The Forbidden Way

  *CHAPTER XI*

  *DISCORD*

  That afternoon late, Berkely and the Wrays returned to town, and theWestern wires tingled with Jeff's telegrams to Pueblo, Kinney, and MesaCity. He had burnt his bridges behind him, and, like a skillful cavalryleader, was picking out the vantage points in the enemy's country. Theanswers came slowly, but Wray had planned his campaign before he leftthe West, and the messages were satisfactory. He realized that hisutility in New York, for the present at least, was at an end, and he sawthat he must soon leave for the West to repair any possible break in hisline of communications.

  Camilla learned of his intended departure with mingled feelings. Herhusband's rather ostentatious deference to Mrs. Cheyne had annoyed her.She knew in her heart that she had no right to cavil or to criticise,and pride forbade that she should question him. Larry's presence atdinner precluded personal discussions, and Camilla sat silent while themen talked seriously of Jeff's business plans. It had not been herhusband's habit to discuss his affairs with her, and, when the coffeewas served, he asked her coolly if she wouldn't rather be alone.

  "Do you mind if I stay, Jeff?" she asked. "I'd like to hear, if youdon't mind."

  "I'd rather you wouldn't. You can't be interested in this--besides, thematter is rather important and confidential."

  She got up quickly. Larry Berkely, who had caught the expression in hereyes, opened the door for her and followed her into the drawing room.

  "Don't be annoyed, Camilla," he whispered. "Jeff is worried. Youunderstand, don't you?"

  "Oh, yes, I understand," she replied wearily. "Don't mind me."

  As the door closed behind him she stood irresolute for a moment, thensuddenly realized she had been up since dawn and was very tired. Herbody ached, and her muscles were sore, but the weariness in her mind wasgreater than these. The closing of the dining-room door had robbed herof the refuge she most needed. She wanted to talk--to hear themtalk--anything that would banish her own thoughts--anything that wouldstraighten out the disorderly tangle of her late impressions of the newlife and the people she had met in it. She had never thought of Jeff assanctuary before, and yet she now realized, when the support of hisstrength was denied her, that in her heart she had always more or lessdepended upon him for guidance.

  And yet she feared him, too. A while ago she had been filled withhorror at his share in the "Lone Tree" affair, and since that time theknowledge had haunted her. But she had not dared to speak of it to him.She felt instinctively that this was one of the matters upon the otherside of the gulf that had always yawned with more or less imminencebetween them. Their relations were none too stable to risk a chance offurther discord. The difference in his manner which she had noticed aweek or more ago had become more marked, and to-night at the dinnertable he had troubled less than usual to disguise his lack of interestin her opinions. The image of Cort was ever in her mind, and the dangerthat threatened her seemed no less distant than before, and yet shestill hoped, as she had always done, that something would happen--somemiracle, some psychological crisis which would show her husband andherself the way to unity. Since she had seen Cortland Bent, she had lostsome faith in herself, gained some fear of Jeff, whose present attitudeshe was at a loss to understand, but she still clung desperately to thetattered shreds of their strange union, though lately even those seemedless tangible. To-night, when she had asked him to take her West withhim, he had refused her impatiently--almost brusquely.

  She went into her own rooms slowly and undressed. As she sat before hermirror, the sight of the scratch on her face recalled the incidents ofthe day. Mrs. Cheyne! Her lips drew together, her brows tangled inthought, and she dismissed her maid, who had come in to brush her hair.What right had Jeff to ignore her as he had done? No matter what herown shortcomings, in public, at least, she had always shown him a properrespect and had never in her heart dishonored him by an unworthythought. For one brief moment in Cortland Bent's arms she had been sweptfrom the shallows into deeper water, but even then she had known, as sheknew now, that loyalty to Jeff had always been uppermost in herthoughts. They must have an understanding before he went away. Shewould not be left here in New York alone. She had learned to distrustherself, to distrust Jeff, Cort, and all the charming irresponsiblepeople of the gay set into which they had been introduced.

  In her dressing gown she sat before her fire and listened to the murmurof voices in the drawing room, from which she had been banished. Shecould hear Jeff's steps as he rose and paced the floor, his voice louderand more insistent than Larry's. There was a coming and going of pagesdelivering and receiving telegrams, and she felt the undercurrent of abig crisis in Jeff's career--the nature of which she had only beenpermitted to surmise. His attitude had wounded her pride. It hurt herthat Larry should see her placed in the position of a petitioner. Herone comfort was the assurance that she did not care what Jeff himselfthought of her, that it was her pride which insisted on a publicreadjustment of their relations.

  Camilla got up, slowly, thoughtfully, and at last moved to the belldeterminedly.

  To her maid she said, "Tell Mr. Wray I'd like to see him before he goesout."

