and the Western Securities decision, 
 and the failure of the Columbian Trust Company. 
 Things look pretty bad. The banks are afraid to 
 lend a dollar without gilt-edged security. Just my 
 luck! Any other year things would have been dif- 
 ferent. You remember I was afraid of this, in the 
 spring. I spoke to Billy West about it." 
 
 " Why shouldn't I lend you the money ? " said 
 Edith, coming over and standing by his chair. 
 
 " I couldn't let you do that, dear," he replied, 
 looking up at her. 
 
 "But why? You know I have over twenty thou- 
 sand dollars lying idle in the bank interest, not 
 principal. You must let me lend it to you. How
 
 THE BRUTE 217 
 
 much do you want ? " She went over to a desk in 
 the corner and drew a check-book from one of the 
 drawers. " Please, Donald. It will be such a pleas- 
 ure to me." She looked at him in eager expectancy. 
 
 " I can't accept it, Edith. I want to stand on 
 my own feet. Now that you have all this money, 
 I'm doubly anxious to do it. I don't want to be just 
 Mrs. Rogers' husband." 
 
 " You could never be that, dear. I want you to 
 do all you say can't you see that's one reason I'm 
 so anxious to help you? We will make it a business 
 transaction you can give me a mortgage, or what- 
 ever you call it, just as if you were borrowing from 
 some hard-fisted old miser. I have a perfect right 
 to invest my money in a glass factory, if I please. 
 You wouldn't owe me anything." She paused, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 " You are a great financier, Edith," laughed her 
 husband. " You have discovered the art of borrow- 
 ing money without owing it." 
 
 " Don't laugh at me, Donald," she protested. 
 " I'm in earnest. I want you to take it just to 
 oblige me. You will won't you, dear?" 
 
 " Would you think just as much of me? " he asked,
 
 218 THE BRUTE 
 
 evidently revolving the matter carefully in his mind. 
 
 " How can you ask me such a question ? It would 
 be a mighty poor sort of a world, if we couldn't help 
 one another over a hard place, once in a while." 
 
 Donald rose from his seat, and went over toward 
 his wife. " I didn't intend to speak of this. Edith," 
 he said, " but now that I have perhaps poor Billy 
 would be glad, if he knew. I'll take it but as a 
 loan only, mind you, and with proper security." 
 
 At this reference to West, Edith shivered slightly 
 and turned away to hide her feelings. " How much 
 do you need ? " she asked in a strained voice. " Fif- 
 teen thousand? " 
 
 " Oh, no. Ten will be ample. But it isn't neces- 
 sary to bother about it now. Wait until I go back 
 to town." 
 
 " No, Don. You might change your mind. You'd 
 best take it now." She hurriedly began to write out 
 a check. " You can send the mortgage, or note, or 
 whatever it is, down to me that is, if you really 
 want to do it that way." 
 
 " I certainly shouldn't think of doing it any other," 
 said Donald. 
 
 Edith rose, and, going up to her husband, put the
 
 THE BRUTE 219 
 
 check in his hand. " Here, Donald," she said. " I 
 hope this will fix everything all right. If it does, 
 it will make me very happy." 
 
 " Thank you, Edith," he remarked simply, putting 
 the check in his pocket. " I shall never forget this, 
 never. You have been very good to me. I only 
 hope I shall not have to keep it long." 
 
 " Don't thank me, Donald. Just consider it a 
 little loan from a dear friend." He put his arm 
 about her, and drew her to him. " God bless you, 
 dear, you and poor old Billy. How I wish he were 
 here to enjoy it all." He kissed her lovingly, then 
 started in surprise. " Why, Edith, you are crying," 
 he exclaimed. " What's the matter, dear ? There's 
 nothing wrong, is there ? " He smoothed back the 
 hair from her forehead tenderly. 
 
 " Nothing," she cried, as she escaped from his 
 embrace, and, going over to the desk, put the check- 
 book back into the drawer, which she locked. 
 
 As she did so, they both turned at the sound of 
 someone descending the stairs. It was Hall. 
 
 " Hello, Hall ! Glad to see you." Donald went 
 up to their guest with outstretched hand. 
 
 " Rogers ! " exclaimed the latter, shaking Donald's
 
 220 THE BRUTE 
 
 hand vigorously. " You look just the same as you 
 did back in ninety-five. How are you ? " 
 
 " Pretty well. How are things in the West? " 
 
 " Oh, about as usual too much politics, and not 
 enough rain." 
 
 Donald laughed. 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Hall," said Edith. " I must go 
 and see to dinner. I'll be back presently." She 
 started toward the door. 
 
 " I hope you are not making any extra prepara- 
 tion on my account," Hall exclaimed. 
 
 " Oh no nothing unusual," Edith laughed. 
 " We are going to treat you as one of the family." 
 
 " That will make a hit with me, Mrs. Rogers," 
 said Hall, joining in her laugh. 
 
 " I thought it would," she cried, as she left the 
 room. 
 
 "How would a high-ball strike you, eh?" asked 
 Donald. 
 
 " Right where I live." 
 
 Donald led the way to the veranda. " Suppose we 
 sit out here. It's a bit cooler, I think. There's 
 some whiskey on the table." 
 
 " All the comforts of home, I see. Nice place
 
 THE BRUTE 221 
 
 you've got here, Rogers." He seated himself com- 
 fortably in a wicker lounging chair. 
 
 " Yes, very." Donald's voice had a peculiar 
 note he felt the irony of the situation. " Shall 
 I pour you out a drink? " he asked, going to the 
 table. 
 
 "Thanks, old man. Here's to you!" Hall 
 raised his glass. " Nothing like the seashore, after 
 all, in the summer for health and happiness. How's 
 your little boy? " 
 
 " Great. Growing like a weed." Donald took a 
 chair opposite his guest and drew a cigar-case from 
 his pocket. " Have a cigar? " 
 
 " No, thanks ; not before dinner. I'll light a 
 cigarette, though, if you don't mind." He took out 
 a box of cigarettes and offered it to his host. 
 "Have one?" 
 
 " Thanks." Donald put his cigar-case back into 
 his pocket, and took a cigarette. " I understand," 
 he said, " that you are with the Pioneer Construction 
 Company of Chicago." 
 
 " Yes. I've been with them for several years. 
 Made me chief engineer last year." 
 
 "Good work! Ought to be a splendid job.
 
 222 THE BRUTE 
 
 Keeps you moving about a good deal, though, doesn't 
 it?" 
 
 " Yes. More than I like. I've pretty well cov- 
 ered the West, this past year. Meet a lot of Colum- 
 bia men, off and on. I like 'Frisco. Wonderful 
 place. Dennett, ninety-six, is in business there. 
 You knew him, didn't you? " 
 
 " Slightly. He was in the class below me." 
 " And Walker, ninety-five. Remember him ? " 
 "Tall fellow? Wears glasses? Yes, I remem- 
 ber him. Very bright man. How long did you stay 
 in 'Frisco?" 
 
 " Two months. Finished up a j ob in Denver be- 
 fore that." 
 
 " Denver ? That's where poor Billy West died. 
 He was a ninety-five man. You knew him, didn't 
 you? " 
 
 " Slightly. Great friend of yours, wasn't he? " 
 "Yes, I thought everything of him. His death 
 was a terrible shock." 
 
 " So sudden, too. He was ill only a few days. 
 Appendicitis, they told me." 
 
 " Yes. He died right after the operation." 
 
 " I was in Denver at the time ; but I didn't think
 
 THE BRUTE 223 
 
 to look him up. Didn't even know he was sick until 
 I got your telegram." 
 
 " My telegram? " Donald looked at his guest in 
 sudden surprise. 
 
 "Well, perhaps not yours, exactly. Miss Pope 
 wired me that he was sick, and asked me to find out 
 how he was. I supposed it was on your account." 
 
 "Miss Pope?" 
 
 " Yes. Your sister-in-law." 
 
 Donald's surprise and confusion were painfully 
 evident. "I I don't understand why she should 
 have wired. I didn't even know he was sick, myself." 
 
 " She must have known it," replied Hall, a trifle 
 uneasily. " I went to the hospital at once. They 
 told me he had been dead several days." 
 
 " Strange," muttered Donald. " I can't see why 
 she should have wired." 
 
 " Perhaps Mrs. Rogers asked her to do so. She 
 didn't know me, herself, you know." 
 
 " You went to the hospital, you say ? " 
 
 " Yes. He had been buried by that time, poor 
 chap. I had a talk with the nurse who attended 
 him." 
 
 "Did he suffer much?"
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 " No, not physically, that is. They told me he 
 worried terribly over his illness. Died raving about 
 some woman." 
 
 " Some woman? That's strange." 
 " Why so? Most men do, don't they? " 
 " West didn't. He never cared much about 
 women." 
 
 " He must have, from what I heard." 
 " Why so ? " Donald shifted uneasily in his 
 chair. 
 
 " It's a queer story. I suppose the nurse ought 
 not to have told me, but she must have thought I 
 was a very dear friend of his. It seems he was terri- 
 bly in love with some married woman here in New 
 York wrote to her every day, almost up to the 
 last. I understand she did to him, too." 
 
 " A married woman ? " cried Donald, in astonish- 
 ment. " I don't believe it. I knew Billy West inti- 
 mately. He had scarcely any woman friends. It's 
 hardly likely he could have been carrying on such 
 an affair without my knowing it. I saw him every 
 day, almost." 
 
 Hall took out his cigarette-case and lighted a fresh 
 cigarette. " I don't know," he replied. " That's
 
 THE BRUTE 225 
 
 what the nurse said. She used to read him her let- 
 ters. They had arranged that she was to leave her 
 husband, and she and West were going to run away 
 together to Europe. He'd gone out to Denver 
 to close up his affairs, and turn all his property 
 into money. They had everything arranged to go 
 as soon as he returned to New York. That's what 
 made it so hard for him to die." 
 
 Donald gazed at the face of the man opposite 
 him with horrified intentness. " Who was she ? " 
 he asked suddenly. 
 
 " I haven't the least idea. I didn't ask the nurse, 
 and she probably didn't know. It was the strange 
 outcome of the affair that interested me particu- 
 larly. I wonder if you heard it." 
 
 Donald looked puzzled. " I don't know what you 
 mean," he said slowly. 
 
 " Well, it was like this : West, I understand, was 
 worth a lot of money." Hall leaned forward in his 
 chair, and addressed his host impressively. " The 
 day before he died," he said slowly, " he called in 
 a lawyer, and made a will, leaving every cent he had 
 in the world to the woman he was in love with." 
 
 Donald Rogers allowed his half-smoked cigarette
 
 226 THE BRUTE 
 
 to drop unheeded to the floor. He started forward 
 in his chair, his face flushed, his whole appearance 
 that of a man who had suffered a sudden and terri- 
 ble shock. " It's a lie ! " he gasped hoarsely, then 
 sank back in horror. 
 
 A look of amazement spread over Hall's face. 
 " Pardon me, old man," he said slowly. " I didn't 
 suppose you'd feel so strongly about the matter, or 
 I should never have mentioned it. I only know what 
 the nurse told me." 
 
 Donald recovered himself with an effort. He 
 tried to stem the tumult that surged through his 
 brain. " Excuse me, Hall," he said weakly. " It 
 it was a great shock." Then he began nervously 
 to light another cigarette. 
 
 Hall looked at him in astonishment. " Yes," he 
 said vaguely. " It surprised me a good deal, too. 
 I guess it's true, though. The nurse would have 
 had no reason to lie about it. I've often wondered 
 what sort of a man this woman's husband must have 
 been, to let her take the money if he did. Pretty 
 cheap skate, to stand for a thing like that don't 
 you think?" 
 
 " If he did," repeated Donald mechanically, and,
 
 THE BRUTE 227 
 
 fumbling in his pocket, drew forth the check which 
 his wife had given him a short time before. 
 
 " Thought you might have heard about it," con- 
 tinued Hall, as he finished his drink. 
 
 " No." Donald's voice was strained he was 
 vaguely groping in his mind for some solid ground 
 in the chaos that surrounded him. " I should have 
 known, but I did not," he continued; then began 
 slowly to tear the check into bits. 
 
 "Women are the devil, aren't they?" said Hall, 
 as he rose and began to walk about the spacious 
 veranda. " Perhaps her husband never even knew." 
 
 Donald rose, and, going to the railing, dropped 
 the pieces of the check in a shower upon the rose 
 bushes beneath. " He never knew," he repeated me- 
 chanically. 
 
 As he spoke, Edith appeared in the doorway. 
 " Dinner is almost ready," she announced gaily. 
 " Haven't the others come down yet ? "
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 DONALD ROGERS had given eight years of 
 his life to working for the welfare of his wife 
 and his little boy. He was a man of one idea, and 
 to that he bent his every effort. It may be that, 
 in his devotion to the future, he had neglected the 
 present, but the thought that Edith, the woman 
 whom he had trusted and believed in all these years, 
 could be unfaithful to him had never crossed his 
 mind. The very idea seemed monstrous as he 
 looked up and saw her sweet, familiar smile, he felt 
 that he must be the victim of some weird and horri- 
 ble mistake. 
 
 Edith, her face flushed and happy, beamed upon 
 them from the open doorway. Hall was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 " Not yet, Mrs. Rogers," he said, then looked 
 curiously at Donald, as he noted the latter's silence. 
 
