"HAVE YOUR CAKE AND EAT IT, TOO!"
While two men thought violently of Marise Sorel, she lay in bed as night
wore on, intent upon thinking of one of them, and inadvertently thinking
of both.
Severance hadn't shown himself at the theatre because, thanks to Garth,
he was not looking his best. Neither was Garth, who, on the contrary,
looked and felt his worst. Unlike Severance, however, he had very little
personal vanity; and a black eye or so would not have prevented him from
going as usual to gaze at "Dolores." He did not go because he didn't
wish to go.
Smoking pipe after pipe, he prowled up and down his own sitting-room far
into the night, much to the annoyance of a lady on the floor below. He
mapped out a future full of revenges; and if "thoughts were things," his
must have hurled themselves like Mills bombs into Marise's room, to
burst at the foot of her bed. He did not flatter himself that they would
reach so far; yet possibly it was some disturbing telepathic influence
which forced Marise to think of Garth as often as of Severance, almost
as often as she thought of herself.
She thought with fury of Severance, with extraordinary curiosity of
Garth, and with pitying forgiveness of herself.
Of course, she knew that she was behaving, or planning possibly to
behave, in a way which should bow her head with shame. Perhaps she was a
little ashamed. At all events, she wouldn't have liked people to know
what she contemplated doing, and with what motive. They might
misunderstand. They might think her a bad lot, whereas she was not a bad
lot, but a charming, cruelly-wounded girl who had to defend herself at
almost any price.
Well, she wasn't claiming to be an _angel_! She'd hate to be one. It
would be too dull. But she was just as far from being a "Vamp," or even
a sort of up-to-date Becky Sharp. Becky Sharp had no heart. She, Marise,
had too much. That was the trouble. She was hurt, hurt through and
through! She'd go mad if she didn't do something desperate.
To marry this Garth man--actually _marry_ him!--would be desperate
enough. She'd said that she'd do it. She had--yes, actually proposed to
him. But she could change her mind. Surely he wouldn't be surprised if
she did. And if he were surprised it didn't matter, except that--he was
such a strange sort of fellow, he might _kill_ her! It was rather a
wonder he hadn't killed Tony--or tried to. She would somehow have
fancied he was that _sort_! But she must have been mistaken in him. Mums
said that Tony'd said (through the 'phone) that Garth had accepted the
promise of a million dollars for--for being what she'd herself invited
him to be: her "dummy" husband.
What was his motive? Was it what she had actually believed: that he
loved her so wildly he'd do _anything_ to get her? Or was Tony right;
had every man his price in hard cash?
Marise sat up in bed. She couldn't lie still!
"By Jove, I wouldn't do such a thing if I were a man!" she nobly felt.
"Not if I loved a girl. I wouldn't have her on such terms. Which is it
with Garth?"
There it was again! She couldn't banish him from her thoughts. His big
image blocked out that of Severance. But then, she wasn't curious
concerning Severance. She knew all about his motives.
"I won't do the beastly thing!" she said out aloud, or almost aloud. If
it had been quite, it might have brought Mums flying helpfully in from
the next room, and Marise didn't want Mums at this moment. "I didn't
mean it really, even at first."
Then she reminded herself that it wouldn't _kill_ her if people did
think that Lord Severance had jilted her. She needn't marry out of pique
because of a nine days' wonder like that. She had had plenty of
proposals (though nothing quite so exciting as Tony, perhaps), and she
was bound to have plenty more. Some millionaire would come
along--someone she could bring herself to tolerate as a real husband,
and so break Tony's heart, as he deserved. Till one worth taking
appeared, she would remain free.
As for the title--well, Mums had always cared more about that than she
had, though, of course, it would be nice to marry an earl--especially
such a unique sort of earl as Tony Severance.
As Mums said, "Tony _was_ unique." He was so fearfully, frightfully
good-looking. Such lots of girls wanted him. They had all envied her. If
she lost him, they wouldn't envy her any more. They'd pity her. Ugh!
They'd say, "Poor Marise Sorel thought she'd got him, but he slipped
away and married his rich cousin."
This brought her down to bed-rock again. _Should_ she carry out the
Plan, and make Tony hers in the end--which he vowed was very near?
There were quite a lot of earls; but none like Tony. She'd had, and
would have, other chances. But not to touch Tony. There _wasn't_
anything to touch Tony! And with all that money he'd talked about, he'd
be a multi-millionaire. The whole world would be hers as his wife.
Yet--there was "many a slip 'twixt cup and lip." Just supposing--oh
well, she wouldn't think of it any more. It was maddening, agonising.
She'd go to sleep and decide--_actually_ decide--in the morning!
Marise flung herself down desperately, and burying her hot head in the
cool pillows, she forced herself not to think.
* * * * *
When she waked, it was with the sensation that something hateful had
happened or was going to happen.
What was it? _Oh!_...
The girl remembered the horrid thing, and how she had decided to keep
free and punish Tony. Or had she quite decided? Hadn't she put off
deciding?
How dull as lead it would be to give up this tremendous adventure to
which she'd impulsively pledged--_almost_ pledged!--herself! It might be
a shocking and repulsive thing to do if some people did it, but it
wouldn't, of course, be so with her.
Lots of people had said that "Dolores" was a coarse, unpleasant part
when Elsa Fortescue had played it, but no one had said such a word when
she had taken it over. On the contrary!
As this thought passed through her badly aching head, Marise dimly
realised that marriage with Major Garth--accepting him as a dummy
husband, having to fight him, perhaps; "seeing what he would do,"
whether he would try the old Claude Melnotte or Petruchio stuff, or
whether he'd work up new business of his own--would be quite the most
exacting emotional part for which she'd ever been cast.
Suddenly she saw how she could punish Tony severely, even though she
fell in with his plans; how she could have that satisfaction, and at the
same time the satisfaction of not losing him.
"It's like having your cake and eating it too!" she thought.
She _would_ marry Garth. She'd marry him soon--_much_ sooner than Tony
meant--as soon as a license could be got. She'd send for Garth and tell
him so. She'd say _she_ knew no more about marriage licenses than dog
licenses. That sounded rather smart! He must find out and arrange
everything. The quicker the better. Tony shouldn't hear a thing about it
till too late. Then he would be _sick_! And in this way _he_ would seem
to be the jilted one. Splendid! His trip to England would be torture.
And she'd make it a little worse by flirting with Garth under his nose
before he sailed!
It was scarcely light when she settled all this. Then she could hardly
wait till it was time to get up.
Strange! To many people this would be a day like any other! To Celine,
to Zelie Marks--ah, _Zelie Marks_!
The eyes of Marise flashed like blue stars in the dawn.