"Ambrose!"
"That is his name, isn't it?"
"But, my dear," smiled the doctor indulgently, "you wouldn't call him
by his Christian name! I think he would be rather annoyed to be
treated like a servant."
"I wasn't thinking of him as a servant."
They got up from the table together and she went with him as far as
his study door.
"What have you been doing with yourself--theatres?"
"Yes, and a ball. An all-night affair. I came home at eight."
"Humph--bad for you, that sort of thing."
She was sure it was. It was bad to lie, too, but she was beyond
caring. Ambrose never lied. He would lie for her. Ronnie also
would lie--for himself. She mused and mused, thinking of
Sault--Ambrose Sault. And the red-haired invalid. And this sister
of hers whom Ambrose had gone to Steppe about--she laughed quietly.
She would have loved to have seen that contest of giants. Could
Steppe be browbeaten? It seemed impossible, and yet Ambrose had
cowed him.
She dreamed that night that she saw Ronald and Sault fighting with
reaping hooks--she woke up with a shiver. For in her dream their
heads had been exchanged, and Ronnie's face smiled at her from
Sault's broad shoulders. It was growing light, she found, when she
peeped through the curtains. She went to bed again, but did not
sleep any more.
It was a coincidence that Ronald Morelle was also awake at that hour.
His new responsibility was weighing on him like a leaden weight. She
would never let him go. Her wire had terrified him. "There's no end
to it!" he said with a groan, "no end."
He did not love Beryl; he loved nobody, but there were some girls
whom he wanted to see again and again. Evie was one of that kind.
He did not want to see Beryl. He pictured himself chained for life
to a woman who was now wholly without attraction. To this misery was
added a new and unbelievable horror.
Steppe called just as Ronald was going out to lunch. At any time
Steppe was an unwelcome visitor. In the state of Ronnie's nerves, he
felt it impossible that he could support the strain of the big man's
company for five minutes. He wished Steppe wouldn't barge in without
warning. It was not gentlemanly.
"I'm awful glad to see you, Mr. Steppe; when did you get back?"
"Last night--I won't keep you a minute. I'm on my way to make a call
on that swine Moropulos," he growled. "I want to see you about
Beryl."
Ronald Morelle's heart missed a beat. Had she told? He turned white
at the thought. Luckily Steppe was striding up and down the room,
hands in pockets, bearded chin on chest.
Ronnie's mouth had gone dry and he had a cold sinking feeling inside
him. "Yes--about Beryl," he managed to say.
"You're a great friend of hers, huh? Known her for a long time?"
Ronnie nodded.
"You have some influence with her?"
"I--I hope so--not a great influence--"
"I am going to marry Beryl. The doctor has probably hinted to you
that I have plans in that quarter, huh?"