 " I suppose you two have been having a nice, long 
 talk about your college days? " said Edith, glancing 
 
 from Hall to her husband. 
 
 293
 
 THE BRUTE 229 
 
 " Yes, in a way. As a matter of fact, Mrs. 
 Rogers, we were talking about poor old Billy West." 
 He turned to Donald as he spoke, and failed to 
 observe the look of horror that crossed Edith's face. 
 
 " Billy West? " she cried, with a gasp, as she 
 started back, her eyes big with fear. 
 
 " Yes. You remember I went to see him in Den- 
 ver that time after your sister wired me but 
 I was too late." 
 
 Donald interrupted him. His voice sounded 
 harsh and unreal. " Tell Mrs. Rogers what you 
 have just told me," he said. 
 
 Hall looked from one to the other in surprise. 
 He had evidently been treading on strange ground 
 he was unable to see his way clearly. " Why 
 I well, to tell you the truth, Mrs. Rogers, I was 
 gossiping a bit something I don't often do. I 
 heard a curious story about West while I was out 
 in Denver, and I was just telling your husband 
 about it." 
 
 " Go on ! " cried Donald hoarsely. 
 
 " It wasn't anything," said Hall nervously. 
 " Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned it at all. 
 They told me at the hospital that he had left his
 
 230 THE BRUTE 
 
 entire fortune to some married woman in New York 
 with whom he was madly in love." 
 
 Edith groped blindly forward. Her whole world 
 had come clattering down in ruin about her head. 
 She grasped the back of a chair with both hands, 
 and tried to recover her self-control. " Yes," she 
 gasped. " I I know." 
 
 Hall saw her agitation, but did not in any way 
 understand its cause. " Pardon me, Mrs. Rogers ; 
 I'm sorry," he faltered, then turned to Donald. " I 
 say, old man," he said, " won't you please take me 
 out and kick me gently around the block? I feel 
 that I am making all kinds of an ass of myself 
 gossiping here like an old woman." 
 
 Donald stepped suddenly forward. " Mr. West's 
 death was a great shock to us both, Mr. Hall. Mrs. 
 Rogers has never got over it. You can understand, 
 of course." 
 
 He came to her rescue almost unconsciously, pro- 
 tecting her from the breakdown which now seemed 
 inevitable. She stood clutching the back of the 
 chair, her face twitching with emotion, afraid to 
 look at her husband, afraid to look at Hall, her eyes 
 upon the distant blue of the Sound. The blow had
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 fallen she knew that tragedy stood at her side, 
 ready to strike her down. The tenseness of the situ- 
 ation was momentarily relieved by the appearance of 
 Mrs. Pope and Alice. 
 
 "Are we late, dear?" asked her mother, puffing 
 heavily out on the veranda. 
 
 Edith did not answer ; she scarcely seemed to hear. 
 Alice went up to Hall with a smile. 
 
 " I dressed in fifteen minutes," she announced 
 gaily. " What have you been doing with your- 
 self? " 
 
 " Making an ass of myself, as usual," he mut- 
 tered; then looked toward Mrs. Rogers. 
 
 "What do you mean? " Alice inquired as she fol- 
 lowed his glance. *' What's the matter, Sis ? " she 
 asked, going up to Edith, and putting a hand on 
 her arm. 
 
 The other tried to smile. " Nothing, dear ; noth- 
 ing," she said, her voice sounding far off. " Mr. 
 Hall said something he thought made me feel bad, 
 but it wasn't anything not anything at all." 
 
 " What do you mean, Mr. Man, by saying mean 
 things to my little sister? " demanded Alice play- 
 fully, shaking her finger at Hall.
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 His reply was interrupted' by Mrs. Pope. " How 
 long before dinner, Edith? " she inquired. " It's 
 almost seven now." 
 
 " It will be a little late, mother. Perhaps ten 
 minutes yet," Edith managed to say. She glanced 
 timidly at her husband, but his stern, impassive face 
 contained no message that she could read. 
 
 " Then I needn't have hurried, after all," ex- 
 claimed Alice, in an aggrieved tone. " How would 
 you like to take a look at the grounds before dinner, 
 Emerson? " 
 
 " There's hardly time, my dear." Mrs. Pope's 
 manner was severely disapproving. 
 
 " Oh, yes, there is." She took Hall by the arm, 
 and moved toward the steps. " Come along, Emer- 
 son." 
 
 " I will accompany you, Alice," said her mother, 
 hastily joining them. She evidently intended to 
 keep Alice and the despised possessor of only four 
 thousand a year under her watchful eye. 
 
 " Won't you and Donald come too ? " asked Alice 
 sarcastically as she left the porch. 
 
 Donald regarded her without interest. He 
 scarcely heard what she said. " No, we will wait
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 here," he replied; then looked searchingly at his 
 wife. 
 
 " Call us when dinner is ready," Alice flung back 
 at them over her shoulder, as she and Mr. Hall dis- 
 appeared around the corner of the veranda, Mrs. 
 Pope puffing along in their wake, like a fussy little 
 tugboat under full steam. 
 
 Edith was the first to break the silence. " Don- 
 ald ! " she faltered, her voice breaking pitifully ; then 
 took a step toward him. 
 
 " Is this story true ? " he demanded. 
 
 "Wait, Donald wait !" she cried. "Don't 
 judge me harshly." 
 
 " Is this story true ? " he repeated, his face drawn 
 with anger. 
 
 She continued to approach him, her arms held 
 out in piteous appeal. " Donald what do you 
 want me to say? " 
 
 Donald's expression turned to one of bitter an- 
 guish. The denial he had half-hoped for, in spite 
 of Hall's story, was not forthcoming. In every 
 word, in every gesture, his wife showed her guilt. 
 
 " My God, I can't believe it ! " he groaned. 
 " Why did you do this thing? "
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 " Don't ask me any more don't ! Can't you 
 see it's all past and gone? " 
 
 "No! It has only just begun. Were you in 
 love with him ? Don't lie to me ! " 
 
 " Donald I I really wasn't. I " Her 
 voice choked with sobs; she was unable to meet his 
 searching gaze. 
 
 " I don't believe you." 
 
 She came near to him, her look, her manner, her 
 every movement an appeal for forgiveness. " Don- 
 ald ! " she cried. "I I only thought I was. 
 It wasn't true. I never loved anyone but you 
 don't you see that I am telling you the truth? " 
 
 " You've got to tell me the truth." His voice was 
 stern implacable. " Did West ask you to leave 
 me, and go away with him? " 
 
 " Donald dear don't ! " she cried wildly. 
 " Let me explain 1 " 
 
 " Answer me ! " he demanded angrily. 
 
 " Yes." The word was scarcely audible through 
 her sobs. 
 
 Donald passed his hand unsteadily across his eyes 
 and turned away. It seemed unbelievable. West 
 his bosom friend the man he would have trusted
 
 THE BRUTE 235 
 
 with his life. " The scoundrel ! And I trusted him 
 so ! " he groaned, then looked again at his wife. 
 " Did you agree to go ? " he demanded. 
 
 " I did not know what I was doing I was mad. 
 Oh, Donald forgive me forgive me ! " She put 
 her hand on his arm, the tears streaming down her 
 face. 
 
 " Did you agree to go ? " His voice was even 
 harder and more peremptory. 
 
 " Yes," she whispered, " I did." 
 
 The bitterness of it all almost overcame him. He 
 loved her very deeply. " How could you ? " he 
 moaned. " How could you? " 
 
 She saw his momentary weakness, and, woman-like, 
 took quick advantage of it. " Donald," she cried, 
 through her tears, " Donald ! Forgive me ! I 
 agreed in a moment of madness. I have tried so 
 hard, all these months, to be worthy of you of 
 your love. Can't you believe me? " 
 
 " You would have gone," he said bitterly. " You 
 would have gone ! " 
 
 "Donald! I " 
 
 " Don't deny it. I know it is true. What did 
 he go to Denver for? "
 
 236 THE BRUTE 
 
 " To sell his property to 
 
 " To sell it out, so that he would be free to go 
 away with you," he interrupted hotly. " He died 
 raving over your daily letters, and left you every 
 cent he had in the world. Does that look as though 
 you had changed your mind ? " He turned from her 
 with an expression of disgust. " What a fool you 
 have made of me ! " he cried. 
 
 " Donald ! Listen to me. You must ! " 
 
 " No ! I'll do the talking now. Did you know he 
 had made his will in your favor? " 
 
 No!" 
 
 " Why did you wire to find out how he was ? " 
 
 " Because he was sick, and I was worried about 
 him. I hadn't heard a word from him for three 
 days. I knew nothing about the money until that 
 awful night when the lawyer came." 
 
 " And you took it ! In spite of all you took it. 
 You accepted this man's money ! " 
 
 " Donald I couldn't help it I was afraid." 
 
 "Afraid of what?" 
 
 " Afraid to refuse it, for fear you would not un- 
 derstand for fear you would suspect and think 
 terrible things about me."
 
 THE BRUTE 237 
 
 " For fear I might find out the truth," he flung 
 at her angrily. " For fear you would not be able 
 to hoodwink me, as you had in the past. For fear 
 I might know how disloyal and unfaithful and untrue 
 you had been to me." 
 
 His words, and the way he spoke them, roused in 
 her a sudden anger. " Yes, if you wish to put it 
 that way," she cried defiantly. " For fear you 
 would no longer love me, when I had come to know 
 that your love was the only thing I wanted in all the 
 world." 
 
 " And to keep my love," he exclaimed bitterly, 
 " you were willing to stoop to that to accept this 
 man's money." 
 
 " Oh my dear my dear ! I didn't want his 
 money I didn't want it! Won't you believe me? " 
 
 " You took it." 
 
 " I had to take it. There wasn't anything else I 
 could do." 
 
 " You could have given it away you could have 
 come to me, and told me the truth anything but 
 this." 
 
 " Could I have done any more good with it by giv- 
 ing it away than I have by keeping it? Think of
 
 238 THE BRUTE 
 
 what I have been able to do for my mother my sis- 
 ter our boy. Don't you see ? It wasn't for my- 
 self I wanted the money. You will believe that, 
 won't you? " 
 
 " No ! You have always wanted money. You 
 never lost an opportunity to tell me how much I 
 failed to give you. Now you've got it " he 
 glanced bitterly about him " at the expense of 
 your honor. You've lied to me, and tricked me, and 
 made a fool of me, and now you've got it; and, to 
 crown it all, you were even willing to let me share 
 in it. You gave me that check, knowing all this." 
 He raised his hands in helpless fury. " My God ! 
 What a humiliation ! " 
 
 Edith looked at her husband in a frightened way. 
 " If he were alive to-day he would be glad to know 
 that he had helped you," she said pathetically, seek- 
 ing some adequate answer to his accusations. Her 
 choice was an unfortunate one it only increased 
 his rage. 
 
 " Stop ! " he fairly shouted. " Don't dare to say 
 that to me ! Do you think I would accept anything 
 from him? this man I loved and trusted and hon- 
 ored as a friend this man that crept into my home
 
 THE BRUTE 239 
 
 and tried to ruin me to take from me everything 
 I held dear in the world this liar this hypocrite 
 - this crook to help me! God ! You must have 
 fallen pretty low to think that I would accept help 
 from your lover! " 
 
 Edith cowered before his biting scorn. " Oh ! 
 How can you how can you? " she sobbed. " I did 
 not love him." 
 
 " I would respect you more if you had. You 
 might have been honest with him, at least, if you 
 couldn't be with me. No you did not love him. 
 You turned from me, and gave yourself to him be- 
 cause he had money! Money! Money! You 
 you God, I can't say the word ! Don't you know 
 what they call women who sell themselves for 
 money ? " 
 
 She flushed darkly at his words. " Don't dare to 
 say that to me ! " she cried. " I may have been dis- 
 loyal I may have intended to leave you but I 
 never wanted his money never not for myself. 
 It was for the others." 
 
 " Look at yourself," he interrupted. " Your 
 clothes your jewels this place! Has all this 
 been for others? Haven't you enjoyed it? Isn't it
 
 240 THE BRUTE 
 
 the very breath of existence to you? What sort of 
 a woman are you, anyway? " 
 
 " You are cruel, brutal ! " she cried, dashing the 
 tears from her eyes. " You have no right to say 
 such things to me. I took this money because I 
 couldn't refuse it. If I had given it away, you 
 would have suspected. I had begun to see what a 
 terrible mistake I had made I wanted to keep this 
 thing from you because I loved you." 
 
 " Why didnH you tell me the truth then 
 then not leave me to find it out now ? You knew 
 if you told me about this money, you would have to 
 give it up, and you thought you could deceive me." 
 
 " No no, it isn't true ! " 
 
 " It is true. You thought you could buy your 
 fine clothes, your luxury, your happiness at the ex- 
 pense of my honor and you have done it. What 
 do you suppose Hall will think of all this when he 
 knows the truth ? " 
 
 " Why need he know anything about it ? " 
 
 " Good God ! Haven't you any sense of decency 
 of right ? Do you suppose for a moment I am 
 going to let things go on like this ? " 
 
 " Donald ! What are you going to do ? " she
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 asked. " Remember what all this means to others. 
 Forgive me, and let us forget." 
 