  When Wray entered the room later, a frown on his face, the cloud ofbusiness worry in his eyes, he found Camilla asleep on the divan under alamp, a magazine on the rug beside her, where it had fallen from herfingers. His lips had been set for short words, but when he saw her heclosed the door noiselessly behind him. Even sleep could not diminishthe proud curve of the nostrils, or change the firmly modeled chin andthe high, clearly penciled brows. Jeff looked at her a moment, his faceshowing some of the old reverence--the old awe of her beauty.

  And while he looked, she stirred uneasily and murmured a name. Hestarted so violently that a chair beside him scraped the floor and awokeher.

  "I must have--oh--it's you, Jeff----"

  "You wanted to see me?" he asked harshly.

  "Yes--I----" She sat up languidly. "I did want to see you. There aresome things I want to talk about--some things I want explained. Sitdown, won't you?"

  "I--I haven't much time."

  "I won't keep you long. You've decided to go West--without me?"

  "Yes, next week. Perhaps sooner if----"

  "I want you to change your mind about taking me with you."

  "Why?"

  "I want to go."

  Jeff laughed disagreeably. "You women are funny. For a year you'vebeen telling me that the only thing you wanted was a visit to New York.Now you're here, you want to go back. I've told you to get all theclothes you need, hired you an apartment in the best hotel, given yousome swell friends, bought you jewelry----"

  "I don't want jewelry, or clothes, or friends," she insisted. "I wantto go back and watch them build 'Glen Irwin.'"

  "They've stopped working on 'Glen Irwin.' I wanted the money that wasgoing into that."

  "Oh!"

  "I've a big fight on, and I need all the capital I can swing. 'GlenIrwin' will have to wait," he finished grimly.

  "Of course--I didn't understand. But it makes no difference. I canstay at the hotel or at Mrs. Brennan's."

  "After all this? Oh, no, you'd be miserable. Besides, I have otherplans."

  "You don't want me?"

  "No. I'll be very busy."

  "No busier than you were before we came here."

  Jeff paced the length of the room and returned before he answered her.

  "See here, Camilla. You ought to know, by this time that when I say athing I mean it. I'm going West alone to do some fence-building.You're to stay here and do the same thing--socially. I need these peoplein my business, and I want you to keep on good terms with them."

  She gazed thoughtfully at the fire. "Don't you believe me when I say Iwant to go with you?"

  Jeff made an abrupt movement. "Well--hardly. We've always got alongpretty well, so long as each of us followed our own pursuits. But Ithink you might
as well acknowledge that you don't need me--haven'tneeded me now or at any other time."

  "I do need you, Jeff. I want to try and take a greater interest in youraffairs--to help you if I can, socially if necessary, but I'd rather doit with you than alone."

  "I may not be gone long--perhaps only a week or so. In the meanwhile,you're your own mistress."

  "You've always let me be that. But I have reasons for wanting to leaveNew York."

  Wray turned and stared at her blankly. "Reasons?"

  "Yes. I--I'm a little tired. The life here is so gay. I'm unused toit. It bewilders me."

  "I think I understand," he said slowly. "But it can't be helped. Iwant you to cultivate the McIntyres, the Warringtons, and the Rumsens.Larry will stay here in the hotel for a while. You can call on him."

  She fingered the pages of a book beside her. "Then this is final?" sheasked.

  "Yes--you must do as I say."

  He had never before used that tone with her. The warm impulse that hadsought this interview was dried at its source. "Very well--I'll stay,"she said coldly, "no matter what happens."

  He examined her shrewdly.

  "You're afraid?" he asked. "That's too bad. I thought I was doing you aservice."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Cort Bent. That's what I mean. Cort Bent. He's yours. I give him toyou."

  "Jeff!"

  She rose and faced him, trembling, and her eyes flickered like aguttering candle, as she tried to return his look. "How could you?" shestammered. "How could you speak to me so?"

  But he was merciless. "Oh, I'm not blind, and I'm not deaf, either.I've seen and I've heard. But I didn't need to see or to hear. Don'tyou suppose I've always known you married me out of spite--out of pique,because Cort Bent wouldn't marry you. I knew it then just as I know itnow, but I hoped I could win you back and that things would be the sameas they were before _he_ came meddling in my affairs. Well, you knowwhat happened better than I do. Our marriage has been a failure. I wasa fool--so were you. We've made the best of a bad job, but that don'tmake it a good job. I let you go your own way. I've been good to youbecause I knew I'd been as big a fool as you were. What I didn't knowwas that you'd met Cort Bent behind my back----"

  "That is not true," she broke in. "That day he called here----"

  "Don't explain," impatiently, "it won't help matters. I'm not blind.The main fact is that you've seen Cort Bent again and that you're stillin love with him. These people are talking about you."

  "Who? Mrs. Cheyne?"

  "Yes, Mrs. Cheyne--and others."

