Dorothy's parents remained only a few days at Aircastle Point, as
their visit was no more than a stop-off en route to Europe. While it
was not in the nature of things that they should remain entirely
ignorant of Armstrong's business trouble, they were far from
comprehending its scope or gravity. Armstrong himself defined it to
Deming as "a general shake-up," and no more was said on the subject.
On the last evening of their stay, Mrs. Deming confided a secretly
cherished ambition to Dorothy. This was at the dinner table.
"You know, dear, when your father and I used to come to New York, we
always went to the Waldorf. I'd like to go there again--couldn't we
take luncheon there to-morrow?"
Dorothy turned eagerly to her father. He smiled and shook his head.
"I'm lunching with Reese and a friend of his to-morrow; sorry! We go
aboard at four, you know. Can we change it, Reese?"
"Not very well," said Armstrong. "Judge Holcomb wants us at the Phi
Gam club--it's a birthday luncheon in his honor. Suppose we get away
early and meet you at the Waldorf? You can lunch there, and we'll
spend an hour with you looking over old ground and reviving honeymoon
recollections. That right, J. Fortescue?"
"Honeymoon is correct." Deming laughed. "Mother has a positive
affection for the Waldorf--eh, my dear? Will the program suit you?"
Thus it happened, on the following day, that Dorothy and Mrs. Deming
entered the Waldorf together about one o'clock. Scarcely were they
inside, when a pleasurably astonished voice greeted them with eager
delight.
"Why--Mrs. Deming! Dorothy! This is a joyful encounter sure enough!"
It was Pete Slosson.
"You-all must lunch with me--please!" he went on quickly. "I'm
lonely; don't know a soul around here--and then you turn up! Will
you befriend a stranger? Please!"
Mrs. Deming, who had always rather liked Slosson, was quick to
accept, and Dorothy had no reason to decline. True, Slosson was
associated in business with Ried Williams, and since that country
club dance she had felt detestation and even hatred for Williams;
but, in her eyes, Slosson had ever been no more than an impulsive
boy, too abundantly endowed with youth and vitality for his own good.
Slosson secured a window table. Dorothy sat with her back to the
room, before her all the passing pomp and glitter of the Avenue,
while Mrs. Deming chose to enjoy the dining-room itself. Their host
was obviously on his best behavior. Usually there was in Slosson's
bearing a good deal of self-consciousness; he liked to pose a little.
To-day, the meeting was so unexpected that he revealed himself
sincerely enough.
Dorothy was rather glad of the meeting. She had known Pete Slosson
all her life. In the way of women, she saw him not as men saw the
real Pete Slosson. She saw only the better part of him, lying far
underneath the surface--the man of dreams and might-have been.
Once she had even fancied herself in love with him. Dorothy could
not forget this; she did not have it to forgive, since Slosson had
never known it. Because he had been genuinely in love with her, she
held him in some measure of friendship and sympathetic regard.
"I'm glad you're doing so well in Indianapolis, Pete," she said
frankly. "Are you often in New York?"
"No, unless something special comes up. I got in last night, and am
leaving again to-night--I've no time for frivolity any more. When I
come, it's on business that demands quick action."
"You're certainly looking in fine shape!" Dorothy regarded him with
a smile. "You seem a lot more human, Pete!"
Slosson colored a little. "Well, I've come more in contact with
people, for a fact," he said awkwardly. "It's hard to explain--"
"No, it isn't!" she countered. "You're in constructive business,
Pete. Happiness always comes to the builder, don't you think? Only
a positive and constructive person can perceive the real good in
things and people--"
She checked herself abruptly, conscious that some one had come to a
stop almost behind her chair. She saw Slosson glance up and change
countenance. Then a genially maudlin voice broke in upon her--a
voice whose liquor-tinged accents sent a shiver through her whole
body.
"Hullo, Slosson! In town and throwing a party, eh? By gad, old
man--"
Dorothy turned her head. Her inquiring gaze met the eyes of
Macgowan. His words died out, and for an instance there was dead
silence.
