WHAT THE STAR SAID
"Thank Heaven she's gone, and it's ten minutes past!" fervently sighed
Mrs. Sorel, as the door closed behind a guest she had kissed warmly on
both cheeks. "Celine, 'phone down and tell them not to send anyone else
up, no matter who. We needn't be 'at home' a second after six."
She and Marise and Severance now had the sitting-room to themselves. The
girl, who had been too busy feeding others to eat anything herself,
selected a macaroon from a half-empty dish and nibbled it prettily.
Severance regarded the charming creature with clouded eyes, wondering
how much appetite their talk would leave her.
"How dear of you to stay and see us through!" cooed Mary, as if she had
not known Severance's impatience equal to her own. She did this to lead
up to her own tactful exit; and the mere male swallowed her bait without
suspicion.
"See you through?" he echoed. "Why, I've been hanging on by my eyelids,
waiting for my chance with you and Marise."
"Unless it's something you need me for," the chaperon said sweetly,
"perhaps I might leave you to Marise's tender mercies. I'm a little
tired----"
"I do need you," Severance assured her. "I don't dare to say what I've
got to say to Marise alone. If I did, she might misunderstand. I can't
risk that. Mrs. Sorel, this talk means everything to me. You're my
friend. Promise _you_ won't misunderstand."
Mary Sorel retained a fixed, kind smile; but she had a sickly sensation
under her Empire waistband, as if something inside had melted and then
cooled. She glanced at Marise, to judge if the girl had been in any way
prepared for this queer outbreak. No, evidently not! The blue eyes
looked large and suddenly scared. Marise stopped eating the macaroon,
and, going slowly to the table, she laid the nibbled remnant on somebody
else's plate.
"Why, of course I'll stop," Mary said. "I'm not so tired as to desert
you when you flatter me like that."
"I'm not flattering, I'm depending on you." Never before, in her
acquaintance with him, had the voice of Severance betrayed such
agitation. Mary braced herself against a blow; but the melting thing
inside began to congeal like cold candle-grease. Her knees felt like
water. Still smiling, she sank rather than sat on a sofa, and held up
her hand to Marise.
"If Lord Severance has a confession to make, we'd better sit together in
judgment," she proposed. "We'll be kind judges, and this shall be our
throne."
"Call it an appeal--a prayer--not a confession," Severance said. "If I'd
ever prayed to God as I'm going to pray to you both, maybe I'd not be in
the fix I'm in now."
"One would think you were afraid of us!" quavered Marise.
"I am," he admitted. "I was never in such a blue funk in my life. My
legs are like poached eggs without toast."
The girl laughed nervously. "You'd better sit down," she advised.
"I couldn't to save my life. Might as well ask a chap on the rack to
sing 'Araby.'"
"You're really frightening us!" Mary's tone was shrill. "Have Bolsheviks
blown up your family castles? Have you lost all your money? Aren't you
the true heir to the title?"
"I'm the heir right enough," Severance took her seriously. "And I
haven't got any money--worth calling money. There's the rub! Marise, you
know I love you?"
The girl caught her breath. "Why--sometimes I've thought so."
"You've known it, as well as you know you're alive. If I hadn't come
into the beastly title I'd have asked you to marry me long ago. It was
your own fault I didn't ask you, before my Cousin Eric died--the first
one of the lot to go. You used to snub me every time I tried to speak of
marrying. You didn't want to make up your mind!"
"No, honestly, I didn't," she confessed. "I liked you a whole lot, Tony,
but--I wasn't quite sure--of either of us, you see, and----"
"You might have been sure of me! I couldn't look at any woman except
you."
"It wasn't that sort of thing--exactly. People--cats!--used to put such
horrid ideas into my head."
"What ideas?"
"I simply can't tell you, Tony. Don't ask me, please."
"Oh, well!" he flung out. "It doesn't matter much now what ideas you had
then. Do you love me to-day, Marise?"
"I--think I do--a little," she almost whispered, as her parent's arm
(twined round her waist) pressed painfully against her side.
"A little isn't enough!" Severance said. "It must be a big love to stand
the strain."
"The strain of what?" Mary, as a mother, intervened.
"Of the sacrifice I'm going to ask--to beg, to implore--her to make."
"Sacrifice? Do you mean anything about money?" Mrs. Sorel wanted to
know. "You were quite right in calling me your friend. I can assure you
it would be a joy to Marise if, in your trouble, her money----"
"The trouble's worse than money."
