The Cost [75]
to drive to her father's," said the butler.
Gladys set out alone. Instead of keeping to the paths and the woods along the edge of the bluff she descended to the valley and the river road. She walked rapidly, her face glowing, her eyes sparkling--she was quick to respond to impressions through the senses, and to-day she felt so well physically that it reacted upon her mind and forced her spirits up. At the turn beyond Deer Creek bridge she met Scarborough suddenly. He, too, was afoot and alone, and his greeting was interpreted to her hopes by her spirits.
"May I turn and walk with you?" he asked.
"I'm finding myself disagreeable company today."
"You did look dull," she said, as they set out together, "dull as a love-sick German. But I supposed it was your executive pose."
"I was thinking that I'll be old before I know it." His old-young face was shadowed for an instant. "Old--that's an unpleasant thought, isn't it?"
"Unpleasant for a man," said Gladys, with a laugh, light as youth's dread of age. "For a woman, ghastly! Old and alone--either one's dreadful enough. But--the two together! I often think of them. Don't laugh at me--really I do. Don't you?"
"If you keep to that, our walk'll be a dismal failure. It's a road I never take--if I can help it."
"You don't look as though you were ever gloomy." Gladys glanced up at him admiringly. "I should have said you were one person the blue devils wouldn't dare attack."
"Yes, but they do. And sometimes they throw me."
"And trample you?"
"And trample me," he answered absently.
"That's because you're alone too much," she said with a look of tactful sympathy.
"Precisely," he replied. "But how am I to prevent that?"
"Marry, of course," she retorted, smiling gaily up at him, letting her heart just peep from her eyes.
"Thank you! And it sounds so easy! May I ask why you've refused to take your own medicine--you who say you are so often blue?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I've always suspected the men who asked me. They were--" She did not finish what she feared might be an unwise, repelling remark in the circumstances.
"They were after your money," he finished for her.
She nodded. "They were Europeans," she explained. "Europeans want money when they marry."
"That's another of the curses of riches," he said judicially. "And if you marry a rich man over here, you may be pretty sure he'll marry you for your money. I've observed that rich men attach an exaggerated importance to money, always."
"I'd prefer to marry a poor man," she hastened to answer, her heart beating faster--certainly his warning against rich suitors must have been designed to help his own cause with her.
"Yes, that might be better," he agreed. "But you would have to be careful after you were married or he might fancy you were using your money to tyrannize over him. I've noticed that the poor husbands of rich women are supersensitive--often for cause."
"Oh, I'd give it all to him. He could do what he pleased with it. I'd not care so long as we were happy."
Scarborough liked the spirit of this, liked her look as she said it.
"That's very generous--very like you," he replied warmly. "But I don't think it would be at all wise. You'd be in a dangerous position. You might spoil him--great wealth is a great danger, and when it's suddenly acquired, and so easily-- No, you'd better put your wealth aside and only use so much of it as will make your income equal to his--if you can stand living economically."
"I could stand anything with or from any one I cared for." Gladys was eager for the conversation to turn from the general to the particular. She went on, forcing her voice to hide her interest: "And you, why don't you cure your blues?"
"Oh, I shall," he replied carelessly. "But not with your medicine. Every one to his own prescription."
"And what's yours for yourself?" said Gladys, feeling tired and nervous from the strain of this delayed happiness.
"Mine?" He laughed. "My dreams."
"You are a strange combination,
Gladys set out alone. Instead of keeping to the paths and the woods along the edge of the bluff she descended to the valley and the river road. She walked rapidly, her face glowing, her eyes sparkling--she was quick to respond to impressions through the senses, and to-day she felt so well physically that it reacted upon her mind and forced her spirits up. At the turn beyond Deer Creek bridge she met Scarborough suddenly. He, too, was afoot and alone, and his greeting was interpreted to her hopes by her spirits.
"May I turn and walk with you?" he asked.
"I'm finding myself disagreeable company today."
"You did look dull," she said, as they set out together, "dull as a love-sick German. But I supposed it was your executive pose."
"I was thinking that I'll be old before I know it." His old-young face was shadowed for an instant. "Old--that's an unpleasant thought, isn't it?"
"Unpleasant for a man," said Gladys, with a laugh, light as youth's dread of age. "For a woman, ghastly! Old and alone--either one's dreadful enough. But--the two together! I often think of them. Don't laugh at me--really I do. Don't you?"
"If you keep to that, our walk'll be a dismal failure. It's a road I never take--if I can help it."
"You don't look as though you were ever gloomy." Gladys glanced up at him admiringly. "I should have said you were one person the blue devils wouldn't dare attack."
"Yes, but they do. And sometimes they throw me."
"And trample you?"
"And trample me," he answered absently.
"That's because you're alone too much," she said with a look of tactful sympathy.
"Precisely," he replied. "But how am I to prevent that?"
"Marry, of course," she retorted, smiling gaily up at him, letting her heart just peep from her eyes.
"Thank you! And it sounds so easy! May I ask why you've refused to take your own medicine--you who say you are so often blue?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I've always suspected the men who asked me. They were--" She did not finish what she feared might be an unwise, repelling remark in the circumstances.
"They were after your money," he finished for her.
She nodded. "They were Europeans," she explained. "Europeans want money when they marry."
"That's another of the curses of riches," he said judicially. "And if you marry a rich man over here, you may be pretty sure he'll marry you for your money. I've observed that rich men attach an exaggerated importance to money, always."
"I'd prefer to marry a poor man," she hastened to answer, her heart beating faster--certainly his warning against rich suitors must have been designed to help his own cause with her.
"Yes, that might be better," he agreed. "But you would have to be careful after you were married or he might fancy you were using your money to tyrannize over him. I've noticed that the poor husbands of rich women are supersensitive--often for cause."
"Oh, I'd give it all to him. He could do what he pleased with it. I'd not care so long as we were happy."
Scarborough liked the spirit of this, liked her look as she said it.
"That's very generous--very like you," he replied warmly. "But I don't think it would be at all wise. You'd be in a dangerous position. You might spoil him--great wealth is a great danger, and when it's suddenly acquired, and so easily-- No, you'd better put your wealth aside and only use so much of it as will make your income equal to his--if you can stand living economically."
"I could stand anything with or from any one I cared for." Gladys was eager for the conversation to turn from the general to the particular. She went on, forcing her voice to hide her interest: "And you, why don't you cure your blues?"
"Oh, I shall," he replied carelessly. "But not with your medicine. Every one to his own prescription."
"And what's yours for yourself?" said Gladys, feeling tired and nervous from the strain of this delayed happiness.
"Mine?" He laughed. "My dreams."
"You are a strange combination,