 " Don't say that again ! " He took a step toward 
 her threateningly. " I don't want to hear it. Give 
 up every cent of this money, now at once ! Put 
 on your cheap clothes, your home-made hat, your 
 pride if you have any left. They will look better 
 on you than what you are wearing now. Go back to 
 your cooking your housework. It will be time 
 enough then to talk about forgiveness." 
 
 She shrank from him, her hands clutching nerv- 
 ously at her bosom. After all, even she herself had 
 not realized how horrible the thought of her old life 
 had become to her, now that she had tasted of the 
 new. She shuddered before the sordid vision. " You 
 can't mean it you can't ! " 
 
 " You dare say that? " he demanded; then became 
 suddenly silent, and looked toward the door. 
 
 Edith followed his glance, and saw Bobbie stand- 
 ing on the threshold, his nurse behind him. 
 
 " Papa ! " cried the little fellow, rushing up to his 
 father with outstretched hands. " Have you seen 
 my new pony? " 
 
 Donald put out his arms, and took the child to
 
 242 THE BRUTE 
 
 his heart. " Bobbie my dear little boy ! " he cried, 
 as he kissed him. 
 
 " Mamma got him for me yesterday," the child 
 prattled on. " He's brown, and has a shaggy mane, 
 and I like him ever so much better than the old one, 
 I've named him Billikins, because he has such a funny 
 face. Won't you come and see him? " He caught 
 his father by the hand, pulling him toward the door. 
 
 " I can't come now," said Donald, resisting him. 
 " He's asleep by this time. We'll see him to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " And we'll go in swimming, papa. I've learned a 
 lot since you were here last week. I can keep up 
 dog-fashion." He capered about, illustrating with 
 his arms. " Mamma's going to get me a pair of 
 white wings. Aren't you, mamma?" He turned 
 to his mother for confirmation. 
 
 " Yes, dear," she said, with tears in her eyes. 
 
 " And, papa, I've got a sailboat. Patrick is 
 showing me how to sail it. Will you come to-mor- 
 row?" 
 
 "Yes, Bobbie," his father answered mechanically. 
 
 " I wish you would stay here every day. I don't 
 want to ever go back to the nasty old city. Why
 
 THE BRUTE 243 
 
 don't you, papa? " He took his father's hand again. 
 " I want to show you where Patrick and me found 
 a lot of clams yesterday." 
 
 " Yes, dear." Donald's voice was scarcely audi- 
 ble. There were tears in his heart, if not in his eyes. 
 
 Edith came over to the child, and put her hand 
 upon his curly head. " Kiss papa good-night, dear. 
 It's time you were in bed." 
 
 " I don't want to go to bed." The boy looked at 
 his father appealingly. " Papa, mayn't I stay up a 
 little longer? " 
 
 " Why, Bobbie, you always go to bed at seven 
 o'clock." 
 
 " Not nights when papa comes, mamma." 
 
 The nurse took a step forward. " Come, Bobbie, 
 that's a good boy," she coaxed, and held out her 
 hand. 
 
 The tumult in Donald Rogers' brain ceased. His 
 face took on a look of determination ; it was evident 
 that he had arrived at a decision. He put his arm 
 about the child's shoulder. " Fannie, wait in the 
 dining-room," he said. " I will call you when I want 
 you." The nurse turned and went into the house. 
 
 " Donald what are you going to do ? " Edith
 
 244- THE BRUTE 
 
 looked at his set face, and a great fear entered her 
 heart. 
 
 " Go over to that desk, and write what I tell you," 
 he demanded sternly, pointing to the writing-table 
 in the hall. 
 
 " What what do you mean ? " Her voice trem- 
 bled with fear, but she made no move to obey. 
 
 " Do what I tell you," he said harshly. 
 
 " No ! First I must know what I am to write." 
 
 "You refuse?" 
 
 " Donald," she cried piteously, " you can't mean 
 to ask me to give up everything not now. Wait, 
 dear for Bobbie's sake. No one has any claim on 
 this money. I'll give it all to you, to do with as you 
 like, but I want Bobbie to have this summer. Don't 
 you see how well he looks how brown and well and 
 strong? I can't let him go back to the city in all 
 this heat I can't ! " She was pleading now 
 desperately for the sake of her boy. 
 
 "Will you do as I say? " he asked ominously. 
 
 The thought of the thing nerved her to sudden re- 
 sistance. " No ! " she declared angrily. " Not that 
 way. You are asking more than you have any right 
 to ask. I have been foolish, weak, disloyal, and I
 
 THE BRUTE 245 
 
 regret it most bitterly. You can do what you 
 please, to me, but you shall not revenge yourself upon 
 my boy. This money is mine. It was left to me by 
 a man who loved me dearly. I am not dishonoring 
 either him or you by using it to make others happy. 
 You want me to sacrifice my mother's happiness, my 
 sister's, my child's all to satisfy your sense of 
 pride. Now that someone else is able to do some- 
 thing for me you resent it because you cannot do it. 
 You have no right to ask me to throw aside this 
 wonderful opportunity for doing good. What would 
 you have me do with this money? Give it away? 
 To whom, then, should I give it, if not to those who 
 are closest and dearest to me? What you ask is 
 selfish. You only want to satisfy your man's pride, 
 your so-called sense of honor. What is your sense 
 of honor to me, when the welfare of my child is at 
 stake? Do what you like, think what you like, but 
 don't ask me to give up this money, for I won't do it 
 I won't I won't ! " She stood facing him, her 
 hands clenched, her face flushed with passionate de- 
 termination. 
 
 Donald looked at her in amazement. He had 
 thought, after the discovery of her disloyalty, that
 
 246 THE BRUTE 
 
 she would accept his forgiveness at any price. 
 " What you have just said," he exclaimed slowly, 
 " shows me that henceforth your path and mine lie 
 far apart. I did not think that you could have said 
 such things, that you could have so far forgotten 
 your sense of honesty and right. Even after all that 
 has happened, I thought that you still loved me." 
 
 " I do I do and you know it." 
 
 " No," he said bitterly, " you do not love me. A 
 woman who loves her husband would live on crusts, 
 and go in rags, and beg from door to door before she 
 would sell herself for a few miserable dollars. What 
 if you did have to give up your expensive dresses, 
 your fine house, your automobiles? Is that any- 
 thing, compared with giving up your husband's love? 
 Do you think I want my child to owe his health, his 
 happiness, the bed he sleeps on, the nurse who cares 
 for him, the food he eats, the very clothes on his back, 
 to the scoundrel who tried to ruin me, who tried to 
 deal me a deadlier blow than if he had stabbed me in 
 the back with a knife? What if your home was 
 poor, and simple, and plain ? What if it had no lux- 
 uries, no purple and fine linen? At least, it was hon- 
 est ; at least, I could hold up my head in it, and feel
 
 THE BRUTE 247 
 
 that it was all mine, that I was a man. Do you 
 think I can do that here ? Do you expect me to look 
 about at all this luxury, and say to myself: God 
 bless the man who stole my wife's love from me, and 
 gave me this in return? There may be men in the 
 world who would take what you offer, and be glad 
 of it, but I thank God I am not one of them. As 
 long as you are my wife, what you have comes from 
 me do you understand, from me and, whether 
 it be much or little, for better or worse, you shall 
 accept what I have, and make the best of it ! " 
 
 Edith looked at him for a long time. She found 
 no words with which to answer him. " Very well," 
 she said, at last, slowly. " At least I have my child." 
 She put out her arms. " Come, Bobbie," she said. 
 
 Her husband swept the boy to him. " Get out of 
 my way ! " he cried roughly, as she attempted to in- 
 tercept him ; then started down the steps of the ver- 
 anda. 
 
 " Donald ! " she shrieked. " My God what are 
 you going to do ? " 
 
 He paused on the steps. " I'm going to New 
 York," he cried. " You can live on the price of 
 your shame, if you want to. I and my boy shall
 
 248 THE BRUTE 
 
 not ! " He dashed down the steps, and out toward 
 the entrance to the grounds, the child held closely to 
 his breast. 
 
 " Donald ! Donald ! " she screamed after him. 
 " Come back ! Come back ! " 
 
 He went on, not heeding her cries, and, as the bells 
 on the yachts in the harbor marked the hour of seven, 
 she crumpled up upon the veranda floor, clutching 
 at the arm of a chair as she fell; and lay there, a 
 pathetic, sobbing figure, until her mother and sister 
 found her, some ten minutes later.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 WHEN Alice Pope and the others returned 
 from their walk in the garden they did not 
 at first see the crumpled-up figure on the veranda 
 floor as they came up the steps. Suddenly Hall 
 started back with an exclamation, then ran over to 
 the prostrate woman and lifted her in his arms. 
 
 " It's Mrs. Rogers," he cried. " Quick, some 
 whiskey. She's fainted." 
 
 Alice poured out some of the spirits from the de- 
 canter on the table and gave it to him. " What can 
 have happened ? " she gasped, looking about. 
 " Where is Donald? " 
 
 " He must be inside. He was here only a moment 
 ago." Mrs. Pope took one frightened look at her 
 daughter's white face, then rushed into the hall, call- 
 ing loudly for her son-in-law. 
 
 They carried the unconscious woman into the 
 house and placed her upon a big lounge in the hall- 
 way. Mrs. Pope was still waking the echoes of the 
 
 place with her cries. 
 
 249
 
 250 THE BRUTE 
 
 In a few moments Edith opened her eyes and looked 
 about. " Donald," she gasped, " come back come 
 back." 
 
 "Where has he gone, Edith?" her mother de- 
 manded sharply. " I left you together." 
 
 Mrs. Rogers continued to gaze, frightened, at the 
 others as they crowded about her. She dared not 
 speak dared not tell them the truth of what had 
 happened. " We we had a quarrel," she moaned. 
 " Let me go to my room." She struggled to her feet. 
 
 " But my child what is the matter ? What 
 has Donald said or done to you? Why has he left 
 you like this? He never did have any consideration 
 for you, but this is unpardonable. Where is he? " 
 She glared about, eager to pour out the vials of her 
 wrath upon her son-in-law's head. 
 
 Edith staggered up, and made for the stairway. 
 " He's he's gone to New York. He took Bobbie 
 with him We had a frightful quarrel Oh 
 I can't tell you any more." Sobbing loudly, she ran 
 up the stairs. 
 
 The others looked at one another in amazement. 
 Only Alice understood, and she but vaguely. How 
 had Donald found out? What had been said? She
 
 THE BRUTE 251 
 
 bethought herself of his talk with Hall, and turned 
 on that young man, a dangerous glitter in her eyes. 
 
 " What did you say to Donald? " she demanded. 
 
 A look of astonishment overspread Mr. Hall's usu- 
 ally placid countenance. The whole affair seemed 
 absurd and meaningless to him, nor could he see 
 wherein he had been at fault. " We were talking 
 about about our college days. I I mentioned 
 some story about Billy West I don't under- 
 stand " 
 
 Alice cut him short. " Never mind, Emerson. It 
 isn't your fault. They probably quarreled about 
 something else. You and mother go in and have 
 your dinner. I'll go up and have a talk with Edith." 
 
 Alice's talk with her sister was short and to the 
 point. Edith, between sobs, told her what Mr. Hall 
 had said, and what, as a consequence, Donald had de- 
 manded that she give up West's money. 
 
 " Are you going to do it ? " Alice asked. 
 
 " Oh I don't know I don't know." Her sis- 
 ter tossed about on the bed where she had thrown 
 herself, moaning as though her heart would break. 
 
 Alice regarded her thoughtfully. " I told you 
 what he would do," she remarked at length. " I
 
 252 THE BRUTE 
 
 don't blame him. But, after all, he might be a little 
 less unreasonable just now, too, when Emerson 
 and I are about to be engaged. It's a shame ! Why 
 didn't you humor him say you would give the 
 money to mother, or something like that? He has 
 no right to make such a tragedy of the matter. 
 Why not wait a while and see what he does? He 
 may reconsider, and come back." 
 
 " He never will he never will." 
 
 " Well, then it's up to you to decide which you 
 want more him, or the money. It doesn't look as 
 though you could have both. Take my advice and 
 go to sleep. Your mind will be clearer in the morn- 
 ing. I'll have Richards bring you up some toast 
 and tea. Now I'm going to see what I can do to set 
 this thing right with Emerson." 
 
 All the next day Edith lay in bed, tortured by the 
 most agonizing thoughts. At one moment she would 
 decide to go to Donald and beg his forgiveness, with 
 all thoughts of the money cast to the four winds. 
 At the next, she would recoil before the hideous pros- 
 pect of giving up all that her life now held, and go- 
 ing back to the drudgery of her former existence. 
 It was a difficult position for any woman to be in,
 
 THE BRUTE 253 
 
 she wailed to her mother, who sat beside her, alter- 
 nately blaming Donald, and reproaching Edith for 
 not having at once denied the whole affair. 
 