Macgowan was sobered by his incredible and ghastly error. For once
his glib tongue was daunted; under Dorothy's gaze, a slow, deep flush
crept into his cheeks. Sweat started upon his brow. Dorothy
regarded him calmly, without apparent recognition.
"Why, it's Mr. Macgowan!" exclaimed Mrs. Deming.
"Yes," echoed Dorothy, still gazing at him. "Yes, it's Mr. Macgowan,
the liar and traitor, the Judas who betrayed his friend. He seems to
have been celebrating his treachery, to judge from his voice. I
suppose we should diagnose his ailment as spiritual leprosy. Be
careful you're not infected, Pete! I'd be sorry to think of you as
being in the same class with this man."
She calmly turned her back on Macgowan. The effect of her impersonal
arraignment was frightful. A mortal pallor in his face, Macgowan
managed a slight, stiff bow, turned, and went his way. Under the
circumstances, that bow was more than a parting gesture; it was an
achievement.
Mrs. Deming was staring at her daughter with horrified eyes.
"My dear! You simply can't realize what you're saying--"
"Nonsense, mother. This man Macgowan has tried his best to ruin and
disgrace Reese, betraying all the trust that was placed in him. He
can't do it, but he has made trouble. Now, don't worry! I know what
I'm saying, and I'm glad I had the chance to say it to his face.
After this, he won't be quite so free and easy when he sees his
friends dining in public. He made a mistake to-day that he'll
remember--drunk or sober!"
"See here, Dot!" exclaimed Slosson hurriedly, almost too hurriedly.
"Don't call him a friend of mine! I hardly know the man; haven't
seen him since your wedding!"'
Dorothy, instantly contrite, reached out and quickly patted his hand.
"I didn't mean to be catty, Pete; honest! If I had thought you and
he were friends, I'd not be sitting here with you, be sure of that!
And mother, please stop looking so disconcerted! Macgowan has passed
out of our lives, that's all."'
Slosson drew a quick breath, gazed at her admiringly.
"By the lord, Dot, you sure handed it to him! And the look on his
face when he saw you! Well, I don't know the circumstances, but I
should say that no matter what he did to Reese, you've repaid a good
share of it to-day!"
Dorothy smiled. "I tried to. Mother, please don't say anything
about this to Reese."
Mrs. Deming sighed and assented, her eyes troubled.
"Very well, dear. I'm dreadfully sorry to learn about this. I can
realize, too, how you and Reese must feel. Your poor father felt the
same way when he found Food Products wrecked and lost to him."
Dorothy turned pale. Slosson fumbled with his cigarette case. Mrs.
Deming, quite unconscious of the effect produced by her perfectly
casual words, sipped her tea.
"What do you mean, mother?" asked Dorothy in a strained voice. "You
don't mean that--that any one was to blame for father's losing the
company? Why, I thought he was so delighted over the way Reese
handled it!"
Mrs. Deming quickly assented.
"So he was, child, of course! No, no one was to blame--and your
father never let anybody dream that he was hurt. But I could see how
he felt it. Now, we must not talk about such things any more. Let's
everybody be bright and pleasant! This is our last day in the United
States--and I'm sure we'll be miserable enough in Europe without
borrowing trouble here. I just know the house will be in dreadful
shape when we get home!"
Dorothy glanced at Slosson, who was lighting a cigarette. For a
moment his eyes met hers, and in them she read a startled uneasiness.
It frightened her. So did his words, despite the smile upon his lips.
"That's right, Mrs. Deming--never mind what's past and gone! Let the
dead bury their dead, eh? Only stirs up trouble and does no good, to
rake over the past."
Dorothy glance at her watch. "Mercy! We must meet father and
Reese--come along, Pete! They'll be delighted to see you. We're to
meet them in the parlors--"
"For a moment only." Slosson rose. "I'm overdue now for an
appointment, Dot. I'll come along and shake hands, then duck."