  Camilla steadied herself with a hand upon the table. The brutality ofhis short, sharp indictment unnerved her for the moment. She had hopedhe would have given her the opportunity to make an explanation in herown way, a confession even which, if he had willed, might have broughtthem nearer in spirit than they had ever been. But that was nowimpossible. Every atom of him breathed antagonism--and the words of heravowal were choked in the hot effusion of blood which pride and shamesent coursing to her throat and temples.

  "And if I _am_ still in love with him," she said insolently, "whatthen?" He looked at her admiringly, for scorn became her.

  "Oh, nothing," he said with a shrug. "Only be careful, that's all.Back in Mesa City I thought of shooting Cort Bent, but I found a betterway to punish him. Here"--he laughed--"I've a different plan. I'mgoing to give you a free foot. I'm going to throw you two together--togive you a chance to work out your salvation in your own way. Yourmarriage to me means nothing to you. Time has proved that. You and Iare oil and water. We don't mix. We never have mixed. There isn't anyreason that I can see that we're ever going to mix. We've worried alongsomehow, to date, but it's getting on my nerves. I'd rather weunderstood each other once and for all. I'm past changing. You knewwhat I was--a queer weed, a mongrel. I took root and I grew as Naturemade me grow, in the soil I fell in, hardy, thick-ribbed, stubborn, andlawless. The world was my enemy, but I fought it as Nature taught, byputting on a rough bark and spines like the cactus that grew beside me.Oh, I grew flowers, too, pretty pale blossoms that tried to open to thesun. You had a chance to see them--but they weren't your kind. Youlooked beyond them at the hot-house plants----"

  "Don't, Jeff," she pleaded. "I can't bear it."

  But he only laughed at her.

  "Well, I've brought them to you--the roses, the orchids, the carnations,and you're going to live with them, in the atmosphere you've alwayswanted----"

  "Won't you let me speak?"

  "No!" he thundered. "My mind is made up. I'm going West alone. You goyour way. I go mine. Is that clear? You and Cortland Bent can meetwhen and where you please."

  "I don't want to meet him," she whispered brokenly. "I don't want tosee him again."

  "I can't believe you," he sneered. "We've lived a lie since we weremarried. Let's tell the truth for once in our lives. When I came inthis room you were asleep, but even while you slept you dreamed of himand his name was in your mouth."

  The face she turned up to him was haggard, but her eyes were wide withwonder.

  "I heard you--you were calling for Cort. I'm not going to be a fool anylonger."

  He turned away from her and went toward the door, while she got up withsome dignity and walked to the fireplace.

  "You're going--to Mrs. Cheyne?" she asked coldly.

  "If I like," defiantly. "This game works both ways."

  "Yes, I see. There's some method in your madness after all."

  "I don't see why you should care--since I don't object to Bent. Mrs.Cheyne is a friend of mine. She's investing in my company----"

  "Evidently," with scorn. "No doubt you make it profitable to her."

  "We won't talk about Mrs. Cheyne. You don't like her. I do. You likeCort Bent. I don't. And there we are. We understand each other. It'sthe first time in our lives we ever have. I don't question you, andyou're not to question me. All I ask is that you hide your trail, asI'll hide mine. I have some big interests at stake, and I don't wantany scandal hanging around my name--or yours. I'm giving you into thehands of my enemies. The father wants to ruin my business, the son toruin my wife. I'll fight General Bent with his own weapons. Theson----"

  "You're insulting," she broke in. "Will you go?"

  He turned at the door--his face pale with fury.

  "Yes, I'll go. And I won't bother you again. These rooms are yours.When I'm here, mine are there. Some day when I'm ready I'll get you adivorce. Then you can marry as you please. As for me," he finishedpassionately, "I'm done with marriage--done with it--you understand?"

  And the door crashed between them.

  Camilla stood for a moment, tense and breathless, staring wide-eyed atthe pitiless door. Then the room went whirling and she caught at thechair at her desk and sank into it helplessly, one hand pressed againsther breast. For a moment she could not think, could not see even. Thebrutality of his insults had driven her out of her bearings. Why he hadnot struck her she could not imagine, for it was in the character of thepart he was playing. He had not given her a chance. He must have seenthat she was trying to repair past damages and begin anew. A throb ofself-pity that was almost a sob came into her throat. Tears gathered inher eyes and pattered on the desk before her. She did not notice themuntil she heard them fall, and then she dried her eyes abruptly asthough in shame for a weakness. He did not want to begin anew. Shecould see it all clearly now. He was tired of her and caught at theeasiest way to be rid of her, by putting her in the wrong. Her strengthcame quickly as she found the explanation, and she sat up rigidly in herchair, her face hot with shame and resentment. She deserved somethingbetter from him than this. All that was worst in her clamored forutterance.

  With a quick movement of decision she reached forward for a pen andpaper and wrote rapidly a scrawl, then rang the bell for her maid.

  "Have this note mailed at once."

  It was addressed to Cortland Bent.

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