"Tell us quickly," the girl bade him. "You said you couldn't bear
suspense. Neither can I bear it. We're both fond of you, Tony--Mums and
I. What hurts you, hurts us." And her tingling brain suddenly,
inappropriately, gave her a picture of Garth, as he had stood tall and
stiff against the door. He, too, had said, in vibrating tones, that he
loved her. He had begged her to give him a chance; implored that she
would let him try to be worthy. As if, poor fellow, he ever could come
up to her standard! What girl of her breeding would think of him twice
when there were blue-blooded, perfectly-groomed Greek gods like Tony
Severance on earth? Mentally she whistled John Garth, V.C., down the
wind to low-lying valleys peopled with girls like Miss Marks.
Tony was pale with the dusky pallor of olive complexions; his pleading
eyes were like velvet with diamonds glittering through. She had never
realised how he loved her--he, whom so many women worshipped. She felt
that she loved him dearly, too. For the first time her heart was stirred
warmly by his extraordinary good looks.
"You know all about my Uncle Constantine, my mother's half-brother," he
said, leaning on the mantelpiece and nervously lighting a cigarette
(Mrs. Sorel and Marise permitted this; even smoked with him now and
then). "Well, Uncle Con had very little use for me till by a fluke I got
the title. I never expected a penny of his money, though he was my
mother's guardian before she ran away with my father. He thought I was a
rotter, and didn't mind my knowing his opinion. He didn't exactly forbid
me his house in London, for he'd been fond of mother in his hard way,
but he gave me no encouragement to come. His vacillation was because of
my cousin OEnone. Did I ever speak of her to you?"
"You may have mentioned her," said Marise. "But, of course, we knew of
her existence. There are always things in the papers about people with
such incredible stacks of millions as the Ionides family have. She's a
'poor little rich girl,' isn't she? An invalid--something the matter
with her spine?"
"She is an invalid," Severance answered. "But as years go, she isn't a
'little girl' any more. She's close on twenty-two. I doubt if she'll
ever see twenty-three in this world."
"Pathetic!" sympathised Marise. "All that money couldn't give her
happiness!"
"She thinks," said Severance sullenly, "that only one thing can give her
happiness--marrying me."
"Good gracious!" gasped Mrs. Sorel. Her blood flew to her head. Was he
asking Marise to love him, only to break the news that she was to be
jilted?
"OEnone has cared, since she was a tiny child," Severance stumbled
gloomily on. "It really was pathetic, then. When she began to grow up
(not much in size, poor girl, but in years, you know), Uncle Con would
have shut the door on me if he hadn't been afraid OEnone would die of
grief. He thought me cad enough to cook up some plot, and contrive to
marry the girl behind his back--for her millions. But when I got the
earldom, a change came o'er the spirit of his dream.... He's a born
snob, is my half-Uncle Constantine! He always loved a title, and hoped
he could squeeze one for himself out of some British Government, but
he's never succeeded, so far. Instead of chasing me away with a stick,
he invited me to come as often as possible. And just before you arranged
to sail he made me a definite offer."
"You don't mean----" Mary Sorel broke down in the midst of her sentence.
"I do. He said if I would marry OEnone, and 'make his daughter a
countess' (real old melodrama stuff!) he'd settle a million pounds on
me, on our wedding-day. Also, I'd inherit OEnone's private fortune.
Darling Marise, dear Mrs. Sorel, if you knew all the money troubles I've
had, and have still, you'd forgive me if I told you this was a
temptation."
"But you didn't yield?" Mary prompted.
"No-o. Because Marise was sailing for the States, and I couldn't let her
come over here without me, to be gobbled up by some beastly American
millionaire. I had to be with her. I had to!"
"That is real love," cried Mary. "I'm proud of you."
"I'm not proud of myself," he mumbled. "I got that bally mission. I
persuaded Uncle Con to believe--at least I hope he more or less
believed!--that it was thrust on me, instead of my doing all I knew to
bag it. I told him I'd decide directly I returned to England--which
would be soon. But it hasn't been soon. He's a man who gets inside
information about official things. He knows the mission is finished, and
I could go home any day I liked. Presently, if I'm not jolly careful,
he'll find out why I don't like. Then my goose will be cooked.
Marise--Mrs. Sorel--I simply can't afford to have that happen."