 "Why didn't you laugh at Mr. Hall's story?" 
 she demanded. " Some hysterical tale of a nurse. 
 Bah ! I told you he was a fool. What right has 
 Donald to object, I should like to know, if you did 
 encourage Mr. West a little? I can't see anything 
 so terribly wrong in that. You didn't do anything 
 wrong, did you ? " She became furious when Edith 
 mumbled her denials. " The man is mad. He 
 thinks he owns you, body and soul. Mr. West was 
 worth a dozen like him. He could appreciate a 
 woman's wants and needs. The idea of demanding 
 that you give up what rightfully belongs to you 
 just to please his whims. I'd let him understand that 
 he couldn't treat me as though I were a piece of 
 property. What has he ever done for you, that you 
 should be so grateful and obedient? Made you live 
 like a servant. Don't think of going to him. I 
 forbid it. You are my child, and I have some rights. 
 Let me talk to him. I'll go up to town to-night, and 
 tell him what I think of him. I've been waiting to 
 do so for some time. As Alice suggests, if he ob-
 
 254 THE BRUTE 
 
 jects to your keeping this money, promise to give it 
 to me. I'll see that none of it is spent on him, since 
 it seems to hurt his pride so. His honor dragged 
 in the mud ! Absurd ! This honor he talks so much 
 about isn't going to pay your bills, and make your 
 life worth living, is it? Selfish, my dear! That's 
 the way with all men. They want everything, and 
 are willing to give nothing. Even my poor, dear J. 
 B., kind as he was, never understood me thoroughly. 
 He seemed to think that I should humor him, and wait 
 on him, just as though I hadn't any wifely rights at 
 all. I tell you, Edith, husbands nowadays are get- 
 ting to expect entirely too much. If they give you 
 something to eat, and a place to sleep, they seem to 
 think that they have done all that is required of 
 them. I wouldn't stand it, for one. I told your 
 father he would have to give me what I was accus- 
 tomed to, or I'd leave him. That's the way to treat 
 a man, my child. Don't let Donald think you are a 
 doormat." 
 
 Edith scarcely heard her mother's words as they 
 rumbled on. Only one suggestion seemed good to 
 her, and that was the tetter's plan to go to New York 
 and see Donald. She felt too ill, too greatly un-
 
 THE BRUTE 255 
 
 nerved, to do so herself, and she was not yet ready to 
 sacrifice all the material joys of her existence to 
 bring about a reconciliation. Perhaps some com- 
 promise might be effected. At least her mother's 
 visit would show Donald that she was ready to meet 
 him on some common ground, whereas to ignore him 
 altogether would but widen the breach between them. 
 She consented, therefore, to her mother's going, and 
 wrote a little note to Donald, begging him to forgive 
 her, and to return to New London at once. Mean- 
 while her mother hastened away to prepare herself 
 for the fray. 
 
 Alice came in early in the afternoon, and told her 
 that Mr. Hall had proposed and that she had ac- 
 cepted him. " I don't know just what Emerson 
 thinks," she said. " He hasn't mentioned the matter 
 since, but I believe he half-suspects the truth. I've 
 told him nothing, of course, except that you and 
 Donald have had a quarrel, but that everything will 
 be all right. He's acted so nicely about it all, 
 though, that I think I'll tell him the truth. He's go- 
 ing up to town with us this afternoon. Oh, yes, I 
 am going, too. Mother is likely to make a mess of 
 everything. You know how she goes on, when she
 
 256 THE BRUTE 
 
 once gets started. I'm sure I'd better be on hand to 
 steady her a bit. Donald is in no humor to be trifled 
 with." 
 
 " No," murmured her sister ; " he isn't. I never 
 heard him speak so before. It was terrible." 
 
 Alice drew her mouth into a mirthless smile and 
 regarded Edith critically. " I don't believe you 
 know Donald as well as I do," she remarked at length. 
 " You've always thought him quiet, and mild, and 
 easy-going. You've even complained to me that he 
 had no backbone that he didn't master you. You 
 once said you'd have cared for him more, if he had. 
 You're like lots of women, Edith. You think be- 
 cause a man loves you, and treats you tenderly, he's 
 weak. You'd rather be beaten than petted, I guess. 
 Well, Sis you've made a big mistake. Donald has 
 always been like clay with you, because he loved you, 
 but I guess the fire that you've started in him has 
 burnt him hard. Don't imagine you can pull any 
 wool over his eyes now. He's likely to give you the 
 surprise of your life." She went over to the dressing- 
 table and began to arrange her hair. " Emerson is 
 going to take mother and me to dinner as soon as 
 we get in town, and then we're going up to the apart-
 
 THE BRUTE 257 
 
 ment about eight, I think. We won't be back un- 
 til to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh if you could only bring Bobbie back with 
 you!" 
 
 " Not likely, Edith. Donald loves that child with 
 the love of a strong, silent man, and he'll never give 
 him up." 
 
 " But he's mine mine." 
 
 " Not a bit more than he is Donald's. In fact, 
 I rather think he has the law on his side, if you come 
 to that." 
 
 Edith renewed her sobbing. " I don't know what 
 to do I can't let him stay there in town, in all the 
 heat. It would kill him." 
 
 " Oh, no, it wouldn't. Bobbie isn't as frail as all 
 that. Of course he'd be better off here, but I guess 
 he'll survive." 
 
 " Then you do advise me to give up the money? " 
 Edith's voice held a note almost of anger. 
 
 " Not at all. I advise you to give it to mother. 
 That will satisfy everybody especially mother." 
 
 " And you, I suppose," remarked Edith petu- 
 lantly. 
 
 " Oh I don't care a rap. I'm too happy, think-
 
 258 THE BRUTE 
 
 ing about Emerson, to care about money. All that 
 I ask is that you patch things up somehow, so as to 
 avoid a scandal." She turned to go. " Just sup- 
 pose, Edith, that Donald had been on the point of 
 leaving you with some other woman, and the woman 
 had died, and left him a fortune. Would you like to 
 spend any of it? Think it over. Good-by, now. 
 We've got to hurry, to make that train." 
 
 Mrs. Pope looked in for a moment on her way 
 downstairs. " Cheer up, my dear," she said. 
 " Don't let this thing worry you into a spell of sick- 
 ness. I'll arrange everything. I'm going to let 
 Donald see that he isn't the only one to be considered 
 in this matter. The greatest good of the greatest 
 number that's my policy. I won't have any high- 
 flown theatrical nonsense spoil your life." 
 
 " Mother," Edith called after her, " please be care- 
 ful what you say." Mrs. Pope paid no attention to 
 her. The militant-looking feather upon her large 
 black hat wagged ominously as she strode down the 
 stairs. " Idiot ! " she muttered to herself. " Why 
 can't he act like a sensible human being? " 
 
 Left to herself, Edith started once more the tread- 
 mill of thought which whirled around and around in
 
 THE BRUTE 259 
 
 a circle, and left her always just where she had begun. 
 No matter how she strove to justify Donald in his 
 anger, the dread specter of poverty grinned at her 
 through all her arguments, and her resolutions fled. 
 She looked about the room. The rose pink velvet 
 carpet, the soft white bearskin rug beside the bed, 
 the lovely wall paper, the exquisite hangings, the 
 graceful mahogany furniture, all called to her com- 
 pellingly. One of the maids, entering soft-footed, 
 brought her some bouillon and the breast of a chicken, 
 on a silver tray. The servant moved about noise- 
 lessly, pulling down the shades to shut out the after- 
 noon sun. Edith drew her clinging silk night-dress 
 about her throat, and sat up. 
 
 " Will madam have a glass of sherry ? " the maid 
 asked, as she removed an immense bunch of roses from 
 the low wicker table, and placed the tray upon it. 
 
 Edith thought she would. Somehow, she was be- 
 ginning to feel better. Her mother, with Alice's as- 
 sistance, would doubtless arrange everything satis- 
 factorily. After all, she had done no wrong. She 
 ate the chicken with considerable relish and sent the 
 maid for some fruit. How different all this was 
 from the dingy, ill-smelling little apartment of the
 
 260 THE BRUTE 
 
 past, where half her life was spent over the gas range. 
 It all seemed very far away from her, as she sank 
 luxuriously back among the pillows and picked up 
 a book she had been trying to read. 
 
 The book proved dull and uninteresting. In a 
 little while she fell asleep. As she lay there, her firm 
 round throat exposed, her lips, red and full, slightly 
 parted over her small white teeth, she looked very 
 alluring very beautiful. The maid coming to the 
 door, closed it softly, and went downstairs to discuss 
 the scandal of Mr. Rogers' disappearance with Pat- 
 rick and Fannie and the other servants. Over the 
 whole house brooded the hot white silence of a mid- 
 August day.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 IT was close to midnight when Donald Rogers, with 
 Bobbie asleep in his arms, reached the door of 
 his apartment in One Hundred and Tenth Street. 
 The little fellow had protested at first against this 
 unexpected journey, but was too tired to give the 
 matter much thought, and soon slipped away into the 
 land of dreams, where he found himself gaily sailing 
 his pony cart, which, strangely enough, seemed to 
 resemble a sailboat, with the pony sitting beside him 
 in a very dignified manner, acting as crew. 
 
 Donald himself spent a sleepless night. The cruel 
 revelation of the treachery to which he had been sub- 
 jected at the hands of his best friend, and, crowning 
 this, the knowledge that his wife had been equally 
 untrue, left him like a man shipwrecked on an island 
 of desolation, with no one to whom he could turn for 
 help or sympathy. He had trusted Edith implicitly 
 had given her the best there was in him all these 
 years ; and now it seemed that nothing but a cup of 
 
 bitterness was to be his reward. The minutes 
 
 261
 
 262 THE BRUTE 
 
 dragged as though they were hours, and it seemed 
 as though the dawn would never come. But at last 
 the wretched night was over, and morning found him 
 in the little kitchenette, trying painfully, with un- 
 accustomed fingers, to prepare breakfast for Bobbie 
 and himself. 
 
 Most of the day he spent with the child, wandering 
 through the park, his thoughts never far removed 
 from the tragic moments of the evening before. 
 What would Edith do? was his incessant thought. 
 He felt sure that she would come to him because of 
 Bobbie, but he was by no means certain, realizing her 
 innate vanity, that she would consent to give up the 
 money which West had left her, in return for his 
 forgiveness. On no other condition, however, would 
 he treat with her. On this point he was fully de- 
 termined. 
 
 The dusk of evening found Bobbie and himself 
 dining solemnly together in a little restaurant at 
 which he had been in the habit of getting his meals 
 during the hot weather. 
 
 On their return to the apartment, Donald, avoid- 
 ing Bobbie's questions as far as he could, regarding 
 his mother's absence, sent the little fellow to his
 
 THE BRUTE 263 
 
 room, and sank into his accustomed seat by the 
 desk, staring moodily into space. The sound of 
 the buzzer in the kitchen, announcing that the 
 janitor was ready to remove the garbage, brought 
 him back with a sudden shock from his dreaming, 
 and he began to realize his utter loneliness. He 
 picked up a paper, and made an ineffectual attempt 
 to read; but for some minutes was unable to con~ 
 centrate his mind on the page before him. Presently 
 there emerged from the maze of type the flaring 
 headline : 
 
 DIVORCED AFTER TEN YEARS' MARRIED 
 BLISS. 
 
 WIFE GETS CHILDREN HUSBAND A 
 SUICIDE. 
 
 He threw down the paper with a curse, and strode 
 impatiently up and down the room, glancing from 
 time to time at his watch. A faint voice from the 
 bedroom door caused him to pause. 
 
 " Papa," it said. 
 
 He turned and saw Bobbie standing in the door- 
 way. " Why don't you go to bed, Bobbie? " he ex-
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 claimed, almost irritably, but his manner changed 
 as he observed the pathetic, appealing little figure. 
 The child had taken off his blouse* and wore only his 
 little undershirt and his shoes. 
 
 " Won't you take off my shoes, papa? I got them 
 all tied in knots." He glanced reproachfully down 
 at the cause of his trouble. 
 
 With a great pain gripping at his heart at the 
 helplessness of the child, Donald came quickly for- 
 ward, and, seating himself, placed the boy on his 
 knee. 
 
 " We'll soon fix that, little man," he said, as he 
 began to remove the shoes. 
 
 " Papa where is mamma ? " 
 
 " She's in the country, dear." 
 
 "When is she coming? " 
 
 "I don't know, Bobbie," he responded, with a 
 heavy sigh. In his interest in the child he had for 
 the moment almost forgotten the absence of his 
 wife. 
 
 " Is she coming to-night, papa ? " the little fellow 
 continued tremulously. 
 
 " No, Bobbie, not to-night." 
 
 " Why isn't she, papa? " And then, after a short
 
 THE BRUTE 265 
 
 interval of puzzled reflection : " She belongs here, 
 doesn't she?" 
 
 " She can't come to-night, my child. And you 
 must be a good little fellow, and not ask papa any 
 more about it. Now, it's time you went to sleep," 
 he concluded, as he finished his task. 
 
 " Papa, are you angry with mamma? " 
 
 The childish question hurt him to the quick. 
 " Don't bother your little head about it, my child. 
 You wouldn't understand. Remember that she is 
 your mother, and you must love her always." 
 
 " I do, papa. She got me my pony, and my boat, 
 and lots of things. I wish she was here right now." 
 
 " You must be patient, dear, and go to sleep 
 quietly, like a good boy. To-morrow I will get a 
 nice, kind lady to take care of you." 
 
 " I don't want a nice, kind lady. I want my 
 mamma. She always hears me say my Now-I-lay- 
 me." 
 
