“Are you crazy, Reggie?” I cried. “How can you be so silly? This is the
money Mr. Davidson paid me for these paintings.”
“Well, then, what are you doing here if he bought them?” demanded
Reggie.
“He left them here. He said he’d call some other time for them.”
“Marion, are you a fool, or just a deceitful actress? Can’t you see he
does not want your paintings? He gave you that money for expected favors
and, damn it! I believe you know it too.”
I went over to Reggie, and somehow felt older than he. A great pity for
him filled my heart. I put my arms around his neck, and although he
tried to push me from him, I stuck to him and then suddenly, to my
surprise, Reggie began to cry. He had worked himself up to such a state
of excitement that he was almost hysterical. I gathered his head to my
breast, and cried with him.
In a little while, we were sitting in the big armchair and I told Reggie
all about the visit, and also about that ride of long ago--before I had
even met him--that Ellen and I had taken with Colonel Stevens and Mr.
Mercier. I think he was ashamed of himself, but was too stubborn to
admit it. Before he left, he made a parcel of those two paintings, and
sent them over, with a bill receipted by me, to the St. James Club.