Donald Keith, coming in from the sea-front veranda, was just in time to save her from falling.She pushed him fiercely away and sank down on the sofa just within the pretty little drawing-room.She said:
``Thank you.I didn't mean to be rude.I was only angry with myself.I'm getting to be one of those absurd females who blubber and keel over.''
``You're white and limp,'' said he.``What's the matter?''
``General Siddall is out there.''
``Um--he's come back, has he?'' said Keith.
``And I am afraid of him--horribly afraid of him.''
``In some places and circumstances he would be a dangerous proposition,'' said Keith.``But not here in the East--and not to you.''
``He would do ANYTHING.I don't know what he can do, but I am sure it will be frightful--will destroy me.''
``You are going with him?''
She laughed.``I loathe him.I thought I left him through fear and anger.I was mistaken.It was loathing.And my fear of him--it's loathing, too.''
``You mean that?'' said Keith, observing her intently.``You wish to be rid of him?''
``What a poor opinion you have of me,'' said she.
``Really, I don't deserve quite that.''
``Then come with me.''
The look of terror and shrinking returned.
``Where? To see him?''
``For the last time,'' said Keith.``There'll be no scene.''
It was the supreme test of her confidence in him.
Without hesitation, she rose, preceded him into the hall, and advanced firmly toward the screen door through which the little general could be seen.He was standing at the top step, his back to them.At the sound of the opening door he turned.
``This is Mr.Donald Keith,'' said Mildred.``He wishes to speak to you.''
The general bowed; Keith bent his head.They eyed each other with the measuring glance.Keith said in his dry, terse way: ``I asked Miss Gower to come with me because I wish her to hear what I have to say to you.''
``You mean my wife,'' said the general with a gracious smile.
``I mean Miss Gower,'' returned Keith.``As you know, she is not your wife.''
Mildred uttered a cry; but the two men continued to look each at the other, with impassive countenances.
``Your only wife is the woman who has been in the private insane asylum of Doctor Rivers at Pueblo, Colorado, for the past eleven years.For about twenty years before that she was in the Delavan private asylum near Denver.You could not divorce her under the laws of Colorado.The divorce you got in Nevada was fraudulent.''
``That's a lie,'' said the general coldly.
Keith went on, as if he had not heard: ``You will not annoy this lady again.And you will stop bribing Stanley Baird's wife to make a fool of herself.And you will stop buying houses in the blocks where Baird owns real estate, and moving colored families into them.''
``I tell you that about my divorce is a lie,'' replied Siddall.
``I can prove it,'' said Keith.``And I can prove that you knew it before you married your second wife.''
For the first time Siddall betrayed at the surface a hint of how hard he was hit.His skin grew bright yellow;wrinkles round his eyes and round the base of his nose sprang into sudden prominence.
``I see you know what I mean--that attempt to falsify the record at Carson City,'' said Keith.He opened the screen door for Mildred to pass in.He followed her, and the door closed behind them.They went into the drawing-room.He dropped into an easy chair, crossed his legs, leaned his head back indolently--a favorite attitude of his.
``How long have you known?'' said she.Her cheeks were flushed with excitement.
``Oh, a good many years,'' replied he.``It was one of those accidental bits of information a man runs across in knocking about.As soon as Baird told me about you, I had the thing looked up, quietly.I was going up to see him to-morrow--about the negroes and Mrs.
Baird's suit.''
``Does Stanley know?'' inquired she.
``No,'' said Keith.``Not necessary.Never will be.If you like, you can have the marriage annulled without notoriety.But that's not necessary, either.''
After a long silence, she said: ``What does this make out of me?''
``You mean, what would be thought of you, if it were known?'' inquired he.``Well, it probably wouldn't improve your social position.''
``I am disgraced,'' said she, curiously rather than emotionally.
``Would be, if it were known,'' corrected he, ``and if you are nothing but a woman without money looking for a husband.If you happened to be a singer or an actress, it would add to your reputation--make you more talked about.''
``But I am not an actress or a singer.''
``On the other hand, I should say you didn't amount to much socially.Except in Hanging Rock, of course --if there is still a Hanging Rock.Don't worry about your reputation.Fussing and fretting about your social position doesn't help toward a career.''
``Naturally, you take it coolly.But you can hardly expect me to,'' cried she.