 " Your what ? " he asked, not understanding. 
 
 " My Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep. That's my 
 prayers. She always hears me say them when she 
 comes to kiss me good night." 
 
 He looked away, with a sudden rush of pain.
 
 266 THE BRUTE 
 
 There were tears in his eyes now. " Of course. 
 Bobbie I I understand," he faltered. 
 
 " She said I must never, never skip, for the Lord 
 would know, and be angry.'* 
 
 " Let me hear you, dear." 
 
 " Do you know prayers ? " The child looked at 
 his father in wonder. " I didn't know men knew 
 prayers." 
 
 " Yes, Bobbie. Sometimes they do. Go ahead." 
 
 The child folded his hands, and stood at his 
 father's knee. " If I don't remember it all, you must 
 tell me," he continued. 
 
 " Very well, dear ; I will." The tears were coming 
 fast now. 
 
 " ' Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord 
 my soul to to : ' " The quavering little voice 
 halted. 
 
 " * Keep,' " his father supplied. 
 
 " * Keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray 
 the Lord my soul to take. Amen.' ' He looked at 
 his father expectantly. " You didn't say, * Amen,' 
 papa. Mamma always says it." 
 
 " ' Amen,' " repeated Donald gravely, as he kissed 
 the boy's tousled head.
 
 THE BRUTE 267 
 
 " Do you think, papa, if I pray the Lord to send 
 mamma back, she will come? " 
 
 " I think she might, dear. When you go to bed, 
 you must wish that she will just as hard as you 
 can." 
 
 " And then to-morrow she will be here? " cried the 
 child eagerly. 
 
 "I I hope so, dear. Are you ready now ? " 
 He rose and led the little fellow toward the bedroom 
 door. 
 
 " Yes, papa. I'm not afraid now. Good-night." 
 He put up his face to be kissed. 
 
 " Good-night, dear." The father kissed him al- 
 most reverently, and, after the door was closed, stood 
 for a long time gazing at it his face twitching. 
 Then he threw himself into a chair, rested his arms 
 upon the desk, and buried his face in his hands, in 
 a paroxysm of sobbing. It was the first time in 
 many years that Donald Rogers had cried. 
 
 It was some ten minutes later that he was roused 
 by the ringing of the doorbell. He rose, crossed 
 to the door, and opened it, to admit Mrs. Pope and 
 Alice. 
 
 Mrs. Pope advanced into the room with her ac-
 
 268 THE BRUTE 
 
 customed air' of ruffled dignity. " Donald what 
 does all this foolishness mean ? " she inquired. 
 
 " I don't understand you," he answered shortly. 
 " What do you want here ? " 
 
 " Can you have the audacity to ask me that ? I 
 am here to protect my daughter's rights." 
 
 " Did she send you ? " he asked quietly. 
 
 " I do not need anyone to send me when my child's 
 happiness is at stake. What does this outrageous 
 conduct mean? " 
 
 " Mother ! For goodness sake, be a little more 
 polite," interjected Alice. 
 
 " Alice, be quiet ! " Her mother regarded her 
 with stern disapproval. " This is no time for 
 mincing matters." She turned angrily to her son- 
 in-law. "Do you intend to answer my question? " 
 
 Donald regarded her with a dislike he took no 
 pains to hide. " I owe no explanation of my con- 
 duct to you," he said. 
 
 " Sir, do you think a mother has no rights ? " 
 
 Again Alice interrupted. " Mother wait 
 please." She stepped between them. " Edith is 
 suffering very much, Donald." 
 
 " So am I," he remarked grimly.
 
 THE BRUTE 269 
 
 " Then why don't you stop it? " Mrs. Pope was 
 not to be put off. " What do you mean by dash- 
 ing out of the house like a madman, kidnaping your 
 child, and disgracing us all before a stranger? It's 
 outrageous ! " 
 
 "Disgracing you! What about my disgrace? '* 
 Donald turned from her and addressed himself to 
 Alice. " Alice," he asked, " does your mother know 
 why I left New London? Do you? " 
 
 " Yes I know what Emerson said." 
 
 Again Mrs. Pope interrupted. " I know that you 
 accuse my daughter of carrying on a love-affair with 
 Mr. West," she cried. " I don't believe it but 
 what of it? What if she did? You did precious 
 little for her, goodness knows. Now that she has a 
 little happiness, you want to take it away from her, 
 just because you didn't give it to her. You ought 
 to be ashamed of yourself ! " 
 
 " I'll settle this matter with my wife not with 
 you." Donald's voice showed his irritation at her 
 interference. 
 
 " Poor child ! My poor child ! Why will you 
 not listen to reason?" 
 
 " I don't care to discuss the matter any further.
 
 270 THE BRUTE 
 
 Our ideas are too different on some subjects." He 
 went over toward the desk, turning his back upon 
 the others. 
 
 Mrs. Pope, however, refused to be turned aside. 
 " I should hope they were," she asserted doggedly. 
 " I didn't come here to discuss the matter, either. I 
 came to ask you to come back to New London with 
 Bobbie at once." 
 
 " What you ask is impossible," said Donald, with- 
 out turning. " I shall never go back there again." 
 
 " What ! After taking the house for the sum- 
 mer ? What will everyone think ? " 
 
 " It makes no difference to me what they think. 
 It is what I think that concerns me now." 
 
 " You always did think of no one but yourself. 
 Do you expect my daughter to spend the summer 
 there alone? Can't you see that it is out of the 
 question? " Mrs. Pope was shaking with rage. 
 
 " No," cried Donald, turning on her angrily. " I 
 do not expect her to spend the summer there alone. 
 I expect her to return here to me." 
 
 " To return here ! " exclaimed Mrs. Pope, aghast. 
 " To spend the summer in this place ! Are you 
 mad? "
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 "No ; I am not. Sometimes I think money has 
 made you so." 
 
 Mrs. Pope paid no attention to his words. She 
 was too busy trying to grasp the full purport of 
 what she had just heard. " What can you be think- 
 ing of? " she cried. " Spend the summer here 
 in this tenement with thirty thousand dollars a 
 year ? " 
 
 Donald regarded her coldly. " My wife will not 
 have thirty thousand dollars a year if she returns 
 here," he said. " She will have what I am able to 
 give her, and no more." 
 
 " Then what on earth will she do with her 
 money? " 
 
 " I intend that she shall give it to charity." 
 
 "Charity! Doesn't charity begin at home? If 
 you are mad enough to deprive her of it, she must 
 give it to Alice and to me." 
 
 " Never with my consent. That would be the 
 same as if she had it herself." 
 
 " Half a million dollars ! To charity ! I shall 
 use every effort to prevent her from making such 
 a fool of herself. I insist that she give the money 
 to Alice and me."
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 " Count me out, mother," exclaimed Alice, with a 
 short laugh. " Emerson wouldn't let me touch a 
 cent of it. He told me so." 
 
 " Does Mr. Hall know about this ? " asked Donald 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Of course he does. How could he help it ? Do 
 you suppose I could keep it from him, after what 
 you did last night ? Edith in hysterics you and 
 Bobbie gone mother carrying on like a chicken 
 with its head off. What could you expect? " 
 
 " And he refuses to let you have any share in 
 this money? " 
 
 " I don't believe he'd marry me, if I had. Emer- 
 son's mighty independent. He says he has enough 
 for both of us, and what he hasn't we'll do without." 
 
 " God bless him ! " said Donald earnestly. " He's 
 a man ! " 
 
 " He's a fool," Mrs. Pope exclaimed angrily ; " as 
 big a one as you are." 
 
 Her words, her manner since entering the room, 
 had slowly been causing Donald to lose his tem- 
 per. 
 
 " No ! " he blazed out, facing her. " You are the 
 one who is a fool. What have you been drumming
 
 THE BRUTE 273 
 
 into your daughters' heads for years? Money! 
 Money! Nothing but money! You would put up 
 your children at auction, and sell them to the highest 
 bidder, just for money. You come here and blame 
 me for all this trouble, and you haven't sense enough 
 to see that it is all your fault, and yours alone. 
 Ever since Edith and I were married you have talked 
 to her of nothing but my poverty, my shortcomings, 
 my failures. You have preached discontent to her 
 until she was ready to fall in love with the first man 
 who came along with a little more money than I 
 had. You are the cause of all this trouble you, 
 and nobody else. Don't come here and talk to me 
 about my conduct. Try to be a little more careful 
 of your own." 
 
 Mrs. Pope took out her handkerchief and applied 
 it gently to her eyes. "And is this the thanks I 
 get, after all these years ? " she said tearfully. 
 Then she turned to Alice : " Are you against your 
 poor sister, too ? " 
 
 " No, I'm not. I want to see Edith happy, and 
 I don't think she ever will be as long as she keeps 
 a cent of this money. I know I advised her to keep 
 it in the first place. I thought she could do lots
 
 274- THE BRUTE 
 
 of good with it. So she could, if Emerson hadn't 
 put his foot in it. As it is, I don't see anything 
 for her to do but give it up." 
 
 " You've changed a good deal, it seems to me," 
 remarked her mother stiffly. 
 
 " I have. I've talked it over with Emerson." 
 
 " Emerson ! Pooh ! " Mrs. Pope gave an indig- 
 nant snort. 
 
 " Never you mind about Emerson," said Alice 
 with spirit. " He and I are going to find happiness 
 in Chicago, in our own way. I know you don't like 
 him, so perhaps it's just as well we are going to 
 live a thousand miles off." 
 
 Mrs. Pope began to weep audibly. " Of all the 
 thankless tasks," she groaned, " a mother's is the 
 worst. Here I've spent twenty-five years in raising 
 you girls, living for you, waiting on you, slaving for 
 you; and, now, you turn on me like this. It's a 
 shame that's what it is a shame ! When my 
 poor, dear J. B. was alive 
 
 " Never mind about that now, mother. We didn't 
 come up here to have a family row. Let's see if we 
 can't fix up this trouble between Donald and Edith." 
 She turned to her brother-in-law with a look of deep
 
 THE BRUTE 275 
 
 concern. " Mother insisted upon this interview, 
 Donald. I told her it would do no good." 
 
 " Not if Donald insists upon making beggars of 
 us all," Mrs. Pope interrupted tearfully. 
 
 Alice took no notice of her interruption. " You 
 got Edith's note ? " she continued. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Are you going to her? " 
 
 " No. She must come to me. You can tell her 
 so. But I insist upon seeing her alone." He 
 glanced significantly at Mrs. Pope. 
 
 " I shall not inflict my company upon you any 
 longer, Mr. Rogers," exclaimed the latter indig- 
 nantly. " Good-night ! " She swept toward the 
 door. Alice followed her. 
 
 " Good-night, Donald," Alice said, as she left the 
 room. " I hope you and Edith will come to some 
 sort of an agreement. Remember Bobbie." 
 
 Left alone, Donald went slowly over to the chair 
 in which he had been sitting, and, stooping, gathered 
 up Bobbie's little shoes and stockings, and placed 
 them gently within the bedroom. Then he began to 
 pace endlessly up and down the floor.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 ON the following morning Donald Rogers deter- 
 mined to go down to Mr. Brennan's office 
 and have a talk with him. As the executor of 
 West's estate, as well as Mrs. Rogers' attorney, he 
 felt that the lawyer might be able to suggest a basis 
 for an understanding of some sort between Edith 
 and himself. Bobbie he took to his own office and 
 left in the care of his draughtsman. The child was 
 delighted, and spent the morning drawing ships and 
 dogs and many other things upon a great sheet of 
 cardboard with which the latter provided him. 
 
 Mr. Brennan was luckily in. Perhaps he sus- 
 pected the object of Donald's visit at any rate 
 he received him at once, dismissed the stenographer 
 who had been taking notes at his side, and waved his 
 caller to a chair. 
 
 " Glad to see you, Mr. Rogers,*' he began. 
 " How is Mrs. Rogers? I trust she is enjoying her 
 stay at the seashore." 
 
 " Mrs. Rogers is very well." Donald nervously 
 276
 
 THE BRUTE 277 
 
 began to light a cigar, fumbling with the matches 
 awkwardly in his agitation. Now that he was with 
 Mr. Brennan, he felt at a loss to know how to begin. 
 
 " Let me see. You are at New London, are you 
 not? Beautiful old place. I spent a summer there, 
 once. You go down for the week ends, I presume." 
 
 Donald ceased his efforts to light the cigar, threw 
 the box of matches, which Mr. Brennan had handed 
 him, upon the desk, and looked up. 
 
 " Yes. I was there on Saturday. I left Satur- 
 day night. I had a disagreement with Mrs. Rogers. 
 That's what I came to see you about." 
 
 Mr. Brennan raised his eyebrows, put on his 
 glasses slowly, and inspected his caller with delib- 
 erate care. " I'm very sorry to hear it, Mr. Rog- 
 ers," he said. " Nothing serious, I trust? " 
 
 " I'm afraid it is very." 
 
 " H m. Dear me ! And what can I do in the 
 matter? " 
 
 " You are a friend of both Mrs. Rogers and my- 
 self. I want your advice. I want you to see her 
 to talk to her." 
 
 "What's the trouble? " Brennan sat back in his 
 chair, prepared to listen, with a grave suspicion in
 
 278 THE BRUTE 
 
 his mind as to the cause of Donald's heavy eyes and 
 careworn face. 
 