"What do you propose to do?" Mary challenged him, dry-lipped.
The black eyes blazed despair. "What can I do?"
"Tony," said Marise softly, "I've got 'normous lots of money saved up;
'most two hundred thousand dollars. You don't need to grovel in the dust
to any old Greek banker, if he is your uncle. So there!"
"My poor, sweet baby," groaned Severance. "What's two hundred thousand
dollars? Fifty thousand pounds, isn't it? That's pin money for you and
your mother; and you go on making more while you stay on the stage, as a
spider winds silvery thread out of itself. But for me it's not nearly
enough, as things are now. It wouldn't save the situation. I've come
into more than that amount with the estates. It's a drop in the bucket,
I find. The fellows behind me in the succession resigned themselves to
poverty. I can't, for the best of reasons. I'm in a beastly
moneylender's hands. I began by owing him ten thousand pounds. It's more
like eighty thousand to-day. Now, maybe, you see where we stand."
"No, I don't see yet, where we are concerned," Mary objected. "You said
you'd some suggestion--some proposal to make. But if Manse's money isn't
enough to----"
"It isn't, even if I could take it."
"And if you're considering the idea of marrying your cousin----"
"I've got to marry her. That's all there is to it. I've realised it
since a heart-to-heart talk old Con forced me to have with him a
fortnight before we sailed. I saw that some day this thing would have to
happen."
"Then where--does Marise come in?" Mary suddenly bristled like a
mother-porcupine.
For a moment Severance did not speak. It seemed that he could not. His
gaze turned first to Marise, then to Mary. Could it be possible that
those black eyes of his glittered with starting tears?
"I'm going to tell you," he said slowly, at last. "I want to tell you on
my knees. It's the only way a man could dare to say a thing like this to
a girl like Marise--to a woman like you, Mrs. Sorel."
He did not wait for a word from either, but dropped to one knee, and
threw his arms about both women as they clung nervously together. They
could feel the throb of blood in his muscles. His face was no longer
merely handsome; it was beautiful with a tragic, Greek beauty. The look
in his eyes (Mary thought vaguely, as one thinks under a light dose of
ether) would touch a heart of stone.
"I've got to marry OEnone," he repeated, "or come the worst cropper of
any Severance for a century. If I'd never met you, Marise, I'd have done
it without a qualm. OEnone's a nice little thing--not the sort to keep
a man in leading-strings because she holds the purse. I could have
amused myself without much fear that she'd fuss--or tell tales to her
father. But when a man loves a woman as I love you, it changes his
outlook. I must see you. I must be with you. I can't live away from you
for long."
"I'm afraid you'll have to when you've married Miss Ionides," Mary's
frozen voice warned him.
"Wait! Listen to my plan. I've only just thoroughly worked it out.
I----"
"Yet you told us a minute ago that you'd decided on this marriage before
sailing."
"That's true. But don't be so hard on me. You promised to be kind
judges. Put yourself in my place, if you can, Mrs. Sorel. My love for
your girl is more than love. It's a flame--a driving passion. Can a man
reason coldly when his blood, and his brain too, are on fire! I had to
come with her to New York. I couldn't look ahead further than that. I
mean to make some plan, and God knows I've tried, day and night. I've
thought of little else. But every idea I had was shut up inside what
they call a 'vicious circle.' I could see no way out that Marise would
accept--or you would let her accept. Then this last cable of old Con's
came to-day, while I was at Belloc's. It is a kind of ultimatum. I know
he means me to understand that. You can see it if you like--only let me
go on now--as I'm started. It would be worse beginning again. He says
he's down with 'flu, and OEnone is ill too, and he must see me to
'settle the matter under discussion, or it may be too late.' Those are
his words. They're a threat. By Jove, it was a douche, reading that in
the midst of a jolly luncheon! I saw stars: but one of them has sent me
a ray of light. I almost prayed to get its message. First time I've
prayed since I was in the nursery! Yet here I am on my knees to you
both, to tell you what the star said.
"Uncle Con may have 'flu, and he may die, but he's sure to tie
everything up tight. I'm marked for slaughter. There's no squirming out.
But poor OEnone can't live long, even if she gets the toy she wants to
play with--me. Her father doesn't thoroughly realise that she's doomed,
but her doctors do. One of them is a friend of mine. He told me. She's
got some queer kind of incipient tuberculosis, and chronic anaemia.
