THE ELOPEMENT.
Max Brunswick had met Irene in New York, and they had decided to go
west and join Rene's father.
She had told Max that she would introduce him to her father as Mr.
Wilmer. Since he had never seen him he would not know the difference.
"Of course," she said, "I would not do anything wrong, but you know I
am obliged to use a little strategy for your sake, darling."
"Yes, dearest," he said, "you are wise in doing so."
"For you know," she said, "I shall be obliged to ask papa for a full
allowance."
They were seated in their room at a fashionable hotel, Irene dressed
in her most becoming attire, and looking her loveliest.
"My darling," he said, taking her in his arms, "how beautiful you
look, and how happy we shall be together. I could never have lived
without you, my love, my life."
She raised her beautiful eyes to his face, then dropping her head on
his shoulder, said:
"Oh, Max, if anything should happen to separate us."
"Nothing will, nothing can come between such love as ours. Do not be
frightened, dearest, nothing shall ever separate us but death. That
man you called your husband never was your husband. He never knew how
to appreciate the love of such a woman as you. Promise me, darling,
that you will not think of him, but let us live in the light of our
own love, and forget that he has ever caused you one heartache."
"Dear Max," she said, speaking softly, "how few men there are like
you. If he had been like you I might have been happy."
"Never mind, darling, you will be happy in future, for I shall do all
in my power to make a paradise for you in the land where we are going.
We'll have no books that are not tales of love, and in our own fairy
little palace, amidst the perfumed lights we'll guess what star shall
be our home when love becomes immortal."
"Oh, Max, he never spoke such lovely words as those to me."
"He did not care for you as I do, my own darling. He tired of you, and
I never shall. His nature was too shallow to appreciate your true
worth. But there, do not think of him; trust me, and we shall be
happy."
"My papa owns a beautiful home in San Francisco, and a lovely cottage
at San Bernardino. Of course, we will be allowed to take our choice."
"The cottage will be more suited to our taste, for you and I, darling,
will live only for each other, and the cottage will be more secluded,"
said he.
"It shall be as you wish," she said.
When they reached San Bernardino, Irene sent word to her father, who
was visiting a friend a few miles distant, so the landlord said. Max
thought the greeting between father and daughter was rather a strange
one, as he did not seem greatly delighted to see her, but Rene told
Max "it was only papa's way."
"Why," said Mapleton, "didn't you let a fellow know you was coming,
and not drop down like this?"
"I thought we would come and surprise you," she answered, smiling,
"and, beside, Max thought it best not to put off coming."
"Max? I thought his name was Scott."
"Oh, well it is," Rene answered quickly, framing a falsehood, "but you
see his name is Scott Maxwell, and I like the name Max best, so I call
him that."
"You act more like a couple of young pigeons than you do like old
married folks," Mr. Mapleton said, as he saw Max caress Irene.
"I love my wife as well as I did the day I married her," Max said,
giving her another caress.
"Well, let's go down and have a game of billiards," said Mapleton.
"Thank you," said Max, "but I will leave that to my wife to say
whether I go or not."
"Go, Max," she said, "but do not stay long."
"Oh, thunder," said Mapleton, "you do not keep yourself tied to your
wife's apron string, do you?"
"I try to please my darling in every way," said Max, stooping down and
kissing her.
Mapleton uttered an oath as he started out of the door, and Rene
whispered to Max as he kissed her the second time that "he must not
mind papa, as he had grown a little rough by coming in contact with
mining people."
Rene spent the entire evening alone, as Max did not return until a
late hour, and though she felt very lonely, it was all made right when
Max told her that he stayed away through politeness to her father, and
that he really did not enjoy himself one bit staying away from her.
"But," he added, "you know we must humor him a little."
"Papa," Irene said, the next day, "Max and I have decided to take the
Venetian cottage, and stay there a year at least. You are gone so much
that it is quite useless to try to make a home for you."
"That's all right. I can find homes enough. A man with plenty of money
don't have to look for a home."
So it was settled that Rene should do as she pleased, Max giving as
his reason for leaving New York that Rene was growing delicate, and
she needed a change of air, to which Mapleton replied he couldn't see
but that she looked as rosy as ever; but he supposed that Max, like
every other love-sick husband, imagined a great deal, but he didn't
care where she lived. She was to have a pretty good allowance, and she
could do as she pleased with it.
The cottage was splendidly furnished, and there with her servants,
Rene began the life she called perfectly happy. Max loved his ease,
and for a time he was ready to accede to her every wish, and told
Irene that he had no desire to leave her even for an hour. She was
quite content to live with no society but his. But as the weeks wore
on Max began to think that it was quite out of place for a man to tie
himself down so closely, and he intimated that his health was becoming
impaired by such close confinement, and his visits to the billiard
hall, and places of like amusement became more and more frequent.
"Max, dear," Irene said, one evening, as he was preparing to go out,
"I wish you would stay home to-night."
"I can't, dear. I have promised some friends that I would meet them
for a prize game of billiards, and I can't stay. Some other night I
will."
"It seems to me that you go out a great deal lately. It may be as well
for you to remember how we stand financially."
"Oh, it will be all right, dearest," he said, kissing her. "Don't be
lonely to-night, pet, and I will promise to stay with you in future."