 " Before I can discuss the matter with you, Mr. 
 Brennan, I want to ask you one question." 
 
 "Yes? What is it?" 
 
 " Do you know why West left his money to my 
 wife? " 
 
 " My dear sir. That is a very peculiar question. 
 How should I know? " 
 
 " You were the executor of his will." 
 
 " Undoubtedly. Yet I fail to see what that has 
 to do with it." 
 
 " You must have seen his papers his letters." 
 Donald looked at the lawyer intently. " Answer me 
 frankly, Mr. Brennan. Do you know? " 
 
 " Surely, Mr. Rogers, you can hardly expect me 
 to answer such a question, even granting that I could 
 do so." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " As executor of Mr. West's will, it is certainly 
 not my business to discuss the reasons which may 
 have prompted him to make it." 
 
 Donald rose and went over to the lawyer. " Mr. 
 Brennan," he cried, " don't try to quibble with me.
 
 THE BRUTE 279 
 
 I have asked you a plain, blunt question. You are 
 under no obligation to answer it, of course, but, un- 
 til you do so, we can proceed no further." 
 
 " I always supposed it was because he was very 
 fond of her," ventured the lawyer uneasily. 
 
 " Fond of her ! Yes ! But how, Mr. Brennan ? 
 How? " 
 
 " They were very old friends, were they not? " 
 
 "Were they nothing more?" Donald leaned 
 over the desk and fixed his eyes keenly upon those of 
 the man opposite him. He felt the blood surging to 
 his temples. " Why don't you answer me, Mr. Bren- 
 nan ? " he went on, as the lawyer dropped his eyes. 
 " Were they nothing more ? " 
 
 His searching questions began to annoy the law- 
 yer. " Why do you ask me such a question, Mr. 
 Rogers ? " he snapped. 
 
 " Only to find out how much you know. Mrs. 
 Rogers has confessed everything to me. You can do 
 her no harm by telling me the truth, and you will 
 make it much easier for us to go ahead. Do you 
 know? " 
 
 " Yes," Brennan answered at length, in a low 
 voice.
 
 280 THE BRUTE 
 
 " How? " 
 
 " All the letters your wife wrote to West came to 
 me along with his other papers." 
 
 Donald recoiled in bitterness of spirit. However 
 certain he had been of Edith's guilt, he still hoped 
 that Mr. Brennan, in some way, might disclose miti- 
 gating circumstances, facts of which he himself was 
 not cognizant, whereby her affair with West might 
 present an appearance less damning. 
 
 " My God ! " he muttered. " And you read 
 them?" 
 
 " Yes. I considered it my duty to examine all 
 his papers." 
 
 " How did you know they were from my wife ? " 
 
 " By her initials, signed to them by; the hand- 
 writing." 
 
 " And you have known this all these months, and 
 said nothing? " Donald strode to the window and 
 looked out. The North River, quivering in the hot 
 sunlight, was a clutter of barges, tugs and ferry- 
 boats, but his eyes, blurred with tears, saw nothing. 
 Presently he turned. " Where are those letters 
 now? " he asked. 
 
 " I do not know. I gave them to Mrs. Rogers.
 
 THE BRUTE 281 
 
 I advised her to destroy them. I presume she has 
 done so." 
 
 An angry light crept into Donald's eyes. "You 
 had no right " he began hotly. 
 
 Mr. Brennan raised his hand. " You are in error, 
 Mr. Rogers. I had every right. The letters be- 
 longed to your wife, by law. Mr. West left her 
 everything he possessed." 
 
 " What did she say to him? " He strode excitedly 
 toward the desk. " Tell me, man. Can't you see 
 what it means to me? " 
 
 " They were the letters of a weak, foolish woman, 
 Mr. Rogers not a bad one of that I am sure." 
 
 " Not a bad one? You mean ? " 
 
 " I mean, Mr. Rogers, that whatever your wife 
 may have intended to do however far she may 
 have intended to go West's death saved her from 
 the one step which the world considers unforgivable." 
 
 " I hope you are right God knows I hope you 
 are right." 
 
 " I am sure that I am. Now tell me what has 
 happened." 
 
 " I have left my wife. I have left her, and taken 
 my boy."
 
 283 THE BRUTE 
 
 " Well now that you have taken that step, what 
 do you propose to do next? " 
 
 " I don't know. That is what I want to discuss 
 with you. It is a terrible situation. I scarcely 
 know which way to turn. She has sent me a letter, 
 asking me to see her. I have agreed to do so 
 to-day. What I shall say to her I do not know. 
 Within the past forty-eight hours I have had every 
 good and kind and generous impulse within me shat- 
 tered and destroyed. The friend that I loved and 
 trusted has betrayed me. The wife for whom I 
 would have given my life has proven disloyal - 
 false. My self-respect is gone. My home is a 
 wreck. The money that keeps it up comes from a 
 man who did his best to ruin me." He began to 
 walk about, distracted, his voice choking with feel- 
 ing. " Is it any wonder that I feel bitter? Is it 
 any wonder that I do not know what to do ? " 
 
 The lawyer removed his glasses and considered 
 them carefully for a long time. The problem was 
 indeed a serious one. 
 
 Presently he spoke. " The first consideration, of 
 course, is your child." 
 
 " I know it. I have taken him from his mother.
 
 THE BRUTE 283 
 
 He wants her needs her. Have I the right to de- 
 prive him of her love? " 
 
 " Not unless she has proven herself unworthy of 
 it." 
 
 " Hasn't she? Is a woman who is unfaithful to 
 her husband who is willing to live on the money 
 given her by the man who made her so is such a 
 woman fit to bring up a child to teach him to be 
 straightforward, and honest, and good?" 
 
 " You use strong terms, Mr. Rogers. As I said 
 before, I do not believe your wife has been unfaith- 
 ful to you." 
 
 " I do not refer to any specific act. Unfaithful- 
 ness is not alone a physical thing. She has fallen 
 in love with another man. She has agreed to aban- 
 don her husband, and run away with him. She was 
 willing to sacrifice even her child, by robbing him of 
 his father. In one week more, but for this man's 
 death, she would have done all these things. Is not 
 such a woman unfaithful? Is not that enough? 
 Could any one act have made her more so? If your 
 wife were to do these things, would you not call her 
 unfaithful? " 
 
 " You refuse to forgive her, then ? "
 
 284, THE BRUTE 
 
 " No. I do not refuse to forgive her. I have told 
 her that I am ready to do so, on one condition." 
 
 " What is that condition, Mr. Rogers ? " 
 
 " That she give up this man's money." 
 
 " Has she agreed? " 
 
 " No. She has refused." 
 
 " Why do you insist on that? " 
 
 " Is it possible that you do not understand? 
 What else can I do? If she returns to me, it must 
 be with clean hands." 
 
 " You ask a great deal, Mr. Rogers. It seems 
 to me that your chances for happiness would be 
 a great deal better, if you were to let her keep this 
 money." 
 
 "Man do you realize what you are saying? 
 Isn't there a greater question at stake than just 
 my happiness? Isn't it right? Isn't it her duty? 
 Isn't it necessary to her own self-respect? I cannot 
 see how she could hesitate for a moment." 
 
 " Then you do not understand women. There are 
 not many of them, situated as she is, who could resist 
 the temptation of thirty thousand dollars a year." 
 
 " Then you defend her, Mr. Brennan. I did not 
 expect it from you. I had hoped you would see her
 
 THE BRUTE 285 
 
 talk to her show her what a terrible mistake 
 she is making." 
 
 The lawyer rose, and began to walk up and down 
 in deep thought. All his life, he had been concerned 
 with the one idea, the one duty that of preserving 
 for his clients every dollar that the law allowed them. 
 Money in a way had become almost sacred to him. 
 Other points of view seemed foolish, quixotic. " I'm 
 a cold-blooded, practical man, Mr. Rogers. Life as I 
 have seen it has not made me sentimental. Lawyers 
 rarely are. Half a million dollars is a large sum of 
 money. It means freedom from all the wretched, 
 grinding cares of existence, that fret out one's soul. 
 Few things in life make much difference, after all, 
 if one has a comfortable bank-balance. You ask 
 your wife to give up all that this money means, and 
 come back to poverty comparatively speaking at 
 least. It is a hard question for any woman to de- 
 cide a mighty hard question." 
 
 " You are wrong. You judge from the cynical, 
 money-getting standpoint of Broadway. There are 
 bigger and finer and nobler things in the world than 
 money. It's the right of the thing that counts." 
 
 " Perhaps it is, Mr. Rogers, but most women don't
 
 286 THE BRUTE 
 
 look at things that way. They are creatures of im- 
 pulse. Logic is not their strong point. You expect 
 too much of your wife. I have known a great many 
 women in my time and my experience is that 
 the best of them have their price." He noticed Don- 
 ald's dissenting gesture, but waved his interruption 
 aside. " Don't misunderstand me. I do not neces- 
 sarily mean in a wrong way. It may be a title, or 
 a million, with some with others the price of a 
 meal, or a lodging for the night. The man who ex- 
 pects too much of women is bound to be disap- 
 pointed. Let your wife keep this money. With it 
 she will be happy contented. Without it, she will 
 be miserable. She has tasted the pleasures of wealth 
 
 now and her old life will seem doubly distaste- 
 ful to her. Don't be unreasonable. Remember that 
 after all, she is, like most women, a good deal of a 
 child." 
 
 Donald took up his hat, and his face showed the 
 disappointment he felt. " Mr. Brennan," he said, 
 " I'm sorry I can't think as you do. I was brought 
 up to know the difference between right and wrong, 
 and I haven't forgotten it. It would be impossible 
 
 absolutely impossible for me to share in any
 
 THE BRUTE 287 
 
 way in this money, or to let my boy do so. On that 
 point I am determined." 
 
 Brennan looked grave, and regarded Donald with 
 cynical compassion. " I'm sorry to hear it, Mr. 
 Rogers. In that case I do not see that I can be of 
 any service to you." 
 
 " Then you won't undertake to see Mrs. Rogers, 
 and convince her of her mistake? " 
 
 " I do not think it will have any result. You are 
 very young yet, Mr. Rogers. You look at this thing 
 entirely too seriously." 
 
 Donald turned away with a great sense of bitter- 
 ness, of injustice, in his heart. "My God!" he 
 cried. " How can you say such a thing? There 
 is only one way to look at it, and that is the right 
 way. In your heart, you know it. Don't you sup- 
 pose it would be the easiest way, for me to take this 
 money? Isn't there every reason why I should? 
 My wife my child my business interests, all 
 urge me to accept it to make of myself that most 
 contemptible thing in the world a man who is 
 willing to live on a woman to share with her what 
 she has got from her lover. You know what they 
 call such creatures. You know that no decent, self-
 
 288 THE BRUTE 
 
 respecting man could do what you have advised me 
 to do. I value my wife my home, more than most 
 men do I have given them the best I had in me 
 but one thing I value even more than them, and that 
 is my self-respect. I have not made a great success 
 in life, in a material way, but what I have made, I 
 have made honestly. I have always been able to 
 look the world squarely in the face, without feeling 
 ashamed, and I propose to keep on doing so. Ad- 
 vise my wife as you please. Her mother and sister 
 are with you. But I want you to understand 
 the whole lot of you : that she need not expect 
 me to forgive her, and take her back, so long as 
 she keeps a dollar of this man's money, for I won't 
 do it by God, I won't do it ! " He flung angrily 
 toward the door. 
 
 Mr. Brennan stared at him for a moment, then 
 reached out his hand. " Mr. Rogers," he said, 
 " your views may not be practical, and they may not 
 bring you happiness, but, by God, sir, I respect you 
 for them. Good-day." 
 
 Donald went back to his office like a man who has 
 met a crushing blow, but met it undaunted. He 
 found Bobbie, tired of his pencil and paper, looking
 
 THE BRUTE 289 
 
 out of the window at the boats on the river, and 
 wailing for his mother. 
 
 The father disposed of his mail while the boy 
 played about his desk, gave his assistant a few in- 
 structions, and, with Bobbie holding his hand, once 
 more started up-town. On the way, he bought the 
 child some little chocolate cigars, thereby lulling 
 him into temporary forgetfulness of his mother's 
 absence. Life seemed all of a sudden to have be- 
 come very gray and bitter. 
 
 One ray of light, however, pierced the overshadow- 
 ing gloom. Forbes, his partner in the glass-plant 
 venture, had wired Donald from Parkersburg that he 
 had succeeded in securing from some bankers there 
 the necessary money to tide over the crisis in the 
 company's affairs. Several large orders had come 
 in also. It appeared certain that they would be 
 able to weather the storm. The good news seemed 
 trifling, somehow, in his present state of mind, but 
 it was something, and for the moment he felt grate- 
 ful.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 EDITH ROGERS came to see her husband, 
 probably less inclined toward the sacrifice 
 upon which he insisted than she had been when 
 he left her the Saturday before. Her heart had 
 ached to see her boy, but she felt a growing re- 
 sentment toward Donald, for what she felt was his 
 hard-heartedness. Her feelings in this direction had 
 been fanned to a flame by the arguments of her 
 mother, who had succeeded in persuading her that 
 what Donald asked was unreasonable and wrong. 
 She knew that the affair between West and herself 
 had not gone to the ultimate lengths that Donald 
 evidently suspected she did not stop to consider 
 that in all else but this one thing she had been utterly 
 faithless, and that even this step she would have 
 taken, had not death intervened and saved her. Be- 
 ing a woman, she could not put herself in Donald's 
 place, and understand the brutal way in which his 
 feelings had been outraged by the treachery of the 
 two persons on earth whom he had most loved and 
 
 290
 
 THE BRUTE 291 
 
 trusted his wife and his friend. Hence it was in 
 no spirit of repentance that she entered the little 
 room in which she had spent so many weary hours, 
 but rather as one who came to demand her rights. 
 
