Out of the Ashes | Page 6

let fall I gathered your firm had been
acting for him. Well, he needs the best legal advice that's to be had, or I
miss my guess." He rose and took leave of his friend, entered his motor
and was driven rapidly uptown.

Still his thoughts were of Mrs. Marteen, and again unaccountable
annoyance possessed him. Confound it! Mahr had been held up. Clifton
knew about it; that argued that Mahr had taken the facts, whatever they
were, to them. Had he told them who it was who threatened him? Then
Clifton knew that Mrs. Marteen was a--Hang it! What possible right
had he to jump to the wild conviction that Victor Mahr had been
blackmailed at all? Because he was a friend of the lady's--a pretty
reason that! Did men make friends of--Yes, they did; he intended to
himself; why not that hound of a Mahr? Clifton did know something.
Mahr was just the sort of scoundrel to drag in a woman's name. Why
shouldn't he in such a case? Then, with one of his quick changes of
mood, he laughed at himself. "I'm jealous because I think I'm not the
only victim! It's time I consulted a physician. I'm going dotty. She's a
wonder, though, that woman. What a brain, and what a splendid
presence! But there's something vital lacking; no soul, no
conscience--that's the trouble," he commented inwardly--little dreaming
that he exactly voiced the criticism universally passed upon himself.
Then his thoughts took a new tack. "Wonder what the daughter is like?
I'll have to hunt her up. It's a joke--if it is on me! Must see my
débutante. After all, if I'm paying, I ought to look her over. She's going
to the Opera--in Denning's box--h'm!"
Gard broke two engagements, and at the appointed hour found himself
wandering through the corridor back of the first tier boxes at the
Metropolitan. Its bare convolutions were as resonant as a sea shell. Vast
and vague murmurs of music, presages of melodies, undulated through
the passages, palpitated like the living breath of Euterpe, suppressed
excitement lurked in every turn, there was throb and glow in each
pulsating touch of unseen instruments. Gard found his heart tightening,
his nostrils expanding. A flash of the divine fire of youth leaped
through his veins. Adventure suddenly beckoned him--the lure of the
unknown, of the magic x of algebra in human equation. So great was
his enjoyment that he savored it as one savors a dainty morsel,
lingering over it, fearful that the next taste may destroy the perfect
flavor.
He paced the corridor, nodding here and there, pausing for a moment to

chat with this or that personage, affable, noncommittal, Chesterfieldian,
handsome and distinguished in his clean, silver-touched middle age.
Inwardly he was fretting for their appearance--his débutante and Mme.
Robin Hood. Of course they must do the conventional thing and be late.
But to his pleased surprise, just as the overture was drawing to its close,
he saw Denning and his wife approaching. Behind them he discerned
the finely held head and chiseled features of the Lady of Compulsion,
and close beside her a slender, girlish figure, shrouded in a silver and
ermine cloak, a tinsel scarf half veiled a flower face, gentle, tremulous
and inspired--a Jeanne d'Arc of high birth and luxurious rearing.
Something tightened about his heart. The child's very appearance was
dramatic coupled with the presence of her mother. What the one lacked,
the other possessed in its clearest essence.
With a hasty greeting to Denning and his diamond-sprinkled spouse,
Gard turned with real cordiality to Mrs. Marteen.
"This is a pleasure!" He beamed with sincerity. "Dear madam, present
me to your lovely daughter. We must be friends, Miss Dorothy. Your
very wise and resourceful mamma has given me many an interesting
hour--more than she has ever dreamed, I believe."
He turned, accompanied them to the box and assisted the ladies with
their wraps. Dorothy turned upon him a pair of violet eyes, that at the
mention of her mother's name had lighted with adoration.
"Isn't she wonderful!" she murmured, casting a bashful glance at Mrs.
Marteen; then she added with simple gratefulness: "I'm glad you're
friends." In her child's fashion she had looked him over and approved.
A glow of pride suffused him. The obeisance of the kings of finance
was not so sweet to his natural vanity. "She's one in a million," he
answered heartily. "She should have been a man--and yet we would
have lost much in that case--you, for instance." He turned toward Mrs.
Marteen. "I congratulate you," he smiled. "She's just the sort of a girl
that should have a good time--the very best the world can give her; the
world owes it. But aren't you"--and he lowered his voice--"just a little

afraid of those ecstatic