Rene was satisfied, for she believed Max would do as he promised, and
she was really quite happy again, when the next evening he drew on his
slippers, and ordered two glasses and a bottle of choice wine, and
sitting back in his easy-chair, lit his cigar with an air of perfect
content.
"Rene, darling," he said after a few moments' silence, "don't you
think it is growing a little monotonous, living as we do?"
"Perhaps it is."
"Don't you think we had better move to San Francisco in the Spring?"
"Perhaps we had. I am getting really anxious to mingle once more in
society. You know I have a great many acquaintances there," said
Irene.
"That is what I was thinking, and I thought, perhaps, you would begin
to feel the need of society, since you were once such a society
woman."
"Oh, I have been very happy since I left New York, and do not care
very much about going away, but, of course, one needs a change."
"Certainly, my love, and you are too beautiful to be caged up like a
bird."
Irene smiled and drew her chair close to his side.
"I don't want my wife's beauty entirely hidden from the world. I want
others to know what a lovely wife I possess. You see, Scott was
selfish, and he wanted to keep you right under his eye, but I want you
to be happy. By the way, do you ever think of that fellow any more?"
"Oh, dear, no, not any more than I can help. To be sure, I sometimes
wonder what he is about, and if he is married again, as I am, but I
don't suppose he is, for he always had such a very old-fashioned idea
of right and wrong."
"He never knew what love was, not such love as mine; he never can
know, he is not capable. But tell me truly, darling, do you never wish
yourself back with him?"
Irene tried to think whether she really did, or ever had wished
herself back in Scott Wilmer's home. She tried to find if there was
any reasons why she should say she wished herself back, but she looked
up at the man beside her, and the charm of the serpent completely
surrounded her. How very handsome he looked, sitting there in his
amber-colored dressing gown, holding a highly scented cigar between
the tips of his white fingers. Really he was the handsomest man she
had ever seen.
"No," she said at length, "I shall never wish myself back with
him--never--unless, of course, that you should leave me."
"What foolish talk. As though I could leave you. But are you sure you
have told the truth?"
"Why, yes. I never did love him as I love you."
Irene may have spoken the truth, but there were times when the manly
form of Scott Wilmer would cross her vision, and his fine hazel eyes
look down into her very soul, reading all the deception there, and the
very honesty of his gaze would cause a shiver to pass over her; but
she would drive away the shadow by calling before her the handsomest
face she had ever seen--that of her betrayer, and she would not have
retraced her steps if she could.
"Rene, darling," Max said, with his gaze fixed on the rich carpet,
"you should talk to that papa of yours. I saw him play a game of cards
last night that ran very much out of his luck. He lost five hundred
dollars."
"He did? He had better take care, or I will talk to him," said Irene
angrily.
"I guess he will do about as he pleases."
"No, he won't; if he knows what is good for him."
"Have you any power over him?"
"Yes; more than he would like to own."
"How?"
Irene did not reply.
"How can you keep him from gambling?"
"I shall merely tell him to be careful."
Max wondered that Rene had such a faculty of controlling her father's
actions.
"I hope you will bring him to time, for he really squanders a great
deal, and you may need it."
"Yes; we need all that is ours by right; though, of course, when you
come in possession of your estates we shall be amply provided for."
Max frowned slightly as he said: "Oh, of course, but that may be some
years yet. We can't tell just when these big fortunes do come in."
"Certainly, a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. But you were
speaking about making a change. Are you afraid to do so?"
"Afraid of what?"
"That Scott will be looking for me?"
"Oh, no," said Max, thinking that Scott had too much sense to search
for a truant wife, for he would not do so himself.
"Don't you think he will?" she asked.
"No, no, darling, he will not follow you when he knows into whose
hands you have fallen, for he must know whom you love best."
"He knows very well, and sometimes I tremble for what he might do."
"Do not be alarmed," said Max with a yawn, "he will not trouble you."
* * * * *
It was one evening in the month of March that Max entered the room
where Irene sat, and asked her to give him ten dollars, as he had a
bill, he said, that must be paid.
"It seems to me," said Irene, "that you are using a great deal of
money lately."
"No more than I am obliged to; a man can't live on air."
"I have none now," she answered a little petulantly.
"What have you done with your last installment?"
"You have used a good share of it; I don't know what for."
"It is mighty little I have had lately."
"Where are you going?" she asked, as she saw him preparing to leave
the house.
"To the devil, for aught you care."
"What ails you? I should like to know."
"You will find that out some other time," he said, as he walked away
in an angry mood, leaving Irene alone.
"Oh, dear, I wonder what has come across him. I never knew him to be
so angry before. I wonder if I must humor him to all the money he
wants. I almost wish--oh, no, I don't either; I wouldn't go back to
Scott if I could. Max will get over this little spell and be as loving
as ever."
She looked out of the window as though she expected to see him return,
but instead she saw only a shadow pass the window. She looked again,
but there was no one in sight.
"Mary," she called to the servant, who was in the next room.
"Well."
"Come here."
Mary stood in the doorway in an instant.
"Did you see any one about the garden?"
"No, ma'am; no one but your husband."
"When did you see him?" she asked in a very low voice.
"A little while ago."
"I thought he had gone."
"He has gone now."
"I thought I saw some one just now, Mary. You go out and look all
about the garden, and see if you can see any one."
Mary obeyed, and returning said that she could see no one, and she
guessed that her mistress was nervous.