 Her mother had returned from New York furious 
 with Donald, and determined to use every means in 
 her power to prevent a reconciliation between him 
 and Edith. Her carefully detailed description of 
 the reception which her son-in-law had given her, 
 a description which lost nothing by reason of the 
 fury into which Mrs. Pope had succeeded in working 
 herself, made Edith realize fully that Donald was 
 very much in earnest, and not at all likely to return 
 to her, however long she might wait for him to do so. 
 
 There was clearly but one thing to do: she must 
 go to him, and endeavor to show him the cruelty, the 
 unreasonableness, of his attitude. Something in the 
 firm stand which he had taken compelled her admira- 
 tion; even while it dealt a blow to her pride. She 
 had never known Donald to be like this before he 
 had always humored her, always been apologetic, 
 regretful because he was unable to gratify her every 
 desire. She longed for the moment to come, when 
 she might see him and Bobbie again, and determined
 
 292 THE BRUTE 
 
 to use every power of attraction she possessed to 
 bring him to her way of thinking. It had been easy 
 in the past her tears, her reproaches, had usually 
 brought him contritely to her feet. 
 
 Mrs. Pope, in her anger, attempted to dissuade 
 Edith from this intention. " I shouldn't go near 
 him, my dear," she said, her eyes snapping. " Let 
 him stay there alone for a week or two, with Bobbie 
 to look after. That will bring him to his senses." 
 Edith, however, would not listen to her. " I shall 
 go, mother," she said. " After all, Donald has been 
 pretty badly treated. I never should have acted 
 as I did. I mean to do my best to let him see that I 
 care for him just as much as I ever did. Of course, 
 he must be reasonable, too. I'm not going to give 
 up this money. He ought not to ask it." 
 
 Alice had been listening to the conversation be- 
 tween her mother and sister in gloomy silence. Mr. 
 Hall had decided to move to the hotel for the re- 
 mainder of his stay, and she was annoyed to think 
 that all her plans had been upset. " What's the use 
 of deluding yourself, Edith," she remarked point- 
 edly. " Donald will make you give up that money 
 as sure as fate. I never saw him so angry."
 
 THE BRUTE 293 
 
 " Alice, you talk like a fool," said her mother. 
 "How can he make her give it up? He's hardly 
 likely to use a club." 
 
 " Wouldn't be a bad idea," Alice flung at them, 
 as she left the room. " Edith has needed one, for 
 some time." Mrs. Pope was aghast. " Sometimes, 
 Edith," she confided to the latter, " I think Alice is 
 losing her mind." Edith was not so sure. She had 
 always had great faith in her sister's judgment, and 
 the latter's remark worried her. 
 
 There was one way, she concluded, and only one, 
 to deal with Donald. She must make herself as at- 
 tractive, as alluring, as possible. When she dressed 
 herself, the following afternoon, for her trip to the 
 city, she put on her most becoming gown, her most 
 effective hat. She prepared herself with the great- 
 est care. Her maid spent most of the forenoon 
 getting her ready, manicuring her nails, washing 
 and drying her hair, massaging her face, doing 
 everything, in fact, that might be done to enhance 
 her physical charms. She knew she had always been 
 a beautiful woman she was sure, when she glanced 
 at herself in the cheval glass in her bedroom, that 
 she had never appeared to greater advantage. It
 
 294 THE BRUTE 
 
 did not occur to her that she might make a better 
 impression upon her husband in the sober garb of 
 repentance. She wanted to attract him, to charm 
 him, to force him to desire her so greatly that he 
 would make any sacrifice in order to bring her to 
 his arms. 
 
 In all this she showed her lack of understanding 
 of Donald's character. Everything she wore, from 
 her dainty suede slippers to her costly hat, she owed 
 to West. The jewels she wore had been purchased 
 with his money. The gold purse which dangled so 
 carelessly from her wrist, accompanied by an array 
 of pencils, vanity boxes and fashionable gew-gaws, 
 his wealth alone had made possible. Had she but 
 appreciated it, everything about her was calculated 
 to send Donald into a storm of rage, rather than to 
 attract him and bring him submissively to her feet. 
 
 Mrs. Pope nodded proudly as her daughter came 
 down the stairs. " You look stunning, dear a 
 wife of whom any man might be proud. Don't give 
 in an inch. You have right on your side, and it 
 only requires a little courage to win." She settled 
 herself comfortably in her chair. " Would you 
 mind ringing for Richards, my dear? I must have
 
 THE BRUTE 295 
 
 a refreshing drink of some sort. This heat is posi- 
 tively unbearable." 
 
 The ride to town was hot and uncomfortable. 
 Edith, on her arrival, went at once to a hotel 
 near the station and ordered dinner. She did not 
 feel particularly hungry she was too nervous and 
 excited for that; but she felt the need of something 
 to sustain her throughout the trying ordeal which, she 
 knew, lay before her. Then, too, she had at least 
 two hours to wait, before eight o'clock, at which 
 time she felt that Donald would have finished his 
 dinner and be ready to receive her. 
 
 She drove up-town, after her meal, in a taxicab, 
 and arrived at the Roxborough a little before eight. 
 The tawdry entrance to the place, with its imitation 
 marbles and imitation palms, sent a shiver of ap- 
 prehension through her. God, to come back to a 
 place like this! It was not to be thought of. In 
 this frame of mind she ascended in the elevator, 
 and in a moment stood before the doorway to their 
 apartment. Everything seemed the same even 
 the crack in the tinted plaster to the left of the 
 door, the smell of gas and cooking, the flickering 
 gas jet in the hall. She realized their familiarity,
 
 296 THE BRUTE 
 
 yet she might have been away for ages, so far re- 
 moved from her present life did they seem. 
 
 Donald opened the door, and quietly closed it 
 after her, welcoming her with grave politeness. 
 
 " Donald ! " she cried, as he came toward her. 
 " Where is Bobbie? " 
 
 " In his room," he replied. 
 
 " I want to see him." 
 
 "He's asleep." 
 
 He gazed at her exquisite pongee gown, her costly 
 hat, the lace coat she carried upon her arm, and 
 frowned. 
 
 " How could you take the poor child away like 
 that? It must have broken his heart to leave all 
 his things his pony, and his boat, and all. Is 
 he well? Have you taken good care of him? You 
 know how careful I always am about what he has 
 to eat." 
 
 Donald's frown deepened. " Bobbie is very well," 
 he said slowly. " It seems to me there is a bigger 
 question between us than that." 
 
 " Can there be any bigger question than Bobbie? " 
 she asked. 
 
 He gazed at her for a few moments in moody
 
 THE BRUTE 297 
 
 silence. "Did you come here to tell me that?" 
 he presently asked. 
 
 " No, Donald. I came to ask your forgiveness." 
 
 " You know the conditions under which I will 
 discuss the matter," he interrupted. 
 
 " Yes. You blame me for taking this money. 
 You want me to give it up. Don't you know that 
 all I have done has been for him ? " She glanced 
 significantly toward the door of the bedroom. 
 
 Donald stood for a moment in silence. He felt 
 in this woman no sense of sorrow, of repentance, but 
 only a stubborn insistence upon what she considered 
 her rights. 
 
 " Was it for him that you agreed to abandon 
 your home, your husband, and run away with an- 
 other man? " he asked bitterly. 
 
 She reproached him, pleading with her eyes, her 
 voice. " Oh don't don't ! " she cried. " Can't 
 you forgive me ? Can't you ? " 
 
 " Not until you show yourself worthy of forgive- 
 ness. You belong to him as long as you accept his 
 money." 
 
 She came up to him, her hands outstretched. 
 " Donald ! " she cried. " That is what I want to talk
 
 298 THE BRUTE 
 
 to you about. I have been a very foolish woman. 
 I have done things that I can never forgive myself 
 for as long as I live. I am bitterly bitterly 
 sorry. If it were not for our boy, I would go away, 
 and never trouble you again. I have been a misera- 
 ble fool, and I cannot blame you if you hate and 
 despise me. I threw away everything that was dear 
 to me for nothing nothing ! Now I know that it 
 is your love and my boy's that I want more than 
 anything in the world. But, Donald, what has this 
 money to do with what I have done? Will it make 
 it any the less wrong, to give it up? If you are 
 really willing to give me another chance, can't you 
 do it without bringing this question of money into 
 the matter? Can't you do it because I am sincerely, 
 honestly repentant; because I love you, and want 
 your love, your forgiveness so much so very 
 much? " She put her hand upon his arm, and there 
 were tears in her eyes. " Donald, listen to me, 
 please won't you ? " 
 
 " If you had come here in the same poor things 
 you wore before all this happened," he said, turning 
 coldly from her, " it would be easier for me to for- 
 get. What do you mean by flaunting this man's
 
 THE BRUTE 299 
 
 money in my face, with your jewels your finery? " 
 He looked at her, and a feeling almost of disgust 
 crept over him. " Can't you see that everything 
 about you reeks of him? " 
 
 " Oh, Donald," she cried, " don't be angry with 
 me please don't. I didn't think about my clothes 
 indeed, I didn't." She seemed Unable to under- 
 stand that it was not her clothes he objected to, but 
 what they represented. 
 
 " You mean you did not think about my feelings. 
 You never do think about the things that count." 
 
 She turned away from him, sobbing. " Oh, don't ! 
 How can you say such things to me? Isn't it the 
 repentance of my heart that counts ? " 
 
 "If there were any real repentance in your 
 heart," he said, " you would put those things from 
 you as though they were polluted." He began to 
 walk up and down the room, unable to contain his 
 anger. 
 
 Edith saw that upon the one point that of 
 West's money he was inflexible. She looked up 
 with an air of resignation. " Very well," she said 
 suddenly. " I will do as you ask. I will give up 
 this money. I will never touch another penny of it
 
 300 THE BRUTE 
 
 as long as I live, but I want it put aside for Bobbie." 
 
 *' Never ! " he cried angrily. 
 
 He had thought, when she began to speak, that 
 she had yielded ; her concluding words told him that 
 she was only quibbling. 
 
 " Donald, you can't mean what you say. Think 
 of his future ! " 
 
 " I don't want to argue the question," he ex- 
 claimed impatiently. " You know perfectly well I 
 will never consent to what you ask. It's contempti- 
 ble." 
 
 Again she began to sob. " How can you be so 
 cruel? How can you? " she moaned. 
 
 "Isn't it true?" he replied indignantly. 
 
 " It doesn't make any difference how you hurt me 
 I know I deserve it but you shall not take this 
 chance away from my boy. It isn't right! it isn't 
 fair! Hurt me all you want to, revenge yourself 
 upon me to the best of your ability, but don't take 
 it out on him. I am fighting for his happiness, and 
 I intend to give it to him." 
 
 " Then you are going about it in a very strange 
 way. Let him grow up and go out into the world 
 with clean hands and a clear conscience; let him
 
 THE BRUTE 301 
 
 know that truth, and right, and honor are more im- 
 portant than all the money in the world, and I'll an- 
 swer for his happiness." 
 
 " He need never know," she began. 
 
 " You know, and I know. I refuse to degrade 
 myself, even for his sake." 
 
 " There is nothing I would not do for his sake." 
 
 " Nothing ! The very first thing is to give up 
 this shameful inheritance, and you refuse to do it." 
 
 " It is for his sake that I refuse." 
 
 Donald turned away from her. There seemed no 
 use in trying to appeal to her sense of right. 
 
 " Donald," she began again, " if you will not let 
 Bobbie have the money, then give it to my mother." 
 
 " No, I won't do it, and I have told her so. Even 
 your sister, it seems, has decency enough to see that 
 I am right." 
 
 " If Alice had been married eight years, and had 
 a child, she might feel differently." 
 
 " I hope not," he said, without looking at her. 
 
 Edith threw herself disconsolately into a chair. 
 " You make everything so hard so very hard," 
 she cried. " Is there nothing I can say that will 
 move you? Is your business in West Virginia noth-
 
 303 THE BRUTE 
 
 ing to you ? Tell me, Donald, are you willing to see 
 that fail? " 
 
 He turned on her, indignant. " I did not think 
 you would come here and taunt me with that! Let 
 it fail a thousand times ; let every cent I have in 
 it go, rather than owe its success to him ! " 
 
 " How can you be so bitter ? " 
 
 " Haven't you done enough to make me so ? " 
 
 " If this business does fail, what then ? " 
 
 He swept his hand about the room. " This," he 
 said. " Whatever I have however little it may 
 be as long as it is honest." 
 
 She followed his gaze and shivered, as though the 
 place chilled her. " And you expect me to come 
 back to such a life ? " she asked bitterly. 
 
 " If you come back at all yes." 
 