It did not occur to Dorothy to ask with whom he had an appointment.
And Slosson certainly had no intention of volunteering that it was
with Lawrence Macgowan.
As a matter of fact, Dorothy could think only of one thing--those
words, so terrible because so innocent, which her mother had uttered.
With this, the air and speech of Slosson, as though he too knew some
dread secret in regard to Food Products and the manner in which it
had changed hands.
She had seized the opportunity afforded her by Macgowan with an avid,
fierce exultancy. Now this was all fled. Upon her spirit settled
the old haunting terror, with the clear-cut vividness of some
horrible dream. Was the thing possible, after all? Could there have
been any truth in those malicious words of Macgowan, the day of the
wedding?
Here at last she had definite knowledge of how her father had
regarded his practical expulsion from Food Products. Now, as she met
her father and Armstrong, as Slosson made his greetings and
farewells, she was scarcely conscious of what passed; her eyes went
from her father to her husband, searching and probing. What was it
that Slosson knew? What was there that she did not know, about that
change of management?
Or was it all imagination? Now, as that night in Evansville, she
found herself fighting doubt with doubt, distrust with distrust.
Here in the hotel, on the way to the steamer, in the stateroom
itself--again and again she was impelled to speak out, to utter
everything, to force a complete understanding. Yet she dared not.
What had she to utter? Suspicion. Suspicion--of her husband! It
was unthinkable. Each time the temptation came, pride and love--love
most of all--exorcised the thought. In her father's face she read
the lines of hidden hurt; or was it all her own fancy? Tormented,
doubtful of herself, she held her peace.
And now that other fear returned upon her, the fear upspringing from
knowledge of the life beneath her heart. Was it possible that she
was allowing some unnatural obsession to prey on her mind? She
dreaded this possibility, dreaded it unspeakably! And now, as
before, she struggled against it all, fought desperately with heart
and soul and mind against it.
When she and Reese had waved the last adieu and were being driven
back through the city, Armstrong talked of things that had occurred
that morning. He was enthused, beaming, radiating energy and
confidence.
"Your Stockholders' Protective Association is now a fact, lady!" he
declared happily. "Judge Holcomb is to head the committee of three;
we've written President Bruton of Baliol and I'm to run up there
to-morrow and see him, and if possible secure him for second place.
And for the third man, whom do you think we've secured? Rupert
Sessions!"
"What!" Dorothy was startled out of her troubled train of thought.
"Sessions--the lecturer and novelist? The man who wrote all those
business novels? Why, he lectured in Evansville just before we were
married!"
"The same!" Armstrong laughed in delight. "Some one found that he
was a stockholder and lived just outside town. We had him up at the
office this morning, laid everything before him; he's with us. And
to-morrow we file suit on behalf of the Association--suit for one
million dollars against Macgowan and Findlater, on the grounds of
conspiracy, and demand their removal. Things are looking up, I tell
you!"
Dorothy stared through the car window, her brain riotous. With such
men as Rupert Sessions, Dorns, Holcomb, Bruton, behind this husband
of hers, nationally known figures, backing him with their faith and
high repute and money--was she to entertain such vague and shadowy
doubts, such petty and base doubts, of him?
"It's a wonderful thing, lady!" His voice reached her, now more
restrained and thoughtful. "The Association is the only thing now
between Macgowan and his loot; it's not me they're behind, however.
We're not fighting for ourselves, at heart--though we're not prating
about our altruism, naturally. It's for the sixteen thousand
investors, the people scattered up and down the country--the fishes
in Macgowan's net!"
"Ah!" said Dorothy suddenly. "But it's a fight of sixteen thousand
and one, Reese--with the one man at the head of it who's worth it
all!"
This thought dominated her, filled her with ecstasy, banished her
shadows. And so, with wonder and love and admiration for the man she
called husband, to aid her, she won her fight for faith.
Yet this fight had been harder to win than the first battle, back in
Evansville.