Happiness--such as I can give her--will only be a flash in the pan. I'll
be more of a nurse than a husband. Well, I'm willing to go through all
that, and do my honest best for her, while she lives. But if _I'm_ to
live, I can't be separated for a year--or at worst, let's say two
years--from the light of my life, the core of my heart. I must be able
to meet Marise, to have her society, her friendship--by God, I swear I
mean no evil! I must have something, I tell you, if I'm to get through
that probation. Well, I see as clearly as you both see that we must have
no scandal--for her sake--and for mine, too--and even for OEnone's. I
don't want to distress the poor little thing! So here's the plan that
jumped into my brain ready made. Don't cut me short--don't tell me to
stop before I've explained--before I've got to the end."
"Go on," said Mary Sorel, in a strained voice. Marise did not speak. She
felt dazed, as if she were in a feverish dream.
"Suppose I marry; suppose I bring my--suppose I bring OEnone (I can
hardly call her a 'wife') over to America for a change of air, a tonic.
She'd like that. She's always wanted to travel, but her father had no
time; and she wouldn't have been happy with paid guardians. I'd paint a
glowing picture of California--or Arizona: they say it's great out there
for tubercular people. Even OEnone's own father would approve of such
a trip if--if Marise were supposed to be out of the running. Don't
speak! I'm going to explain! What I mean is this....
"Old Con is the opposite of a mole. He knows I've been a different man
this last year. He ferreted out the truth somehow--did it himself, or
with a detective's help. Probably himself: he's that kind. He doesn't
trust his secrets to others. He didn't object openly to my American
mission. In a way, it was an honour. But, of course, he learned that I
was sailing on the ship with you two. He hasn't given me a day's rest
since we landed. I wired I'd had 'flu. (I did get a cold last week!)
Then he took a leaf out of my book. Now he's developed the disease! If
Marise were acting in New York and touring the States, he'd smell a rat
if I prescribed America for my bride's health. But if Marise were
married to another man, and had left the stage----"
"Good heavens!" Mary bounded on the sofa, and gasped aloud. But
Severance pressed her down with a strong arm.
"You promised to let me finish!" he urged. "Now you'll begin to
understand why I wouldn't say all this to Marise alone. Asking you to be
with us proves my respect for her--for you both. This isn't only the
plea of a desperate man--though it's that first of all! It's a business
proposition. The day I marry OEnone Ionides, I become master of a
million pounds. That's five million dollars. One million of those five
million dollars I would offer to a--dummy husband for Marise. Let me go
on! A man who'd understand that he was to be a figurehead, and nothing
more. You'd say--if you'd say anything--that only a cur in the gutter
would take such a position, and a cur in the gutter would be of no use
to us. To rise above suspicion--even old Con's suspicion!--He'd have to
be a decent sort of chap to all appearances, a man who might attract a
girl--even a girl like Marise. He'd have to have some money of his own
already, and some sort of standing. With that in his favour, the world
and my uncle would accept him as a husband Miss Sorel might choose. Such
a person could be found--for a million dollars. I know men of all sorts,
and I guarantee that. With a million dollars behind her, Marise could
give up the stage--she'd do that, anyhow, if she married me. She could
travel west with her dummy husband (and her mother, of course, that goes
without saying!) By that time, I'd be over here again with poor
OEnone. We could all meet--by accident. In England, even that might
make talk. England's too small for us. But over here, in a big free
country--especially out west--it would be safe. We should see each
other, Marise and I. And I'd ask no more than that. For a while I could
live on the sight of her--and hope. When OEnone's little spark of life
burns out, as it must before long, with the best of care possible,
Marise at once divorces her dummy. He gives her technical cause, of
course. That's part of the bargain I make with my million. No breath of
scandal against Marise! And, a few months later, she and I are married.
There's only this short road of red-hot ploughshares for us both to
tread. Then, instead of marrying a pauper, such as I am now, and both of
us battening on her bank account--she'd perhaps be forced to go back on
the stage to keep the pot boiling--my darling girl finds herself the
wife of a very rich man, one of the richest peers in Great Britain. For
in addition to old Con's million pounds, I should have OEnone's
private fortune. He has agreed to that, with her, in the event of her
death, which he hopes may be long delayed by happiness, and which I know
won't--can't possibly be.... There! I've finished at last! The only
thing left is for me to tell you over again that my life depends on your
decision. I believe I'll kill myself if the answer is 'No.'"