 " To cook, and scrub, and scrape, and save, and 
 wear out my life like a servant ! Ugh ! " She shud- 
 dered. 
 
 " So it was yourself you were thinking of, after 
 all," he cried scornfully. " After what you have 
 done, you ought to thank God for the chance." 
 
 She got up and approached him, holding out her 
 hands appealingly. " Oh, Donald Donald ! " she
 
 THE BRUTE 303 
 
 cried. " Please don't make me do this please 
 don't. I can't stand it indeed, I can't." 
 
 " I do not make you do it," he answered her. " I 
 do not even ask you to do it. You know the condi- 
 tions under which you can return here. Do as you 
 please." 
 
 " Can't you show a little generosity? I had hoped 
 to come to you and talk over our affairs in a friendly 
 spirit." 
 
 " There is nothing to talk over. You know your 
 duty. There is only one question, and that question 
 is, are you going to do it ? " 
 
 She stood for a long time, as though unable to 
 make up her mind. Suddenly she put the whole 
 thing aside. " It is too big a question to decide off- 
 hand," she said, walking away from him, her hands 
 clenched. " Donald " she turned "I want to 
 see Bobbie." She took a step toward the bedroom 
 door. 
 
 Donald stepped in front of her, blocking the way. 
 " No ! " he cried passionately. " No ! " 
 
 " Donald ! Don't ! " she exclaimed, alarmed at his 
 manner. 
 
 " You cannot come in here.'*
 
 304 THE BRUTE 
 
 " I cannot see my own child? You dare tell me 
 that? " 
 
 " Yes. You shall not see him. You shall not go 
 near him, until you agree to do as I say.*' 
 
 " You shall not do this ! " she cried, her eyes blaz- 
 ing. " It is wrong wrong ! " 
 
 " Then come to your senses." 
 
 " Is it possible that you could be so cruel? " she 
 asked slowly. " Is it possible that you could de- 
 prive that innocent child of his mother's love? " 
 
 " It is you who are depriving him of it not I." 
 
 " Have you thought what it will mean, if you do 
 this thing? Don't you know that it will break his 
 heart ? Night after night he will cry for me for 
 his mother and you cannot comfort him, and all 
 through the long days he will want me, and ask for 
 me, and will not understand. You talk about giv- 
 ing him truth, and right, and honor. What are 
 those things to him, compared to a mother's love? 
 You shall not come between me and my boy you 
 shall not you shall not ! " She concluded with a 
 burst of hysterical sobbing, then again started 
 toward the bedroom. " Open that door ! " she de- 
 manded. " Open it, I say ! I want my boy ! "
 
 THE BRUTE 305 
 
 Donald did not move. " No," he said quietly. 
 " Bobbie stays here with me." 
 
 " You cannot take him from me. The law will 
 not allow you." Her face blazed with angry defi- 
 ance. 
 
 " I am not taking him from you. Your home is 
 here. It is the best that I can provide. If you are 
 not satisfied with it if you leave it you leave 
 me and your child as well. No law can give him 
 back to you." 
 
 She had grown furiously angry by this time. 
 " Do you think you can force me to do as you wish 
 through my love for my child? " she cried. 
 
 " I am not trying to force you to do anything," 
 he replied. " You came here. I did not ask you to 
 come. Whether you stay or not depends entirely 
 upon yourself. The decision is yours." 
 
 She turned quickly to the chair, and picked up her 
 coat and purse. 
 
 Very well," she said bitterly. " If you can be 
 determined, so can I. I shall demand my child in 
 court. We shall see who has the better right to 
 him." 
 
 " You wculd not dare."
 
 306 THE BRUTE 
 
 " You shall see." She started toward the door. 
 
 " You are making a terrible mistake," he warned 
 her. 
 
 She paused, turning to him. " No," she said 
 slowly. " It is you who are making the mistake. 
 I came here with nothing but love, and sorrow, and 
 regret in my heart. You have turned them all to 
 hate, with your cruelty 'your brutality. You 
 have tried to hurt me through my love for my little 
 boy, and I hate you for it I hate you ! " She 
 swept toward the door, weeping hysterically. 
 
 " I have asked you to do nothing but what is 
 right, and you know it." 
 
 " No I do not know it. Is it right to keep me 
 from my child? Is it right to ask me to sacrifice 
 his whole future ? If that is right I want none 
 of it." She placed her hand upon the door-knob, 
 and turned it. Donald followed her, an ominous 
 look in his eyes. " Edith where are you going? " 
 he demanded. 
 
 " I am going back to New London. If you have 
 any regard for me, if you have any regard for your 
 child, you will come to me there." She threw the 
 door open, and stood upon the threshold. *
 
 THE BRUTE 307 
 
 Donald approached her still more closely. " If 
 you go out of that door, you go out of my life for- 
 ever," he said sternly. " I shall never come to you 
 of that you may be sure." 
 
 " Very well you ' you brute ! " she cried, and 
 turned to go. 
 
 " Stop ! " he cried, springing toward her. 
 
 " No. You have gone too far." She swept into 
 the hall. 
 
 He took her roughly by the arm. " Come back 
 here," he cried, beside himself with fury. " Since 
 you say I am a brute, I will act like one." He 
 pulled her forcibly into the room and slammed the 
 door. 
 
 " Don't," she cried, resisting him. " Oh ! You 
 are hurting me Donald ! " She looked at him in 
 wonder. 
 
 " Be quiet ! " he said. " I am not hurting you 
 half so much as you are hurting me. I have told 
 you what you must do, and you have got to do it." 
 
 "What do you want with me?" she cried, still 
 struggling with him. " Let go my arm let go of 
 me, I tell you ! I want to go ! Oh ! " 
 
 " You shall not go."
 
 308 THE BRUTE 
 
 " I will ! You have no right to keep me here." 
 
 " Be quiet, I say." He forced her toward the 
 center of the room. 
 
 She burst into tears. " How dare you treat me 
 like this?" she cried. "How dare you? Are you 
 mad?" 
 
 " If I am, it is you who have made me so," he said, 
 in a fury. " You talk about love, and repentance, 
 and you come here and insult and humiliate me with 
 every word you say with everything about you. 
 Whom do you have to thank for that dress, that 
 coat, those diamonds, that jeweled purse, and the 
 money in it? West! West! West!" He swept 
 upon her a look that made her eyes fall. " I tell 
 you I won't have it do you understand? I won't 
 have it ! " 
 
 She stared at him in absolute amazement, and, 
 with her wonder there came a feeling of admiration, 
 almost, at his mastery of her. Never before, in all 
 the eight years of their married life, had she seen 
 him as he was now never before had he dominated 
 her. She felt a child in his grasp, and in some 
 strange way her anger began to leave her, and a 
 sense almost of gladness at this primitive method of
 
 THE BRUTE 309 
 
 dealing with the problem which confronted them 
 swept over her. 
 
 " Donald," she called softly to him. " Donald! " 
 but he did not hear her. 
 
 " You are my wife mine, do you hear ? " he 
 cried, then tore from her arm the jeweled purse, and 
 flung it violently from him. " Take off those things 
 take them off ! The sight of them insults me ! " 
 He grasped the lace coat she held over her arm, and 
 threw it aside. " He gave you this necklace 
 damn him ! " he cried, tearing it from her neck, and 
 throwing it upon the floor. 
 
 She looked up at him, amazed. " Donald lis- 
 ten to me please ! " she cried. 
 
 He paid no attention to her. " Do as I tell you," 
 he commanded. " Take off that stuff take it 
 off!" 
 
 She tremblingly removed from her fingers a dia- 
 mond and ruby ring, and another of pearls, which 
 her mother had persuaded her to buy. 
 
 " Give them to me." He took the rings, and 
 hurled them across the room. 
 
 " Donald, how can you treat me like this ? " she 
 protested weakly.
 
 '310 THE BRUTE 
 
 " I shall treat you as I like. Henceforth I am 
 master in this house." 
 
 " You have no right " she began. 
 
 He took her by the arm, and flung her to the floor. 
 " Get down on your knees," he said, " and thank 
 God that you have your husband, and your child, 
 and a roof above your head." 
 
 She looked up at him in wonder. He seemed no 
 longer the kind and patient husband whom she had 
 held in secret contempt because of what had seemed 
 to her his lack of force of spirit. Here was a 
 man who meant to be obeyed. 
 
 " And, when you have done so," she heard him say- 
 ing, " ask Him to help you to be worthy of them. 
 God knows you need it." He stood over her, look- 
 ing down at her with fierce determination. 
 
 She caught his glance, and her eyes fell. " You 
 you won't let me go ? " she faltered. 
 
 " No. Your place is here, and here you shall 
 stay. I have stood all of this folly that I intend to 
 stand." 
 
 She buried her face in the pillows of the couch be- 
 side which she was kneeling, and lay thus for a long 
 time, shaking with sobs. Into her mind had come a
 
 s - 
 
 'YOU YOU WON'T LET ME GO?" SHE FALTERED
 
 THE BRUTE 311 
 
 new emotion : a new understanding of her love for 
 her husband. 'Always before he had failed to mas- 
 ter her, to make her feel that in the conjunction of 
 their two lives he was the dominant spirit, willing 
 even to govern her by force, when force seemed nec- 
 essary to her welfare. What had changed him so? 
 What had caused him to keep her here, at his side, 
 against her will? What, indeed, but his love for 
 her? She knew it was that, knew that, had he been 
 indifferent to her, he would have let her pass from 
 his life without lifting a hand to prevent it. A 
 fierce joy rose within her heart that this man de- 
 sked her so greatly that he held her, as the primi- 
 tive man held his women, by the right of might. 
 She wanted all the luxuries that had come to her 
 wanted them still, but, compared with the joy of 
 realizing that Donald still loved her, they seemed as 
 nothing. 
 
 So he had held her ; meant to hold her, against 
 everything in the world against even herself, and 
 her own folly. She rejoiced in the thought, and her 
 sobbing ceased. After all he he and her little 
 boy were more to her than anything that money 
 could buy. Had Donald temporized with her al-
 
 THE BRUTE 
 
 lowed her to keep the money that had come to her, 
 she knew in her heart that she would have secretly 
 despised him, that in the end she would have 
 ceased to love him. It seemed good to be home 
 again ; good to be alive. She had always wanted 
 someone to rule her she felt strangely humble, 
 knowing her own weakness. Presently she raised 
 her head, and found him standing beside her. With 
 a swift, eager movement she grasped his hand. 
 
 " I'm so very very glad ! " she sobbed, un- 
 able to keep back her tears. " I did not want 
 to go. I never never want to go away from 
 you again." She looked up, her eyes shining. 
 " Donald do you still care for me a lit- 
 tle? " she asked, in a quavering voice. "Do you?" 
 
 Donald's sudden burst of rage had gone. He 
 stood looking at her with a deep sadness in his eyes. 
 After all, she seemed so much a child. " Do you 
 think I would take the trouble to keep you here, if I 
 did not? " he asked. 
 
 She began to sob violently. " Donald forgive 
 me forgive me ! " she cried. " I shall never go 
 away from you and Bobbie as long 
 as I live."
 
 THE BRUTE 313 
 
 He looked down, not understanding this sudden 
 change in her. " I have kept you here for the sake 
 of our boy," he said slowly, " and here you must 
 stay. But, for your sake and mine, independent of 
 him, you must answer me one question. Were you 
 West's mistress ? " 
 
 She started to her feet, and dashed the tears from 
 her eyes. " No ! " she cried. " Before God no ! 
 I was just as bad, I know, for I intended to be, but 
 that one thing I had not done." 
 
 " Are you telling me the truth ? " 
 
 " Oh, Donald, I am I am ! " she cried hysteri- 
 cally. 
 
 " Then there is still a chance for you, and for 
 me," he said, his face lighting up with sudden joy. 
 
 " Donald ! " she cried ; " Donald ! " and tried to 
 smile through her tears. As she spoke, the door of 
 the bedroom opened, and she heard a childish voice. 
 " Mamma ! " it said, and Bobbie rushed up to her, 
 and threw his arms about her. 
 
 She reached down and clasped him to her breast. 
 " My darling my darling ! " she cried, as she 
 kissed him. 
 
 " Mamma I'm so glad you've come. I had
 
 314 THE BRUTE 
 
 such awful dreams. I dreamed that you and papa 
 were fighting, and I came and called, and you 
 wouldn't listen to me." 
 
 " Never mind, precious. It's all right now," she 
 said, soothing him. 
 
 " Papa told me if I prayed very hard for you to 
 come back, you would and you did, didn't you, 
 mamma? " 
 
 " Yes, dear," she said ; then looked toward her 
 husband, and smiled happily. 
 
 " And you won't ever go away and leave me any 
 more, mamma? " 
 
 " No, Bobbie never more." She rose, and, 
 tearing off her hat, flung it carelessly aside, then 
 went up to her husband, holding out her hands. 
 " Donald," she said, " I am ready to do anything 
 you wish anything." She appeared very happy, 
 and looked at him with a new and almost girlish em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 He held out his arms, and took her to his heart. 
 " Edith ! " he said ; then softly kissed her hair. 
 
 THE END.
 
 TF you have enjoyed reading "The 
 
 Brute," you will be equally pleased 
 
 with "THE GREEN GOD" by 
 
 the same author
 
 A 000 121 040